As she stood on the other side of the door, trying to breathe quietly, she heard them speaking to each other in hushed tones. Probably talking about her: What do you say to a crazy lady? How do you handle a woman on the edge?
Like a mad porcupine, she supplied. Very carefully.
God, she didn’t want to hang on the verge of hysteria, with her brothers and mother treating her as if she were a delicate glass-blown woman, primed to disintegrate in a million pieces. Worse was to have strangers see her this way. Why had she gone to the funeral planner’s house? That day, words were lost to her when she’d needed them most. She’d babbled, made threats and acted like a nut. Her goal had been to beg the funeral planner to minimize the memorial. Instead, she’d proven to them she was cracked.
“Don’t let them in,” Tess reminded herself. Her lifetime goal had been to keep the dark side of her family hidden, not to speak of it to relatives or friends. Certainly not to strangers.
But that was before talk of a memorial lauding her father. Now the details of her upbringing rushed into her consciousness, filling her brain with so much pain she was sure her head would explode. If she couldn’t find a way to release the pressure by stopping the memorial, she’d have to put a hole in her head. Definitely.
“Tess. We want to help. Give us a specific reason to stop the memorial and we’ll do it,” came the woman’s voice from the other side of the door.
With her forehead resting on the door, her palms pressed on the cool wood, Tess whispered, “Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door. Even if they say the right things, don’t open the door. I promised my brothers I’d never tell. If I let them in, I’ll tell.”
The man’s voice chimed in. “You begged us to stop the ceremony. We’re here, Tess. Tell us what to do.”
“You’ll find out we’re working for your mother again, Tess,” the funeral planner said. “We’re willing to convince her to cancel the event if you provide us with the reasons. Please.”
Their words compounded the pressure building inside her head. Would talking to the man and woman stop the pain? One of Tess’ hands slipped to the doorknob, ready to release the lock. Her other hand found its way to her jeans pocket where it fingered the cool metal of her father’s gun, the one she’d lifted from her parent’s bedroom, a gift to her father from the NRA’s famous movie-star president.
The idea of putting a hole in her head seemed simpler than telling her story to two strangers. A benevolent explosion. A blessed release. If she killed herself, the memorial would surely be cancelled; she’d accomplish her goal without confiding in the people who begged at her door. The family secrets would remain buried and her brothers could move on with their lives.
More important, Tess would end her own agony.
Chapter Sixteen
In the quiet of the early morning, she slipped on her robe, carried her folding desk and chair to the study and shut herself and Elwood in the room, determined to let Roman sleep late.
The dog clickety-clacked to Jan’s side, looking up expectantly. Tiny burrs from the bushes dotted his chin hairs, making him look unkempt, like an old man who dropped food on his beard when he ate.
She swore under her breath and bent to pluck the burrs out one by one. Afterward he cocked his black head, seeming to ask why she’d locked him in the study, away from his food bowl.
“Sorry, kid. Our goal is to let Roman sleep so he has less time to work on the Johnson thing.” She’d checked with The Seattle Times this morning. They said the pedestal was built. A little ceremony and the placing of Johnson’s bust in front of the Johnson Institute was scheduled a week from today…if Jan could keep Roman occupied enough so that his muckraking article never saw the light of day.
She pumped her fist. “He thinks he’s protecting me, but I’m actually holding him here to save the Senator. Plus, with him sleeping, I can focus on my work.”
Thank God she hadn’t let Frank stay in her house. He would have made an overture to have sex, out of politeness as much as need, and she would have had to refuse. Awkward. Hurtful. So confusing.
Frank. Roman. Jan gazed at Elwood, wondering why both men got an abnormal reaction from the dog. Frank got the stare and Roman, the growl. Why?” The sun glinted off her dew-laden Mexican sage bush reminding her to sharpen her critique. Roman was conducting covert research into the Senator and Barker’s lives along with who knew what else. The man was a flaw-finding short-timer, well-deserving of a growl. Was Frank up to something secretive, too?
“You and I are going to think hard and move fast when we’re around those two, right?”
