A Dark and Stormy Murder (A Writer's Apprentice Mystery) (10 page)

John held up a hand. “Allie, let them sit down. Why don’t you offer Lena some of these nice appetizers you made?”

“Hang on, hang on,” Allison said, pouting slightly. “Spill it, Lena. Or Doug. Whoever.”

John was holding a tray of cheese and crackers. I helped myself to one of each and moved to a large oak table that sat in the middle of the room. “Okay, I’ll tell you. It’s actually very funny in retrospect, and I’m sure it was funny to, uh—Detective Heller.”

“Doug,” Heller supplied.

“Yes. I’m sure Doug found it funny even at the time.” I paused to take a bite of Swiss cheese, dainty as a mouse, and Allison looked as though she might explode.

I laughed, as did the two men, who sat down at the table with me. “Okay, okay,” I said. I told them the story, with occasional ironic interruptions by Doug Heller. I explained about the faulty cat carrier and Lestrade not being a great passenger. About the ominous storm, and my potential lateness while meeting my one and only idol. About Lestrade leaping around the car and hanging from the ceiling like a fat, furry chandelier. About Doug Heller magically having catnip and saving the day. “But I never even got his name,” I said. “It was sort of a Lone Ranger situation.”

“Who was that masked man?” asked John, laughing and pointing at Doug.

I looked at Heller. “You really did save the day. I got there on time—almost—and eventually made a good impression on Camilla. And now—thanks to my best friend, Allison—I am living a dream I didn’t even know I had.”

Allison moved to the back of my chair and hugged me around the neck. “Everything is going so well!! I mean—aside from the murder.”

“Yes. That was not an auspicious start to my stay in Graham House,” I said.

“You talk like a writer,” Doug Heller noted.

“Thank you for the compliment, which I will assume it was,” I said, taking more cheese and crackers. John slid a little plate under my food after wiping up the crumbs I had already made. Allison poured a glass of wine and set it before me with a flourish.

Doug Heller leaned forward, looking defensive. “Of course it was a compliment. I don’t know how anyone could be a writer, especially of a whole book. I can barely get through one paragraph of a police report before I’m wishing I could be finished. To write hundreds of pages—and to have to be profound on all of those pages—that seems like it would take a miracle. I don’t know how Camilla does it.”

Allison sat down with us, her Pinot Noir clutched in one hand. “Lena has written a book, too. She’s going to be a big-deal writer someday, like Camilla. That’s why this job is so wonderful.”

Doug Heller studied me. “Well, that is impressive. Again, I don’t know how you do it.”

I shrugged. “Just a certain way of thinking, I guess. I don’t know how anyone could solve a crime. I was pondering that yesterday. It’s this big puzzle that you can’t give up on because justice itself is at stake. It must create so much pressure.”

Heller nodded. “But murder is an unusual thing in Blue Lake. Usually I just have to solve such complicated crimes as who vandalized the statue by writing his own name on it—true story,” he added as I laughed in disbelief, “or who stole the lawn ornaments from his neighbor’s house and set them up on his own grass. Also true.”

I giggled and looked at John and Allison to see if they
shared my incredulity. They seemed to have heard these stories before, because their faces were placid and only mildly amused. “But you’re a cop,” I said. “You see the dark side of humanity. You must have witnessed terrible things.”

“I have,” Heller admitted, his eyes flicking downward. “But those don’t make for good party conversation.”

“Yeah, this is becoming a downer,” Allison said, smacking the table with her hands. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Just one more thing,” I said. “I saw the guy again—the one who was with Martin Jonas in Bick’s on the day of the murder. He has red hair. He was walking toward Green Glass Highway, and he went into Wheat Grass. He was wearing a blue Windbreaker and jeans. I wanted to tell you, because initially I said he had sandy-colored hair, but it was red.”

Doug Heller nodded. “I’m relatively sure that’s Dave Brill you’re describing. He’s well known to us down at the station. We did interview him, along with all of Jonas’ other friends and acquaintances.”

I stared at him, trying to read his face. “But, I mean—can’t you hold him? He was fighting with Jonas in the store, and sort of threatening him.”

