7th Heaven

by Kate Calloway

  We were no sooner crouched behind the trees than the familiar whine of the Jet Skis returned, this time with their lights off. They were going slower, one on each side of the channel, searching the shoreline for our boat. The one closest to us paused at the inlet where we'd detoured, but it didn't turn in. We watched, holding our breath as the two wave-runners disappeared into the darkness, their annoying engines finally fading into silence.

  We waited another ten minutes and were about to make a dash for it when suddenly the party boat rounded the same bend, headed back toward the county dock.

  "We could be out here all night," Lizzie said, shivering. To make matters worse, it had started to drizzle again.

  I still had the binoculars around my neck and lifted them, focusing on the party boat. "Cathwaite's driving this time, and he's got the same two passengers as on the way over. Guy must be on the Jet Ski."

  "Who was on the other one, then?" Erica asked.

  "Newt?" But no sooner had I said it than Newt's dark blue ski boat roared past, rocking the party boat in its wake. Not far behind him came the banker's cabin cruiser plowing through the dark water like a fishing trawler. Lizzie was counting aloud.

  "Had to be Mrs. Cathwaite on the Jet Ski. Her and Guy."

  "They could be sitting back there just waiting, figuring that once we see the others go by, we'll think we're in the clear." I said.

  "Or they could be back at the house right now, drying off."

  "Wish we were," Lizzie said.

  By now the party boat was just a taillight in the distance.

  "Oh, what the hell. If they see us, they see us. I'm cold."

  We trailed back down to the boat and climbed in.

  "You want to drive?" Erica asked.

  "No, no. You're doing fine."

  "Hmph," she said, giving me that look again. I kept my mouth shut while Erica inched the boat forward through the dark water. It was more difficult to see without running lights, but more difficult for them to see us that way, too. When we finally came to the familiar island marking the entrance to my cove, Bart let out a huge sigh. We were soaking wet by now and all more than a little tense.

  "Think it's safe to speed up?" Erica asked.

  "Do it!" I said. She gunned the speedboat across the rain-spattered surface and pulled up to my dock a minute later. We raced each other up the ramp, laughing like the imbeciles we probably were. It had been an unnecessary risk and could've blown the whole plan for Sunday. But at least now I knew which room I needed to break into, and more importantly, I had a pretty good idea where I was going to hide the camera. If stereo speaker cloth worked, I figured the screen covering the speakers on the big-screen television should work as well. A trip to the electronics outlet in Kings Harbor in the morning would tell me if I was right.

  No one was in the mood to drive back across the lake, so I set Lizzie up in the guest room, Bart on the sofa and Erica in my room. No one seemed surprised by this last arrangement, including Panic and Gammon, who acted as if they'd been expecting it all along. By midnight we were all sleeping like babies.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Martha called Saturday morning when I was in the shower. She and Erica had a nice long chat and when Erica finally brought me the phone, Martha was chortling up a storm.

  "I knew it!" she said, unable to contain her glee.

  "You jump to conclusions," I said without conviction.

  "Cassidy, you are such a lousy liar. Anyway, I approve. By the way, I told her if she hurt you again I'd break her arm."

  "Martha!"

  "I'm kidding, okay? But we did have a nice little talk. I think she's in love, friend, so be careful. You doing okay?"

  I cradled the phone against my shoulder, trying to dry my legs without dropping the phone. Finally, I gave up. "Actually, yeah. Better than okay."

  "Your message said you needed a favor?"

  I told her about the license plates and that I wanted anything she could find on a local bank manager named Stickwell.

  "This still about Tommy?"

  "Yeah. It's getting interesting." I didn't dare tell her what our plans were. Martha got nervous when my job took me past the edges of the law. I knew if I told her, she would try to talk me out of it.

  "Seems like you're into some heavy stuff, babe. Sheriff's deputies and bank managers? You told Tom yet?"

  "Soon. The thing is, I'm still not sure about Hancock. He's a member of the professor's gaming club, but that might not mean anything."

  "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?"

  "Because you're suspicious by nature. How's Tina?"

