by Clover Tate
“Get up, then. We’ve got to get home.”
Home? I was home. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not planning on staying here alone, are you?”
I stood. It didn’t seem right to sit while my sister was standing. If I ever had a minute, I’d get a couch or some chairs. “The jack-o’-lantern was outside on the landing, not in the apartment. I’ll be safe here.”
“Bad idea,” Sunny said. “There’s a—”
“A murderer on the loose. I know. He’s not killing randomly, though. I’ll keep my phone near the bed, and I have Bear to alert me if someone tries to break in. I refuse to be run out of my own home.”
Sunny folded her arms and stared at me. Finally, she dropped her arms. “Fine. You’re not scared?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
* * *
• • •
I’d lied. I was terrified.
Running through the list of suspects with Sunny had led me to imagine the murder more times and more ways than I’d wanted. And then we’d found the massacred jack-o’-lantern. I felt like I was in a dark cave too far from the entrance to retreat, but not close enough to the exit to see the light signaling the way out. If there was an exit, that is.
Sunny had told me early on that this was the sheriff’s case to resolve. Yes, the body had been found in my shop, but that’s not why I was so committed to finding the murderer. It was because of Jack. I couldn’t let him be accused.
My feelings scared me, really. For the first time, I could imagine making a life with someone. With Jack I was more comfortable than I’d ever been with a man, and more invested in his happiness. How did this happen? I hadn’t planned it or even wanted it, really. Maybe I was at the right time in my life. Or maybe Jack was the right person. In the end, did it matter? I felt how I felt. And I felt that I had to save Jack.
Night had fallen, and most of the trick-or-treaters had gone home for dinner or to the Halloween party the chamber of commerce hosted in the school auditorium. Now the streets were quiet. Bear twitched in his sleep. I knew the night ahead would be long and that I’d be lucky to snatch a few minutes of slumber here and there while listening for someone at the door or fidgeting with the new locks at Strings Attached.
The ocean continued its ceaseless rumble—flooding the beach, scraping back, pushing forward again. I held the curtains aside and stared at the sea, the one constant in this whole mess. “Hey, Neptune,” I said, feeling alarmingly like my mother. “What do you think?”
The thick layer of clouds meant not even the moon could spell a response on the water. I dropped the curtains and picked up my phone to dial.
“Emmy,” Jack said. “I was just going to call.”
For the first time in hours, I began to relax. Despite my mass of fear and anxiety, his voice comforted me. I told him about my meeting with Jeanette, and then the chart Sunny and I made up, although I played down Claire’s role. Eventually, I even told him about the jack-o’-lantern at my door. “The sheriff is sure it’s kids playing a prank.”
He didn’t respond at first. “I don’t feel good about this,” he said.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “It won’t be for much longer. We just have to get through the next few days. The sheriff is working on it, and I—”
“What?”
“I have an idea. About Matt. And your uncle. We need to visit the farm and see what we can find out.”
“What about my uncle?”
My eyes popped open. I lowered my voice. “Do you know for sure his death was an accident?”
Again, he paused before responding. “I’ve thought about that.”
“He fell, right?” We both knew that “fell” and “was pushed” weren’t too far apart.
“No. No, I can’t let you get more involved. Maybe the pumpkin was a prank, but maybe not. Two murders? You’re putting yourself at risk, and I can’t allow that. Who knows who’s watching you?”
“Is anyone else listening to us?”
“No,” Jack said.
“No one can see me. Not that it would matter.” My curtains were pulled shut, and, thanks to my lack of lamps, the only light on was over the stove.
“I’m sitting in the kitchen. No one’s here.”
“Then what do we have to risk? You want to visit Rosa anyway, right?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“It’s perfectly natural that you’d do that. It’s also perfectly natural that you’d wander over to Matt’s to say hello.”
Again, a pause. This time it lasted long enough that I said, “Hello? Jack?”
“I’m here.” A long exhalation. “Actually, it’s not normal that I’d see Matt.”
I thought of Matt’s easy visit to Rosa when I’d visited the farm, but I also remembered Jack’s reticence around Matt at the Tidal Basin. “I’ve noticed something a bit off there.” I waited for an explanation, but nothing came. “Jack, did something happen between you and Matt?”
“I don’t want to drag you into all that.”
Bear moaned in his sleep. The rain was picking up outside and rat-a-tat-tatted against the French doors. Praise be to Ace, the ceiling was dry. “Okay. But will you go tomorrow? For me?” And for yourself, I added silently.
“I’d do a lot for you, Emmy, but I don’t want you chasing after a murderer.”
“We’ll just watch. Observe. If something out of the ordinary turns up, we’ll tell the sheriff. Besides, you wanted to visit, anyway, right? I swear, I won’t make trouble.”
“You won’t?”
“Scout’s honor.” As I spoke, I crossed my fingers.
chapter twenty-eight
When I met Jack at his house the next morning, the moisture in the air was thick enough to wet my face. And, for the first time that year, my breath hung in the air. Winter was coming.
