She closed the door gently behind her, then stood for a moment with her back pressed against it, fighting back tears. Maybe Brandon had needed that conversation for closure, but she hadn't. She felt gutted. Even now, Brandon didn't understand exactly how badly he'd hurt her, and he probably never would. He kept trying to blame the entire world rather than himself.
A door slammed shut somewhere along the corridor, and Dorothy Stickman came out holding her purse in front of her like a shield. With his coat slung behind his shoulder, Calvin Donaldson came out of the same room humming a Sinatra tune. They both smiled at each other, then linked hands and continued out the door without noticing Rachel.
*****
Chapter 17
Escape Artist
Emily popped her head through the kitchen door, and at her ankles, Scooter popped his head in too. "Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?"
Rachel was behind the counter, painstakingly dropping purple food coloring into her white chocolate glaze. She was slightly behind on the prep work for the galaxy cake, and the last thing she needed was a distraction.
"Kinda busy," she said, her voice short.
"Well, I'm here to return this little rascal to you," Emily said.
Rachel looked down to see Scooter with Emily and gave an exclamation. "What's he doing with you? I thought he was locked up in his play area!"
"Turns out this little guy is an escape artist," Emily said. "I found him playing with Ollie in our backyard. Looks like he really enjoyed staying over with us the other night."
“Oh, man." Rachel scooped Scooter up. "We're going to have to build you a proper prison cell at this rate."
"Why not keep him in the kitchen with you?"
"He sheds too much hair—can't have him in the kitchen while I work," Rachel said. "I leave him out in the backyard instead, but I think he's chewed a hole through the mesh nets or something."
"What are you making anyhow?" Emily hopped up on a stool and looked with interest at all the ingredients laid out on the counter. "Looks complicated."
"It's the galaxy cake, version two." Rachel smiled. "Dorothy Stickman wants an exact replica of the cake Stan Stickman was found face-first in. Kind of a twisted tribute to him."
"She wants to display that after the funeral?" Emily looked horrified. "Does the woman have no sense? It won't go down so well. Anyone who knows how he was found won't want to eat it."
"I don't think she cares," Rachel said. "She wants to shock people. She's hoping the murderer will give themself away when he or she sees the cake."
"Or maybe she did Stan in and this is her twisted way of boasting." Emily shook her head. "Dorothy is nuts."
Rachel bit her lip and uttered, "Dorothy's also having an affair with Calvin Donaldson. I saw them at the hospital yesterday holding hands."
"Well of course they're having an affair." Emily waved that away. "It's probably the reason she and Stan divorced. If you ask me, she's the one who's done him in."
"You don't like Dorothy much, do you?"
"I don't like cheaters," Emily said simply. "Maybe Calvin doesn't like his wife much, and maybe Stan wasn't so easy to live with. It doesn't justify cheating."
"Well, since Dorothy was in the process of divorcing Stan, I guess she didn't technically cheat," Rachel pointed out. "Calvin, on the other hand . . ."
"One of them is most likely the killer, you know," Emily said. "I mean, Calvin was furious that night when Stan punched him." Emily paused to admire the different colored glazes. "These are so pretty. They look like oil paints or something."
"Thanks." Rachel smiled. "Edible oil paints. The glitter is edible too. It's basically colored sugar crushed up." She took a spoonful of the dark sugar glitter and poured it into Emily's palm. It lay there, a small mound glittering under the fluorescent lights. "I sprinkle this right at the end so it looks like a million stars in the sky."
"Fabulous." Emily brought her palm up to her mouth and snaked out her tongue, licking it up. "Delicious, too."
Rachel smiled. "The funeral's tomorrow. Will you and Jay be going? Since he was a client."
"Jay will. I'd rather not," Emily said. "Scott will be there too, just as an observer."
"Oh." Rachel hadn't seen Scott since the night of the meteor shower. Normally, he or Emily were always popping into her kitchen at odd hours for coffee or conversation. They'd done that when her Aunt Rose was alive, and it was easy to fall back into the habit with Rachel. There was an unusual silence from Scott, however, and Rachel knew why. He was clearly still angry at her for implying that he was going to let personal feelings get in the way of being a good detective.
