by Clover Tate
“Anyone know what’s going on with the Jasmine’s murder investigation?” Dave asked. His plate was clean. Avery raised an eyebrow, he nodded, and she spooned him some more.
“Marcus is still missing,” I said.
“The sheriff is sure nothing happened to him?” Jack asked.
“He was spotted leaving town. Lenny saw him,” Avery said, getting nods around the table.
“The sheriff doesn’t seem to think we’ll find his body anywhere.” It was nice to sit next to Jack, with our shoulders nearly touching.
“I still wonder if Jasmine’s death was suicide. Especially given her gambling,” Jack said. “Maybe she couldn’t deal with it anymore.”
I told Dave and Avery about Rose’s revelation in the Tidal Basin’s parking lot.
“Jasmine was a gambler?” Sunny said, brow crinkled. “That’s interesting, from watching Bag That Babe, I would have . . .” She let her words trail off.
“Addiction isn’t predictable,” Avery said. “You’d be surprised.”
“The sheriff seems to have already ruled out suicide.”
We appeared to have hit the end of our speculation. Crickets chirped from the trees surrounding the house. Avery asked Sunny, “Have you talked to your parents yet about being here?” Dave and Jack knew Sunny’s story, so it was an okay topic of conversation.
“I will. Soon,” Sunny said.
“They’re coming out for the kite festival, aren’t they?” Avery added.
“They are, and you don’t want them to get the news by stumbling over you here,” I told Sunny.
“I’m not ready yet. I need a little while longer for my plan,” Sunny said. “I don’t want to tell them I gave up on school without laying out exactly what I’m going to do next. I’m almost ready, though.”
“It sounds like you have something in mind,” Dave said.
“I can’t talk about it yet,” Sunny said.
“You haven’t said anything about it to me,” I said. “What kind of plan?”
“I told you, I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”
I pressed my lips together and released them. “What are you going to do on Saturday, then? The beach and shop will be off-limits, and Mom and Dad might want to drop by the house, too, to say hi to Bear. You can’t walk along the cliffs all day long.”
Sunny toyed with a clump of rice on her plate. “I’ll work at Rose’s. I’m sure she’ll let me do it. She already has clients dropping off their tax stuff. I can put together the schedules for her. It will save her tons of time, and I’ll be out of the way. You can text me when Mom and Dad leave.”
“Oh, Sunny—” I started.
From the living room, the phone sounded an old-fashioned, full-throated ring. Electricity was spotty up here during storms, and Avery’s family had seen fit to keep a hardwired phone on the kitchen wall for emergencies.
“Let it ring,” Avery said. “No one uses that line. It’s probably a salesperson.” The phone stopped ringing. “See?”
Sunny’s plan left me uneasy, but I didn’t see an alternative, except to rat Sunny out. “Okay. We’ll do this your way. But—”
The phone began to ring again.
“I’ll get it,” Sunny said, clearly eager to get away from the table. “A telemarketer wouldn’t call twice like this.” She scrambled to the kitchen and returned after a moment. “It’s for you, Emmy. Stella.”
My napkin fell from my lap to the floor as I stood in surprise. Stella? She was at the concert. I picked up the phone’s heavy handset off the kitchen counter. “Hello?”
“Sorry to interrupt you,” Stella said. “I left a couple of messages on your cell phone.”
“My phone’s in my bag. I must not have heard it.”
“I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”
“Aren’t you at the concert?” Stella was normally calm and logical. I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard her so agitated.
“It’s just about to start, but I’m coming home.”
“Why? Stella, what is it?” I was clamping the handset hard enough to leave ridges in my palm. I switched it to the other hand. “You’ve been looking forward to this show for weeks.”
“The sheriff is all wrong about Marcus. Remember what we were speculating about Caitlin and Jasmine?” She let out a frustrated breath. In the background I heard the jangling of slot machines. “Is it just you and Sunny there?”
“No. Dave and Jack are here for dinner.”
“Good. Stay put. Don’t leave for any reason. I have to talk to you.”
“Why? What’s this about Caitlin? If it’s something urgent, maybe you should tell me now.”
“I would, but . . . it’s too complicated. Hold tight. I’ll be there in an hour and a half.” She hung up.
chapter twenty-three
Two hours had passed, and Stella still hadn’t arrived.
“How far is it again from Spirit Mountain?” I asked.
“An hour and a half tops,” Dave said.
“Faster, the way Stella drives,” Jack said.
“Like they’ve told you a hundred times,” Sunny said.
The sun had completely set now, and a haze of clouds obscured the moon. If not for the feel of the trees surrounding the house and swishing of the wind and roaring of the tide, the rest of the world might not have existed.
I stood and looked over the porch’s rail. “I can’t help it. She didn’t even stay for the concert. You have no idea how much she’d been looking forward to it.”
“Maybe there’s a lot of traffic right now,” Avery said. She rose, too, and began clearing the table. Dave helped her.
“Shouldn’t be much traffic now,” I said. “Not at night.”
