Jane Kelly 01 - Candy Apple Red

by Nancy Bush

  "Buying groceries?" He scratched his chin. I could tell he found it hard to believe.

  "My brother and his fiancée are coming over tonight. I have to be ready in case they expect me to cook." "What are you making?"

  "Frozen hors d’oeuvres. What do you take me for?" I snapped. "Don’t you have a barbecue, darlin’? You could have steaks." "She’s a vegetarian."

  "Oh." He grimaced as he helped me haul out my bags into his truck. This was Dwayne’s regular mode of transportation but sometimes he rented nondescript sedans. Surveillance cars. Nothing about them the least bit interesting or memorable.

  "So, how’d it go last night?" he asked me.

  I was thinking the same thing, wondering about his new "friend." "Kinda weird," I admitted. I caught him up on everything Heather had said about Cotton and my impressions of Craig Cuddahy. I mentioned seeing Murphy but skirted conversation about him.

  "Got paid yet?" "I’m working on it." "Get your butt down to Marta’s office and tell her you’re out unless you see the cold hard cash." "I can handle my own affairs." "Not very well, apparently," he pointed out. "I’ll get paid." "Don’t be defensive." "You’re putting me on the defensive," I said defensively. "Just get the money." He turned into my driveway. I steamed as we grabbed the sacks and headed to my front door. I wanted to snatch the groceries from his arms, but logistically that wasn’t going to work. When the door opened Binks darted out, circling Dwayne’s boots and snuffling and wagging her curly tail in sheer excitement.

  "Hey there," he said, his voice altering to a tenderness that sent my nerves screaming. He headed inside and dropped the groceries on my kitchen counter, Binks trailing after him in delight. Dwayne bent down and roughly rubbed the Pug’s ears and back and Binks was wriggling, pawing, snorting and generally living in doggy nirvana.

  I immediately resented Dwayne’s intrusion. "Dwayne, meet Binks. Binks, Dwayne," I said flatly.

  "Great dog," Dwayne said.

  "She’s all yours."

  Dwayne laughed. "You’re so full of bullshit." He had the nerve to wink at me as he left. "Type up another report."

  "Who’s your bedmate?" I blurted, unable to stand it another moment.

  Dwayne gave me a classic double take. He seemed perplexed for a moment, then laughed, his teeth white as he grinned like a devil. "I’m sleeping alone, darlin’, if it’s any of your business."

  "Oh, right."

  "Does it bother you?"

  "Only when I feel like I’m disturbing you, like this morning. Sorry," I added with ill grace as he just kept smiling.

  I had this terrible feeling he was going to chuck me under my chin, like a good little girl, but he managed to leave without pissing me off further, except for that shit-eating grin.

  As soon as the door shut behind him, Binks’ tail unwound in dejection.

  "He’s not that great," I warned her.

  She toddled back to her bed.

  I called Jerome Neusmeyer’s office and talked to a secretary who was tons more polite than Marta’s. She listened to me whine that I really, really, really needed to see Mr.

  Neusmeyer right away. "My mother’s unwell. I don’t know what to do. If she dies before I get everything right, I’ll have a breakdown or something."

  "Mr. Neusmeyer’s extremely busy this week," she said, "but I could squeeze you in next Tuesday or Wednesday?"

  "Oh, really..." Disappointment leaked through. "My mother’s really failing. She doesn’t recognize me." I sent a silent apology to Mom who was healthy as a horse and completely in control of her faculties, at least as much as she’d ever been.

  "If there’s a cancellation . . ."

  "Oh, please call me! I’m really desperate. I don’t know what to do."

  "Who referred you to us?"

  I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t say Cotton as he had an appointment coming right up and I didn’t want my name to be associated with it in any way. "Heather Reynolds," I said, crossing my fingers over the lie. I hoped this wouldn’t get back to Cotton, but if it did, he might not mention it to Heather. Tricky stuff, but I couldn’t come up with anything better.

  "You know, there may be a spot on Thursday," she said in a crisper tone. "It’s extremely tight, but..."

  "I’ll take it," I said, extremely satisfied. Bandying Heather’s name had apparently worked better than I’d expected. Of course I had no idea what I would say to Neusmeyer when I showed up on Thursday, but hey, necessity is the mother of invention, right?

