“You’re full of good questions today.”
I made the turn into the mouth of Coho Bay as the sun began to sink on the horizon. “What we need are some answers.”
Chapter 9
There was nothing resembling a romance novel cover about the look on Frank’s face as Dan and I pulled up to the dock. As Dan tossed him the line, I decided Frank’s face would have been more at home on the cover of a thriller.
“Evening, Frank,” said Dan as he climbed out and reached back to offer me his hand.
Frank, who’d tied off the line faster than any two men I knew, held out his hand to me as well. I stood for a moment, looking up at the two men, who once again reminded me of snorting and pawing bull elk competing for the attentions of a cow. I shook the image from my mind, less because the men didn’t resemble elk than because I didn’t like to think of myself as a cow.
I reached out for both hands and allowed myself to be hoisted out of the boat and dropped onto the dock with considerably less grace than I would have liked. “Hello, Frank,” I said with what cheerfulness I could muster. “What brings you out here?”
Frank looked over my head at Dan, who cleared his throat and touched my arm. “I have some phone calls to make, Cara. If you’ll excuse me.”
I watched him retreat up the dock until Frank stepped into my line of sight. “I was moving my things into your apartment,” he said. “I saw the boat come in and thought I’d see if you needed any help.”
“Help with...?”
“Most folks load up on supplies whenever they go into Juneau.” He looked into the empty boat. “Got anything stowed in the cabin?”
“No, but thanks for asking. I really should have done some shopping. I didn’t even think about it. I was too excited.”
A line at the corner of Frank’s mouth twitched. “About what? I thought you were just a taxi service for that creep.”
“He’s not a creep, Frank.” I started up the dock.
“You’re defending him? After what he said at that old lady’s funeral?”
“You’re talking about Alex? I’m not defending him, but sometimes grief and anger can warp a person.”
Frank snorted. “Pickled in his case.”
“Anyway, that isn’t what I was excited about. I had a great meeting with the art professors at the university. They gave me all kinds of advice and pointed out things I hadn't even thought about.” I climbed the wooden steps from the dock to the boardwalk and leaned on the railing, looking across the road to where my gallery stood. “Johnny would have loved doing something like this. There were times when I could almost feel him there today, getting worked up about all the emerging artists we’re going to be able to help.”
Frank sat down on the back of a bench that looked out on the bay, his feet on the seat, resting his arms on his knees, watching me with a smile playing across his face. “You look happier than I’ve seen you in a long while.”
“Jack would be happy too. I should drive out there and tell him.”
“I wouldn’t.”
I crossed to the bench and climbed up to sit beside him. “It’s okay, you know. I’ve known Jack all my life. He’s never been the life of the party, but he’s always been a decent guy at heart.”
“He hides it well.” We sat in silence, staring out at the bay. “I told Jack I couldn’t do it.”
“I thought you were gonna sell the mill if you decided you didn’t like it.”
“I got to thinking about what you said. Anyway, he can sell it himself if he wants to.”
“I hope he finds somebody. I don’t know what we’d do around here without that mill.”
“Might slow down that new house your folks have been talking about.”
I laughed. "Don’t tell Mel that, she’ll get Bent to torch the place.”
“You mad?”
“About what?”
“Me not sticking it out at the mill.”
“Not if you’re not happy there.” I waited but he didn’t seem to have anything more to say. It was cold on the bench with the wind blowing off the water so I hopped down. “I’d better get going.”
“I’ll walk you home.”
I threw a glance over my shoulder, wondering about the phone calls Dan was making, but I took the arm Frank offered. “The first thing I need to figure out is whether I should offer a full year on the island as I’d originally thought or whether I should break it into shorter time periods in order to help more artists.”
***
“Don’t you agree, Caribou?”
I jumped and blinked, trying to recall my mother’s question, but there was nothing there. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
She took off her reading glasses and examined me. I squirmed, feeling a sudden kinship with the specimens under her microscope. “Tell me.”
“I’m just not sure whether I can pull off the Intensive this year, that’s all.”
“No, that is very far from all, young lady, because that was the topic of our conversation and you were nowhere in the vicinity.”
“It’s really not fair for mothers to read minds.”
“Hey,” said Mel, her eyes brightening, “does that mean I'm going to be able to do that with little Irving here?”
“Irving?” I asked, thankful for the diversion.
“It changes,” answered my mother, “depending on her mood. Now, Caribou, we are not going to accomplish anything with your mind a million miles away. Tell me what's troubling you.”
“It’s men,” supplied Mel.
“It is not!”
“I should think not. Where the men in your life are concerned, there really is nothing to discuss.”
“I agree.”
“You’re going to marry Daniel and that’s all there is to it.”
“I thought you hated Dan.”
“I don’t hate him, Melody. I just don’t trust him.”
“But you want Cara to marry him.”
“Sitting right here, guys.”
“I’ve had an opportunity to become better acquainted with Franklin and I’ve decided he’s not the right man for Caribou.”
“Cut it out. I’m not marrying anybody.”
