The Boathouse (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 14)

by Vickie McKeehan

  “How many people from Pelican Pointe flew to Florida besides you? That should be easy enough to check.”

  Tucker’s mind fixed on that. “Why didn’t anyone else think of that? Do me a favor, walk that idea over to Eastlyn. Get her to check flight manifests for the Monday night the bodies were found or maybe early Tuesday morning before I flew out. Then I should send an email to Rossi.”

  “You want me to do that right now? Don’t you want me to wait until we know about Lago? I’ll just text her with the idea. You should text Rossi now.”

  Tucker held his head in his hands. “Yeah. That’s probably the better way to go.”

  He didn’t seem to be thinking straight, Bodie decided, as she sent Eastlyn the message. She took his chin and stared into his eyes. “After we finish here, you’re getting your head checked out.” When he started to protest, she held up a finger to his lips. “Don’t argue. Don’t make me drag you to the hospital.”

  Cord walked out through the swinging double doors to the reception area. “Lago’s gonna be fine. The knife missed anything major. I cleaned the wound, stitched him up, and he was a real champ through it all. In a couple of days, he’ll be his playful puppy self. But he’ll need to stay here overnight to let us monitor his vitals, make sure everything’s a go.”

  Tucker stood up and pumped Cord’s hand. “Thanks. Thanks so much.”

  “Not a problem. That’s what we do. I sent Brent a message already. Jessica, my assistant, took some photos of the wound to show the size of the knife. Big sucker.” Cord held up his hands eight inches apart. “This guy came prepared to do some serious damage to someone. In this case, it happened to be Lago.”

  Bodie stepped up beside Tucker. “You’re saying you have an idea what size knife he used?”

  “Oh, yeah. The damage might’ve been greater to Lago, but the pup was probably wriggling around too much trying to fight the guy off that he lucked out, and the blade didn’t go in very deep, not as deep as it could have anyway.”

  Cord noticed Tucker’s scalp oozing blood. He reached up to check the wound. “Look, Lago will be fine. Go get this head wound treated. You’re in the wrong place for stitches. But it looks to me like you could use one or two to close the gap, probably five. Lago’s in good hands. Don’t worry about him. We take good care of our patients here. Right now, it’s you that needs looking after.”

  “Thanks, Cord,” Bodie said, looping her arm through Tucker’s. “I’m getting him to the ER now, no matter how much he grouses about it.”

  Cord turned to go back down the hallway. “Listen to Bodie. When you get there, be sure to tell Quentin that Tucker is looking glassy-eyed. His pupils are all over the place. A concussion is nothing to mess with.”

  The hammer had not only ripped a gash in Tucker’s scalp that needed six stitches to close, but it also gave him what Quentin termed a mild concussion. Quentin had sent him home with instructions to take it easy.

  Determined to carry out that directive, Bodie took him home.

  “What about your housecleaning job?” Tucker asked as she turned her Mazda onto San Pedro Circle. “My house will probably be a mess from the search Brent did.”

  “Nope. Eastlyn said they put everything back together as best they could. Even if they didn’t, it’d be okay. I’ll tidy up if they left anything undone. I canceled with Mrs. Curtis. She’s a sweet lady. She understands that my schedule sometimes changes.”

  “You have very understanding clients.”

  “Not all of them.” As she pulled the car into the driveway, Gilly’s mom popped into her head. “Some of them are challenging and fussy about every little thing. They’re never happy, no matter what I do. I try to avoid the harder-to-please customers. How steady are you on your feet?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You keep saying that. Quentin didn’t agree. Come on, I’ll help you get inside.”

  They made it into the entryway. Looking around, Bodie could tell the place had seen some recent activity. Photographs on the walls were left hanging crooked. The area rug left askew. The hall bench rearranged away from the wall. But despite the obvious signs of a search, she tried to downplay how things looked. “See? Everything’s fine.”

