With Deadly Intent (8 page)

The back of Simon's swivel chair gave a metallic thunk as he jerked upright. “How'd you
know that?”

She lay the photo on the desk. “See the white portion under the iris of her eye? Gives
her a sexy look, right? Actually, it's more often an indication of melancholia.”

“That's Elise, all right. She had the weirdest moods. Laughing one minute, bitchy as hell
the next.” He scowled and rubbed a hand over his face. “And for no reason I could ever
make out.”

“Hm-m-m, that's not exactly...” she murmured as she absorbed his statement. She touched
the corner of Elise's mouth. “This petulant droop at the corners of the mouth usually
accompanies melancholia. But take note of the firm chin. This is a woman who intends to
get what she wants.”

Simon grunted in disgust. “Oh, brother. Why couldn't I see it?” He managed a forced
smile. “Hereafter I'll insist on a photo for you to screen before I jump in with both
feet.”

She stared at the floor, then lifted her gaze to meet his. “Would you have listened, if
anyone had told you? I didn't.”

He spread his hands. “Who knows?” He lifted the picture. “I used transparent paper in
case the studio imprinted their name on the back.” He flipped the picture over. “I'll be
damned.”

She leaned over his shoulder and read the words scribbled in small, cramped letters
across one corner.
To my Cosky whose talents are endless.

She let out a squeal and grabbed Simon's arm. “The doctor did it. He knew she was living
with Oren, knew they intended to marry soon. He gave her an ultimatum and when she
turned him down, he killed her.”

Simon considered her announcement with an attitude of amusement. “Is this the forensic
specialist speaking?”

Her shoulders sagged. “Okay, it's wishful thinking. But when I get to Lomitas tomorrow, I
intend to tell Sheriff Calder.”

Simon frowned. “You're going home?”

“Yes. Calder has Dad so bogged down with work, he can't get to Oren's case. I took two
weeks off to help.”

“Could I go with you? I'd like to talk to Oren. I think the two of us should uh ...
compare notes.”

“What about the trash in your kitchen and your job?”

“I'll have the janitors get rid of the trash. And Global has me on R and R. They're
probably hoping a change of scene will improve my writing.”

“In that case you're welcome to come along, but there's one condition.”

“And that is?”

“We stop at the emergency room first.”

Simon let out an exasperated breath. “Anybody ever tell you you're a pain in the ass?”

His comment caught her off guard. She hunched her shoulders, wrapped her arms across the
sudden cramp in her stomach, and forced words between tightly drawn lips. “Yes,
repeatedly.”

“Oh, hell.” Simon reached out to touch her, but she backed away. “Please don't look like
that, Amy.” He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Me and my big mouth.”

What made him think it mattered in the least what he said? She flung him a sharp look.
“Where's your suitcase?”

“In the hall closet with my laptop computer. I take both wherever I go.” He stood, and
bracing himself on the wall, he hopped to the elevator.

At the emergency room, the doctors diagnosed a fractured fibula. After the ankle was
cast, they took a taxi to her apartment to get her luggage. Then, with her at the wheel
of her station wagon, they traveled north through the waning darkness to Anacortes and
boarded the ferry.

Wednesday, October 26

They arrived at Lomitas Island at 7 a.m. and by mutual agreement went directly to her
aunt's house. To her surprise, her father answered her knock. “Amy!” he shouted, He put
out an arm and brought her into his embrace. At the same time, he grasped Simon's hand.
“Good to see you, Simon. Come on inside.”

“Sorry to intrude on you like this. Dr. Prescott.” Simon swore as he tried to maneuver
his crutches through the door B.J. held open.

B.J. chuckled. “If you'd ever lived on an island, you'd know any break in the monotony is
a downright pleasure.” He rubbed his bearded cheek against Amy's forehead as he
propelled her down the hallway. “Sure glad you're here, kitten.”

At the arched living room entryway, she glanced quickly at Simon to catch his reaction to
the Spartan decor. Years ago, after Uncle Mike Prescott took off with his secretary,
Aunt Helen had gone to work as B.J.'s office manager. When B.J. sold his practice, Helen
had stayed on with the new doctor. In order to work the long hours and still care for
her home and young son, she'd cleared out all but the bare essentials. The starkness of
the room often startled people, but Simon didn't even blink.

