by P. G. Forte
She raised her hands to forestall his objection. “I know, I know, you explained that one, already. But what you haven’t explained yet, is Scout. Who, all of a sudden, after a week of mysterious phone conversations. has apparently run off with some other guy. Not that anyone is surprised by this, mind you, because it seems that you have been going around telling my brother that you think getting married again is a huge mistake!”
“Oh, I never said any such thing! Your brother has a one-track mind, and I can’t be responsible for every dumb idea he gets in his head. There’s nothing mysterious about Scout’s leaving town. You know damn well she didn’t run off with anyone. She just... needed to go to LA for a few days.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Some problem at the foundry, I think.”
“Uh-huh. And you’re positive she’s not getting cold feet about this? Because she sure is having an awful hard time picking out a dress she likes. Kinda makes you wonder, cuz.”
“No one’s getting cold feet, Luce,” Nick insisted. “I promise. It’s been a lousy couple of weeks, for sure; and there’s not a whole lot that I’m certain of anymore. But one thing I do know is that, come Saturday, Scout and I are getting married – dress, or no fucking dress. And the only thing that’s gonna stop us is if one of us is dead before then.”
He tipped his chair back on two legs and stared at the ceiling. “And, Jesus, if that’s the case, Luce? Then I swear to God, I hope it’s me. Because otherwise I know I’ll have to listen to some stupid question from somebody about whether I don’t think she really got herself killed on purpose, just to avoid having to marry me. And where in the hell are you getting this shit about her running off with someone else? ‘Cause not even Joey could come up with something that crazy.”
“I’m just pointing out how it could look, cuz,” she told him. “To all of us outsiders. I mean, she did leave town with Sam, right? And last time I looked, he was a guy. So—”
The chair hit the floor with a thump, and Nick stared at her, clearly thunderstruck. “She did what?”
“According to Marsha, he asked her if he could get a ride with her, and she said yeah.”
“The hell she did! Oh, crap. Well, that’s just fucking perfect, isn’t it?”
“Wait... you didn’t know?”
Nick sighed wearily. “No, I didn’t know. But the way everything else has been going, I probably should have seen it coming. Oh, fuck. Does anyone else know about this, yet?”
“I don’t think so. But Nick, hold on... does this mean you are worried, after all?”
“Oh, I’m definitely worried, Luce,” he told her, with a humorless smirk. “But not for any of the reasons you might be thinking.”
Nick picked up the phone on his desk as soon as his cousin had left.
A minute later, Ryan appeared at his door. “Well?” he inquired.
“Come on back in and shut the door,” Nick said with a sigh. “I think we may have a problem.”
* * *
“Mom, something’s wrong with the computer again,” Frank grumbled. He had tracked her down in the kitchen, where she was blanching edamame for her dinner. She’d put a vegetarian franks and bean casserole in the oven for the boys, but she just didn’t have much of an appetite tonight.
“There are some weird files on the hard drive that I can’t get into—they’re all locked up, or something. Do you think you could call Sam and see if he could come over and take a look at it for me?”
Marsha glanced up, startled and not altogether pleased by the request. Frank had always been preternaturally self-sufficient and reserved. And even if Sam did know more about computers than anyone else they knew, it usually took Frank a lot longer than two evenings to warm up to someone enough to start asking them for favors.
“Actually, I can’t,” she admitted reluctantly. “He’s gone down to LA for a few days.”
Frank frowned. “Is he coming back?”
“Yes. Sometime before the weekend, I think.”
“Is who coming back?” Jesse inquired, wandering into the kitchen and proceeding to pour himself a bowl of cereal.
“Sam’s gone,” Frank announced.
“No way!” Jesse looked crestfallen. “You mean he dumped you, Mom? Already?”
“You guys.” Marsha looked from one to the other of her sons. “Cut it out, I mean it. And Jesse, your dinner will be ready in another twenty minutes. Why are you eating cereal now?”
