Wash Her Guilt Away (Quill Gordon Mystery Book 2)

by Michael Wallace

  “Sure,” he said. “I’m pretty hungry, too.” Then to Gordon, “See you in the dining room.”

  Gordon waved at them as they left, then sat down on the couch, leaned his head back, and stared at the ceiling. He was focusing on the texture of a massive crossbeam when April showed up at his side with a glass of red wine in her hand.

  “On the house,” she said, “to celebrate your narrow escape.”

  “Thank you,” Gordon croaked.

  “You shouldn’t take her attention personally. No one does, except her husband.”

  She turned back to the bar, and seconds later the front door opened again as Peter came in. Gordon rose and headed to the bar to meet him.

  “You took long enough,” he said.

  “I didn’t exactly get warm right away,” Peter said. A whiff of alcohol came from him, and Gordon realized he’d sneaked a drink before heading over to the lodge. Peter turned to April.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance on earth you know how to make a Zombie?”

  “Coming right up,” she said.

  6

  THE MINUTE ALAN AND DREW came through the front door everyone in the building could hear them. Gordon and Peter, having met up with Johnny in the lounge, were about to go in for dinner when the door opened.

  “Twenty two inches, Drew. I’m telling you that rainbow was 22 inches if it was one. Best fish of the day.

  “You’re hallucinating, Alan. I give it 18, max.”

  “You’d never pass for an eagle, my friend. I say 22.”

  “Of course if you hadn’t let it slip out of your net, we could have taken a measurement and we wouldn’t be having this argument.”

  “You don’t want to be holding on to a fish too long, my friend. Now that net is 21 inches from handle to tip, and the fish was a bit longer than the net when I took him out and he squirmed out of my hands. Biggest fish of the day.”

  “Good fishing, today?” Peter asked unnecessarily.

  “Pretty good,” Drew said. “Maybe not as good as Alan thinks, but pretty good.”

  “You were on the Big Hole?” Gordon asked, and when Alan nodded, he continued, “Where were you fishing, and what did you catch him on?”

  Alan needed no additional encouragement. “We walked down at the public access area by Holohan Road,” he said. “Good pocket water. Nothing rising. Worked nymphs. Caught him on this #8 Golden Stone.”

  He reached into his shirt pocket and removed a fly, which he extended toward Gordon, Peter and Johnny in the palm of his hand. The men looked at it as if they had been shown photographs of a singularly ugly baby and asked for comment.

  “That’s a golden stonefly, all right,” murmured Johnny. “A reliable standby on the Big Hole. Indeed it is. You chose your fly well.”

  “Just guessing now,” Peter said, “but is that the exact fly you caught your fish with?”

  “Sure is. Any time I catch a fish 20 inches or bigger — and this one was 22 no matter what some people (he glared at Drew) might say — I save the fly and have it framed and mounted on the wall in my home office. My goal in life is that when I die, there won’t be a square inch of blank wall left in that den.”

  There was a moment of silence as that sank in, then Peter said, “It’s a lucky man who knows what he wants in life.”

  “Guys, this is getting a bit weird,” April said. “Anybody want to be seated for dinner?”

  “Sure,” said Drew. “Anything to get Mister 22 Inches off topic. You suppose you could throw your weight around and get us a window table?”

  “As any gentleman can see, I don’t have much weight to throw around. But since almost nobody’s here, sit wherever you want.”

  Charles and Wendy were seated at the corner window table, with Wendy looking at the dining room entry and Charles with his back to them. Drew and Alan took the table next to the Van Hollands. As they got to the table, Drew looked over at Wendy and nodded his head. In response, she arched her eyebrows provocatively. Charles, looking down at his salad, saw nothing.

  April, who had followed them to the table, asked, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Double Johnnie Walker Red, rocks for me. Usual, Alan?” He nodded.

  “Double Red rocks, and a Seven and Seven,” April said, making a note. “Be right back.”

