by Nancy Bush
One name was out of place. A small book tucked against two others with similar gold-colored spines. Audrey Hepburn. Well, okay, maybe Tess had read one book, or at least part of one, I thought meanly. I slid it from its spot and noticed the book jacket was tucked inside the front cover. Unfolding it, I gazed at a photo of Audrey wearing a pink scarf around her head and a pair of round, black sunglasses. Too weird. There was writing inside the jacket. It was an address in Hepburn, Oregon, which was way east in the dry part of the state, towards the Idaho border.
“She’s never read a book in her life,” Owen said, startling me. I dropped the book to the carpet. When I picked it up again, I slid the book jacket inside the pocket of my purse.
My phone rang. Sliding it from my purse, I checked the number: Murphy. “I’d better go,” I said. The phone kept ringing.
“You going to answer that?”
I clicked the red ‘off’ button. “I’ll call them back.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Jane Kelly.”
“Come back any time, Jane Kelly. ’Course I probably won’t be here. Mom’ll lose this place unless Dad left her a hefty chunk of his estate. But I might fix up a couple of those apartments into an owner’s unit and move back to Lake Chinook. You live there, right?”
“Don’t forget your car’s at Pisces,” I deflected.
I was out the door before he could turn the tables and start grilling me.
“Are you hungry?” Murphy asked as soon as my cell phone connected with his. I was driving fast toward the I-5 freeway, south.
“Starving.”
“I’ll meet you at your place.”
“There’s nothing there.”
“I’ll bring pizza.”
“Pepperoni,” I said.
My mouth watered at the thought of pepperoni pizza. It was after ten and there was hardly a place open for food consumption, although I imagined some frozen jalapeno peppers or fish sticks might still be available at the Pisces Pub.
I realized as I drew close to my exit that I was grinning like an idiot. Murphy wanted to see me. My wish had been granted.
“You’re a glutton for punishment,” I reminded myself aloud. But even scolding myself couldn’t stop me from being happy.
Murphy’s SUV was parked in my driveway. I walked to his car and looked in the window. No sign of him. Stumped, I glanced around, then headed to my front door. He had to be around somewhere. Maybe he’d opened the gate to the backyard.
But I had to let the dog out, so I threaded my key in the front door lock. Before I could twist the knob, the door opened inward. I gasped in shock. “Murphy?”
Binkster wriggled around my legs, half-jumping, trying to lick my hands. I bent down to her automatically, as Murphy said, “The pizza’s on the kitchen bar.”
I could smell it, the scent pulling me inside. Binky whimpered in expectation. “How did you get in?”
“You’ve got a window in the back that doesn’t quite latch. I hauled myself inside.” When I didn’t make a beeline for the food, he asked. “Should I have waited?”
I realized then how tired he looked. His eyes were dark-rimmed, sunken. Cotton’s death had dealt a blow. “No big deal. I just thought someone had been in my place a while ago, but I didn’t see how. Now, I guess I know.”
Murphy said, “Test a few windows on some of these old cottages and there’s a good chance one’ll give.”
I nodded. I’d all but decided no one had actually entered my bungalow uninvited. Now I didn’t feel safe. I walked through the bungalow and opened the back door to let Binks out. She stood in the kitchen, torn, needing to relieve herself but unwilling to leave the prospect of food. I went outside with her and she finally capitulated, running down the steps, sniffing around the yard, nose to the ground, then taking care of business in record time and racing back to me.
“How’s Heather?” I asked Murphy as I sat on the stool next to him. Murphy flipped open the pizza box. Hot pepperoni and little orange bubbles of oil mixing with melted cheese greeted me. I had a momentary rational thought and popped a lactaid pill before I dug in. I didn’t want anything slowing me down while I ate. And I didn’t want any regrets later. Binks put one paw on my leg, so I quickly filled her bowl with crunchies. She stared at the hard, little brown kernels, then looked at me askance. I ignored her.
