Electric Blue

by Nancy Bush

  Real estate agents are always taking classes. Part of the ongoing requirements to keep licensed in the state. “I’m glad you called.”

  “I have an ulterior motive,” she admitted. “I may need some help. I sold a property to a friend and now one of her neighbor’s flipped out and seems to be sabotaging her home.”

  “How?”

  Lorraine shook her head. “She lives in First Addition. It’s one of those tricky neighborhood association things. They’ve got a rogue player causing havoc. He doesn’t like all the construction going on around him, and those that agree with him are turning a blind eye to the vandalism. I was wondering if you could do a stakeout at my friend’s, catch the guy in the act? He’s been pretty actively targeting her since she added an addition and second story.”

  “Did the renovation affect someone’s view, or something?”

  “No. It’s all about stopping progress using any means possible.” Lorraine sniffed. “Some of the longtime residents feel the homes are getting too big…that they’re moving away from the original concept of the neighborhood. A lot of First Addition was built in the forties, and the homes were two-bedroom cottages with one bathroom. New people moving in are paying high prices and they want more. And yes, they’re making them bigger.” She gave me a look. “The guy’s stolen items from the job site. He’s broken tile. When she went out to her mailbox, it was filled with dog poop.”

  Yuck. “I’ll see what I can do.” Since I was working for myself on the Purcell case unless Jazz decided to butt heads with Cammie and hang onto me, I could use another job.

  “Thanks.” And as if reading my mind, Lorraine added, “Bill me your usual rates.”

  I nodded. Note to self: I’m going to have to get some of those.

  I took down the particulars on her friend’s house. First Addition is close to Lake Chinook’s downtown business area, and it’s always been a desirable neighborhood but in the past few years the prices have gone from hot to blistering. I knew someone who owned apartments in that area, so I jotted down a note to call him and catch up.

  We settled into the business of ordering food. I chose the coconut shrimp, knowing they’d be probably frozen, heavily battered and rubbery. But when in The Pisces…Lorraine chose a small bowl of chili. “You can’t trust the salads here,” she said in an aside.

  “I’ve got some questions for you, too,” I said as they brought our orders. My shrimp were exactly as I’d expected, and I soaked them in a gingery salad dressing that they served in a small, clear plastic cup. Honestly, they were dang good.

  “What do you need?” Lorraine asked.

  “Do you know much about the Purcells?”

  “Hmm…yes and no. Don’t know them personally, but they’ve got amazing real estate. Not just in Dunthorpe but the West Hills and Portland Heights. Central Oregon—Bend and Black Butte. And you can’t miss that “P” on a lot of commercial buildings in downtown Portland.”

  “Know anything about the family history?”

  “The usual, I guess. One of them ended up in a sanitarium.”

  “Lily,” I agreed encouragingly as the bartender brought her drink.

  Lorraine took a swallow and made a face. “Should have ordered a martini,” she said. She was a woman after my own heart. “Mostly what I know is rumor. What are you searching for? Are you doing work for them?”

  I suppose it was slightly unethical of me, but I brought her up to speed on my adventures in senior-sitting. I figured it wasn’t exactly client-investigator privilege, and the police were involved now, too. Lorraine’s eyebrows lifted upon hearing Orchid was missing. “That’s too bad,” she said.

  “I kind of expected her to turn up today. Maybe they all did. I’m going there next and making finding her a priority. It’s not what they hired me for, but I can’t just walk away and forget about her.”

  “Don’t you go feeling responsible,” Lorraine cautioned me.

  “Well, I do. I can’t help it.” I didn’t add that I felt the Purcells were responsible at some level, too, but it was what I was thinking.

  Lorraine’s brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe I can help you with Lily…. As I recall, there was some rumored scandal surrounding her. All of the Purcells went to private school, not public, which isn’t a surprise but it means I didn’t ever meet them personally, and I don’t know any of their classmates. I went to Lake Chinook High. They were at some school on the east side of the river, I think. Lily was around sixteen when she was sent to that place on the Willamette somewhere around Salem? Or, maybe Eugene? Oh, what’s the name of it…”

  I didn’t comment. Didn’t want to disrupt her thought process.

