by Clover Tate
“Not likely,” Ace said. “Not in this rain. I thought you might be wanting to talk to Jack’s sister.”
“Why would I do that?” I said, perhaps a little too quickly.
“I don’t know. Get in good with her, maybe. Although you seem to have things wrapped up with Jack, as far as I can tell. Not that I know a whole heck of a lot about romance.”
“I was sorry to hear about you and Michelle breaking up.”
“Hmm.” The noise didn’t communicate much to me, but Ace’s hollowed eyes and the silvery glint of his unshaven jaw told me more.
“How are you? I mean, really.”
“Could be worse.” He turned to the bay, although the night and rain obscured anything he might see there.
I didn’t know how long Ace had been married, but my guess was it had been a while. Ace struck me as a bit of a loner, but setting up house on his own had to be a shock, no matter how troubled his marriage might have been.
“Now you’re living up the hill, next to Stella,” I prompted.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t see what she has against me. She won’t leave me alone.”
“You haven’t provoked her? Not just a little bit?” I didn’t know Ace well, but every time we interacted, it seemed to be when something out of the ordinary was happening. It gave us an unusual closeness, to the point where I felt I could needle him a bit.
“I don’t need to do anything to get her riled up. All I have to do is exist.” He snorted. “An old schoolteacher, she is, and for sure.” His voice picked up steam. “Can’t leave a man to be himself without wanting him to change somehow.”
I raised an eyebrow. “All she wants is for you to turn down your music. Maybe keep some of your junk out of the driveway. She’s not asking you to be a different person.” Now I turned to face him full on. “I don’t remember you leaving stuff out at your old place. What’s the deal?”
“Not you, too?”
I mentally counted to ten. Of course I didn’t want Ace to change. He was adorable and irritating and good-natured just the way he was. “No, I’m not that dumb. I might as well try to make it rain, oh, chocolate martinis.”
The rain drummed even harder. Ace wiped off his sleeves and stepped nearer to me under the awning. “None of that fancy stuff for me. I’d be happy with a light drizzle of pilsner.”
He’d forgiven me. Whatever this “change” stuff was, it didn’t have to do with me, or with Stella, for that matter. I suspected that Stella was bearing the brunt of Ace’s unsubtle processing of his marriage breaking up. Not that it made it any easier for her.
“I’m sorry about that remark about the body in your store. I support Tibbetts, but that was uncalled for. I’ll let him know how I feel. He’s a bigger man than that.”
I smiled at Ace in gratitude. “Thank you.” I fidgeted with my jacket’s zipper for a moment before deciding to plunge ahead. “I think you’re a bigger man than you’ve shown Stella, too.” Not wanting to press my luck, I quickly added, “And you were right—I wanted to see if Claire was on the yacht. You want to stroll down there with me? If she’s there, I’ll leave you and knock, but at least you’ll get a closer look.”
“Let me hold that for you.” Ace opened my umbrella, and, leaving me feeling a bit like the queen, he held it over my head as we traveled down the dock. “A fine old bucket, she is,” he said when we got closer. “She sure runs nice, too.”
The cabin was dark. The faint light I saw was likely just something to welcome Dustin on his return. If Claire and Dustin were in, they clearly didn’t want to be disturbed, but more likely, they were at dinner. Or Claire had driven back to Astoria.
Ace’s quiet voice broke the silence. “Old wounds come home to roost.”
“What did you say?”
He let out a long breath. “Just thinking about things.” He seemed to snap out of his mood. “Well, looks like no one’s home. How about if I walk you back to your apartment? I don’t want you out with a murderer on the loose.”
“I’ll be fine, Ace, but thanks. I do have a favor to ask, though.”
“I’ll walk with you, and I won’t take no for an answer. It’s a few blocks out of my way; then I’ll come back and check on my boat. As for the favor, ask away.”
“My apartment ceiling has sprung a leak. Could you come over and take a look?”
“Sure. I have some time the day after tomorrow, but it’ll have to be early, before my shift with the tow truck.”
