1 A High-End Finish (11 page)

“I haven’t heard,” Lizzie said. “I hope he stays. And I hope he comes into the store soon. We have all his books in stock and I’d love to get him to sign them.”

“If he’s as wonderful as you’ve heard he is,” I said, “I don’t know why he wouldn’t want to.”

Lizzie tucked her arm through Hal’s. “He’s still not as nice and cute as you are, honey.”

“Nobody is,” Hal admitted with a sigh. He lifted her off her feet, gave her a semihot kiss on the lips, and walked away. Lizzie stared at his back until he disappeared down the hall.

“You’re so lucky,” I said, smiling at the glazed look in her eyes.

“I know.” She blinked a few times, then pulled utensils from the drawer. “Come help me set the table.”

Lizzie pushed the swinging door open and we walked into the dining room. I grabbed place mats and napkins from the sideboard. “So, tell me more about our new celebrity resident.”

She patted her chest. “Seriously gorgeous, Shannon. Let me know if you want to meet him.”

“Of course I want to meet . . .” I blinked at her. “No. I’m warning you, Lizzie. You’re not going to set me up on another date again.”

She laughed. “I didn’t mean I would set you up. I just meant, you know, introduce the two of you.”

“But you haven’t even met him.”

“True, but chances are, I’ll meet him before you do.”

She was probably right, but still. “I’ll run into him eventually on my own.”

“Of course you will. But I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to go out with him, just as a friendly gesture. He probably doesn’t know anyone in town.”

“You are incorrigible,” I said, folding another napkin before calling for help. “Hal, I need more wine.”

To my delight, Hal came running through the swinging door with the bottle and filled my glass and Lizzie’s. “Honey, Shannon just had a bad experience and she isn’t ready to date anyone else just yet, so let it go.”

“Are you listening in on our conversation?” she asked.

Hal chuckled. “Of course.”

She sighed and looked at me with some regret. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

“No problem.”

“But whenever you’re ready . . .”

“Stop!” Hal and I said it in unison.

She laughed. “All right, all right. But, dang, I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to go out with Mac.”

“Maybe because he dates supermodels and heiresses?”

“Does he?” She frowned. “He doesn’t seem that superficial.”

“He’s a man,” I whispered.

“True.” She gazed lovingly at her husband. “But so is Hal and he’s wonderful.”

I smiled. “Yes, Hal is wonderful. And rare.”

“Thanks, pal.” He winked at me and headed back into the kitchen.

When the door swung closed, Lizzie added, “You know, Police Chief Jensen isn’t bad, either.”

“Oh no.” I smacked my forehead. “You did not just say that.”

“I did.” She smiled brightly. “Just say the word and I’ll work my magic.”

“Your magic?” I laughed. “Besides, I have it on good authority that you already asked him if he’d like to be introduced to anyone and he said no.”

“True, but I haven’t given up hope.” She placed the last utensil on the napkin in front of her. “You have to admit he’s awfully good-looking.”

“Oh, sure. That’s all I could think about when he was looking at me the other night like I might be a stone-cold killer. Nothing better than having a hottie investigating you in a murder case.”

“You did get to know him in kind of a different way,” she mused. “That can often be the beginning of a wonderful relationship.”

I studied her for a moment, not quite believing we’d been close friends most of our lives. “When did you go crazy? I missed it. And by the way, for a married woman you’re awfully fascinated by all these other men.”

“I’m not dead yet.” She set a pair of salt and pepper shakers on the table. “Jane thinks the chief is interested in you.”

I folded another napkin. “Liz, he’s interested in me as a murderer. It’s not a compliment.”

“At least he’s paying attention to you. For some women, that would be enough.”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

She laughed. “Yes, and I’m kidding. I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

“With a man who considers me a flight risk? Oh, be still my heart.”

•   •   •

Within a day, the gossip around town about Jerry’s murder was eclipsed by the latest buzz concerning the mysterious stranger who’d bought the old lighthouse mansion out on the bluff. I already knew who the stranger was and tried not to get too wrapped up in the gossip. I also tried to forget Lizzie’s threat to introduce me to the stranger, the great MacKintyre Sullivan, but the thought wouldn’t leave my head.

