The sharp whir of the blender startled her. Nick was instant-thawing some orange juice with water in the blender. He stopped. Georgie saw his sight fix on the rose still on the counter in the corner. He jerked it out of the vase and tossed it in the garbage disposal. It was a quick death in a crunching grind.
If he noticed her watching, he offered no comment, and neither did she. He poured juice into her glass and set down the tequila, giving her the option of how much to put in or not, and she smiled. The silver white of the spirit took on the orange color. After giving the amount a gauging thought she was about to add more. At Nick’s arching eyebrow, she arched her own in return, daring him to say anything.
“Did you know tequila really isn’t made from cactus?” she said. “Though the agave plant is a succulent, it’s not considered a cactus.”
There was no response to her gathered bit of trivial information, and she shrugged. “Well, I was surprised when I read it.”
“Cassie should be arriving at Paula’s,” he said, sitting in the seat opposite her. “And yes, I knew that about the agave. Probably long before you read it. It’s the Weber Blue, or Blue Weber, whichever you prefer.”
Georgie added more tequila to her glass and more to his. “Let’s hear it for the Weber Blue Agave,” she said.
After their traditional clinking “salute,” they took their sip. The last time she had indulged like this was when they buried Sam. Everyone had gone home. Nick, Cassie and April stayed. April sat in the corner patiently waiting for the three of them to drown their grief in drink and remembrance.
“I don’t suppose you and Mason exchanged phone numbers so he could call us from Jeffrey’s.”
Georgie blinked away the past and looked down into her glass. She wanted to offer a quick and clever retort, but only managed a weak shrug.
“You two need guidance,” he said, taking another swallow and settled back in the chair. “Neither of you knows how to date anymore.” He toyed with the glass, tilting it this way and that, his sight on its undulating contents. “He’s a good man, Georgie Girl.”
“And you know this how?”
“Trust me,” he smiled. “I know.” After a moment that only friends could accept without question, he asked, “You know how his wife died?”
She was caught by surprise at his question. It was Mason’s place to open that chapter of his life, not hers, or Nick’s. Sometimes Nick’s prying was unnerving. She was grateful her phone rang, and she put it on speaker.
“Mom,” Paula’s voice was tight, but controlled. “Ryan and I want you to come stay with us.”
“I’m fine. Nick is here.”
“Well, at least the Bad Penny is where he should be, for once,” Paula said.
“I heard that.”
“You’re on speaker,” Georgie said.
“Like I didn’t know that. Mom, I’m serious. You’re in danger there. Cassie said Nick thinks Jeffrey Sanders is the one who did this. Do you know how many cases like this turn deadly? Mom...”
“Now you’re scaring me.” She meant it as a jest to lighten the moment, but Paula wasn’t buying into it.
“I mean to scare you. You need waking up here.”
“You tell her, Counselor.”
“Nick,” Georgie warned.
“He’s right, Mom. Come stay with us until the police clear this up. What does that... new friend of yours, Officer Montgomery, say?”
Nick cleared his throat. “He’s with the police right now,” he said. “And I would cut him some slack, little girl. He put his standing with his department in jeopardy by following me during this thing.”
“Uncle Nick, tell me you didn’t do anything that could see this thing thrown out of court on a technicality if they catch this guy.”
“Oh, now it’s Uncle Nick?”
“Are you two through?” Georgie asked. When neither answered, she said, “Honey, Nick will be here a few days, and the police are looking into it right now. They should be calling soon or at least bringing Mason back. Are you okay? That’s what I want to know.”
“I’m fine, Mother. I’m not the one being stalked.”
“I’m hanging up now. I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else. See to it you don’t worry the baby. Love you. Good night.”
“Love you too.”
All Georgie could do was stare at the phone while the dial tone begged for a break in connection. Stalked. The word and its implication hung on the edge of the mmmmmmmm. Stalking had not occurred to her. Raggs taken. The dead-line phone calls at the shop. That car in her driveway the first night Mason followed her home. She was sure of it now. How far had it come in her drive? Why? Who? She never did actually see if it was Jeffrey’s big Durango or not. Would he actually try to run her over? Right in front of her shop? The whole thing made no sense.
