The Deadly Art of Deception

by Linda Crowder

  Once he was out of earshot, Mel picked up our conversation. “This is why I don’t think you should be in that apartment alone, Cara. Don’t tell me you aren’t scared.”

  “Okay, I’m scared, but I’ve got no good reason to be. The one you should be worried about is Taylor. Can you imagine her on the island all by herself this winter?”

  “Not really. Can she even get a cell signal out there? What if something breaks down? I can’t picture Taylor being able to fix it.”

  “She has a ham radio, and she might be a decent handyman. Who knew she could work a table saw, but she did just fine? It’s her emotional health I’m worried about. How’s she going to take being out there without Johnny?”

  “Taylor isn’t my sister. Now, I don’t care what Dan says, this Mr. Shoes is not a figment of your imagination. Your imagination didn’t create those footprints.”

  I steadied myself against the counter, finding the solid surface comforting. “Maybe it was Frank, checking to make sure I locked the door.”

  “Then where is he, Cara? Where is he, and where is Taylor?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s Coho Bay, Mel. I’m sure they’re fine, and I’m sure we’ve gotten ourselves all worked up over nothing.”

  Mel frowned. “Pregnancy hormones?”

  “I don’t think that excuse will work for me. How about sympathy hormones?”

  Mel snickered and stood up. “Hormones or no hormones, if I don’t get moving, I’ll be stuck with a dining room full of people and nothing but coffee to serve them.”

  It was still dark, so I borrowed a flashlight when I left for the gallery. I felt a little silly with the flashlight in my left hand and my right resting on the gun in my coat pocket, but I had enough memory of the fear I’d felt last night not to let that stop me. I checked my apartment before I went to the gallery to see if Taylor had returned. The door was locked, and when I opened it and called her name, there was no response. I shone my flashlight at the stoop but saw no trace of the footprints Bent and Dan had found the night before.

  Once in the gallery, I leaned heavily on the door, forcing it closed against the protest of the hydraulic arm. Once I was able to lock it behind me, I started shaking. The strength went out of my legs, and for the second time that morning, I found myself sinking helplessly to the floor. This time I didn’t have to be brave for Mel, so I closed my eyes, leaned back against the cold glass of the door, and rode the wave. I’m not very good at handling strong emotion, and this business was stirring up emotions I couldn’t even describe. The harder I told myself there was nothing to be afraid of, the more my hands shook until I couldn’t grip the flashlight anymore. It wasn’t that I’d never been afraid before. You can’t hunt without fear, because no matter what kind of game you’re after, you can bet there’s something bigger out there hunting you. The tables can turn quickly as they had for Johnny. Just that fast, your life can be over. When you live close to nature, you learn to live with that kind of danger. You don’t like it, but you don’t let it keep you from doing what you need to do.

  This was an entirely different brand of fear, and I didn’t know how to stare it down. Frank had frightened me with his late-night panic attack, and it hadn’t been my imagination that someone had tried to get in, and I didn’t think they were selling cookies. Now Taylor and Frank had vanished, and I didn’t care what Dan said. It wasn’t like her to take off like that. For all I knew there could be a two-legged predator on the hunt in Coho Bay, and Dan wasn’t doing anything to stop him. Animals follow certain patterns of behavior, but people are far less predictable. I’d rather stare down a pack of wolves than a single murderous human.

  With these thoughts simmering in my mind, there was a knock at the door against which I was leaning. It probably isn’t possible for me to have leaped in one motion from where I had been sitting to a standing position facing the door, but that’s what my brain told me I did. I crouched into my best imitation of an attack position I’d seen in a hundred movies and brandished the flashlight like a weapon. How I would have stopped an attacker with a flashlight and why I didn’t reach into my coat pocket for my actual weapon is a mystery, but it’s probably best that my gun stayed where it was.

  My would-be assassin yelped and jumped away from the door, her hand coming up to protect her eyes from the light. I couldn’t see her from the glare of the light reflecting back at me in the glass, but I could hear her with crystal clarity. Her first words gave me another lesson in profanity, but she finished with, “Cara! Cut the light!”

