Candy Apple Red (26 page)

I hurried back to my car and raced to the restaurant. Luckily, there’s enough parking nearby La Mer for me to usually find a spot. I found one not too far away and hurried past the black-vested valets standing outside the front door. I hate that shit. Where do they think they are? Downtown L.A.?

I headed inside and through the main dining room to the patio. Murphy was there ahead of me, standing by the maitre d’ stand. He was dressed in a khaki shirt, chocolate chinos and leather sandals. He looked exactly like the California boy he’d once been. Yes, he was an Oregon transplant, but I’d met him in Santa Monica and that’s how I always thought of him. These days I was more “Oregon” than he was.

He was trying to wrangle us a table near the edge of the patio. One that would offer us a view. The maitre d’, who looked as if she sucked lemons on a daily basis, melted at his charm. Murphy didn’t turn it on often, but when he did he slayed ’em right and left.

We were seated near one of the broad leaf maple trees which ringed the patio. Beyond them was a dense forest of Douglas firs that sloped down from the restaurant to the lake. I could see glimmering slices of green water far below. The sun filtered through the branches. It was such a lovely morning. Thinking about the delicious breakfasts La Mer served, my mouth started watering on its own. I could count on one hand the amount of times I’d eaten here. This was a treat worth savoring.

I heard the scrape of chairs behind me, but I was deep into scanning the menu. Maybe I could have a mimosa. Orange juice and champagne to brighten the palate.

“Tim Murphy!” a female voice crowed in delight.

I turned to see Paula Shepherd with her sidekick, Brad. I groaned inwardly. As they approached our table Murphy gazed at them with a serious lack of enthusiasm.

“I’m so sorry about Cotton,” Paula said, her eyes assessing Murphy, trying to get a read on his emotions, her mouth a tight, false smile. Brad shook Murphy’s hand and murmured condolences.

It was all totally awkward. Paula and Brad were finished with breakfast and we were waiting to be served. They stood beside our table, doing a dance with the waitstaff to keep out of the way as waiters and busboys filled water glasses and took orders, rushing around the patio.

I found myself wanting to say, “Get to the point,” because it was clear they had something on their minds. Finally, Paula said, “We were talking to Heather yesterday and expressed our interest in the property. I guess that’s no surprise. She wasn’t sure it was hers and suggested maybe you might inherit it. If that’s the case, I just want to say how much Brad and I could do for you.” She nodded while she spoke, as if this would assure Murphy of her good intentions. Her red lacquered nails lifted a card from a side pocket of her purse as she talked. Lightly, she dropped it on the table, next to Murphy’s knife. She kept a nail on the card a second or two longer. I shot Murphy a look across the table. He was silent but his face was suffused with dark red. I had to restrain myself from pushing my chair back to get out of harm’s way.

Murphy slowly stood up, but something in his bearing caused Paula and Brad to step back. Maybe they were more perceptive than I gave them credit for. With quiet fury, Murphy gritted, “Get the hell away from me.”

“I understand how you feel,” Paula soothed. “Just wanted to say hello.”

“Don’t talk to me again.”

“Maybe this isn’t the right time.” Her smile was fixed on her face, but her eyes darted around. She smiled at someone across the way.

“Get…out…”

They made good-bye noises and scooted away. Murphy sat back down. Several long moments passed. The waiter stopped by and I ordered a veggie omelet, orange juice and coffee. It kinda felt like my chance for a mimosa had passed. Murphy could barely bring himself to order. With an effort, he ordered eggs benedict, one of the house specialties.

“Who the hell are these people?” he finally demanded as we were halfway through our meals. I had a mouthful of omelet. Little bits of broccoli caught in my throat as I tried to answer. I reached for the water and gulped. Murphy didn’t even notice my distress. “They’re vultures,” he bit out. “They’re picking the bones and Cotton’s body is practically still warm.”

That image kind of put me off my food. I pushed my plate away and tried to think past it, cradling my coffee mug in both hands. “Wasn’t Cotton cremated?” Which reminded me that I didn’t know what to think about tossing his ashes in Lake Chinook.

