“It helps that no one’s trying to kill me.” She looked like she was going to throw something at me. “Fine. I’m taking it seriously. Tell me your story.”
“I went for a walk to clear my head.”
“Carrying a picnic basket?”
“What?”
“You left with the picnic basket, though come to think of it, you didn’t come home with it.”
“Why are you obsessing about the picnic basket?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Oh. My. God.” Taylor got up and stomped to the kitchen. She threw open the pantry cupboard and grabbed a box of saltines. Slamming the cupboard shut, she stomped back to the living room and thrust it at me. “Here!”
I took the box. “Gee, thanks. Now, go on. Where’d you go?”
“Out past the cannery.” The cannery processed the salmon that gave Coho Bay its name. It was about a half mile past Mel’s, down a dirt road that ran along that side of the bay. There was a marina where the fishing boats moored, and in the summer a cloud of gulls feasted on what my mother called salmon waste products. I called them gut piles, but hey, she was the biologist. This time of year the fishermen consolidated into a few large boats and left to go crabbing in Bristol Bay. It was a horribly dangerous job and more than a few men had been seriously injured or killed over the years, but crabbing was big money, so the boats kept running.
“Someone tried to kill you at the cannery?”
“Yes! Well, no. Not at the cannery. I’m not sure when he started following me. I didn’t notice him until I was almost back to town.”
“Someone didn’t try to kill you. Someone followed you.”
Taylor turned on me, defiance in her every feature. “Well, he could have killed me if I hadn’t run!”
“Okay, I believe you.” I popped a cracker into my mouth. “Who was it? Oooh, was it Jack?”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” She sat down on the arm of the couch. “I don’t know. He was wearing a black raincoat with the hood pulled down.”
“On a clear day?”
“That’s what I said! Why are you asking so many questions? When I got to Mel’s, the door was locked. I know, it’s Thursday. Anyway, I knocked but she didn’t answer, and I couldn’t wait, so I ran home as fast as I could.”
I went to the window and looked up the street. “Whoever he was, he’s gone now. What makes you think he was following you?”
“He wasn’t exactly out for a stroll.”
“He might have been.”
“Cara!”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Okay, he was following you. What makes you think he was trying to kill you?”
“Why else would he be following me?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but she glared at me, so I kept my thoughts to myself. Her energy spent, Taylor slid off the arm and lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “I thought it would be easier here.”
“Time heals all things, Tay.”
“That’s crap,” she countered, but her voice was more sad than angry. “They told me that when I lost my family. People have no idea what to say to that kind of loss, so they fall back on that old line.” She looked up at me. “It was crap then, and it’s crap now.”
Chapter 5
“I didn’t hear Taylor knock yesterday. You say she was pounding at the door?” Mel was elbow-deep in bread dough, her hair tied back and her apron white with flour. Spicy, hot cabbage burgers were always on the menu the last week of the season and were a favorite of both cruisers and locals. Bent was frying donuts, something he’d gotten up early to do since I’d burned too many batches to be trusted with the job. I was washing pots as usual.
“That’s what she said. I don’t know how you could’ve missed her.” Bent and Mel exchanged glances, and Mel’s face reddened. “Moving right along, do you think it was Jack? Frank said he was ranting about Tay all the way home.”
“When did you start hanging out with Frank?” asked Mel.
“He stopped by the boat when Tay and I were trying to head out to the island yesterday. That reminds me, I have to ask Kenny to pick up a fuel filter. I couldn’t get it started, and Frank said he thought that was the problem.”
“Not again,” sighed Bent, fishing donuts out of the oil and laying them on a drainer. He put another batch in the oil, then sprinkled powdered sugar over the cooling ones. He’d move them to a serving dish before fishing out that batch, repeating the process until he’d made enough for the breakfast rush.
I leaned against the sink, watching him. “What do you mean?”
“Your dad and I just put a new fuel filter on the boat three weeks ago. If it’s bad already, we’ll have to tear apart the motor to find out what’s going on when he gets back.”
“You’d better hold off, Cara,” said Mel. “You don’t want to be stuck in the middle of the bay if the motor goes out.”
“I have to go get Mr. Peterson on Thursday. He’s only got the house through the end of the season.”
“Call him. I bet he’d be happy to stay on a few extra days.”
“I suppose.”
“If he has connections to make, I’m sure someone could run you out there.” Mel covered the huge bowl of dough with a clean dish towel and set it in a corner to rise. She gathered up her dirty dishes and dumped them in the sink for me, then cleaned the worktable and started putting together meat and egg casseroles.
“Like Frank,” said Bent.
“Which brings me back to the subject.”
“What subject?” asked Mel.
“The guy who was chasing Tay.”
“Just because she was running, doesn’t mean anyone was chasing her.” Mel filled three large baking dishes and, after sprinkling a few handfuls of cheese on the top, slid them into the oven. More dishes hit the sink, but at least she was ready now to turn her attention to the family breakfast. The smell of the donuts was making me hungry.
“She wouldn’t lie to me.”
