“Change is good. It’ll be almost like going to an entirely new place.”
“Nice try. Since we’ll be staying at the Cove, I hope you’re right.”
“You might not even recognize San Albinus, either, now that it’s become a swanky resort town.”
“None of us could ever have imagined anyone building a place like The Sanctuary Resort and Spa. Nor could we have afforded it! In the 70s, the cove area was just a hangout for surfers and hippies—and teenagers, like those of us who grew up there. I do have lots of fond memories as well as the unpleasant ones.”
Unpleasant was putting it mildly. I took a step back as I spoke those words. Jack’s “Georgie-emoto-meter,” as he called it, went off right away. He pulled me to him and whispered in my ear as he breathed in the scent of my hair. Not at all natural, but a fragrance he loves: tea tree oil laced with lavender.
“Not so fast, Georgie Shaw. I’ll let you go so you can make those reservations for us. Every time you pull away though, I want you to feel me tugging you back to the here and now. I’m not a figment of your past or a faint hope of what might have been. I’m a tether to your present, and a fixture in your future, if you’ll have me.”
I reached up for another of those kisses, completely on his side at that moment. Imagining a future with Jack felt wonderful until a wave of guilt or nostalgia swept over me. What if Danny was still alive? Ridiculous to worry about that after so many years. If Danny was alive, why hadn’t he found me, reached out, and explained what had happened? Had he gone into hiding because he killed someone that night? Even if Danny wasn’t dead or a murderer, he wasn’t the same person I once loved. Nausea, a familiar sensation that often accompanied my ruminations about that past trauma, hit me. Under normal circumstances, I would have simply stopped the fruitless effort to answer all those sad, old questions, but these weren’t normal circumstances.
“Okay, I hear you. I appreciate your patience and your willingness to go with me.” I sighed as I rested my head on his chest. “Maybe it’s time I told you more about what went on that night. What I can remember of it. It’s not only that it happened decades ago, but I wasn’t in great shape when they found me.”
2 An Old Tune
“Hello, Miles,” I said in response to a boisterous greeting from my affectionate Siamese cat. With a built-in clock, he knew a snack was in the offing soon. He followed us as we stepped inside and headed into the kitchen. Miles took a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island. Jack sat down beside him. The two guys had bonded, and Miles had already made up his mind that Jack was part of our lives, even if I wasn’t sure yet.
I pulled a chilled antipasto from the fridge and placed it on the granite-topped bar in front of Jack. As I turned to check on the lasagna in the oven, I saw Jack snag a piece of prosciutto. He broke off a tiny bit and slipped it to Miles before popping the rest into his mouth. I doted on the cat, but even I wouldn’t feed him expensive, Italian ham. Miles boomed approval and then looked at Jack as though he expected more.
“You see you’ve aroused the gourmand in him. Now, what?”
“Wow! Who can blame him for wanting more? That is the best prosciutto I’ve ever eaten. Treats!” Jack hollered. Miles wasn’t the only one familiar with our routine. Miles blinked approval and murmured a throaty cat-equivalent of hurrah! He jumped down off the barstool and stood, on alert, at the spot where I place his treat dish. Jack went to the fridge, pulled out the tuna, and performed the feeding ritual. Miles had super organic, grain-free, limited ingredient kibble available 24/7, but welcomed treats several times a day.
I had opened a bottle of wine to let it breathe and poured a small amount into sparkling goblets. The 2007 Stonestreet Rockfall Cabernet Sauvignon was a treat for Jack. He loved fine wine but never would have indulged himself by spending $60 for a bottle. A bargain at that price, it was still an indulgence for me too. I watched as Jack took a whiff of the wine and then a sip, rolling it around on his tongue to get the full flavor.
“Meow!” he bellowed in a reasonable attempt to imitate the sound Miles had produced earlier about that prosciutto. Miles looked up for a second before continuing to scarf down his tuna treat. “That is terrific! More, please.”
“You’re right,” I said, once I’d poured more for Jack and tasted the wine. “This will be perfect with our lasagna that's finished baking.”
