“Hello to you too, Cara. Bob, could I bum a cup of coffee?”
“I’m happy to make you some,” offered my father.
“Dad, I love you, but you make even worse coffee than Mom does.”
“Yours isn’t much better.”
“I can make it,” offered Dan.
“You’d be better off if you did,” agreed Dad. We walked to the restaurant, Dad walking between us while I glowered at Dan and he pointedly ignored me. After hanging up our coats, he showed Dan where to find the coffee and the filters and we sat at the counter watching him.
“You look surprisingly at home back there, Dan,” said Dad, watching him move around the space behind the counter.
“I did my time waiting tables.” Coffee started, he leaned on the counter and looked sharply at me. “I heard you went home sick.”
“Word spreads fast.”
“When were you a waiter?” I asked.
“College. You look all right now.”
“I thought you went to the police academy.”
“One doesn’t exclude the other.”
Dad’s head was bobbing back and forth between us. When neither of us spoke, ne nudged me. “Your turn, honey.”
I glared at him, then looked at Dan. “Why are you here acting like Suzy Homemaker instead of in your office grilling Alex?”
“Because he’s passed out in the holding cell.”
“We have a holding cell? Kit, did you know we have a holding cell?”
“No, I didn’t. I thought they just sent the drunks home to sleep it off.”
“Alex doesn’t have a home. At least not one they can send him to.”
“You have a point.”
Dan had been watching us in silence, waiting for us to run out of steam. “So you’re not sick?”
There was a new sweetness in the tone of his voice. “I was just sick of people and I feel horrible for Olivia. Dad, she told me to have you hold off on fixing up the house.”
“That’s not good, but I’m sure she’ll feel differently about it in the morning.”
“Coffee?” Dan asked.
“With cream, thanks.”
“Bob?”
“With pie if there’s any left.”
“Oooh, pie. Good idea, Dad. I’ll go look.”
“Sit down,” said Dan. He returned with what was left of the last pie of the season and three plates. He set them in front of Dad and went to pour the coffee.
“You don’t seriously think Alex is telling the truth, Dan.”
He studied me as my father divvied up the pie. “You don’t.”
“Does that mean you do?”
“It means I try not to make up my mind until after I investigate. It’s a cop thing.”
Dad waved a fork at him. “Bias is the enemy of good science.”
I rolled my eyes. “There’s nothing to investigate. Mrs. Nash didn’t kill anybody. End of story. Tell him, Dad.”
“Did you know Clara Tilamu?” Dan shook his head. “She died when Cara was, oh first or second grade, wasn’t it?”
“Something like that,” I agreed. “She used to come with Doc when he made house calls. She smelled like vanilla.”
Dad laughed. “The things kids remember. She was Doc’s nurse. She’d hold down the kids so he could give them their shots.”
“She did not!” I felt my face turning red as Dan smiled.
“She was a nurse?”
“I don’t know if she had any formal training. She went with him on house calls and worked with him in his office.”
“Tell me how she died. Cancer, I know, but what do you remember about her actual death?”
Dad put down his fork and closed his eyes. “I’m trying to remember when I first heard she was sick. About a year before she died, she spent time in the hospital and when she came home, everybody talked about her in whispers, but nothing was ever said straight out. You didn’t talk about the Big C back then.” He looked at Dan, who nodded encouragingly.
“She looked tired, but she didn’t really seem sick. In the spring, she and Doc went south to visit their kids but they did that every few years. When they came home, it was shocking how ill she looked.”
He stopped, closing his eyes again, but this time his expression was sad. “She died a few weeks later. I can’t tell you exactly what happened, because I wasn’t with her. Doc said she died in her sleep. The Nashes were staying with them and they were there when Clara died.”
“I remember everybody crying,” I added.
Dad patted my hand. “I suspect they did. She was well loved.”
“What can you tell me about Alex?”
I looked at Dad, unconsciously chewing on my lower lip. “I don’t know Alex very well,” I said when he offered no response. “I’d never met him before yesterday, just talked to him on the phone.”
“About renting out a house that he didn’t actually own.”
“Bizarre, isn’t it? Actually, most of the time I didn’t talk to Alex at all, but to his older sister, Anne. She seems to wear the pants in that family. She’s the one who was with him yesterday, I suspect, though I didn’t see her.”
“It was Anne, all right. She’s the middle sister,” said Dad. “Aggie’s the oldest, Agatha, but she never cared what happened to the house. It was always Alex and Anne.”
“Agatha, Anne and Alex. What’s up with that?”
I smiled. “I always wondered about that myself, but there’s no telling what people will name their children.”
“What about Mr. Nash?”
“I knew him only slightly,” Dad answered. “That was long before Mel’s place, of course. You only saw people in church back then, or town functions. He didn’t mix much.”
“What was he like?”
Dad hesitated. “It’s only my impression and as I said, I didn’t know him well. He struck me as one of those people who thinks he’s....” Dad stopped, searching for the right words. “Some people were worth talking to and some weren’t. Most of the people here in Coho Bay seemed to be among the ones who weren’t.”
“That would fit with what Olivia said about her grandfather disowning his own daughter because she married a black man,” I said.