A large upright tapestry loom rested against a clean expanse of sea green wall that ended
at a floor to ceiling window with a view of the water. On the bare oak floor, beside the
loom sat a woven grass basket overflowing with twisted skeins of brown, beige, and
avocado green yarn.

B.J. motioned them to the one piece of furniture, a pale coral couch that took up half a
wall and one corner. “Have a seat,” he said. “Helen's gone to work, so I'll play host
and get you folks some coffee.”

“Is Oren here?” Amy asked.

“He's down on the bluff. Spends a lot of time there.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

She leaned back against soft cushions and instantly her eyelids began to droop. She
straightened and pushed herself to her feet. “I'll go find Oren.”

A weathered cedar deck wrapped around two sides of the Cape Cod-style house. From the
deck, wide shallow steps led down to a red cinder walkway bordered by gold and russet
chrysanthemums. At the end of the path lay Oren's wood shop.

She peeked in to see if he might be working. Amid piles of shavings stood a partially
finished dresser of rich grained cherry. She stared at it, black despair drenching her
mind. No fiancée, no wedding, no home—and no longer any need for a beautiful woman's
dressing table.

She rushed out and around the building to a path that meandered down a slope. Curled
brown leaves and scraps of bark discarded by constantly shedding madrona trees crunched
underfoot. Chest-high salal showered her with lingering sea mist when she brushed the
branches.

Where an ancient cataclysm had upthrust great basaltic hummocks and ridges, she found
Oren sitting in a semicircle of rocks overlooking Rosario Strait She slid in beside him
and sat without speaking.

After a few minutes, he sighed, reached down and took her hand. “Good to see you.”

She put her other hand over his. “You may wish you hadn't, when you hear what I have to
say.”

“Nothing can make things any worse than they are. It's been a nightmare.” He faced her
squarely, his features gray and drawn with despair. “I didn't do it, Amy. You believe
that, don't you?”

She longed to reply without any reservations. Still, how well did anyone ever know
another? She squeezed his hand and said, “Of course, I believe you,” and hoped she
sounded more convincing than she felt.

He didn't comment when she told him Simon had once been in love with Elise. “Both Simon
and I feel we have to learn more about Elise. Somewhere in her life there must be
someone who had reason to kill her.” She stood up and went to gaze at a slate-colored
sea that bulged and flexed like a weight lifter's biceps before it dashed against the
cliff's base. Oren looked close to the breaking point. Would her words be more than he
could take?

He came to stand beside her. “Say it. Nothing can faze me now.”

“Elise may have been having an affair with Dr. Tambor.”

His eyes opened wide, wildness flaring in their depths. “She loved me.” He smacked his
chest with his palm. “She ... she...” He went rigid and terribly still as if listening
to some inner voice. Then he seemed to cave in all at once. He braced a shaking hand on
a boulder beside him. “Would a woman do a thing like that?”

She put her arm around his waist. “That's what Simon and I hope to find out.” She
half-led him toward the path. “Let's go up to the house. Simon wants to talk to you.”

When they reached the garden, Oren stopped. “Send Simon out. I'd rather talk to him
alone.”

She nodded. “I'll go tell him.” Inside, she found her father and Simon in deep
conversation.

B.J. smiled at her. “You certainly brought me a nice surprise. Simon and I have been
having a rare old chat.” He drew her down beside him in the corner of the couch.

She returned his smile. “I'll bet. Did Simon get a word in edgewise?”

He chuckled and put his arm around her. “Oh, I ran down once or twice and he leaped into
the breach. He wants to do an article on me for his magazine. Can you tie that?”

She met Simon's gaze with a hostile one of her own. “When did you get that idea?”

Simon grinned. “After the twelfth story. Dr.—” He glanced at her father. “Uh ... B.J.
could make a fortune on the lecture circuit.”

“No way, Simon. It's my work that's interesting, not me. Without it, I'd have nothing to
say.”