Nick set the phone on its base, cutting off the dial tone, then sat staring at her, his normally sharp brown eyes looking worried. She tried to take a drink, but the glass shook in her hand, then realized it wasn’t the glass, but her hand... she was shaking all over and very cold.
“You are being stalked,” Nick said, and the strange clinical sound of his voice only added to the chill in the room. “And whoever it is, has turned very ugly. I’m hoping it is Jeffrey. Cause if it’s not, we have a big problem.”
This time, when her phone rang, Georgie jumped, but her hand wouldn’t move to pick it up.
“You going to answer it?” Nick asked.
Slow motion seized her muscles. At a snail’s crawl, her hand finally picked up the phone, but words would not form.
“George. George?”
“Yes.” The one word tore its way through her vocal cords.
“Let me talk to Nick,” Mason said.
The urgency in his voice caught Georgie and she shook her head. “No. I’ll put the phone on speaker.”
“George.”
“No. This is happening to me. I have the right to know.”
She could hear the hum of a car motor, police radio. They weren’t parked.
“Jeffrey doesn’t appear to be home,” Mason said. “At least he never came to the door. No sounds in the house. No lights. Roberts’ asked for a search warrant.”
At the laden pause, she asked, “And?”
“A call came in while we were waiting.”
“A call?”
“Yeah. A dark green Durango was reported at Upper State Street Park. We’re almost there now. It doesn’t look good.”
She could hear car doors opening, bodies bursting from their seats, the squawking of police mikes, footsteps hitting the gravel, but it was the distinct clicking of weapons preparing for fire that bombarded Georgie.
“Slow and easy here,” someone said.
“Fuck that! Extreme prejudice here,” a deeper voice said. “Inside the car, Portland police. Come out, slow, hands empty where we can see them.”
The pause was long and torturous.
“Oh, man,” Mason’s voice finally came through, and Nick bolted to his feet. He snatched the phone from its base, to take it off speaker.
“Nick!” Georgie shouted, trying to take back the phone, but he was so tall, he easily held it way out of her reach. “Either give me my phone or put it back on the speaker!”
“God, but you’re a stubborn...”
He jammed the phone into its cradle and Mason’s voice came through. “He’s dead, George.”
“What?” Georgie gasped and dropped into the chair.
“I’m Sorry,” Mason said.
“Oh, my God.” Jeffery dead? It was as though she was inside some else’s body, her skin felt so tight, suffocating her. “No. It can’t be...”
“Looks like he left a note,” Mason was saying through the voices in the background. “But we have to wait for Crime Scene Techs to get here. I’m sorry, George.”
“How?” Nick asked, both hands on the table.
“One round to the right temple. Hand gun.”
Cha
pter eighteen
Georgie bolted from her chair and ran through the laundry room, desperate for the cold outside air. Daisy and Max followed.
He’s dead, George.
From her patio, she stared up in the direction where the police were still working the area they had found Raggs. Off to the side, on the road, she caught sight of headlights making their way down, mere flickers through the shrubs, but she was certain they were headlights. They disappeared behind the trees still bearing leaves. Daisy barked and Max yawned, his ears twitching, checking out the sound.
He’s dead, George.
Reaching behind her, Georgie found the oak patio seat and dropped into it. Her outside lights flicked on, their yellow glow adding a deeper, brighter tone to the leaves sailing across the yard.
A flash of memory, a snap shot in time... Jeffrey smiling into the mirror as she cut his hair.
It will be so strange not to see that shy smile, she thought, and dropped her face into her hands. Had she had any clue her dismissal of his attentions would do all this... bring them all to this end...
No, she thought, whipping her head back to let the breeze catch her hair, swat her face. She couldn’t be that wrong. No. Something wasn’t right here. Think, Georgie, think. It’s a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit here. Why? And where does it fit? What is it about this whole thing that’s off?
