I woke heavy-headed and vowed, yet again, to foreswear eating chocolate at night, this time moving the timetable up to after dusk. I would have to see if I could keep my promise in the weeks to come. I owed it to my sanity to be vigilant.
Eager to start my day on a cheery note, in less than a half hour, I exercised, dressed, and dropped Tigger at Aunt Vera’s. She had been more than amenable to taking him. Though I knew she wouldn’t admit it, after booting out Deputy Appleby—she needed her space—she felt slightly vulnerable; worry flickered in her eyes.
A half hour later, Rhett picked me up for our date.
“Tough night?” he said as he maneuvered his Ford truck around a tight curve of the road.
“I only had one glass of wine. Too many sweets were the culprit. I tossed and turned.”
“Did you eat breakfast?”
I shook my head. “I forgot to.”
“I’ve got an antidote. Reach in the backpack. Grab the string cheese. It’s a good balance for a sugar high. Or you can eat a protein bar.”
I sorted through the pack that sat at my feet and pulled out two tubes of string cheese and a bottle of water. Minutes later, after downing the snack, I felt steadier.
When we reached the trailhead, Rhett drove into a parking area. We were meeting up with a group of people. Some would trek to what was known as the Hell Hole, a claustrophobic cave site near the Moore Creek Preserve. Others, like us, would divert and hit the two-mile hike that provided incredible vistas of the ocean. I told Rhett there was no way I was going into the spooky cave with the daredevils. I had seen pictures. The passage was so narrow that chests and noses hit walls.
“The hike today should do you good,” Rhett said.
“Just being with you will do me good.” I grinned, then eyed the rest of the group that had formed. About a dozen people. “Hey, isn’t that Edward Wright?” I pointed. A tiny shudder shimmied down my spine.
Rhett nodded. “He’s the leader of the group.”
“Is Emma joining us?”
“I don’t see her.” Rhett placed a hand at the arch of my back and guided me forward.
“How well do you know Edward?” I asked. Was it the fact that he was a dentist that gave me the willies? Or was it something about his lanky Nordic look? He reminded me of any number of killers in James Bond movies. Katie liked him, and Emma said that he adored her.
“He’s a nice enough guy. A die-hard caver.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“He takes amazing photographs of stalagmites and stalactites.”
“Because they remind him of teeth?” I joked.
Rhett chuckled.
“All right, everyone, let’s move out,” Edward commanded. He wasn’t wearing a hat or visor. His shoulder-length blond hair gleamed in the sun.
The coast of California offered some of the most scenic hiking in the world. The terrain was lush and emerald green. The bays and oaks provided plenty of shade.
Along the way, we stopped to rest. Some of the hikers scoured the area for raw gemstones. Edward picked up a rock and buffed it with the sleeve of his shirt. He handed it to another trekker, a twenty-something woman in a big floppy hat. She smiled flirtatiously. He smiled, too, though the smile was tight—no exposed teeth—and his gaze was downright flinty.
Another chill ran through me. I itched to know more about Edward, specifically whether he had been Pearl’s client. I revealed my need to Rhett.
He rubbed my shoulder. “Please don’t. I’m not comfortable with you grilling him.”
“I’m not going to grill him, but admit it, there’s something different about him.”
“There’s something atypical about all cavers.”
Exactly.
I drew near to Edward and the young female trekker. Her mouth was moving. Rhett, doing his best to hide what I had to imagine was exasperation with me, held back.
“Really?” she said, midconversation. “You like rocks, and yet you don’t believe in alchemy?”
“I like caving,” Edward said. “There’s a distinction.”
“Alchemy is all the rage around here,” the young woman said as she admired the facets of the buffed stone. “It’s the ability to transform base metals into noble metals.”
Edward shifted feet. “I don’t believe in hoodoo stuff.”
“It’s not hoodoo, silly.” She batted his arm. “Alchemy isn’t a religion.”
“It’s about magic and myth, isn’t it?”
