She picked up her cane, a polished piece of wood with a knob on the end. “So good to meet you.” Slowly she made her way to a trail winding through the grass and shuffled off.
I took a deep breath, glad the strange scene was over and my future looked sunny. My shoulders dropped a couple of inches. I hadn’t realized how tense I was.
Mary put the coffeepot back on the stove. “I’ll tidy up a bit to help Summer.”
“Are the other Silver Sentinels here?” I’d spent quite a bit of time with the crime-solving group of senior citizens of which Mary and Gertie were members. We’d even named the conference room at the inn after them, in honor of the last case they’d helped solve.
“The Professor is helping the logistics team.”
A perfect match for his organizational talents.
She then laughed. “Ivan and Rudy have a table where they’re teaching people how to tie elaborate rope knots like they use on their boat, Nadia. They have samples and instruction sheets people can purchase.”
“I thought I heard the boom of Ivan’s voice.” I mentally saluted the Russian Doblinksy brothers for their clever contribution to the day.
Mary pointed toward the front of the event. Even at a distance, I could see Ivan’s bulk over the crowd.
“Thanks. I’ll stop by and see you before I go.”
Ivan was bending over the display table. A black cap with an ornate brocade band controlled his shaggy mane of gray hair.
“Ivan, I like your hat,” I said.
He straightened up. “Welcome, Miss Kelly. Is my dress Russian fisherman’s hat. Wear for special days.”
His brother, Rudy, came over and stood next to him. He was a slight man with a neatly trimmed beard. “Would you like to make one?” He gestured at the examples they’d created.
Rows of knots lined the table with name cards. I might be able to figure out the clove hitch, but the rest of them looked beyond me, especially the angler’s loop. On the ranch, all I needed was a quick-release knot for tying the horses and a honda knot to make a lasso.
“I’ll pass, but I think you have a really smart idea for the event.”
Copies of instructions were in a neat pile, weighed down by an abalone shell.
A young boy appeared to have all the fingers of his left hand wrapped in white cord. “Grandpa, what’s next?”
The man hovering over him said, “Slip this piece of rope forward.”
The two continued working together until the child yelled, “I did it! I did it! Thank you, Grandpa. Let’s do another one.”
The elderly man’s face brightened as he grabbed another piece of twine.
It was a pleasure watching the two interact and to have the boy interested in working with his hands. I saw way too many kids staring at electronic devices instead of engaging in the world around them.
In addition to the examples, the brothers had completed knots, directions, and strands of rope for sale. I bought an angler’s loop, instructions, and several lengths of white cord to put in the Maritime Suite at the inn. The guests might have fun trying to create the knot.
I said good-bye to the brothers and went to touch base with Mary and Gertie. As I approached their table, Summer showed up. The now-wilted daisy dangled from her ear.
“Mary,” she said, “I need the help of the Silver Sentinels. I don’t know how much you charge, but I’ll find a way to pay you.” She’d put on a shawl and clutched it tightly around her, distorting the knit pattern.
“Oh, honey, we don’t charge. It’s a service we provide to the townspeople.”
Summer pulled harder on the garment; the yarn tightened and looked like the strings of an instrument. I thought the material might snap. “How soon can we meet?”
“What’s it about?” Mary asked.
Summer shook her head—short, jerky movements. “Not here. Somewhere private.”
“Okay.” Mary came around the table and enveloped Summer in her soft, plump arms. “Whatever it is you need help with, we’re here for you.”
“Can we meet today? After the event?”
“Well, I don’t know . . .” Mary stammered. “I don’t know if everyone can make it.”
Gertie piped up. “No reason to put it off if we can do it this afternoon.”
I stepped forward. “I can check with the others, and I already know the conference room is available.”
The desperate look on Summer’s face dissipated a bit. “Would you do that? Please?”
“Sure. Happy to.”
I left her pacing next to Mary.
Ivan and Rudy said they could make it. Next I had to find the Professor. That was a more challenging task. I headed for a man with a clipboard wearing a polo shirt with the name of the school district on it.
“I’m looking for Herbert Winthrop. Do you know where he is?”
“The Professor is helping collect the proceeds. The event is scheduled to be over in ten minutes. He was taking the first row of tables along the redwood trees.”
I thanked him and went looking for the Professor. Retired from the University of California, Berkeley, he’d made it clear early on that he preferred the moniker of Professor over Herbert Winthrop. I walked over to a man in a brown tweed jacket with a matching wool hat and a box in his hand, talking to a vendor.
“Hi, Professor. Good to see you.”
“Same to you, dear. I hope you are enjoying our little function.”
“I am indeed.”
He nodded his satisfaction.
“Professor, Amy Winter needs the help of the Sentinels. She’s very anxious about something and wants to meet today, if possible. Will that work for you?”
“Yes. My obligation here won’t keep me much longer.”
“We’ll meet in the conference room at the inn.”
“I shall see you shortly then.” He gave a good-bye wave with a tug at his cap.
When I returned, smashed grass showed the pattern of Summer’s pacing. Her face had turned an ashen color. The sunny days of summer had disappeared as a storm of catastrophic proportions appeared to have engulfed her life. When she saw me, she stopped in her tracks. I thought she might crumble if the news wasn’t what she hoped to hear.
