Premeditated Mortar

by Kate Carlisle

  Chloe leaned over to see past me. “Oh, yeah. She’s here.”

  I grimaced. “What a treat.”

  “Yeah.” Chloe smiled tightly. “She’s going to be trouble.”

  “For you? Why?”

  “Well, Eric wanted them to join us for dinner tonight and I had to break the news that as far as I’m concerned, she is lower than the green jaws of hell.”

  I laughed. “What’d he say?”

  “He carefully explained that Tommy is a good friend and a good cop. I said that I could tolerate Tommy, except to point out that he was a spineless worm who chose Whitney over my sister.”

  “Oh dear. What did Eric say to that?”

  “He said, and I quote, ‘But Whitney was pregnant. What else could Tommy do?’” She shook her head, still stunned. “Men, I swear. So I just looked at him for a good long minute until he started to squirm.”

  “I refuse to believe that Chief Jensen has ever squirmed.”

  “Oh, he squirmed,” she assured me. “So finally I explained that what came first was the cheating. So yes, I still blame Tommy for being a cheating jerk. And even though I can’t blame Whitney entirely for getting pregnant, because, you know, it takes two to tango, I do blame her for being so evil and torturing Shannon over her relationship with Tommy.”

  “Wow.” I nodded slowly. “What did Eric say?”

  “He said—and again I quote, ‘Okay, I get what you’re saying.’”

  “Did you say anything after that?”

  She smiled. “I didn’t have to.”

  “I love you, sis.”

  “I’m a lovable girl.”

  I laughed and squeezed her arm affectionately. “But look. If it’s going to screw up your relationship with Eric, you go ahead and hang out with them. I won’t give you too much grief.”

  “Seriously?” She took a deep breath. “From the minute Whitney Reid moved here she looked down her nose at us. She called me a townie from day one. She made your life a living hell. She still does. I will never ‘hang out’ with her, no matter what Eric wants.”

  I took a deep breath. “You are the absolute best.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “But here’s the thing. As soon as we got our table here and sat down, she came over and started flirting with Eric. Her husband’s boss! While I’m sitting here. The woman is just a horrible human being.”

  “What did Eric do?”

  “Since we had already had our conversation about Whitney, he looked her in the eye and said, ‘I’m trying to enjoy a quiet meal with Chloe.’ And then he turned away from her and gazed adoringly into my eyes.”

  “Aww.” I pressed my hand to my heart. “He’s a sweetheart. What did Whitney do?”

  “She walked away, strutting like a stripper. You know what I mean. It was sad.”

  “She defines the word tacky.”

  “I wanted to smack her. I probably will at some point,” Chloe admitted. “She’s just so gross and obvious about it. Frankly, I don’t know what sweet Tommy ever saw in her.”

  “She’s desperate,” I said with a shrug. “She’s always been desperate. That’s why she glommed onto Tommy and now it’s worse. She’s lost all her money and she’s trying to keep it a secret. Basically, all she has left is her looks.”

  “Not for long if she keeps wearing all that pancake makeup. Stuff clogs your pores and ruins your skin.”

  “Please don’t tell her.”

  She laughed. “What makes you think she would listen to me?”

  “Oh, you’re right. She wouldn’t listen to you.” I leaned in close. “You’re just a townie.”

  She laughed. “God, I hated that.”

  “I know. I did, too.”

  “But you stayed.”

  “I was always happy here. Except for one long year of misery, after Tommy pulled that number with Whitney. That was not a happy time.” I shrugged again. “Never mind. It’s all better now.”

  Chloe leaned over to get another look. “Why does she dress like a Las Vegas showgirl? No offense to showgirls everywhere, but the sequins? Ay caramba.”

  I had to laugh at that. When we were growing up, our dad used to say it whenever we got into trouble. I started to turn around, then stopped. “Don’t tell me. She’s wearing the sequin top.”

  “Yeah. And the pleather pants.”

  “What a townie,” I muttered.

  Chloe threw back her head and laughed. “Such an insult!”

  “Sorry.” I waved away the bad vibes. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “Please.” She smirked. “Even though that was kind of fun.”

  I laughed. “Okay.” Grateful to not have to think about Whitney, I asked, “How’s it going at Eric’s house? Are you happy? Having fun?”

  “I’m so happy,” she said softly. “We’re having a blast. Have you seen his house?”

  “Yeah, he bought the old Merrick place and fixed it up really nicely.”

  “It’s beautiful. He’s got the prettiest little garden and we sit out there and have our morning coffee.”

  I squeezed her hand. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “I’m happy, too. Of course, Eric’s bummed that he caught a murder case while I’m here. But I’m dating a cop. It comes with the territory. Besides, I should be used to it, right?”

  “Yeah, you should.” The last time Chloe visited, there was a murder case and she was not only the main suspect, but also the potential victim of a vicious killer.

  “Okay, tricky question,” I said. “Do you think you’ll marry him?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  My eyes widened. “Really?”

  She glared at me. “But not if you cry.”

  I sniffled, but managed to hold back the tears. Still, I was so happy at the thought of Chloe maybe moving back to town at some point. She could do her show from here as easily as Hollywood. “It’s not just about your situation. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

  “Why?”

