Wuthering Kites

by Clover Tate

  “And he did it in a practical way. He sells kites during the high season, then cuts back his hours and helps out Dave. It works. He probably owns his building outright, so that’s not a financial liability. He owns his house. He may not be rich, but he’s thought it through.”

  “Like I said, I don’t mean what do you think about him financially. I mean what do you think about him as a person.” I took a breath. “I mean, for me?”

  Sunny’s lips barely smiled. “Why ask me? You’re the only person who can answer that.”

  I thought about the kite charm, the text from a dead woman, the inheritance. Was I making a mistake to date Jack?

  I pulled my blanket up tighter. The scratchy wool tickled my hands. I hadn’t even touched my iced tea. “Really, Sunny. What do you think? I know you don’t know him very well.”

  “Are you worried about him? About the body—his aunt?”

  I couldn’t respond. I didn’t know if I had cause to worry—not yet. But the evidence was not stacking in his favor. My feelings, my gut instinct, set firmly in his favor. He was not a murderer.

  We were both women now, Sunny and I, not girls. I think Sunny realized how new this sort of conversation was, too. She lowered her voice. “You have good judgment, Em. Trust it. I do.”

  I shifted my gaze to the ocean and let Sunny’s words sink in. I didn’t know if I’d ever asked my little sister for advice, but right now I wanted it. “Thanks, Sun. But, really. What should I do?”

  “You’re that worried?”

  The wind rattled the ancient Douglas fir trees surrounding the house. Somewhere in the Cascade Range, Jack and his father were hiking, maybe not yet to where they’d pitch camp for the night. Jack had no idea a noose was tightening around his neck.

  “Yes, I’m worried. If the only evidence was just the kite charm Mom found, I could shrug it off. But he said he’d received a text from Allison when she was already dead. She couldn’t have sent it. He has the best motive to kill her, too, now.”

  Sunny shifted on the rattan couch, pulling up a blanket. “And what about Claire? She inherits just as much as Jack. Who knows? Her shop could be in hock, and she could really need the cash.”

  “True.” I considered Claire’s prompt revelation that she and Jack now inherited. “Jack’s disadvantage is the missing kite charm. Something of his was found at the murder scene.”

  “I know he’s innocent, Em. Let’s flip the situation around.” She got that look she did when she was explaining to me how the stock market and interest rates were linked. “Why would he lie about a text that could easily be disproven? His phone will show the text.”

  “True,” I said again.

  “And why would he strangle his aunt at your shop? Why not do it—oh, I don’t know—in the woods somewhere?”

  “That’s true, too. If it had been”—here I lowered my voice—“Jack, he would have left the body anywhere else.” I should have been relieved by Sunny’s reasoning, but worry still niggled at me. I thought back to finding Allison’s body. Her purse had only had a few things in it. “Allison didn’t have her phone when we found her. Someone else might have stolen it and texted Jack.”

  “Now you’re thinking. And why would Jack disguise his aunt’s body as the reporter’s? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “To delay discovering Allison’s identity?”

  “And what good would that do him?” Sunny asked.

  I thought this over. “Can’t say. Someone’s setting him up, though,” I said.

  “It’s starting to look that way.”

  “Sheriff Koppen is just waiting for Jack to return to Rock Point before questioning him, and poor Jack won’t have a clue what’s up.” I imagined Jack cornered by the sheriff as he unloaded his Jeep, fresh from the mountains. Besides learning that his aunt was dead, he’d have to face being the top suspect in her murder.

  “Maybe you can find something to clear him. Do you know where he was when his aunt was killed?”

  “I thought you’d said to let the sheriff handle it.” That idea had given me so much comfort only yesterday.

  “That’s because the death didn’t concern you.” She straightened the blanket around her feet. “Now it does.”

  As we’d talked, the day’s drizzle had strengthened to rain that pattered and blew against the porch’s roof. “Yes.” I flopped my head against the couch’s back. “The night of the murder, Jack was at home, presumably. Sleeping.” I sat up straighter. “Claire would have been there. She would have noticed if he’d gone out, wouldn’t she? She’d be his alibi.”

