Heaven Preserve Us (17 page)

"Are you investigating Philip Heaven's death at all?"

"He's the guy who died from botulism the other day? Hardly.
The Health Department has that well in hand. I have bigger fish to
fry, looking for the Cadyville Creep. I'm going to get him. And I'm
going to get him fast."

"You don't think Philip's death was at all suspicious," I said in a
flat voice. "And you think you're going to breeze in here and solve
our cute little crime spree right away, even though Detective Ambrose has been working on it for weeks."

Her features turned hard, and she folded her arms over her
chest. Neither of us said a word for several seconds, and I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable. The seconds grew
into what had to be minutes, even if they probably weren't. But by
then there was no way I was going to be the one to break the silence. If she wanted to play games then she could very well just-

"Sergeant Zahn was right. You like to stir up trouble. Problem
is, people who like to stir up trouble often find themselves smack
dab in the middle of it."

I held up my palm. "I was only-"

"No, seriously. I can't have it. I assure you that I'm more than
capable. They brought me in to handle things because I'm good.
I'm good, and I'm fast. You'll have to trust me on that, and stay out
of my way."

"Out of your way."

"Yes. Out of my way."

I thought of Barr lying in the hospital bed. There because someone had poisoned Philip Heaven and gotten sloppy. It was enough
to want to find Philip's killer-murder was wrong, plus I felt a
strong desire to solve the puzzle. But I really wanted to find out
who'd hurt Barr, who'd turned him from the strong confident man I
knew into the faded husk currently inhabiting a hospital bed. Again,
the possibility that he could have died crossed my mind.

I pushed it away.

What if this woman standing in front of me was as good as she
said? She had a certain something, as the French say, only, you
know, they say it in French. The way she carried herself. Proud,
even a little arrogant, but quietlike, exuding confidence.

"Listen," I said. "There are a lot of suspicious circumstances
surrounding Philip Heaven's death. It simply makes sense for the
police to look into it further."

She smiled. "Just leave the investigating to me, and stop the
small-town busybody thing, okay? Stick with making your little
soaps.

Oh. She really shouldn't have said that. Small-town busybody,
indeed. And the condescension in her tone when she referred to
my "little soaps." I swear, I could feel the skin tighten across my
cheeks, and I had to stop myself before my lips drew back to show
my teeth. Her own expression became wary.

"Are you kidding?" I put on my best poker face, which, granted,
wasn't much of one. "I can't even tell you how delighted I am that
Chief Andy brought in someone from the big city to help the rubes
figure out who did what to who out here in the sticks." My tone had
taken on a slow western twang to accentuate my sarcasm, though in
the back of my mind I cringed at the notion that Chief Maher might
learn I'd called him something that sounded like we lived Mayberry.
"I'm sure you'll manage to do a right nice job of it, too."

Her face flushed and her eyes flashed anger, but by then I
couldn't have cared less. Thoughts of Philip and Barr, and the general good of society being served by a murderer being caught had
fled my brain. I wouldn't be proud of it later, but all I could think
of was how unbelievably rude this uppity woman from, excuse
me, Seattle-not New York or Chicago or flippin' Paris-but Seattle, had managed to be in a matter of a few minutes.

She pointed a finger at me. "I'm not asking. I'm telling you.
Keep out of it. All of it. And I'm not going to tell you again."

I smiled as sweetly as I could manage. "I understand"

I'd show her small town. I'd show her busybody.

My foot tapped as the coffeepot hissed and gurgled on the counter.
I desperately needed an afternoon caffeine fix. Not much sleep the
night before, and plenty yet to do this afternoon, including clearing out the guest room so Barr would have a place to stay.

Meghan came in and ran tap water into a glass, drinking it all
down before turning to me with a sigh. "Four clients in a row." She
reached her arms, sinewy from the regular workouts of performing deep tissue massage, up to the ceiling and arched her back like
a cat. "I feel like I've been digging ditches."

"Why did you call Barr and tell him about Allen? And why did
you invite him to stay here without even mentioning the idea to
me?"

She looked surprised, and then sheepish. "I'm sorry. I called to
see how he was and how he was planning on getting by alone at
home, and as we talked I sort of spilled the beans about that Allen
character. Then I got the bright idea that he ought to come stay
with us and went ahead and asked him right then. I really didn't
think you'd mind having him around."

"Of course I don't mind! It's a great idea, and I wish I'd thought
of it, I really do. But it seemed like maybe you went around me on
purpose, and I couldn't figure out why."

"I wouldn't do that!" Chagrin pinched her features. "I told you,
it just kind of came up."

The conversation was taking a defensive turn. I put my hand
on her arm. "Meghan, thanks for offering Barr a place here to recover. It's awfully nice of you."

Her face relaxed a little. Why was she wound so tightly
lately? I mean, that was my frequent M.O., but she was usually
zen personified.

I continued. "I'll clear out the guest bedroom." I knew Meghan
wasn't comfortable with Barr staying in my bedroom, not with
Erin around. But readying the fourth bedroom upstairs, which we
primarily used for storage and junk, would be a challenge.

"Oh, don't bother," Meghan said. "The bed in there is terrible.
Erin can move into my bedroom with me, and Barr can have her
room.

