Chapter Twenty
Jakob’s anger fills the car. It’s so thick I can barely breathe. Oh wait, that’s my ribs hurting like there’s no tomorrow. And when Eddie finds out about us being at Nona’s, there might not be any more sunrises. To keep the pain at bay, I concentrate on regular breathing. In out. In out. The sun isn’t up yet, but its light gives off a sour hue that exactly matches Jakob’s mood. I understand what’s going through his mind, but I am not a child. I get tired of being babysat.
The car hops over a bump at the beginning of the parking lot and a groan escapes my lips. He shoots me a concerned glance but at the same time, I feel the unspoken words you should’ve done as you were told. That’s the operative word here—told. I don’t do well with that, especially if there is a murderer to unveil. Do I know who it is? No, but I am getting some ideas, some of which scare the bejubies out of me.
Jakob parks and gets out. Before he can come around to open my door, I am out and walking down the dock. Not stopping, I enter the main cabin. Diablo coos at me. “Are you coming to bed?” I ask him. He heeds the comment immediately and flies into the bedroom.
Like a scolded child, I slam the door. This is mostly so I can down some painkiller before Jakob arrives. I take the bottle of Tylenol into the bathroom and pop one, then follow up with two palmfuls of water from the tap. Then I slip into sleep clothes and crawl into bed.
I’m just about asleep when I hear my door creak open and then, a few seconds later, ease shut. Thankfully, Jakob’s mountain of anger isn’t so powerful as in the car.
I wake to full sunshine beating through every window. Diablo lies beside me on the pillow. He stands and stretches, then paces next to my head. I open the door—greeted by the aroma of fresh coffee—and he flies off, probably to do his business.
There is a note beside the coffeepot that says only: I give up.
A dash of remorse plows through me, but really, what gave him the right to keep me—the word prisoner won’t enter my brain; instead it substitutes the word protected, which makes me feel even worse. I should apologize, and I will but not yet.
I shower, dress, and, feeling better, forego pain pills. Then I place the purloined envelope in a plastic bag and walk to town. I find Whitney and Anna at The Café. They pull up a seat for me, grinning at the envelope, which I sit on. Anna gives me a decisive inspection, then grins and says to Whitney, “I guess he didn’t beat her too bad. I don’t see any new bruises.”
“As a matter of fact, when I got up, he was gone.” I tell them about the note.
“Uh-oh,” Whitney groans, “that doesn’t sound good at all.”
“Gotta agree there.” Anna pats my hand. “Don’t worry, Jakob still loves you.”
“I don’t want him to love me.”
“Well, he can’t just turn emotions on and off.” Whitney signals Shay for menus.
The server arrives. She lays a hand on my arm. “Are you okay? I heard what happened.”
“I’m fine, thanks. Just a little sore.”
“See what I was saying the other day, all these things happening. They all stem from Nona: the things she did, the people she affected, the—”
“How do you know my being run off the road is related to Nona?” I ask.
She shrugs narrow shoulders. “It’s simple. You investigate things. Your questions stir up fear. As a way of self-defense, people take it out on you.”
“Wow, you really lay it on the line.” Anna grins.
Shay’s response is a one-shoulder shrug. She places the menus before us. “What’ll you have to drink, Joy?”
I note that the girls are having ice teas and point toward them.
“Comin’ up. You want to order now?”
Anna and I ask for cheese omelets, Whitney asks for a fruit cup and oatmeal.
As a slight change of subject from what’s on our minds, I say, “I’ve been thinking about the Christmas celebration.”
“I was thinking about it yesterday too. We’ve really got to get to work on plans.” Whitney leans forward and removes her glasses. “What about an ice sculpture competition.”
We had talked about bringing truckloads of snow into the gym, so this fits with the idea. I add, “How about an ice slide?”
Anna gets into it now. “A chocolate fountain and an egg nog contest.”
“With alcohol allowed?”
“Of course. Actually, I think it’s encouraged.”
We settle back with our thoughts. Soon mine turn back to the case, and I guess the girls’ do too because Anna says, “So, Whitney, I assume you brought your envelope.”
With a grin, Whitney pats her handbag. “I couldn’t help looking through the information,” she says, keeping her voice low.
“Me too.” Anna likewise taps her purse.
“What did you find out?” I ask, because I haven’t so much as peeked at mine.
“She was collecting information on Hank’s brother.”
“You mean Kenneth?” I ask.
