Ultraviolet

by Nancy Bush

  “I understand. I’m just following up. This shouldn’t take long.”

  “I don’t see how we can help you.”

  “Can you give me a timeline? When you and your wife arrived at the wedding? When guests started leaving? That kind of thing?”

  “Give me one good reason why I should tell you anything, Ms. Kelly.”

  “For Gigi’s sake. And your son’s. Everyone’s looking for some kind of closure so they can move on.”

  It sounded good, even to my own ears. I just couldn’t bear to have one more person point out that I was helping Violet, and Violet was the enemy, blah, blah, blah.

  He was momentarily stumped on how to get rid of me. But assistance came in the shape of one tall, very wide woman in a loose red dress that showed off way more decolletage than I wanted to see. Her breasts were huge, twin beach balls thrust my way, and there was something about her demeanor that made me realize she was proud of their size. I wondered if I should point out that they were losing both to gravity and in the race with her waistline to finish first.

  “Goldy, this is Jane Kelly,” David said quickly, scuttling around his desk. She might be in a dress, but it was clear who wore the pants in the family. “She’s the private detective looking into Roland’s death. The one who called us?”

  Goldy gave me an assessing look, her mouth turning up slightly, forming a funny, little U. Her hair was a rather well-cut pageboy, her nails manicured a matching bloodred to her dress. The blue of her eyes was glacial.

  “Are you good at interpreting clues, Ms. Kelly?” she asked, still smiling.

  “Well…” I said cautiously, wondering where this was going. “I try my best.”

  “Maybe your best isn’t good enough.” Her chiding tone said I was missing something big. I waited, figuring she was dying to make her point and this windup was just foreplay to the main event. She came through with flying colors. “We told you we didn’t have anything to say to you, but you didn’t pay any attention. Perhaps you would do better in some other profession.” She practically tsk, tsk, tsked with her tongue.

  We stared each other down. I had a sudden blast of insight on why Emmett might have quit his job. Good old Uncle Mike, and David and Goliath, and Junie-Marie…Emmett might have chosen Gigi for her family money, but there might be other reasons as well, like that he saw her as a means to leave the familial minefield of Miller-Kennedy Mercedes. Even Goldy, who didn’t have a job here, appeared to haunt the dealership like a nagging ghost.

  “You know, Dave and I were just talking,” I said chattily, throwing “Dave” a conspiratorial wink. “He already told me you had nothing to offer. So I guess we’re good.”

  Goldy’s head turned as if it were on a ratchet. She fixed her husband with a blank look that I guessed would become a laser beam of evil intent as soon as I was out of range. Okay, it was kind of mean of me to throw David to the wolves like that. I had a feeling she’d be making his life a living hell for a very long time. But they just kind of pissed me off, y’know?

  After that neither of them had anything to say to me, which I guess I kind of asked for. Maybe Roland didn’t like them for the reason that they were, well, unlikable. The funny thing was, David was probably right: they had nothing to tell me. I would be much better off interviewing Emmett again, if I wanted to know anything further about the Popparockskills.

  I nearly ran over Junie-Marie on my way out as she was coming down the hall toward David’s office while I was zooming in her direction. She looked stricken that I’d been talking to dearest Emmett’s parents. “Our secret,” I mouthed to her on the way out.

  She gazed after me in consternation.

  I got to meet Uncle Mike on my way out. We did one of those little dances in the doorway where both of us moved one way, then the other. He took the opportunity to thrust out his hand and introduce himself as Mike Miller in a booming voice. “You looking for a car, you came to the right place!”

  I murmured something to escape by. I could see the shape of Emmett’s head in his, and the eyes were the same. Mike had a few extra pounds on him, but he looked more like his nephew than David did. I saw that if Goldy shed some weight, Emmett would resemble her more closely, too. He took after the Millers, which might be a good thing.

  My cell phone rang on my way to the car. “Jane Kelly,” I said, feeling oddly empowered. It had been a day of fighting snotty power trippers.

  “Is now a good time to talk?” Deenie asked in a martyred tone.