  “It’s River, something. River…river…River Shores! And I think it’s closer to Salem. She wasn’t there long. She died of something.”

  “She was there almost a year, I think. She had a baby. A boy. Jasper Purcell.”

  “Oh, that’s right. And he’s the one who hired you. What did you call him? Jazz?”

  I nodded. “Do you remember anything about his father?” This was a question I hadn’t wanted to ask Jazz, figuring if he wanted me to know he would bring it up himself. But I wasn’t above a little rumor-mongering if it helped my cause.

  “Was he from the sanitarium?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it depends if she was pregnant before she arrived or after she got there. Jazz says Lily was known for her meekness, but she died from being held down and restrained. The whole thing was hushed up. Orchid even believes she may have been murdered, but Orchid can be—fanciful.”

  “Is she losing it?” Lorraine asked.

  “Seems like it,” I admitted. “There are some signs. I never really had a chance to talk to her about Lily’s death. It didn’t come up, and honestly I didn’t know how to mention it without sounding like a ghoul.”

  Lorraine nodded. “Well, I wish you luck. Are you going to go to River Shores?”

  “Maybe. It’ll just be for my own edification, though.” I checked my watch. “Right now I’m going to the Purcells. Finding Orchid is a priority.”

  An hour later I turned into the Purcell “in” driveway and headed toward the house. I wasn’t sure about the reception I would receive. I wasn’t really looking to be “rehired,” but I refused to be pushed aside, and as long as I had my connection to Jazz, I intended to use it.

  I’d barely moved into the drive when I stopped the car, my mind catching on a thread of possibility. Backing out again, I kept on Chrysanthemum Lane for a bit, then edged the Volvo’s nose into the Purcell’s “out” drive. Shoving the wagon into neutral, I kept the engine idling. Through the windshield I stared down the tree-canopied drive toward the house, which, from this vantage point, was invisible as it was hidden by shrubbery. Twisting around, I looked behind me, across the road. There were several houses on the opposite side of the street, all of them also down lengthy drives. I could see their slate-and-tile roofs and stone or brick chimneys peeking through walls of thick foliage, protective hedges and trees.

  Once again I backed onto the road and just stayed there, wondering about the driveways. Orchid could have left by either one of them. Maybe someone drove her. Maybe she just toddled onto the street. No one was likely to see unless they happened to be going by at that exact moment.

  As I sat in my idling car, a kid of about fourteen shot out of one of the neighboring drives on a skateboard, skidding to a stop when he saw my car sitting in the street. He wore an iPod, the ear buds inserted in his ears. A dark blue Mariner’s cap covered his head but I could see unruly, red curls sticking out from under it.

  I rolled down my window. “You live there?” I yelled, inclining my head to the drive from where he’d just come.

  He unhooked an ear plug. “What’s it to ya?”

  He sounded more curious than angry. I said, “I know the Purcells. Actually, I was taking care of Orchid Purcell until just recently.” Okay, I made it sound like it was a long-term job, but it wasn’t exactly a lie.<
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  “The old lady? The one they’re looking for?”

  “You haven’t seen her, have you?”

  “I told them already. No. That grouchy dude practically accused me of lying.” The memory brought a scowl to his face.

  “Would that be Garrett Purcell?” I guessed. He and Satin had canvassed the neighborhood.

  “I guess. He said he was her son. He’s a fat-ass.”

  “He’s probably just worried. She’s been missing overnight.”

  “Why’d you go in the out?” he asked, gesturing toward the exit drive.

  “I don’t know. Just looking around, I guess.”

  He snorted. “The only people go in the out are gettin’ it on in the backseat.”

  I thought that over. So, the Purcell exit drive was a lover’s lane of sorts. “Cars park there?”

  “All the time. Same ones, mostly. Nobody leaves that place after eight o’clock, so it’s not like you’re gonna block ’em in. Cars come around midnight. I see the lights from my bedroom.” He grinned. “Sometimes I sneak over and scare the crap out of ’em.”