Maybe because I’d always had a tiny bit of a crush on the man. Did I say
tiny
? The author photograph on the back of Sullivan’s books was positively mesmerizing. There, I said it. Mac Sullivan had to be one of the best-looking men I’d ever seen. And that was only the two-dimensional picture of the man. What would I do if I ran into his real, live, three-dimensional self somewhere in town? Faint? Hyperventilate?

“Get a grip,” I muttered. The photograph was probably a fake, anyway. Didn’t they do that all the time on book covers? If readers knew the author was gorgeous, wouldn’t that make for better book sales? Except that Lizzie had already confirmed that the guy was stunningly handsome, so there went that theory.

As I toasted bagels and set up the coffeepot, I realized that it wouldn’t be a problem for me because the great MacKintyre Sullivan would never even bother to notice me. He was a wealthy new resident. I was a working-class local, a townie. The two sides rarely met. And that was fine with me. So there, I’d worked it all out.

Carla and Wade showed up at ten o’clock for our meeting and we spent an hour going over crew schedules and equipment inventory. Because my pink wrench had been used to kill someone, I was in favor of a new rule of not only locking up our toolboxes but also of putting them all in a safe, secured place after finishing work each day.

“Jeez, boss,” Wade said as he poured more coffee into his mug. “That wrench thing was just a fluke, don’t you think? I’d say as long as we lock up our own toolboxes and lock the main doors to the houses, which we always do, we’ll be all right.”

Carla nodded. “I agree. The chance of anyone using one of our tools like that again is a million to one, so let’s not overreact.”

I thought about it. Was I overreacting? Maybe, but it was
my
wrench, after all, and it was
my
sorry butt being scrutinized by the police. So to speak. But Carla and Wade were right. I didn’t have to force everyone else to go to extremes just to solve my problems.

“Okay,” I said. “If you’ll make sure things are locked up when you leave at night, we should be fine.”

Carla licked a bit of cream cheese from her thumb. “So, did you guys hear that they sold the lighthouse mansion?”

“Are you kidding?” Wade said. “That thing’s been empty forever.”

“I heard.” I set down my coffee as something occurred to me. I would’ve thought of it sooner if I hadn’t been so distracted lately. “And I’m guessing they’ll be doing an extensive rehab.”

“Oh, you’ve got to bid on that project, Shannon,” Carla said excitedly. “That place could be so beautiful.”

“I know.” I felt anticipation building. The lighthouse mansion was Victorian in age, of course, but not in the ornate style of the grande dames that were featured on the local Victorian-house tours. No, the mansion had simple, uncluttered lines, but it also had the most wonderful veranda, wide enough to use as another room in the summertime if you filled it with some chairs, a lounge, a dining table, and maybe even a swing. At least that was my vision for it. It faced west, of course, with a dramatic view of crashing waves against the rocky coastline.

As fabulous as the veranda was, there was also a jewel of a solarium, small and classically Victorian, connected to one side of the house. The story went that the navy had constructed it especially to raise citrus trees year-round for the sailors once stationed there.

“I might take a drive out there to get a feel for it.”

“Great idea,” Carla said, gathering up her notebook and purse. “I’d offer to go with you, but Keely has a ballet recital this afternoon.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I said, smiling at the thought of her tiny five-year-old wearing a tutu. “Take pictures.”

“Are you kidding?” She laughed. “Chase bought a brand-new video camera just for this moment.”

We talked about their kids as I walked Carla and Wade outside—and came face-to-face with Wendell’s car, still parked in my driveway.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

“Whose car is that?” Carla asked.

I bared my teeth like a feral cat. “It’s Wendell Jarvick’s and I’ve warned him every day this week that he can’t park there. He’s just too damn special to listen.”

“So tow it,” Wade said. “What the hell?”

“That guy is the biggest jerk,” Carla added in a low voice. “Chase and I were having dinner at Lindy’s on the pier last night and he was there. He made the biggest fuss about some stupid sauce on the fish and disrupted everyone’s dinner.”

“He did something even worse the other night at the pub.” I told them what happened to Whitney. “I think we should banish him forever.”

“That’s a great idea,” Carla said. “I’ll start a petition.”

After another minute, we were laughing about it. The two of them took off and I walked back inside. But now I was frustrated with Wendell all over again, so I decided I would go to the gym and work off my irritation. And afterward, I would drive out to the lighthouse mansion and see what things looked like out there.

