“You’ve got tables waiting, young lady. Get along.”
Peggy sighed and followed him away, but not before she dropped Aaron a provocative wink. He winked back, and I kicked him under the table.
“A little young for you, isn’t she?”
“Hey, I’m on vacation. Her boss was kind of rude, though.”
“He’s not just her boss, he’s her grandfather, so watch yourself.” I sipped thoughtfully at my coffee. “You know, ZZ thinks that Guy Price was a drug dealer. I suppose it’s possible that’s why he was killed, but—”
“A drug hit?” Aaron scowled and rapped down his cup. “Hold it right there. Let’s talk about this outside.”
Then he dropped some bills on the table and walked out of the restaurant. I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d knocked over the table or thrown his coffee on the floor. The Aaron I knew simply didn’t behave like this.
I followed him out to the sidewalk. “What was all that? I don’t care how scarred you are, don’t ever treat me that way again.”
He made a brushing-aside motion with one hand. “Fine, whatever. Sorry. But are you out of your mind, to stick your nose into a drug hit? This is a small place, Carnegie. Start asking questions about something like this and the word will go out so fast you’ll get whiplash. You found the corpse, for God’s sake! You could have seen something, or even someone. They won’t know for sure, but they’ll make damn sure you can’t testify.”
Aaron didn’t raise his voice, but the intensity of his tone caught the attention of a few passersby—and one of them was Moonface, who was pretending to look in a shop window. I was still being tailed! I scowled at him, then got into the car and slammed the door. Aaron followed suit.
“First of all,” I said, “we don’t even know there is a ‘they.’ I think Guy was killed over something more personal than drugs, and I’m going to find out what. You can help me or not.”
“Not,” he said fiercely, and the accelerator whined as he turned the key too hard. “Where to now?”
Good question, on a couple of levels.
“Back to the bed-and-breakfast, I guess. Turn right up here and I’ll direct you.” I deliberately slowed my breathing, trying to speak calmly. “If the police aren’t finished there, I can always go over to Owen’s. Where are you staying?”
Aaron didn’t answer. He might have been busy with the traffic coming off the ferry, or he might not have heard me. Or he might be expecting to stay with me, I thought, wincing inside. And I’d like that, if he’d quit being so belligerent. I’d like that a lot. Maybe if I just invite him . . .
But, not for the first time in my life, I was wrong. Aaron followed my prompts to Roche Harbor Road, merged into traffic, then said, “Lily got me a room at some hotel. Harold, Harrow, something like that. I guess she’s staying there too.”
“Hotel de Haro. It’s a great place, you’ll like it. Built in the 1880s, full of antiques—”
“You mean creaky furniture and paper-thin walls.”
“I mean, it sounds really nice. Aaron, what’s going on? Why are you acting this way?”
Just ahead, a side road led off along a grassy field scattered with trees. Aaron turned into it and pulled up by a barbed-wire fence. We got out of the car. To our left the sun was sinking into veils of gold and saffron cloud, and above us the sky had that luminous, expanded quality that tells you the ocean is nearby.
Aaron stood with one hand on a fence post, looking into the sky with his jaw set. Then he pounded his fist on the post and turned back to me.
“What you’re doing is dangerous, Carnegie. Dangerous, as in getting hurt. You don’t seem to realize . . .” He shook his head, and a lock of black hair fell across his brow.
“Realize what?”
“What it feels like to get hurt. Everything’s different afterward.”
I was beginning to understand. The hostility, the rude behavior, the reluctance to come back to Seattle. It wasn’t just Aaron’s confidence that was shaken. Being trapped in that fire had violated his trust in life, his fundamental sense of well-being, and he was still regaining his balance.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, just held out my arms. Aaron stepped into them and then pulled me to him so tightly that I gasped. He leaned back against the fence post and I leaned into him, eyes closed, for a long time, just listening to him breathe.
