The Sunset Witness

by Hayes, Gayle

  Frank and I walked to his home. Michael and Dennis split the tab and paid the cashier. Michael planned to warn Dennis about the contract on his life. Michael told me later that Dennis was surprised Michael had been sent to kill him. Dennis realized he'd not be able to spot another assassin if the mob was willing to use someone who looked as innocent as Michael. Dennis understood the circumstances that put Michael at the mercy of the mob and thanked him for putting himself at risk rather than fulfilling the contract.

  When Michael arrived at Frank's house, we were sitting on the sofa in the living room looking at a photo album. Frank had started the album in high school. There were various photos of family members in uniform. Frank's older brother was killed in the D-Day invasion. There were photos of Roxy and Frank at picnics and dances. Then Frank showed us photos of Bob and Donna as school children. When he showed us Donna's high school graduation photo, Michael was stunned. He recognized his mother. At first, Frank thought there must be only a resemblance between the two. Then Michael showed us the photo of his mother in his wallet. The photos looked strikingly similar. His mother's name was Donna.

  Frank and Michael began comparing their histories. Michael was born shortly after his mother left Seattle. She'd told him his grandfather died in an auto accident. She refused to talk about Michael's father, but she told him his name was Ricky Russo. Michael had never wanted to find him, because his mother said Ricky abandoned her even though he knew she was pregnant with his child. The resemblance between Frank at twenty-five and Michael then was remarkable.

  Michael told Frank about quitting his job at the law firm rather than defending someone he knew to be guilty. He said he'd like to stay in Sunset and get to know Frank better, but he had an offer for a job in California, and he needed it badly. Frank was sorry he couldn't help Michael, but he told him he was very proud of him. He told Michael that Dennis had been sent to kill him because he'd testified against Carmine Russo. He said he spent his life regretting that decision because it deprived him of his family. Seeing Michael reminded him of the man he once was. He was at peace with his choices and felt that God had blessed him by sending Michael in his last days.

  After hearing Frank's story, Michael vowed to put an end to the animosity between Russo and Frank by contacting his father. Once Michael intervened on behalf of Frank, he was certain Dennis would also be out of danger. His hit would no longer serve a purpose if the Russo family forgave Frank. It seemed everything depended upon Michael. Frank was overwhelmed by the events and needed to rest. Michael and I made sure he was comfortable and left.

  Once we were back at my house, Michael did a search online and called the number he found for Ricky Russo. He explained he was Russo's son and that he was calling to beg Ricky to forgive his grandfather and cancel the hit on him. Ricky wanted to see Michael, but he needed some proof that he was Donna's son. In the meantime, he promised to call the De Luca family and tell them their debt to him had been settled. He told Michael he did not abandon him. He said he and Donna had a terrible fight when Frank testified against Ricky's dad. They were too proud to make up. Donna left Seattle to start a new life and didn't tell Ricky about Michael. Ricky asked Michael to come for a visit so they could get to know each other.

  Michael and I were ecstatic. He was sure he could convince his father to smooth things over with the men to whom he owed gambling debts. He agreed to talk to a financial counselor to find a way to consolidate his credit card debt. I offered to help him with my savings. Although I'd promised myself never to sell my mother's wedding ring, I knew it was an option if all else failed. If his financial worries were eliminated and the contract on Dennis was no longer necessary, Michael was sure he'd be safe. Michael also told me about the job in California. A friend's father was in broadcasting and thought he could get Michael on at the station to fill a new position as legal correspondent. He asked how I felt about moving there.

  It seemed what had begun as an ordinary day had turned out to be a day we could not have imagined. I wanted to tell Michael that I might be pregnant, but I needed more time to get used to the idea myself and thought it best to wait a full week before I tried the test.

  We walked as far as Frank's house together to make sure he was all right. Then Michael kissed me goodbye and left to pack a few things before he started the drive to Seattle. He would have lunch with his father the next day, talk about ways to extricate himself from the financial mess he was in, and ask for his father's protection. There was still the problem of the man he refused to represent in the robbery case. He'd been set up by the mob. The man's family knew Michael had seen the robbery and withdrew as counsel. In either case, he was a witness, and it was a no-win situation. Without his father's help, he would wind up in the meat grinder.

