Lauren buried her hands in her hair, scratching the shining mass back from her forehead. “Stop it.”
Tears slid down Singer’s cheeks.
“What?” Lauren’s hands were raised in petition.
It took time for Singer to get enough breath to reply. “I just realized I didn’t have to open Beastie’s door. I could have just taken my skirt off.” The thought of walking through the fog in her underwear rekindled the madness and had her gulping for air. “Chilly . . . chilly walk.” She took a deep breath. “Would you have let me in without my skirt? Yeah, probably wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been nude. You barely even saw me.”
Lauren was no longer interested. She prowled back and forth in front of the bed with restless energy. “Do you think Wilmot believed us?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
Lauren gnawed at a hangnail. “He doesn’t give much away. Could you tell if he believed us?”
“Relax. We just keep to our stories and let Wilmot get on with looking for the real murderer. Then I can get out of here. A couple of days, I’ll be gone.”
Lauren raised her head. “A couple of days?”
“At most. The cops aren’t going to let me go until they find the killer.”
“I hadn’t thought . . . well, I hadn’t thought of you staying here for more than one night.”
“Sure, it’s okay.” Singer gave a soft lift of her shoulders. “I can move back into Beastie, go downtown, when it’s back on the road. Don’t worry. You won’t be stuck with me permanently.”
“I think that’s exactly what will happen,” Lauren said. “We’re tied together forever by lies.”
“Well, forever will have to look after itself. For now I’m treating myself to a shower and going to bed. I don’t care what else happens, I’m done.”
Lauren tilted her head, considering Singer. “That’s strange.”
Singer looked up from the canvas bag she was digging through. “What’s strange?”
“A shower being a treat.”
“Now there speaks someone who’s led a sheltered life. Don’t ever go camping, become a bar singer, join a band, or live on the road. In fact, don’t ever leave home.” Singer headed for the bathroom.
“How old are you?” Lauren asked, staring boldly at Singer’s body.
Singer turned around to look at her. “We really have to do something about your manners. Don’t be rude, or I’ll tell everyone I’m your long-lost mother.”
Lauren froze. “Why did you say that?”
“A stupid joke. Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Lauren sank down on the bed. “It’s just me being sensitive.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “I’m adopted.”
“Well then, I can see how my claiming to be your mother would scare the shit out of you. That would freak anyone out, having me for a mother. Don’t you know who your parents were?”
Lauren shook her head. “About all I know about them is I’m not the child of an ax murder.”
“Always good to know.”
“I once asked my adoptive mother if I was. Mom was horrified.” Lauren smiled. “My parentage was such a forbidden topic I thought there had to be something terrible to tell.”
“Well, there are a few blanks in my memory, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure you aren’t my child.”
Lauren fingered a gold medallion that lay on her chest. “It’s just that I’m tired and maybe a little crazy.”
“It’s been that kind of night.” Singer reached into the bathroom and turned on the light.
“How old are you anyway?” Lauren asked.
“Old enough to be your mother.” Singer started to close the door.
Lauren flushed. “I was just wondering.”
“Fortyish,” Singer said, rocking her hand back and forth.
“Yeah? You look sixtyish until you take off your clothes. You’re a lot skinnier than I thought.”
Singer shut the bathroom door. She looked in the mirror over the sink. She seldom looked at herself. It had stopped mattering. She turned her head right and then left. Little remained of the woman she’d been. But still, while the glitter and shine had gone, she couldn’t get away from her bones. The old Singer still peaked out, enough for the remaining members of the band to identify her and know she was a danger.
Johnny was dead, and one of the people on the mountain had killed him. Did it have to do with that long ago crime, or were there new sins to consider? And if Johnny hadn’t acted alone back then, she still had enemies. Someone might be frightened by her arrival on Glenphiddie.
She’d have to careful. When you detonated a bomb in people’s lives the flying debris could kill you. And that was exactly what she intended to do now. “Lord help you if they hate you as much as you hated Johnny Vibes,” she told the face in the mirror. But of course, that’s what came from destroying someone’s life—hatred became a passion as strong as love.
Seventeen
Dawn came before the search of the house was complete. Duncan stood at the glass doors by the eating area in the kitchen and watched the rising sun bounce colors off a bank of low cumulus clouds, pinks and oranges bleeding into magentas. “The world is being born again and we’re the only ones to see it.”
Wilmot raised his head briefly from the notes he was reading. “What exactly is the count?”
“Fourteen weapons—handguns, rifles, and shotguns—were found in the house. Only two of the rifles and a shotgun were registered to John Vibald.”
“Jesus!” The number was a shock. “This is supposed to be the most peaceful place on Earth. When I go on duty each day, facing someone with a gun is the last thing I worry about.”
She joined him at the table. “Eagon and I were talking about it. Neither of us can remember the last violent crime on the island involving a weapon.” Her gaze returned to the sunrise. “And even with the count at fourteen, we’re not sure if we’ve found all the firearms in John Vibald’s possession. So far none of them appear to be the murder weapon.” She sighed and turned from the window. “I’ll start again.”