Then the breathing sounds grew loud and weird. I opened my eyes—and yelped in fright. A face like a skinny camel’s was hanging over Aaron’s shoulder, almost nose-to-nose with me. I saw dark fathomless eyes fringed by flirtatious lashes, and above them two twitching ears that swiveled forward and then flattened flat back when Aaron looked around and gave a startled shout.
“What the hell?”
The affronted creature reared its head, wrinkled its cleft upper lip, and issued a high humming noise.
“Duck!” I cried.
Too late. The llama nailed us both.
Chapter Sixteen
Llama spit, I have since learned, is not actually spit, but a portion of the stomach contents expelled by the animal to demonstrate dominance, frustration, or fear. What I learned immediately, and unforgettably, is that llama spit is sparse and green, and that it stinks like you would not believe. We’re talking about a throat-strangling, eyes-watering, my-kingdom-for-a-bath kind of major, serious stench.
Aaron rolled down all the windows and we zoomed away, hoping the air would help. It didn’t.
“Take a right here . . . another right . . . now a left . . . Oh, thank God.”
I couldn’t bear the thought of stumbling into the Hotel de Haro reeking like this, so the sight of the Owl’s Roost driveway devoid of cop cars, was a huge relief. I had my key out before I opened the car door, and rushed across my porch and into 6C with Aaron right on my heels.
“You first,” he gasped gallantly, wrenching at his shirt buttons.
I didn’t demur, but closed the bathroom door, stripped, and stepped into the shower. It took the whole guest bottle of shampoo before I could breathe normally again.
I could tell the room had been searched, from the tidy grouping of my normally chaotic toiletries, but my short traveling robe was where I’d left it on the back of the door. I wrapped myself up and cleared the way for Aaron. He was already down to jeans and bare feet, and he’d opened the room’s windows but not the door to the hallway, thus sparing the other guests. Good man.
While he scrubbed down, I put on slippers and dug out a plastic bag for our sullied shirts. The room smelled almost normal by the time he emerged, his hair dripping into his eyes and an Owl’s Roost towel knotted around his hips. He held a wrist brace in his left hand, the straps dangling.
“I think I’ll live. You OK?”
I nodded, mute.
“So what’s the matter?” He looked down at himself. “Oh.”
The scar on Aaron’s face was only a token of the damage caused by the fire and the crash. His chest was marred too, horribly, and the dark hair on his right forearm was seamed with pale lines and angry red patches where the shattered bones had been fitted back together.
“Oh, Aaron.”
His face was stone. “Don’t stare, Stretch, it’s rude. Just get my bag from the car, would you?”
I brought it and we dressed in silence, our backs to each other. A gentle gray twilight was falling. We heard muted footsteps overhead and then distant voices and car engines as the other guests went out for dinner. The trees outside the open windows rustled and grew still.
Then came more silence, which I had to force myself to break. We spoke at once.
“Aaron, do you want—”
“I guess I should—” He tried again. “Do I want what?”
“Um, do you want directions to the hotel?”
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
I was at the desk pulling out the map when my cell phone chirped.
“Hey, girl,” said Lily’s voice. “Is
he there? You forgive me for not warning you?” She sounded cheery enough, but I could tell she was worried. “Is everything OK?”
“Fine.” I glanced over to where Aaron was tying his shoes. “Everything’s just fine.”
“Oh, good. He stayed at my place last night, but when I dropped him at the ferry he looked like . . . well, I wasn’t sure he’d get on it. So you two are all right with each other?”
“Yes, mother,” I teased her. “You can relax now.”
Aaron looked at me across the width of the bed. A long, considering look.
“Relax, my ass,” said Lily. “Do all your brides get butterflies this big?”
“Giant butterflies. Pterodactyls.”
Aaron came around the bed toward me. Lily was still speaking, but it was hard to focus on her words. The room felt very warm.
“Last night I dreamed there was a tornado during the ceremony!” she said, laughing.
