by Nancy Bush
The house was full of people. Police. Someone from the medical examiner’s office. Griff. And Sadie, who was staying close to Georgie and the dogs at Jules’s request. Detective Langdon Stone, who introduced himself to Jules, regarding her soberly as they shook hands. She tried to rally, but she really didn’t have the energy, so she suspected her handshake didn’t reflect how glad she was that the cavalry had come through.
And Bette Ezra, who’d clearly had the stuffing knocked out of her, was now on the couch beside Jules, her head in her hands, taking deep breaths and rocking back and forth. Not only had she killed Jules’s father, shot him dead, but she also had to deal with the fact that her husband was a cold-blooded murderer. When Sam had called and the news reached them of Stuart’s culpability and death, she fell into this near catatonic state. Her dogs came over and sniffed her, but she put up a hand to them, and they went back to Georgie, who greeted them emotionally, throwing her arms around them.
By the time Sam had actually arrived, Jules’s father’s body had already been stowed in the back of the medical examiner’s van. Jules had heard the doors to the back of the vehicle being slammed shut, then the engine start as Sam walked in the room.
The stain of blood on the hardwood floor was all that remained to tell the tale.
Sam had walked into the house and beelined for Jules. He’d squatted in front of her and clasped her left hand. “You all right?”
She’d nodded. Then she’d swallowed several times, her throat tight. “I am now . . . Sandy,” she’d managed to get out before flinging herself into his arms.
He’d smiled at her, one of pure relief as he’d gathered her close. “Thata girl, Sandy.”
Now, Bette lifted her face from her hands and regarded Sam blankly. “Stuart’s dead,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You killed him?”
“Actually, no, he was shot by a Salchuk police officer.” Releasing Jules, Sam stood up and looked around. “Bette, would you like me to get you a glass of water? Something stronger?”
She shook her head. “Was he with Jackie? Stuart? I guess I always knew that they were having an affair, and I hoped . . . it would just run its course, but it didn’t. It never would’ve. That’s just the way he was made. But I don’t believe he killed your brother.” She swept a hand to the rest of the professionals in the room and said with both disdain and grief, “Joe was too good a guy, and Stuart could never have done anything like that.”
Sam said kindly, “When you’re ready, you can look at the evidence and decide for yourself.”
She held his gaze for a long time, then her shoulders slumped. She looked over at Georgie and the dogs and said, “She really loves them, doesn’t she?”
Jules stirred herself and murmured, “Maybe we need a dog of our own.”
Bette laughed bitterly. “You can have mine. They were Stuart’s at heart, and I could never leave them alone or they would bark all day.”
Detective Stone stepped up and asked if he could take Jules’s and Bette’s preliminary statements for the record. He wanted to finish up and let them get back to their normal lives, whatever that was. Jules had already given a brief account, but now she gave him more details. She explained how her father had assumed her uncle’s identity, how he’d either learned to swim on the sly, or maybe had lied and always been able to, how Sean and Devon had a picture from their drone, placing Peter St. James at their house on the day of the boat accident. However, she was certain that it had been Stuart she remembered who’d actually killed Joe, by first hitting him with the gas can, then fighting with him, which had apparently caused him to fall overboard into the sea and drown.
Bette watched her closely as she recounted those events, and seemed like she wanted to object, but she held herself back. She then told Stone that today she’d been getting ready to go to work when she’d talked to Rob Illingsworth, who’d intimated that her husband was with his wife, Jackie Illingsworth, the subtext being they were having an affair. Bette had been angry. She’d tried to contact Stuart’s cell phone, but he’d never responded to her.
