by Sharon Pape
“I appreciate your honesty,” she said, “and I’m going to take you at your word. But my patience has its limits.”
Zeke nodded. “It’s been my experience that everythin’ does.”
Rory had no idea what he meant by that, but she suspected it might lead down a road from which there was no returning, so she let it go.
“You might want to check that there answerin’ machine,” Zeke said as he slowly sifted away into the ether.
Jessica arrived at precisely two o’clock. The message she’d left on Rory’s voice mail was a simple “Please call me,” along with her phone number. When Rory called her back, she’d been no more forthcoming. She’d requested a meeting but refused to say why.
From her office, Rory heard the car pull up, followed by the staccato tapping of stilettos crossing the driveway. She opened the door before Jessica could knock. Their greeting was restrained and somewhat awkward, since their last time alone together hadn’t ended under the best of circumstances. Rory was tempted to ask how the dental appointment had gone, but common sense prevailed and she kept her mouth shut.
The actress’s arm was still in a cast, but other than that she looked as flawless as ever in black leggings and an emerald green tunic that skimmed her body and set her red hair on fire. Rory wondered if she had a professional makeup artist and hairstylist on retainer—or chained up in her basement.
Jessica was about to take a seat on the couch but abruptly changed her mind and chose the armchair instead. Rory didn’t understand why until she noticed a few strands of Hobo’s hair on the couch. She almost apologized but decided she’d rather start their conversation from a position of strength. And allergies aside, a little dog fur never hurt anyone.
“So how can I help you?” she asked once the actress had settled herself.
Jessica took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as if she were about to launch into a lengthy soliloquy. “I’ve been troubled by our last conversation,” she said. “I was in a hurry that day and I hadn’t been expecting you. As a result I may have come across as…difficult. I’d like to correct that impression.”
Rory had imagined half a dozen reasons why the actress might want to speak to her, but that hadn’t been one of them.
“I know ex-lovers are traditionally suspects in a murder investigation. I’ve seen it so often in screenplays that it’s actually become trite.”
Rory didn’t bother to point out that, trite or not, in real life ex-lovers were still committing murder. Apparently Jessica kept up on current events by way of screenplay plots.
“Anyway, I was thinking about the case, trying to figure out who could have killed Brian, but it was impossible. I mean, the troupe is like a second family to me, so it’s hard to imagine one of them being a killer. And that’s when it dawned on me that I could help you narrow your list of suspects.”
Rory’s interest scooted up a notch. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”
“I have a witness who had me in sight the entire time we were in that godforsaken canyon. If I had killed Brian, she would have seen me do it.”
Rory was skeptical. It was hard to put much stock in an observation by someone who was stoked by adrenaline and literally struggling not to drown.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me the witness’s name?” Jessica asked impatiently, as if she’d already forgotten that she wanted to correct a bad impression.
Rory realized she wasn’t playing the role of the PI the way the actress had scripted it in her mind. “Well, sure, of course.” She tried to pump some enthusiasm into her words. “Who is it?”
“Dorothy Johnson,” Jessica said, as if she were announcing an Oscar winner.
“Dorothy?” Rory had a memory flash of Jessica and Dorothy seated off to the side of the theater, their heads together, deep in conversation.
Jessica seemed irritated that her news hadn’t immediately brought her a round of applause or a chorus of thank-yous. “Yes, Dorothy,” she said tossing her head so that her long hair danced around her shoulders. No doubt a winning technique with men.
“You’re saying she had you in sight the whole time you were in the flood waters?”
“Yes. Why are you having such a problem with that?”
“A person in that kind of situation isn’t generally a reliable witness,” Rory said, barely managing to contain her own temper with this diva. “They’re way too busy struggling to stay alive to be keeping tabs on someone else.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you should speak to Dorothy, because that’s what she said to me.” Jessica was becoming huffier with each word.
“I will. I most definitely will,” Rory assured her. In fact, she intended to make that call the minute the actress left. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”
Jessica stood up abruptly, her posture stiff and formal. “Isn’t this enough? I thought you’d be thrilled to eliminate me from your list.”
“You’ve certainly given me something to think about,” Rory said with as much sincerity as she could muster. She knew it wasn’t close to what Jessica had hoped to hear, but then she wasn’t in the business of coddling suspects with bruised egos.
Jessica left with a frosty good-bye, their relationship worse than it had been when she’d arrived. Rory sat down at her desk and dialed Dorothy’s number.
Rory’s second meeting with Dorothy took place in the older woman’s home, a neat, little Cape Cod in East Northport. The house had a cozy, country feel that seemed a lot like Dorothy herself. As soon as Rory stepped inside, the smell of cinnamon wrapped itself around her.
“I thought some coffee cake would be nice,” Dorothy said when Rory commented on the lovely aroma. “I was up early, and you know what they say about idle hands.”
Rory didn’t know what they say, but she nodded as if she did. No point in wasting time when there were more pressing questions to pursue. She followed Dorothy into the kitchen, where the table was set for two, the cake starring as centerpiece.
