Premeditated Mortar

by Kate Carlisle

  “That’s terrible.” My feeling of disappointment over the bricks vanished. I would never want to interfere with a rescue mission. “Is anyone injured?”

  “They’re fine,” Jane said. “Just can’t get out of the car.”

  “Okay, that’s better than being injured,” I said.

  “And, Shannon, he said to let you know that he’ll make sure the bricks are cleared up first thing in the morning.”

  “Wonderful,” I said.

  “He might need to borrow one of your men to get it done.”

  “He can have two of them.”

  “Okay, that’s settled,” Jane said.

  Eric made a sweeping gesture. “Then let’s get you all out of here.”

  “Excuse me! Excuse me!”

  We all turned at the sound of a woman shouting at us. She stood at the open door to the passageway.

  “Oh my God, it’s her,” I whispered.

  “Nurse Ratched in the flesh,” Mac murmured.

  “What are you people doing in here?” she demanded, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

  “No,” Jane said, pointing at her. “The question is, what are you doing here?”

  “I . . . I’m allowed to be here. This is my hospital.” She stared at the walls and the ceiling. “This is a very important part of my history.”

  “I don’t give a hoot about your history,” Jane said, walking boldly toward the woman who had once made her mother cry. “This is my place now and you’re trespassing.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And that man right there is the chief of police, so you’re going to want to move your butt on out of here or I’ll have you arrested.”

  “H-how dare you!” Fairchild sputtered.

  “Oh, I dare,” Jane said with deadly intent, both hands fisted on her hips. “So unless you want to spend a few nights in the slammer, beat it.”

  The doctor’s cheeks were red with rage, but Jane didn’t back down. “Go. Now.”

  Fairchild huffed once, then spun around and ran down the passageway and out to the main hall.

  “I’ll make sure she leaves,” Mac said, and jogged after her to take care of it.

  * * *

  * * *

  I spent the next few hours scraping walls in Jane’s new reception office, just to be able to say I’d gotten some actual work done.

  Chloe had taken off after deciding it would cheer me up if she organized a party that evening, the one I had meant to throw for her. She phoned my father to make sure he and Uncle Pete were available—they were, and so was Belinda—and then she called all of my girlfriends and invited them over.

  By the time I got home, she had everything ready.

  “This is so nice of you,” I said.

  She grinned. “Since the party’s at your place and everyone has offered to bring food and drinks, I barely had to lift a finger.”

  I smiled at her. “Well then, you can help me clean the house.”

  “Your house is always clean,” she said with a laugh. But she jumped into action and we got everything done in record time.

  By seven o’clock the house was filled with people. The dining room table was overflowing with delicious-smelling hot casseroles, appealing cold salads, healthy crudité platters, three serving plates filled with meats and cheeses, and two baskets of breads and rolls. Condiments, utensils, and paper plates were set up on one end.

  The kitchen island was the headquarters for all the drinks. A few dozen bottles of wine were set out, along with glasses and plastic cups. A large galvanized steel tub filled with ice sat on the floor below and held a few dozen bottles of fizzy water, soft drinks, and beer.

  Desserts lined the kitchen counter, including three dozen cupcakes from Marigold, a small mountain of cookies from Lizzie, and a beautiful lemon cheesecake that Emily brought from her tea shop. The freezer was filled with every flavor of ice cream imaginable.

  Most of the wine was courtesy of Dad and Uncle Pete, who brought more than a case from Pete’s vineyard. Belinda, the winery manager and my father’s girlfriend, brought me a very special bottle of their newest Pinot Noir. She knew that was my favorite. “Tuck that away somewhere and drink it on a special occasion.”

  I gave her a hug. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Let me know what you think of it.”

  “I sure will. But I already know it’ll be fantastic.”

  “I don’t want to sway you, but yeah, it’s pretty darn awesome.”

  If I had to call someone my “best” friend, it would be Jane. But really I had four other besties besides her, and they were all here tonight. I loved having all of us together. For one thing, they all loved Chloe and always included her in their plans whenever she was in town.

  My friend Lizzie spent an hour monopolizing Chloe’s time, talking about Chloe’s design book she had written. “It’s gone into its sixth printing,” Lizzie gushed. “That’s almost unheard of these days. I’m just so proud of you. I hand sell it to everyone who comes into the shop.”

  “I love you the best, Lizzie,” Chloe whispered, beaming with pleasure as she gave her a quick hug. “Don’t tell the others.”

  “I won’t. They get so jealous.”

  Lizzie owned Paper Moon, the book and paper store on the town square, with her adorable husband Hal. They were the only ones in our gang who had children, and those kids were growing up way too fast.

  “Marisa’s starting high school,” Lizzie moaned when Chloe asked about them. “Thankfully, Taz is still my darling son, but he won’t be for long. I’m waiting for him to grow fangs.”

  Lizzie sighed, then grabbed my arm. “Hey, speaking of fangs, I saw Dr. Fairchild on the news the other night.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I said casually, but then caught the “fang” comment and homed in. “Have you met her?”

  “Oh, have I ever.”

