“I’d like to be there.”
“I’m sure you would.”
I sighed. “Will you at least fill me in on what she has to say?”
With a finger under my chin he turned me to face him. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s unlikely.”
He gently kissed me. “Smart girl.”
Frustrating boy, but I didn’t need his help to pay a visit to Kelsey on my own.
He drained his beer bottle and pushed out of his seat. “And don’t even think about seeing Kelsey for more of that background information you keep saying you need.”
“I … I wasn’t.”
“You’re such a bad liar.”
“Am not.”
“Then are you going to pay her a visit tomorrow?”
“Hadn’t planned to,” I said, pocketing my phone.
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
I threw up my hands. “Yes!”
“Okay, then. I’ll trust you on that promise.”
Dang. So much for my Sunday plans, but I hadn’t made any promises for Monday.
* * *
I woke up at half past four to the sound of sobbing.
As if I hadn’t already been sufficiently motivated to kick off the covers and find out what was going on, a metal bracket in the Crippler poked me in the butt to launch me out of my not-so-comfortable bed.
“You don’t have to push! I’m up already,” I grumbled, pulling on a pair of sweatpants to wear with my rumpled Sleepless in Seattle sleep shirt.
Padding into the kitchen in my bare feet, I saw Gram in her pink robe standing at the coffeemaker, and my mother with her head in her hands at the kitchen table, next to a box of tissues.
Any Marietta sighting before ten in the morning typically wasn’t a good sign. The fact that she was dressed in the rhinestone-studded jeans she’d worn last night made this an even worse one.
“Good morning,” I said, testing the waters.
Surrounded by a semi-circle of wadded white tissues, she reached into the box and blew her nose. “What’s good about it?”
My grandmother rolled her eyes as I reached into the cupboard for my favorite mug.
“Did something happen that I should know about?” I hoped against hope that she’d follow Steve’s lead and this would be something on the Char doesn’t need to know about this list.
Gram pursed her mouth. “I’ll let your mother tell you.”
Swell.
I stared longingly at the coffeemaker that had yet to spit out enough caffeine to gird my loins for the drama waiting for me at the kitchen table.
Just as I was considering grinding a few beans between my molars, Gram pulled my mug from my clutches and set it on the counter. “I’ll bring it over when the coffee’s ready.”
When my feet didn’t move, Gram gave me a little push, just like she used to when I was a teenager and Marietta wanted me to come running to her open arms the instant she stepped into the house.
“Sheesh, everybody’s so pushy this morning,” I muttered on my way to the table.
Sweeping the used tissues littering the tabletop behind Arnold Brubaker’s colorful bouquet of gerbera daisies, I took the seat to her right. “Since you haven’t changed since last night I assume you just got home?”
Marietta nodded, wiping the tears from her puffy eyes, her cheeks dappled with ghoulish color like an extra from one of her old zombie flicks.
I grabbed a tissue from the box and wiped away the smoky streak of eyeliner and shadow smeared at her temple. “Are you wearing waterproof mascara?”
When in doubt the cosmetic line she repped had been my go-to safe subject for the last couple of years. Whatever was going on had taken its toll on Marietta Moreau’s famous face, but since her long, feathery eyelashes looked relatively unruffled, I figured this could give us both a welcome distraction.
“When you said … we’d be out in the rain,” she managed to get out between sniffs, “… I thought … I should test-drive … the mascara that was just added to the line.”
“Well, it looks like really good stuff.” I grabbed another tissue to clean the gunk from her cheeks before she ran into the nearest bathroom and started screaming at the sight of her reflection. It was bad enough the three of us were up before the birds. We didn’t have to make it worse by waking up the rest of the neighborhood.
Her face crumpled like the white tissue balled in her fist, her frame shaking as she slumped over the table. “I just didn’t realize that I’d be adding more waterworks to the test.”
Evidently my distraction had run its course.
I passed her another tissue. “Mom, did something happen between you and Barry?”