Then all of a sudden Stuart had pulled into the driveway and Bette had run outside. “I just lost it,” Bette said, fresh tears welling. “I was crazy. I’d gotten my gun out and planned to confront him when he came home. I had it on the front table. I know. I shouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t have really hurt him, but I was just so angry and . . . hurt. When he pulled in I just ran out and screamed at him. But then Sam”—she glanced over at Sam now—“he . . . he was standing by his truck, talking on his cell, and he just looked over at us, and . . . and . . . I don’t know. Stuart backed out of the driveway and tore away, and Sam jumped in his truck and chased him. I thought . . . I don’t know . . . that it had something to do with Jackie. . . .” She broke off and shook her head. “I was going to ask Julia what it was about, but then this man showed up and walked to her door and I got a bad feeling, so I picked up the gun and came over. The door was open and there was a fight with a knife. And she . . .” Bette looked at Jules, her face full of pain. “She only had one good arm and he was really threatening her . . . and I shot him. Twice. Or maybe three times. I don’t know. Can’t . . . can’t remember. All I know is that he was attacking her and I thought he was going to kill her or hurt her or . . . And I just . . . did it!”
She covered her face in her hands again, and Stone, after checking with Jules for corroboration of Bette’s story, told them both, “Thank you. I’ve got all I need for now.”
He seemed as relieved as they were to put the duty of making them relive the ugly incident to bed, at least for the meanwhile.
It took another hour before everyone cleared the house and Sam, Georgie, Sadie, Griff, and Jules were the only ones left, along with Less and More, whom Bette had allowed to stay with Georgie as long as Sam and Jules didn’t mind. Sadie had been cleared to clean up the blood and refused help from anyone else.
Jules had recovered herself, for the most part, and had moved to the kitchen table, seating herself next to Sam. Sadie had made a pot of coffee and asked if anyone was hungry for lunch. She opened the refrigerator and pointed to the leftovers from the Fisher women’s feast the night before. Griff, Sam, and Sadie managed to heat plates of food in the microwave for themselves, while Jules begged off. Georgie, in her room with the dogs, wasn’t hungry, either.
Griff said, “Our detectives interviewed the Hapstells, Byron Blanchette, and Rob Illingsworth about the property where Phoenix was run off the road. They’re all in a deal together apparently, which is moving forward. Nothing sinister there. Apparently Peter St. James knew about it and used it to his advantage. All of them have lost some money with Cardaman, but they expect to do well on this deal, so they didn’t have any beef with Joe. One of our detectives, Jon Decker, said he got to see the dynamic between Walter Senior and Walter Junior, and almost felt sorry for Walt Junior. The old man denigrates the son in front of anyone who wants to see.”
“Hap,” Sam said. “Walter Junior goes by Hap. Did Decker think something about that? Why’d he bring it up?”
“Hap wanted everyone to invest with Cardaman, and a bunch of them did. Hap’s the person they’re all pointing the finger at as the one who offered bad investment advice, not Joe. Hap kind of spread the rumor that it was Joe’s fault and people believed it. Now, he’s got a hard-on for this one property and wants everyone to invest with him, but people are wary.”
“Summit Ridge,” Sam said.
“That’s the one. Hap’s got a big mouth, too. Talks too much. Can’t seem to keep anything quiet.”
Sadie snorted loudly.
Griff inclined his head toward her. “Some people have accused me of not being discreet enough—”
“You’re not,” Sadie said bluntly.
“But I’m a piker compared to Hap. Love you, too, sis,” he added sarcastically, which she just shrugged off.
“What about Jackie?” Jules asked. Sadie had brought her a cup of coffee u
nasked, and Jules sipped at it gratefully. She needed a shot of caffeine.
“We’re looking for her,” Griff admitted. “Haven’t found her yet. Bartender at the Seagull saw her last night, but she got in a car with someone and left. Several witnesses remember she was in a black dress with a red scarf and leaned into a small compact, maybe a Honda Civic, then climbed in.”
“Could she be hiding out somewhere in Seaside?”
“We’re checking the motels in Seaside, Warrenton, and Astoria. Stone’s checking motels south. They spent the night somewhere and unless they had some regular love nest, it’s likely to be a motel. If we can’t find where they stayed on the coast, we’ll start checking further afield. We’ve circulated her picture along with Ezra’s. Someone will remember something.”
They talked for a while more, then Griff and Sadie took their leave. When Sam and Jules were alone, they looked at each other in silence for a long moment. Then he got up from the table and held his arms out, and Jules rose to her feet and ran to his embrace.
“You’re safe,” he said into her hair.