“I’m not saying she lied. I’m saying she might be jumpy after that run-in with Jack. She might have read something into it that wasn’t there. Poor guy might’ve been out for a walk.”
“Wearing a raincoat?” I asked.
Mel shrugged. “Outsiders are always cold. Maybe it was the only coat he had.”
“Why didn’t she call Dan if she was so scared?” asked Bent, sugaring the last batch of donuts.
“On a Thursday?” Mel and I said in two-part harmony.
“He’s not dead on Thursdays. He’s just off duty.”
“Do you remember the last time somebody bothered him on a Thursday when it wasn’t an emergency?” I asked.
“You’ve got a point there,” agreed Bent as he headed out to the dining room.
Mel set a plate of blueberry pancakes on the worktable and handed me a fork. “Leave the dishes. You’ll be late.”
“What do you know about Frank?” I asked, pulling off my apron and perching on a stool across from her, watching her make more pancakes.
“As much as you do.”
“But you see him every day.”
“So do you, and I’m not the one whose been flirting with him.”
“Am I the only one who didn’t know he was flirting with me?”
“How could you not know? You were flirting too.”
I threw up my hands. “See? And I didn’t know that either. Obviously I’m not doing it right.”
“You’re doing it fine.”
“Do you think he thinks I’ve been flirting?”
“Want me to pass him a note when I see him in class? C’mon, Cara.”
“When did he get to be so good-looking?”
“How good-looking do you think he is?”
“I don’t know. Romance-novel cover?”
Mel laughed. “You’ve got it bad. Frank’s cute, but he’s not that cute.”
I could still hear Bent moving chairs in the dining room. I lowered my voice and leaned across the worktable. “He
showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night.”
“Last night?” Mel put down her fork and stared open-mouthed at me.
“No, the night before. After he and Dan took Jack home.”
“And you’re just now getting around to telling me this?”
“I forgot.”
Mel picked up her fork again. “You forgot about a ‘romance-novel cover’ gorgeous man dropping by your apartment in the middle of the night? I’m sure that happens all the time.”
“Do you want to hear this or make fun of me?”
“I can do both. What did he want?”
“He wanted me to lock my door and keep my gun loaded.”
“Because of Jack?”
“Yep. Then he said he saw someone standing outside city hall, watching the apartment.”
She dropped her fork this time. “Did you see him?”
“I saw someone’s feet, but it was dark and the guy was standing under the awning. Frank went out to tell him to give it up and go to bed. I saw the two of them, or at least their feet standing together, so whoever it was couldn’t have been too scary.”
“But it puts another light on Taylor’s story. Maybe you should keep your gun handy. At least until the season’s over.”
“I suppose you’re right. At least I’m safe in the gallery.” The town had installed a system of silent alarms in each store since merchants handled a significant amount of cash.
“You should tell Dan about it. The guy’s probably seasonal.”
“You say that when anything bad happens.”
“And I’m usually right. If it was a local, he’d know the whole town would come after him. Seasonals think they can get away with anything and be gone before anybody figures it out.”
I finished my pancakes, slid off the stool, and headed for the back door. “The gallery calls. What’s for dinner tonight?”
“Whatever I decide to make for you,” said Bent, coming back into the kitchen.
I pulled on my hooded rain jacket and went out into the predawn rain. It was just a drizzle, but it was icy cold, a sure sign that the moose would be heading into lower country, passing near the forest service cabin where my parents were poised to count them. Of course, it wasn’t only moose that migrated, but because they were the largest animals in the woods, the health of the moose population gave a good indication of the health of the forest.
I pulled the hood down over my face and lowered my head, pushing through the wall of moisture as quickly as my feet would carry me. I wanted to get to the gallery before I was completely drenched, or it would be hours before I would feel warm again. Accustomed to having the boardwalk to myself at that hour, I didn’t see the person in front of me until I slammed into him, sending us both to the ground. I sat up sputtering. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
His back was to me, and all I could see was a black raincoat with a hood pulled up. My heart skipped a beat until he spoke. “You must’ve been a linebacker in college.”
“Frank! I’m so sorry.”
“You said that.” He stood up and offered me his arm. “You should seriously think about football if the whole art gallery thing doesn’t work out.”
“I actually did play football, but only in high school. We didn’t have enough boys to field a team, so I got drafted.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“I wasn’t a linebacker though. I was a quarterback. It was one of the only times it came in handy to be so tall.”
“I like tall women.”
In spite of the cold, I felt my face turn hot. “Let’s not stand out here in the rain.” We crossed the street and hurried to the gallery door. “What are you doing up and about this early?”
“Checking on you. Making sure you’re okay.”
“At five thirty in the morning?” I unlocked the gallery and held the door open for him. We shed our raincoats and hung them on a rack in the entry to keep them from dripping all over the gallery’s waxed wood floors.
“What were you doing wandering around in the rain?” he asked, ignoring my question.
“I need coffee,” I said. If he was going to ignore my question, I was going to ignore his, at least until I had started a fresh pot. “I help Mel and Bent get ready for the breakfast rush every morning. They feed me, then I come here to get my shipment ready for Kenny. Now can I ask you something?”
