“Well now, Sugar Pie, you’re becomin’ a real regular. That’s good.”
“It’s your food that’s good.” I grinned up at him, happy to leave my dark imaginings for the safer world of flirty girls and their righteous grandfathers. “The rehearsal dinner is going to be terrific.”
“I believe it will be, at that. Evening, Deputy.”
As ZZ ambled off to greet another table, Jeff sighed in relief.
“Good thing you were here to cover for me. You know, you’re on awfully friendly terms with the locals for a first-time visitor.”
“ZZ makes friends fast. Just like Guy did.”
He shook his head. “You’re determined to talk about the case, aren’t you? I’m starting to wonder if that’s the only reason you came out with me tonight.”
I ignored this opportunity to assure him of my romantic intent. I was feeling cross with Aaron, but not that cross.
“Wouldn’t you be determined?” I countered. “I’ve never been a prime suspect before.”
Twilight had fallen, and when Jeff leaned forward, the candlelight gilded the long planes of his face.
“You’re not the prime suspect, Carnegie. You’re not any kind of suspect at all.”
“But what about the search warrants?”
“Routine. Don’t worry about it.”
Maybe I shouldn’t, I thought grudgingly. Whether Guy’s demise was a drug hit or a personal vendetta shouldn’t really matter to me, now that I was off the hook. Maybe it was time to leave police work to the police, and leave the paranoid fantasies to India. Owen Winter as a murderer? Ridiculous.
So I sat back and gave not-worrying a try. Maybe the wine and the view had gone to my head, but the idea of minding my own business had a certain peaceful appeal. The more Jeff and I went on chatting, the more I liked it. So when he suggested an after-dinner walk by the marina, I agreed with a tranquil smile.
But then something happened that blew my tranquillity right out of the water. Peggy went by with a tray of drinks for another table, and managed to bump Jeff with her hip. She giggled and apologized, quite unnecessarily, and then kept her gaze on him as she turned away—only to collide with another waitress. Peggy hung onto her tray, but one wineglass tipped over and sent its contents sloshing down Jeff’s back.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she squealed as he got to his feet. “Here, let me clean you up.”
She set down the tray and began to dab at him with a napkin. Or rather, to massage him with it. I’d had about enough of young Peggy, so I snatched the napkin away from her and finished the job, blotting the wine firmly from between his shoulder blades.
“It’s fine,” he said, though it clearly wasn’t. He looked furious. “Carnegie, I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t answer. I just sank back into my chair with the napkin still in my hand, trying to tell myself that I hadn’t felt what I’d just felt beneath the damp cloth of the shirt. But the truth was undeniable.
Jeff Austin was wearing a wire.
Chapter Twenty
A wire. Jeff was getting our conversation on tape. I’d had bad dates before, but this was ridiculous. And was it even legal? Probably, I told myself. Especially if I’m on the short list for Murder One. People say I’ve got a redhead’s temper, which is a piece of old wives’ nonsense, and as my coffee cooled off I did too. Don’t get mad, get even.
I’d already insisted that I had no relationship with Guy Price—the police could record that in triplicate—so why not have a little fun at their expense? By the time the deputy returned, I was able to smile without grinding my teeth and accompany him down to the marina like a good little first date. I even let him hold my hand, the bastard.
Walking along the docks reminded me of my houseboat. Not the look of Friday Harbor so much, but the fresh damp feel of the air and the smell of salt and tar and engines.
The sounds, too, were familiar, the hollow thump of our footsteps on wooden planks, the thin clink of blocks against masts, the slap and sigh of water against the gently bobbing hulls. It was like being on my home turf, and that boosted my confidence.
“Tell me, Jeff, have you found that little e-mail gadget of Guy’s yet?”
“Why?”
“Just curious. I’m sorry now that I didn’t snoop around in his mail when I had the chance. Just so I could help the investigation, of course.”
“Of course.” He sounded uneasy. Good. “No, we’re still searching. I don’t suppose you have any ideas about where we should look?”