  “Now’s a perfect time,” I told her, looking forward to crossing her name off my list. “I’m putting together a timeline. If you could give me what events you attended, when you arrived, when you left…just any information about the wedding and the wedding week…I’ll add it to what everyone else said. Maybe something will come to light.”

  “Shit,” Deenie breathed. “He’s beeping in. I’m going to have to call you back.” And she was gone.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I called Gigi on the way home, realizing I didn’t have a number for Emmett. She answered reluctantly. Whereas I’d lied my ass off with Junie-Marie, I hit Gigi with the point of my call before she could think of a reason to hang up on me. “I spoke with Dr. Daniel Wu, who said Roland was angry that you’d cleaned out one of your accounts to invest in some investment opportunity that Emmett suggested.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Daddy was way over that! He knew it was a good investment!”

  “What was the investment?”

  “It’s none of your business.” When I didn’t bite, she said, “Fine. It’s a golf shop. You know, that sells golf stuff? Clubs and clothes and things. That’s why Emmett quit his job. He’s going to work there. It’s just kind of getting off the ground, so it’s going to be a while, but Daddy knew it was a great deal.”

  I thought of the failure rate of most small businesses and wondered. But at least it sounded like the truth. “Where is this golf shop?”

  “On the other side of the river. Near Willamette Crest. Emmett’s a member there,” she said with a touch of pride.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “Okay, Gigi.”

  “You know, it really hurts my feelings that Daniel could talk about me that way. He’s like an uncle to me. My daddy’s gone and that’s what he tells you? He’s lucky Daddy allowed him into a partnership at all!”

  Since Roland needed a licensed plastic surgeon to get his clinics off the ground, I felt this was a serious stretching of the truth. I didn’t say it, though. My good angel seemed to have control of my tongue for the moment.

  I called Dwayne next and filled him in on everything that had transpired since I’d spoken to him in the morning. Neither of us brought up Keegan Lendenhal again. I think he was hoping I’d forgotten about going after him myself, and I didn’t feel like having the argument. Beyond that, our conversation was a little awkward. I swear, the more I try to keep things on a friendship level between us, the more screwed up everything feels.

  One of these days maybe I’ll just give in. Why fight it? It’s not doing me any good.

  We said good-bye and I amused myself by trying out a couple of seduction scenarios in my mind, just for fun. I saw myself entering Dwayne’s cabana and demanding he strip off his clothes and lie down on a bearskin rug. Wait. No. He doesn’t have one of those. Besides, they’re too furry.

  Scenario two: I enter Dwayne’s cabana and I strip off my clothes and lie down on…not the sofa. That’s my workstation.

  I blanked. There is nowhere to lie down in Dwayne’s cabana unless I wanted to stretch out on the hardwood floor.

  Scenario three: we’re at my cottage and we go to the bedroom except…that…it’s not going to be my cottage much longer.

  “Shit,” I muttered. What does it say about me that I can’t even project a quality fantasy?

  I put a call in to the Crock and asked for Megan Adair. After I was put on hold for an eternity, I hung up in disgus
t. I tried Sean’s cell a couple more times and finally gave up and drove to the nightclub around ten. Sean’s band was listed on a chalkboard propped against the building, so in that I guess I was lucky. I hoped he was there early.

  The same bouncer checked my ID and made me fork over five dollars even though I had a two-hour wait till the band got going. He didn’t intimidate me as much as last time, but then I didn’t mess with him, either. There’s only so much energy allotted for dealing with difficult people in any one day and I was feeling way past tired and cranky. It seemed grossly unfair that Sean was keeping me from my bed.

  I went from being irked to worrying he wasn’t around as I entered the urban, metallic scene and settled for a table against the wall. None of the seats near the stage were in use. The stage was dark, in fact. Not the faintest stirring of activity or glint of lighting. So, where was this band?

  I looked around for Megan Adair. She wasn’t immediately visible, so I settled for a barmaid whose hair was clipped in a short, mannish cut. She had huge eyes she’d ringed in black and a nose ring large enough to draw my eye and not let go.

