Chapter 29
The chief of police of Barnacle Bluffs was known, among the locals at least, to be an extraordinarily patient man. To remain in his position as long as he had—going on twenty years now—he would certainly have to be, dealing with not only the usual nuttiness of an Oregon beach town, with its regular, massive influx of tourists who seemed to treat a trip to the coast as an excuse to dispense with their best behavior, but also with Barnacle Bluff's more unique characteristics.
For no other town on the Oregon coast could match its recent history of weird crimes, strange happenings, and enough national attention to last a lifetime.
Yes, Percy Quinn was a patient man, Gage had to give him that. Yet as they both sat at Gage's kitchen table, and Quinn ticked off a long list of murders, betrayals, conspiracies, and other assorted unpleasant events that Gage had somehow gotten mixed up in over the years, Gage would have to say to say that the man's patience appeared to be waning. Each time the chief counted an event, he stabbed his finger into his palm with more force. His left eyelid twitched. His voice, usually slow and measured, just what you'd want in a man charged with keeping the peace, was rushed and ragged.
"So what I'm telling you," Quinn said, after finishing his litany of horribles, "is that I find it highly unlikely—I think most people would find it highly unlikely—that all of this crap didn't somehow start with you."
Gage shrugged and took a sip of his coffee, wondering if the bags under Quinn's eyes were darker than usual.
The sun from the high windows filled the room with warm, rich light. Dust motes floated in the shaft of sunlight that fell next to the table. It was an unseasonably warm day for mid-October; even with the windows cracked open, and a slight breeze, the room felt stuffy. Gage wasn't complaining. It had been a nice stretch of good weather, and he had taken advantage of it by taking lots of walks on the beach—gingerly at first, then with increasing confidence. He barely felt any aches or pains now, except for the usual twinges in his right knee. After everything he'd gone through a month ago, it was nice for his body to feel almost normal again.
"So," Gage said, "you just stopped by to ask me to leave town again? How many times have you done that over the years?"
Quinn sighed, spinning his coffee mug a little but not picking it up. He hadn't taken a drink since Gage put it in front of him. "You know why I'm here."
"For fashion advice? Well, before we get to your clothes, I'd say you need to start laying off the eyeliner. Your eyes are looking too dark."
"Gage."
"I'm just trying to help."
"Gage, I know you know something. You're just not telling me."
"About what?"
"Gage."
"Seriously, I'm drawing a blank."
"Uh huh. Ed Boone, Nora West, Howie Meyer, exploding boats, burning houses—none of this rings a bell?"
"Oh, that. You're still worrying about all that stuff? The world's moved on, chief. Haven't you noticed?"
Quinn drummed his fingers on the table. "I'll move on when I finally get the real story."
"We went over this weeks ago. I told you everything I know."
"Uh huh. Let's go over it again."
"Okay. I don't know anything. There, we're done."
"You're lying."
"Ah," Gage said, "now that's not very nice of you. After I gave you a tasty cup of coffee, too."
"See, here's what I don't understand. One minute you're harassing me night and day to dig deeper into Nora West's death, telling me that even if Ed Boone's sons are involved that there's more to this whole thing than the press believes, and the next you're telling me that I should move on. And that's after Howie Meyer's house explodes in a terrible natural gas disaster—and the man himself has been missing ever since!"
"Maybe he was inside?"
"They didn't find a body."
"Hmm. Well, it's a very sad thing. I'm not sure what the death of a local insurance salesman has to do with me, though."
"Yeah," Quinn said, "I might have thought the same thing. But see, there's a couple of weird elements to it that make me think differently."
"Oh?"
"First, as you well know, your friend Alex's van was found parked a block away."
"Yeah, he told me about that. Didn't he report it as stolen?"
"He sure did. Said he thought someone might have grabbed his keys when he was in the back of his store and taken it for a joyride. It's strange, though. A Toyota Sienna is not exactly the kind of vehicle that someone steals to take for a joyride, is it?"
