Blown Away

by Clover Tate

  “What did you do together?”

  “Guy things. We hiked. Usually enjoyed a great meal at the end of it.”

  I thought of the jumble of books in Miles’s cabin, of Stella’s description of him as “his own man.” “What was he like?”

  “He was curious, always interested in the next thing.”

  “He did well at the Tidal Basin,” I said.

  “But I wouldn’t have called him ambitious. It was more like he wanted to try something new, learn about something new. Last year he took off on a solo tour of Asia just to eat. He was gone a month. Came back with notebooks full of recipes.”

  “Did you . . . did you ever talk about Avery?”

  “Emmy, we’re guys. We don’t talk about that stuff.”

  My heart skipped a beat at the sound of my name from his mouth. “You must have a sister—or a serious girlfriend. That sounds like the voice of experience.”

  He kicked a rock up the beach, but his voice was light. “A twin sister, actually. She sets me straight.”

  I noted he’d ignored the girlfriend part. But a sister—she’d be a real looker if she had his height and thick hair. Not to mention eyes. I imagined them on visits to their grandfather’s kite shop, playing in the sand near the bay. “But you liked Miles.”

  “I did. He was his own guy, that’s for sure. He built a crazy cabin around an old Airstream trailer, if you can believe it. He’d spend his evenings reading, or taking midnight hikes, or researching historical seafood recipes. He could talk about anything.”

  “Except women.”

  He laughed again. I liked the sound of it. “Miles really cared about Avery, and I thought she felt the same. I was surprised they broke up.”

  “I wonder why they did.”

  “Don’t know. Can’t say.”

  Clouds were beginning to thicken again, and not much daylight remained. I glanced at the sky and then at my cell phone. No call yet from Avery saying she was coming home.

  Jack picked up his pace. “I guess we’d better be getting back.”

  chapter seventeen

  As Jack and I wandered back toward town, I marveled at how easy it was to talk with him. We covered conversational ground on kites, of course—Jack seemed more interested in flightworthiness, while I focused on their beauty—but before long we were talking about all sorts of things: our childhoods, favorite books, grandparents. I can’t say Jack was exactly loquacious, but he was thoughtful.

  At one point, engrossed in a discussion about the best karaoke songs, I tripped on a branch of driftwood. Jack caught my arm and set me straight, all while extolling the virtues of Willie Nelson versus David Bowie. I felt the ghost of his hand on my arm the rest of the walk. He finally split off as we approached Strings Attached.

  When I entered the shop, Bear ran ahead to Stella, who waved his favorite stuffed hedgehog toy back and forth for him to growl at and play. I vowed to be Stella when I grew up.

  She set down the toy and smoothed her denim skirt. “Did you have a nice walk?”

  “I went down to the beach and walked a bit with Jack Sullivan—” I began.

  “Have you ever noticed his eyes? They are like pearl gray velvet. They’re what the French must mean when they speak of a sky as ‘grisaille.’ Just like a Monet winter canvas.”

  “Oh,” I said. Of course I’d noticed. All at once I felt self-conscious. As we talked, I flipped the door sign to “Closed” and clicked off the lights in the shop. Stella and I moved to the workshop-slash-kitchen. I sat at the dinette table and laid my arms over its linoleum top.

  Stella seemed cheerful, even forcefully so. “Your friend Dave’s a sleeper, but Jack has got it going on.”

  “He does, doesn’t he? But—” The day’s weight—Avery in jail, the mushroom hunters, Jack’s surprising comfort—hit me square between the shoulders. “Everything is too much right now.”

  “I know, darling.” She leaned forward. “The poet Robert Burns said that time is measured in heartbeats. Real time only happens when you feel something, good or bad.”

  “With your husband’s death, you’ve certainly had the opportunity to think about that.” I sighed. It seemed like I’d been sighing a lot lately.

  “Think about it. In the past week, you moved, opened a new business, found a body, and now—”

  “Now my best friend has been arrested for murder.” I fished my cell phone out of my bag and checked it again. Still no call from Avery. “Shouldn’t the judge have posted bail by now?”

