Sinister Justice

by Steve Pickens

  “Not on your life. I’d still end up spending money on vintage Chanel, only I’d be a drag queen. It’s cheaper to keep things the way they are.”

  “You’ve got me there.”

  “Anyway, our lovely god-like one is making serious amends and wants to ‘renew our friendship.’ He glossed over the fact that the last words I spoke to him were something about how I hoped he met up with someone with a scorching case of herpes.”

  “He may have chosen not to remember that, yes. The cynical side of me wants to know what the hell he wants.” He considered for a moment. “Although I have my suspicions.”

  “What’s cynical about that? I mean, when did Tony Graham ever do something that wasn’t for the sole and total benefit of Tony Graham?” She paused for a moment. “What do you suspect?”

  “You read his latest tome?”

  “It took me a while to get through it,” she confessed. “It kept putting me to sleep.”

  “Given his transformation into the political beast he has become, did he mention Chris to you in any of your letters?”

  “No,” she said, catching on. “You don’t think he’s writing about Chris, do you?”

  “Chris is a ready-made icon for him to exploit.”

  Rachel let out a slow breath. “I hope not. I really, really hope not. Think of what that would do to Chris’s parents.”

  “I could be totally off base. I suppose people can change,” said Jake carefully. “I mean, do you think you’re the same person you were in high school?”

  “Hmm, no, that’s true. I’m much more of a bitch now than I ever was then.”

  Jake laughed, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth flood over him. He wished she could come before Thanksgiving and told her so.

  “I’d love to, Jake, and I will if I can manage to tie up everything. I’ve still got to get my things settled in D.C. and I think I can face that now. Just talking to you has made me feel so much better. I am really, really sorry I let things slip so much.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does, Jake.”

  “Then don’t dwell on it, okay? Just get your butt in gear and get up here. Besides, if you’ve been with your sister as long as you say you have, I know she’s probably close to driving you nuts by now.”

  “She’s such a neat freak. I don’t know how Mark puts up with her. I left my shoes under the coffee table and she about came unglued.”

  “Well, give her a hug for me, okay? And call me soon. And hey—if you’re in San Francisco and haven’t stopped by Gavin and Jeff’s, you better or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “I haven’t had time, but I will,” she promised. “And you’re right. I never will hear the end of it. Last time I came here without checking in on them Gavin mailed me a hideous armoire from his parent’s store. Took me ages to get rid of that damn thing.”

  “That’s our Gavin, using furniture from the Ashworth storeroom as a form of retribution. Speaking of, I better get in touch with him myself. I haven’t emailed in a few days and when that happens, he has the police do a wellness check.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “He does,” said Jake, remembering the last time it had happened. “I think the police were a bit surprised to find out I wasn’t an eighty-year-old man.”

  “I’ll see the boys and I’ll call you at the end of the week while I’m wrapping my crapola up in D.C. I’ll need the positive reinforcement so I don’t do something stupid like rent a male escort.”

  “Just make sure he’s cute and play safe if you do.”

  “Of course, darling. I don’t think I’ve had anything near me without a layer of latex since that sad little virgin Andrew Smith,” she said wistfully. “Hey, I wonder if he’s free?”

  “Married, six kids.”

  “Six! My gods, his poor wife.”

  “She had three to start with. They’ve since had three more. I saw him about two or three months ago. He looks like he’s fifty, but claims he’s happy.”

  “I’m sure he did. Okay love, gotta go. Give Sam a big hug for me, and I’ll call you soon.”

  They rang off, leaving Jake to slump back down on the couch and cover his eyes with the pillow. The silence of the house descended all at once, the dripping of the tap in the bathroom once again filling his ears. He heard a heavy sigh from across the room and lifted the pillow from his eyes, observing Barnaby shift in his basket and continue with his nap. Jake smiled and replaced the pillow watching the swirls of colors behind his eyes as the migraine continued to pound in his head. He mentally wished it away, wanting to be on his best form for meeting Derek Brauer in the evening.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rachel in love, he thought. His tough-as-leather best friend had always claimed she was immune. One failed relationship after another had left her nearly completely jaded; Jake knew that her claims of immunity were to shield the fact that she fell in love all too much. Because of that she had steadfastly refused to let herself get too emotionally involved with anyone the last several years, fearing that she would lose sight of her career as a federal prosecutor. Rachel was demanding of her experts and agents, but her giving nature and genuine caring made her highly respected. Her awards had stacked up, and she was considered among the best in her field.

