Eaves of Destruction

by Kate Carlisle

  It was as if time stopped moving. I heard Amanda’s intake of air at the same time Petsy gasped. Matthew seemed to be the only one unaffected. He just chuckled and kept moving.

  “Let’s get this ladder out of the way,” I said loudly, prodding Amanda back to the present.

  “Right.”

  We folded the ladder and the two of us carried it down to the foyer. Since we would have to check the wood stain later, we left the ladder leaning against the back wall, out of everybody’s way. I retrieved the cans of stain we’d left on the stairs along with the brushes and the small drop cloth. I set everything down on the dining room table and turned to Amanda. “Let’s take a quick break. We can walk outside and check on the guys’ progress.”

  “Good idea.” She still sounded a little winded.

  Once we were out on the veranda, I stopped and turned to her. “You should sit down.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said, and she seemed to agree, because she walked over to the first bentwood rocker, collapsed into the chair, and laid her head back.

  I sat in the matching rocker. “Well, that got weird.”

  She smiled, then started to laugh. She bent over and buried her face in her folded arms. “Oh God. When will this be over?”

  “We could force the issue,” I said quietly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we could simply ask them if they happened to give a baby up for adoption some thirty-odd years ago.”

  “I’m thirty-three,” Amanda murmured.

  “Okay, thirty-three years ago.” I wasn’t about to go into the babies-separated-at-birth possibility. Amanda was fragile enough as it was.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to bring up the topic yet.”

  “I understand.” And I did, but it had gotten to the point where, like it or not, something was going to happen. “But it’s getting close to the time when you’ve got to fish or cut bait.”

  “Is it?”

  “We’ve got about a week left on this job, and after that, you won’t be able to hang around here anymore. I mean, unless you want to hide in the bushes and be arrested for stalking.”

  She managed to chuckle. “I guess I’d better grow a backbone quickly.”

  “You have a perfectly strong backbone, Amanda,” I said firmly. “You’re just in an awkward, vulnerable position right now. It’ll pass and you’ll be back in fighting form any day now.”

  She opened her eyes and gazed at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as kind and loyal as you are.”

  Embarrassed, I straightened. “I’m not—”

  “You are. I’m so lucky that you’re on my team.”

  “Now, that’s true. I’m Team Amanda all the way.”

  We both grinned and kept rocking.

  “Hi, you two.”

  We glanced up and saw Lindsey standing on the steps leading up to the porch.

  “Hi, Lindsey. We were just taking a short break.”

  “I’d love to join you if you don’t mind company.”

  I smiled. “Please do.”

  “We would love it,” Amanda assured her.

  Lindsey sat on the railing facing us and sighed. “I just took the nicest walk through the town square, then over to the boardwalk and along the water. Sometimes I forget how beautiful this town is.”

  “It really is,” I said softly.

  “Do you have to go back to San Francisco?” Amanda asked.

  Lindsey frowned. “I do. It’s my home now. And besides, it’s better if I’m there than, well, here.”

  “Don’t you miss your father?” I asked.

  “Yes, very much.” Her features brightened. “But we talk on the phone all the time and he comes into the city every month or so to bring me his paintings. So it’s like I have pieces of him with me when I’m there.”

  “That’s really sweet,” Amanda whispered.

  Lindsey leaned against the rounded front porch column and her hair fluttered in the breeze.

  “Lindsey, you have wavy hair.” I stopped rocking. “I’ve never noticed.”

  “It’s true,” she said, with a rueful smile. “I usually try to dry it straight because Mother hates my unruly curls.”

  “I think they’re beautiful,” Amanda said.

  “Thank you.” She touched her hair self-consciously. “This morning I left for my walk and my hair was still a bit damp, so of course it curled. I’ll have to use the flat iron to tame it back into shape.”

  I couldn’t say a word. Yes, that her hair was wavy was just a little fun fact, but it was also one more piece of the puzzle that was Loretta Samson. Was Lindsey Loretta Samson’s daughter? I still had no real idea, and clearly neither did Lindsey or Amanda. All I knew was that both of their lives would be shattered if we found out she was.

  I just prayed I wouldn’t have to be the one who told them.

  • • •

  That night, Mac called. “I tracked down the information I told you I was looking for.”

  “That was fast.” I crossed my fingers that whatever he’d found would be good news. “What did you find?”

  “Two baby girls, Lindsey and Amanda, were born a week apart. Both of their birth certificates listed the same address on Cranberry Circle.”

  “A week apart,” I whispered. “And both babies were living in the Jorgensen house?”

  “Yes.”

  I considered the significance of that. “I know I keep saying this, but that’s just weird.”

  Mac sighed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  • • •

  The next morning my crew arrived early to put a few finishing touches on the orangery. The landscapers were arriving sometime after lunch to start planting flowers and bushes around the structure so that the side yard would look like a spring garden in full bloom. It was going to be spectacular.

  Amanda and I spent a few minutes admiring the orangery, then went around to the front door and rang the doorbell.

