Ocean Waves

by Terri Thayer

  Kym’s mouth was set in a straight line, as though she was afraid to talk. She and I had never had a close relationship, but I’d had faiint hopes that once she’d stopped working at Quilter Paradiso, she would become friendly. Instead, she’d gotten more distant.

  Kym and I were farther apart than ever now. We had barely spoken in the last couple of months. I had no idea where she and Kevin were in their lives. Indeed, they could have converted to Islam. Or moved to Pacific Grove.

  My firing her had made the men in my family react in weird ways. My dad stopped his Sunday Suppers, sick of me not wanting to attend if Kym was coming, and vice versa. Kevin and Buster went to the park to shoot hoops without me. Just when Kevin and I had been getting closer, firing Kym had driven a nail between us.

  Tony had never fallen for the family drama. I could trust him to hear my side. Kym had no hold on him.

  We entered the Pirates’ Den. From this side, I couldn’t see the police activity below.

  “So, can I have my cell?” I said, reasonably.

  “No phones is Sewing-by-the-Sea policy.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “You’re not serious. Mercedes is no longer here. You can give us ours back now.”

  “The ban on phones was not just Mercedes’ decision. The students objected to the number of times classes were interrupted. At their suggestion, it is how we do things at Sewing-by-the-Sea. I am upholding that policy.”

  “Besides,” she said. “The phones were secured in Mercedes’ room. Mercedes put everything of value in her room so it could be locked up tight.”

  Behind crime scene tape, in other words. I’d figured they were being held in the Pirates’ Den. I should have realized it stood to reason the keys and the cell phones had been locked in her room.

  I sighed.

  “I’m going to the lecture now,” Kym said. “I’ve got to introduce Judy.”

  She gathered up her things and we headed out the door. Her next question startled me.

  “What are you going to do about Tony?” she asked.

  I took a step back, and cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Dewey, don’t be like that. There is no reason to pretend you don’t know he’s moved back here to be near someone special.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  My own questions about Tony came back to me. Why had he missed our coffee date? Who was he supposed to meet for lunch today?

  I felt the uncertainty gnaw at my stomach. Damn. Oh, how I hated being in the position of Kym knowing more than me. It really grinded me. I stopped and took a breath.

  “Did you ever wonder why he’s in Monterey?” she said.

  “Oh, that.” This was a no-brainer. “He told me he works patrol over there. That’s part of his area.”

  “I don’t think historical Monterey is all he’s patrolling. I’m just saying,” she said, shrugging daintily. She looked oddly unbalanced without her customary hair toss. The scarf was making it harder for her to communicate.

  “Tony would have told me if he had a girlfriend,” I insisted.

  “Okay, whatever. I get it. He’s your brother. Just don’t forget, he’s Kevin’s brother, too.”

  Tony confides in Kevin. And Kevin confides in Kym. That doesn’t include me

  I tried nonchalance. “If she exists, I’m sure he’ll introduce me as soon as he’s ready.”

  I presumed Tony had had women over the years, but he’d ever brought anyone home to meet the family. No one special enough. If this girl was important enough that he’d mentioned her to Kevin, the relationship could be really special. I fought down the urge to be jealous of Kym with the urge to be happy for my brother.

  Kym started toward Merrill Hall. I turned on my heel and went in the opposite direction. I walked down the steps that led to Mercedes’ room. The door was open. A Pacific Grove policeman was standing guard. He was beefy and looked very little older than the average mall cop.

  “How’s it going?” I asked, trying to peer past him into her room. It was far messier than when I’d been inside. Two armchairs were overturned, and I could see Mercedes’ careful piles of paper strewn on the floor. There had definitely been a fight in that room. Mercedes had not gone to her demise easily.

  The cop’s cell rang and he took a step away. I heard him talking about the logistics of childcare for his two-year-old now that he wasn’t getting home on time so I moved closer to the open door. The room was bright. The overhead lights that made it impossible to read in bed lit the room with no shadows.

  Something had broken—there were shards of glass on the floor. The curtain on the one window was torn down as though someone had grabbed onto them.

  Had someone been looking for something in Mercedes’ papers? Addresses or phone numbers? Maybe it had nothing to do with the sewing box. Credit card information might be valuable enough to kill.

  Except the sewing box was gone.

  The young policeman was pleading with his wife. He’d evidently reneged on too many promises to cook dinner and watch the baby. He gestured for me to move on.

  I went back up to the living room. I’d laid my blueprint fabric down and needed to retrieve it.

  A woman was standing by the window that overlooked where the policeman was pacing. Her back was to me. She’d opened the window and was leaning on the table in front of it, trying to see out.

  I couldn’t see her face and she didn’t heard me approach. She shifted, trying to get a better angle to see what was going on. Her face appeared in the mirror on the wall to her left, just over the desk.

  Her profile was familiar.

  Fading sunlight came in through the window, offering me the red highlights in her hair. I knew then where I’d seen her. Her hair was short now, but it was the same color. This was the woman I saw go off the cliff three days ago.