  Lizzie and I had both grown up in Lighthouse Cove, so between the two of us—or three of us, if I included Jane—we knew everyone who lived within twenty miles of town. “Spill.”

  “She came into the store.”

  I blinked. “Today?”

  “No. It was the day before she showed up on TV. She came in to ask us to order a bunch of copies of her book.”

  “She wrote a book?”

  “Yes. A memoir. And she insisted that everyone in town was going to want to buy a copy.”

  “Really?”

  Mac came up from behind and wrapped his arm around my waist. “Hey, Lizzie. What’s going on?”

  I turned and looked at him. “Dr. Fairchild came into Lizzie’s bookstore. She wrote a book.”

  “Did she?” he said. “Good for her.”

  “Lizzie was just telling me about it.” I did a quick recap for him.

  Lizzie took a sip of white wine. “She told me that if I knew what was good for our business, we would stock up now and get ready to cash in big-time. She said the news about the Gables project would turn her book into a blockbuster bestseller, and if we weren’t willing to take advantage of her generous offer, there were plenty of other bookstores that would.”

  I frowned. “This is starting to sound a little pushy.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She grabbed a cashew and popped it into her mouth. “It was more than pushy. It was borderline threatening. Like, buy my book or the puppy gets it.”

  Mac laughed. “What did you tell her?”

  “I asked her if she would be paying cash or credit for the books.”

  “Ooh, ouch,” Mac said, grinning.

  I swirled my wine. “I take it she didn’t like that.”

  “Uh, no. She fully expected us to buy at least fifty copies of her book and then hand-sell it to our customers. And she was furious that we weren’t more excited about it.”

  “Did you see the book?” Mac asked.
/>   “Sure did.” She took another sip of wine. “You know me, Shannon. I’m a voracious reader. I read practically everything that comes into the store. So of course I asked to see a copy of her book. And she handed me a bunch of loose pages stapled to a piece of cardboard. She had printed the title on the cardboard. That’s when I realized that she also wanted me to publish her book.”

  “That’s awfully naïve,” Mac admitted. “She came across as sharp and savvy during that interview. I’m surprised.”

  “Naïve, yet entitled. A scary combination.” I looked back at Lizzie. “So what did you do?”

  “She was so angry when I turned her down that I had to call for Hal to come out to the front counter.” Lizzie shook her head. “She finally stormed out of the shop. And then we saw her that night on TV.” She twirled her finger next to her ear in the universal sign language for “whackadoodle.”

  I nodded slowly, then glanced up at Mac. “It sounds like she came to town looking to score big off the Gables renovation.”

  “She’s delusional,” he said.

  I grabbed Lizzie’s arm. “Do me a favor and don’t mention this to Jane.”

  “Why not?”

  I told her about the connection between the good doctor and Jane’s mother.

  “Oh, hell, I wish I’d known that.” She scowled. “I would’ve kicked her out of the store as soon as she walked in.”

  “Do you still have the book?” I asked.

  Lizzie’s smile was sly. “Of course. I flipped through it after she left.” She grabbed my arm. “Shannon, it’s filled with scribbles about experiments and trials she ran, and research stuff. But it doesn’t make a lot of sense. First of all, it’s just not interesting, and that’s the kiss of death, right there. But also, it’s got a kind of Unabomber vibe. Like she hid out in a yurt in the forest scrawling this stuff.” She shook her head. “Takes all kinds, I guess.”

  I had to laugh. “I can just see her in a yurt.”

  “I know, right?” Lizzie rolled her eyes.

  A few minutes later, Niall walked into the party with Jane.

  “I’m so glad you guys could make it,” I said to Jane, as Niall poured her a glass of wine and helped himself to a beer.

  “Sorry we’re late but Niall had to finish up some work,” she explained.

  “Aye, Shannon,” he said as he popped open the beer bottle. “I was able to get back to the Gables this afternoon and my men and I cleared the rest of the bricks away. You’ll be able to get to the antechamber door whenever you’re ready to do it.”

  “For real?” I grabbed his arm and gave him a side hug. “Oh, thank you, Niall. I really appreciate you doing that.”

  “’Tis not a problem. I know you’re anxious.”

  “I guess I am.” Anxious? How about desperate? Or maybe obsessed? I wasn’t sure why, but I was dying to see what was so important about that door that someone had gone to the trouble of building a brick wall to hide its secrets. And why they had tried to hurt me to keep me from finding out.

  And I thought again of Dr. Fairchild walking into the back hall and demanding to know what we were doing there. As though we were invading her territory. What nerve!

  But nobody needed to hear any more of my annoyance tonight. Instead I smiled and asked, “How did your rescue effort go?”

  “It went off well.” Niall took a quick drink of his beer. “We cleared away most of the rocks and mud in almost no time at all. And everyone inside the minivan was able to get out without much fuss.”

  “Sounds like a happy ending.”

  “Ah well, the car will need some body work and a couple of runs through the car wash. And the property owners will have to build a new retaining wall. But otherwise, a happy ending indeed.”