"I like it," I said, reaching for the full coffeepot, "but won't
she-"

The front door slammed. Her head jerked up in alarm, and I
completely forgot about my coffee.

"Erin?" Meghan called.

Something heavy hit the floor. Brodie yelped. We both were
out of the kitchen and in the foyer in an instant.

Erin knelt over the little corgi, petting him. His little butt wiggled, which is how he wagged the tail he didn't have, and he
strained to lick her face.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"What happened?" Meghan asked.

But she didn't get an answer. Erin wouldn't look up. She bent
over her dog and buried her face in his fur. I walked over and knelt
beside her.

"Bug? Are you crying?"

Sniffle.

"You're going to get Brodie all wet. And then we'll have to
blow-dry him like when he gets a bath. He hates that blow dryer,
you know."

She sighed and leaned back and gave me a look designed to let
me know just how stupid she thought that ploy was. She had, however, stopped crying.

"C'mon," I said, and got to my feet.

"Where" She sounded angry as much as sad.

"Kitchen"

"Spiced pears," Meghan said. "And you can tell us what's going
on.

Erin sighed.

"And ice cream," I said.

She cocked her head and stood up. Out of the corner of my eye
I saw Meghan shake her head. We trooped into the kitchen, Brodie's toenails clicking on the hardwood behind us.

We settled around the butcher block table and dug in. I stuck
to ice cream, somehow not in the mood for pears right then. So, of
course, I had an extra dose of ice cream while listening to Erin.

"Jonathan's dropping out of the bee," she said.

"He is? Why?" Meghan asked.

"His dumb friends think it's dumb. They started teasing him
about hanging out with me and studying, called him a brainiac.
And some other stuff."

"And he didn't like that."

"'Course not. But he just, like, totally gave in and dropped out.
I mean, he didn't stand up for himself at all."

"And he didn't stand up for you, either," I said, taking a stab at
why she might be so upset.

She shook her head. "He acted like he didn't even know me, all
day," she whispered. "Wouldn't talk to me, or even look at me. Then when I asked if he wanted to come over after school, he told
me to leave him alone."

"That wasn't nice." I said. Meghan gave me a look. "It wasn't," I
insisted. "And I bet it made you feel pretty crappy, too."

Erin nodded, and her throat worked."

"It's not your fault if he's a jerk," Meghan said.

"Maybe he'll change his mind," Erin said, a glimmer of hope
crossing her features.

"Maybe he will. Maybe he won't. Either way, you can go ahead
and win that spelling bee yourself," I said.

"Oh, no. I'm not gonna do the bee without Jonathan."

"Well, I won't make you;" her mother said. "Of course I wouldn't
do that, but I think you should still do it. The bee wasn't all about
Jonathan, was it?"

"Well..."

"You were only doing it because of him?"

"No ... well..."

"Oh. Gosh, Erin." Meghan couldn't keep the disappointment
out of her voice.

I jumped in. "It sure would be cool if you went ahead and did
it by yourself. Especially if you do well. That'd kind of show him
it's not dumb after all, wouldn't it?"

She bit her lower lip and glanced up at me. "Maybe"

"Well, think about it, okay?" Meghan knew when to back off,
and I followed her lead. "How do sloppy Joes sound for dinner?"

Erin brightened. "With macaroni and cheese?"

Meghan smiled. "Maybe"

KYLA AND CYAN WORKED hard that afternoon, helping me wrap
cocoa butter and jojoba soap with bands fashioned from torn banana paper and labels printed with the Winding Road logo. Kyla
was a senior at Cadyville High, and spent most of the time we
worked talking about the colleges she'd applied to. As she enthusiastically rambled on about moving out and living in a dorm, her
sister rolled her eyes and made noises of disgust from the other
side of the table. I imagined she'd heard it all before, and perhaps
felt left out of things. In another two years she'd be going through
the same thing, though.

In the meantime, maybe she'd have a friend who'd be interested in taking over Kyla's after-school job with Winding Road; I
could already tell I'd be losing the older girl's help come summer.

That made me think about the second email Philip had received, the one from the mother whose daughter had called the
Helpline.

"Hey, do you guys know a girl named Lisa Koller?" I asked.

Cyan snorted.

Kyla paused in wrapping a bar of soap, glanced up at me, then
resumed her work. "Sure. She's in some of my classes."

"So she's graduating this year?"

"Yeah"

"Tell me a little bit about her. What's she like?"

Cyan looked horrified. "You're not thinking about hiring her,
are you?"

"I take it that wouldn't be a very good idea," I said.

The older girl shook her head, apparently in agreement with
her sister. "Cyan's right. She's bad news."

"How come? Trouble?"

She made a face. "Sort of. Not bad. But she's a royal pain in the
you-know-what. Tries to boss everyone around, thinks she's hot
stuff, acts like the whole world owes her."

"Does she have a lot of friends?"

"She used to. But after her dad died she started being mean to
all of them, and after a while no one wanted to deal with her anymore. I mean, we all knew she was, like, traumatized, and it was
real sad and all, but it got so it was like she didn't want anyone to
be her friend, even when we tried."

"That must have been kind of hard, trying to help and having
her push you away."

Kyla nodded. "It was. I felt pretty guilty for not trying, but what
were we supposed to do?"