  I gasped. She turned, and her own breath stuttered.

  Her face darkened. She looked like a trapped animal. She tried to leave, but I blocked the door.

  “It was you,” I managed to squeak out. My lungs felt empty and no air was coming in. Beneath the noise of the investigation downstairs, I could hear the ocean.

  “You died,” I said. “You jumped into the water.”

  “I fooled you, did I?” she said, her smile growing broader and yet sadder. Her eyes drifted to the door behind me. She was trapped. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ursula Wiggins.”

  “I know who you are,” I said, angrily. “You’re the woman who died right before me. How dare you?”

  “How dare I what? Die? I’ve wanted to die for so long. Dying would have been welcome. But the human spirit isn’t easily snuffed out. My husband tried. Lord, how he tried.”

  I felt anger at her. I knew she was the victim, but she acted so damn weak. “You could have gotten help.”

  Her eyes flashed. “We’re no longer in fashion, battered women. Not a cause célèbre. No more TV movies, or Oprah appearances. No one wants to know about us.”

  I made a disgusted sound.

  “You have no idea,” she shouted.

  I stood up to her. “I’ve met murderers face-to-face. I’ve been in danger. I know what it is like.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a naïve little girl. Your ignorance is dangerous because you think you’ve seen evil, you think you know what evil is. You’ve never met anyone who exists only to hurt you.”

  I was silent. The force of her words was like a hammer, striking my core. I opened my mouth again, but she held up a restraining hand.

  “Consider this. The one person on earth who’s meant to love you. The real you, the grownup you. That person turns on you, using love as an excuse to kill you slowly. What you saw, that woman who went off the cliff, she’s been dead for a long time. Star
ting on her honeymoon, thirty years ago.”

  “You had no right to involve me,” I said, my ire dissipating— but I still needed to be heard. “I thought I could have stopped you and then you were dead.”

  She backed up toward the fireplace. It had been swept clean and a new fire laid.

  “I had no choice. What you saw was a mercy killing, the only way I could exist. I have a right to a life, too. And I had to take extreme measures to get there. Birth is painful. Rebirth, even more painful. You weren’t a witness to a death, you were a witness to a birth, bloody and full of hurt.”

  I felt the steam going out of my argument. As much as I’d been hurt by thinking I’d seen a suicide, I hadn’t suffered for decades at the hands of a psychopath. One that lived in my house, ate the meals I cooked, and left the toilet seat up.

  “How did you do it?” I said.

  Her eyes strayed to the door behind me. I went over and turned the lock so no one else could come in, and pulled the curtains shut.

  “You owe me a true explanation,” I said. “I told the rangers that you’d died. I started a huge rescue mission. I’m going to look like an idiot now. Sit down and tell me how you pulled this off.”

  She didn’t sit. She paced in front of the fireplace, unconsciously acting out her words. “I dropped my cape. I hated to give up that cape. I walked into the water. It was so cold, my ankles went numb. I hid behind a rock until you went for help. Then I ran to my car, using the rocks as a shield. You almost caught me several times.”

  I remembered the van I’d seen drive by. “The VW?” I said.

  She nodded. “Rent-a-Wreck.”

  Another thought occurred to me. “Are you the Ghost? Don’t you have a boyfriend here?”

  She laughed. “A boyfriend? Hell, no. There’s no way I want anything to do with men.”

  I could understand that. “But you are the Ghost?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t plan to go missing every year. I wanted to go to Sewing-by-the-Sea like everyone else. To learn more about quilting. But the first year I came, Paul had beaten me the night before I got on the plane. Nothing that showed, mind you, but my ribs were broken, my teeth were nearly out of my head. I went to the morning session, miserable and in terrible pain. After that, I crawled back to bed and stayed there. I could barely move.”

  She drew back into the chair. “Paul knew it looked good to our friends if he allowed me to come to this week-long seminar. What a great husband, the girls at the quilt shop would say, he even pays for her to have a private room.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “So every year, he’d send me off. But first, he would give me his private send-off. I could barely sit on the plane, and most of the time I couldn’t sit all day in a class, so I just stayed in my room.”

  “The second or third year, Mercedes tracked me down. She came to my room, trying to force me to go to class. But I explained the situation to her, and she was sympathetic. Turned out her mother was abused by her stepfather.”

  “So you worked out a deal with her. Paul would pay for the registration and Mercedes would kick something back to you.”

  “Enough for me to live on my own for a week.”

  Ursula’s voice broke. She held herself so still, like an animal who didn’t want to be seen. “She told me she would help me if I ever decided to leave. She’d get me a fake ID and money. This year was the year. I’m getting free.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. She had a right to her freedom.

  Finally she looked at me and said, her voice low and tight. “You can’t tell anyone where I am. You can’t lead my husband to me.”

  “I won’t tell him,” I said. “But the police? They’re looking for you.”

  She shook her head. Her short hair suited her, giving her face a lift. Or maybe it was the start of her new life.

  “They’re not. They’re waiting for my body to wash up on shore.”

  I couldn’t deny that.