Emily was staring at her with a raised eyebrow. Rachel snapped out of her thoughts. "What?"
"What?" Emily asked back, her tone challenging. "Are you going to tell me why you've been looking like Mourning Myrtle since I came in? Or are you just going to keep pretending everything is fine?"
"Everything is fine," Rachel said. Her hand shook a bit as she added pink drops of coloring into a smaller bowl of glaze.
"You are such a terrible liar," Emily said. "Spit it out. What's bugging you?"
"I don't want to spit it out," Rachel said. "I've got a good life here, okay? A great life. I don't want to go on whining about stupid, stupid things like my feelings."
Emily cocked her head, and Rachel felt a twinge of sadness. Scott made the same gesture whenever he was confused. It always reminded her of a shaggy dog.
"Did you and Scott have a fight?" Emily asked. "He's been looking grumpy since the meteor shower, and when I asked him why, he snapped at me and told me to mind my own business."
"Well, he's probably just stressing about the case," Rachel said.
"Yes, and you're probably just stressing about the cake," Emily said. "Just a coincidence that you're both in bad moods."
"Yes."
"Well, I'm going to text him and invite him over here then," Emily said, lifting her phone up. "Maybe some cake will help get his mind off . . ."
"No, don't!" Rachel exclaimed.
With quiet triumph, Emily laid the phone down on the counter.
"I know what you're doing," Rachel said. "It's been obvious for a while now. You're trying to set me and Scott up. You know, as a couple."
"Moi?" Emily pointed to herself, still looking smug, and shook her head in an exaggerated motion. "Never! Why would I ever want my good friend and my older brother to get together? The horror!"
Rachel banged the spoon on the counter and gave a little growl. "Honestly. Stop doing that. Stop matchmaking."
"I will if you two stop acting like overdramatic high schoolers," Emily said. "You're both attracted to each other and won't admit it. The chemistry is so obvious. Just kiss already."
Rachel stared at her, openmouthed.
"What? You can't deny that you want to," Emily pointed out.
"Did Scott say he wants to?"
"Do you want to write me a note and I can pass it on to him?" Emily teased. "I know my brother. He obviously likes you but is too thickheaded to make a move."
"Look, if you want to be blunt, I do like Scott. I mean who wouldn't, right? He's good-looking, steady, he's a sheriff, and he's got this amazing playful sense of humor."
Emily put her hands together near her heart and pretended to swoon.
"But I'm really not ready for a relationship, and I don't know if I ever will be," Rachel said. "I'm not over my ex yet, and I think I ruined whatever I had with Scott anyway because of it."
"Brandon?" Emily grew serious. "You think you still like him?"
"No, I still hate him," Rachel said. "And you can't go into a relationship with someone while you still hate your ex. I mean, the hate and trust issues just spill over, right?"
"I wouldn't know," Emily pointed out. "Jay was kind of my high school sweetheart."
"Yes, lucky you," Rachel said. "See, this is why I didn't want to talk about it. Feelings are stupid."
Emily blinked. "When did you turn into an eleven-y
ear-old boy? “Feelings are stupid indeed!"
"Well, they are!" Rachel resisted the urge to pick up the spoon and bang it on the counter again. She kicked her leg against the table instead. "I was doing fine. I was sorting out my life; I was starting a new business; I was settling into Swaddle, and suddenly Brandon comes waltzing in. You know he made a play for me yesterday at the hospital? He tried to get me to forgive him and take him back."
"Wow." Emily's head went back a little. "I didn't realize. What did you say?"
"I told him to jump into a well," Rachel said. "He's lucky I didn't push him into one."
"Rach . . ." Emily hesitated. "You know that old saying, "Our deepest hate is reserved for the ones we deeply love"?
"Never heard it," Rachel said. "It's a stupid saying."
"Yes, and Brandon is a meanie-head with cooties," Emily's voice had the slightest mocking tone to it.
Rachel lifted her spoon and pointed it dramatically at Emily. "No cake for you if you tease me."
"I'm not teasing you, but it's probably best to take a break from Scott for a while till you figure out what your feelings are," Emily said.
