by Mary Daheim
“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked, and realized that my manner was openly suspicious.
Again, Stu gave me that charming smile with just a hint of self-deprecation. “When Stina and I had our talk last night, it occurred to both of us that the authorities must know by now that Audrey and I were once married. They haven't come round to question me again, but I'm sure they will. The secret will be out. Besides, I was unspeakably rude to you, to your friend, and to my wife. Maybe it's a peace offering. After all, while Audrey and I were husband and wife, Ms. Runkel was my aunt.”
I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing. It hurt, so I tried to stop and ended up choking and coughing. “Sorry,” I gasped. “It's just that Vida—Ms. Runkel—has so many relatives. I think half the world is related to her somehow.”
“Well, it is, you know,” Stu said, still looking earnest. “Six degrees of separation and all that.”
“It's different with Vida.” I got a Kleenex out of my shoulder bag and blew my nose. “It's more like two degrees of separation. Someday I'm going to find out that she's tenth in line to the English throne.”
Stu appeared somewhat puzzled, and I couldn't blame him. “I hope to apologize to her in person before she leaves,” he said. “Do you know how long she plans to stay in Cannon Beach?”
Was I imagining that Stu seemed anxious to have Vida depart? Several people appeared to wish her on her way. But at least she hadn't gotten a threatening note.
I shook my head. “I've no idea.”
Standing up, Stu reached into the pocket of his safari shirt and took out a business card. “Please give her this. I'll be in touch.” He flashed me another smile.
By the time Stu left a minute later, it was almost eleven. My aches and pains had been slightly alleviated by the combination of movement and Excedrin. Since there was nothing to eat except bread and a few packaged cookies, I decided to walk into town and have breakfast. Leaving Vida a note, I headed out into the sunshine.
It was a golden morning, one of those perfect autumn days with diamonds dancing on the waves. I went slowly, carefully, crossing the bridge over Ecola Creek, and down Third Street to Hemlock, where I saw a sign for Whale Park. I knew the Kanes lived close by; Stu had probably walked from their home to the motel.
I paused outside of Bruce's Candy Kitchen, dreaming of chocolate-covered raisins and honey-filled sea foam and, appropriately enough in Cannon Beach, huge haystack clusters. I'm not much for sweets as a rule, but ocean-resort candy stores turn me into a chocolate hog.
Willing myself to keep going, I started past Osburn's Grocery Store. The combination deli, ice creamery, and grocer's was one of the oldest buildings in town, with an old-fashioned front porch that ran the width of the wood-frame structure. I had almost gone by when it dawned on me that this was where Derek worked. I retraced my steps and went inside.
A middle-aged woman with rhinestone-studded glasses and a warm smile informed me that Derek had the day off. “He's sick, I guess,” she said from behind the checkout counter. The store was fairly quiet, with only a handful of customers browsing the aisles. “No wonder. Those kids have been through the wringer. I'm Bea. Are you a relative from out of town?”
“I'm Emma.” We shook hands, then I explained my connection to the Imhoffs via Vida.
Bea laughed. “The one with the hat? She was here about an hour ago, looking for Derek. She had his girlfriend with her. Is it true they're getting married?”
So Vida had somehow rounded up Dolores. I wasn't surprised, but I was distracted. “What? Oh—I don't know. They've got some kind of plans, I think.”
Bea nodded sagely. “They shouldn't rush it, not with all that's happened. They're still kids.”
A redheaded woman about my age wheeled a half-filled cart up behind me. I thanked Bea and left, wondering if Vida and Dolores had gone to the Imhoff house.
Crossing Second Street, I passed Sandpiper Square, which was set off from Hemlock and featured several shops and boutiques I wouldn't have minded exploring if I'd felt better. The large shake-covered building also contained offices, one of which Vida had said belonged to the resident doctor. I hesitated, then kept on going. Any diagnosis more sophisticated than my own would require X rays, which I assumed would have to be taken in Seaside. In any event, I was sure that there wasn't anything seriously wrong with me. I was simply banged up and would get over it in time.