“He died the same year as Mrs. Tilamu?”
“Yes, though the deaths are completely unconnected, Dan.”
“How did he die?”
“Mrs. Nash told us he was in a car accident.”
“Cara told me she thought there was something romantic going on between Doc and Mrs. Nash.”
“Not while they were both still married!” I said. “Nothing like what Alex insinuated.”
“I know you believe that, but in my experience, kids notice things. They may not know what to make of them, but they pick up on things adults don’t bother to see. What do you think, Bob?”
“You should ask Marcie. She’s much more attuned to that sort of thing than I am.”
I got up to bus the tables. “Looks like you can ask her now, Dan,” I said, gesturing toward the door with the empty pie tin.
Mel excused herself to go upstairs and Bent went with her. Frank frowned when he saw Dan but my mother walked up to where he was standing and thrust her finger into his face. “Daniel, why are you sitting here eating pie when Alexander is making his ghastly accusations?” She looked around, as if expecting to see him sitting at one of the tables. “Where is the little snail?”
“Jail.”
“Good.”
Frank, sidled up to me and took the plates. “Let me help you with that, Boo.”
I threw an annoyed glance at him but I hurried him into the kitchen and tossed them haphazardly into the dishwasher. Declining his offer to wash dishes, I rushed back out, not wanting to miss what my mother would say. By the time I got him back, Dan was putting on his coat. Frank, following me back into the dining room behind me, put his hands around my waist. I tried to pull away but he held fast. “Where are you going, Dan?”
“We’re not spe
aking to him, Caribou.”
I looked at my mother. Her face was frozen in anger. I must have missed something good. “Why aren’t we speaking to Dan?”
The bell rang again as Olivia came in. She must have heard me because she looked at him with a puzzled expression. “We aren’t speaking to you? Why not?”
“Ask her,” he said, pointing at my mother. He zipped up his coat and waited, arms crossed, for her to answer.
“We are not speaking to Daniel because he chooses to believe a drunken, middle-aged hoodlum.”
“You believe the guy at Gram’s funeral?” asked Olivia, stepping away from Dan. “You actually believe what he said about her?”
“It’s not my job to believe or disbelieve what anyone says,” said Dan.
Mother cut him off. “Nor is it your job to dig up garbage about people on the say-so of a malcontent who never had the decency to visit his own mother when she was dying. He’s just upset to find out that a lovely little house he’s been neglecting for years isn’t his to neglect after all.”
“Marcie, don’t you think it’s strange that Doc would give his house to this woman?”
“That’s my grandmother you’re talking about.”
“I’m sorry, Olivia. I’m not insinuating it was payment for killing his wife. I just think it was an odd thing to do. I can understand him thinking it was none of the town’s business, but why wouldn’t he tell his own children?”
“Because they were selfish ingrates who deserted him and his wife the minute they were old enough to do so,” was Mom’s answer.
“I thought you weren’t talking to Dan, dear.”
“I was speaking to Olivia.”
I finally managed to slip free of Frank and put the counter between us. “Dan, why is it your job to investigate this? If Mrs. Nash killed herself, what does it matter why Doc gave her the house?”
“Because if she received the house as part of a conspiracy, that would invalidate the title.”
“That is a civil matter, Daniel, not a criminal one. I told you, Dr. Tilamu gave Mrs. Nash the house because his children neither wanted it nor deserved it.”
“Why not leave it to her in his will then?” asked Dan.
“I can answer that.” Everyone turned to look at me. “If you put property in your will, it has to go through probate, as the house is doing now. His children could have challenged the will and tied it up in court for who knows how long. Give it to her while he’s alive and he signs one piece of paper and it’s done. Incontestably.”
Olivia turned to my father. “Is that true?”
“That’s why our children are on the title of every property we own. Saves a lot of grief.”
“Enough of this. Spin your wheels tracking down non-existent crimes if you must, Daniel. I want to speak with Olivia about what it will take to bring her house into good repair.”
“I can’t do it, Marcie,” said Olivia.
“Don’t worry about Alexander’s nonsense. Nobody who matters believes a thing he says. Now, Mr. Clarke has indicated to Caribou that he would support us making the house livable in order to sell so I’m sure he won’t object to getting it ready for you.”
“I appreciate all you’ve done, but I just can’t move to Coho Bay with people thinking Gram may have been a murderer. That’s what I came over to tell you. I’m sorry.” She ducked out the door, leaving us in open-mouthed silence.
It didn’t take my mother long to recover. “See what you’ve done, Daniel?”
“What I’ve done? How is this my fault?”
“You giving credence to that drunk’s mean-spirited rant is depriving us of our one and only hope of securing a top-flight physician. I hope you’re happy.”
“Mom, I like Olivia too but you can’t possibly know how good a doctor she is just because she’s a nice person.”
“Nonsense, Caribou. I spoke with her clinical supervisor and the dean of her medical school. They spoke glowingly of her. Even so, I’m so desperate I’d go after a bad doctor.”
