Candy Apple Red

by Nancy Bush

  “So, you had an accident,” Lopez said, taking over the chair that Booth offered him. He pulled out a small notepad and pen. “Your brother told me you were doing some private investigating on the island and that’s how you were injured.”

  I shot Booth a look. He folded his arms over his chest, impervious. He looks a lot like me, Booth does. Same light brown hair. Same shape and hazel color of eyes. I kinda thought I might be looking at a mirror image of my own face: stubborn, determined and basically pissed.

  “Where do you want me to start?” I said, giving in.

  “Wherever you want.”

  I thought about everything that had happened. I have to admit, the idea of passing the baton to Lopez, so to speak, kind of bothered me. But then I thought about falling from the tree limb and I began my story. I started way back, from the time a girl from California followed a guy from Oregon back to his hometown of Lake Chinook. About the guy’s best friend who turned out to be not only a hatchery fish, but a family annihilator as well. About how the girl got dumped by said boyfriend and stayed on in Lake Chinook, process serving and toying with the idea of becoming an information specialist. About how the boy returned to Lake Chinook just when the missing family annihilator reappeared.

  “Reappeared?” Lopez questioned, his dark eyes on me.

  I had to tell him about what Jesse, the Coma Kid, saw the night of his accident: Bobby Reynolds, in the flesh. Then I went on from that to my impressions about the rest of the Reynolds/Bradbury family: Cotton, Tess and Owen. I brought up visiting Cotton in the hospital and how Cotton had fingered Tess, and how Tess had fingered Cotton right back. I took a sidebar to mention the address I’d found in the book at Tess’s condo and what I thought it meant. I couldn’t tell by Lopez’s expression if he thought I was brilliant or nuts. I then revealed how Cotton had suffered a change of heart about his wonderful son, Bobby. I added that I felt the whole thing was all about real estate. That Craig Cuddahy seemed to have a strong motive for killing Bobby, since he had no idea the Historical Society was going to throw a wrench into his plans. I told him Cuddahy’s comment was that “the area is mine.”

  Booth interjected at this point. “But Cuddahy couldn’t know Cotton Reynolds was going to die. And he couldn’t know who would inherit after Bobby died unless someone told him.”

  “I’m just saying what I thought,” I reminded him with an edge.

  Lopez nodded. “That’s what I’m looking for. The events that happened and your impressions.” He couldn’t help chiding, “It’s what I asked for earlier.”

  I decided not to take offense, though I wanted to.

  “Let me know if you’re getting tired,” Lopez added, more kindly.

  Getting tired? He clearly wasn’t on the drugs I was. But once started, I wanted to get it all out.

  Sharona returned and took her parcels into the kitchen. I heard her messing around and tried to pump up a desire for waffles. One of the few times in my life I wasn’t that hungry.

  I continued, “Jesse heard a male voice yelling at Bobby, so it wasn’t a woman.”

  “Could it have been Cotton?” Lopez asked.

  The thought blew me away. “No…no…”

  “If he said ‘the area is mine,’wouldn’t that stand to reason?”

  “Well, yes…”

  “Is that what he said? Or, was it a corruption of something else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lopez was patient. “Did Jesse actually hear ‘the area is mine’ or was it something he tried to make sound like that?”

  “Jesse said the man yelled ‘the area is mine.’” I hesitated. “Or maybe ‘the area was mine.’”

  Lopez left it for the moment. “At the benefit, Cotton was trying to convince you that Bobby was a great guy. This was about a week after the confrontation Jesse overheard on the island? But then, Cotton altered his will. Bobby’s body was discovered, weighted down with slate.”

  “Slate?”

  “We dredged up some pieces. They were in Phantom’s Cove, approximately where the body floated loose. We think it’s what the killer used to hold the body down. A section of it may have been the murder weapon, as Bobby died from his head wound.” He frowned down at the notes he was taking. “The slate matches the roof slate from the Reynolds’ property. We believe it came from somewhere on the island. We haven’t made that detail public.”

  I was silent. The slate was the murder weapon. And it had weighted Bobby’s body down.

