When the phone rang quite early the next morning, I snatched it up thinking it would be him but a voice said:
“Lee, is that you? How is everything?”
“Phil,” I clung to the phone as if he were my lifeline, “how are you?”
“I just thought I’d check in and see if you’d found out where to buy milk and cookies and stuff?”
Poor Phil. He must have regretted dialing my number by the time I’d finished with him. I chattered on and on, telling him everything that had happened, about my meeting with Shotgun, about Franny and Dumpster and—
I stopped short of telling him about Scott. I remembered just in time that he didn’t know anything about Eliza.
“I still don’t like it,” he said.
“Don’t like what?”
“You being tied in to all this business with Shotgun Marriott. You’re getting in too deep, Lee. Sooner or later you’re going to be implicated in some way. Can’t you tell him to wait to do the book until this whole murder thing has been cleared up?”
I knew he was right. Somehow I knew the Phillionaire would always be right and I should heed his advice whenever I could. He was my new best friend and wise uncle wrapped into one.
But I couldn’t get Shotgun’s haunted face out of my mind and I could still hear him telling me how if I started work on the book with him, I’d be helping him more than I could possibly know. The truth is I get a kick out of being needed by someone as much as the next person. I wanted to help Shotgun, I felt I could help him, and what’s more, I was going to.
“I know, I know,” I told Phil, “but I’m afraid I’m going ahead although I haven’t heard from him since he was arrested, so God knows what’s going to happen.”
“Well, don’t go visiting him in jail. I don’t want to have to deal with your mother if we read about your involvement in the papers. I like your Tommy, by the way,” Phil said softly while I was still trying to picture Shotgun sitting in prison.
“You do?”
“He’s straightforward and genuine and that rare thing, a stand-up guy who’s also loaded with charm. Maybe he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to the world of brilliant careers but does it really matter? He’s good fun to talk to and what’s more, he talks a lot of sense.”
“Did he say anything about me?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Hard to say,” said the Phillionaire, “we only sat up and talked about you till two in the morning. He wants to marry you, Lee, but he’s apprehensive. He’s not sure he’s bright enough for you, he’s worried you’ll get bored with him in a couple of years. He’s feeling pretty vulnerable at the moment, he’s just lost his job, you know.”
“Everyone always sees things from Tommy’s point of view,” I said. “I’m the one who was dumped.”
“So rise above it,” said Phil, “don’t always make it about you. Guys are allowed to be shaky sometimes too. Tell him you feel bad because he called off the wedding, tell him you think he made a big mistake but you’re willing to forgive him. Open the door a little, Lee. Although I gotta tell you something . . .” He stopped.
“What?”
“He was a big surprise to me, not at all the type of guy I’d have figured you’d be with.”
“What do you mean?” I was intrigued. “What kind of man did you think I’d go for?”
“Someone more—and don’t take this the wrong way—someone more challenging. I’d never have guessed a simple straightforward guy like Tommy would keep you interested but believe me, having met him, I’m delighted he has.”
I was about to quiz him further but it seemed he had another agenda.
“The other reason I called,” he said, “is that I really need you to go over and check on the construction. For me. I’ve got your mother on my back about it every day. She’s a pain in the butt, we know that. But it’s like with you and Tommy, I’ve got to rise above it and even though she’s the one who said she’d take care of it, I know I have to get involved and move it along a bit. For her. Because I love her. So will you go check on it for me?”
“Of course, Phil,” I said. “For you—anything.” And I meant it.
For the rest of the day I couldn’t get my mind off what the Phillionaire had said about Tommy being an unlikely partner for me. It resonated with me as I took my habitual walk along the beach because it was the first time anyone had registered the slightest doubt about Tommy’s presence in my life.
Anyone except myself, that is.
Secretly I had always thought Tommy and I were ill-matched with him so gregarious and me such a loner. But because I had been able to dictate when and for how long we spent time under the same roof, I had been able to get the best of both worlds as far as our relationship was concerned. I had needed him desperately in the beginning when my violence phobia and antisocial issues had rendered me almost impossible to be with. Nothing I did ever seemed to get him down and his unquestioning devotion to me had enveloped me in a warm cocoon of security.
But being warm and dependable didn’t make him exciting. Tommy was the sensible wool coat I put on to ward off the winter cold but every now and then I yearned to risk contracting the flu by wearing something a little more flimsy and sexy that would take me just a little closer to the edge.
I don’t expect anybody to understand this—least of all myself. Because if you spend your life frantically anticipating violence to annihilate you around every corner, why in the world would you want a man who’d cause you that kind of excitement? The Phillionaire had spoken of someone who was a challenge for me and maybe that was a better way of putting it. Until he’d called off the wedding, I’d had the upper hand with Tommy and therefore he’d presented very little challenge and the more I thought about it, I wondered if maybe that had been part of the trouble between us. Because we’d had rows and mini-breakups in the past and it had always been my fault. I’d get cranky and moody with him and I’d bait him until he was forced to defend himself and then all hell would break loose between us and I’d kick him out for a week or so.