“Or roadwork,” Jack offered. “Let me check the traffic advisory.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped through screens. After a minute, he returned the phone to his pocket. “I don’t see anything.” I was grateful for the apology in his eyes.
“I’m going to try her again,” I said. “She won’t talk on the phone while she’s driving, but maybe—if she stopped for something to eat, or something—she’ll pick up.”
“She didn’t tell you anything? No hint?” Jack asked. Bear was leaning against his leg. That dog always did have a thing for Jack.
“No. She sounded glad we were all together, and she was adamant that we stay put. ‘Stay put.’ That’s exactly what she said. And she mentioned Caitlin.”
Headlights shone from Perkins Road, and we all turned toward them. They passed Avery’s long driveway and continued on. It was only when I let out my breath that I realized I’d been holding it.
“She should be here by now,” I insisted.
Jack and I looked at each other. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking,” he said.
“Night driving isn’t safe,” I said. “There are some dark stretches between here and the casino.”
“I’ll drive,” he said.
Relief tapped the tension holding my body so tightly. Yes. Anything was better than waiting and worrying.
“Should I come, too?” Dave offered.
“No, you guys stay here and call me if Stella shows up. Give her some of Sunny’s curry and tell her to wait.”
Within five minutes, Jack and I were pulling out of the driveway onto Perkins Road. Soon we were on the coastal highway. From there, we’d drive south, then head inland to the Warm Springs Reservation. Barring roadwork or avalanches, there was one route Stella would have taken to Spirit Mountain, and we were on it now.
Neither of us said anything, but the silence felt right. By unspoken agreement, we’d kept the radio off, too. Once we pulled off the main highway, traffic was thin. Jack was an easy driver, even in his old stick-shift vehicle, and while he didn’t waste time, he didn’t take any crazy risks, either.
I
kept my sights on oncoming traffic, looking for Stella’s sleek Corvette. The car had a distinctive shape, but it was black, and a few times I put my hand on Jack’s arm, thinking I saw it in the distance. Both times it was another sports car. No Stella.
“Could she have changed her mind and decided to stay for the concert?” Jack asked.
“She would have told us.” I was sure. “I just hope . . .” I didn’t finish my thought. We both knew what I hoped—or desperately didn’t hope—had happened.
Avery’s parents had died in a head-on collision a few years ago. Marcus’s wife had died in a hit-and-run accident. Even on an August night, visibility was awful through the coastal range.
“We’re about half an hour from the casino,” he said.
The road was an old highway, but narrow, with only one lane in each direction. The forest pressed in on both sides. Soon we’d be dipping into the valley, with its open fields and farms.
“What’s that?” I bolted forward as much as the seat belt would let me.
Jack shifted down and slowed. “Looks like an accident.”
No. My hands furled into fists. Couldn’t be. It was something else, somebody else. Had to be.
Two police cars were parked along the shoulder with an ambulance, flanked by flares, blocking the lane. Jack pulled behind one of the police cars.
I could barely hear for the blood rushing through my head. A tall, thin policeman approached the car, and Jack rolled down the window.
“You’ll have to go around,” he said.
The ambulance’s rear doors opened, and two men pulled out a gurney. “What happened?” I asked.
“A car went over into the ravine, hit a tree. Looks nasty.” He stood, getting ready to wave us by.
“Wait,” I said. Please, no. “Is it a Corvette?”
The officer didn’t need to say yes. His surprise told me what I needed to know. I was out of the car before he could respond.
“Ma’am, come back!” the officer yelled.
The night was a blur of white headlights, flashing red emergency lights, and orange flares. I ran past the police cars and down the ravine. Stella’s car had hit an ancient Douglas fir. The car’s passenger side was smashed to the tree’s trunk. The driver’s side was still intact, but a car this old didn’t have airbags. The impact of the car on two hundred years of tree would have been deadly.
My gaze shot to the stretcher, obscured by two men in uniforms. I moved toward them, but the police officer had caught up with me and grabbed my upper arm before I’d made it all the way down the hill.
“Stay back,” he said.
“I know her,” I said. I was panting the words. “Stella!”
One of the emergency techs glanced toward me, then returned his attention to the stretcher. I still couldn’t see her face. Only the form of her body.
“You know her?”
“Stella Hart,” I said. “Is she okay?”
The policeman opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind. “Stay here. I’m serious. Don’t move.” His tone pinned me in place. Boots crunched on gravel before hitting the soft forest floor as he made his way to the stretcher, hitching sideways down the embankment. The exhaust from the ambulance mixed with the cool, piney scent of the forest. I felt Jack’s hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t heard him come over.
The policeman returned. Behind him, the men hoisted the stretcher up the embankment. “She’s alive, but not conscious. They’re taking her to Salem Hospital.”
“Then it’s serious.”
The officer’s expression was grim. “I’m afraid so.”
Leaning on Jack’s Jeep, I watched the ambulance pull away, its lights thrusting red and orange pulses into the black night. A cold shiver racked my body.
• • •
For a moment, we sat in the darkened car on the highway’s shoulder.
“Do you think it could have—?” Jack said, while I said, “I don’t think this was—” at the same time.
