by Sofie Kelly
It took an hour before I found what I was looking for. Owen sat on my lap and watched the screen intently, pawing at the air occasionally as though trying to tell me what to click on next. In the end it was luck as much as it was my good research skills and his suggestions.
American Land Trust had created a memorial page for Dani on their website. As I read the comments I began to get more of a sense of the woman. She had a great sense of humor and a penchant for playing pranks on her friends. She was a big Minnesota Wild fan and it struck me that she would have gotten a kick out of meeting Eddie.
The remembrances were all heartfelt, but one comment made my throat tighten. It was one sentence: The light has gone out of my world. Tanith Jeffery. Dani’s best friend, maybe?
It was an uncommon name, Tanith—the Phoenician goddess of love, I remembered reading somewhere, because those kinds of facts stuck in my head. And maybe in the end it wasn’t luck. Maybe it was that tiny piece of information that twigged something in my brain.
Tanith Jeffery was a jewelry designer, I learned. I found several photos of her eating ice cream and standing, arms linked with three other women, smiling into the sun at Twin Cities Pride. After that it took some leaps, but everything began to make sense.
I went into the living room and called Marcus. “I need to talk to you,” I said.
“I’m just leaving Eddie’s. I can stop in on my way home.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you soon.”
I went out to the porch to wait for him. Owen had disappeared again.
Marcus saw me as he came around the house. He waved and then stepped inside the porch, leaning down to kiss me. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“Waiting for you,” I said, “looking at the stars, thinking.”
“So what did you need to talk to me about?”
“Sit, please.” I gestured to the bench by the window. I sat next to him, turning so I was facing him. “I know that there was nothing going on between you and Dani when you were in college,” I said. I couldn’t see his face very well in the moonlight that was coming through the window, but it seemed to me that he blanched a little. “Her grandmother was—is—extremely conservative. I think the day Travis caught you two kissing outside her dorm room you were covering for Dani so he wouldn’t find out there was a girl in her room—a girl she was involved with.”
For a moment he didn’t say anything, then he sighed softly. “I wanted to tell you, but like I said, it wasn’t my secret to tell.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“She wasn’t sleeping with Travis. That’s why he was so angry. He thought we’d done what they weren’t doing.” His arms were propped on his legs and his hands hung between his knees. “She really did try to end things with him. Like I said, he was pressuring her for one more chance and her grandmother, who was like mother and father to Dani after her parents died, was pushing her to try to work things out. Dani adored her grandmother but the woman has very rigid beliefs. If she’d known the truth . . .” Marcus shook his head. “I don’t think Dani wanted to take the chance of losing the only family she had left. You saw for yourself what Travis can be like when he’s angry. He would have gone right to her grandmother.”
“Does John know?” I asked.
Marcus shook his head. “How did you find out?” he asked.
I told him about the comment Tanith Jeffery had written online. “It seemed pretty clear she and Dani were close. When I did a little digging I discovered that Tanith was gay. After that it was good research skills and a bit of luck.”
Marcus still looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I found a photo of a dinner at which Tanith Jeffery received a design award. She was at a table of what I take were her friends. Dani was one of them. The look on her face . . . It just didn’t feel like much of a leap to think they were involved.”
I reached over and linked my fingers through his. “I’d seen the same look on the face of one of my sister’s friends when Sara won an award for volunteering at the Boys and Girls Club. It was a mix of pride and love. When I told Sara she thought I was crazy, but I turned out to be right.”
Marcus leaned back until his head was against the wall. “Her grandmother was funding American Land Trust.”
“I know.”
He smiled at me in the near darkness. “I should have guessed you’d figure that out as well.”
“I didn’t,” I said. “Your father did. I have everything he’s come up with so far. I think you should give it to Brady.”
The smile disappeared. “My father?”
I nodded. “He’s trying to help.”
“I went to see him. I told him to go home.”
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to see that,” he said.
“Do you think Dani was afraid that if her grandmother knew who she really was she’d cut off the money?” I asked.
He nodded. “Her biggest worry was losing what she had left of her family, but yes, she was afraid that if her brother found out he’d use the information against her. He had no idea their grandmother was basically funding everything Dani did. Dani said he wasn’t exactly the tree-hugger type.”
“Did she know you were here—in Mayville Heights? Or was meeting you at Eric’s just something that happened by chance?” Travis, at least, seemed to believe Dani had come to town to see Marcus.
Marcus turned his head to look at me. “I wondered about that, you know. She said she needed to talk to me but she hadn’t known I was here. It was just a coincidence.”
“What did she want to talk about?” I asked.
He put his arm around my shoulder and I leaned against him with my head on his shoulder. “I wish I knew,” he said.
12
Marcus stayed for a little longer then he headed home. I went upstairs, ran a bath and tossed one of Maggie’s herbal soaks into the water. I was brushing my hair when the phone rang. It was Brady Chapman.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Kathleen,” he said, “but Maggie is helping Ruby chaperone some kind of overnight thing at the high school and I didn’t think it was a good idea to call Marcus with this.” He sounded . . . rattled, which was really unlike Brady.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s my father. And Elliot Gordon.”
