Ghost Sudoku (10 page)

Kevin gave an uncomfortable shrug. “I dunno. There were always stories about Brandy and older guys.”

Liza remembered the old high school gossip. Brandy and upperclassmen, Brandy and college guys. There were even some rumors going around that almost cost the JV football coach his job. “I don’t suppose she was ever tight with Ray Massini?”

Kevin started to shake his head, but then had to shrug. “I really don’t know, although I don’t think so,” he said. “But I can tell one story you might find interesting.

“It was right back when the inn first opened. I’d make it a point every evening to hit the dining room at dinnertime and greet all the guests.”

He still does that,
Liza thought.

“Anyway, I go in one night, and who’s there but Chad and Brandy Pauncecombe.” Kevin laughed. “It was kind of funny. Chad was pouring a bottle of wine, and when he spotted me, he got that same expression he used to get when he saw J.J. bearing down on him. He completely spazzed out, spilling wine on the tablecloth. I guess I must have been about the last person on earth he expected to see there.”

“Brandy—and Chad?” Liza said in disbelief.

Kevin nodded, still grinning at the memory. “Never saw a guy eat so fast. He just about hustled Brandy out of there. I was at the front desk when they left.”

Here his grin faded a little. “Here’s the really weird thing. The desk clerk mentioned that when they came in, Chad had been pricing the cost of a room.”

 

 

 

Michael, of course, had a scriptwriter’s take on this development. “So, twenty years after high school, the class nerd and the prom queen get together—and get it on!”

“This isn’t a pitch meeting,” Liza told him irritably. “And Brandy wasn’t the prom queen—more like the school slut.” She turned to Kevin. “Wasn’t she?”

“Well, uh . . .” Kevin said, taken aback.

“I can’t believe you want to be nice to her!” Liza burst out.

“Wow, twenty years and it’s still . . .” Michael made a clawing gesture with one hand while letting out an angry cat noise that was realistic enough to make Rusty raise his head from his doze by the window.

“She was a selfish, two-faced, backstabbing bitch who never told the truth if a lie suited her purposes better—or maybe just amused her.”

“Sounds like the perfect politician’s wife,” Buck Foreman suggested with a grin.

Alvin, however, looked more serious. “I think you’ve just shown how the passions from all those years ago could still live on today.”

Liza blinked, shut up, and thought. “We all remember how J.J. Pauncecombe made life hell for Chad,” she said to Kevin. “But do you remember why?”

He shrugged. “Because Chad was always around.”

“Because Chad was always around Brandy,” Liza corrected. “That’s what drove J.J. crazy, having some geeky guy carrying a torch for Brandy.”

Kevin reluctantly nodded. “And no matter what J.J. did to him, Chad kept coming back.”

“Puppy love,” Liza said, then frowned. “Do you think Chad could have kept holding the torch all those years?”

“He never got married,” Kevin pointed out.

“Of course, there was the other side to it.” Liza could hear the sharper note creeping into her voice. “Back in school, Brandy liked having Chad looking all googly-eyed at her.”

“Flattered by the attention?” Michael suggested. “Maybe he had more to offer than some high school jock.” He glanced over at Kevin as he said this.

Liza rolled her eyes.
Here we go again.
Aloud, she said, “I wonder if Brandy ever had an honest emotion in her life. I think she just liked the drama. When nobody else much was around, she’d lead Chad on—smile at him or whatever—until J.J. came along to open a can of whup-ass on the poor sucker.”

“And he used to order cans of whup-ass by the case,” Kevin said. “Very heavy with his hands, old J.J. was. I think he managed to get into a fight with everybody on the team.”

“Well, that was an interesting trip down memory lane,” Buck commented. “But it’s interesting mainly because it raises a possible motive other than election fraud. Do you think we could get hold of pictures of Redbourne and this woman—something a little more up to date than yearbook photos?”

Kevin nodded. “I’ve got some pictures from political dinners held at the inn—”

“Rubber chicken and oratory,” Michael murmured just loud enough to be heard.

Kevin bristled, but Buck cut in. “Maybe you could go and get them—even better, maybe you could e-mail them to Liza’s computer.”

“I have a scanner in my office.” Kevin rose from his seat. “I’ll see what I can do.”