  “This job at the Gables isn’t helping with my moods. It’s so weird to be working in that place with all those sad and creepy vibes. So much emotional baggage was left behind. I know that sounds stupid.”

  “No. I get it.”

  “And somehow I keep hurting myself. Almost fell off a ladder, then got shoved into the pit of despair and hit my head.” I absently touched my cheek. “Pain is never a good thing.”

  “No, it’s not. You have to stop that.”

  I smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

  “So how’s Mac?” she asked, sitting back against the booth.

  “He’s wonderful.”

  “Well, then, let me return the favor and ask if you think you’ll marry him.”

  I couldn’t say anything for a few excruciating seconds.

  “Earth to Shannon, what’s going on?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” She turned in the booth and looked directly at me. “Shannon, you guys have been together for like, two years, right? What’s the deal?”

  I was beginning to feel a touch of déjà vu. Hadn’t I had almost the same conversation with Jane just last week? I couldn’t get into it again, even with my own darling sister. “Let’s just say I love him and we’re happy. And we’ll see what comes next.”

  Luckily I was saved by Eric’s return.

  “We’ll talk later,” Chloe murmured.

  Knowing my sister, I was sure she wouldn’t forget about this. And so I would absolutely have to ask Mac about the future and what our plans would be, just as soon as we pinned down a vicious killer.

  “I’d better go find Mac,” I said.

  Chloe squeezed my hand. “I love you, sis.”

  “I love you back.” I turned around to look for Mac.

  “
He’s over on the other side of the bar,” Eric said, pointing. “Talking to the protester we interrogated the other day.”

  “Thanks, Eric.” But he had an expectant look on his face so I said, “Yeah, Ricky Patterson. I met him in the parking lot earlier today and we talked for a few minutes. Then Mac joined in.”

  Eric’s eyes narrowed in on me. “Something going on there, Shannon?”

  “Nothing’s going on. He’s turning out to be a really nice guy.” I sighed a little. “He’s got a few problems, but he’s not dangerous. I think.”

  He sighed. “Just . . . be careful there.”

  I flashed him a big smile. “I will. Thanks, Eric.”

  “Oh, and we’ll be finished working in the Gables and have it opened up for you on Monday.”

  “That’s great! Thanks, Chief.” I winked at Chloe. “See you later, sis.”

  She blew me a kiss. I reached out and caught it in my hand and grinned all the way over to the bar. I managed to avoid coming face-to-face with the dreaded Whitney, so it was a win-win all the way around.

  As I walked up to Mac, I heard him say to Ricky, “Are you sure we can’t give you a ride home?”

  “No, I’m good, man. I’m going to finish my drink. Besides, it’s only three blocks and I like to walk.” He glanced beyond Mac’s shoulder. “Hey. Hi, Shannon.”

  “Hi, Ricky.”

  “Okay, man,” Mac said. “Be careful. See you around.” The two men went through an elaborate handshaking-fist-bump routine before Mac said good night and grabbed my hand. We both waved to Chloe and Eric and then walked out of the pub.

  “Let’s go get my car,” he said immediately, and walked quickly across the street.

  As we headed toward my house on Blueberry Lane a half block away, I asked, “What’s up? What did he tell you?”

  “I’ll tell you the gist of it, but first I want to get my car and bring it over here. We’re going to follow him home.”

  “You think he’s in trouble?”

  “My gut says yes.” He tucked my arm through his and we turned left onto Blueberry. “Ricky told me that he was walking here earlier and as he crossed the street right in front of the pub, he heard a screech of tires. He ran for the sidewalk and barely missed getting hit by a car. He brushed it off as an accident.”

  “If he really believed it was an accident, he wouldn’t have bothered telling you about it.”

  He smiled down at me. “You’re pretty smart.”

  I gave a short laugh. “Gee, thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”

  “I’m a mastermind, remember?”

  I shook my head, laughing. We passed another couple of houses before we crossed the street to my house. “You know, maybe we should’ve told Eric about Ricky’s situation while we were in there.”

  “I thought about it,” he said. “But frankly, I didn’t want Ricky to see me talking to the chief of police. He might think I was betraying his trust.”

  “That would be stupid of him, and yet I get your point.”

  “So we’ll follow him tonight, make sure he gets into his house safely, and then Monday . . .”

  “Monday?” I prompted.

  His smile lit up his face. “There’s a shortcut into the Baths, and he’s going to show it to us.”

  “Oh my God, are you kidding? That’s super cool!” I squeezed his arm.

  “Thought you might say that.”

  But a second later, I winced. “It’s cool and yet really creepy at the same time.”

  He chuckled. “Thought you’d say that, too.”

  “Both can be true,” I insisted as I sat down in his car. “Something tells me that the Baths were one more way for Dr. Fairchild’s sadistic side to show itself. It was a way of hurting people.”

  “I happen to agree with you,” he murmured, slamming the car door. “Even if it was accepted practice back then, I’ll bet she enjoyed herself a little too much, forcing people to soak in that icy water.”

  “But still, I think it’s important that we see the Baths. Be a witness, you know? And then tear them down, destroy them, and replace them with something beautiful, as Jane would say.”

