Wuthering Kites

by Clover Tate

Stella scooted Madame Lucy to the coffee table and set another log on the fire. “He opened the garage door. It was full of dead appliances. And toilets. And at least one old water heater.” She turned toward me. I had the feeling the red in her face wasn’t from the fire. “He called me a ‘classy lady’ and stuffed four tea cookies in his mouth at once.”

  “I’m sure it will turn out okay. He’s a good guy at heart.”

  “Oh, Emmy. I spent years after Allen died, mourning and figuring out a life for myself. I settled in Rock Point to find peace. I can’t paint with all that racket next door—”

  The phone rang from inside my purse. It was a blocked number and I wondered if it could be the sheriff.

  “Go ahead, get that,” Stella said, her voice still tinged with disgust from talking about Ace.

  “Emmy?” I was right. It was Sheriff Koppen. “Strings Attached is clear. You can come back now.”

  “All right. Did you find out anything?” He didn’t answer right away. I clutched the phone. “What?”

  “No. Not a thing. But we’ve only just started.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Stella waved good-bye and watched, not altogether happily, as I climbed the stairs next door to Ace’s house and rang his doorbell.

  Ace appeared, a can of beer in one hand and wearing a dirty Grateful Dead T-shirt. He smiled. “Hey, pretty lady, did you stop by with a housewarming present?” He stepped aside. “Come in.”

  Beyond Ace, Mrs. Collier’s satin draperies and powder blue carpeting were strewn with clothes. A motor, in pieces, sat on a faux Louis-the-something coffee table.

  “Thanks, but I can’t right now. I was wondering if you might change the shop’s locks for me.”

  “Sure. I have some time tomorrow afternoon—”

  “Today, actually. You see . . .” Ace clearly hadn’t heard about the morning’s happenings. Which meant he hadn’t left the house, because Rock Point’s grapevine worked faster than the Indy 500. “Someone broke in last night.” I’d leave it at that.

  Ace’s mouth dropped. “Not those kids at the high school, the ones who painted ‘vacuums suck’ on the side of the hardware store.”

  “I’m afraid it’s worse than that.” A movement to my left drew my attention. It was Stella, pushing aside her bedroom curtains to watch us. “I’ll explain when you get to the store. But it’s serious.”

  “All righty.” He turned and shot his beer can like a basketball into the vicinity of the kitchen. “Front door and back?”

  I nodded. “Yes, with bolts. And, Ace?”

  “Yes?”

  “Get the strongest ones you can find.”

  “Don’t you worry, darling. I’ll stop by the hardware store and be down in a jiff.”

  I blew Stella a kiss and saw the bedroom curtain drop into place as I headed down the steps.

  When I returned home, I climbed the stairs at the back of Strings Attached and opened my door to a cold, empty apartment. I owned a bed, and, thanks to an empty box of kite kits, a bedside table with one of Avery’s old lamps on it. The apartment’s living room had French doors with a view of the ocean and a balcony big enough for a few pots of geraniums, but the living room was empty except for a coffee table, a few floor cushions, and the remains of my one chair.

  When I’d moved in, Avery had walked from room to room, pointing out how lovely the apartment would be once it was furnished. “Your bedroom is toward the alley. That’s perfect. It will be nice and quiet back there,” she’d said. “You could paint it a soft pearl gray.”

  Soft gray, like Jack’s eyes. I’d nodded. He didn’t have to know why I’d chosen the color.

  “And the light in the living room is terrific,” Avery had said, passing by the small bedroom that would someday hold my office, then continuing down the hall with the open kitchen on the left and the stairwell down to Strings Attached on the right, before arriving at the front of the apartment. “Western light. What a view.” She had turned to take in the room. “I envision a couch right here”—she’d pointed to a spot facing the view—“and one of Stella’s landscapes on that wall.” She’d set her bundle of pink and orange dahlias on the coffee table. “Do you have a vase for these?”

  “In the box in the kitchen,” I’d said, still looking at the living room. The couch could wait, I’d thought. I wanted a big armchair in the corner where I could read and glance up at the ocean and maybe, on a sunny day, see my kites bob above the surf. An armchair would be my first purchase, for sure. But it would have to wait until the roof was fixed.

