"Here," he said.
"Oh, you shouldn't have," Gage said.
"Just take it, will you?"
Gage took it. It was smaller than he'd expected, the edges of the pages well worn, the white cover filled side to side with pen and ink doodles of trolls, dragons, and Conan the Barbarian–type warriors brandishing bloody swords. He flipped through it and saw more of the same inside—except for one of the last drawings. It was of a bunch of animals— elephants, giraffes, tigers—surrounding the letters DWR. He wondered what it meant.
"Are you sure this is the right one?" Gage asked
"Give me a break," Trenton said.
"I'd like to take a look inside the room myself."
Brisbane groaned. "Not going to happen."
"How about seeing his phone?"
"The kid's iPhone is missing," Brisbane said. "Either it was lost or the murderer took it."
"Don't tell him anything else," Trenton snapped.
"How about this?" Gage said. "You let me inside, and I'll buy you both a dozen donuts."
"How about this?" Trenton said. "You leave now, and we won't arrest you for trespassing."
"Touchy, touchy," Gage said. "You think Chief Quinn would approve that?"
"Gage," Brisbane growled, "Quinn told us to tell you that."
"Ah." Gage winked at Karen. "Wearing out my welcome quickly, aren't I?"
"You seem to have a knack for that," Karen said.
"Still, it seems a bit of a stretch. After all, my daughter is a student at this school."
"Not anymore," Brisbane said.
"What?"
Brisbane and Trenton looked at officer Jantz, who responded with a perfunctory nod. "I was just told a few minutes ago. She called in this morning. Dropped out."
This, though not exactly surprising, considering the conversation Gage had with Zoe earlier, still twisted in his stomach. What the hell was the rush? She couldn't wait a day or two to make this decision, allow him one more chance to talk her out of it? Of course that was the point, wasn't it? She didn't want to be talked out of it.
"Isn't it interesting," Gage said. "Hardly anybody working here today and yet they're still able to process her request."
"Maybe if you'd been with her instead of here," Brisbane said, "it would have been a moot point."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Gage asked.
"It means you're focusing on the wrong problem."
"I am, am I? Maybe I should focus this cane on your head."
Brisbane smiled, and it was so rare and disturbing, like seeing a turtle smile, that it momentarily took Gage aback. Brisbane was not a man who had a face for smiling. He was not a man who had a face for anything, really, but the glare and the grimace.
"Now that would certainly create a new problem for you," Brisbane said. "Anything else, or do you want to vent some more?"
Karen, touching his elbow, directed Gage away from the others. Rather than give in to the frustration, Gage allowed himself to be directed. He felt them staring after him all the way back to the van and, sure enough, when he reached the driver's side and afforded himself a glance over his shoulder, they were still gaping at him like a bunch of kibitzing women after the Sunday service.
"Don't," Karen said.
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were. I could tell."
They got into the van. Gage would have considered the whole episode a frustrating failure if not for the look on Berry's face when he handed the drawing pad to her. A face that had been flat and drained, a pale emotionless wall, flared to life. There was a flicker of hope in the way the eyes crinkled, the lips turned up, ever so slightly, in the briefest hint of a smile.
It was enough.
Chapter 11
Berry Fleicher decided to drive back to Waldport on her own. She was still shaky on her feet, but it wasn't like Gage could do anything to stop her. Before he'd watched the shiny chrome fender of her Suburban disappear through the firs, Gage had asked if he could take a quick look at the drawing pad. He'd been hoping for some obvious clue, but there hadn't been much on the inside that wasn't on the outside: fire-breathing dragons, bug-eyed aliens, and one particularly detailed castle dungeon. The one with the letters DWR surrounded by a bunch of animals didn't make much sense, but it wasn't like Gage could make sense of the rest of the drawings. Berry, more familiar with Connor's artwork, promised she'd call if she noticed anything out of the ordinary—with the drawings or anything else.
The afternoon sun, always fickle on the coast, turned wan and flat. Gray skies gathered on the western horizon like an approaching army. Another storm coming. After a quick bowl of chowder at Pelican Pete's, Gage dropped Karen off back at her Honda, then quickly checked with Alex to make sure Zoe hadn't shown up at the store (she hadn't) before hightailing it back to the house. The investigation could wait. He had a bone to pick with a certain impetuous teenage girl.
The house was empty, but her black leather purse was on her nightstand and her tennis shoes, the ones she only wore to the beach, for hiking, or for other outdoor activities, were missing. Gage headed for the beach, hoping that's where she'd gone and not on a hike to Diamond Head or around Big Dipper Lake.
Fortunately, he hadn't even descended the stone steps that led from the bluff down to the sand when he spotted her.
She sat a few feet from the edge of the surf, hugging her knees, the white cord of her iPod earbuds disappearing into the neck of her black hoodie. A flock of seagulls strutted around the sand not far away, cawing occasionally, and an elderly couple in matching green windbreakers and floppy wide-brimmed hats walked hand in hand, but otherwise the beach was deserted. Wind ruffling his hair, he stood gripping the iron rail and watched her. She didn't move.