“Not as broken up as I would have expected, or maybe just hoped,” Murphy admitted. “It’s like she’s moved into phase two. Cotton’s dead and now we must all go on.” He grabbed a slice of pizza and bit into it almost viciously.
For my part, I propped my arms on the counter and gave myself up to the pizza. It was heavenly. Juice ran down to my elbows and onto the Formica. I closed my eyes and munched.
We ate in companionable silence, punctuated by some moaning by the Binkster. I finally broke down and gave her a little piece of crust which she gobbled up quickly and stared at me for more.
“Who do you think killed Bobby?” I asked.
Murphy gave me a look. “What brought that on?”
“I think whoever killed Bobby basically killed Cotton. Once Cotton knew his son was gone, he gave up. He knew Heather married him for his money and whatever he’d once gotten out of that relationship was over. Everybody wanted a piece of his fortune. The real estate agents were panting over the island. The only person Cotton seemed to really care about is you. Maybe Owen.”
Murphy dropped the remainder of his pizza crust back in the box. There were two slices left. “You’re still in the thick of it, aren’t you? You’re still working for Tess!”
“Nope. She’s off in Texas.”
“Texas?” he demanded.
I gave him a quick rundown of my conversation with Owen. My eyes strayed to my purse where the book jacket was carefully folded. “She left after she knew Bobby was dead. I think she was helping him. Owen said he thought Bobby slipped his leash. Maybe Tess figured he’d gone to his father and she wanted me to learn what I could about Cotton—his health and whether he could be hiding Bobby.”
“He wasn’t hiding Bobby.” Murphy was adamant.
“Maybe he was,” I argued. I thought of Hepburn, Oregon. I’ve never been there and I’m sure it’s a nice town, but it would be nowheresville for someone like Bobby Reynolds. “Maybe Bobby thought it was time to get out of Podunk, U.S.A. and start living again,” I suggested. “Maybe he never felt remorse for killing his family. Maybe he turned to dear old dad and—”
“Goddammit, Jane!” Murphy exploded. “You’re such an amateur!”
My mouth dropped open. I’d expected him to be like Dwayne; someone I could bounce ideas off. But he was way too close to the situation, I realized belatedly. Still, that didn’t give him the right to call me names. Amateur? I never claimed to be anything but! “I asked you what you thought,” I reminded a bit tensely. “I was just telling you what I thought. How do you know Cotton wasn’t hiding Bobby?”
“The man’s been dead a matter of hours and you’re maligning him.”
“Come on, Murphy. I’m theorizing. Somebody helped Bobby. He didn’t stay hidden for four years alone. And he got to Lake Chinook somehow. And he met with someone because someone killed him.”
Murphy seemed to want to say something more, but he held it inside. Swallowing hard, he exhaled on a long sigh. “You know what I want? I want to get through the next couple of days. I want to be here for Cotton’s memorial service. I want to be there when they pour his ashes into Lake Chinook. Then I want to leave. For good. I don’t want to think about Bobby or Cotton or anybody involved ever again.”
He rose abruptly, nearly knocking over the stool, and strode into the living room. Binkster watched him and I followed after him. Whatever I’d hoped for with Murphy didn’t look like it was going to materialize. He’d called me to get away from it all, but I’d jumped in with both feet. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was obsessing about this case. Maybe I should take a tip from him and just forget the whole thing. W
hat was it to me, anyway?
He was standing by my television set. In his hands was a business card. Tomas Lopez’s. He looked up from it and stared at me as if I’d sprouted horns and a tail. “What is this?” he asked, but his expression said he’d already leapt to his own conclusions.
“He stopped by,” I said, indicating the card. “Cotton sicced him on me when he learned I was working for Tess.”
“What did you tell him? Your theories?”
I bristled at his tone. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
“Why have you got his card?”
“He wanted me to get in touch if I learned anything. I may be an amateur but I guess Lopez figured he’d take whatever help he could get.” If Murphy chose to look at this thing rationally he would realize that it was him telling Cotton about me that had set the whole thing in motion.