  I lowered the beam and twisted the lock open, grabbing her arm and pulling her inside. “Where on earth have you been, Tay? You scared me half to death taking off like that.”

  She rubbed her arm. “What is your problem? The apartment was locked, and I was too mad to go back for the key. Why were you sitting in the doorway? You scared the life out of me jumping up like that.”

  “Never mind what I was doing. Where did you go last night?”

  She walked past me. “I need coffee.”

  I followed, my steps slow but my mind racing. I’d been asking a lot of questions lately and not getting many answers. It was beginning to get on my nerves. “Where did you go?”

  “I was standing on the stoop, trying to decide what to do when I saw Frank. He asked me what I was doing and when I told him, he offered to...” Measuring coffee into the filter suddenly claimed her complete attention, and a terrible truth flooded over me.

  “You did not. You seriously did not.” There was no answer, but I could see I’d struck the nail right on the head. “Taylor Louise Snow, how could you?”

  She flipped the switch on the coffeemaker and wheeled to face me, defiance radiating from every pore. “Why the hell not?”

  I was speechless. A million words blew through my head, but my lips couldn’t seem to form them. A whirlwind engulfed me—anger, jealousy, betrayal—and I fought to control it. I turned away from her, crossed to my desk, and switched on my computer. I stared unseeingly at the screen, waiting for it to come alive. It was as though the onslaught of emotion had short-circuited something in me, and I found myself feeling nothing at all.

  “That’s it? You have nothing more to say?”

  I sat back in my chair, sorting through all of the things I felt like saying to see if there was something I actually could. Words tumbled over themselves to get out, but I stopped them. What was the point?

  Taylor bustled around the room, talking quickly as she pulled mugs out of the cupboard. “I never said I was gonna marry the guy. He was just... there.” She put creamer in my mug and sugar in her own. Her arm shook as she poured the coffee. “I miss him, Cara.”

  My anger was compounded by guilt. It was Saturday. The first anniversary of Johnny’s death had to be hell for her. Who was I to give her crap for taking comfort wherever she found it? There was no sense being angry with her for sleeping with Frank. It was done, and it couldn’t be undone even if she regretted it. I felt a sharp pang about Frank, but I pushed it aside. As I’d done so many times before, I reminded myself that if a man had been genuinely interested in me, he wouldn’t have slept with her. The tiny door in my heart that had opened when he’d looked at me, slammed shut.

  Taylor brought my coffee. “I’m sorry you were worried. I should have left a note. I wasn’t thinking straight.” She sat down and stared into her cup. “I’m so raw right now. Everything hurts.”

  “I need to call Mel.” Words were still elusive, but I managed to get that much out. I was hurt and angry and probably a few other things I didn’t stop to analyze, but at least with this I was on familiar, if unwelcome, ground.

  “Let me,” said Taylor, digging her cell phone out of her purse. “I could kick myself, getting her all worked up at a time like this.”

  “Did Mel tell you about the baby?”

  Taylor rolled her eyes at me as she waited for Mel to pick up. “A woman doesn’t have to tell you something like that.”

  I bit my lip to
keep from pointing out that if she’d answered her phone last night she would have saved us all a lot of worry. I felt sick listening to her speaking with such earnest contrition to Mel, and without warning, I heard my mother’s voice. You’ll eat yourself alive from the inside if you don’t tell a person how you feel. Of course, she only said that after I’d given in to whatever strange demand she’d made on me, but she did have a point. Mel told me I ought to have “Welcome” tattooed on my forehead if I were going to be a doormat all my life.

  It wasn’t fair. I hated confrontation, and I shouldn’t have to fight for what I needed from people who were supposed to be my friends. People who loved you should want for you what you want for yourself. You shouldn’t have to watch your back around someone if she was truly your friend. I closed my eyes and pushed the thought away. I had work to do, and I didn’t have time to examine Taylor’s motives.

