Jane Kelly 01 - Candy Apple Red

by Nancy Bush

  Murphy slowly stood up, but something in his bearing caused Paula and Brad to step back. Maybe they were more perceptive than I gave them credit for. With quiet fury, Murphy gritted, "Get the hell away from me."

  "I understand how you feel," Paula soothed. "Just wanted to say hello."

  "Don’t talk to me again."

  "Maybe this isn’t the right time." Her smile was fixed on her face, but her eyes darted around. She smiled at someone across the way.

  "Get...out..."

  They made good-bye noises and scooted away. Murphy sat back down. Several long moments passed. The waiter stopped by and I ordered a veggie omelet, orange juice and coffee. It kinda felt like my chance for a mimosa had passed. Murphy could barely bring himself to order. With an effort, he ordered eggs benedict, one of the house specialties.

  "Who the hell are these people?" he finally demanded as we were halfway through our meals. I had a mouthful of omelet. Little bits of broccoli caught in my throat as I tried to answer. I reached for the water and gulped. Murphy didn’t even notice my distress. "They’re vultures," he bit out. "They’re picking the bones and Cotton’s body is practically still warm."

  That image kind of put me off my food. I pushed my plate away and tried to think past it, cradling my coffee mug in both hands. "Wasn’t Cotton cremated?" Which reminded me that I didn’t know what to think about tossing his ashes in Lake Chinook.

  "You know what I meant."

  I nodded. I didn’t want to think about any of it anyway. My brain was singing a little tune about Santa Fe. Love was making me giddy...or lust...or maybe just hope. I didn’t know and didn’t care.

  My cell phone rang again. I made annoyed sounds as I examined the caller. It was Dwayne. I shut the thing off without answering. "Who was that?" Murphy asked.

  "Dwayne. I’ll call him later."

  "What’s the story with the two of you?"

  I was surprised. "No story. He just wants me to work with him."

  Murphy frowned down at what was left of his meal. "I have no right to ask. I just got the impression you were... more."

  "How’d you get that impression?" I asked, mildly horrified. "Dwayne and I are friends. Period." I probably said this with more force than necessary, but I really wanted to be clear on the issue. Call it guilt over my semi-attraction to Dwayne.

  "He’s the reason you kept pushing about Cotton and Bobby after you stopped working for Tess."

  I couldn’t let Dwayne take credit for that one. "Uh, no. Actually, that was just me. Dwayne’s been telling me to give it up for weeks."

  Murphy’s brows lifted in surprise. "Dwayne hasn’t been pulling your strings?"

  "Hell, no." I took offense. "Dwayne wants me to work with him but believe me, it’s all about collecting the fee. If I’m not making any money, he doesn’t want me on the case, whatever it is."

  "Guess I’ll have to rethink things."

  "Guess you will."

  He shook his head as if to clear everything out. In the slanting sunlight he again looked tired. He caught me staring at him and said, "I’ve never wanted anything to be over so much. Except before, with Bobby, when the shit hit the fan. I just wanted to run away that time."

  "You did run away."

  "Yeah, and I want to again. Right after the reading of the will. What a crock. I hate this kind of ceremony."

  "Is it really okay to toss Cotton’s ashes in the lake? I mean, isn’t there a law or something about that? I know they sprinkle ashes in the ocean, but in our lake? That seems- wrong."

  He half-smiled. "Heather doesn’t give a rat’s ass. She wants to get Monday over almost as much as I do." He glanced up. "You’re coming to the house for the reading?"

  "Uh, no...I hadn’t planned to. I don’t think I’m really invited." I had a picture of Jerome Neusmeyer seeing "Ronnie" again and didn’t think I wanted the fallout from that.

  "I want you there," he said. "The will’s read, we scatter the ashes and then it’s over." He reached across the table and clasped one of my hands. I realized how cold my skin was. "It’s all happened kind of fast. You’re thinking about Santa Fe, though. Aren’t you?"

  "Thinking about it."

  "Good." He smiled.

  I left Murphy at the restaurant. He gallantly paid the bill even though I got a peek at the amount and emitted a squawk of shock. I got a second shock when he asked, "Mind if I move to your place?" as we walked to our cars. "I’ve had about as much of Heather and the island and the whole goddamned circus as I can stand."