She looked up into the dark trees, listening to the whispering breeze. Nothing. There was no answer to be heard.
What had the police done with Raggs, she wondered? Though she fought it, images of Raggs being manhandled by invading, uncaring hands haunted her. What was it Brandy said? She’s probably in the arms of a little girl right now. Georgie rubbed her fingers across her forehead, then pushed back her hair. How she wished Raggs were in the arms of a little girl right now instead of inside that plastic bag with...
“Why a plastic bag?” she murmured.
“What?” Nick asked, handing her another glass of orange juice. When she didn’t answer, he said, “Come inside. It’s damn cold out here.”
But Georgie saw where he was looking. Lights were still moving throughout the slope. Nick nodded. “At least they’re being thorough.”
She took the glass and sipped. It was biting as it went down, but she muffled the cough. She was grateful for the pungent taste of what she hoped would buffer the pain. Shivering, she touched Nick’s arm and got up to go inside.
“Come on. Daisy, Max, inside. Come on.” At the door she turned. “You too,” she said to Nick. “Come on.”
He nodded and followed her in, but not before giving one last look to the slope. As she closed the door behind them, she too gave the moving flashlight beams one last glance. Pressing her palm to the door, she turned the lock and dead bolt.
“What were you saying out there?” he asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
“How did Mason get my number?” she asked, not quite ready to share her ill-fitting-puzzle question. “I never gave it to him. Remember?”
“Clue number one: you’re in the phone book, which is not a good thing. Shop? Okay. Home? Not okay. Number two: he’s a cop. They have their ways. Law and order, and all that crap.” Georgie just looked at him, and he shrugged. “You have a phone, they can get the number. For this? They can get it.”
“Hmmm.” Georgie took another sip of her drink.
“You were talking to yourself out there.”
She thought a moment, then decided, why not bounce her doubts off Nick. “I was just wondering. Why put Raggs in a plastic bag?”
“What are you talking about?
Georgie labored on how to word her puzzle pieces. What was she talking about? Come on, she thought, verbalize it. Maybe it will make sense.
She started out slowly, trying to listen to her own words. “If someone were going to... to do what they did to Raggs? Why go to the trouble of sealing her in a plastic bag? Why bother? It wasn’t a white trash bag, or... or even an ugly green thing, but a see-through bag. I don’t know. It just gave me the feeling of protecting Raggs... with... care. You know? But, protecting from what? And why with such care? Such a mixture.” She looked to her one open palm. “Protect her without demeaning her.” Then held up the other hand. “Then to just... just... do something like that to her... an ice pick...” Both hands shot up then down with a smack on her thighs. “I don’t know what I’m thinking... what to think?”
Nick’s brown eyes met hers, his brow puckering as he took hold of her hands and brought them together in a caring grip. “Has it occurred to you, you might be over thinking this? The quirky mind is a hard thing to understand, Georgie Girl. No two strangees are the same as to rhyme or reason.”
With a great sigh, Georgie freed herself of Nick’s gentle plea for her to understand. She shook her head again, but the theory wouldn’t set itself right. The sentences were still all jumbled and making no sense. Shivering, she rubbed her arms, got up and turned up the thermostat. Knowing there was nothing she could do, nothing to do, she still looked about in search of something... something left undone. But there was nothing, only her loud deep breath. “I need to take a shower. I need to, to... I don’t know. I just need to be clean.”
“Sure,” Nick said. “I’ll keep an eye out for Mason.”
~~0~~
Georgie let herself relish the sharp spray of warm water while the suds of the shampoo offered a fragrance of ocean breezes, a sea of forgetfulness. But when the hair dryer did away with the last bit of moisture, the truth of the evening returned; Raggs stabbed and impaled by Jeffrey who was now dead, apparently by his own hand. Nothing had been magically washed away.
When Georgie came out of her bedroom with a fresh set of sweatpants and top, Daisy was gone. She could hear the Schnauzer whimper in the laundry room, now and then scratching at the door, and there were low voices coming from the kitchen. This time, she would not hide and listen. What they discussed in whispers, they could say in front of her.