I ran up Jack’s steps with the same rush of anticipation I always had. I was happy, but strangely nervous, as if the feeling couldn’t be real. When Jack answered the door I was grinning as if my cereal box had come with two prizes.
“I thought about it all night, and I’m going alone,” he said.
My smile vanished. “What?”
“Come in.”
He kissed me on the cheek, and I stepped into the warmth of his living room. The scent of coffee hung in the background. Jack’s house was an amalgam of two bachelors: his grandfather—a widower for two decades—and Jack. Both men were tidy and valued form over function, but the furniture was nice—walnut coffee tables that might have graced Father Knows Best next to Jack’s Saarinen womb chair and guitar. What really touched me was the prototype of my comet kite hanging in the stairwell. My heart gushed every time I saw it.
“What are you talking about, you’re going alone?” I asked.
“I know the sheriff said the jack-o’-lantern was just a joke, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was a threat? A threat against you.”
He wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t considered. “I want to go, and you’re not going to talk me out of it. We need both of us paying attention. We complement each other, you know.”
He shook his head. “I don’t feel right about dragging you into trouble.”
“What?” I reined in my voice. “I already am in trouble. I’ll remind you that I’m the one who woke up to a body in my shop.” I took a step closer and peeled apart Jack’s folded arms. I stepped into them and smelled the soap from his morning shower. “Besides, right now you’re at the top of the list of suspects. Say you do learn something today that points to the real murderer. Who’s going to believe you? You need me there as another witness.”
He rested his chin on my head. “I suppose you’re right. We’re not going to take any risks anyway.”
“Definitely not. Who do you think I am?”
* * *
• • •
We didn’t want to give Rosa and Matt too much warning of our arrival, so Jack called Rosa just as we got in the car. We drove through clouds of mist that had settled on the road here and there, keeping the windshield wipers on low and our speed prudent.
My phone rang. “It’s Sunny,” I told Jack. Then, to the phone, “What’s up?”
“I did some poking around on the Internet last night, like we talked about.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I couldn’t find anything about Claire’s lawsuit.”
“What about Allison and Dustin?” I asked, earning a glance from Jack.
“Nothing on Allison. But I did find photos of Dustin at a big gala in San Francisco. Black tie. There’s even a picture of him with the mayor.”
“The same day Gus died?”
“Yep. That night. There’s no way he could have zipped up to McMinnville, killed his father, than zipped back down to the Bay Area in time for the event. He’s in the clear for Gus Butler’s death, at least.”
“What was that about?” Jack asked after I’d hung up.
“Sunny’s been helping me look up background on everyone having to do with Allison’s murder.”
“Sunny’s been digging around, huh?” Jack said.
“She’s good at it. She found out that Dustin was in California when your uncle died. She’s even done some research into everyone’s finances. She says the bank owns a big piece of Matt, for instance.”
“Did she find out about Claire’s lawsuit?”
I slowly put my phone away and zipped my purse shut before responding. “Yes. She told me.”
“Did she tell you what it was about?”
“No. I wanted to ask you about that.”
The coastal range’s forest was thinning now, and the road dipped into farm country. We passed a wide wooden barn with a partially collapsed roof halfway submerged in blackberry bushes.
“An old landlord sued her for setting fire to her apartment.”
“What?”
“She didn’t do it, of course. She’d had trouble with him in the past. He made a few passes at her, once even forcing his way into her apartment. She threatened to call the police.”
“What happened?”
“She told a few neighbors, but she never did file a complaint. Then, one day when she was at work, her apartment building caught on fire. The fire marshal said it was arson and that it started in her place.”
“No.” No wonder Claire was so attached to her house. “But they figured out it wasn’t her, right?”
“They never could prove it either way, so the police refused to press charges against her.” Jack’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel more tightly. “So, the landlord sued her. It’s cost a fortune in legal fees.”
“That’s awful. Poor Claire.”
Claire was a fighter, though. Selling her share of the farm would be a real boon to her. She’d been in Rock Point the night Allison died. I shook my head to rid myself of the idea. Marrying Dustin would be another route to financial freedom—she didn’t need the farm for that. But it took Dustin’s father’s death to free up the opportunity for them to be together.
Finally, we drove past the pristine white sign announcing Orr Cellars and pulled into the gravel driveway leading up to the farmhouse.
Besides our conversation about Claire, Jack had been unusually quiet the whole drive. When he parked the car, we sat for a moment, and he looked at the house, the rows of hazelnut trees beginning to lose their leaves, and the old barn.
“You’re thinking that it’s yours now, aren’t you?” I said. “Yours and Claire’s.”
“It had never crossed my mind—never—that I’d be in Uncle Gus’s shoes.”
Porky was now jumping up outside Jack’s car door, and Rosa pushed back the living room curtains and waved.
“Claire says you guys will sell.”
“I need to talk to her about all this.” He opened his door to Porky’s wiggling hind end. “Hi, pup. Did you miss me?”
Porky barked once and jumped in a circle, just like Bear did. I bet Bear would have loved being a farm dog, chasing moles and pestering the workers in the fields.