  Honest to God, I had a moment of pure fear. A roommate? I mean, yes, Santa Fe was on the table, but now?

  "My door-or more precisely, my window-is always open," I invited graciously. "Although my mother’s threatening to visit."

  "When?"

  "This week."

  "Better call her off. We’ll be gone by then."

  He pulled me to him and kissed me hard on the lips before leaving. My heart was jumping all over the place as I climbed into the Volvo. I tried to concentrate on tasks at hand, like that I needed to fix my window. Maybe Murphy could do it. Dwayne was handy with those kinds of tasks, but I was avoiding him. I didn’t want him to spoil what I had going with Murphy and I knew Dwayne would, if only for the reason that he was losing his only student.

  But I needed to check in with him. I pulled my phone out of my purse. He hadn’t left a message. Reluctantly, I punched out his number. He answered on the third ring, sounding disgruntled. "What’s eating you?" I asked.

  "Tracy and Angela. They just left to go back to Seattle. I’m thinking about getting drunk. Wanna join?"

  I examined the height of the sun. "It’s barely noon."

  "Jesus. Those women. That kid wasn’t the one from Seattle, as you well know. Angela’s a nut bag. If she doesn’t let up, Tracy’ll do everything she’s accused her of. It’s out there, just waiting for her. I tried to tell my sister as much and she went crazy all over me. God. Couldn’t get them out fast enough."

  "Nice of you to try to help."

  "A waste of time and energy." He snorted. "You did good work, though."

  The praise got me. "You owe me money," I responded. I had a vision of me telling Dwayne I was leaving for Santa Fe and the coward in me decided now was not the time.

  "Come by and I’ll pay you. I might even have something more substantial for you. Like a real investigation."

  "What kind of investigation?"

  "Messy divorce. Sex. The guy works for a company with a private plane and I think he and the flight attendant are clocking the hours in the Mile-High Club. The wife wants his balls. I think I could get you on the plane."

  "Sounds like fun," I said without enthusiasm. I was afraid to face him. Afraid what I might say and what that scene might be.

  "What’s up?" he asked. He was like a bloodhound, sniffing the air.

  "Later, Dwayne." I hung up, pissed off to no end. Why was I feeling so shitty? I wasn’t. I was walking on air. I was on the threshold of new beginnings. If Dwayne wanted an information specialist, he was going to have to look elsewhere. If Tess wanted more information on Cotton and his money, she was going to have to come to the will reading. If Owen wanted to get drunk and mourn Cotton’s death, he was going to have to find a different listener. And if Heather and Paula Shepherd and sidekick Brad and Craig Cuddahy wanted to cut up the island and serve it into little pieces, it didn’t matter to me.

  It’s all about real estate.

  I said, succinctly, "I don’t fucking care."

  When I got home I had a little bit of time on my hands, so I did a quick inventory of my belongings. Not too many. Could I move to Santa Fe? Would I move to Santa Fe?

  Stepping onto the back deck, I turned my face up to a faint breeze. A passing boat caught my eye, heading toward the main lake. It was the Mooneys. They waved at me energetically. I lifted a hand, wondering how much I would miss my bungalow.

  Binky sat at my side and panted. She looked up at me. "Want some water?" I aske
d.

  She toddled back inside ahead of me and waited at her bowl. I poured her some water and examined the shiny, empty bottom of her food dish. "The way you eat, it’s a wonder you haven’t gained ten pounds." She stopped lapping at her water and cocked her head.

  I shook my head. I was getting way too used to this dog.

  The day wore on. I thought about calling my mother, or Booth, or Cynthia, or Dwayne, but I couldn’t find the energy. I was filled with the kind of low-level dread that accompanies every icky task that must be faced. My friends and family were not going to jump for joy if I told them I was back with Murphy, sort of, and we were planning on moving to New Mexico together.

  When my cell phone rang around six p.m. I snatched it up eagerly. From feeling harangued earlier in the day, now I felt abandoned. I worried for a moment that it was Mom, ready to tell me she’d booked a flight, but the caller I.D. wasn’t a number I recognized. "Hello. Jane Kelly."