The Scottie grabbed his tennis ball from the corner of the room and brought it to her just as Roman appeared in the kitchen. Through the square-paned glass doors of the study she saw him, sleepy-eyed, in T-shirt and shorts. Barefoot. He got coffee and took a couple swallows before he looked for her.
She held her breath, stomach taut, waiting for him to find her.
Though she remembered to exhale, the sight of his expression of relief when he located her made Jan forget the pledge she’d made a second before. She motioned for him to come in.
Elwood, sticking to protocol, dropped his ball and growled.
****
Roman dug in his pocket for a dog biscuit, careful not to tip his too-full cup of coffee. He glanced at his exposed feet and ankles, wondering if he could protect them at the same time he balanced his precious French Roast.
“Shit,” he said, sotto voce, grasping the cup and the dog biscuit in one hand and opening the door with the other. All he wanted was to look at Jan in her silky blue bathrobe, banter with her over coffee and get his juices going about Barker. But no, he had to deal with the devil dog.
Roman grimaced as Grandpa Sid’s mantra drifted into his mind: You’ll never be a good writer until you get into your subject’s skin.
Roman had always rejected the notion and told his grandfather so, weekly. “Not true, Sidney. My job is to be objective.”
Elwood was a subject. Clearly Roman wasn’t getting anywhere with the little black hellion. Might be fun to test Sid’s theory on an animal. Not a lab rat. A dog. Jan’s gatekeeper.
He opened the door, his eyes on Elwood, the draft of air on his ankles reminding him of their vulnerability. Kneeling down, partly to protect his bare skin, he placed his coffee cup on the floor and fingered the dog biscuit.
“Good morning, Elwood. And how are you today?”
The dog’s growl deepened. Roman caught Jan’s puzzled look.
Roman cleared his throat, feeling silly talking to the dog instead of Jan. How did someone get into a dog’s skin?
“We’re both protecting Jazz, Elwood. Makes us partners, right?”
The dog eyed the biscuit and licked his lips, but didn’t budge from his position next to Jan’s chair.
“I won’t hurt her, I promise.” Easy to say. Was he telling the truth?
Elwood rumbled, his tail wagging to the left. Roman tried to remember what left-wagging meant in doggie language.
Not buying it. Doesn’t appreciate a promise based on a negative.
“I’ll help her. I’ll make her happy.”
Where did that come from? Shit, this was awkward.
He held out the biscuit, muttering a curse against Sidney and his “walk in their paws” principle. How could a human know what a dog wanted?
Roman glanced at Jan, catching a dazzling smile. At least Sid’s strategy worked on her.
Back to the animal. The dog hadn’t moved, but his eyes were now focused on the treat.
“I’ll let her read the draft on Senator Johnson.”
The dog ambled toward him, stopping a foot from the proffered biscuit. He sat, his eyes on Roman’s.
“I’ll consider her critique of the thing.”
Right-wag.
Elwood delicately removed the food from Roman’s fingers, trotted to a sunny spot near the window and sprawled there, the food between his paws.
Roman
picked up his cup and rose, his face hot with embarrassment. Christ, I’m talking to a dog when what I really want is to hold her, run my hands over her body, kiss her…
He examined his hand, checking for rough places that might catch on her satin robe and spoil his caresses.
Surely his silk fantasies and dog talk had marked his face with chagrin and lust. What would that look like to her? Since he was too chicken to find out, he pretended that Elwood’s progress on the biscuit and the Los Padres peaks held his interest.
He couldn’t believe what he’d promised her. Sure, Elwood seemed placated, but was she? Would she hold him to vows made to a dog?
Even when he heard Jan push her chair from the table, he couldn’t look at her.
“I accept your offers,” she said leaning in, her breath warming his ear, satin brushing his arm. “Elly and I thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m going to shower and dress before the phones start ringing. You boys enjoy your new-found partnership.”
Roman watched her walk away, mesmerized by the sway of the silk bathrobe against her sweet ass.
Forget “under her skin;” he’d be satisfied with “under the bathrobe.”