Unfortunately, I didn't want to spend more time recovering. I could take a bus, but that would mean several transfers. The train would be equally complicated. A plane was out of the question. Even if I could fly out of Seaside, it would probably be an expensive charter into Portland, and I'd still have to get from Seattle to Alpine. I was stuck in Cannon Beach until I could drive myself home.
In my musings, I'd walked too far, passing two of the restaurants that I knew served a breakfast menu. I found myself in front of the Cannon Beach Book Company with its wide veranda and mellow wood exterior.
We had no real bookstore at home, only a tiny secondhand shop tucked into the second floor of the Alpine Building and a combination outlet on Front Street that featured greeting cards, wrapping paper, novelties, and the current best-sellers, mostly in paperback. Fending off my hunger pangs, I wandered inside to stand transfixed in front of tables with enticing covers. Recalling the crammed bookcase in the Imhoff house, I went up to the woman who stood behind the main desk and introduced myself.
“You were in the wreck with Gordon,” she said, shaking my hand. “I'm Valerie Bryan. I own the store.” She gave me a big smile.
“You know Gordon?” I said.
“Honey, I know everybody. This is Cannon Beach.” She was still smiling. The bookstore proprietor was a pretty woman with a deep tan and short, smartly cut gray hair. Her brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “Aren't you from a small town, too?” she asked. “Somewhere up toward Stevens Pass?”
“Right, Alpine.” I glanced around to make sure I wasn't holding up any of Valerie's customers. A stoop-shouldered man was absorbed in something near the back of the store while two middle-aged women chattered over the cookbook section. A mother with a toddler in a high-tech stroller perused children's books. “Everybody knows everybody there, too, though it's somewhat bigger than Cannon Beach. I own the weekly newspaper.”
“Ah!” Valerie's eyes sparkled. “Another female entrepreneur. I've been involved in PR and publicity myself. But this is better. I'll never get rich, but I love what I'm doing.”
“That's what Audrey wanted, I gather. To start her own business.” I paused, waiting for Valerie to comment.
“She had her own business, the Jaded Eye.” She gave me a hard, but not unfriendly stare. “If you ask me, Audrey wanted to escape. Big mistake, nobody can do that, because what you're really running away from is yourself.”
“Did you know her well?” I inquired.
“Not really,” Valerie replied, toying with the cord on which her glasses hung from her neck. “I knew Gordon better, although they both came in occasionally. In fact, Audrey was here the afternoon before she died.”
My interest was piqued. “How did she seem?”
Valerie didn't take time to reflect. “Full of herself. She was leaving. I couldn't help but taunt her a little, because it was Friday the thirteenth. I'm not really superstitious—in fact, I was born on Friday the thirteenth, in May. But I'm a city girl, from Seattle. I've only lived in Cannon Beach for the past three years. I told her she'd be sorry. Sharks are swimming in city waters. Making it on your own is tough.”
An older couple, well groomed and with the air of affluent retirement, entered the store and nodded to Valerie before moving into the art section. “How did Audrey react?” I asked.
Valerie shrugged. “Like Audrey. She didn't care what people thought. Anyway, she said she wasn't worried. She'd managed to put aside enough to make it on her own.”
The man who had been at the back of the store came up to the desk with a copy of Jon Hassler's Nor
th of Hope. I stepped aside while Valerie waited on him and exchanged brief chitchat.
“Valerie,” I said, lowering my voice after the man had left, “I can't save ten cents. Can you?”
Valerie erupted into a derisive laugh. “Are you kidding? I'm still putting a kid through college.”
“So am I. In a way,” I added almost in a whisper. There was no need to get sidetracked with Adam's change of career choice and what that might entail now that he had finally gotten his degree from Arizona State. Still, I felt a growing sense of kinship with Valerie Bryan. “So how did Audrey do it?”
Apparently, Valerie was feeling equally chummy. “Chicanery. But nice chicanery.” The bookstore owner leaned closer. “Audrey played Ms. Good Works, hauling oldsters to doctor appointments and physical therapy and wherever else they needed a ride. She bestowed her charity on men only, and they were very grateful.”
