Mind Tricks (8 page)

“Jesus,” he said. “I thought you
were just going to the bathroom or something.”

She shrugged, trying to conceal her
self-satisfaction. “I guess I must have lots of repressed aggression just
yearning to get out.”

“Well, it came in handy today.” He
paused. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” She shrugged again and
wished she had a menu to look at so that she wouldn’t have to stare into Jake’s
eyes. She was starting to feel tingly all over. Just a sugar rush from the
sweetened iced tea—hopefully.

He leaned forward. “Why do you
believe that I didn’t do it? Kill Ginny, I mean. Others seem to be
less…confident.”

No kidding. Everyone here was
staring at them, though they were pretending not to. “I think
you
believe that you didn’t do it. That’s
a pretty good argument that you didn’t.”

“I could be faking it.”

“But why bother faking it for me?
You hardly know me.” He didn’t know her at all—not the important things,
anyway. “You asked me yesterday to help you get your memories back, and today you’re
here to interview your waiter about what happened that night. That would be
some pretty elaborate fakery. I don’t know who killed Ginny, but I’m fairly
certain that it’s not you.”

“That’s a dark subject for such a
beautiful day,” a new voice said from beside her, and Emma jumped.

Bill Monroe reached out and shook
Jake’s hand, and then shook Emma’s. She managed to put up her mental shields a
second before Bill’s warm hand closed over hers. “I was sorry to hear about
Ginny,” he told Jake. “She was a real firecracker. I even made her a job offer
a few months ago, after seeing what great work she was doing for Woodhaven, but
luckily for you, she turned me down.”

Yes, it was lucky for Jake—only if
he thought that being under suspicion of murder was lucky.

Jake had an expression on his face
that made Emma suspect he might be thinking the same thing. “She was a
marketing genius,” he agreed diplomatically. He turned to Emma. “Emma, this is
Bill Monroe. He runs Selkie Boatbuilding. We’re direct competitors, in fact.”

“Just in the wooden boat building
business,” Bill said. “You aren’t doing any fiberglass boats, which is seventy
percent or so of our output.”

“But how much of your profit?” Jake
asked.

“Enough to make me happy,” Bill
said dismissively. “Anyway, Emma and I are old friends.”

She winced inside as Jake’s
eyebrows twitched up. “Bill is Cynthia’s father,” she told Jake. “You know—my
assistant Ian’s girlfriend. She was at my house last night when you, uh…”
Came down from the bedroom.
“When you
were there.”

Jake nodded. “No wonder she looked
so familiar. I haven’t seen her in a few years. She’s grown up to be a lovely
young lady,” he said to Bill.

“Thanks. Well, I just came over to
give my condolences. If there’s anything you need, just ask. I know we’re usually
going after the same clients, but in rough times like these, we should be
supporting each other, not taking advantage. See you later.” Bill nodded to
both of them, and then headed back to his own table and the woman there, who
was giving her watch ostentatious looks. She stood as Bill approached, and they
left the restaurant together. Emma noticed that Roger Fills had also departed
at some point, for another serious-faced pair of businesspeople were at the
table he’d occupied.

Jake stared after Bill for a moment
before turning to Emma. “I can’t decide if I should take his words at face
value, or if I should suspect he’s already been trying to poach my clients.” He
shook his head. “Never mind. I forgot you were friends.”

Before she could explain that her
friendship with Bill consisted of chatting a little when they ran into each
other at the grocery store, their food arrived, carried by a college-age waiter
with MARK on his name tag.

“Hey, Mr. Vant,” the kid said as he
slid their plates in front of them. “Rosie sent me over here to take care of
you guys.”

Emma couldn’t help herself.
“Really?” she asked. Why send over the person who’d served Jake the night Ginny
had been murdered?

“Nah, not really,” Mark admitted.
“I volunteered. Listen, the police asked me a bunch of questions yesterday, Mr.
Vant, and they seem to think that I put something in your drink. I swear I
didn’t. I wanted to tell you that.”

Jake was shaking his head before
Mark finished. “It never occurred to me that you’d drugged my drink, so don’t
worry about it. I’m still eating here, aren’t I?”