  “You’ve thought of something?” Lopez queried, reading my face.

  Booth was leaning forward as well as Lopez. He gave me a look that warned, “Don’t hold back!”

  “There was a pile of slate by the garage. Roof slate, I think. It was just some rubble, really. But then later I saw that it had been cleaned up, and I heard the salvage barge had picked up pieces near the island. It just seemed odd that someone had thrown the pieces into the lake.”

  “You think someone was trying to disguise where the slate came from?”

  “There’s no escaping the fact that the slate is on the roof,” I said. “But I think, whoever tossed the pieces in the water didn’t want to advertise that there were extra pieces at hand? Easily grabbed in the heat of an argument?” I was guessing, groping my way through. Mainly I was thinking about what I would do if I were in a situation where I wanted to cover my tracks.

  Lopez nodded. He scribbled on his notepad. I felt like a fraud. Like a tattletale. But Booth was giving me the evil eye, so I spilled my guts. As he’d said, let Lopez figure it out. I was done.

  I could smell the waffles. My stomach wasn’t ready, however. It was a tight ball. Stress, I thought. Great. I was hurt and stressed out, too.

  Lopez got to his feet and exchanged handshakes with Booth. Booth asked Lopez if he would like to stay and have something to eat but Lopez declined. I just wanted them all to leave. Disappear. Evaporate. Vamoose. I watched the door close behind Lopez at the same moment Sharona appeared from the kitchen and announced the food was ready.

  There was a big discussion about where I was going to eat: the kitchen counter, or on a table scooted up to the sofa. I didn’t have the heart to say I wasn’t hungry, so I let them slide the scarred end table in front of me, then place on it a plate heaping with waffles, butter and syrup. It looked wonderful, but…

  “I just can’t eat,” I said regretfully.

  Sharona peered at me. “You need rest.”

  “All I’ve done is sleep.”

  Booth frowned. “They gave you pills, Jane. Do you need another?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll put the waffles on a plate and save them in the fridge,” said Sharona, doing just that.

  “Should I tell Mom you’ve been in an accident?”

  “No!” I croaked. “But call her. Tell her this week isn’t working for me. Don’t make me do it.”

  I could tell he didn’t want to. Booth likes me to be the one to run interference between him and our mother. She’s the one person he can’t seem to get around, so he goes into avoidance mode whenever possible.

  Sharona returned, touching Booth’s arm. “We’ll give you some peace and quiet, Jane.”

  “Thanks.” I was liking her better and better.

  She glanced at Binkster. “Don’t give the dog any of the waffles.”

  Okay, maybe I didn’t like her that well.

  Booth said, “I don’t think we should leave.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured. “Murphy’ll be back soon.”

  He disagreed. “We can stay till he gets here.”

  “No…” I wanted to scream from frustration.

  “Come on, Booth.” Sharona’s voice brooked no argument.

  Okay. I did like her. Booth looked ready to argue some more but Sharona won out. As soon as they were out of sight I slid back down, pushing a reluctant Binkster to the end of the sofa. We both curled up and slept.

  I was dreaming. I stood at the edge of a park
and there were children playing in a sandbox nearby. Off camera, someone was yelling, “…area was mine…!” Beside me was Tomas Lopez. Neither of us could see who was yelling. One of the children, a boy, poured a bucket of sand over his sister’s head. “I think he said was,” Lopez pointed out to me, as if we were involved in a friendly debate on the subject. I listened as hard as I could but my ears couldn’t pick out the words. The man was still yelling, but it was as if the sound had been put on super-slow play. “I don’t get it,” I said to Lopez. He said, “It’s a misdirection…”

  A sound penetrated my brain and I dragged myself up from the depths of sleep. Murphy was tiptoeing inside the bungalow. The soft scent of roses perfumed the air. I opened an eye. He was carrying a huge bouquet of scarlet roses, the heads of the flowers bobbing in his arms. Seeing I was awake, he said, “I’ll put these in water.”

  He’d barely left the room when I heard a light rap on the front door. I wondered how sick people ever got well. I didn’t even have that many friends.