  The doorbell rang while I was struggling over a recipe book. Should I actually try to cook something for Booth and his fiancée? My repertoire was limited, but I didn’t feel comfortable going out to some fancy place and facing the bill at the end of the evening. Would Booth expect me to split with him? Would it be halfsies or three-sies? Too complicated.

  I wondered if she would like a hearty spinach salad. I could cook up the bacon separately in case she objected.

  My head was full of such thoughts when I threw open the front door and saw, with surprise and consternation, that Booth had shown up way early. And he was with his fiancée. And she was tall, thin and African American. Her skin was smooth milk chocolate that was eminently touchable. She stared at me through liquid brown eyes which were slightly cautious. I tried to imagine myself through her eyes. Had I hidden my surprise? How like my twin to neglect to tell me anything about her.

  "Hey, Jane," Booth said. "This is Sharona. Sharona, my sister Jane."

  "Hello," she said.

  "Hello," I managed before turning to Booth with a forced smile. "It’s barely four o’clock."

  "Are we too early?" Sharona asked, giving Booth a cool look. There was something sleek and imperative about her that worried me.

  But Booth was oblivious. "Oh, Jane doesn’t care."

  "Come in," I said, as there was nothing left but to be gracious. I didn’t feel gracious inside, though.

  Sharona wore a light gray wool skirt and a silvery silk blouse. Her shoes were expensive-looking black pumps with what looked like stainless steel heels. She wore her hair pulled back tight and her lips were expertly outlined with a deep red lipstick. She looked businesslike and sexual at the same time. I would have melted in her choice of outfit but she was cool, collected and detached. I saw her glance around my place with interest but she kept her thoughts hidden. A lawyer, Booth had mentioned in an aside. Geez Louise.

  Booth was in khaki shorts, a dark blue shirt with a muted Hawaiian pattern and leather flip-flops. His dark hair was faintly mussed and there was a definite shadow of beard darkening his strong jaw. You can take the boy out of southern California, but you can’t take southern California out of the boy. I wondered what Sharona saw in him. Not that he isn’t attractive, but saying they were polar opposites wasn’t putting too fine a point on it. Maybe when he was in uniform they got into some quasi-military S&M kinda stuff. Or maybe that was just me being horny, unfulfilled and wishful.

  "I don’t have any food, or plans made, for dinner. Any suggestions?"

  Sharona smoothed her skirt and sat gingerly on my almost threadbare tan couch. Binks chose that moment to tear around the corner from the bedroom and zoom toward Sharona, full tilt. I yelled. At least I think I yelled, but the dog jumped up and squirmed onto Sharona’s lap, happy as the proverbial pig in shit. Sharona gasped, froze, and then seemed to take it a bit in stride. She let Binky lick the side of her hand.

  Booth said, "What the hell is that?"

  "That’s Binks. A friend of our mother’s-Aunt Eugenie- died, and Mom had promised her she’d make sure her dog was taken care of. I notice that I got the dog, not you."

  "What do you call that kind?"

  "She’s a pug."

  "She’s fat," Sharona said.

  I bristled. Now, there is no question that Sharona was right. Binky looks like she’s never missed a meal in her life. However, it seemed as if Sharona were making a comment on my dog-parenting skills. I rose to the call to arms. "She’s slightly overweight. I
’m working on it."

  "I’m glad you got her, not me," Booth said.

  "That’s so helpful."

  "We’re living in an apartment in the Pearl. There’s just no way."

  Had I asked him to take the dog? Had I?

  "She’s actually kind of cute, in a really ugly sort of way," said Sharona, and there was just the hint of tenderness in her voice.

  "Don’t even think it," Booth disabused her swiftly. "No dogs. Jane can take care of this one." He paused. "Who’s Aunt Eugenie?"

  I filled him in as best I could as we made plans to eat out after all. I was hankering for somewhere cheap, but Booth said Billy Leonard had mentioned a place right on the water: Foster’s On The Lake. My protestations that I’d just been there fell on deaf ears.

  We were standing at the outdoor bar within the hour, enjoying several cocktails. I was beginning to be a regular and I recognized some of my barfly buddies. If I came night after night, I’d probably see them. The way things were going, by the end of the week I was going to have a chair with a plaque with my name on it.

