Crowned and Moldering (5 page)

She had made a face.
“My mother. She said I looked like a whore.”

I was stunned to know that any mother could talk that way to her own daughter.
“Well, don’t tell her I said so, but she’s totally wrong.”

Lily had brightened.
“I won’t say a word—promise. We redheads have got to stick together.”

I’d loved the thought that we could be in some exclusive club together.
“You know it.”

“Does your mother ever say stupid stuff like that? Oh, wait.”
She’d given herself a sharp smack in the head. “
I’m so sorry, Shannon. Boy, am I an idiot.”

“That’s okay. I’m just sorry your mom hurt your feelings.”

I had been surprised to see her eyes get watery, but she’d quickly sniffed away the
tears and gritted her teeth. “
I don’t care. I won’t have to live at home much longer.”

“Are you going away to college?”

“One way or another. I’ve applied for a bunch of scholarships, so I’m hoping to get
one of them.”

“You will,”
I had said with enthusiasm.
“You’re really smart and talented. Everyone’s going to send you offers.”

“You’re sweet, Shannon.”

Memories faded as I stopped at another red light at the edge of the town square and
watched the rain pour down on the windshield. Everyone in town had been shaken when
Lily disappeared only a few days before the opening of the annual high school spring
play. Especially since Lily had been chosen to play Sandy, the lead in the musical
Grease
. I thought she was even prettier than Olivia Newton-John, and she had a beautiful
singing voice. I used to hear her sing every night at rehearsal, because I was head
of the carpentry crew, even though I was only a sophomore. And that happened because
our drama coach and everyone in town knew that I’d been working in construction most
of my life, ever since my mom died and my dad had starting taking my sister and me
along to his job sites. Who better to teach a crew of tough senior boys how to hammer
nails and saw wood than someone who’d been doing it since she was a little kid?

I braked at a stop sign. Thinking about those conversations with Lily was stirring
up memories of my mother’s death. Somehow our brief chats had always revolved around
our mothers. Because of that we had shared an oddly special bond, despite our two-year
age difference. Now I wondered if Lily had wished her own mother were dead. Or if,
after seeing my pain, she might have tried to bridge that gap and make an effort to
be closer to her mom.

Sadly, that would’ve been a lost cause. Mrs. Brogan, in her own way, had been as awful
a parent as their father had been. And now I could see maybe Mac had been right earlier
when he said that it was sometimes hard to tell which was worse, the abuser or the
enabler.

Lily’s mother’s words had been terribly hurtful. And those were just the words Lily
had told me. There had to have been so many more instances that were even worse. So
yes, Lily had been physically beaten by her father, but I wondered if the kind of
emotional thrashings she’d had to endure from her mother might’ve been just as devastating
and probably longer lasting.

Wow. It really made me appreciate my parents and the relatively easy childhood they’d
given me.

A few blocks from home, I remembered that I needed to pick up a pound of coffee and
a quart of half-and-half for the morning. I pulled into the supermarket parking lot,
found a place, and turned off the engine. I had to sit there for a minute, as all
the confusion and heartache of those days came rushing back. It was painful to find
out that Lily had never really disappeared; she’d been in town all this time. But
nobody had ever thought to search for her inside the deserted lighthouse mansion.
Could she have been saved? We would never know.

A dreadful thought occurred to me. Even if someone had thought to search for her in
the mansion, would they have found her curled up inside the dumbwaiter? As soon as
I pictured it, I had to shake off the image of Lily inside that cramped space. I jumped
out of the car and ran through the rain into the market.

As I reached the dairy section, I heard a man say my name. “Well, well. Shannon Hammer.”

It wasn’t a friendly greeting. My stomach clenched as I turned to see Cliff Hogarth
standing near the orange-juice display. He was impeccably dressed in a well-tailored
black suit with a white shirt and a gold silk tie. He looked wealthy and dangerous
and not at all at home in the dairy section of the local supermarket.