Gage shrugged. "Some people are really into vans. Take me, for instance. You might even say I have a van fetish."
"And I also found it fascinating that Alex's call reporting the van as stolen came in about an hour after Howie Meyer's house went up in flames."
"An interesting coincidence."
"Right. Then there's this other odd bit of information. During their investigation, the fire marshal's team came upon something pretty strange—what seemed to be some kind of hidden basement."
"You don't say?"
"I do. And here's something else that's weird. They found a lot of … Nora West stuff. The foundation pretty much collapsed. It was like the house just melted, so there's not much intact in all that rubble, but still enough bits of magazines, CD cases, and other things to create an unusual picture. The guy was really into Nora West."
"Well, she was a popular singer."
"And you know what else I found?" Quinn said. "It made me curious, this Nora West stuff, so I did some digging. It turns out that Howie Meyer and Nora Storm-Tree both went to Deering Middle School."
"Huh."
"Not only that, but when I talked to the principal there, you know what he told me?"
"That it's never too late to get an education?"
"He said you were there asking to look through old yearbooks the very same day Howie's house burned down. Now how's that for a coincidence?"
"It is that."
Quinn sighed. "Gage, come on. Are you really going to tell me that you don't know anything more about this whole thing?"
"I told you. I was just desperate, looking for any possible clue that might help me explain what happened to Nora. The middle school was just one of the places I went. Probably because you're right about me. Maybe I just want things to be more complicated and weird than they sometimes are. But in the end, I realized that you were right. I needed to let the whole thing go. Just like you need to now. Denny and Elliott Younger killed Nora because they didn't want her to get any of their father's money. Elliott just botched it. Case closed."
Quinn regarded Gage for a long it time with his tired eyes. Finally, he lifted the coffee mug to his lips, took a drink, and winced.
"It's cold," he said.
"Well, you waited too long to drink it. That's what happens."
"Thank you. Brilliant advice."
"Just trying to help."
"Oh, sure you are."
Quinn put down the mug and stood, moving more slowly and deliberately than when he'd entered. He may not have gotten the answers he'd come for, but perhaps his usual frustration with Gage had provided a valuable distraction. Gage decided this was a good thing, and vowed silently to go on frustrating him.
Quinn started for the door, then turned back. "One last question."
"Yeah?"
"That photo sitting on your kitchen counter. It looks just like the one I saw in Principal Brown's office. Is that a coincidence, too?"
Gage looked at it. The photo, in a simple silver frame, was indeed the same one from Marv Brown's office, or at least an exact copy: Heceta Head at dusk. It wasn't what Gage would consider professional-level quality, but there was a beauty and simplicity to it that he found quite profound. It wasn't exactly associated with a happy memory, not when it came to poor Ed Boone, but that might have been part of its poignancy.
"I'd use the word serendipity instead," Gage said. "I was quite taken with it when I saw it, and Marv's
wife was kind enough to sell me a copy."
"Seems awfully sentimental for you."
Gage shrugged. "Maybe I'm getting more sentimental as I get older."
"Uh huh. I'll believe that when I see it. Where are you going to hang it?"
"I don't know. I'm sure the right place will call to me."
* * *
Gage was right that he didn't know where the picture would hang, but not because he hadn't decided. It was because it wouldn't be up to him.
Since it was nearly noon, he was going to have to hustle. Another few minutes with Quinn, who'd shown up unexpectedly, and he would have had to come up with an excuse to show him the door, and he hadn't wanted to arouse any more of Quinn's suspicions than he already had. Hence the proffered coffee and easygoing manner.
Gage wrapped the photo in newspaper, sealing it with tape; he did this partly to protect it, but also because he wanted it to be a surprise. Then he was out the door and tearing down the gravel drive in his van.
Even though he was running late, he turned north first. Paranoid that Quinn or one of his lackeys would be watching, Gage crossed through the shopping center, ducked in and out of the parking garage, then took some side streets on the east side of the highway before dropping down and heading south on Highway 101.