  “Honey,” Stella said. “I have something to tell you.”

  I raised my head. This couldn’t be good.

  “The news is reporting that the judge is holding Avery without bail.”

  “Oh,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. My throat closed. “I thought she might have called . . .” I laid my head on the table. “It’s on the news, huh?”

  “The radio, at least. Probably in tomorrow’s paper, too.”

  “Oh, Stella.”

  “Sheriff Koppen is a smart man. He doesn’t give up easily. He’ll get to the truth, I know it.”

  “But he did give up. He let the judge keep her in jail.”

  “There hasn’t been a trial. Not even an indictment. It doesn’t mean she’ll stay there forever.”

  The morning’s fight had gone out of me. Avery was stuck in jail. Home would be cold and empty—again.

  “I’m sorry,” Stella whispered.

  I reached across the table and put my hand over hers. “Thank you, Stella. I just don’t know what to think right now. I stopped by the sheriff’s office earlier, and they didn’t seem too interested in what I had to say.”

  “Don’t give up yet, darling,” she said.

  Easy for her to say. My chest felt heavy, but I didn’t want to cry in front of Stella. I tried the only thing I knew might ward the tears off—anger. “I thought you were going to help me find evidence to give the sheriff. Now everyone thinks Avery is guilty, and you say just to let the sheriff do his job? Why should he?”

  Stella backed up a step. “I didn’t—”

  “The sheriff won’t listen, either. I told Deputy Goff about the mushroom hunters, and she brushed me off. Then I went back with a solid lead, plus the fact that Sam Anderson was on the old dock the night Miles was killed, and—”

  “What do you mean, ‘solid lead’ on the mushroom hunters? Don’t tell me you—”

  Uh-oh. Stella wasn’t supposed to know I’d gone to the morel patch.

  “You went to find the morel hunters, didn’t you?” She smacked a palm on the table. “Damn it, Emmy. I warned you about that.”

  I’d never seen Stella angry. The self-pity drained right out of me. “I had to do something.”

  “Like get yourself shot at?”

  I wasn’t about to admit to the robbery. “It was fine. I’m safe. Nothing happened.”

  “You promised me you wouldn’t go.” I kept my lips pursed. “Did you go alone?” she asked. I looked at my shoes. “Oh, Emmy. Remember that story I told you. You could have—”

  Bear barked at a rap at the back door. Frank’s face appeared in the door’s window. I rose to answer it.

  Frank stepped inside. “Is it too late to drop in? I know the shop is closed, but I saw you two in here.”

  “No,” I said. “We were just chatting.” I glanced at Stella, who folded her arms in front of her chest and refused to look at me.

  “I saw the news about Avery, Emmy. I’m sorry.” He shifted on his feet. “Maybe you two would like to join me at the Tidal Basin for a bite.”

  “I need to get home,” Stella said. “Madame Lucy will be expecting her dinner.” She rose and plucked her cardigan from the back of her chair.

  “And you, Emmy? I have a few ideas for your marketing plan. We could talk them through. Take
your mind off things.”

  I thought of the dark house and the burnt pizza in the refrigerator. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, honey,” Stella said, finally meeting my eyes. “You’ve had a rough day of it. Why not end the day with a decent dinner, at least?”

  “And good company,” Frank added.

  “Absolutely,” Stella said.

  I looked around the workshop. There was nothing I had to do here. At home, I’d end up going to bed early just to avoid thinking. It was too late to make it to Astoria in time for the last shift of visiting hours.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be very good company,” I said finally. I looked at Stella to see if she was still mad, but she’d transferred her attention to Frank.

  “Nonsense. It will boost my reputation to be seen with a lovely lady like you.”

  “Your reputation is solid in that area,” Stella said.

  Frank laughed. “Touché. And next time I hope you’ll bolster that reputation by accepting my dinner invitation.”

