He shrugged. "I still think Jordan is guilty."
Helen pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe you're saying that. Alex Jordan did not kill Ethan or Chuck."
"Well, that's where you're wrong."
Helen glared at him. "I can't believe you're being so stubborn about this. The man just admitted he lied to protect Rosie. It makes no sense whatsoever that he'd use her letter opener as a murder weapon. He wouldn't want to implicate his own mother."
"Are you sure about that? Maybe you're the one who's reading him wrong. Maybe he deliberately set Rosie up as a suspect so he could play the hero."
Helen leaned back and folded her arms. "I've never heard of anything so ridiculous except maybe in a twisted plot in a mystery novel."
"Maybe he's read a few. He knew Rosie would jump in and save him. And she has. She's got you and Marcia helping her. Three women at his beck and call. No, make that four. Lynn Daniels is sticking up for him as well. She told me he was just too nice a guy to commit murder."
Joe tossed her a patronizing look. "I'm surprised at you, Helen. I might have expected something like this from Rosie and Lynn, but not you. How can you be so gullible?"
"I'm not gullible! I think he's innocent."
"Because he told you so?"
"Because my instincts tell me so."
"As much as I respect your instincts, I'm afraid you're off the mark on this one. Jordan is a con. He had a set of Ethan's car keys on him when he was arrested. He went back to Rosie's to remove evidence that linked him to Ethan. He had motive, means, and opportunity. I'm not closing the books, but it's going to take a lot more than intuition to convince me he didn't do it."
Chapter Twenty
Helen entered the restaurant at seven-fifteen. She spotted George right away, sitting at the corner table on the lower level overlooking the bay. His attention was focused on something out in the water. A surge of yearning swelled in her chest. Not for George, but for J.B.
George was seated at the table she and J.B. usually reserved. Helen and J,B. loved this place and had eaten many romantic dinners as they enjoyed the glorious sunsets. They'd spent hours watching the waters of Depoe Bay ebb and flow. Teeming with life, the water swirled around the golden brown rocks it had sculpted into a myriad of fascinating shapes.
She wondered for a moment at the wisdom of having dinner with her former colleague. Normally, she wouldn't have given it a second thought, but J.B.'s luncheon with a woman raised questions about her own behavior. Someone seeing her and George might get the wrong idea. A smidgeon of guilt kneaded its way into her mind.
Nonsense, Helen told herself as she moved toward the corner table. Whatever J.B. was up to had nothing to do with her having dinner with George. If anything, she should take it as a sign that J.B. may have been doing the same thing. Having lunch with a colleague. For all she knew, it was strictly business. Which was more than she could say for herself. With George she was looking forward to the easy camaraderie they'd once shared. She also hoped he'd share his findings with regard to Ethan and Chuck.
"There you are." George's narrow face split into a wide grin when he saw her. "I was about to call out the guards."
"Sorry I'm late." Helen accepted a peck on the cheek from George, then hung her jacket on the back of the chair he'd pulled out for her and sat down.
"Rough day?"
"You might say that." She set her bag on the floor beside her and picked up a menu. The server came to take their order for drinks. Helen selected mango iced tea. "If you know what you want, we can go ahead and order."
"You haven't had a chance to look at the menu."
"I know it by heart. This is one of my favorite haunts." Looking up at the server, a young girl with burgundy hair and a Russian accent, she said, "I'll have the sautéed oysters with rice and salad. Ranch dressing on the side."
George ordered the salmon in a lemon-caper butter sauce. When the girl left, he focused his attention back on Helen. "I can't believe my luck in finding you here. I have to admit you've crossed my mind more than once over the years."
Helen smiled. She couldn't make the same claim. "So, George, tell me what you've been up to for the past decade."
"Besides work, I've gotten into golf." His easy grin came back. "Say, do you golf? I've been looking for someone to join me Saturday mornings."
"No, I don't. But J.B. might be interested."
"J.B.?"
"My husband."
Disappointment flitted across his face. "I didn't realize you'd remarried."
