by Nancy Bush
“Hi, Jane, it’s Tess.”
I leaned against the car. “Well, well. Did you get my messages? All ten of them?” I felt snarky. I wondered if she’d talked to Owen this morning.
“I’m sorry if I put you out,” she snarked right back. “You don’t know what it’s been like, losing Bobby. I feel like I’ve died myself.”
“What about Cotton?”
“I’m sorry about him, too, of course. It’s one tragedy after another.” Her voice really seemed to lack the emotion one might have expected.
I decided I didn’t have any more time to waste on this job. Jumping feet first into the fray, I said conversationally, “I think you were right: Cotton did see Bobby at the end. That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it? That’s why I was hired. That, and to learn what I could about Cotton’s will.”
“It’s a mute point, now, isn’t it?”
That would be moot, Tess, I thought. “Maybe,” I agreed. “But it’s worth discussing a little. I mean, that’s what you paid me for, right?”
“I don’t understand your attitude,” she said frostily.
“Bear with me, Tess. The way I see it, Bobby came to Cotton and they had some kind of reckoning. Good or bad, I don’t know. And then something happened and Bobby…was murdered.”
“Someone killed him,” she said. “And it makes me furious! I can’t think about it! How dare they take him from me! He was my son and I want whoever killed him to be found. I want them to hurt and suffer! They took him from me and I don’t forgive.”
Now there was some real emotion, but I found it hard to feel sorry for her. She was in this up to her bleached-blond eyebrows. “Are you coming back for the reading of the will?”
“I don’t know.” She struggled to pull herself together. “I just don’t care. Maybe.”
“If Cotton left everything to Bobby, doesn’t it revert back to you?” I was really hazy on this kind of stuff, but with Bobby having wiped out his nuclear family, I thought Tess must be next in line.
“Cotton didn’t leave his estate to Bobby.” Her voice was firm. “He told me he was changing his will. He went to see his lawyer to change things.”
“You talked to Cotton?”
“One quick conversation. He wanted me to know he’d cut Bobby out. All that talk about how much he loved him and in the end it didn’t matter. My guess is he left it all to Murphy. Or Heather…” She said her name as if it tasted bad. “I don’t know if I even care. I just had to come home to Houston for a while because I feel so godawful.”
“Tess, I met with Cotton right before he died. I think you should know that he intimated you were taking care of Bobby all these years. You told me you thought Cotton was taking care of him.”
“I never said any such thing!”
“Well, yes, you did.” I hadn’t forgotten our meeting in Marta’s office even if she conveniently had. “But I’m not the only person Cotton spoke to. The Monroes came to see him.”
“What?” She was startled.
“They were waiting outside his hospital room when I left. Either Cotton wanted to talk to them, or they wanted to talk to him.”
“Did they talk to him?” she asked urgently.
“I didn’t stay long enough to find out. But maybe Cotton told them what he told me. Or, maybe he told someone else.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“That’s good, because I had a feeling you had Bobby holed up in Hepburn.”
She drew in a breath. “Hepburn?”
“You helped him get there. You gave him money. Cash, that you’d gotten from Cotton before you were divorced. Maybe more cash since you mortgaged your business and your condo. But Bobby got tired of being a nobody out in the boonies. He came back and hit up his father for money, a new identity, I don’t know what. Cotton loved him, wanted to help him, but couldn’t bring himself in the end to be an accessory after the fact. He cut Bobby loose.”
“I really don’t understand how you can say all these things,” she said weakly.
“I saw the address, Tess. Hepburn, Oregon. I think you chose it for Bobby. I think he was desperate and you decided to keep him somewhere far enough away, yet close enough, too. Hepburn’s a six-or seven-hour drive from Portland. Not right around the corner, but doable.”
She tried to laugh, but I’d hit her in the gut. “What a wild story.”
