1 A High-End Finish (14 page)

He scanned the front of the professionally designed folder and opened it to the first page. He gazed at me and smiled. “So you’re Hammer Construction Company. Very nice to meet you, Shannon Hammer.”

I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, too, MacKintyre Sullivan.”

“My friends call me Mac,” he reminded me as he shook my hand.

“It was kind of you to rescue me, Mac,” I said, and wondered when or if he would let go of my hand.

“I’m glad I found you,” he said warmly. His gaze was drawn to the kitchen window. “You have a garden.”

“I do.”

“It’s impressive.” He looked thoughtful as he glanced down at our hands. Finally he let mine go before walking over to the window to get a better view. “Do you take care of it yourself or is there someone else?”

“It’s all mine.”

He turned to me. “You have many talents.”

I happened to catch a glimpse of Wendell walking down the garage stairs and grimaced.

“What’s wrong?” Mac checked the window again. “Oh. Who’s that guy?”

“I rent my garage apartments to tourists. Occasionally I get one who’s a real pain in the neck.”

He glanced up. “Those are apartments?”

“They’re more like guest suites. They’re nice and spacious and the ocean view is wonderful.”

“That’s worth some change.” He tucked my business portfolio under his arm. “Well, I ought to let you get on with your day.”

“Okay.” I followed him to the front door. “Wait. I’ve got to get my bike out of your car.”

“Since you can’t ride it, anyway, I’d like to hold on to it for a day or two. Do you mind?”

“What are you planning to do with it?”

“I’ve got a buddy who’s ex-FBI. I thought I’d show him that brake line. See what he thinks.”

“That seems like a whole lot of trouble for nothing.”

“You think so? Then I won’t bother mentioning that I’m going to show it to the police, too.”

•   •   •

Somehow I made it up the stairs and started running the water for a bath. I was so shaky that I had to sit on the edge of the tub for fear of fainting dead away. I’d never fainted in my life, but, then, I’d never gone flying off a bike before, either. When I finally got a look at myself in the mirror, I wanted to cry.

“Way to make an impression, Shannon,” I muttered to myself. If only there were just grass stains, but no. My face and neck were streaked with brown mud and guck. A small clod of weeds and dirt was stuck in my hair. And speaking of hair, mine was no longer merely wavy, but had moved unswervingly into Bride of Frankenstein frizz. It wasn’t a good look for me.

Shaking my head in disgust, I moved away from the mirror and stripped out of my ruined clothing. Clipping my hair up off my neck, I poured half a box of Epsom salts into the stream of hot water and added a handful of girly bath salts for good measure. I stepped gingerly into the warmth and moaned out loud, it felt so good. I really needed to take baths more often, but who had the time?

Sinking down until the water covered me up to my chin, I closed my eyes and rested my head against the curved rim of the tub.

And thought of Mac.

MacKintyre Sullivan, my hero. Just wait until Lizzie heard about this one.

But now at last I could worry in peace. Would Mac really take my bike to the police? What would Chief Jensen say when Mac demanded that they check out the cut brake line and dust the whole thing for fingerprints? It wasn’t like someone had cut my
truck’s
brake line. It was just a bike.

Would Chief Jensen laugh him out of his office? I didn’t think so. In fact, maybe it was a good thing that Mac was the one taking my bike in. Chief Jensen would listen to him when he might not listen to me.

Of course he would listen to Mac. The man was awesome. An ex–Navy SEAL, a crime writer, a cool guy. A nice guy. He probably knew as much about police procedure as any officer on the force.

On the other hand, I wasn’t sure Mac’s theory was correct. First of all, why would someone deliberately try to hurt me? And second, if they really were out to injure me, why would they cut the brake line on my
bicycle
? It seemed like such a silly thing to do. At the most, I would call it malicious mischief. And who in my world was capable of doing something petty like that?

I would’ve loved to blame Whitney and Jennifer, but I knew they wouldn’t go to the trouble. And I barely had anything to do with the other mean girls in their circle. Two of them, Lindsey and Cherise, hadn’t been around lately. I think they were busy being stay-at-home moms.

And then there was Wendell.

“Ugh.” I took a few slow, deep breaths and tried to concentrate on something else besides that jerky tenant of mine. Flowers. Balmy ocean breezes. Ice cream. Mac Sullivan.

Much better.

•   •   •

Tuesday morning my knee was marginally better, but I was still so achy in every last corner of my body, I could barely move. After popping some ibuprofen and brushing my teeth, I managed to dress myself and hobble downstairs. Once I reached the kitchen and had my first cup of coffee, I accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be going anywhere today.