“What? Um, honestly, everything’s going to be beautiful. The lavender fields are . . . beautiful. Lily, can I call you back tomorrow? Fine. ’Bye.” I set down the phone and looked into Aaron’s eyes.
It might have happened then. We might have fallen into bed and erased the last few months. But as we stood there hesitating, something changed. He began to speak, stopped, and I saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed nervously.
Aaron Gold, nervous? The very idea must have done something to my own expression. I looked away, he took a step back, and then someone was knocking briskly at the hallway door and the moment was gone.
“There you are!” said Pamela, her plump arms piled with folded white terry cloth. “I completely forgot to tell you, but we ask everyone to turn in their damp towels by ten in the morning because that’s when we do laundry.” She paused for breath. “But I thought I’d bring you an extra set now, in case you want to sleep late tomorrow after that little fuss with the police . . . ?”
Apparently the price of clean towels was information. And since we’d just run through every towel in the place, I opted for full disclosure.
“It was a bit of a fuss, wasn’t it?” I said brightly. “The police are investigating me because I’m the one who found Guy’s . . . who found him.”
From Pamela’s look of distress I sensed that she, unlike her husband, wasn’t hungry for the gory details of the murder scene. But she had a right to know why 6C had been ransacked.
“They searched my room, I guess you know that, but I hope it didn’t disturb your other guests. I’m terribly sorry, Pamela. If you want me to leave—”
“Absolutely not,” she said, with a valiant little scowl. It was unimpressive, like a Pekingese baring its fangs, but I was glad to have a defender nonetheless. “You’re our guest, and I’m sure that O’Roscoe or whatever his name is will come to his senses. You wouldn’t hurt a soul, I can tell that just by looking at you.”
“Which means you’re an excellent judge of character,” said Aaron from behind me. His tone, like mine, was a shade too hearty. “Pamela, is it? I’m Aaron Gold. Great place you have here.”
She stared at his scar and then looked away in poorly disguised pity. How many hundreds of times had Aaron endured that by now? But even pity didn’t trump Pamela’s keen eye for a dollar.
“I’m so glad you like it,” she said to the air beyond his shoulder, and then turned to me. “You do know there’s a surcharge for a second person?”
“I was just leaving,” said Aaron. “Wasn’t I, Stretch?”
“I guess so.”
Pamela, damn her, took her own sweet time leaving, so she watched as Aaron picked up his duffel bag and moved toward the unit’s back door.
“Wait,” I said.
He waited, but I couldn’t think what to say next.
“See you tomorrow?” he offered.
“Yes! Yes, there’s a lunch at Owen’s place. Maybe you could give me a ride there?”
“Fine. What time?”
“Noon. See you then?”
He didn’t look at me. “Fine.”
My phone chirped again as Aaron went out his door and Pamela at last closed hers. I thought it might be Lily again, but it was Mike Graham instead—and the bridegroom wasn’t calling about butterflies. In fact he was still at work. I could make out phones and voices in the background, and Mike himself was in official detective mode.
“I just saw the homicide report. Are you all right?”
“More or less.”
“Did they offer you victim’s assistance counseling? That’s for witnesses too, you know.”
“I guess they don’t have counseling for suspects.”
“What do you mean, suspects?”
“I mean me.” I recapped the events of the past few days. “So tell me, do I need a lawyer?”
“Only if you really think you’re being harassed.” I was relieved to note that my innocence was a given, at least with Mike. “But I’ve worked with Orozco. He’s a good man. He’ll have your background down here checked out, and—hold on.”
I heard his palm cover the receiver, a muffled exchange, and then he was back.
“I should go. Don’t worry, once it’s been established that you didn’t know the victim, you’ll be in the clear.”
“But they’ve got me under surveillance, Mike! I’m probably being surveyed, or whatever you call it, by every cop on the island.”
He chuckled. “I doubt that. They’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“What kind of fish?”
A disconcerted pause, perhaps as Mike remembered that he was talking to a civilian.