  “I think the last wood stain I used on the panel was the best,” Amanda said while we waited at the door.

  I nodded. “I agree. Let’s set you up to finish that job. Then I can help you with the dining room wainscoting for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Good morning,” Lindsey said as she opened the door. Her hair had been flat-ironed, and she was smiling and dressed casually in black slacks and a cream-colored blouse. “Come on in. My mother and father are both out, but I’ll be here all day if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, Lindsey,” I said, ignoring the obvious fact that this family seemed to leave their house as often as possible.

  We put our stuff down in the dining room and went to get the ladder. The process would require some prep work: first removing some of the old stain with a fine-grit sandpaper, then using a tack cloth to wipe away any bits of dust and sand. Once the wood was smooth and clean, Amanda would apply the first coat of stain.

  During breaks from the wainscoting work, she would add two more coats later in the day. I planned to be her assistant, staying close by the whole time to make sure the ladder was stable and that Amanda had everything she needed.

  By midmorning we had finished the stairway panel and were working quietly in the dining room, when there was a knock at the door.

  Petsy was home by then, and she answered the door. While I couldn’t hear her exact words, I could tell she was agitated. Finally she said, “Oh, fine. Come in. But we’re very busy here.”

  I watched and waited to see who would enter the house, and seconds later, the police chief walked into the room.

  “Eric,” I said, surprised. “What’s going on?”

  He looked uncomfortable and threw a glance over his shoulder at the hovering Petsy. “I’d like to ask Ms. Walsh a few questions.”


  “Me?” Amanda gave me a quick, puzzled look and then said, “What can I help you with?”

  “I’d like to know if you own a set of chisels. The kind you might use to do your woodwork.”

  Petsy was right behind Eric and managed to maneuver her way into the dining room until she was standing in front of him, almost blocking him from moving into the room. I had the oddest feeling that she was trying to protect us. Or, more precisely, Amanda.

  “Don’t be silly, Chief Jensen,” Petsy said. “Amanda has every tool known to man, including whatever it is you’re looking for. What’s your point?”

  His eyes focused on Petsy. “Someone killed Joe Scully with a chisel.”

  “Good heavens, that’s grim.” She laughed harshly. “Don’t tell me you’re accusing Amanda of killing Mr. Scully. I wonder just how many chisels there are in the state of California.”

  He smiled tolerantly. “I just want to see her set of chisels, ma’am.”

  “Amanda just moved to town recently,” Petsy said. “She didn’t even know Joe Scully.”

  I bit my tongue. Amanda did know Joe Scully. Back when she was following me around, she had approached Scully to ask questions about me.

  “I’m speaking to Ms. Walsh,” Eric said softly. “I don’t want to ask you to leave the room, but I will if I have to.”

  I wanted to warn Petsy. That quiet tone of his was more frightening than if he were yelling.

  “Do you work with chisels, Ms. Walsh?” he asked, staring past Petsy.

  “Of course,” Amanda said. “I use them for sculpting wood. I’m using one now.”

  “May I see it?”

  She held out the tool and Eric walked over to look at it. “Is this part of a set?”

  “Yes. The others are here in my toolbox.”

  She knelt down to get them, but Eric stopped her. “That’s okay. I’ll take a look.”

  She stood and waited. Petsy folded her arms across her chest indignantly and tapped the toe of her elegant pink pump against the wood floor so quickly, it sounded as if an agitated woodpecker was loose in the house. “This is ridiculous, Chief Jensen. Not only is it a waste of your time, but you’re wasting my time by interrupting their work.”

  He gazed at her with the patience of a man who had dealt with far worse characters than Petsy. “A human being is dead, Mrs. Jorgensen. We want to find his killer before that person strikes again. Don’t you want to help us rid the town of a vicious killer?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course. But you’re not going to find a killer in this house.”

  He grinned. “I’m here to make sure you’re right about that.”

  Petsy seemed to realize her complaints were useless, so she turned on her heel and stomped out of the room.

  Eric stood up, holding a sturdy plastic case that held five chisels of increasing size and weight. He took the one Amanda was using and slipped it into its spot in the case. “Looks like they’re all accounted for.”

  He handed her chisels back. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “You’re welcome.” Amanda looked relieved and I couldn’t blame her. Even when you knew you were innocent, it was scary to have the police question you.

  He nodded a goodbye at me and began to leave.

  “I’ll walk out with you, Chief,” I said, and followed him out of the house, down the steps, and along the walkway.

  Finally he turned. “What’s up, Shannon?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you already checked Johnny’s and Colin’s tool chests over at the Derry house.”

  “I did, and they checked out.” He winked. “So don’t worry.”

  “Oh good.” I let out a breath of true relief. Not that I’d really been worried about my guys, but it was a good thing to have them cleared. “Thanks.” I continued walking with him.

  “Did you have something else to say?” he said, biting back a smile.

  “It’s just nice to hang out with you for these few short moments.” I winced. Okay, even I wouldn’t believe that.

  “Yeah, right.” He laughed. “Now spill. What is it?”