  Manny slipped me an extra strong Mojito and I sucked it down as if it were water. Booth asked me what I’d been up to and I made the mistake of mentioning I was actually working on a case. I guess I was trying to impress him. But when I brought up Tess Bradbury he came unglued.

  His fingers gripped my arm. "What are you talking about?"

  "Ow." I yanked my arm free. Sharona made a point of pretending she didn’t notice our sibling rivalry.

  "Stay out of that mess," he said, totally serious. "I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know what you think you’re doing. That was cold-blooded murder, Jane. What is Tess Bradbury looking for? Why is she involving you?"

  "Honestly, I think she’s trying to save a piece of Cotton’s inheritance for Bobby, in case he shows up."

  "More likely it’s a piece of Cotton’s inheritance for Owen," Booth said with a snort. "I don’t think Bobby’s alive."

  "Maybe."

  Booth was watching my face. "So, what are you supposed to be doing?"

  "I’m just talking to Cotton and Heather and reporting back to her anything that might help her."

  "I bet Tess thinks Bobby’s dead, too, and she’s doing this to find a way to stick Cotton for more money. Not necessarily for Bobby, for herself and Owen."

  I was sorry I’d brought it up. I shouldn’t have. My excuse is the Mojito went straight to my head. I signaled Manny for another. If Booth was going to make me miserable I might as well get a buzz on.

  We had a rather stilted meal. I ordered a Caesar salad, the cheapest thing I could find on the menu. Sharona ordered grilled summer vegetables and a hummus and pita bread appetizer. She teamed this with white wine. Booth had a burger.

  I wondered if Owen was part of Tess’s motive. He’d been on the periphery of the story, but I hadn’t really considered him. He was Bobby’s brother, but not Cotton’s flesh and blood. But he was Tess’s son. And though Tess-and it felt like everyone else-had been more interested in Bobby, the athlete, Owen was a member of the family.

  "Why so quiet?" Booth asked me as I chased around my last bit of romaine lettuce.

  "Thinking about Owen," I admitted.

  "I wonder how he felt about everything," Sharona put in, clearly as aware of the story as the rest of us. She was delicately slicing through julienned strips of red pepper, tomato and onion. I had to admit, it looked pretty good.

  I could easily interview some of Owen’s classmates if I wanted to know more about him. The Pisces Pub on State Street was the perennial hangout for ex-grads of Lake Chinook’s two high schools. There was no money in it for me, but it might provide some enlightenment on the case. For that matter, checking on Owen might gain me more information on Bobby. I knew this avenue of approach wouldn’t be what Tess had in mind, not by a long shot, but the investigation had grown a life of its own. I was looking for answers anywhere I could find them, whether Tess paid me for my time or not.

  In my periphery I saw Booth’s arm move toward Sharona, his hand obscured by the table. He must have grabbed something, her thigh, perhaps, as she shot him a sideways look from the corner of her eyes. Her red lips twitched into a smile. Moments later she turned toward him and bit into a ripe yellow cob of corn. I could see her even white teeth. Booth just gazed at her, his lips slightly parted.

  The sexual tension was thick enough to choke on. I think I made a strangled sound.

  "It’s time for me to go home now," I said.

  They didn’t waste time trying to talk me out of it.

  I called Mom as soon as their taillights blinked out around the corner of my drive, leaving my nose pressed to the window, a bit lonely. Binks seemed to pick up on my feelings and sat beside me, gazing up at me. Mom’s answering machine kicked on. I wasn’t sure exactly what message to leave. In the end I simply said I had a nice evening with Booth and his fiancée, Sharona, and I thought she would like her a lot. I added that there were no tattoos, facial piercings or Gothic attire and/or hairstyles. Sharona was a criminal defense lawyer which kind of blew my mind. I wondered if there would ever be a time when she and Booth were on opposite sides of the courtroom.

  I didn’t mention that Sharona was African American. I saw now why Booth hadn’t enlightened me, either. It seemed small and prejudiced even to address the issue. It didn’t matter anyway. I’d be more concerned with culture shock than race as Sharona seemed more upwardly mobile economically and socially than Booth was. And they were both climbing that ladder a helluva lot faster than I was. I suppose I should worry about these things, but I was more concerned with wondering why my brother should be involved in a healthy sex life while I wasn’t.