"J.B. and I got married last June. In Paris." She smiled at the thought. J.B. had always been a romantic. "At any rate, you were talking about golf. J.B. used to go quite often. He hasn't played much lately. . .." She let her voice trail off. Somehow she got the feeling George wasn't the least bit interested in J.B. or golf. Apparently she'd given him the wrong idea. "How is your family?" she asked. "As I recall, you and Mary had several children."
"Four. Two boys and two girls. All married."
"Grandchildren?"
"Eight. And they are all doing fine." George chuckled. "I'm making you uncomfortable, aren't I?"
Helen shrugged. "A bit." It had been a long time since anyone besides J.B. had looked at her with such open admiration. While Helen found the attention flattering, she also found it disconcerting. "I'm wondering if this was a mistake."
"I'm sorry. It's just that I've always admired you. I guess I was hoping. . .." He sighed. "Well, you know what they say, a day late and a dollar short." He took hold of her hand and squeezed it. "I hope this J.B. fellow is making you happy."
Helen pulled back her hand and fiddled with her napkin. Happy? Not at the moment. She avoided the comment and gave him the brightest smile she could muster. "He's a hero, you know, my husband." Helen told George about J.B.'s recent assignment to free hostages in the Middle East. As she talked she began to relax. Somewhere along the way, George slipped out of his flirtatious mode and seemed more like her old friend.
"You know, I think I read about that," he said when she'd finished her tale.
"He's been commissioned to write a book on his life."
"I'm impressed. A real spy. Have you known him long?"
"We met in Ireland while I was still in college. He came back into my life after Ian died."
"Sounds like an exceptional man. You're very much in love with him."
Was it that obvious? "Yes, I guess I am."
"He's a lucky man. I'd like to meet him. In fact, you should have asked him to join us."
"He's on a,: she hesitated before adding, “a business trip."
George's gaze bored into hers. "I gather all is not well between the two of you."
"I miss him." Helen hoped that would suffice. She didn't want to talk about J.B. anymore and gratefully accepted the server's interruption.
When she'd gone, George seemed to sense Helen's reluctance to talk about J.B. and asked her about the investigation. "Joe tells me he has a promising suspect with a confession."
"Alex Jordan, but I don’t believe he’s guilty."
"Really. How can you be so certain?"
Helen told him about Alex and his connection with Rosie and Ethan, and how Alex had confessed in order to protect his mother.
"What a tangled web." He leaned back when the server brought their salads. "The past does come back to haunt us, doesn't it?"
"Hm." Helen broke apart a sourdough roll. "Poor Rosie. I can't imagine how she must be feeling. Seeing her son after all these years and then having him arrested for Ethan's murder. I hope for her sake that Alex is innocent."
"You don't sound as certain of his innocence as you did a few minutes ago."
Buttering her bread, Helen considered his question. "There's always room for doubt. We don't know all that much about Alex. Though he denies it, there is still the possibility that he found out about his father's status and wanted money to keep quiet. Rosie insists that's not the case. Supposedly, Ethan welcomed him as a
son and planned to change his will, making Alex a rightful heir."
George leaned forward. "Did he?"
"Not that I know of."
"I don't expect Ethan's family would be too happy about a will change."
“You're right about that." Helen remembered what Annie had said about Brian burning papers in the fireplace. After telling George, she added, "Somehow I can't see either of them opening their hearts or pocketbooks to a half-brother. Apparently they had alibis. Brian was in Portland, and Nancy was at home with Melissa, her daughter."
'What about Ethan's wife? Wouldn't she have a lot to lose as well?"
"I've considered that. She was at church that evening." Helen speared a shrimp and some greens.
"I assume Joe checked that out."
"I'm sure. Joe is very thorough. Why do you ask? Is there something I should know?"
George frowned. "She seemed a little cool and reluctant when I talked to her about the autopsy. Her biggest concern was how soon I'd be able to release the body to the funeral home."
"Eleanor is like that. Cool, stiff upper lip. She's efficient, which is what makes her so great at heading up projects. I think she's trying to maintain a good front. Focusing on details. Taking care of others. She's still numb."