But maybe the reason I became cranky in the first place was because he didn’t stimulate me. Mentally, I mean. The sex was fine. No problem there but could it be that he bored me—just a little? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not his fault. He is who he is. Dear sweet adorable Tommy with his gentle nonjudgmental sweetness. I love him. Yes I do. And I always will.
Yet I kept coming back to what Phil had said. Tommy had canceled the wedding because he didn’t think he was bright enough for me, because he was worried I might get bored with him. I was forced to admit there was a horrible glimmer of truth lurking there. The simple truth was that I used Tommy and I hated myself for it. I used him because he let me. But over the past year I had resolved to become a better person. I had been adamant with myself that as Tommy’s wife I would work harder to appreciate what he did for me and I would try my utmost to give to him in return.
Only now he had deprived me of the opportunity and I think that was what upset me the most about him backing away from the wedding. But however hard I tried, there was no getting around it: we would still be mismatched. I was fretting about this as I walked barefoot over the firm sand at the water’s edge when my cell phone rang and I heard the unmistakable sound of Shotgun Marriott’s soft baritone.
“I think you and I need to go to work,” he said.
“You’re out on bail?”
“Even better. I had my arraignment and the judge threw out the case. There was not probable cause to arrest me in the first place, at least not by the time he’d heard all the evidence. But the icing on the cake was when one of Detective Morrison’s witnesses changed her story and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.”
“Franny Cook?” I couldn’t believe it. Franny had listened to what I had told her, she had come through.
“Right. You know her? Franny Cook, Dumpster’s mother. She said she wasn’t home the nights Sean and Bettina were murdered so she couldn�
��t say Dumpster was with her. Dumpster stood up and said he was with me here at Mallaby both nights, working late, so I was off the hook, although by the look on Evan Morrison’s face, it won’t be for long. For some reason that man really seems to have it in for me.”
“That’s great news—Kip,” I remembered just in time. “I’ll be there in the morning. What time’s good for you? I’m really looking forward to getting started.”
CHAPTER 7
I GOT UP AT SEVEN THE NEXT MORNING AND AFTER A quick cup of coffee, I padded off along the beach to fulfill my promise to the Phillionaire and check on the construction. It was so mild that for a second I pondered taking a dip in the bay. Franny had loaned me a swimsuit and I was anxious to get in the water before it got too cold. I had time. I wasn’t due at Mallaby until ten and even if the water turned out to be freezing, maybe it would sharpen my senses for the work that lay ahead.
I mulled over what approach I should take with Shotgun. Normally when I begin work with a new ghosting subject, they have their agenda and I have mine and it is part of my job to gently coax them around to my way of thinking. Without them realizing what’s going on, of course. They have to feel they are telling their story and that they are in control of the proceedings at all times, whereas in fact I am the one steering the course.
I compromised by taking off my shoes and socks and paddling barefoot along the water’s edge, kicking pebbles to scatter the sandpipers. I had my directions from the Phillionaire—go past the Stucco House and keep going until I saw a clearing in the dunes. “By now they should have excavated the ground so you should see a giant hole and with luck a cement mixer or two,” Phil had said.
What I actually saw was Rufus and several construction workers staring into the hole and whatever they were looking at had them so transfixed, they never even noticed me walking up toward them from the shoreline.
I touched Rufus gently on the arm and he started.
“Jesus!” he said. “Don’t do that.”
“Sorry,” I said. “You’re jumpy this morning.”
“Well, yes,” he said, “we’ve all had a bit of a shock. I got a call from the contractor asking me to come right over. Take a look in the hole. They were about to pour the concrete and they saw that.”
He pointed to something lying at the bottom of the pit.
It was a hunting bow and arrow.
“My God!” I took a step backward. My first thought was that it had to be the weapon that had killed Bettina and Rufus agreed with me.
“She was killed by an arrow, right?” Rufus jabbed his finger several times at the bow. “There has to be a reason someone would throw away a thousand-dollar bow that looks in pretty good condition to me. I mean, it’s not like a hunter’s going to be out looking for deer on the beach. And it’s not as if they decided to jump into the hole to have a rest and then forgot their bow; they’d never be able to get out again without a ladder. Whoever it was just threw it in there and hoped it’d get covered by the concrete.”
“But wouldn’t they realize it would be seen before the concrete was poured?”
“Oh, they threw a few shovels of earth over it before they left but my guess is they did it when it was dark and they didn’t realize how sandy it was down there at the bottom of the pit. The earth that covered the bow was thrown from up here and it’s an entirely different color. It stuck out a mile.”
“Are you going to call Detective Morrison?” I asked him.
“I guess I am,” he said. “I don’t like the guy but if there’s any way this helps his investigation—I mean, if that arrow turns out to be the one that killed Bettina and they can track it back to the person who fired it—”
“Franny told me Dumpster hunted deer. Would he use a bow and arrow?”
Rufus looked at me, shocked. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“He told me he was at Mallaby the night Sean was killed. Said he was putting up shelves but I don’t know how long he stayed. Franny’s pretty worried about him, generally. When the two of you went out, she didn’t talk about him?” I wondered if he knew about Dumpster being Detective Morrison’s informant.