  There was breathing on the other end. Not exactly heavy breathing, but breathing nonetheless. Maybe I was getting an obscene call. Quickly I tried to come up with a sharp, witty response to some lewd suggestion he might make. All that came to mind was: "You coming, or just breathing hard." It wouldn’t be a bad start but I thought it best to wait till he made his move.

  "Hi...uh...it’s Jesse."

  An obscene caller with a name . . . hmmm . . . The voice was male but it sounded young. Maybe jailbait young. Just my luck to get an underage pervert. He probably had a soccer mom eavesdropping on the other line. "Well, Jesse, how can I help you?"

  "Kurt gave me your number."

  "Okay..." I felt a faint stirring of memory.

  His voice had grown softer. So soft, in fact, that I was straining to hear. "He said you wanted to talk to me."

  Kurt... The lightbulb went off. The Coma Kid. "Yes! That’s right. I told him I wanted to talk to you."

  Silence.

  "You there?" I asked.

  "I don’t really have anything to say."

  It sounded as if he were looking around, moving his mouth away from the receiver and then back again. His nervousness came across the wire to me and I found myself looking over my shoulder.

  "Yes, Jesse. I was interested in that night, when you fell from the island?"

  "I already talked to the police." He was skittish, barely audible. I knew he was already sorry he’d called me. "I don’t remember anything. I already told ’em."

  "I know. I was just wondering if there was anything else. Some little thing maybe? The dogs weren’t chasing you but you fell. How did that happen?"

  "I don’t remember."

  He was lying. I heard it flat out. For a moment I forgot my newfound resolve to let the whole thing lie and I asked, "Do you mind if I stop by and see you?"

  "I... think I’d better go..." Desperate, I blurted out, "How’s Buddy?" "You know Buddy?" he responded, surprised. I knew it was all he could only remember in the beginning, the name of his pet parakeet. But it sounded to me like he was recalling a lot more now. At least he knew his own name-some of the rest of us had a hard time remembering it.

  "I know he’s a parakeet."

  "A budgie. Yeah." He seemed to roll that over. "You know where I live?" He reeled off the address and directions, as if the faster he spoke, the less real it would be. I memorized and visualized and scrabbled around at my desk for pen and paper. Jesse could change his mind in a heartbeat.

  "I could be there, in say, twenty minutes?" "O-kay." The hesitancy was back. "Looking forward to meeting Buddy," I said with enthusiasm, then hung up before I overplayed my hand. It was scary how these young kids could be bowled over by animals. Note to self: Don’t get overly stupid about your dog. "Guard the place," I told Binkster, and she watched me go with wide, solemn eyes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jesse’s house, a daylight-basement on stilts in serious need of new paint, lay on the south side of Lake Chinook, perched on a hill. Its window side faced northeast and they might have had a view of the Willamette River except for the thick grove of Douglas firs which canopied their backyard and obscured everything from sight.

  I carefully worked my way up the asphalt drive. Tree roots had buckled the left side and the ground sloped away toward a ravine. A rusting Chevrolet was parked on the right. I moved carefully as fir needles made the incline slick. Nobody seemed that interested in maintenance.

  A woman cracked open the door. She looked to be somewhere in her forties with hair dyed jet black and blue eyes clogged with eye makeup. She gave me a head-to-toe once-over, but good. "I’m here to see Jesse," I said with a smile.

  She swung the door wider and left without a word. Sheesh. So what was I supposed to do? Gingerly, I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. She could have really stood to open the drapes. It was a beautiful evening beyond these dark, shadowy shapes. I inhaled dust. Not much going in the way of housekeeping, either.

  "Jesse!" she suddenly hollered from somewhere out of sight, causing me to jump. "There’s someone here for you!"

  A few moments later Jesse appeared. He wore a baseball cap, but I could see hair to his shoulder on one side, a buzz cut on the other. Apparently his head wound had been shaved and treated. In some circles, his hairstyle could be the height of fashion.

  He wore khaki shorts that covered his knees and a blue T-shirt advertising wakeboards. "Hi," I greeted him, holding out my hand. "I’m Jane."

