Yeast of Eden

by Sarah Fox

  “They’ve got some really nice notebooks over here, Marley,” Sienna said, waving me over to a shelf at the back of the shop. She managed to make it sound like we were there on a hunt for notebooks rather than information.

  When I joined her by the display, she lowered her voice. “I’ll see if Justine’s in.”

  Even though I wasn’t really looking for a notebook, a white one decorated with colorful sea creatures caught my eye. I picked it up off the shelf as Sienna poked her head through the open door at the back of the store.

  “Hey, Justine,” I heard her say. “Working on a story?”

  A phone rang over by the checkout counter, and Charlene answered it. Still holding the notebook, I wandered over in Sienna’s direction and joined her in the open doorway.

  “I’m writing a piece about the ladies’ night at the hardware store,” Justine was saying.

  Since the newspaper only had one issue per week—on Wednesdays—an edition hadn’t been published since the event, or since the murder, for that matter.

  “And Charlene’s approved the use of the photo I took of you and Marley,” she added, once she and I had exchanged greetings.

  “Cool,” Sienna said. “Have you written an article about the murder?”

  I had to admit, Sienna was doing a good job of casually steering the conversation in the direction we wanted it to go.

  “Yes.” Justine craned her neck to peer around us and out the door. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s not quite what I wanted to write, but Charlene’s the boss, so…” She shrugged.

  “What was it she didn’t want you writing about?” I asked.

  “The many reasons why Wally Fowler might have been killed. More than one person in town had an ax to grind with him, but Charlene thinks detailing those grudges comes too close to accusing specific individuals, and she doesn’t want to upset people. So instead I’ve got this bland article that doesn’t say much more than the official statement we got from the sheriff’s department.”

  “What does that statement say?”

  “Not much. Just that Fowler’s death has been ruled a murder and they’re pursuing their inquiries. I can add in a bit of harmless background information, but it’s not the juicy story I was hoping to write.”

  “Do you think his sister is a suspect?” Sienna asked.

  I would have given her a thumbs up if I could have done so without Justine seeing.

  The reporter picked up a pen and tapped it against her leg. “She stood the most to gain since she’s inheriting Wally’s money.”

  I made a mental note of that information.

  “How come Wally inherited money and Vicky didn’t?” Sienna asked.

  “Maybe because they were half siblings,” I guessed.

  “Yes,” Justine said. “They had the same mother but different fathers. Wally’s inheritance came from his father’s aunt.”

  “What if Vicky hated that he got so much money and she got nothing?” Sienna said. “That would give her even more reason to want him dead.”

  “But she’s got an ironclad alibi,” Justine said.

  “Really?” I said. “I heard she was out of town, but I didn’t know if that had been confirmed.”

  “Apparently there’s security footage from a convenience store in Seattle to show she was in the city when her brother was killed. Besides, she’s not very tall.”

  I latched on to that statement. “And the killer was?”

  “According to my source at the sheriff’s office. The killer had to be tall enough and strong enough to shove Fowler’s head into a bowl while he was in the middle of pouring liquid nitrogen into it. And then the murderer held his head there until he died.”

  So Ivan’s theory about the method of killing was correct.

  “Did the sheriff and his deputies find any physical clues at the scene?” I asked.

  “They may have, but I don’t really know.”

  “Wasn’t there someone else working with Wally and Vicky at the waffle house?” Sienna asked.

  “Chester Burns,” I supplied.

  “He’s tall and strong,” Sienna said. “I’ve seen him around. He looks like a bouncer or something.”

  Justine dropped the pen back on the desk. “Chester has an alibi. He was with Vicky.” She slid her chair closer to her computer. “Sorry, guys. I need to get back to work. It might not be the story of my dreams, but I still need to finish it.”

  “Sure,” Sienna said, backing out of the room. “See you around.”

  Charlene was finishing up her phone call, so I took the notebook over to the counter and purchased it.

  “So, what do you think?” Sienna asked once we were back in her car. “Was that helpful at all?”

  “Somewhat. At least we now know Vicky and Chester’s alibi was confirmed.”

  “So we can strike them off our suspect list.”

  “Sienna—”

  She cut me off before I could get any further. “I know, I know. You don’t want me getting involved in the murder investigation. But I helped out, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” I conceded. “But I don’t want you doing anything risky.”

  “You’re not going to tell my mom, are you?”

  “I don’t think there’s any reason to. You didn’t do anything dangerous. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Sienna smiled with relief as she pulled into my driveway. “No problem. Let me know if you make more progress?”

  “Maybe,” I said, not wanting to commit. I didn’t think Patricia would appreciate me fueling her daughter’s newfound enthusiasm for amateur sleuthing.

  Sienna rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Don’t worry so much, Marley. You’re not corrupting me or anything. I’m just curious about what you might find out.”

  “I know.” I got out of the car without making any promises. “See you this weekend, if not sooner.”

