1 A High-End Finish (4 page)

For example, I met my first college boyfriend in American history class. Alan was so cute. We talked all the time and connected on every level. He loved my friends and always gave the best advice on what to wear to parties and school events. There was only one problem. The morning after our first night together, Alan confessed that he was gay. Not the most flattering thing a girl wants to hear.

And then the year I lived in San Francisco, I met another really great guy. He picked me up in a gorgeous vintage Corvette and we drove across the bridge to Sausalito for dinner. Halfway through our date, he was arrested for stealing the car.

I could now add Jerry Saxton to my list of disasters. As an acknowledged magnet for dating nightmares, why was I so surprised when my evening with Jerry Saxton had turned out so badly?

Meanwhile, I had managed to steer clear of Tommy and Whitney for those few years. But once I’d moved back to town and taken over Dad’s company, I realized I would be running into Tommy everywhere I went. Not just randomly around Lighthouse Cove, but all the time. Tommy had joined the police department, which shared a parking lot with City Hall. Part of my job as a general contractor was to file building permits and check on various statutes and zoning information to make sure my company was always in compliance with the local codes and regulations. And I did all of that at City Hall.

So one of the first things I did when I took over the business was track down Tommy and inform him that we were going to remain friends whether he liked it or not. He didn’t realize we’d ever stopped, but that was Tommy for you.

After that talk with Tommy, I was able to relax and move along with my life. But lately I felt like I was waiting for something to happen. I just didn’t know what. I would look at my friends and wonder if they were happy. Was I happy? I found myself guarding my heart and wondered,
From whom?
Maybe that was why I had finally agreed to go out with Jerry. I needed to shake things up. Unfortunately, given my past experiences, I should’ve known better.

So, now I was stuck back in that loop of waiting for something to happen and not knowing what. And for someone as proactive as I was, that feeling could drive me a little crazy.

So, I worked. In the garden. At my construction sites. With my friends. I ran on the beach and worked out at the gym. I bundled flowers and dried herb cuttings to give to neighbors and my friends, who used them to decorate their town square shops.

It all helped, but I still couldn’t get rid of that antsy, unsettled feeling. It was like a dream where you knew something important was about to happen but you weren’t sure if you were wearing the right outfit. Okay, bad analogy. Let’s just say it was all very weird.

And the ugly confrontation with Jerry Saxton hadn’t exactly improved my mood.

When that edgy feeling got really bad, I would go swimming or take a long drive, or I’d go shopping, usually at the hardware store. Everyone felt better when they had a new tool to play with, right? But I was afraid a new power drill wouldn’t fix things this time.

•   •   •

Sunday afternoon, I spent two hours cleaning and preparing one of the guest apartments over my garage for the tenant who would arrive the next day.

A few years ago, I had decided I could make a little extra money by cleaning out the big old storage room over our four-car garage and turning it into rental space. I hired one of my guys and we refurbished it, creating two good-sized guest suites, both with bathrooms and kitchenettes. I reinforced the stairway and repainted the fanciful wrought-iron railing. Outside each door I arranged a patio chair and side table for reading or dozing in the sun.

When I was finished, I took pictures and posted them on the town’s Web site with some details and room rates. Each suite had an ocean view out the bay window and was furnished with a small dining table and chairs, a king-sized bed, and two nightstands, plus a love seat and a comfortable lounge chair for reading or watching TV. There was space for a compact desk and matching chair, too, and I threw in free Wi-Fi to attract business travelers.

These days, I was able to keep both spaces rented for five months out of the year. The rent money went into my emergency fund, which I accessed only for emergencies. Duh.

I wasn’t really happy about the tenant who would be arriving the next day, but I’d had no choice in accepting him. Wendell Jarvick showed up for two weeks each fall and did nothing but whine the whole time. Everyone in town knew and hated him because he complained about his meals, his bed, the insects, the sand, the ocean, the crowds, the weather—everything. Some of the townspeople swore he brought the bugs with him.