I gave Valerie a knowing, conspiratorial look. “Men like Rupe Pickering and Victor Crenshaw?”
Valerie nodded slowly. “Among others. Rupe left her a fair-sized chunk of money in his will and I hear Dr. Crenshaw and his wife flat out gave her their condo in Portland. But there was more to it than just the old coots. I've heard that …” Straightening up, Valerie addressed the middle-aged couple.
The well-kept pair of seniors needed help selecting a fiftieth-wedding-anniversary gift. While gracious and polite, their manner conveyed that when they needed something, they expected to get it. Immediately. Valerie came out from behind the front desk.
I sensed that Valerie's customers might take up quite a bit of her time. Apparently, the store owner knew as much. In a businesslike tone, she turned back to me.
“You might want to check with the young man who's attending law school at Willamette University. His last name is Damon, I believe.” She gave me another brilliant smile before leading her charges into the gardening and landscape section.
I made up my mind to try Jesse Damon again as soon as I had breakfast. However, it was almost noon. I might as well have lunch. I approached the Lazy Susan Café with my stomach growling, but discovered that the restaurant was closed on Tuesdays. Luckily, the other eatery I'd selected from the chamber-of-commerce guidebook was virtually next door. I went into the Lemon Tree Inn and was seated in a small booth.
Vida arrived just before my BLT did. “Goodness,” she exclaimed, slipping into the seat across from me, “I was shocked to find you'd left the motel. Thank heavens you told me where you were headed. However did you manage to walk so far?”
“It's only about five blocks,” I said dryly. “Short ones. Besides, I think the exercise loosened me up.”
“Foolish,” Vida remarked as the waitress brought my order and offered another menu. “No, no, I'll have only hot tea. And a green salad, with ranch dressing. Ah … what type of soup do you have today? No, not soup—a turkey sandwich. That sounds very nice. On white. Do skimp on the mayonnaise. I'm watching my figure.”
Vida always was, and it never changed, not one way or the other. “The lovers are reunited,” she announced after the waitress had gone back to the kitchen. “Though I may take credit for it, I'm not pleased.”
“Why is that?” I asked, biting into my BLT.
Vida sighed, then glanced around to make sure no one could hear. While the restaurant was filling up, the booths offered privacy. “I'm very upset with Dolores. She's not a suitable girl for Derek, and that has nothing to do with the fact that she's Hispanic. She could be a Finn, and I wouldn't approve. Dolores is a born troublemaker.”
I asked why. Vida told me. The quarrel had erupted with Gordon's return. Dolores resented his intrusion into what had become a settled, comparatively quiet routine. Gordon had tried to calm her, but Dolores refused to listen to reason. It wasn't an approach she was accustomed to when it came to family disputes.
“Then Gordon decided to keep out of it,” Vida explained, “but the argument between Derek and Dolores escalated in the usual manner. They each began to criticize whatever real or imagined faults the other possesses. Finally, Dolores left, just as Derek told us. She did in fact walk the beach for a while, but then she began to consider retaliation. She was angry with Derek, with Gordon, with the entire family. So she went into town and to the police station to tell them about Martin's marijuana farm.” Vida now looked angry, too. “It was a terrible thing for her to do.”
I suppose I couldn't blame Vida for being mad at Dolores. After all, Marlin was Vida's nephew. But he was breaking the law, and I was somewhat surprised by my House & Home editor's attitude.
“How,” I inquired, after sifting through Vida's recital, “did Dolores know about the pot farm?”
“Because her parents got marijuana from Marlin. They not only drink, but they smoke that silly stuff as well.” Vida looked much put out. “In a sense, Dolores was getting back at her family, as well as Derek's.”
“But they've reconciled?”
“For the time being.” Vida's mouth turned down.
“And Gordon?”
“He's back home. The authorities questioned him until very late last night in Astoria, but released him.” Vida managed a smile for the waitress, who had brought the salad and hot tea. “I'm rather surprised.”
