Treble at the Jam Fest

by Leslie Budewitz

  One person’s trash is another person’s home.

  Twenty-Nine

  Ihad never seriously suspected Rebecca of Martin’s murder. Had talked myself out of thinking it could be her.

  But we see what we want to see. And conversely, we close our eyes to truths we’d rather ignore.

  I shouldn’t, but here you go, Kim’s reply text this morning had said, and I used Ike Hoover’s personal cell number. Bless him, he did not ask how I’d gotten it. I told him everything I’d learned from Gabby and Michelle, and how it all fit together. How it all pointed to Rebecca. I even confessed my sleight-of-hand with Derek the EMT’s phone.

  “I bet those other tracks, the ones so hard to see, were her sneakers,” I said.

  “Hmm,” he’d said, then warned me to keep my distance from Rebecca’s gallery and apartment. He’d gather his officers and take her into custody. “She had motive and could have made the opportunity. Crime lab says the cup you found was Martin’s, but Oakland found a second cup a few feet down the cliff—nearly broke his neck getting it. And I’ve sent the other evidence you found for testing. I’m guessing the prints on the earrings, the note, and the light you were attacked with will all match.”

  And belong to the killer.

  He didn’t say “Good job, Erin,” or “Amateurs to the rescue.” But he did clear his throat. “Deputy Caldwell will be back on the job the first of June, thanks to you.”

  I gave Michelle an update on the investigation, and a special request. While I waited, I thought about Jennifer, willing to sacrifice her marriage for the prestige and promise of success the winery represented.

  Suddenly, desperately, I needed to talk to Adam. To tell him how much I loved him. To confess my fear that he would go back to Minnesota and stay, because living without me back there was easier than living with my recklessness here. To confess that I would go with him if I needed to, to be together.

  But he and Tanner were taking the kayaks out on the lake—one last, gentle adventure.

  And I had a delivery to make.

  ∞

  Inside the Merc, the big white lights glowed. I knocked on the glass and waved at Tracy, busy rearranging the window display. I gestured across the street. She nodded and reached for a picnic basket.

  In the middle of the street, genius struck. I spun around and dashed back to the Merc, unlocking the door long enough to stick my head in. “I know you want to be more than a sales clerk. How’s this sound? ‘Tracy McCann, Chocolatier and Creative Director’?”

  She beamed.

  Across the street, the surprises kept coming. My mother opened Snowberry’s door and waved me in.

  I handed Chiara her favorite drink—Michelle had known exactly what it was. “Sorry, Mom—I didn’t know you were here.”

  “I’m glad you popped in,” my mother said. “Your sister and I have some things to clear up, and I hope you can help.”

  Uh-oh.

  “You know I adored your father,” Mom said. “I loved being married. It’s a compliment to him that I want that kind of relationship again—nothing says a good marriage has to be a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I can’t explain why knowing that his death was unsolved held me back, but it did. And now all that’s behind us. Erin, you could not be more supportive. Thank you. But Chiara, if you have a problem with this, then we need to work it out. Because I am marrying Bill. And I want your support.”

  Chiara made the noise Sandburg makes when Pumpkin sits on his ottoman. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a wreck. But Jason wanted to wait to say anything, because—well, you know.”

  Because Landon was six, and when people asked if she was going to have another baby, she always said no, he was more than enough, but I’d known that every miscarriage had broken her heart a little.

  “It’s early, eight weeks, but I have a good feeling this time.” She patted her flat belly.

  “Oh, darling.” Mom wrapped her arms around my sister, visibly relieved. The Italian earth mother—and grandmother. “I should have guessed. Those hormones can be a bitch.”

  Finally, an explanation that made sense for why my sister had been acting all weird. I didn’t mind that she hadn’t said a peep. I was too happy. And I understood.

  But I had one more mystery to clear up, an idea Molly had inadvertently planted. “Mom, are you selling the Orchard?”