  "You're changing the subject, but she's fine. Says she can't wait for you and Erica to come over for dinner. How's Tommy?"

  We talked another few minutes, then I stuck my head out the door and asked Erica to bring me the license plate numbers. I was still dripping wet but pulled my terry robe around me when Erica came in. I read the numbers to Martha, who agreed to get back to me when she could. Erica smiled and locked the door.

  "Your friends sure are protective of you," she said, playfully tugging at the robe I'd just belted.

  "They know your reputation," I said, trying to ignore her. I turned on the blow dryer but it was difficult to concentrate with Erica nuzzling my neck, sliding her hands inside the robe, her fingers playing their way down my damp body.

  "You're going to get all wet," I said, leaning back against her.

  "I already am," she said.

  And so began another glorious day.

  Bart and Lizzie were long gone by the time we emerged. The plan was for them to take my boat to the marina where I could pick it up later when Erica dropped me off. I had an afternoon meeting with Lizzie's sister-in-law to go over the catering plans. Before that, I wanted to check out large-screen televisions in Kings Harbor. Erica said she'd go with me if I bought her lunch at a nice restaurant. Since the sun was shining again, we took her car, a new silver BMW convertible, and put the top down. Erica drove with one hand on the wheel, the other hand caressing mine, singing lustily along with Aretha Franklin. It felt good to have the sun beating down on us, our hair whipping in the wind, and I was almost disappointed when we pulled into the parking lot.

  The sales clerk at TV Land thought I was nuts when I asked him to take the speaker cloth off the 56-inch television set on display so that I could see what it looked like behind it. I had to promise to buy the TV if we couldn't get it back on exactly right. Actually, it was attached to a rectangular frame and popped out easily. To my delight, there was plenty of room to set my video camera on top of the speaker behind the cloth. Better yet, when I held the black cloth to my face, I could see right through it, though from the front, it looked completely opaque. It was the perfect hiding place for surveillance equipment. By now the clerk was looking at me with real concern. I popped the speaker cloth frame back into place and thanked him, getting out before he called for the men in white coats.

  "Feed me," Erica said, sliding into the passenger's side so I could drive.

  "Seafood?"

  "Perfect."

  "Outside dining?"

  "I'd eat in a damned cave. Just feed me."

  Outside dining it was, at a little place I'd found called The Sea Urchin's, well off the beaten tourist path. Sitting on a prime costal lot, the tiny restaurant only had enough room inside for about six tables, so the owner had built a staircase to the roof, laid down AstroTurf, installed plexiglass around the perimeter to keep the ocean breezes from blowing anyone off the roof and now offered one of the nicest, albeit casual, ocean-view dining experiences in Oregon, made all the better for still being largely undiscovered. The tables and chairs were plastic, and when they brought the Maine lobster, they used newspapers to serve as tablecloths, and bowls of warm lemon water for our hands. The lobster was fresh and succulent, the crusty loaf of bread still warm, the Oregon Ale icy cold. We pulled hunks of bread from the loaf, dipping them into the melted butter, laughing at the she
er pleasure of eating like barbarians. Amazingly, we had the rooftop to ourselves that afternoon. The sun beat down on us, making the water just beyond the breaking waves seem golden.

  "I don't want to leave," Erica said.

  "They'll kick us out eventually," I said. "And I have to meet the caterer."

  "No." She looked at me in a way that made my stomach somersault. "I mean, leave leave. The lake. Cedar Hills. You."

  "Oh."

  "That's it? 'Oh'?"

  "Big Oh?"

  She laughed, kicked me under the table. "Forgive me for expecting a little more enthusiasm."

  "Forgive me for not showing it. It's there. Just beneath twenty layers of sheer terror, it's there."

  She laughed again, but her eyes turned serious. "At least you're honest, Cass. About being terrified. I've known that about you for a long time. Big strong Cassidy James — scared shitless of falling in love."

  "Is that what you think?"

  "Isn't that what it is?"

  We let the silence hang there. I wasn't sure anymore what I was afraid of. Something about caring too much, feeling too deeply. If I let myself really fall, I might not be able to get back up. If something happened to Erica, like it had to my first lover, Diane, I wasn't sure I'd survive.