“But the police—”

“The police like to scare people.
They accuse them of big stuff to see if they will confess to something smaller,
like not reporting tips to the IRS.”

Grinning, Mark said without shame,
“Another reason why I came over is because you tip so well. Milly is missing
out by giving up your table.”

“Listen, Mark, can I ask you some
questions about the other night? I don’t remember a whole lot about it.”

Mark nodded. “Yeah, they told me.
Rohypnol.”

“You know what that is?”

Mark looked offended, as if Jake
had asked him if he knew what his own name was. “Sure. We learned about it in
school. It’s the date rape drug. Some people black out, some people can
remember only bits and pieces, and some people get violent. I can’t talk now,
because I’m still working, but my shift ends at two. Want to meet me outside
after that?”

“Sounds good.”

Mark zipped off to his own section.

That was easier than Emma had
thought it would be. Maybe Jake had the same mesmerizing effect on everyone,
not just her, which helped him get what he wanted. She reached for her lobster
roll. At least she was getting something out of this, too. “Do you think that
maybe the police were also trying to scare you? Maybe they really think Ginny
was killed by someone else, and they’re trying to get that person to lower his
guard by pretending to focus on you.”

His expression brightened with
hope, and then he shook his head. “No. They searched my house with a warrant
yesterday, they were watching my place last night, and they came to my office
this morning to question everyone again. It’s the second morning in a row that
they’ve been by.” Jake bit into his burger and chewed. “Needless to say, morale
is low. Ginny being killed was horrifying. And having your boss as a suspect
makes everyone uncomfortable.”

It must be even more uncomfortable
being that boss.

Emma watched Jake covertly as he
made serious inroads on his burger. Now that they’d set up an interview with
Mark, Jake looked more relaxed. But every so often he’d flick glances at the
other diners, checking to see if they were still watching him. Emma could
practically hear the thoughts behind the fascinated stares:
It isn’t every day that you get to eat in
the same room with a murderer.

And what did they think she was?
Probably similar to those women who wrote letters to convicts and then married
them. Desperate, with little common sense.

Well, forget them. She’d gained a
loyal clientele in a shorter time than she’d expected, and her kennel was
thriving. On most weekends, she had to turn kennel customers away. As long as
the rest of the population left her alone, she didn’t care too much what they
thought.

But Jake…Jake cared what these
people thought. He’d grown up here, and he employed people here. His shoulders
were beginning to hunch, as if the weight of those looks were crushing him.

Time to distract him. “By the way,”
Emma said, “I’m not Bill Monroe’s friend. We say hi to each other—that’s all.”

The smile that crossed Jake’s face
made him look years younger and far more mischievous. The worried local
business owner had been replaced by a man, she realized, whom she’d like to
spend more time with.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He saluted
her with his iced tea. “Here’s to having good taste in friends.”

They clinked glasses and drank.

• •

Who would have believed that calm,
cool, and collected Emma Draper could be such a spitfire when defending
someone? Jake watched her as she patted a dog and then laughed at something the
mutt’s owner said. As she rejoined him by the car in the Waterview’s parking
lot, she said, “That was Mildred.”

“And what’s the dog’s name?”

She grinned. “Sorry. The dog’s name
is Mildred. I didn’t catch Mildred’s mom’s name.”

“I wonder if dogs call themselves
Mildred or Fluffy or Brownie, or if they call themselves Cat Terror or Sonic
Boom or Prince.”

It was a jokey, throwaway question,
but she answered it seriously.

“They call themselves by what their
owners call them. They associate the sound of their name with themselves,
anyway.”

Why couldn’t she have just joked
back? He’d managed to forget during the lunch that she conned people into
believing she was a pet psychic—or believed that she herself really was one—and
he’d laughed more easily than he had in days. Weeks, even. A pretty girl with a
sharp sense of humor and, apparently, a belief in him…A rare find. So of course
she had to possess a major flaw: the whole psychic healing business.

“How much of your income comes from
the kennels and how much from…the other stuff?” he asked. “Percentage-wise.”