“You’ve got a fascination with Audrey Hepburn,” I went on. “That’s why you came in disguise to get a peek at me that day at the Coffee Nook. Maybe you took out a map of Oregon and your eye fell on Hepburn. Maybe it’s just circumstance. But you couldn’t do this alone. You needed a liaison, a go-between. Probably a rancher. Maybe someone you knew in Texas who was willing to relocate?” The idea zinged from the blue and hit a bull’s-eye as Tess made choking sounds. “You got him to buy some piece of property and you plunked Bobby down into the middle of nowhere. Did he become one of the farmers out there? I hear the area’s known for its watermelons.”
Tess pulled herself together with an effort. “I didn’t pay you good money to come up with a bunch of inflammatory theories that are nothing less than slander!”
“You paid me to get close to Cotton and find out if he knew anything about Bobby,” I answered. “I did that. And you wanted to know about his estate. On Monday, we’ll all know.”
“Well, that’s just fine. You just go ahead and rant and rave and see who listens to you. You don’t know anything about me or my family. And don’t help me any further, Jane Kelly!”
“Not a problem, Tess. We’re done.”
From the moment I hung up with Tess, a weight was lifted from my shoulders. I immediately wondered why I’d bucked Dwayne all this time. Why had I followed up on the Reynolds/ Bradbury debacle? What had I expected to learn? What was the point?
I drove toward the Coffee Nook. Halfway there my cell phone rang again. I was about to chuck the damn thing out the window when I realized it was Murphy this time. “Hello there,” I greeted him, trying to keep the sickening, bubbling happiness coursing through me from sounding in my voice.
“Breakfast?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Let’s head to La Mer.”
“You buying?” I asked.
“As if you’d spring for a meal that expensive.”
“Touche.”
My smile was huge. Love is such a silly thing. I turned the Volvo around and headed back the way I’d come as La Mer was in my neck of the woods, up on a hill with a peek-a-boo view of the lake far below.
I was slightly surprised he’d picked one of Lake Chinook’s more upscale restaurants. I generally avoided La Mer for two reasons: (1) I couldn’t afford it, and (2) it attracted the snobbiest of the city’s inhabitants and consequently the waitstaff looked down their collective noses at anyone they deemed short of the mark. But it did have a large brick patio that was ringed by trees. In spring and fall the patio was covered with black-and-silver-striped awnings which were rolled back in the summer. In winter a sliding wall of glass cut the patio from the rest of the restaurant, keeping it warm inside while patrons could still enjoy the view. La Mer was definitely a haunt of Lake Chinook’s rich, famous and infamous. Foster’s On The Lake was where everyone went on the east end of the lake; La Mer was the west end favorite. I brave the terrible prices at Foster’s during the summer months because it’s on the water. I steer clear of La Mer as a rule, always.
I had to stop back by my place and scrounge for something better to wear. I kept the white T-shirt but found a pastel blue loose skirt which drifted around my legs as I walked, and traded in my Nikes for my new flip-flops. These flip-flops were a step up from my old ones; they had little gem-like doohickeys on their plastic straps that looked as if they were dangling by a thread. I was bound to ruin them before sundown.
I hurried back to my car and raced to the restaurant. Luckily, there’s enough parking nearby La Mer for me to usually find a spot. I found one not too far away and hurr
ied past the black-vested valets standing outside the front door. I hate that shit. Where do they think they are? Downtown L.A.?
I headed inside and through the main dining room to the patio. Murphy was there ahead of me, standing by the maitre d’ stand. He was dressed in a khaki shirt, chocolate chinos and leather sandals. He looked exactly like the California boy he’d once been. Yes, he was an Oregon transplant, but I’d met him in Santa Monica and that’s how I always thought of him. These days I was more “Oregon” than he was.
He was trying to wrangle us a table near the edge of the patio. One that would offer us a view. The maitre d’, who looked as if she sucked lemons on a daily basis, melted at his charm. Murphy didn’t turn it on often, but when he did he slayed ’em right and left.
