Candy Apple Red (14 page)

I dug through my purse, an ancient over-the-shoulder model that had seen better days by 1985. I’d picked it up on a thrift table at one of those weekend outdoor marts. Initially I’d worried that it might come with cooties, but I made myself get over that. I’ve had the lining replaced twice. Can’t bear to give the dinosaur up, though Cynthia despairs of my fashion sense. She feels my purse is the worst, but it’s distressed black leather and I believe that makes it “today.”

“Oh, put that away,” Heather said with a wave of her hand. She fished for her credit card and slapped it down. I murmured a relieved thanks and Craig added a few appreciative words as well. Heather signed the slip with a flourish and a healthy tip that made me briefly consider asking Foster for a job as a waiter. This thought made me worry that I hadn’t gotten enough for Tess’s money. Maybe I needed to stick it out with Heather a little longer, just to log the hours. I was trying to figure out how to prolong the already torturous evening when Heather said, “Come back to the island for a nightcap. I make a mean Bailey’s and coffee.”

Craig instantly demurred. “Don’t think your husband’s ready to see me again.”

“You’ll never get the island by being coy,” Heather said.

“Coy?” Cuddahy shook his head.

“What about you?” Heather asked me.

“Love to,” I said and we all left at once.

I didn’t quite get Heather. Sometimes I thought she’d emerged directly from the shallow end of the pool: no depth at all. But she possessed more savvy than I’d originally appreciated. She knew the score.

I was hoping to catch up with Cotton as soon as we got to the island and was disappointed to learn he was already in bed. It was nine o’clock and darkness had just settled over the lake. There were streaks of indigo and cobalt blue in the sky, vying with the stars. The water rippled beneath the faint light of a pale crescent moon as Heather, having snagged two mugs and a bottle of Bailey’s, zapping leftover coffee in the microwave, then transferring it to a thermos, led the way down the slate path past the pool to deck chairs with thick white cushions which glowed in the dark night.

We sat down and Heather poured us a couple of mugfuls. I sipped the hot liquid. I decided right then and there that I love Irish cream liquor. Yummy.

It was still hot. The summer had been one of the warmest on record. Normally, seated by the water at night or in a boat on the lake, you’re required to wear a light jacket. But not this summer. I could actually feel myself sweating a little. Or, maybe that was because I was here with Heather.

I was already writing up my report for Tess in my head. Heather had said a few notable things about the island and Cotton’s frame of mind. The fight about the potential sale of the island said a lot. Cuddahy apparently wanted to buy, but Cotton wasn’t having it. I couldn’t get a read on where Heather stood in the negotiations. She minimized the fistfight, putting it down to boys will be boys.

She sighed and closed her eyes, her thin body dark against the white cushion of the chair next to mine. “I love Cotton,” she mused. “It’s been a tough four years for all of us.”

“I don’t want to be judgmental, Heather, but I’d think after today—the fight—that you wouldn’t want to associate with Craig Cuddahy at all.”

“Oh, that was so dumb!”

“Well, maybe…but you said Cotton has a heart condition. Fighting doesn’t sound like it’s on his health regimen.”

Heather squinched down in her seat. “Cotton shouldn’t drink, but he does. What am I, his keeper? He just makes me so mad sometimes.”

“What made him swing at Craig Cuddahy? Specifically, I mean.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They were talking about the island and Cotton said something about Bobby, about how this was his sanctuary. And then that idiot Craig tried to say it was time Cotton stopped living in the past. It was time to move on. To sell…because Bobby was gone. He made it sound like there was no question that Bobby was dead and gone, so all of a sudden, Cotton just smacked him.”

“Do you think Bobby’s alive?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded like she was sick of thinking about it.

“You think he did it?”

“Of course he did!” she declared. “Cotton doesn’t want to believe it, and I’m sure Tess the Wicked doesn’t, but c’mon. He killed ’em. He left their bodies all over that Tillamook forest area. He probably killed himself, too, if there’s any justice in this world.”

Idly I wondered what the timing was on this thing. Why had Tess called me now? After four years? What was the driving impetus? Cotton’s illness?

“Hey…”

The male voice coming from the darkness caused a little hiccup of fear to escape my lips. Heather, her movements heavy, turned to look for the newcomer. “Hey, yourself,” she said.

Murphy materialized from the shadows. “Is this a private party, or is anyone invited?” He was looking directly at me, his eyes hooded by the darkness.

My jolt of fear now became an uncomfortable lurch of my heart. “Come one, come all,” I said lightly.