  “That’s a really good plan.” He leaned over and kissed me, then started the engine.

  A minute later, Mac found a parking place a few cars down from the pub, facing the front door. From here, we would be able to see whenever Ricky left.

  We weren’t parked for more than five minutes when I saw Dr. Fairchild stroll past the pub with Prudence Baxter.

  “Do you see what I see?”

  “Yeah. They’ve stopped to look in the window.”

  “Think they’re looking for Ricky?”

  “Yes.” Mac practically snarled the word.

  After another minute, the two women walked away, heading toward the pier.

  “That’s just weird,” I muttered.

  “Yeah. They’ve got something going on.”

  After another twenty minutes, we saw Ricky walking out of the pub. He looked both ways before he stepped off the sidewalk.

  “Guess he learned his lesson,” Mac murmured.

  Ricky walked through the neighborhood I’d always lived in, past modest Victorian cottages and the occasional “Grand Dame” mansion. He passed the little group of shops—the convenience store that still carried comic books and an amazing selection of penny candies; the barbershop my father still goes to; my dry cleaners; and our favorite Chinese restaurant—a block from the high school. Kids could stock up on candy or get a haircut after school and their moms would pick them up and then stop for takeout.

  I noticed that at each corner Ricky would again look both ways before he took a step into the street. At the third corner he turned left and walked one more block.

  Mac pulled into an empty space and we watched Ricky climb the stairs to a second-floor apartment across from my old high school. The building was typical of others around town: two stories, four units, with an indoor staircase between.

  Would someone be lying in wait for him at the top of the stairs? I wondered and worried for a full minute before a light finally went on upstairs. And still we waited another few minutes.

  “I think it’s safe to leave.” Mac pulled out his phone and dialed a number, then pressed the speaker. “But it doesn’t hurt to check, just in case.”

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Ricky,” Mac said. “It’s Mac. Just checking that you got home safely.”

  “Aw, thanks man. I’m good. Safe and sound. But it’s weird not to have Jud here.”

  “I’m sorry, man,” Mac said. “But I’m glad you’re safe. So listen, I heard from Chief Jensen that the Gables will be back open on Monday, so I’ll give you a call and we can figure out where to meet and do that thing we talked about.”

  “You got it. Thanks, Mac.”

  “No problem. Call me anytime. And have a good weekend.”

  As we drove away, I looked at Mac. We could do nothing about the unanswered mysteries at the Gables but wait until Monday.

  * * *

  * * *

  On Friday morning, I had a meeting with Wade and Carla to look back over the week and reconfigure our schedules and our crew. We also assigned some of our guys to help out at three of our other construction sites around town. Then I got in my truck and drove around myself, just to make sure my crews had everything they needed. That night Mac and I walked up to the town square and stopped in at some of our favorite places. It was always good to get out and see people. At the bookstore, we chatted with Lizzie and Hal and she showed us the bizarre handmade book that Dr. Fairchild had foisted on her. Sure enough, it was stapled together with the title printed on a piece of cardboard. We walked out shaking our heads.

  When we strolled into the Crafts and Quilts shop, my friend Marigold ran over and grabbed my hand. “I’m so hap
py to see you. I wanted to show you what a dear old friend sent me from back east.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s in the back.” Mac and I followed her to a well-lit office where she opened a box and took out a large piece of folded cloth. “This is an exceptional example of a quilt made by a woman who was a patient in one of the old asylums back in the Victorian age. I don’t want to open it all the way, but you can see the quality.”

  “Oh wow. It’s beautiful, Marigold.”

  “Do you think Jane would want to hang it on a wall in her new hotel?”

  “Are you kidding? I think she would be thrilled.” I opened up one part of a side panel. “Oh, these little figures are so charming.”

  “There are only a few of these types of quilts around today,” she explained. “The original asylum quilt is one of a kind and considered priceless. But apparently it became quite common for women to gather for a quilting bee when they were stuck in these asylums for years at a time.”

  “That’s one way to pass the time,” I murmured.

  “Yes.” She held up a small section of the quilt. “These figures depict the dozens of friends and nurses and cooks and helpers the women got to know while they were patients, along with the plants and flowers and trees and little animals they saw every day.”

  “It’s a piece of art,” Mac said. “It probably belongs in a museum.”

  “Probably,” Marigold said with a smile, “but I would love to have Jane hang it, if she wants to.”

  “You know she will,” I assured her.

  We talked for a few more minutes and then Mac and I left to have dinner at Bella Rossa, my uncle Pete’s Italian restaurant on the square.

  And after a craze-filled week, we were perfectly happy to go to bed early that night.

  * * *

  * * *

  Saturday morning I spent two hours delving into the world of Rachel Powers and the Gables Development Company. I figured there had to be a parent company that owned the Gables Development Company, but I couldn’t find anything about it online. And when I called the company’s number I got a recording.

  “Because it’s Saturday, knucklehead,” I muttered.

  In the meantime, I checked out the company website. It was slick and professional with beautifully detailed sketches and photographs of the property and the buildings. It featured a lot of information, history, and fun facts about the Gables.