  “Come in,” I called, wondering if I should be more circumspect about allowing just anyone through the door. But it was Dwayne. “Hey,” I greeted him, relieved. I glanced toward the kitchen and Dwayne did the same. Murphy appeared in the doorway at that moment. I could tell he wanted Dwayne to skedaddle, but he kept the thought to himself. Instead, after an awkward moment, he came up with something to do. Mumbling that he’d be back later, he headed out the door.

  Dwayne stepped to the window, twitched the curtain back, watched him leave. We both heard the engine of his SUV rumble to life. “Don’t want to add strife to your life, but I don’t like him much.”

  “That’s because he’s taking me away from all of this.” I smiled and it felt more natural.

  “No, darlin’, I just don’t like him.” He sat on the chair pulled closest to me. As much as Dwayne pisses me off, I feel satisfied and safe with him around. This was the feeling I wished I had with Booth, but until he gave up “big-brothering” me, it was not to be.

  “Your car’s outside. I left the truck near the island. Figured I’d walk back and pick it up.”

  “Murphy could take you.”

  Dwayne merely gave me a look. “I would have been here sooner, but the widow caught hold of me. I ended up driving your car to Foster’s so she could pick up her boat. She was distraught about you. Sort of. She was a little fuzzy about what went on last night.”

  “I drove her home from Foster’s. She and Craig Cuddahy were drinking vodka when I took my stroll around the grounds.”

  “Well, neither of them let the dogs out. It was the caretaker. Wemberly. He didn’t know anyone was outside. It was a shock to him when the dogs started howling and chasing you.”

  “What was he doing there?”

  “Picking up some things he’d left behind. Wemberly was also worrying about the dogs because the widow sure ain’t thinking about ’em. He was at the house when I got there today. He was waiting to hear how you were. Blames himself.”

  “What did you tell him?” I was sort of deflated. Like everyone else, I’d thought this was some grand plan to eliminate Jane Kelly once and for all.

  “I told him you were beat up but it was going to be okay.”

  “I feel kind of stupid now. I just spilled my guts to Tomas Lopez. I gave him every piece of information and half-assed theory I could come up with.”

  Dwayne shrugged. “It’s his case. Let him figure it out. Besides, you weren’t getting paid.”

  “No, I know…” I reassessed. “It’s funny. Now that I know it was truly an accident, I should feel safer than I do.”

  “Hey, you’re hurt. Makes you feel vulnerable. I don’t like Murphy, but at least he’s looking out for you.”

  “Thanks, Dwayne.”

  He smiled at me. “Don’t go to Santa Fe. Date him if you have to. But don’t go.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, meaning it.

  Dwayne patted Binks on the head. She’d been so relaxed her tail had unfurled but now it wound up tight again and she looked at him with bright eyes. We both heard the hum of an approaching engine. Dwayne pulled the curtain aside again and said, “Your protector has returned.” He sketched a goodbye to me and headed out the door. A half beat later Murphy let himself inside. As if they were involved in some elaborate dance, he took up position at the window and watched Dwayne leave.

  “How are you feeling?” Murphy asked.

  “How do I look?”

  “Kind of beaten up.”

  I’d tried not to look while I was in the bathroom but I’d gotten a quick glimpse in the mirror before I could avert my eyes. The left side of my face was scratched and my chin was fat and starting to discolor. I looked like I’d been in a fight.

  “Well, I feel worse than I look,” I said, just as my cell phone rang.

  It was a private number. “Hello?”

  “Jane? It’s Tomas Lopez. I’ve been following up on some of the leads you gave me.”

  “Already?”

  “A couple of things are easy to figure out, if you have the means. I thought you should know that Craig Cuddahy was not on the island that night.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Cuddahy was on a flight from Phoenix to Portland from nine p.m. until eleven. Jesse was taken to the hospital at ten-thirty. If there was a man confronting Bobby Reynolds as Jesse said, then he’s someone else.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I t took me another two days before I felt like really stirring around. Everyone said it was so fast. I was so lucky. Well, I didn’t feel either fast or lucky. I felt irritated and annoyed. Everyone said grouchiness was a sign of improvement. That really pissed me off.

