When Shadows Fall: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 5)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  An attractive young man, perhaps in his mid-thirties, emerged from the vehicle. In his heavy flannel shirt, denim jacket, and jeans, he looked ready for work.

  "Can I help you?" Helen asked.

  "Hope so." He grinned and checked the form on his clip­board. "You Helen Bradley?"

  “I am.

  He gave her an even wider smile. "Got a work order here to repair a leaky roof."

  Helen could practically feel her blood pressure rise. "It's about time. I called Chuck several weeks ago." She and J.B. had hired Chuck Daniels to remodel their home and build the new addition. He'd come highly recommended, and though he did excellent work, Chuck was often late, making promises he rarely kept. She'd only recently discovered why. Bay Village's most sought-after builder was an alcoholic.

  "Yes, ma'am. We got a lot of work piled up."

  "That may be, but Chuck assured me it would be done two weeks ago."

  "Sorry about that." He ran a hand through his thick dark hair and down the back of his neck.

  Helen backed off. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's not your fault."

  He shrugged. "Hey, it's not a problem. I get this a lot. Things should get better for them. They hired a couple new guys to help them catch up and I'm one of them." He reached out a hand. "Alex Jordan."

  "Hi, Alex. Thanks for coming. Better late than never, I guess." Helen quickly took him into the addition and up the stairs to show him the damaged ceiling. After discussing the work needing to be done, she instructed him to lock up when he finished and gave him her cell phone number if he had any problems.

  Jordan went right to work, whistling an engaging John Denver tune. One of her favorites. He seemed like a nice enough fellow, but before Helen entrusted him to the care of her home, she decided to check him out. With so many ruthless characters hanging about these days, she didn't want to take any chances. A call to Chuck's home office where his wife, Lynn, acted as secretary, affirmed that Alex was indeed legitimate.

  "I'm sorry, Helen. Chuck shouldn't have promised it so soon. We've been having a terrible time keeping up." There was a hard edge to Lynn's voice. Helen had gotten to know Lynn fairly well during the remodeling project. Seemed the poor woman was always apologizing for her husband's schedule, or lack of one. They'd talked several times at length about her husband's drinking problem.

  "You sound upset. Is everything all right?"

  "Not really." Lynn cleared her throat.

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  "No, I don't think so. Chuck is drinking more than ever. Since the city council turned down his proposal to build a housing development on that stretch of beachfront property at the north end of town, he's been hitting the bottle pretty heavily. Last night he was supposed to meet me for dinner after work, but he never showed up. One of the men said they saw him at Bagley's Tavern. I don't know where he went from there, but he never came home. Probably stayed with one of his drinking buddies so he wouldn't have to listen to me yell at him."

  "I'm sorry to hear that, Lynn. Have you talked to a counselor?"

  "Not yet. I keep hoping he’ll straighten out." She paused. "I shouldn't be telling you this. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. You need someone to talk to. I've mentioned this before, but you're enabling him. Chuck is an alcoholic, and trying to ignore that is like trying to ignore an elephant in your living room. You might want to start going to the Al-Anon or Alcoholics Anonymous meetings at St. Matthew's on Monday nights. I understand they have an excellent program."

  "We. . . we're not members and. . .."

  "It's open to everyone. Besides, if you feel uncomfortable there, you can find a number of other places. Um. . . I don't mean to sound pushy, but these programs can help. They'll give you some answers as to how to handle the situation. Waiting just compounds the problems."

  "I know. And you're right. You're not the only one who's mentioned it. Just this morning Alex was telling me the same thing." She sighed. "I need to do something. Chuck and I have worked too hard to develop the company to have his drinking mess things up. Anyway, I shouldn't be burdening you with my troubles. Alex will take care of the roof for you. He's a good worker." She paused. "Cute too."

  Helen glanced out her window as the subject of their conversation came around the corner of the building with a ladder. "I noticed. He seems very nice."

  "And he's single. Too bad I'm taken."

  "Now, Lynn." Helen couldn't help but smile. "I'll admit he's a hunk, but he's a little young for you, don't you think?"

