This Old Homicide (14 page)

I watched him exit through the gate before I returned to the house.

“Where’s he off to?” Jane asked.

I told her and we talked about the joys of having handsome men around to look at. As I poured myself another cup of coffee, something occurred to me.

“You know,” I said slowly, “maybe you could hold off on calling those security companies for a day or two.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m thinking that if there’s a guard on duty, our intruder won’t come back. And I really want to catch him in the act.”

“That’s a really bad idea.”

“I mean, I want the police to catch him. Not me. The police.”

“Sure,” she said, clearly not believing me.

“I mean it. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Look,” Jane said. “If this guy is desperate to find the necklace, nothing will deter him. He’ll be back.”

“But if he sees a guard walking around wearing a uniform, he’ll leave and maybe he’ll give up. And I want him to come back. Does that make sense?”

“I’m afraid it does in a sick and twisted way.”

“Right. Because it’s almost a guarantee that whoever broke into Jesse’s house is the same person who killed him.”

Her lips puckered into a stubborn pout, but finally she said, “Yeah, okay. I’ll wait a few days. But I still don’t want you going in there again without the police around.”

“Believe me, I got that message.”

“I don’t think you did.”

“I did.” I confessed to her about Eric’s lecture and how miserable it made me feel.

“You never told me.”

“I felt humiliated. But he was right. It was stupid to go over there without calling the police first.”

“I agree,” Jane said, smiling brightly.

“Thanks.” I picked up the newspaper and studied the headlines. War. Disease. Destruction. Degradation. A day like any other day. I set the paper down and sighed. “I’d better get to work.”

“I’ll be leaving shortly,” Jane said. “I’ll probably spend the night at home.”

“I’ll miss having you here.”

I gave her a hug, then fed Robbie and Tiger, who were delirious with gratitude. At least Robbie was. Tiger was much too dignified, but she still seemed happy with her food. I filled up a thermos with iced tea and finally left for work. Since it was Saturday, I only had one construction site to visit today and I planned to spend most of the day there.

Twenty minutes later, I parked my truck in front of the Stansbury home, a frothy pink gingerbread confection that stood on a rise overlooking Lighthouse Cove and North Beach. From there, you could see our famous lighthouse and most of the coastline for miles in either direction.

The old pink Victorian had weathered well and the walls and exterior siding were still in good condition. The Stansburys insisted on having the house painted every few years to maintain its perky pink hue. They had four young daughters, and those little girls loved living in a pink house. And who could blame them? I happened to be a big fan of the color pink myself. I owned every type of pink tool known to womankind, plus a pretty pink hard hat, goggles, tool belt, the whole deal. It was fun to be a girl contractor.

It wasn’t the house itself but the roof that was causing problems for the Stansburys, and we were in the process of giving them a brand-new one. In many cases, this simply entailed adding another layer of shingles onto the existing roof. But the Stansburys’ roof had been replaced numerous times in the past, so a lot of the existing layers were beginning to rot from dampness and termite damage. We had recommended removing all of the old shingles and all the decaying layers beneath the surface and putting down an entirely new roof. Happily they had agreed.

They had also agreed to go with a lighter-colored shingle this time around. The existing black roof looked dramatic against the pink, but black roofs retain more heat in the summer without having the same insulating effect in the winter when the sun’s rays are diffused and indirect. The Stansburys would also get a generous government rebate if they used the lighter shingles and thus conserved more energy, so they were all for that.

The pale gray shingles I recommended looked beautiful against the pink wood and the white trim. I knew the family would be thrilled when the job was done.

I grabbed a few tools out of the truck bed and strolled up the long front walk, gazing up at the roof the whole time. Victorian roofs were notoriously steep, so we had constructed a massive pipe scaffolding across the front of the house and had also brought in our hydraulic lift to reach some of the trickier spots. I didn’t like my guys climbing on roofs, although most of them thought it was the most fun part of the job.