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  Their flirtatious banter had managed to squeeze a smile from me. I glanced at Stella again, hoping to see signs of forgiveness. “How about if I drop off Bear at home and see you at the Tidal Basin in half an hour?”

  “It’s a date.” Frank waved and headed up the outside stairs to his apartment.

  Shrugging on her cardigan, Stella fastened her eyes on me. “Well?” she said.

  “Stella, I’m sorry for my attitude. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

  She ignored me. “Details on the mushroom hunters, please.”

  I sighed and gave her a recap of my morning, skimming past the bit with Chet and Mr. SpongeBob. “I did get good information, though. I found out where Ron and Monica pick morels, and it sounds like they do it mornings.” Before Stella could reply, I added, “All I want to do is get their license-plate number. That’s it. I’ll give it to the sheriff and let him deal with it.” Maybe I’d put it in a note this time so I wouldn’t get another dressing down by Goff.

  Stella slowly shook her head. “Fine. I don’t like it, mind you, but you’re not doing this alone. I’ll be at your place tomorrow morning at seven.” She left as if the matter were settled.

  * * *

  I was a few minutes late to the Tidal Basin, because I’d passed a mirror at home and realized that there was no way I could show up at a nice restaurant looking like I’d crawled through a swamp and followed it up with a tumble on a wet beach, so I pulled back my hair and tossed on a cotton dress. I winced a bit, guessing what Jack must have thought of my bedraggled state. Well, he’d been friendly enough. Maybe even friendly enough to call. I hoped.

  As I pushed open the Tidal Basin’s oak door, I looked forward to countering the day’s drama with some relaxation. Stella had been replaced as hostess by a sullen teenager, hopefully just temporarily pressed into service until Sam Anderson found a worthy replacement. Frank had his usual table in the corner. He tore his attention from the bar’s TV when he saw me.

  “Have a seat,” he said. “I ordered us a nice pinot noir. Figured it would go well with whatever we chose for dinner.”

  A glass of wine sounded good. The day had been an emotional roller coaster—one I was ready to get off. “Thank you.”

  A waiter approached and handed me a menu, but not Frank. “The usual?” he asked Frank.

  “Since you don’t have the mushroom ragout, I’d like the crab risotto.”

  I set down the menu. My brain was fried, and even making a decision about dinner was too much to handle. “I’ll have the same, please,” I said.

  “I know I said it once, but I really am sorry about Avery. I know how hard this is on you.”

  “It’s a lot harder on her, stuck in jail.”

  “I’m sure justice will be served, whatever it is.”

  “It’s not Avery. She didn’t do it,” I said, irritated at his hint that she was guilty. “There’s no way. Apparently I’m the only one who believes it.”

  Frank pushed his dinner roll around the bread plate. In places like this, you had to order bread separate. He must be a traditional guy. “Emmy, sometimes people aren’t what you expect.”

  “But, Avery—”

  “I’m not talking just about Avery. In my line of work, I’ve dealt with a lot of different types of people, and—”

  My phone began to chirp from my purse, and the thought that it might be Jack flashed through my mind. Then I recognized the unmistakable tones of “Mamma Mia.” The news must have reached Portland.

  “My mother,” I said. “I’ll just let it ring through.”

  “Well, all I wanted to say is to be careful. It doesn’t pay to get too emotional about things.”

  I trained my gaze on his. “Life isn’t all business, Frank. I can’t help it if I care, and life wouldn’t be worth it without making attachments to people.” I might have said that last bit a little louder than I’d intended.

  As if on cue, Annabelle materialized at our table. “Care about what?” she said.

  “Annabelle.” Frank laid a hand on her arm. “Emmy just heard they’re holding Avery without bail, and Avery won’t be coming home—”

  “Not right away. But soon,” I added.

  “And I didn’t want her to be home alone. I thought the neighborly thing to do would be to buy her some dinner. Besides, I have a few marketing ideas to share.”

  I looked from Frank to Annabelle. Frank seemed to be overexplaining. Annabelle wasn’t jealous, was she?