Dorothy poured the coffee and cut the cinnamon ring, placing a large piece on Rory’s plate and a much smaller piece on her own. “I had to start cutting back,” she said with a sigh. “Lately, I gain weight by just being in the same room with cake. I still cheat a little from time to time though,” she added in a whisper, as if the calorie police had the room bugged.
Rory cut off a forkful of cake, thinking that if it tasted half as good as it smelled, she’d be hooked for life. The moment it hit her tongue she knew she was in trouble. “I’m not leaving here without this recipe,” she said.
Dorothy preened as if she’d just won first prize at the county fair. “Why, thank you, dear. Most folks do seem to enjoy it.”
Rory took another few bites before she forced herself to put the fork down. There was work to be done. “I saw Jessica yesterday,” she said to get the conversation rolling.
Dorothy speared a piece of cake and popped it into her mouth. “Yes, she mentioned she was going to see you.”
“She says you can attest to the fact that she couldn’t possibly have killed Brian, since you had her in sight throughout that whole, terrible ordeal.”
Dorothy took a sip of her coffee. “That’s right. I did.”
“But that first surge of water must have knocked everyone right off their feet,” Rory pointed out.
“Well, yes, I suppose I may have lost track of her for ten, fifteen seconds. Hardly enough time for her to get to Brian and murder him.”
Jessica’s alibi was starting to leak like a sieve.
“Surely in all the confusion, with the water rising so fast, everyone screaming and being thrown against the canyon walls, you must have lost sight of her for longer than that.”
“No, I’ve gone over and over it in my head. Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m not looking for sainthood here. I was mainly focused on keeping myself alive—but it happens that I also had her in sight. I know she didn’t kill Brian.”
“Then you
also had Brian in view the whole time?” Rory asked to see if she could trip her up.
She gave Rory an odd look. “Of course not, or I’d know for sure if he’d actually been killed and who killed him, now wouldn’t I?”
Rory couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, I imagine you would.”
“I may be the oldest member of the troupe, dear, but I’m no fool.”
“Sorry. It’s my job to throw a few curves and see what you’ll swing at.”
“Apology accepted.”
Rory paused to drink her coffee. “Did Jessica ask you to vouch for her?” she asked casually, as if they were just two women chitchatting with nothing at stake.
“Yes. She was worried that her history with Brian made her a prime suspect. But she didn’t ask me to lie for her,” Dorothy added quickly. “I would never have agreed to that.”
“Would you say the two of you are pretty close?”
Dorothy nodded. “As unlikely as that may seem. She’s young and glamorous, and I’ve got more than twenty years on her. If memory serves, I’ve also never been glamorous. But then we’re not the type of friends who go clubbing together, if that’s the right word. Anyway, I think she sees me as something of a mother figure.” She cut herself another sliver of cake. “You’re definitely going to have to take this home with you. I have no won’t power at all.”
“I’ll be more than happy to help you out,” Rory said with a laugh. “One last question, and then I’ll get out of your way. If you were in a courtroom under oath, would you be willing to state that Jessica could not possibly have murdered Brian?”
Dorothy looked her straight in the eye. “Yes, without reservation.”
A few minutes later, Rory was on her way home with the remainder of the cinnamon cake wrapped in aluminum foil, a promise from Dorothy to e-mail the recipe, and one less suspect on her list.
Rory was in her backyard raking up the last of the leaves she’d missed in the fall when Zeke popped in to say “hello.” She’d immediately put him to work using his energy to push the leaves from the farthest corners of the yard toward the pile she was creating. A leaf blower without the noise and noxious fumes. If only there was a way to patent the technique and manufacture the product. Hobo was also hard at work chasing squirrels and doing his best to follow them up into the trees. Pure Americana. Rory wondered if Rockwell would have appreciated the scene.
“Do you think Dorothy’s covering for her?” Zeke asked as he worked his way back to her. His voice was loose and easy as if he’d put the bedroom incident behind him. Rory had decided to go that route as well. She’d had her say, and there was nothing to be gained by hanging on to her anger.
“No, I think she believes what she told me. The question is—how reliable are perception and memory when a person is in a life-and-death struggle?”
“I say we drop Jessica to the bottom of the list,” Zeke said, “but we don’t outright eliminate her.”
Rory nodded. The bottom of the list was becoming crowded now that Jessica had joined Adam and Sophia Caspian there. “I was thinking along the same lines as far as Dorothy’s concerned,” she said. The more the merrier. “I mean why would she be so willing to help eliminate one of the suspects unless she had nothing to worry about herself? If she were guilty she’d be thinking, ‘The more suspects to hide among, the better.’ ”
“Plus, she’s got no motive as far as we know, and I’m downright positive she doesn’t have the skills to have broken in here or tried to run you off the road.”
Rory was laughing at the thought of Dorothy sneaking into her house when she saw Hobo barreling toward them at ramming speed. “Incoming,” she yelled seconds before he pounced on the mound of leaves as if he were trying to bring down a lion.
Zeke barely managed to blink away in time to avert a collision. He popped back into view several yards away. “That’s one seriously crazy mutt,” he said with a grin that seemed to stretch his mustache from ear to ear.