  “Is the band here?” I asked.

  “They don’t come on till midnight,” she said tonelessly.

  “I’m actually meeting one of the members. Sean Hatchmere.”

  “Don’t know him. You want a drink?”

  “How about a mercury?”

  She left to fill the order and I was glad to be away from her mesmerizing jewelry. Sheesh. I can think of all kinds of nasty things a body produces inside the nasal cavity that could crust on that ring. I had to stop myself from an all-over body shiver.

  I sat around for nearly an hour, nursing my drink, and was about to go ask more questions when Sean himself shuffled across the stage. The guy with the gray ponytail was hot on his heels and started barking orders at him. It was like a play in itself.

  “Sean!” I yelled as he disappeared toward the back, but he didn’t seem to hear. After a moment, I called on my last reserves of energy and hopped onto the stage, sauntering after him as if I owned the place. No one stopped me.

  I nearly smacked into him when Sean suddenly turned back around one of the black, cardboardy walls in my direction. “Sorry,” he mumbled, trying to scoot around me.

  “Sean, it’s me. Jane Kelly. I was here a couple of weeks ago, talking to you about your dad.”

  “God,” Sean said, focusing on me with an effort. “You and the police.”

  “The police?”

  “Why don’t you all just leave us alone? I didn’t want him dead. Gigi’s right. Violet killed him. We didn’t do it!”

  He turned on his heel and headed toward the greenroom. I chased after him. His shoulder bumped into a tall stepladder, but he glanced off it as if he didn’t feel pain. I steadied the ladder with my hand, looking up to be sure somebody wasn’t going to fall off and squash me where I stood. When I was convinced it was safe, I followed Sean into the greenroom where he was slopped onto a stool. Like I’d done to the ladder, I put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. I wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t slide to the floor in a pool. “You okay?”

  “We didn’t do it. We didn’t fucking kill him,” he mumbled.

  “The police talked to you about your father’s death?”

  He pulled himself together with an effort and looked accusingly at my hand. I drew it back. “You sent that detective here. I talked to Gigi. We know what you’re doing.”

  “You mean Detective Larrabee?”

  “Friend of yours?” Sean sneered.

  It had been a long day and I’d had all I wanted to take of Sean’s and Gigi’s continued selfishness. “Your father didn’t have time to disinherit both of you, but he was planning on it. Pretty good motive for murder, if you ask me.”

  “You told the police that?”

  “They obviously figured it out on their own. That’s what they do.”

  “What are you so pissed about?”

  “I don’t know. You and Gigi. Neither of you gave a damn about your father. He wanted you to stay clean and you’re obviously on something right now.”

  “Just dope.”

  “Whatever. You get nearly half your father’s estate and you’re still using. Somebody killed your father and it wasn’t Violet.”

  “How do you know? It must’ve been.”

  “The police don’t think so.”

  “You really think I would kill my father?” Sean said, looking up at me with a hopeless expression.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think you’d go out of your way to save him.”

  “Man, that’s cold,” he said with a doleful shake of his head.

  I left him on the stool, his shoulders hunched forward, his feet planted in a way to keep him from turning into a puddle. Mr. Ponytail appeared and gazed at him in annoyance. Honestly, I didn’t believe Sean had the stomach and conviction to physically hurt anyone, let alone kill them. He was just pathetic. A do-nothing. A disappointment to his father.

  Fight or no fight, I didn’t believe Sean had plotted his father’s death over fear of losing his inheritance.

  Saturday morning the sun actually made an appearance. I opened an eye to see it outlining the edges of my closed blinds. I climbed from bed and flipped the blinds open, earning bright stripes of light across my bed. Binkster opened her eyes, but that was the extent of her morning greeting.

  “You can’t sleep with me every night,” I told her.

  I checked my cereal supply, though I don’t know why. I hadn’t purchased any from the store during my last trip, and it hadn’t magically appeared. There was a rolled-up silvery pack of some cereal-like stuff, opened eons earlier, and now sporting a large chip-clip to keep it “fresh.” I took off the clip and poured some into my palm. Oats, bran, indiscriminate grain-type stuff and raisins.