Jack didn’t wait for me to say anything more. He carried the wine and his glass to the dining room table I had set for us earlier. Then he came back for the antipasto and put it on the table, dimmed the lights and lit the candles. I pulled the lasagna from the oven and set a timer for 30 minutes and looked up to see him smiling at me.
“Come, sit with me and have a glass of wine while you let the lasagna rest. The wine breathes and the lasagna rests, right, Georgie? I’m learning all your secrets, aren’t I?”
I recognized the sound of hope in that question. He was talking about more than my kitchen tricks. At that moment, I wanted to reveal myself completely to the gracious spirit of the man. Could I do it? I was going to give it a try. Jack deserved that much.
“You are! We’ll eat our antipasto while we’re waiting.” I took another swig of my wine, picked up a basket of bread to go with the olive oil already sitting at the table and marched into the dining room behind Jack. When we sat down, he reached out and took my hand in his.
“Tell me about Danny.”
“Danny Ferrell was a handsome Irish tenor. He loved music and planned a career in fine arts. My Danny was a true romantic and probably would have been happy as an itinerate troubadour during the Middle Ages. When I met him, I thought he was a lot like the more modern versions—Donovan, James Taylor, Bob Dylan, or John Mayer. Not that he cared much for fame or fortune. Danny loved to sing, played several instruments, and had an interest in composing music too. His parents were terrified that he was going to run off to some hippie commune—play the recorder, get stoned, and wear flowers in his hair. There wasn’t much of a hippie movement left by the late 70s. That didn’t stop his Irish Catholic family from worrying about him. They pushed him into college. Not to discourage his love of music, but to get him to channel it into a line of work that would give him a way to eat. At first, I assumed he had taken them literally because we met in an introductory course in hospitality management. I found out later that he had his eye on me before we met. He’d figured out what classes I was taking and added that one to meet me.”
I let go of Jack’s hand and reached for his plate, filling it with antipasto. He spoke as I helped myself to the antipasto and a slice of warm bread before passing the basket to him.
“Your Danny was a smooth operator. I’m not sure, at that age, I was as savvy. Great plan, though. It sounds like it worked.”
“It did! I was smitten from the beginning—even before I found out our meeting was not accidental. Danny fascinated me. He was good-looking in a rough around the edges way. Dark curly hair and amber colored eyes. Some of my fascination stemmed from the fact that he came from San Francisco. Berkeley, to be more precise. He was a big city boy to a girl like me from San Albinus. Danny had immersed himself in the music scene—the San Francisco Sound and West Coast Jazz. He seemed savvy to me, too, Jack. Worldly, romantic and a little wild. Danny sparked my interest in music and had me talking about politics and art. I had stars in my eyes. Not that I let him know it right away.” I smiled at Jack.
“I can imagine that. I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s had a run-in with Georgie Shaw’s ‘little red hen.’ Sounds like your independent streak showed up a long time ago, didn't it?”
“Yes, I suppose so. There’s nothing wrong with being cautious. Not that I was all that prudent, given how quickly we became a couple. Inside, I was gaga for the guy. After that first year at college, love became a much more complicated issue for me. Before that it was simple. I followed my heart. It’s not like I’ve been playing hard to get since then. I never felt that way again about a man—until�
�” My heart did a little flip-flop as I gazed at Jack. I stopped to consider what I was saying. “Maybe my heart began to play harder to get after things with Danny went so terribly wrong.”
“I don’t mind. I figure that’s the reason a lovely woman like you is still around for me to pursue. Even if I haven’t put stars in your eyes like Danny Ferrell did. It does make me a little jealous.”
“Come on, you must have felt that way about Traci when you married her. Besides, according to Jennifer, there has been a twinkle in my eye since I met you.” I leaned in, close enough for Jack to kiss me. He obliged.
“You’re right about Traci. I had no doubt she was the one for me and assumed we’d be together forever. Maybe we jumped into love and marriage too quickly. Neither of us had sense enough to be the least bit reserved. I love that twinkle in your eyes and I’m happy if it has something to do with me.” He seemed pleased, but suddenly a little shy, perhaps, since he quit talking and concentrated on devouring the antipasto salad on his plate.
