Death Qualified (6 page)

    "I have to talk to you," she said in a low voice as they approached the deck.

    "Lucas is coming. He was at his folks' house Monday. He's probably on his way here right now."

    Doc's steps faltered, and he jerked around to take her by the shoulders. She clutched the books to keep them from falling.

    "Why don't you divorce him and be done with it?"

    It was more a demand than a question. She shook her head.

    "Down on the beach, after the kids are sleeping?"

    He nodded, angry, but turned his head slightly, listening as a car squealed around the turn in the driveway.

    "Later, about eleven."

    They separated at the house, Doc to enter by a back door as she turned the corner of the deck and started down the length of the redwood flooring to where Jessica sat in her wheelchair, gazing out at the river. Near her, also gazing at the river, was Frank Holloway, another neighbor.

    Of course, Nell thought in resignation. Everyone in town would be buzzing with the story of the dead woman in the river. There would be groups all over, discussing it, theorizing, questioning those who had seen her.. .. The image of the body being dragged over sharp rocks to shore flashed before her mind's eye again, and once more she shook her head, shook it away. She made a swift, searching examination of the river: The cabins were visible from here, people standing around, some at tables, no boats tied up. They were all out there helping with the search.

    The river made its last curve here and was swallowed again by the forest. In the distance before it disappeared she could see several small boats. She shivered and then waved to Frank Holloway, who had turned to look in her direction.

    He put down a drink, got to his feet, and took the few steps remaining for her to reach the seating area. He was in his late sixties, maybe even seventy; Nell could never judge ages. He probably was old, but she had seen her grandfather celebrate his eighty-sixth birthday, and old was not a word that could be used for both men. Frank was her lawyer, Doc's lawyer, everyone's lawyer around here, although he was semi-retired. He went to his law firm once or twice a week and even took a case now and then, but what he did most of the time was fish and work on a book he was writing.

    He had thrown away his ties, he liked to tell people.

    Now he dressed in jeans and flannel shirts and, if it got warm enough, in Bermuda shorts and tank tops. Even on the days that he went to his office in Eugene, that was how he dressed. He had earned the right, he claimed.

    He approached Nell with a look of commiseration.

    "You too. Poor Nell. What a shock." He put his arm around her shoulders, gave her a little squeeze, and then took the books from her.

    "Thanks," she said, rubbing her arm where the book bindings had dug in.

    "Hi, Jessie. How are you?"

    The answer was, as always, "Not too bad. What a terrible thing!" The words were appropriate enough, but her expression was one of avidity; she clearly wanted to hear all about it again.

    Jessie was older than Doc, five years older, eight. No one ever said; she looked twenty years older at times, although at other times she looked like a girl. It depended on how active her arthritis was at the moment. This evening it appeared to be under control. She was leaning for ward in her chair, studying Nell's face intently, one hand holding binoculars on her lap. It was hard to tell much about her physical appearance because she always wore long skirts that covered her from the waist down in gathers and folds and pleats all the way to her shoes. Her blouses were full, with long sleeves, almost always topped by a silk shawl in summer, a wool shawl in winter. Her fingers were misshapen, the knuckles grotesque and sore-looking.

    "How perfectly awful it must have been," she said, looking at Nell, waiting.

    "Least she didn't hang around," Lonnie Rowan said, suddenly appearing from the house, carrying a tray with extra glasses, wine, cheese, and crackers. She was still wearing the red pants she had worn at Turner's Point earlier A murder mystery, Nell remembered; Lonnie had put in a request for a special mystery.

    "Had to go home and shoot at a tree cutter," Lonnie went on, arranging the things she had brought out. She gave Nell a quick sidelong glance.

    "Nell never shot at anything in her life," Doc said as he came out to the deck.

    "She either shoots it or doesn't shoot at all."

    "They said she shot at them," Lonnie muttered.

    "What has that to do with the body in the river?" Jessie asked, turning from Nell to Frank Holloway, who shrugged.

    Immediately behind Doc was Clive Belloc. He was wearing jeans, a tan work shirt, and his boots as if he had not yet gone home from work. He was a cruiser for a logging company; people said he was one of the best around, that with just a little walk through the woods he could tell you exactly how much lumber you could realize to the last one-by-one. Except for the area around his eyes that was protected by sunglasses summer and winter, his skin was a rich red mahogany color, and his hair bleached out very blond.

    "I went to your place, empty. I figured you were over here," he said to Nell, ignoring everyone else in a way that suggested he had not yet noticed anyone else on the deck.

    "You know what they're saying in town? Jesus! What happened out at your place?"

    "Who's saying?"

    "Was that girl shot? Do they already know?" Jessie asked. No one paid any attention.

    "Two guys stopped off at Chuck's and said you took pot shots at them. Chuck's mad as hell. What happened?"

    Clive had drawn almost close enough to touch her, but he did not move those las^ few inches. He never did.

    "Chuck's mad! Chuck? That bastard. He doesn't know what mad means! I'm the one who's mad."

    "You took a shot at Chuck?" Jessie asked.

    "Oh, Jessie. No. I didn't shoot at anyone. I shot a beer can."

    Frank took her elbow and steered her toward a chair.

    "What we need is a little drink. And then you tell us just why you shot a beer can. And how in hell two guys thought you could be shooting at them. Unless one was dressed as a can."

    Nell allowed herself to be seated and accepted the wine that Doc had already poured for her. Belatedly Clive spoke to the others, then helped himself to the bourbon.

