Larkspur (4 page)

An unhappy accident had placed Angharad Peltz at Jay's left. She turned her shoulder to
him and listened to Lydia, who sat on her left in the hostess's chair, with desperate attention. I felt
sorry for Angharad. A little. On the other hand, she probably agreed with her boorish
husband.

Llewellyn was telling me a gently self-mocking story about word processors. As Miguel
began to clear the soup, the old man interrupted himself, frowning. "Mr. Dodge."

"Sir?" Jay looked up from the roll he was crumbling.

"I hope you haven't let this unpleasantness take away your appetite."

Jay said mildly, "No, sir. I'm fine."

"You don't like gazpacho?" A certain sharpness indicated Llewellyn was one of those
hosts whose pride is involved in their choice of menu.

Jay laid the butter knife neatly on the bread plate. "I was shot in the stomach a couple of
years ago in LA. I'm supposed to avoid spicy food."

I stared at him. Ordinarily he hates to admit his little problem to strangers. In fact he
mortally insulted his partner's wife his first month in Monte. Joelle Carey is a notable Creole
cook--her mother runs a restaurant in Oakland that draws aficionados from San Francisco and
Berkeley--and Joelle had gone all out to impress Jay. He ate rice and bread, and refused
everything else politely. No explanation. When she finally found out his reason for avoiding her
filé gumbo, Joelle took six months to forgive him. I didn't blame her. So what was
this--had he turned over a new leaf? Now everyone was staring.

Jay took a bland sip of water, face expressionless.

Llewellyn cleared his throat. "I trust you'll be able to accommodate the poached
trout."

"Sure," Jay said amiably. "As long as it's not full of peppers."

"A little
beurre blanc
." Llewellyn sounded depressed. He was probably going
over four days' menus in his mind and editing out the jalapeños.

Jay got his comeuppance. All through the fish course Denise exclaimed and
cross-examined and moralized, and he was put to some effort to avoid telling her the more gruesome
details of his ordeal. I watched him while I made conversation with Llewellyn, who was off on
my mother's latest book, and felt only the mildest sympathy. He could just have said he didn't
like the soup.

The medallions of veal were so tender and the new potatoes and carrots so meltingly
luscious, we survived the main course with no further dramatic scenes--and not much
conversation. Everybody, including Jay, was too busy eating. When the whole party retired to the
veranda for dessert and coffee, I dashed upstairs to use the bathroom and check out the
accommodations.

The stair was dark wood, steep, highly polished. The hall was paneled in a wood that
glowed liked honey in the light from half a dozen pink-shaded sconces. Jay and I had been given
adjoining rooms with a communicating door. That tickled me--preserving the proprieties for Ma's
sake. I hoped nobody was sleeping in a closet because of the arrangement. I laid our nightclothes
on the bed with the firmer mattress, gave my hair a brush, and dashed back down. I left the
communicating door open.

By then it was fully dark. We sat on lawn chairs facing the lake. When he had served
sorbet and coffee, Miguel slipped down to the boat dock and set off some fireworks over the
lake. A small preview, Llewellyn said, of coming attractions. The sorbet was homemade, and the
coffee tasted like mocha nectar. I squished my chair closer to Jay's, and we held hands and
gawked at the roman candles. Between bangs and booms I could hear the crickets
chink-chinking.

Bill Huff drove up after Llewellyn had seduced us back into the lodge with an offer of
brandy. We heard the car on the gravel. Lydia slipped out to greet her husband as Miguel brought
us brandy or a choice of liqueurs. At Llewellyn's suggestion, I joined him in a tiny glass of
chartreuse. It was okay. Jay passed, as he had on the coffee. He is not supposed to use caffeine,
hard liquor, or tobacco, and doesn't, though I once saw him smoke a cigarette.

"Miss Dailey..."

I met Winton D'Angelo's dark, rather soulful eyes. "You'd better call me Lark. We're
colleagues."

He blinked. "Oh, the basketball."

I waited. We were standing by the French doors, now definitely open to admit the night
breeze and an occasional mosquito. I noticed that the broken pane had been replaced with a neat
square of cardboard. The glass shards were gone. Efficient Miguel.

"I don't keep up with sports, I'm afraid. Your team did well, didn't it?"