  Murphy was the only one who seemed to think I was taking my sweet time, but then he was chomping at the bit to get the hell out of Dodge. For my part, I simply did not know how to feel. I wasn’t up to planning a move out of state. I could tell Murphy wanted some sign that I was ready to go, but it just wasn’t in me.

  On Friday evening Cynthia stopped by. She examined Murphy’s roses which had passed their zenith of beauty. She brought me a bouquet of long stemmed glass flowers: roses, irises, and snapdragons. I was overwhelmed and worried about the cost.

  “They’re on sale at the Black Swan,” she said.

  “I’m afraid to think about the price.”

  She gave me a crooked smile. “Well, since it looks like it’s my gallery, I figured I could splurge.”

  “You bought the gallery?”

  “I’m in the process. Your friend Tess has apparently moved back to Texas permanently. I made her an offer. She turned me down flat. I made her another offer and said that was it, and she accepted. She likes to think she’s driving a hard bargain.” Cynthia’s smile deepened. “So many people do.”

  “Tess isn’t exactly a friend of mine. Certainly not anymore.”

  “Your ex-client, then.” She gazed critically at my face. “Glad to see you’re going to live. And playing house with Mr. Murphy, too. Finally getting some good sex?”

  “I was.”

  “Where is the man?”

  “Tying up every loose end he ever had in Lake Chinook. He wants me to move to Santa Fe with him.”

  That caught her attention. “Are you?”

  I lifted my palms.

  Cynthia could only stay a few minutes, but I assured her I would let her know my decision as soon as I’d made it for certain. After she left I removed Murphy’s dying flowers from the only vase I possessed, cleaned it out, then arranged the glass flowers inside. I really liked them. If I’d had a mantel, I would have set them on it, but as it was my beat-up end table would have to suffice.

  Bored, I wandered around the bungalow. Murphy had purchased a new computer, ostensibly for me—a laptop. It was so quiet, it worried me. He spent half his time on the Internet. He’d managed to find buyers for the four vintage Cadillacs Cotton had given him, and he was wrapping things up at the speed of light. A last few items were
scattered across the kitchen counters. His smallest bag was there and I unzipped it and peeked inside, only to be faced with the gun again. I rezipped the bag. He was going to have to ship the damn thing back.

  I walked out my back door and rested my elbows on the deck rail. The evening was warm. It was still light out, but growing darker. I watched a boat slowly pass by, its lights switched on as it cruised along. Slightly depressed, I walked around the house, passing between the cottage, the shed and the detached garage where Ogilvy stored God knew what. I’d argued with the man long and hard about letting me use the garage, but Ogilvy liked to play the deaf card when it suited him. He was old enough to be hard of hearing, but I knew it was a ploy.

  I was itching to get in my Volvo and go somewhere. I wasn’t leaving my car. And I wasn’t leaving Binkster, either.

  Standing in front of the cottage now, I glanced back. Binky was on a chair under the window, her nose pressed to the glass. She watched me as I stood in the middle of my driveway, gazing back at the house, memorizing it. I hate to admit it, because I don’t like getting all sappy, but I loved my cottage. Okay, strictly speaking it was Ogilvy’s, but I’d put my stamp on it.

  I didn’t want to leave.

  Kicking a rock out of the way, I walked back toward the garage which lay on the east side of the cottage. From the west side there was no getting to the backyard, as the access was cut off by an overbearing laurel hedge. But a dirt path cutting through volunteer tufts of crabgrass gave access on the east side. I retraced my steps but stopped about halfway toward the deck.

  The dusty ground in front of the garage bore the tire tracks of a car that wasn’t mine. Nor was it any of my recent visitors. None of us ever parked off the asphalt that led from the road to the front of the cottage. My usual spot, where the Volvo sat currently waiting, was the parking pad which was perpendicular to the dirt drive that led to the garage.

  But there were a clear set of tracks in the dust. I thought hard. Murphy didn’t park there. Neither did Dwayne. I’d seen Cynthia’s car in the driveway, and I didn’t believe Lopez would have pulled up so far.