“That I’ve been careful so the shooter hasn’t had a second opportunity.”
“That the target was Parker.”
The thought sent a shiver down Liv’s back.
Tilly went on. “How is he?”
Liv shook her head. “Haven’t seen him nor talked to him.”
“Really? Well, that’s strange.” Tilly scrunched her eyebrows. “And it’s not right. You got him back here and he hasn’t even come over to thank you?”
“It’s not that simple.”
Tilly blew a raspberry. “Fucking A. You two are randy for each other, it’s plain to see. He didn’t even call you?”
“An e-mail two days ago. Last I heard.”
Now indignant, taking Liv by the arm, Tilly said, “You went to bat for the dick, for Petersburg. How dare he ignore that?”
Liv shrugged. “We both know my bringing him back could, number one, get him shot.”
“Or if he doesn’t catch killers, ruin his career,” Tilly added. “Now I see the problem.” She squeezed Liv’s arm. “Sorry.”
Liv pulled Tilly into a stroll past the Landing to the Viking Museum, her interest in dancing fading fast. Tuck, if he showed up at all, would probably dance with Tilly. The presence of Parker had made her push Tuck beyond a “maybe” relationship to an “absolutely not” relationship. Sure she had other guys to dance with, but none so interesting and talented on the dance floor as Tuck. And now that she’d stiff-armed him as a sexual partner, he’d probably refuse to help her fund the salmon oil venture. Why in God’s name had she necked with Tuck and ruined everything?
Sensing Liv’s mood, Tilly said, “Dance-shy all of a sudden? Think of the music and the exercise, Liv. I’ll make Tuck dance with you.”
Liv waved a hand. “No. My days of dancing with him are over.”
“You mad at me for screwing him in Seattle?”
“It’s your life. But watch yourself, Tilly. I see a mean streak in him.” They leaned against the iron fence protecting the old Viking boat.
“Well, I’ve got a mean streak, too.” She paused. “I’m a lousy friend.”
Liv saw the embarrassment in Tilly’s eyes and registered one more victim of her life-long charade to keep her brain-power hidden.
“You’ve always been nice to me, no matter how stupid I acted,” Tilly continued. “Any normal friend would be pissed I slept with Tuck before you figured out your feelings for him.”
“I can’t control what you or Tuck do.”
“I betrayed a friend, Liv. You should be torqued.”
Out on Wrangell Narrows an iceberg floated south, bright white in the gray sea. Alone. Drifting. Liv hitched her shoulder, the answer to Tilly’s question depressing her. Liv had never in her life confided in another person who she really was. A deep friendship? Impossible.
What could she say to Tilly besides ‘You’re right. All these years I’ve pretended to be your friend.’ Why hurt the woman more? Liv cleared her throat and stepped away from the fence. “Ev’s murder has turned the town inside out.”
“Add Parker.”
“True. Since he came to town, I’ve lost my dance partner, started a newspaper column about an old murder, gotten shot at and launched a letter-writing campaign. He’s a catalyst, all right.”
“Think he’ll show up tonight?”
Liv touched her jade jewelry, the stones she wore the night she licked rain off Parker’s cheek, and an ardor-freezing bullet struck her in the arm. If Parker saw her wearing the jewelry, Liv hoped it would remind him of the electricity between them, not the bullet.
“He won’t come. He and Nilson are hard at work over there.” She peered through the drizzle at the Municipal Building. “I’m a distraction, Tilly. Hell, I’m a suspect, too. He can’t fraternize with me. He can’t be drinking beer and hobnobbing with partiers at Lito’s Landing when he’s supposed to be finding two criminals.”
The statue of the stoic fisherman hovered over them, seriously considering their dilemmas.
“Liv,” the statue said, sharply.
Liv and Tilly gazed at the talking bronze figure, transfixed.
Then from behind the statue, two dark figures emerged: Parker and Nilson.
Pulling in a breath, Liv said, “Parker.”
He gave a stiff nod. “Liv. Tilly.”
Liv frowned at his clipped voice and stepped closer to him. He wasn’t smiling.