We took a last, lingering eyeful of the yacht, filling its slip with all the gloss and breeding of a Kentucky Derby winner in his stall.
“Thanks. I’ll take you up on it. Good-bye, lovely yacht,” I said.
“Lovely, yes. And she makes a good pace, too.”
“You should see the inside. The owner has a collection of vintage guitars, including one that used to belong to Jimi Hendrix.”
“No kidding,” Ace said, but his thoughts had clearly already drifted elsewhere. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
* * *
• • •
After a wet walk with Bear and a depressing few minutes in my apartment alone with my thoughts, I decided it was a night for a pizza. I put on my wet jacket and stepped out into the rain once again.
The warm light from the pizza parlor windows beckoned like a lighthouse through the downpour streaking past Rock Point’s old-fashioned streetlights. Inside, a handful of round tables with red oilcloth tablecloths filled the room, each topped with a canister of Parmesan cheese and a candle in a red pebbled-glass holder. Most residents must have still been at the debate, because the restaurant was quiet, except for the murmur of a football game coming from the kitchen.
My gaze was firmly fixed on the counter at the rear when I heard someone call out my name.
“Hi, Dustin,” I said. No Claire.
He waved from his table in a dimly lit corner. “Will you join me? I ordered the medium. I can’t even imagine how many people the large would feed.”
Besides the homemade sauce, Marty—Martino’s Polish owner—made his reputation on generous servings. For years, he’d had a contest running. If one person could eat an entire large pizza with at least two toppings, he’d give you the next pizza free of charge. So far, only a Japanese tourist had won.
“I’d love to, if you don’t mind.” I shed my jacket.
Marty emerged from the kitchen with a menu and a glass of water. “I heard Tibbetts had a thing or two to say about Strings Attached.”
“Word is out already? The debates aren’t even over.”
“Rita stopped by with the kids for a pepperoni to go.” He scratched a spot on his sauce-stained apron. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just politics. Tibbetts wants to make a point, that’s all.”
“I’d rather he didn’t use me to get ahead,” I said.
“Just try and stop him. Looks like you’ll be helping your friend with his vegetarian special. You want anything else?” Marty said. “Maybe a brownie for dessert?”
“Yes, please.” The Martino’s brownie was ample enough to satisfy a family of four, and it was delicious, too.
Marty strolled back to the kitchen, Dustin watching him with an amused look. “Rock Point is such a small town.”
“Especially compared to San Francisco,” I said. “How many times have you come out of the Claire de Lune to find gawkers on the dock?”
He laughed and pushed a dinner plate toward me. “Eat. What was that the owner was saying about the councilman dissing your shop?”
“Oh, he was trying to get in a dig at his opponent.” I explained about Marcus. “Besides being unfair to Strings Attached, it wasn’t very sensitive to you,” I said, thinking of his stepmother.
Dustin pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and wiped his fingers. “The fact that she’s dead is still sinking in.”
“It mus
t be awful. I feel bad for Claire, too. Did she go back to Astoria?”
“Yes. Said she has clients tomorrow, plus a cruise ship is coming in. I guess that means more work.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “I miss her.”
There, now it was out in the open. “I bet she misses you, too.”
He laughed uncertainly. “I was such a screwup for so many years. I partied through Europe, writing home for money, getting and losing jobs. I didn’t even apply to college until I was almost twenty-five. The last thing I’d considered was a serious relationship. Then, out of the blue, Claire e-mailed me this summer to congratulate me.”
“Congratulate you?” I’d made short work of a slice of pizza and was contemplating a second.
“I won some kind of prize for inventors. Not a big deal.” He leaned back. “Once I started working, I loved it.” He shook his head and smiled. “I’m still surprised. I can’t wait to get to work most mornings. And you know what? I’m good at it. I’m good at engineering solutions.”
I knew that feeling. I was good at designing kites. Once I’d opened Strings Attached, it was as if I were a puzzle piece that had snapped into its place at last. It was where I belonged.