“It’s like you have this gruesome fascination with this tragedy.”
Now that was just plain unfair. “I was dragged into this by Marta Cornell and Tess Bradbury.” And the offer of cold hard cash. “And then you told me Cotton wanted to talk to me. I can’t seem to give it up even when I try.”
Murphy set the card back down on the television. His whole body radiated anger. I remembered a couple of doozy fights we’d had when we were together. We’d ended up in bed, having some of the best sex of our lives.
“What are you trying to do, Jane?”
“Honestly? I don’t really know.”
“Jerome Neusmeyer is going to read Cotton’s will on Monday.”
“Well, goody. Hope Tess makes it back in time.”
I was good and angry. It had been one very long day.
Murphy had a hand on the front door handle. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right about Tess. I think she knew where Bobby was, and I think she sent him money. But if that’s ever proven, she’ll go to jail.”
“I know.”
“Cotton wouldn’t want that.”
“Are you telling me to back off?”
“In simple English: yes.”
“What about the will? Who inherits? Think that has any bearing on any of this?”
“I don’t give a damn. I just don’t want it to be me.”
So, that was what was really bugging him. “You’ll know on Monday.”
“And then I’m out of here, Jane.” He gave me a long look, the kind of smoldering gaze that tended to curl my toes. “I’m starting my life over. I know we’ve circled around it, but I’m serious about Santa Fe. I want you to come with me.”
I was still nursing my anger. Still…“I don’t know, Murphy.”
“I haven’t forgotten…how we were.”
We stared at each other. My gaze seemed to move from his eyes, to his mouth, to his chest, to his jaw, then back to his mouth. I hadn’t forgotten either. It had been a long, dry four years.
Something in the air pressure changed. I flashed on moments with Murphy: the sight of our limbs tangled together, rumpled bed sheets and laughter caught in the back of our throats. I saw his finger tracing the curve of my calf. My mouth was dry. My heart lurched.
“Jane…”
I don’t remember crossing the distance between us. It wasn’t like those commercials where we were running in slow motion and finally embraced. One second we were ten feet across the room, the next we were all over each other, the next we were ripping off clothes as we stumbled toward my bedroom. Binkster tried to get underfoot and we slammed the bedroom door in her flat, little face. Maybe it was rude, but who needs anyone watching you in the throes of passion, be it human or fuzzy little beast?
I’m never sure about protocol during sex. Should we take it slow, say soft, sensual things to each other? That wasn’t what was happening. It was pure animal. Too much time had passed.
We stopped for a moment to take a breath. I was in my sweatpants, bare from the waist up, breathing hard. Murphy’s shirt was off, his eyes slitted as he examined my heaving chest. It’s not huge, but it’s adequate, and it certainly seemed to be doing the trick tonight. He reached out a hand and cupped one breast. My skin shivered involuntarily.
“I’ve missed you…” he murmured.
Ditto, Bucko.
And then we were all mouths and hands and clinging limbs. I wanted to cry with joy and relief.
My last thought before falling into exhausted sleep was thank God my brother wasn’t the only one having great sex.
Chapter Sixteen
I woke up with a smile on my face. Murphy was lying on his side, his back to me. I thought about wrapping my arm around him but felt shy. Ridiculous, I know, but true nevertheless.
My slight movement caught his attention and he turned over on his back. I realized he was wide awake and looked like he had been a while.
“Good morning,” I said. “What’s your name again?”
He cracked a smile and reached for a strand of my tangled hair. Turning, he gazed down at me with affection. “Your hair’s a mess.”
“You have no idea what it’s been through.”
“It gives you that ‘freshly fucked’ look.”
“I take offense to that.”
“No, you don’t.”
We grinned at each other like idiots. The moment spun out. I was hoping for another trip to the moon, but Murphy’s cell phone rang, shattering the moment. He’d left it on my bedside table. I’d thought it looked cute, side-by-side with my own cell phone. Glancing at the caller ID, he muttered, “Damn. It’s Heather.”