  She turned the car around and drove back along the driveway. I’d already noted that Brett’s truck was gone. Judging by the time, he was probably on his way to meet up with Pedro. I was sorry I’d missed seeing him before he left, but hopefully he wouldn’t be gone too long and we could spend the evening together.

  To pass the time until his return, I curled up on the couch with Flapjack and the album of newspaper clippings I’d found in the attic, deciding to read them again, more closely this time. A few of the articles printed shortly after the disappearances of Tassy and Camelia were several paragraphs long, but most of the pieces were short and didn’t take more than a minute or two to read. As more time passed after the disappearances with apparently no real leads, the news items became shorter and less frequent until they stopped altogether, at least in the album.

  I hadn’t learned anything new during the second pass of the articles and I was hungry for more information. Maybe tomorrow I could stop by the museum and talk to Nancy Welch. Even if the album contained all the news stories available about Camelia and Tassy, there could be other information of interest to me. I wanted to know more about Harry Sayers, what kind of guy he was. It didn’t seem like there had been any other potential suspects, but maybe Nancy would know otherwise. It was worth asking, at least.

  Setting the album aside, I took Bentley outside and let him run around on the beach until my face felt numb from the cold. When we headed back up toward the house, Brett’s truck was coming along the driveway. Bentley raced over to greet him, and I followed at a slower pace, but not with any less enthusiasm.

  “How did things go with Pedro?” I asked once I’d given Brett a kiss.

  “Good. Things are a bit behind schedule with me and Dad both off work, but otherwise things are going as smoothly as could be expected in the circumstances.” He put his hands to my cheeks. “You’re freezing.”

  “Bentley and I were down
on the beach, but I think I’ve had my fill of fresh air.”

  “How about we go out and grab a bite to eat?”

  “That sounds like a good idea. Where do you want to go?”

  “The pub?”

  “Sure.”

  We took Bentley back inside and I set out food for him and Flapjack while Brett texted his mom with an update on the job sites. Hopefully getting the information to Frank would put his mind at ease and let him focus on recovering.

  At the Windward Pub, we settled into a booth and ordered our meals without needing to check the menu. Brett asked for a cheeseburger and I requested a veggie burger, both with fries. It was open mic night and a young woman was up on the small stage by the bar, strumming an acoustic guitar and singing a lilting melody.

  With the mellow music relaxing me, I looked across the table at Brett, unable to keep myself from smiling.

  “What?” he asked, a smile of his own appearing.

  “I’m just happy you’re here with me.”

  He reached across the table and took my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles. “So am I.” His smile faded. “I’ll probably need to go back to Seattle, though, for a few days at least.”

  “I know. But for now I’m going to enjoy every minute that you’re here.”

  “That’s my plan too.”

  “Does Chloe know when she’s going back to work?”

  “Probably by Thursday. So I might head back on Wednesday. Gwen’s there with Mom and Chloe right now,” he said, referring to his aunt and Ray’s wife. “But I don’t know how long she can stay and I don’t want my mom to be there on her own. She’d probably try to stay at the hospital twenty-four-seven.”

  “Remember, my offer still stands. If you need me in Seattle, I can make it happen.”

  A man’s voice pulled our attention away from each other. The singer had left the stage and Chester had replaced her.

  “Who knows what it’s like to be used?” he said into the microphone, his speech slightly slurred.

  More heads turned his way.

  “That’s all that ever happens to me,” Chester continued. “I get used and used and used.”

  “That’s Chester Burns,” I whispered to Brett.

  “Who?”

  I remembered that Brett was out of the loop. He knew Wally had been killed, but he hadn’t followed the story at all and we hadn’t talked about it in any detail.

  “But you know what?” Chester swayed to one side before regaining his equilibrium. “I’m done with getting used. I could take people down, you know that? I could. If the truth gets out, I’m not going down alone. You can count on that.”

  He dropped his chin to his chest. His shoulders shook and I realized he was crying.

  The bartender hopped up onto the stage and took his arm. “I’ll call you a cab, Chester. It’s time you went home.”

  Chester mumbled to the bartender as they left the stage. I strained to hear his words but it was no use. The bartender patted Chester’s shoulder and led him away.

  A tall woman with short hair and an athletic build sat at a table a few feet away from me and Brett, her head turned to follow Chester’s progress across the room. I’d seen her at The Flip Side before, but I couldn’t recall her name. I gave up trying to remember it when I caught sight of two more familiar faces across the pub.

  I raised a hand to wave, but Lisa and Ivan hadn’t noticed me. I dropped my hand when I realized that Lisa looked upset. She grabbed her purse and jumped up from her seat. Ivan followed quickly after her, putting a hand to her back as they hurried for the door.

  They left without catching sight of me or Brett.

  “Lisa and Ivan were having dinner together? Have I missed something?” Brett asked.

  “Yes.” I was too distracted to elaborate.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got a lot to fill you in on.” I spotted the waiter heading our way with our food. “After we’ve eaten?”