  “Good. You should ask her. And Jack might have heard her leave, too, if she did.” She tapped her fingers against her blanket-covered knee. “If you want, I’ll do some research into Claire’s financial situation. I can find out if she owns her shop, for instance.”

  Before I could say, “Good idea,” Sunny grabbed both her and my iced tea glasses and rose. “Where are you going?”

  “To get ready for the debate at city hall. You’re going, too, aren’t you?”

  That’s right. The debate. “I almost forgot. I’d better get back to Strings Attached so Stella can leave to get ready. She’ll want to get home to feed Madame Lucy.”

  My response came out automatically. As I spoke, I wasn’t thinking about the election at all. I was thinking about Claire, and how I was going to get her alone.

  chapter thirteen

  By the time I arrived at the city council debate, the school gymnasium was full to overflowing. I closed my umbrella and left it inside the door with the mass of other soaking umbrellas under a big paper spider and a cutout of a witch on a broom. Although locals referred to umbrellas as “sissy sticks,” I saw that I wasn’t the only one who had determined the hood on my jacket wasn’t enough protection against tonight’s downpour.

  As I’d told Sunny, Stella was ready to hand me the keys and dart home when I arrived at Strings Attached. As soon as she’d seen it was me at the shop’s door, she had one arm in her coat. By the time her other sleeve was occupied, she’d told me we’d just about sold out of some of our lower-priced kites and wind socks, thanks to residents who’d wanted to get an eyeful of the murder scene.

  I’d been halfway tempted to abandon the debate so I could find Claire and ask about her cousin, but I knew it meant a lot to Stella that I be there, since she’d worked on Marcus’s campaign. Heck, it meant a lot to me, too. But my vote was settled. Closing my eyes to the town’s evolution from fishing village to tourist destination wasn’t going to make the change stop. I feared that Councilman Tibbetts, as kind and dedicated as he might be, was still stuck in the past.

  Stella had saved a seat for me in the bleachers. She waved and patted the spot next to her, then returned her gaze to across the room. I swiveled to see where she was looking and found Ace in the middle of a group of longtime Rock Point residents and Tibbetts supporters. I sighed. This could be a long evening.

  “Have trouble parking?” Stella asked, tearing her eyes away from him. “The lot was nearly full when I got here twenty minutes ago.”

  “I walked.”

  Stella’s head turned again. “Hmm.”

  “Stella,” I said sharply. She turned to me. At this rate, she’d need a chiropractor for neck strain. “Are you going to spend all night glaring at Ace?”

  “I’m not glaring.”

  “You are, too. It’s like you’re waiting for him to do something to irritate you, and you don’t want to miss it.”

  “No, I’m not—There!” She nodded toward him. “See that?”

  Ace pulled off his plaid jacket, carefully folding the sleeves. Despite the Pacific Northwest’s rain, many Rock Point residents persisted in wearing wool jackets, and old plaid wool seemed to be the favorite. Jack usually wore a vintage Pendleton plaid jacket, although on him it looked hip, not fusty. But maybe I was biased. I s
nuck a peek at my phone. No message.

  “What?” I said, looking away from my phone and back at Ace. “He’s taking off his coat.”

  “Keep looking.”

  Ace shot a glance our way, then turned to us to proudly display his T-shirt. “Tibbetts Is Terrific,” it said. From the way it was stretched out and faded, he’d probably bought it toward the end of the last century.

  “See that?” Stella said.

  “What’s wrong with wearing a T-shirt with your candidate’s slogan on it?”

  “He’s only doing it to make me mad.”

  What a day. First I’d had perhaps the most adult conversation I’d ever had with my kid sister. Now my older friend was acting like a grade-schooler.

  “Stella,” I said softly. The crowd around us was busy with their own conversations about the weather, the election, and, in one case, whether it was proper for someone named Kaylee to be a belly dancer for Halloween. “Ace has really got to you. What’s wrong?”