“Not a clue,” I said innocently. It’s not hard to act innocent when you really are. I pressed on with my fun. “But I’m so relieved not to be a suspect anymore. It was really upsetting, being followed that way.”
“Followed?”
“Yes, by Larry Calhoun. I’m surprised he’s been so clumsy about it, but I guess you don’t do much surveillance work up here. Or maybe he’s new to the force?”
That hit home. Jeff stopped and turned to face me with a disconcerted frown. Transcribe that, Deputy.
“You think Calhoun’s been following you?”
“I know he has. But that’ll stop now that I’m not a suspect. Won’t it?”
“Yes.” He scowled. “Yes, it will.”
Satisfied at adding that little entry to Officer Calhoun’s performance review—Failed to remain anonymous while observing a suspect, or maybe just Screwed up surveillance—I decided to quit while I was ahead.
“Jeff, it’s been a crazy week, and I’m beat,” I said. “Thanks so much for dinner, but let’s make it an early night.”
Not that I slept much, alone in 6C, after he dropped me off with a peck on the cheek. Between pondering the Guy Price case and wondering how Aaron was feeling, I didn’t drift off until the wee hours. And even then I kept thinking I smelled llama.
Friday morning I overslept and awoke with a throbbing headache and a heavy heart. The number-one item on my list of The Last Thing I Want to Do in This Life was to go on a picnic with the Bitch Sisters.
If only Aaron would show up for the picnic, I thought dolefully, I could try and explain. But I knew he wouldn’t, not after a humiliation like last night. Aaron was a reasonable man, but there’s such a thing as the male ego. If he even showed up for the wedding now it would be for Lily’s sake, not mine.
The number-two item on that list was talking to Pamela, but I needed towels. So I trudged up the path to the office, blinking at the sunlight that filtered down through the fir branches, and tried to tell myself it was a nice day for yachting.
No one was there, so I stuck my tongue out at the hideous owl lamp and then tapped the intercom button on the counter. The lamp’s flat ceramic eyes watched me with silent malevolence. Lampus Horribilus, western race. Known for slaying its victims with sheer ugliness.
“Top of the morning!”
Donald came burbling through the connecting door, and suddenly talking to Pamela didn’t seem so bad.
“How ya feeling, any better?” He blinked happily at me from behind his half inch of glass. “I see the police brought your car back. The missus and I were just saying what a shame it is they’re pestering you when they should be out catching the real killer. Hang on just a sec.”
He took my damp towels into the utility room and returned with a stack of fresh ones, his bald head rising over the top like a nearsighted jack-in-the-box.
“I mean, isn’t that something? Don’t they have any other leads?”
“I wouldn’t know.” I grabbed the stack and headed for the door. “Have a nice day.”
“You too!” he caroled as it shut behind me. “And if you ever want to talk about—”
I trudged back to 6C, checking my watch on the way. I’d missed breakfast in the lounge, not that I wanted to chat with the other guests at the moment, and in fact I just had time to shower and make it to Afterglow Drive. No doubt Mom could come up with something to stabilize my stomach for the trip across Speiden Channel. I may live on the water, but I’m n
o sailor.
When I got to Owen’s house the front door was ajar so I went on in, my spirits rising slightly at the smell of breakfast. Sometimes a girl just wants to see her mother and eat some toast. But when I got to the kitchen my appetite fled.
The kitchen had a little round table with a flowered cloth in a window corner, and just now the table was occupied by two people. One was Aaron, who was holding out a half bagel and grinning roguishly. And the other, her square white teeth biting into the proffered bagel, was India Doyle.
“Good morning!” she mumbled around her mouthful, and then swallowed. “Aaron’s teaching me about East Coast food. I kind of forgot the picnic was today, so I rushed over here without any breakfast. Have you ever had lox? They’re really good.”
“Hello, Carnegie,” said Aaron, his voice flat and his eyes fixed over my left shoulder. “Your mother just went upstairs.”