  "Hey," she said, taking my hand in both of hers. "We don't have to talk about this right now."

  I nodded, not knowing how to say what I felt.

  "Come on. Let's get out of here before they bring the dessert tray. I'm almost hungry again."

  But try as she might to keep things light, I knew I'd cracked open a long-closed vault that sooner or later I was going to have to explore. I couldn't go the rest of my life afraid to live. Maggie Carradine had been right all along. I continued to fall for unobtainable women because they were safe. As long as I couldn't get too close, I wouldn't feel too much, which would keep me from being too devastated when they were gone.

  But Erica wasn't unobtainable. She was right here, right now. And she was definitely not safe. Despite every warning going off in my head, I knew I wanted her right where she was.

  With a peck on the cheek and a promise to call me later that night, Erica dropped me off in front of Lizzie's tavern, then sped off to visit Tommy. She'd sensed my need to think things through and without saying so, she was giving me space. Inside, the tavern was cool and dark. Lizzie's sister-in-law was sitting on a stool sipping iced tea.

  "Sorry I'm late," I said.

  She looked me up and down, appraising me coolly. She was a heavyset woman with flabby, dough-like arms that waggled when she shook my hand. "Call me Dora. Liz says you want to help out tomorrow?"

  "If you can use me at all. I'll cook or clean or serve or chop and dice, whatever you need most." I sounded like a desperate out-of-work short-order cook.

  We'd decided against the truth. The fewer people who knew, the better.

  "Well, we could use an extra hand on cleanup. The food's pretty much all taken care of, plus you need a food handler's license for that. But when things pick up, it's hard to keep up with the dirty dishes. It won't pay much."

  "That's okay," I said hurriedly. I gave her a pathetic, pleading look and she stood up.

  "Okay then. We set up at eleven o'clock. Party starts at noon and we want everything in place when the first guest arrives. Lizzie says she can give you a ride."

  "Great!" I said. "Thank you, Dora."

  "Don't be late," she said. God help me, I thought, if I ever found myself in a subservient position where I had to kowtow to a boss. Here the lady had just done me a favor, and all I wanted to do was slug her. But I smiled gratefully and followed her to the door.

  When she left, I went back in and ordered a beer.

  "So everything's coming together," Lizzie said.

  "Keep your fingers crossed."

  "For you and Erica, too."

  I looked at her over the top of my glass. Her big brown eyes were smiling. "Could hardly keep your hands off each other last night. Bet you couldn't wait for us to get outta there this morning."

  "Lizzie! Don't be ridiculous!"

  But her smile was even wider. "Always thought you two were cute together. When she dumped you, I felt real bad."

  "She didn't dump me. Exactly."

  "Well, anyway. It just feels right, her being back now. I still can't believe she's Sheila Gay! I'm gonna go back and read every one of them all over again, now that I know the author. You want me to pick you up tomorrow like I told Dora?"

  "Yeah. It wouldn't hurt to have a different boat out there. They don't know me, but they might recognize my boat. See you tomorrow, Lizzie."

  Feeling strangely emotional, I walked back out into the bright afternoon. Maybe it was the full moon on its way. Or too much sex. Or too much lobster. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I wanted simultaneously to shout with joy and throw myself on the ground and sob. I did neither. I headed to the marina, hopped in my boat and let the warm breeze comfort me all the way across Rainbow Lake toward home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sunday morning, I awoke with butterflies in my stomach and a kink in my neck. I'd slept fitfully, the sporadic dreams unsettling. In one, Erica and I were looking frantically for Tommy. Men on Jet Skis were chasing us and the whole thing was being videotaped by Candid Camera. Suddenly, Erica and I were in the water. I knew we had to reach the dock before the Jet Skis found us, but Erica kept pulling me back, trying to kiss me. We made love in the water forgetting all about the Jet Skis and suddenly they were right on top of us. "Help!" I yelled to the fisherman standing on the pier. Just before I woke, the fisherman looked down on us, scratching his beard. "Can't catch 'em without bait," he said, planting the seed for an idea that wouldn't come to me until much later.