  I sighed at the memory and set my purse on the kitchen counter, just as my phone rang. “Jack!” I answered.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “I’m at the Brew House. Avery told me what happened this morning.”

  I leaned against the frame of the French doors and watched the ocean’s whitecaps soften and melt on the beach. “I didn’t want to tell you right away. You have family in town, and your uncle—”

  “Emmy, don’t worry about that. I’m fine. I just want to make sure you’re all right. What happened?”

  I gave him the rundown, from hearing Stella scream to finding the body to enlisting Ace to change the locks. Jack listened quietly.

  “As Sunny pointed out, Sheriff Koppen is on the job. He’ll take care of the investigation, and he’s good. I don’t have to worry.”

  Jack didn’t reply right away. “Why don’t you stay home tonight and relax? You can meet my family another time. You’ve had a lot happen today.”

  “No!” I said. “I want to meet them.” I grasped the phone and spun to the inside of the apartment. “I really do. It will be a good distraction, too.” I lowered my voice. “And I want to see you.”

  “If you’re sure . . .”

  “I’m positive. Sunny’s excited about it, too.”

  “Why don’t we meet at Strings Attached? We can walk to the Tidal Basin together.” I heard a woman’s voice in the background. “Claire says hello, and she’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  I spent the next few hours working at my laptop at the kitchen bar. I had customs manifests to fill out, paychecks to cut, and e-mail to answer. When I’d opened Strings Attached, I’d envisioned hours of designing kites and sharing my joy with customers. No one had told me about the paperwork.

  At last, dinner with Jack and his relatives was only an hour off. I rifled through my closet for a suitable dress and called Sunny to let her know we’d be meeting at the shop. The doorbell rang. “Just a minute,” I yelled. “See you soon,” I told Sunny and hung up.

  Ace stood, toolbox in hand, on my back stoop. “Got your locks. Did I catch you in the middle of something?”

  I took Ace down the interior stairs to Strings Attached’s kitchen-slash-studio and through to the front room.

  He leaned a hand on the fireplace and looked at the floor. “So, this is where you found her, eh?” At my surprised look, he added, “I heard the news down at the hardware store.”

  “Will it bother you to be here alone for a bit?”

  “Naw.” He scratched his chin. “I don’t have enough imagination to scare that easily. You want the front and back locks changed?”

  “Please.” I opened the front door, letting in a brisk breeze. “Just the bolt. Here.”

  Ace brought over his toolbox and opened it on the floor. He knelt to shine a flashlight at the lock. He opened and shut the bolt, then examined the strike plate. “Sheriff Koppen figured out how the killer got in, did he?”

  “He’s testing my spare key to see if it’s been copied lately, and he looked at the bolt, but he said he’s waiting for the report to come back.”

  “You don’t need a report. This lock has been picked.” He stood. “I’ve seen it a dozen times. Neat job, too. Guy with skills like that could get in no matter what lock you install.”


  “What should I do?” We both stared at the door handle.

  “Hope Sheriff Koppen gets this case wrapped up soon,” Ace said.

  chapter four

  As I’d hoped, Sunny was the first to arrive at Strings Attached. I was pleased to see she’d made an effort with her appearance, probably wearing one of Avery’s dresses. It was pale pink—an unusual color on her—and simply cut, and she’d taken it from demure to bohemian with a vibrant beaded necklace. At least she knew tonight was a big deal for me.

  Sunny glanced around the room, as if the body were still there. The crime scene team had done a good job with cleanup, and the door gleamed with Ace’s new lock. Other than the slight tang of disinfectant in the air, the morning’s drama might never have happened.

  “This is where you found her. Right on the floor?” Sunny said.

  “Lying on her back. But, Sun, let’s not talk about it. I don’t want it to be the first thing Jack’s family thinks about when they meet me.”

  Sunny still couldn’t peel her attention away from the floor. “Fine.”