  "Well, a person can dream, can't they?"

  Helen turned serious. When problems arose in a marriage, it was all too easy to look to another person as a way out. "I wouldn't dream too much, Lynn. Like all men, I suspect Alex has his flaws. Everyone comes with their own set of problems."

  "I suppose you're right about that. But don't worry. I'm not ready to dump Chuck. He has a lot of good qualities, when he's sober."

  Helen politely ended their conversation, saying she had errands to run. She then left the house in what she hoped were Alex Jordan's capable hands.

  Minutes later she was in her restored 1955 T-bird convertible heading south on Highway 101 toward Ethan and Eleanor Crane's home. On the drive she mulled over her conversations with Eleanor and Lynn. How odd that neither man had come home last night. Did one incident have anything to do with the other? Probably not, Helen mused. Lynn had most likely been on target about Chuck's sleeping it off at a friend's home.

  Ethan, however, was a different story. Over the phone, she had reassured Eleanor, telling her not to worry. Yet Helen couldn't seem to take her own advice. Ethan had been selected as the mayor of Bay Village to complete the term vacated by Mayor Ames. Ames had been poisoned at the big charitable art auction he and his wife hosted this past summer. With his killer behind bars and the ordeal over, the small coastal town of Bay Village needed someone to fill Ames's shoes and had chosen Ethan by an overwhelming majority.

  He's most likely been detained, Helen told herself. Still, wouldn't he have called?

  To keep her imagination from creating tragic scenarios, Helen trained her thoughts on the raw beauty of the breakers as they battered the rugged coastline. The waves pounded the rocks, sending plumes of white spray as high as forty and fifty feet into the air.

  Bay Village was a small, narrow town with the ocean on one side and the Cascade Mountains on the other. Businesses lined the east side of the highway, while a seawall and walkway lined the west. Behind the businesses, homes crept up the steep hill. Nearly every home had a view. Helen loved this particular stretch of beach, and shortly after her first husband's death, she would come here on weekends for respite. She began staying for longer and longer periods and finally bought the house. She'd lived here for eleven years and never tired of it. Even if it did rain too much at times, it was the perfect setting for writing and healing wounds.

  Soon after she'd moved in, she began attending St. Matthew's, one of two churches in Bay Village. That's when she met Ethan and Eleanor. Helen murmured a prayer for Ethan's safe­keeping as she turned into a private drive, punched the security code into the number pad, and waited for the gate to slide open. When it did, she nosed her car in and crept along the meandering wooded lane. The houses on either side suggested moderate wealth. The posh development of twenty-five or so homes had been built on a bluff similar to the area in which she and J.B. lived. That's where the similarity ended. When the lane split into a Y, Helen veered left on Ocean Ridge Way and drove to the end.

  The Cranes' elegant two-story colonial sat on two acres atop a ridge and offered a spectacular view of the ocean. The same builder who'd renovated Helen's home had built it and many of the other homes in the development five years before.

  Helen growled out loud just thinking again about Chuck Daniels. His carelessness had caused her and J.B. weeks of grief. Alex Jordan's appearance this morning appeased her some, but Chuck was a scoundrel. It had been hard enough to put up with him
during the remodeling, but to have to deal with him while he built an entire house? Helen shuddered at the thought. Eleanor must have considerably more patience than she did.

  Helen brushed the pesky thoughts aside. She wasn't being entirely fair to the man. Just because she didn't care for his chauvinistic attitude and lackadaisical manner, or the fact that he drank too much, didn't mean he wasn't a good contractor. The beautiful homes around her attested to the man's talents. Besides, when he wanted to, Chuck could be quite charming. Though she held reservations about his character, Helen wished him the best. Alcoholism could be debilitating, and she sincerely hoped he'd get help before he ended up losing everything, including his wife.

  Dismissing further thoughts of Chuck, she pulled into the circular driveway. A cyclist shot past her. Helen didn't see the girl's face, only the blur of a helmet, black spandex, and neon pink windbreaker.

  "Melissa!" a woman shouted from an open upstairs window. "Get back here. Now!"

