Candy Apple Red (15 page)

“Don’t even think it,” Booth disabused her swiftly. “No dogs. Jane can take care of this one.” He paused. “Who’s Aunt Eugenie?”

I filled him in as best I could as we made plans to eat out after all. I was hankering for somewhere cheap, but Booth said Billy Leonard had mentioned a place right on the water: Foster’s On The Lake. My protestations that I’d just been there fell on deaf ears.

We were standing at the outdoor bar within the hour, enjoying several cocktails. I was beginning to be a regular and I recognized some of my barfly buddies. If I came night after night, I’d probably see them. The way things were going, by the end of the week I was going to have a chair with a plaque with my name on it.

Manny slipped me an extra strong Mojito and I sucked it down as if it were water. Booth asked me what I’d been up to and I made the mistake of mentioning I was actually working on a case. I guess I was trying to impress him. But when I brought up Tess Bradbury he came unglued.

His fingers gripped my arm. “What are you talking about?”

“Ow.” I yanked my arm free. Sharona made a point of pretending she didn’t notice our sibling rivalry.

“Stay out of that mess,” he said, totally serious. “I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know what you think you’re doing. That was cold-blooded murder, Jane. What is Tess Bradbury looking for? Why is she involving you?”

“Honestly, I think she’s trying to save a piece of Cotton’s inheritance for Bobby, in case he shows up.”

“More likely it’s a piece of Cotton’s inheritance for Owen,” Booth said with a snort. “I don’t think Bobby’s alive.”

“Maybe.”

Booth was watching my face. “So, what are you supposed to be doing?”

“I’m just talking to Cotton and Heather and reporting back to her anything that might help her.”

“I bet Tess thinks Bobby’s dead, too, and she’s doing this to find a way to stick Cotton for more money. Not necessarily for Bobby, for herself and Owen.”

I was sorry I’d brought it up. I shouldn’t have. My excuse is the Mojito went straight to my head. I signaled Manny for another. If Booth was going to make me miserable I might as well get a buzz on.

We had a rather stilted meal. I ordered a Caesar salad, the cheapest thing I could find on the menu. Sharona ordered grilled summer vegetables and a hummus and pita bread appetizer. She teamed this with white wine. Booth had a burger.

I wondered if Owen was part of Tess’s motive. He’d been on the periphery of the story, but I hadn’t really considered him. He was Bobby’s brother, but not Cotton’s flesh and blood. But he was Tess’s son. And though Tess—and it felt like everyone else—had been more interested in Bobby, the athlete, Owen was a member of the family.

“Why so quiet?” Booth asked me as I chased around my last bit of romaine lettuce.

“Thinking about Owen,” I admitted.

“I wonder how he felt about everything,” Sharona put in, clearly as aware of the story as the rest of us. She was delicately slicing through julienned strips of red pepper, tomato and onion. I had to admit, it looked pretty good.

I could easily interview some of Owen’s classmates if I wanted to know more about him. The Pisces Pub on State Street was the perennial hangout for ex-grads of Lake Chinook’s two high schools. There was no money in it for me, but it might provide some enlightenment on the case. For that matter, checking on Owen might gain me more information on Bobby. I knew this avenue of approach wouldn’t be what Tess had in mind, not by a long shot, but the investigation had grown a life of its own. I was looking for answers anywhere I could find them, whether Tess paid me for my time or not.

In my periphery I saw Booth’s arm move toward Sharona, his hand obscured by the table. He must have grabbed something, her thigh, perhaps, as she shot him a sideways look from the corner of her eyes. Her red lips twitched into a smile. Moments later she turned toward him and bit into a ripe yellow cob of corn. I could see her even white teeth. Booth just gazed at her, his lips slightly parted.

The sexual tension was thick enough to choke on. I think I made a strangled sound.

“It’s time for me to go home now,” I said.

They didn’t waste time trying to talk me out of it.

I called Mom as soon as their taillights blinked out around the corner of my drive, leaving my nose pressed to the window, a bit lonely. Binks seemed to pick up on my feelings and sat beside me, gazing up at me. Mom’s answering machine kicked on. I wasn’t sure exactly what message to leave. In the end I simply said I had a nice evening with Booth and his fiancée, Sharona, and I thought she would like her a lot. I added that there were no tattoos, facial piercings or Gothic attire and/or hairstyles. Sharona was a criminal defense lawyer which kind of blew my mind. I wondered if there would ever be a time when she and Booth were on opposite sides of the courtroom.

I didn’t mention that Sharona was African American. I saw now why Booth hadn’t enlightened me, either. It seemed small and prejudiced even to address the issue. It didn’t matter anyway. I’d be more concerned with culture shock than race as Sharona seemed more upwardly mobile economically and socially than Booth was. And they were both climbing that ladder a helluva lot faster than I was. I suppose I should worry about these things, but I was more concerned with wondering why my brother should be involved in a healthy sex life while I wasn’t.

I woke up the next morning with this same thought in mind. And throughout the next couple of days while I posted more 72-hour notices for Greg, harangued Tess Bradbury for payment to which she grudgingly told me a five-hundred-dollar check was in the mail—not likely, I thought—and generally thought about Cotton, Bobby, Heather, Dwayne and Murphy, not necessarily in that order. Gleefully I related to Dwayne that Tess had paid me. He said he’d believe it when the check cleared.