“You don’t have a shipment this morning. Gallery was closed yesterday.”
“I have other paperwork I do on Fridays. My question?”
“Shoot.”
“Why are you suddenly so nosy?”
“I’ve always been nosy.”
“You’ve never had more than ten words to say to me before.”
“I’ve always had more than ten words. You just never let me say them.”
There was a shift in the conversation that had nothing to do with our actual words. I busied myself by pouring coffee until I could trust my voice. I held a cup up for Frank, but he shook his head. “In my defense, you’ve always struck me as a bit...”
He moved close and put his hands on either side of me, resting on the counter. He leaned his head in and whispered, “Dashing?”
His nearness was making it hard for me to concentrate, but I managed to stand my ground. “Obnoxious.”
He put his hands over his heart. “Ouch.”
I slipped away from him and crossed to my desk. “So who did Mr. Shoes turn out to be?”
“Mr. Shoes?”
“The guy you thought was watching my apartment.”
“I don’t know.”
“He wouldn’t tell you?”
“I didn’t see him. He was gone by the time I got there.”
I took a long, slow drink from my cup. Why was he lying? I decided against confronting him about it and instead changed the subject. “Bent says he and Dad put a new fuel filter on the boat a few weeks ago.”
Was that a twitch at the corner of his mouth? Had he been lying about that too, or was Taylor’s paranoia wearing off on me? “That doesn’t sound good. Your Dad should overhaul that motor before you try to take the boat out. Tell him to give me a yell if he needs help.”
I relaxed a bit. “Bent said the same thing. I’m hoping it’s something quick and simple. He’s not back until Wednesday night, and I really need to get out to the island on Thursday.” I hoped the boat wouldn’t need any parts because there were none to be had in town. Dad would have to ride into Juneau with Kenny if he needed anything, and that would cost him most of the day. Nothing happens in a hurry here.
“Your friend that desperate?”
I shook my head. “Tay could wait, but I have a renter I need to pick up.”
“My offer stands. I’d be happy to run you out there.”
“I might take you up on that if Bent and Dad can’t get the boat running in time.”
“Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about moving back to the apartment for the winter. When are you moving out?”
“I don’t know. Mel has been after me to stay in town this winter, but I don’t want to leave Mom and Dad in the woods by themselves.”
“They lived out there when the two of you were just kids, didn’t they?”
“Not in the winter. We wouldn’t have been able to go to school from out there, so they built a house in town.”
“Why don’t they live there now?”
“Because they converted it to a restaurant when Mel and Bent got married.”
“Ah, I see the light. Well, if you decide to stay in town, I guess I could go live in your cabin and keep your folks company.”
“Hey, that’s an idea. Let me think on it.”
“So where are these paintings of Lennon’s?”
“Snow. Jonathan Snow is the name he painted under.”
“I don’t blame him. Why would anyone name your kid John when your last name is Lennon?”
“It’s his father’s name, only his dad has gone by Jack for
as long as I can remember.”
“I didn’t know that. Makes some sense now.”
“Come on, I’ll show you the two I have left.”
We walked through the darkened gallery to where the paintings were hung. Positioning Frank for maximum impact, I switched on the lights that highlighted the canvases. I watched his face, but there was no reaction. Feeling a little disappointed, I bit my lip to keep from talking about Johnny’s deft use of color and texture to create areas of light and shadow, closeness and depth. I didn’t point out his perfect sense of proportion, or that what he chose to include and what he opted to leave out took a living landscape and recast it in the artist’s vision, creating an emotional impact that left one breathless. There was so much I could have said about the enchantment of Johnny’s paintings, but I chose to say none of them. You couldn’t give someone an appreciation of a work of art with words. They either felt it, or they didn’t.
Frank stepped forward and looked intently at the paintings. After a few minutes he stepped back and looked down at me. “These are the only ones you have left?”
“I’m afraid so. Johnny had been dabbling for years, but he hadn’t been painting full time for more than a couple of years when he died. There just wasn’t time...” I turned away.
Frank put his hands on my shoulders. His touch was gentle, soothing. “You miss him.”
“Of course I do.” I swiped at the tear with my fingers, grateful for once that I’m allergic to mascara so I never wear it. At least Frank wouldn’t see me with tear tracks.
He gave my shoulders a squeeze, then dropped his hands and moved toward the door, weaving his way unerringly through the sculptures in the dim light that signaled dawn. I followed slowly, gathering myself as I went, so by the time we reached the entryway I was composed. Frank looked at me for a long moment. “You don’t like me,” he said, pulling on his coat.
He’d caught me off guard. “No. I wouldn’t say that. Why do you think so?”
He reached out and ran his fingertips across my cheek. The touch was so unexpected I flinched as though he’d burned me. The corner of his mouth turned up. “No reason.”
“Town full of hermits, remember?” I was shaking. Taylor would have said something cute and sexy, and Frank would have melted into her arms. What was wrong with me?
The Deadly Art of Deception Page 6
