“And man, I just love her hair,” Cindy continued. “That color reminds me of yours. A little darker. Can’t tell if it’s natural or not, but I just like the way she’s got it cut real blunt and swingy, you know? It’s as cute as can be and it suits her perfectly.”
The cook yelled an order out and Cindy turned and yelled back, “Coming.” She whipped back around. “I’ll get your order out ASAP.”
“Thanks, Cindy.”
I leaned back in the booth. I couldn’t catch my breath for all the thoughts speeding around my head at a thousand miles an hour. I closed my eyes to try and slow them down. Because according to Cindy’s description of my father’s new girlfriend, she sounded an awful lot like Belinda McCoy, my uncle Pete’s new winemaker.
And the other night, watching Pete and Belinda together, I had been pretty darned sure that my uncle had his eye on Belinda to be his girlfriend.
So how was it that she and my father had looked cozy enough that Cindy thought they were a couple? Was Belinda playing the two men against each other? And if she was, how quickly could I hunt her down and smack her ’til her head spun? Nobody hurt my father or my uncle. Not on my watch.
I had really lost my appetite now. And that irritated the heck out of me. I took a few more breaths to calm down. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. I could’ve been reading Uncle Pete wrong, but I didn’t think so. And I hadn’t talked to my father in a couple of weeks, which was a rarity. Usually we talked several times a week. But because I hadn’t talked to him, I had no idea what was going on in his life. And that made me sad.
Unfortunately, with everything I had to do for the conference, the barn, the small houses display, and everything else, I wouldn’t have time to meet the new GF for another day or two. Maybe longer. But when I finally did get a chance to hear Belinda’s explanation, what would I do? Maybe it would be better to talk to my father first. No, maybe I would call my sister first and then set up a conference call with Dad. We could double team him. Yeah, I thought. That would work.
With that happy thought, my appetite was starting to return and my stomach was growling from all the savory smells emanating from the kitchen. I wanted that cheeseburger. Almost as much as I wanted to get to the bottom of whatever game Belinda McCoy was playing.
* * *
* * *
That afternoon, Eric showed up at the conference site. He found me walking the perimeter of the new barn’s foundation, examining the wood base for the frames to make sure they were still holding and ready to go. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I wanted to check every inch of it. Yes, it had only been two days since the barn raising had been interrupted by Dillon’s death. But I figured with some of the odd occurrences happening at the conference, like the escape of the smart mice, I would rather be safe than sorry.
And frankly, I’d wanted some time to myself to think over everything Marigold had told us. I had been so furious on her behalf and so helpless with it, that it felt as though my whole body was vibrating.
And that was because I couldn’t tell anyone. It was so frustrating! I could’ve hunted down Jane or Emily to talk about it, but what I really wanted to do was talk to Mac. I needed to share with him everything Marigold had told us this morning. He was so intuitive that I knew he would feel the pain and make things better. But I couldn’t say a word. I could never betray Marigold’s confidence.
I suppose it said something about my feelings for Mac that he was the first person I thought of when I needed to dump my fears and worries and terrors on someone else. Wasn’t that the whole point of being a couple?
The thought made me shake my head. Gee, must be true love if you trusted the guy enough to dump some horrible news on top of him. But it was true love, and the whole dumping thing worked both ways. So I was okay with it.
I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn’t hear Eric walk up. I jumped when he spoke.
“I wanted to let you know you can continue the barn raising tomorrow.”
“Great news,” I said, recovering quickly.
“You okay?” he asked, clearly concerned with my reaction.
“Me? Yeah. Sure. Thanks for the news. That was fast.”
“Yeah, we got all we could get from the crime scene,” he said, “so now it’s a matter of interviewing people and figuring out who had the most to gain from Dillon’s death.”
“Have you talked to Hallie?”
He gave me a look that I interpreted to mean, Mind your own business. But of course, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I tracked her down this morning. She’s still despondent, still a little teary-eyed.” He thought for a moment, seemed to consider his words, but then came out with it. “She said something strange.”
“Really?” My ears perked up. “What’s that?”
“She said she’s glad that Rafe is coming back to work now that Dillon’s gone.”
That made zero sense. Rafe was out of the business and devoted to Marigold and his new life in Lighthouse Cove.
“Did Rafe tell you that?”
“Nope. In fact, he told me he’s going to try to find new jobs for his employees, then liquidate the company and work on his own up here.”
“Then it looks like Hallie’s doomed to disappointment. Oh well. She’s young, she’ll snap out of it.”
He cocked his head, giving me a look. “That’s a little harsh.”
“Sorry,” I said, although I wasn’t. “I’m not in the best of moods this morning.”
“Why? Something happen?”
“Um.” I couldn’t say anything, but he would know something was bugging me. “It’s not my story to tell. And really, it’s not that important.” Not now that Dillon was dead, I added to myself.
His eyes narrowed. “Does it have anything to do with the investigation?”