  “Sounds like a worthwhile endeavor,” I said. “You remember any cars here yesterday?”

  He shrugged. I got the feeling that, even if he did, he wasn’t ready to talk about it. Since I was just fishing in the dark, I let it go.

  “What’s your name?”

  “What’s it to ya?”

  This appeared to be his favorite response. “I’m Jane Kelly. I’m trying to find Orchid Purcell, and I’m doing some investigating for the family.” Okay, this was a lie. “If you think of anything, I’d like you to contact me.”

  “You’re a private investigator?” he said, his grin widening. “Gimme your number and I’ll program it.” He whipped a razor-thin cell phone from a jeans pocket and flipped it open. I told him my number and was awed by the swiftness with which he added me to his phone. Feeling inadequate somehow, I asked for his number in return and though I managed to program it, I wasn’t half as fast and I could tell by his smirk that he’d noticed.

  “I’m Nate,” he said when I asked. “If I think of anything, I’ll call you.”

  “Cool.”

  Nate took off and I put the Volvo in reverse and backed up to the entrance lane. I was lost in thought as I pulled up to the house. Something about that exchange with Nate had triggered a memory, one I couldn’t quite latch onto.

  Jazz was already at the house. In fact, he and Reyna were standing beneath the portico. Reyna’s face was strained and pale, and Jazz looked puzzled and upset. He gave me a wan smile of greeting, but if I’d hoped for more since last night, I was disappointed.

  “No word on Orchid?” I asked, as I climbed out of my car, slamming the door behind me.

  “No,” he said.

  Reyna looked miserable. “They are blaming me.”

  “What? Oh, come on. They can’t blame you. Last I heard, they blamed me.”

  “They’re just worried,” Jazz muttered.

  Yeah, they’re worried their meal ticket is M.I.A. I wondered, if Orchid remained missing, what that meant for how—and if—the Purcell money would continue to be distributed. What provisions had been made?

  Reyna clasped my arm. “Would you help me? If they fire me, I will not get another job.”

  “They’re not going to fire you.” My voice lacked conviction, however. They’d already kind of fired me.

  The rest of the family members were all squabbling in the main salon as Jazz and I walked into the entry hall. I really didn’t see what good it would do for me to face them again. I was through with recriminations and interested in action. Besides, I wanted to check James’s rooms, so I told Jazz I needed to head to the bathroom, then I scurried upstairs, keeping my steps light and fast. I hadn’t really been thinking of a plan, but I headed straight to James’s door. My purse was tucked under my arm, but now I pulled it off and dug through it, my fingers closing on a paper clip. I’m fairly tidy about my things, but inside a pocket of my purse I keep small items such as the paper clip, string, nail clippers, even a tiny measuring tape, just in case. There’s a suitcase thrown in the back of the Volvo with extra clothes and shoes, too, and a flashlight and compass are tucked into the side pocket on the driver’s side. Very Nancy Drew of me. Actually, Dwayne’s been instrumental in setting me up for surveillance work—although I still haven’t figured out the bathroom break thing for stakeouts and the like. It would be just my luck that when I ran to the loo, that’s when my quarry would act. Dwayne has a contraption only a male can use. I’ve cursed my female anatomy more than once, but then I don’t have to shave my face or buy oversized wheels for my car, so I guess it evens out in the end.

  I quickly unwound the paper clip and inserted it into the keyhole. A couple of jabs and the lock sprang open. James was going to have to do more than basic interior privacy door handles to keep his secrets safe.

  I twisted the knob and let myself inside.

  Three steps in, I stopped short. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt my eyes widen.

  The room was filled with painted canvases. They were on the walls, leaning against the furniture, propped up against entry to the private bath directly in my line of vision.

  And nearly every one depicted knives.

  I had to blink several times to take it all in. I counted twenty paintings. Blue knives, black knives, red knives. Even a sinister dark, mustard yellow that had something brown dripping from its tip that made my lips pull back in distaste. They were painted in many ways: upside down, held tightly in a wound fist, lined up in dozens as if ready to be thrust at an unsuspecting victim, stuck into mounds of flesh that could, or could not, have been human. I was repelled in a way I couldn’t define.