“Never mind. Forget it, OK? Just sit tight and cooperate, and I’ll see you soon.” He hurried on as if to cover his slip. “Unless you want to come back to Seattle and postpone the wedding? I hate to do that to Lily, but if this has been too rough on you—”
“That’s sweet of you to offer, Mike, but don’t even think about it. The plans are all set and there’s no reason to change them.”
Of course, my personal plans included pointing Orozco’s investigation in a more accurate direction, but it seemed the better part of valor not to mention that. Mike could be so fussy about the general public getting involved in police work. You’d think he’d be grateful, really.
“Are you sure?” he was asking.
“Sure I’m sure. And don’t forget,” I said, looking sadly at my empty bed, “I’ve got Aaron here to hold my hand.”
Chapter Seventeen
I spent Wednesday night not sleeping and Thursday morning on the phone.
First I canceled my other marketing appointments, then I called Eddie to tell him I’d done so. I expected a bit of grumbling, but got exponentially more than that.
“What the hell kind of trouble are you getting into on that island?” he sputtered. “You know who’s downstairs right now?”
My heart sank. “The police?”
“The goddamn police, that’s who’s downstairs! And they’ve already been up here, going through the files and asking me all kinds of goddamn questions. Who the hell is this Guy Price?”
I explained the situation, and then explained it again, and by the time I got done, the sputtering had almost subsided.
“How’s Louise taking all this?”
“Well, I haven’t told her about the search warrant, so don’t you either, all right? I don’t want to upset her, especially now with—” I caught myself. Best to let Mom tell him herself that she planned to marry Owen. “Especially now when she’s having such a nice time.”
“That makes sense,” he said grudgingly. “But try and stay out of trouble, would you? If it’s not one thing it’s another with you. Of all the—”
“Eddie, I’ve got to go. Aaron’s here to take me to lunch.”
“So he finally showed up, huh? About time.”
No kidding. “Good-bye, Eddie.”
Aaron parked his car in the space next to the porch and got out. He had dressed for the occasion in sharply creased khakis and a summery shirt. A long-
sleeved shirt.
“Could I get a glass of water, Stretch?”
“Of course.”
I almost asked him how he was feeling, but that was obvious—he used the water to wash down more pain pills. I refrained from comment, and I also refrained from telling him about the police searching my houseboat. If Aaron didn’t want to help, fine. India and I would figure this out for ourselves.
Being a Seattleite, I’d brought a jacket just in case, but once at the car I tossed it in the backseat. The San Juans are in the “rain shadow” of the Olympic Mountains, and today was another typically sunny afternoon.
“Gorgeous day, isn’t it?” I said.
“Beats Boston.”
Having exhausted that topic, we fell silent until we reached the main road. Then Aaron, obviously groping for another one, said, “Hey, fill me in about the Winters. You said Owen has a daughter?”
“Two. And two is plenty. Wait’ll you meet them.”
This was better; the drive from the Owl’s Roost to the house on Afterglow Drive was barely long enough to explain my tumultuous relations with the Winter family. But I talked fast and got it all in, from my harrowing plane ride with Adrienne to my mother’s engagement to her new fiancé’s barely suppressed streak of anger.
Meanwhile I kept checking the rearview mirror for police cars, marked or unmarked. But if Moonface was back there following us, I didn’t spot him. Maybe he was learning on the job.
Aaron, ever the reporter, kept his questions about the Winters short and to the point. But before we got out of the car there was one question I had to ask him.
“Tell me,” I said, my fingertips on his arm. I could feel the strap of his wrist brace beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. “Are you really OK with this? It sounds like you haven’t been socializing much since . . .”
“Since the hospital. Tell you the truth, Carnegie, I haven’t been socializing at all. But I’ve got to start somewhere, don’t I?” He grinned a little, showing a flash of the old Aaron. “Besides, I like your mom, so I’m going to find out if this new guy is good enough for her. First I’ll ask him about their sex life, and then—”
You May Now Kill the Bride Page 10