“Not exactly,” Heller said. “What you told us on that day was that he wanted Martin Jonas to do something and had given him a one-day deadline. We asked Mr. Brill about that, and he said that he and Jonas buy and sell rare comic books. He had a buyer for some, and he needed Jonas to go out of town and make the sale. He had even given Jonas gas money up front.”

“Which was why he said ‘If you don’t want to do it, then just give me back the cash,’” I said. I thought about it. “Did you believe him?”

His expression was inscrutable. “At this point we have no reason to disbelieve him. We have no evidence—or witnesses—placing him at the scene.”

“Well, anyway,” Allison said, her tone breezy. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Whose boat was it?” I asked.

“What?” Doug Heller said, looking slightly annoyed.

“The boat that I saw Martin Jonas board. Was it his? Maybe the owner of the boat knew something—”

“Believe it or not, we thought to check out the boat. It is registered to a Mr. Darren Zinn, who does not, in fact, exist.”

“Oh.” I realized that Doug Heller did not appreciate being told how to do his job, and that I was possibly being rude. And yet I was curious about the case, and about that other case that I didn’t dare question him about . . .

John rose and peered into the oven in their big brown stove. “Dinner’s just about ready. Allison, if you want to give Lena the tour, Doug and I can set the table.”

Doug sprang up. “Sure thing.”

I stood and began to follow Allison, who was already chattering about some décor they had recently changed. I paused when I reached Doug Heller’s side of the table.

“What happened to your voice?”

He shrugged. “Some kind of throat cold. Probably from standing on the beach in the rain for about four hours.”

“Oh, man. We should have brought you all hot coffee. I can’t believe we didn’t think of that.”

His expression was benevolent. “You had other things on your mind. You sure had a lot happen on your first day in town, didn’t you?”

“I really did!” I said with feeling. He smiled and reached out a casual hand to touch my arm. It wasn’t a “there, there” pat, though. It was almost . . . proprietary. But then he took his hand away, and I was sure that I must have been mistaken, especially because neither Allison nor John seemed to have noticed anything.

I followed Allison into her living room, with its tall windows that looked out onto a wooded backyard, and then upstairs to view three large bedrooms and a luxurious bathroom. I struggled with a twinge of envy before I gave myself a stern, internal lecture. I was exactly where I wanted to be. “This is beautiful, Allison.”

“Thanks. We’re so happy we chose Blue Lake. It’s close enough to Indianapolis that we can still have the big-city experience if we want to go away for the weekend, but it’s rural enough that we can hike in the woods and see the lake without competing with masses of humanity.”

“I’ve noticed that. It’s a far cry from the Chicago lakefront.”

“And now we get to be neighbors!” Allison said happily as she treated me to one of her crushing yet enjoyable Allison hugs.

“It’s kind of unbelievable. A week ago I was still living in the city with no prospects.”

“Life changes rapidly, doesn’t it?” Her expression lost some of its sprightliness, and I touched her hand.

“Hey, how is your job going? Is it stressing you out?”

She shook her head. “Not every day. Some days, yes. Like the car accident day. But overall—I love it. You know me.”

I did know her. “Come and open your present,” I said.

*   *   *

A
LLISON LOVED HER
gift, and after we ate her salad and homemade chicken lasagna, she lit the candle and put it on the center of the table, though we had to push it to the side when we chose teams for Trivial Pursuit. No one was allowed to visit Allison without playing this game—it was her favorite, and she was very competitive.

“We’re going to do girls against boys, because Lena always gets the arts and literature questions, and I know sports and history. So you guys are doomed,” Allison said, making me high-five her.

Doug and John exchanged a secret glance. “Yes, she’s always like this,” John said. “She got the competitive gene.”

Allison grinned at her husband. “John is more of a pacifist. He’s Switzerland. He actually tries to help other players when they don’t know the answer.”

“It’s fun that way, too,” said John, running a hand through his chestnut-colored hair. I noted with surprise that his hairline was receding slightly. I doubted it mattered to Allison, who had once assured me that John had good bones and would look very sexy as a bald man.

“Okay, enough stalling. We rolled, and we’re on blue. Geography. How’s your geography, John?”

“Great.”

The two men faced us with steely expressions. Allison handed me a card and I read, “Helsinki is the capital of what country?”

Allison groaned, and the men said “Finland” in unison.

“Correct,” I said. “Not very difficult, but correct.”