After he’d left, Liza asked Buck, “What do you intend to do with those pictures?”

Buck shrugged, an infinitesimal lift of his heavy shoulders. “I’ll make the rounds of motels in the area.”

Too bad we didn’t ask Kevin about that,
Liza thought.
He’s probably researched all the no-tell motels in easy driving range for his pal Ray.

But then, nobody was supposed to know about that. She was glad she’d kept her mouth shut.

Turning to Alvin, she said, “Well, Buck has figured out something to do. But I really feel that you’ve been dragged off on a wild-goose chase.”

Alvin shook his round, bald head. “I’d been intending to take a few days off, and I would have ended up wasting them on golf. This is something different for me. Usually, I get called in when someone is pretty sure to be arrested or indicted. It isn’t often I get to do some preventive lawyering.”

Liza shrugged, flinging up her hands in defeat. “Okay, then, the next thing we have to do is figure out a place for you to stay. I don’t suppose Michelle is willing to pick up the tab—”

Buck shook his head. “I think she’s drawing the line at getting us up here, and even then, it was done on frequent flyer miles.”

Liza grinned. That was classic Michelle.

“So I guess rooms at the Killamook Inn are out.”

“Not to mention a little too open to the public,” Buck said. “If your local sheriff didn’t want you investigating, I figure maybe we should keep our presence on the down low.”

Looking at her three guests, Liza sighed. “Well, Mrs. H. has a guest room next door, but that would be awfully cramped for more than one person.”

“I seem to remember she also has a good-sized couch,” Buck said. “I could crash there.”

It could be done—Kevin had lain there, passed out in the course of one case. She glanced over at Michael. While he had lain passed out on the floor.

“I guess you can stay here,” she told Michael. Then, to quench the sudden twinkle in his eyes, she added, “I think there’s still an old sleeping bag stuck in with Dad’s camping things.”

Ignoring the look on Michael’s face, Liza went to the living room window. “Mrs. H. has her Olds parked beside the house,” she said. “Let’s go next door and talk with her.”

Mrs. Halvorsen opened the door with a smile. “Hello, hello!” she said. “I’m glad to see you up here visiting, Michael. And it’s always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Foreman.” She had to tilt her head back to look Buck in the eye.

“Elise Halvorsen, Alvin Hunzinger,” Liza introduced the final member of the group. “He came down to the resort where we were staying, but I don’t think you had a chance to meet then.”

Mainly because Alvin was busy getting her away from the police and a media frenzy while Mrs. H. hid in their room.

The older woman’s eyes widened as she stared at Alvin. “Has anybody mentioned how much you look like . . .”

Seeing the way Alvin cringed, Liza figured she wasn’t the only one to notice his resemblance to old Elmer, even if she hadn’t mentioned it out loud.

“That actor from
Kojak
,” Mrs. H. went on. “What was his name? Telly something . . .”

“Savalas?” Michael blurted out in astonishment.

“That’s it.” Mrs. Halvorsen nodded vigorously. “Telly Savalas. I always thought he was a dangerous-looking type, even when he played good guys. If that nice Mr. Foreman weren’t here with you, I’d have been afraid to open the door.”

“Really?” Alvin deepened his voice. “I mean, really.” Squaring his shoulders, he straightened to his full, if not very considerable, height. “Who loves ya, baby?”

Mrs. H. clapped her hands. “Exactly!”

She expressed herself as more than willing to put up Buck and his famous-looking friend.

“Great,” Buck said. “We’ll just go and get our bags.”

On the way back from the car, though, Buck detoured back to Liza’s house. “I wonder if Kevin was able to get the stuff we asked for this quickly,” he said.

She went inside and switched to the Internet. And yes, she had mail.

Printing out the attachments, she handed them to Buck. “A little blurry,” Liza said, looking at them critically.

“Probably blown up from a group picture.” Buck held the pictures out. “He’s wearing a tux, and her gown must be cut down to the belly button.”

Both Michael and Alvin clustered around for a peek, each earning a dirty look from Liza.

“But I think they’ll do,” Buck told her. “How are they in terms of likeness?”