He probably needn't have worried. It may be October, but it was a sunny Saturday and just about any sunny Saturday brought out the tourists, regardless of the time of the year. The highway was choked with cars. Tough to keep a tail in this kind of traffic.
Gage tapped the steering wheel nervously. He knew this day was coming, but he'd just wanted a little more time.
The road he turned on, east into the woods, was only a quarter mile before the one that led to the cabin where he had been held captive. The road narrowed and wound up into the Douglas firs, leaving the ocean and the highway behind. The houses were mostly hidden from view. Lots of privacy—just what he'd wanted. The place he'd rented was down a side dirt road, grass growing between the tire grooves, a crumbling stone wall covered in ivy making the house invisible from the road.
Still, when he rounded the corner and saw her emerging from the little blue cottage, he felt a flash of panic.
Then he let the feeling pass. If she couldn't go outside today, of all days, when could she?
She smiled at him, waving just a few fingers because she was carrying two paper sacks of groceries. While he parked, she carried the sacks to the open hatchback of a red Subaru Outback with gray trim, which was amazingly loaded to the brim with belongings despite how few things she now owned. The fourteen-year-old car was a bit dinged up, with nearly two hundred thousand miles on it and a nice cloud of black smoke out the tailpipe every time it started, but it ran well enough. The plates had two more years before they needed to be renewed, which was the important part. In two years, she'd be able to figure out something else.
The truth was, even if someone would have ventured down the driveway at that moment and seen the woman putting the bags into the back of the car, they probably wouldn't have known it was the famous Nora West.
A woman who'd died.
This was Penny Martin, who now had a Social Security number, a driver's license, and even a Visa card, all courtesy of some of Alex's less savory connections from his FBI days.
Straight black hair, horn-rimmed glasses with thick black frames, bright ruby lipstick—he'd known how she was going to change her appearance, because she'd told him, but he was still amazed at how effective a few adjustments were in completely changing her look. Would he have known it was Nora if he'd walked by her on the street? Maybe, but only because he'd spent so much time with her lately—lots of time, much of it in intimate proximity.
Having left the cottage door open, Lady took the opportunity to scamper out and greet Gage by jumping up and landing her front paws on his leg, adding in a little shake of her tiny tail. He scratched her behind the ears, making sure not to drop the wrapped photo under his arm or let go of his cane.
Gage was going to miss that little tail. Just like he was going to miss the woman walking over to embrace him.
"Hello, Penny," he said.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess I should get used to that real quick, shouldn't I?"
"You better."
"What do you think?" she asked, twirling her hair.
"You look good."
"Hmm. You wrinkled your nose when you said that."
"Did I?"
They embraced, though there was a hesitancy, an awkwardness that hadn't been there for weeks. She'd been distant the first couple nights after escaping Howie's underground prison, while they holed up in a third-rate hotel and figured out what to do, but as soon as he brought her to the cabin, all of that changed. It was as if the remoteness and the privacy of the place was just what she needed to unleash all of the emotions she'd bottled up while she suffered through those long weeks as Howie's prisoner, determined not to let her fear take control of her.
She'd told Gage that nothing physical had happened between her and Howie except her giving him backrubs, although Howie had watched her while she changed into the outfits he provided her. And more than once, she looked up while using the camping toilet to see him ogling her through the little window.
He may not have raped her, not technically, but somehow the sense of violation and abuse was just as strong.
And he was definitely working up to doing more. Gage was just glad he'd arrived before it happened.
She'd also found out how Howie had killed Ed, plying it out of him a little at a time. It was true that Howie had seen Ed at his mother's funeral a few years earlier. They'd formed a casual friendship, meeting for coffee a few times, but it wasn't anything close, and Howie didn't find out Nora was his daughter until Ed, knowing he was going to lose his mind to Alzheimer's, confessed it to him a year ago. Ed said he wanted at least one person to know, since he wasn't planning on writing Nora; he didn't want to intrude in her life. Howie believed it was divine fate. Here he'd been preparing for years for Nora to be with him—he'd already figured out that Nora West was the same Nora Storm-Tree he'd admired from afar—and suddenly the universe provided him with a means.