Then he turned back to India, handing her the bagel with a smile that was emphatically not meant for me.
So that’s how it was going to be. Aaron was going to tough it out—and freeze me out—with India costarring in the role of Other Fish in the Sea. Fine. See if I care.
I rearranged my face into polite indifference, then sniffed the air. Kimberly came in behind me, her perfume preceding her by a couple of yards.
“Not in jail yet, Carrie?”
Kimmie’s honey hair was tousled, as if she’d just gotten up, but she wore full makeup and a nautical-looking striped top over white capri pants. When my girlfriends at school wore pants that tight my father used to say “If she had a dime in her back pocket you could call it heads or tails.”
“Still at large,” I said. “And it’s Carnegie, not Carrie.”
“Ooh, I’ll be careful about that. Aaron, be a sweetheart and make me one of those, would you? I’m just famished.” She swiveled over to the table and took a seat between the bagel eaters. “There you are again, India. Always popping up, aren’t you? And here I thought you had a job.”
India wilted perceptibly, and Kimmie, mission accomplished, turned her attention back to Aaron. But she hadn’t allowed for the fact that he was sober today, and she didn’t know what I knew: that if there’s one thing Aaron Gold can’t stand, it’s a bully.
“Help yourself,” he said, nudging the bagel plate over. “India, why don’t we wait for the others out on the deck? I’ve got more stories to tell you about the Globe.”
“Sure!” She jumped up. “I just want to use the little-girl’s room. I’ll be there in a minute.”
As Aaron went out the back door, India gazed at him like an adoring puppy, and Kimmie very nearly hissed like an offended cat. I was amused, but only for a moment. Should I use this opportunity to talk with Aaron alone? It might be my only chance all day. I couldn’t decide.
Then Adrienne entered the kitchen and arched an eyebrow at me.
“Morning, Carrie. Any visits from the police today?”
I decided, and let the screen door slam on my way out. That startled Aaron, seated at the table looking over a newspaper, but before he could say a word I took the chair across from him.
“About last night,” I began. “I’m sorry it was so awkward, Aaron. I forgot about the dinner with Jeff, and—”
“And you’re dating other people now. No problem.” A muscle at the angle of his jaw was twitching. “But you might have mentioned it to me first.”
“Well, you might have mentioned you were coming to the wedding.”
“So you could save me a place instead of filling it with this other guy?”
“At least he showed up!” I hate having anyone angry at me. It makes me defensive, and when I get like that I speak before I think. This time I opened wide and put both feet in. “You’ve been sulking in Boston for months.”
“Sulking?” Aaron went very still and folded the newspaper very carefully. “Sulking. Carnegie, if you had any idea what I’ve been—”
“I’m back!” said India, plunking herself down beside me with her beads rattling. “Isn’t it a gorgeous day for a sail? My horoscope says I’m going to make discoveries, and today has this kind of expanding energy, don’t you think?”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“If you could give us just a minute, we’re having a private—”
“I can see that.” She planted her elbows on the table and her hair swung forward like curtains. “You two have some interpersonal issues, I can tell. Have you ever done compatibility resonance work? It’s based on the enneagram. That’s an ancient Egyptian—”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” I snarled. “Could you just go back to your own planet for ten minutes? We’re trying to talk.”
She gasped, and Aaron stood up.
“We have nothing to talk about,” he said quietly. “Come on, India. Let’s take a stroll.”
Chapter Twenty-One
As Aaron steered India down the flagstone path, I smacked the table with my fist and turned my head aside. Right toward Adrienne, who stood just within the back door. Even through the screen I could see the petty triumph on her face.
“Temper, dear,” she said, quoting my mother, and turned away.
Suddenly my mother was the one person in the world I wanted to see. I took a moment to compose myself, then strode quickly through the kitchen, ignoring both sisters, and headed upstairs.
Mom had been single for so long that I was halfway to the second floor before it occurred to me that barging in on her and her man would be kind of rude. And I’d seen enough rudeness this morning.
