by Roslyn Woods
She stood on her tiptoes for a moment and kissed his cheek. “Okay. It won’t take five minutes, and she can call me later if she has questions.”
“Okay,” he answered, clearly happier than he’d been only moments earlier. “By the way, there’s a great gym in this place, and they’re advertising a self-defense class for women in one of the studios.”
“Yeah? What time?”
“Nine tomorrow morning.”
“I might see if I can get in. You have to sign up?”
“I don’t know. We can check when we go downstairs.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dean.”
“Maybe I can sit in and see all your moves.”
“I might scare you.”
“You’ve always scared me.”
“I’m even scarier now!” she said with a laugh.
“You can show me what a wimp I am,” he said confidently.
She smiled up at him. “And now, I’m going to text Tavy.”
“I’ll take a quick shower and change while you do that.”
“Okay,” she answered as they released each other.
Shell found her purse and reached into the side and took out her phone before she sat down at the desk again.
Tavy, she wrote, there’s a Guy Rose painting in your house that I believe is worth a great deal. I think it could have something to do with the murder. Please be extra watchful and careful. Someone might want it. Maybe you should tell the police.
Chapter 28
Saturday, Aug 8, 4 p.m.—Tavy
Tavy was very careful when she washed and dried the teapot. It didn’t appear to be an old Roseville piece like so many in the hutch, but it had been carefully made in a similar style, the satin glaze very like the finishes on the others. The bottom was signed by someone named Ana.
She got the stepladder from the pantry and stood it in front of the cabinets before carefully climbing up and putting it back in its place. Her mind was poring over Vincent’s visit and her feelings about his knowing the kitchen so well. Why should she find it strange? Vincent was her father’s stepson, the child he had raised after leaving her mother and herself.
At that moment she heard a knock coming from the sunroom. She stepped down from the ladder, guessing who was there, and walked through the kitchen door and out into the converted porch with its easel and wicker furniture. Through the glass, she could see Gus standing there, tall and strong, a weathered, straw cowboy hat pushed back from his face. The t-shirt he wore looked quite damp, and there was a large, empty basket under his arm.
“Hello,” she said as she opened the door. “What can I do for you?” That certainly sounded formal after the friendly day they’d spent together yesterday. Even the evening out had been nice. Very nice in spite of the circumstances.
He looked confused for a moment.
“Uh—I need to pick vegetables, and I didn’t want to be doing that without letting you know I’m out here.”
“You look as if you’ve already been picking vegetables,” she answered, a pleasant fragrance of basil leaves and citrus drifting toward her.
“I have. I’ve been to two gardens across town, and I’ve just picked my own. I thought I’d get yours if that’s still okay.”
“On Saturday?”
“It’s one of my harvesting days. Look, I certainly don’t have to gather vegetables here today, but we have families who come by our homes on Sunday mornings. They count on it, so I—”
“I see. Sure. Great. Thanks for telling me.” She stepped back and swallowed, realizing she didn’t want to close the door on him like this, but also realizing she didn’t know what sort of person he really was.
“Tavy? What’s wrong?”
“I—I don’t know. Nothing. I’ll leave you to it,” she said. She didn’t want to confront him now. Not before she’d had a chance to sort through her newfound knowledge about him.
“Okay,” he said, sounding surprised.
She closed the door and turned the lock, hoping he couldn’t hear it snap. She turned and went into the kitchen and absently put the kettle back on. She had found a glass pitcher when she was on the stepladder, and she thought she’d make some decaf iced tea to keep in the fridge before starting her search for pictures in her father’s closet, but her mind was on Gus Kerr.
After a few minutes, she went back out to the sun porch and watched him from the window. His strong back was to her, his movements automatic and sure. He gathered vegetables swiftly, gracefully, a dark V of sweat forming on his pale blue t-shirt as he worked in the afternoon sun, the words Austin City Limits printed across his broad shoulders.
Tavy felt guilty. Shouldn’t she be out there helping him just as she had always helped Mia and Tio in the garden back home? A wave of lonesomeness swept over her, and her throat ached as she stifled her emotions. She missed Mia and needed to talk to her. Tonight, she would call her and tell her about everything. Right now, she must make tea and look for the photos among her father’s things. And she must try not to think of Gus Kerr.
Once the boiling water was poured over the tea bags at the bottom of the pitcher, she carried the stepladder to her father’s room and began searching. One by one she perused the shoe boxes from the top shelf in the closet. There were some papers, some odds and ends. One box held dated ties. One contained palette knives and watercolor brushes. She had already taken the one that contained the letters from Lois Bishop, her grandmother, and she knew she would eventually read them all, even if it felt a little wrong to do so.
At last, she came to a box she must spend time with. On its top were two words. Baby things. She carried it to the bed and sat down, lifting the lid slowly.
