by Nancy Bush
“You were gonna torch this place,” I accused.
He tried to get up but I placed my Nike firmly on the back of his neck. “No, no!” he denied. “It was just a threat. Just to stop all this building madness. Everyone’s sick of it. Nothing was going to happen. Really. It was just to let them know.”
“Let them know?”
“That making things bigger doesn’t make it better!” He was breathing hard, scared maybe, or incensed. My anger was cooling a bit now that I had him under control. I was starting to think it might be a good idea to make tracks before he figured out who I was. Once he was released he could start thinking how unfair it was, how embarrassing. Anybody who’d sneak around and create havoc like he did wasn’t likely to suddenly have an epiphany and be grateful that he’d been shown the error of his ways. More than likely, he’d stew and stew until he came up with some method of retaliation. And I didn’t want him retaliating against me.
“Don’t move for five minutes, or I’ll call the cops,” I threatened. Then I took my shoe from his neck. He was trembling, but he stayed on the ground.
“Who are you?” he asked again.
“What’s it to ya?” I responded, then I ran lightly away, opposite of my car and Bonnie Chisholm’s house and in the direction of William DeForest’s.
If a stakeout is bad in the comfort of one’s car, it’s murder on a crisp to chilly night, standing on one’s feet. I tucked myself into a dark corner nearby William’s house, next to a hedge of arborvitae and the blasted fence I couldn’t scale. Soon my limbs grew numb. I wished I could get a look inside William’s garage but the doors were windowless. The whole place was shut up tight.
If I’d been able to I would have given up and driven home, hoping I would be hit by inspiration in the course of the night. But I wanted to stay away from my car as long as possible, in case Chisholm decided he remembered me and my vehicle. Luckily, he hadn’t seemed to recognize my voice, and my older, slightly dirty, blue Volvo wagon fits into the First Addition landscape without causing a second look.
A part of me felt like simply laying on the doorbell, waiting for William to admit me, then brushing past him to search every nook and cranny of his house. Would he call the cops on me? Not if he was harboring Orchid. But if I was wrong I didn’t relish the idea of going over my crime with the LCPD. I imagine that would constitute a trip to the county jail. No, thank you.
Another part of me debated on calling Dwayne and asking for backup, or at the very least, advice. But honestly, I wanted to figure this out myself. I had William’s phone number. I could give the sly weasel a ring-a-ling.
And then what…?
I thought about it for another ten minutes, then placed the call. It took him a while to answer and he sounded pretty groggy. “Your car was seen…” I hissed into the phone, then I clicked off. Maybe he had Caller ID, but even if he did I was betting my cell phone didn’t cough up my name. I half-expected him to call me back, but joy of joys, a few minutes later lights came on in the upper floor. I could see the progression of illumination as he moved down the hall toward, I suspected, the stairway. Was he heading to the garage? I waited on pins and needles. Sure enough, suddenly there was a thin band of light showing beneath the garage door.
Gotcha.
I could hear voices. And then the garage door started to swing upward as William fired up his car. I squeezed back into my hiding place, eyes peeled. Moments later a pale green Buick backed slowly out of the drive, damn near taking out one of the arborvitae. I pulled back. The guy wasn’t exactly a driving ace.
And then I saw Orchid sitting beside him in the passenger seat, big as life.
They put-putted away. I counted to five…well, it was more like ten ’cause they weren’t exactly burning rubber…then I dashed to my car, on the lookout for Chisholm just in case. But I was fast and it was easy to pick up Orchid and William’s trail. It was much harder to stay a discreet distance behind so they wouldn’t realize they were being followed.
I was annoyed with William. The old coot had given us all a terrible couple of days! But I was gratified Orchid was all right. And I was thrilled beyond thrilled that I would be able to take the guilt off myself. It wasn’t my fault she’d gone missing. Hell, they were probably in it together, giggling like schoolkids about their caper.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see they were headed to Dunthorpe and the Purcell home. I tootled along behind them. La, la, la, la, la. I was far enough back that I didn’t see them actually turn into the entrance drive, but I cut my engine and rolled down my window and then I could hear William’s engine as his Buick moved farther down the lane. So, he was taking her home.