Marty set a white crockery platter between us with a dictionary-sized brownie on it. He went to the front window and pulled the string that turned off the neon “Open” sign. “Business is slow. I’m going to close early, kids. No rush on your part, though.”
“Thanks, Marty,” I said. Then, to Dustin: “Now Claire and Jack have inherited your dad’s farm.” I left the question unspoken—why did they inherit, and not Dustin?
He took the bait. “It probably seems strange that I won’t get the farm now, but it’s not. One Christmas after I sold the seching machine’s patent, my dad and I had a long talk about it. I don’t want to sound like a braggart, but I don’t need the money. Besides, my dad bailed me out of trouble so often during my twenties that I feel like I’ve already spent an inheritance. So, I urged him to change the will.”
It all made sense now. “I admit, I wondered.” I sliced a chunk off the brownie and pushed it toward him. “Try this, it’s good.”
He toyed with the brownie and set down the fork. “Allison’s death—it worries me.”
“No kidding,” I said.
“I mean, more than the murder. That was awful, no doubt about it. I mean that Claire—or Jack—might end up as suspects since they’ll end up with property worth a few million dollars, at least. They were both in Rock Point when Allison died. If I hadn’t insisted on having the will changed—”
“You were at sea that night, right?”
“Of course. The sheriff grilled me about it. Which is why I wish I’d still been in the will; then I would have—”
“Stop it,” I said. “Sure, I worry, too. I worry about Jack.” Boy, did I worry about Jack. “But Sheriff Koppen is good. He’ll find the real murderer. I’m sure of it.”
“If worse comes to worst, I’ll hire Claire the best defense attorney out there.”
I looked up from the brownie.
“Or Jack,” he amended.
“This is all premature,” I said. “Let’s let the sheriff handle it.” I smiled and tried to look serene, while my thoughts were anything but.
I needed to know for sure where Jack was when Allison was murdered, and I wanted a witness. Again, it came down to Claire.
chapter fifteen
The next morning, I called Claire. While the phone rang, I pushed back the curtain covering my French doors and craned my neck to see if I could get a glimpse of Dustin’s yacht. I barely made out the tip of a mast.
“Hello?”
I dropped the curtain. Claire sounded at least two cups of coffee’s worth of awake, which put her one and a half cups ahead of me. I’d tossed and turned in bed, earning sighs from Bear on his bed nearby. I thought that thanks to anxiety I’d be up with the sun, but instead I’d slept in.
“Could I come see you? I want to talk to you about something important.” I grimaced. I was starting to sound like a character in a soap opera.
“Of course you can, but I hate to think of you going to all the trouble to drive here. Are you sure you can’t tell me on the phone? Just a sec.” I heard a muffled, “Chester, get off there,” then, to me she said, “Sorry. My cat has a bad habit of getting on the counter when I turn my back.”
I gripped the phone. “I know this sounds melodramatic, but it has to do with Allison. And Jack. I’d feel better talking to you in person.” Face-to-face, I’d be better able to judge her reaction.
Claire didn’t answer right away. I didn’t know if she was shooing the cat again or simply needed time to make a decision. “All right. Can you be here soon? There’s a cruise ship coming in this morning, and the shop will be busy as soon as it opens.”
“I’ll leave right away.”
Claire gave me her address, and even before I hung up the phone I was pulling a fresh shirt from my closet. It was about a forty-five-minute drive to Astoria. I’d drop Bear off with Sunny to accompany her on her daily walk along Clatsop Cliffs, and from there I’d have a straight shot up the coast.
Within a quarter of an hour, I was on the road. Last night’s rain had stopped, and the morning was cool but clear. Moisture rose from the highway in cloudy puffs as the sun hit the asphalt. The coastal forest stood especially crisp and green-blue in the morning light. I wondered how Jack and his father’s night had gone in the woods. Jack had good camping gear, I knew. He’d be dry. Maybe they were sitting over a campfire now, getting ready to pack up their tent for a hike farther down the trail.