“You know what I meant.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to think about any of it anyway. My brain was singing a little tune about Santa Fe. Love was making me giddy…or lust…or maybe just hope. I didn’t know and didn’t care.

My cell phone rang again. I made annoyed sounds as I examined the caller. It was Dwayne. I shut the thing off without answering. “Who was that?” Murphy asked.

“Dwayne. I’ll call him later.”

“What’s the story with the two of you?”

I was surprised. “No story. He just wants me to work with him.”

Murphy frowned down at what was left of his meal. “I have no right to ask. I just got the impression you were…more.”

“How’d you get that impression?” I asked, mildly horrified. “Dwayne and I are friends. Period.” I probably said this with more force than necessary, but I really wanted to be clear on the issue. Call it guilt over my semi-attraction to Dwayne.

“He’s the reason you kept pushing about Cotton and Bobby after you stopped working for Tess.”

I couldn’t let Dwayne take credit for that one. “Uh, no. Actually, that was just me. Dwayne’s been telling me to give it up for weeks.”

Murphy’s brows lifted in surprise. “Dwayne hasn’t been pulling your strings?”

“Hell, no.” I took offense. “Dwayne wants me to work with him but believe me, it’s all about collecting the fee. If I’m not making any money, he doesn’t want me on the case, whatever it is.”

“Guess I’ll have to rethink things.”

“Guess you will.”

He shook his head as if to clear everything out. In the slanting sunlight he again looked tired. He caught me staring at him and said, “I’ve never wanted anything to be over so much. Except before, with Bobby, when the shit hit the fan. I just wanted to run away that time.”

“You did run away.”

“Yeah, and I want to again. Right after the reading of the will. What a crock. I hate this kind of ceremony.”

“Is it really okay to toss Cotton’s ashes in the lake? I mean, isn’t there a law or something about that? I know they sprinkle ashes in the ocean, but in our lake? That seems—wrong.”

He half-smiled. “Heather doesn’t give a rat’s ass. She wants to get Monday over almost as much as I do.” He glanced up. “You’re coming to the house for the reading?”

“Uh, no…I hadn’t planned to. I don’t think I’m really invited.” I had a picture of Jerome Neusmeyer seeing “Ronnie” again and didn’t think I wanted the fallout from that.

“I want you there,” he said. “The will’s read, we scatter the ashes and then it’s over.” He reached across the table and clasped one of my hands. I realized how cold my skin was. “It’s all happened kind of fast. You’re thinking about Santa Fe, though. Aren’t you?”

“Thinking about it.”

“Good.” He smiled.

I left Murphy at the restaurant. He gallantly paid the bill even though I got a peek at the amount and emitted a squawk of shock. I got a second shock when he asked, “Mind if I move to your place?” as we walked to our cars. “I’ve had about as much of Heather and the island and the whole goddamned circus as I can stand.”

Honest to God, I had a moment of pure fear. A roommate? I mean, yes, Santa Fe was on the table, but
now?

“My door—or more precisely, my window—is always open,” I invited graciously. “Although my mother’s threatening to visit.”

“When?”

“This week.”

“Better call her off. We’ll be gone by then.”

He pulled me to him and kissed me hard on the lips before leaving. My heart was jumping all over the place as I climbed into the Volvo. I tried to concentrate on tasks at hand, like that I needed to fix my window. Maybe Murphy could do it. Dwayne was handy with those kinds of tasks, but I was avoiding him. I didn’t want him to spoil what I had going with Murphy and I knew Dwayne would, if only for the reason that he was losing his only student.

But I needed to check in with him. I pulled my phone out of my purse. He hadn’t left a message. Reluctantly, I punched out his number. He answered on the third ring, sounding disgruntled. “What’s eating you?” I asked.

“Tracy and Angela. They just left to go back to Seattle. I’m thinking about getting drunk. Wanna join?”

I examined the height of the sun. “It’s barely noon.”