He pulled up a chair. His knee was close to the end of my lounge chair. I’d taken off my shoes and my bare toes seemed mere inches from his flesh. Goosebumps rose on my arms.

“If it isn’t the favored one,” Heather said. “Wanna share my drink? I don’t have another cup.”

“I’m okay.”

“Did you talk to Cotton?”

“Isn’t he asleep?” Murphy asked. His gaze swept over our heads toward the house.

“So, you stopped by to see little old me?”

“Actually, I stopped by to see Jane.” He turned to me. “I saw your car at the end of the bridge.”

“Ah,” I said, for lack of anything better. He stopped by to see
me
? I didn’t want to put too much weight on it, but…he stopped by to see
me
?

“We didn’t get a chance to really catch up the other day. I thought maybe we could do that.”

“We could do that, I guess.”

“Well, I guess I’m the third wheel.” Heather got up from the lounge chair. The cushion made a funky little fart sound but no one laughed as our hostess was definitely miffed.

“I really should get going anyway,” I said, to ease through the moment.

“I’ll walk you out.” Murphy got to his feet.

Silently we traipsed up the stone stairs and down the path toward the house. Heather peeled off one way, and I headed around the outbuilding side.

“Where’re you going?” Murphy asked a bit sharply.

I’d wanted to circle the garage rather than leave by the direct route—a bit of a renewed reconnaissance of the area. I wanted to give Tess something, and I had a niggling interest in the property itself engendered by all the talk about what would become of it. I guess you could say I felt proprietary, so I kept right on going.

Or, maybe I just wanted to keep Murphy at arm’s length and the prospect of walking shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, toward the front drive had forced my steps elsewhere.

“I’m going the long way,” I said, my voice disembodied in the dark. The little mushroom lights that glowed along the walkway stopped before the turn to the outbuildings. I could make out the rowboat, but my toe stumbled on one of the jumbled pieces of slate. Murphy’s hand shot out to steady me.

“You’re going to run into something. C’mon. Let’s go this way.”

There’s something really humiliating about having your ex—the one who broke up with you—wrap his hand around your upper arm and guide you as if you’re five years old. I managed about three steps before I eased myself out of his grasp. I wanted to yank my arm free and elbow him in the ribs at the same time, but I managed some restraint.

We walked in silence to my car. Trudged, more accurately. I was feeling angry and uncomfortable. I wanted to lash out, so I said, “Everyone acts like you’re the prodigal son, not Bobby. Cotton’s always liked you. Heather even wonders if she should be jealous.”

“What are you saying?” he demanded.

“Is that what you want? To be Cotton Reynolds’ favorite guy?”

“C’mon, Jane, not you, too,” he said in disgust.

“Well, are you going back to Santa Fe? Or, are you here to stay?”

A long moment passed and then he grated, “I’m here because Cotton asked me to come back. Because Bobby left his life in shambles.”

“You believe he did it, now.”

“Yes, Jane,” he stated flatly. “And then I come back here and there’s this big party going on. Everyone’s drinking and socializing and Cotton’s talking about selling the house. He thinks he’s dying. Maybe he is. That’s not what my being here’s about.”

“Cotton’s always liked you,” I said.

“Who gives a shit? I wish Bobby would never come back, but I’m not stepping into his shoes. Ever.”

Silence fell between us. I swallowed hard. Pain and anger radiated from Murphy. “I don’t think Bobby is ever coming back,” I said.

“Why?”

“He’s been gone a long time. Wouldn’t he have shown up by now? How can you disappear for four years?”

“I think it can be done.”

“Nah, you’d have to have help,” I insisted. “You have to have money. Unless…” He waited, wanting me to continue my thought. I wasn’t sure where I was going. “Unless you go off into some wilderness area and live like a mountain man. Even then you’d have to find a way to buy some staples, I think. And Bobby wasn’t like that, anyway. He was spoiled.”

“He was spoiled,” Murphy agreed.

“He wasn’t good at independence. He relied on everyone else to keep him afloat.”

“You only met him a couple of times, Jane.”

“He wasn’t hard to read.”

“No one guessed what he was going to do.”

“Laura and her family pushed him down a path he couldn’t travel,” I struggled on, the thoughts occurring to me even as I said them. Or maybe they’d always been there, but now talking to Murphy simply crystallized them. “There was no money. Bobby wasn’t
good
enough to live on religion alone. He wasn’t made that way. He wasn’t raised that way. Cotton cut his lifeline and he started drowning.”

“Why are you hanging around with Heather? What are you looking for?”