There was something about her sitting like that, so trancelike, that made him hesitate. Or maybe it was just the salty air clearing away the fog in his own mind. What was he hoping to accomplish here? He may have thought she was making a mistake by dropping out of school, but he had to admit to himself that this was her decision to make. She was eighteen. More important than the number, or even how she was viewed in the eyes of the law, was a simple immutable fact he'd learned in the two years she'd been in his care: the more he pushed Zoe to do something, or not to do something, the more likely she was to do the opposite.
Cause and effect. Stimulus and response. Maybe he'd seen it as his duty to intervene in the past, but this time he had to let her find her own way. If that way didn't include him, he had to be all right with that.
After giving himself another minute to absorb the wind on his face, really feeling the cold bite of it, he headed back to the house.
* * *
His brain churning like the sea, his thoughts as blustery as the wind, Gage turned to the one activity that never failed to settle his mind: a crossword puzzle.
Back at the house, he made a pot of coffee and settled into his recliner, the New York Times crossword folded neatly on his lap. A touch of Irish cream in his coffee never failed to act as a balm for frazzled nerves. It was going on three o'clock. By four o'clock, he'd consumed half the pot of coffee and finished half the crossword puzzle. He was stuck on a ten-letter word that ended in n with "Restraining impulses" as the clue. By five o'clock, the big A-frame windows were painted black and still no teenage girl had showed up in his house.
Restraining impulses. He felt the impulse to go back to the beach, and he restrained himself. He also felt the impulse to fix himself a bourbon. He figured there was still a chance Zoe would want to talk to him, and a clear head would be better if that were the case.
The case. Without the bourbon to subdue his thoughts, his mind naturally drifted to the case. He felt as if he were flailing around in the dark with no purpose. What was he really trying to accomplish here? Connor Fleicher was dead. Jeremiah Cooper, caught with a gun in his hand, was in jail. If anybody should believe the kid was guilty, it would be Gage, who was privy to information that most people were
n't. After all, he'd found Jeremiah in the rain on the beach shooting bullets into the sand, claiming that some people deserved to die. That alone would have sealed his fate with any jury. There was no logical reason to believe the kid was anything but guilty.
But Gage, a rational man by disposition, driven more by reason than fiery passion, knew that logic was not his motivator here. It was some other deep part of his brain, call it intuition or instinct, that knew, despite the evidence, that there was no way this kid could actually kill another human being. He just didn't have the capacity.
And somehow Gage would prove it.
It was then that the front door finally creaked open, a draft of cool air curling through the room. Gage peered over his crossword and saw Zoe standing there in her hoodie, her face glistening. The word came to him.
"Inhibition," he said.
"What?"
Gage wrote down the word. "Inhibition. Restraining impulses. Ten letters."
"Oh."
She dropped the hood, slipped off her tennis shoes and started for the bedroom.
"I'd like to talk," he said.
"Not really in the mood right now."
"Me either. But it's important."
He put a little more oomph in his voice, and it caught her attention. She stopped, hand on the wall, and looked at him over her shoulder. Flecks of sand glittered in her black hair like tiny bits of confetti. Except for a tiny sapphire stud in her nose, she wore no other jewelry. Her face, shocked pink from the cold, gave her a more youthful look. If not for her eyes, which betrayed that haunted part of her that would never be innocent again, she could have been a kid coming in from making sand castles. He wished she'd gotten a chance to be that kid. Even before coming to Barnacle Bluffs, he doubted she'd been allowed to ever be innocent. Having parents who were meth heads generally robbed a kid of any chance at a normal childhood.
She sighed. "I know what you're going to say."
"You might be surprised."
"You think I'm making a mistake dropping out of school."
"Yep. But that's not what I was going to say."
She raised an eyebrow. He gestured to the couch. It took her a few seconds to relent, a bit of passive-aggressive slouching and sighing thrown in for dramatic effect, but she made her way there.
"You want some hot chocolate?" Gage asked.
"What?"
"Thought it might make you feel better."
"I'm fine," she said.
"Dinner?"
"Not hungry."
"I could order a pizza."
She shrugged.
"Chinese?" he said.
"Garrison."
"Okay. Clumsy attempt at connecting not working so well. I'll get to the point. I'll be honest with you. At first, I was going to tell you I thought you were making a mistake dropping out of college. I was going to try to convince you to stay."
She sighed.
"Hear me out," he said. "I was going to tell you that, but I realized that it really doesn't matter what I think. You're an adult now, it's your life, and you have to make the choices you have to live with."
"Thank you."
Her tone had turned icy. Best intentions aside, he was still letting his anger get in the way. Instead of sending the message that he accepted her as an adult, he was somehow doing the opposite.
"Okay, look," he said, "I'm not going to lie. I think you're being rash. I wish you'd wait, even a couple of days. But what I'm saying here is, I know it's not my call. I think you're smart—even smarter than you think you are, which is pretty smart as it is." Seeing her mouth curl up in a smile encouraged him. "I trust you're going to figure this out. I just want you to know that I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You want someone to talk to, I'm here to listen. And unless you want my advice, I'll try to keep it to myself."