She looked at the tight, nervous smile on Chad’s face and the way Brandy was busy making love to the camera. “Good likenesses, and very much in character.”

Buck folded the photos and put them in his jacket pocket. “Now, if I wanted to arrange a discreet rendezvous, where would I start looking?”

Liza bit her lip to keep from answering, “Try the Killamook Inn.”

Instead, she said, “There are a lot of touristy motels along the coast to the north, up to Seaside and Cannon Beach. Or south along the coast, there’s Lincoln City and Newport.”

Buck nodded. “I’m going to need a car—and I don’t think it would be a good idea to rent one.” He gave Liza a humorless smile. “Less of a paper trail.”

“Well, I’d willingly lend you mine, but I’ve been carless for days now, and I have things to take care of.”

“Wonder if your neighbor would let me borrow her car, then,” Buck said.

“I’m sure she would,” Liza assured him. “Let’s go and ask.”

They returned with Buck to Mrs. H.’s house and made the necessary arrangements. Buck would head north, Alvin would stay and enjoy his newfound celebrity, and Liza and Michael would get some time alone.

“So what are you intending to do with your newly returned car?” Michael asked.

“I figured I’d fill the gas tank—and then we’d do something we haven’t done in a long time,” Liza replied.

Her almost-ex-husband’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. “Like what?”

She smiled. “Like go on a picnic.”

The first stop was Castelli’s Market a few blocks away, where they got a six-pack of beer, assorted sodas, and some of the homemade Italian delicacies the store was famous for. Michael went for the veal parmigiana hero with extra sauce. Liza chose her usual—prosciutto, capicola, salami, and provolone cheese, with lettuce, tomato, balsamic vinegar, and marinated peppers. Ernie behind the counter alerted Liza as to which pasta salad was the freshest, and they took a tub of that, too.

Having gotten fuel for themselves, they headed for the edge of town and a service station, where Liza gassed up the car.

“Where to now?” Michael asked.

“We head for the hills,” Liza replied, taking a winding road that quickly took on elevation.

“Damn,” Liza muttered after they’d been driving for a while. “We forgot ice.”

“It shouldn’t be so bad.” Michael twisted against his seat belt to feel the beverages on the floor of the backseat. “Um. Maybe we should have separated the hot sandwich from the stuff we’d like to keep cold.”

“No problem—maybe. We’re near Hillside Road.” Liza made a left at the next intersection, turning onto a slightly wider road that looped in splendid isolation along the flank of the hillside to a wider shoulder of flattish ground. It had been graded and covered in gravel to form a parking area, presently home to a single battered pickup truck pulled up in front of a glorified shed that sprouted like a dusty cinderblock mushroom. A sign in peeling paint over the door announced the single word CONVENIENCE.

Michael peered at the slit-like windows while waiting for the cloud of dust from their approach to settle down. “So what is it? A leftover fallout shelter or the supply point for all the local hermits?”

Liza shrugged. “It was going to be a construction shanty for a housing development, but between foot-dragging by the boys in Killamook and the present economy, that’s all that got built.” She led the way inside, where a whip-thin man with a dark complexion and a magnificent mustache bowed from behind the counter. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Hello, Mr. Patel,” Liza said. “Do you have any ice?”

The shopkeeper nodded to a row of refrigerated cases against the far wall. “Look in the one on the end.”

Michael followed along behind Liza, taking in the store’s inventory—snack foods, chilled beer and soda, a few containers of milk, display units with aspirin, cold pills, pain rubs, and various digestive nostrums standing next to bottles of motor oil, transmission fluid, and other automotive necessities. Beside the last cooler, where Liza dug out a plastic bag of ice, the merchandise changed character again, this time to stationery items. Beyond rose a rank of private mailboxes, three bays of them from letter to parcel size.

Michael let out a muffled “Ooof!” as Liza shoved the ten-pound bag of ice into his arms to carry and made almost the same sound when he saw how much she had to pay for it.

“Anything to pay the rent,” he muttered when they were back outside, “and everything the market will bear.”

“As the sign says, we’re paying for convenience.” Liza held open the back door as Michael dumped his burden on the drinks. “This isn’t exactly a well-traveled road. I’m surprised Mr. Patel manages to stay in business.”