  The girl ignored the order and kept riding. Helen glanced up at the woman in the window with what she hoped was an empathetic response. It was Nancy Belmont, the Cranes' daughter. Nancy's angry gaze met hers for an instant. Then, in obvious embarrassment, she raked a hand through disheveled hair, retreated inside, and closed the window.

  Not certain what she was getting into, Helen took her time going up the walk, pausing to admire the landscaping. Everything was lush and green and very wet.

  "There you are." Eleanor opened the door before Helen had a chance to ring the bell. "Thank you for coming. Come in, please. Um ... I suppose you heard. I swear that girl is more headstrong than her mother used to be at that age."

  "She's certainly grown up since the last time I saw her."

  "Yes. Melissa is fourteen and taking her parents' divorce very badly."

  "Divorce? I hadn’t heard. I'm so sorry."

  "Don't be. It's for the best. I never did like Bob. And I like him even less now.'' She gave Helen a thin smile. "I know that's not a very Christian attitude, but the man. . .. well, I won't bore you with the sordid details. Nancy and Melissa are staying here for a few weeks, for their protection. Ethan and I thought it best."

  Eleanor ushered her into the living room. In her expensive- looking silk lounging ensemble, Eleanor resembled Ingrid Bergman. She was shorter than Helen, but her wiry frame made her look as tall. Or maybe it was the regal way she carried herself. She wore her platinum hair in a moderate pageboy, which was now pulled back and held in place by an elegant clip. Her pastel pink silks perfectly matched the soft beige carpet, the creamy leather furniture, and the pastel pillows. Helen sank into the chair near the fireplace and settled her bag on the floor.

  “Would you like some tea? I seem to remember you prefer it to coffee."

  "I'd love some, thanks."

  Eleanor had already prepared the tea and poured it into gold-trimmed teacups and saucers decorated with yellow and red roses. Replacing the tea cozy on the matching teapot, she said, "I still haven't heard from Ethan." She appeared more angry than concerned. "I can't believe he hasn't called."

  "You said he was due back last night?"

  "Yes. His plane was due in yesterday afternoon." Eleanor handed Helen her tea, then glanced toward the stairs in the entry and frowned. "I haven't said anything to Nancy or Melissa. No sense in worrying them."

  "Have you checked with the airlines to see if his plane might have been delayed?"

  She lowered herself into the sofa. "His flight came into Portland yesterday afternoon at three."

  "Did he have business in Portland?"

  "Not that I know of. Our son, Brian, lives there. I tried calling, but he wasn't home." She pinched her lips together. "Ethan usually calls if he's going to be late."

  Helen took a tentative sip of the hot brew. It smelled faintly of vanilla, and she savored the smooth taste of it. "I really don't know how I can help. Like I said on the phone, you really should call the authorities."

  "No." Eleanor fingered the large diamond ring on her left hand. "I don't want the police involved."

  "But if he's missing. . ..

  "There are things you don't know."

  "Maybe you'd better explain."

  Eleanor sighed and drew herself up. "He always calls me when he's been detained.”

  The hesitancy and sarcasm in her voice when she said the word triggered Helen's curiosity and concern even more.

  "And he doesn't usually stay out all night."

  Helen gave her an expectant look. "Eleanor, what's going on? You seem to be tossing out a lot of hints, and so far they aren't coming together very well. Why don't you just come out and tell me what you're getting at?"

  She clasped her hands on her lap and let out a rush of air.

  Helen had never seen her so flustered. Eleanor was the rock. The one to call in a crisis.

  "I think Ethan is seeing another woman."

  "Oh no." Helen rubbed her forehead to ease out the beginnings of a headache. "Are you sure?"

  "No. That is. . .I. have no proof, but he spends so much time away. Almost every night he calls and says he has to work late. Several times I've called him and he's not there. Once a woman answered."

  "Could it have been his secretary?"

  "I suppose. He has several women working for him. She didn't give me her name. Just said he'd left the office."

  "Ethan doesn't seem like the kind of man who would have an affair, except maybe with his work. It can't be easy stepping into the mayor's position on such short notice. It's a big job."

