by Hayes, Gayle
As the night wore on, I was sure Michael would stop by the restaurant. He did not have a key to my house, and I knew he'd be anxious to see me. I was very concerned when I finished getting the deposit ready and he still had not showed up.
Joel told me that I caught on to closing much faster than Breanna and my numbers were more legible. I hoped I was mistaken, but he seemed more than complimentary. He stood very close to me and seemed different than he had when Breanna was around. He locked the front door and walked to the beach house with me.
On the way home, Joel asked if I remembered the night Breanna had made one of her usual mistakes that caused them to be late putting the deposit in the safe. I didn't remember until he told me Breanna faked the mistake so I'd be sure to leave first. He explained she told him the story later, and he wanted to tell me before but was afraid of her.
Joel said Breanna was slightly late getting to Twyla's that day because she'd stopped at my house and let herself in with the key Sarah always kept under the loose brick. Breanna told Joel she'd taken one of Twyla's filet knives and stuck it in the back of the girl in the mural. She knew Sarah painted the mural. Sarah told her the girl in the halter was Rachel. Breanna wanted to scare me so I'd leave Sunset. She believed Sarah was right about me. I'd stolen Nate from her, and I'd steal Joel, too.
After Breanna kissed Joel goodnight and he hiked up the hill to his house, she pretended to go to the parking lot for her car. She watched me go into the house and come running out. Once I was out of the way, she went in, removed the filet knife, and touched up the painting. She was only sorry she couldn't see the expression on my face when I realized the knife was gone. Joel said she laughed so hard that she wet her pants when she told him the story.
Although I was glad I no longer had to worry that the person who stuck the knife in the mural was a crazed killer who might still be around, I felt sad and sick to my stomach. The revelation about Breanna was too much on top of everything else. I was glad I'd not bothered to go to the hospital to see her. She probably would have laughed about it. Even if she was insecure and jealous, stabbing the girl in the mural was a despicable thing to do.
Why hadn't I realized Sarah had painted the mural of Nate and me? Was she spying on us in Missoula? Had Sarah made up the whole story about the job in Hoquarten to lure me to the beach house so she could humiliate me? How could she think I'd stolen Nate from her? She'd done everything she could to tempt him away from me right from the first.
I asked Joel to leave. Then I went into the bathroom to vomit.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
When I opened my eyes Tuesday morning, I experienced a moment of calm. It flowed over me like soothing water. Then the memories of Monday night brought on a wave of nausea. I made it to the bathroom just in time. Once I'd brushed my teeth and gargled to get rid of the foul taste in my mouth, I opened the pregnancy test kit and read the instructions again. I collected my urine and dipped the strip into the cup. There was no question. I was pregnant.
I'd always imagined I'd be excited and happy when I became pregnant. Instead, it was another complication. I'd been too passionate for Michael to worry about preventing a pregnancy. I was at the end of my fertile cycle and unconcerned. Is this how my mother felt when she realized she was forty and pregnant with me? Did she have her own dreams that went unfulfilled? Was I part of the reason she became addicted to alcohol? I remembered what she told me about a love child being especially beautiful. If passion really did make a difference, this child would be outstanding. I should have been happy, but I felt hopeless. My tears began as slowly as my realization that nothing would ever be the same. By the time I recognized how unprepared I was to have a baby, my tears were a flood of grief.
When I thought I was at rock bottom, I heard someone knocking on the door. The effort to get up and go to the door was so great that the young woman was walking back toward her delivery van by the time I looked out the window. She was from the Hoquarten florist who'd called to tell me Michael received the wrong roses and the correct ones would be sent out. I opened the door and discovered a dozen black roses on the porch. The sight of them brought on more nausea. I almost fainted when I bent over to pick up the vase. Why would anyone send black roses? Was that something the Mafia did to people on a hit list? I picked up the vase and brought the roses inside. Again, only the name, Michael was written at an angle across the card. I thought about what the florist had said. Michael would know who sent them.
Michael had not left a message the night before while I was working at Twyla's. He'd not called. I checked to be sure my phone was working. It was early in the afternoon the day before when Michael told me he'd be leaving I-5 and heading for Astoria on Highway 30. If he kept driving, he should be in Sunset by now. If he stayed overnight along the way, he'd have called to let me know. I called him again, and the call went right to his voicemail. Why would his phone be turned off? If I'd not known everything Donna told Michael about Ricky Russo, I'd not have been so worried. I'd have been angry because Michael did not keep in touch with me. Now, I feared the worst. Had someone followed Michael and killed him? I decided to wait a while longer before I called Detective Gannon to report him missing.
I drank tea instead of coffee and tried soaking in the tub to soothe my nerves. I rested my head on the inflatable pillow I'd bought at Fred Meyer. The scent of sandalwood filled the bathroom. I listened to Rachmaninov again and tried to clear my mind so I'd be able to make good decisions when Michael returned. The window was open so I could hear the surf. By the time the concerto was finished, I felt like I could get dressed and face the day.