  Footsteps on the stairs. Quick as a cat, I pushed the lock, backed into the hall and closed the door softly. Facing its panels, I knocked softly, pretending to have just arrived. “James? James, are you in there?”

  “James is downstairs.” I turned around and faced Roderick, his amused smile in place. “But I’m sure you know that. What are you trying to do?”

  “I was looking for him.”

  “Really. Jazz said you were looking for the bathroom.”

  “That, too.”

  “Why do you want James?”

  I sensed I wasn’t going to be able to fob him off with some lame story, but then all I had were lame stories. “I wanted to know about the playhouse,” I said, the idea bursting onto my lips before it had fully assimilated in my brain. “It’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?”

  Roderick seemed taken aback. “Why do you want to ask James?”

  “He’s the first one of you I met. I looked at the playhouse and when I came back, he was waiting at the house. He seemed to think I’d been there. Is there someone better I could talk to?”

  “Better? I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

  “Orchid.” I can carry on a circular conversation with the best of them. Double talk is better than half-baked explanations any day. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  He sized me up. There was something leering and lustful in his eyes. “You sure like to tap dance, don’t ya?”

  “Figuratively or literally?” I started to edge past him, but he shifted to block my way. I could smell his aftershave, something spicy and strong from another era. If he touched me I was going to kick him in the balls.

  “Well, now, come on. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  “I’m going downstairs, now.”

  “Might as well take your time. They’re rehashing and rehashing.” He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, watching me closely. I could see his hands move inside the pockets. Was he doing a quick search for Mr. Perky?

  The doorbell suddenly rang through the house. It gave me an opportunity to brush past him. Roderick was momentarily diverted. But then he was quick on my heels, as I headed across the gallery, his breath hot on my neck. In one of those moments of pure synergy that
sometimes happen my mind suddenly touched on Jerome Neusmeyer and the last time I’d fended off unwanted advances of this nature.

  And then Jerome Neusmeyer himself walked into the entry hall below. He looked up and saw me crossing the catwalk, Roderick practically climbing up my back.

  Shit. I had no disguise and he thought my name was Veronica…Ronnie. I had visions of racing out the back door—well, actually, the front door—anything to delay another round with Neusmeyer. Instead I peeled off to the upstairs hall bath. I practically slammed the door in Roderick’s face, then leaned against the counter, my heart pounding.

  Damn it all to hell.

  I could see Roderick’s shoes shading the light that came through the crack under the door. The bastard was waiting for me.

  What is it about me that invites the lecherous to misbehave?

  My decision to outwait him took ten minutes. A looonnnnggg ten minutes where I nearly bolted from the room several times. It felt like I’d been trapped for hours. But then Dahlia came upstairs and demanded to know what Roderick was doing. It was time he came downstairs. The meeting was in progress and she needed him right now! He left his post reluctantly.

  I’d used some of those ten minutes to wash off the little bit of makeup that I’d applied this morning and snap my hair into a ponytail with a leftover hair band I’d discovered in one of the bathroom drawers. Yes, it had given me a moment’s pause about whose hair band it might be, but I was desperate. If I ended up lice-infested, creepy and disgusting as that was, I could always delouse myself with chemical products available at my local pharmacy. But if there was any way to disguise who I was from Jerome Neusmeyer, I was going to take it. I’d dressed up to meet him last time. I’d been flirtatious and played like a gold digger. I’d showed legs, a little cleavage and unveiled interest. This time it was pure, boiled down Jane Kelly: jeans, boots, dark T-shirt, scraped back hair, no cosmetics.

  I gave myself a hard assessment: thirty, going on nineteen. It would have to do.

  Letting myself into the hallway, I peered over the gallery to the entry hall with trepidation. They were closeted in the main salon with Neusmeyer. Chicken-heart that I am, I really considered just vamoosing. But I’m also nosy. And I was bound and determined to help find Orchid. She wasn’t in James’s rooms, so I believed she was not in the house. And several groups—myself included—had already searched the grounds.