  By the time Martha called, I was already up and through with my daily exercise program. I had even taken a swim in the lake, trying to work out the tension that still lingered. I was nervous about the plan, second-guessing the wisdom of breaking into a locked room with so many people around. I was sure the room would be locked. Maybe even had a tripwire. If so, I was dead meat.

  "The first plate you gave me on the white sedan belongs to a Maxwell E Hawkins," Martha said. "Used to be a big-time college football coach back East. The Hawk. You might remember him. He got banned from the game for betting on his own team."

  "Like Pete Rose?"

  "Exactly. Only this guy was betting against his team. Anyway, he moved out West and made it big in real estate. Now he's fairly-well known around town. Glean as a whistle, too. Not even a traffic fine."

  "How about the second one? The black Caddy?" I asked.

  "Belongs to a guy named Kip Cage, a professor at Kings Harbor Community College. In his late sixties. Again, no record. Great name, though."

  Kip Cage. The coauthor of Professor Cathwaite's book. And the white-bearded con man who set Tommy up in the first place.

  "What about the banker? Anything on him?"

  "Stickwell? Another upstanding citizen. Sits on several boards, served as Grand Marshal of the Veterans Day Parade a few years ago, like that. He did have a DUI several years ago but got the charges dropped somehow. The guy probably has all sorts of connections. These are the high and mighty, Cass. Whatever this club is you're looking into, it's got a pretty elite membership."

  "Thanks, Mart."

  "You're not going to do anything foolish, are you?"

  "No," I lied.

  "Cass?"

  "Okay. Maybe a little foolish. But not, like, major foolish."

  She laughed. "Why don't I feel better about this?"

  I promised her I'd take care and hung up, wondering about the group who gathered once a week to play Seventh Heaven at the Cathwaites'. Bigwigs with a penchant for gambling? Rich, important men who liked to play God? Power-hungry Type-A personalities seeking a bigger thrill? I looked at the photos I'd taken, now taped to my wall, and tried to get a feel for what motivated these people. Regardless of the allure, I thought, their littl
e game had cost Tommy, and somebody should have to pay.

  I spent the rest of the morning getting ready. I practiced removing the camera from my bag, using duct tape to secure it in place, though I didn't have a big-screen TV to practice on. Finally, I packed the essentials in my false-bottomed purse, including my lock picks, the camera and my Colt forty-five, sifted through my closet for something to go with the Hawaiian theme of the party, then waited on the dock for Lizzie. She was right on time.

  "Where's Kelly?" I asked, climbing in.

  "Should already be there. I told her I might have to leave early so she caught a ride with the catering crew."

  "Nervous?" I asked on the way over.

  "Hell yes. You?"

  "A little," I admitted. "You think Bart will come through?"

  "The kid's practically chomping at the bit. Said he always wanted to be an actor. Now's his chance. You arrange for the Jet Ski?"

  "Already paid the rental fee. All he has to do is pick it up at the marina."

  Lizzie was wearing a pink and yellow flowered scarf over her hair to hide her headset. It wasn't quite Hawaiian, but would have to do. Actually, I thought it made her look like a little old lady, but I didn't say so.

  "Like your shirt," she said, indicating the one Hawaiian shirt in my wardrobe. "How do you like the scarf?"

  "Smashing," I said.

  "Liar!" We both laughed, which helped ease our nervousness a bit.

  When we pulled up to the dock, Guy Waddell met us with a dolly. The party boat had already docked with the catering crew and the robust women were hauling tubs of food up by the armload.

  "Hope that keg's still cold," Guy said. This was my first real look at him. Thin and wiry with a muscled jaw and slightly bow-legged stance, he wore a lei around his neck and white shorts that showed muscled legs with a thick mat of black hair. He hopped into the boat and single-handedly hefted the keg onto the dock. Not just wiry, I thought. Strong as an ox.

  "I'll bring the rest up if you want to start setting up. Bar's on the deck." He gave me a cursory glance — clearly I wasn't worth a second look — and pushed the dolly up the ramp toward the house.