by Nancy Bush
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.
Chapter Nine
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, unabl
e 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.
“Don’t even think it,” Booth disabused her swiftly. “No dogs. Jane can take care of this one.” He paused. “Who’s Aunt Eugenie?”
I filled him in as best I could as we made plans to eat out after all. I was hankering for somewhere cheap, but Booth said Billy Leonard had mentioned a place right on the water: Foster’s On The Lake. My protestations that I’d just been there fell on deaf ears.
We were standing at the outdoor bar within the hour, enjoying several cocktails. I was beginning to be a regular and I recognized some of my barfly buddies. If I came night after night, I’d probably see them. The way things were going, by the end of the week I was going to have a chair with a plaque with my name on it.
Manny slipped me an extra strong Mojito and I sucked it down as if it were water. Booth asked me what I’d been up to and I made the mistake of mentioning I was actually working on a case. I guess I was trying to impress him. But when I brought up Tess Bradbury he came unglued.
His fingers gripped my arm. “What are you talking about?”
“Ow.” I yanked my arm free. Sharona made a point of pretending she didn’t notice our sibling rivalry.
“Stay out of that mess,” he said, totally serious. “I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know what you think you’re doing. That was cold-blooded murder, Jane. What is Tess Bradbury looking for? Why is she involving you?”
“Honestly, I think she’s trying to save a piece of Cotton’s inheritance for Bobby, in case he shows up.”
“More likely it’s a piece of Cotton’s inheritance for Owen,” Booth said with a snort. “I don’t think Bobby’s alive.”
“Maybe.”
&n
bsp; Booth was watching my face. “So, what are you supposed to be doing?”
“I’m just talking to Cotton and Heather and reporting back to her anything that might help her.”
“I bet Tess thinks Bobby’s dead, too, and she’s doing this to find a way to stick Cotton for more money. Not necessarily for Bobby, for herself and Owen.”
I was sorry I’d brought it up. I shouldn’t have. My excuse is the Mojito went straight to my head. I signaled Manny for another. If Booth was going to make me miserable I might as well get a buzz on.
We had a rather stilted meal. I ordered a Caesar salad, the cheapest thing I could find on the menu. Sharona ordered grilled summer vegetables and a hummus and pita bread appetizer. She teamed this with white wine. Booth had a burger.
I wondered if Owen was part of Tess’s motive. He’d been on the periphery of the story, but I hadn’t really considered him. He was Bobby’s brother, but not Cotton’s flesh and blood. But he was Tess’s son. And though Tess—and it felt like everyone else—had been more interested in Bobby, the athlete, Owen was a member of the family.
“Why so quiet?” Booth asked me as I chased around my last bit of romaine lettuce.
“Thinking about Owen,” I admitted.
“I wonder how he felt about everything,” Sharona put in, clearly as aware of the story as the rest of us. She was delicately slicing through julienned strips of red pepper, tomato and onion. I had to admit, it looked pretty good.
I could easily interview some of Owen’s classmates if I wanted to know more about him. The Pisces Pub on State Street was the perennial hangout for ex-grads of Lake Chinook’s two high schools. There was no money in it for me, but it might provide some enlightenment on the case. For that matter, checking on Owen might gain me more information on Bobby. I knew this avenue of approach wouldn’t be what Tess had in mind, not by a long shot, but the investigation had grown a life of its own. I was looking for answers anywhere I could find them, whether Tess paid me for my time or not.
In my periphery I saw Booth’s arm move toward Sharona, his hand obscured by the table. He must have grabbed something, her thigh, perhaps, as she shot him a sideways look from the corner of her eyes. Her red lips twitched into a smile. Moments later she turned toward him and bit into a ripe yellow cob of corn. I could see her even white teeth. Booth just gazed at her, his lips slightly parted.
