With Oliver and Jack down for the night, the three of them lingered around the dining room table, where Alice had brought after-dinner coffee and brownies. Blake shifted in the chair to get more comfortable. His leg ached from his struggle with Jack at the beach earlier. “Did you know your mother brought food down to Jack at the boathouse from time to time?”
Alice pushed aside her cup of coffee and folded her arms on the table. “I knew she fed him sometimes, and that she lent him books and magazines. Once I saw her taking him an old pillow and blanket and asked her about it. She said she was going to sit on the dock and watch the sun go down.”
“So she lied to you about him?”
“No, she never actually lied to me. She did sit and watch the sunset that night. I followed her and saw Jack come out of the boathouse to join her. When she got up to walk away, she left the blanket and pillow behind.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth for a second. “My father has always had a grudge against Jack. For some reason other than being homeless, I suspect. Mom never mentioned him in front of Dad. But I think he knew she went there at night and left him things. He’s just too stubborn and proud to admit it.”
Shelby reached for the carafe and filled her cup. “Did I hear you right, earlier? You said this house was in your mother’s family for a hundred years?”
“I guess I really was mad, letting that cat out of the bag.”
“Was it supposed to be a secret?” Blake asked, confused by this new information. Shelby seemed to get people to share facts even without their knowledge. “Does Farley Jones know?”
“He’s lived here his entire life. Of course he knows. Ted Davies wasn’t the first to make an offer on the Drunken Sailor. Farley offered to buy it at least a year before Mom’s death. In fact, he brought over the letter that supposedly proved his ownership of the beach property, less than a month after she turned down that offer.”
“That offer?” Blake reached for another brownie.
She fiddled with the rose pendant at her throat. “Right before she was killed, he convinced my father that selling was in our best interest. He even offered to let us continue to live here and run the business. Dad was eager and willing to get out from under the debt, but mom refused to budge. This was her legacy to me.”
“I thought your father hated Farley. They had a shouting match just yesterday. Why would he consider any deal with him?”
Alice shook her head, smiling at Blake’s naiveté. “He does now, but they used to be tight. Best friends. You’re a homicide detective. Haven’t you ever heard? There is no honor amongst thieves.”
Shelby dumped a spoonful of sugar into her cup and stirred. “Your father was a mariner. Farley Jones is a realtor and politician. They don’t seem to have much in common.”
“Money. That’s always the common denominator between those two. They were best friends as boys. Years ago, they started a salvage business together. Farley still worked for his old man running the grocery store, and my father was working barges at that time. According to Mom, they had big dreams of finding the lost treasure of a sunken ship from Timbuktu or some such thing. When it never happened, they went their separate ways, but not before they were in debt up to their eyeballs. The boat and diving equipment they bought together was paid for with money borrowed from old Mrs. Jones.”
“The elderly woman Farley was sitting with in church?” Shelby asked.
“Buns of steel? The very one.”
“This is an interesting story, but what does it have to do with the deed to the house?” Blake was starting to get lost amid the female rabbit trails.
“It has everything to do with the house. My parents were engaged at that time, but Mom was dragging her feet about getting married. My grandparents had died recently and left her The Drunken Sailor Boarding House. She ran the place with help from a high school friend. The rooms were always filled with sailors and miners. Men without families or homes. Some of the town people began to question the morality of the situation.”
“Let me guess…” Shelby put a finger to her chin as though pondering. “Buns of steel?”
“Mom didn’t say, but I have my suspicions. Apparently, the pastor and a handful of important parishioners came to the door and demanded she shut down her den of iniquity, that unless she was married she had no business having male guests in her house after dark.”
“So, there was no more dragging her feet, or she’d lose everything. Her reputation, her livelihood, and her soul.” Shelby shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
“Am I missing something?” Blake asked.
The women both looked at him like he was brain dead. Shelby patted his hand. “Try to keep up, babe.”
“Needless to say, they were married shortly thereafter. Dad informed her immediately that he had debts to pay and needed to refinance the property. She didn’t have to, but she did it because she loved him. Luckily, the original deed to the house was written so that only a blood relative could inherit, and that tradition has been passed down through each and every generation. So, husband or not, he does not own this house. I do.”
Chapter Thirteen
Unable to sleep any longer, Shelby stood at the window early Monday morning, inside the closed drapes so the light wouldn’t wake Blake. Lake Superior was foaming, waves cresting and slamming into the rocky coast. The wind was blustery and bold, churning up a storm, bringing gray clouds to hang low over Port Scuttlebutt. Her mind churned as well, thoughts like foam riding the waves, only to disappear and be replaced by others.
Was it possible that Oliver Booth had been in on the plan to murder his own wife? What would he gain? If Alice held the deed to the house, he was still unable to sell without her name on the dotted line. There had been no guarantee she would comply once her mother was out of the picture. Also, there was his emotionally charged search for the hit-and-run driver after the police seemingly gave up, as well as his subsequent stroke. How did they explain that away? A stroke of bad luck? If his failing health was a ruse to hide his true guilt, he was either the best actor since Lawrence Olivier or he had a mad Doctor in his pocket. Dr. Morgan came to mind, but perhaps she was thinking a little too Shakespearian drama for a small town murder.
