Fifteen minutes later, Rory opened her front door to a petite woman, dressed in slacks and a printed blouse, whose head barely reached Rory’s shoulders. Her dark brown hair fashioned in a pixie cut, Liz dropped her overnight bag on the hardwood floor and stood on tiptoe to give her friend a hug. “It must have been scary. Are you okay?”
“Much better now that you’re here.”
Hands on her hips, Liz peered around the room. “How much damage did they do?”
Rory pointed to the boarded up window next to her desk, tracing the path the projectile had taken with her finger. “The rock came through there and hit the bookcase over there. Sailed right past my head. One inch to the left and I’d have been knocked out.” She fingered her ear, cringing at the memory of the close call. “I’m still having a hard time believing it wasn’t a dream.”
“More like a nightmare. On the bright side, no damage was done to your computer, so you haven’t lost any work.”
“Amen to that.” Rory led the way to the rear of the house into the recently remodeled kitchen with its granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.
While Rory put on the tea kettle, Liz settled down at the kitchen table and peered through the window at the dimly lit side yard. She nodded toward the house on the other side of the fence. “I wonder if Granny G saw anything.”
“Unfortunately, Mrs. Griswold’s on vacation. Alaskan cruise.”
“Too bad. She always notices things.”
Rory’s hyper-vigilant neighbor made it her business to know everything that happened on the block. She had no doubt, had the seventy-five-year-old been home, the police would already have the license plate number of the getaway car and be on their way to arrest the vandal.
Once the tea was ready, Rory cleared off space on the table, pushing a half-finished painting project off to one side. She set two cups filled to the brim on the wooden surface and sat down across from her friend. “Thanks for dropping everything and coming over. I feel better with you here.”
Liz laid a hand on Rory’s arm and smiled reassuringly. “Anything for my bestie.” She wrapped both hands around her cup and sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm, peppermint. Now, what did the police say? Was it Dashing D? Was he the one who came to your rescue?”
An impish grin appeared on her face as she talked about Detective Martin Green, the Vista Beach police officer they’d met two months before when Rory found a body in her garden.
Rory blushed at the mention of the man who had been occupying her dreams more and more often lately. “I’m not a damsel in distress. Okay, maybe I was, a little bit. Anyway, Officer Yamada said some city council members’ houses were hit as well. There might be others. It seems to be part of a protest against the Akaw.” She took her cell phone out of the pocket of her jeans and brought up the photo she’d taken earlier of the note. “This was wrapped around the rock.”
Liz studied the phone’s display and whistled. “The pink paper’s a nice touch. I’ll have to ask my contact at the police station how many houses were hit. Lots of people work at the hotel, but I doubt most of them live in the city. The owner doesn’t even live here. Rumor has it, he’s up north somewhere.”
Rory didn’t question how her friend knew this tidbit. As a real estate agent, Liz never knew where her next sale or client would come from so she kept her ear to the ground, taking special note of any information relating to houses and plots of land within the city.
Rory put her elbow on the table and leaned her cheek against her hand. “It just makes me mad they hit my place. I wrote some code, that’s all. There’s no reason to threaten me or damage my home.”
“You put together the website for the convention, too, and that’s at the Akaw,” Liz said, referring to the decorative painting convention they were scheduled to attend in the coming week. “That gives you two connections to the hotel. Besides, you’re an easy target. Some people in town still have issues with you even after you were exonerated.”
Rory didn’t like to think that was true, but every once in a while she noticed covert glances cast in her direction as she walked around town. “I wonder if Ian’s house was hit. He manages the hotel.”
“Ian Blalock, right? He doesn’t live in town. Bought a place in...Hawthorne, I think. Cheaper.”
Rory hoped the vandals were too lazy to drive the short distance inland and the man’s home had been spared. “I hope he’s okay. He seems like a nice guy. What else do you know about him?”
“You worked on the hotel’s website. Didn’t you talk?”
“Only about business, not his personal life. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, that’s about all I know.”
Liz gave Rory her best you-never-learn-anything-useful look. “Been in the hotel business for years. Like you said, he’s single with a college-aged son. Moved here from Oregon or Washington, something like that.” She took a sip of her tea. “Plus, he has the hots for Nixie,” she continued, mentioning the name of the convention organizer and founder of the Ocean Painting Society.
“I hope all this nonsense doesn’t ruin the convention for everyone. Nixie put tons of work into it.”
“She’s got a lot riding on it. It’s the only thing she’s got going since she was laid off from that event coordinating job. I’m looking forward to it. Your mom’s going to be on the trade show floor, right?”
Rory’s mother, owner of Arika’s Scrap ’n Paint, a combination tole painting and scrapbooking supply store in town, was renting space on the trade show floor for the upcoming convention.
“That reminds me. Could you help set up the booth on Tuesday? I’m not sure what time yet.”
“Sure, I can do that. Just let me know when to be there.” Liz glanced at her watch. “We should probably get to bed. I’ve got an early showing tomorrow.”