"Second in the regional tournament."

"That's nice. I meant to compliment you on your bookstore." As far as I knew he had
never crossed my threshold to bong the bonger. Perhaps he sensed my skepticism.

"The mere presence of a bookstore that stocks something besides popular paperbacks is
a service to the community."

"Actually, I hope to turn a profit. And I have two racks of popular paperbacks." I sipped
and watched Jay and Janey Huff. Janey had kicked off her high-heeled sandals and to
demonstrate the proper stance for balancing on a sail board. Jay used to surf. I could tell he was
getting interested--in wind-surfing, I hoped. Janey had honey-blonde hair and a curvy figure, and
she was two inches shorter than he is. I am an inch taller.

D'Angelo was telling me about students who had never seen a bookstore in their lives
before they enrolled at Monte J.C. I believed him.

"Bill, you promised me..." Lydia's voice, sharp, cut through the chatter. Everyone turned
toward the door to the foyer, but her voice lowered. I heard Bill Huff's basso rumble making
some response. When nothing immediately awful happened everyone started talking again, but
there was an edge to the muted murmuring. Llewellyn, who was sitting with Denise, kept
glancing up from his conversation toward the hallway.

Lydia reentered alone. She looked, as usual, cool and very much in charge of things. She
gave a general smile round the room. "Bill had a few celebratory rounds with his staff. I sent him
to bed like the bad boy he is." She laughed, flipping the edge of her lace shawl over one arm, and
pranced over to the silent Miguel. "My turn."

Beside me Winton D'Angelo heaved a sigh. Of relief? I glanced toward Jay and caught a
glimpse of Janey Huff's face. A lock of hair had fallen across one flushed cheek, and her mouth
was set in a thin line.

Jay and I took our time testing out the beds.

He was up before I woke at six. I splashed water on my face in the little bathroom tucked
between our rooms and decided I didn't really have a Chartreuse hangover. I pulled on running
shorts and a tee-shirt, scuffed into my sneakers, dragged a comb through my hair, and went
downstairs.

Everything was very quiet. Outside, the day was at its pleasantest. One thing about
high-altitude living--the air cools off at night. The morning, though sunny, had a crisp edge. I spotted
Jay down by the wooden boat dock and headed toward him. He saw me coming and met me
halfway.

"Want a run?" He was also dressed
pour le sport
.

"Sure. Where?"

He gave me a large invigorating hug. "You smell good."

"
Eau de
Jay
. I haven't showered yet. Where, you animal?"

"Well away from Mountain Man's territory. I don't need a blast of buckshot before
breakfast."

"Up the road?" I started jogging across the rolled lawn. Despite its smooth appearance, it
was full of little hummocks.

We puffed up the paved highway a mile or two and trotted back down, neither of us
pushing it. The thin air tested our lung capacity enough without trying for speed. We didn't meet
with traffic either way--or shotgun blasts.

Afterwards we sneaked upstairs and showered. The stall was bitty. We could hear mild
sounds of stirring from the other bedrooms but no serious getting-up noises. A toilet flushed
somewhere. When we tiptoed back downstairs we found Miguel drifting sleepily through the
lounge.

His eyes widened at the sight of us. "
Señorita
,
señor
, the
coffee, it is no...not..."

Jay said something to him in rapid Spanish, and his face cleared. He gave us a big happy
smile and rattled off a reply.

Outside I poked Jay in the ribs. "What was that?"

"I complimented him on his efficiency and told him we were going to take a long hike
before breakfast."

"Are we?"

"Might as well. The old man set breakfast at nine."

I groaned.

"Coffee at eight."

"That's better." I can wait for breakfast, but I do like my coffee. "Which way?"

"Let's see if we can sneak up on Godzilla's cabin. I'm awake now." A path led off toward
the east through the trees and brush along the lakeshore. Jay headed for it.

"Geez, awake and spoiling for a fight."

"I was hoping for a truce."

"You want to talk to the jerk?"

"No, but I don't want another scene like last night either. Not fair to Llewellyn."

"You like him, too, don't you?"

"Yeah, he's a feisty old geezer. Also, I was rude at the dinner-table."

I grinned. "I wondered what was going on. Trying to spoil everybody's appetite?"