“She didn’t say a word about him. She only talked about Eliza and how Bettina had come over and told her to let Scott have access to her. She doesn’t like my brother, that’s for sure. I know she’s had problems with Dumpster in the past although she’s never been too specific. At one point she wanted me to give him work and I hired him for a couple of days but then he took off. Now she’s got him doing the yard stuff she no longer has time for. Tell you the truth I had no idea he even worked for Shotgun, I’m not sure it’s common knowledge. And now he could be implicated in the murder, what a lousy situation!”
“Poor Franny.”
“You’re getting along well with her?” He turned to me.
I was a little taken aback. Until he’d mentioned it I hadn’t given any thought to the fact that Franny and I had got to the stage of “getting along well.” But now that he had, I was surprised to find that, yes, she had become a friend in a surprisingly short space of time. It seemed my new life at the beach had broken down a few of my old inhibitions and I was beginning to open up to strangers a little more easily.
“I guess I am. I babysat for her, if that means getting on well with her. I like her. She’s intriguing and she has a lot on her plate at the moment.”
“How should I play it with her?”
He was looking at me intently like an anxious puppy waiting to be fed.
“What do you mean—‘play it with her’?”
He was shuffling a little, clearly awkward and embarrassed to be consulting me, but determined nonetheless. “I’ve always had a thing for her, since I was a kid. She was my surrogate older sister, she made time to do stuff with me even though she was ten years older. She never treated me like a kid. If she was going out fishing, she’d take me along—surfing, kayaking, she even taught me to shoot. We’d go down to the beach in February and it’d be freezing and there’d be no one else around and we’d slip around on the ice and shoot skeet.”
She even taught me to shoot. So he knew how to shoot—and so did Franny. And Dumpster. And most likely they were all pretty nifty with a bow and arrow.
And it was high time I clamped down on paranoid notions like these when they entered my head.
“What’s skeet?” I asked quickly.
“Like clay pigeons. So anyway, she went away to the city and when she came back recently she was just so stunning and I was all grown up and suddenly everything changed—for me at least. I’m crazy about her and I need to know if you think I have a chance, what with the age difference and all?”
“Well, how did it go the other night?”
He looked glum. “Fine—only she acted like I was still her kid brother. I was sitting there thinking she was so hot and she was saying stuff like ‘could you watch Eliza for me tomorrow, I have to go to Costco and stock up on canned goods.’”
“Rufus,” I said, “she dressed up for you. She made herself look good. She could have gone out with you in her sweats or her shorts but she made an effort.”
“Oh,” he looked thoughtful, “you think that means she might be interested? So when do I make a move on her? Is the second date too soon?”
“When is the second date?”
“I haven’t called her yet.”
“Well, might that not be the first move? When she’s said she’ll go out with you again then call me and we’ll decide how you should play it. Now are you going to tell Evan Morrison about the bow and arrow?”
“I have to,” he said, “we’re not the only ones who saw it. All these construction workers, they’re going to talk. Word will get around. What we’d better do is make sure Dumpster knows they’ve been found.”
“We don’t know for sure they’re his,” I pointed out. “In fact we’re going to assume they’re not. And we don’t even know if it’s the murder weapon.”
“I’m goi
ng to take a closer look.” Rufus ran over to the construction workers’ trucks parked at the side of the clearing and lifted a short ladder from one of them. He climbed down into the hole and bent over the bow. I watched him from above. The bow was about five feet long and shaped in a double curvature. The arrow lying beside it was almost a yard long and made of wood.
“Wow!” said Rufus. “Look at that arrowhead.”
I couldn’t really see it from where I was standing and I wasn’t about to climb down into the hole. “What’s so special about it?”
“Well, it’s titanium for a start,” he said, “but I was thinking about the damage it would have caused. It’s got razor sharp planes and on penetration it would literally slice everything in its path—blood vessels, muscles, tendons. When they found Bettina she must have been in a pretty terrible mess.”
Suddenly I felt quite sick. I hadn’t exactly been Bettina’s biggest fan but I couldn’t help being horrified by the thought of her bloody corpse.
“I’m not going to touch anything in case I interfere with any fingerprints they might find,” said Rufus, “but my guess is this bow and arrow were wiped pretty thoroughly and whoever threw them in here was wearing gloves. But I wonder what happened to the quiver.”
“The quiver?”
“You know, where they keep the arrows.” He mimed reaching over his shoulder and plucking an arrow from something on his back. “It’s not here but my guess is there’s going to be something on this bow that’ll match something on a quiver in someone’s possession. DNA or whatever. Do you know where she was pierced? I heard it was in her back.”
“Rufus, stop it!” Dwelling on the arrow slicing through Bettina could unhinge me for the rest of the day. “I’m leaving. I have to be at Shotgun’s to start work this morning. Now, what am I going to tell your father and, more important, my mother about the progress on the house?”
“Tell them the truth. You came over and they were getting ready to pour the concrete.”
“No mention of the bow and arrow?”
How to Marry a Ghost Page 12