Amy narrowed her eyes and continued her scrutiny of Simon. He didn't care about Oren—or
her father—all he wanted was a story. “Oren's waiting in the garden,” she snapped, and
ignored the puzzled looks the two men gave her.

Simon struggled upward, adjusted his crutches, and left the room. B.J. regarded her with
raised eyebrows. “Something eating you?”

She sat a little taller. “Not a damned thing.” He continued to study her with a worried
expression. To avoid the questions she knew he'd start asking any minute, she went to
the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, and observed Oren and Simon's meeting from
the window.

The men shook hands and settled themselves on a wrought iron bench. Five minutes later,
Oren got up and started to pace. Simon made calming gestures, but as the conversation
continued both men began to scowl and use their arms. Once, Simon shouted and pounded
his fist into the palm of his hand.

Afraid they'd see her, she took her coffee into the living room and told her father what
they'd found in Dr. Tambor's trash.

“Good Lord, don't tell Calder until you've got something more concrete,” B.J. said.
“Tom'll see you don't come within a mile of this case if you start rocking his boat.”

“I won't rush things.” She set her cup on the oak serving cart her father had brought in
for Simon. “According to Simon, Elise used to have some very expensive jewelry. If Oren
says she still has it, we'll have to let Tom know. This wouldn't be the first time
robbery has led to murder.”

“Right. I'll check it out with—” B.J.'s words were drowned out as the kitchen door
slammed, rattling the windows.

Simon's crutches hit the floor in hard, vicious thuds as he crossed the kitchen. He came
into the room where they sat and turned to face them. The change in his appearance made
her shrink back. His eyes were blazing, his face pinched and hard-set. “I'm going to
Montana,” he said, and started for the front door.

B.J. got to his feet. “Whoa there, boy. No sense rushing. The next ferry doesn't leave
until evening.”

Simon stopped so suddenly he nearly fell. “Damn, I forgot about that.”

B.J. put a hand on his shoulder. “It takes a little getting used to. After awhile you
learn it's something us gun jumpers need. Makes us think before we leap.”

Amy heard a slight sound and turned to see Oren sagged against the door jam. A grayish
pallor, covered his features, and he looked as if he might collapse any minute.

She hurried to his side. “Dad, see if you can find some brandy, will you?” She took
Oren's arm. “Let's get you to the couch.”

Her father arrived with the brandy and shoved the drink into Oren's hand. “Here, son. Not
what I'd call medicinal, but it appears to be what you need at the moment.”

Oren downed the liquor in a few gulps and sat as if he'd turned to ice. No one spoke and
when she could stand the uneasy silence no longer, she touched his shoulder. “Would it
help to talk about it?”

He laughed and the harsh sound tore at her heart. “You'd never understand. Never. You
couldn't.” He hauled himself to his feet and stumbled down the hall toward his bedroom.

She stalked over to Simon who stood propped on his crutches. “What's he talking about?
What did you say to him to make him like that?” When Simon didn't reply, her irritation
grew. “Don't we have enough puzzles without you making more?” She folded her arms across
her chest and glared. “Say something. I'm sick of not knowing what's going on.”

He blew out his breath. “Oren's trying to say Elise may have played one too many games.”
He slumped against the wall as if suddenly very weary. “If she did her number here, she
must have done it in Montana too ... and that may be why she's dead.”

“Oh...” Her anger dissolved leaving her drained and exhausted. She picked up her purse.
“Shall we go?”

“Put Simon in the guest room,” B.J. said.

“No, no, that's not necessary,” Simon said. “I'll have Amy let me off at the motel by the
ferry dock.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I like your company and I have an empty guest room.” B.J. followed
them out and waited until Simon had gotten seated in the car. He leaned in the window.
“I've got a mound of paper work to clear up at the morgue. When I get home, we'll talk
some more. Meanwhile, catch up on your sleep.”

Amy fed Cleo and Marcus, slept for a few hours, and set out for the big house up the
hill. When she came in the front entrance, she heard voices in the kitchen and headed
toward them. Simon and her father sat at Grandmother Prescott's trestle table in the
kitchen eating lunch.