“Okay, but how is all this Dan’s fault? Regardless of what he does, people will spend the winter talking about this and by spring, at least some of them will be convinced where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
“Which is why you are now going to devote yourself to proving Mrs. Nash’s innocence, Daniel.”
“I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking to me, Marcie.”
DAN LEFT AND MY PARENTS went upstairs to check on Mel. Frank followed me into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, watching me run water to wash the pots and pans from breakfast. “How do you prove someone is innocent of something that happened twenty years ago?”
“That’s Dan’s problem.”
“It’s ours too if it means Olivia doesn’t want to move here.”
“What do we care? We’re young and healthy.”
“In case you forgot,” I said, easing a cooking pan into the hot, soapy water, “I almost died a few weeks ago.”
“But you came through just fine.”
“And young, healthy people get hurt around here. Hunting accidents, fishing accidents. That’s how Mayor Solokov lost his hand.”
“I didn’t even know he lost a hand.”
“He has a very good prosthesis. He was in commercial fishing and was helping process the day’s catch when he got his hand caught in the slicer.”
“Youch! When was that?”
“Before my time, but if Doc hadn’t been on hand to stop the bleeding, Clem would have died. He’d never have made it all the way to Juneau.” I tossed him a dish towel. “Make yourself useful.”
He picked it up. “Clem doesn’t really go with Solokov.”
“His family is Russian.”
“And the Clem part?”
“Short for Clemson.”
“As in Go Tigers?”
“It was his father’s alma mater and where his parents met. I think it’s sweet.”
“Maybe I’d better find out what kind of names you’d pick for our kids.”
I gave him a sideways glance and noticed the sparkle in his eyes. “How about Cupcake?”
“Cupcake Baker? You’re dooming her to a lifetime of therapy. What if we had a boy?”
“Just don’t name him Bentley,” said Bent, coming into the kitchen.
“How’s Mel?” I asked.
“Sleeping. Why are we naming babies? You two got somethin’ to tell me?”
“How’d you end up with a name like Bentley?” asked Frank.
“Bentley Milford Andrews, the third, to be precise. Old family name. Changed it to Bent when I went into the Navy.”
“Sounds Southern.”
“Virginian, born and bred, all the way back to colonial days.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said, putting away the plates Frank had dried. “I mean, I knew your family was from Virginia but not for like, ever.”
“That’s because it isn’t important,” said Bent. “Where are you from, Frank? I know Seattle, but what about before that?”
“I’ve rambled around. I like Alaska though. It suits me.”
“How are you liking working with Jack?” I asked. “Do you think you’ll enjoy running the mill once he retires?”
Frank tossed the dish towel onto the counter and I picked it up, folding it neatly and hanging it on a rack without thinking about it. “I don’t know whether I’ll stick with the mill, but if I don’t, I can always go back to taking tourists out to look at whales.”
“But we need someone running the mill,” I said, frowning. “Anybody can wrangle tourists.”
“And anybody can run a mill,” he said. “I’m just not sure it’s for me.”
“What did you do for a living before you moved here?” asked Bent.
“This and that. Little bit of anything that would pay enough to put a roof over my head. That’s what I like about the boat. Water’s different every day and most of the tourists are good people. Pays better than the mill too, and with a l
ot less work.”
“What did Jack say when you told him?” I asked. “I know how much it hurt him when Johnny didn’t want to work the mill anymore.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I’ll take over the mill for now. I just haven’t decided whether I’ll keep at it or sell it and go back to my boat.”
“Sell it?”
“It is a business, Cara,” said Bent.
“But Jack isn’t selling it to you, is he? I thought he was giving it to you.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t sell it to someone else. I’m not making a lifetime commitment to it.”
He was right, but something about it made my skin crawl. It didn’t seem fair to Jack for Frank to accept his generosity only to turn around and sell the business for a profit.
“The money doesn’t matter to Jack. He’s got all the money he’d ever need and more. He just wants to make sure somebody keeps the mill going and I’ll make sure of that. Whether it’s me or somebody else, why should it matter to him?”
“I suppose.” Jack’s heart had gone out of the business when his wife died. He’d staggered through, but he had long since lost his love for the feel of the wood in his hands.
“I gotta go.” Frank pushed himself away from the counter and was gone without another word. It felt strange to be joking about babies one minute, only to get the cold shoulder the next.
“Hit a nerve with that one, little sister. You’d better watch yourself with him.”
Chapter 8
Olivia left town at dawn, leaving the key to my apartment on the counter along with a note.
Cara, thank you so much. In spite of everything, because of the kindness shown me by you and your family, I will always have fond memories of Coho Bay. Please let your mother and Mayor Solokov know how much I appreciate their generous offer. While I would love to be able to accept, I just can’t see a way to make it work with the cloud over Gram’s head. I have no idea what to do about Gram’s house, but when I figure it out, Mr. Clarke will let you know.
I couldn’t blame her, but I was sorry to lose her. Not only would it be hard to find a doctor with even half her skill, I would have liked to have her as a friend. She seemed like the kind of person who would have been fun to hang out with in happier times. I crossed the street to City Hall. Tammy grinned as she greeted me and told me Solokov was out when I asked to see him.
The Deadly Art of Love and Murder Page 11