“Ever?” asked Mel.
“Are you a lesbian, Caribou?”
“Mother!”
“It would explain why you’ve persisted in remaining single.” I put my head in my hands, something I seemed to be doing a lot lately, but she kept on talking. “That nice young doctor is a lesbian. Perhaps you should marry her.”
I looked up. “Olivia? Olivia’s not gay.”
“My dear, you simply must start paying more attention to the people around you.”
“You are making my head hurt.”
“Are you not feeling well?”
“I’m fine. Can we get back to the Intensive?”
“Mom, I think you’re wrong about Olivia,” said Mel.
“No dear, I’m sure of it.”
“Did she tell you she was gay?”
“Mel, don’t encourage her.”
“Of course not,” said Mom.
“Then I think you’re reading her wrong.”
“Time will tell. Caribou, are you ready to tell us where your mind has been?”
I gently banged my forehead against the table. “If you must know, I was thinking about Alex.”
“Why?”
“Mel, did you see Alex in town at the end of the season?”
She dropped her pen. “Are you saying he shot Mrs. Nash?”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m just asking if you saw him. Or maybe heard somebody else talking about him being here.” I wasn’t sure I was supposed to say anything, but if Dan were going to ask around town about him, it was a safe bet he wouldn’t get too mad about it.
“It’s unseemly of you to ask questions like that, Caribou. You can ruin a man’s reputation.”
“He ruined it himself at the funeral, Mother.”
Mom ignored Mel and looked at me with her I kno
w what you’re thinking eyes. “Unless you have a good reason to believe he was here.”
I was on thin ice here, but I had to think Dan would be getting a similar response from the people he was calling on so I decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell them. “Alex rented a boat, just like the one he had yesterday, at the end of the season.” Mom sat back in her chair and Mel whistled under her breath. “I know. Crazy, isn’t it? Why would Alex suddenly come here after all these years and why would he kill a woman he didn’t even know?”
“Well, he must have at least known of her, Caribou, or he wouldn’t believe she killed his mother and her own husband to marry his father.”
“But she didn’t marry Doc, Mother. They had years to fall in love if they were going to, but every summer, she lived in the house alone and he lived in the cabins.”
“Which begs the question, why would he say things that are obviously untrue at the poor woman’s funeral? It only served to bring attention to the fact that he was in Coho Bay when she was killed.”
“You think he just made that stuff up?” I asked.
“How could he know about her husband if he didn’t know her?”
“He may have been at the funeral for some time before he spoke. Everything he said about her, he could have learned from the eulogies.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” I mulled over what Mom had said. “Then we’re back to why he would come to the funeral at all.”
“That is the key,” said Mom. “Find the answer to that question and you will know whether and why he would kill Mrs. Nash.”
BOTH DAN AND FRANK showed up for dinner that evening, but Mom directed them to opposite ends of the table and placed me in the middle with Mel on one side of me and Dad on the other. “I understand that both of you are interested in my daughter,” she told them as I stood there wishing for the floor to open up and swallow me, “but that is no reason to forget your manners. If you cannot control your innate competitive natures, we shall have to set up an alternating meal schedule.”
I could die. I could just die, but the strange thing is, it worked. Maybe Dan had a point about not beating around the bush when it came to matters of the heart, but for whatever reason, it worked. The conversation was lively and when Mom and I cleared the dishes and brought out coffee and blackberry cobbler, I’d begun to relax and enjoy myself.
“Mel, you’ve outdone yourself on this cobbler,” said my dad as he reached for a second serving.
“You and Mother picked the fruit,” she told him, “I just grabbed it out of the fridge.”
“It’s a shame there won’t be any more this year,” said my mother. “It got too cold, too fast for my liking. I’m going to have trouble digging my carrots and potatoes out if it doesn’t melt soon.”
“A little freeze gives them flavor, Marcie,” said Dan, leaning back after finishing his cobbler.
“Do you garden, Daniel?”
“I do.”
“You do?” I asked.
“Don’t look so shocked. I like good food as much as the next guy and it’s way cheaper to grow my own than ship it in.”
“That’s true,” said Mel. “If I had the time, I’d start a greenhouse and grow fresh produce for Bent.”
“Hey, that’s what you and Mom could do with the empty lot next door,” I said, winking at him. “Start a greenhouse.”
“That’s not a bad idea, Kit.”
“We shall see, Robert.” My mother’s tone signaled the end of that topic. “Daniel, were you able to find anyone who could verify that Alexander Tilamu was in town at the end of the season? Did anyone give you an idea what he was doing here?”
Dan looked at me and I raised my hands. “It wasn’t a secret, was it?”
“It isn’t now. Do any of you know a man named Dixon?”
We shook our heads and Dad asked, “Should we?”
“I haven’t found anybody who saw Alex in town, but I did find a couple of people who said this Dixon guy came around late in the season asking them if they’d be interested in selling. Offered them decent money, too.”
“Could it have been Dickerson?” I asked.
“Maybe. Nobody I talked to kept his card.”