  “Take your time, beautiful,” said Drew, giving her what he no doubt considered a playful pat on the butt. Gordon saw a look flash across her face and vanish in an instant, and he remembered what Johnny had said earlier in the boat. He couldn’t quite read the look — it had come and gone so fast. Was it annoyance, which she seemed to show Drew the night before, or might it have been a slight flash of pleasure at her sexuality being noticed by Drew. She was at an age, Gordon thought, where moods could shift faster than Paradise Valley weather.

  “Anywhere you like,” she said, as she passed Gordon’s party on her way to the bar. “I’ll be right back.”

  They moved in and took a table for four set back from the window, and placed between the Van Hollands and Alan and Drew’s table. Wendy flashed a quick smile in Gordon’s direction, and Charles looked up and turned around.

  “How’d it go today?” he asked.

  “Pretty good,” Gordon said. “Could have asked for a little better weather, but the fish were feeding most of the day.”

  “Johnny take you to the office?”

  Gordon looked at the guide, then back at Charles. “Yeah. Right at the end of the day.”

  “Either of you make the cast?”

  “Gordon did,” said Peter after a brief silence. “Came away with a nice Brown.”

  “Good for you. I could probably do it one time out of 20, but I haven’t used up my 20 tries yet.”

  “You’ve got the technique, sir,” said Johnny. “That you do. I’ll bet you make that cast tomorrow.”

  “God!” snapped Wendy. “Do you use that line on everybody? Just tell them what they want to hear?”

  “Wendy …” Charles said.

  Johnny’s face had reddened more than his drink alone could account for, and he was gripping his glass tightly. He swallowed and took a deep breath before replying.

  “Actually, no, ma’am. When I’ve been out with someone for half an hour, I know if they have a chance of making that cast. If they don’t, well, I don’t take them to the office. They’d just get angry at me, and that’s a fact.”

  Before the ensuing silence became too awkward, Don came in from the kitchen and positioned himself between Gordon’s table and Drew and Alan’s.

  “How are you gentlemen doing tonight?” Looking at Drew and Alan, “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Right here,” said April, coming in behind him. She stopped next to Alan and set down his drink, then leaned across the table to give Drew his. Her top slid down enough to show all of the tattoo above her breast. Drew looked right at it.

  “All right then,” Don said. “We get fish in from San Francisco Mondays and Thursdays, so I have some really nice halibut tonight. We do it with a lemon caper sauce, rice and steamed vegetables. And our other special is chicken cacciatore over fettucine. Of course the steaks are good, as always. Sharon or I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

  He moved over to the Van Holland table and stood by Charles.

  “And your order should be up in just a couple of minutes. Can I get you another drink?”

  “I think we’re good,” said Charles.

  “Actually, I’d like another glass of wine for dinner,” Wendy said.

  Charles glared at her but said nothing. After a few seconds, Don said, “Very good, Mrs. Van Holland. I’ll have April take care of that.”

  “Thank you,” purred Wendy. “You’re so good at taking care of your customers.”

  Don backed away from the table, then turned and walked briskly toward the bar, passing Sharon without a word as she entered the room. She turned and looked at him before moving on to the guests.

  “
You gentlemen ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?” she said at Gordon’s table. They ordered dinner, Gordon having the halibut, Johnny the chicken, and Peter a steak, medium rare.

  “Thank you,” Sharon said scooping up the menus. “Sorry you had such a miserable day today. It’s supposed to clear up tomorrow.”

  “It wasn’t that miserable,” Gordon said. “We were catching fish, anyway.”

  “That helps, I guess. Feel free to stick around and thaw out in the lounge after dinner.”

  “I won’t need much persuading,” Peter said.

  Rachel and Stuart came into the dining room, with April trailing them, holding Wendy’s glass of wine.

  “There she is!” Alan said. “My witness. You were just downstream when I caught that fish on the golden stone. Did it look like 22 inches to you?”

  Rachel hesitated a second or two before replying. “I was too far away to get a size, but it was a really nice fish. It looked like it could have been anywhere from 18 to 24 inches.”

  “Always the politician,” muttered Stuart.

  “See! She said 24 inches.”