“Seems like it. There were newspaper clippings from all over the southern United States, Mexico, and a few places in South America. In the articles he is called Cheetah. Apparently he’s a drug runner who’s eluded capture for years.”
“This does give Hank a motive to kill his boss,” I note. “I mean, if he somehow found out what Nona was up to…”
“True. He would want to protect his brother.”
“It’s pretty much the same with the stuff in my envelope,” says Anna, “except the subject is—brace yourselves ladies—Isaac Thurston.”
“The same Isaac that owns Really Good?” I ask. Dumb question. Not many people with that name.
“One and the same.”
“Anything particularly incriminating?”
Just then Shay appears and deposits my tea on the table. She gives each of us a glance that says she knows we were talking about the murder case. When none of us elaborate on the unasked query, she leaves.
Anna continues, her voice lower than before because Shay retreats to a spot where she can listen in. “It seems a man named Gerald Farraday was arrested in Minnesota, accused of stealing an elderly woman’s pension.”
I lean forward, anxious to learn more.
“Apparently this Farraday fellow never showed up for his trial.”
“When was this?” I ask.
“Four years ago, give or take a few weeks. Anyway, I dug deeper into the clippings and learned that, from what Nona discovered, he moved here to Uncertain and changed his name to Isaac Thurston.”
“Wow. Really?” Anna’s reaction is loud, and now Shay is perked up and looking in our direction.
“What do you think Nona was going to do? Are we sure she planned to blackmail him?” I ask.
“People don’t go to that kind of research for the fun of it. I mean, she had to locate newspapers from all over the world to pick up some of the information. Who does that without a motive?”
“Makes sense. The same goes with Hank’s brother. She had to somehow get hold of papers from South America.”
Anna unfolds a napkin and places it in her lap. “Sure as heck she had plans to do some heavy-duty blackmailing with what she gathered.”
“Can’t wait to find out who she targeted in my envelope,” I tell them.
Shay brings our lunches. “So,” she says as she places the plates before us, “any progress finding Nona’s killer?”
“Not much,” I answer. “Too many people seem to be lying to us.” Do my words hold a little suspicion meant to instill guilt? Maybe. But Shay doesn’t fall for it.
“Sometimes it takes a while to filter through the stories people tell us,” Whitney offers. “You know, compare what we actually know to what people tell us. That way it’s easier to pinpoint the lies.”
“It’s like oil and water, it’s not long before one of them comes to the top.” Anna adds her own level of suspicion directed at Shay. Unfortunately she only nods and leaves the table. “Damn, I thought she’d open up.”
“What?” Whitney asks, off-hand.
“The girl knows more than she’s saying.”
“What gives you that idea?” I ask.
“Just a feeling. Just a feeling.”
That’s when I notice Shay’s aura. It’s a muddy yellow-green. Anna is correct. The pretty waitress definitely isn’t telling all she knows. “One of us has to talk to her alone.”
“I agree,” Whitney says.
“Which of us do you think she’d be more likely to open up to?”
At the same time, Anna and Whitney utter my name. I’m okay with this but really want to know why they think this way.
“You’re closer to her age, for one thing, and you are known as a free spirit. I think she’d identify with that.” This comes from Whitney but Anna agrees.
“Wait just a second, Whitney,” I say and she giggles, knowing I’m going to compare our ages; she is only a couple of years older.
We’re quiet for a while, tunneling into our breakfasts. I watch Shay interacting with customers; maybe I can see something to use to help her grow talkative. She’s outgoing and friendly with everyone, a bit flirtatious with the men. I don’t take the flirting as anything but the fact she’s working toward larger tips.
We finish eating and decide to go to Whitney’s shop to review the contents of our envelopes. Getting there proves more difficult than expected. As we’re walking, Hank appears. He falls into step with us, issuing a friendly greeting. Once we realize he’s not just bypassing us on the sidewalk we stop.
“Hey, how’s everything?” he asks. “Joy, are you recovered okay from our dip in the river?”
I grin up at him. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking of buying a river-bug.” He frowns so I elaborate. “That’s a one-person craft that—”
He doesn’t need the remainder of my description and laughs. Then he shrugs, so I know his reason for stopping us wasn’t to check on my welfare or to learn about water sports.
Not a person to waste time or energy, Anna asks, “What’s up with you this fine morning?”
