Obsidian (9 page)

Jamie crossed around to his side of the truck and got in, slamming the door behind him. The truck was old, but it looked reliable. The cab was filled with a collection of papers, trap heads and rubber gloves.

“Sorry about the mess. I don’t get much time to clean up the old truck.”

He rolled down the window and settled his arm on the door as though it was the most common thing in the world.

“Don’t worry. I’ll survive. Besides it isn’t every day I get to have a pretty lady chauffeur me around.”

Heat braced her cheeks as he flashed a heart-stopping grin her way. It may have been a long time since he’d had a chauffeur, but it was even longer since she’d gotten a compliment.

The trip was made in relative silence. The only sound was the static conversation of the fishermen on the dash-mounted radio. The dirt road to the point was a maze of ruts, covered at times by the canopy of trees that clustered next to the road. Shelby maneuvered the truck around the majority of the holes that were big enough to engulf the truck.

“Your friend lives out here alone? It’s rather remote, isn’t it?” He braced himself for another bump.

“She likes it that way. I should warn you before we get there that Marianne is a rather unique lady. She’s an artist.”

She navigated the truck around another pothole. “She’s quite successful, but you’d never know it to talk to her. She prefers to live out here alone rather than be around a lot of people.”

She pulled the truck into a driveway hidden among a bank of beach roses.

“Have you known her a long time?”

“Since I was a little girl. After my mom died I’d get lonely and she’d let me come and watch her paint.”

Shelby stopped the truck at the gate and Jamie jumped out to swing it open before climbing back into the truck.

The gravel road gave way to a paved driveway that twisted around until the house came into view.

Late summer flowers bloomed among the masses of white, purple and pink hydrangea bushes lining the driveway. A green lawn dotted with bright blossoms swept downward toward a weathered gray cape that was perched on the ledges overlooking the water.

“Here we are,” she said as she pulled the truck up next to an aging Volvo and cut the ignition.

Jamie jumped out and pulled the box out of the back of the truck, following along behind her as she walked toward the house.

Over the top of the box, he watched the sway of Shelby’s hips as her booted feet scuffed along the walkway. She was wearing those faded jeans again, the ones that hugged to her long, slim legs. She was wearing a pink polo shirt with the word Chandler stitched in blue on it and the fabric rode up a little as she walked.

She had a very nice walk. Shelby Teague was a woman who walked with confidence, easily eating up the distance to the house and giving him a great chance to observe her. It wasn’t a wiggle, more of an educated sway. There was nothing girlish about her. There were no fancy clothes, no designer shoes, and yet, he couldn’t help noticing that she was a very beautiful woman.

Which was exactly the reason why he was having a hard time remembering that Shelby was off limits to him. She wasn’t his type. He’d carefully cultivated a preference for women who loved to have a good time, but had no illusions when it came to commitment.

No, Shelby Teague was a staying kind of woman. She had proven herself a remarkable
,
self-confident and determined woman who could handle anything and do it well.

But damn, she really was beautiful. Too bad she wasn’t his type.

Shelby knocked on the door.

“I’m working. Use the key,” was the muffled reply. Shelby pulled out a key on the chain she had around her neck and slid it over her head. She fit the key into the lock and swung open the door.

Jamie followed her into a bright, sunny kitchen with high white cabinets and big windows that faced out over the lawn. The walls were painted a brilliant turquoise color and the room was simply furnished with a table and chairs. But what surprised him most was that everywhere he looked there was something with a cat on it.

Jamie set the box on the counter next to a collection of mugs, plates and placemats with cats on them. Even the curtains at the window had pictures of felines on them.

An orange tabby cat came in and wound herself around his legs, rubbing her face against his jeans. Jamie reached down and scratched the cat under the chin until it sat back on its haunches, a loud purr growling from it in pure pleasure.

“Meribelle, you old reprobate,” Shelby laughed. “You love a good scratch, don’t you? You just know that I brought your food for you.”

The cat abandoned Jamie to wind around Shelby's feet, before rolling onto her back for a belly rub.

“It looks like you’ve got a friend.”

Shelby reached down to give the cat one last scratch. “Believe me, she isn’t too partial. She’ll willingly go to anyone who gives her a scratch. Besides, she's only loyal to me because she knows I bring her food.”

“Shelby?” The voice was coming from somewhere near the front of the house.

“I brought over those groceries you wanted,” Shelby called out. “I was just about to put them away for you, but Meribelle decided I’d make a better resting spot instead.”

There was a jingle of bracelets and the scuffle of footsteps coming down the hall. Marianne appeared in the doorway. Her gray-white hair was tinted with a purple rinse and made her look like a cross between a punk rocker and an Easter egg.

Her face lit up as she walked over to Shelby. The bracelets on her wrists jangled as she put her hand on Shelby’s arm. “Sorry I didn’t come let you in. I’m working.”

She wore an orange paint-speckled shirt with a pair of loose fitting blue-green chef style pants. Purple canvas high-top sneakers completed her outfit.

“Oh good. I see you brought a friend.” She held her hand out to him. Her long fingers were adorned with many rings and her wrists with rows of silver. Her cold fingers rested against his hand for a moment before she looked back at Shelby and winked. “It’s about time you brought someone with you.”

Not waiting for a response, Marianne angled herself past him and scuffed her way over to the stove to put the teakettle on to heat. Her movements were stilted with the effects of arthritis, but even with the restrictions, she carried herself with an air of elegant grace.

“You’ll stay to tea. I can’t let you go without it, especially since you were nice enough to bring all that out here.” She motioned toward the counter. “Goodness gracious, Shelby. You should have made more than one trip. You shouldn’t be hauling all that in one load.”

