7th Heaven

by Kate Calloway

  I stood in the center of Tommy's bedroom, staring into the open closet, almost feeling guilty for this invasion of his space. But someone had attacked Tommy, maybe even tried to kill him, and I wanted to find out who. But where to start? Who would want to hurt a harmless, good-natured marina attendant who liked to drink beer, smoke a little weed and flirt with the girls? Had he flirted with the wrong girl? I didn't doubt for a minute that a married woman would be attracted to him. It had happened before. Maybe someone's husband had found out.

  But the thing that was bugging me, I thought as I began going through the pants pockets in Tommy's closet, was his behavior at the park. It was as if he'd known someone was after him. And that smile when I'd asked if he'd won the lottery. Like maybe he had. Tommy was up to something and whatever it was, it had nearly cost him his life.

  "Found her!" Erica said, making me jump. She was holding the orange tabby against her chest, stroking its thick fur. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. You find anything?"

  "Uh, not yet. This may take a while. Why don't you take Pepper outside while I look around?"

  "Hey." She walked across the room and handed me the cat, stepping so close to me that I could smell the perfume on her neck. "I want to find out what's happening as badly as you do. He trusted me enough to tell me something was wrong. I don't think he'd mind my helping you find out what it is." The whole time she talked, she stroked Pepper who was now kneading my chest and purring loudly. Erica's hand brushed against my cheek and when I looked into her eyes, her gaze held mine. "We made pretty good partners before, Cass. No reason we can't try it again."

  Which partnership was she referring to, I wondered. The one in which we'd worked together to find her uncle's killer? Or the one that came later? I stepped back, putting the cat gently on the floor. I did not want to think of that kind of partnership with Erica.

  "I'm not sure where we should start," I said, turning away. "So far, I've found two condoms and a five-dollar bill. Not exactly enlightening. I guess since he mentioned flowers, I might as well take a look in that window box outside. Why don't you gather up those books by the chair." The truth was, I needed the fresh air. I left her standing in the bedroom, a faint smile playing on her lips.

  If only I knew what to look for. A key? Tommy had said that Erica should find "it," and then he said "flowers." I started out gently, but before long, I'd pulled the begonias completely out of their container and was scooping the dirt out in handfuls, making a complete mess on the porch. It didn't take long to realize that the only thing hidden in the window box were a couple of cutworms and a snail. I dumped the dirt back into the box and tried to reset the begonias in their place. At the sound of an engine, I wheeled around and saw a truck approaching, still a block away.

  I rushed to the front door and yelled for Erica to get out quickly. Then I returned to the porch and did my best to sweep away the dirt with my foot while I straightened the begonias. Erica came rushing out the front door, a bulging pillowcase held in one hand, the cat held against her chest. She ran to the Jeep, stuffing the pillowcase inside. Then she climbed into the front seat and waited, stroking Pepper to calm her.

  I stood by the front door, away from the mess that was still visible on the porch outside the bedroom window, and waited for the green Ford pickup to come to a stop.

  "Hey," Bart Bailey said, pushing a sweat-stained baseball cap back from his carrot-colored locks. "What are you guys doing here?" His brother, Buck, got out of the driver's side and leaned against the hood of the truck. He seemed bigger than Bart. The bald head made him look meaner, too. That and the nose stud and eyebrow rings.

  "Came to feed the cat. It was the least we could do."

  "Damn nice of you," Buck said, squinting into the Jeep where Erica held Pepper up in plain sight. Why did I feel something wasn't right about these guys? Could be the gun rack in the back window of the truck, I thought, though that was hardly an unusual sight. Could be I was just cynical by nature. "Hey, aren't you the one that found him?" Buck walked toward the Jeep and put his hands on the passenger's side window. Erica stared back at him, refusing to flinch. "Heard he was conscious when you found him. Talking and stuff."

  "Guess you heard wrong," she said. "He was conscious when I saw him crawling out of the bathroom, but by the time I reached him, he was out."