“I’m not hanging around with her. It was just one night.”

“You’re a goddamn awful liar.”

“What do you want me to say, Murphy? I want to figure out what happened to Bobby? Sure, I do. We all want closure, don’t we? You do.”

“There is no closure,” he stated flatly. “Not with murder.”

My flesh prickled. He’d stopped defending Bobby at all. Four years after the fact he’d accepted that his best friend had killed his family in cold blood.

“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it.

He nodded. I had a feeling he didn’t trust himself to speak. I felt a rush of sympathy, but I gotta be honest, I was glad we’d steered away from what my interest in the Reynolds’ affairs might be. I couldn’t tell him I was getting paid to rake up the past. He would think me the lowest form of vermin, and though I hated to admit it, I care about what Murphy thinks of me.

We said some murmured good-nights. Silly me, I almost invited him back to my cottage. It really bums me out to know that I still possess stirrings of interest. Not out-and-out desire, mind you. Just little stirrings of interest where Murphy’s concerned.

I unlocked my front door, lost in deep thoughts. A muffled little
woof
greeted me and the clickety-click of doggy toenails against hardwood.
Oh, God, I have a dog.

Binks snuffled my shoes while I groped for a light switch. She panted and blinked when the room suddenly flooded with illumination. I bent down and patted her head a couple of times. She inhaled on a long snort. I took it as a method of greeting. A bit on the crude side, maybe, but a greeting nonetheless.

I checked her bowls. She had water but every kibble was gone. I shot her a sideways glance. She really was built for comfort, not for speed: broad back, four sturdy, but teeny legs.

I headed to bed and she trotted after me. She crawled into her bed which I realized she’d moved from the living room. Beds were for the bedroom even in the dog world, apparently.

“Maybe you’re smarter than I thought,” I said.

She inhaled on another long snort. I lay awake thinking of Murphy and listening to her loud breathing deep into the night.

I
woke to a strange noise beside me, sort of like a strangled yawn. Throwing back the covers I was outraged to find Binky lying on MY bed with her head sharing MY pillow! “Get out!” I yelled, to which she struggled to her feet, shot me a wounded look out of sleep-dazed eyes, then gathered herself for a jump and retreated to her furry bed which she’d pushed into the far corner of the room.

Pissed me off to no end. And that made me feel guilty as hell.

What had seemed almost endearing last night wasn’t nearly as such in the cold light of dawn. Or maybe I was just a sourpuss because I knew my brother and his girlfriend were coming over that night and I didn’t want to see them.

I staggered into the kitchen. Binks, the little traitor, didn’t feel like getting up and joining me at this early hour. I was disappointed to find there was no coffee. What had I expected?

Throwing on my running gear, I dragged the dog out for a morning bathroom break, then I left her back in HER bed, not mine, and went for a run to the Coffee Nook sans dog. By the time I got there I was in a total sweat and breathing hard. I knew I wouldn’t see Billy because I was late today. He was long gone. Instead I was treated to a herd of teenaged boys who were desperately, painfully, uncomfortably trying to impress the teenaged girls Julie hires in the summer months. The boys wore baseball caps and one of them had the nerve to bounce a basketball inside the Nook while he flirted. I lamented that Julie wasn’t there as she would have nicely shooed them out. I’m not as good at diplomacy because my tolerance level is, well, nil. It’s only been a little over a decade since I endured that hellhole known as high school, but my nerves are still raw. It was a terrible, terrible time. These boys’ self-consciousness brought the whole thing back in living color. I had to fight to keep from collaring them and booting them out with a swift kick to their collective backsides.

However, the basketball bouncer had to stop. I said politely, “STOP BOUNCING THE BALL.”

He jerked around and gave me a startled look. Muttering something, he headed for the door, ball tucked under his arm. His swagger returned at the threshold and he bounced it one more time before he left. The Nook girls tried not to giggle, but it was clear they thought he was beyond cool. His friends parted to let me place an order, all staring at me.

I ignored them and found a place on one of the stools, hoping my breathing would come under control. I’d really pushed it this morning. The day had barely begun and it was going to be a scorcher.

There’s a grocery store attached to the Nook. After I’d made a dent in my coffee I carried the cup into the store in search of much needed staples: milk, tuna fish, cheddar cheese, romaine lettuce and bread. By the time I returned the teen group had dispersed and the Nook was empty except for a few retirees. I added a one-pound bag of coffee from the Nook to my purchases.