As if to support that theory Hobo flipped onto his back to wriggle around in the leaves with his legs dancing in the air.
Chapter 25
Rory’s eyes flew open. One minute she was sound asleep, and the next she was wide awake, adrenaline kicking her heart into high gear. Zero to sixty in less than three seconds. But she didn’t have a clue as to why. The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:20. The house was silent and dark, the only light coming from the tiny night-light in the hall between her bedroom and the bathroom. She was still trying to puzzle out what had pulled her from her dreams when Hobo started barking somewhere downstairs, providing her with a eureka moment. If this was his encore, his opening act must have awakened her. But having resolved that question, she was faced with a tougher one. What had set him to barking in the middle of the night?
It was possible he had an upset tummy and needed to be let out. He was big on eating grass along with other, more exotic delicacies that could be found in the backyard. Rory was pushing her feet into flip-flops that doubled as slippers when the doorbell rang, reverberating through the house like a gunshot. Hobo took it as a cue to ramp up his own rhetoric. Okay, then, it probably wasn’t a digestive issue after all.
She found him stationed at the front door, his nose pressed to the doorjamb as if he were trying to get a better whiff of whoever was on the other side. She flipped on the light in the entryway as well as the outdoor light and put her eye to the peephole. She jumped back in surprise when she saw another eye staring back at her. Hobo, who appeared to have finished his olfactory assessment of the visitor, was now merrily wagging his tail.
“Who is it?” Rory called out, reassured by his recommendation.
“It’s Eloise,” came the impatient reply.
Rory opened the door, wondering how her elderly neighbor had managed to sneak out of her son’s house again. Eloise stepped inside wearing a Windbreaker over her pajamas and sneakers on her otherwise bare feet.
“What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Rory asked. “If Doug wakes up and realizes you’re gone, he’ll be frantic.”
Eloise brushed away that concern with a wave of her hand. “I don’t know how I managed to have such a neurotic child.”
“Regardless,” Rory said, in no mood to debate nature versus nurture. “You should be home in bed like everyone else.”
“Yes, well tell that to the powers that be.”
“What does that mean?” She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but she didn’t want to risk planting any new ideas in Eloise’s head.
“It means I can’t get any sleep with all the chatter coming at me from the other side.”
“Is it something they want you to tell me?” Rory asked, thinking that whoever “they” were, they could at least take into account the fact that mortals slept at night.
“Of course. Why else would I be climbing out of windows and ringing your doorbell at such a crazy hour?” In her own bizarre way, Eloise sounded utterly sane.
Rory didn’t have any response to that. She hated to be a tattletale, but she’d have to tell Doug how his mother kept escaping, preferably before she fell and killed herself.
“Abner Jensen doesn’t have much time left,” Eloise announced with all the gravity of a journalist delivering bad news. “It appears to be cancer, though that wasn’t entirely clear.”
Rory had been planning to go back to Tucson to talk to him, but it seemed she might have to make that trip a lot sooner than she’d anticipated. When Abner died, any information he had about the Jensen family would die with him. And although the odds weren’t great, he might just know something that would lead her to the name of Zeke’s killer.
“Did they tell you how much time he has?”
Eloise shook her head, a smile starting to chip away at the tension in her face. “Can I have ice cream now?” she asked brightly.
Rory was about to remind her what time it was, then decided it would just be easier to give her some ice cream before calling Doug to take her home. Hobo
followed the women into the kitchen with a jaunty gait as if he sensed a snack in the offing.
Rory settled Eloise at the table and scooped up some cherry vanilla for her. She was giving Hobo a little in his dish when Zeke appeared. There was no warning flicker of lights, no gradual fade-in. One moment he wasn’t there and the next he was, arms crossed and brows inching toward a frown. He hadn’t bothered switching his Western garb for modern clothing, either because Eloise already knew he didn’t come from the here and now or because he’d been in too much of a hurry.
Eloise didn’t seem to care that he’d joined them. She kept right on spooning ice cream into her mouth, her eyes dreamy with pleasure. Hobo had set his big head in her lap hoping to finagle a bit more for himself.
“Well, someone was in such a hurry to get here he forgot his manners,” Rory remarked as she put the ice cream back in the freezer. “Afraid Eloise was going to tell me something you don’t want me to know, Marshal?”
Zeke dialed his expression up to cordial. “It came to my attention we had company,” he said, “so I thought I’d be sociable and stop in.”
“What’s the deal with you two anyway?” The question had been nagging at Rory since he and Eloise had had their little tête-à-tête.
Zeke shrugged. “We just recognized that we have some common interests.”
“Would one of those common interests happen to be me?”
“You are not the center of the universe, my dear Aurora,” he said with a chuckle.
Rory knew the jab was meant to derail her from pursuing the question, so it had little effect on her. But she didn’t know what to make of him calling her Aurora again, unless it was simply another ploy to distract her.
Zeke popped into the chair beside Eloise, who’d just finished her ice cream. She set the bowl on the floor for Hobo to lick, which he did with gusto. “What brings you by tonight, Miss Eloise?” Zeke asked, sounding like Rhett Butler in Wyatt Earp duds.
