by Nancy Bush
She took her time easing out of the bed one last time. Unzipping the duffel, she pulled out a dark blue blouse, feeling the lush silk between her fingers. Her favorite blouse, she realized.
And suddenly she remembered Joe, her husband, the man she’d turned to when her mother spiraled downward and her father had drawn away from her.
Joe . . . gray haired like Phoenix, with blue eyes like Sam’s. Her heart ached in her chest as she finally recalled her husband, could see his careful smile.
Joe . . .
She felt almost sick with emotion. She’d worn this blouse to a dinner meeting with him, teaming it with a black skirt that swept over knee-high boots. It had been winter and they were at a function, a fund-raiser at a Seaside hotel for victims of an autumn storm that had ripped off roofs and collapsed houses. They’d been having drinks and Joe introduced her to a florid-faced, heavyset man, who shook her hand, his grip sweaty and tight, a man who breathed hard and loud through his nose, and seemed to undress her with his eyes. “Ike Cardaman,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Ford. . . .”
He’d been off-putting, and she’d worried that Joe was involved with him somehow, even before Ike had been indicted. Joe had sworn he wasn’t, but she hadn’t believed him. She’d worried and fretted, and listened to crazy Denny, who’d felt there were conspiracies afoot in every direction.
She’d stolen the file from Joe’s computer....
Jules came back to the present. She was crushing the fabric of the blouse in her hands and she quickly set it down and tried to smooth the wrinkles with her hand. She ripped off the hospital gown and gingerly took her right arm out of its sling, then lifted the blouse over her head with her left hand. Carefully she slid her right arm into its sleeve, then tried to put on the sling once more, but it was too difficult. With a sound of annoyance, she tossed the sling aside and finished sliding into the blouse and working on the buttons, her mind tripping to the thought that Sam had clearly had to go through her drawers and select her underclothes.
“Not the hot issue,” she reminded herself through her teeth.
She was dressed and ready and sitting in the chair when Sam returned half an hour later. He looked at her and she looked back.
“Thanks,” she said.
“What about that?” he asked, pointing to the sling.
“I can’t get it on by myself.”
He hesitated a moment, then picked it up and carefully helped put it over her head and settle her arm inside it. She could smell him, a familiar musky scent that brought goose bumps on her arms.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said brusquely, picking up her empty duffel. She thought she heard him mutter, “Jesus Christ,” and wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
One of the nurses was just arriving with a wheelchair. When Jules tried to deny it, the nurse insisted it was hospital policy, so Jules was settled into the chair. Sam pushed her into the elevator, and then back out again on the main floor, the nurse walking alongside.
“I’m going to bring my truck around,” Sam said, leaving her with the nurse.
Jules looked through the sliding glass doors, watching Sam as he half jogged to his blue, decidedly beat-up truck. He climbed inside and wheeled it around to park in front of the doors. Her heart clutched a bit as he came around the front of the vehicle, his hair lifting in the stiff breeze.
The sun was obscured by dark clouds that promised rain and the temperature had dropped to an unseasonably cool temperature as Sam pushed her toward his vehicle. At the truck, she stood up and the nurse took the wheelchair away. Sam opened the passenger door. The breeze played havoc with her own hair and she reached up with her left hand to corral it as she climbed inside. The second she was in her seat, Sam slammed the door, hurried to the driver’s side and without a word, started the ignition.
They were on the road and had driven a few miles in silence, when she said, “I’m remembering a few things.”
“The Cardaman file?”
“No. Other things.”
“The accident?”
“No.”
His expression grew grim. Again there was silence, no word spoken. Jules stared out the window, to the winding road cut between the cliffs and the sea. She recognized the terrain, she realized. Her memory was definitely coming back.
As they made a turn off the highway, past the houses along the waterway, flashes of sunlit water glistening as they drove by, she suddenly knew they were almost home.
Home . . . the canal . . . the house . . . Through the houses, she spied boats moored on private docks, kayaks and rafts on lawns. Seagulls crying, flying against a cloudy summer sky, and somewhere a dog . . . no, more than one dog, was barking loudly.
A flood of emotions, some good, some not so good, washed over her, and she bit her lip. She lived here, on this canal, with . . . with neighbors and friends and . . . something more.
When Sam pulled into the driveway, her driveway, she was gripped by a wave of fear so intense that she shuddered. Her heart began to pound and her throat turned to dust. Oh, God. Something had happened at the house . . . something she didn’t want to remember. No . . . not something, someone!
“Wait . . . wait . . .” she whispered.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I just . . . there was someone there. Someone in the house. He . . . he . . . he . . . scared me.” She broke off in confusion.
Get to the boat!
She could see Joe, his tense face, ordering her to move. She could remember tearing out to the dock, running frantically, tripping down the few steps, catching herself, stumbling onto the boat, Joe behind her.
Now, Sam switched off the ignition and turned toward her. His eyes were sober, his face grim, and she knew that he sensed she was remembering. “Okay,” he said with measured calm, “just tell me what you remember from that day. I need to find out what happened on that boat. Why my brother’s dead. I’ve got a couple leads that I need to follow up, but my first priority is getting you home and safe. I don’t want to leave you here by yourself. I put a call in to a friend, Sadie McClesky. She’s the sister of a guy I worked with at the department, Griff. He’s still there. If you need anything, he’s a phone call away.”