  I woke up the next morning with this same thought in mind. And throughout the next couple of days while I posted more 72-hour notices for Greg, harangued Tess Bradbury for payment to which she grudgingly told me a five-hundred-dollar check was in the mail-not likely, I thought-and generally thought about Cotton, Bobby, Heather, Dwayne and Murphy, not necessarily in that order. Gleefully I related to Dwayne that Tess had paid me. He said he’d believe it when the check cleared.

  My mother called back and left a return message on my answering machine. I could tell she was poleaxed by Booth’s engagement. She wanted me to call her so we could thrash things over. I reluctantly phoned her back. I mean, why was this my job? I nearly crowed in delight when I got her answering machine again. The gods were looking out for me after all. In as nice a way as I know how I suggested that she call Booth herself if she wanted more information and leave me the hell out of it.

  On Thursday I walked the dog early. I tell ya, it’s a pain to make certain they’ve emptied their bladders etc. Never ending. Then I ran through the shower, washed and blow dried my hair, pulled on a pair of silky bright red panties and a short, short black skirt, slid on a white silk blouse, undid the top three buttons, then actually added some makeup to my face. In fact, I added a lot of makeup, darkening my eyes to make them as black and mysterious as I could. I seriously thought about teasing my hair before I slicked it down straight, adopting a bored look. I put on my highest black, strappy heels, definitely CFM material. I was meeting Jerome Neusmeyer and I wanted to be anyone but Jane Kelly.

  Billy was at the Coffee Nook when I breezed in. He looked me up and down. "Geez, Louise," he said, more in horror than appreciation.

  "I’ve got a meeting," I said.

  "At the Low Brow Lounge?"

  "At an estate attorney’s office. What you see is meant to distract and confuse. I have questions that need to be answered."

  "Oh, Mama," Billy said on a laugh. In fact he kept on laughing right out the door.

  Julie said, "I think you look cute," but then Julie’s beyond kind.

  "I look like a slut," I said, "which is the point."

  I have to admit they shook my confidence a bit, so as I drove to downtown Portland and took a ticket for parking in the underground lot of Neusmeyer’s buildin
g, I was starting to rethink my plan. What did I expect to learn? Who the hell did I think I was?

  Neusmeyer had a starched-looking receptionist in a tight brown suit and narrow tortoiseshell glasses. She tried not to eye me too carefully. "May I help you?"

  "I have a 9:00 meeting with Mr. Neusmeyer."

  "Oh..." She glanced at her appointment book. "Miss Kellogg?"

  I nodded. Someone once told me that you should use an alias similar to your own name, otherwise you might not answer to it when it’s called and give yourself away. Kelly, Kellogg... seemed like a good idea. Besides, I like cornflakes. When I remember to keep them on hand.

  "I’ll let him know you’re here." She got up from her chair and turned the corner into a small secondary hallway. The offices weren’t huge but they were in an expensive building, one of Portland’s notable turn-of-the-century edifices that had been spared the wrecking ball, then updated, renovated and the rents jacked up so here we were. Out the eastern window was a view of the Willamette River and most all of Portland’s bridges. I counted the Ross Island, Marquam, Hawthorne, Steele, Burnside, Broadway and a glimpse of the Fremont before I was invited into Jerome’s office.

  He did not have a view of the water. Out a narrow window I could see west over and into other downtown buildings. Not nearly so commanding, but then Jerome wasn’t all that commanding, either. If he topped five foot six, I’d be surprised. I was taller in my stocking feet; in these heels I dwarfed him.

  I swear he started to salivate. He definitely was doing one of those suck on your own teeth kinds of things. Since my intention was to act as if Cotton, by Heather’s own words, was into affairs and had seen fit to take me as a lover, I took it as a good sign.

  I sank down in a chair across from him and crossed my legs. The red undies were there in case I needed them. I couldn’t really picture myself pulling a Sharon Stone, Basic Instinct kind of peek-a-boo, but one never knew. I wanted Neusmeyer to think I was loose in the worst way.