  I sat up at my computer and started printing shipping labels. By the time Kenny arrived, my mind was clear again and I had the shipment ready for him. “Could you pick me up a fuel filter for Dad’s boat? I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Another one? He’s got bigger problems than the fuel filter if that last one went bad already.”

  “I know. Crazy, huh? They’ll have to tear the motor apart Thursday. Hopefully we won’t be asking you for more parts.”

  “Hope not. Bent can’t afford to be without a boat with Mel in the family way.” Had everybody known about the baby but me? I’ve got to work on my powers of observation. Kenny hopped in his van and chugged down the street. Taylor and I spent the next hour pulling the last of the artwork out of the back room. With only two more ships coming, I wanted to be sure every single piece had an opportunity to be seen and sold. When we finished, she went upstairs to shower and change. I walked through the gallery, allowing myself to absorb the peace I always felt being surrounded by beautiful work. My degree is in business, and I love using what I learned to make the gallery a success, but I get so caught up in the business end of things that I forget how much the art inspires me.

  I paused in front of Johnny’s paintings and remembered the last time I’d seen him. He’d come into the gallery with Taylor the morning he died. He wanted to see how many paintings I had left, and she wanted to take advantage of the open weather to spend a day in town. It was a busy day, and she’d offered to help, so Johnny had set out alone with his sketchpad. I hadn’t spared him another thought until Kenny had shown up at the front door, bursting with the news. I hadn’t wanted to believe him, but when Dan walked in a few minutes later, it was written in every line in his face. He’d taken Taylor into the back room, his eyes locking with mine over her shoulders, filling me with dread.

  My first thought when Dan emerged had been to close the gallery and go to her, but he told me she didn’t want to see anybody. I’d started to push past him, but he’d put his hands on my shoulders and told me to let her be. It had felt wrong to go about business as usual in the gallery. Johnny had been my friend too, and I was reeling with the shock of losing him, but I put my own feelings on hold and did what I thought was best for Taylor. I don’t know if I let her down by not going to her. We never talk about that day.

  I wondered what Dan had wanted to talk to Taylor about the other day and why Johnny’s estate was still unsettled. More questions to add to the list of ones she hadn’t answered. Johnny’s estate should have been simple. The money in the marriage had been Taylor’s. Johnny hadn’t brought much more than the island and his paintings into the marriage. Even with the staggering demand for his work after his death, the amount I’d deposited into the estate account was a drop in the bucket to the fortune Taylor’s parents had left her when they’d died. I wondered what was causing the holdup.

  Chapter 7

  The dining room at Mel’s was quiet that night. Many of the locals would be leaving Coho Bay at the end of the week, heading to winter homes spread out along the rugged coast or scattered in clearings throughout the woods. They ate quickly, talked in muted tones, and left without dessert to begin packing up their summer cabins. The seasonal workers who hadn’t left when school started had commandeered two tables along the far wall. Their voices were animated as they exchanged cell phone numbers and social media handles. I wondered how many of them would keep the promise to stay in touch.

  I absorbed all of this without looking up from my plate. There could have been a marching band behind me, and it wouldn’t have torn me away from my dinner. Bent had made meatloaf sandwiches from the last of the moose, and Bent’s meatloaf was a culinary masterpiece, worthy of my undivided attention. He had mixed in leftover elk sausage, and the combination was heavenly. Nestled beside it was a small pile of Bent’s homemade chips, liberally spiced with barbeque rub. I don’t think Mel married him for his cooking, but in my opinion that would have been enough.

  I hoped Dad had found time to scout a few promising hunting spots while he was doing the count. We’d drawn both moose and elk this year, and I was anxious to escape the bustle of the season for the peace of the woods. Hunting with my father was the highlight of my year. From sighting in our rifles to packing up the four-wheelers to stalking the herd as silently as we could, it was a week of pure enjoyment. Mom and Mel had come with us only once before proclaiming it too cold, dirty, and smelly for their tastes. After that, they holed up in the cabin canning, freezing, and drying the late harvest from my parents’ garden. That kind of work didn’t appeal to me, and the fact that they enjoyed it made me a little concerned about their sanity. Bent was coming with us this year, so we hoped to bring home enough meat to have a steak or two left for the end of the season celebration next year.