  "Too bad," Buck said, pushing back from the window. "If you'd reached him in time, he coulda told you who did it." He made an exaggerated show of cracking his knuckles, and I couldn't help wondering who had told the Bailey brothers that Tommy had been conscious. Aside from Booker and Hancock, Erica had only told me. Then again, maybe they were just making assumptions.

  "What are you guys doing here?" I asked, knowing they had as much right to be there as we did.

  Bart spoke up, sounding much more civilized than his brother. "My brother wanted to get a few of our things since it might be a while before Tommy gets out. Tommy borrowed some shovels and stuff."

  "If he gets out," Buck said.

  "He's getting out," Bart said, his freckles standing out more noticeably. "Tommy's going to be fine."

  Buck shrugged, his head gleaming in the late-afternoon sun.

  "Probably should wait to ask his mom, though," I said. "She's probably going to be staying here while Tommy's in the hospital."

  "Shit, she doesn't know what's his and what's ours! Fuck that! We'll get it now." Buck started toward the garage. Like Tommy, he wore overalls with no shirt underneath. The muscles on his back bulged as he tried to heft the garage door. A metal padlock held the door firmly in place.

  "What the fuck?" Buck hissed.

  "Door's locked, bro." Bart seemed embarrassed by his brother's behavior.

  "Dude never locks the door." Buck stood up, his face red from the exertion. "Fuck this. Let's go!"

  Bart leaned out the passenger's side window, an apologetic grin on his freckled face. "If you guys take Pepper away from here, the whole place will be running with field mice. Tommy's gonna be ticked if he's got mouse turds in the house."

  "He isn't gettin' well, dumbfuck. Get used to it, man. Dude is gone." Buck climbed into the truck and slammed the driver's door.

  "You don't know that for sure, Buck!" Bart turned to his brother and for once, Buck backed down, literally sliding down in his seat before turning the ignition.

  "Right. Whatever."

  "You want me to tell Tommy's mom to be expecting you? She should be here soon." This was a lie, but I thought it might stop them from returning right away.

  Buck leaned out the window. "Naw, forget it. We don't need that stuff right now, anyway. It can wait." Buck backed around and tore down the road, sending dirt flying in all directions.

  "Charming guys," Erica said. "Especially the bald one. Let's get out of here before anyone else shows up."

  "What's the hurry? It might be interesting to see who else does show up. If whoever hit Tommy knew he hid something, they're probably still looking for it."

  "That's why I want to get out of here. You know those books you wanted me to get? There's something you need to see, Cass. Come on, Pepper. Let's put you back inside so you can guard for mice. We'll come back tomorrow to see how you're doing."

  I watched as Erica carried Pepper back in, kissed the cat on the forehead, then stepped back onto the porch, locking the door behind her. Trouble, I thought. But very beautiful trouble.

  Chapter Four

  I pulled into my usual spot in the marina parking lot and we hurried down the ramp to the water. Erica's turquoise speedboat, which she'd bought as part her late uncle's estate, was moored just a few slips from my open-bow Seaswirl. She followed me through the channel, past the still-crowded county park where the festivities were still in full swing and out into the open water. I opened the throttle and fairly flew across the surface, sensing Erica in my wake. I was nervous about inviting her back to the house. But my place was closer than hers and I was anxious to look at Tommy's books. When we pulled up to my dock, ne
ither of us talked much and it occurred to me that she might feel as awkward as I did.

  It felt strange having Erica back in my house, but apparently I was the only one who thought so. Panic and Gammon welcomed her with ankle rubs and obscene purring, and Erica made herself right at home, sprawling on the couch in the living room like it belonged to her. I busied myself with closing windows. The wind had come up on the lake and the house was chilly. I went out back to get a load of firewood, though I knew in part I was just taking the opportunity to clear my mind.

  The first time Erica Trinidad had come into my life, I'd been taken completely by surprise. I was living alone on the lake, having moved away from my job and friends in California, away from the memories of my long-time lover who had died in my arms. I hadn't expected to ever fall in love again. In fact, I didn't much care if I even went on living. But my best friend, Martha Harper, had dragged me to the Oregon coast, talked me into learning a new craft, that of private investigation, and little by little, despite myself, I had started to heal.

