Lavender Beach (8 page)

“That’s not quite true. Shirleen, yes, but Dale Novack is Durke’s stepfather.”

“Problems there?”

“Not really. Shirleen waited years to remarry. Durke gets along well enough with Dale as far as I know.”

“Are you sure you haven’t been in touch with him since you got out of rehab?”

“The last text message I got from him was just before that, maybe a few days. After that, I’ve heard nothing. It occurred to me that Durke might be upset because I left without saying goodbye. Come to think of it, I did send him an email but never got a reply.”

“What exactly is your relationship to him?” Brent asked, sending her a determined look.

She gave him a long stare.

He dropped the cop angle. “I have to ask these questions, Eastlyn. It could be the difference in locating him or not.”

She let out an extended sigh and plopped on the couch. “Okay. You’re right. Durke’s a lifelong friend. We grew up together. He lived one block over from me. His dad walked out when he was eight, my mom died when I was nine. So we helped each other through some really rough times over the years. I guess I’d describe him as my best friend.”

“Boyfriend?”

Eastlyn ran a hand through her rumpled hair. “It’s too early to walk down memory lane like this. But, if Durke’s gone missing… I want to help find him. Look, we tried the boyfriend girlfriend thing. High school stuff. So yes, Durke’s a former lover, an ex, many years in the past.” She stood up, rubbed her hands on her thighs. “If I’m under the gun here, answering questions like this, I’ll need another cup of coffee. Want some?”

“Sure. Did Durke have a drug problem, too?”

Eastlyn scowled into her cup on the way into her tiny kitchen. “You mean like I did? Durke’s problems happened ten years ago when I was squeaky clean and in the military. Mine was…well, you know, more recent. I helped him fight his demons, he helped me through mine.”

“By selling you prescription drugs?”

She whirled on the cop. “That’s not what happened at all. Durke was no dealer or informant. I don’t how that rumor ever got started. I should know. I went to Durke the night before I headed to rehab. I went there to plead for anything Durke might have on hand, not as a dealer, but from his own personal medicine cabinet, not to buy it, but to beg. Do you understand what I mean?”

Brent nodded. “I think I get the picture.”

“I was desperate. Durke had been to the oral surgeon a couple weeks before to get a root canal done. I knew the dentist had given him Vicodin for the pain. But Durke refused to give me anything at all. I left Hotshots empty-handed and decided I’d reached one more low point in my life. I needed to do something about it. When Durke called it a night at the bar, he showed up at the rooming house where I lived to help me get through the night so that I could check into rehab the next day.”

She caught the look on Brent’s face, took it for disdain, and added, “As a friend. Our relationship had been strictly platonic for years. The next morning I drove myself to a treatment facility called Caliente Hills at the base of the Sequoia National Forest—beautiful spot, but it was no weekend spa. The counselors were tough, tougher than the other places I’d tried, different than all the rest I’d been to. They forced me to face all the hows and whys of my life so I could better focus on the main goal—getting myself off the pills. I think they might’ve given me that kick in the ass I needed to stay clean. Then when I got out that day, I went back to the boarding house, and there you guys were—standing there to drag me back here. That’s the truth of it.”

“Did Durke have a significant other?”

“He’d recently broken up with a woman. They’d only been dating for about six months though.” She rattled off a name.

“Could you give me directions on how to get to this cabin?”

“Sure. And Brent? Could you keep me posted with updates?”

“Absolutely.”

Layne’s Trains shared
a dumpster and an alleyway directly across from the animal clinic.

That night when Cooper took the trash out after closing up his shop, he spotted Eastlyn outside sitting on her little porch. She looked so forlorn that he decided to wander over and see what was wrong.

On approach, he heard Shostakovich's Symphony No. 5 soaring from inside the bungalow. Well into the movement on the track known as Largo, Cooper recognized the familiar weeping violin and cello in harmony with the flutes and piccolos.