“Why?” I asked after the waitress had left. “He can't have had anything new to add since he was questioned a month ago.”
Vida lowered her eyes. “But he did. He admits to having been at the house that night.”
I stared. “My God! When?”
“Around midnight.” Vida had turned grim. “Before Audrey went swimming. He said he wanted to see her one last time before she went to Portland. He thought he might be able to talk her out of it. But he lost his nerve. Or realized he couldn't change her mind. Gordon vacillates so much that it's hard to tell what he means, even after the fact.”
“No one saw him at the house?” I asked as food began to fuel my body. Maybe I could get through the day after all.
“Well… that depends.” Vida sprinkled extra salt and pepper on her salad. “Gordon saw someone, so maybe that someone saw him.”
“What?” I'd raised my voice, causing the young couple in the booth across from us to stare. Giving them a phony little smile, I turned back to Vida. “Who did he see?” I whispered. “Why didn't he tell the sheriff before now?”
“It was a man, but Gordon didn't recognize him,” Vida replied. “He was on the beach, just standing there, watching the waves. That's not unusual, so Gordon didn't think anything of it.”
“Until now. Why did he change his mind?”
“Because the man was there so long,” Vida answered, swishing a piece of lettuce in the ranch dressing. “It seems that Gordon dithered for quite a while, pacing around outside of the house, trying to make up his mind. When he finally did, and decided to leave, the man was still there. In retrospect, Gordon thought it odd.”
“Could Gordon describe him?”
“Average height and weight. Jacket and pants. Hair. Anywhere between twenty-five and sixty.” The turkey sandwich arrived, along with pickles. Vida took a big bite before continuing. “It's all very vague.”
I tried to think of anyone we knew of who might fit Gordon's sketchy description. Stuart Kane was too tall; Jesse Damon was too young; Rett Runkel and Walt Dobrinz were too old. Surely Gordon would recognize his father-in-law and his mother-in-law's husband. He'd also know his brother-in-law, Marlin.
“Would a killer wait that long on the beach?” I mused. “If it was a stranger, how could he know that Audrey would go swimming in the middle of the night?”
“It's all very unsatisfactory,” Vida declared. “On a more precise note, I called on the Crenshaws. Yes, they gave Audrey their condo. So sweet, so kind, so helpful, blah-blah. They're childless, and why shouldn't such a lovely person have something in return for all her time and effort on their behalf? Really, I think they're a pair of ninnies.”
“I heard about the Crenshaws, too,” I said. And then I launched i
nto my encounter with Valerie Bryan at the bookstore. Vida wasn't surprised about Rupe Pickering—she'd already guessed as much. But she wondered anew about Jesse Damon.
“We must drive over to Salem this afternoon,” she proclaimed, eating the last of her pickles. “It should be a nice outing.”
“Vida—” I began, then stopped. “You haven't heard about my visit from Stuart Kane.” I'd saved the best for last.
Vida was practically choking on her tea by the time I finished. “He told you Not me! Oh, good grief! How could he! I'm glad I never knew him as a nephew-in-law! He would have tried my patience!”
“Maybe so,” I remarked absently. “He does want to apologize in person.”
Vida harrumphed. “He'd better. Oh, dear—this changes everything.”
“How?”
“What if he's telling the truth about not having an affair with Audrey? What if Stina's telling the truth about not carrying on with Gordon? There's no jealousy motive. I can't believe there was anything … physical between Audrey and those older men she was carting around to medical appointments. They were all ill. So we have nothing left from the romantic angle except that silly, elusive boy, Jesse Damon.”
“There were supposed to be other young men,” I reminded Vida. “Jesse was only the most recent.”
“But that's the point. The others were probably temporary, too. Summer help, lifeguards, whatever.” Vida was looking very vexed.
“Young men don't murder their older mistresses,” I said. “Think about it. A kid like Jesse comes here for tourist season and finds an attractive woman twice his age who's some kind of thrill seeker. For him, it's just carefree sex. For her, too, I suspect. There's no emotional attachment. Audrey wasn't moving to Salem, she was going to Portland. They had a fling. So what?”