“What about them?”
“They’re at the bar at the St. James Hotel. Right now they should just be wrapping up their rendition of ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’”
I started to laugh. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“I really wish I was,” he said drily. “The manager called me. If I pick them up in the next half hour she won’t call the police. The problem is, I’m in Minneapolis. I couldn’t get Lita, either.”
“I’ll go get them,” I said, kicking off my fuzzy slippers.
“Thank you,” Brady said. “Like I said, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to call Marcus.”
“I agree.” I felt a little guilty. After all, I had, in a way, suggested to Elliot that he get in touch with Burtis. “Don’t worry. I’ll get Elliot up to his room and I’ll take your dad home.”
“I know my father’s reputation,” Brady said. “But the truth is, he doesn’t drink very much himself.”
I laughed again. “Then he’ll probably just sleep it off and wake up with a really big headache in the morning. Don’t worry about this. I’ve been around my parents’ theater friends all my life. This won’t be the first time I’ve had to rescue someone who had a bit too much. At least they’re just singing Lynyrd Skynyrd. Be grateful they’re not reenacting Hamlet and Laertes’s duel with real swords.”
“I owe you, Kathleen,” Brady said.
“No, you don’t,” I said. “I’m on my wa
y.”
I pulled on my jeans and a sweater, yanked my hair back into a ponytail and grabbed my purse and keys.
Brady must have called the hotel manager back, because when I walked into the hotel a woman came from behind the front desk and walked over to me. “Ms. Paulson,” she said, offering his hand. “I’m Melanie Davis.”
She was about my height, and curvy with smooth brown skin and gorgeous dark eyes. I’d heard Lita mention her name.
“I’m here to get Mr. Chapman and Mr. Gordon,” I said.
“I think they’re just finishing their encore,” she replied drily. She led the way to the bar. The hotel had been experimenting with live music on Friday and Saturday nights but I didn’t think this was what they had in mind.
Burtis Chapman and Elliot Gordon were an incongruous pair at best. Burtis made me think of something carved from a block of stone, strong and solid. His face was lined and weathered from so much time spent outdoors. He’d lost most of his hair—all that was left were a few white tufts that were generally poking out from under his ubiquitous Twins ball cap.
I knew that not all of Burtis’s business dealings were on the up and up, but he had a generous soul and he was deeply loyal to the people he called his friends. And that was more than enough for me and had been long before he’d helped rescue me from a burning building.
I had no idea that Burtis could sing. Or Elliot, for that matter. They were rocking out to Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll.” The jazz trio—guitar, bass and snare drum—looked like they were having just as much fun.
“They’re good,” I said softly. The manager gave me a look that told me I shouldn’t have said that out loud.
I wasn’t the only one who liked what I was hearing. The song ended and people began to clap enthusiastically. Burtis and Elliot bowed, acknowledging the applause. I made my way over to them, skirting around the tables. Burtis smiled when he caught sight of me.
“Kathleen, girl, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked.
“I thought you might need a limo driver,” I said.
“Are you tryin’ to say I’m too drunk to walk home?” he asked. I knew he wasn’t angry. I could see a devilish gleam in his eyes.
“Yes, I am,” I said.
He laughed, a deep booming sound that seemed to bounce off the walls. “Well, you’re right.” He turned to Elliot, gesturing at me with his free hand, his other arm still around Elliot’s shoulders. “That son of yours is a fine man,” he said. “And he’s a damn fine police officer, which I know you don’t wanna hear but I’m gonna say it anyway. But he was dumb as a glass of water when it came to her. Almost screwed it up big-time.”
“I’m parked out front,” I said. “Let’s go.”
“You tryin’ to shut me up or change the subject?” Burtis asked.
I smiled at him. “Either one will work for me.” I put my arm around Burtis’s shoulder, which had the effect of making me feel as though I’d just joined a very odd Vegas kick line.
“Shotgun,” Elliot said then.
“You can’t call shotgun,” Burtis countered.
“The hell I can’t,” Elliot retorted. “I just did it.”
“I’m not riding in the back like an old dog.”
“If you can’t run with the big dogs you better stay on the porch,” Elliot said.
The words hung between them for a moment, then they both laughed at some joke I didn’t get.
At least we were moving in the direction of the door. “First of all, no one is riding in the back,” I said. “And second”—I looked at Elliot—“you’re not coming with us.” I pointed at the ceiling. “You’re going to bed.”
Burtis smirked at him.
“I called shotgun,” Elliot said. “We have a verbal agreement.” He had a little trouble getting the word “agreement” out.
“We can outrun him, Kathleen.” Burtis winked at me.
“We’re not running anywhere,” I said firmly. “You”—I pointed at Elliot—“are going to bed. “You”—I moved my finger to Burtis—“are going home.”