I yanked my wheel to follow them. I was sure as hell going to be there when the family realized she was back. This I had to see.
William was still helping Orchid out of the car when I screeched up beside them, jamming on my brakes with a jolt just to let them know I’d arrived. They both turned my way, eyes wide.
“Now, now,” William said as I slammed out of my car. He put a protective arm around Orchid, who lifted a hand to touch his.
“Nice of you to tell me,” I said to him.
“I was going to bring her back. She just needed some time, didn’t you, dear?”
Orchid’s gaze was on the house. I couldn’t tell if she was happy to be back or not. “It’s always good to take time…” she said vaguely.
The back porch light flashed on. The door opened and Cammie looked out. I hadn’t paid attention to the other cars parked outside the portico, but Cammie’s black Range Rover was still jockeyed next to one of the Purcell sports cars. “Nana!” she exclaimed in shock, one hand to her chest. Then, arms outstretched, she flew to her grandmother’s side.
If she wasn’t truly glad to see her it was masterful acting. Whatever else Cammie was, she certainly seemed to care about Nana.
From there Orchid was bundled inside to the bosom of the family. William and I brought up the rear. Cammie’s cries of delight were heard by the rest of the family, who rushed around throwing on bathrobes and slippers, or in Satin’s case, strolled in from the den fully dressed but more than a little sloshed. So, Billy Leonard was right: she was a drinker. She hiccupped a couple of times, earned a sharp glare from her husband, and took herself upstairs, hanging tightly to the rail as she ascended.
Questions rained from all sides. Where had Orchid been? Who found her? Did she wander off? Was she all right? Had she had enough to eat? My God, she scared them to death! Who was to blame for all of this?
William wasn’t ready to cop to anything. I wanted to blab that I’d found her, that it was because of me that the old joker had decided to bring her back, that if I hadn’t pressured him, he could have squirreled her away forever, which I fully believe he intended to do. I feel I showed admirable restraint in merely clenching my teeth in a grimacing smile and pinning my hard glare on William, daring him to take any credit at all.
He tried, the wily snake. “Orchid was sooooo unhappy. I didn’t know you thought she was missing, otherwise I would have called you all right away.”
Utter bullshit. I glanced around to see how the Purcells were taking this. They seemed baffled on how to proceed. A thoughtful frown on her face, Cammie ushered us into the salon while Dahlia headed to the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on.
Orchid settled into a chair, blinking and murmuring about being back home. She seemed happy enough, but there was a wild look around her eyes as her family pressed in closer. I didn’t blame her. I asked if anyone had called Jazz, but none of them were listening to me, so I placed the call myself, disappointed to get his voice mail. I left him the news, glad I hadn’t seriously believed he could be involved in Orchid’s disappearance.
Meanwhile, William was insisting that Orchid had called him and begged to be liberated. What was he to do but come to her rescue? This explanation was greeted with shock and shared looks of consternation among the Purcells. How? On what phone? There was no ph
one in her suite of rooms; they’d made certain of that. Had she used the hall phone? When had she gone downstairs? As she was leaving the house? How come nobody happened upon her?
I didn’t enlighten them about my cell phone. I figured I didn’t owe them any explanations, and I don’t think William really knew. I would have liked to talk to Orchid alone and see if I could glean anything further, but that wasn’t going to happen. She was besieged by her family. Someone, James, I think, finally suggested that she be taken upstairs, and then there was a mad dash to be the “bestest” family member, the one who showed Nana the most care. Garrett won. “Come on, Mother,” he said, surprisingly tender as he reached for Orchid’s hands, which she held out dutifully. He helped her to her feet and guided her toward the door at the same moment Jazz buzzed me back. I gave him the news about Nana. He was thrilled beyond thrilled and was ready to head right over. I told him Nana was being tucked into bed, but it didn’t deter him. He promised to be there in twenty minutes, maybe fifteen.