He nodded. "Now that I think about it, I was pretty much the same way when Mary died. I went on autopilot. It didn't hit me until about a month later that she wasn't coming back." He sighed heavily. "All this talk about death. This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to dinner."
"It's hard not to think about it."
"As I recall, you were always taking your work home with you," he said.
"And you didn't."
He grinned. "Touché."
They ate for several minutes in silence. Helen reflected on Eleanor's demeanor, then tried to imagine her stealing Rosie's letter opener, planning out every detail of Ethan's death, and framing Rosie. Could Eleanor have gotten angry enough over the affair to kill Ethan? Helen couldn't see it. Besides, Eleanor had an alibi. Rosie didn't.
"Joe may be right," she said. "I may be letting my friendships color my perception of the case."
"You're not losing faith in yourself, I hope. Joe isn't exactly objective either at the moment."
"Really. And why is that?"
"He seems a little too eager to wrap things up. He's upset about something. Grumpy as all get out. I asked him about it today, but he insisted it wasn't anything he couldn't handle."
Helen took a sip of her iced tea and asked what he'd learned so far about Ethan's and Chuck's deaths.
George winced. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask. I wanted this to be a relaxing evening for both of us."
"I'm sorry. It's my nature. Can't rest until I ferret out every detail. Tell me what you've got so far, and I promise for the rest of dinner we won't mention work again."
He shook his head and offered her a forgiving smile. "What would you like to know?"
"Let's start with Ethan. Cause of death?"
He raised his eyebrows. "You didn't know? I'm surprised Joe didn't tell you."
"I haven't talked to him since earlier this afternoon."
George glanced toward the restaurant entrance. "I'll be happy to tell you what I know, but maybe we'd better save it for later. Mrs. Crane and her family just came in."
Helen's gaze met Eleanor's as she stepped down to the lower level. Her hand fluttered up and down in greeting. She revealed a brief expression of curiosity and disapproval when she noticed Helen's dining companion. Nancy and Brian acknowledged her as well. Melissa lagged behind, her arms folded in a stubborn pose, clearly wishing she were somewhere else. Helen suppressed a smile. Having two teenaged granddaughters, she could read the behavior quite well. The difference, however, was that Jennie and Lisa still loved being included in family outings.
The server seated them three tables away.
Eleanor set her purse on a chair and hurried over to Helen and George's table. "Helen? Dr. Fisher?" She said it as though she couldn't quite believe the two of them were there together.
He stood and shook her hand. "Mrs. Crane. Nice to see you again."
"George and I used to work together when I was with the police bureau in Portland," Helen explained.
"Oh, well, how nice." Eleanor shifted back to Helen. "I'm glad I ran into you. Didn't you get my message?"
'Yes. I was going to stop by after dinner. Unless you'd like to talk to me now?"
"No. It's a personal matter. Later tonight will be fine." She looked at her watch. "Say around nine-thirty?"
Helen agreed and Eleanor went back to her family. The entrees arrived. Helen dug into her oysters. Excellent as usual. During the rest of their meal, they talked about their grandchildren and travel plans. George warmed to the idea of meeting J.B. and possibly finding a golf and fishing partner.
"This was a bad idea." Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when Brian Crane shoved his chair back and stood.
"Brian, please!" Eleanor glanced around the room. "You're making a scene."
"Good. It's about time someone did." Grabbing his jacket, he stepped away from the table.
Melissa looked as though she wanted to disappear into the woodwork. Nancy rolled her eyes and took a drink of wine. "You tell her, Brian."
He flung a disgusted look his sister's way and walked out.
Eleanor's embarrassed gaze met Helen's. Turning to Nancy, she said, "We'd better go."
"Why? We haven't eaten yet. I'm hungry."
"I'll fix you something at home."
"That's what I wanted in the first place." Melissa shrugged into her jacket. "I'll meet you in the car."
Nancy drained her glass and followed her daughter outside.
Eleanor gathered her things and signaled the server. "I'm sorry about this."