  Someone knocked on the door. “They’re here. Don’t say anything, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  I opened the door to Jack, with two people standing just behind him.

  “You look lovely,” he said under his breath and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

  I knew I was beaming like I’d found a ruby bracelet in my pocket. “Come in,” I said and stepped aside, shaking hands as a man and woman entered.

  “Everyone,” Jack said, “meet Emmy Adler.”

  “I already know her,” Sunny said. “She’s bossy, but I like her all right.”

  “Some people need more bossing around than others,” I quipped back.

  “Now that we’ve established that you and Sunny are sisters, I’d like you to meet my sister, Claire,” Jack said.

  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting—Jack with a long wig?—but where Jack was tall, Claire was petite with a heart-shaped face. She had his soft gray eyes, though. Jack had told me Claire ran a tattoo parlor in Astoria, and the earrings running above her lobes and cherry-red lips fit the role. But there was no roughness about her, only a refinement that might have suited a ballerina.

  “Pleased to meet you.” She extended a slender hand, and her sleeve fell back, revealing a tattooed star straddling her forearm and the hint of a Milky Way above it. “If it helps, Jack can be a little bossy, too.”

  “I’m Dustin Butler,” said the man, a tall brunette with thinning hair and a fashionably scruffy jaw. He looked at least five years older than Jack, who was thirty-two. Underneath his expensively cut jacket was a vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt.

  “Our cousin,” Jack said. “Uncle Gus’s son.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear about your father, Dustin. It’s nice to meet you, but I wish it wasn’t for such a sad occasion,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Dustin said. “Meeting you and Sunny is something good that’s come of it, at least.”

  “Wasn’t someone else going to join us? Allison?” I asked.

  “I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up yet. She texted me this afternoon, saying she’d be here,” Jack said.

  “Traffic is probably bad from Portland,” Claire said. “I love your shop.” She took in the rainbow of color.

  “Is Allison another cousin?” Sunny asked before I could respond to Claire.

  Jack and Claire exchanged glances. “No,” Jack said. “Actually—”

  “She was my stepmother,” Dustin finished. “Ex-stepmother. Well, nearly ex. A bit younger than Dad.”

  “I’m sure she’ll meet us at the restaurant,” Jack said.

  From the looks on their faces, there was more to the story. I’d have to ask Jack about it later. “Do we have time for a quick tour of the shop?”

  “Please,” Claire said. “Strings Attached is so different from Sullivan’s Kites. I love all the color. Tell us about that rack of kites near the window.”

  “Yes,” Dustin said. “I’m stuck on the one in blue and purple.”

  “One of my favorites,” Sunny said. “It reminds me of van Gogh’s irises.”

  I pulled down the kite, its slightly ruffled edges waving. Sunny was right about its inspiration. I’d hesitated before designing a kite with so much blue—the sky is blue, and I didn’t want the kite to disappear in flight—but with a few strips of pale yellow, the kite made a rich show.

  “Whoa. What about this one?” Dustin pulled down a vibrant kite sewn of strips of color so bright they were nearly neon. “You almost need sunglasses to look at it!”

  “That was an experiment,” I said. “I had some leftover nylon and had been appliquéing a design. So I used the appliqué technique, but with wider strips.”

  “I like it,” Dustin said. “On a gray day like today? We all need something bright.”

  “Please, take it as a gift.” Thanks to all the strips, the kite had taken hours to sew, and I’d priced it accordingly. It would be a drag to lose the sale, but I couldn’t charge Jack’s family.

  “I insist,” Dustin said, already pulling out his wallet. “People should be paid for their work. This”—he held up the kite—“is art.”

  I felt a mother’s pride. “Thank you. I could shorten the tail for you, if you’d like.”

  “I want to keep it the way it is. I’ll tie it up.”

  Sunny rang up Dustin for the kite, and I closed the shop. The Tidal Basin was a short walk away.

  I looked at the people around me with a surge of warmth. Could these be people I’d know the rest of my life?