We were seated near one of the broad leaf maple trees which ringed the patio. Beyond them was a dense forest of Douglas firs that sloped down from the restaurant to the lake. I could see glimmering slices of green water far below. The sun filtered through the branches. It was such a lovely morning. Thinking about the delicious breakfasts La Mer served, my mouth started watering on its own. I could count on one hand the amount of times I’d eaten here. This was a treat worth savoring.
I heard the scrape of chairs behind me, but I was deep into scanning the menu. Maybe I could have a mimosa. Orange juice and champagne to brighten the palate.
“Tim Murphy!” a female voice crowed in delight.
I turned to see Paula Shepherd with her sidekick, Brad. I groaned inwardly. As they approached our table Murphy gazed at them with a serious lack of enthusiasm.
“I’m so sorry about Cotton,” Paula said, her eyes assessing Murphy, trying to get a read on his emotions, her mouth a tight, false smile. Brad shook Murphy’s hand and murmured condolences.
It was all totally awkward. Paula and Brad were finished with breakfast and we were waiting to be served. They stood beside our table, doing a dance with the waitstaff to keep out of the way as waiters and busboys filled water glasses and took orders, rushing around the patio.
I found myself wanting to say, “Get to the point,” because it was clear they had something on their minds. Finally, Paula said, “We were talking to Heather yesterday and expressed our interest in the property. I guess that’s no surprise. She wasn’t sure it was hers and suggested maybe you might inherit it. If that’s the case, I just want to say how much Brad and I could do for you.” She nodded while she spoke, as if this would assure Murphy of her good intentions. Her red lacquered nails lifted a card from a side pocket of her purse as she talked. Lightly, she dropped it on the table, next to Murphy’s knife. She kept a nail on the card a second or two longer. I shot Murphy a look across the table. He was silent but his face was suffused with dark red. I had to restrain myself from pushing my chair back to get out of harm’s way.
Murphy slowly stood up, but something in his bearing caused Paula and Brad to step back. Maybe they were more perceptive than I gave them credit for. With quiet fury, Murphy gritted, “Get the hell away from me.”
“I understand how you feel,” Paula soothed. “Just wanted to say hello.”
“Don’t talk to me again.”
“Maybe this isn’t the right time.” Her smile was fixed on her face, but her eyes darted around. She smiled at someone across the way.
“Get…out…”
They made good-bye noises and scooted away. Murphy sat back down. Several long moments passed. The waiter stopped by and I ordered a veggie omelet, orange juice and coffee. It kinda felt like my chance for a mimosa had passed. Murphy could barely bring himself to order. With an effort, he ordered eggs benedict, one of the house specialties.
“Who the hell are these people?” he finally demanded as we were halfway through our meals. I had a mouthful of omelet. Little bits of broccoli caught in my throat as I tried to answer. I reached for the water and gulped. Murphy didn’t even notice my distress. “They’re vultures,” he bit out. “They’re picking the bones and Cotton’s body is practically still warm.”
That image kind of put me off my food. I pushed my plate away and tried to think past it, cradling my coffee mug in both hands. “Wasn’t Cotton cremated?” Which reminded me that I didn’t know what to think about tossing his ashes in Lake Chinook.
“You know what I meant.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to think about any of it anyway. My brain was singing a little tune about Santa Fe. Love was making me giddy…or lust…or maybe just hope. I didn’t know and didn’t care.
My cell phone rang again. I made annoyed sounds as I examined the caller. It was Dwayne. I shut the thing off without answering. “Who was that?” Murphy asked.
“Dwayne. I’ll call him later.”
“What’s the story with the two of you?”
I was surprised. “No story. He just wants me to work with him.”
Murphy frowned down at what was left of his meal. “I have no right to ask. I just got the impression you were…more.”
“How’d you get that impression?” I asked, mildly horrified. “Dwayne and I are friends. Period.” I probably said this with more force than necessary, but I really wanted to be clear on the issue. Call it guilt over my semi-attraction to Dwayne.
“He’s the reason you kept pushing about Cotton and Bobby after you stopped working for Tess.”