Howie lured Ed to the lighthouse with an anonymous letter, saying his daughter was in danger if he didn't comply, and that was where he knocked Ed out and dropped him from the top of the lighthouse. He left a suicide note. Then he wrote the letter to Nora, using the same library typewriter Ed had said he used to write his will. He also wrote up a new will, since Ed hadn't made Nora the executor, and Howie wanted to make sure Nora had a very good reason for sticking around Barnacle Bluffs.
The only thing he'd missed was Lady Luck. The last time he'd seen Ed, the old man had said nothing about a dog, and there'd been no evidence of one when he snuck into Ed's apartment to put in the new will, since Lady had been with Ron at the time.
"You're really sure about all this?" Gage asked Nora, when they separated.
"What, the hair? I'm just trying it out. I might change to a redhead after a while."
"No, I meant the whole starting over with a new identity. Are you sure this is what you want?"
"More than anything. And I'm going to pay you back, I swear."
"It's not about that. I don't care about the money. You know that."
"I'm still going to pay you back. Just give me a few months."
"But what will you do?"
"Wait tables. Work as a bartender. Teach guitar." She smiled. "That's part of what I find so exciting about all this. I get a second chance, Garrison. The world thinks I'm dead. Nora West is gone. I'm Penny Martin. See, that rolled off the tongue much better, didn't it? Penny Martin's life is a blank slate. I was thinking I'd eventually start singing in nightclubs. Maybe I'll get a teaching license and teach music in schools. Who knows? I can't wait to find out! Maybe I'll even work as a stripper!"
"Um …"
"Relax. It's only if I get really desperate."
"Okay, well, I'm going to be
paying that credit card as long as you need me to, you know."
"I'm kidding. Man, you're easy." She laughed and kissed him hard on the mouth, no reservations this time. "And I can't thank you enough for what you're doing for me. I mean, I've tried the past month to thank you every single way I know how, but somehow I think all that … thanking … was benefiting me more than you. It was like some kind of healing, you know? Thank you for that too, I guess. Now, before I ruin this meticulously applied makeup by getting any more teary-eyed than I already am, what's that you're holding?"
Gage had almost forgotten about the photo wrapped in newspaper. He handed it to her.
"A gift," he said.
"Should I open it now?"
"Of course."
She unwrapped it. When she saw that it was a picture of Heceta Head, she teared up. He'd been worried how she'd take it, and when she started to cry, he thought maybe he'd made a mistake, but when she looked up, she was smiling.
"It's perfect," she said.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I just thought, you know, it would be a good reminder that even good things can come from bad beginnings. New connections, a fresh start, that sort of thing. It's a metaphor, of sorts …" He realized, by her blank expression, that he was losing her, so he shrugged. "Plus, you know, it's also a really nice picture of a lighthouse."
She laughed and kissed him again. This time, they really put everything into the kiss, because both of them knew it would probably be for the last time.
* * *
After he'd seen Nora and Lady off on their new life, Gage headed home.
Home … Nothing but an empty house would be waiting. The loneliness he'd felt swelling in his heart when he woke that morning, knowing that Nora would be leaving him later that day, was only heavier now. It felt like a physical thing, a lead ball residing in the center of his solar plexus. The sun may be shining on the highway, but Gage felt his own storm clouds brewing inside him.
Then, just like that, it was okay.
It wasn't that the loneliness was gone. No, it was still there, just as strong as ever. It was that he was fine with it. He wouldn't fight it. If he was lonely, he was lonely. It was just a feeling, like other feelings, and they all came and went just like the weather. As long as he didn't obsess about it, life would go on. It always did. There was a glass of bourbon waiting for him. A walk on the beach. A few hours with a good book.
A Lighthouse for the Lonely Heart: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series Book 5) Page 33