  He sent her a wry smile. “That’s what I like about you, always upbeat.” He walked into the kitchen and spotted Lago’s food and water dishes. “I miss that dog. It’s one reason I’m so angry. He didn’t have to hurt Lago. The dog can’t talk.”

  “If it’s any consolation, while you were getting stitched up, the airlines faxed Brent a passenger list from Monday afternoon through Tuesday morning. Eastlyn’s in the process of checking out each name. It might take a few days to narrow down the right person, though. Would you like something to eat?”

  “No. What I’d like is for us to go to bed.”

  “Now? In case you forgot, you have a concussion.”

  He slid an arm around her waist. “It doesn’t mean we can’t make love. It seems like months since I left for Florida. So much has happened. Through it all, I couldn’t wait to get back here with you. You’re what kept me going.”

  “I’m all for it. I just don’t want you to…”

  He didn’t let her finish. It was a rush to cover her mouth, to let himself feel something other than pain for the first time in weeks. Her taste sent him into notions of sweet lavender and cream like all the bad had never happened.

  They broke apart long enough for him to tug her down the hallway to his bedroom. Like before, they began to undress each other, but unlike the first time, they moved slower toward a tender pace.

  Without a word, they stripped down to skin. Hearts racing, they rolled on the bed, groping, exploring, tasting.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and began pressing kisses along his chest. “I don’t remember you being so muscular.”

  “I don’t remember you being so beautiful.”

  “It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

  “Too long. And what have you been doing all that time?”

  She sputtered with laughter. “Aren’t you funny? I’ve been trying to keep you out of trouble. But you go and get your head bashed in the second I let you out of sight.”

  He nibbled her ear, trailed kisses down her neck to her breasts.

  Need kicked in, urges ramped up. The senses fast-forwarded, and he began to move inside her. Pleasure spread through her, fanning out, unfurling in layers that curled her toes. When they finished in dizzying triumph, they lay spent, exhausted. He laid his head on hers. “You’re amazing.”

  “So that first night wasn’t a fluke,” Bodie noted, her heart still racing.

  “I guess not,” he returned, placing kisses along her hair. “You take my breath away.”

  “Let’s hope not all of it.”

  Amused, he rolled to his side, bringing her to rest on his chest. They curled into each other, sinking into a comfortable zone, arms and legs still tangled in a cozy nest. Not used to an afternoon nap, both slipped into a satisfied slumber.

  Sometime later, Bodie woke to an empty bed. She sat up, blinked toward the sitting area to make sure he hadn’t ended up there. But the settee was empty. Annoyance balled in her belly.

  “Tucker,” she called out.

  No answer.

  Getting up, she pulled on her jeans and top and checked the bathroom. He wasn’t in there either.

  She walked down the hallway and across the foyer to the study. No Tucker. She looked for a note in the kitchen in case he’d gone to the airport to pick up his truck. But there was no note.

  She found him in the garage, bent over several boxes, going through the contents. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting.”

  “I took a nap. But I kept thinking about why Brent and his team didn’t come across anything significant.”

  He was so focused on the task that he seemed a thousand miles away. “So you had to get up and look for yourself. Is that it?”

  “Something like that. I think th
ey were looking for the wrong thing.”

  “And what’s the right thing?”

  His eyes flicked over to hers. “Follow the paper trail, the money. I’m sorting through whatever paperwork is in these cartons, categorizing the documents by financial year. Maybe I’ll come up with a better idea of his finances through the years, separate them from the business end. Maybe there’s a clue in the household stuff instead.”

  “That’ll take you months. You said yourself it took you almost a year to go through his books once you took over the store.”

  “It’s gotta be done.”

  She shoved her hair back with a frustrated sigh. “I’ll help. But only after I fix coffee, maybe something to eat. I need caffeine.” That statement got through like nothing else had. For the first time since coming into the garage, he seemed to really see her.