While Liz made herself at home in the guest bedroom, Rory did a final tour of the house, making sure every window and door was locked. By the time goodnights were said, she felt calmer and in more control. Within minutes of her head hitting the pillow, she fell fast asleep.
Chapter 2
Rory spent most of the following day getting the window replaced. In between dealing with the insurance adjuster and the window company, she spoke to her neighbors about the vandalism but, contrary to Officer Yamada’s hopes, no one had seen anything useful. Although some of the houses on the block boasted security cameras, none of them were trained on the street. She gave up on investigating the incident for now and returned to her own house to oversee the work. By the time afternoon rolled around, a new window was in place and her home returned to normal.
At five, Rory put on her nicest khakis and blouse and headed to the Akaw to pick up her childhood friend, Jasmine Halliday, for dinner at the Andersons. She was only two blocks from the hotel when a red Ferrari whipped around the corner, half in its lane, half in hers. She swung her steering wheel to the right and slammed on her brakes, narrowly missing the car as it drove past, her own sedan coming within inches of hitting a parked car. She tried to catch a glimpse of the driver, but all she saw was a red blur. Her hands shaking, she continued on to her destination. By the time she reached the hotel, she’d recovered from the near accident.
As soon as she entered the Akaw, located steps away from the ocean, Rory felt as if she’d been transported to Hawaii. Between the tropical plants scattered around the lobby and the hotel staff dressed in Aloha shirts and Hawaiian-print dresses, she could have been in any hotel on one of the islands.
She’d taken only half a dozen steps when a brunette in a floral-printed summer dress rose from a padded bamboo chair and picked her way across the lobby, her graceful movements betraying her years of ballet training.
Rory was reaching out to hug her friend when Jasmine’s head fell forward, her eyes fluttered shut and her knees buckled. Rory eased the young woman to the ground as she slumped to the floor like a marionette whose puppeteer had dropped its strings. After making sure Jasmine’s body was positioned so she could
breathe properly, Rory sat down on a nearby sofa to watch over her friend and wait for her to recover.
She’d barely settled down onto the loveseat upholstered in a fabric reminiscent of Hawaii when a well-groomed man with a closely cropped beard hurried toward them. “Rory, is everything okay? Is there anything I can do?”
Rory pushed her long hair behind her ears and smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner at the hotel’s manager. “Don’t worry, Ian, she’ll be fine in a minute or two.”
The man studied Jasmine where she lay on the hardwood floor. Her eyes were closed, and her chest moved up and down in a regular rhythm. “She looks okay, I guess. Are you sure I shouldn’t call 911?” He drew a cell phone out of the inside pocket of his suit.
“Please don’t. It’s not an emergency. Jasmine just needs a minute or two to recover.”
“Oh, is this...? I see. My staff told me she would be staying with us. Narcolepsy, is it?”
Rory’s face registered surprise that anyone from the hotel knew of her friend’s health issues. Jasmine generally told as few people as possible about her condition. “I didn’t realize you knew.”
“Her husband phoned. Wanted to inform us since she’s staying with us during the OPS convention.” For the next six days, two hundred decorative painters would descend on the hotel for the Ocean Painting Society’s inaugural convention.
“How much did Peter tell you?”
“The basics. Plus, he gave me a list of her medications in case there was an...issue.” His gaze strayed back to where Jasmine still lay as motionless as a mannequin. “Should we move her somewhere more comfortable?”
“No need, I’m fine.” Almost as quickly as she collapsed, Jasmine recovered, slowly rising to her feet and settling down on the sofa next to Rory. “Thanks for your concern.” She frowned. “Did my husband really call you?”
“You could hear me?” Ian said.
“Every word, I just couldn’t respond.”
Sympathy written all over his face, he said, “Your husband didn’t really give me any instructions on how to deal with...this. Does it happen often? How should I tell my staff to handle it?”
“I don’t expect it to happen much at all. But, if it does, just make sure I can breathe and no one touches me. I prefer to be left alone when I’m in that state. I usually recover very quickly. If you have questions, Rory knows what to do. She’s been there from the beginning.”
Rory cast her mind back to the day of Jasmine’s first cataplectic attack when they were both fourteen. Jasmine had won a dance contest and had been super excited. Then her legs turned to rubber and she collapsed, unable to move or respond for several minutes. A few weeks later she received the diagnosis that changed her life.
After Jasmine assured him she was fine, the hotel manager headed toward the front desk.
Rory looked with concern at her friend. “I thought your cataplexy was under control.”
“I don’t have as many attacks as I used to, but they haven’t completely gone away. The new medicine is helping. I didn’t take my second dose last night. Didn’t hear the alarm. That’s probably why it happened.” Jasmine glanced around the lobby as if checking to see if anyone noticed her collapse. “I wish Peter hadn’t called. It’s embarrassing.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You can’t help your condition. And Peter’s just worried about you.” Rory stood up. “Are you ready to go? My parents are expecting us.”
“Let me just make sure I have my medicine. I don’t like to leave it in the hotel room. Don’t want it to get stolen.” She rummaged around in her shoulder bag. “Found it. Let’s go.”