One of Wendell’s biggest complaints was that he could never get the same hotel room two years in a row. There was a reason for that, but no one was about to explain it to him. The fact was, we had all conspired to spread the pain so no one person or establishment would have to put up with the obnoxious man for two years running.

This year, it was my turn. Wendell would arrive tomorrow and stay for two weeks, much to my dismay. And probably his, too.

I had just finishing polishing the table surfaces when my cell phone rang. It was Stan Boyer, the new owner of a house I was renovating, a once-noble but now broken-down Victorian at South Cove, as we called the southern end of Alisal Cliffs, overlooking the beach.

“I just got a call from the neighbors,” Stan said. “They were out walking their dog and heard water running over at our place. My wife and I are still in San Francisco, so I’m hoping you might have time to drive by and check it out.”

“I’ll go right now.” I didn’t want more water damage on top of everything else that was wrong with that house. There was an old sump pump located in the dilapidated basement. I had a feeling that’s where the problem might be. I glanced at my watch. I still had a few hours of daylight left. “I’ll call and let you know if there’s a problem.”

I took a last look around the guest suite to make sure everything was ready for Wendell’s arrival. Then I ran downstairs and into the house to grab my purse and an emergency tool kit, just in case.

It was getting chilly by the time I reached the Boyers’ historic Victorian home. It had been built in 1870 in classic Second Empire style with its tall, narrow lines and high mansard roof. The style had never been one of my favorites, although I suppose it had its charms. It always reminded me of the Addams Family house or, worse, the house on the hill in the movie
Psycho
. What can I say? I was an impressionable kid when I first saw that movie.

It didn’t help that the house had been built on a jagged rock cliff away from the other homes in the area, which gave it a dark, desolate feeling. But maybe that was just my imagination.

I climbed the front stairs cautiously, since two of the planks had rotted out. I stood at the front door for a few seconds and listened. Sure enough, water was running somewhere in the house. Maybe it was just a toilet and I could jiggle the handle and leave. But life was rarely that simple.

The basement stairs were accessed through a door off the kitchen. My workers and I kept the door locked because the deteriorating wood stairs were so dangerous. We had run ropes along the sides of the stairwell for the guys to grip when going up or down and we’d fashioned a ramp made of a long row of two-by-fours nailed together. But it was still a precarious descent.

I unlocked the door and heard the water rumble louder.
Definitely the sump pump,
I thought. I pulled the string that dangled above my head to turn on the light, but nothing happened.

“Damn bulb must’ve burned out,” I muttered, and went out to the truck to get my flashlight. No way was I navigating down there without a light.

The flashlight threw wild shadows onto the walls of the narrow stairwell. I had to aim it downward to make sure I didn’t take a tumble, especially since the ramp was so steep and not bolted down yet. I clung to the rope with one hand and held my breath as I tiptoed the rest of the way down.

The sump pump was at the far end of the cavernous room. I could hear the water gushing now. The drainage basin must’ve become obstructed somehow. I moved carefully across the room, avoiding the low-hanging beams and the heavy columns of wood that held up the house.

Even with my flashlight guiding the way, I almost tripped over something on the floor.

It was an arm.

My heart was pounding in double time and I trembled so hard I almost fell. There was a man lying facedown on the cold, broken foundation, his arms flung out from his body. My flashlight beam was wavering, but I managed to train it directly at the man’s head.

I backed up and almost tripped against one of the new weight-bearing posts. I squeezed my eyes shut but I could still see the blood caked to his temple where someone had bludgeoned him with something like a baseball bat.

Chills crept down my spine as I recognized the face of the man whose blood had pooled on the floor beneath his cheek. It was Jerry Saxton, my blind date from the other night. He was dead.

I sat at the top of the stairs outside on the front porch and watched the two police cruisers pull up in front of the Boyers’ house. Only minutes ago, I’d raced out of the house and called the police faster than I’d ever done anything in my life.

Tommy Gallagher slammed the door of his cop car and strolled up the walkway. When he reached the base of the stairs he stopped with his hands on his hips and grinned up at me. “Hey, Shannon. Looking good.”