Just as she had two days earlier, Rosa came out the front door and leaned on the porch railing and waved. I followed Jack to the house and shook Rosa’s hand after Jack had given her a hug.
“Now, Emmy, don’t be shy. We’re on hugging terms now, too.” Rosa gave me a quick, violet-scented squeeze. “You kids have breakfast? I have coffee on and biscuits ready to go.”
Jack looked at me, and I nodded. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”
Rosa’s kitchen—Jack and Claire’s kitchen now, I corrected myself—was a warm, light haven on a fall morning. She’d already laid our mugs on the counter, and, as promised, still-warm biscuits lay in golden rows on a cookie sheet.
Rosa took a jar from the pantry. “I have some of the marionberry jam you like so much, Jack.”
Before long, we were leaning back in the old oak chairs in a carb-laden stupor. Even Porky, who’d had no more than a pig’s ear, seemed to feel it and dozed near the woodstove.
“So, you’ve come out to see the farm,” Rosa said. The way she carefully lifted her head told me she was waiting for the answer. “Now that it’s yours.”
Jack sat up straight and drew in his coffee mug. “Don’t you worry, Rosa. Whatever happens, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
Whatever happens? I thought he and Claire were selling. Sure, he’d told me he needed to talk to Claire, but surely that was just about logistics? I almost opened my mouth to say something, but in a rare spell of prudence, I clamped it shut.
“You used to love this farm as a boy,” Rosa said. “I remember you and Claire hanging out in the barn with Gus. You must have taken apart that old tractor engine a hundred times.”
Jack laughed at the memory. His focus softened. “I swear the days were longer out here.”
“That’s because you were here during summer vacation. Running around in the dirt, skinning your knees, building forts in the woods between here and the Orr place.” She refolded an already perfectly folded napkin and set it aside. “To tell the truth, I was surprised you didn’t take up farming with Gus after Dustin went his way.”
Engrossed, I turned to Jack. I’d always thought kites were his first love, as they were mine.
“I thought about it,” Jack said. My eyes widened. “Every time I’ve come back, it feels like home. The smells, the trees.” He drew a circle on the table with his fingertips. “Then Grandpa Sullivan died, and the chance came to take up his kite shop.” He stood and looked out the back door window. Porky raised his head. “I always did feel split between here and Rock Point.”
“I didn’t know your father’s family that well,” Rosa said.
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Matt said if you and Claire sell the land, he’d keep Rosa on.”
“It’s not that,” Rosa said. “I’ll be fine no matter what happens. I’ve put a little money away, and as I told you before, Gus was good to me.”
Jack seemed absorbed by the landscape. Finally, he turned to face us. “Are you up to hosting another funeral, Rosa? The medical examiner is releasing Allison’s body tomorrow.”
She lowered her eyes and faced the kitchen sink. Porky got up and settled behind her with a sigh. “Of course. Have funeral arrangements been made?”
“I talked with Mom this morning, and she’s taking care of it. She’ll be calling you this afternoon.”
Rosa nodded, but I only saw the back of her head. Her hand wiped at a cheek. This was not the right time to ask about Uncle Gus’s death. I looked up at Jack, and we silently agreed. I simply couldn’t see Rosa pushing Gus to his death.
“Rosa,” he said. “Emmy and I are going to take a walk. We
might stroll over to Matt’s, too.”
I rose and placed a hand on her back. “Can I do anything?” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“No. You kids get outside. Visiting Matt’s is a good idea.” She raised her head and managed a smile.
chapter twenty-nine
At the sound of the kitchen door opening, Porky sprang up and ran outside with us. He nosed around the fence posts setting off the kitchen garden before bounding down the hill.
Jack looked over the orchard. The hazelnut trees were already beginning to shed their leaves. A strange combination of warmth and unease fell over me. Jack loved this land. I could tell. But he couldn’t run a working hazelnut orchard, could he? Claire wanted to sell. Plus, he had a kite shop in Rock Point. Giving that up would be giving up his grandfather’s legacy.
It occurred to me yet again that I really didn’t know Jack all that well. I knew how warm he was, and decent, but I’d barely delved into his past and all the people and experiences that had shaped him. On some level, it was as if I’d known him forever. But that was simply how I felt with him. Truth was, he surprised me all the time. I hoped he wouldn’t surprise me now.
I surfaced to find Jack watching me. The breeze ruffled his hair. Maybe we both wondered what the other one thought.
“I suppose we should go see Matt,” he said.
He didn’t want to go, but it was a big part of the reason we’d come. “I suppose.” I turned up the lane toward the back entrance to Orr Cellars. Our steps crunched on the gravel.
“You love it here,” I said, my heart beating too fast.
“I always forget how much until I’m back. Then I think I’m crazy for ever leaving it.”
“You’d feel the same way about Rock Point if you lived here,” I said.
“Probably.”
It was about a quarter-of-a-mile walk to Matt’s winery, and a good part of it was uphill.
“If Matt had his way, this would all be grapes,” Jack said.