  “I’m not sure what I have on hand. The cupboards could be bare. I haven’t had time to shop since I got back.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “I went through your fridge and tossed half of what was in there out. The milk expired while you were in Florida and quite a few other things. But I bought groceries when I knew you were a day out.”

  He stopped digging in the box and came around to where she stood, wrapped her up in his arms, kissing the top of her hair. “You restocked my fridge? I’ve never known a woman who would bother with that kind of thing.”

  “What type of women do you usually date?”

  “Not like you, that’s for sure. Look, I’m sorry I’m so focused on this. But you understand how I can’t let it go, right?”

  “Lucky for you, I do, which is why I want you to keep at it. The sooner you find what you’re looking for, the sooner the guy responsible for all this will get put away.”

  “I don’t know, Bodie. What’s the likelihood that these boxes hold any answers? What if I can’t figure it out?”

  “You took a store, deeply in debt, and turned it around. You have a logical mind. Use it.”

  “That took years.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t give up. That says something about your character. My guess is, you’ll figure out what your father’s been hiding all these years by sheer determination, the willingness to dig into all this mess, and reach the right conclusion.” She patted his chest and started for the kitchen, then turned back. “If it makes you feel any better, I believe the answer is somewhere in this house. Consider how your parents took off in such a hurry. I’ve been in here taking care of Lago for almost two weeks now. I look around and see furniture pieces that should’ve gone with them, but didn’t, pieces that obviously had sentimental value, or should have had. Why did they leave a dining room set worth thousands behind? Was it because they didn’t have room for it?”

  “Their condo wasn’t large, but it would’ve fit. My mother did mention that she hated leaving behind her grandmother’s dining room pieces. The condo had this funky eating area off to itself. Weird. It would’ve been tight, but yeah, the hutch and table would have fit. I wondered about it at the time.”

  “What about the Art Deco desk your father used?”

  Tucker narrowed his eyes. “It could’ve gone in the second bedroom. They sure didn’t need it for guests. As far as I know, they didn’t have a lot of people stay with them overnight except me, once a year, if that. And I could’ve slept on the couch.”

  “See? Some things they took probably made perfect sense. But some of the stuff they left behind doesn’t.”

  “Wow. I remembered wondering the same thing when I got here. I thought it was just me. Should we go through everything again? I’ve been through the desk once or twice already.”

  “But were you looking for a pencil, or were you looking to solve a murder at the time?”

  He rubbed his chin. “You’re right. The objective has changed. Will you help me go through everything?”

  “Absolutely. But I need fuel. So do you. If we plan to do this, we need to organize the effort better with lots of coffee on hand.”

  Sixteen

  After driving Tucker to the airport to pick up his truck and return the rented van, they went room to room together, doing a thorough search through closets, behind furniture, and emptying drawers. They started with the master bedroom and worked their way down the hallway to each bedroom.

  When they got to where Tucker had slept as a child, there were still twin beds in the room, separated by a wall of bookshelves with trophies for one thing or another.

  Bodie rubbed her fingers along the wood until she picked up one award and read the inscription. “You won this for a science project? What was it?”

  “I studied beach sand and the different bacteria I found from location to location.”

  “Eww. Sounds kinda yucky, but I’m impressed.”

  “It was yucky. Freaked out my dad when I mentioned bacteria. Now that I think about it, a lot of things freaked him out.”

  “Like what?”

  Tucker looked up from his spot on the floor where he’d dug out a bunch of video games from underneath the bed, including his Nintendo game system. “Like the time in high school that I had to catch bugs. He told me I had to keep them in the garage.”

  “But they were dead, right?’

  “Yeah. Well. Most of them.”

  Bodie snickered and started rifling through the closet. “What else freaked him out?”

  “He wouldn’t let us have a dog. Tessie begged and pleaded to no avail. I thought for sure she could crack his ice. But not even her little smile could change his mind.”

  “What do you think he’d say if he knew you had a dog here now?”