  “Okay, fine.” I glanced around to make sure we were alone. “I hate to be a snitch, but there’s someone else who uses chisels in the Jorgensen house.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Matthew Jorgensen is a painter and a sculptor. He has dozens of tools in his art studio on the third floor.”

  “Really?” Interest gleamed in his eyes as he shifted to look at the house we’d just left.

  “Yes. Unfortunately they’re not in a tidy little case like Amanda’s. They’re mixed and matched and scattered everywhere around the room, so I’m not sure you could ever really know for certain if the murder weapon came from his studio.”

  Eric stared long and hard at the house, then gave me a brief smile. “Good to know. Thanks.”

  I saluted. “Your friendly neighborhood snitch, always at your service.”

  He chuckled as he climbed into his SUV and drove away.

  Chapter Twelve

  By two thirty, the orangery was completely finished and it was beautiful. The landscapers had already arrived and I could see from their placement of plants and flowers that the yard was going to be truly stunning.

  My guys had worked straight through lunch, so I told them to take a long meal break before moving on to the other jobs we had to complete in time for the Home and Garden Tour in two weeks.

  Amanda and I had six more panels to finish. It was slow going because of the intricate work, so we had been averaging one panel a day, which meant that we would be here another week. That still left Petsy with plenty of time to get her house ready for the tour. I wasn’t sure who would be happier when we finally packed up and left, me or Petsy. But personally I couldn’t wait for this whole experience to be over.

  • • •

  The following morning I rang the Jorgensens’ doorbell and waited, hoping that Lindsey or Matthew would answer. I was bummed out when Petsy opened the door. She glanced around, then frowned. It seemed we were both doomed to disappointment this morning.

  “Amanda will be a little late today,” I explained, after forcing myself to smile at her.

  She looked stricken. “Is she sick?”

  “No, she’s fine,” I said, wondering at her reaction. “She just had to take care of some personal business this morning. She’ll be here later. But I’ll get to work right now.”

  “Very well.” She swung the door wide open and I walked into the house. I mentioned our tentative schedule for finishing the job and she basically grunted, letting me know she’d heard what I said. Then she walked away.

  “Feeling the love,” I muttered, and strolled into the dining room to prep the next panel.

  An hour later, Amanda arrived. I went out to open the door but Petsy beat me to it. Lindsey had come halfway down the stairs to get the door and we both watched as Petsy grabbed Amanda’s arm and pulled her into the house. “I was so worried when you didn’t show up earlier. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, I just had some personal things to take care of,” Amanda said, looking a little flustered by Petsy’s attention. That made two of us. Petsy was really being weird. Even for her.

  The older woman weaved her arm through Amanda’s as they crossed the foyer. “I’ve never offered you girls any coffee or tea, but if you’d like something, I’ll be happy to bring it to you.”

  Lindsey looked as shocked as I felt. “Mother, what are you doing? Let the girls get to work.”

  Petsy scowled. “Go to your room, Lindsey, if you can’t be pleasant.”

  Lindsey saw me watching and rolled her eyes. She turned and walked back upstairs.

  “I’m fine, Petsy,” Amanda said. “Please don’t go to any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. I’m home all day if you need anyth
ing.”

  “Thanks.” Amanda rewarded her with a big smile, then walked into the dining room. Once Petsy had moved on into the kitchen, the two of us exchanged a quick look.

  “Everything turn out okay?” I asked when she got settled.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry I had to take time off. I’m looking for a new apartment, so I had to meet a landlord and check one out.”

  I was relieved to hear the news. “Is it nice? Where is it?”

  “It’s beautiful, over by the marina.”

  “I love that area,” I said, then added, “My father has a boat in the marina.” I grinned, realizing that was the first time I’d said that. I wondered if Dad was on the boat right now and made a mental note to give him a call later.

  “So,” Amanda whispered, “did you get the whole welcome-wagon treatment from Petsy, too?”

  I shot a look over my shoulder to where the woman had disappeared, then looked back at Amanda. “Hardly. She saved it just for you.”

  She frowned a little, and I couldn’t help but join her. What was going on with Petsy? Lately she seemed to go totally manic around Amanda. It might have made sense if she believed Amanda was her daughter, but I couldn’t be sure of that yet.

  We settled into work, and while I appreciated the silence, I loved being surrounded by construction noise.

  When Amanda pulled out her power drill and attached the latest panel to the wall, it made me happy. The sounds of industry, as Matthew had put it. I liked that.

  Once she was finished attaching the panel, it was silent again for a while.

  Suddenly there were hurried footsteps on the staircase and Lindsey shouted, “Mother, please just stop!”

  “Oh, Lindsey.” Petsy’s displeasure was obvious. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Nothing, Mother. Absolutely nothing. For God’s sake, just leave me alone.”

  I looked up and met Amanda’s gaze. I imagined I looked as stunned as she did. We’d both heard the two Jorgensen women bickering before, but this sounded more serious. And uglier.

  “All I said was that you could stand to lose a few pounds. I’m just trying to help.”