I slipped into my sweats and grabbed my gym bag. Before leaving, I stuck a notepad and pen into my purse to jot some notes down once I got out to the mansion. Then I locked up and headed for my truck. But when I turned the ignition, all I heard was a vague clicking sound.

My weekend was complete. The battery was dead.

“It’s not the battery,” Gus Peratti, the mechanic said. “My guess is the alternator or maybe the starter. I’ll let you know after I’ve checked it at the shop.”

The shop
. You never wanted to hear those words from a mechanic. Even one you knew and trusted.

“You have to tow it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t want to take the chance of starting it here and having it conk out on the road.”

Oh, man.
“I appreciate that.”

Gus’s auto shop was on the outskirts of town, about a mile east of my place on the way to the highway. Gus, or Augustus, as his mother called him, was another one of the locals I’d grown up with and an all-around great guy. He owned the garage with his father and uncle and always took good care of his customers. We chatted as he attached the giant hook to the front of my truck and slowly lifted it off the ground.

“I’m sorry I dragged you out here on a Sunday,” I shouted over the noise of the tow crank.

“No worries, babe. I was working today, anyway.”

He’d been calling me
babe
since he was ten years old. Some men were just born to be chick magnets, and Gus was one of them. He was tall, with wavy black hair, dark eyes, and a sexy smile, and he always wore his T-shirts a touch too tight over his muscular arms and chest. Unlike half of the women in town, I had never been involved romantically with him, so maybe that’s how we had managed to remain such good friends.

“I should have it ready for you by Tuesday afternoon. You need a loaner for a few days?”

“No, I’ll manage,” I said. But I gave my shiny chrome baby one long, sorrowful look as Gus readied her for her trip to the car spa. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

“Always,” he said, and after a quick hug, he drove off with my truck bouncing along behind his tow truck.

“Now what?” I wondered aloud. The day was too pretty to stay in the house all afternoon. Besides, I needed to move around and work off some of the negative energy that Wendell had infected me with.

I could ride my bike. A Sunday bike ride was the perfect solution. I wouldn’t have time to drive out to the lighthouse to see the mansion, but I could get some exercise and see what was going on around town.

This would also be a good time to stop at my friends’ shops and drop off the herb and flower cuttings I’d worked on a few weeks ago. They had been hanging from the rafters all this time and would be dry enough to display by now.

After changing into jeans and a light sweater, I wheeled my bike out of the garage and secured the three bundles of flowers and herbs in the big white basket attached to the handlebars.

My father had bought this retro bicycle for me last Christmas. It had three gears, wide white-wall tires, and a comfy seat for easy riding. And it was pink, of course.

Before going into town, I rode down to the bike path that loosely paralleled the boardwalk and breezed along the beach for over a mile. Gaining speed, I felt the wind rush past me before I slowed down to turn around and head back to town. It wasn’t the most grueling workout ever, but it made me feel better.

After locking my bicycle to one of the many bike posts scattered around the town square, I walked into Paper Moon. Hal was busy at the cash register and Lizzie was helping a customer pick out the perfect note cards, so I carefully set on one of the display shelves the little old teapot filled with dried red tea roses interspersed with sprigs of lavender and rosemary, and headed for the door.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” Lizzie’s customer said. “How much is it?”

“Shannon,” Lizzie called. “How much shall I charge for this beautiful thing?”

I turned and smiled. “It’s just for display, not for sale.”

“I’ll give you forty dollars for it,” the woman countered immediately.

Lizzie flashed me a brief but meaningful look, then turned to the woman. “Sold.”

I laughed and walked out. I’d fished that old teapot out of a neighbor’s trash bin, knowing I could use it for dried flowers. Lizzie and I would work out the details later, but I knew she would insist on giving me the money—which I would use to buy more trinkets and old bottles to fill with flowers for her store.

At Emily’s place, I set a shallow wicker basket filled with long, graceful stalks of dried lavender on top of the deli case near the front door. I caught Emily’s eye as she was taking an order and she smiled and waved. I knew she would divide up the stalks later and put them in tall bud vases around the shop.