At last the massive span of the Astoria-Megler Bridge came into view. The Columbia River spread as wide and, today, as blue as the sky above. Two long freighters were anchored in its flow.
My Prius crawled up the hill on Twelfth Street through a working-class neighborhood of Victorian homes with weathered gingerbread and old cars parked out front. I passed the Star of the Sea Church and, following Claire’s directions, took a right on Parker Place.
Unlike the elaborate but weather-beaten homes I’d passed earlier, the home Claire lived in was a small bungalow wedged between an Italian Renaissance Revival mansion that had been split into apartments and another modest house closer to the era of her own. Claire met me at the door, curiosity bald in her expression.
Her house was warm after the windy cold outside. A floor-to-ceiling painting of a sacred heart ringed in thorns filled one wall across from a thrift-store couch. A chunky tabby cat rubbed against my calves before hopping onto a quilt-covered armchair.
“What a cozy house,” I said. “I love it. Can you see the river?”
“Here.” She led me to the small dining room off the kitchen at the house’s rear. Down the hill, across the handful of blocks that made up Astoria’s downtown, a tanker navigated the wide river. “Thanks, I love it here, too. It feels good. Safe. And it’s all mine.”
I barely had time to start to take it all in—the view, Claire’s burst of affection for her house—before she asked, “I have to admit, I’ve been curious ever since you called. What did you want to talk to me about? Did the sheriff find something new?”
“It’s not that. It’s that I’m worried he won’t find something new.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s about Jack.”
Claire cocked her head. I followed her back to the living room. “I don’t understand. He’s okay, right?”
“No—I mean, yes. He’s fine. At least, I haven’t heard any differently.” I hadn’t heard anything at all, in fact. I glanced at the armchair behind me, upholstered in an old Pendleton blanket. Judging from its shaggy arm, Chester had been at work sharpening his claws on it. “May I sit down?”
“Do you mind walking with me to the tattoo shop? I have to open soon. It’s not far—you can walk up and get you
r car later.” As she spoke, she was putting on a patched jean jacket and fringed scarf.
After Claire locked up and we were on the sidewalk, she said, “What is it about Jack and Allison?”
As we walked down the hill, the tang of the ocean air filled my lungs. “The sheriff seems to suspect Jack of killing Allison. The evidence keeps piling up against him.”
Claire stopped and turned to me, her breath clouding the air. “Jack? That’s impossible.”
“I know he didn’t do it. But the sheriff doesn’t know that.”
“Why wouldn’t he suspect me, too? I inherit just as much as Jack does.”
“He probably does suspect you. Jack simply looks like a better candidate to him.”
She turned and resumed the walk down the hill. “The sheriff did ask me where I was the night Allison was killed. I was at Jack’s, of course. I had a pie from Martino’s and watched movies while Jack was at the bonfire with you. When he came home, we hung out for half an hour or so, then went to bed. That’s it.”
She emphasized that last point. I wasn’t sure if it was to let me know she was innocent or tip me off that she wasn’t with Dustin.
“Was Allison going to stay with you?”
“Definitely. I fixed up the attic room for her. She was supposed to get in before dinner the next day. We were planning on hanging out in Rock Point, then have dinner with you and your sister, and leave for Uncle Gus’s the next morning.”
We quieted as we passed a couple walking a black-and-white terrier. “Come on, Dixie.” The woman pulled the terrier to the narrow sidewalk’s edge. “Hello, Claire.”
“Hi, Janeen. Steve.”
When the couple was out of earshot, I took a breath and asked the question I’d come to find out the answer to. I almost didn’t want to know. “I suppose the sheriff asked about Jack.”
She nodded. “I told him he was home all night after the bonfire. He had to be.”
Our steps marched in unison down the sidewalk. “But you couldn’t be sure, because you weren’t watching him all night. At some point, you slept. Plus, he might have stopped at Strings Attached on the way home.”
