Electric Blue

by Nancy Bush

  “Late? You gotta be kidding.” He stepped inside, set the wine on the counter, then squatted down, playing with Binkster, who wriggled and twisted and wagged her tail in sheer joy. She jumped up and licked him on the face a couple of times, too. He petted and nuzzled her right back.

  Dwayne glanced up and read whatever showed on my face. “Tough day at the geriatric ward, darlin’?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Have you got anything to eat around here? I missed lunch.”

  “Look who you’re talking to.”

  He took a gander inside my refrigerator anyway, snorting in disgust at what he found. Or, more accurately, what he didn’t find. Flipping open his cell phone, he pushed speed dial, connecting with a local pizza joint. I listened while he ordered a large pepperoni with double cheese and though it sounded like trouble for one with on-again/off-again lactose intolerance, saliva formed in my mouth.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I wanted to debrief you.”

  “Yeah? You coulda called.”

  “Your phone’s dead. But I enjoyed the song. Maybe later you could sing me the rest of it.”

  I yanked the phone from my pocket and looked down at its blank face. “I’ll put it on my list of things to do before I die. I don’t get this. It’s dead. I swear to God, this battery sucks.”

  “Who gave you the hickey? Jazz?”

  I clapped a hand to the side of my neck as I headed to my bedroom to plug the phone into its charger. “An accident with my curling iron.”

  “Good thing you don’t like guns.”

  I set up the cell phone, glad to see it beep and whir to life now that it was being fed with electricity. Before heading back to the kitchen I examined my “hickey.” Grimacing, I wondered if Jazz may have thought the same thing.

  When I returned to the kitchen Dwayne had put one bottle of white in the refrigerator and had uncorked the second. He was pouring us each a glass. Handing me mine, he arranged himself on one of my barstools. He wore a light blue shirt with snap-on mother-of-pearl buttons and his ubiquitous pair of disreputable denim jeans. His blondish-brown hair had grown longer than usual; it actually came over his ears a bit. Dwayne is nowhere near as classically handsome as Jazz, but there’s something distinctly male about him that I try hard to ignore. If I’ve had too many drinks he starts to look good to me in dangerous ways. His blue eyes aren’t as brilliant as Jazz’s but they’re sharp and astute and ironic.

  “Orchid—Nana—is missing. I was the last one with her, and I seem to be the one everyone blames.” The weariness settled over me again.

  Dwayne nodded as I sat down on the barstool next to him.

  “You knew?” I asked incredulously.

  “Cammie called me and said the Purcells wouldn’t be needing your services any longer.”

  I could feel the back of my neck grow hot. “Well, thanks for telling me.”

  “Darlin’, things are just getting interesting. Sounds like Grandma decided to get the hell out before they made her start signing things she didn’t wanna.”

  “Maybe she just wandered off,” I said, but I’d begun to think that wasn’t likely. My gut feeling said there was something else going on.

  “You didn’t find her anywhere on the grounds or nearby. And you looked pretty hard.”

  “Cammie can’t fire me. Jazz hired me. And since when are you still talking to her?”

  “I told you. The woman just keeps calling.”

  “They’re the weirdest bunch,” I said with feeling. “All of them. And it doesn’t help that the men are a lot more attractive than the women. It’s like some lesson off the Discovery Channel: see how the males’ plumage makes them bright and colorful, while the peahens hide in dull camouflage in the reeds.”

  “So, what are you gonna do next?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to think about it.”

  Dwayne nodded. “Tell me more about your day at the spa, then.”

  The pizza delivery boy rang the bell at that moment, sending Binkster shooting toward the door, her tail wagging furiously. Her nose told her what blessed gift had arrived.

  Dwayne paid for the pizza and brought it into the kitchen. Binks sat down beside him, face turned attentively upward. I am a sucker for this, but Dwayne ignores her completely until he’s done. Then, he might break off a small piece of crust, but he never totally indulges her. It may be that he would be a better dog owner than I, but I’d rather rip out my tongue than admit as much to him.