"Something like that. I was embarrassed, and I thought I might as well spread the
joy."

"It didn't work. Denise ate it up."

"The lady is a vampire."

"But graceful."

We strolled along side by side until the path narrowed at a clump of manzanitas. I took
the lead.

"Walking point," Jay said wryly.

"You have a diseased imagination."

"Not entirely. Take it slow."

I did, but I thought rattlesnakes were more likely than landmines--or shotgun traps. The
huge trunks of the pines and Douglas fir were dappled pink and gold in the early sun. Gold motes
danced in the air. The ground was springy from layers of fallen needles. We made no noise
walking along.

When I saw the gable and chimney of the cabin through the trees I came to a halt. The
white curve of the satellite dish showed in the clearing, and a thin plume of smoke curled on the
still air.

We moved cautiously forward. As we came within sight of the front door, Angharad
ambled around the side of the cabin. She was carrying a gardening fork and gloves, and when she
saw us she dropped them.

We stood staring at each other for several breaths. Then she picked up her belongings
and strode over to us. "What the hell...?" She kept her voice low. The bear was apparently in
hibernation.

"Out for a morning stroll," I said brightly. "Nice place." It was a solid, rather large 1930's
cabin made of squared, dark-stained logs. The silvery shakes on the roof looked as if they might
have been hand split. Nasturtiums grew along the walkway by the side of the house. In that
setting, the satellite dish looked like something from outer space.

Ms. Peltz was frowning, more at Jay than at me. She wore jeans and a print camp shirt,
and her long apricot-colored hair, by far her most striking feature, was piled atop her head. "What
do you want?" She directed the question at Jay.

"Peace."

She gave a short laugh. "Don't we all? Look, I'm sorry Ted blew up yesterday, but he's
been under a lot of pressure from the narcs."

"That was a federal bust," Jay said mildly.

"But you knew about it."

"Public information. I'll bet Huff and D'Angelo do, too, and I'm damned sure your uncle
heard about it, because he called the sheriff and asked us to start patrolling the road more
often."

"Did Dai..." She bit her lip. "He didn't say anything to us about patrols." She sounded
aggrieved.

"He's a big property owner, Ms. Peltz. It's his land."

"And when he says jump you jump."

Jay ignored the gibe. "I imagine he doesn't want to be hauled into court as an
accessory."

Her mouth tightened. "He won't be. We're clean. The feds tore out the plants, and
anyway they were on Forest Service land." She jerked her head in the direction of the National
Forest. "Dai has no beef with Ted. Really."

She didn't sound sure of herself, which was not surprising. I suspected they had the cabin
rent-free. Embroiling Llewellyn in a federal narcotics case might look a little like
ingratitude.

"It'll be my land. Some day." Nice lady.

"So you're the designated heir." Jay sounded as if he were settling in for a cozy chat. He
was trained to negotiate with hostage-takers.

Angharad Peltz was not up to his weight. She tossed her apricot curls. "Who else does he
have to leave it to? My mother? They quarreled years ago." Dumb lady.

"He could leave it to a dog and cat hospital." Jay smiled a negotiator smile to show there
was no offence meant.

Angharad gave a small snort. "Not likely. Llewellyns keep their property in the family,
always have, always will."

"That must be comforting."

Abruptly her suspicions kicked in again. "You'd better go. I'll calm Ted down before we
come tonight, but I don't want you hanging around here. He's apt to be grouchy when he wakes
up."

And when he goes to sleep and in between, I added to myself. "See you later." I pulled
Jay along the path. He didn't resist, and neither of us looked back. Let sleeping bears lie.

We were well out of ear-shot of the cabin before I stopped and stuck my face in his.
"What federal bust?"

"Ted Peltz was arrested as a grower in March. He's out on bail while some very
expensive lawyers dicker for him. The feds set an October trial date. It's been kept quiet. I think
they're still negotiating with Peltz, trying to turn him into a witness."

"Oh. Then he's..."

"Supposed to be on his best behavior." Jay interposed, wry.

"I'd hate to see his worst."

"He's a bad actor. I don't envy the wife."

I was horrified. "You don't mean he abuses her?"

"I don't know that he does, but you saw him yesterday."

I shook my head, speechless. I would certainly not risk my body in the same cabin with
that maniac.