Cliff had grown up in Lighthouse Cove, but moved away after high school. Rumor had
it that he’d made a killing in the real estate business in Chicago. Then a few months
ago he’d returned to town to open a construction company. Ever since then, he’d been
making life miserable for me and the other contractors around town. He had tried to
poach our crews and thought nothing of drastically underbidding our jobs. It was infuriating
and a little scary. The man had no integrity at all when it came to his professional
dealings, not to mention his personal interactions. But why would I expect him to?
He’d hounded me and a lot of other girls all through high school.

And staring at him now, I remembered that Cliff had dated Lily Brogan during her senior
year in high school. How was that for a coincidence? Seeing him on the same day that
Lily’s remains were discovered made me question his real motive for moving back to
Lighthouse Cove.

Ordinarily I might not be so suspicious of someone, but Cliff was a jerk of the highest
order. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’d been involved in Lily’s death. Maybe
that was unfair of me, but I couldn’t help it. The man was purposely aggressive and
intimidating.

Paying no attention to him, I opened up the dairy case and took a quart container
of half-and-half off the shelf. As I started to walk away, Cliff took hold of my arm.

“Hands off, pal,” I said in my toughest voice.

“You’re still a snob, aren’t you?”

I wrenched my arm back. “And you’re still a clueless oaf.”

He moved closer. I backed up a step. He was big and loathsome, a real bully, yet his
breath was minty fresh. It was unexpected and creepy. Without warning, he grabbed
my arm again and squeezed.

I struggled to pull away. “I told you to get your hands off me.”

“When are you going to learn that it pays to be nice to me?” he said through clenched
teeth.

“You’re wrong. Now let me go.”

“Maybe once I’ve put you out of business you’ll realize you should’ve paid better
attention to me.”

“Fat chance of that.” I tried to push him, but he was as solid as stone. “I’m going
to scream if you don’t leave me alone.”

“Of course you’ll scream, because you’re nothing but a weak little girl.” He laughed,
but his eyes were hard. “By the time I’m through destroying your little company, you’ll
be begging me for a job.”

“You’re crazy.” I finally managed to break loose. “Stay away from me, or you’ll be
sorry.”

His upper lip curled as he snorted. “Now I’m scared.”

I walked away as fast as I could, but I could hear his evil laugh all the way up to
the cash-register line.

Minutes later, I was home and dashing to the kitchen door. I let myself inside and
quickly locked the door, concerned that Cliff might’ve followed me home. I tried to
shake him from my mind as I stomped on the rug to dry my shoes.

I took a careful peek out the window and didn’t see anyone loitering outside. The
lights were on in the garage apartment, and I wondered if Mac might want to join me
and my crew for dinner. I always enjoyed Mac’s company, but tonight I had to admit
I’d feel a lot safer going with him to the pub rather than going alone.

I hung up my coat on the hat rack by the back door and rubbed my arms to brush away
the chill. The encounter in the dairy section wasn’t the first time Cliff had tried
to frighten me, but he was growing more aggressive. A few weeks ago I’d gone to the
pub to pick up dinner and was sipping a beer while I waited. Cliff had walked over
and sat down next to me. I’d tried to ignore him, but he moved in close—he always
liked to get too close for comfort—and told me I should be careful about drinking
too much because I was asking to be taken advantage of.

It was such a stupid, sexist thing to say, I’d almost laughed. But he’d had the weirdest,
coldest look on his face, so I just turned my back on him. He then yanked me around
and said, “Don’t think you can treat me the same way you did in high school. I’ve
got power now and I can make life miserable for you.”

The bartender had brought my food just then, and I left without saying a word to Cliff.
But he had followed me outside and told me it could be dangerous to walk home alone
at night. I’d dashed back inside and called my girlfriend Jane to come pick me up.
I hadn’t seen Cliff since, until a few minutes ago at the market.

The phone began to ring and I rushed to pick up the kitchen extension, careful to
stand on the rag rug to avoid tracking water onto the tile floor. I was surprised
to hear Eric’s voice on the other line.

“Mind if I stop by for a few minutes?”

“Not at all,” I said, relief flooding through me. Not that I’d thought Cliff Hogarth
would call me, but hearing Eric’s deep voice helped me breathe easier. “What’s up?”

“I hope I won’t regret asking, but I need some background info on this situation.”

“Situation? You mean Lily?”

“Yeah, sorry. Lily.”