  “You mean when he discovered I’d taken in a mongrel? That’s what he called Lago because he did find out. Not sure how, though. One night he called me so upset that he demanded I get Lago out of the house and take him out into the backyard and chain him up.”

  Horrified, Bodie repeated, “Chain him up?”

  “Yeah, we discussed it for several minutes. That led to a full-blown argument, which led to me telling him that since I’d agreed to take over the business and move back into the house, he didn’t have the right to tell me what to do. I finally got him to calm down by suggesting that his screaming was probably upsetting Mom and that Lago was a great guard dog.”

  Bodie grinned. “You got him to back off. Good for you. But the entire conversation indicates your dad was still communicating with someone here in town.”

  “I guess it does. That is strange. Wonder who told him?”

  “Neighbors, maybe?”

  “Nah, I don’t think the Gaylords would bother. And the other two people on our short block don’t even know Dad. They haven’t lived here long enough.”

  “Then I’d say somebody bothered keeping him up to date on what you were doing. Which friends was he closest to?”

  “The usual. Other business owners part of the Chamber of Commerce. I know he used to attend meetings at some lodge out on the highway before it disbanded in the early 2000s. But I don’t know much about who the members were. I don’t think I ever paid any mind to who he hung around with as long as he stayed off my back, I was happy. What about you? Could you make a list of your parents’ friends off the top of your head?”

  “Not really. I see what you mean. Once you leave home, you’re not part of their daily lives anymore. And you’d been in Los Angeles for school and work for almost a decade. Could he and the man who eventually killed him have been communicating during all that time? As in, they were still friends?”

  “Some friend. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? This so-called friend must’ve turned on him,” Tucker murmured, his face contorted with reflections of how that might work. “If that’s true, then why wouldn’t the guy have killed dad to get at the murder weapon? You know, I might have this all wrong. Maybe it’s not the murder weapon we’re looking for at all. Maybe it’s… My brain hurts.”

  Bodie went over to rub his shoulders. “Look, we’ve been at this a long time. Let’s get out of
here and take a walk or something, get some fresh air, maybe drop by and see how Lago is doing.”

  “Absolutely. I need to go check on the store anyway and see how the kids are handling things without me.”

  “Then, let’s put this on hold until we get back.”

  Oliver was worried. Two weeks in and he still hadn’t made much money. Sure, he’d taken the job at old man Jackdaw’s scrapyard. Even though the owner paid in cash, it was chump change. Sure, he was working his ass off dragging metal from one place to the next and then tossing heavy, rusted junk into a dumpster. But it didn’t mean Jackdaw paid a fair wage, more like forced labor. Despite the long hours, working nine in the morning to three in the afternoon—six hours that cut into his video games and TV watching—he still didn’t have much to show for his trouble except a bunch of blisters on his hands whenever he forgot to wear his gloves.

  He’d heard Mr. Ferguson was back in town. Oliver decided the best thing to do was to track him down and ask for more time. A week or two longer was all he needed. But tonight, he’d been waiting in the back alley since after supper, and he still hadn’t been able to find the guy. He’d already hung out in the store until the employees kicked him out. They probably thought he was trying to steal stuff. But what good was the five-finger discount if there was nothing worth pocketing. Sure, the store stocked some candy bars near the register, but that eagle-eyed girl with the purple hair kept watching him.

  If he knew where Mr. Ferguson lived, he would go knock on his door. But he had no idea how else to talk to the guy unless it was here where he worked.

  It was starting to get dark when Oliver spotted the old guy locking up the lumberyard for the day.

  “I thought we told you to scat,” Clive hollered across the parking lot.

  “I’m not bothering anybody. I’m just standing here in a public alleyway,” Oliver fired back, glancing up in time to see Tucker’s pickup truck roll into the lot and come to a stop.

  Bodie spotted the gangly boy leaning up against the wall, holding a cell phone. “Is that the infamous Oliver?”