by Nancy Bush
Feeling Sam’s eyes on her, Dunbar said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday when you called.”
Sam had only asked for her because she’d been friendly when he’d met her a number of months earlier when he’d first applied for the job. “You saw Jules today?” he questioned.
“Yes. I tried to interview her, but she didn’t have any memory of the accident.”
“None?” the sheriff asked.
“She doesn’t even know who she is. I talked to her doctor, Dr. Lillard, who says she took a hard blow to the head and is working to put her memories back.”
“She has to know who she is.” Sam’s voice was full of his disbelief.
The sheriff looked as skeptical as Sam.
Dunbar said, “Right now she’s having trouble with all her memories. I asked Dr. Lillard when they would return and he said to be patient.” She made a face and pressed a hand to the small of her back. “He said she needed to physically heal first. I got the feeling he thought she was . . . I don’t know, holding back because she maybe doesn’t want to remember. Once she’s healed, then we’ll know more.”
Sam wasn’t buying it. Jules was faking. Maybe not on purpose, exactly, but she was deliberately not facing the truth of her memories. There was no way she wouldn’t remember who she was. Sam felt angry and frustrated. The longer they delayed, the more it was going to take to get to the bottom of what happened.
The sheriff said to Sam, “I’d like a full accounting of what happened yesterday. How you ended up finding your sister-in-law.”
“I was first on the beach.”
“How?”
Vandra’s voice was tense. The man was genial enough on the surface, but there was a whole lot going on underneath. Sam briefly asked himself if he still wanted a position as a deputy and decided he might, if it was still available. But he wasn’t ready yet. He had a lot of questions about his brother’s death and, though he could use the department’s help, he would be stonewalled from the investigation because he was family. But he needed to give them the facts.
Sam said, “I got a message from my brother. A text. He wanted me to meet him at his dock at noon. It wasn’t how we usually communicated. In fact, we usually didn’t communicate much at all, at least lately. I thought the message was . . . odd. It put me on edge. When I got to his house, there was no one there and the boat wasn’t there. I figured he’d taken it, so I went to the jetty and that’s when I saw the smoke on the horizon. . . .”
“How did you know the boat was your brother’s?” Vandra asked.
“I didn’t. But his text seemed imperative, and I started worrying. And then I started wondering about the beach north of the jetty that’s hard to get to, so I went in the water.” Sam went on to explain about finding Jules, and then the hospital and going back to Joe and Jules’s house.
He did not mention the note about the Cardaman file, nor his father’s warning, “It’s about the money.” Until he knew more, he wanted to do some lone wolf investigating. He could tell the Sheriff’s Department what he learned later, after they determined whether Joe’s death was an accident, or not.
“Why were you and your brother not communicating?” the sheriff asked.
Sam had an image of Jules as he’d last seen her at the hospital: thin, scared, and confused. “Just fell out of the habit,” he lied. “He had his life and I had mine.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“I’d have to think. . . .”
It was when Cardaman was first arrested. Joe had called Sam to reassure him that he wasn’t involved with the man, not that Sam had asked. It was like his brother forgot he wasn’t part of his financial circle. Cardaman had been accused of being part of a Ponzi scheme, illegally “selling” and “reselling” the same property many times over to different investors, all of whom believed they owned a particular tract of real estate when none of them did. Cardaman had pocketed the money at each transaction, while the blithely unaware investors believed they’d invested in something real.
“What?” Langdon Stone asked, and Sam realized the detective must’ve read something on his face.
Did this accident have something to do with Cardaman after all? Was Joe involved at some level? Had he gotten involved in some shady transactions, illegal transactions? Sam didn’t believe it. Not Joe. Not straight-arrow Joe.
Yet . . . maybe . . . Joe had texted him about something and now he was gone.
Could Jules know?
“Mr. Ford?” the sheriff demanded impatiently.