“Everyone can meet. Let’s make it an hour from now.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks.
I explained where we’d meet and hoped she heard me, considering the far-off look in her eyes.
“I must do it.” Summer didn’t say this to me, but to herself. “I must. I have no choice.”
What must she do?
Chapter 3
“I must do it.” Summer said the words over and over like some kind of mantra as she walked away.
I got in my Jeep and pulled out in a line of other cars. Making a left at the first intersection, I turned and headed down the hill. My breath caught as the white spire of Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast came into sight, framed by the blue ocean beyond it. I’d never tire of this view.
The driveway went by the entrance to the inn. The flowers draping the front porch were their usual magnificent riot of blues, yellows, and reds hanging from lush green vines. The recently painted ornate white gingerbread trim popped out in vivid contrast to the colorful vegetation. I stopped, put down the window, and inhaled the perfumed air. Continuing on, I parked in the area near the back porch and entered the multiuse room.
Built in the 1880s by the Baxter family, this part of the house had been the servants’ work area. When it was remodeled, the space became the heart of the building. A kitchen and dining area occupied the right side, while a sitting area with overstuffed chairs, a couch, and beanbag chairs was in front of me. The wood-burning stove filled the room with heat as well as provided the sight of cheerful flames dancing in the door’s glass window. A large television set was in one corner. On my left, a large oak worktable enabled me to meet with staff and for us to have plenty of room for notes and papers. It handled larger groups for din
ing when necessary.
And I loved this part of the house.
The room had a welcoming warmth all its own. It embraced you like a mother beckoning you to come in and be part of the family, saying, “Join us and sit by the fire. Have a bite to eat.” The sweet scent of baking lingered in it all day.
Fred, a tricolored basset hound, stretched out in his bed and yawned when I entered, his eyes never leaving the back door. I warranted a two-tail-thump greeting. Fred was so deeply engrossed in waiting for Tommy, I was impressed he even noticed me.
Helen looked up from the counter as she prepared the guests’ appetizers. “Hi! Did you enjoy the school benefit?”
“Wonderful! The small-town environment and sense of community are what I grew up with. It’s what feels like home to me.”
“It’s beginning to be a fit for me as well. As you know, it was tough in the beginning,” she said. “We were both outsiders in a village where people had known each other for years, and Tommy’s Asperger’s alienated him from the cliques of kids who’d grown up together.”
At the mention of Tommy’s name, Fred’s ears perked up, and he looked hopefully at Helen and then at the door.
“Tommy’s joined a science club, and my personalized baking business has helped me to get to know people. There are more smiles and greetings instead of blank stares when I walk down the street.”
“With your talents in the kitchen, I’m not surprised word has gotten around about your cooking.”
“Thanks, Kelly.” She washed and wiped her hands on a towel, covered an assortment of cheeses with plastic wrap, and put them in the refrigerator.
“The Sentinels will be here shortly. A friend of Mary’s, Amy Winter, who goes by the name Summer, asked to meet with them.”
“I’ll put water and snacks in the conference room. They’ve had a long day.”
“Good idea,” I said.
“Daniel’s bringing Tommy home. He and Allie helped set up this morning, so they get to leave as soon as the event ends.”
As if on cue, I heard crunching gravel and saw Daniel’s faded blue Volkswagen bus through the window of the back door.
Before I could say more, the door burst open, and Fred and Tommy ran toward each other. He hugged the thick-necked hound around the neck while the dog bounced up and down, taking the boy for a mini pogo-stick ride.
Daniel walked in, followed by Allie. “Anyone here interested in Daniel’s famous triple hot chocolate?”
Tommy shouted, “Yes!” from over Fred’s head, and Allie clapped, adding a “yippee” for good measure.
Daniel headed for the kitchen. Helen moved the tray she was preparing for the Sentinels over to the side of the granite counter, giving him room to work.
He opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk. He poured some into a pot and started the stove. Opening a cabinet, he pulled out an unmarked plastic container, placed it on the counter, took off the top, and got a spoon from a drawer.
I leaned over and saw bits and pieces of chocolate.
Daniel put a heaping spoonful into each of the mugs he’d taken down from the cupboard. “When Helen chops chocolate for her baking, she saves the leftover pieces for hot chocolate.”
“Smart.” I sat on a stool next to the counter. “I placed the produce order this morning for both our places.” We’d been looking for ways to consolidate our efforts, and I’d taken on ordering the fresh fruit.
“Thanks,” Daniel said as he retrieved a container of cocoa from a shelf.
I watched as he added steaming milk, put the finishing touches on his creations, and took them to the kids, who’d pulled the beanbags in front of the television. Oohs and ahhs of great satisfaction followed. A chew bone for Fred elicited a happy groan. The rich, sweet smell of chocolate permeated the air.
Daniel returned to the kitchen and began cleaning the dishes. “Kelly, with us sharing duties, maybe you don’t need to hire someone to replace me here.”