“Not exactly.” Shaking her head, she blew her nose again. “I don’t know … sort of.”
I saw a murky soup of raw emotion that didn’t jive with, “I don’t know.”
“Take a breath and tell me what happened.”
I could only hope that she had finally leveled with him about the financial pickle she was in.
Squaring her shoulders, my mother breathed in and out, signaling for another tissue. “Barry told me that Jason doesn’t approve of me.”
Sheesh. That’s what all the drama was about? Since when did Marietta require the approval of family members? She had certainly never solicited mine before any of her weddings.
Passing her the tissue box, I tried to remember what she’d told me last night about Jason Ferris and my caffeine-deprived mind couldn’t fill in the blank. “When did you meet him?”
She wiped her nose. “I haven’t yet. And maybe Barry didn’t use those exact words, but that’s what he meant.”
“Okay, well, maybe Jason’s a little concerned about his dad getting involved with …”
I ran through the likely scenarios in my mind.
One, Jason Ferris didn’t want his dad to gain any notoriety as Marietta Moreau’s husband number four. Since I wasn’t all that keen about that notion, I viewed this as a strong possibility made even stronger when coupled with the knowledge that none of her marriages had lasted more than three years. What would this relationship do to his local reputation, his standing at the high school, especially once it started to unravel?
Two, Jason didn’t want to see his dad attach himself to a celebrity—even though her star status no longer had much of a sheen—and move away to California. If Jason Ferris ever found out why there would soon be no house in California for his dad to move to, that would be the least of his concerns.
Three, Jason didn’t want his dad to be in love with anyone other than the former Mrs. Barry Ferris. How old was this guy? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? Certainly old enough to be able to handle the idea of Dad moving on with his life without Mom.
I opted to place my bet on scenario number one, the clear front runner.
“… with someone new,” I said, burying my true feelings just like I always did when the subject came to her relationship with my high school biology teacher.
“I’m sure that’s part of it, and at some point I hope I have the opportunity to tell him that I’d never dream of trying to replace his mother.” She started tearing up again. “But Barry asked me to tone down the makeup and jewelry.”
Using the moisture from her latest shower of tears, I wiped the apple of her cheek clean of the gray and pink streaks. “I’m sure he just wants you to make a good first impression.” Unfortunately, he didn’t do a very good job of communicating it.
“H-he also asked me to lose the accent.” Marietta grasped my wrist. “Don’t you see? He’s trying to change me.” Almost choking on her words, she swallowed. “He’s ashamed of me.”
Shit.
“I’m sure that’s not true.” More likely he wanted his son to meet the woman he loved—the real woman, not the public persona she enjoyed projecting. Only he didn’t know how to say it. But he’d better learn and fast.
Gra
m set two steaming mugs of coffee in front of us. “He loves you, Mary Jo. Barry just wants Jason to love you, too.”
I waved toward my grandmother like she was the grand prize in a game show. “See? Gram agrees with me.”
Marietta blinked, staring at me as I took a sip of coffee.
I took that as my cue to give up. I obviously wasn’t getting through to her.
Gram squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “As my mother used to tell me, the darkest hour is just before the dawn. Lucky for us, the sun will be coming up soon and it’s supposed to clear up and be a beautiful day. You and the Ferris boys will have a lovely lunch, I’ll bake the winning cookies for this year’s county fair, and Char will …” She looked across the table at me. “What are you doing today, dear? Did you want to come with me when I head over to the fairgrounds?”
Gram tended to be a nervous driver, and I knew she’d be even more nervous today since she had a deadline to get her entries ready. “Sure. What time do we need to be there?”
“The Exhibit Hall office closes at five,” she said. “We should leave here before four to be on the safe side.”
Marietta brightened. “That will work out perfectly.”
Since the caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet I wasn’t following her. “Perfectly for what?”