“The last time I saw Joe was at my father’s assisted living place about a month ago. Sea and Sunset Retirement Living in Seaside.” That was the truth. After Joe’s phone call, they’d run into each other, both visiting their father at the same time.
“Does your father know about your brother’s death?” Dunbar asked.
“I told him this morning. I stopped by there before coming here.”
“That last time you and your brother visited your father, what was your take on your brother? Anything unusual?” Vandra questioned.
“If you mean was he nervous or acting different, no. We were just there seeing Dad. There wasn’t much of a conversation. My father kind of talks about what he wants to talk about and we just listen.”
But Joe was preoccupied. You noticed it and wondered if it had anything to do with Cardaman.
Sam wished he’d tried harder with Joe. He should have gotten over the Jules thing two years ago, when she and Joe got married. He should have stayed close to his brother.
His head started aching again. The pain had pretty much receded, but his grief kept bringing it back.
“Any other family members that need to be told of your brother’s death?” Savannah asked.
Georgie. Joe’s stepdaughter . . . no, adopted daughter. God, he wasn’t even sure. Georgie used to be closer to Joe than her own mother, maybe still was, unless Joe’s marriage to Jules interfered with that relationship. His father had brought up Georgie this morning, but she wasn’t a blood relative. He rubbed his forehead and grimaced, deciding he needed to talk to Gwen first. “No.”
“Do you have any thoughts on why Joe wanted to see you yesterday?” the sheriff asked.
“No. But it was unusual enough for me to drop everything and come. I tried calling him, but he didn’t answer his cell. I don’t suppose you found his phone?”
Vandra shook his head. “If it was on the boat, it could be in the ocean. There wasn’t much left of the vessel. It burned hot and fast. We’ve towed in the hulk. We’ll see what forensics has to say.”
“You think it wasn’t an accident, though. That’s why you posted the guard.”
“I posted the guard,” Stone interceded. “Strictly precautionary. We don’t know enough yet to say.”
The sheriff’s weight shifted in his desk chair, causing the spring beneath to squeak in protest. “Might be that we pull that guard. At this point all we’ve got is a boat accident. No real evidence of foul play.”
Sam could see Stone’s lips tighten, but the detective merely nodded his head.
“We want to make sure everyone’s safe, that’s for certain,” the sheriff went on, as if talking to Stone. “But we’re stretched pretty thin around here as it is and Detective Dunbar isn’t up to full capacity just now. She’s going on maternity leave soon, so I’m going to tell Ramirez to come back to the station.”
“When will we hear from forensics?” Sam asked.
“The department will hear fairly soon, I’d think.” The sheriff was drawing his line in the sand, letting Sam know that he wasn’t part of the team . . . yet.
“What about an autopsy?” Sam asked. He hadn’t been interested, when asked about it earlier, but he’d been in shock, hadn’t yet gotten his bearings . . . maybe he still hadn’t.
“We’ll run toxicology and see what else was going on,” Vandra answered. “You don’t know anything more about your brother’s state of mind? Something that might have led to this?”
“We want to be sure the fire was an accident. Not deliberately set”—the sheriff went on—“by anyone.”
The other shoe dropped. The sheriff was hinting that Joe had started the fire himself. Sam said, “My brother wasn’t suicidal.”
“Not suggesting he was.” Vandra sat back again, a line forming between his brows. “Just looking for information. Anything at all that you remember or might know that could help.”
This was his time to bring up the note about Cardaman, but he kept his mouth shut because his instincts still told him to wait. He didn’t like the way Sheriff Vandra seemed to be angling to blame Joe. Maybe the fire was an accident. Maybe the whole thing was just an unfortunate and terrible tragedy, but Sam wanted to make sure himself. What he needed to do was go back to Joe and Jules’s house ASAP and do some searching of his own.
“I wish I could help you,” Sam said.
The sheriff studied him a moment, then turned to his two detectives. “I want to keep Ford’s name from the media as long as possible. That damn Phoenix Delacourt has been like a plague around here today, and I want to keep her shut down until I’m ready.”