For several minutes, we let the silence hang there as we ate. I considered what Jack had told me previously about his divorce. His marriage had ended when Traci began to seek comfort elsewhere. When he discovered her infidelity, she argued that he had betrayed her by choosing his career over their marriage. How had he forgiven her and moved on? I wondered.
A surge of angry feelings welled up inside, and I stabbed at a bit of my antipasto. Forgiveness had eluded me. Assault, and perhaps the murder of my fiancé, seemed harder to forgive than infidelity. My head began to spin as I spiraled down an inner path to pain. Jack’s voice brought me instant relief, a surprising reaction that was still too new to understand. There was such hardiness in his approach to life, and an exuberance in his voice even in the laid-back mode created by a lazy afternoon chatting on my lanai and a casual dinner.
“This antipasto is terrific, by the way. The bread, too. I should be bellowing or purring like Miles.” Miles lay on the floor nearby, drowsing in the last rays of light cast by the setting sun. He raised his head when Jack spoke his name and peered at him with stunning blue eyes. Seeing no offer to share, Miles yawned and dropped his head again. “Please go on. I want to hear what happened.”
“We spent more and more time together that first term at school. By Thanksgiving we were inseparable. Danny went with me to meet the family. He loved San Albinus and Corsario Cove, right off the bat. That Christmas, I went with him to Berkeley and met his parents. We hung out in Berkeley and toured the wine country North of San Francisco. Both areas were splendid, but I loved San Francisco best with its colorful Victorian Painted Ladies, Chinatown, and the Wharf District. On New Year’s Eve, Danny proposed, and I accepted. I may hesitate, but once I make up my mind, I tend to plunge into things. Not so different from you and Traci after all.” Jack nodded.
“I hear you. There’s nothing wrong with being decisive once you’ve had a chance to mull things over. Plunging in—why not?” I did not miss the hint hidden in that remark. The smile that went with that comment was pleasantly distracting but also urged me on with my story.
“UC Santa Cruz wasn’t far from the Cove. At Danny’s urging, we made frequent visits to San Albinus. My parents loved him, and Danny made himself at home. He had the gift of gab, as his Irish mother told me. A storyteller, too. He kept my mom and dad entertained. As far as my parents were concerned, that first year away at college, I might as well have gone to the moon. They were thrilled that we visited so often.”
I paused to eat a bite and took another look at my handsome companion. What must Jack have been like in his 20s? I wondered. He caught me gazing at him and met my eyes with a frankness I had come to expect. Like Danny, Jack possesses an openness that I find appealing. A relaxed, easy-going manner, too. Such a nice counterbalance to my own more fretful nature.
“I’m sure they would have loved you, too. You’ve got a touch of the blarney in you, like Danny.” Jack put on a look of feigned surprise.
“Moi?” He asked.
“Oh please, when Detective Wheeler pours on the charm, look out! Don’t pretend you don’t know that I’ve been on the receiving end of all that charm. I also watched you in action getting information from my colleagues at the Cat Factory during the investigation into Mallory’s murder. You had Carol wrapped around your little finger in no time.”
“I like Carol. I’m glad you were able to keep her as your administrative assistant with all the upheaval going on at Marley World.”
“She’s almost as big on matchmaking as Jennifer—sings your praises daily. It’s Jack this and Jack that. Jack told me blah, blah, blah. You’re a storyteller, too, apparently. Carol finds you fascinating.”
“I like the woman more and more—glad to have her on my side. I’m not so sure your parents would have been interested in the stories I have to tell as a cop.”
“I am. Mom was a huge fan of murder mysteries. She read them by the dozens, I swear! I never had to think twice about gifts for birthdays or other holidays. Dad had considered law enforcement before he fell into bookkeeping. A degree in accounting came after he’d drifted into that field and decided to set up his practice as a CPA.”
I sighed remembering the two of them. Married for decades, they were still in love when Mom died. Dad spoke lovingly about her until he died a year later. Could Jack and I possibly have a chance for a love like that? I searched his face again. His dark eyes seemed to deepen as he spoke.