“For the two of us.” She pointed at me. “You’re coming to lunch with Barry, Jason, and me.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. “That’s not—”
“It’s a brilliant idea. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. You can do that lie detector thing you do and then I’ll know exactly where I stand with the man. No second guessing.”
This wasn’t the first time my mother had tried to trot me out in front of a boyfriend like I was a trick pony. “I don’t—”
“I know. You’ve told me a million times before. Trust me, I don’t expect you to be foolproof. It would just be nice if you could help me avoid playing the fool in this situation.” She took my hand. “Could you do that for your mom this one last time?”
Criminy. “Fine. When’s lunch?”
“Barry will be here to pick me—excuse me—us up at eleven forty-five. What time is it now?”
Gram looked at the clock over the stove. “Four fifty-two.”
My mother pushed to her feet and headed for the stairs. “I need to get to bed! Be a dear and wake me up at ten, okay?”
Gram gave me the look, making it crystal clear which one of us was the dear in charge of the wake-up call.
Criminy! “Fine!”
The upstairs bathroom door clicked shut. Seconds later, I heard my mother scream, “Oh, my God!”
“What now?” Gram asked as the dog next door started barking.
“My guess is that she’s in front of the bathroom mirror.”
“Poor thing. Hope she gets some sleep. Are you going back to bed?”
Go back to the Crippler? Fat chance. Since the sun wouldn’t paint the sky in shades of pink and violet for another hour, this was the perfect opportunity to do something more important.
I went into the study to pull on a pair of heavy socks and hiking boots, then I grabbed Gramps’ binoculars and headed to the hall closet for my stadium jacket.
When I emptied the contents of my cup into an insulated travel mug, Gram frowned at me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“For a walk.” A long walk.
“But it’s dark out.”
Which was exactly why I needed to leave as soon as possible.
Eight minutes later, I turned off Bayshore Road and parked the Jag near a beater pick-up at the long stretch of pebbles and weeds used by the anglers who frequented the Cedars Cove boat launch. The half moon, low in the sky as it peeked through wisps of clouds, did little to illuminate my path but my ten-inch aluminum flashlight was up to the task, plus it could double as a club if I ran into any trouble.
As I set off to the point marking the southern entrance to Cedars Cove I heard nothing but gentle waves lapping against the shore, the crunch of my hiking boots on the rocky trail, a barking dog, and the motorized whine from a fishing boat—probably the one launched from the twelve-foot trailer hooked to the beater truck.
After a ten-minute hike up the rocky outcrop dotted with dozens of the scrubby pine trees that bordered Cedars Cove, I stepped out on the point that Eddie, floating in an inflatable raft with Steve, had dared Rox and me to jump from back when we were teenagers. Since I still bore a scar on my shin as a badge of courage and had no desire to create any new memories of skin sacrificed to the jagged edges lurking below the surface, I gingerly stepped to the center of the stony slab that formed the point’s tip.
From sunrise to sunset, this rocky outcrop afforded a breathtaking vista of the snow-capped Olympic Mountains looming in the distance like ancient guardians. In the predawn darkness, however, I could barely make out the rocks under my feet let alone a mountain range hunkering in the inky southwestern sky. But that was okay. I was interested in only one thing: Could I see the southern shore of the bay from here?
Turning off my flashlight, I set it down on a flat edge of the slab supporting me and pulled on the strap of my grandfather’s old bird-watching binoculars slung around my shoulder. I looked through the binoculars, aiming them at what I thought should be the shoreline in front of the Lackeys’ house and saw nothing but an out of focus house light.
I dialed in the focus, the cool breeze ruffling my bed head hair. Still nothing distinctive. I couldn’t see an outline of the dock next door to Beverly Carver’s house. Really, I couldn’t make out much of anything that didn’t have a light attached to it.
If Kelsey had followed Russell that Friday night in her father’s boat, my money would be on her trailing him close enough to know exactly where he had anchored. And if she knew that, she could wait in the cove behind me and watch for his running lights, and then once she had seen them …. Heck, I didn’t have a clue what she’d do after that. Try to talk to Russell? Confront him about Beverly Carver?