“Wait. What? You’re leaving?” She felt a surge of panic. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve got to see the guy who says Joe bought five gallons of gas and took it on the boat that day.”
“You think he’s lying?” She tried to remember, everything. But the details were elusive, the bits of memory lying beneath the fog.
“You don’t remember anything about that boat trip?”
“No. I just . . . I remember getting on the boat, that’s all.” She told him of the quick flash of recall she’d just had. Shaking, her fear palpable, she stared at the house, her home, and felt herself shrink inside. “Something happened here . . . somebody came. . . .” She felt she was getting close to some kind of breakthrough and her breath came fast. The gray curtain was pressing down on her, hurting her head.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid to know,” she admitted. “I just know we had to get away.”
“Away from what?”
“I don’t know!”
“Think, Jules!”
“I’m trying! I’m really trying.”
“Someone threatened you?”
“Yes. I think so. I don’t know!”
“Well, what do you know?” he demanded in frustration. “Goddamn it, Jules. I know you’re trying, but I need you to remember!”
“I don’t remember anything else. I’m sorry!” She buried her head in her hands and wanted to scream. “I can’t remember! I barely remember Joe. All I really remember is you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sam just stared at her. Tears were threatening her eyes and she looked wretched. He dragged his gaze away and gazed through the windshield. He sensed how vulnerable he was to her. But could feel time elapsing. He had too much
to do. He had no faith that Sheriff Vandra would take the investigation into Joe’s death any further. The man believed Joe had purposely set the boat afire.
And though it flattered him that she could only remember him—really flattered him, actually—he needed to keep focused on finding out what had happened to Joe.
“Okay, let’s start over,” he said. “Let me tell you what’s going on, as far as I know. After I identified Joe’s body, I met with Sheriff Vandra of the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department. Initially, the sheriff seemed to think foul play was involved, but since that time he’s of the opinion that Joe set fire to the boat himself, that possibly it was a suicide, although you were there with him and that flies in the face of who my brother was.
“So, I’m planning to have a talk with the guy who says Joe bought the gas right before that last boat trip. I want to hear what he says for myself. Meanwhile, Joe’s Salchuk office has been broken in to, and his computer’s missing. Probably a laptop. I’ve been thinking it was because of a link to Cardaman, but now that Phoenix has the file, I’m not so sure.”
Jules seemed to pull herself together a bit, but she still made no move to get out of the truck.
“My father said ‘it’s all about the money,’ when I told him about the boat accident and Joe’s death. He’s not the most reliable source these days, but he was in the same business as Joe and he knows the same people.” Sam thought again about what Donald had said about Jules’s father and kept that to himself. “Something’s going on in Salchuk, probably has to do with Summit Ridge, houses Cardaman was building and selling twenty times over or so. Officer Bolles and his superior, Chief Pendergast, didn’t seem to want me anywhere near Joe’s office this morning. Bolles caught me inside and was itching for me to give him a reason to shoot. As I mentioned on the phone, he hauled me to the station where I had an odd talk with Pendergast, who gave me a rundown on the town, basically letting me see that he was in charge. Meanwhile, Phoenix Delacourt apparently has the Cardaman file. By the way, if I repeat myself on any of this, just let me run with it. I want to get it straight in my head.”
Jules nodded. “Yes, please. I want to hear it all.”
“When I first went into your house there was a note in the kitchen in Joe’s handwriting that said ‘Cardaman file,’ and later it wasn’t there. Someone took it. Someone who didn’t want me thinking about Cardaman in relation to my brother. Someone who may have a key to your house. Which makes me wonder how many are floating around. The key I have is from Tutti, and apparently Georgie has one and may have passed it to some of her friends, so I don’t know who got it. I’m thinking we should change the locks. What I do know is that it feels a helluva lot like everyone is two steps ahead of me and making sure I don’t catch up. They don’t want me to find out what happened to Joe. That’s the person I want to find. That’s the person who killed my brother.”
Jules nodded again, slowly. “I want to help you. I’m remembering a few things, but there’s a block.”
“A block,” he repeated.
“Something I may be doing to myself because I don’t want to remember.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Maybe,” she said cautiously. “I’d like to believe differently.” She cleared her throat. “But there’s something else I want to tell you.”
“What?”
“Last night . . . I think someone came for me.”
“What do you mean ‘came for you’?” Sam asked sharply, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her.
“There was a man, I think. My door was open and I heard him in the hall in the middle of the night. There was something about the way he was walking, carefully, quietly. I heard him coming toward my room and I hit the call button, but then I slipped under the bed and hid. I think he wanted to . . . do me harm. He came in, but then he heard someone in the hallway so he froze and waited. I barely breathed. I thought he might hear my heart pounding; it was like a surf in my ears. But then he left when he thought the coast was clear. I swear he was looking for me,” she added, but a note of doubt had entered her voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I thought you might think I was making it up. Like you thought I’ve been faking my memory problems . . .”