“You’re stubborn, you know that?”
Edward offered a cruel grin.
Silence fell between them giving me the opportunity to cut in. “Edward, I’m Jenna.”
“She’s with me, Edward,” Rhett said, shoring up the space behind me. I appreciated the protective warmth of his body, not to mention the mental support of his presence, even if he didn’t totally agree with my intent to ask Edward a couple of questions.
“Hey, Rhett, good to see you.” Edward jutted out a hand. They shook amiably.
I said, “Your wife drives my cat around.”
“You have a wife?” his female companion said.
“No,” Edward sputtered. “I mean, yes.”
The woman rushed to another group of female rock collectors. She started talking animatedly, probably saying Edward had led her on. Hadn’t she noticed the wedding ring on his left hand? He hadn’t removed it.
Edward picked up another rock and cleaned it with his sleeve. “I saw you at the Black Cat parade, Jenna. You own the cookbook shop and the ginger kitten.”
“That’s me.” The guy took enough care to note what kind of cat I owned. How bad could he be? On the other hand, his jaw was ticking with tension. I said, “I see you’re into rocks. Rhett tells me you photograph them.”
Rhett added, “Edward has put on a couple of exhibitions.”
“Really?” I tried my best to act like a fan. “There are some special rock collections in the area. Have you ever viewed the Thornton Collection?”
Edward didn’t respond.
I said, “That’s a nice rock you’re holding.”
“This isn’t for me,” Edward said. “It’s for Emma. She likes to collect raw garnet. It’s her mother’s birthstone. January.”
I recalled Bailey coming up with the theory that Trisha Thornton had ground stones and turned them into a potion to coerce someone to kill her mother. Was it as absurd a notion as it sounded? What if it was Emma, not Trisha, doing the grinding?
“I overheard part of your conversation with the young woman.” I jutted a finger; the woman was still eyeing him with hostility. “Do either you or Emma practice alchemy?”
Edward dropped the rock as if it were hot and brushed off his hands. “I don’t know much about minerals. Only stalactites and stalagmites.”
“Explain the lure of caving to me,” I said.
He stretched his back and rolled kinks out of his neck. “It’s all about negotiating the pitches and squeezes. Drinking in the way caves formed. Discovering their age. It can give a guy quite a rush.”
“Or a girl.”
A faint smile graced his hard mouth.
“I hear caving is an extreme sport nowadays,” I said. “Are you a risk taker?”
“I don’t throw caution to the wind, if that’s what you’re asking. Caves can be dangerous places. Cavers have to be aware of flooding, loose rocks, and physical exhaustion.”
Rhett retrieved the stone Edward had discarded. He popped it up and down on his palm. Had he sensed the same thing I had? Edward was growing increasingly tense. He was holding something back. Rhett said, “Have you explored a lot of caves?”
“I’ve hit nearly all the ones in the western states. Black Chasm, Lake Shasta Caverns, Boyden Cave. I hope to explore all the caves in the U.S. After attacking America, I’ll go international, star
ting with Europe and then Africa.”
“Does Emma explore with you?” I asked.
“Emma and I . . .” He hesitated. “Look, you’re prying. I get it. You’re my wife’s friend. Are you a witch, too?”
“Emma’s not—” I paused. “Were you seeing Dr. Thornton as a patient?”
He cocked his head. “That’s a non sequitur that ranks right up there with nosy. Why do you want to know?”
“The initials EW are in the doctor’s datebook.”
“How did you—” He paused. “No, I wasn’t a patient, but Emma was. She—” His eyelid started to twitch. His nostrils flared. A guy I worked with at Taylor & Squibb suffered the same ailments whenever he asked for a sick day . . . and he wasn’t sick. “You know, don’t you?”
I nodded. “I do.”
Rhett said, “Know what?”
I whispered Emma’s secret in his ear. His eyes widened.
Edward said, “Emma filed for divorce.”
I gawped. Emma had told me she intended to stay married to her husband.