  While we ate I gave him all the details about my travails at Complete Me. Dwayne listened, nodding occasionally, grunting in agreement once in a while. This is one of his best attributes, the ability to really listen without cutting me off before I’m done. I don’t know if it’s me, or if other women have the same problem, but I rarely seem to be able to tell a whole story without having some man interrupt me. Is it that the male gender is disinterested in what I’m interested in? Or, is it that my telling of said story is such a snore that they can’t bear it?

  “You haven’t talked to our client about Trevin, yet?” I finished.

  “Nope.”

  “I gave you this information when I was at the spa.”

  “You just gave me the highlights. Didn’t want my head handed to me until I had all the facts.”

  “Well, it’s too bad if he doesn’t like what he hears.” My voice was laced with judgment and Dwayne gave me a “what gives?” look. “He hired you to follow his wife while he’s meeting with Janice every chance he gets.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I saw them at the Coffee Nook the other morning. Playing footsie under the counter. And I understand Miriam goes in there sometimes. Always alone. So, maybe she was just looking for love in all the wrong places.”

  “It’s Spence who’s paying us,” Dwayne pointed out.

  “Paying you.”

  “You’re really pissed about this.”

  “I’m pissed about a lot of things.”

  Dwayne shrugged, clearly disaffected. “Well, maybe Mr. Australia dumped her, but Miriam hasn’t broken down and fessed up to Spence, as far as I know. It’s still a secret.”

  “She’s probably licking her wounds. Trevin is a shit.”

  “She chose poorly.”

  “Well, maybe if your buddy Spence wasn’t with Janice, Miriam wouldn’t feel compelled to choose.”

  “Spence is not a buddy of mine, and we’re not investigating him.”

  “Well, maybe we should.”

  “And who’s going to pay us for that?” he asked, maddeningly logical.

  “It isn’t always about money.”

  “Since when, Jane Kelly?”

  “Since I had to listen to those damn Purcells worry that Orchid wouldn’t sign the power of attorney.”

  He slid me a look out of the corner of his eyes. “Is Jasper one of those ‘damn Purcells’?”

  “I’m worried about her. Dementia patients wander off and bad things happen to them. Injury. Death. I don’t want to be responsible.”

  “You’re not responsible.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dwayne, damn it…don’t go there with me right now. I’m just…”

  “Irrational?” he guessed.

  We stared at each other a moment. My mind cataloged nearby objects I could use for weaponry: pots, pans, lamps, the pile of books I’d left on a corner of the counter. I really, really wanted to throw something at him.

  He watched my expression intently. “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think you should find Orchid Purcell on your own. You’re not going to feel right until you do. It’s not your fault. You know it’s not your fault. But the lot of them are going to act like it is, and you need action.”

  My anger slowly dissolved. “The police have been called and there’s no money in it.”

  “All right.
This time you need something better: validation.”

  It’s the rare day Dwayne can admit there’s something more important than collecting clients’ greenbacks. It’s even rarer that he thinks I should spend my energy in such pursuits.

  But it made me feel lighter to hear him give me the go ahead. Rolling around in the back of my head had been the desire to take on finding Orchid myself. I said, “If Orchid’s still missing tomorrow, I’ll join the search for her. She can’t be far, but I wouldn’t put it past one of them to hide her. Maybe coerce her into signing the power of attorney. I don’t know.”

  “Who would that be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How would they do it? You said they were all at the meeting when she turned up missing.”

  “I don’t know, Dwayne. I’m just guessing. Someone could be hiding her at the house, for all I know. I didn’t get to search James’ suite.” I looked away, not wanting to meet his gaze. Jazz hadn’t been at the meeting. He hadn’t made it to the Purcells until after Orchid was missing, but I couldn’t believe this was anything to do with him, and I certainly didn’t feel like explaining that to Dwayne. “Whoever did it could have had help from outside,” I theorized. “It just feels like there’s something else going on.”

  “You going to tell Jazz you’re doing your own search?”