“Cause now is when I’m hungry,” he answered with a shrug. “So what happened? You guys didn’t have a fight or anything, did you? Does it have anything to do with his motorcycle?”
“There was no fight. Like I told your brother, Sam will be back this weekend,” she said, hoping fervently that it wouldn’t just be to pick up his things and go back to New York. “And nobody is dumping anyone, you got that?” Not yet, anyway.
“Yeah, we know.” Frank muttered as he turned to leave the room. “And you’re just friends, right, Mom? Nice try.”
“Yeah. Good going, Mom.” Jesse followed his brother out of the room. “Jeez, this sucks,” she heard him mutter. “Just when things were starting to get cool around here. Now she’ll probably never want to use those mouse traps.”
Marsha sighed as she ran cold water over her beans. It was going to be a very long week.
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* * * *
Chapter Thirty
* * * *
“Mom! Mom, come quick!” Jesse’s voice, high-pitched and panic-stricken, woke Marsha from a dead sleep early Tuesday morning. She could feel pain registering from somewhere close at hand as she jumped from her bed and stumbled up the stairs in alarm. She found her son standing in the kitchen, barefoot, hands balled into fists at his side, staring in consternation at the mouse caught in the trap on the floor.
Marsha took the whole scene in at a glance: Jesse. The trap. Shadow observing the scene with calm, detached interest. And the mouse, which was most definitely trapped by one hind leg, and part of his tail, but which was also most definitely not dead. “Oh, shit. Jesse, what have you done?”
“I just wanted to see what would happen.” Jesse’s voice sounded sick with remorse. “I didn’t want to hurt it, or anything.”
Marsha bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. He didn’t want to hurt it? It was a mousetrap! She tried to think; what should she do? She supposed she could just let Shadow take care of it, but that sounded slow, and unnecessarily cruel. And she was pretty sure she couldn’t just put it out of its misery, no matter how badly she might want to. She also couldn’t set it free, not if it were hurt, or crippled, or dying. Which didn’t exactly leave a whole lot of options.
“What’s going on?” Frank asked, finally arriving on the scene. “Oh. See, I knew you didn’t know how to set them up right,” he scoffed. “I told you—”
“That’s enough,” Marsha admonished quietly. She looked at her recently showered, fully dressed son. “Do me a favor, Frank. Go out to the garage and get that old fish tank your sister used to have, and bring it back here. Quick.”
Frank looked affronted. “Me? Why do I have to? It wasn’t my idea.”
“Because you’re dressed,” she told him simply. “And Jesse, you can go get that expanding screen thing out of the bathroom window. And put the cat in your sister’s room, while you’re at it.”
While the boys were off on their errands, Marsha examined the mouse. Not dying, she decided, from the look of the energy field that surrounded it. But definitely in pain. She did what she could about that, but it wasn’t easy. It was too frightened, too frantic for her to touch it, although she did manage to get it slightly calmer by the time the boys got back.
Within a short time, the mouse was free of the trap, huddled in a miserable little lump in the corner of the tank.
“What do we do now?” Jesse asked.
She ruffled his hair. “Uh, gee, I don’t know, Jess. Get ready for school, maybe? We�
�ll leave him for now. We’ll wait and see how he’s doing this afternoon, okay? If he’s recovered, we’ll let him loose outside. Again.”
“Mom, get real. He’s not going to be okay by this afternoon,” Frank pointed out. “That leg is totally busted.”
“Fine, so we’ll just keep him quiet and safe until he’s better. Right? Maybe we’ll get your aunt to come over and take a look at him. Now, come on. Let’s go.”
“Do you think we can get a book or something about how to care for mice?” Jesse asked quietly. “In case we have to keep him for a while.”
“Yeah, sweetie,” she told him. “I think we can do that. I’ll see what I can find.”