“Sore loser,” said Doug Heller, smiling at me.

I smiled back and tossed my head. “Roll again.”

They got two more questions right and earned an orange chip. Then it was our turn. As Allison rolled the die, I said, “What do you guys know about Adam Rayburn?”

Allison paused in moving our piece and said, “Adam? Why?”

“I don’t know. He comes to Graham House a lot, and Camilla’s invited him for dinner tonight. I just get—sort of a weird vibe from him.”

“He’s a nice man,” Allison said. “He helped me change my tire once when I was late for work and it blew outside his restaurant. He gave me a muffin, too.”

John laughed. “You are Allie’s lifelong friend if you give her food.”

“It’s true,” Allison said, batting her eyes. “But the best gifts I ever got were that gorgeous candle and Doug’s delicious wine.”

“You were born to be a hostess,” I said dryly.

Doug Heller had been studying his game piece. “Why does Rayburn give you a weird vibe?”

“Um—I don’t know. There’s just a certain—urgency about him. Like he wants something. I don’t know what he could possibly want at Graham House. It’s not like it’s built on a gold mine or anything.”

Heller’s eyes widened, but then he lowered his gaze back to his game piece. “Right,” he said. “Does she get a lot of visitors?”

“Well . . . yeah. I mean, she’s got workmen who always seem to be on her porch, Rayburn and her chef, phone calls coming from her agency, and her accountant, who was there this morning. Oh, and I met someone at Bick’s who asked if she could come over.”

“What?” Allison cried, shocked.

“No, I mean—we were chatting and we said we should do lunch sometime, and she said her house was a mess and could she come up to Graham House. It’s weirdly popular. Even Marge Bick was asking questions about it.”

“Huh,” Doug Heller said.

“But I guess when you’re famous, you get a certain amount of—traffic.”

“Remind me never to become famous,” John quipped. “I like my quiet life with my beautiful wife.”

Allison blushed and sent him a secret glance that we all saw.

A phone buzzed, and Doug Heller took a cell from his pocket. “Sorry,” he said. “This is the work number.”

“Heller,” he said, standing up and moving away from the table.

“That guy is never really off duty,” John said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I’m in a nine-to-five job.”

“It’s not nine-to-five at tax time,” Allison said proudly; John was an accountant. It occurred to me then that I could have asked John to look at my contract; somehow, though, I was still glad I had gone to Sam West. It would have been rude to bring the contract to the dinner, asking John to do work when he was busy hosting.

I found myself wondering what Sam West was doing now in his lonely hilltop house. Was he drinking wine, too, and going over the pages of my agreement? Or was he working with his clients from his distant location? Perhaps he spent a lot of time on the computer, investing in things. I had no idea, I realized, what that really entailed.

“Are they sure it’s blood?” asked Doug Heller from the other side of the room. “And when will we know the DNA—okay. And then they need to issue a warrant. I’m
not going to act on this unless—all right. Fine. Keep me updated.” He clicked off the phone, but he didn’t immediately return to the table; he just stood at the window and looked into Allison’s now-dark yard.

“Doug? Everything okay?” Allison asked brightly.

He turned and strode back toward us. “Yeah. Sorry. Some work stuff that—came up suddenly.”

“Do you need to leave?” asked John, who clearly loved the cop stuff.

“No. Not unless they call back. I don’t think this particular—event—will be cleared up for a day or two.”

“That’s mysterious,” I said. I was playing with the brown chip—the one I wanted to win if I ever got any darn literature questions.

“Yeah. I’m not at liberty to discuss this one.”

“So it’s not someone writing his own name on a statue?” I asked.

His lips twitched. “No.”

Allison made a huffing sound. “Well, I hope they don’t call you back. I’m serving coffee and dessert soon, and it’s going to take a while for us to beat you guys.”

Heller clapped John on the back. “A very long while, right John?”

“Perhaps an eternity,” agreed John.

“Ha! I landed on the green chip. Read us the question,” demanded Allison.

*   *   *

T
HE GAME WENT
on and on, through Allison’s coffee and apple pie and beyond. I started stealing glances at my watch, and one time Doug Heller saw me do it. He lifted his arms in a stretch and said, “You guys—we might need
to call it a draw. I’ve got to be in super early tomorrow, and I bet Camilla has Lena up early, too.”