  “Maybe. I’ll see.”

  He nodded, draining his glass of wine and pouring another.

  I thought about telling him my feelings when I was inside the playhouse, but changed my mind. Dwayne works in facts. An attack of the willies isn’t something he would relate to. Instead, I said, “There’s something…off…with the Purcells. Something happened with Lily, Jazz’s mother, and it’s eaten away at all of them. Orchid was crying about Lily and how her husband treated her. I know dementia patients can get sad and upset and there’s no consoling them, but this seemed like something festering inside her. Something secret and dark. So, I’m going to look into that, too.”

  I half-expected him to accuse me of being fanciful, but all he said was, “Put it down in a report. Then give me a copy.”

  “What for? Posterity? You think someone’s going to pay you for it?”

  “You just never know, darlin’.”

  He finished a third piece of pizza and the rest of his wine, then tossed Binkster a teensy piece of crust. At the back door, he stooped to give Binks a couple of hearty pats on the head before he disappeared. I latched the door behind him, listening as I heard the engine of his boat rev to life.

  I felt better. I had a plan. Corking the still half-full bottle, I glanced down at the pug who was staring through the glass at the inky night, hoping for sight of Dwayne. She looked up at me in silent recrimination, clearly blaming me for ruining her evening.

  “Oh, get over it,” I said, and we both headed to the bedroom.

  Chapter Eight

  In the middle of the night I clawed myself awake from a dream about annoying insects that were buzzing and buzzing and tangling in my hair. I thrashed an arm out to ward off a cloud of some kind of wicked, stinging black hornets, effectively waking myself, and that’s when I heard the little buzzing sound. It came from my desk. Vaguely I recognized it was happening every few minutes. As I came to full wakefulness, I realized it was my cell phone. On vibrate mode, it was telling me I had a message.

  I brought the phone back to bed with me and punched in the numbers to access my voice mail. After the female computer voice instructed me to please enter my password, I pressed in the four-digit code—1, 1, 1, 1. (I never claimed to be a security expert.) I had two unheard messages.

  The first was from Lorraine Bluebell, a real estate agent in Lake Chinook whom I’d befriended last summer. “Hi, Jane. Believe it or not, I have a gift certificate to The Pisces Pub. Are you free for lunch tomorrow? I’m buying…” She left her cell phone number and I saved the message, so I could input it to the phone later. I probably had one of her business cards floating around, but I didn’t want to chance it and miss out. There’s something about The Pisces Pub that doesn’t lend itself to the “gift certificate” criteria. It’s a beat-up, shit kicker kind of place whose theme was once something to do with the sea and now is mostly ranch or cowboy.

  The second message was a sales call for a reduced interest rate on a credit card. They wanted me to call the number back immediately. I squinted at the phone. Telemarketing on my cell phone? That was low.

  I snuggled deeper into bed and Binkster took it as a means to lobby for entry under the covers. I allowed it and she curled her furry little body up next to me. I put my arm around her and felt incredibly protective and possessive. I don’t get what’s come over me. All my affections seemed to be targeted at her. I fell back asleep wondering if this was the result of a nonexistent love life—or a symptom of something worse.

  I was up at the crack of dawn the next morning, determinedly shaking off my blues of the night before. Any thoughts I had for a run to the Nook were dropped when I saw the streaming rain pouring down from the heavens. I drove myself instead, my thoughts on Orchid. I hoped she was inside somewhere, safe and sound.

  Things were hopping at the Nook. No Billy Leonard, but the crowd was intense. Julie was working like she had six arms, and her right-hand woman, Jenny, was also delivering orders at top speed. Julie and Jenny are the Coffee Nook’s sugar and spice: Julie’s sugar; Jenny’s spice. Kind of jalapeno spice, actually, since you never know when you’re going to get zinged. Jenny can zap you good but her sharp repartee is a major draw for the Coffee Nook customers.