“Dammit, Lou, we’ve been over this!”
I had turned around to take my first step downward, but I froze with my foot in the air at the sound of Owen’s voice. It was tight and controlled, as if he were furiously angry but determined not to be overheard. Which of course made me determined to overhear as much as I possibly could.
I ascended stealthily, moving in slow motion to test for squeaky steps, until I reached the second-floor hallway. This was broader than the one above where my bedroom had been, carpeted in celadon green and wallpapered in a soft floral pattern. A door at the other end was slightly open, but I couldn’t see inside. I waited.
My mother’s voice was calm enough, but I could hear the tension in it.
“I simply don’t understand why it should be a secret, Owen. Let me just explain to them—”
“Absolutely not! You promised me you would keep this confidential, and I insist—”
She interrupted him, murmuring too low for me to hear. Then came a muffled exclamation that gave me goose bumps—it sounded like a cry of pain. I took a stride toward the door, hesitated, and then broke into a run when I heard the unmistakable slumping crash of a body hitting the ground.
“I’m coming, Mom!”
I burst into the master bedroom with all flags flying, ready to do battle with this evil-tempered man who for all I knew was a cold-blooded killer and—
“Oh.”
In contrast to my sudden waking nightmare, my mother was the one on her feet. She stood beside a king bed with its sheets and duvet dragged halfway to the floor. Entangled in the bedclothes, and himself more than halfway on the floor, was Owen Winter.
Mom was fully dressed, but Owen wore a pair of truly regrettable pajamas, the top of which had ridden up over his belly as he slid from the bed. He also wore a scowl of mortification and rage, and when he saw me he bellowed an obscenity that struck like a blow.
But what really hurt was my mother’s expression of baffled dismay.
“Carrie, what on earth are you doing, coming in here like that? Can’t you see . . .” She faltered, at a loss for a sufficient phrase, then mustered enough dignity for both of them. “Can’t you see that we’re busy?”
“Um, of course.” I began to back out of the room. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t . . . Sorry.”
I could hear her helping Owen back into bed, as I took myself and my utter embarrassment downstairs. Out on the veranda, I sank onto the porc
h swing and put my face in my hands. Whatever I’d interrupted up there, it obviously wasn’t murder and it probably wasn’t sex and it certainly was none of my business. If only Lily would get here quick so I can foul up my friendship with her too.
Ten minutes later Mom came down, and I heard her talking to the others inside. It sounded like Aaron and India had come back in, but I was done with eavesdropping. Then she came out and joined me on the swing, with an air more of sorrow than of anger.
“Owen asked me to apologize, Carrie. He tries not to use language like that, especially to women.”
“I’m the one who should apologize. I just thought I heard . . . I thought it sounded like an emergency. Or something. Mom, what’s going on? What’s the big mystery?”
She sighed. “It isn’t big and it shouldn’t be a mystery. Owen has sciatica, dear. The attacks are terribly painful, but he doesn’t want people to know about them.”
“Why not? Sciatica is, what, some kind of back trouble? Lots of people have back trouble.”
“That’s what I keep saying!” She gave a little chuckle. “Men are so odd, aren’t they? Your father was the same way about his fear of heights. Owen thinks that sciatica is something an old man would have, like gout or lumbago.”
“But that’s silly!”
“Of course it is. But he’s rather vain about looking and acting younger than his age. And he’s always been so healthy that he thinks he can simply stop the pain through force of will. It took me the longest time to get him to see a doctor, and even now he won’t take his muscle relaxant the way he should.”
So his fits of anger are really spasms of pain. It all made sense now. Not a lot of sense, but a lot more than the idea of a retired business executive stabbing his caretaker in the back over some imaginary Masonic code of silence.
It did seem odd to me that Owen was so obstinate about hiding his weakness. But wasn’t that just what Aaron had been doing, holed up in Boston for the past three months? My mother was a lot more patient than I was.
I was so intent on my thoughts that I missed Mom’s next remark.
You May Now Kill the Bride Page 13