The last time I saw Frank was with Michael the day before. I was anxious to know if Donna had called him to apologize. Hopefully, she would make a trip to Sunset to see him before he died. I knocked on Frank's door, waited, and knocked again. I thought he must be in the bathroom, so I sat in one of the rocking chairs and enjoyed the view from his porch. After about five minutes had passed, I knocked again. I remembered he never locked his door. I tried the knob, and the door opened. I called his name. I went into the house and expected to see him asleep in his chair in the living room. He wasn't there. I hoped he hadn't died alone. I steeled myself, took a deep breath, and walked into his bedroom. The bed was made. The bathroom door was open. I looked into the bathroom, but he was not there, either. I was on my way out when I thought to look for a note in the kitchen. I didn't find a note, and there was no sign he'd been in the kitchen that morning. The percolator had been washed and turned upside down in the rack next to the sink. It was dry.
I wasn't worried about Frank. I was sure he must be with Dennis. I knocked on the door of Dennis' cabin. There was no answer. I noticed his Buick was parked in its usual spot. I knocked again. Then I told him Rachel was at the door, and I was concerned about Frank. When I still did not get a response from Dennis, I went to the diner. I expected to see them eating breakfast together.
The man who owned the cabins was the only person in the diner. He was sitting on a stool at the counter. When he saw me, he laughed and said I must have changed my mind about renting from Dinah. I told him I couldn't find Frank, and Dennis didn't answer his door. I asked if he could open Dennis' cabin so we could be sure he was all right. The man left his plate of eggs and bacon without a second thought. I followed him out the door of the diner and toward Dennis' cabin. The man found his master key and opened the door. Then he turned to push me away and I heard him say, "Oh, shit." I asked him what was wrong. He was already on the phone dialing 9-1-1. He stepped away from the door. I looked inside. Frank and Dennis had been playing cards at the small round table across from the television. Their hands dangled by the side of their chairs with cards scattered on the floor. Both men were slumped over. The right side of Frank's head and the left side of Dennis's head rested on the table, as if they had looked toward the door at the same time. Then I realized both of them had been shot once in the forehead. I was too stunned to scream or cry. Again, I felt a wave
of nausea and ran to the curb. The man from the cabins said I could use the bathroom in his office. Then I must have passed out.
When I woke up, I was lying on a sofa in the office. Detective Gannon was taking a statement from the man who owned the cabins. I heard him spell his name for her and listened to his account of what happened after I came to the diner to tell him Dennis had not answered his door. Detective Gannon asked him if he could think of anything else. He could not. He'd not seen or heard anything unusual.
Then I asked the detective if she'd interviewed the man Twyla saw going into a cabin the night before. She asked the owner for the names of his other renters. He told her Dennis was the only one who'd rented a cabin recently. The other two units were vacant. By that time, I felt like I could stand up again, so I left with Detective Gannon and walked across the street to talk to Twyla. She'd seen the commotion at the cabins and was wondering if someone had a heart attack.
When the detective told Twyla she was investigating a double homicide, Twyla was shocked. I asked her to tell the detective what she'd seen the night before when the unusual customer with all the electronic devices left the restaurant. Twyla told the detective the man crossed the street and went into the first cabin on the other side of the Laundromat. Detective Gannon asked if the man used a key. Twyla said it seemed like he walked right inside. She didn't hear or see anything unusual. She and I gave Detective Gannon a good description of the man. It seemed very clear to me that he'd been sent to carry out the hits Dennis and Michael had not done. He was the last person anyone would suspect as a hitman.
I wanted to tell Detective Gannon about the day Dennis confessed he'd been given a contract on Frank and about Michael's deal with the men at the casino to kill Dennis. I wasn't sure that Michael himself hadn't been the victim of Ricky Russo. I was not interested in getting him involved with Detective Gannon until we discussed how to proceed. If I told her about the hits Dennis and Michael refused to do, everything would unravel.
It was early afternoon. I told Twyla I'd see her later.
As I walked back to the beach house, I saw deputies carry two body bags from Dennis' cabin. I'd recovered from a sucker punch only to be punched again. I'd not been close to Dennis, but Frank was like family. I knew he was dying, and I tried to focus on the fact he'd seen Michael before he died. Nothing made me feel better. Frank was a gentle old man who deserved to enjoy life for a while after all he'd sacrificed to do the right thing. He did not deserve to be executed. Worst of all, I knew the man who'd killed him would not be caught. Frank gave his life for justice, and justice would not be served for him.
I rested for an hour and then dressed for work. By the time I arrived at Twyla's, the fire truck, ambulance, and deputies had gone. It was as if nothing had happened. I saw Harry hard at work on his pictorial. For some reason, Dinah's warning flashed through my mind: “Be careful who you make friends with here. Other than that, it's a nice little community. You'll be glad you came.”
Harry looked like a different person. I realized he was actually quite handsome in a rugged sort of way. I guessed we were close in age. The red highlights in his hair accented his freckles. His eyes were very blue, and he had a full mouth. His smile was charming. Even though he was painting, his white cargo pants and blue t-shirt were clean. He had a nice build. He said he hoped all my customers were polite and generous with their tips. Then he laughed. I was a little ashamed of my first opinion of him. He cleaned up nicely and was very appealing after all.