“Stella likes to drive fast,” I said, “But she’s a good driver. She doesn’t take stupid risks.”
Ahead of us, the two police cars pulled away. They’d left the flares to burn out at the side of road. Down the ravine, the wreckage of Stella’s Corvette disappeared into the night. At some point, probably tomorrow, a tow truck would haul off the car’s remains.
“Maybe Stella saw something—or someone—at the show,” I said. “Whatever it was she figured out was hot enough that she didn’t want us to leave home.”
“And that person messed with the car.”
“Or ran her off the road. Or drugged her so she lost control.”
We sat for another moment. A logging truck passed us, its bulk rattling Jack’s Jeep. Whoever had threatened Stella was still out here somewhere.
He turned the key in the ignition. “It’s not safe here. We’d better get on the road.”
“What about Stella? If someone wanted to kill her, will she be all right at the hospital? Maybe we should follow the ambulance.”
“For now she’ll be safe,” Jack said. We were back on the road again, pointed toward Rock Point. “If we’re right, the killer is going to think he succeeded. Stella’s car was destroyed. We won’t be any help to her tonight.”
“As soon as word gets out that she survived”—I prayed this would continue to be true—“she’ll be a target again.”
“If she remembers anything.” Jack’s voice was somber.
My mouth was dry. I swallowed. “Do you think they followed her? To check?” I whispered.
“Maybe.”
“I’m calling the sheriff.” I pulled my phone from my purse, along with Sheriff Koppen’s business card. In my mind I pictured the phone ringing in the tiny office. No one would be there. It was past 10:00 p.m. I realized that I didn’t even know where the sheriff lived. I imagined him in the yellow light of a kitchen somewhere, with his kids in bed and his wife calling for him to do the same.
After a voice mail message told me I should dial 9-1-1 if it was an emergency, it kicked me to the central office in Astoria. I explained to the man who answered the phone that there was an accident, and that it may have been intentional, and that it might be related to Jasmine Normand’s murder. A flight of “maybes.” He took the message and said he’d relay it to the sheriff and pass a message to the Warm Springs tribal force, as well.
I hung up. I’d done all I could do. For the moment.
chapter twenty-four
Everything had changed. After fruitless calls to Salem Hospital—Stella was still unconscious—and as much coffee as my stomach could bear, I went to see Jeanette at the post office. I needed information, and I needed it now. No more dillydallying. Whoever had hurt Stella had to be found and made to pay. Now.
It was early, but Jeanette was in, sorting the mail. I went around the back and crossed paths with the mailman. Most of his deliveries were by minivan so he didn’t have to leave the car to stuff the roadside mailboxes. When his morning route was over, he’d walk through town, dropping mail at counters and on porches. He’d already started complaining about the size of his route. Soon, Rock Point would need to double its team.
“Jeanette in?” I asked him.
“Yep.” He held the door open for me.
The post office’s back room was as small as its front room. Jeanette was lifting packets of mail from a rolling bin. When she saw me, she dropped the mail back into the bin.
“You can’t be in here. Federal regulations,” she said.
“I need to know where Nicky Byrd is staying.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ll have to leave.”
I shut the back door behind me. “I’m not leaving until you tell me where he’s staying. Is it in town, or in Cannon Beach?”
As far as I knew, no one had ever succeeded in gettin
g information from Jeanette through bullying, but lack of sleep and a surfeit of anger drove me to try.
She stuck out her lower jaw like a bulldog. “Leave, or I’m calling the sheriff.”
“Great. I have something to tell him, too.” I leaned against the wall and pretended to examine my fingernails. Jeanette was too small to take me down physically. And she was too nosy to let me go without finding out what I had to say.
“And what would that be?” she asked.
“That you’ve been blabbing to tabloid reporters about the reenactment of Jasmine Normand’s death. I’m sure he’d like that a lot.”
We locked gazes. It was a stare-down. I wasn’t leaving until I got the information I came for, and Jeanette wasn’t giving up her power so easily. I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
She buckled first. “Cozy Cabins, just south of town.”
“Cabin number?” I said.
“What do you think I am, psychic?” She reached into the bin for mail. “Now, get out of here.”
Lenny saluted from his perch outside the filling station as my Prius left Rock Point’s main drag and merged onto the highway. Ace had the tow truck’s front hood propped open in the gas station’s parking lot.
The Cozy Cabins, a turquoise-painted 1960s motel, was less than a mile south of town. I pulled into a parking spot near the office. I’d have thought that the National Bloodhound would set up its reporters in tonier dwellings than this, but then again, Rock Point didn’t have any five-star hotels.
It was barely eight in the morning and, Byrd or not, he likely was not of the early variety. I should be able to catch him in. Fortunately, there were only about a dozen units—none of them cabins—in the Cozy Cabins complex. Unfortunately, I didn’t know which one was Nicky’s.
I stood for a moment in front of the office. Cars whizzed behind me on the highway only ten yards away. Beyond the motel stretched the ocean, calm today, as languid and inviting as a belly-up kitten.