  “Ace doesn’t bother me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I stared at her. “You’re joking.”

  She put a hand to her forehead and rubbed. “You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “You used to call him a ‘character.’ You were all right with him until he moved in next door. I know he’s annoying, but now you seem to think he’s a monster.”

  “I feel like his very existence is just to torment me. I—”

  The sound of tapping on the microphone interrupted Stella’s response. Darlene, chair of Rock Point’s chamber of commerce, stood on a makeshift stage clad in a buttercup yellow suit. Maybe it was the gym’s Halloween decorations, but with her red hair and white shoes, Darlene reminded me of candy corn.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming tonight for the Rock Point city council debate. Gentlemen, would you take your seats?”

  Councilman Tibbetts and Marcus Salek filed onto the stage and sat on facing recliners. The side of each chair advertised JoJo’s Chairs-N-Things in Astoria. According to Stella, Marcus had been prepared to stand at a lectern, but Tibbetts wasn’t up for more standing than it took to shake a fist at the University of Oregon Ducks football team on TV.

  The crowd clapped, and Tibbetts tossed off a practiced wave. Just about everyone in the room knew him and felt comfortable visiting him at city hall—or, more often, in the Rock Point Tavern, his unofficial city hall, where he watched sports and nursed diet cola.

  Marcus was less of a known factor. His family had been on the city council years ago—one of his uncles had overlapped with Tibbetts a few decades ago—but Marcus had moved down the coast and married. When he returned a widower last year, he was depressed and reclusive. Worse, he’d been suspected of murder. Once his name was cleared, he’d begun funneling his grief over his wife’s death into practical avenues. To everyone’s surprise—and, eventually, some people’s satisfaction—he’d decided to run for city council.

  I was among the satisfied. Marcus’s integrity and thoughtfulness were true, and he’d already won the endorsements of half the existing city council members.

  When the applause died down, Darlene pulled index cards from her blazer pocket. “Each candidate will have two minutes for an opening statement. Then I’ll ask each candidate questions that Rock Point residents submitted earlier. Councilman Tibbetts, we’ll start with you.”

  Tibbetts pushed himself up from the recliner and inclined his head to the roar from the crowd. “Thank you, thank you.”

  I stole another peek at my phone, then scanned the crowd on the off chance that Claire would be there. Of course, she wasn’t. She was probably on the yacht with Dustin or out to dinner. Or still being questioned by Sheriff Koppen. I bit my lip. Maybe she was helping to make funeral arrangements for Allison. She had better places to be than here.

  Across the room, down a few rows from Ace, Avery smiled and raised a palm to me. Dave, sitting next to her, nodded. I wasn’t sure, but they might have been holding hands.

  Jeanette, the postmistress, eyes narrowed, watched the room, too. Her gaze lingered on Stella and me, as she was no doubt thinking about the body we’d found. Thanks to her position, Jeanette knew just about everyone’s business in town. She knew who was in debt, who subscribed to gun magazines, who received lavish birthday cards, and who received none. She saw the college approval packets and birth announcements before their recipients did. She treated her information like gold ingots, and she was Fort Knox—until she wanted something.

  Tibbetts took the microphone. “Thank you, dear Rock Point families, dear friends. And thank you, Marcus, although you haven’t been in Rock Point all that long.”

  The men began a friendly but spirited debate. When Marcus brought up the need to consider neighborhood zoning, Tibbetts said the only zoning that needed to be considered was a “Reserved” sign for himself in front of the Rock Point Tavern. The crowd laughed, but Marcus didn’t even crack a smile. He analyzed each question thoroughly, coming up with a surprising amount of well-thought-out but dull statistics.

  About half an hour into the debate, after a question about renovations to the old dock, Darlene flipped to the next index card and asked, “If elected, how do you propose to plan for Rock Point’s growth? Councilman Tibbetts, will you start?”

  Here, my interest perked up.