  Living alone along the rugged shoreline of Rainbow Lake in a house accessible only by boat was just what I needed. No neighbors to jolly me out of my grief. No television to clutter my mind. I watched the deer graze on the front lawn, watched the blue heron and osprey fish the lake and slowly felt myself beginning to mend. Just when I had started to feel like I could make it on my own, along came Erica Trinidad and suddenly I was no longer content in my isolation.

  Everything about our time together was intense.

  She had loved with abandon, and to my surprise, I experienced a passion I'd never dreamed was possible. Then, while I was still trying to catch my breath, Erica was offered a movie deal on one of her books and she was off to Hollywood, leaving me dazed and confused. By the time she decided to return, I was with Maggie. Although I'd loved Maggie and cherished our time together, I'd never quite been able to erase my feelings for Erica — not the passion I'd felt for her, not the anger at her sudden departure. Now, as I gathered more wood than I needed, I tried to stuff the feelings back down where they belonged.

  "You want a cup of tea or something?" I asked.

  "I distinctly heard the sheriff say you should give me something with a little kick in it and you offer me tea?" She looked up, grinning. "Come on, Cass. I know you've got a bottle or two of good wine squirreled away somewhere."

  Actually, I had one open. "Chardonnay?" I asked, not waiting for an answer. I poured us each a glass and walked to the couch.

  Erica raised her glass, her gaze locked with mine. "To Tommy's recovery," she said.

  "To Tommy." I lifted the glass to my lips and swallowed, still holding the gaze. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. Damn her! I turned away, set my glass on the coffee table and went to light a fire.

  "It'll be cold as soon as the sun goes down," I explained unnecessarily, stacking kindling on the grate. Erica started taking books and papers out of the pillowcase, spreading them in front of her on the floor. Panic began inspecting them too. I was tempted to come look over her shoulder but gazed out at the lake instead. It had been a long time since Erica's uncle's speedboat had graced my dock. It bobbed on the water, an iridescent turquoise reminder of the obnoxious man who'd been murdered four years ago. He'd always looked silly in that boat, I thought. But somehow when Erica drove it, she didn't look silly at all.

  "I was surprised when you told me to get these books," she said. "Tommy doesn't exactly strike me as the bookworm type. But then I saw what they were. Listen to these, Cass. Hidden Treasure on Rainbow Ridge. West Coast Miner's Lost Gold. Myths and Fables of the Oregon Forest. These were checked out of the Cedar Hills Library a month ago. They're overdue. He copied down excerpts in this notebook. Then there's these old newspaper clippings that he's photocopied and clipped together."

  I added a couple of logs to the fire, made sure they caught, then went to retrieve my wine.

  "See this one? Logger Finds Clue to Hidden Treasure. I'll read it to you. 'Bob Thurston, better known as 'Bout-a-mile Bob, may have just stumbled on what locals believe could be a clue to the famous hidden treasure of Rainbow Ridge. According to Bob, he was headed back to the logging camp near Rainbow Ridge when he was forced to stray from the trail.' " I came over and sat down next to her, peering over her shoulder as she read in a fairly credible backwoods twang.

  "'I come across a mother bear about yea high and a coupla cubs and decided to skeedaddle afore it made a supper outta me. I stepped off the path and kinda sidewinded my way outta there, but afore I knew it, I was a little lost. I decided to follow the settin' sun 'cause I knew the camp was west of where I'd started.

  'Bout a mile, or so, I come across what look to be a red bandana flappin' from a tree branch. This were a puzzlement, since I swore I was the first human being to set foot in them woods for a purdy long time. My curiosity got the best of me, even though the sun were settin' and a storm were brewin' and I best be gettin' back to camp, but I shimmied my way up a bit and tried to grab hold of that bandana. Seems it were tied onto something aside from the branch and I saw it were some kind of pouch. I couldn't reach it cleanly, but I made a lunge for it and pulled myself up, but the pouch was good and stuck. I managed to worm my hand inside it and got a good hunk of parchment afore I fell back to the ground. That's when I done this to my ankle.' " Erica, who'd really gotten into Bob's twang, stopped and took a sip of wine. "Isn't it funny how they just left all this bad grammar in back then?" she asked.