Crumpled tissue paper was pressed neatly between the box’s contents, holding each item snugly in place. A small, tarnished silver cup was the first thing she saw, then a silver duck on a teething ring, the pink plastic mostly oxidized. Tavy began to remove the paper and take each item out, laying them one by one on the terra cotta quilt on her father’s antique bed. A pink rattle that looked something like a lollipop, an image of a white lamb painted on it, seemed vaguely familiar. A spoon. A little plate with a pink kitten printed in its middle. A tiny pair of soft, lavender shoes. A small white teddy bear, yellowed with time, looked up at her. She didn’t remember it, but she sat on her father’s bed for a long time, just looking.
These were not a little boy’s baby things. She turned the silver cup over. There, in an engraved font, was her confirmation. Octavia Anne, 1976.
An hour or more passed as she examined each item and slowly put them back in the box, replacing the tissue paper and putting the lid back and rubbing tears onto her sleeve. Just then she heard knocking on the back door again. She would have to face Gus with her newfound knowledge about him, and she dreaded it.
He was showered and in clean clothes, a dark look in his ocean-blue eyes as she opened the door. His dog was there beside him this time, wagging her tail hopefully.
“I have to talk to you,” Gus said.
“Okay. I have iced tea,” she answered, stepping back for him to enter. “Blue can come in, too,” she added.
“No. Stay,” he said to the dog. She whined and sat down on the step, but Tavy didn’t argue. She turned toward the kitchen and heard him come in and shut the door.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She knew she must look as if she’d been crying. She had. She’d been assaulted by waves of emotion for over an hour, and she was having a difficult day.
“I’m fine.”
He followed her and stood watching as she washed her hands at the sink, then added water to the concentrated liquid in the tea pitcher. She got the teal glasses from the cupboard, dispensed ice into them, and poured the tea while he said nothing. Her mind went back to what seemed an age ago now, when they’d had tea together—only yesterday—as they sat watching the kayaks on the river. Everything had been different then. She had trusted him.
“There are things you need to know ab
out your father,” he said as they sat down at the table.
“Okay. Shoot. Tell me about the fact that you drove him to the airport so he could come see me. Tell me about the pictures he took of me.”
“You’re angry?”
“Yes. What do you expect?”
“I would have told you before, Tavy, but you told me you couldn’t handle it. Remember?”
“How about the fact that you’re in my father’s will? Did you think I couldn’t handle that? Did you think I couldn’t handle the fact that you have an arrest record and my father bailed you out of jail, Gus? It would have been awkward, wouldn’t it, to tell me about your criminal history right after I learned my father was poisoned and your fingerprints were all over the liquor bottles!”
Gus stared at her for a few moments, looking as if he’d been slapped. “Anything else?” he asked evenly.
“I guess that’s it.”
“And you learned these things from whom?”
“Let’s see. Everyone I talked to today had a little piece of info about you, Dr. Gus Kerr,” she answered bitterly. “I didn’t even have to ask. They all offered.”
“Really. Who did you talk to?” he asked again, his eyes narrowing.
“Sergeant Gonzalez, Florencia, Vincent.”
“How many times did the good sergeant say I’d been arrested?”
“He didn’t. He suggested you had a history and that there were arrests.”
“But you said your dad had bailed me out.”
“Vincent told me that.”
“Vincent. I see.” He was staring at her coldly. “Did he say why I’d been arrested?”
“No.”
“And the will?”
“Vincent told me about that, too.”
“And my guess is Florencia told you something about me taking your dad to the airport when he was going to Portland. I imagine she was trying to comfort you about his feelings for you.”
“That’s right,” she answered, frowning and beginning to feel uncomfortable.
There was a cold silence during which Gus tapped his index finger on the table, obviously thinking and slowly nodding his head, but he also looked angry to Tavy. Finally, he spoke.
“I do have an arrest record, and your dad did bail me out. Four times. So that’s true. I didn’t know anything about the will, but it sounds like him.” He paused and looked at Tavy, his face still showing only coldness.
“Just tell me why you were arrested,” she said quietly. “Please.”
“I was involved in something the police didn’t like.”
“What?”
“Maybe you should check with Vincent. I hear he’s very popular with the ladies. I’m sure he’ll weave an entertaining yarn. And while you’re at it, you should ask him why he thinks his stepfather would have a friendship with a common criminal. I’ll just go now,” he added, getting up and carrying his untouched tea to the kitchen counter and setting it down.
“Gus?” she asked, standing up. He stopped, his hand still on the glass by the sink, but he didn’t look around. “You were going to tell me something. You said you needed to talk to me.”
“That’s right,” he answered over his shoulder. “I wanted to tell you your dad carried pictures of you in his wallet. He showed them to people, to me. That’s partly how I knew you when I first saw you. I wanted to tell you that there had to be a pretty good reason for his leaving when you were small.”
“Did he talk about me?”
“Yes, he did,” he answered taking a step toward the sunroom.
“Gus,” she said, trying to detain him, “I’d really like to hear what you have to say about your arrests. I don’t mean to—”
“I’m not in a habit of defending myself, Octavia Bishop. Think whatever you like. I’m only surprised you didn’t ask Rand Miller to fill in the blanks about my criminal past. He’s another person who despises me.”