Which was just as well, since I had no means of transportation until my truck was ready sometime tonight.

I called Carla to let her know I was housebound for the day.

“Everything’s cool over here, boss,” she said. “Don’t worry about a thing. You just take care of yourself.”

“Thanks. I will.”

She chuckled. “You know, I figured something must be up with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Jesse told Jane, who told Emily, who told my mom, who told me that a man was seen carrying you up your front stairs yesterday. It was a real Rhett and Scarlett moment, according to Jesse.”

So my darling old next-door neighbor had spread the word about me and Mac. Great. I could feel my cheeks heating up. As a true redhead with the requisite smattering of freckles across my forehead and nose, my skin tended to turn pink at the slightest hint of embarrassment.

“Um, yeah, about that,” I stammered, then tried to brazen it out. “Here’s the thing: I fell off my bike and thought I sprained my ankle. The guy who found me was nice enough to, you know, carry me up the stairs. Otherwise, I would’ve had to crawl. It wasn’t pretty. He did me a favor.”

“A favor.” I could tell by her tone that there was no way she was buying my lame explanation. Even though it was essentially true. “So who was the guy?”

“Nobody.”

“Oh, Shannon,” Carla said, and started to laugh.

“Really,” I said, assuming an air of nonchalance. “It was nothing. Doesn’t matter. Move along now.”

She laughed. “Your protests will just force us to dig farther.”

“I’m not protesting,” I protested. “Go ahead and dig. You won’t find anything.”

She chuckled softly, but said nothing else, which scared me, frankly. She deftly changed the subject to the new cedar shingles on the Paradise Drive house. After we hung up, I just had to hope she’d decided to buy the sprained-ankle story.

Not that it mattered. Jane and Emily would be pumping me for information within the hour. If they were smart, they’d bring Lizzie along. Eventually, I would break.

I poured another cup of coffee and called Wade at the Boyer house to tell him I wouldn’t be out there today.

“No worries, boss,” he said. “But you might be interested in something that happened here yesterday.”

I sat up straighter. “What happened?”

“Joyce and Stan were here and they couldn’t stop sniping at each other. They were like a tag team. First Joyce would start chitchatting with one of our guys and end up ranting about something or other. Then Stan would come over, tell her to shut up, and start in on his own rant. This went on for a couple of hours.”

Probably slowed down the work on their house, too,
I thought. That would be the only reason Wade would pass along idle gossip. I would have to tell the Boyers to leave my workers alone if they ever wanted their house to be finished.

“That must’ve been pleasant,” I said.

He snorted. “It was entertaining, anyway.”

Wade said that both Stan and Joyce seemed anxious to divulge all the details they’d heard about the murder investigation. They had both been brought in for questioning, of course. Joyce was extra vocal about her negative feelings for Jerry, blathering to anyone within hearing distance about what a slimeball he was.

“I think you were the one who set her off, Shannon,” Wade said somberly. “You might want to be a little careful around her.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“According to Stan, it was after your scene on the beach with Jerry that Joyce went ballistic. I guess she had a date with him the next day and confronted him about his cheating. Jerry blew off her tantrum, told her she was in no position to complain about him seeing another woman when she was married to another man.”

I did the math and realized that their date was on the day that Jerry died. “But just to be clear, you don’t think she’s angry at me specifically, right? I just happened to be the one woman she found out about.”

“No, I think her anger is specifically aimed at you,” he clarified. “You represent all the other women he’s been seeing. Probably because you’re the one who nailed him in public.”

“I didn’t,” I said, groaning inwardly at the ongoing myth. “Never mind.”

“Whatever happened in reality, in Joyce’s mind you personify Jerry’s betrayal to her.” Wade paused and then lowered his voice to add, “So I really think she’s got it in for you now.”

“But why?” If she had half a brain, she’d be thanking me for kicking him. “I refuse to believe she didn’t know Jerry was cheating on all those other women.”

“I guess the others didn’t make quite the splash you did.”

“Thanks a lot.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, boss.”

I didn’t blame him for laughing, but I wondered if I would ever live down that awful scene on the beach. Was it possible that my evening with Jerry had led directly to his murder? What if Joyce killed him and was trying to make me look guilty? Had she somehow arranged for Stan to lure me to their house? Did she set me up to find Jerry’s body in the basement? Was she angry enough to come after me next? I thought about my bicycle’s damaged brake line and shivered a little.

But that was just an accident,
I tried to convince myself for the umpteenth time.

“Meanwhile,” Wade continued blithely, “Stan was making his own snide comments on the side.”