  "It probably didn't sound as funny to them as it does to us. Go on."

  Erica continued reading. " 'When Bob finally limped into camp in the pouring rain several hours later and told his story to the logging crew, they were skeptical. But when he showed them the torn parchment he'd managed to rip away from the leather pouch, their eyes widened. Bob Thurston is not a proud man and doesn't mind admitting that he cannot read. When the logging chief, Jake Mays, read the words on the parchment aloud, Bob nearly fainted. It seems he'd found the long-lost clue left by the famed West Coast Miner who hid his wagonload of gold in the early part of the century. The problem was, he tore the parchment right down the middle, so until someone finds the other half, the clue remains a mystery. But in case you're thinking of being the one to find it, know this: That night's rain washed out any tracks Bob might've made and for a full week now, the logging crew has been unable to find the spot where Bob says he found the clue. "It's about a mile from here," he says over and over again. It could be the joke's on us. Maybe 'Bout-a-mile Bob's just pulling our leg. Of course, if he can't read, how the heck could he write a note, albeit half of one? Just a little food for thought from your friendly Depot Reporter.' "

  "When was that written?" I asked.

  "Nineteen-twenty. It was in something called the Depot Monthly. Didn't there used to be a train depot in Cedar Hills?"

  "Sure was. But that was eighty years ago. And the note, if it really did exist, has to be older than that. Don't tell me you think Tommy's been out looking for a century-old piece of paper in hopes of finding buried treasure, for God's sake?"

  "Wouldn't put it past him. I mean, anyone else, I'd have doubts. But Tommy? It kind of fits, don't you think?"

  I hated to admit it, but it did. "What's the rest of this stuff?"

  "More articles. Looks like after this last one was published, another one came out about the 'gold rush' for the red bandana. And look at this. Bob Thurston's obituary. They more or less repeat the story. Says he spent the rest of his days looking for the other half of the note. No wonder they wrote books about it."

  "Here's a picture of the note," I said, flipping through one of the books. Written with a fancy cursive, the note itself was intriguing, if not very helpful. It read:

  "I, Mason Ordane of Seat...

  this note to be true and belonging to my...

  their rightful belongings to the gold and...

  in the event the injuns succee...

  from this marker due nor...

  then down the
ravine and...

  another twenty paces un ...

  right down along the purp—'"

  "Check these out," Erica said, handing me two maps. One was of the general Cedar Hills area, the other a detailed map of logging roads and camps. He had circled a few of the spots in red pen. One of them was the logging camp near Rainbow Ridge.

  "Okay. So Tommy's out looking for gold. That I can buy. But you don't think for one second he actually found something?" I got up and went to stoke the fire. The light outside was fading to dusk and I suddenly realized I was famished. I'd made a pot roast the day before and had enough leftovers for a week. I placed the roasting pan in the oven and poured us each another glass of wine.

  "Now this is weird," she said, holding up a color printout from a Web site.

  "The whole thing is weird, Erica."

  She ignored my comment and perused the printout. "Looks like Tommy was suddenly interested in purchasing a gun. Wonder why he didn't just go buy one? Why over the Internet?"

  "I'm surprised Tommy even knows how to use the Internet. Let me see that." Sure enough, Tommy had downloaded a home page offering a variety of firearms for sale. I noticed the date the document was downloaded. "Did you say those books were checked out a month ago?"

  "Over a month ago. They're overdue. Why?"

  "Because this was downloaded last week. First he starts collecting info on this lost gold, then a month later he starts getting info on guns. Then someone attacks him and he tells you not to trust anyone and to find something in the flowers." Somehow, I thought if I repeated the sequence often enough, maybe it would start to make some sense. I let the paper fall to the floor and went to check on the pot roast.