  All because of Chris, Jake thought. Their murdered friend had spurred a change in Rachel’s career, from environmental law to criminal. She and Chris had been close, and the unsolved murder had lit a fire in her as strong as the one that had burned in Jake.

  Sleep was slowly creeping in. Jake felt as if he was suspended in midair, the warm currents of a desert wind flowing over his body. He opened his eyes and saw himself standing on the sparsely wooded slope of a cinder cone, the layers of iron-rich ash rusted into a palate of sunset hues. Slowly turning to his right he saw the lumbering, slumped shape of Mount Adams, its cool glacier-clad surface indifferent to his presence. He raised his hand in greeting to the mountain then started to run down the slope of the cinder cone, bouncing into the air slow and weightlessly, as if he were on the moon.

  He could see people in the thicket of Lodge Pole pines at the bottom, and recognized Reverend Crawford and Randy Burrows. They were speaking silently into a microphone stand but waved at him as he passed by. Walter Lugar was standing just behind them, replacing the wheel of his red Mini Cooper, and just beyond him, Emma Kennedy was applying a coat of frosting to the boughs of one of the pine trees.

  “I don’t think I like the look of this, do you?” she asked him.

  Jake reached up and tasted the frosting, which was cool and vaguely lemony. He glanced up at the tree, which he realized was made of graham crackers and mint chocolate. He snapped a piece of branch off and ate it, smiling brightly at Emma. He nodded without saying a word and continued down the path of the ever-thickening forest. The foliage was changing to that of the high northern Cascades—salal, Oregon grape, maple and tall Douglas firs. He had the distinct feeling something was following him, but not in a threatening way. He felt no fear even as the forest grew thicker with every step.

  Leona Weinberg suddenly stepped out from behind a tree, brandishing an apple and shaking her fist at him. Her face was purple and bloated, her skin covered with an oily sheen. She opened her mouth and screeched, “Sodomite! You did this to me!”

  Jake woke with a start, the pillow falling off his head. Barnaby stirred and stretched, getting up to sniff the pillow and trotting away toward the pantry and a snack. Jake picked up the cushion and shook his head, happily free of the migraine. A quick glance at his watch revealed he’d been asleep nearly two hours.

  Groggily, he arose and stretched, heading through the kitchen and out the side door. He went up the outside steps to Sam’s office and let himself in, yawning loudly. Sam was over at his computer and didn’t look up.

  “Feeling better?” he asked Jake.

  “Yeah, I think so.” Jake slumped onto the couch. “I had the strangest dream though.”

&n
bsp; “That’s hardly new, is it? You’ve had weird dreams for the record books.” Sam turned around in his chair. “I mean, there was that one about the giant squid attacking the submarine while you were on the beach watching with Queen Elizabeth. I mean, what was that all about?”

  “Probably something deeply disturbing and sexual.”

  “I’m not introducing a squid into our relationship. Unless of course the squid was symbolic for a guy in the navy, in which case…”

  Jake chucked a cushion at Sam, and Sam laughed and tossed it back to him, glancing at the clock. “Lunch?”

  “I had breakfast a little while ago,” said Jake. “But I’m feeling a little hungry, so sure.”

  Sam went into the kitchenette in the office, looking through the fridge for something appetizing. He pulled out some sandwich meat and cheese and turned on the stove to grill a sandwich. Retrieving the butter he asked, “So what gave you the headache?”

  “Come on,” complained Jake. “The weekend we’ve had? Mother, Leona Weinberg—”

  “Ugh, you can stop right there.” Sam buttered two slices of bread and tossed them into the pan, adding cheese.

