Lie Catchers (23 page)

“I was in a rush, Parker. To go fishing with your dad before it got dark.”

He looked to the heavens, “My luck.” Thumbing the sweat on her upper lip, he asked, “And this?”

“Kidnapping has a way of heating up a situation.”

Parker laughed. “Stand. Let’s get this off.” He took his time, passing his palms over her breasts as he removed her coat. When she closed her eyes at his touch, he pulled her in close and kissed her. She adjusted her thigh against his jeans, her mouth turning up at his intake of breath.

Liv drew away and held his face close to hers. “I don’t think your dad realizes how hard this is for you.”

When he started to shake his head, she strengthened her hold. “You’ve made up your mind about me, which means we won’t accept your dad’s gift, not wholeheartedly. Chet rigged this…this…tryst because he’s worried you’ll never let a woman get close to you again.”

“I didn’t say—”

Liv dropped her hands in her lap. “Chet doesn’t listen to you the way I do. On November 17, a rainy Monday when I wore my gold loops, you said: “If Liv gets hurt again, I’ll never forgive myself. Never.”

Parker made a sound in his throat, the beginnings of a protest.

Looking stern, Liv said, “Parker, I am infallible about dates and events.” She licked her lips. “In the letter you wrote to me, dated November 14th, you assured me “You and I represent a bridge too far.”

He looked at the instrument panel. “I did.”

“I wrote the article about detectives, remember, the stereotype you so aptly played when we were fooling Tilly and Nilson. ‘Laconic, obsessive about the hunt, tireless, nascent violent tendencies, puzzle-bound. Single.’ You’ve had a horrendous experience with your former girlfriend that’s convinced you never to love again.”

“God dammit, Liv.”

“Now you understand why I’m alone and why I could have told Chet this surprise date wouldn’t work. I’m a lie catcher, weaving my web of dates, strung together with jewelry and bizarre details I seem to be the only person on the planet to recall. Instead of catching dreams in my web, I catch lies, and stop romance cold every time.”

She spread her hands on her knees. “Parker, you told me you’d break my heart. Why would I let you? Tell me, because I’m weakening here. You are, without doubt, the most attractive man I’ve ever met, but I’ve also never been more afraid of a guy than I am of you.”

He nodded, morose. “I don’t blame you.” Eyeing the door to the V-berth, he said, “Dad holds out hope I’ve moved on from the pain, but I haven’t. When I think about your being hurt because of me, my heart beat kicks up and I can hardly breathe.”

“Could be passion,” she said wistfully.

Parker gave her a thin smile. “Along with panic, Livy. Pure, bald fear for your life.” He cradled her face with his hands. “And it’s not irrational or imaginary. You
are
in danger.”

Her expression clouded and she drew away from his touch. “We’re
all
in danger. Dammit, I came out of the closet for you, Parker. You encouraged me to unveil my quirky brain, which may end up ruining my chances to stay in Petersburg to help my mother. You convinced me to take huge risks, yet you’re still holding back.” Softer, she said, “The future is uncertain; danger lurks. We deal with it.”

He gazed at the waning light, through foggy plexiglass. “You
are
tougher than I am.”

She smoothed his forehead with the pad of her thumb. “I haven’t been through your trauma. Your loss.”

Neither spoke while Parker trailed his fingers up and down Liv’s jeans, thigh to knee, knee to thigh. His need to touch her, to stay connected with her, verged on desperation, but he couldn’t find a word, a phrase or a sentence to say that wouldn’t be a lie. So he bent his forehead to meet hers, and let the silence express his agony.

Liv sighed. “Let’s discuss something we’re not confused about, okay? How is our charade working so far…your plan to keep us at odds?”

“Thank you, Liv,” Parker said, kissing her on the nose. “Finally, something I can talk about.” He scooted closer to her. “The cover keeps you safe and allows you to play the role of fact-checker.”

“Hmm?”

“Unpaid date savant.” He leaned in and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ll see about recompense.”

She laughed, pushed out of her chair, and stepped down to open the door leading into the forward cabin. The room was tidy with a V-berth ready for sleeping. Liv stared at the area below and said, “So we’ll have a nice picnic and talk about the case. Let’s see what food and drink treasures Chet gave us for the party.”