“My God, Jules.” He shook his head. “Vandra never should have pulled that guard!”
“So you believe me?”
“Yes. Of course. And I don’t think you’re faking. I think you’re . . .”
“What?” she asked, when he trailed off.
“I think you’re just having a hard time.” It was an unsatisfactory answer, but it was all he had. “But now I’m doubly glad Sadie’s going to be here. She said she’d be here this afternoon, and I’ll stick around till she shows. I don’t even like the idea of leaving you with her, but it’s all I’ve got, for now.”
With that Sam got out of the truck and came around to Jules’s side, helping her from the vehicle. He was following Jules to the front door when a car pulled into the driveway next to his pickup. An Audi, new, gray, and unfamiliar.
“Who is that?” Jules asked, a faint quiver in her voice.
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s Sadie.” Instinctively he put himself protectively between Jules and the car just as the passenger door blew open and a girl threw herself into the early afternoon sunshine. She ran toward him, sobbing.
Georgie.
Joe’s stepdaughter.
She ran into Sam’s arms, nearly knocking him back with the force, surprising him as he’d never been that close to her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. The driver’s door slammed shut and a woman with long, blondish hair clipped at her nape, wearing a champagne silk blouse, skintight blue jeans, and matching champagne sandals with three-inch heels headed their way. She glanced up at the sky, as if expecting rain, then made her way toward them. Gwen. Sam looked from her no-hair-out-of-place appearance to Jules, who looked young and vulnerable, her right arm folded in its sling, her brownish hair stirring around her face as the wind kicked up.
“Hullo, Sam,” Gwen Ford greeted him. “Hi, Julia,” she added in the same carefully modulated tone.
“Hi, Gwen,” he said.
Georgie lifted her head to see Jules, then pushed off Sam to throw herself into Jules’s arms next. Jules held her with her left one. She looked slightly stricken, but she offered comfort to the devastated, crying girl.
“Georgie,” Gwen said sharply.
“It’s okay,” Jules answered.
Sam said, “I’m just bringing Jules home from the hospital.”
“I can see that,” Gwen said.
Georgie, a gangly, dark-haired tween who seemed to be all arms and legs, lifted her tearstained face to glare at her mother. “I’m staying here. This is my home.”
“Yes, well . . .” Gwen just managed to keep from rolling her eyes.
“Let’s go inside,” Sam said, glancing toward Jules.
“Before the rain starts,” Gwen agreed, and they all headed into the house.
Sam hadn’t counted on Georgie returning, but now that she was here, the girl clearly intended to stay, though she’d been spending the summer with her mother.
“I can’t believe what’s happened,” Gwen said. “I’m just numb.”
“Yeah,” Sam said as he unlocked the door and they all headed inside.
“Georgie insisted on coming, and I thought, well, okay, we can pick up some more of her things since she’ll be living with me full-time now.”
“What? I’m not living with you!” Georgie turned a horrified face to Jules. “Oh, my God. Please. I can’t live with her.”
“Georgie.” Gwen clamped her lips together, as if to stop herself from saying more.
“Let’s table this for right now,” Sam said.
“No!” Georgie took several steps away from her mother. “I won’t go back. Please, Julia, tell her I’m staying with you.”
“Georgie, stop. She’s just out
of the hospital—” Gwen started in.
“Of course you can stay, if you want to,” Jules said at the same time.
Sam started to say something, but decided it was not his place.
Gwen frowned, and said, “Julia, I’m certainly not putting her on you at a time like this. She’s fine with me for the summer. I’ll figure out the school year when it happens.”
“NO! Julia, please!” Georgie, sobbing, begged Jules.
“Actually, Gwen, I’d like the company,” Jules said, and Sam looked at her closely. It seemed like she was telling the truth. He thought for a minute that she might be remembering Gwen, but he’d actually spoken her name aloud, so maybe she’d just picked it up from him. He wondered what Jules and Gwen’s relationship had been like the past few years. Gwen and Joe hadn’t had a happy marriage, from what he’d seen. It had been a mistake, much like his own.
A raft of protests were falling from Gwen’s lips, but they were kind of halfhearted, Sam realized.
Jules cut in by saying, “Please, let her stay. I could use someone here with me.” She threw Sam a look, daring him to mention that he’d already arranged for his friend to come. He didn’t.
“What about Sam?” Gwen lifted an eyebrow at him.
“I can’t be here the whole time. I’ve got a lot of work to do, and I live at the cabin,” Sam answered. But he was wondering about that—now that Jules had said someone had sneaked into her room, that she feared he meant to do her harm. Sam didn’t want to put Jules or Georgie in harm’s way, and leaving them felt wrong, but certainly the more people around Julia the better. Georgie would be safe; Julia would see to it.
One of Gwen’s eyebrows raised. “I just thought that now that Julia is . . . needs help . . . you might be moving in.”
There was something about her tone that irked Sam. “Nope,” he said, and didn’t elaborate. If he felt Jules and Georgie needed him here, then, of course, he’d make it happen.
“I would like Georgie to stay,” Jules said.
Gwen shrugged. “Well, if you’re sure . . .”
“I’m sure.” Jules was firm.