“Okay.” I decided to ignore his line about regret for now. “I’m going out later, but
I’ll be around for the next few hours.”

“Thanks. See you in ten minutes.” He hung up, and I stared at the phone for a long
moment. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. Oh, I was definitely thrilled that Eric
trusted me enough to want to talk. But I was annoyed that he felt he might regret
it. I was also worried that Sean would think I was talking behind his back. Thrilled?
Annoyed? Worried? There were plenty of each buzzing through me, but I decided to feel
cautiously thrilled
for the time being. At least it meant that Eric was no longer looking at me as a
prime suspect in anything that went wrong in town.

I raced upstairs to change out of my rain-soaked blue jeans and into a pair of comfy
yoga pants and a warm tunic sweater. In the bathroom, I grabbed my hair dryer and
blasted it to get rid of my wet-puppy-dog look.

Speaking of puppy dogs, I glanced over at the bathroom doorway and saw Robbie—short
for Rob Roy, since my little white-haired darling was a West Highland terrier—waiting
patiently for my attention.

Tiger, my fluffy marmalade cat, had no such compunctions. She pranced into the room
and straight over to me, where she, meowing loudly, wove her soft, furry body in and
out and around my legs. And there was the difference between cats and dogs. Dogs will
wait while cats demand.

“Hello, my darlings,” I crooned over the blast of the hair dryer. “We’re expecting
company, so please be on your best behavior.”

Robbie’s bark was loud and enthusiastic, so I knew he understood completely. Tiger
ignored the dog and head-bumped my ankles repeatedly. “I’ll feed you—don’t worry.
I just need another minute to tame this mop so I don’t scare off the chief.”

A minute later the doorbell rang and Robbie barked again, then ran off down the stairs.
Tiger tried to remain haughty and pay no attention to whatever was going on downstairs,
but seconds later she strutted away to join Robbie, probably hoping our guest had
brought food.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” I said, as though I expected Tiger to convey my message
to the chief. I chuckled at myself, gave my hair one more gust of hot air, and turned
off the hair dryer. Checking the mirror, I saw that my hair was still a tangle of
red curls, but at least they were dry and bouncy, as opposed to stringy and wet. I
quickly applied a coat of clear gloss to my lips, and hurried downstairs to greet
the chief.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said as I swung open the front door. “Come in.”

“Thanks for seeing me.” He stepped inside and removed his wet leather jacket. I took
the jacket, and he glanced down at the small puddle on the hardwood floor. “Sorry
about the mess.”

“Don’t worry about that. Let me hang this up.” He followed me into the kitchen, and
while I hung his jacket on the service-porch rack to dry, he grabbed several paper
towels and walked back to the front door to sop up the rainwater.

“It’s pouring out there,” he said a minute later as he returned to the kitchen.

“I know. My hair was sopping wet by the time I made it home.”

“It looks great now.”

“Oh,” I said, foolishly pleased by the compliment. “Thanks.”

Robbie had been patient long enough. He let out a quick bark and toddled up to Eric’s
feet, where he sat expectantly.

“Hey, buddy,” Eric said, and bent down to scratch Robbie’s back.

Tiger joined them, and Eric gave the cat’s neck and ears a soft rubbing.

I almost sighed out loud. My pets recognized an animal lover when they saw one. And
I did, too. Eric had recently adopted Rudy, a German shepherd he was training to become
the first member of the Lighthouse Cove K-9 patrol. There had been a run on pet adoptions
last month when the local no-kill animal shelter had rented a booth at the town’s
Valentine’s Day Festival.

Mac was another one who’d taken advantage of the pet-adoption service and found himself
a beautiful black cat. He’d named him Luke, short for Lucifer, and it was sweet to
see how instantly they’d adapted to each other. At the time, I wasn’t sure how my
Tiger would feel about sharing her backyard territory with Luke. But the two felines
had scrutinized and sniffed and circled each other for a little while before they
slowly decided to become new best friends.

Mac had since assured me that he’d be paying another visit to the pet-adoption booth
to find himself a big, clumsy, lovable dog, as soon as he moved out of the small garage
apartment and settled into his new life in the lighthouse mansion.