"I've got no choice in the matter. Scott's taking a break from me. I . . . I accused him of something stupid the other night, and he's been cold ever since."
Rachel told Emily the whole thing, and Emily covered her face with a palm. "Oh my god. That was kind of a low blow, Rachel. Scott had just saved Brandon's life!"
"I was just . . . it was a very confusing night," Rachel said.
"Did you at least apologize to Scott?" Emily asked.
"Well . . . I . . . no." That had never even occurred to Rachel. Now that it did, she felt like an idiot.
"So basically, you insulted Scott. He did something extra-sweet by finding a way to watch the meteor shower even in the hospital, not to mention he'd just saved Brandon's life so it was a stupid accusation to make—and you decided not to apologize. Why exactly?"
"Because . . . I'm an idiot," Rachel said, realization dawning upon her.
Emily spread her hands. "I rest my case."
"Okay, yeah I get that. But . . . like . . . maybe it's better not to apologize and just stay distant for now," Rachel said. "I mean, with Brandon in the picture and everything."
"So you still have feelings for Brandon?"
"I mean its impossible not to," Rachel said. "I was with Brandon for eight years. I've grown into an adult with him. He was very good to me, and . . . well, I'll always have a soft spot for him. I refuse to forgive him for what he did to me, though. He broke my heart and I'm not going to forgive him for it. Ideally, I never want to see him again, but right now I don't have a choice. He's right here, and he reminds me of this entire life that I led and loved. I loved being in the city. It was tough being near-broke and running a start-up, but even those days were kind of exciting. I was a different person then." Rachel took a breath.
"And I know you said you hate love triangles, Emily, but I do like Scott too—I like him a lot. I think he's adorable, the way he plays with Scooter, and the way his face shines when he's talking about sci-fi, and the way he's so protective of you and Ollie, and the way he has a strong sense of right and wrong, and the way he takes time out to watch meteor showers, and the way he selflessly jumps into a rough ocean just to save a stranger's life, and . . ." Emily was giving her a bright smile, and Rachel stopped, confused. "What?"
"Nothing. I'll let you figure it out," Emily said. "I'm sorry I was so judgmental about love triangles the other day. Maybe sometimes they just happen, and it isn't anyone's fault."
"Well, I don't know." Rachel buried her head in her arms. "I don't want to think about it. There's bigger things at play anyway. Like Stan Stickman. This stupid love stuff doesn't matter. A man's dead, and nobody has any idea who killed him."
Emily grinned again. "It's really weird seeing this little-kid-who-thinks-love-is-rubbish side of you, you know. I'd never have suspected it."
"Seriously, no cake for you if you tease me," Rachel said.
"Ok, I'm not going to say a word," Emily said. "I'll just ask you this—are you regretting the past, or the present?"
"What?" Rachel didn't understand.
"Think about it . . . and while you're at it, Ollie's birthday is coming up. Can I place an order for a galaxy cake for him? He loved the meteor shower, so I think he'll love a space-based cake."
"Sure," Rachel said. "Consider it done."
*****
Chapter 18
The Scrapbook
Stan's funeral was a quiet affair, with only a handful of close friends attending. Rachel wasn't one of them. The post-funeral reception, however, was a large open-house gathering in Stan's cliffside mansion. The house had the sort of modernist architecture that Rachel had never cared much for, but was all the rage with those who had money to spare. It stood perched on the cliff's edge with its stark white walls, floor-to-ceiling glass windows and an overall boxy, minimalist look. Rachel placed the galaxy cake near the entrance, where a deli-style spread was also laid out on a long rectangular table. It looked completely out of place among the grieving, standing all shiny and studded with sparkles. The main hall was open-plan, with a sunken living room and a small swimming pool with a retractable, wooden cover. A grand piano stood near the French windows, and one of the guests, or perhaps a hired musician, was playing a mournful dirge on the piano.
"The cake looks wonderful," someone said. Rachel turned around to see a somber Calvin Donaldson, dressed in a dark suit and silver-gray tie. Wilbur stood next to him, plucking at his sleeves and clearly uncomfortable.
"I'm . . . surprised to see you here," Rachel said. "I didn't think you liked Stan very much."
