Mudlark (17 page)

"How did you find it?" I stammered. "It fits in exactly."

Clara made an impatient noise. She was tearing the paper off her thin parcel. "You mentioned the
Turkish rug. That's turkey red, kiddo. Whatever you do, don't polish the rods. The patina's gorgeous."

It was. I had almost covered the rods with white enamel. "Wherever did you find the fabric?"

"Oh, stashed away in a closet. If you like it you can pay me for it later. I think it cost twenty bucks."

"I like it." I also like the effect on the taupe walls. They were rapidly receding.

"Consider the pillows my housewarming present. I had them stashed away, too."

"Oh, Clara, thank you. I'll remember you in my will."

"I'll take the platform rocker," she said. "Tom, what do you think?" She had cleaned the handsome print
of Killerwhale. She climbed on the chair and set the print in the center of the mantel.

"Looks great," Tom said. "Thanks, Clara."

Clara winked at me. "On loan from the Lindquist gallery." The print matched nothing in the room and
looked exactly right.

Clara jumped down. "Don't hang it. That's a great mantel. Just let the print lean against the chimney.
And if anybody puts anything else up there, chop his hand off."

She whipped out a cigarette and lit it. I dashed to the windowsill and fetched her ashtray. I would buy
her a large ashtray of her very own. Maybe I would save her butts as relics. She had saved mine.

Clara left in a flurry of thanks, tossing suggestions over her shoulder. If I wanted to be twee, I could
hang photographs of ancient relatives in oval frames. Or I could put up some decent watercolors. She liked the
maps in the hall.

I said she should at least stop by after her picnic was rained out and take credit for the room. Clara
laughed. I stood on the porch and waved until the Karman Ghia disappeared.

"God, what a woman," Jay said.

Tom looked complacent. "I told you she has a great eye."

I gave him a hug. I hugged Bonnie. I kissed Jay on the mouth. Then I fixed breakfast. It was the least I
could do.

Jay took a long call from his mother that afternoon, about the time I decided I had done enough fussing
over the dining room table. Tom went off to the garden for more salad makings, Bonnie was at home whipping up
canapés, and Freddy, even stiffer than he had been the day before, was groaning over the computer.

Jay took the call upstairs. When I had double-checked the wine glasses, I decided to shower and get
dressed, so I heard snatches of his end of the conversation. What I heard was not very revealing, but he looked
interested. He was taking notes.

Since it was still gusting rain out, I set aside my optimistic California sundress and pulled a black and
white geometric tunic over a black turtleneck and stirrup pants. I finished my eye makeup and got out a pair of
dangly earrings.

Jay hung up. "You look more like a magpie than a lark in that outfit. Very forthright colors." He smiled at
me.

I scowled. I laid the black and white earrings down and took out a set of fuchsia disks.

"No," he said. "Try the turquoises."

The turquoises were a birthday gift. I held them up. "They're too small."

"Trust me. They do great things for your eyes."

This manipulation never failed. I stuck the silver wires through my earlobes and got up from the vanity.
"What did Nancy have to say?"

"A lot, but it'll keep. The Hagen Group is overextended. They got caught when the California real estate
market sagged."

"Hooray! Maybe they'll pull out."

He shrugged. "Not if this is the last property they own that's appreciating in value."

"Maybe a rich benefactor will buy it and donate it to the Nature Conservancy. Are you going to wear
those jeans?"

"Why not? It was supposed to be a barbecue."

I groaned. The jeans were covered with paint spatters. When Jay dressed for work he always looked
creased and spit-shined, no doubt a consequence of his years in uniform. At home, though, he tended toward
laid-back California Grubby. Since he was a reasonably laid-back Californian, that was not remarkable.

Downstairs, I put on a chef's apron and started sautéeing mushrooms and garlic for the pilaf.
Tom returned, wet and wind-blown, washed the salad greens for me, and then drifted off to get dressed. He was
not talkative. I thought he felt apprehensive about meeting Annie McKay.

The Knights arrived at five fifteen. Bonnie was arranging platters of crab puffs and cheese straws on the
buffet, and Jay and Freddy had not yet come down. I ripped off my apron, tossed it on one of the storage cartons
that still lined the dining room wall, and went to answer the doorbell.