I stared at him for a few long seconds. “No.”
He stared back. “You sure about that?”
He was right. I was the world’s worst liar. “I’m sorry. I’d rather not say anything else right now.”
He must have seen the concern in my eyes, because he nodded and let it go. “Let me know if anything changes.”
“I will. I promise.”
He walked away and I felt the weight of the world settle on my shoulders. There was simply no way I could tell him about Dillon’s attack on Marigold. Not only was it not my story to tell, but also it had just dawned on me that there was no one else who had a bigger motive to kill Dillon Charles than my friend Marigold.
Except maybe Rafe.
* * *
* * *
I set up a conference call with Carla, Wade, and Sean. “We got the high sign from Chief Jensen. Barn raising’s on for tomorrow. Can you guys rally the troops?”
“I’ll send a group e-mail right now,” Sean said. I could hear him clicking on a keyboard. “Okay, I had forty-six workers say they would be able to come back, but I’ll send a message to all fifty. There’s always a few who can’t make it after all, but then there might be one or two who said no at first but will be able to do it now. I’ll let you know the final count ASAP.”
“Thanks, Sean.”
* * *
* * *
On my way over to the air dome, Marigold found me. I gave her a big hug and asked her how she was feeling.
“Much better after talking to you guys this morning. I’m still working up the nerve to tell Raphael what really happened, but I definitely feel a little lighter for having gotten it off my chest.”
“I’m so glad. Whatever you decide to do, it’s going to be the right thing for you.”
“What would you do, Shannon?”
“Well, you know me. I would probably tell him because I’m not very good at keeping secrets.” Not to mention, the world’s worst liar, I thought. “But that�
�s me. You need to figure out what’s right for you. You might want to call Sally Collins to talk. Or, I don’t know. It sounds silly, but believe it or not, sometimes just taking a long bike ride helps settle my mind.”
“I know what you mean, and it doesn’t sound silly at all.” She sighed. “I just don’t want to add to Rafe’s pain. Dillon was his friend and now he’s dead. Rafe is already feeling guilty enough that he was killed on his property. During his big conference. You know? He’s worried about everything else and now his oldest friend and partner is dead. It’s really tearing him up.”
“I can see how it would. But you remember I told you about the argument I overheard between Rafe and Dillon, right? Dillon said a lot of awful things, personal things that were really hurtful, and Rafe ordered him to get off his property. So I don’t think there was any friendship left between them.” I rubbed her arm. “That’s just something to consider, but it’s not the most important thing.”
“What is it?”
“You, Marigold. I care about your feelings more than anything else. Whatever you decide to do, I’m right there with you.”
She hugged me. “Thank you.”
“Just take care of yourself, okay?”
She didn’t speak for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I will. You always make so much sense, Shannon.”
“I’m a smart cookie,” I said with a grin, then sobered. “And, Marigold, if you do decide to tell Rafe and you need some support, just say the word and we’ll be there with you.”
“Thanks, Shannon.” She hugged me again tightly. “I’m so lucky to have you as my friend.”
“I’m the lucky one.”
* * *
* * *
An hour later, Marigold called me to invite us over for an impromptu dinner at their place.
“Rafe wants to christen the new grill with a few of our closest friends,” she said. “And he needs a break from the conference hubbub.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” I said. “We would love to come. What can we bring?”
“Just bring a bottle of wine,” she said. “And just so you know, before you all arrive tonight, I plan to tell Rafe what Dillon did. I hope it won’t ruin the party, but I need to get it off my chest before another day passes.”
When she hung up, I said a silent prayer that everything would turn out right for her and Rafe. Then I walked into the air dome to watch Mac moderate his “Worst-Case Scenarios” workshop. There were only three writers on the panel so he had clearly been successful at getting rid of Sketch Horn.
I found a seat in the third row of the nearly packed auditorium, and shortly after I sat down, Rafe walked up to the stage to introduce the panelists. There was Mac, of course, along with a romantic suspense author named Cheryl Meyerson, and another thriller writer, Brett Barlow.
Once Rafe had introduced the three, he added, “In case you were here to see Sketch Horn, I’m happy to announce that he’ll be moderating another panel tomorrow called ‘The End of the World as We Know It.’ It should be highly entertaining. But now, let’s get started with ‘Worst-Case Scenarios.’”
The applause was deafening inside the air dome, and I was proud and happy to know that Mac’s panel had managed to fill the massive theater to its capacity.
Mac started out by saying that worst-case scenarios could occur in any situation, any hour of any day. “Think about it. Any of you in this room could come up with a worst-case scenario about something as simple as crossing the street. I’ll give you a minute to consider the possibilities.”
There were some chuckles, and then all three panelists started spit-balling their own ideas.
“Runaway bus,” Mac began.
“The signals go out because terrorists have destroyed the grid,” Brett Barlow suggested.
“A toddler gets loose and runs into traffic,” Cheryl said, causing a number of people to moan with worry.