“I’ll sue,” Elliot said.
“You can’t sue your boy’s girlfriend,” Burtis said.
I wondered just exactly how much they’d had to drink.
“The hell I can’t!” Elliot straightened up and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“Don’t you?” Burtis asked.
They laughed again like it was the funniest thing either one of them had ever heard.
I tried to steer them toward the elevators but they were bigger and stronger and since we were still linked arm in arm I found myself on the sidewalk with them before I quite knew what happened.
Burtis slapped the passenger-side fender of the truck with one hand. “They don’t make ’em like this anymore,” he told Elliot.
“How did you two get here?” I asked.
“That depends,” Elliot said, “on whether you believe in evolution or creationism.”
“You forgot aliens,” Burtis said.
Elliot nodded solemnly. “Or aliens.”
The preschoolers at story time were easier to manage than those two. “I mean did you two have a car?”
“I have an Audi,” Elliot said, holding his head up with a decided amount of pride.
“La-di-da,” Burtis replied. “I have a truck.” He smacked the fender again with his big hand and looked at me. “Open up, girl.”
I unlocked the passenger door and Burtis hauled it open. “Get in, Elly May,” he said to Elliot.
“I called shotgun.” Marcus’s dad crossed his arms petulantly over his chest, his feet planted wide apart. The effect he was going for was ruined because he was swaying slightly. I had the feeling if I poked him with my finger he’d topple over.
Burtis dropped his elbow down on the hood of the truck, forearm upright, fingers spread apart. “Let’s go a round,” he growled. “I can still take you.”
“Nobody is taking anyone anywhere except me,” I said, stepping between them. I pointed at Elliot. “Get in the truck. In case you didn’t notice there’s only one seat so you’re both riding shotgun.” He climbed in without saying another word. I was glad because I had no way to actually make either one of them do anything.
“Get in,” I told Burtis. He was still leaning over the front of the truck, ready to arm wrestle. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it up. “Don’t make me call Lita.” I fervently hoped he wouldn’t call my bluff because, like Brady, I had no idea where she was.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, hanging his head and climbing in next to Elliot.
I walked around and slid in on the driver’s side, leaning over to make sure they were both belted in safely. They smelled like this foul cough medicine that my father bought on the Internet from Canada. He swore by it but I thought it smelled like a mix of paint thinner and old-fashioned liniment.
“What were you two drinking?” I asked.
“Jäger Bombs,” Burtis said.
“We were taking a stroll down memory lane,” Elliot added.
“What is a Jäger Bomb?” I asked, thinking as I did that I was probably going to regret the question.
“First you need beer,” Burtis said.
Elliot nodded in agreement.
“Then you need a shot glass of Jägermeister.”
Elliot nodded once again.
“You drop your shot glass in your beer and bottoms up.” Burtis pantomimed the action.
“And then you’re bombed,” Elliot added.
They elbowed each other and laughed.
“Kathleen, did you know this man is my oldest friend?’ Elliot asked.
“Oldest friend?” Burtis said. “I thought I was your only friend.”
“Oldest friend, only friend, tomato potato,” Elliot said.<
br />
“So how did you two get to be friends?” I asked, shooting a quick glance in their direction.
“Well, he stole my woman,” Burtis began.
“Don’t start that,” Elliot said. “She wanted me.” He raised a finger in the air and hit the roof of the truck.
“The hell she did,” Burtis retorted.
Elliot shifted sideways to look at him. “Well, her tongue wasn’t in my mouth to check my fillings.”
“I laid you out before. I can do it again,” Burtis warned.
“You’re slow, old man,” Elliot retorted.
“Well you’re soft, pretty boy.” I didn’t need to look at them. I could hear the smirk in Burtis’s voice.
“Mary Connolly still got those great legs?” Elliot abruptly asked.
“Oh yeah,” Burtis said. “She works for Kathleen down at the library. You should go see her.”
“You mean Mary Lowe?” I said, slowing down as the car in front of me turned.
“She used to be Mary Connolly,” he said. He nudged Elliot with his shoulder. “That is one kick-ass broad. I’ll take you out to The Brick. She dances. Think feathers.”
I knew about Mary’s dancing. I decidedly didn’t want to think about feathers.
Burtis started to sing then, doing the intro to “Sweet Home Alabama.” Elliot closed his eyes and kept time on the dashboard. They sang all the way out to the Chapman homestead, finishing just as I pulled up in front of the old farmhouse.
“Thank you for the ride home, girl,” Burtis said, leaning forward to smile at me around Elliot.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said.
“Don’t be a damn stranger, Elly May,” Burtis said to Elliot.
I came around the truck and walked him up the steps to the wide veranda that ran the length of the front of the house. He patted his pockets, found his keys and fished them out. I unlocked the front door and folded the key ring back into his hand.
“He’s a good man,” Burtis said, jerking his head in the direction of the truck.