I took Jean's exquisite tart of cranberry-glazed pears, babbling greetings as she made ritual kissing
noises and Jim said something hearty. They hung their rain gear on the coat rack while I showed Bonnie the
dessert. They greeted her like old friends and chose California wine over northwest beer.

We moved to the living room. Jay had laid a fire in the grate, so I lit a long match while Jean and Jim
exclaimed over the room's transformation. Their approval seemed genuine, and Jim, at least, had seen the room in
its bordello apotheosis. Jean stood in front of the coverlet, sipping her wine and looking at it while I poked the fire.
Bonnie was telling Jim about her break-in. He scrunched his broad, good-natured face into sympathetic lines.

The wind gusted and puff of smoke set me coughing. "I thought you said the chimney was swept,
Jim."

"So the Jorgensons told me." He reached around me and jiggled the lever that worked the draft. The air
cleared.

"Thanks."

"No problem. You've done wonders with this room, Lark. I wouldn't have recognized it."

I explained about Clara Klein's magic act.

Jean said, "The painter? No kidding?"

"She's a friend of Tom's."

Tom and Jay came in as if on cue and another round of greetings followed. Jay had changed into
respectable jeans and a sage-green cotton pullover. I gave him a wifely smile.

I took their orders--Full Sail for Jay, pinot noir for Tom--and when I returned found that Jim was
cross-examining Tom about the fire. They seemed to know each other at the level of politeness. The men took their
drinks. As I turned to go for the canapés I caught a glimpse of Bonnie. She was standing by the fireplace,
nursing her wineglass, and she was looking at Tom with a gleam in her eyes. I slipped back across the hall in a
thoughtful mood.

Bonnie had found Tom interesting from the first, and not just literarily. That night I could see why. He
was wearing a white tennis sweater with a navy edging stripe over a navy turtleneck, tan slacks, and those
hard-soled brown moccasins so beloved of menswear catalogues. Suitable and unsurprising for a casual holiday dinner,
though Bonnie had forgotten to tell him it wasn't trendy to wear socks. The change from gray sweats and jeans was
startling. I had the feeling Tom would look like a million dollars in an Italian silk suit. Just then he looked like an
author. Bonnie could be pleased with her handiwork.

I hoped that was what the gleam meant. I felt protective of both of them. They had been thrown
together by circumstance, but they didn't know each other, and Tom was a murder suspect. There was no getting
around that. I didn't believe he had killed Cleo Hagen, but I foresaw a lot of grief for Bonnie if he were charged. If I
wasn't misinterpreting the gleam.

As I picked up the platter of crab puffs, the bell rang again, so I carried the canapés with me when
I went to the door. Darla stood on the porch.

"Good heavens, Darla, are you all right? How did you get here?"

"My brother." She was wearing a white beaded headband, an orthopedic neck brace, and a tan
raincoat.

I peered past her. "Ask him to come in."

"He has a date." She stepped in and began sliding out of her raincoat as I looked around for a place to
set the crab puffs down. Under the raincoat, she wore a cream tunic with fringed sleeves and slim pants, very
pretty, but the collar looked odd.

I gripped the platter. "I wish you'd called. I'd have sent Jay for you. Come in and get warm. We have a
fire going. Would you like wine or beer?"

She hung her coat on the rack, wincing. "I'll have a Coke, thanks. I'm still on pain medication."

I led her to the living room. "Jim, Jean, here's Darla Sweet. Darla is Tom's cousin. She and my
brother-in-law were at Stanford together." I set the platter on the coffee table. The Knights shook hands,
and I explained to Darla who they were. Unnecessary. Jean and Darla had met at the hearings that dealt with
the resort variances.

Jay installed Darla on the platform rocker. She gave a small grunt of pain as she sat then smiled up at
him. "Thanks. Everything looks terrific. I like the print on the mantel."

Tom said, "It's mine. On loan. Are you okay, kid?"

She grimaced. "I feel like a liability suit. Where's Freddy?"

Where was Freddy? I hadn't noticed his absence.

Jay said, "I'll go get him. He's probably still working on the computer."

"And I'll get your Coke." As I made for the kitchen, Bonnie was explaining the wreck to the Knights. Tom
was watching Darla.