****
After she’d taken her shower, Jan selected her clothes carefully, as if the colors, textures, and fit might determine the success of her next moves. Roman’s promises to Elwood, her go between, had changed her mind about the man. Maybe he wouldn’t ruin Senator Johnson’s biography. Perhaps he hadn’t Googled her past. Was there a chance he’d be fair when he delivered Sidney’s eulogy?
She felt silly picking out clothes to bolster her confidence and cinch a man’s vows. Still, she sorted through her shirts and pants, choosing a form-fitting pink sleeveless silk paired with white capris. Add big gold hoop earrings and a noisy bracelet. The jewelry would tip her off if she got nervous and remind her to calm down.
Once dressed, Jan blew dry her hair and brushed it hard. Added a spray to give it shine. Applied an eight-hour lipstick. Brushed on mascara. A spritz of perfume.
Ready?
The mirror told her she looked pale and uncertain. She dabbed blush on her cheeks to emulate heartiness.
Why go to all the trouble? Because he’d literally gotten down on his knees to make friends with Elwood. For her.
“If you let me critique your script on the Senator, I’ll help you dig into Barker’s life,” she said as she entered the great room, afraid if she didn’t say what she wanted right away, she’d lose her nerve.
He remained at the open patio door sipping coffee. The lift of his shoulders signaled he’d heard her. Was he surprised?
“Okay,” he said, as if her request was no big deal. He seemed to wait for her to stop moving. Grabbing her bracelet to quiet it, she conjured a serene lake, becalmed and smooth as a mirror. Big breath. Take it. “Just so you know. My first obligation is to Tess,” she said. “Not your exposé on Cliff Barker.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Dog walker at your service, ma’am,” Pete said when Jan opened her front door.
She smiled and pecked him on the cheek. “Perfect timing. I was feeling guilty about not fitting in a walk with Elwood this morning. How are you, Pete?”
“Excellent. You sound rushed.”
“Been busy at the computer. I’m taking Roman to the San Luis Mission soon with high hopes of helping him hone his eulogy.”
“Oh? And where is your reluctant speechmaker and body guard?”
“Over at Bella’s, coordinating with dad.”
Pete leaned against the doorjamb while Jan scurried to pick up her purse and folders and get Elwood leashed. She handed the end of the leash to Pete. “We’ve got some chaos going on here.”
“Indeed, you do. Not your favorite state of being, is it?”
Jan stared out the open doorway at the sidewalk, wishing her brain was as centered and straight. “Frank showed up yesterday.” She thumbed toward Bella’s house. “He stayed there. Roman here.”
Pete smiled. “Elwood chaperoned?”
She shrugged. “Not needed.”
“Do I hear yearning in that voice?”
“No way.” She sighed, thinking about the folly of hiding her emotions from Pete. “God, I wish I could take life calmly the way you do.”
With a wry smile, Pete said, “Goes with the handicap, sweetheart. Gotta take things slow and easy so I don’t fall into big holes or get hit by buses.”
She touched him on the arm to show appreciation for his wit. “Am I wrong to forsake steady ol’ Frank after twelve years? Am I nuts to fight for the rights of a batty woman? Frank’s sure I don’t have the fortitude for taking on causes.”
“Ever notice how your energy and self esteem levels vary with your audience? You might have lived comfortably with Frank, but maybe that wasn’t the best kind of life for you. So you faint from time to time. Big deal.”
“Frank says I ran away from him six months ago.”
Pete raised an eyebrow. “You helped your mother through chemo and radiation.”
“Yes,” Jan said. “I did. Quitting my job and spending time with mom was the right thing to do. Then I helped dad get through the funeral and agreed to take mom’s place as his partner for awhile.” She hesitated. “That seemed important, too.”
Pete squeezed her arm. “You have a flair for the job, Jan. Amy would be proud.”
“I like bringing order and focus into the lives of families in turmoil. Funny how personnel issues bugged me at HighTech, but in funeral planning, I get a rush out of framing lessons for the living out of death.”
“Makes sense to me,” Pete said as he walked with Jan out to the sidewalk. “You know, your voice changes when you talk about Frank versus your life here in Arroyo Grande. Much more energy in the latter.”