“She’s an early caller.”
“She’s been in a state since Cotton died. I left her at the house last night with Craig Cuddahy.”
My ears pricked. I tried not to sound interested when I asked, “He’s been staying here a while, at the Shoreline, right?”
“He thinks Heather’s inheriting the island. Maybe she is.” He closed his eyes a moment, gathering strength, then he climbed out of bed. Dwayne wasn’t the only one with a nice ass, I thought happily.
“Mind if I take a shower here?”
“Go for it.”
I thought about jumping up and joining him but was distracted by my own cell phone chiming away. I glanced at the LCD. “Out of Area” and a phone number. Mom. Guiltily, I thought about not answering. She’d left a few more messages on my answering machine and now had resorted to my cell phone, a last resort as she seemed to think cell phones were futuristic devices that might signal circling UFOs, calling them down from outer space.
“Hey, Mom,” I answered.
“Well, there you are. I’ve been trying to reach you. Haven’t you got my messages?”
“I haven’t been around.”
“Where have you been?”
“Working. Process serving and stuff. Lots to do.”
She got to the point of her conversation. “Your brother’s engaged!”
“I know. I left you a message to that effect.”
“I don’t know anything about her.”
“I told you she’s a criminal defense lawyer.”
“Where’s she from? Who are her parents? What do they do?”
“Mom, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Booth.”
“I’ve asked him! He just fobs me off. I’m coming up there. I need to meet her.”
Coming up there? I listened to the shower run. “You should let Booth know. They’ve both got tight schedules.”
“Jane, is it all right if I stay with you? I have a feeling he and…Sharona…are living together. Booth didn’t say so, but…”
Santa Fe was looking better and better. “When are you planning to come?”
“Is it a problem?” She sounded distressed.
“No. I was just—asking.”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you next week, okay?”
I was getting that stifled feeling. Not now. Not while Murphy was here. Wearily, I said, “Fine. You can meet the dog.”
“What dog?”
“Aunt Eugenie’s dog.” My voice was tight. “The one you ha
d delivered here?”
“Oh.” My mother half-laughed. “God, I’m just a mess. Your brother’s thrown me for a loop. No word from him hardly in months and then bam! He’s getting married. Where did he meet her?”
The shower ceased. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Let’s talk later, okay? I’ve got to get going.”
“I’ll call you next week,” she reiterated and I murmured a quick good-bye and hung up. Geez, Louise. A visit from Mom! Love her to death, but it was going to be inconvenient. Binkster and I would end up on the couch, and it would be a tight fit. Not to mention the entertaining I would have to do. But at least Mom would get her eyes on Sharona and all deception would be over.
Murphy strolled out of the bathroom, a green towel slung around his slim hips. Binky eyed him with interest. She padded into the kitchen and stood by her bowl while I threw on a robe and watched Murphy pull on his clothes. He had a similar build to Dwayne, lean and tall and muscular. But Dwayne had longish, brown-blond hair and a drawl and Murphy was dark hair, blue eyes and dimples. But the dimples didn’t make him approachable. There was a deep reserve about him that I still struggled to breach, even after a night of lovemaking. Of spectacular lovemaking, make no mistake. The earth pretty much moved, at least on my part.
He kissed me on my cheek, murmured something about calling later, then headed out the door. I looked down at Binks who’d pressed her chin against my leg, looking up at me with those begging, doggy eyes. If I relocated to New Mexico with Murphy who would take care of her? Booth? Dwayne? Mom…?
“Want to move to Santa Fe?” I tentatively invited.
She ran to her bowl, misinterpreting completely.
I showered, dressed in denim shorts, a white tank top and my Nikes without socks, and was locking my door, after having placed a small piece of wood in my unlatched window to keep my place safe—kind of like locking the barn door after the horse escapes—when my cell phone rang. “Out of Area” again, but this time with no number. “Hello?” I said, unlocking the Volvo.