“Jesus. Those women. That kid wasn’t the one from Seattle, as you well know. Angela’s a nut bag. If she doesn’t let up, Tracy’ll do everything she’s accused her of. It’s out there, just waiting for her. I tried to tell my sister as much and she went crazy all over me. God. Couldn’t get them out fast enough.”

“Nice of you to try to help.”

“A waste of time and energy.” He snorted. “You did good work, though.”

The praise got me. “You owe me money,” I responded. I had a vision of me telling Dwayne I was leaving for Santa Fe and the coward in me decided now was not the time.

“Come by and I’ll pay you. I might even have something more substantial for you. Like a real investigation.”

“What kind of investigation?”

“Messy divorce. Sex. The guy works for a company with a private plane and I think he and the flight attendant are clocking the hours in the Mile-High Club. The wife wants his balls. I think I could get you on the plane.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said without enthusiasm. I was afraid to face him. Afraid what I might say and what that scene might be.

“What’s up?” he asked. He was like a bloodhound, sniffing the air.

“Later, Dwayne.” I hung up, pissed off to no end. Why was I feeling so shitty? I wasn’t. I was walking on air. I was on the threshold of new beginnings. If Dwayne wanted an information specialist, he was going to have to look elsewhere. If Tess wanted more information on Cotton and his money, she was going to have to come to the will reading. If Owen wanted to get drunk and mourn Cotton’s death, he was going to have to find a different listener. And if Heather and Paula Shepherd and sidekick Brad and Craig Cuddahy wanted to cut up the island and serve it into little pieces, it didn’t matter to me.

It’s all about real estate.

I said, succinctly, “I don’t fucking care.”

When I got home I had a little bit of time on my hands, so I did a quick inventory of my belongings. Not too many. Could I move to Santa Fe?
Would
I move to Santa Fe?

Stepping onto the back deck, I turned my face up to a faint breeze. A passing boat caught my eye, heading toward the main lake. It was the Mooneys. They waved at me energetically. I lifted a hand, wondering how much I would miss my bungalow.

Binky sat at my side and panted. She looked up at me. “Want some water?” I asked.

She toddled back inside ahead of me and waited at her bowl. I poured her some water and examined the shiny, empty bottom of her food dish. “The way you eat, it’s a wonder you haven’t gained ten pounds.” She stopped lapping at her water and cocked her head.

I shook my head. I was getting way too used to this dog.

The day wore on. I thought about calling my mother, or Booth, or Cynthia, or Dwayne, but I couldn’t find the energy. I was filled with the kind of low-level dread that accompanies every icky task that must be faced. My friends and family were not going to jump for joy if I told them I was back with Murphy, sort of, and we were planning on moving to New Mexico together.

When my cell phone rang around six p.m. I snatched it up eagerly. From feeling harangued earlier in the day, now I felt abandoned. I worried for a moment that it was Mom, ready to tell me she’d booked a flight, but the caller I.D. wasn’t a number I recognized. “Hello. Jane Kelly.”

There was breathing on the other end. Not exactly heavy breathing, but breathing nonetheless. Maybe I was getting an obscene call. Quickly I tried to come up with a sharp, witty response to some lewd suggestion he might make. All that came to mind was: “You coming, or just breathing hard.” It wouldn’t be a bad start but I thought it best to wait till he made his move.

“Hi…uh…it’s Jesse.”

An obscene caller with a name…hmmm…The voice was male but it sounded young. Maybe jailbait young. Just my luck to get an underage pervert. He probably had a soccer mom eavesdropping on the other line. “Well, Jesse, how can I help you?”

“Kurt gave me your number.”

“Okay…” I felt a faint stirring of memory.

His voice had grown softer. So soft, in fact, that I was straining to hear. “He said you wanted to talk to me.”

Kurt…The lightbulb went off. The Coma Kid. “Yes! That’s right. I told him I wanted to talk to you.”

Silence.

“You there?” I asked.

“I don’t really have anything to say.”

It sounded as if he were looking around, moving his mouth away from the receiver and then back again. His nervousness came across the wire to me and I found myself looking over my shoulder.