She wrinkled her nose, looking so
adorable that Jake had to force himself to not step toward her. “Ten percent
and ninety, maybe.”

Damn. The psychic percentage was
much higher than he’d hoped.

“Wait, no, it’s the other way
around. Ninety and ten. Pet readings basically pay for gas money and groceries.
If I expand to another location, it will be only the kennels that expand. Ian
isn’t gifted with animal empathy.” She grimaced. “Or cursed.”

“Cursed?” That sounded extreme. “Do
you mean you’d give up that part of your business if you could?” Maybe by
helping her with her business plans, he could help her live fewer lies.

“I hadn’t thought about it…but I
don’t think so. I get a personal joy in seeing animals leave my house happier
or in less pain than when they arrived.”

“So why call yourself cursed?”

She suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“Just being dramatic, I guess.” She turned away.

Being dramatic? That didn’t ring
true. Even when she was giving Rosie an earful, she hadn’t been dramatic.

Anyway, that was irrelevant.
Perhaps he could convince her that if her kennel expansion went well, she could
still do her readings, but do it for free.

That wouldn’t be so bad, right? At
least not harmful. Probably.

The phone in his hip pocket began to
shudder. Jake looked at the readout. His parents. “Hello?”

“Jake,” his dad boomed, and Jake
moved the phone a few inches away from his ear. “How are you?”

“Pretty good. Looking forward to
seeing you next week.” He’d finally broken down this morning and agreed to let
them come up, but he’d insisted that they wait a week. Hopefully everything
would be cleared up by then, and he could simply enjoy their company. To have
them hanging around while the police eyeballed him would make him nuts.

“That’s great.” A slight pause.
“What’s this I hear about my company having cash-flow problems?”

He ground his teeth. Couldn’t he
have been given a few days to concentrate on clearing his name without having
to deal with this as well? “It’s just rumors, Dad.” Rumors that Ginny had made
up and spread for reasons he still didn’t understand. “Don’t worry about it.”

Emma took a few steps away to give
him some privacy, moving over to a wooden walkway that edged the harbor.

“But rumors don’t spring up out of
nowhere,” his dad persisted. “Is the company in trouble? Is that why Roger
Fills”—his father practically spat the name—“offered to buy us? Thought he
could get Woodhaven for cheap?”

“No, the company is fine, Dad. You
see the books every quarter—you know this. We’re in better shape than we ever
were.” Not very tactful. His father and mother, after all, had run Woodhaven
nearly into the ground.

“Have we lost any orders
since…since Ginny was killed?”

Since Jake had become a murder
suspect, he meant. “One.” The awkward conversation he’d had before lunch with
Mrs. Kladderhouse hadn’t been a complete surprise, but it hadn’t boosted his
mood any. If he could make this taint on his name disappear, he could win that
order back—he knew it. “Listen, Dad, I know the company is important, but right
now I’m focusing on trying to figure out what happened two nights ago. The
business can wait for a few days while I sort this out. And we can even lose
some orders if we have to. But we can’t lose me as head of the company.” No one
else in the family either could or wanted to step forward to run Woodhaven. His
parents had been barred in a bankruptcy court decision from ever heading the
company again, Mickey had no interest, Daniel was in a coma, and Marcus was
MIA. If Jake went to jail, the family would have to sell the company, probably
to either Bill Monroe’s Selkie or Roger Fills’s Seacastle.

“Your mom and I could unofficially
help out. We bought plane tickets for a week from now, but we could be up
earlier. It’d be—”

“No.”
Christ, he was practically shouting into the phone. Emma glanced over, inquiry
in her eyes, but he shook his head at her, and she shrugged and looked away
again. “When you come up here, we can go over the books together so you can see
that our cash is fine. And you can look at all the orders.” He’d somehow get
Mrs. Kladderhouse’s order back. “But until then, I need you and mom to stay
where you are, and I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

He was coming down on his dad like
a ton of bricks. But he didn’t have the time or mental energy to waste on this
right now.

Silence filled the phone line.
“We’ll see you in a week,” his dad said and then hung up before Jake could say
anything more.