  Uncomfortably, he shook my hand. "I guess you know who I am." He seemed to wake up to his duties as a host and gestured toward the couch. I perched on the end of it. He sank into an overstuffed chair opposite me and I saw the poof of dust rise into the air.

  Yeah, like I had any room to complain about housekeeping. Still, I couldn’t quell the little cough that fought its way up my throat. "Do I get to meet Buddy?" I asked, trying to break the ice.

  Jesse perked up. "Ya wanna? He’s in my room. C’mon back." He leaped up and I followed him down a narrow hallway to another dimly lit room. But here Jesse threw back the curtains and I was treated to the disaster of an unmade bed, athletic gear and clothes strewn over the floor and a cage near the window which smelled sourly of bird.

  "He’s molting some," Jesse told me.

  No kidding. Buddy had once been blue and white. Now he was a splotch of ragged feathers which he dug at ferociously with his beak, his little head bent to his task. Tiny pebbly black, green and white bird poop littered the bottom of his cage.

  I hardly knew what to do next. For the life of me I couldn’t dredge up the fire of interest I’d once had concerning the Coma Kid. I’d thought he might know something. Maybe he’d even seen something the night he was on the island. Something to do with Bobby Reynolds. Now, I wondered if I hadn’t been overly zealous in my "investigation." I’d wanted to crack a case that the authorities were still working on. Call it beginner’s overeagerness.

  Jesse was studiously watching Buddy gnaw at his little body. Not sure what to do, I studied Buddy, too.

  Eventually, Jesse cleared his throat. "I know that old guy who owned the island died, so I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, really."

  His voice was a decibel or two below comfortable hearing. I leaned into him. "What doesn’t matter?"

  He swallowed hard. "Y’know, I saw him. The one in the paper. The killer guy."

  The hair on my arms lifted in spite of myself. "You saw him?"

  "I didn’t really remember, but then I kinda did," he said quickly, the words tumbling out. "I’m not sure. I don’t want to say. It’s weird, y’know? Like a dream? But I’m pretty sure it happened."

  I felt myself go cold. So, Bobby had been on the island. Hearing it from this boy’s lips made it real. I felt less elated than I would have expected having my theory proved true. "What did you see?" I asked.

  "I was coming around the path. It was dark and I was looking for the dogs, y’know? My buddies left me." He still sounded upset.

  "They were circling the island. Trying to keep
from drawing attention to themselves."

  "So, I was scared, y’know? Running kinda light and fast. And I came around this curve. The path kinda jogs inward there? It’s right by that garage building? Runs along the back of it. But you step out into this grass where there’s no trees, if you’re not careful."

  I visualized the garage. I could almost pinpoint where he meant. "Go on."

  "There were two guys there. One of ’em was the guy who killed his family."

  "You’re sure?"

  His eyes were huge, scared. "Yeah. I could only see one of ’em. Him."

  "But they were both men?"

  He nodded. "I heard their voices. They were shouting at each other."

  I took a breath. "Do you remember what they said?"

  "No. I was about to shit my shorts. They were just yelling and I turned around and sorta slipped. Then one of ’em yelled louder. At first I thought it was at me! I was running away, but careful like, ’cause I didn’t want to make a sound." Jesse shivered involuntarily.

  "What was he yelling?"

  "He was really mad. I mean, like really mad."

  "Bobby?"

  "Uh-uh. The other one. He said..." Jesse screwed up his face, thinking hard. If he were milking the moment for drama, he was sure doing one hell of a job. I wanted to reach down his throat and pull the words out. "I think he said . . . the area’s mine . . ." He shook his head. "I don’t know. I remember wondering if the area was his. Like he owned it? Or maybe he used to own it and was really mad that he didn’t now? It kinda creeped me out. The area’s mine. That’s pretty close. Made the hair stand up on my head. Like my scalp lifted, y’know? The killer guy stepped away from him and I just kept running."

  "You didn’t ever see the other guy?"

  "Uh-uh. I wanted out of there. I just took off as fast as I could. Got to the fence and jumped over, but then I fell. Smacked my head, I guess." He reached up and gently touched the shaved side of his scalp below his hat.