* * *
Lucy surveyed the damage at the nursery. What the hell had gone on here, anyway? She’d always suspected that she’d become indispensable around the place, and this just went to prove it.
Despite the half-hearted cleanup attempt, it was obvious that three potting benches had been trashed, and at least half a dozen five-gallon saplings had been lost. She examined the foliage carefully. Whatever had gone on, it had happened recently – maybe in the last couple of days. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was looking at the aftermath of a fight, but that was probably just her imagination responding to the unexpected preponderance of bruised male faces she’d been exposed to lately. She briefly contemplated the impossible – that Dan and Nick could have gotten their wounds trading blows with each other – and quickly dismissed it. If they’d had a fight, she would have known about it. Wouldn’t she?
She was interrupted by the approach of her brother in law, whose mercifully bruise-free face lit up at the sight of her. “Hey, Luce. You ready to come back to work? We’ve really missed you around here.”
She smiled at him. “Thanks, Kenny, I’ve missed being here. But tell me something, what’s all this? Someone have a fight, or something?”
Kenny’s smile gave way to an uncomfortable frown. “I’m not really sure. Have you asked Dan about it?”
She snorted in exasperation. “Yeah, right. Get real, Kenny, would you? In case you haven’t noticed your brother’s got a major case of brooding going on.”
“Yeah, I had noticed.” Kenny appeared relieved to talk about it. “Everything okay with you guys?”
“Why ask me?” she quipped with brittle humor. “You know what they say, the wife is always the last to know.” She relented when she saw the stricken expression in Kenny’s eyes. “Kenny, I’m just kidding. We’re fine.”
She sighed and shook her head at the damage again. “You know what? You’re right. I think I will ask Dan about this. Where is he anyway?”
She tracked her husband down in one of the greenhouses, a place that held many fond memories for both of them.
“Okay, Cavanaugh. I’ve had about all I can take of this,” she growled at him as she closed and latched the door behind her. She noted his start of surprise with amusement. “What is it with you, anyway? Talk about incompetence – this place is falling apart without me.”
A slow smile transformed his features. “Oh, yeah? Why don’t you come over here and say that?” he invited, as she sauntered slowly closer. “What’re you doing here today, babe? I wasn’t expecting you in ‘til next week.”
“Yeah, I could tell.” She hitched herself up onto one of the tables and regarded him with a small smile. “Looks like I’ve been away too long. You taking out your frustrations on saplings, now?”
“Wasn’t me,” he insisted, with a shake of his head as he came to stand in front of her. He eased her knees apart and crowded close. “But since you came all the way out here, it’d be damn rude of me not to let you stay and help relieve my frustrations anyway, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh, and we wouldn’t want that,” she agreed slipping her arms around his neck. “Seriously, though – what’s with the broken tables and stuff? You have some kind of trouble here?”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing. One of the guys got a little careless with a fork lift, and had a bit of an adventure, is all.”
“A forklift, huh?” She regarded him steadily for a long moment. He was wearing a stubborn expression she’d learned to recognize all too well. She knew there was more to the story than that, but she also knew she wasn’t going to get it out of him today.
She shrugged the thought away. Ah, well, let him keep a few secrets. As long as they had nothing to do with things between them, it really didn’t matter. She tangled her legs with his. “Hmph. Know what I think, Cavanaugh? I think you’re the one who needs a little adventure.”
Dan smiled as his fingers went to work on the buttons of her shirt. “You know something, Greco? I think you’re absolutely right.”
“I’m always right, Cavanaugh,” she advised, sighing happily. “It’s about time you were used to that.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Marsha wandered through the crowded stacks of Digressions, searching the shelves for books on mice as pets. It was not a subject that commanded a lot of shelf space in a store whose inventory of new and used books was heavily weighted toward women’s literature, natural remedies and quilting, but she had never yet failed to find exactly what she was looking for here. In that way, she’d often thought, Heather and Ginny’s store was as magically oriented as her own.