I tried to concentrate on his words. “You guys must’ve been shaking your heads at all this.”

“We were,” he said.

“I’ll have to find a way to ask them not to come around. We’ll never get their house finished at this rate.”

“Good luck with that,” Wade said. “Oh, but there’s more. Stan was listening to everything Joyce was ranting about and finally he gets right up in her face and says to her, ‘You’re such a bitch, I’m surprised the guy didn’t kill
you
.’”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah. It got a little dicey there for a few minutes. She threatened to punch Stan, and he dared her to try it. I had the guys circle around them in case we had to pull one of them off the other.”

“Aren’t they a fun couple?” I was starting to get a headache.

Wade chuckled and I thanked him for that lovely golden snippet of gossip, even though it was more disturbing than I was willing to admit to him.

A minute later we ended the call, and as I drank the rest of my coffee, I thought about Jerry Saxton and what a jerk he’d been. And besides being a jerk, he really knew how to pick his women.

Was it just me, or was it getting more obvious every day that Jerry had driven some woman over the edge? And whoever that woman was, she’d seen no other way out than to kill him.

The sound of ringing dragged me out of an intense, weird dream in which Joyce and Stan Boyer were chasing me around their dank, shadowy basement, waving my own pink wrench at me.

As I fumbled for the phone, I tried to adjust my vision to the total darkness of the living room. Where had the sun gone? “Hello?”

“Ms. Hammer, it’s Chief Jensen.”

Was this part of my weird dream? No, pretty sure I was awake. I shook my head back and forth to restart my brain. “Hello, Chief Jensen.”

“Sounds like I woke you up,” he said. Was it my imagination, or did he sound judgmental? “I’m sorry about that. I heard about your trouble yesterday.”

“You did?” So maybe it was my imagination, after all. “I guess I’m still a little sleepy. I took some aspirin a while ago and fell sound asleep.”

“That’s probably a good thing to do after what you’ve been through.”

I felt my way over to the end table and turned on the lamp. Was he being sympathetic? Should I be worried? “How can I help you, Chief Jensen?”

“I was speaking with Mac Sullivan a little while ago.”

“Yes?”
Here it comes,
I thought, sinking back onto the couch. I was going to get a lecture on wasting the police department’s time and energy. Robbie and Tiger must’ve sensed my unease, because they both jumped up and cuddled next to me.

“Yes. I’d like to come by your place with two of my officers and dust for fingerprints in your garage. I understand that’s where you keep your bicycle.”

“Oh.” I was shocked, although I probably shouldn’t have been. Mac was pretty darn persuasive, after all. Still, this was Police Chief Jensen, not exactly my number-one fan. “Right now?”

“If it’s convenient.”

I brushed my unruly hair back from my face and checked the clock on the mantel. It was only a few minutes past five. The days were getting shorter, the sun setting earlier. In a few weeks daylight saving time would end and it would be even darker by now. “Sure. That would be fine.”

“Good. We can be there in—”

“Oh, wait.” I pressed my hand to my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I forgot I have to pick up my truck at the shop in a little while. Can we do it tomorrow?”

He paused for a moment, maybe to check his calendar. “Early morning okay for you?”

I tried to think fast, but it wasn’t easy. “Yes, early is better than late. I usually like to leave the house about eight-thirty, but I’ll be happy to stick around for as long as it takes.”

“We’ll be there at eight.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you need a ride to the auto shop, Ms. Hammer?”

“What?” Was he honestly willing to give me a ride? He was being so nice. Who was this guy? “Um, no. My friend Jane is taking me. But thank you for offering. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Ms. Hammer.”

I sighed. “You should call me Shannon, Chief.”

“I’ll do that,” he said cheerfully. “Take care, Shannon.”

“Thanks, Chief. You do the same.” When he hung up, I stared at my phone for a minute or two, trying to decide if I were still dreaming or not.

•   •   •

Miracle of miracles. When I got home from the auto shop, Wendell Jarvick’s car was gone. I gleefully pulled my truck into the driveway, being careful to leave absolutely no room behind me for another car to park. Wendell would just have to leave his hotshot luxury car out on the street. Bummer for him.

Jane had generously offered to cook dinner for me, but I begged off, knowing I wouldn’t be good company. I just wanted to order a pizza and watch TV in my pajamas.

Since I had to get up early the next morning, I had a few pieces of pizza, most of a small salad, and one measly glass of wine. Soon after that, I turned off the television and crawled upstairs to bed. I doubted the police would find anything incriminating in my garage tomorrow, but I was thrilled that they were at least willing to look. And maybe I was being overly optimistic to think it meant I was no longer a suspect, but I had to believe it was a step in the right direction. And I was pretty sure I had Mac Sullivan to thank for that.

