Quinn pulled up to the take-out order box. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Iced tea and a cheeseburger, please,” I said.
Minutes later Quinn’s car was filled with mouth-watering aromas as he pulled back into the stream of traffic. “What do you say we try another meeting in the park?”
Maybelline’s warning about fast food and trips to the park surfaced, but I chose to ignore it. “Fine with me,” I said.
“Where was I?” Quinn asked.
“Something about your dating Dr. Beardsley’s wife. Before they were married,” I hastened to add.
“Oh, right. There’s not much to that story. She was a knock-out of a woman, but our only topic of mutual interest was my late wife, and that wasn’t one I wanted to pursue.”
“Most women would want to know something about your past relationships. Maybe she was concerned you were still grieving.” I was trying to keep my questions subtle.
He shook his head and a wry twist crossed his lips. “It was nothing like that.” He parked and pulled a blanket from the cargo space.
We walked down the sloping green lawn to a large oak tree near the river. Quinn spread the blanket under its canopy. I leaned against the trunk of the oak and sipped tea in silence while he bit into his burger. Between bites, he returned to his story.
“She wasn’t concerned about whether I was still grieving. She wanted to know if I could help her get a gig on a talk show. She thought she had great potential, but she needed someone to manage her career.”
“She wanted you to make her a star?”
“It seemed that way to me. She had the wrong idea about who I was ….” He broke off in mid-sentence. “I’m sorry. I guess none of this makes much sense out of context.”
“Can you put it in context for me?” I had no intention of giving away what I knew about Blanche Montague.
Quinn picked a daisy and began pulling off its petals one at a time. Tell her, tell her not.
Chapter 24
I had no doubt that Quinn was contemplating the wisdom of continuing the conversation. While the silence between us grew, a slight breeze stirred through the branches of the oak tree above our heads. It carried the pungent scent of river grasses and the happy shouts of children playing at the nearby aquatic center.
“Maybe we should change the subject,” I said, praying he wouldn’t do that.
“You confided in me the other night, Aimee, on an intensely personal level. You trusted me enough to do that. The least I can do is reciprocate.”
“Only if you want to,” I said.
“I’ll be right back.” Quinn gathered our wrappers and paper bags and walked to a waste bin several yards away.
Something tickled my ankle and I spotted an ant crawling up my leg. I flicked it off, but the rest of its regiment was marching toward our blanket, so I moved to a nearby picnic table. Quinn came back and sat down across from me. In a navy blue polo shirt and pressed khaki slacks, he looked more like a golf pro than a hospital administrator. His muscular forearms rested on the picnic table between us. He studied the rough wooden surface, tracing carved initials and other graffiti with the pad of his index finger. Left hand.
“She was French, from Paris.” He looked up at me. “You already knew that, I think.”
“Yes, you told me she was Parisian.”
“Her name was Blanche.” His gaze returned to the tabletop. “We were married for six days. If she hadn’t died, we might have lasted another six.”
That was the last thing I had expected to hear. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course not. How could you? The Blanche Montagues of the world are made of different stuff from the rest of us. Her charisma was off the charts. Her fans adored her, and cameras loved her.”
I recalled the photo of the stunning, sensual woman standing and waving in the open hatch of the airplane. I hadn’t noticed the expression on Quinn’s face. Blanche Montague had simply overshadowed him.
“I’ve heard the same about Dr. Beardsley’s deceased wife.”
“She did have stunning looks, and a certain kind of charisma, but no soul—at least none that I could discern. In contrast, Blanche had a soul devoted to women’s causes. Her causes had become obsessions by the time I met her.”
“How did you meet?”
“I had finished what seemed like a lifetime of college and postgraduate work in health administration. It was time to continue a family tradition. My siblings and I were expected to do a stint of humanitarian work in a developing country before settling into a comfy life of luxury back home.
“My mother is French, and well connected. She had heard about Blanche Montague’s work. Some strings were pulled, and I became a consultant on a project in Ethiopia.”
“Your wife was already a major celebrity when you met?”
“I’m afraid so. Much as I hate to admit it, I was star-struck. She was ten years older, and her sophistication was a heady aphrodisiac. Since we were together constantly in some pretty primitive circumstances, things heated up between us right away. I figured once the project was finished, she would drop me and move on. The last thing I expected was her proposal.”
“But you went through with the wedding?”
He nodded. “We flew to an American consulate. Very spur of the moment and romantic. I suppose you could call it an elopement. Within days, both of us came to our senses. It would have been annulled if she had lived.” He paused, working his shoulders to relieve tension. “We were part of a small convoy. Blanche had been warned off by every kind of government official, but none wanted publicly to refuse help to the women she was trying to reach. They finally washed their hands of us and said we could proceed at our own risk.”
“She must have been fearless.” I thought of Rella Olstad and Nick. What was it with these two men and their fearless women?
“I don’t find that trait as admirable as I once did,” Quinn said. “Fearless is a close cousin to reckless.”
“Was anyone else killed?”