  After all the excitement, I was not in the right frame of mind to spend time with my plot outline. Instead, I ironed the fabric I'd bought the day before and began stapling it to the artist canvas. It took most of the afternoon to be sure it was stretched evenly and the design was properly aligned on the finished side. Then I began coating it with the decoupage glue so the fabric would not stain or attract dust.

  While I waited to apply another coat of the decoupage, I composed an email to Detective Gannon and attached a copy of the photo I'd taken of the mural before and after it'd been touched up. With all that happened since I met Michael, the incident with the mural seemed light years in the past. Perhaps Detective Gannon would have some new information by the time I called her Monday morning.

  Michael called me before he left Portland and headed up I-5 to Seattle. He had a good trip so far, but he missed me. He promised to call me in the morning, and we said goodnight.

  I applied one more coat of decoupage and called it a day.

  Monday, June 13, 2011

  While I waited for Michael to call Monday morning, I decided time would pass more quickly if I did laundry. There were several loads because Sarah left sheets and towels behind to wash. I lugged the laundry to my car and drove to Main Street.

  The laundry was part of the cabin rentals. The owner said if I could show proof I was renting one of his cabins, he'd refund ten percent of the total I spent on the machines. I explained I was renting a beach house from Dinah Devore. The man gave me a knowing smile. He said he'd like to be able to compensate me for the aggravation, but rules were rules. Then he laughed.

  The laundry was clean, and the machines were fairly new. I've always had an aversion to putting my clothes in the machines in public laundries. Some of them are more disgusting than gas station restrooms. It was painful to part with $3.50 per load to wash and $1.25 to dry. I dried the first load at a low temperature. I was afraid I'd shrink my clothes. I discovered low was too low. Then the woman next to me said high is safe because the machines never get more than warm. She also advised me to use the hot water setting because the owner set the water temperature at lukewarm. I could see my tip money evaporating fairly quickly if I did much laundry. I sympathized with people who are trying to save for their own washer and dryer when they have to spend almost $5 to wash and dry a load. No wonder so many travelers look as if they've worn their clothes for a month. They probably have.

  I was folding Sarah's sheets when the scruffy-looking man I'd first seen in the parking lot entered the laundry with a pillow case full of dirty clothes. He nodded, and I said good morning. I noticed he stuffed all the clothes in the pillow case into one machine. He mixed dark clothes with light, and he seemed unconcerned that his towels might shed on his fabrics. His dryer was next to mine. He dried the entire load at the high setting. I'd separated my delicate items from the rest of my load so I could take them home to drip dry.

  "I see you're painting the windows at Twyla's Tea Room. I work there as a waitress," I said.

  "It's in the sun now. I'll be back at it later."

  "I like your accent. Is that British?" I asked.

  "Australia. Haven't lived there in a while."

  "What did you do there?" I
asked.

  "I studied art after I was discharged. Had a good job, but I wanted to see the states."

  I hoped he was not discharged from an asylum. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Did you see any action when you were in the service?"

  "Afghanistan," he said, as if the word explained everything.

  "Have you worked in the US?" I asked.

  "Nobody's hiring. Not much building going on."

  "Can you make a living with your art?" I asked.

  He gave me an ironic smile. "The painting keeps me alive, so I suppose I make a living at it."

  I took my sack of quarters from my purse and felt as conspicuous as if I'd been caught committing a crime. I knew he noticed I did have cash on me contrary to what I'd told him the day he asked for help to buy gas. Then I realized he'd understand I needed the quarters to do laundry. I wasn't wealthy myself or I'd have my own machines. Still, I felt a twinge of guilt, because I knew I must be better off than he was.