  “Alan,” said Drew, “she said 18 to 24. She’s letting us both be right.”

  Wendy took a swallow of her wine and set the glass down hard as April walked away.

  “For God’s sake,” she said. “Why don’t we just talk about religion or politics? There’d be less arguing.” She shook her head. “Arguing about fish!”

  Her observation temporarily brought all conversations to a standstill. It was after sunset and utterly dark outside, and through the picture windows and the illumination of the porch lights, everyone could see the rain coming steadily down.

  7

  “I DON’T KNOW how much more of this social stimulation I can take,” Peter said, as they undressed for the night, back in their cabin. The rain had let up somewhat since dinner but was still coming down in a hard, steady drizzle.

  “I thought we were here for the fishing,” Gordon said.

  “All-day showers, no extra charge. You really think it’ll clear up tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know, Peter. The weathermen don’t get it right half the time, so how should I know?”

  “A little grumpy, aren’t we? I think you’re feeling the strain from being around the ex-girlfriend, who, if I’m not mistaken, still fancies you a bit.”

  “It’s not Rachel who worries me. She’ll do the right thing. Wendy, on the other hand, is an explosive device on a short fuse. I’m glad she’s only going to be around one more night.”

  “April told me about the Dorothy Malone act she pulled before dinner. I’d have paid money to see how you handled that.”

  “Not as well as I should have, but as we say in basketball, no harm, no foul.”

  “At some of the ERs I’ve worked, the playground basketball rule was no autopsy, no foul.” He pulled the bottle of cognac from his suitcase and poured three fingers. “Join me in a nightcap?”

  Gordon waved him away, and Peter took a couple of contemplative sips.

  “So what do you think, Gordon. April. Does she or doesn’t she?”

  “What — dye her hair?”

  “You’re being deliberately obtuse. Do you think she hooks?”

  After a long pause, Gordon replied, “I hope not. I think she’s a smart young woman.”

  “Agreed, but smart people make bad decisions. Take my second wife. A bad decision by both of us, but luckily we live in a highly civilized society, one that allows people to correct their mistakes, so we were able to complete the marriage and move on.”

  Peter took another sip.

  “Want to know what I think about April?” Gordon threw up his hands in resignation. “I think she’s a Voltaire hooker.”

  “You lost me there.”

  “Well Voltaire said, or maybe it was Pascal or David Hume … anyway, one of those enlightenment gentlemen said, ‘Once, a philosopher. Twice, a pervert.’ I think she tried it once, just to say she did. Being a philosopher, so to speak, but not a pervert. And if I’m right, and if there’s a just and compassionate God, about which I have my doubts, I can’t imagine He’d hold it against her. I mean, stuck out here at her age, what can she do?”

  “Get married or move on.”

  “Here’s to Paradise Valley, land of opportunity.” He lifted his glass and finished it.

  “Get some sleep and save your breath, Peter. Tomorrow, we’re walking around, not sitting in a boat all day. And if they’re wrong about the weather, we’ll be doing it in the rain.”

  Tuesday May 9

  1

  “THEY” WERE WRONG about the weather. The sun rose unseen behind a thick canopy of dark clouds, and Gordon and Peter were awakened by a fierce squall, with gusts of wind that whistled around the cabin. It stopped raining before they left for breakfast, but halfway to the lodge another squall hit, leaving them drenched by the time they reached the front door.

  Sharon escorted them to their seats and told them not to worry about dripping rain water on the floor. “On a day like this, we just keep the mop handy,” she said. Rachel and Stuart were sitting at a window table, and the Van Hollands were at the next one, talking with their neighbors. Gordon and Peter sat at a third table that formed a triangle with the other two.

  Sharon poured them each a cup of coffee.

  “Where’s April?” asked Peter.

  “Off. This is her half-day today. She’ll be back by five, though. Any questions about the buffet?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Where are you boys fishing today?”

  “Hubbard Meadows,” Gordon said.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know that one.”

  “It’s part of a working cattle ranch, not too far from Pinewood.”