  Perched on the stool beside me, Taylor picked at her food, then shoved her plate away. “How can you eat like that?”

  She caught me mid-chew, so I swallowed before I answered. “I thought you liked moose loaf.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the food.”

  I watched as she turned her paper napkin into confetti. I was trying not to let the little green monster get me. Taylor had been collecting other women’s boyfriends for years, making her decidedly unpopular in college. I’d seen it happen enough times to know that it wasn’t so much that Taylor went after men, but that she didn’t turn down what they were offering. Taylor had told me once that any man who could be stolen wasn’t a man you’d want to keep. “I’m doing her a favor,” she told me once when I’d called her on it. “Just think if she’d married him and then he’d been unfaithful. This way at least she doesn’t have kids with the jerk.”

  I doubted our former friend had felt that way about it, but while she’d put all the blame on Taylor, I’d been at that party and I’d seen him come onto her. She should have walked away; he was the one who’d made the commitment, and it had been his choice to break it. Taylor had known I was interested in Frank, and if he made the first move, she could have ducked it, but I had no claim on the man. I couldn’t even blame Frank for turning to Taylor since I’d pretty much ignored him all summer. He had my attention now, going all superhero on Jack, but I had deflected his attentions even then. If I was alone now, it was nobody’s fault but my own.

  I finished my sandwich and picked up the conversation. “So what did you mean?”

  “Frank.”

  “What about him?” I asked as though I hadn’t just been thinking about him.

  “He said he’d meet us for dinner.”

  “He’s usually here, but I wouldn’t call that meeting us for dinner.”

  “Well this time he said it specifically. He was going to finish his last tour, go home and take a shower, then meet us here after the gallery closed.”

  I grinned at Mel when she set a dish of apple crumble in front of me. My favorite. I spared only part of my brain for Taylor. The rest of me reveled in warm apples, cinnamon, and granola. “Frank was gonna take a shower? Must have been trying to impress you.”

  “He likes you. He just doesn’t think you like him.”
>
  I finished my dessert and stared at her. “He has sex with you, then says I’m the one he’s really after. I bet that happens all the time.”

  “You could have had him anytime this summer. Don’t blame me if a man gets tired of waiting.”

  I opened my mouth to retort but shut it firmly. Taking my silence as agreement, Taylor continued. “If you’re done stuffing yourself, can we go?”

  “Don’t go getting all snarky with me, or I’ll forget how glad I was to see you this morning.” I didn’t think she was sorry, but at least she had the decency to appear contrite, so I slid off my barstool and went into the kitchen to let Mel and Bent know where we were going.

  “Do you have your gun with you?” asked Bent.

  “In my coat pocket. I came to borrow your flashlight again.”

  Mel retrieved it. “Call me every fifteen minutes.”

  “Sheesh, Mel, you sound more like Mom every minute. Must be the hormones.”

  “Don’t be mean.”

  Taylor was waiting for me by the door, coat and gloves on, arms crossed, and right leather boot tapping. I handed her the flashlight and shrugged into my own coat, checking to make sure my handgun was still in the pocket and on safety. Taylor set off toward the marina at a blistering pace. “Hey, Cara, let’s start with the boat,” I mumbled sarcastically, but she was already too far ahead to hear.

  She waited at the bottom of the steps for me to catch up before striking out toward where the commercial boats were docked. Coho Bay boasted a small fleet of excursion boats, enough to handle an army of cruisers. Frank’s boat, Whale of a Time, was tied up five slips from the end. Taylor scrambled up the ladder and hopped onto the deck. Listening to her calling for him, it struck me how far we were from where Dad’s boat was tied up. Private boats were on the other side of the marina at least a hundred yards away. I wondered how Frank could have heard us trying to get the motor started.

  “He’s not here.” I looked up to see her climb down the ladder at a much more sedate pace than she had gone up.