I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t still shaking. Tommy was the only guy I knew who would greet someone so cheerfully at a murder scene.

“Hi, Tommy.”

The man was always in a good mood.
He has never been a raving genius,
I thought sentimentally,
but he is a good-hearted man.
And still cute, too, with a ready smile, twinkling eyes, sun-bleached hair, and a rangy build. I was glad we’d managed to stay friends despite his really bad taste in wives.

He turned to watch his boss approach. “Have you met our new police chief?”

“Not officially,” I said. A new police chief was big news, so I’d certainly heard of him and seen him around town a few times. But up close, he was even more imposing than I’d thought before. He stood about six foot four, with dark blond hair brushed back from his forehead. His police-issue bomber jacket couldn’t disguise the fact that he had muscles on his muscles.

And he was, well, adorable. Honestly, the guy looked like the movie-star version of some Nordic god. He probably practiced making angry faces in the mirror, just so he’d be taken seriously.

“Chief,” Tommy said, “this is Shannon Hammer. She found the body. Shannon, say hello to Eric Jensen, chief of police.”

I was right. Nordic. So here I was, a girl named Hammer, staring at a guy who looked like Thor. Coincidence?

Why hasn’t Lizzie tried to set me up on a blind date with him?
I wondered, and quickly shook the thought away.
No more blind dates, remember?
Besides, Chief Jensen might be married. Except I hadn’t heard about him moving here with a wife.

He stared back at me, unsmiling, his dark blue eyes studying me. It was the complete opposite of the cheery greeting I’d received from Tommy. “Ms. Hammer.”

I nodded. “Chief Jensen.”

“You Jack’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Nice guy,” he said with a somber nod. “I’ve run into him at the pub a few times.”

It was good to know he liked my father. So maybe he wouldn’t throw me into a dank, windowless dungeon, which was the vibe I was getting from him at the moment.

“You found the deceased,” he said.

Tripped over. Found. Same thing.
“Yes. Down in the basement.”

Chief Jensen rested one hand casually on the butt of his gun and glanced around. “Is this your home?”

“No.” Because of his blunt questions, I was tempted to leave it at that, but I relented. “I’m renovating this house for the owners, Stan and Joyce Boyer. I’m a contractor. One of the neighbors reported hearing water running so I came out to investigate.”

He nodded slowly, glanced around the front yard, then back at me. “Please wait out here.” He started to walk up the stairs.

“Stop,” I said.

He raised one eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”

Yes, he was being uptight, but it sort of went with the territory, I guessed. I couldn’t let him break his neck, after all. “That plank you’re about to step on is rotten. You’ll fall through if you put too much pressure on it.”

He started to skip the step.

“Stay on the far left edge and you’ll be okay.”

He probably hated following my advice, but he wasn’t stupid. He took the step, then halted. “Now what?”

“The next one’s fine.”

He climbed another step and waited until I said, “That one’s good on the right side.”

Following my directions, he made it all the way to the top and then stood on the porch staring down at me. His lips twitched as he asked, “Any other hazards I should know about? Minefields? Falling ceilings?”

“Not right away. Go straight down the hall to the kitchen. It’s on your left. On the far side of the refrigerator is an interior door that leads to the basement. It’s unlocked, but here’s where it gets tricky. Watch your step going down, because there’s no light and the stairs are gone so you’ll have to negotiate a precarious ramp to get all the way down.”

He nodded, glanced around some more, and finally jerked his chin toward the front door. “Come on. Show me.”

“How can I resist such a kind invitation?” I muttered, and stood and brushed off my jeans.

Tommy chuckled and followed the two of us inside. We made it slowly down the ramp with only a few curse words muttered. I led the way across the cold room and stepped aside so the two cops could check out the body.

Tommy homed in with his flashlight. “Hey, isn’t that Jerry Saxton?”

“Yes, it is,” I said.

Tommy grinned at me. “Heard about your big fight on the beach the other night.” With a nod of approval, he added, “Heard you got him good. That’s my girl.”