“I’m sorry I was angry, but you can imagine how I felt when—”
“Don’t be sorry. Assuming I’m a killer makes perfect sense. Don’t give my feelings on the matter another thought,” he said, and without a backward glance he walked out of the kitchen, through the sunroom, and out the back door, shutting it firmly behind him.
Tavy followed and watched his departing figure, tall and unyielding, the obedient Blue by his side.
Chapter 29
Saturday, August 8, 6 p.m.—Shell
Shell had to admire Linda in her snow-white, a-line dress with cap sleeves and sweetheart neckline. The skirt cascaded with layers of organza, and lines of pearls trimmed the edges of the short train and veil. Gabe stood beside his brother, his best man, watching his bride approach as the music swelled. His smile told everyone in the room how happy he was.
Shell sat beside Dean, taking it all in, her blue dress shimmering in the soft light. She knew she didn’t want a big wedding like this one. Dean had already been this route. He’d had a huge celebration, marrying Linda’s friend, Amanda, the woman who had nearly ruined his life.
“…to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health…” the priest was saying.
Shell’s mind drifted to this morning’s session with Dr. Shapiro.
“I think we’re getting somewhere,” the psychologist had said. “I think there are two things that are holding back your recovery from the abduction. One of them is the way you feel about Dean.”
“What? I love Dean.”
“But I’m getting the feeling you’re not ready to marry.”
“Of course I am,” Shell had answered. “It’s just a bad time. Margie’s just had her baby, and she’ll want to be a part of everything, to make the wedding cake, to stand beside me at the ceremony.”
“But you said Dean didn’t really want a wedding.”
“Not like his last wedding. It won’t be a big event. Just family and very close friends.”
“What is it about Dean that’s holding you back?”
“Nothing! Nothing is holding me back!”
“I’m not really talking about your wedding, Shell. I’m talking about your feelings. For example, you told me he’d had a ring made for you, but I never see you wearing it.”
She came back to the present when Dean reached for her hand. Gabe was repeating his vows, and Shell glanced up at her fiancé. There was emotion there. She knew he was thinking about their own wedding, the wedding that was yet to come.
“I guess I don’t know how much he loves me sometimes,” she had admitted to the therapist. “I try not to think about our breakup, but I can’t help it.”
“What about your breakup?”
“If he hadn’t accidentally learned I hadn’t cheated on him, would he have rescued me? Would he have come after me?”
“You think he could have heard about your disappearance and not tried to find where—”
“Maybe. Maybe he would have written it off—not tried to work it out.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“No—I just don’t know.”
“But he did come after you. You said he rescued you.”
“Yes, after he learned he’d been wrong about me. But aren’t you getting this? Would he have come if he hadn’t learned I hadn’t cheated on him?”
“Have you asked him? Have you asked him if he would have come to find you?”
“I haven’t had the courage. If he says no, I don’t know if I can stand it.”
“Really? If it turns out that Dean has feet of clay, you’ll end the relationship even though you know you love him?”
“I don’t know. I can’t imagine breaking up, but I just don’t know how it will make me feel to know for sure that he wouldn’t have come after me.”
“Shell, the question isn’t how big Dean’s love is for you. The question is how big yours is for him. Is your love big enough to forgive him? If he’s really sorry for what happened—”
“But I’d be dead! Don’t you understand? I wouldn’t be here at all.”
Wh
en she’d gotten home after the session, she had put the ring on. In sparkled with the gems from a family heirloom of Dean’s, and she loved the way it looked on her hand. Dean had noticed it right away.
“You’re wearing it!” he had exclaimed happily.
“I think I should, don’t you? We’re going to a wedding, after all. I want everyone to know I snagged the handsomest man in Texas.”
“But what about the rest of the country?” he had smiled down at her.
“Now you’re fishing,” she had answered. “It’s not fair you don’t wear one, too.”
“You feel like it makes you seem like a piece of property?”
“No. I love it. I just wish I had a ring on your finger to tell the girls you also belong to me.”
“I know a solution to that problem,” he said. “Marry me.”
“I plan on doing that.”
“But when? We haven’t set a date.”
“After Margie’s freed up enough to make a wedding cake. She also wants to lose ten pounds.”
“Let’s send her to Weight Watchers.”
“She’s nursing. It will happen anyway.”
“How soon?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me, Shell? Do you want to marry me?”
“Of course I do,” she had answered, but she knew in her heart she was stalling, and she had only begun to guess why.
Chapter 30
Saturday Aug. 8, 6 p.m.—Tavy
Tavy was upset. Of course she’d had a right to ask Gus about her father bailing him out of jail, hadn’t she? But perhaps she had bungled it. She had sounded accusing and angry, and now her budding friendship with him was ruined. Why it mattered to her she wasn’t exactly sure, but her hands were shaking as she carried her glass to the kitchen and placed it beside the one Gus had left there.
She went into her bedroom and retrieved her purse, digging inside in search of the keys Sgt. Gonzalez had given back to her this morning. Once she found them, she headed back to the kitchen and the door to the garage. She turned its lock and stepped into the hot room, pushing the orange button of the door opener. It rose, and light poured in onto the CRV with its muted teal finish.