The question they needed to answer was: What did the murderers want with the land? Did they intend to build a casino, resort, or something else to attract tourism? Was acquiring that piece of beach worth committing murder? Couldn’t they buy a different section of land? Why was Farley Jones so interested in proving the beach area didn’t belong to the Booths? As Mayor, could he actually be trying to protect the town from unwanted growth and change, by dividing up ownership so the plot wasn’t large enough to be attractive to an outsider buyer? Or was it all about money? Rich people never seemed to have enough.
She sighed and stepped out from behind the curtain, letting it shut out the storm and her churning thoughts. Blake was still asleep, rolled onto his side facing away from her. She moved quietly across the room, snatched her robe from the hook inside the bathroom door, and slipped it on.
Outside in the hallway, she heard the homey rattle of pots and clinking of dishes as Alice fixed breakfast downstairs. She was an early bird, always up and cheerfully serving others. She deserved a break. Shelby tied the belt of her robe and hurried down the stairs to help.
“Good morning!” Alice greeted her with a smile. Her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail again, tied with a blue bow that matched her t-shirt. In flowered pajama pants and pink slippers, she looked like a teenager. She was busy scooping fresh baked biscuits off a cookie sheet into a breadbasket. “You’re up early. I thought I’d get some things done before the breakfast hour. Hungry? Help yourself. There’s butter and jelly in the fridge.”
“No thank you. Coffee would be good though.”
“Cups are in that cupboard,” Alice pointed to the left of the refrigerator and turned back to the stove. A pot of oatmeal simmered on the back burner. She gave it a stir and replaced the lid.
“Blake and your guest still sleeping?”
“Far as I know. I didn’t check on Jack, but his door was closed and it was quiet when I passed.” She leaned with her back against the edge of the sink and took a sip from her cup, watching Alice move from one task to another like she was programmed. Remembering Mrs. Davies’ nasty remarks about her friend, she was flabbergasted. As far as she could see, the girl had talents. Her cooking was delicious, she was organized, thoughtful, kind, and beautiful. How did those things amount to a lack of talent?
“Good. I hope his stay here will give him time to recuperate before he decides to go out on his own again.”
“You need some help? I can set the table or whatever. I’m not much of a cook but I’m willing to learn.”
“No need to step out of your comfort zone this morning.” Alice smiled and pointed at the cupboard above Shelby’s head. “Plates and bowls are in there. Flatware is in the drawer to your left. I’m going to check on my father and see if he’s up to joining us this morning.”
Shelby collected the dishes and carried them to the dining table, leaving Alice to deal with her father in private. She could hear his gruff tone and Alice’s soft response, but couldn’t make out the words. She wondered if he’d gotten past his initial anger at Jack’s presence in the house, or if he would explode again when he saw him. The man definitely had a short fuse.
Once she was done setting the table, she peered around the kitchen doorway. Alice was still in her father’s room, helping him into his chair. Shelby remembered the many times she’d helped her own father stand and stagger to his room, after he’d pass out drunk on the floor or at the kitchen table. They couldn’t afford for him to lose his tenuous job at the high school, and she had been the only thing standing between him and a pink slip.
She loved her father, in spite of his apparent lack of reciprocation. Sometimes she felt like her mother was looking down from heaven and would expect her to do her best to keep things together. So she did. Maybe that’s what Alice was doing. Just trying to keep things together.
Shelby hurried back upstairs to wake Blake, and change into something bright to thwart the grayness of the day. Although, when Oliver and Jack met at the breakfast table later there would probably be plenty of colorful language to perk up the conversation.
<<>>
The colorful conversation never took place because when Blake knocked on the door to Jack’s room, he was already gone. The pile of folded and freshly washed clothes, Alice set on the desk the night before, had disappeared along with him. Blake’s red plaid pajama pants were folded neatly on the edge of the bed, and the B&B’s robe was hung back in the closet.
“You tried to help him. We can’t force him to stay here.” Shelby glanced around the room, noting the still made bed. “He probably doesn’t remember how to sleep indoors. He’s embraced homelessness for so long.”
“I’m worried the wrong person will find out about the conversation he overheard, and he could be in danger.”
“We don’t even know for sure if what he remembers is real, and besides, he said he didn’t see them.”
“Yeah, that’s what he said.” His lips set into a grim line. “I’m going out to look for him.”
“Blake,” she called after him as he started down the hallway in the direction of the stairs. “He’s a grown man. He chose to leave. You’ve got to accept that.”
Alice was coming up the stairs and Blake brushed past her on his way down.
“You forgot your…” Shelby heard the door slam shut, “cane.”
“Is everything all right?” Alice asked.
“Jack’s gone.”
“I’m sorry, but I kind of expected it. My mother tried to get him to stay here once, and he refused. I think that’s why she offered him the boathouse. He could still keep his distance, and she could keep an eye on him.”