As long as you’re here, she thought.
At that moment Georgie’s door opened and Jules and Sam broke apart as if they were teenagers caught sneaking around. They were both standing stiffly when Georgie appeared, the two German shepherds’ toes clicking on the hardwood as they followed after her.
She stopped short upon seeing how guilty Sam and Jules were acting. Her face crumpled, and she looked like she was about to cry again. She’d witnessed Peter’s death and it had to have taken a huge toll. “You want to talk about . . . what happened?” Jules asked.
“No. No, I don’t.” She shot Jules a scared glance. “It was bad for you, too.”
“Yeah, but it’s better to talk about it sometimes.”
“No. I’m okay.” She reached a hand to the head of one of the dogs and stroked it. “I just wanted to say . . . Uncle Sam . . . that you can stay with us. I mean, overnight. I’d like that. And I know Julia would, too.”
“I’d like it, too,” Sam said, watching her, trying to read where this was going.
“Thank you for getting Mr. Ezra,” she said soberly. Before Sam could respond, she turned to Julia. “You know what I said earlier? About you . . . and Uncle Sam and stuff?”
Jules nodded, fully aware Georgie hadn’t wanted Jules to move on from Joe to Sam.
“Well, it’s okay. If you want to, I mean. We’re kind of a family now, right? We’ve got to stick together.” She looked anxiously between Sam and Jules. “Right?”
Sam looked at Jules. “Right,” he said.
“Right,” Julia agreed.
* * *
The offices of Fairbanks and Vincent were on Seventh Street in Salchuk, about three blocks from Joe’s office. Sam held the door for Julia and she walked ahead of him into a cozy reception area with overstuffed leather chairs, a walnut coffee table, and a glass and gold bar cart, which held a black coffee thermos and a collection of mugs with the Fairbanks and Vincent logo: the firm’s name in block letters beneath a scale.
They were invited into a room with a large table where James Fairbanks and Carlton Vincent sat across from each other, while a man with thinning hair, the accountant, sat to one side.
Introductions were made all around, and then Fairbanks gave them each a copy of Joe’s will, explaining that the assets of the estate had been divided in half, half to Jules and half to Sam, with a healthy amount set aside for Georgie’s college. Far from being the financial mess that had once been rumored, Joe’s finances were solid.
Sam tried to protest about being in the will, but Jules assured the lawyers that they would honor Joe’s wishes.
Carlton Vincent went on to explain that Joe had done everything he needed to keep his clients separated from both Ike Cardaman and Walter Hapstell Senior’s investment opportunities. He hadn’t trusted either of them.
“It was out of concern for his clients’ financial well-being,” Fairbanks went on to say. “Mr. Ford sent letters and e-mails to his clients explaining that he did not endorse investments with either company. We have copies of all the correspondence. Walter Hapstell threatened to sue him, but Mr. Ford held firm. When Mr. Cardaman’s troubles came to light, certain panicked investors chose to blame Mr. Ford, but he had very clearly advised against any and all of Mr. Cardaman’s investment opportunities.”
Vincent picked up the thread. “Most of Mr. Ford’s longtime investors listened to him. Their savings are intact. Others have varying amounts with Mr. Ford, Mr. Hapstell, Mr. Cardaman, and/or various other ventures. There is no criminal investigation into Mr. Hapstell’s practices at this time, but the percentage of return on investments has gone steadily downward over the last year while Mr. Ford’s has remained steady.” He looked to the accountant for confirmation. The man nodded, then went on to explain the wealth that Joe had personally accumulated as well and named a figure that overwhelmed both Sam and Jules.
Hap had been right when he’d said Joe had split his estate between Sam and Jules. He’d known because Scott Keppler, Joe’s original attorney, had been a little too loose-lipped with Walter Hapstell Senior, upon trying to woo some of Hapstell’s business his way. Walt Senior had told Hap, and Hap, never known for discretion, blabbed all at Tutti’s barbecue.
Sam and Jules left the meeting feeling slightly overwhelmed.
“I feel sick that I ever doubted him. That I took the Cardaman file,” Jules said.