The chief glanced over his shoulder. “Got him good?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, with a little too much enthusiasm. “She kicked him in the family jewels and threatened to . . .”

My eyes goggled and Tommy’s voice faded as he realized what he was saying. He inched away from me, knowing he was in big trouble.

Jensen gazed steadily at me. “Threatened to . . . what?”

“Nothing, Chief,” Tommy said quickly.

The chief’s gaze didn’t waver from mine. “I’ve heard some of this story. So, you knew the deceased.”

“No,” I protested. “Well, not exactly. We went out on one date. That was enough. And, yes, I kicked him, but not in the . . . oh, never mind.” I’d already realized that nobody wanted to hear the true story of what had happened that night on the beach.

He studied me in the glare of the flashlight for a long moment. “But you did threaten to kill him.”

“Yes, because he attacked me viciously,” I countered, hating the defensiveness in my voice. “It was just a figure of speech. I didn’t kill him.” Under my breath I added, “But I don’t blame whoever did.”

He glanced down at the body, then back at me. “You think he deserved to die?”

“I think he was a violent misogynist. It was only a matter of time.” I moved toward the ramp. “I’ll wait outside, if you don’t mind.”

•   •   •

I went back to the front porch and sat on the steps, trying to calculate my chances of staying out of jail. They weren’t good, for at least three reasons. First, not only had I kicked Jerry the other night after he’d assaulted me, but I had threatened to kill him, as well. Loudly. In front of witnesses. On the upside, though, those same witnesses had seen him attack me first.

Second, I was the lucky one who had found his dead body. A coincidence, yes. Absolutely. But what were the odds of convincing Thor of that?

Let’s be logical,
I thought.
If I’d killed Jerry Saxton, why would I be dumb enough to report the body and then stick around until the police arrived?

Excellent point,
I said to myself. The police couldn’t possibly accuse me of murder if they were being sensible about it.

On the other hand, they might come up with any number of contradictory scenarios. Maybe I had lured Jerry to the basement of this old house, tempting him with promises of an assignation. I’d been lying in wait, and when he arrived, I snuck up behind him, and coshed him over the head.

I definitely would’ve had to sneak up on Jerry, because there was no way he’d have let me get close to him again. But Chief Jensen didn’t know that.

A third glaring mark against me was that I was the general contractor for the Boyers’ rehab. I had complete access to this house. I had a reason to be here, but what was Jerry’s excuse? Did he know the Boyers?

I heard footsteps and shifted around. Chief Jensen was backlit by the entry light shining through the open doorway.
Those are some big shoulders,
I thought. Then I noticed he was holding a heavy pipe wrench in one gloved hand.

“Is this yours, Ms. Hammer?”

I jumped up and stared at the wrench. It was pink. My dad had bought me a complete set of sturdy pink tools when I took over the company from him. That wrench was part of the set. I finally met Jensen’s calm gaze. “What are you doing with that?”

“Found it at the bottom of the sump basin, under a few feet of really foul water. It was wrapped in this towel.” He held up a soggy, dirty, disgusting towel. “That’s what was clogging the drain.”

I tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. “Is the wrench . . . Is that the murder weapon?”

“Is it yours?”

My stomach lurched. I was biting my lip so hard, I could taste blood. “I think so.”

“Did you notice it was missing?”

“No. I leave a tool chest here, so I don’t know if it was missing or not. I . . . I like to keep some of my tools on-site when I’m working on a long-term job. It’s just easier, you know? I have so many tools and some are pink and some aren’t, but . . .” I was babbling, so I shut up.

“I’m going to need you to come down to the police station right now.”

It was hard to breathe. “Am I under arrest?”

“Not yet,” he said, sounding reasonable. “We just need to ask you some questions.”

That wasn’t good. I’d seen enough TV crime shows to know that much. I nodded dumbly. “I think I’ll call my dad.”

•   •   •

While I talked to my dad on my cell phone, I wandered around to the back of the house, away from the big ears of the police.