  “I feel a bit bad over that.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t,” Sam asked, adding slices of turkey.

  “I didn’t at first. She was such a hateful old bigot, it’s hard to have sympathy for her.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ about to be spoken. You want some soup?”

  “I’m souped out.”

  “Likewise. We need to expand our menu a bit.” Sam expertly flipped the side of bread with the melted cheese onto the bread with the turkey. “So?”

  “So? Oh, the ‘but.’ Yeah,” he shook his head. “I keep thinking of her dying alone over there. Choking on the apple or having a heart attack,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “It’s just sad, is all.”

  “Leona Weinberg chose her path a long, long time ago, Jake. People as mean as she was choose to be that way,” Sam said, flipping the grilled turkey and cheese onto a plate. “You want it cut in half?”

  Jake shook his head. “Not necessary.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what is really bugging you,” Sam said, buttering two more slices of bread and dropping them into the pan.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ah ha! Don’t give me that with the big eyes ‘what do you mean.’ You’re staring at the floor. I don’t even have to turn around to know that.”

  “Oh, can it, you big ape.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Fine, but admit, you’ve been thinking about it too.”

  “Quit talking with your mouth full, you uncouth heathen.” He finished making his sandwich. After consuming half his sandwich, he said, “Okay, I admit it. I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “You don’t think she died of natural causes either, do you?”

  “I’m not sure what to think.”

  “It’s the thing with the thermostat I keep coming back to,” said Jake. “Yeah, we know Leona did jack up the heat, but she was also a world-class cheapskate.”

  “It was why she kept arguing with the gas guy.” Sam agreed.

  “You really think she would have turned up the heat to seventy-eight?”

  Sam looked into his husband’s malachite green eyes, shrugging. “I don’t know. My gut is telling me it’s no coincidence, but I really, really hope it is.”

  Jake returned Sam’s gaze and nodded. He too was hoping it was merely a coincidence that Leona Weinberg had dropped dead when she had, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had murdered their odious neighbor.

  * * *

  Hours later, Jake glowered at his brother whom, he observed, at least had the decency to look chagrined. Sitting opposite of Jake was the strikingly handsome Derek Brauer, who had just “tagged along for dinner” as Jason had said. Aside from the fact that he had nothing prepared for dinner, Jake didn’t like the idea of being interrogated about the demise of their neighbor. In the end, they had gone to the Illahee Inn.

  “How’s your roast?” Sam asked Jake.

  “Fine, fine.”

  Jason cleared his throat and took a sip of water.

  “The wine is excellent,” said Derek, taking another swig.

  “Not much of a wine connoisseur,” Jake said.

  “Oh? What’s your poison of preference?”

  Jake looked at him again. Derek had a sparkling smile full of very white teeth. He had dimples to die for, and dark brown eyes that were sharp and unflinching, taking note of everything. His hair was cut and spiked in every direction—the rough and tumble look that likely took some time to perfect—and his heavy, black-framed glasses fit his face in a stylish GQ manner. His lack of shaving for several days also seemed to be a calculated part of his look, along with the maroon shirt that was ever so slightly too tight.

  “Jameson,” Jason answered. “Favorite of the Finnigans.”

  “Indeed,” Jake agreed. “Usually with some Pepsi, as I like my alcohol sweet, though straight up is fine.”

  “How about you, Sam?” Derek asked.

  “Well, I don’t drink often, but when I do it’s usually something Caleb makes over at the Bitter End. Lemon drop or appletini or something like that.”

  Derek looked at Jake and flashed the white teeth again. “Wine, like whiskey, has a lot of elements to it. It takes time to develop an appreciation for the subtleties, same as with whiskey. Though I always say the best wine is the one you like. I don’t go for the snobbery of saying it has to be expensive. One of my favorites is a local Skagit Valley wine that retails for about fifteen bucks. The best wild huckleberry wine I’ve ever tasted.”