•   •   •

The doorbell rang at eight o’clock sharp the next morning, just as I knew it would. I set down my coffee cup and moved as quickly as I could to open the door. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Chief Jensen said, glancing around. “This is quite a house.”

“Thank you.”

He was smiling, which did wonders for his looks. His blue eyes were streaked with shards of soft gray, and the rays of morning sun had turned the tips of his dark blond hair to gold. Tiny laugh lines gave him more allure than any man deserved and he carried an aura of power that his relaxed smile couldn’t disguise.

What had happened to the dour, suspicious police chief I’d just started getting used to? Never mind. I liked this one better. I just hoped he would stick around.

Robbie came scurrying down the hall to sniff around the newcomer.

“Who’s this?” Chief Jensen asked.

“That’s Rob Roy, but we call him Robbie. He’s very friendly.”

“And good-looking, too,” he said, squatting down to ruffle Robbie’s scruffy white coat and play for a minute. That, naturally, caused me to like him even more than I did a minute ago.

“Do you and your officers want some coffee?” I asked.

“That would be great. Thanks.” He stood and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “They’ve already started working on the surface areas around the garage door.”

I glanced past him, down the driveway. “I’d better unlock the door so they can get inside.”

“That would help. Thanks.”

I grabbed the key and my down vest and followed the porch around to the backyard. Here there were only three steps to descend as opposed to the ten steps out front. I took them carefully, still feeling tender from my short flight off the bike the other day.

“Maybe you can show us where you keep your bicycle.”

“Sure.”

He started to introduce me to the officers, but I stopped him. “That’s okay, Chief. I’ve known these two for years.”

“That’s right,” Mindy said, grinning as she snapped on a pair of thin rubber gloves. “Jeb went to high school with Shannon and I was two years behind them. And Jeb’s brother, Todd, works on Shannon’s crew.”

Jeb chuckled. “Gotta love a small town.”

“I do,” Chief Jensen said, surprising me again. Maybe there was hope for the chief yet.

“How are you, Shannon?” Mindy asked.

“Pretty good.” It wasn’t true, of course, but I wasn’t about to go down the list of my aches and pains and worries. “How have you been?”

“Can’t complain,” Mindy said.

Jeb snickered. “Right, ’cuz nobody listens.”

Mindy smiled. “Isn’t that the truth?” She flicked what looked like a very small duster over the surface of the windowsill next to the garage door. Black dust particles remained in her wake. She studied the surface, pulled out a clear piece of tape and applied it to a section of the sill. Then she pulled the tape up. “Got some clean prints here.”

“They’re probably mine,” I muttered.

Chief Jensen turned to me. “Are your fingerprints on file somewhere?”

“They should be. I’m bonded and licensed by the state.”

He nodded. “Good.”

They continued to work while I showed Chief Jensen where I always parked my bike. “I’m not sure if you’ll find anything, Chief, but I appreciate you taking the time to look.”

“Mac made a good case for looking,” he said. “And maybe you should call me Eric.”

That came out of left field and I was certain that my confusion showed. Suffice to say I was really getting to like this new improved police chief. “Really?”

He chuckled. “I’d say we started off on the wrong foot.”

“It probably didn’t help that my
wrong foot
tripped over a dead body.” Did I say that out loud?

“Yeah, there’s that.” His expression was serious, although there was a hint of humor in his eyes.

Flustered, I looked around and pointed to my favorite pink tool chest. “I’m just going to pack my tool chest in my truck, if you’ll excuse me.”

“I’ll help you.”

“That’s okay.”

“I can see you’re still in pain, Shannon,” he said softly. “Let me carry it for you.”

I didn’t mention that I usually carried it out there on a dolly, mainly because he lifted it up as though it barely weighed an ounce instead of sixty-plus pounds. But, then, he probably bench-pressed three times his weight on a regular basis. The man had muscles on his muscles.

As we approached my truck, I noticed for the first time that Wendell had parked his car directly behind my truck in the driveway. I stopped and glared at the hated car. I hadn’t seen it earlier because he’d parked at such an odd angle.

“Damn it,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “I’m going to kill that guy.”

Eric turned and looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

Oops.
“I didn’t mean that,” I said in a rush. “But this car isn’t supposed to be parked here.”

“Do you want us to tow it?”

“I would love it.”

He started to move and I held up my hand reluctantly to stop him. “But you’d better not. It would cause more problems than it’s worth.”