Hearing the sound of a boat motor rumble to life, I swung around to watch two men in ball caps take off in an aluminum fishing boat. Once again, that was about all I could see.
“You’re not thinking about jumping again, are you?” said a deep voice behind me.
Scrambling backwards with loose rocks skittering at my feet, my hands flew into the air, my heart pounding in my throat as I gasped for air.
A pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist, stopping my backwards momentum, but that did nothing to keep the binoculars from giving me a stiff upper cut.
“Whoa, girl,” Steve said, steadying me. “You okay?”
My arms heavy with adrenaline, I pounded his solid chest with my fists. “Are you crazy? What are you trying to do?”
He glanced down at the binoculars swaying from my neck. “I should be asking you that.”
I straightened. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d come out here and watch the sunrise.”
“That won’t happen for over an hour.”
“I’m early.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And what are you doing here?” I smacked him in the chest again, not waiting for his answer since it was so obvious. “You followed me, didn’t you?”
“Hey!” He took me by the wrists and pulled me close. “I was on a jog and saw your car in the parking area.”
“Sure.” I looked down at his white t-shirt, dark sweatpants, and running shoes. Okay, so maybe he had been jogging.
“And I’m starting to get cold. Want to go get a coffee?”
Oh sure, twist my arm by appealing to my caffeine addiction.
He smiled. “Of course, if you’d rather stick to your lame story and wait for that sunrise ….”
“It was a perfectly good story,” I said, pulling a hand free so that I could retrieve my flashlight. “I just had a little timing problem, that’s all.”
Steve took the flashlight to lead the way back to the trail. “You going to tell me wha
t you were really doing?”
“I was just looking. Whoever Mr. Wixey saw down there wouldn’t have been able to see much other than lights coming in this direction.”
Steve said nothing in response and kept walking.
I picked up my pace to keep up with him. “The person would have had to know it was Russell Falco’s boat coming this way.”
“Are you fishing, Chow Mein?”
Sort of. “I was wondering what you thought about that.”
He chuckled. “It’s a little early for fishing. Cold, too, so move your ass and let’s get off this rock.”
I heaved a sigh.
As usual, he was being less than helpful, but one fact seemed obvious whether he wanted to agree with me or not. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, Kelsey Donovan was involved with Russell’s death.
Almost five minutes later, we piled into my car and I fired up the heater. “Where do you want to go for coffee?”
Steve fastened his seatbelt. “I was thinking about my place. If you play your cards right, I’ll even make you breakfast.”
“Now you’re talking.” Maybe my morning was looking up. I needed to use a bathroom pretty soon even though, moments earlier, I’d felt like he’d scared the piss right out of me.
No sooner did that thought hit my brain when I realized why I needed to use a bathroom – because I’d skipped that little morning ritual earlier, when I bounded out of bed and headed straight for the kitchen. And by skipping that morning ritual, I had also skipped a few others, including anything that had to do with looking into a mirror.
Oh, crap.
Raking my hair with my fingers, I peeked at my reflection in the rearview mirror and saw raccoon eyes staring back and a mark on my chin where the binoculars must have hit me.
Crap, crap, crap! Minute by minute this morning, I was turning into Marietta.
“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said as if he could read my mind. “I’ve seen you look worse.”
Chapter Twenty
“Whew,” my grandmother said, collapsing into a kitchen chair after we’d returned home from the Chimacam County fairgrounds. “I need a nap.”
Sounded good to me. After a three-hour, stress-filled lunch with Marietta, Barry Ferris, and his son, followed by another hour with Gram fretting about sprinkling too much cinnamon on what she hoped would be her blue ribbon pumpkin cheesecake snickerdoodles, I wasn’t just ready for a nap. I needed a drink.
Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 02 - Sex, Lies, and Snickerdoodles Page 21