"Don't worry. Guess he just didn't like the food." She set the check on the table.
"I think it was the company." Eleanor pulled some bills out of her purse and placed them on the check. "Keep the change."
She hesitated near Helen's table. "You're still coming?"
"Of course."
Eleanor nodded. She then turned and, lifting her chin in dignitary fashion, walked away.
"Wonder what that was all about." George pulled his gaze from her retreating figure.
Helen shrugged. "Maybe Eleanor will enlighten me when I visit. While I'm at it, I think I'll have a talk with her son."
"Be careful. He seems rather volatile."
"Seems?" Helen glimpsed over her shoulder at the green Mercedes backing out of the lot. Brian wasn't in the car.
Helen and George left the restaurant at eight-thirty. When George suggested a walk along the waterfront, Helen agreed. She still had a lot of unanswered questions. They drove separate cars to the south end of the seawall. Grabbing a pair of gloves and a hat from her trunk, Helen joined George on the sidewalk.
Helen pulled on her winter hat, a plain gray felt with a brim and a six-inch band of material on either side that served as a scarf. She brought the ties down to cover her ears, then crossed them under her chin and flipped the ends back over her shoulders.
George hauled in a deep breath. "Lovely night, isn't it?" He exhaled vapor puffs as he spoke. "Nothing like fresh sea air. I am so glad I moved here."
"I love it. Don't even mind the rain most days." Helen pulled up her collar against the wind and pushed her gloved hands into the pockets of her jacket. "Brrr. Winter is definitely on its way."
"Maybe it'll be nice tomorrow. Look." He pointed skyward. "We can see a few stars."
Helen stargazed for a moment, then zeroed in on the questions George had left unanswered. "So tell me about Ethan."
They fell into step, matching each other stride for stride. He hunched his shoulders. "I suppose the most crucial thing is that the letter opener didn't kill him as we'd originally thought."
"Oh?" Helen's questions tumbled over themselves like the water below them, scrambling forward in an e
ffort to be asked first. "What did?"
"From what I can determine, he was stabbed first. He may have tried to run or move away from his attacker. My hunch is that when the knife attack failed, the killer went for the first available weapon. A rock or piece of concrete. Hit him on the back of the head about here." George brushed the back of his head just above the hairline.
"Any ideas on where the murder took place?"
"A lot of ideas. Without physical evidence, all we can do is speculate. We know he'd been in the restaurant. The most likely scenario is that he went for a walk on the beach. Or he may have been attacked near the parking lot and dragged out to the beach."
"That's a long way to drag a body—unless the killer dumped it into the river in front of the restaurant. What with the currents, it could have drifted down and come back in on the tide."
"I don't think so. There's another problem. If he'd been brought in on a wave, the letter opener would have been dislodged. I think Ethan was murdered on the beach. Probably close to where you found him."
"That makes the most sense."
"Something else. Whoever killed Ethan wanted to make certain the body was found with the knife in it."
"I'm not sure I follow you," Helen said.
"There were two knife wounds. My guess is that with the first strike, the knife came out. Now it's anyone's guess as to what happened next, but that knife wound didn't kill him. Once he was dead, though, I think the killer tried to reinsert the knife into the old wound to make it look like he'd been stabbed only once. Went in at almost the same place but at a slightly different angle. There was sand in the second track."
Helen shuddered. "How gruesome."
"Deliberate, premeditated murder."
"One meant to frame Rosie." Helen stopped at the seawall and sat on its concrete surface. Below them the sea churned and foamed in a cauldron, pounding the rocks and shooting huge plumes of water into the air. The spray stung her face like tiny needles, but she didn't turn away.
Helen mulled over her theory of Alex confessing and playing the role of a protective son. Perhaps he'd planned this from the moment he discovered who his father was. Or maybe he'd planned it before he came to Bay Village. He'd take Ethan for as much as he could get, then kill him, making it look like Rosie did it. Still, he seemed genuinely sad over Ethan's death. He could have been faking it. "Maybe Alex isn't who he says he is."
When Shadows Fall: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 5) Page 15