“Say,” Tilly teased. “Say, why don’t you come with me and let these two have some time alone.” She glanced at Liv. “Jiggle that side door to the museum and you’ll get out of the rain. It’s a little office, not a bedroom, but…” She paused, looking first at Parker, then at Liv. She winked. “Maybe we’ll see you later at the Landing.”
“No,” Parker barked.
Liv flinched.
“Special Agent Nilson,” Parker said, glaring at Tilly for her massacre of the man’s title. “Special Agent Nilson and I will be working the case together, not separately. Day and night.” He closed his eyes as if summoning patience in the face of two clueless civilians. When he opened them, his menace focused on Liv. “I was making inroads on the case in Fresno when a shitstorm of letters hit my boss’s desk.” He mimicked a woman’s voice: ‘Send Parker back to Petersburg…he’s a lot more fun to have around than Nilson.’” He pointed at Nilson. “He’s working his ass off to solve a case and find the person who shot you, Liv, but the whole town dissed the man because he wasn’t social enough.”
He flipped off his hood in an irritated gesture, seeming not to mind the rain wetting his head. The play of shadows on his face accentuated the anger and frustration in his expression. With an audible exhale, he squinted at Liv. “You’ve already figured out you fucked up with that letter-writing campaign, haven’t you? I’ll bet you’ve shared your concerns with Tilly and Ivor, and God knows who else. A little late to be remorseful when the damage is done. My boss is steamed because he has to send me back here as a result of a bunch of women who think they know how to solve a Federal crime. Your protest has hit the big city papers, so now we’ve got national scrutiny.”
“Nice.” Parker turned to Nilson. “They expect agents to be ‘nice.’ Jesus.”
Nilson wagged his head, his lips a thin line of disgust.
Gazing at Tilly, Parker reached into an inside coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Nothing nice about this, Ms. Grant. A warrant to review all your accounts at the cannery. Monday morning, eight sharp. Agent Nilson will pick them up.”
Tilly grimaced, but didn’t say a word.
Observing Tilly as if to record her reaction, he said, “Barber is next. I’m serving him a similar warrant for his accounts, tonight.”
Tilly’s eyes widened and Parker smiled. “Don’t like that do you? I wonder why?”
Parker’s focus shifted to Liv. “You have information you aren’t sharing, Ms. Hanson. Agent Nilson and I agree on that fact. My father, Deputy Browne, continues his watch over you, serving as my eyes and ears. We don’t know what you’re hiding, but we’re going to find out soon enough.”
When Liv and Tilly remained speechless, Parker huffed. “Well, Agent Nilson, it looks like after faxing dozens of letters to our Fresno office, these two have run out of words. I say we go work the room at Lito’s Landing after we deliver our own letter to Tuck Barber. Ready?”
Nilson smiled broadly, an expression Liv had never seen before. Tilly’s mouth dropped open at the sight.
“One more thing you should know. Parker Browne, Agent Friendly, was a strategy.” He looked meaningfully at Liv. “You’ve just met Special Agent Browne, hard ass.” With a turn to Tilly, he said, “You’re both guilty, until proven otherwise.”
With that, the agents strolled toward the bar, seeming not to care whether Tilly and Liv followed them or not.
Tilly said, “Shit.”
Even though she tugged on her jade necklace for strength, Liv felt her heart break in two.
****
“I
Heard it Through the Grapevine,” pounded from the speakers while a punked-out DJ moved his shoulders to the beat of the music. A handful of dancers two-stepped enthusiastically to the tune, but for once, Liv had no interest in joining their fun. Tilly peeled off for Tuck’s office while Liv took a stool next to Ivor. She stole a sip of his dark beer, then signaled the waitress to bring one like his. Darker than dark, matching her mood. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Parker and Nilson pay for drinks at the bar, then amble over to Robert Halley, Susanna’s father. Suspect. Probably to show him a copy of the warrant to peruse his accounts at the cannery. One more person’s evening ruined.
Ivor bumped his shoulder into hers. “Why so glum? You got your guy back.”
“Not the right one, though. I fucked things up for him and his boss.”
“Think you’re that powerful?”
Tears came to her eyes. “I got the same criticism from Parker. Naïve, busy-body, selfish, self-serving.”