“The sun gives me a boost, no question. The weather in Seattle got on my nerves.”
“It’s more than climate, Janny. Amy told me you’re the creative one in the family.”
“She did?”
“Yup. She bemoaned the fact you had no outlet for it in your Seattle job.”
“Well, aren’t you the father confessor?”
Pete shrugged. “We had a lot of time to talk, Amy and I, while she helped me grocery shop.”
“You rock, Pete. The cops are lucky you’re on their side, as am I.”
With a chuckle, Pete said, “They don’t feel so lucky when they get my bills.”
Jan was quiet for a moment, wondering if she should bring up yet another problem. Poor Pete. She was always using his forensic skills for free. Pretty soon, he’d have to bill her.
He grasped her shoulder. “Tell all, J. What’s bugging you?”
“My flash drive. With a ton of information about the Barker funeral and all my research notes. Including the e-mail addresses of everyone coming to the memorial.”
“Stolen?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
Pete turned to face the front door, telegraphing with his sightless glance the fact that Jan habitually left the door wide open in good weather.
“Since my motorcycle incident, I’ve been better at locking doors. Really.”
Pete gently took her hand and said, “I’m not leaving until Roman returns. You stick to him like glue, understand?”
“But…”
His stern look barred any argument.
“I’m not changing my mind about your cause, Janny. It’s worthy and you can handle it. But someone doesn’t like what you and your dad are learning. That’s clear. Just travel in packs.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’ll send someone over to lift fingerprints off the desk. It’s a long shot, and it’s going to make a big mess for you to clean up, but I think we should do it. If the burglar spent any amount of time searching for stuff, he may have left prints.”
Jan squeezed Pete’s hand to offset a shiver of fear. She’d spent months looking over her shoulder for the Seattle stalker and now a new kind of danger faced her in Arroyo Grande. Gazing toward Bella’s hou
se, she waited for Roman to appear, resenting her need for him even as she sought the pleasure of his company. Inwardly she groaned. Frank had sheltered her for twelve years. Was she expecting Roman to fill the same role?
Elwood strained at the leash, urging Pete to follow. Pete said, “No one likes being tethered, Jan. A good relationship should free you, not contain you.”
“Thanks, Master Po.”
Pete grinned. “Amy said I was to watch over you, but I didn’t realize how high maintenance you’d be.”
Jan gave him a playful sock on the arm. “Here comes Roman. I promise I won’t clean the desk till your print-lifter comes and you know where the key is hidden. If we’re not here, you can put Elwood in the back yard after you finish your ‘babe walk.’”
Roman came to Jan’s side, greeted Pete, then squinted at Jan as if he knew something was up. Interesting that Roman was learning to read her moods the way Pete could. She said, “We’ve got a new wrinkle.”
With his eyebrow up, Roman looked first at Pete, then Jan.
“Turns out you aren’t the only one who wants to rip off all my research on Cliff Barker.”
****
“Your grandfather gets the last word,” Jan said to Roman, holding open her arms as if to embrace the beauty of the Old Mission gardens. She stood in front of an eight-foot double-basined fountain. “You’ll speak from here. By eleven o’clock, the sun won’t be in our faces like it is now. Once they move those giant barbecues and picnic tables out of the way, we’ve got plenty of room for seventy-five chairs.” Pointing, she added, “Ten across, eight rows down. Padded seats.”
“But he wasn’t a religious man, Jazz. Why choose an abbey, next to a Catholic Church?”
“Because he loved history and the church defined California’s past. When I suggested this place to Bella, she was enchanted with the idea.” Jan pointed to the lush gardens protected on one side by the church and two other sides by the abbey. “We’re shielded from the wind here; the weatherman predicts sixty-five degrees at eleven o’clock. After the ceremony, we walk along the creek two blocks to Tortilla Flats, a restaurant that serves traditional Mexican food, Sidney’s favorite. I’ve reserved the whole restaurant for lunch. Sangria, make your own fajitas and deep fried ice cream for dessert.” She winked. “All loved by your grandfather.”
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