The shadow of a smile turned into a full-bore grin. "Careful not to make promises you can't keep," she said.
"Well, I said I'd try," Gage said.
"Good enough for me."
"So you want to talk?"
"Not really."
"Okay."
She looked down at her hands folded in her lap, still pale from the cold. "Tomorrow maybe."
"Good enough for me. Can I ask you something else?"
"Okay," she said, still wary.
"What are you going to do? If you're not in school. I'm not challenging you, just curious if you know."
"Not really. Not beyond next week." She started to say something else, then clammed up. "I'm kind of tired. Think I'll go, um, lie down."
"What a minute," Gage said. "What are you doing next week?"
"Nothing. Just, you know, helping out Alex."
"What?"
"You know, helping him at the store."
"Oh. He make a big buy lately that he needs help sorting and pricing?"
"Yeah."
She got up and headed for the hall.
"Zoe, come on," Gage said. "You're not telling me something."
"There's nothing."
"Zoe—"
"Okay, look, he asked me not to say anything, okay? I'm covering him at the store for a week."
"What?"
Zoe shook her head, then dropped her shoulders in defeat. "When I told him I wasn't going back to school for a while, he asked if I wanted to work at the store. He said he needed to be gone for a week."
"Gone? On vacation?"
"I asked him that. He said it was personal."
"Personal."
"Right."
Zoe shrugged and disappeared down the hall, leaving Gage in his armchair mulling over what this was all about. Gone for a week. If it had been a vacation, Gage would have heard about it, mostly because Alex would have spent the previous month complaining that Eve was forcing him to leave his perfect life, with the bookstore and the B&B, to shuffle around in flip-flops on some godforsaken beach ten thousand miles away. (Of course, coming home was another matter, when he'd proudly show off the thousands of pictures he took of sea turtles and starfish and those very same godforsaken beaches he'd been complaining about.) It worried Gage. It wasn't like Alex to keep secrets from him.
Gage briefly considered hopping over to the Turret House immediately to shake the truth out of his friend but decided it could wait until Saturday morning. He'd make a quick stop at the store on his way to visit with everybody's favorite football coach.
Seeing Arne Cooper wasn't going to be pleasant, Gage could just about guarantee that, but it had to be done. First, because it was the next logical person who might be able to help him understand Jeremiah. And second, because Gage very much wanted to talk to Jeremiah himself, but because the kid was a minor and Quinn had turned even more unhelpful than usual, Gage knew there was little chance of it happening without Arne Cooper's approval. No chance, really.
Somewhere in there he'd also have to figure out what to make of Karen Pantelli.
He told himself there was no room in his life right now for a woman—not with this Jeremiah business, and Zoe, and whatever the hell was happening with Alex. The tangle of complications only seemed to be getting more tangled by the day. Plus Karen had all kinds of complications of her own, ones she'd so far kept to herself. He told himself this, but while he made vegetable-beef soup for dinner, while he tried to settle his mind by reading the Economist, while he lay in his bed, his mind on an endless spin cycle, his thoughts kept returning against his will to a single image.
Karen's lips.
Chapter 12
The rain was back Saturday morning, though it was such a pitiful drizzle, just a half grade above a mist, that it could hardly even be called rain. On his way to Books and Oddities, Gage only had to turn on the van's windshield wipers twice. Gray clouds lay thick and low on the ocean, hiding all but a tiny stretch of dappled black-blue water from view. The moisture in the air seeped into everything—his cotton polo shirt, the ripped seat cushion, his bare fingers. Even after five minutes of gripping the steering wheel, the leather still felt cold.
His knee, of course, was like a bag of ball bearings and brackets, held together by nothing but habit. This was how his knee always felt, but when the air was cold and wet, he was never allowed to forget it for even a moment.
The store opened at ten. Gage was there at five after. He found Alex, rumpled and wrinkled as always, bent over a ledger. Harry Connick Jr. was singing from the small CD player behind the counter.
"What's this business about leaving for a week?" Gage said.
Alex looked at him over the top of his reading glasses. It may have been the languid morning light, but his friend's face appeared even more worn than usual: the bags under his eyes as big as trenches, the wrinkles like deep gouges, the skin even more gray and patchy. Had Alex looked like this yesterday? It seemed hard to believe that the transformation had happened overnight, which only made Gage feel more like an ass. Something was going on with his friend, and he hadn't even noticed.
"Well, hello to you too," Alex said.
"Out with it," Gage said.
"That girl really needs to learn how to keep a secret."
"Don't blame it on Zoe. And if she knows what your secret is, she wouldn't say."
Alex turned back to his ledger, jotting a note with the ballpoint pen. Steam rose from the paper cup on the glass counter and Gage caught a whiff of it—chocolate and cinnamon, some kind of specialty mocha.
"Now I know something's wrong," Gage said. "You stopped at Bean House."
"I was just in the mood for something different."
"Exactly."
"How about an update on Jeremiah Cooper? Learn anything new?"
Gage leaned his cane against the counter. "Oh no. You're not pulling that move on me. I want to know what's going on next week. What's the secret?"
The Lovely Wicked Rain: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series) Page 10
