Electric Blue (6 page)

“You hungry?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Jump out and we’ll fire up the truck. Forget Foster’s. I feel like a chili dog.”

I did as he suggested, more because I didn’t care than because I was eager to leave the lake. I climbed into the passenger side of Dwayne’s battered pickup. I hadn’t been inside it in a while but it hadn’t improved much over the last month. There’d been an incident where Dwayne had to pick me up at the hospital. He’d helped me inside but as a luxury ride it left a lot to be desired. I’d made it home and collapsed on my couch. Still, Dwayne had been there for me.

We drove to Lou’s, across the river in Milwaukie. It’s one of those institutions that’s been around since the dawn of time—a prefab building shaped like a trailer. It’s more about basic product than palate, more concerned with delivering up the same foot-long-chili-dog meal than worrying about an ultra-high rating from the health department. Not that they’re slouches. Their focus is just different.

Dwayne really knows how to eat this sort of food. We settled onto one of their indoor painted picnic tables, seated across from each other on long narrow benches. I watched him bite into the foot-long dog, stuffing enough into his mouth to make me marvel. And he can do this without looking like a pig or a slob. I, myself, do not share this talent. I bit into mine and immediately had to wipe excess chili sauce from my mouth.

“So, okay,” Dwayne said, chewing. “Tell me about ’em.”

“Jazz left me alone with Orchid.”

“Nana.”

“Yes, Nana.”

“And?”

“She was really nice. Kinda dotty. Some of the time, anyway. Other times she was really sharp.”

“That’s typical of dementia, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess. Although she was pretty clear on current issues. Well…” I made a face. “And then she’d kinda go off track. But she knows the family wants control of the money. She’s bound and determined to keep their hands off it.”

“Because she wants control, or because she doesn’t trust them?”

“Maybe a little of both. I told her she needed an estate attorney.”

“What did she say to that?”

“Oh, at first she acted like she didn’t hear me. She kind of rambled about her husband, where they went on vacation, how they met. She wouldn’t stay on the subject. She lives in this suite of rooms, no phone, no intercom that I could tell. But the door isn’t locked, so it’s not like they’re keeping her prisoner.” I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell Jazz about her. His son, Logan, is her favorite grandchild.”

I thought I was keeping my recitation objective, but Dwayne must have heard something in my voice, because he asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Logan? Nothing.”

“You don’t like him.”

“He’s twelve. What’s to like?”

Dwayne swallowed his last bite, looking like he could eat five more. “Lots of twelve-year-olds are likable.”

“Name one.”

“My brother’s son. Del.”

“You have a brother? How come he didn’t get mentioned when you listed your family?”

“I don’t like him much. He’s a stepbrother. Del’s okay, though.”

“Any other family members you haven’t mentioned?” I said dryly.

“Scores. We talkin’ about me, or the Purcells?”

“Both, maybe.”

“So, what’s wrong with Logan besides his being twelve?”

Dwayne clearly wasn’t going to get sidetracked onto his family. I gave up and went back to the Purcells. “He’s rude. Miserably rude. Jazz seems overwhelmed by him.”

“Doesn’t know how to be a daddy?” Dwayne guessed.

“Logan’s a handful. Jazz seems worn down. Orchid did get kind of chatty about Logan. She talked about Jennifer—Logan’s mom and Jazz’s wife—who died last Christmas in an auto accident. It was a hit-and-run. Logan and Jazz were in the car. Jazz ended up in the hospital for a bit, but Logan was unhurt.”

“You want to feel sorry for the kid but you don’t like him, so it’s hard.”

That about summed it up, all right. “The kid probably has lots of issues.” I was trying to be fair but Dwayne can read me like a book.

“Doesn’t mean you have to like him.”

“Nope.”

“Okay, so back to Nana. Give me more about that meeting.”