To get to the cooler, Liv had to squeeze through the space between chairs. Parker captured her between his knees and kissed her, moving his palms onto the swell of her breasts. He whispered in her ear, “Ah, Liv. You’re killing me. All my life. Seems like all my life I’ve wanted to touch you here.”

She smiled as she leaned toward him. “
All
your life? Stretching back to babyhood?”

Nodding, he groaned as his thumbs found her nipples. “Primordial. Epic. I’m the wayward explorer who’s finally come home.”

Liv kissed his earlobe and sighed. “Maybe that was your dad’s plan, to give us a window into the future.”

When she sidestepped to the cooler, leaving Parker on the chair, he grieved. “I see you in that window, Livy. I
want
you in the window.”

She blinked, maybe to keep from crying. “But not
behind
glass.”

Liv reached into the cooler, bringing out a bottle of white wine and two chilled goblets. “This is my favorite wine, which means my Mom might be in on this, too.”

“I’ll bet they had fun cooking up our surprise.”

Her mouth formed an ‘O.’ “My God, you think they’re having monkey sex right now at Mom’s?”

Parker made a face. “Not fair. “

Taking a deep breath she said, “We’ll cool down by talking about cold cases.”

Parker rummaged through the cooler while Liv poured wine. “I’ve got fried chicken and potato salad with chocolate cake for dessert. All cold.”

Liv held up her glass and clinked it against Parker’s. “Happy Birthday, Parker,” she said, energetically. Parker smiled his thanks, but inside, his stomach felt hollow. He loved everything about Liv Hanson. Why couldn’t he allow himself to love her?

Petersburg, 1932

Truths Come Out

(The Murder of Sing Lee: A Retrospective

by Liv Hanson)

The change came to Gus in a flash one day as he took breakfast at the bakery, splurging ten cents on pastries and coffee. When he’d first arrived in town, his presence was a cause for discomfort and concern. Conversations would stop when he entered a room; people would avert their eyes and choose their words carefully in Gus’s company.

What a difference three weeks had made. This morning, when he’d entered the bakery, Gus got smiles and nods from the patrons and their discussion continued. Nels beckoned Gus to his table and included him in a never ending conversation about boat anchors.

As he listened to Nel and Aage’s Bruce-versus-Delta anchor argument, he watched pretty Greta and a young man, in silhouette, standing nose to nose in the back alley doorway. The guy was shaking his finger at Greta while she shrank back. When he grabbed her arm, she made a sound of protest, wrenched away from him, and stumbled into the kitchen.

Though Nels and Aage witnessed the drama, responding with winces and raised eyebrows, they made no comment about Greta’s troubles.

She deserved better. “Greta?”

Blinking, Greta got her bearings, seeming to put her problems with her boyfriend aside. “Marshal. I’m sorry. You need your coffee topped off.” She scurried back with the pot and gave more coffee to her customers, ending with Gus.

He shoved his fingers through his hair. So this is what it’s come to. I can’t find a killer, but I step in to handle a lover’s quarrel.

Greta’s expression reflected more than a conflict with a boy. She bit her lip, rubbed her hands over her apron and looked scared. Was she about to cry?

“Do you need to sit down?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine. My boyfriend…”

He stood and drew her away from the simmering argument over anchors. “Has he hurt you?”

Greta gazed at Gus with sadness in her eyes. “He’s good to me.” She paused, her hand clasped at her stomach. “Most of the time. But he can’t get on a boat here so he thinks he has to go to Juneau to find a job.”

“That sounds like a good solution for him.”

“I don’t want to go, Marshal. My family is here. I like Petersburg so much better than Juneau and I just got promoted to assistant baker.”

“Then, by all means, find a way to stay here.” He smiled and pointed at his sticky bun, half-eaten. “You made these, didn’t you?”

She grinned shyly. “You like the hazelnuts I added?”

“I do. You’re a fine baker.”

Her expression changed again, smile gone, eyes cloudy. Her voice sounded desperate when she said, “We can’t always get what we want.”

He picked up on her longing. She wants me? Gus was so surprised and so unsure about whether or not what he saw in her eyes was true, that he stammered. “F…Find a way to stay, Greta. I can help…I...”

He stalled out, thinking of how he couldn’t even find Sing Lee’s killer, the murderer of an important, generous man. He hunched his shoulders. “I am no Sing Lee, but I…”

Greta made a guttural noise. “Thank God, you are not. He…” She hesitated and seemed to rein in her emotions. “His culture isn’t like ours.” With that, she wiped her hands on her apron as if to finish the topic. She held up the coffee pot. “I’m going to brew more coffee, Marshal. Excuse me.”