As Rory drove toward her parents’ home, Jasmine said, “Thanks for picking me up. It saved Peter the trip.”
“No problem. Why did you decide to stay at the hotel for the convention, anyway? You don’t live that far away.”
“It’s more convenient. Peter doesn’t have to drive me there every day.”
Rory had forgotten her friend had never applied for a driver’s license, too afraid her condition would cause an accident. “I would’ve been happy to pick you up. We don’t live that far from each other.”
“That’s too much of a bother. Besides, this way I can take a nap when I get tired.”
“How are you guys settling in? It’s quite a change from Riverside, isn’t it? Hard to believe it’s already been over a year since I moved here. I missed you guys.”
“We missed you too, and your parents. It’s been an adjustment, but I think we’re going to really like it here. The weather’s a lot different, that’s for sure. I miss some of my old haunts, but you and Brandy live nearby, so that’s good. The Four Musketeers, together again. It’ll be just like high school.”
Rory smiled and patted Jasmine’s hand. “I’m looking forward to it. What about your bookkeeping clients? Were you able to keep any of them?”
“Most of them. These days with the internet, it’s easy to work from a distance. Oh, I forgot to thank you for recommending me to Nixie.”
“You got the job doing the convention books? That’s great.” The convention organizer started out doing her own accounting, but a few weeks ago she found the task so overwhelming she’d looked around for someone to help.
“I wish she’d hired me sooner. The books were a mess.”
On the rest of the short drive, they talked about the upcoming convention. When they walked through the front door into the Andersons’ home, the heady aroma of meatloaf and gravy greeted them. Familiar voices drifted into the entryway from the living room.
“...she’d be here before us,” a male voice said.
“She’s with Rory. She’s fine,” a female replied.
When Rory and Jasmine entered the living room, they found a slender young man pacing in front of the fireplace while a striking woman, hair styled in a buzz cut, sat on a nearby couch.
“Here they are now.” Brandy Whitaker stood up and rushed over to give Rory a big hug. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! I’ve missed you.”
“Me too,” Rory said.
A look of relief came over Peter Halliday’s face. He hurried over to kiss his wife. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he looked with concern into her eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Sorry we’re late,” was all she said before turning to Brandy with a grin on her face. “What? Don’t I get a hug too?”
Brandy enveloped her friend in her arms. “Of course, but I see you all the time.”
“How did practice go? Are you all ready for the competition?” Jasmine asked.
“Brandy and I are in a ballroom dancing competition on Thursday at the local elementary school. Argentine tango. We were at our final practice session,” Peter explained to Rory. “The competition’s all day Thursday. I’m lucky my boss let me take the rest of the week off.” Jasmine’s husband was an accountant for a small firm in a nearby town. The job paid the bills, but his heart belonged to dance. “We would love it if you could stop by some time when you’re not in class. We’ll let you know when we’re scheduled to compete.”
“Sounds good.” Rory turned to her friend and said, without thinking, “Remember that time you and Peter demonstrated the waltz in junior high? You two were really good, even then. Do you enter competitions together too?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to kick herself. An awkward silence fell over the group. She felt her face heat up and mumbled an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t think. Forget I said anything.”
Jasmine gently touched Rory on the arm. “It’s okay. Your comment just tells me that you think of me as normal. That makes me happy. I’m content with simply dancing around the house these days.”
Peter looked at his wife and said, “I bet there are other people with your condition who go out and dance. You should give it a try. You don’t have to compete. Just go to a dance club with me some time.”
Brandy nodded her encouragement. “You should think about it. You move
so beautifully.”
Jasmine tightened her lips. “Not in public,” she said in a tone that indicated the subject was closed.
Arika Anderson poked her head around the kitchen doorway. “I thought I heard new voices. Dinner will be ready soon.” When she spotted Jasmine, Rory’s mother entered the living room and gave her a bear hug. “So nice to see you, dear. It’s been a long time.” She studied the young woman. “You’re looking a little thin. What you need is a good hearty meal.”
Jasmine had always been on the slim side, but Rory had to admit she now appeared to be on the verge of being excessively thin.
“You know how much I love your cooking. I’ve missed it.”
Rory had lost count of the number of dinners her mother had prepared for her friends over the years. She smiled at the thought of their all being around the table once again.
“Could you give me a hand?” Arika said to her daughter.
Rory followed her mother into the kitchen where Arika put her to work mashing the potatoes. “Is Dad working late again?”
Her mother nodded. “He’s disappointed he’s missing everyone, but now that they’ve all moved to town, there’ll be plenty more opportunities.”
“I was hoping he would be here so I could tell you both something. He’ll have to hear it from you. You’ll never guess what happened last night.”
“Someone threw a rock through your window,” Arika said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, without looking up from taking the meatloaf out of the oven.
Rory stopped mid-mash and stared at her mother in disbelief. “How...? Not Detective Green?”
“He stopped by the store today. He’s worried about you. He heard about the rock and wanted to know how you’re doing.”
“Why didn’t he just ask me?”
“Maybe he feels like he can’t.”
Paint the Town Dead Page 2