“It’s not really that heavy. Besides, I brought help to carry it.” Shelby walked over to the counter next to him and began pulling cat food from the bags and placing the cans in the cupboard next to the sink.

The cat let out a disgruntled yowl at Jamie as he pulled his foot out from under the lounging body. Marianne looked at him over half-glasses perched on her nose. “Do you have a name or are you someone she picked up on the side of the road?”

“My name is Jamie Rivard.” He was surprised when she took his hand in hers again and looked into his eyes. He had the strangest feeling that he was somehow being analyzed.

Marianne turned back to Shelby who was now putting the cold items into the refrigerator. “He’s okay. You can bring him back again.” Shelby didn’t look up from her task, but Jamie could see her face was turning red.

“How’s the painting today? Making any progress?” Shelby asked.

“Not much, I’m afraid.” Marianne gave a sad shake of her head as she pulled down three coffee mugs and turned to him.

“I was going to try this wonderful green tea blend I picked up at a shop in New York. I can’t say a lot for the flavor, but it’s supposed to be good for me. So I drink it anyway.”

The teakettle started to whistle, so she pulled it from the burner and filled the mugs with hot water. Marianne handed him a cup and offered one to Shelby, then headed toward the doorway that lead to the rest of the house. She motioned them to follow with the tinkling of her bracelets.

“I wish you’d take a look at this piece I'm working on. I could use another perspective on this blasted thing. Besides, Shelby, you’ve a good eye for it. Something isn’t right and I was up most of last night just staring at it, trying to figure it out.”

Jamie followed after them down the hallway where it opened into a wide sunlit room. French doors lined the front, opening up onto a large deck that faced the ocean.

A gentle breeze swept through the room, ruffling papers on a large drawing board in one corner. The room was filled with comfortable pieces, a floral covered couch and an overstuffed chair. There was an air of ease here, a quiet elegance and easy styling, much like many of the traditional old Maine cottages along the coast.

A white wicker chair had been pulled up to the drawing board and a set of watercolors held one edge of a large painting in place.

He looked at the soft colors that filled the page with subtle strength and beauty. The painting was incredible. With a sweep of her brush, Marianne had managed to capture the tiniest details, transferring the world outside her window onto the paper. Her simplistic style captured the very essence of the graying mist that filled the harbor in the morning. The water reflected a boat on its way out to haul. Pine trees lined the bank and the stark black and grays of the rocks looked real enough to touch. The white of the boat’s hull was in stark contrast to the deepness of the surrounding ocean and the small islands dotting the entrance to the harbor were like ghosts of gray silhouette in the background.

“I can’t imagine that there’s anything wrong with this picture. It’s the most beautiful piece you’ve done.” Shelby assured her as she stood next to her in front of the easel.

“Well, thank you, dear. Not bad for these old bones, is it?” She picked up the picture and carried it to the window to compare it the scene beyond the glass.

“I think I got the rocks along the edge of the embankment just right.” She pointed at the picture and then out the window, tracing an invisible line along the line where the grassy lawn ended and the craggy shore began. There was an abrupt drop to the ocean, the trail of ledges leading down to the dock about twenty feet below. A Boston whaler was tied at the dock, bobbing in the wake of the boats that passed on their way in and out of the harbor.

Shelby drifted toward the window and picked up the binoculars on the windowsill. Sunlight glinted off the dark and light tones of her hair as she raised the binoculars to her face. Out in the harbor, another boat passed by. He didn’t need the binoculars to know it was a local boat.

“There’s been quite a bit going on out there lately. It’s enough to keep a nosy old woman like me, quite busy.” Marianne fidgeted with putting the painting back onto the easel.

“More than usual?” Shelby asked.

A startled expression crossed Shelby’s face.

“Goodness, there’s been loads of activity going on out there at all times of the day and night.”

Shelby’s glanced in his direction. Her gaze met his and something strange crossed her features.

“You didn’t happen to see anything last night, did you? Say, around ten?”

Marianne set her paints back onto the tray and looked out the window.

“I think I was up around that time last night, but I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary.” The older lady shrugged as she passed by Shelby and headed toward the kitchen.

“I’ve been watching the boats coming and going all summer. There's still a lot of traffic in the area. It’s a might weird having so many outsiders here, seeing how it’s after Labor Day. Why, I think I’m the last one left out here on the point, now. Except for those two that have using the neighbors wharf, everyone else has closed up and gone.”

Marianne shuffled her purple sneakers off toward the kitchen and Shelby followed her. Shelby knew something, something she didn’t want anyone else to know.

This knowledge put him in an awkward position. Shelby was the last person he wanted to suspect, but watching her reactions told him differently. He’d almost decided to take her off his list of suspects, but now he wasn't so sure.

Shelby had opportunity. That was pretty clear, considering that she ran the two most public places in town. Owning the wharf and the store gave her a perfect opportunity to be involved in any trafficking going in and out of Chandler.

As for motive, he didn’t have a clue. She wasn’t a woman impressed by money and he was fairly certain that she wasn’t the type to be doing it for personal gain.

On the other hand, if Shelby wasn’t involved there was a good chance that she may have stumbled onto something that could be dangerous, and that was one thing Jamie didn’t want to risk.

Either way, it was clear that Shelby knew something. He just wasn’t sure what it was. And he really didn’t like all the questions without answers.

They returned to the store in silence. Shelby’s mood had changed from one of quiet complacency to one of introspection. Clearly, she was thinking hard about something and he’d love to know what it was that had her worried.