  My phone rang, so I excused myself and was happy to see Michael on the caller ID. I'd expected him to be happy to have found his father. Instead, he was upset. He was at Ricky Russo's estate waiting for him to finish a business meeting. Michael was sitting at the pool and had phoned his mother to tell her the good news. She was furious with him and told him to get out of Ricky's home as soon as possible. He asked me what I thought he should do. I had no idea what was going on and didn't know what to tell him. His mother had not given him a reason for being so upset. I was afraid whatever I said would be wrong. He was alone at the moment. I suggested he try to leave. Once he knew what had upset his mother, he could make an excuse to his father. He liked my idea. We ended the call when his mother called again.

  The phone rang again. I was expecting Michael. Instead, it was a clerk at the floral shop in Hoquarten. She apologized for their error. She was on vacation for a week and then realized they had sent the wrong roses. She said Michael would receive his roses that afternoon along with a coupon good for a free bouquet. I asked who sent the flowers. The party told her Michael would know who sent them. She could not give out the name on the account. On top of Michael's distressing call, my conversation with the florist left me with a sense of dread.

  I went about removing clothes from the dryer and starting new loads mechanically. I was grateful to have something to occupy my attention. I was gathering up my supplies when the scruffy-looking man held out his hand and introduced himself.

  "Name's Harry Martin. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

  "Rachel. Nice to meet you. I'm looking forward to seeing the painting progress."

  By the time I'd unloaded the laundry and supplies at the beach house, it was early afternoon. I was hungry in spite of being concerned about Michael. I made a quick sandwich so I'd be finished with lunch when he called. I ate over the sink and then opened a bottle of water. I was nearly finished hanging my clothes on the shower rod to dry when Michael called again.

  Donna called Michael to tell him Ricky Russo was not his father. She'd lied to him because she hated Ricky and wanted her son to hate him, too. Michael told Donna everything Ricky said on the phone. She agreed they did have a terrible fight when Frank testified against Ricky's father, and they didn't make up. Donna didn't tell Ricky about Michael because Ricky was not the father. Donna told Michael she was afraid Ricky had a sinister motive for asking him to go to Seattle to get acquainted. Ricky knew he couldn't have children of his own. She said it had to do with settling a score when he was younger. She didn't want to go into detail.

  Then Michael told Donna that he found Frank in Sunset and that Ricky promised to cancel the hit on Frank. Donna assured Michael that Ricky would never forgive Frank even if Michael had been his. She said Frank was still in danger and urged Michael to get him somewhere safe. She promised to call Frank and apologize. She'd been very angry with him but did not want him to die without hearing from her.

  Michael said he'd stay on I-5 until he got to Longview and then he'd take Highway 30 to Astoria before getting back on Highway 101. He hoped if Ricky was in pursuit, he'd stay on I-5. Traffic was picking up, so Michael ended the call. I sat in my chair looking out at the ocean and wondering when my dream had turned into a nightmare.

  When my phone rang, I jumped, thinking it was Michael with more bad news. It was Detective Gannon. She called to thank me for sending the email with the photos. She was definitely interested in knowing the mural had been altered. I told her I quit hiding the key under the loose brick once I discovered the knife in the mural. The person who stabbed the girl in the mural had to have done it while I was working at Twyla's that night. Whoever removed the knife must have touched up the mural while I was waiting for Deputy Nelson at Frank's house. The photos were proof I'd seen a knife. There were no other incidents once I started making myself more visible.

  Detective Gannon was convinced whoever stabbed the girl in the mural also murdered Ryan Nichols. She thanked me for the tip. They'd start looking at acquaintances of Ryan. One of them might know something about art. In the meantime, she asked me to make a list of anyone whom I suspected of having a grudge against me. I wanted to tell her about Michael and the danger he was in, but I decided to wait until Michael was back and we could talk to her together.

  In the meantime, I'd put off using the home pregnancy test kit long enough. I went into the bathroom and read the instructions. I hadn't read very far when I realized I should have done the test first thing in the morning. I was strangely relieved to put it off for a few more hours. I put the instructions back into the package.

  I was on the way to the kitchen when my phone rang again. There was no information in my caller ID. I answered the call and was surprised to hear a man say he was the deputy district attorney in the county where the truck driver had hit the woman on the bicycle. He needed probable cause to get the trucker's phone records and wondered if I'd seen the man talking on his cell phone.