“Joe was already on to ‘P. J. Simpson’ and was probably glad, at some level, that Phoenix was on the story.”
Jules remembered she’d thought Joe was relieved when he learned she’d given the file to Phoenix. “I’m glad Phoenix is going to be okay.”
“Me too,” Sam said with feeling. He exhaled heavily and smiled faintly at her. “This afternoon I’m heading down to Tillamook.”
Sam had accepted the job with the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department. He was starting out as a deputy but everyone understood he was on the fast track to detective. Griff had begged him to come back to Seaside, but Sam had wanted to be closer to Jules and Georgie.
“What do you think about Bette leaving Georgie Less and More?” Sam asked. “How do you just give up your pets?”
Jules shook her head, equally puzzled. “All I can tell you is that she said they were more Stuart’s than hers, that they’ve completely bonded with Georgie, and that she’s breaking her lease and moving away. Who knew the Ezras were renting from Scott Keppler?”
“Keppler told me that he’d taken a page from Joe’s book. He knew Joe had bought up properties along the canal. I guess he did, too.”
They drove north to Seaside and walked together into the Sea and Sunset Retirement Center. Sam led the way to Donald Ford’s room and knocked loudly on the door panels. When there was no answer, he knocked again, louder yet.
“Well, c’mon in,” came through the door, faintly annoyed.
Sam twisted the knob and they stepped inside. Donald Ford was seated in his favorite chair, a leather recliner. Jules had only visited him once with Joe since he’d moved into the assisted living center, but she recognized the chair from years earlier. “Good to see you, Donald,” she greeted him, leaning down to kiss his cheek.
Donald smiled up at her, then shot a glance to his youngest son, as he greeted her, “Hello, Jules. So, now you’re with the right Ford again, huh?”
“I . . .” She really didn’t know how to answer that.
“I don’t know what you mean by that, Dad,” Sam said, examining his father closely. “Jules was married to Joe.”
“I know that. You think I don’t know that?” He looked from one to the other of them. “Glad at least one thing worked out right.” He sighed. “Now, tell me again, have you made arrangements for Joe’s memorial service?”
“Working on it,” Sam answered.
“I might have to go and buy myself a new suit.” He smiled sadly, then asked Jules, “Think you could take an old man sh
opping?”
“Whenever you like,” Jules told him.
“How about tomorrow? Might as well be ready. Who knows? Could be needing it for a wedding sometime soon, as well,” he added with a knowing nod.
“Tomorrow it is,” Jules told him. She wasn’t going to touch that last comment with a ten-foot pole, but she couldn’t deny it was nice to hear Donald would have no trouble keeping her in the family, so to speak.
Later, Sam and Jules drove home in companionable silence, each lost in their own private thoughts. When Sam’s cell rang and he saw it was Griff, he almost let it go to voice mail. If what Griff was calling about had anything to do with Joe’s or Peters’s deaths, he would have rather taken in the information alone and talk it over with Jules later.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” she asked.
Which decided it for him, so he clicked on and put the cell on speaker. “You’re on speaker, Griff,” he said. “Jules and I are in the truck.”
“Some interesting stuff developing. Think we found the motel where Stuart and Jackie stayed. Guy who thinks he was in the room next to them saw Stuart’s picture on the news and says he was there. Checked the room. Didn’t find anything, but the staff thought it was unusual that the people who had rented the room made off with all of the bedding and that the place, when the cleaning person arrived, reeked of bleach. That was confirmed by the manager.”
Jules and Sam exchanged glances as Griff went on, “We went through the security tapes and Jackie came up, clear as a bell. Ezra ducked his head, but it’s him. Here’s the thing. They were in a Honda Civic, and the license plate number came up stolen. Same license plate number some hikers called in early that same morning, Saturday morning. Apparently that Civic drove onto the road, nearly ran them down, slammed on its brakes, and a woman passenger smacked her head into the dashboard and seemed dazed. By their description I’d say it’s Jackie. The driver acted like no big deal and backed onto the highway again, but the hikers thought there was something off, so they took down the license plate number and called it in. Must be a reason Stuart chose that road, so we’re searching the area now.”