Although I'd already planned to do a follow-up pregnancy test, I was sure the first result was accurate. I noticed kitchen aromas had become more offensive. I hoped no one noticed how often I excused myself to use the restroom. I was more tired. I longed to go home.
I tried to bury the disturbing images of Michael on the run from Ricky Russo. After so much time, he must be in serious trouble. I could not imagine any other reason why I'd not have heard from him. Joel had not heard from him, either. Something about Joel's attitude caused me to wonder if he thought Michael was seeing someone else.
The restaurant was slow, and Twyla suggested I could leave if I wasn't feeling well. She guessed the locals were saving up to celebrate Founders' Day. She said the bakery had not done its usual brisk business, even though people were attracted to Main Street by the fire truck and deputies.
Harry had gone by the time I left the restaurant. Main Street was deserted. I glanced in the direction of Frank's house and began to cry. He'd been my first friend and the only one I could count on in Sunset. Now, I felt like I didn't know where to turn. Would Michael be angry if I called Detective Gannon and reported him as missing? Or was he in danger and waiting for me to send help?
When I got to the parking lot, I saw the kitchen light on in the beach house. I knew the light was not on when I left that afternoon. As I approached the house, I heard Rachmaninov. I thought it might be Michael, but I didn't see the Lexus.
I kept my head low as I took the steps one at a time. Then I peeked into the window. Sarah had slashed the fabric on the artist canvas in front of the mural. The fabric dangled haphazardly from the twisted frame. It'd been thrown to one side of the kitchen. The fake window trim had been ripped from the wall and was scattered on the floor like pickup sticks. Sarah was nearly finished scraping the thickest areas of paint from the mural. I noticed a can of Kilz primer on the counter.
Sarah turned around to stir the Kilz and saw me. She still had the razor in her right hand and threatened me with it as she came through the door. I backed down the stairs and walked slowly backwards.
She was screaming. "This is your fault! You can't be happy unless you're destroying my life!"
I tried to calm her, but she wouldn't listen to me.
"You got Dinah all worked up about this, didn't you!"
"Sarah, I didn't. I just thought you could square things with Dinah if you painted over the mural. I don't understand why you're so angry. I've lived with it for two weeks. Please stop yelling. We're friends. You're the one who got me to come here and then dumped me. I haven't known what to think," I said.
Sarah walked down the stairs and came toward me, waving the razor to emphasize her words.
She was still screaming. "So you felt uncomfortable, did you? Maybe that's because you're a two-faced bitch who cheats on her friends. I wish you would have drowned in the pool. I hoped you would."
I realized she'd seen me struggling in the water after all. Had she really hoped I'd drown?
"You were the one who cheated, Sarah. He was in love with me until you threw yourself at him. I wouldn't have let you drown so I could have him. You're the cold, heartless bitch, Sarah. You didn't deserve him. It was better that he died than to be miserable with you."
"I knew he planned to leave me for you. It was your money he wanted. Not you. He was just like Nate. I killed him so you couldn't have him."
I realized Sarah was talking about someone else. Was it possible she'd killed Ryan?
"I found Ryan and got him to the hospital. He told me he never loved you. You didn't kill him. He's mine now." I'd pushed her over the edge. She ran after me, waving the razor and sobbing.
"No. It's not true. I killed him. I killed him. You'll never have him."
I turned and ran toward the entrance to the lot. She was right behind me. I planned to run to Twyla's, but she got between me and the street and forced me back toward the beach. She was still screaming and waving the razor at me. Then I saw Harry come out of nowhere and grab her arms. He wrestled her to the ground and held her there. I started toward the beach house to call for help and saw Detective Gannon standing near the porch.
Once the deputies had taken Sarah into custody, the detective explained she'd suspected Sarah was not telling the truth about having seen the man who murdered Ryan Nichols. She said it would have been impossible for her to see the detail she described in the dark parking lot. Sarah planted the notes and the doll in her car. She wanted the sheriff to believe she disappeared becaus
e she was so frightened. After my tip about the murderer knowing something about art, they started looking at the case again.
They were interested in Harry because he was a transient and an artist. Until then, he'd kept quiet about what he saw the night Ryan was murdered. He was afraid he'd be a suspect. When he was a suspect anyway, he told the detective he actually saw Sarah and Ryan quarrel. Ryan walked to his car. Sarah followed with a knife and threatened him. He laughed at her and she killed him. Harry tried to help Ryan. There was nothing he could do. He saw Sarah watching him as he tried to stop Ryan from bleeding to death.
Detective Gannon had asked Dinah to lure Sarah back to the house. Returning to the scene had exactly the effect they hoped it would. She asked if I was all right. She said Harry wanted to be involved. He was worried about my safety and thought it would be easier for him to blend into the background as a witness. She asked me how I picked up on the fact Sarah was talking about Ryan instead of Nate. I told her I'd thought the resemblance between the two was uncanny. I remembered reading about a psychological state where a person might feel threatened if someone in the present resembles someone with negative associations from the past. It was obvious Sarah had come unhinged. Maybe she'd been on the brink all those years, and it took Ryan to push her over the edge.