“From your choice of music, you look like you just lost your best friend,” he said as he took a seat on the steps.

“I just may have,” she muttered before telling him about Durke’s disappearance.

Cooper’s face showed immediate empathy. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“Not your problem. So you’re no fan of Shostakovich?”

“On the contrary, this is one of the most moving and brilliant pieces. From the peppered rhythm to the burst of finish that says he’s mocking the politics of his time, Shostakovich slams you straight into the despair and hopelessness of the Soviet people.”

Eastlyn lifted a brow. “Despair? You picked up on that as though it’s something you’ve known firsthand.”

“We could start a club. But I doubt we could charge admission. I get listening to classical music but why Shostakovich?”

“It’s usually the one piece that matches up with all my different moods at one time or another. Did you know Northwestern University did a study that said Shostakovich was the one composer whose music helped get patients suffering from depression through their ordeal the best?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. His music has a way of reaching into the soul and pulling out a hunger and a desire to overcome whatever anguish is there. Never underestimate the power of music.”

She tilted her head to study him. “I like the way you think.”

“Mind if I ask you something?”

Her study turned into an irritated stare. “I guess. As long as it isn’t some silly notion that I worked as an exotic dancer back in Bakersfield.”

“Ah, I was wondering if you’d heard that rumor.”

“Abby Anderson asked me about it two seconds after I rented this place. For a marine biologist Abby’s not shy about sharing what she knows. She said she heard it from some woman named Myrtle Pettibone. Imagine that picture, me as a stripper. The strip joint would have to be pretty hard up to hire a woman who wears a prosthetic. Not to mention the fact that I’m way too old for such a ridiculous job.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. If you’re old then so am I.”

“When men age they’re viewed as distinguished. They grow old gracefully, women, not so much. Some days I already feel like the good days are behind me and I’m facing down middle age with a pitchfork in my hand.”

That brought a chuckle out of him. “I’d planned to warn you to watch out for Myrtle, the woman’s a pistol. In fact, she often packs one, so beware. But now I’m thinking we should all watch out for the newcomer with the lethal pitchfork.”

Eastlyn’s temperament morphed into a teasing tone. “Anyway, she has a crush on you.”

“Myrtle or Abby?”

“No, silly. Abby.” Eastlyn cracked a grin. “Hmm, for all I know maybe Myrtle has one, too. You’re a popular guy, Cooper Richmond.”

“Ah. No wonder Abby’s forever coming into the shop. Did she tell you she has a crush on me?”

“She didn’t have to. The first time I met her, Abby went on and on about Cooper Richmond for a solid fifteen minutes.”

Cooper looked as though lightning had come down from the heavens and struck him in the head. “I’ve never once encouraged her. She’s a nice girl, but… I have no interest in Abby.”

“Why not? She’s blonde, beautiful, has a sunny disposition, and loves animals. Cord tells me when she finished her grad school she stayed in Pelican Pointe even though she could’ve had her pick of places to work. She passed on San Diego’s Sea World
and
the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Maybe you’re the reason.”

“But she’s what? Ten years younger than I am?”

“Age is merely a state of mind. Anyway, I promised Abby, the girl with the major crush on you, that I’d make it over to the Fanning Marine Rescue Center so she could give me the tour. So who’s nosier, Myrtle or Abby?”

“Now that I think about it, both. Between the two, they cover one end of the generation gap to the other. Although, I think Myrtle must have special radar that Abby lacks.” He paused as if he wanted to change the subject.

“You did say you wanted to ask me something.”

“I’m curious. When you flew for the army what was your call sign?”

“Well, that came from left field.” She cracked a smile at the memory. “Zerker.” When she noticed his face contorted in confusion, she added, “It’s short for berserker.”

The bafflement disappeared replaced by a wide curve of lips. “You mean like the fierce Viking warrior? Those berserkers?”

She looked down to gape at him sitting on the step. “Not many people would know that. Ah, I get it. The nerd surfaces, once again, the guy who loves to read.”