“She left a while ago,” Dunbar informed him.
The sheriff snorted. “Thinks she’s an investigative reporter for the North Coast Spirit. Deluded hippie should stick to arts and crafts and beer festivals.”
Neither the detectives nor Sam responded to his remark. The North Coast Spirit was a small newspaper that chronicled local news, and Phoenix Delacourt, Sam’s onetime lineman Brady Delacourt’s aunt, wrote about local happenings up and down the coast.
Vandra added, “I talked to the television people this morning and that’s all they’re getting for now.”
The four of them talked for another half hour with nothing more of import being said, then Sam left Sheriff Vandra’s office with detectives Dunbar and Stone.
Dunbar confessed, “My leave from the department may be permanent. I have a little boy at home, too, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I may be retiring, at least for a few years. The deputy job’s still open, and the department hires from within.”
She was telling him that he could be on a fast track to detective, if that’s what he wanted. A part of him felt like jumping at the opportunity, but another part was still holding back. Right now he didn’t want to be yoked by the rules of law enforcement. A far cry from how he’d felt when he’d first become an officer.
“Thanks,” he said, shaking both of their hands.
He headed up the highway back toward Jules and Joe’s house, stopping off at the jetty to look out toward the ocean once more. The day was filled with fluffy, white, cumulus clouds and the sea sparkled in diamonds beneath the sun. Its beauty made him feel melancholy and for a moment his throat was hot.
Joe . . .
They should have had time to repair the breach between them. He ached inside to make it right, and now it was too late.
And Jules?
He turned his head to the south, thinking of her lying in the hospital. Temporary amnesia? He didn’t believe it. The doctors could all walk around with long, serious faces and speak gobbledegook theory all day long, but he didn’t believe it. He was angry at her. Really mad at her. If that was transference, so be it. He wanted to shake her and demand answers.
Instead he got back into his truck and headed north to their home on the river, across the highway and about five miles from the small but well-monied town of Salchuk. He got to the house about thirty minutes later and pulled into the drive. He didn’t have a key, but the same window was a little bit ajar.
Looking around, he saw the neighbor woman who’d waved at him sitting on her back deck, staring across the river at him as he moved to the back of the house. She waved again and he lifted his hand, not sure how he was going to explain climbing in the window.
She cupped her hands over her mouth. “You’re Joe’s brother,” she called.
He did the same, hollering back. “Yep. I’m Sam. I’m locked out. Gonna climb in this window.”
“Where’s Julia?”
He debated for a moment. The guard outside Jules’s door was a precautionary measure, so it didn’t seem like information he could just yell at a neighbor even though the names of the people involved in the boat accident would probably hit the news by this evening, no matter what measures the sheriff took. “She’s gone for a few days. So’s Joe.”
“I’ve got a spare key,” she yelled, and then headed into her house. A few minutes later she held it up for him to see, then climbed into a kayak and paddled her way over to Joe and Jules’s dock.
Sam helped her out of the kayak. She was about five foot seven, with rounded curves and a moon-shaped face carved with dimples. She wore tan shorts and a white tank top and had a solid, muscular shape. “I’m Tutti, like tutti-frutti,” she said, handing him the key. “Glad to meet you, Sam Ford. I’ve known Julia and Joe since they moved in a year and a half ago or so. My husband, may the bastard rest in peace, and I built our place about six years ago.”
“You’re a widow?” Sam glanced over at her house, recognizing signs of neglect now that he was looking: weathered boards; shaggy bushes and landscaping that had gone to seed; gutters that hung a little too far down and maybe hadn’t been cleaned in some time.
“No, I just wish him dead.” She smiled, appraising him with frank appreciation.
He got the sense she uttered that line often, looking for a reaction.