“I am sorry I’ll never meet them. Your parents sound like good people who provided you and your brothers a happy home life. I wish I could say the same for my family. My parents were good people, too. Part of the reason I became a cop was in reaction to an abundance of connivers and cutthroats in the rest of the Wheeler family. ‘Wheeler-dealers’ as some of them fancied themselves to be, according to my overly patient father. Small time hoods and deadbeats, mostly. There always seemed to be a sibling or cousin asking for a few bucks, sleeping on the couch, or borrowing a car. They didn’t always leave when they said they would. Sometimes when they left, they took the car they ‘borrowed’ or items from the house with them!”
“That had to be uncomfortable, to say the least.”
“It was. Eventually, my parents learned, but having to cut off family is a hard thing to do. My dad never understood how hard work and modest success made him a target among his kinfolk. Even then, Dad was a firm believer in patience and forgiveness. The wheeler-dealer members of the Wheeler family saw Mom and Dad as chumps, ‘a soft-touch’ as I overheard one cousin telling another. It took my parents a long time to realize that while forgiveness allowed them to move on after a family member betrayed their trust, it didn't mean they had to let it happen again. That’s old news to me now, after thirty years as a cop, I’ve seen wheeler-dealer types again and again. When troublemakers like that pair up, anything can happen.”
“I get it. After that mess with Mallory and her ruthless pals, it’s easier to understand how mixed up people with bad intentions can lead each other further astray. Mallory might have been better off if Max had set limits earlier on when her troubles began. A lot of us miss or overlook misbehavior that we ought to stop immediately. I wish I had realized that back then when Danny and I were so young. We had troublemakers in San Albinus. Danny was as enthralled by Corsario Cove as I was by the history, diversity, and sophistication of San Francisco. We were young and in love, so maybe we saw everything through that rosy filter. There were warning signs, early on, but we missed them.” I sipped my wine before going on. Jack reached out and gave my hand a squeeze to encourage me.
“The trouble began in the spring. As I said, Danny loved to sing. One night they had an open mic at the local pub. He called it a pub, we called it a bar. I wasn’t even old enough to drink, but the place was a neighborhood hangout. Danny sang. A beautiful version of Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door, accompanying himself on the piano. He blew me away! It was the first time I’d seen him perform in a serious way. Others in the
bar were caught up in his performance, too. Someone in the crowd insisted that he sing another song, and he launched into Suzanne—that Leonard Cohen song. When he finished, things turned sour. One of the locals shouted out ‘sing something that’s not a college boy sissy song’ or something like that.”
“Uh oh,” Jack muttered. “Let me guess, townie-college kid trouble, right?”
“Yes, I’d heard a little snide talk about those of us who left for college were snobs or thought we were better than other people. It never bothered me. That night, I assumed it was more of the same. Tommy Harwell was the culprit. He’d been in trouble since he was ten and his younger brother Mark wasn’t much better. I didn’t know either one of them well since they were both older than me. Danny wasn’t the least bit perturbed and launched into his rendition of What a Wonderful World. That didn’t make Tommy happy. He and his friends began to heckle Danny about not singing anything but girlie songs. ‘Don’t be fooled, Ladies, I bet he don’t even like girls. You San Francisco guys don’t like girls, do you?’ His brother Mark and two other locals with them laughed. The bar owner knew that bunch well enough to act. More beer wasn’t going to make it any better, so he refused to serve them another round. When Tommy objected, the owner asked them all to leave. With the help of a big, burly bouncer, he got them out of there.”
“Lucky for them. I’ll bet the next step would have been to call the police.”
“Maybe it should have been. I’m not the only one from San Albinus with a streak of self-reliance. Derek Hall, the bar owner, had one too. In a small town like ours, you handled problems yourself, or with the help of friends and family before calling the authorities. When I leaned over to apologize to Danny, he winked at me and said it wasn’t the first barroom incident he’d experienced as a performer. The moment the door shut behind that bunch, Danny began to play the piano. That’s the first time I heard it. No words. A sweet haunting melody he had composed for me.”
Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Box Set Page 10