I took a bite and closed my eyes, partly because I wanted to put my interview with Orchid in order, partly because the chili was hot and spicy and better than it had any damn right to be. I wanted to hurry through one bite so I could get to the next. I envied the way Dwayne could eat a third of the foot-longer in a bite. I had ordered a regular size dog and now was wishing I hadn’t been such a girl about it. Give me fat and nitrates and lots of ’em.

I started talking. Dwayne, for all his faults, can be a good listener. He waited while I told my story.

In Orchid’s presence, I’d felt a bit like a parent or a jailer. She’d talked on and on about Logan, like a girl with her first crush. Any attempt I made to change the subject was met with resistance. I swear she invented ways to bring him back into the conversation. I couldn’t shake her from talking about him, so in the end I just let her go on for the better part of an hour. I learned that Logan was genius smart, that he was handsome enough to be a model, or maybe an actor, and that he was patient as a saint as he’d taught Orchid how to operate Game Boy—and oh, goodness, she’d gotten so good at it! Those little buttons were so small, but dearest Logan had showed her the menu screen. She just loved that it was called a
menu
.

At this point she’d actually clapped her hands and chortled. Honestly, all the praise for dearest Logan was gaggy enough to make me want to puke. I kept an interested look on my face by sheer willpower.

Finally, as she ran down, I said to her, “Jazz is worried that no one’s looking out for your best interests.”

“Come on, girl. Tell the truth. They’re all worried about the money.”

“Jazz just wants to make sure you get what you want, not what they want.”

“You make it sound like a war.”

“I don’t know what it is,” I told her. “But I think everyone would agree that you should meet with an estate lawyer.”

“Like Mr. Neusmeyer?” She smoothed her skirt.

I instantly felt my insides contract. Of all the lawyers in the state of Oregon—and believe me, they’re thick on the ground—she had to contact Neusmeyer? I’d had a run-in with the man a few months prior. In a bid to gain information, I’d pretended to be someone else—someone other than an investigator—someone with even less scruples than I possessed myself. Jerome Neusmeyer was known for casting an eye toward younger women, so I’d assumed a fake name and approached him, making clear that I was interested in being an estate beneficiary and that I could be bought. Neusmeyer had jumped on the idea—and jumped on me. Extricating myself from the situation had been tricky. I could still feel the imprint where he’d squeezed my breast. The idea that he was involved with the Purcells left me searching for an exit
tout de suite.

I would have run from the room right then and there, but Orchid had turned away to glance out the window and stare up at the sky. The gnarled oak that reached toward the house was losing its leaves. She said, as if in conversation with it, “I don’t remember what happened to her.”

I’d been lost in thought at that point, wondering if Dahlia might not be right and that this dementia-thing was an act. She knew who Neusmeyer was, all right. Now, I keyed into what she was saying. “What happened to who?” I asked.

“I think it was my Percy’s fault. But he was a good man,” she added instantly, as if afraid she might be overheard maligning her late husband. “He didn’t mean to drive her away.”

“Are you talking about your…daughter?” I moved closer to her, craning my neck to look up at the sky, too. What was this? Some kind of confession?

“Sometimes I think she’d still be here if we’d just listened a little more. That’s the way it is with children, don’t you know. You have to listen to what they’re not saying more than what they’re saying.”

“Yes.” I agreed with her. She seemed entirely sane. Thoughtful, even.

Then she suddenly glanced around furtively and whispered, “I just don’t want anything bad to happen.”

“Nobody does,” I answered automatically. She looked unsure, so I added, “Nothing bad’s going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t, I guess.”

“I want her back.” Orchid’s face tightened, and she suddenly looked as stubborn as a two-year-old. Then her expression cleared. “But I have Logan. And Jazz!” as if she’d just remembered.

“Yes,” I agreed, and that was pretty much the end of our discussion. It definitely left me feeling undecided about her mental state, not exactly the news Jazz would want to hear. Now, I said to Dwayne, “She needs to be looked at by a professional.”