“Thank you, Jane,” he said effusively. It was gratifying to know he, at least, assumed I’d been the one to find Orchid.
While Nana was being helped to bed, Dahlia passed around cups of coffee. I dutifully drank mine, wondering if the caffeine would keep me awake all night. Sometimes it does, sometimes I’m immune. I suspected this might be one of those immune times because I was starting to feel really, really tired. Every bump and bruise I’d sustained in my skirmish with Chisholm suddenly seemed to come alive. My right shoulder, still tender from its injuries a few months earlier, felt weak; my arm leaden. My face and jaw were sore. My right elbow throbbed. I’d been running on pure energy for a while. These adrenaline highs are killers; there’s always the piper to pay afterward, a downward spiral that sinks into a hangover worth four martinis or more. I had a feeling tomorrow morning might be a tough one, but at least Orchid was no longer missing. That was worth every scrape and bruise.
I’d sort of drifted into my own world so I was surprised when Cammie suddenly said, albeit a bit grudgingly, “It sounds like we have you to thank, Jane.”
I gazed at her and hoped I didn’t look too amazed. Jazz, okay, but Cammie? She’d never shown the least bit of compassion or graciousness before.
William objected, “What do you mean? I brought her back! I kept her safe.”
“You met her at the end of the lane and hid her from us,” Roderick pointed out. “It’s pretty clear Jane flushed you out.”
William’s mouth dropped open. “Orchid wanted to be with me!”
Garrett caught the tail end as he returned to the salon. “We don’t appreciate any of this.” He threw a look my way, just to let me know he didn’t think I deserved any credit, but he was pissed at William. “We’re glad she’s home, Mr. DeForest, but your choices were ill-advised.”
William’s skin turned a mottled red. In his world, I suspect he’d fancied himself the hero. “Well, you were ill-advised in keeping her locked up in her room!”
“Let’s move on,” Cammie said wearily.
“And cut out the melodrama,” agreed Garrett. He said to me, curtly, “Though I’m glad you found my mother, this has all been a huge embarrassment and waste of energy and time. I’m sure Jazz would agree it’s time for our family to be involved in its own problems.”
“She just needed a break,” William insisted. “Some sunshine and friendship.” He was totally torqued.
“You’re lucky we’re not pressing charges against you,” Garrett told him through tight lips.
“Charges?”
“She was missing for two days. As far as we knew, she was kidnapped.”
I thought William might have a stroke. He glared balefully around the room, his expression landing on James. “What about you?” he demanded. “You’re going to still let your brother speak for you? Make all your decisions?”
James frowned. “Garrett’s right, Mr. DeForest. We were worried sick about Nana.”
“Sure.”
“I’m tired,” Dahlia said, and truthfully, she looked done in. “Let’s all go to bed.”
William seemed disinclined to leave, but the family inexorably moved him to the entry hall and the back door. Garrett went to phone the authorities and let them know Orchid was home. I followed the tide, glad to have the evening come to a close.
I was dead on my feet.
Benjamin, who’d hovered in the background throughout the proceedings, caught up with me. “Did you get in a fight?” he asked.
I hesitated, halfway through the door to the porch. Touching my face, I wondered what I looked like. “Something the matter?”
He shrugged, catlike, his brown eyes dark beneath the entry hall chandelier’s uncertain light. “I guess not.”
I drove home with exhaustion weighing on me. I half-expected the Lake Chinook police to pull me over on general principles. It was after midnight and once you hit the witching hour, all you have to do is drive through the center of town to risk being pulled over on some minor infraction. A favorite of theirs is “you were weaving” or “you crossed the center line.” This is a ploy to check to see if you’ve been drinking. But tonight the streets were devoid of any kind of activity. No cars, no pedestrians, no cops. The traffic lights glowed in lines of green, and it felt like I was the last person on the planet.