Mason had returned with Officer Roberts and Tonie. While Mason sat at the table with Nick, Roberts and Tonie remained standing.
“And?” Georgie asked them.
After a moment, it was Mason who spoke. “He wrote a note telling you he was sorry.”
“What?” Georgie wanted to shake her head, wanted not to believe it, but there it was. How could she deny it? She had to sit down. “He actually admitted it?” She looked at them, wanting someone to offer some small seed of doubt, but they didn’t. Neither Mason nor Roberts said anything. Mason’s eyes carried a sadness while Roberts’ remained cool and professional.
“Man was a weasel,” Tonie said, her mouth pulling in distaste, her eyes lacking any sympathy, and Georgie felt bad that Tonie was so cold. But then, in her profession, perhaps it was a defense mechanism.
“Officer Clark,” Roberts said.
Georgie didn’t even want to consider Roberts’ terse manner toward Tonie. She just wanted this to be over with, leave it all behind her, move on to the next book, new characters, new plots. Only Georgie hadn’t gotten the punch line to this story, no climatic ending to satisfy the reader.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Georgie Girl?” Nick asked.
She didn’t realize she was pulling at a hair strand until Mason took hold of her hand. “George?”
No, Georgie thought. No. And she turned to Officer Roberts. “Is there a chance I could see the inside of Jeffrey’s house?”
“Uh, I don’t see how that can happen,” Roberts said. “It is a crime scene, after all.”
“Actually it’s not,” Georgie said. “His Durango at Upper State Park? Yes. But his house? And for a suicide?”
“I don’t see it happening, Mrs. Gainsworth. It’s part of the investigation. CST will never go for it, and suicide is something for them to determine. It’s only conjecture at this point, given what we know.”
Georgie thought for a moment before taking a deep shuddering breath, her lower lip catching between her teeth. “Okay. Are t
hey checking it out now?”
Roberts nodded. “Should be. I’m sure the search warrant’s been taken care of. Why?”
“I’m not insinuating that your people aren’t capable or anything like that, but could you make sure they check out something?”
“Depends. What are you after?”
Georgie shrugged. “Ash trays. Gun cabinet. Ammo.”
“Search already in progress for weapons permit.”
“In all the years I have known Jeffrey, I never saw him smoke. I never smelled smoke on him or his clothes, let alone in his Durango, or in his hair.” Georgie looked Roberts in the eye. “You smoke. I get a whiff of it, now and then, from you. So does Officer Clark. I got a tinge of the odor in her hair when I cut it the other day.”
“I don’t try to hide it,” Tonie said, her voice calm, though curt.
“That’s what I mean. Why would Jeffrey hide it?” Georgie argued. “There was no reason for him to.” She turned to Roberts. When he remained stoic, his face a chiseled mask, Georgie would not budge. “He didn’t smoke. Ask his employees.”
“Your point being what?” Roberts asked.
“There were cigarette butts near Raggs. Nick even thought he could smell it earlier this evening.”
She looked to Nick, and he nodded. “It’s what made me go up there in the first place.”
“We don’t know that those cigarette butts are even connected to Jeffrey and the doll,” Roberts reasoned. At her doubting glance, he added, “not for sure, anyway.”
Georgie accepted his pittance of agreement. “And a gun. I can’t... I just can’t see Jeffrey and a gun. I don’t think he even hunted.”
“A lot of men don’t hunt, but own a gun,” Nick said. “To some men, it’s an extra p...”
Georgie held out a hand to stop him.
“George,” Mason said in a soft voice. “You should prepare yourself to accept that Jeffrey did all this.” He pushed a wayward hair strand from her face. It was so like a caress, and Georgie wanted so badly to enjoy it instead of listening to what he was saying. He cupped her chin so she made eye contact. “Sometimes we don’t know people as well as we think or as well as we want to.”
Point of Attraction Page 15