“Ancient Norse history speaks of a fighter known to plunge headlong into the heart of battle without a thought to his own personal welfare and unwilling to back down to the enemy. It’s where the word berserk originated.”

“The guys I trained with picked up on the Norse blonde hair and fair skin. Not to mention my mom and dad started out in Minnesota. My mom could trace her roots back to Scandinavia.”

“Zerker,” Cooper repeated. “I can see how the tag might fit. You’re tall, probably five-eleven or so with a pilot’s daredevil personality.”

“I was never careless with my crew,” Eastlyn pointed out.

“I couldn’t imagine you’d be careless at flying. You carry yourself with confidence, have a warrior legacy, what with your dad’s service in Vietnam, not to mention your Irish granny.”

“On my dad’s side, never underestimate my Irish granny.”

“On your dad’s side and you probably hate to lose a fight.”

She burst out in laughter. “You just met me yesterday. Unless you’re psychic you don’t really know me all that well.”

“Nick and Cord consider you a hero.”

“Believe me, I’m not. Besides, I’m sure some in town still feel that I’m a druggie who hasn’t yet fully reformed.”

“You don’t strike me as the type who cares much about what other people think.”

Eastlyn winked and pointed a finger at him. “Again, perceptive. Want a beer?”

“You’re allowed to drink?” With that one question Coop realized he’d stepped over the line. “Sorry. I’d love a beer.”

She rose out of the rocker and turned to go into the house, but stopped. “Now it’s my turn. What can you tell me about Scott Phillips?”

“He’s our local legend, the guardian of the town, watching over the people he loves. That’s the urban myth.”

Cooper followed her into the cottage, watched as she turned down the volume on the stereo. His eyes landed on the Cape Cod bookcase. He ran his hand over the wood. “I wondered where this beauty ended up. I went back to buy it the other day and it was gone.”

She handed off a bottle of Blue Moon. “Hope you like honey wheat.”

“That’s fine.” He started flicking through the stack of vinyl record albums.

She took a seat on the sofa and studied him. She liked the look of him, the way he moved, the way he made his point with savvy and smarts. “Why do you have a different last name than Caleb and Drea? I know Landon and Shelby adopted you, which made you a Jennings. Drea told me the story.”

He continued perusing her music selections until he turned to face her. “I’ve always been a Jennings in some form or another. Cooper Jennings Richmond. That’s the name on my birth certificate. For a time after the adoption, I dropped the Richmond part hoping it’d make me feel that I fit in. But using Jennings wasn’t the problem. In my heart I knew my father deserved to have a son who was proud of the Richmond name. If Drea told you the story then you know my mother, Eleanor, killed our father.”

Eastlyn gave an uncomfortable nod of assent. “She killed your dad and your dad’s girlfriend while the two sat under the pier making plans to leave Pelican Pointe. It’s a tragic story about a man who was locked into a situation. Both victims never got a chance at real happiness. Drea knows now your father didn’t want to leave his children with such a twisted woman.”

The words were difficult to get out. But Cooper stared at her and did just that. “And did Drea tell you that I helped Eleanor bury the bodies that night?”

Eastlyn sucked in a tense breath, swallowed hard. “She left that part out.”

“Little wonder. Not many sisters want to believe a brother could do such a disgusting thing.”

“Cooper, what were you, ten maybe? Drea and Caleb even younger?”

“Nine. Fourth grade. I was never the same after that, not in school, not in town, not anywhere. My grandfather owned the same train store I run now. Getting to escape through the doors for a couple hours was my refuge.
If
my mother had chosen to allow me more access to him, I’d have spent my entire day there, working on the trains with my grandpop, wishing I could be somewhere else other than home, anywhere else. It kept me from going off the deep end. To this day, I can still see my father’s body lying in the sand, what his face looked like, how grayish white Miss Caldwell’s skin appeared.”