“I had a developer call about the Tilamu house. I wondered how he knew it might be coming on the market. I told him he needed to speak with Mr. Clarke. His name was Dickerson, but he didn’t tell me he’d seen the property.”
“You get a lot of random calls from developers who want to buy stuff sight-unseen?”
“Actually, she does,” said Dad. “Since the cruise ships started coming, it’s made property more desirable. People see houses on satellite mapping and call City Hall to find out who the owners are. Tammy sends them to Cara.”
“Not that anybody ever wants to sell,” I added, “but if the Tilamu house does go on the market, it’ll go fast.”
“So this Dickerson guy was asking about the Tilamu house?”
“Not by name, but he had an accurate enough description of it.”
“Do you still have his number?”
“I should.” I pulled out my cell phone and started thumbing through incoming calls. Before Dan could stop me, I hit call back.
A man answered on the third ring. “Ms. King? Do you have any news for me about that house?”
“Have you spoken with the executor?” Dan shot me an angry glare, but Frank and my family leaned forward to catch my end of the conversation.
“I called that attorney. He told me if the house went on the market you’d let me know.”
“Well, it may. The new owner is debating whether to fix it up or sell it outright.”
“If it helps, tell her not to go to any expense. I’ll buy the house as-is.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise. The house has not been well maintained.”
“It’s a dump,” he said bluntly, “but I’m not interested in the house. It’s the land and the location I’m after.”
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t known you’d had an opportunity to tour the property.”
“I was up there a few weeks ago and met the woman who was living in it.”
“Mrs. Nash?”
“I didn’t catch her name. Older lady.”
“Could you hold on for just a second?” I hit the mute button and passed the phone to Dan. “He was here a few weeks ago and spoke with Mrs. Nash. I thought you’d better take it from here.”
“Ya think?” His expression was still angry, but he took the phone and unmuted. “Mr. Dickerson, this is Dan Simmons. Ms. King thought it might be best for you to speak to me.”
Dan got up from the table as he spoke and walked into the kitchen. I could hear him talking, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. We sat staring at each other. I doubted anyone else could hear the conversation any better than I could, but nobody seemed to want to say anything on the off chance that someone could. When the kitchen doors swung open, we all spoke at once.
Dan held up his hands, “Stop, stop, stop.” He gave me back my phone and took his seat.
“Well?” I asked when I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“The apparent owner brought him out to look at the Tilamu house. When they got to the house, there seemed to be a disagreement between the owner and the woman who was living in the house about who owned the property. He absented himself from the argument and walked around, knocking on doors and talking to other property owners. He stopped by the house on his way back to the marina but there was no one there. He waited for the owner to show up, but when he didn’t, he hopped the ferry back to Juneau.”
“The apparent owner?” I asked.
“Alexander Tilamu.”
I slapped the table. “We’ve got him!”
“We’ve got something. We haven’t got enough.”
“What more do you need?” asked Frank and everyone turned to look at him. “What? I like a mystery as much as the next guy.”
“Well, the mystery is solved,” Mom declared. “Yes, yes, Daniel. I know you
still have to find enough evidence to convince a jury, but we shall leave that to you. Melody, you are falling asleep at the table.”
“I am pretty tired,” Mel admitted with a yawn. She and Bent got up to clear the tables.
“I’ll do that for you, Mel.”
“Nonsense, Caribou. You have guests. Robert and I are perfectly capable of washing a few dishes.”
My dad looked first at Frank, then at Dan and finally at me before he shrugged and started gathering up the dishes. He and Mom took them into the kitchen and left me sitting in the middle, between the two men. “Well this is awkward,” I said as soon as they’d gone.
“I have to go,” said Dan, getting up.
I stood too, but Frank kept his seat. “Don’t go on my account, Daniel.”
Dan gave Frank a look but I couldn’t read his thoughts. He turned back to me. “I need to write this up and see if I can persuade a judge to issue an arrest warrant.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have enough.”
“To get a conviction, no, but I might have enough to get him up here.” I walked him to the door and stood while he buttoned up his coat. He ran a finger along my cheek. “I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
I waited to see if he’d kiss me, but he didn’t. I suppose with Frank for an audience that would have been bad. Dan looked over my head and nodded at his rival. “Night, Frank,” he said, and then he was gone. I locked the door behind him and watched him walk up the boardwalk toward City Hall.
“Well, that’s that,” said Frank, his voice sounding loud in the empty room. “Crazy, just crazy.”
I walked slowly back to the table. “So I guess all the talk about Mrs. Nash killing his mother was just a smoke screen. Alex killed that poor, sweet old woman over a house.”
“Greed, Cara. Oldest motive in the book.” Frank took my hand when I reached him and I sat down beside him.
“Maybe now Olivia will want to move here.”
“There you go, there’s a bright side to everything.” He stroked my hand with the tips of his finger and though the touch was innocent, the look in his eyes was decidedly not. His touch awakened something Dan’s had not. “I want to see you tomorrow.”
“I’d like that.”
The Deadly Art of Love and Murder Page 13