  “I’m glad.” I raised my glass in a toast. “Thanks to you, I’ll be checking out that antechamber first thing tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there to meet you,” Niall said. “And Jane has an interest in coming along as well.”

  “I know she does. And Mac will want to be there, too.” I glanced around the room. Eric and Chloe would be there as well, I thought, since they’d been there earlier today. And I figured it might be smart to tell Wade and Carla to meet us there, too. The three of us would have to take notes and talk to Jane about her plans for that space—once we could actually see it.

  With all those people showing up in the back hallway tomorrow, it was starting to sound like another party. I wouldn’t be bringing champagne—yet. But there would be a celebration of sorts, because we’d be discovering a whole new section of Jane’s hotel. It would be exciting to finally see what was behind that darn door. I just hoped it would be worth all the pain and trouble we’d gone through to get there. And not just a brand-new variety of pain and trouble.

  Chapter Eleven

  The first thing I saw when I drove up to the Gables the next morning was the large group of protesters carrying signs and marching in a wide circle out on the lawn. Again? I thought. This couldn’t be good.

  They were gathered within a few yards of the driveway that led around to the back parking lot. It was a little too close for comfort as I drove past. I could see the signs clearly and they were sending the same basic message as the ones from the other day: burn it down! the gables must die!

  The difference in today’s march was that their leader was quietly calling out the damning phrases while the rest of the group was repeating them—not so quietly, but not as shrill or as frenzied as they had been the other day. At least, not yet.

  I drove slowly, trying to pick out any familiar faces from Monday’s violent protest. I counted at least thirty protesters, which was more than I’d seen on Monday.

  I didn’t see Prudence, but I did spot Orange Cap, or rather, Ricky Patterson. It was almost a relief to see him. Like seeing an old friend—or frenemy, more precisely.

  Maybe the group had considered that first day such a success that they had been able to encourage others to show up today. Marching and demonstrating this close to the driveway was a problem, though. I wondered if they were trying to discourage the arriving workers from staying and working on the Gables project.

  If that was their goal, it wasn’t working, because there were a lot more cars parked back here today than I’d seen before. And along with all of the workers’ trucks and vans, I noticed two police vehicles.

  “Ah,” I murmured. So that was the reason they were marching so politely this morning.

  I locked my truck and set the alarm before rounding the building and walking to the steps that led up to Jane’s entryway. From here at the opposite end of the Gables, I could see the group marching but could barely hear their shouts and cries.

  Even from this far away I could pick out the bright orange baseball cap on Ricky Patterson’s head. I didn’t see Carrot Head, aka Judson Killian, anywhere. I wondered if the bucket-of-blood guy would show up later. And if he did, I really didn’t want to see him.

  Just as I was about to turn away and walk inside, I noticed Rachel Powers standing on the steps in front of the central building, also known as Building One. She was watching the protesters, too, and didn’t notice me.

  All of a sudden I saw her lift her arm and wave it once, then continue gazing in the direction of the protesters.

  I scanned the area to see who she might be waving at. Because let’s face it, I’m nosy.

  But all I saw were the protesters, who were all waving their signs and fists enthusiastically, so it was hard to say if any one person was waving back at Rachel. Or maybe they were taunting her. Maybe Rachel had been waving at a driver in one of the cars that was arriving for the day. Or, what the heck, maybe she was waving at a family of raccoons up in the hills.

  I rolled my eyes at my ridiculous imagination. The protesters were waving their signs. Rachel had raised her arm. The two actions had nothing to do with ea
ch other. I was creating conspiracy theories out of nothing. It was crazy and pointless to try to connect the developer of this project with the protesters who wanted to tear it down just because a few people were waving their arms.

  I shook my head. “Just walk away, girl.” And that was what I did, pulling the door open and stepping inside. I strolled down the hall saying good morning to everyone as I headed for the back hallway. As soon as I got through the passage under the stairs I saw Mac and Jane standing near the antechamber.

  “Hi, Jane,” I said, and then gave Mac a quick kiss. “Hi, you.”

  He gave me a kiss back. “Hi, you, too.”

  And that was when my phone rang. “Oh, it’s Chloe,” I said, and answered the call. “Hi. Are you on your way?”

  “Not quite yet,” Chloe said. “Eric had something important come up so he asked me to call and give you a message.”

  “What’s up?”

  Chloe took a deep breath. “He said, and I quote, tell your sister not to take one damn step over that wall until I get there.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said, insulted, but not surprised.

  “Nope. Not kidding. Apparently he spoke to Leo late last night. They got some results on the fingerprints they found in that room off the back hallway.”

  “Hold on. I’m putting you on speaker so Jane and Mac can hear.” I did a quick recap for them and put the phone on speaker. “Go ahead, Chloe. Whose prints are they?”

  She gave me a dry laugh. “Are you serious? You really think he told me anything about that?”

  “But he loves you,” I said lamely.

  “Yes, he does, and he knows me well. Knows that I would run right over and tell you everything at the first opportunity.”

  “While that may be true—and I love you for it—it’s so not fair.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she said. “I’ll beat him up later. Anyway, he’ll swing by and pick me up in about a half hour and we’ll be up there right after that.”