  Her expression softened. “Of course. You’re right, and I’m so sorry, Emmy.”

  “Would you like to join us? We can have another chair brought over,” Frank said.

  “Thanks, but no. I’m here with a friend.” She nodded toward a man by the hostess’s station. My heart dropped. Jack. He was looking right at me. I smiled, but he turned away. Annabelle gestured for Jack to follow her to a table. My phone again erupted into “Mamma Mia.” This time I silenced it.

  Luckily, their table was out of sight. Our dinners arrived, followed by two snifters of pear brandy. “Compliments of Annabelle,” the waiter said.

  “So, Emmy, I’ve been thinking about Strings Attached and how you can boost business.”

  “Business hasn’t been bad.” Just because Jack and Annabelle were at the Tidal Basin together didn’t mean anything romantic was happening. They might just be friends.

  “No, but there’s Jack.”

  “Jack?” Now he had my attention.

  “Sullivan’s Kites. You have to make sure you’re offering something different. You’ll do best to complement, not compete.”

  “Strings Attached and Jack’s store do sell some similar kites.” I thought of the basic diamond kites and supplies. “But I sell my designs, too. They’re less about doing tricks in the sky and more about the fun of flying something beautiful.”

  Frank nodded. “Your advertising needs to focus on that. You might think about adding a few wind-related items that aren’t kites, too. Like those things people stake outside their beach houses. You know.”

  “Wind socks?” Not a bad idea. In fact, my lotus kite would make a gorgeous wind sock. Wind socks weren’t seasonal, either, unlike kites, whose sales dropped in bad weather. “I could definitely make wind socks. Custom designs, too.”

  I’d lost Frank’s attention. He was riveted to the television, and in a glance I understood why. The screen, on mute, showed a woman on the steps of the Astoria courthouse. The banner read, “Breaking News: Avery Cook held without bail. Attorney has no comment.” It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing. Then it all became too real. I clasped my hands to stop them from shivering. She might never be free. The TV switched to the baseball game in progress.

  “I can’t believe it,” was all I could say.

  Frank
studied me a moment. “People are going to have a lot of questions. Have you thought about how you’ll handle this?”

  “Handle this?” That people would be looking at me seemed a lot less important than finding Miles’s killer. I was sick and tired of all this “The sheriff is a good man” BS. Somebody had to do something.

  Frank pushed his risotto bowl away, leaving a thin slice of mushroom at its edge. Mushrooms. Since Avery had been charged with Miles’s murder, how likely was it that the sheriff would follow up with the mushroom hunters—or with Sam? He already had his suspect. Who cared about my shop’s business? If Avery were convicted, I’d never want to see Rock Point again.

  “I see your mind is somewhere else,” Frank said.

  “What? Yes. Avery, of course.”

  “It’s awful. I know you don’t like to think of your friend in jail.”

  There was really no response to this. I put down my fork and pushed my bowl away, too. I was done eating.

  “I hate to bring it up—maybe it seems insensitive, but I feel I should mention it—but have you thought about where you might move?”

  “You mean, away from Rock Point?”

  “I mean out of the Cook house. With legal fees, and Avery not being able to work, she probably won’t be keeping up her part of the house’s expenses. She might even need to sell.”

  “Sell?” The possibility of Avery losing her home hadn’t even crossed my mind. I knew that keeping the Brew House running was a concern, but Trudy was a competent manager. I’d have to see her tomorrow, fill her in. I took a gulp of the pear brandy and coughed at its burn.

  “Don’t worry, Emmy. If you want, you can rent my place upstairs through the winter until you figure something out.” He paused. “I mean, if it comes to that, of course. I own the small green building on Main, too, and there’s an apartment upstairs—”

  “You mean the building with Martino’s?”

  “It’s a cute place once you get used to the garlic smell.”

  “It’s not going to happen. Avery is innocent.” I felt like I’d already said that a dozen times today. “She’ll be home soon.” I remembered my outburst at Stella earlier and quieted my voice. “But thank you for thinking of me.”