“Nothin’ much. Bored out of my head with Nona gone—”
He stops, probably realizing the word gone isn’t right. She’s not gone, like, on vacation. The woman is not coming back. I understand the floundering sensation he must be experiencing. I’m not falling for his emotional upheaval though. Not so long as he—or his brother—are suspects in Nona’s murder.
“How’s the case coming?” he inquires.
Does he have a motive for asking, like a fear we’re closing in on him? Was he the one who drove me off the road? I recall his car was a yellow sedan, so definitely not the dark two-door, but really, if I were going to run someone off the road, I would not use my own vehicle. At the same time, could he be the one whose headlights rousted us from glancing deeply into the envelopes? Or, was that the same person also? My head is spinning with unanswerable questions.
“The case is moving along nicely,” Whitney responds, in complete opposite of my thoughts. “We’re sifting through clues.”
“Actually, that’s where we were going now, to talk more about some evidence that’s come to light.” Always to-the-point, Anna keeps the subject moving forward.
At the same time, I think her statement is intended to add some fear to the man. It works because his brows form an inverted V over his eyes; he makes a sharp nod and wishes us good day.
“Wow, if he was the one who ran me off the road, you just gave him a good reason to target all of us next time,” I tell her.
“Right.” She admits this proudly. “It’s time to get this case moving. Er…solved.”
Whitney grins. “I think I like her reasoning.” She climbs the three steps to her storefront.
Not so sure I agree it’s a good idea to go looking for trouble, but it’s too late now. The seed has been planted.
Whitney unlocks the door and enters the building. Anna and I are about to ascend also, but a hearty hello stops us on the sidewalk. Jasper Garfield, bartender cum general store clerk, is smiling, a full mouth of white teeth showing. “I see you didn’t sleep in after your late night at the bar.”
Anna passes him the flirty smile she uses on men. I give him the once-over and can see where she might be attracted to him. He’s got a good build. Looks like he works out. Nothing over-the-top, just enough to keep toned. Other than the little beard, he’s clean-shaven and his clothes are neat.
“Where you headed this morning?”
“Amanda called. She’s feeling a little wonky, so I told her I’d come in for a few hours.”
I feel bad at this moment not to have a phone. She might have called me. And I would’ve gotten to see Merrick. I’ve been remiss in visiting him. Not all my fault—there was that silly hospital business—but still.
Anna catches him up on what’s been going on with the case. “Man, this is such a poser,” she says.
Really? Did she just say poser? I flash her a giggle-gaze. But she’s talking again and he’s lapping it up.
“You won’t believe what we did last night. It was so brazen. We broke into Nona’s house. Crossed the crime scene tape.” I don’t know why she’s lowered her voice at this time; there is nobody else around.
“Seriously?” His voice is low, too, as if we’re sharing a deep-dark secret. I want to giggle.
“It was awesome. The whole time, my heart pounded while Whitney crawled under the bed.”
His lips quirk. “Bed?”
“Yeah.” She waves off the statement. “Long story.”
He grins. “I’d love to hear more. I so admire women with—”
Anna laughs and says, “Cojones.”
“Right!”
“Well, tonight is girl’s night out, so we’ll see you at the bar.”
“I thought last night was girls’ night out,” he says.
“Who says we just have one?” I ask as he waves and takes off. “I thought Thursdays were girls’ night out,” I say.
She throws my words back at me. “Who says we just have one?”
Anna opens the door and goes inside. “Besides, you missed Thursday, so we rescheduled.”
We’re in full sight of the street but up several steps from it, so nobody can directly see what we’re doing. Even so, Whitney locks the door, then goes to sit at the end from Anna.
While we were talking to Jasper, she made a pot of coffee, and brought it from the back room. Whitney bops on the sofa and Anna takes the matching chair. I sit cross-legged on the floor, leaning on the glass-top coffee table.
“Okay, Joy. The envelope, please.” Anna does a finger-drum-roll on the table. She pushes forward on the chair.
“Sounds like the academy awards,” Whitney says.
“I don’t think anyone’s getting a prize from this stuff.” Excited to learn the identity of Nona’s third target, I undo the clasp, and, holding the bottom corners, turn the packet upside down.
We gasp as the contents—loose hundred-dollar bills—tumble onto the table. Each of us glances out toward the street to see if anyone’s noticed.
Anna laughs. “Not looking guilty of anything, ladies, are we?”
Using the eraser end of a pencil, Whitney calculates as she shoves bills back into the manila container. On television, they do it in a flash, but really, it takes time to count twenty thousand dollars.