“You want me to clock him?” Ivor made a fist and dropped one foot off the stool rung as if to rise.
Liv took a swallow of the chewy beer and closed her eyes. “Right. He didn’t use those words exactly, but he is one unhappy Treasury agent.” She surveyed the bar and sighed. “You’ve always said I didn’t belong in Petersburg.”
“Do I hear self-pity?”
She socked him in the arm. “Thanks for the commiseration, brother.”
“Just being empathetic: restating; reflecting.”
“Psychobabble.”
“I sound like you, don’t I?” he asked with a chuckle. “And don’t hit me again. Maybe you better go dance some of that crap out of your system.”
The DJ started up ‘Moon River,’ and Chet wandered over to sit next to Liv. He stumbled a little when he pulled out a barstool next to Liv’s , knocking her purse off the backrest. “Sorry,” he said, hooking the purse on her chair. “Come on, Liv. Let’s do a turn around the dance floor. You look like you could use a morale booster.”
“Nah. I’ll stick to drowning my sorrows,” she said, holding up the deadly dark beer.
“I insist.” He took her hand and led her to the floor, away from the other dancers. His firm grip on her waist and her hand felt comforting. “At least I know this old song.”
“You’re a good dancer,” she said, thinking about the slow dance with Parker in her apartment. A last dance. “I hear you get to babysit me for the duration. Sorry.”
“Gives me something important to do between fishing excursions. Hell, I’m drawing a salary for clerking part time at your store. Makes me feel young, again.”
She gazed at Chet’s kind face, his deep wrinkles evidence of a life of smiling. “I can’t imagine a nicer bodyguard.”
He cleared his throat. “Parker gave you the bum’s rush tonight, huh?”
“Omitted the ‘glad to see you’ part altogether.”
“It hurt. I can tell.”
“I should have asked him about sending the letters to his boss. I can’t believe I didn’t consider the national papers might pick up our protest. Now some turd of a Seattle journalist is linking my column on Sing Lee to Everett Olson’s death, saying Petersburg has a history of not solving high crime. The same guy did some digging and turned up Parker on the Treasury agent rolls.”
Eyebrow up, Chet said, “Juicy material for a Seattle Times reporter.”
“But Parker had good reasons for keeping the Treasury angle under wraps. Now the criminals know to hide stuff and go underground. I’ve cranked up the stakes for Parker so high—”
Chet clipped off the end of her sentence by leading her into a turn. He said, “I slid a letter from Parker in your purse.”
Liv let out a breath. “I deserve a Dear John.”
Shaking his head, Chet said, “He knows you meant no harm, Liv. But he does have a past that colors these events.”
“I wonder if he’ll tell me about it.”
“Maybe in the letter.”
She bowed her head on Chet’s shoulder. “He’s way more brave than I am.”
Chet squeezed her hand at the same time the music stopped. “Let me help if I can. For now, why don’t you introduce me to the beer you’re drinking. I like a dark beer every once in a while.”
Liv nodded, morose. “I know all about darkness.”
****
Dear Liv,
You’ve taken my letter into the bar’s restroom to read (I know you won’t be able to wait until you get home. I smile here). Please tear it into pieces and flush it down the toilet afterward. We must not call or e-mail one another. If you have a message for me, send it through my father. I hate to be dramatic, but I have to say this: our lives, my career, and solving this case depend on the pretense that we are no longer friends. Any outward, public show of interest we have for each other endangers us both. Conjure Taming Of The Shrew, but don’t overplay (I saw that grimace). People need to know we’re both intent on solving the crime(s), but we don’t relish working together. I can’t do my job unless I know you are safe and that means we stay away from each other.
I’m sorry about the public take-down. Frankly, I don’t know how well I carried off the scene, but I am guessing you tried to help me make the thing work. I’ve never met a woman smarter than you are, Liv. I knew you’d pick up that I was playing the stereotyped character in your ‘Never Date a Detective’ feature. I hope I got the laconic part down…I tend to talk a lot more than the ersatz man in your article.