“Dirk and I are separated and have been for years. Been meaning to get that divorce, but that would mean sharing assets and I don’t like to share. He found himself someone else, and so I did the same, and for a while we just screwed our brains out with whoever we could find, just to get back at each other, y’know. But then, that got old, at least for me. I decided I wanted a real relationship next time, but that next time just hasn’t quite happened yet.”
“I see.”
She laughed. “I’m making you uncomfortable. Don’t mind me.” She waved a hand down the river, encompassing the two rows of houses facing each other over the water. “They all’ve heard every little detail about my life, so I thought I’d just get it out there first. What about you? Have you taken the plunge into the waters of marital bliss? You look single.”
“Divorced.”
“Joe never mentioned he had a brother. If you didn’t look so much like him, I wouldn’t give you the key.”
“We hadn’t been in touch for a while.”
“He also didn’t mention they were leaving. When did they go?”
“Yesterday. They took the boat out in the morning.”
She glanced down at her kayak, which was tied up next to the empty boat slip. “I was in Seaside. I work part-time at Elite Designs on Holladay. You know it? The furniture store?”
“I’ve seen it.” Holladay Street was one of Seaside’s main roads.
She cocked her head. “Usually they say something if they’re going to be gone overnight. When will they be back?”
He thought about telling her the truth. She seemed to know quite a bit about Joe and Jules and might be a source of information. But he debated with himself too long and she held up one arm.
“Enough questions. You look like you want to get rid of me. Okay. I can take a hint.” She offered an enticing look at her backside as she maneuvered into the kayak. “Some of the other Fishers are coming over to my house for an afternoon barbecue later today. Join us? You can tell us why we’ve never met you before, and where the hell Joe and Julia are.”
“Fishers?”
“That’s just what we call each other. This is Fisher Canal, you know.”
“Ah, yes.”
“So, are you in?”
“I’ve got some things to do, but I’ll try.” Her frankness reminded him a little of when he’d first met Jules.
“Don’t let me scare you now.” She had climbed back
into the kayak and held the paddle over her legs, making no effort to immediately leave. “I’m good friends with Julia. We talk, y’know? Don’t know your brother quite as well. He’s always working. In fact I have some investments with him. So does Dirk, I think, but he’s an asshole, so who cares. Come on by. You’ll find their canoe inside the garage, I bet. Otherwise you can drive around, but it’s a couple of miles by road. So close, but yet so far, right?” She picked up the oar and headed back across the narrow river. “Six o’clock. Bring a bottle of wine.”
“Okay.”
He tried the key to the back slider and it worked. Stepping inside the yellow and white kitchen, he watched Tutti reach her property and nimbly climb up the couple of rungs of the ladder that led to her wooden dock. She looked back, saw him staring through the window, and waved.
Sam waved back, lost in thought. It had been nearly a day since the boating accident and the discovery of Joe’s body. Time to move forward. He pulled out his cell and placed a call to Gwen Ford, Joe’s ex, Georgie’s mother, whose number was still in his contact list. It had been there since she and Joe were first married and he half expected it to have changed. But he recognized her voice when she answered impatiently, “Hello?” That’s what he remembered about her, her impatience.
“Hi, Gwen, it’s Sam Ford.”
“Sam. Well. This is a surprise.” Then, “What’s wrong?” as her radar clicked in and she jumped to the right conclusion. A call from Sam was unusual.
“There’s been a boating accident. . . .”
Her breath swept in. “Oh, my God. I saw it on the news! That was Joe’s boat? Georgie said it looked like Joe’s boat!”
“It was Joe’s boat.” He found his throat tightening.
“Oh, God . . . oh, oh, God . . . Is he all right?”
“It was a recovery mission, Gwen.”
“What does that . . . oh, shit. Hell. Recovery . . . not . . .”
“Not rescue.”
“Joe?”
“Yes.”
A pause. “And Julia?”
“Jules is all right, but Joe didn’t survive.”
“Damn. I can’t . . .” She gulped in several deep breaths and it gave time for Sam to steady his own emotions. “He’s dead?”