“No. The guerillas targeted Blanche and ignored the other three vehicles, which scattered immediately. I was hit,” he ran a finger along the horizontal scar that split his eyebrow, “but I’m sure the bullet was intended for her. When the gunmen closed in on our jeep, their only apparent goal was to make certain Blanche was dead.”
Quinn paused again. He shook his head and looked out across the river. I waited.
He went on. “The thugs entertained themselves for a while by using me as a soccer ball, but they left me alive. The other vehicles in the convoy eventually came back for us. They knew the mission was risky. I think many of them resented Blanche, partly because she offered so much money. They simply couldn’t afford to turn her down.”
“This was several years ago, wasn’t it?”
“More than five. Going on six, now.”
“I don’t recall hearing anything about this in the news back then.”
“Blanche’s death wasn’t a big story here in the states, but it caused a sensation in Europe. As her next of kin, I spent a lot of time in Paris trying to put her business affairs in order. I was able to make some progress, but in the end I turned it over to her law firm and returned home to San Francisco.”
“I’m surprised you ended up here. Timbergate must seem so provincial to you.”
“With Blanche’s death, my career stalled before it began. I needed a job, and this looked like a place where I could make a fresh start.”
We were distracted when a gray squirrel hopped across the lawn and stopped near the oak tree next to our table. It reared up on its hind legs and cocked its head to one side then the other, sizing up Quinn and me.
“Hi, fella,” Quinn said. The squirrel dropped to all fours and ran off across the grass.
I stood and smoothed my dress. “I guess we should be getting back.”
“Right, but I had intended to ask if you’ve noticed anything new in Beardsley’s behavior. You’ve already mentioned his
dinner invitation. At this point, I think you were wise to turn him down. Has there been anything else?”
“No, not really.”
“Then I’m afraid our working lunch turned into the story of my life,” he said. “I’m sorry I monopolized the hour.”
“At least we’re even now. I don’t feel so bad about unloading on you the other evening.”
“Aimee, wait.”
Quinn gripped my shoulders, turning me to face him. “I hope I haven’t made you feel uncomfortable about our working relationship. You came to TMC with stellar recommendations. We were incredibly lucky that you wanted the position. Don’t worry for a moment that befriending me will harm your career. I wouldn’t let that happen.” As an apparent afterthought, he added, “I don’t seem to have many friends.”
Lately, I had been feeling the same way. The only true friend I had was Harry, and he was in terrible trouble. If he went to prison, I was sure my heart would break. How would I find the strength to help him survive behind bars? I thought of Blanche Montague’s incredible courage and wondered about my own.
Chapter 25
We had almost reached the hospital when Quinn suddenly turned up the volume on his car radio. “Damn, that’s Benoit Blue Boy.” He must have seen my confusion. “French blues harmonicist. I didn’t think any DJ in this part of the world had ever heard of him.”
“His name isn’t familiar to me,” I said, “but I had no exposure to blues until I spent some time back east. Out here it’s mostly country.”
“Country’s okay. Some of it isn’t so different from blues. They both make good use of the harmonica.” He smiled to himself. “One of my favorite instruments.”
“You play?”
“Occasionally. Some of us at the hospital have formed a blues combo.”
Another unexpected facet of Jared Quinn. Before I could digest it, the music ended and news came on as we pulled up to my building, I heard a mention of the Beardsley case:
Sawyer County District Attorney Connie Keefer announced today that an arrest is imminent in the murder of a prominent physician’s wife. Keefer declined to comment further.
Quinn’s apprehensive glance telegraphed his thoughts. He reached over and patted my hand.
“Aimee, I won’t tell you not to worry. Just keep me in mind if you need a friend.”
“What’ll I do if they arrest Harry? I’ll have to call our parents. They’ll be devastated.”
“Where are they?”
“The Azores. They’re retired, they—”
“Slow down a minute. We don’t know if this is about Harry, but in case it is, does he have a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Then wait a bit before you worry your family. Sometimes these things get sorted out quickly.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “I’m so shaky right now, I can’t think.”
“Do you want to take the rest of the day off?”
“No, I’d rather keep busy.”
“It’s your choice.”
I closed the car door and he pulled away, heading toward the VIP lot on the other side of the hospital complex. I still didn’t have a clear picture of how things had been left between Quinn and Bonnie Beardsley. There must have been occasional social contact, since TMC played a large part in the careers of both Quinn and Dr. Beardsley. Was there more than social contact?
I texted Harry, asking if he had any news. He didn’t reply. For the rest of the afternoon, my brain seemed short-circuited. I dusted shelves and mended a few torn journals. What would I do if Harry was arrested? I dreaded the prospect of calling Mom and Dad.
Inside my apartment that afternoon, the atmosphere was pleasant, thanks to Harry, who had come as promised to repair the swamp cooler. I looked on the table for a note.
It’s fixed. Check the fridge. H.
In the refrigerator, I saw two bottles of his favorite dark beer. I wasn’t crazy about the taste, but I opened one immediately and drank half of it down. Knowing he’d been there, instead of handcuffed and sitting in a cell, raised my spirits a notch. The beer raised them another notch.