I couldn’t let Dwayne take credit for that one. “Uh, no. Actually, that was just me. Dwayne’s been telling me to give it up for weeks.”
Murphy’s brows lifted in surprise. “Dwayne hasn’t been pulling your strings?”
“Hell, no.” I took offense. “Dwayne wants me to work with him but believe me, it’s all about collecting the fee. If I’m not making any money, he doesn’t want me on the case, whatever it is.”
“Guess I’ll have to rethink things.”
“Guess you will.”
He shook his head as if to clear everything out. In the slanting sunlight he again looked tired. He caught me staring at him and said, “I’ve never wanted anything to be over so much. Except before, with Bobby, when the shit hit the fan. I just wanted to run away that time.”
“You did run away.”
“Yeah, and I want to again. Right after the reading of the will. What a crock. I hate this kind of ceremony.”
“Is it really okay to toss Cotton’s ashes in the lake? I mean, isn’t there a law or something about that? I know they sprinkle ashes in the ocean, but in our lake? That seems—wrong.”
He half-smiled. “Heather doesn’t give a rat’s ass. She wants to get Monday over almost as much as I do.” He glanced up. “You’re coming to the house for the reading?”
“Uh, no…I hadn’t planned to. I don’t think I’m really invited.” I had a picture of Jerome Neusmeyer seeing “Ronnie” again and didn’t think I wanted the fallout from that.
“I want you there,” he said. “The will’s read, we scatter the ashes and then it’s over.” He reached across the table and clasped one of my hands. I realized how cold my skin was. “It’s all happened kind of fast. You’re thinking about Santa Fe, though. Aren’t you?”
“Thinking about it.”
“Good.” He smiled.
I left Murphy at the restaurant. He gallantly paid the bill even though I got a peek at the amount and emitted a squawk of shock. I got a second shock when he asked, “Mind if I move to your place?” as we walked to our cars. “I’ve had about as much of Heather and the island and the whole goddamned circus as I can stand.”
Honest to God, I had a moment of pure fear. A roommate? I mean, yes, Santa Fe was on the table, but now?
“My door—or more precisely, my window—is always open,” I invited graciously. “Although my mother’s threatening to visit.”
“When?”
“This week.”
“Better call her off. We’ll be gone by then.”
He pulled me to him and kissed me hard on the lips before leaving. My heart was jumping all over the place as I climbed into the Volvo.
I tried to concentrate on tasks at hand, like that I needed to fix my window. Maybe Murphy could do it. Dwayne was handy with those kinds of tasks, but I was avoiding him. I didn’t want him to spoil what I had going with Murphy and I knew Dwayne would, if only for the reason that he was losing his only student.
But I needed to check in with him. I pulled my phone out of my purse. He hadn’t left a message. Reluctantly, I punched out his number. He answered on the third ring, sounding disgruntled. “What’s eating you?” I asked.
“Tracy and Angela. They just left to go back to Seattle. I’m thinking about getting drunk. Wanna join?”
I examined the height of the sun. “It’s barely noon.”
“Jesus. Those women. That kid wasn’t the one from Seattle, as you well know. Angela’s a nut bag. If she doesn’t let up, Tracy’ll do everything she’s accused her of. It’s out there, just waiting for her. I tried to tell my sister as much and she went crazy all over me. God. Couldn’t get them out fast enough.”
“Nice of you to try to help.”
“A waste of time and energy.” He snorted. “You did good work, though.”
The praise got me. “You owe me money,” I responded. I had a vision of me telling Dwayne I was leaving for Santa Fe and the coward in me decided now was not the time.
“Come by and I’ll pay you. I might even have something more substantial for you. Like a real investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?”
“Messy divorce. Sex. The guy works for a company with a private plane and I think he and the flight attendant are clocking the hours in the Mile-High Club. The wife wants his balls. I think I could get you on the plane.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said without enthusiasm. I was afraid to face him. Afraid what I might say and what that scene might be.
“What’s up?” he asked. He was like a bloodhound, sniffing the air.