    "Okay," Nell said after a sip, "when I got home this afternoon, two guys were getting ready to cut down that noble fir at the end of my drive. I told them to stop, but they laughed, so I went for the rifle. That's all there is to that."

    "And that made Chuck mad?" Jessie asked in wonder.

    "Doc, would you mix me another, please?" She held out her glass. She drank old-fashioneds. Doc took it and went behind Nell to the table that held the liquor and wine.

    "You think Chuck sent them?" Doc asked.

    "He wouldn't do a damn fool thing like that."

    "Who else? He knows that usually I hang around and talk to Mikey and Gina, and whoever else shows up on bookmobile day. Normally I wouldn't even have got home until nearly five. Today .. . today was different, and I caught them just starting."

    "Now, Nell," Frank said judiciously, "that's highly circumstantial. Lots of folks know you meet that library on wheels."

    "But lots of folks aren't out to harass me Chuck is, and you know it. I ran him off that trail he was trying to cut down to my beach. I won't let him or his drunken fishermen on my land, and I won't sell him a right of way.

    He has his reasons," she finished darkly.

    "You threatened him?" Clive asked then.

    "Chuck claims those guys said you threatened him."

    "Sure I did. I said I'd shoot anyone who set foot on my land uninvited."

    "For God's sake!" Clive snapped.

    "Why didn't you just tell them who you are, that you own that damn tree? Did you even look at their work order? Maybe they just made a simple mistake wrong house, wrong tree."

    "I did try to tell them, and they thought it was funny.

    They didn't think it was funny when I said I'd shoot out the tires of their truck, and when the one guy kept coming, he didn't think it was that funny when I pointed the rifle at his midsection, south of the equator. That wiped the grin right off his stupid face."

    "Well, they probably thought the owner of the property lived in the big house, like you'd expect," Lonnie said, standing near the doorway, and not likely to budge until she had heard it all.

    "How most people do it is the owner lives in the big house, and the servants live in the little house."

    "Lonnie, don't start," Nell muttered.

    "Just don't start."

    Lonnie sniffed, then looked at Jessie.

    "How many for dinner is all I want to know. Time to get started on that, anyways."

    There was discussion and persuasion, and in the end they all agreed to stay. Lonnie nodded in a way that said she had known it all along. She cleaned Frank Holloway's place once a week, and did for Clive every other week;

    she cooked for Doc and Jessie most nights and worked in their house three days a week. She was an indifferent housekeeper but an excellent cook, and for her there were no secrets in Turner's Point. Between her and Doc and Frank, Nell realized, all their medical, legal, and personal lives were tracked on an almost daily basis. Even though Lonnie did nothing for her, she knew the woman was keeping tabs on her just as if she had been hired to do so.

    Nell took almost malicious satisfaction in knowing that Lonnie had not ferreted out her secret, hers and Doc's.

    "Nell," Clive said, after the dinner talk was finally over, "tell me about those" guys, who they worked for."

    She glared at him and got up to pour herself more wine.

    "I knew you'd take their side," she said coldly.

    "Or did you tell them how many board feet were there for the taking?"

    Clive tightened his lips; a flush spread over his face. He was a few years older than Nell, but he was boyish-looking, especially now, blushing.

    "He's right, Nell," Frank said then.

    "You'll have to get in touch with the company and straighten it out if there's been a mistake in the work order. And find out who put the order in if your name was on it."

    "Clovis something," she said.

    "Clovis Wood Products."

    "Never heard of them," Clive said.

    "You sure?"

    She shrugged and returned to her chair.

    "Use your phone a minute, Doc?" Clive asked. When Doc nodded, he went inside the house. The others looked at the river in silence.

    How far had she got by now? Nell found herself wondering She fought against the image of a woman being wafted among the drowned trees, pausing here, there, drifting on, her hair getting entangled in a sharp limb, tethered by her long hair that had looked like sea weed.. ..

    Clive returned, more puzzled than before.

    "It's a company out of Salem," he said.

    "Small company, mostly residential work, landscapers for businesses, that sort of thing, not loggers."

    "Well, then it's a simple mistake, Nell," Doc said.

    "Wrong place, wrong tree, wrong county even." He laughed.

    "Maybe," Nell said, wanting to leave it alone, not talk about it any more. They had had her name, she thought.

    Mrs. Kendricks.

    "Look at it this way, Nell," Frank said then in his thoughtful, lawyerly way.

    "Chuck wants to get access to that little beach. Everyone knows that.

    "Course, it's not your beach, and you know that. Anyone can pull in there by boat day or night, no problem." Nell made a rude noise, and he lowered his head and looked at her over the tops of his half glasses.

    "It's reasonable for you not to want a trail through your land, and not to want the beach turned into a public picnic area. Granted. Now what's un reasonable is for Chuck to make an enemy out of you.

    He's tried persuasion. He's tried bribery. He's tried just bulling his way through by starting a trail. Presently he'll probably think of something else to try. But it won't be a frontal attack. Honey, there's not a living person in this county thinks you can be swayed by cutting one of your trees. And Chuck's not stupid."

    He regarded her steadily until at last, with reluctance, she had to nod. Chuck was not stupid, and that would have been a stupid thing for him to try. But someone had sent them, and they had her name. At the same moment she thought: Lucas!

    She stood up.

    "I just remembered something," she said, her voice harsh even to her ears.

    "I won't stay. I have to go home."

    Jessie reached out for her.

    "What is it? What's wrong?"