  Tibbetts smiled genially. “You folks are probably expecting me to say that Rock Point is just fine like it is. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Well, you’re wrong. Rock Point is indeed broken. If you want an example, look no further than the stranger murdered this week at Strings Attached.”

  I gasped. Heads swiveled in my direction, boring me with their gazes. I shrank into the bench. I didn’t have to look at her to know Stella was as shocked as I was. She was squeezing my arm so tightly that I made a mental note to go to her if I ever had a rattlesnake bite and needed a tourniquet.

  Even Darlene seemed taken aback. “Councilman, what does the death have to do with Rock Point’s growth?”

  “Maybe we need to be a little more careful about the people we allow to set up business here.”

  What? Since when did a kite shop pose a mortal threat? A murmur spread over the crowd. I was about to stand up and give Tibbetts a piece of my mind when he pulled the microphone again to his mouth.

  “Or hold office,” he said. “Yes, we need to keep to our values. If I remember right, you might have had a brush with murder yourself not that long ego, eh, Marcus?”

  My jaw dropped. So that’s where he was headed. This was just plain low. With my help, the sheriff had proven without a doubt that Marcus had had nothing to do with the death Tibbetts referred to. It was a closed case.

  Marcus took it better than I did. “Thank you, Councilman, for asking about that. People probably remember how bitter I’ve been. It’s why I’m here now, actually. Five years ago, my wife was killed by a hit-and-run driver in Bedlow Bay because there was no plan to deal with the town’s growing tourist trade. I’m dedicating my life to making sure Rock Point never experiences this kind of tragedy.”

  “I call murder a real tragedy,” Councilman Tibbetts said. “Your wife’s accident—rest her soul—might have been an accident, but just this week we had a murder right here in town.”

  “Yes, I heard about that. The sheriff mentioned it.”

  “I’m not surprised the sheriff consults with you on murder, given your experience.” Tibbetts rested back, hands on his belly, apparently confident he’d made his point.

  Again, unfair. The murder had had nothing to do with him. Mixing Marcus with poor Allison was just plain wrong. I unclenched my fists. I’d had enough. I was getting out of there.

  “Stella,” I whispered. “I need to go.”

  She laid a soft hand on my arm. “He’s a dolt, Em. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “It’s not ju
st that—I need to go.”

  “All right. Good luck.” She patted my hand.

  After a few minutes of searching in the school’s foyer, I found my umbrella, raised it against the downpour, and darted onto the sidewalk. Darkness had fallen, and I had to pay attention to dodge the puddles that had collected along the sidewalk. I crossed Main Street. It was quiet. Except for Martino’s Pizza, all the shops were closed.

  Instead of heading home, I turned toward the new dock. The rain drummed on my umbrella. If Claire was still anywhere in Rock Point, I’d find her.

  chapter fourteen

  On a rainy autumn night like tonight, the old dock with its uneven, slick wooden pier and loosely moored boats might have been used as a setting for a horror movie. The new dock, however, was as brightly lit and sanitary as a hospital waiting room. I stood under the awning at the top of the dock and shook out my umbrella. I wouldn’t bother Dustin if he was alone, but if I saw two shapes in the yacht’s cabin, I’d knock.

  “Where are you going?”

  At the unexpected voice, I whirled around, banging my umbrella by accident against Ace. I caught my breath. “It’s you. Why aren’t you still at the debate?”

  “Oh”—he swatted dismissively—“no surprises there. Tibbetts is my man. Don’t see any reason to hang around. I thought I’d stop by and visit my boat.”

  “But your boat is at the old dock.”

  Ace’s ponytail, already thin when dry, was now the size of a rat’s tail. He was of the “sissy stick” camp and refused an umbrella. “Yeah, I didn’t get there yet. Thought I’d take another look at the Chris Craft. Sweet ride, I bet.”

  I followed his gaze down the dock, where the mahogany of Dustin’s yacht gave off a warm glow. “Nice, isn’t it?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Me?” For a moment, I felt foolish. What was I doing chasing my boyfriend’s sister around? In any case, it wasn’t any of Ace’s business. “Just taking a walk.”