  As soon as we’d taken our seats, a waiter arrived with a magnum of Dom Pérignon and a silver bucket of ice on a stand. Another waiter placed a flute in front of each of us.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Dustin said. “I ordered champagne. We don’t see each other often, and I wanted to celebrate. Plus, we’re meeting Emmy and her sister. We should remember the happy reasons for this visit, too.”

  Claire touched her glass. “Uncle Gus used to joke about Dom Pérignon. Remember? He’d pour us a glass of milk and tell us to drink our Dom Pérignon.”

  “I remember all right,” Dustin said. “That’s why I chose it. Although if he were here, he’d order a beer.”

  Jack lit up. “Remember how when we were kids he’d drape a dish towel over his arm when he served us lunch, like he was a waiter?”

  Claire laughed. “‘Your peanut butter sandwich, madam,’ he’d say.”

  “Hi, everyone. Sorry I’m late.” A man was striding toward our table, smiling and waving as he approached. This definitely wasn’t Allison. Dustin rose and clapped a hand to his back.

  “Matt. You made it after all,” he said.

  “I drove as fast as I could.” The stranger smiled at Sunny and me. “Hi. I’m Matt Orr.” His hair was thick and curly and blond and reached his shoulders. In contrast to his model-worthy hair, his face was wide with a slightly flattened nose. He tucked a curl behind an ear.

  “It’s nice to see you, Matt. Have a seat,” Claire said, but she didn’t smile.

  I raised my eyes to Jack, expecting that he’d clarify who Matt was. Jack busied himself moving his silverware around and refused to meet my gaze.

  Dustin pulled out the seat next to his own. “Sit here. I thought you couldn’t make it.”

  Matt shook his head. “I’ve been busy at the winery the past couple of days closing the books on harvest, but at the last minute, I realized I’d be nuts to pass up the chance to see you all. It’s been too long.”

  “Matt was our neighbor growing up.” Dustin looked at Claire and Jack. “He’s a good friend. I haven’t seen him in months, so I invited him to come out tonight. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I’m still the neighbor,” Matt said. “Orr Cellars. I have the winery a
nd vineyards next to Gus’s hazelnut farm.”

  Jack had often talked about the farm and the holidays and summer vacations he’d spent there as a kid. He’d never mentioned the vineyards.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Sunny said. She pointed at Claire. “You’re Jack’s sister. A twin. That’s easy.”

  “That’s me. The eternal thorn in his side.” Claire was talking to all of us, but she kept glancing at Dustin, almost longingly. But weren’t they cousins?

  “And you’re a cousin. A first cousin?” Sunny asked, shifting her index finger to Dustin. Often Sunny’s blunt manner was a thorn in my own side, but tonight I appreciated it.

  “Yes,” Dustin said. “My father was Jack and Claire’s mother’s older brother.”

  “Cousins, yes, but not by blood,” Claire added quickly.

  “I was adopted,” Dustin said. “Dad was their uncle Gus. It’s Dad’s funeral tomorrow.”

  Sunny and I exchanged glances. She must have picked up on the burgeoning romance, too.

  Before our thoughts got too obvious, I said, “Again, I’m so sorry to hear about your father’s death. I mean—” The restaurant’s piano player chose that moment to erupt into a jolly version of “Ain’t We Got Fun.”

  “How did he die? Your father, I mean,” Sunny said.

  “Sunny!” I punched her under the table.

  “It’s all right,” Dustin said. “He died in an accident. There’s a steep ravine between the farm and Matt’s vineyards, and he must have lost his footing and fell. He hit a rock.” He stared at his hands. His voice quieted. “One of the farmworkers found him.”

  None of us spoke. I willed the ridiculous piano music to stop.

  To her credit, Sunny looked chagrined. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I have a bad habit of speaking before I think.”

  We all seemed lost in our own thoughts. It was the evening before a funeral, I reminded myself, not a festive family reunion assembled just for me. The stupid piano music rollicked along.

  Suddenly, Sunny pushed back her chair and walked toward the back of the restaurant, where the music came from. A few seconds later, the piano segued to a mournful version of “Feelings.” She returned and clapped her hands together. “That’s better. So. Shall we order?”