“Why did your mom care so much? What was her motivation?” Shelby realized she was speaking like a director. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. But most people aren’t going to go out of their way to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. Even causing friction in her marriage because of it.”
“I don’t know, but this might shed some light on it.” She slipped a sealed, plastic sandwich bag out of her jeans pocket. Inside was a faded and folded sheet of pink writing paper. “It was in his jacket. I took it out when I washed his things and forgot to put it back. I was bringing it to him.”
Shelby lifted her brows.
“I didn’t read it, if that’s what you want to know.”
“Of course not. But maybe we should take a peek at it now. In case it gives us a clue as to his frame of mind.”
“Uh huh. Right. I think I’ll wait on that. Let Blake give it back to him when he finds him.” She turned around, shaking her head. “Breakfast is ready if you’re still joining us.”
“I’ll be right there,” Shelby said, glancing into Jack’s empty room again.
The beast had seemed so human last night, a bit frail and tired, but funny and talkative at the dinner table. It was hard to believe he would choose to return to sleeping on the beach and eating out of garbage cans. What happened that made him shun society and the companionship of loved ones? She knew that war changed a man, but was it more than that?
<<>>
Blake parked the Bronco and walked along the beach, looking for Jack. He asked a family on the pier if they’d seen him. They shook their heads. He jogged as far as he could and then limped the rest of the way along the road toward the end of town, where Jack sometimes went to escape into the woods or snare rabbits. No sign of him.
A horn beeped behind him when he stopped to catch his breath. He turned and saw a beat up pickup truck pull onto the side of the road. The door creaked open and Tucker hopped down, adjusting the brim of his cap.
“I stopped up at the house and heard about Jack. Want some help?”
“Thought you had to open Ben Franklin on time or folks would be beating down her door?” He swiped sweat away from his face with the sleeve of his t-shirt. His leg was killing him. He hadn’t tried jogging in months. He was surprised he’d gotten so far before the pain made him slow to a walk.
One side of Tucker’s mouth lifted in a slow grin. “Sometimes not giving them instant gratification makes ’em want in even more. Heck of a way to get sales.”
“Give me a lift back to Luanne’s?” The wind was bone cold this morning and he felt chilled standing there, sweating. “I’m freezing out here.”
Tucker shook his head like his dad used to do when they’d leave for school without their coats. “You think it’s summer in the U.P. or something? Where’s your jacket?”
They climbed into the cab and Tucker reached behind the seat. He pulled out a faded jean jacket. “Here. It was Dad’s, so it should fit you.”
“Thanks.” Blake shrugged into the coat. It smelled like car oil from being on the floor, probably laying on top of old rags or something, but there was another scent as well. It reminded him of Tucker’s dad. Vicks VapoRub. The man loved to use that stuff. He’d been a long time smoker, and after he quit, he realized he’d lost most of his sense of smell. Apparently, smelling Vicks was better than smelling nothing at all.
Tucker made a U-turn and headed back toward town. They’d already passed the Bronco, parked in the lot across from the dock, when Blake remembered he’d left his cell phone in the glove box. Oh well. He’d fetch it later. First, he needed to speak with Luanne.
Silver Street was already busy. A dozen cars lined the curbs, and most of them were parked in front or near the café. Luanne served breakfast until ten, but she also had fresh caramel rolls and pies available, for the perfect snack between meals or a sweet brunch. The Port Café was especially busy on Mondays.
Blake and Tucker hurried in the front door, nodding to friends as they passed tables and booths. He caught Luanne’s eye when she stepped out of the kitchen to ring up a customer. She waved the waitress over from a nearby table, who
stood idly chatting with a group of young men.
“Sara, I need you to run the register and watch things for a few minutes.” She gave the girl the look Blake used to call her death ray. “Don’t you dare give those guys free pie, or I’ll take it out of your salary this time.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
He and Tucker followed her to the back room. There was a huge pot of stew bubbling on the stove, and he could smell apple pie baking in the oven. She turned and crossed her arms, her lips pulled into an angry line.
“What did you do to Jack?”
Tucker moved back a step as though distancing himself from her wrath. He leaned against the huge stainless steel refrigerator and crossed his arms. “Alice said he was transformed into a handsome prince.”
“Tucker, go make yourself useful.” She nodded toward a fresh pot of coffee. “Fill everyone’s cup.”
He frowned, but took the coffee pot and went to do her bidding.
“Still bullying the children around here, I see,” Blake said, trying to lighten her mood. She didn’t look any lighter. “Luanne, I thought he was dying. I took him back to the B&B to help him. The doctor said he was probably malnourished and dehydrated, so we fed him. We cleaned him up and gave him a bed to sleep in, so he could get his energy back.”
“And surprise! He disappears in the night.” She blew a sound of derision through her nostrils. “Son, that man cannot be magically changed with a haircut and shave. He’s a good man the way he is. You should respect him enough to leave him be.”
“I do respect him. You know that, but…” He shook his head slowly, and closed his eyes for a second, hoping the disappointment in hers would be gone when he opened them again. It wasn’t. “Is he all right?”
Roadkill (Double Barrel Mysteries Book 1) Page 14