Dwayne, who’d been listening intently to my story, asked, “You think she meant Jazz and Logan’s mother?”

“Lily’s the one that’s gone.”

“She died in the sanitarium?” I nodded and Dwayne added drily, “Doesn’t speak well for how she feels about the rest of her family.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What about them?” Dwayne asked. “You think they’re tryin’ to steal her money?”

I chewed thoughtfully and mentally ran through my impressions of the Purcells.

“Hard to say. I think they pretty much keep her isolated and confined to her room. There’s no phone, and I didn’t get the feeling she has lots of visitors. Maybe she likes it that way. Maybe it’s a protection for her. She could be easy prey for anyone trying to get a chunk of Purcell money. Beyond that, Orchid’s got some deep fear. Or, maybe that comes from starting to lose your mind. She needs a doctor
and
a lawyer.”

“Your buddy. Neusmeyer.” A smile played around Dwayne’s lips. He knows all about my “relationship” with the estate lawyer. “So, what did you tell Jazz?”

“I haven’t really told him anything yet. He wants to meet tomorrow. He asked me a couple of questions and then we just sort of left it.”

Actually, I’d walked downstairs after the meeting with Orchid and breathed a sigh of relief to see that most of her children had dispersed. The main salon was empty except for Jazz, Logan and Benjamin. Logan was thumbing through a book and perfecting his bored look. Benjamin was standing at the window, looking up at the sky, much as Orchid had. Jazz was lost in thought, his brows drawn together, his expression sort of grim.

When I entered the room Jazz jumped to his feet. His smile nearly distracted me. “What do you think of her?” he asked eagerly. “Isn’t she great?”

I wasn’t sure what I thought of her, in point of fact. She’d seemed kind of spooky, and sometimes cagey, sometimes clear. She’d lamented her husband’s treatment of Lily, but then seemed oddly scared to talk about it.

“I don’t think she’s ready to give up control.”

“But should she? Is it dangerous, do you think?”

I shrugged. “Call an estate lawyer. Or, maybe the family doctor. Maybe they can figure out if she’s
compos mentis
.”

“What’s that?” Logan asked, eyeing me darkly.

“If Grandmother’s in her right mind,” Benjamin said, his voice sounding dreamy and distracted.

We all looked at him. My thought was: Now, why doesn’t
he
call her Nana?

“I hate doing that,” Jazz said. “It feels like such a betrayal. I really think she just needs someone with her.”

“She’s got Eileen,” Benjamin said.

Logan made a choking sound. “Her? She’s a thief! She stole those jewels.”

“We don’t know that,” Jazz reminded.

“Yes, we do. We just don’t want to do anything about it, ’cause no one wants to take care of Nana.”

Logan sounded fairly knowledgeable about the situation, especially for a twelve-year-old.

“I take it Eileen’s the caretaker?” I put in.

Benjamin nodded.

“You ready to go?” Jazz asked me. I got the feeling he wanted out of there even worse than I did.

“Sure.”

We headed through the back door to the portico and our vehicles. Jazz drove a silvery BMW convertible. The other two sports cars were gone. The vanilla Caddy still sat parked, looking for all the world that it had been there an eternity and would be there for another one. Bits of moss had taken up residence around the wipers, and the cream body was streaked with dirt.

I glanced at the entrance drive, which curved into the portico and exited out again, angling down another long, leaf-canopied lane, then at Jazz. He was in profile, looking at the house. He could have been posing for a J. Crew print ad. He looked wonderfully clean and beautiful against the decaying property. Briefly, I wondered what he did for a living. Did he even have a job? Or, was he on the dole with Nana’s money? He seemed so…untouched…that it was difficult to believe he’d ever toiled at anything.

A stiff breeze had kicked up and leaves swirled over his convertible BMW and my Volvo wagon. They settled onto his upholstery but Jazz didn’t appear to notice.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” I said. My job was done, and I was kind of wondering when Jazz planned to break out the checkbook.