And, of course, to do the job right, they had to stand directly on the roof, so I insisted that they all wear tethered safety harnesses. There was a lot of good-natured complaining, but that didn’t matter to me. These days, my site could be shut down if a building-and-safety inspector happened to cruise by and see one of my guys working on a pitched roof without a harness.

Years ago, I’d watched one of my dad’s crew slip and fall off a steep roof, an image I never got out of my head. He was unbelievably lucky, though, breaking only his arm and a couple of ribs. But I still got chills whenever I thought about it.

From where I stood, I could see that the entire front part of the roof had been stripped of all the old wooden shingles. While wooden shingles were more authentically Victorian, we preferred to use an asphalt composite that came in layered sheets that had the look of real shingles. The material was fire-resistant and guaranteed to last forty years. And it looked pretty, which counted for a lot in my book.

I had a tendency to gush about the products I believed in, like those shingles. With all the PR work I did on their behalf, my guys thought the company should send me residuals. My friends, on the other hand, just thought I needed to get out more.

I spotted two of my guys, Sean and Billy, ascending the scaffolding pipe like two monkeys climbing up a tree. I’d gone to high school with both of them and had known them most of my life. I loved having them on my crew because they worked like maniacs and showed little regard for my status as their boss.

“Sean,” I shouted.

He turned around, saw me, and waved. “I’m not contagious and I’m feeling a lot better, so don’t lecture me.”

“I won’t lecture you, but if you have a relapse, I’ll kill you.”

“It’s a deal,” he said, laughing.

I shook my head. The guy had been home in bed with the flu for most of the week. “Just stay away from me. And… be careful.”

“You got it, boss” he said, and kept climbing.

Johnny, another hard worker, was already on the roof, hammering down the last sheathing layer of oriented-strand board, or OSB. These boards looked similar to a piece of plywood but actually consisted of a combination of thin wafers of wood, resins, and wax. The product was amazingly strong and was meant to resist heavy weight, strong winds, and the contractions and expansions that occurred in humid areas like ours along the coast.

Today we’d be covering the sheathing layer with roofing felt, a water-resistant underlayment that kept the deck boards dry. It was similar to tar paper, but heavier and better at deterring moisture. It came in a roll and was attached to the sheathing by means of a staple gun, and that was why I was there. I needed to get rid of some excess irritation, and there was nothing better than a staple gun for that. Painting walls or measuring drywall wouldn’t do it for me and pounding wood with a nail gun was too intense. My staple gun provided me with a great way to work out my frustrations without having to punch someone’s lights out. That was a big joke, of course. I wouldn’t dream of actually hitting anyone. But sometimes things drove me a little crazy, and believe it or not, pounding out a few thousand staples in rapid succession often helped calm my nerves and put things in perspective. Besides, it was fun and good exercise if you did it right.

The mystery surrounding Jesse’s house had been raising more questions than I had answers for. I was frustrated and unsure what to do next. We had a priceless necklace to deal with, an intruder who was possibly a murderer, and a handsome police chief who said he trusted me but still didn’t always expect me to do the right thing.

I couldn’t wait to wrap my hands around that staple gun and go to my happy place for a few hours.

*   *   *

“Hey, Shannon,” Billy called. “You’ve got company.”

It took me a few seconds to realize Billy was talking to me. I really had zoned out, and it felt good. I scanned the roof and noticed for the first time that I’d finished almost half of the front side of the house. Not bad.

I stretched my back and turned to take in the view from the roof. In the distance, maybe a quarter mile up the coast, the pure white tower of the lighthouse stood tall and solitary. I loved that image of the stalwart spear shooting up from the rocky breakwater to light the way on a stormy night.

“Yo, Shannon,” It was Sean shouting this time. I turned to see him pointing down toward the front yard. “Wake up, boss. Look who’s here.”

I blinked and shook my head a few times. I really had been in a zone. Staring down, I saw Eric Jensen standing on the front walk, looking up at me. No wonder Sean and Billy were trying to get me to move my butt.

I waved at the police chief. “I’ll be right down.”

Looked as though my good times were over.