My purchases left me with the problem of how to get them home. The idea of carrying the bag nearly three miles wasn’t a happy one. I was hoping someone I knew would appear and offer me a ride, but the pickings were slim. I asked if I could use the Nook phone and called Dwayne. When he answered I heard a lazy female voice say something in the background.

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “You’re not alone.”

“What do you need?” He yawned.

“Are you still in bed?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

The image of Dwayne having sex filled my mind. I swallowed hard. How long had it been for me? The Pleistocene era? “I need a ride,” I said. That sounded so sexual I made a strangled hiccup sound. But Dwayne didn’t catch the double entendre.

“Where are you?” he asked, then answered, “The Nook,” before I needed to speak.

“I’ve got groceries.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Dwayne is a great guy,
I told myself. Really. He was leaving his bedmate to help me out. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be quite as eager to return the favor had Murphy spent the night with me. There are definite flaws in my character. I could obsess about the fact that Dwayne could be a better friend to me than I was to him.

He arrived looking amazingly refreshed and relaxed. The teen girls eyed him smokily as he sauntered in wearing low-cut jeans, a blue shirt he’d obviously just tossed on, the shirttails loose, its buttons only done to somewhere just above his navel. This isn’t style in Dwayne’s world; it’s expediency. He wore the ubiquitous cowboy boots but at least there was no hat. Instead I could see the remnants of bed head, but the faintly curling hair behind his ears was appealing.

“Buying groceries?” He scratched his chin. I could tell he found it hard to believe.

“My brother and his fiancée are coming over tonight. I have to be ready in case they expect me to cook.”

“What are you making?”

“Frozen hors d’oeuvres. What do you take me for?” I snapped.

“Don’t you have a barbecue, darlin’? You could have steaks.”

“She’s a vegetarian.”

“Oh.” He grimaced as he helped me haul out my bags into his truck. This was Dwayne’s regular mode of transportation but sometimes he rented nondescript sedans. Surveillance cars. Nothing about them the least bit interesting or memorable.

“So, how’d it go last night?” he asked me.

I was thinking the same thing, wondering about his new “friend.” “Kinda weird,” I admitted. I caught him up on everything Heather had said about Cotton and my impressions of Craig Cuddahy. I mentioned seeing Murphy but skirted conversation about him.

“Got paid yet?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Get your butt down to Marta’s office and tell her you’re out unless you see the cold hard cash.”

“I can handle my own affairs.”

“Not very well, apparently,” he pointed out.

“I’ll get paid.”

“Don’t be defensive.”

“You’re putting me on the defensive,” I said defensively.

“Just get the money.” He turned into my driveway.

I steamed as we grabbed the sacks and headed to my front door. I wanted to snatch the groceries from his arms, but logistically that wasn’t going to work. When the door opened Binks darted out, circling Dwayne’s boots and snuffling and wagging her curly tail in sheer excitement.

“Hey there,” he said, his voice altering to a tenderness that sent my nerves screaming. He headed inside and dropped the groceries on my kitchen counter, Binks trailing after him in delight. Dwayne bent down and roughly rubbed the Pug’s ears and back and Binks was wriggling, pawing, snorting and generally living in doggy nirvana.

I immediately resented Dwayne’s intrusion. “Dwayne, meet Binks. Binks, Dwayne,” I said flatly.

“Great dog,” Dwayne said.

“She’s all yours.”

Dwayne laughed. “You’re so full of bullshit.” He had the nerve to wink at me as he left. “Type up another report.”

“Who’s your bedmate?” I blurted, unable to stand it another moment.

Dwayne gave me a classic double take. He seemed perplexed for a moment, then laughed, his teeth white as he grinned like a devil. “I’m sleeping alone, darlin’, if it’s any of your business.”

“Oh, right.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Only when I feel like I’m disturbing you, like this morning. Sorry,” I added with ill grace as he just kept smiling.

I had this terrible feeling he was going to chuck me under my chin, like a good little girl, but he managed to leave without pissing me off further, except for that shit-eating grin.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Binks’ tail unwound in dejection.

“He’s not that great,” I warned her.

She toddled back to her bed.

I called Jerome Neusmeyer’s office and talked to a secretary who was tons more polite than Marta’s. She listened to me whine that I really, really,
really
needed to see Mr. Neusmeyer right away. “My mother’s unwell. I don’t know what to do. If she dies before I get everything right, I’ll have a breakdown or something.”

“Mr. Neusmeyer’s extremely busy this week,” she said, “but I could squeeze you in next Tuesday or Wednesday?”