But I could feel anger coursing through my system. My shoulders were tight and my jaw was clenched. I felt so powerless. How could something this petty fill me with such fury? Because it was Wendell Jarvick. He was a horrible man. If only I could have him banned from the town forever.

“I can’t wait till he’s gone,” I said.

“Is he the guy that caused the ruckus at the pub the other night?” Eric said.

“That’s him. A real piece of work.”

“He won’t be around much longer, hopefully.”

“That moment can’t come soon enough.”

We got to my truck and I pulled the tailgate down. As Eric loaded my tool chest into the truck bed, I wandered over to Wendell’s car. I was truly tempted to do some damage, so I kept my hands firmly inside my pockets.

Maybe I could dig up a bunch of worms in my garden and put them on the driver’s seat. Happy at the thought, I tried to glance inside the car, but along with having tinted windows, there was a layer of condensation on the glass, so it was hard to see. Without thinking, I tested the driver’s door and found it unlocked. I pulled it open and stared in shock at what I saw on the front seat.

I jumped back and screamed as loud as I’d ever screamed before. If they weren’t awake already, I probably woke up half the folks in town.

“What’s wrong?” Eric shouted. “What happened?”

Dizzy and sick, I slammed the door shut and shook uncontrollably. This couldn’t be happening. I took a couple of big gulps of air and waved at the car door. “In there.”

Eric came around and pulled open the door and took a step back. I summoned enough courage to venture another peek inside—and was sorry I did.

Wendell Jarvick lay sprawled on the seat, his eyes open as though he were staring right at me. Blood was smeared across the smooth taupe leather seats. Something was protruding from his neck and I could feel my heart sinking in my chest because I recognized the tool. It was my extralong pink Frearson screwdriver.

My contractor’s brain kicked in to remind me that the Frearson differed from a Phillips-head screwdriver because of its more pointed, V-shaped head.
The better to stab someone in the neck,
I thought.

I squeezed my eyes shut but the image wouldn’t go away.

“Shannon.” Eric’s tone was a warning and his arm blocked me from moving any closer, as if I wanted to. “Don’t touch anything. Step back now.”

“Is he . . . ?” It was a stupid question.

Eric leaned in and pressed his fingers against the pulse point on Wendell’s neck, a few inches away from where the screwdriver protruded. “Yeah.”

No doubt about it, Wendell Jarvick was dead.

Stumbling over to the garden wall at the side of the drive, I lost the cup of coffee I’d gleefully chugged a half hour ago.

•   •   •

An hour later, I was cooling my heels inside the house as my yard was turned into an official crime scene. The county coroner’s van was parked in front of my driveway and four police cars surrounded it, blocking off as much of the view from the curious public as possible. That didn’t stop any of my neighbors from lining up along the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I glanced out the window and saw a few folks still wearing their bathrobes at almost ten o’clock in the morning. Good grief. Some of my neighbors were real slackers.

Someone pounded on my front door and I checked to see who it was before opening the door. “Thank God it’s you guys. Come in.”

Jane and Lizzie scurried inside and I shut the door quickly because, despite what Mr. Bennet claimed in
Pride and Prejudice
, I did not live to make sport for my neighbors.

“We came as soon as we heard,” Jane said, tossing her purse on the chair.

Lizzie glanced out the bay window. “Shannon, what in the world happened?”

“You won’t even believe it,” I muttered.

“I just saw you twelve hours ago,” Jane said. “How could so much pandemonium occur between then and now?”

“Heck if I know,” I said, throwing both hands high. “Do you guys want some coffee?”

Lizzie shook her head. “No.”

“Talk,” Jane said, sitting down.

I told them everything that had happened from the time I parked my truck in the driveway last night until the moment this morning when I pulled open the car door and discovered Wendell.

“I know how much you hated Wendell,” Jane said. “Did you ever have his car towed?”

“No,” I said, staring at her in dismay. “And remind me not to use you as a character witness.”

“Jane,” Lizzie cried. “Shannon didn’t kill Wendell Jarvick.”

Jane waved her hands in front of her face as if to sweep her words away. “Of course not! I didn’t mean . . . Oh, never mind. You know I didn’t mean that. Everyone in town hated his guts, Shannon. Not just you. You know I’m totally on your side.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, patting her shoulder. “I’m just a little sensitive right now.”

“I guess I am, too,” she said, dazed. “Sorry.”

“Everybody hated him,” Lizzie repeated thoughtfully, talking while pacing the length of the coffee table and back. “It’ll take the police weeks to investigate everyone who had a grudge against him.”