I changed my clothes and did the routine chores. The little cria started toward me when I held out a handful of cob. One of the geldings tried to horn in, and Moonbeam’s dam sprayed him with a gob of foul-smelling green slime. Llama spit isn’t pleasant, but they have other aggressive tactics that do considerably more damage. One is a vicious, lightning-fast kick. And under enough duress, they charge forward at full throttle, slamming their chest or shoulder into their perceived foe with the force of a stoked-up NFL linebacker. Any unsuspecting person who didn’t know this about llamas would be knocked senseless before he knew what hit him.
After chores, I scanned the newspaper. It rehashed the Beardsley investigation, but I knew it had gone to press before the radio announcement about an impending arrest. The local TV news was beginning its second edition when I turned on my television. I took the other bottle of Harry’s leftover beer from the fridge. Milton Palmer’s co-anchor began with a teaser: “DA promises arrest in Beardsley case. Stay tuned.”
A dozen commercials later, the newswoman continued her Beardsley story by replaying footage of the Dumpster in the alley where Bonnie’s body had been discovered, the bloody deer bag she’d been wrapped in, and a clip of Hannah’s forensic sketch of Camo Man. Viewers were told to tune in again at eleven o’clock for late developments on the story.
I picked up my phone to call Harry, and it rang in my hand. It was Hannah.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Not really. Why? Do you know something?”
“A couple of friends at the department are keeping me informed. They think the police are going to bring Harry in. I wanted to warn you.”
My eyes filled and the phone trembled in my hand. “Damn. What shall we do?”
“Trust Harry’s lawyer. From what I hear, the DA’s evidence is feeble. Bonnie’s fingerprints were on something in Harry’s condo, which was to be expected, since Harry’s the one who told the police she’d been there.”
“That’s the evidence they’re using?”
“Apparently. It’s pretty flimsy, but Keefer is forcing the issue.”
“When did they search his condo? He said there hadn’t been a warrant.”
“No warrant. Apparently he gave them consent to search his home.”
“Why?”
“He said he wants to get this over with, and figured it would speed things up. He knows he’s innocent, so he figured there’s nothing in his place to suggest foul play.”
“Hannah, have you talked to him?”
“Johnny and I just left his condo. Abe Edelman is there.” Abe. Harry’s lawyer.
“Did he say anything about Mom and Dad?”
“That’s the only thing he’s worried about. Besides you. He said to tell you he’ll call you as soon as he can. He’s insisting he doesn’t want you to call your mom and dad yet.”
“What do you think?”
Hannah was silent too long before she answered. “There’s still time. The real killer will be found.”
“Not if no one’s looking for him.”
For a long while I sat staring at the muted television screen. I would have to kick my pursuit of Bonnie Beardsley’s killer into high gear. To do that, I needed a clear head. Food and coffee would be required to counteract the two beers.
I started the coffee and built a fairly healthy dinner salad with a mixture of veggies from Jack’s garden, some sliced mozzarella cheese, and a handful of walnuts. When it was done, I went out to my deck. I sat in a camp chair and ate slowly while I watched the sunset bring a blush to the sky and turn the blue hue of the Yolla Bolly Mountains to deep indigo. One by one, the turkeys flew up to the high branches of a blue oak, where they could roost in safety.
I heard my phone ring and jumped up, tangling myself in the chair. I nearly fell, but reached the phone while it was still ringing. Harry.
“Hi, Sis, i
s the cooler still working?”
“It’s perfect. Thanks.”
“Did you find the beer?”
“Drank both of them. What’s going on?”
“I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to worry.”
I kept the fear from my voice. “Are you going to be arrested?”
“Maybe. Abe thinks there’s going to be an arraignment, but it’s no big deal. He’s sure it won’t stand. If the DA doesn’t show probable cause, the judge will release me.”
“Oh, God, Harry. What shall I do?”
“Just try not to worry. And don’t call Mom and Dad. If you need someone to talk to, call Nick.”
“Why Nick?”
“Because I trust him. Please, Aimee. Abe’s here for me. We’re working this out, but you need someone, too.” I heard a voice in the background. “Abe’s asking for me. I have to go.”
The food and a shower did away with the last vestiges of my beer buzz but left me wide awake at bedtime. Fanny and Bosco were snoozing peacefully. I sat at my kitchen table with a notepad, but the only note I’d made was bear spray. I couldn’t get Harry’s news off my mind. All my efforts to save him from an arrest had been in vain. Worry was my constant state of mind, but I still had to function somehow. I couldn’t do my job or help my brother if I panicked.
I needed a mundane chore to distract myself, so I decided to organize my clothes closet. When I got to my favorite skirt, I noticed a bulge in one of the pockets. I pulled out a crumpled tissue, and when I tossed it toward the wastebasket, I heard a click as something hit the floor. I remembered I’d been wearing that skirt the day I found a penny near the Dumpster.
The shiny thing on my floor was the size and color of a penny, but the shape was wrong. I looked at my bare foot planted next to the little copper scrap. My big toenail was exactly the same shape. Hannah’s comment about acrylic toenails rushed back to me.
I’d never heard of them either, until someone in the crime lab said Bonnie Beardsley was wearing them. I guess the acrylic nail on one of her big toes was missing.
Due for Discard Page 15