Chet alerted me you’d be with Tilly; she’s the number one town gossip and I knew she’d blab to Barber first chance she got. I wanted you, Tilly, and Nilson to be visibly surprised by my behavior, so no one got prepped. My boss put me in lead position on this case, which doesn’t please Nilson, but I think he might take orders from the hard-bitten, take-no-prisoners guy I played in front of you. I don’t believe he’s met a woman as quick-witted as you are, which is why you make him uncomfortable. You scare me a little bit, too. I would never try this unrehearsed script we just completed with another person besides you. Grinning now aren’t you, knowing you nailed a tough scene?
I see that my tone is too light when the situation is dead serious. Now I’m shaking my finger at you and looking grim. You must keep yourself safe. Any time you are not double-locked in your apartment, Chet, Ivor, Nilson, or I am with you. Nothing I said to you in front of Tilly was a lie even if I overdramatized each truth. My cover is blown, my boss is angry, Nilson is feeling whipped, and the case feels as cold as the LeConte Glacier. As I said, I was making progress in Fresno, but because Nilson’s efforts stalled, I’m glad to be back to help him here in Petersburg.
One more point I have to make. Every person who knows you well in Petersburg is positive you’re hiding more than a pseudonym and a string of articles. I agree. I can’t help but feel that your secrets need telling, first, for yourself, maybe for the case, and definitely for the town. It’s a chasm yawning as wide as the Grand Canyon between us, made deeper by my own experience of loving a woman whose death I feel responsible for. Someday I will tell you about her. I apologize for not being ready yet…for now, for me, that is a bridge too far.
The last sentence of the letter was handwritten in black, wide strokes, added after the drama outside the Viking Museum:
I wanted to ask about your shoulder, Liv, hoping the pain is gone. I envy my father for the chance to hang with you. Thanks for wearing the jade. More than anything I wish I could have jiggled that museum door and danced in the darkness with you.
-Parker
Chapter Eleven
“I don’t like your Agent Browne, Liv,” Mallen said as she poured coffee for Liv and Jenny and nudged a plate of powdered rosettes toward them. They’d gathered in the enclosed sun porch of the B&B, overlooking Wrangell Narrows. A downpour outside darkened the view, the room, and their mood.
“He’s definitely not mine,” Liv said, picking up her cup, even as she strained to listen for Parker’s voice. “Never was. Never will be. H
e thinks I interfere; that the complaint letters we wrote messed up his case and his career.” She bit her bottom lip. “He’s warned me against looking for the person who shot me.” With a throat clearing, Liv said, “But I didn’t come to complain about him.” A turn to Jenny. “Just a few more questions about Sing Lee?”
“She’s not feeling that well today, Liv. I think she’d rather—”
Jenny put a hand on her granddaughter’s arm. “It’s okay. I want to help if I can.” She smiled at Liv. “I like the newspaper column, dear. You do a good job of humanizing the marshal. I met him on two occasions when Greta brought him home for dinner.” Jenny teared up. “Gre…Greta admired the man.”
Mallen stood abruptly, taking her coffee cup with her. “Excuse me, Liv. I’ll leave you to chat with Grandma while I do chores.”
When Mallen was out of earshot, Jenny said, “She’s protecting me.”
“From talking about Greta?”
“I miss my sister,” Jenny said. “She was a shy ten year-old when my mother died. I was only nine, but tougher than Greta was, so I stepped in as her big sis. Greta’s death last year was crushing.”
Liv leaned forward and touched Jenny’s knee. “I understand. I promise I’ll be quick with the questions and get out of your hair.” She grabbed a notepad from her purse and turned to a page with writing. “So, Greta was seventeen when she delivered bakery goods to Sing Lee’s Country Store twice a day?”
“True. Greta knew Sing Lee personally, I didn’t.”
“You mentioned last time we talked, that Greta had a boyfriend, a fisherman.”
Jenny’s eyes narrowed. “Tor Peterson was as handsome as he was mean. Hit her, verbally abused her. Yet she kept seeing him, sneaking off when I wasn’t looking.”
“Did the marshal know about the boyfriend? I mean if the guy had a nasty streak, he might have been a suspect for Sing Lee’s murder.”
Jenny seemed pleased with the idea. “That’s true. I never thought about Peterson’s relationship with the old Chinaman.”
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