When I got home Binkster didn’t even have the courtesy to get up and greet me. She was tucked into her little bed in my bedroom. She did switch her tail back and forth a couple of times, and when I crooked my finger she staggered toward me for a chance to climb into my bed. I picked her up and lifted the covers, which she nuzzled underneath, and she headed for the foot of the bed.
When I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror I saw what Benjamin had been talking about. A streak of dirt ran across my right cheekbone, and my skin was hot pink in patches, as if it had been scraped hard.
I took off my shirt and saw I had a bleeding strawberry on my elbow. I was bound to feel the effects of rolling around on the ground. Bruises would surface. Still, there was satisfaction in catching Chisholm in the act.
I cleaned myself up and joined Binks in bed.
In the morning I pulled one eye open. Groaning, I rolled out of bed, crying out from pain at the trophies I’d received from tackling and wrestling with Chisholm. Gritting my teeth, I forced a stretch, then threw on my running gear and jogged my usual route to the Coffee Nook. It hurt like hell, pain in every jarring movement. Once again I wondered about Dwayne’s belief in me as an information specialist/ private investigator. I’m not really great at the whole pain and torture thing, and unfortunately catching bad guys had a certain amount of that built right into the equation.
It was Saturday, so teenagers were manning the store instead of Julie and Jenny. Several girls’ soccer teams seemed to have taken over the chairs and the order of the day was hot chocolate with plenty of whipped cream. I got my usual black coffee, belted it down, then walked the nearly three miles back to my cottage. While I chomped down cold pizza, Binkster ate her kiblets, then went outside to relieve herself.
I called Dwayne and gave him the news about Orchid. He was relieved for me and also in a mood to talk, so I didn’t have a chance immediately to tell him of the rest of my night’s exploits. He was working on some new case that involved robbery, but I wanted to know how it went with Spence.
“We had a small argument over money,” Dwayne replied to my query. “He wanted some of his retainer back, and I said no. Sometimes it happens that way. He started to become unreasonable, so we had to have an attitude adjustment talk.”
“How’d that go?”
“About what you’d expect from a lawyer who’s cheating on his wife. There were veiled threats on his side. Out and out ones on mine. I should’ve charged him more for the aggravation.” Dwayne sounded as if it were all in a day’s work.
“Which reminds me: what are our rates?” I asked. “The question came up, and I didn’t have an answer.”
“
Darlin’, I don’t have rates. You can, if you want,” he added magnanimously.
“Well, how does it work, then? I mean, if we’re going to be in business together, I need to know these things.”
“Here’s how I look at it. Each job is its own entity. Each client has his or her own problems. Now, you can give ’em an hourly rate if you want, but they start bitching and moaning almost instantly, watching every minute that goes by. When I meet with a potential client, I assess them and tell them straight up what the job’ll cost. If they don’t like it, they leave. Otherwise, they pay me up front. If the job turns out to be easier than I thought, I may renegotiate and refund some money. If it’s harder, I just take it in the shorts.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Never.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Make it worth your while at the outset. And be clear that you get paid whether there are results or not, and whatever those results are. Some people get pissed if things don’t turn out the way they wanted them to. Spence is a case in point.”
“What happened?”
“He didn’t really believe honey-bunch would look for some other guy when he wasn’t coming home at night. Some guys just don’t get it. What was good for the gander, apparently wasn’t good for the goose, in his opinion. Spence never dreamed she’d start sniffing around.”
“But he was the one who had the affair first,” I said.
“Yep. But you forget the male ego. It’s easily bruised.”
“He was so blatant about it!”
“Doesn’t matter. Spence is burned now. He broke it off with his lover. Now, everybody’s mad.”
“I wonder how Miriam’s doing,” I said, remembering how heartbroken she was upon learning what a schmuck Trev was. “I hope she got some of her money back.”
Dwayne said, “Their problems are just beginning. Spence cut his losses with Janice but now, if he had a lick of sense, he should beg for forgiveness from his wife. But hell, I don’t get paid to offer advice. It’s all about reality. That’s what he paid me for.”