There had to be a book here somewhere, that would contain the information she needed. The trick was in recognizing it.
“Okay, I think I got it,” Heather called from the back room. Marsha smiled as her friend bustled toward her bearing a slim volume. “I thought I remembered seeing this back there. We just hadn’t had a chance to shelve it yet. Guess it was waiting for you, kid. Must be your lucky day.”
“That would be a switch,” Marsha muttered as she followed Heather through the narrow aisles. “Because so far, the week’s been lousy.”
“What’s that?” Heather asked, half turning. She accidentally brushed against a hip-high stack of books as she did. The stack started to topple and both women reached to steady it.
“Oh. Cool.” Heather raised her eyebrows as the top book slid neatly into Marsha’s outstretched hand. “I gotta tell you, Marsha. You do that really well.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Marsha answered dryly, staring at the book in her hand. An uncomfortable awareness washed through her as she took in the silver foil cover and bold black type. Unlocking the Patterns, Keys to Understanding Japanese Candlesticks.
“So you want that one, too, right?” Heather inquired.
“I guess so.” Marsha sighed unhappily, tearing her gaze away from the cover with an effort, and handing the book to her friend. “Sure. Ring me up.”
Marsha was soon headed back up Main Street toward her teashop, but the tingles of apprehension that had hit her as soon as she picked up the book grew worse with every block. She found her footsteps slowing as she passed through the small redwood grove that lay at the heart of Oberon’s downtown, bordered on all sides by shops and restaurants, and the city’s municipal buildings.
Reluctantly, she sank down onto one of the benches there. She was aware of a chill that had nothing to do with the perpetual shade cast by the big trees. There was a terrible heaviness in her heart as she fished the silver book out of the bag Heather had given her.
According to the jacket, the book had been written by a top trader, one of the masters in the field, a man by the name of Sam Sterling. Marsha skimmed past the laudatory appellations. The name meant nothing to her, except for the strange misgivings in her heart. She turned to the back jacket flap, read an even more laudatory biography, and still found nothing to disturb her. Then she turned the book over. She found herself faced with a photo of the author, and forgot how to breathe.
Several seconds passed, maybe more. She didn’t take the time to count them, for how could she think at all, with denial shrieking in every cell? She’d been lied to. Again. And the hurt was every bit as stunning as she remembered.
* * *
Nick looked up impa
tiently as the door of his office was edged open.
“Can I talk to you Nick?” Marsha asked.
One look at her face told him everything he needed to know.
“Sure,” he answered. He tossed the pen he’d been playing with down on his desk and pushed back his chair. He glanced meaningfully at Henderson.
“Right,” the other man drawled, rising to his feet. “I’ll just come back later then.”
Marsha sank into the chair in front of his desk, looking about as pole-axed as he’d ever seen her, hugging a small shopping bag tight against her chest.
“I think we might have a problem,” she whispered. She slowly drew a book from her bag and placed it on his desk, as carefully as if it were filled with explosives.
He picked it up and studied it briefly. “Uh-huh. So, I take it he didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head, lips trembling as she blinked back her tears.
“Ah, shit,” he said, sitting up straight again. “I knew this was gonna happen. I told him to tell you before you found out.”
She stared at him, confounded. But so obviously upset that he couldn’t even take any pleasure in for once having more information than she did. “You mean... you knew about this? How?”
With a wry smile, he drew the same magazine he’d shown Sam out of his drawer. “We do, occasionally, do a little work around here, you know,” he said, extending the magazine toward her. She took at it and stared at it for a long, quiet moment.
“So. It’s true then,” she said quietly, sliding the magazine back onto the desk and raising her eyes to his face again. “What are you going to do? I mean, he was there when Paige was killed, and…there has to be some reason why he’s been lying about... everything. So, what are you—”
Nick steeled himself against her gaze, and blew out a deep breath. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he answered levelly. “This doesn’t concern you any more, Marsha.”