And so instead of going off duty Duncan climbed the stairs to the top of the house and began the search all over again.
It was just after nine in the morning when Singer walked into the kitchen. The smell of nutmeg and cinnamon hung in the air.
“The weather’s cleared. You’ll be able to get off the island,” Lauren said.
“Do you think the Mounties will let me go?”
“Maybe not.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take Beastie downtown and find a place to park.”
“I wasn’t asking you to leave. I don’t mind if you stay a while.” A look of surprise lit Lauren’s face at her own words.
Singer smiled. “Thank you.”
Lauren turned away and began briskly grating nutmeg. “We’ll ask if you can leave the island when we’re at their headquarters. Leave your van here and I’ll give you a lift down.”
But Singer had plans of her own. “I’d like to take a gander around town. What’s it called again?”
“Kilborn.”
“Kilborn, the gem of the islands. Isn’t that what they call it? Might never get back here so I’d like to see it.”
Lauren frowned. “Okay, but stay out of trouble.”
An irrepressible grin lit Singer’s face. “Now why in the world would you think I’d get into trouble?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Lauren dried her hands on a cloth. “I just felt I should add that. Heaven knows you seem like nothing but trouble.” Still drying her hands, Lauren watched Singer. “My life is kinda tied to yours right now. We have to be careful.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you down.” Breathing deeply, Singer said, “It smells like heaven in here. What is it?”
“Muffins, cinnamon buns
, and coffee cake.”
“Well that explains Johnny’s size. Did you stay up all night?”
“Just about. Cooking calms me down and someone always eats it.” She went to the coffee carafe and filled a mug. “I thought I might take it to the guys searching outside.”
Singer wasn’t listening. It had been too dark last night to see the true grandeur of the view beyond the kitchen. Now the shock of it froze her in wonder. A huge, spreading fig tree with leaves the size of dinner plates took center stage at the kitchen window. Excited to see more, Singer went to the sliding doors in the dining area. Outside, a flagstone patio, the same flagstone as the paths at the front of the house, stretched along the back. The whole patio was enclosed by a low, stone wall with various seating areas and dining areas scattered over the green slate. Beyond the patio, dark blue islands floated on an ocean streaked in hues of blue.
“Holy shit,” Singer said.
Lauren lifted her head and glanced to where Singer stood at the sliding doors and then she went back to stirring the mixture in the bowl. “The Mounties were in the house all night. They took boxes of things out of John’s office, including his Rolodex with all his contacts. This morning more people arrived. Looks like most of the volunteer fire department is out there walking along, eyes down, searching the ground in front of them. Nobody can come to the house until they’ve finished.” The oven rang. She put on thick mitts and opened it. “Suits me. Last thing I want is the Pyes in here, making themselves at home. Aaron called this morning, which was bad enough, and Steven.”
Three small mule deer stepped out of the woods. They turned their heads to look at Singer and began eating the boxwoods growing in giant planters along the western boundary of the patio.
“Are they pets?” Singer whispered, afraid she’d startle them.
Lauren turned to see what Singer was talking about. “Damn things are everywhere.” Lauren grabbed a dishtowel. “You were lucky not to hit one coming up the road.” She opened the sliding door and flapped the cloth towards the deer, while Missy darted outside, barking. The deer lifted their heads and considered the small dog before trotting lightly towards the woods. At the edge of the lawn they stopped again and looked back.
Missy, pleased with this sign of success, dashed towards them with more vigor. Incapable of simultaneously barking and running, her method was to scurry a few feet and then stop and bark. Then she’d run a little closer and yap some more. The deer seemed only mildly concerned.
“Damn things eat all the flowers. I have to hang baskets out of their reach in the trees to keep any color.”
One of the deer had enough and with one graceful leap was gone. The other deer followed.
“Good job,” Lauren said, as Missy charged back to the house, pleased at having conquered the invaders. “I’m going to set you on those reporters if they come up here.”
“What reporters?”
“The ones who have been calling—at least half a dozen this morning wanting interviews. Can you imagine?” She opened the oven and put in another tray of muffins. “It’s only because they think John was murdered. They weren’t interested in him when he was alive. Who told them? Do you think Wilmot did?” She ran water into the mixing bowl.
Singer wasn’t interested. “I hope they can get Beastie back on the road. It’s right at the edge, may even have tipped over by now.”
“Nope, it’s still there. I went up and had a look. Do you know how close you were to crashing down a few thousand feet? It explains why your hair is white.” Lauren frowned at her. “We have to find you a change of clothes.”
Singer stared down at her orange skirt, which fell to her ankles. Made of Indian cotton, the bottom flounce of the skirt had ripped loose and a large oil stain soiled one side.
Lauren said, “Look, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but do you want to pick up some new clothes downtown? The hospital runs a secondhand shop. I’ll give you a little cash.”
“This is my favorite outfit.”