“Oh, really…” Disappointment leaked through. “My mother’s really failing. She doesn’t recognize me.” I sent a silent apology to Mom who was healthy as a horse and completely in control of her faculties, at least as much as she’d ever been.

“If there’s a cancellation…”

“Oh, please call me! I’m really desperate. I don’t know what to do.”

“Who referred you to us?”

I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t say Cotton as he had an appointment coming right up and I didn’t want my name to be associated with it in any way. “Heather Reynolds,” I said, crossing my fingers over the lie. I hoped this wouldn’t get back to Cotton, but if it did, he might not mention it to Heather. Tricky stuff, but I couldn’t come up with anything better.

“You know, there may be a spot on Thursday,” she said in a crisper tone. “It’s extremely tight, but…”

“I’ll take it,” I said,
extremely
satisfied. Bandying Heather’s name had apparently worked better than I’d expected. Of course I had no idea what I would say to Neusmeyer when I showed up on Thursday, but hey, necessity is the mother of invention, right?

The doorbell rang while I was struggling over a recipe book. Should I actually try to cook something for Booth and his fiancée? My repertoire was limited, but I didn’t feel comfortable going out to some fancy place and facing the bill at the end of the evening. Would Booth expect me to split with him? Would it be halfsies or three-sies? Too complicated.

I wondered if she would like a hearty spinach salad. I could cook up the bacon separately in case she objected.

My head was full of such thoughts when I threw open the front door and saw, with surprise and consternation, that Booth had shown up way early. And he was with his fiancée. And she was tall, thin and African American. Her skin was smooth milk chocolate that was eminently touchable. She stared at me through liquid brown eyes which were slightly cautious. I tried to imagine myself through her eyes. Had I hidden my surprise? How like my twin to neglect to tell me anything about her.

“Hey, Jane,” Booth said. “This is Sharona. Sharona, my sister Jane.”

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” I managed before turning to Booth with a forced smile. “It’s barely four o’clock.”

“Are we too early?” Sharona asked, giving Booth a cool look. There was something sleek and imperative about her that worried me.

But Booth was oblivious. “Oh, Jane doesn’t care.”

“Come in,” I said, as there was nothing left but to be gracious. I didn’t feel gracious inside, though.

Sharona wore a light gray wool skirt and a silvery silk blouse. Her shoes were expensive-looking black pumps with what looked like stainless steel heels. She wore her hair pulled back tight and her lips were expertly outlined with a deep red lipstick. She looked businesslike and sexual at the same time. I would have melted in her choice of outfit but she was cool, collected and detached. I saw her glance around my place with interest but she kept her thoughts hidden. A lawyer, Booth had mentioned in an aside. Geez Louise.

Booth was in khaki shorts, a dark blue shirt with a muted Hawaiian pattern and leather flip-flops. His dark hair was faintly mussed and there was a definite shadow of beard darkening his strong jaw. You can take the boy out of southern California, but you can’t take southern California out of the boy. I wondered what Sharona saw in him. Not that he isn’t attractive, but saying they were polar opposites wasn’t putting too fine a point on it. Maybe when he was in uniform they got into some quasi-military S&M kinda stuff. Or maybe that was just me being horny, unfulfilled and wishful.

“I don’t have any food, or plans made, for dinner. Any suggestions?”

Sharona smoothed her skirt and sat gingerly on my almost threadbare tan couch. Binks chose that moment to tear around the corner from the bedroom and zoom toward Sharona, full tilt. I yelled. At least I think I yelled, but the dog jumped up and squirmed onto Sharona’s lap, happy as the proverbial pig in shit. Sharona gasped, froze, and then seemed to take it a bit in stride. She let Binky lick the side of her hand.

Booth said, “What the hell is that?”

“That’s Binks. A friend of our mother’s—Aunt Eugenie—died, and Mom had promised her she’d make sure her dog was taken care of. I notice that I got the dog, not you.”

“What do you call that kind?”

“She’s a pug.”

“She’s fat,” Sharona said.

I bristled. Now, there is no question that Sharona was right. Binky looks like she’s never missed a meal in her life. However, it seemed as if Sharona were making a comment on my dog-parenting skills. I rose to the call to arms. “She’s slightly overweight. I’m working on it.”

“I’m glad you got her, not me,” Booth said.

“That’s so helpful.”

“We’re living in an apartment in the Pearl. There’s just no way.”

Had I asked him to take the dog?
Had I?

“She’s actually kind of cute, in a really ugly sort of way,” said Sharona, and there was just the hint of tenderness in her voice.