“I’ll meet you at the station,” Dad said immediately. “We’ll straighten this whole thing out.”

“He thinks I’m guilty,” I whispered.

“No, he doesn’t, sweetheart,” he assured me. “He’s not a stupid man. Just tell him the truth and you’ll be out of there in no time.”

After ending the call, I gripped the old porch railing and stared out at the water. The waves were calmer along this part of the shore, due to the wide arc of land that swept around to the south to create the so-called cove that gave our town its name.

I smiled at Dad’s promise to straighten this whole thing out. I knew he couldn’t really do anything, but it was a relief that someone who loved me would be nearby in case something bad happened. As I walked back to the front of the house, my unsettling thoughts were interrupted by a quiet conversation I could hear taking place near the front door.

“Not a good idea, Tom.” It was the police chief talking. “Just leave her truck here.”

“It won’t be safe out here overnight,” Tommy said.

“She should’ve thought of that before . . .”

I didn’t catch the last part of the chief’s comment but I had a feeling it wasn’t complimentary.

“I’ve known her my whole life, Chief. I’ll follow her to the station. There won’t be any problems.” I appreciated Tommy’s vote of confidence.

“You know her well enough to vouch for her?” the chief asked sharply.

Tommy hesitated, then said, “I would trust her with my life.”

Hot tears sprang to my eyes, a rare occurrence. I’d always known Tommy was a good friend, but hearing him defend me to his boss, especially with everything that was going on, meant a lot.

It also meant something to know that the chief of police didn’t trust me to drive my own car to the station. That made me so angry, I wanted to spit nails. But I would just have to live with his attitude. Thor was new in town. He didn’t know me. Didn’t know who to trust and who to suspect. I could only hope that he was good enough at his job to learn quickly.

I wiped my eyes and sniffled once, composing myself before coming into view. Another patrol car had arrived and two more cops I recognized were scanning the yard in front of the house.

“Get your keys, Shannon,” Tommy said casually. “I’ll follow you to the station.”

“Okay.” I gave the chief a prickly look as I passed him. He raised that one eyebrow again, and even though I couldn’t see him as I walked down the steps, I knew his gaze never steered away from me.

When I reached the walkway, I turned to look up at him and cursed silently. Damn it, why did he have to be so compelling? It was disconcerting to distrust him so much and feel this attraction to him at the same time.

I would be smart to ignore his appeal and concentrate on the fact that he considered me a murder suspect, someone who would flee the scene to avoid his cop questions.

The two officers who had just arrived were preparing to dust the front stair rail and doorway for fingerprints. Jensen asked them to also survey the neighbors and take note of anything unusual while they waited for the county coroner to arrive. Tommy and the chief followed me back to the station in their SUVs.

Fifteen minutes later, we all pulled into the parking lot of the Lighthouse Cove Police Station. I saw my uncle Pete’s truck and figured he was here, too. I was happy to have all the support I could get. I just hoped they hadn’t stopped at the pub first to start a new betting pool.

•   •   •

“I’d like to go over it from the beginning again,” Chief Jensen said as he flipped a page in his notepad. “What were you doing out at the Boyers’ house on a Sunday afternoon?”

It was the fourth or maybe fifth time the chief had posed the same question over the past two hours. Was he trying to get me to flub my answers? He’d also been called out of the conference room twice, something that unnerved me because I was stuck waiting and wondering what would happen next. Maybe he was getting reports from the crime scene or stories from other witnesses, whoever they might be. Maybe he’d found the real killer. So what was I still doing here?

The last time he’d left the interrogation room, I had asked him to please send my father and uncle home. It was no use having them hang around and wait for me. I would fill them in on things once I got home.
If
I was ever allowed to go home.

I gazed at the chief and tried to appear patient and helpful—if you ignored my clenched teeth. “As I already told you, I got a call from Mr. Boyer, who asked me to swing by and check to see if there was water running somewhere in the house. He said he was still in San Francisco and couldn’t get here for a while.”