Next door at Marigold’s Crafts and Quilts, I dropped off my last delivery: a small wooden box filled with dried rose petals, lavender seeds, bay laurel leaves, and some dried spiny pods from my sycamore tree.

“Smells wonderful,” Marigold said as she sniffed the concoction. “So fresh and light.” She set it down on the front counter near the cash register. “I’m putting it right here so I can enjoy it. Thank you, Shannon.”

Marigold was the only one of my friends who could actually take the herbs and flowers I gave her and turn them into pretty, flower-strewn soaps. It was something she’d learned to do as a child growing up in an Amish community.

The store was empty, so I was able to spend a few minutes catching up with Marigold on the latest news. She, too, had blown off all talk of the recent murder in favor of gushing over MacKintyre Sullivan’s move to town. That was fine with me. I would much rather chat about the popular author than the fact that I was still uncomfortably high up on Chief Jensen’s list of suspects.

When three new customers walked into Marigold’s store, I took off and headed for the diner. I’d decided to treat myself to Sunday lunch.

Before I’d gone halfway down the block, I saw Luisa Capello climbing out of a navy blue Porsche her older brother was driving. She wore a light pink sweater over dark jeans, and was still as fragile and pretty as she’d been in grammar school.

“Luisa?” I said.

She turned and her eyes lit up. “Shannon. It’s great to see you.”

“How are you?”

“I’m good.” She glanced at her big, handsome brother. “Buddy, I want to talk to Shannon for a minute. Why don’t you go meet Mama and Papa at the café? I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Yeah, okay. Hey, Shannon,” he added before strolling to the restaurant.

Luisa watched until Buddy was far enough away for us to talk without being overheard. “We’re having Sunday lunch at the Blue Moon Café.”

“I like that place,” I said.

“Me, too.” She pressed her lips together pensively, then blurted, “I wanted to call you this week, Shannon, but I . . . I couldn’t get up the nerve.”

“Why not?” I asked, playing dumb. “What’s up?”

“I heard what happened to you with Jerry. I’m so glad you defended yourself, but it never should’ve happened. I should’ve warned you. I should’ve warned every woman in town about him. He was a manipulative predator.” Her breath trembled and she had to swallow a few times before continuing. “For months I was so afraid of saying anything to anyone for fear of him coming back and . . .” She couldn’t complete the sentence, and I thought the worst. Would he have beaten her? Killed her?

I’d meant to call her last week, too, after Sean told me that she’d shown up with a black eye and her family had suspected it was from Jerry. I didn’t want to say anything now, though, because my reasons for contacting her hadn’t been the most noble. I had wanted to gauge her anger at Jerry in the hopes that the police would add her to the suspect list. It was no fun being on the list all alone.

“Well,” she continued, after shaking her head in self-disgust, “it might be terrible of me to say so, but I’m happy you kicked him. I wish I’d been there to see it.”

I had to ask. “Luisa, did Jerry hurt you physically?”

Apparently, the question was traumatic, because she seemed to gasp for air, taking a few deep breaths before she could finally make eye contact. “Yes. He punched me in the face. More than once. I still can’t see very well out of this eye.” She touched the left side of her face. “The doctor says I’ll be fine, eventually, but it was so awful, Shannon. And now I’m always flinching at noises and things. I hate that.”

“Your parents and brothers must’ve been furious.”

“They wanted to kill him,” she said, then pressed her fingers to her lips. “I shouldn’t have said that. And I didn’t mean it. Not really. I mean, yes, they were furious with Jerry, but that’s just natural. The police even talked to them because they had told people how much they hated him. But, luckily, they all have alibis.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me, too.” She glanced around to make sure we were alone. “I know they didn’t kill Jerry, but I also know they wanted to. And I hate to say it, but a small part of me wanted them to do it, too. That’s a horrible thing to confess, but it’s true. I was so angry at him, and even more angry at myself for allowing it to happen.”

“I know how you feel,” I said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “But you were smart and brave to stop seeing him.”

“Not really,” she whispered. “I went back to him after he hit me the first time. He promised never to do it again. And I really thought I loved him. He was so handsome and such a good listener. But then he hit me again. I’d heard of women getting caught in that cycle, but I never thought I would be one of them. I’m lucky I escaped before anything worse occurred.”