“I don’t want her to leave,” Edward went on. “I want to work on the marriage. I love her.”
“Enough to kill your rival?”
“I didn’t—” Edward sputtered. “Emma told me Pearl—Dr. Thornton—rebuffed her. I’ve asked her to reconsider.”
“You’d stay married knowing her true feelings?”
“For better or worse. That was the vow we took.” He shifted feet. “Look, just to set the record straight, I’ve told Chief Pritchett everything. She asked me for my alibi. It’s rock solid.”
I bit my lip. Rock solid? Did he really say that?
“I was at a meeting with a bunch of other cavers.”
“People saw you?”
“They couldn’t miss me. It was my slide show. My photographs. I was the presenter. Eight P.M. to midnight. I guess that’s why Emma thought she had time to talk to Pearl. She didn’t kill her, either.”
“How can you know for sure? You were busy.”
“True. But I know her. She’s not capable.” He glanced at his watch. “Time to go.” He scudded his boots, one at a time, across a boulder to rid the soles of pebbles and debris and then raised a hand overhead. “Okay, everyone, let’s get going.”
As he moved on, I glimpsed the debris left behind. The raggedy leaves made me think of the crime scene. Leaves had clustered around the legs of the chaise lounge where Pearl was found. Where had they come from—Pearl’s garden, or had someone like Edward tracked them in?
* * *
RHETT AND I spent the next few hours of the hike drinking in the views of the ocean. He asked how I knew about Emma’s love for Pearl. I told him I was a curious soul and I had good ears, honed from hours of listening in at my boss’s door whenever he was making a new hire. I wanted to know ahead of time with whom I might be working. Rhett warned me not to anger Cinnamon. He had experienced her wrath from a front-row seat. I assured him that she and I were friends; she knew how passionate I felt about justice for Dr. Thornton as well as for my aunt.
After a while, Rhett and I tabled the discussion and turned our conversation to safer topics like how much we both liked to travel and where we hoped to go. I had yet to visit the British Isles. Rhett wanted to visit Ireland. I was eager to go to Paris for a second time. I loved the artwork and statuary there. Rhett wanted to see Egypt, if it was safe, so he could explore the pyramids. I wanted to travel to exotic islands where I could sip mai tais and read, read, read. Rhett wanted to tour Italy and taste the flavors of every province.
At dusk, we wound up at his cabin. We entered through the garden in the back. He wanted me to view the rows of fresh vegetables he had planted before the sun disappeared completely and the light grew dim. The garden was luscious and wild, like him. His tomatoes were on their last legs. He had thriving autumn plants like Jerusalem artichokes, scallions, beets, and spinach. For herbs, he had planted oregano, lemongrass, rosemary, and more. Barrels of annual flowers stood among the perennials.
He let me help him gather items for supper, but he wouldn’t let me assist with the cooking. Smart man. I was invited to sit at the granite counter dividing the kitchen from the living room and sip wine while watching his handiwork. As I savored appetizers of pears wrapped with prosciutto paired with a glass of pinot noir, I took in my surroundings. His home was very male with a leather couch, an overstuffed reading chair, and Shaker-style furniture. A floor lamp stood beside the chair as well as a stack of at least thirty books. The décor included a television, but it wasn’t one of those huge HDTVs. The kitchen was the room to which Rhett had devoted most of his attention. Copper pots hung from a rack. Utensils and oven mitts were plentiful. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase beside the Wolfe double oven was jam-packed with cookbooks that even I, a cookbook store owner, coveted. Many were autographed first editions.
For dinner, we sat side by side at the dining table, looking out the plate-glass window at the sunset. Over a delicious meal of maple-glazed salmon served on a bed of grilled spinach and scallions, Rhett told me more about his family. His mother’s name was Melanie, which was another reason why she loved Gone with the Wind. His father’s name was Hugo. They met at cooking school at age eighteen, Rhett said at first, then revised that. They had actually met as line chefs at a well-known restaurant in New Orleans, which taught them everything they knew. They had never been with anyone else and, to this day, were still in love. That was one of the reasons why Rhett didn’t understand his father putting up a fuss when he had eloped with Alicia.