Brett grinned. “A bike messenger pops a tire.”
“You spot your husband on the opposite corner,” Mac said, “locked in a passionate embrace with another woman.”
I laughed when that last one got the biggest gasps from the audience.
Mac was chuckling, too. “Now, unlike the other examples, that last idea doesn’t put anyone in physical danger—except maybe your husband.”
After that, the three writers scared us with harrowing situations. Cheryl presented the scenario of a diabolical serial killer obsessed with pipe bombs. Brett was a big fan of what he called “doomsday scenarios in everyday life.”
Mac came up with a tsunami scenario featuring Lighthouse Cove and he asked audience members to come up with all sorts of solutions to save the town. The suggestions ran the gamut from storing lifeboats in every house, to building underground bunkers along the Alisal Cliffs, to constructing a forty-foot-high, three-mile-long breakwater across the cove. One person insisted that the town council needed to pass a law making swimming lessons mandatory.
The banter between the panelists was hilarious, and at the end of the hour, the audience gave them a standing ovation.
I stepped into the aisle and watched dozens of people race up to the stage for a chance to meet the authors and ask questions. Mac was surrounded and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get close to him for another half hour or more. I sent him a quick text to meet at my house in two hours so we could drive together to Rafe and Marigold’s dinner party.
I turned to weave my way through the hordes and found myself face-to-face with weird Wesley’s even weirder friend, Sherman. Well, not exactly face-to-face since he was a good six inches shorter than me. Today he wore a green polka-dot bow tie with a gray sweater vest tucked into trousers belted tightly above the waist. And brown suede Hush Puppies on his feet. It had been a while since I’d seen a pair of those, but I had to admit they suited him. It wasn’t necessarily a compliment.
He pointed at me. “You.”
A real social animal, I thought. “Me.”
He frowned. “Er, hello.”
“Hello, Sherman. Are you enjoying the conference?”
“How can I?” he demanded. “Did you hear about the mice?”
I shuddered at the mention of the M word. “I hear they escaped.”
“They escaped?” His eyes narrowed. “Or were they liberated?”
Good question, I thought.
“Either way,” he continued, “they have yet to be found.” He shook his head peevishly. “This conference is descending into chaos. First an unexplained death, now mice. What next?”
For some reason, thoughts of a tsunami came to mind. I didn’t even want to think about Wesley and the clicking.
I just shook my head. “Dunno what’s next. But sure nice talking to you.”
He ignored my attempt to escape, saying, “I’m trying to get to the front of the room to ask Mr. MacKintyre Sullivan a question.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the throngs of people gathered around the stage and particularly around Mac. “Good luck.”
“Never mind. I won’t make it through that flock of mindless sheep.” He turned around and changed direction, and inched along with me and the rest of the audience toward the back exit.
Lucky me, it seemed that Sherman was my new best friend.
“You know him,” Sherman said, scowling up at me.
“Who?”
“Mr. MacKintyre Sullivan.”
I smiled. “I do.”
“Will you please get me an audience with him?”
“He’s not the Pope, Sherman. He’s just a guy. You can walk up and talk to him anytime during the conference.”
“I would prefer to use my connections to guarantee a serious meeting with a like-minded scholar.”
“And I’m one of your connections?”
“I’ve seen you with him, so yes.”
“And
Mac is a . . . scholar? Like you?”
“Like Wesley,” he corrected.
I considered Mac really smart, but I wasn’t sure he qualified to be a scholar. Or at least, not a scholar—or a nut job—like Sherman. Er, Wesley. But Mac would probably love to hear it. I couldn’t wait to tell him.
“I can’t promise anything,” I said, shuffling along at a snail’s pace, trying not to run into the people in front of me. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good.”
“Where shall I tell him to find you?”
“Have you been in the Ecosphere?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s wonderful.”
He scowled. “Wesley has some issues with the space.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not important. Wesley is the one who matters.”
Hoo-boy. “So is this meeting with Mac for you or for Wesley?”
“Wesley, of course.” He shook his head as if I were a complete dolt. “I’ll leave you now. I must find Julian Reedy to arrange an audience regarding the Ecosphere.”
“An audience for Wesley?”
“Of course for Wesley,” he said irately. “I suppose you do catch on.”
I didn’t know why I was finding his insults amusing.
“Good-bye,” he said.
“There’s nowhere to go,” I said, staring at the hairdo of the woman directly in front of me. It was a good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic in this insane crowd of people.
But Sherman had managed to slip between the couple in front of us and disappear into the crowd.
“Bye-bye, then,” I muttered, not the least little bit sorry to see him go.
* * *
* * *
After hearing Marigold’s story that morning, I had been uncertain whether she would be able to enjoy herself at the first social get-together in her new home. But I shouldn’t have worried. She and Rafe were having the time of their lives and my girlfriends and I couldn’t be happier. It made me suspect that Marigold had already told Rafe everything.
Shot Through the Hearth Page 13