As he bent down to put the milk carton away, a lock of hair fell across his face, and he tucked it behind his ear. It fell across his brow again as he bent over the sink. He gave me a sheepish grin. “I’ll be glad when my hair grows a little longer and I can pull it back into a ponytail.”
When he’d applied for the position of manager of Ridley House, he’d cut off his long hair, and his friends had helped him to put together a suit of sorts.
“You’ve decided to grow it back, then.”
“Yes. After hiring me, Michael said it was fine to have the ponytail. He actually encouraged it, saying it was part of my heritage.” He wiped the pot with a towel and put it away. “And he said a Redwood Cove suit consisted of nice jeans, a shirt, and a fleece. I was happy to comply with that!”
“I like the casualness too.”
“Back to not hiring someone. I can do some of the upkeep, and I’ve put together a crew for Ridley House. Our needs are very similar, and they can work at both places.” He shot a sideways glance at me. “This is like a second home to me. I want to continue to be part of Redwood Cove B and B.”
“I feel you and Allie are part of the inn’s family as well. It would seem pretty empty without the two of you here on a regular basis. I’m definitely up for giving it a try.”
His wide grin spoke more than any words could have.
“I’m going to put my things away and check the conference room.” I departed.
I paused a moment before opening the door to my quarters. This was another time when I still had my breath taken away. As I stepped in, a gray juvenile seagull drifted by the glass wall on my right. A lighter gray one floated in the air in the picture window in front of me. It was an amazing experience of the outdoors being inside. Relatives of the flowers on the porch added an artist’s array of colors. But nothing could outshine the dazzling Pacific Ocean, the rugged rocky coastline, and the crashing waves spewing foam framed in the window.
My boss had wondered why I’d chosen to be here permanently instead of taking the executive position that would’ve had me visiting fabulous resorts around the world. It was simple. Nothing could beat this—being in this place and knowing these people. I treasured the Wyoming family ranch but had wanted something of my own. And I’d found it.
I took off my heavy company fleece and put on a lightweight vest. I checked my reflection in the mirror and decided it was time for a hair clip to control the mass of red waves. The moist ocean air and my naturally curly hair provided me with an ongoing perm.
I went to the meeting room and paused at the entrance. A plaque attached to the door proclaimed it to be the Silver Sentinels’ Room. I turned on the lights and turned up the heater. My timing was good as I heard familiar voices from the work area.
The group filed in, followed by Helen with a platter of food. She’d already placed a pitcher of water, glasses, and plates on the sideboard. Mary placed a dog carrier shaped like a purse on the chair next to the one she’d chosen. Everyone helped themselves to refreshments and settled in at the table. Shortly after everyone was seated, Helen escorted Summer into the room.
Summer’s face had even less color than it had had earlier, and her hands clutched the tortured shawl around her shoulders.
Mary bustled up to her. “Summer.” She gave her a hug. “We’re here to help you in any way we can.”
Summer collapsed into a chair. “I’ll . . . I’ll pay you, like I said.”
“Nonsense,” Gertie said as she placed food and water in front of Summer. “Drink some of this. You’ll feel better. And eat something. You need your strength if you’re dealing with a difficult situation.”
Summer took a small sip, put the glass down, and pushed it away.
“I need to find two people.” Her hands rested on her lap, limp and motionless. She stared at them and then began to wring them. “I must find them.”
We all waited, letting her go on at her own pace.
“Their names are Ken Nelsen and Diane Morgan. I met them on June third, ninet
een sixty-seven.” She stopped talking.
That was it? Two names of people she met almost fifty years ago?
“Well, honey,” Mary said, then paused. “Is there anything more you can tell us?”
Summer’s lips formed a tight, straight line. She shook her head.
The Professor leaned forward. “How about what they looked like?”
Summer relaxed into the chair a bit. “It was a long time ago. I don’t know if it’ll help. He had sandy brown hair and wasn’t on the lean side. She . . . I remember the classic high cheekbones and dark brown hair cascading down her back. She was the same height as he was.” She looked at me. “Probably about your size.”
I was five feet six.
The Sentinels were taking notes.
“Do you know anything about their families? Where they lived?” asked the Professor.
Summer looked at her hands and stilled them. “She paid for everything. He made references to Fort Baxter, which is about forty miles from here.” She turned her face away. “They smoked dope, a lot of it. They were living the hippie life. Drifting, high . . . not caring.”
“Can you tell us why you want to find them?” Mary’s gentle voice made it an invitation, not a demand.
“No.” Summer didn’t offer any explanation. Her eyes were wide and her lips clamped.
That was all? What did we know? The names of two people. Vague pieces of information about their lifestyle, outdated descriptions, and an exact date of when she’d first seen them.
Her son might not have any dark secrets from the past, but maybe Summer did.
Chapter 4
“Thank you for helping me . . . and not asking for more informa-Ttion,” Summer said.
“Honey, we’ve known you for years,” Mary said. “You have your reasons for what you’re doing, and they’re just that, your reasons. We’ll get on it right away.”
Summer rose and stumbled a bit as she moved toward the door. Ivan immediately stood and put his hand under her arm to steady her.
Murder at the Fortune Teller's Table Page 2