  She kept one arm around Chiara’s shoulder as she faced me. “Oh, Erin. I don’t know. Bill loves the property, and he’s become part of our traditions.” She waved one manicured hand and brushed against the driftwood rack that held those magnificent bags. A deer hide satchel fell to the floor, and the rack rocked back and forth. “But we’re getting older, and it is a lot of work.”

  “I have another idea.” I told my womenfolk my plan, conceived in the last thirty seconds, and watched their faces change.

  “Erin, that’s perfect,” Chiara said. My mother beamed, speechless.

  “Speaking of perfect.” I reached out and plucked the origami leather bag off the wooden rack. I hadn’t told them about last night’s attack, or how I’d defended myself. Later. “I think it’s time I bought a new bag.”

  ∞

  The Merc rocked, from opening till noon. We were too busy to pay any attention to the goings-on up the street, the sheriff’s rigs clustered around Rebecca’s building.

  Tracy and Lou Mary worked together beautifully, and I loved working with them. Loved knowing all my problems were solved, and I could focus on the Merc.

  But even bosses need to eat, so after my staff took their lunch breaks, it was my turn. I decided to surprise the guys with a picnic at the state park. I filled one of our baskets with their faves, including a celebratory bottle of Monte Verde wine.

  The state park is another gem of Jewel Bay. Two minutes from the village, on the lakeshore, it’s got hiking trails, camping spots, and a gravel beach.

  Adam’s Xterra, its roof racks empty, stood alone in the upper parking lot. I stuck the Subaru next to it, grabbed the basket, and headed for the rocks above the lake.

  Colored specks bobbed on the sparkling water. From a distance, little bobbing boats all look alike, and I had no binoculars. I set the basket down and waved with both arms.

  I heard her before I saw her, and I almost heard her too late.

  Before I could turn, a shove sent me staggering forward. My knee dipped in a lunge, my foot catching hold on the layered rock. I thanked my stars for the shoes Pumpkin had helped me find this morning, and their thick tread.

  I spun toward my attacker, my center of gravity now lower than hers, grabbing her right arm and letting the momentum propel me forward, away from the edge of the rock, though not away from danger. Her left hand snapped out and snared my right arm.

  We were face to face on the ledge, our fate in each other’s hands, and I, for one, was terrified.

  Jennifer.

  Not Dave Barber. Not Sam. Not the Drakes, despite the proximity of their Harbor condo to the site of Martin’s murder and of the attack on me. Not Rebecca, now in the sheriff’s custody.

  “It was you,” I said, finally seeing the full picture. “You pushed Gerry Martin off the River Road. You attacked me last night with the solar light. You misled Sam about the winery’s finances. You borrowed money from Rebecca without telling him. Without letting him know you’d mortgaged his dream.”

  “Dreams mean nothing,” Jennifer said, face twisted with a pain she’d brought upon herself. “I dared to dream, and look where it got me.”

  “Dreams are everything,” I said. “They keep us going. But we can’t use them to hurt the people we love.”

  Her fingers tightened on my arm. “You don’t know anything about it.”

  “I know you pleaded with Gerry Martin to drop the plans for the studio, hoping that if Rebecca lost her chance to turn the winery into another
business, she’d renegotiate your loan. I think you followed him Saturday morning, up to the River Road. And you pushed him.”

  “He promised to help me, but he made a fool of me instead.” Her eyes were damp and feverish, and she was sweating more than a runner should have.

  “I know Rebecca lost patience with your promises and found another buyer. But you didn’t find out until too late.” Keep talking, I told myself, hoping to inch away from the precipice. If I could get to the basket, I could whack her with the bottle. “You tried to scare me off by coming to the cabin Monday night, but you got trapped by the storm. You lost one of your guitar pick earrings on my road.”

  She grunted, and tightened her grip.

  “I don’t know why you were in my car,” I said, my eyes boring into hers. “You lost the other one there. Oh, no—you left it there on purpose, with the note saying not to destroy your dream. I didn’t find it for a few days.”

  For a second, Jennifer’s grip loosened and I managed a tiny step to my left. Over her shoulder, the sunlight danced on the blue waves. The boats I’d spotted earlier were out of sight.