“But he objected, and I hate to say it, he was right. We weren’t meant to be together. We were too young, too raw.” Rhett wrapped an arm around the back of my shoulders. “Face it, if I had stayed with Alicia, I wouldn’t have met you. You look beautiful, by the way.”
I fingered the stem of my wineglass. “Uh-huh, right. In a T-shirt covered with dust from the trail mixed with the scent of warm perspiration.” So much for changing into the little sexy number I had brought with me. The garden tour had nixed that idea.
Rhett nuzzled my neck. “All I smell is the perfume of your skin.” He worked his way up my neck to my ear.
Passion coursed through me. Through us. I set aside the wineglass, turned my face to meet his, and our lips met. We kissed for a long time.
When we came up for air, my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I whispered, “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“I want to but I can’t. Not yet.”
He ran a finger along my jawline. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“You’ve got a cat at home,” he teased. “Obligations.”
If only he knew how scared I was to give myself over to a man. I couldn’t yet. But soon, I vowed. Very soon.
Rhett twirled a lock of my hair and gently tugged my head backward. The move exposed my throat. He grazed my skin with his mouth, then released me. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”
“I can drive.”
“Not without a car.”
Right. His caresses had thrown me for a loop. I wasn’t sure I knew which way was north. After collecting myself and my purse, I headed for the front door. “Thank you for a lovely day and evening.”
“No, you don’t.” He gripped me by the wrist. “You’re not leaving that way.”
“Which way? We ate. We kissed. I properly thanked you.”
“You only leave through the door you came in. Please.” He was talking about the door leading to the backyard. “It’s an old Irish tradition.”
A wave of laughter—and tension—pealed out of me. “You and superstitions. Don’t tell me one of your buddies down at The Pier gave you this one, too.”
“Nope. Blame my mother.”
Chapter 24
WHEN RHETT DROPPED me off at my cottage, we kissed again, better t
han before if that were possible, and then like a true gentleman, he opened my door, pushed me inside, and said good night.
The hour wasn’t late, but it was cool. I threw on a sweater to walk the few yards to my aunt’s house to fetch Tigger. As I exited the cottage, I turned to catch the door before it slammed shut. Too late. Swell. I had forgotten to take a key. I would get that from Aunt Vera, too. I hadn’t thought ahead and hidden one in a garden pot or under a mat.
A branch or something snapped. I spun around and froze. Did I hear footsteps? I peered into the dark.
All right, yes, I’d also forgotten to turn on the porch light. At least there was moonlight.
Another sound. Heavy breathing.
“Who’s there?” I asked. “Don’t come any closer,” I added, as if the meager threat would scare off someone. Maybe it was Old Jake, who liked to walk through the neighborhood at night. His mansion was located at the northernmost end of the beach homes. “Jake, is that you?”
When no one answered, fear knotted in the pit of my stomach.
Suddenly something yeti-sized ran at me. Was it Edward Wright? Had he come to set the record straight? I threw up my arms in defense. Every muscle started quivering. I was tall but no match for a yeti.
In the dim light, I made out Trisha Thornton—not a yeti. Shadows could play havoc with my imagination. Trisha’s fuzzy hair stuck out around her head like coiled snakes. “You!” She didn’t lash out. She didn’t stick a gun in my face. In fact, her hands were jammed into the pockets of her peacoat. “What did I ever do to you? Why did you call UCSC?” Trisha shifted from foot to foot as if hopped up on something. Drugs? Booze? “Why did you sic that administrator on me? She called the cops. She talked to Pritchett. She told her everything.”
“What’s everything?”
“Why did you do it?”
Because I think you’re guilty of murder, I wanted to say.
Stirring the Plot Page 22