  I thought about Dwayne. It felt imperative, for some reason, that I decide what to do about him. Maybe I should have a wild affair with Vince Larrabee. That would end things with Dwayne once and for all, I was pretty sure. Of course, it also meant compliance on Larrabee’s part, and I wasn’t convinced the man was all that enamored with me as a possible love interest.

  I also wasn’t interested in completely tearing apart my relationship with Dwayne.

  “Ah, the vagaries of love,” I said, tossing back my handful of granolish.

  Sawdust never tasted so good.

  A noise sounded from outside the cottage. A kind of thud. Binkster, who’d roused herself upon hearing I was digging through the cupboards, suddenly went on alert, growling and yipping, the hair standing on the back of her neck.

  “What’s bark-worthy?” I asked her as I walked across the living room and peered out my front blinds. I made out the pile of “treasures” being placed on my driveway, all around my car. Ogilvy was hard at work at his garage sale.

  “Hey!” I yelled as I unlatched the front door. Before I tore out, I turned to Binkster, who was trying to squeeze past me. “You stay,” I told her sternly. She’d been injured running out the front door and into an approaching car. Now, she sat down on her rump, but it was difficult for her. Her muscles were rippling and her gaze darted past me, the growling intensifying.

  I shut the door on her and marched across to Ogilvy’s pile of garage sales items. “You can’t set up here. I rent this place. I have rights.”

  “You don’t rent the garage,” he responded, looking at me as if I were just trying to be difficult.

  “My car’s been parked in this driveway for years. I’d guess I’m renting that, too.”

  “You gonna stop me?”

  “I’m sure as hell gonna give it the old college try.”

  He thought that over. “You buy this place, you’re gonna want the garage emptied.”

  I slid my jaw to one side, holding on to my temper. “You haven’t accepted the other offer?”

  “Nope.”

  I gazed toward the garage. Why was I fighting him? What possible good would it do? I wasn’t
going to buy the place, but somebody would. A battle with Ogilvy wasn’t going to change the inevitable.

  “I need to move my car,” I muttered, slamming back into the house for my keys. Binkster tagged after me, trying to assess my mood, which was dark, dark, dark. The sun had come out this morning and that was the only good thing about it.

  I pulled the Volvo onto the shoulder of West Bay Road, near the end of my driveway, and hoped someone wouldn’t come burning around the corner and rear-end me. Maybe no one would come to Ogilvy’s sale and I would be spared.

  No. Such. Luck.

  By 10:00 a.m. the place was swarming with bargain hunters. I sat in my living room and watched women, men and families purchase items of all shapes, sizes and worthlessness. Ogilvy kept filling in with more treasures while people kept heading into the garage and appearing with yet more items, thrilled with their purchases. I watched the Fisher-Price people go by in the clutched fists of a three-year-old girl and her toddling younger brother.

  Dwayne called. “Just talked to Larrabee. He got that member list from the Columbia Millionaires’ Club.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You might recognize one of the names. Michael Miller.”

  That dragged my attention from the wandering crowds outside. “You mean, Mike Miller of Miller-Kennedy Mercedes? As in, Emmett’s uncle? That Michael Miller?”

  “One and the same.”

  “I’d sure like to talk to Emmett alone, without Gigi around. Daniel Wu said Roland didn’t think much of the whole family. Maybe that included the uncle?”

  “You’ve got a perfect opportunity,” Dwayne drawled.

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’s Saturday morning. If I were looking for Emmett, I’d try Willamette Crest Country Club.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I dressed in my black slacks and leather jacket again and drove toward Willamette Crest Country Club, taking the Sellwood Bridge across the Willamette River. The private golf course meandered along the river and was reputed to be one of the nicest in the state. I turned at the sign, wondering how old the oak trees were that lined the winding drive. There were quite a few cars in the parking lot. Expensive cars. The slightest hint of better weather and the golfers came out in droves.