Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island (32 page)

“I need my clothes,” said Noel.

“Charlie'll bring you everything that's in there, soon as he's finished checking outside. You can't stay in the house; it's off-limits now. We'll get some tape around the outside window. Stay away from there too. We'll get to it in the morning, when there's light. Professor Langley, I'll copy my report to the university. I presume you'll do the same to me.”

Noel said, “There're two perfectly good bedrooms upstairs.”

“Danger of contaminating the scene. You should be able to get a room somewhere in Friday Harbor. I can call around for you.”

“Okay,” said Kyra. “I'll go pack.” She headed for the stairs.

Peter said, “The department can probably pay for a room.”

Kyra turned. “We'll need two.”

Charlie came back. “All taped off, Marc.”

“You wanna bring out Mr. Franklin's belongings, Charlie.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Which sounded to Noel as if Charlie had said,
What am I, the valet?
He opened the door and entered the soaking room.

Noel said, “I need plastic garbage bags.” He headed for the kitchen. His suitcase would be useless. He'd have to tell Kyra quickly about his new sense of the threat.

Peter followed. “They're in this cupboard.” He pointed.

“Two for clean clothes, another for the wet, ruined stuff. A washer and dryer might save some of it.”

“I've got both.”

Coltrane pressed a preselected number into his phone. He talked. He broke the connection. Another number. Same response. A third. “Good. Thanks.” He headed for the kitchen. “I've found you one room. Queen bed. Would that work?”

Noel shook his head. “No.”

“Just for what's left of the night. Should be more available tomorrow.”

Peter said, “Kyra can stay there. Noel, I've got a guest room you can use.”

“I don't want to impose—”

Kyra arrived with her suitcase. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Thank you, Peter,” said the Sheriff. “If you take Noel with you, I can drop Kyra. It's at Friday Harbor House.”

“I've got my car,” said Noel.

Peter said, “Let Kyra use it. In the morning, I can get you where she'll be staying.”

Kyra said, “Thanks, Peter.”

The door to Noel's onetime bedroom opened and Charlie appeared, pushing the sodden suitcase. “There's more stuff in the closet.”

Noel handed him two green bags. “Put it in here, please.”

Charlie went back into the bedroom. Noel shifted the wet clothes from suitcase to bag. Peter examined the suitcase. “I think this can be saved.”

“It's a goner. I don't want to put any clothing in there again.”

The Undersheriff returned and handed Noel the bags. “That's all of it.”

The Sheriff eased the group to the front door, and out. “Follow me and I'll guide you to the inn, introduce you.”

Noel gave Kyra the keys to the Honda. “Drive carefully and call me when you're in your room.”

“I'll be fine, don't worry.”

He put his hand on her forearm, squeezed, said, “Call me.”

“Okay.” She closed the door, started the engine, watched the Sheriff's unmarked Ford's lights come on. It moved forward; she followed.

Toni deBourg lay on her back, staring at the dark ceiling. She and Larry had made love a third time, she'd drifted into sleep, then for some dream reason out of sleep again. If Larry's Visualizer could see her dreams, what surprises it would show him. She shifted her right side closer, touching him gently. Knowing she would actually see the Visualizer tomorrow was like the excitement of a young girl, having met her first love, waiting and waiting till the love could be consummated. She knew almost everything about it; Larry had laid out its possibilities at the pre-conference, and he'd explained parts of the process to her privately. But he'd always kept the hardware and the algorithms well concealed. Now she'd broken his refusal to let her see it in action.

She sensed him stir, his hand crossed her stomach. He didn't wake. She and Larry Rossini, what would become of them? In the near future? Likely not a distant future.

Small but well appointed, Kyra's room—a sensible brown armchair, a solid calming mattress, bedside tables on both sides with lamps, a chest of drawers, a tiny bathroom, curtains over the windows; she'd pulled them apart when she first came in, saw the nighttime harbor dimly lit. More romantic than threatening. Yes, Noel was worried about her. As she was about him. The threat had been phrased strangely, against someone he cared for. Then the threatener had attacked Noel himself. Had whoever had thrown the firebomb known whose bedroom lay behind that particular window? Or did he or she have a sense of the guesthouse layout? Known it before or been inside while she and Noel were out? It would've been harder to toss the bomb through a second-storey window. She saw no logic to any of this, not the form of the threat, nor even why a threat should be made against their dealing with Langley's case.

Maybe the threat wasn't because of the Langley case. But what else could it be? Because they'd made themselves obnoxious around Friday Harbor? Outsiders poking in. But into what? They'd barely started to think about Susanna Rossini being kidnapped, so not that. What else? What else?

Time to call Noel. Yes, she was comfortable, two good locks on her door.

“Listen,” Noel blurted, “I had this idea. Maybe the threat and the firebomb have nothing to do with Beck. Maybe we've pissed somebody off with something else we did.”

“Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing. But what else have we done?”

“Well, lied to a few people about the Beck case.”

“But we've already said nobody throws a firebomb in a plagiarism investigation.”

“I know, I know.”

“And it can't have to do with Rossini, because we haven't done anything about his daughter.”

“Listen, Kyra. It's getting late. I want to figure our tactics for meeting Rossini tomorrow. With Peter present.”

“We shouldn't let him come with us,” she said, forgetting it was her idea.

“It's more like our going with him. He wants information about Susanna for Jordan Beck.”

“So why not let him go alone?”

“Because we can use the pressure his visit will provide. Convince Larry to let us ask people directly about Susanna, we'll be way ahead.”

Kyra thought about this. “Good. I push, you comfort Rossini.”

“Yeah,” he said, “our usual roles.”

“You want to reverse?”

“No, we do it well this way. G'night.”

“See you tomorrow.”

At 1:40 she turned off the lights. If the threat was really against Noel, would he be safe at Peter's? Whoever had thrown the bomb, would that person know Noel had moved? Had he been watching the house when Peter and Noel drove away? Or had someone followed the Sheriff and the Honda here and was planning violence against her? The questions whirled in her brain. Sleep wasn't coming. She had to relax.

She turned the bedside light back on, got out of bed and reopened her suitcase. She took out the leather case holding her juggling balls. Maybe they'd help her unwind now. Sometimes she'd juggle specific factors, give each ball a value or a name, see which would be the first to drop, like in college when she'd been dating four guys at the same time. Most often she'd keep the balls more abstract, their patterns of movement in the air perhaps creating trails of associations she couldn't otherwise see or feel. She opened the case and poured the balls onto the bedsheet, six of them, each a dull red. Changed her mind, returned two. First up, quickly the second. Noel safe, Noel in danger. A third, Peter Langley, making Noel safer, imperiling him, making no difference. A fourth, Sheriff Marc, a factor, not a factor. She kept all four in the air for almost two minutes. Not bad. Good to feel her body moving. She caught two in her right hand, two in her left. What had she learned? That she could still juggle. In the old days, when she was trying to quit smoking, juggling had been a great friend. You can't juggle and light up at the same time. What else had she learned? Damn it, not much.

She got back into bed. She decided to believe that Noel was safe, at least while he stayed at Peter's.

Thor pushed away from the table. “Okay, that's it. Time to go.”

“Need your beauty sleep?” asked Spider.

Thor grinned. “You could use some yourself. Pay up and get out.”

Jordan stood and realized his legs weren't as steady as he liked them to be. He took out his wallet and handed Thor a bank card. “Remember, you said if we went over a hundred you'd give us the wholesale price.” He chuckled.

Sara called, “Hey Thor, whazza rush, not e'en two 'clock yet.”

Raina stared into the middle distance, seeing nothing in the room. She was searching for a location, needed to fit a man to a place . . . 

“C'mon, Thor,” Tom said, “thought you opened Thor's to make money, can't make money when you're closed. What kind of a capitalist are you, anyway?”

At the bar, Thor found his card reader, stuck Jordan's card in and returned to the table. “Here you go.”

Jordan took it, okayed the amount. Nearly three hundred, damn. But worth every penny. Best evening in a long time. He entered his code, repeated the okay, waited, removed the card and handed the reader back to Thor. A few more sips of beer would make his walk to his apartment a whole lot steadier. He sat again, now next to Raina. Sara and Tom were up, looking as if they'd made brand-new plans for the rest of the night. Spider had followed Thor back to the bar and was deep in conversation with him. Jordan turned to Raina, who seemed to be nodding to herself.

She ran her fingers through her hair, swung her head to face Jordan, and grinned. “I know where I've seen Frank.”

“At the Chamber, you said.”

“No. He said. He may have seen me there, but I don't remember. No, 'bout half a mile from my place. The Odlum place.”

Sara and Tom called good night to the room, thanks and congrats to Jordan, and left.

“Mount Dallas Road?”

“Yeah, a two-storey, green I think, just by the big curve where it gets steep.”

“All parts of that road curve and are hilly.”

“Whatever. But that's where I saw him. Day after I came back from San Francisco. I was surprised 'cause they're away, musta rented it out.”

“Sure it was him? Frank?”

“Pretty sure. All that curly hair. He was carryin' a bunch of market bags. Real full, it looked like.”

“So you're neighbors.”

“Not really.”

“Good lookin' guy, Frank.”

“Stop it, Jordan. Spider's my man.”

“Nothin's forever, Raina.”

“Look, he's been there a couple of weeks anyway, and I don't even slow the car when I drive by.”

“Could now, since you've been introduced.”

“You're an anarchist, Jordan.”