  "Don't you think I know that?" Eleanor's voice was uncharacteristically harsh. "I wish you would stop siding with him. Being a deacon in the church doesn't make him a saint."

  "Of course not, but. . .."

  "I shouldn't have said anything." She pinched the bridge of her nose and after several thoughtful moments said, "I was hoping you might be able to find him. I need to know if he's having an affair and who it is. With your being a detective and all."

  "I'm not a licensed private detective,” Helen was quick to say.

  "But you do take cases sometimes. And you are a consultant for the sheriff’s office."

  "I do some investigating." Even though she didn't actively work as a private eye, Helen had been known to get involved in an investigation now and then. But she had no interest in hiring herself out to dig up dirt on an unfaithful spouse. "I can't. You and Ethan are my friends."

  "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's just. . . I'm so worried."

  Helen settled her cup in the saucer. "You need to call the authorities."

  "No." Eleanor set her cup on the coffee table without drinking from it.

  "Whyever not?"

  "I don't want a scandal. The press would get ahold of the story and it would be all over the news. If he is with his . . . his girlfriend, I couldn't take the embarrassment. He couldn't either."

  "For heaven's sake, Eleanor, what if something has happened to him?"

  "I don't think that's the problem. He's with her. I just want you to find him and follow him. I want to know for sure if he's cheating on me. And I want to know with whom."

  "Based on what you've told me, I don't see any reason to suspect him of being unfaithful." Helen started to pick up her bag. "I'd be more worried that he'd had an accident on the way home. Coming through the mountains can be treacherous at night. His car may have gone off the road. There are a number of explanations." Helen sighed. "Call the sheriff’s office. They'll be able to locate him far more quickly than I."

  "I can't. Don't you see?"

  Helen stood and swung her bag over her shoulder. "I should go.”

  Tears gathered in Eleanor's eyes, turning them a grayish blue. "Wait. Please. I'm sorry. I had no right to be upset with you. Maybe you're right, and he really has been working. I tried his office, but no one there has seen him. He doesn't have any appointments scheduled for today, and they didn't expect him in until tomorrow. He told me he'd be home last night."<
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  "You need to talk to Joe Adams," Helen urged. "Tell him you haven't heard from Ethan and that you're getting worried. You don't need to mention the possibility of an affair. If it turns out you're right and he has been seeing someone, Joe will be discreet." Helen trusted the young sheriff and had worked with him on several investigations. Joe had an office in Bay Village and usually had one or two deputies working with him.

  "I suppose you're right." Tears filled her eyes. "There might not be a woman at all. It's just that when he didn't come home, I began to assume the worst. I was afraid he'd been in an acci­dent or something. Then I started thinking about all the times he's been away lately and how different he's seemed. He's been so distant. I couldn't bear it if anything has happened to him."

  Helen went to sit beside her friend and settled an arm across her shoulders. "I understand how frantic you must be. But all this speculation isn't helping one bit."

  Maybe she'd been too hasty in refusing to help. Maybe she should investigate. If something had happened to Ethan. Helen stopped the thought. She’d been right to refuse. The authorities were more than capable of handling it. "You're doing the right thing by alerting Joe. And please, keep me posted."

  Eleanor dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Yes, I'll do that. I'm sorry I troubled you. Um. . . you won't say anything. I mean about.my suspicions?"

  "Of course not."

  After saying good-bye, Helen drove her vintage car around in the circular driveway and headed home. She thought about calling Joe herself to tell him about Ethan, then decided against it. Maybe she'd check with him later to make sure Eleanor followed through.

  Driving back through Bay Village, thoughts of Ethan, Chuck, and J.B. tumbled through her mind like a landslide of rocks down a mountain.

  Helen didn't like thinking of Ethan as being unfaithful to Eleanor, couldn't fathom it. But she'd been wrong about people before. She didn't want to see Chuck sinking into the mire of addiction. And she saw no point whatsoever in dredging up worries over J.B.'s health or his whereabouts. Yet she couldn't seem to put the negative thoughts about the three men out of her head.