  Brett agreed to wait and we chatted about other things as we ate our burgers, but Chester’s slurred words and Lisa’s unhappy face were never far from the forefront of my mind.

  Chapter 15

  On the way home from the Windward Pub later that evening, I brought Brett up to speed on everything—Lisa and Ivan’s growing romance and Wally’s murder. Once we were back at my place, I also showed him the diaries and newspaper clippings I’d found in the attic and told him about Camelia.

  Seated on the couch beside me, he shook his head as he flipped carefully through the album of old newspaper articles. “I was only gone for a couple of days, but it seems like I’ve missed out on a lot.”

  “It’s been an eventful week, that’s for sure.”

  He shut the album and set it on the coffee table. “Have you been investigating?”

  “The murder or Camelia’s disappearance?”

  “The murder.”

  “A little bit.” When I saw a crease of concern appear between his eyebrows, I hurried to add, “Nothing dangerous. I talked to a reporter and Wally’s sister. That’s about it so far.”

  “Does Ray know?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t think he knows I’ve been asking questions, but it probably wouldn’t surprise him.”

  “He probably wouldn’t be impressed either.”

  “I know. To be honest, I’m trying to avoid him.”

  “He’s got your best interest at heart, Marley.”

  “I know that too. But I think I test his patient nature and I don’t want him getting annoyed with me.”

  “Hopefully there won’t be any reason for that.” Brett tugged me closer to him. “I’m sorry you saw Wally’s body. It must have been gruesome.”

  I leaned against his chest. “It wasn’t nice.”

  “I know there’s no point in asking you to let the matter drop, especially when people you care about are in trouble, but I really don’t want anything bad happening to you. Please keep me in the loop?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even when I’m not here. I don’t want you holding back with anything because you think I have enough on my mind.”

  “You do, though.”

  “I want to know what’s going on with you, Marley. Always. No matter what.”

  My heart gave a happy squeeze. “Okay. No holding back.” I sat up. “Before we go to bed, I want to show you what else I found in the attic.”

  “Dead rodents?”

  “No, thank goodness. At least, not yet, and I hope it stays that way.”

  I led the way up to the attic to show Brett the old steamer trunk. He carried it down the rickety steps to the second floor for me and pushed it off to one side of the hallway, where it would stay for the time being. It needed a good dusting before it could go in my bedroom. That’s where I wanted it, I’d decided. It would look great at the foot of my bed, and I could use it to store extra bedding or out-of-season clothing.

  A short time later, we went to bed, Flapjack curled up near our feet and Bentley on his dog bed across the room. Comforted by Brett’s presence, I drifted off to sleep soon after shutting my eyes. I slept soundly for an hour or so before waking up, chilled. I’d managed to kick the blankets off me in my sleep, leaving myself exposed to the cool air in the dark room. I was about to reach for the blankets when Brett tugged them up over me.

  I rolled over onto my side so I could face him. “You’re awake?” I said quietly. “I thought you’d be so tired that you’d sleep right through the night.”

  “I am tired, but my mind doesn’t want to shut down.”

  I raised myself up on my elbow. “Are you thinking about your dad?”

  He nodded as he fingered a lock of my hair.

  “Wishing you were in Seattle with him?” I guessed.

  “And here with you at the same time.”
/>
  I shifted closer to him so I could snuggle up against him. He put an arm around me, his fingers tracing lazy circles over my back.

  “He survived the worst part,” I said. “He’s going to be okay.”

  His fingers continue to skim over my back, but he didn’t say anything. The room was silent around us, but I could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

  “Brett?”

  He let out a sigh that I felt more than heard, his chest falling beneath my cheek. “Was it hard for you? Being at the hospital the day my dad had his heart attack?”

  It took me a moment to respond, my mind shifting back through difficult memories. “It would have been harder to not be there for you.”

  His hand stilled on my back. “I’ve always known that you’re strong. You must be to have made it through what you did. I still don’t know exactly what it must have been like for you after your family’s accident, but I feel like I caught a glimpse. When I didn’t know if my dad was going to make it or not, I caught a glimpse.”

  I breathed through the growing tightness in my chest, my eyes damp. “I wish you’d never had to.”

  “And I wish you’d never had to experience even half of what you did. That day with my dad… It’s the worst thing I’ve ever been through.” He moved his hand from my back to settle it on my hip. “I hope I haven’t upset you by bringing this up. I know it’s not something you talk about much.”

  I swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump that had formed in my throat. I rested my hand over his heart, the steady beat against my palm grounding me. “I’ve never talked about that part of it, learning about the accident, waiting in the hospital, the moment I knew Charlotte wouldn’t pull through. Not in any detail, anyway. I just…can’t.” The word died away on my tongue, barely making it out as a whisper.

  “And you don’t have to.” Brett kissed the top of my head. “Not unless you want to.”

  I closed my eyes, his heartbeat thrumming steadily against my palm, up through my arm, and into my own heart. My chest was still tight, but the pressure wasn’t threatening to suffocate me, not like it had done so many times in the past.