  “Quite a ways from here. Probably why I don’t know it and why you asked for a box lunch today.” Gordon nodded. “We’re happy to do that for you.”

  She walked off, and as she did, Van Holland broke off his conversation with Stuart and Rachel, stood up and extended his hand to Gordon.

  “I’m afraid I owe you an apology. Mrs. Adderly was telling me that you were quite the basketball player at Cal, and I didn’t even recognize your name when we met on Sunday night.”

  “I told you he looked like a basketball player,” said Wendy.

  “I know, darling, but I thought you were just saying that because Mr. Gordon is tall.” Then, to Gordon, “I gather you were all-conference. You must have been very good.”

  Gordon shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Not many people remember any more. I hardly do.”

  “I’m afraid I’m more of a football fan than a basketball fan,” Van Holland said.

  “You a Cal man?”

  “Go, Bears!”

  “I find it a bit hard to believe that you’ve forgotten it all, Gordon,” Stuart said. “When a man gets to be really good at something, it usually becomes a part of him for the rest of his life.”

  “That’s probably true, but it’s not the main thing I do any more. I really don’t think about it all that much.”

  “Coach Simmons,” said Rachel, referring to Cal’s women’s basketball coach, “used to tell us you were one of the smartest players she’d ever seen. She had us watch the way you anticipated what was going to happen and got into the right position. She said we could learn a lot from you.”

  “Really. You never said anything about that at the time.”

  “But, darling, back then your ego didn’t need any more inflating.”

  Stuart twitched noticeably at the “darling,” and Wendy shot Rachel a look of understanding. Peter bit his lower lip and turned his head away from Gordon to look out the window. Van Holland soldiered on with the conversation.

  “So did you mean by that,” he said, looking at Rachel, “that if the other team had a player who was good at driving the baseline, Gordon would be assigned to stop him from doing it?”

  “Well, actually,” said Gordon, “you’re not s
upposed to let anybody drive the baseline. The trick is knowing where you are, how fast the other guy is, and knowing what point you can beat him to so you can stop or slow down his drive.”

  “And how do you figure that out, when there’s almost no time to react?”

  “It’s like Fats Waller says. It’s easy when you know how.” Rachel, Peter and Stuart laughed. Wendy frowned.

  “Who’s Fats Waller?” she asked.

  “Jazz musician, my dear,” her husband said. “Famous in his day, but probably not who you listen to.”

  “Hmm,” said Peter. “Didn’t he write Ain’t Misbehavin’?”

  Alan and Drew walked in, talking loudly at each other and ending the need for an answer.

  “Look, Alan ,” Drew said, “I like fishing as much as the next guy, but the whole idea is that it’s supposed to be fun. Being soaking wet and freezing cold for eight hours isn’t my idea of fun.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Alan . “Don’t you understand what this weather means?”

  “Aside from frostbite?”

  “No! No! No! It means we could have a Green Drake hatch.”

  Drew looked at him without saying a word.

  “You’ve never fished a Green Drake hatch?” Drew shook his head. “Let me show you.” Alan reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small plastic box filled with trout flies, taking from it a large dull green dry fly. “This is a Green Drake, and when they hatch, which is in the rain a lot, the fish go crazy. Pow! Pow! Pow! They’re coming up to the surface and just clobbering those flies. It’s some of the most exciting trout fishing there is.”

  “You’re right about that,” said Johnny, coming in. “Indeed you are. And I’m hoping Mr. Van Holland will be in a position to enjoy it later today. Are you about ready, sir, not that there’s any hurry?”

  “About five minutes, if that’s OK.”

  “Green Drake, Drew ” said Alan. “I told you so. Let’s get some breakfast and hit the river.”

  “I’ll give it half a day,” said Drew as Alan walked toward the buffet. He lowered his voice and continued, “You gotta love Alan. I mean, if you took him into a stable full of shit, he’d just grab a shovel and start digging away, all the while going, ‘Oh boy, oh boy! There has to be a pony in here somewhere.’ ” Everyone laughed, and he winked at Wendy. “See you later,” as he followed Alan.