  “Your car? No, it was Rebecca’s. I wanted her to know she needed to talk to me. To give me another chance.” Her mouth fell open. “Ohh.”

  “That’s right. We drive the same kind of car, even the same color. And when the village is crowded, we sometimes park close to each other, on Back Street.”

  The horror and hopelessness of it all finally hit her. But instead of deflating, she clenched her jaw and straightened her back.

  “No one can prove any of that,” she said, “without you. There won’t be anyone left to prove a thing.”

  She wrenched my arm and I lost my balance. My foot landed hard and my ankle buckled, pain shooting up my leg. Below me, the rocks rose into view, and the waves crashed against the cliff. A stunted spruce jutted into thin air—one of those brave trees that take root in the vertical nooks and crannies. My family calls them Montana bonsai. Brave, but not sturdy enough to hold me.

  I tightened my grip on Jennifer’s arms. Reached deep inside for my own brave roots, and pushed back, hard. Somehow I managed to scrabble to my feet, holding her as we twisted and tugged.

  Her back foot slipped, and she fell to one knee, our arms still clasped. Her other leg dangled over the ledge. I was close enough to peer over, but I didn’t dare, knowing what was below. It’s like trying to avoid a rock when you’re on a bike. You fill your brain with that damned rock, and you smack right into it.

  “Let me go,” she said. “Let me fall.”

  It was tempting. She’d killed a man. She deserved punishment, but not like this. Letting her plunge to her death would harm too many other people, including me.

  “Jennifer, no,” I said. “You don’t want to die. You have to pay for what you’ve done, but you don’t have to pay with your life.”

  I tightened my grip, inhaled, and leaned back. An inch, then another …

  Then another pair of hands reached out. Adam grabbed her arm above where I held it, then circled his other arm around her back. Together, we hauled her up over the ledge, inch by inch, until the three of us lay shivering on the sunbaked rock.

  “Where did you—” I gasped. “How did you—we need to—”

  “They’re on their way. We’d paddled close to shore, then we saw you struggling. We learned our lesson after last week—we packed a phone in a waterproof bag. Tanner called for help, and I climbed up the cliff.” Adam held Jennifer’s hands behind her back. Fingers trembling, I pulled the cord out of my new hoodie and wrapped it around her wrists. She moaned. I jerked the cord tighter.

  “I was wrong,” I told him. In the distance, a siren neared. “I know you love Jewel Bay as much as I do. I know you want to be here. I know—”

  “Erin, how could you have ever thought I wanted to be anywhere else, with anyone but you?”

  And there, on the rocks, the waves lapping at the shore, the sun shining so gloriously, I knew it was true.

  Thirty

  Who named the Saturday shindig the GuitarBQ?” Tanner sat on the blanket on the concert lawn, a full plate in one hand, a beer in the other. “You?”

  “I wish,” I said. “It’s a brilliant end to the festival.”

  “Speaking of brilliant,” Adam said. “Mr. Manufacturing Genius showed me the business plan you created for him. It is so far beyond anything he could ever have put together.”

  Tanner mimed throwing his corn-on-the-cob at his best buddy.

  “He helped. So did his bookkeeper, and the purchasing manager.” I picked up a potato chip. “But you seriously need to hire a CFO. That’s Chief Financial Officer,” I said to Adam.

  “Ah, but the best candidate wouldn’t take the job,” Tanner said.

  “I’ve got my hands full with the Merc, plus working with Sam Kraus to get the winery’s books in order.” With Jennifer under arrest for murder, two counts of assault, trespass, and who knew what else, Rebecca had agreed to a refinancing plan that would allow Sam to keep the winery. My uncle Joe, a successful winemaker in California, would tour Monte Verde when he came up for my mother’s wedding in a few weeks, and offer his advice.

  Free of suspicion, Rebecca appeared to finally understand the connections between the people and places who make up Jewel Bay, who make it a community. At my urging, she’d persuaded the Drakes to invest in Monte Verde, enabling Sam to remodel the farmhand cottages. That created more security for Michelle and the other renters, as well as for Sam and the lenders and investors.