Gus sank in confusion against the counter. Was Greta asking to be freed from a boyfriend who was hurting her?

He put his hand to his forehead, when a new concept sought purchase in his brain. He was a Federal Marshal, an investigator who must push personal emotions aside and focus on the case. The last thing he should consider were his feelings for Greta. The next to last thing on his mind should be rescuing Greta from her boyfriend.

The new idea unfolded in his brain like a bud opening up: Greta spoke of a culture clash with Sing Lee. Who, besides Greta had felt the conflict?

****

“Am I Greta or Gus? Hell, maybe I’m the abusive boyfriend.” As Parker sipped on his B&B morning coffee after a hearty breakfast, he re-read Liv’s article in the
Petersburg Pilot
. Though he was acutely aware of his obsessive need to know all about Liv, his estrangement from her meant he could only read articles she wrote and hear about her actions from other people in town. Lately he’d taken to overanalyzing her prose, compelled to find himself in her work.

On his computer, he pulled up Liv’s TJ Hawk article about detectives. “A veteran detective makes connections and deductions out of thin air. You, his girlfriend, model your new scarlet red, low-cut dress for him. Instead of praising your taste and whistling over your sexy look, he conjures drunken dances on tables, prostitutes and porn stars. He asks you to change into something more subtle, immediately.”

A bite of peanut butter toast. One more time through the article on Sing Lee. Now, tie in Everett Olson and Tilly Grant’s deaths to the 1932 murder. Parker smiled. ‘Connections out of thin air.’

Was ‘culture clash’ part of the motivation for the deaths of Ev and Tilly? Halley, the cannery superintendent said he’d struggled to ‘fit’ in Petersburg
.

Culture clash. Weren’t the Chinese dedicated to a spirit of harmony? What were the big differences between the Norwegian culture and Sing Lee’s?

Parker downed his coffee, tucked the newspaper under his arm and trotted over to the Municipal Building. With a wave to Ivor, he rushed downstairs. “Nilson. Let’s look at cultural differences in Petersburg. Who amongst those people on the board don’t fit here?”

Nilson looked up from his coffee, distaste in his expression. “Morning. The boss called. Wants you to get back to him. Threatening we’ll both be demoted if we don’t get someplace on the case. The dick.” He waited a beat. “I said we’re thinking about using Liv.”

“We will not.”

“Oldshack agrees with me.”

Parker ignored Nilson’s comment, his eyes on the photos of suspects. “Whose cultures fit into Petersburg? Certainly not the Halleys. Who else?”

Nilson rubbed his eyes and peered at the wall. “It’s obvious. Josh Cameron and Tuck Barber.”

“Josh is a hippie type, though; and probably won’t make waves because he’s got a police record. But Barber? He’s arrogant; people are eager to be his friend, but never seem to get close to him. In some ways like Sing Lee, Tuck Barber is customer-friendly, but culturally distant.”

“How did Sing Lee get into our case?”

Parker waved his hand. “Never mind. It’s time to go deeper with Halley and others who worked with Barber at the cannery. As Litoʼs Landing’s owner, he’s earned a place of power. But what was he before he got there? How did he make his money? Let’s re-examine his relationship to Tilly and Ev. Maybe we missed something there.”

Nilson did not rise. “I’ll lean on the lab for Tilly’s tox report. Oldshack wants my help in convincing authorities in the Grand Caymans to give up the account names and amount.” He looked at the board. “I’m still interviewing Tilly’s family and friends. State of mind, drug use and all that.”

“Good. Keep at it. We’ll meet back here around three to compare notes.”

Nilson nodded and picked up the phone. Parker stood at the door gazing at the wall of information, thinking about how important it was for a person to be accepted by a town.

Parker cleared his throat. “Do not approach Liv Hanson. I’ll talk to Oldshack and explain exactly why, but until then, let’s keep her out of this mess.”

****

Liv sat in the Coffee Hüs drinking her latte, pleased that when she lifted the cup to her lips with her injured shoulder, the pain was minimal. Two weeks ago, the wound had made any movement excruciating. Still, the idea that someone in town had shot her, even if that person was targeting Parker…that concept made being out in public feel uncomfortable.