I poured Darla's Coke into a tall glass and added a couple of ice cubes. Thumps from above suggested
that Freddy would be coming down too, so I poured another Coke. I glanced at the clock. It was almost six. Where
were the McKays? Should I start the salmon? It was oven-ready, wrapped in foil in a glass baking dish. I removed it
from the refrigerator and set it on the stove top then stood wavering. Should I preheat the oven? I decided to wait
until the McKays showed up. I hoped my guests wouldn't be falling down drunk by the time the food was
ready.

I delivered the Cokes and went back to the dining room for the cheese straws and the stack of little
cocktail napkins. The crab puffs were disappearing rapidly. Everyone seemed cheerful, so I decided not to brood.
The doorbell rang again. I caught Jay's eye, and he slipped out of the room to answer it. He returned with Clara
Klein.

"Hello, everyone. Looks like a party." She gave a comprehensive grin and whipped out a cigarette. I had
cleaned the ash tray and set it on the bookcase. I retrieved it and brought it to her.

"Thanks, Lark. You're the Knights?"

Another round of greetings, a glass of chardonnay. I was glad to see Clara. Her picnic had washed out.
She was starving, she said. I thrust the cheese straws at her and glanced at my watch. Five minutes.

Tom appeared at my elbow. He said quietly, "Go ahead with the salmon, Lark. It tastes good cold."

I gave him a grateful smile and went off to preheat the oven. I had just turned the knobs to the right
settings when the doorbell rang again. This time I didn't run to answer it. I set the pilaf in my warming oven and
strolled back to the hall. Jay and Bonnie were doing the honors, Jay removing wet rain gear.

Annie McKay spotted me and advanced with her hand held out. "Sorry we're late. Unexpected company.
What a nice little house, Lark." At least she didn't say what a nice little bullet hole. She was wearing a raw-silk
pantsuit that reminded me again of the corpse.

I forced a smile and shook hands. "I'm glad you could come."

"Through the deluge. So hard on California transplants."

I said coolly, "Jay and Bonnie are Californians, but I'm from upstate New York originally. After seven
years of drought, I relish rain. Is this--"

Annie placed a proprietary hand on the big man's sleeve. "My husband, Bob. Lark and--"

"Jay," I supplied. "And our neighbor, Bonnie Bell."

"Jay teaches law-enforcement classes at the college, Bob." Annie gave her husband a look that said
Behave yourself
. She held out her hand to Jay. "Bob's on the Board of Trustees."

Jay shook her hand, rumbling a polite noise.

Bob McKay gave us a blurred smile, the men shook hands, and Annie and Bonnie nodded at each other.
I told the newcomers to place their drink orders with Bonnie, excused myself, and went back to my salmon.

Bob McKay looked more like Jim Knight than like his own cousin. Slightly shorter than my six feet, he
was blondish gray with thinning hair and rather red-faced. He wore an expensively casual jacket that
de-emphasized his belly, and no socks with his moccasins. His eyes were watery blue. He looked as if he had been
massaged within an inch of his life.

I formed no impression of Bob's personality, but I got the distinct feeling he wasn't thrilled to be where
he was. I wondered if Annie dragged him to all her community encounters. I wondered what he did for a
living.

I chunked the salmon in the oven and set the timer. As I went to the refrigerator for the salad, Bonnie
entered. She almost bumped into me, and she looked rather flushed.

"What is it?" I backed away to give her room.

"I found our fall guy."

"What?"

"For the murder. Bob McKay."

"Good grief."

"He wants a Beefeater martini up with two olives."

"Uh--"

"And the SOB pinched my ass."

"Oh, Bonnie, I'm sorry." I meditated. Neither Jay nor I drink the hard stuff as a rule, so my liquor supply
was scanty. My mother's tipple is gin and tonic. She swears it's impossible to distinguish one gin from another in a
mixed drink. She always buys whatever is cheapest. I had a fifth of Old Bathtub.

I took out a small glass pitcher and tossed in half a dozen ice cubes. "Get me the jar of olives from the
door of the fridge."

"Right."

I measured two jiggers of gin onto the ice cubes. "The sherbet glasses are in the cupboard."

Bonnie set the olives on the counter and brought a glass. Fortunately it wasn't the kind with a hollow
stem. "Where's the vermouth?"

"A martini takes vermouth? This one will be very, very dry." I strained the cold gin into the glass,
stabbed a couple of green olives with a toothpick, dribbled a bit of olive brine into the mess, and gave it a stir with
the olive-laden toothpick. "
Voilá
."