  Rebecca had also agreed to take the townhouse she rented to Lou Mary off the market, at least long enough for my sales clerk to save up the down payment. My mother had learned of the listing when she dropped into the real estate office to ask Molly about selling the Orchard. In classic Murphy girl fashion, she’d figured out a way to help Lou Mary, by getting her a job at the Merc.

  I’d convinced Ann that Molly would scour every inch of the lakeshore to find them their own dream property. After all, they already had the dishes.

  I’d relayed to Ned Redaway what Pamela Barber had told me. Contrary to Ned’s misbelief, and my own, I understood now that Dave wasn’t driven by greed or money. What he wanted was a chance to be a star. It didn’t need to be on the big stage, tempting as that was. Being the man who helped bring stellar music and a bit of prosperity to his home town was enough for him.

  And I’d talked to Marv Alden and Donna Lawson about recruiting a professional recording engineer to build a studio in Jewel Bay. Chuck the Builder and Rocco the Music Man had agreed to lend their expertise.

  One mystery remained: Who left the memorial bouquet on the gate at the trailhead? My money was on Gabby, but I might never find out. In a small town, gestures like that deepen the bonds that keep us here.

  We finished our barbecue sandwiches, and I stood. “It’s time.”

  We didn’t bother hiding our glee as we strolled down to meet my family. Landon led the parade, Chiara and Jason close behind. Fresca and Bill followed, hand in hand.

  They crossed the bridge and reached the park. Landon stopped. Heidi sat in the passenger seat of a gleaming black Mustang convertible, and Reg Robbins, wearing the loudest, largest Hawaiian shirt I’d ever seen, stood beside the driver’s door.

  Landon’s mouth opened and closed several times, like a fish gasping for air. He jumped up and down, pointing at the license plate.

  “Hawaii! I got Hawaii!”

  How Reg managed to keep the registration current while keeping the car in Montana, I didn’t want to know. All that mattered at the moment was that he’d agreed when Jason asked him to drive the Mustang into town tonight so Landon could check the most elusive state off his list.

  After the hugs, and after Reg promised father and son a ride, we reclaimed our seats on the lawn for the finale.

  “I almost don’t want to lea
ve,” Tanner said. The glint in his eye mirrored the dampness in my own.

  “Just be sure you come back.”

  The concert was a rousing success, each guest artist playing a short set. Pearl Django made my heart dance, and Jackson Mississippi Boyd got the crowd singing.

  Gabby Drake replaced Gerry Martin in the finale, and bewitched us all. Her parents sat a few rows in front of us, beaming. Whether she would follow their plan, I didn’t know. But when I saw the gigantic beaded hoops in her ears, I had a feeling Gabby had a plan of her own.

  So did I.

  ∞

  This time, it was Tanner lugging the cooler full of sparkling wine and the box of secret ingredients to the Orchard. With the Merc open Sundays now, we’d had to rush to make the weekly gathering of family and friends.

  “When I first started my company,” Tanner explained to my mother as he set out bottles of bitters and a special liqueur, “my cash flow ran backwards. I tended bar at a fancy restaurant to pay the bills. The chef loved putting on elaborate wine dinners, and I got to create special cocktails. This one is for you, as my thanks for your amazing hospitality.”

  “What’s it made with?” she said, ever the inquisitive cook.

  “Typically, I use cava, the Spanish sparkling wine. The taste is flatter than French champagne, so it lets the other flavors through.” He dropped a sugar cube in each flute, and added the bitters and liqueur. “But since we’re at your place, I’m using Prosecco.”

  “What’s the liqueur?” I asked.

  “The drink the Romans invaded Spain for.” He poured in the wine, then handed a glass to my mother and another to me. I managed to suppress my sneeze, and took a sip.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I said. “It tastes like a kiss.”

  “Tanner,” my mother said, “this is divine. What do you call it?”

  Tanner beamed and raised his glass in a toast, first to my mother, then to me. “The Italian Princess.”

  My sister arrived, toting a rhubarb custard pie. Both she and Jason beamed.