"I didn't," Calvin admitted. "I'm here to support Dorothy."
That surprised Rachel too. Considering he was a politician running a mayoral campaign, Calvin wasn't trying too hard to hide his affair with Dorothy.
"Your wife isn't here?" Rachel asked.
"My younger daughter has the flu, and Melina decided to stay home and look after her instead," Calvin said easily. He looked past Rachel, and his smile brightened a little. Rachel turned to see Dorothy making her way toward them with a glass of wine in her hand.
"What a nightmare of a day." Dorothy sighed, gulping down the wine. "I just want it to be over."
"I'm proud of you." Calvin rubbed her shoulder. "You're very brave to do this. Another woman would have pawned off the duty to an assistant. Stan didn't deserve the final farewell you've given him."
"Don't say that!" Dorothy snapped. She looked away for a moment, her jaw shaking as she tried to control herself. Calvin looked embarrassed and alarmed.
"Dorothy, I only meant . . ."
"Whatever happened between me and Stan, he was a good husband for a long time, Dorothy said. "I don't know . . . things got bad in the last few years but . . ." She sighed. "I don't know. Maybe we could have made it work. Maybe I was too hasty when I started divorce proceedings."
"If you don't mind me asking," Rachel said, "why did you? Twenty-five years is a long time to be married. Divorcing him must have broken your heart."
"Oh, it did," Dorothy said. "More so because it showed me a side of him that I hadn't seen before—all his cruelty. Stan was a hard man to love under any circumstance. But then, I'm a hard woman to love too."
"No, you're not," Calvin piped up. "You're a wonderful woman who deserves a wonderful man."
"Calvin . . ." Wilbur put a hand on Calvin's sleeve, "We'd better make the rounds, hadn't we? There are other guests here who want to speak to you."
"Hang it, Wilbur, the campaigning can wait a day or two."
"No, you should go," Dorothy said. "I want to show Rachel something anyway. Ask her what she makes of it."
"Alright," Calvin said reluctantly. "Come on, Wilbur . . . let's go shake hands with the people like you wanted."
Dorothy, meanwhile, hooked her hand through Rachel's arm, and led her to the side. Here, she opened a door to a
room with an amazing view of the ocean, and shelves of books all over its walls. In the center stood a single mahogany desk with a mess of papers and an old laptop on it.
"Stan's study, as you might have guessed," Dorothy said.
Rachel looked at the books on the shelves—everything from Stephen Hawking's A Brief History Of Time to Charles Dickens' Great Expectations. Surprisingly, there was also pile after pile of cheap comic books and pulp fiction novels. Stan had clearly not been a picky reader.
"After Stan died, I cleared out his bank locker," Dorothy said. "I found something that baffled me. I told the sheriff, but I'm not sure how much he listened. Then I thought back to what Brandon said about hiring a private detective . . . maybe you could take a look and tell me what you think?"
"Oh . . ." Rachel took a step back. "Listen, I don't know what you've heard about me, but catching Arthur Rafferty's killer was just a fluke. I'm a terrible detective."
"Maybe." Dorothy shrugged. "Still, it's worth a try." She brought out a slim notebook from inside a drawer, and flipped it open. It was a scrapbook of sorts, with several newspaper articles pasted into it. They seemed to all relate to the same case, over and over:
"Body Found Near Wyoming National Highway."
"Murdered Boy was Popular High School Athlete."
"Justice For Vincent, Parents Demand."
"Two Juveniles Taken into Custody."
"Jalopy Springs Townspeople Protest Lenient Sentencing in Vincent Abraham Case."
"Five Years on, Jalopy Springs Still Mourns Vincent Abraham While His Murderers Roam Free."
Rachel went through the articles, which painted a sordid story. Thirty-three years ago, a young basketball player had apparently been lured outside his home late at night by two friends. The friends had then proceeded to murder the boy brutally. The police had initially suspected a wandering drifter, of the murder before realizing that the victim, Vincent Abraham had been killed by his two supposed best friends instead. The two murderers, Kevin Johnson and Cody Halliday had been tried as juveniles and received a reduced sentence as a result and the townspeople had strongly protested against this.
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