  I poured myself a cup of black coffee and blew across the top, searching for a place to sit. One stool was empty but someone had her purse on it, so I stood in the center of the room and watched Julie and Jenny serve the customers. There was no sign of Spence or Janice this morning; too early, perhaps. Since I didn’t want to run into Miriam, either, I was going to have to keep my eyes peeled.

  Seeing Jenny reminded me of Jennifer, Jazz’s deceased wife. I wondered if Jazz was still mourning her more than he let on. I also wondered what effect his short-term memory loss had created. Had the accident changed him? What had he been like before?

  I called Lorraine at eight o’clock. Early, yes, but she struck me as the kind of person who got going in the morning. She answered promptly and was thrilled that I could join her. We settled on twelve-thirty.

  I next called Jazz but I got his cell phone voice mail. I thought about leaving him a message but changed my mind. I didn’t feel like telling him Cammie had “fired” me through Dwayne, and I knew if there were any news on Orchid he would let me know first thing.

  Blessedly, the rain turned to a fine mist on its way to stopping completely. Back at the cottage I wrote up the hard copy report about my trip to Complete Me for Dwayne to give to Spence, then I read it over and fixed a few typos. I afterwards examined my online banking report and was pleased at the five hundred dollar deposit I’d made. I’d kept out a hundred dollars to use as mad money from Jazz’s first payment. I wondered vaguely if he would pay me for yesterday. Does it count if you lose the woman you’re supposed to be looking after?

  Around ten I had a mazda: I decided to call Eileen. Punching in her saved number, I eagerly waited for her to answer with no clear idea of what I planned to say. But she didn’t pick up her phone, so I left a message saying who I was and what my connection to Orchid had been before her disappearance.

  At ten-thirty Jazz got back to me with the information that Nana was still missing, and the police were taking down a detailed record of Orchid’s daily life and schedule. I mentioned to him that I was thinking about conducting my own investigation. He didn’t jump on the idea of “hiring me” for that as well, but clearly his mind was full of other things—worry, chief among them. We ended the conversation with “let’s get together later” words of good-bye.

  Around noon I headed to The Pisces Pub. The front door has a carved mermaid who looks as if she’s been abused by every patro
n who’s walked through the doors. She lost her breasts years ago and her fins aren’t in the best of shape. Her face has been hacked at or eroded, too, so she looks perpetually pissed off.

  I could relate.

  Lorraine wasn’t about when I entered so I sat myself at the bar right in front of the wooden fish statue that is bolted to the front counter. Said statue wears tiny spurs, a western vest, chaps and a hat. Since the last time I’d been here someone had added a string tie around the fish’s neck adorned with a turquoise clasp. Our little fishy cowboy friend also had a new sheriff’s star on its right breast. “Jewels Verne” was imprinted into the star’s dull copper finish.

  “We had a contest,” the bartender said, catching me examining Jewels. “That’s the winning name. Want anything?”

  I chose a light beer. Having tended bar in California, I always examine the style of the bartenders with a critical eye. I liked this guy’s easy manner. And I liked The Pisces Pub for its lack of pretension and its kitsch. I hadn’t been here for a few weeks but apart from the fish’s name and get-up, nothing had changed: same scarred wooden floor, same wagon wheel overhead lights, same random mix of the seven seas meets the wild west.

  I was halfway through my glass when Lorraine burst through the doors. Her brown hair is cut short and feathered, and a white streak slashes across her bangs. She has to be in her mid-fifties but she seems to be fighting the middle-age middle fairly well. Her deep purple pantsuit fit well, the kind of cut that spoke of designer tailoring. She looked thinner than when I’d last seen her, and I complimented her as she sat down on a stool beside me, loading her current big-ass purse onto the counter beside Jewels. The purse matched her outfit: dark purple and gold. She even wore gold flats.

  “I’ve been at class all morning,” she said, turning her attention to the bartender. “Do you have a decent Chardonnay? I don’t care if it’s good. But decent I have to have.”

  “It’s decent. Barely,” he said.

  “Bring it on.”

  Lorraine gave me her full attention. “Luckily I don’t have to go back this afternoon.”