“And it makes a great statement, but if you change your mind . . .” Lauren left the offer unfinished.
“Well, give me the money and I’ll check out the shop.”
Lauren laughed. “Yeah, right. I’ll meet you there.”
“Maybe later.”
Lauren dried the bowl with the towel she’d slung over her shoulder. “I called Janna. She wasn’t there, but I left a message to call me.”
“Janna? That’s Johnny’s daughter?”
Lauren nodded. “I didn’t want her to hear it on the news but I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”
Singer shrugged. “On a machine or in person, the words hurt the same.”
Lauren nodded. “I called her mom too.” Lauren set the bowl aside and got out a mug and filled it with coffee. “She said she’d go over to Janna’s right away, be there when she got home.”
Lauren took a plate from the cupboard, put a collection of baking on it, and set it and the mug of coffee on the bar in front of Singer.
“What’s Johnny’s kid like?”
“She’s a student at Simon Fraser University. She isn’t much like John and that’s a good thing. I’ll try to talk her into flying over when she calls, but she’s never liked float planes. Everything frightens her. It used to infuriate John. Janna didn’t see much of him growing up. Earla and John divorced when Janna was only two, and Earla raised her, kept Janna away from John for years.”
“Oh yeah, Earla, the girl who never met a drug she didn’t like.”
“John told me about the drugs. But all of that changed after Janna came along. This past summer was the first time Janna and John spent any real time together. She came out in June and stayed until university started.”
“How was that for you?”
“Great. I missed her when she left.” Her face clouded over. “I don’t know what happened. There was some big disagreement. John wouldn’t tell me what it was about and neither would Janna, but she hasn’t been back since. She and John weren’t talking.” She opened the oven door and pulled out the rack. “I’ve called and called but she never returns my calls.” Lauren tested a muffin with a fork and then pulled out the pan, setting it on the stovetop. “I wanted to go to Vancouver and spend a few days with her, but she put me off. I don’t know what I did.”
“How old are you?” Singer raised a hand to stop Lauren’s quick comeback. “I know it’s rude, but you did ask me the same question last night.”
“Twenty-eight.”
“By twenty-eight I’d been on the road about twelve years. How can someone reach your age and still be so naive?” Singer raised both hands this time. “Don’t get upset with me. I’m just pointing out that maybe you didn’t do anything. Maybe it’s just that Johnny and his kid were having problems and you got in the firing line. I’d like to know what they fought about, though. Maybe Janna will tell you now that Johnny’s dead.”
Lauren stopped and glanced over her shoulder at Singer. “You want me to pry, don’t you?”
Singer grinned at her. “Maybe you’re more intuitive than I thought.”
Lauren’s face turned hard. “Forget it. If Janna tells me anything, it isn’t going any further.”
Singer set down her mug. “Look, you and I have a bit of a situation here, you know? I just want an idea of what went on this summer.”
Lauren crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. “Whatever it was, it has nothing to do with you and it didn’t have anything to do with John’s death.”
“No? Someone had a reason to kill him and there are plenty of candidates.”
“Yeah, including you, Singer. What did John do to you that made you track him down and come way out here to the end of the world to find him?”
“If I’d wanted him dead, do you think I would have waited twenty years to kill him?”
Lauren po
inted her forefinger at Singer. “That’s the only thing that’s keeping you and me together.”
Singer spread her arms wide. “I told you before. I’m just here looking for a little charity, so how about another muffin?”
Eighteen
Silence stretched between the two women. Lauren washed the remaining mixing bowls and utensils with angry efficiency and slammed them away on shelves.
Singer was on her second cigarette when Lauren leaned back against the counter. She gave Singer a small nod and said, “Okay. Last summer, Janna was here and so was Ian, Aaron’s son. That was different, Janna and Ian being here at the same time. They hardly knew each other, but it didn’t take long before they were inseparable. Janna canceled other plans to stay on here. Over the summer Ian started playing lead guitar with John’s band. He played Alan’s parts.” Her face screwed up in concentration, remembering. “John had them all practicing for a while and Ian and John were writing together. John had some new material he was really excited about, but when Janna and Ian got together everything changed. John was furious. He told Janna she couldn’t see Ian anymore.”
“Why? What did he have against Ian Pye?”
Lauren shook her head. “I don’t know. John had always thought the world of Ian, but suddenly everything went crazy, especially after that real estate developer came and offered mega millions for this property. There’s a deep, ten-acre lake just below here. It’s the only water on the mountain and John owned it. Development will only work if the builder gets Glenphiddie Lake. The rest of the land can’t be developed without the water. John wouldn’t sell his land so no one else could sell their land either.”
“Who else owns land here?”
Lauren named them on her fingers. “Steven David, the Utts, and the Pyes.”
“How did they take Johnny’s refusal to sell?”
“How do you think? They’d earn millions off the land deal. At the moment they’re barely making it. John was the only one who used his money wisely.”
Long Gone Man Page 6