  “Once Mercedes gives me what I’m owed, you’ll never see me again, I promise.”

  Mercedes? She didn’t know. “Mercedes is gone, Ursula.”

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “Mercedes was shot. Right below us. In her room.”

  “Shot? But I just saw her.” Ursula’s face drained of color. The large age spot on her cheek seemed to throb.

  “What do you mean, you just saw her?” I asked.

  Ursula’s hand went to her mouth. “How am I going to get out of here now?”

  I stood. “I’ll help you. My brother is a ranger here. We can get you out.”

  “No!” she yelled.

  I wasn’t expecting her to come at me with the poker, but she did. Hard enough to knock me out.

  My head throbbed. I came to on the floor. Alone. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was dark out.

  I got my legs under me and tried to stand. I could only get as far as my knees. My head was spinning like I’d drunk a six-pack of Coors. Underneath was a pounding, relentless as the surf.

  I put my hand up to my forehead, fully expecting to see blood when I took it away, but my fingers were clean. Nothing felt sticky. She hadn’t broken the skin, just conked me hard and put me down long enough for her to get away.

  I would have a knot on my head, but it didn’t seem serious. I’d had a concussion in high school, the result of an ill-timed kick to the head in a soccer match. This didn’t feel like that.

  Holding my head with both hands, I stood a little taller. I leaned into the armchair, letting its bulk hold me up. I took a couple of quick, energizing breaths. My head still hurt, but the feeling of being underwater was fading.

  I couldn’t let myself give in to the pain. I picked up my head, waiting for the dizziness to pass. I had to find Ursula.

  I unlocked the door and went outside, trying to orient myself. I walked down the hill to the parking lot. The Sand and Sea classroom was dark, so it had to be after midnight. There was no way I was going to find her.

  Ursula was long gone.

  I stood in the parking lot. The cops were gone. No one was around. I heard an owl. I didn’t feel wise. At all.

  I knew I shouldn’t let myself sleep, but I was so tired, it was all I could do to stumble to my room.

  ___

  I was alive the next morning. I knew, because my head was pounding. I painfully pulled my hair back and leaned into the mirror. I could see a reddened spot just north of my forehead that felt slightly raised. My hair would cover it. I brushed my hair over it, careful not to touch the bristles to the sore. I downed four aspirin and vowed not to move too quickly.

  It was early, but I needed to talk to Buster, so I got dressed and walked over to the Administration building. I zipped my Neoprene jacket. The morning air was cool.

  I used the pay phone to call Buster. I could tell I’d awakened him. He sounded sleepy. And sexy, his voice gravelly from not being used yet.

  “Hey,” he said, when he heard my voice.

  “You in bed?” I asked. I could be there in a little more than hour. All I had to do was pack up my stuff and drive home. Get under the sheets with Buster and stay there. It would be warm and I’d have Buster’s bulk to comfort me.

  “What are you doing up so early?” he said.

  The reason I’d called him came back to me in a rush. “There’s been a murder, Buster.”

  He didn’t ask me if I was kidding. He knew I wouldn’t tease him about something like that.

  “Are you okay?”

  His first thought was about me. This guy was the best. I cupped the phone, trying to transmit some of the love I felt for him through the wires.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  I heard him shifting, sitting up. A pe
n clicked. He’d be taking notes even though it wasn’t his case.

  “I found Mercedes Madsen dead in her room. Well, Tony did. But I was right outside.”

  “Mercedes, the warden?” he asked.

  “Yes, the conference coordinator. The one who ripped the phone out of my hand the other night.”

  “She probably made a lot of enemies acting like that.”

  “Believe it or not, everyone loved her.”

  He grunted. “How did she die?”

  “She’d been shot.”

  “Didn’t anyone hear anything?”

  “Everyone was at lunch,” I said.

  “Not everyone,” Buster said grimly. “The police are there?”

  “Yes. Do you know any of the Pacific Grove police?” I asked. I might need to ask some questions.

  “Not really. I might know one or two in the Monterey Sheriff’s department. We had a training day at Asilomar last year and I met a couple of homicide guys there.”

  “I’d like to know their theory of the crime,” I said.

  “What do you think happened?” he asked.

  I could talk to Buster. He would let me give my opinions, he trusted me to tell him the truth. At least as far as I saw it.

  But standing outside of the Administration building, even as early as it was, I didn’t want to say much. Anyone could overhear. Paul Wiggins might be lurking.

  “Any chance you can come down?” I said. I heard the bed creak as he stood up. He was probably wearing his favorite boxers, white and blue pin-striped. Or maybe his SF Giants Jockey shorts. I could practically smell the musky heat coming off his neck.

  I whined, “It’s Wednesday. You promised.”

  He sighed. “I’m still on the stand. The defense has been dragging their heels, asking me dopey questions. Trying to question my methodology. The prosecutor objects a lot and the lawyers and the judge head into chambers and before you know it, another morning has gone by.”

  “I miss you,” I said.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. They promised me I’d be done soon. I’ll get in my car as soon as I’m wrapped up.”