  Jake studied Brauer for a moment and judged the comment sincere. He still couldn’t make up his mind about the man. He wasn’t unlikable—far from it. He seemed very genuine, not at all guarded, and very warm and engaging. He had a good sense of humor, was quick to laugh, and appeared very upbeat.

  Seemed was the operative word, and Jake wasn’t quite buying it. Underneath it all was a flat note, a hint of insincerity. Derek was not at all acting like a reporter. He hadn’t asked anything the least bit pointed, and nothing about the town meeting. Jake wondered if Jason had duly warned Derek not to bring anything up, or if Derek was attempting to lull him into a false sense of security before starting a cross-examination.

  “The Inn has a good cellar, even if it is haunted,” said Jason with a wink to his brother, referring to the stores of the Inn.

  The Illahee Inn Bed and Breakfast was known for its elegant accommodations and the fact that it didn’t serve breakfast, contrary to the title. There was a continental brunch served at about ten in the morning, but Emma Kennedy was not a morning person, and the hours of the Inn reflected it.

  “Have you seen Emma tonight?” Jake asked.

  “She must be around here somewhere,” said Sam, looking around. “There’s Professor Mills, Verna Monger and that dishrag husband of hers, the Reverend Crawford, and that creepy guy from the police department…”

  “Nelson Dorval,” Derek said. “One of the most unfriendly people I’ve ever met.”

  “Who’s he with?” asked Jake, noticing the startlingly attractive woman. She had black, shoulder-length hair casually styled in loose curls, and distinctly Asian features, but pale white skin and green eyes. She was wearing loose slacks and a blazer and looked bored beyond belief.

  “Detective Sharon Trumbo,” Derek answered as the pair rose to leave. “Very nice woman. Sharp as an X-Acto and a great sense of humor. I wonder what she’s doing with him? Are you friends with Ms. Kennedy, Jake?”

  “Pull your eyes back in your head, Jason,” said Jake. We’re not close, no. I got to know her a bit through the ferry advisory meetings. Tough as nails but a heart of gold. I voted for her.”

  “So did I,” said Sam. “Excellent business sense, and she single-handedly revitalized a part of Old Town that was going to get plowed under for some ugly condos.”

 
“The houses that are near Sutherland Shipyard?”

  Sam nodded. “Those cute little Victorians. She bought the whole row, fixed them up, and turned them into rentals. I guess she’s selling them off a bit at a time now.”

  “She is,” agreed Derek. “She’s taken some of the money and invested into the Chinook.”

  Jake dropped his fork with a clatter. Sam looking at him, one eyebrow raised.

  “Mr. Blackburn told me,” Derek said, shrugging.

  “I understand that,” said Jake. “He didn’t tell me.”

  “Well, you’ve haven’t hardly seen him in the last six months,” said Sam.

  “I know, I know. It’s my fault. I’ve been preoccupied lately.”

  “You mean you’ve been busy,” Sam reassured.

  “You really need to come up for air from that manuscript,” Jason said, patting his pocket. Jake suspected Jason was longing for his pipe, but smoking indoors was prohibited.

  “There are days when I think it is writing me,” Jake said. He shook his head. “That makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “Jason didn’t mention you were a writer. Actually he’s told me very little about either one of you, to be honest,” Derek said, giving Jason a sideways glance.

  “That’s because we’re painfully boring,” Sam said cheerfully.

  “I guess I should have mentioned Jake’s a writer. He’s published a few stories and articles, but has been working on this book for…how long?”

  “A decade. I’ve only just been able to dedicate myself to it full time, thanks to the generosity of my husband here.”

  “Just be glad I charge my clients so much.”

  “So you write mainly fiction then?”

  “Mainly,” said Jake, being purposefully cryptic. He did not intend to get into what his book was about. It looked as if Derek was about to ask when the oak and leaded glass doors to the dining room opened up and Alex walked in with Emma Kennedy and Miranda Zimmerman.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Derek.

  Alex and Emma Kennedy were involved in a deep conversation as the trio crossed the room and sat down at a far table on the opposite side of the main dining hall.