“I don’t care what you say. I still think you were brave to walk away from him.” But now I had to wonder why she’d never pressed charges against him. Why hadn’t her family? What were they afraid of?

“Do the police know who killed him?” she asked in a low voice.

“No,” I said. “They’re still investigating.”

She nodded. “If you find out, will you call me?”

“Sure.”

“Good,” she said firmly, as her hands bunched into fists. “I want to know who to thank.”

My breath caught, but before I could respond, she grabbed me in a tight hug, whispered, “Thanks, Shannon,” and let me go. She walked quickly down the sidewalk and across the street.

I stared after her, still unsure what to make of the conversation. Especially her last statement. So much for that shy, fragile facade of hers. Shaking off my perplexity, I walked the rest of the way to the diner.

“Howdy, Shannon,” Cindy called. She stood in front of the order spindle, looking into the kitchen. “Sit anywhere you’d like. I’ll be right over.”

The entire front counter of the homey restaurant was filled with diners, as were most of the booths and tables. I glanced around and saw Penny sitting at the far end, talking with two women I recognized as tellers from her bank. She saw me and waved, so I approached her booth.

After greeting them all, I turned to Penny. “I’m glad I ran into you. I won’t be able to make it to the gym on Tuesday. My truck has a dead battery.”

“Oh, so that’s why I saw you riding your bike earlier,” she said.

“Yeah, that’ll be my transportation for the next few days.”

“At least it’s a really cute bike.” She briefly described my pink retro bike to her friends.

“Can we do the gym on Thursday instead?” I asked.

“Sounds good.” She gave me a sympathetic smile and went back to her conversation.

I walked over and sat at a small booth by the bay window and perused the menu, just to find out if anything on there had changed lately. I was impressed to see that they had added some local wines to the list. We were only a short drive away from the Anderson Valley, the latest wine-growing region to hit the big time, so some of the newer wineries were now represented on the list.

“What’s it gonna be, hon?” Cindy said, her notepad and pen ready. She wore the world’s largest frilly handkerchief corsage with her name tag pinned to her white uniform. Her blond hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. She was somewhere in her forties and had been working at the diner since I was in high school.

“I’ll have the cheeseburger, medium-rare; crispy fries; and a root beer float.”

“Onion on the burger?”

“Why not? A big slice of raw onion, please.”

“Sounds like heaven,” she said, grinning. “I’ll bring you some water.”

“Thanks, Cindy.”

As I waited for my order, I thought about Luisa. She claimed that her father and two brothers each had an alibi. But what about Luisa herself? As soon as I asked the question, I felt guilty. There was no way Luisa could have killed Jerry Saxton. Despite her heated statement about wanting to thank his killer, she was simply too sweet and passive. And short. Heck, she probably couldn’t even lift my pink wrench, let alone swing it hard enough to smash his head in. Not like I could, anyway.

And wasn’t that a miserable thought? To distract myself, I pulled out my smartphone and scanned through my appointments for the week. Since I wouldn’t get my car back until late Tuesday, I would have to plan the early part of my week more carefully. I studied my calendar entries, trying to figure out where I could shift things around.

Generally, I didn’t approve of people mindlessly fiddling with their smartphones in restaurants, but I was willing to break my own rules to keep my mind from wandering back to the murder scene.

“Hey! Are you deaf or something?” a man at the counter snapped angrily. “How many times do I have to tell you I want another cup of coffee?”

I looked up and almost lost my appetite. The loudmouth was Wendell Jarvick. I was surprised I hadn’t seen him when I first walked in. He sat alone at the end of the counter, looking utterly outraged that Cindy wasn’t paying enough attention to him. I’d been on the receiving end of that pinched look of his more than once over the past week, so I felt for Cindy. But as usual, she handled it professionally.

“Right away, sir,” she said cheerily. “I was just brewing another pot and you’ll get the first cup.” Her soothing tone should have calmed him down, but this was Wendell. He continued to fume.

Cindy grabbed the full pot of coffee and poured it neatly into his coffee mug. Wendell didn’t acknowledge her speed and efficiency, just muttered, “About damn time.”

He reached for the cup and took a big gulp. Suddenly, he spewed liquid across the counter and jumped up from his seat. “It’s too damn hot! Are you trying to kill me?”