When I was back on solid ground, I unbuckled my harness, grabbed my thermos, and chugged down a big gulp of iced tea. I had worked up quite a thirst on the roof because while the air was still cool, the late January sun was bright enough to make me sweat a little. And Eric’s presence didn’t help.

He found me at the side of the house where our worktable was set up and covered with open tool chests and roofing materials. He scrutinized the harness and then gazed up at the roof. “That’s a long way up. Ever get dizzy up there?”

“No, not dizzy. I’m not afraid of heights, but I am afraid of falling. I would wear the harness even if it wasn’t required.”

“Smart.”

“I could’ve come to see you,” I said, leaning my hip against the sturdy table. “You didn’t have to track me down.”

“You weren’t hard to find, and it’s a nice drive.” He turned and looked to the west. “And this is a great view.”

“The best in the world,” I said. “It’s even better from up on the roof.”

After a moment of appreciation for the amazing blue of the ocean and the gorgeous dark green of the redwood trees that lined the crest of the hill to the south of town, I turned back to Eric and tried for a lighthearted approach. “So. I’ll understand if you want to lecture me again. I should’ve called you. It was stupid, but it was also the middle of the night. I wasn’t thinking too clearly.”

“I figured you got my message, so I won’t be giving another lecture.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I thought you would,” he said wryly. “I also felt you should know that since we’ve found evidence of an intruder breaking into Jesse’s house these last few nights, it gives more credence to your notion that someone killed Jesse rather than the coroner’s theory that he died of an accidental overdose.”

“Really?” I said. “You agree with me?”

“I’m starting to,” he hedged.

“That’s close enough.” I patted my heart. “I’m all choked up.”

“I doubt it,” he said, biting back a laugh. “You shouldn’t make too much of it.”

“I’ll try not to, but this is a big moment for me.”

Eric rolled his eyes, but at least he was smiling at me.

We were flirting all of a sudden and it felt good, despite my guilty conscience. When he wasn’t suspecting me of murder or accusing me of contaminating his crime scene, Eric Jensen was awfully cute. No, cute didn’t describe him at all. Rugged. Blond. Tall. Fantastic smile. He was
Thor
. Superhero. In my mind, of course. Not out loud. I didn’t want to spoil the moment.

And speaking of my guilty conscience, I really had to talk to Jane. We couldn’t keep the necklace a secret. At least, not from Eric. I took another long sip of iced tea.

He brought up the topic of Jesse and his friends exploring the old shipyard down the coast.

“You heard about Jesse finding the live bombs on board?” I asked.

“Yeah. I called the naval station about it.”

“I’m glad.”

“The last thing I need is someone bringing bombs into my jurisdiction. So the navy plans to use bomb-sniffing dogs and some high-tech electronics to sweep the entire shipyard for any possible explosives still there.”

“Good,” I said. “I can only imagine some kids thinking it would be a fun place to start a fire or something.”

“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “I had that thought, too. If three old codgers could break in there and stumble across actual active ordnance, I’d say they need to tighten their security.”

“You should talk to Jesse’s friends Bob and Ned. They were with him. They could tell you how they got inside.”

“I’ve got their names on my interview list.” He pulled out a small notepad and pen and made a note to call them.

I set my thermos down on the table. “Looks like you’ve got things under control.”

“If only that were true.”

“Of course it’s true. Now you just have to find Jesse’s killer.”

“Let’s not jump the gun,” he warned. “We still haven’t concluded that there was a killing.”

“But you said—”

“I said your notion had some credibility. We still have to study the evidence and determine conclusively what happened.”

“Oh.” I made a grumpy face. “Okay.”

“And despite what you think,” Eric added lightly, “in a case like this, and in a place like Lighthouse Cove, it’s not always an easy task to find a killer.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because there are so many people who knew the victim well.” He shifted to take another look at the spectacular view and spoke as if thinking out loud. “Old jealousies and treacheries abound. You never know who in town has been waiting patiently to mete out revenge even after twenty or thirty years.”

I smiled. “That’s almost poetic.”

He glanced at me. “I’m a complex guy.”