  I remembered I'd not notified the trucker's attorney that I couldn't testify for his client.

  It seemed both attorneys were concerned about whether the trucker was talking on his cell phone. I asked the deputy D.A. what the law was in Oregon. At the time of the accident the trucker was allowed to talk on his cell phone as long as the call was related to his employment.

  I assumed the call must not have had anything to do with the man's job as a trucker, because his attorney had asked me to testify that I'd not seen him talking on his cell phone. I knew the trucker was genuinely upset by the accident and the woman's death, but I wondered if the accident would have happened at all had he not been distracted.

  I asked what he meant by “at the time of the accident.” He said the law was going to be changed so no one could drive while talking on a cell phone in the future unless the driver was over 18 and used hands-free attachments. The Senate was voting that day, and the governor expected to sign it into law by the end of the month.

  The deputy D.A. again asked me if I'd seen the trucker talking on his cell phone. I told him I was sure the trucker was talking on his cell phone. He thanked me and said he'd probably need me to testify at the trial. The trucker insisted he was not distracted and had refused to plead guilty. I remembered Frank's advice about never being a witness.

  I dressed for work feeling as if I'd accomplished nothing except phone calls. I tried not to think of Michael, but I wondered if Ricky Russo would pursue him and Frank. Perhaps, he'd mellowed with age. We'd been so close to a resolution of Michael's problems, and now they loomed again, more threatening than ever.

  I arrived at Twyla's earlier than usual. Harry was busy sketching a rough outline of the proposed pictorial. Twyla was watching him. I asked if I could have a word with her alone. I told her something had come up, and a friend of mine might be in serious danger. I told her I might have to leave without any warning, but I wanted her to know I'd not simply walked out on my job. I promised to explain later but said I didn't know any more than that. She was very understa
nding and wished she could be of more help.

  Breanna did not show up for work that night. Joel and Twyla had a conference in the kitchen, and I was sure it had to do with Breanna. First I'd unloaded on Twyla, and now Joel was making excuses for Breanna. I was sure Twyla was sorry she'd employed us. She had her own problems and might lose her restaurant. Having unreliable help made the problems worse. I hoped I could avoid doing anything to cause her to regret giving me the opportunity to work at her tea room. It was great experience and very pleasant working conditions. I wished I could turn back the clock and just be a waitress writing my novel by the sea once again.

  Twyla took over the bakery counter and acted as cashier. The restaurant was quiet until almost seven o'clock. Joel and I talked in the kitchen while we did an assortment of chores that were saved for such times. He told me he'd broken off with Breanna and she'd taken it hard. He felt guilty for doing it so close to her accident, but he'd planned to do it when the accident happened and made it so awkward. He said she was fun to be around at first and then became very jealous and demanding.

  Then he told me Breanna was jealous of me, too. She thought Twyla would give her Sarah's old job. When Joel was asked to train me, Breanna thought he should have been less helpful. She told him to train me to do things the wrong way so I'd get fired and she could have the job. Joel said she was completely unreasonable and jealous. She thought I was hired for my looks instead of what I knew. Then Joel and I were interrupted by customers coming in the front door. He wanted to tell me something later. He would walk home with me.

  There were very few customers at Twyla's. I wondered how she could afford to open the doors. The customers we did have were given the royal treatment. All of Joel's tables were taken, but mine stayed empty. We both worked his tables, and he shared his tips with me.

  When Joel took his meal break, I waited on a customer who sat at the table nearest to the kitchen. The man was in his mid-forties, nice looking, and a walking advertisement for various electronic devices. He wore headphones so he could listen to his MP3 music, texted on his phone, and read a novel on his eBook reader while he ate. I wondered if he really enjoyed juggling so many things at once or if he was very self-conscious about eating alone. He ordered the stuffed chicken breast with a bottle of very expensive Chablis and topped it off with a slice of pineapple cake with real whipped cream. He tipped exactly twenty percent of the total after using his tip calculator and paid the bill with cash. Twyla saw him walk to one of the cabins and go inside. We guessed he was saving money on his accommodations so he could enjoy a gourmet meal.