My mother called back and left a return message on my answering machine. I could tell she was poleaxed by Booth’s engagement. She wanted me to call her so we could thrash things over. I reluctantly phoned her back. I mean, why was this my job? I nearly crowed in delight when I got her answering machine again. The gods were looking out for me after all. In as nice a way as I know how I suggested that she call Booth herself if she wanted more information and leave me the hell out of it.

On Thursday I walked the dog early. I tell ya, it’s a pain to make certain they’ve emptied their bladders etc. Never ending. Then I ran through the shower, washed and blow dried my hair, pulled on a pair of silky bright red panties and a short, short black skirt, slid on a white silk blouse, undid the top three buttons, then actually added some makeup to my face. In fact, I added a lot of makeup, darkening my eyes to make them as black and mysterious as I could. I seriously thought about teasing my hair before I slicked it down straight, adopting a bored look. I put on my highest black, strappy heels, definitely CFM material. I was meeting Jerome Neusmeyer and I wanted to be anyone but Jane Kelly.

Billy was at the Coffee Nook when I breezed in. He looked me up and down. “Geez, Louise,” he said, more in horror than appreciation.

“I’ve got a meeting,” I said.

“At the Low Brow Lounge?”

“At an estate attorney’s office. What you see is meant to distract and confuse. I have questions that need to be answered.”

“Oh, Mama,” Billy said on a laugh. In fact he kept on laughing right out the door.

Julie said, “I think you look cute,” but then Julie’s beyond kind.

“I look like a slut,” I said, “which is the point.”

I have to admit they shook my confidence a bit, so as I drove to downtown Portland and took a ticket for parking in the underground lot of Neusmeyer’s building, I was starting to rethink my plan. What did I expect to learn? Who the hell did I think I was?

Neusmeyer had a starched-looking receptionist in a tight brown suit and narrow tortoiseshell glasses. She tried not to eye me too carefully. “May I help you?”

“I have a 9:00 meeting with Mr. Neusmeyer.”

“Oh…” She glanced at her appointment book. “Miss Kellogg?”

I nodded. Someone once told me that you should use an alias similar to your own name, otherwise you might not answer to it when it’s called and give yourself away. Kelly, Kellogg…seemed like a good idea. Besides, I like cornflakes. When I remember to keep them on hand.

“I’ll let him know you’re here.” She got up from her chair and turned the corner into a small secondary hallway. The offices weren’t huge but they were in an expensive building, one of Portland’s notable turn-of-the-century edifices that had been spared the wrecking ball, then updated, renovated and the rents jacked up so here we were. Out the eastern window was a view of the Willamette River and most all of Portland’s bridges. I counted the Ross Island, Marquam, Hawthorne, Steele, Burnside, Broadway and a glimpse of the Fremont before I was invited into Jerome’s office.

He did not have a view of the water. Out a narrow window I could see west over and into other downtown buildings. Not nearly so commanding, but then Jerome wasn’t all that commanding, either. If he topped five foot six, I’d be surprised. I was taller in my stocking feet; in these heels I dwarfed him.

I swear he started to salivate. He definitely was doing one of those suck on your own teeth kinds of things. Since my intention was to act as if Cotton, by Heather’s own words, was into affairs and had seen fit to take me as a lover, I took it as a good sign.

I sank down in a chair across from him and crossed my legs. The red undies were there in case I needed them. I couldn’t really picture myself pulling a Sharon Stone,
Basic Instinct
kind of peek-a-boo, but one never knew. I wanted Neusmeyer to think I was loose in the worst way.

“Miss Kellogg,” he said. “Veronica Kellogg?”

Okay, so I didn’t stick with the alias thing all the way and name myself Janice or Jayleen or something. I like the name Veronica. So, sue me. “Call me Ronnie.” I leaned forward and offered him a hand.

His gaze shot to the gapping vee of my blouse. Had I possessed a bigger chest he would have gotten quite a view. As it was, a faint shadow between my breasts was about as good as it got. I kicked myself for not adding makeup like they do on TV, enhancing the illusion of depth.

“Ronnie.” He savored the word. I hadn’t known for certain if Neusmeyer would take the bait, but apparently all the rumors about him were true. My outfit and attitude were spot on. “You gave Heather Reynolds’ name as a reference.”

I couldn’t blame the quizzical note of his tone. After all, would I be Heather’s friend? “I’m actually an acquaintance of Cotton’s,” I said.

“Ah.”

“I also said that I was coming to see you about my mother, but well, that was a lie. It’s really about Cotton.” I recrossed my legs. Nope, no little flash of red. I hadn’t worked up the nerve. Neusmeyer’s eyes zeroed onto my legs as if magnetized. “Cotton and I have known each other awhile. I’m worried about his health.”

Jerome was having trouble bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. “Um, yes…?”

“Cotton’s always made it clear that…well…he loves me.” Neusmeyer’s gaze shot to my face. “I mean I know he’s married to Heather, and he has an ex-wife, but his heart’s with me.”

“Miss Kellogg—”

“Ronnie, please.”

“I’m not certain what you want from me.” He dug two fingers under the knot of his tie.

Could I bring up tears? I didn’t think so. I sure would’ve liked to, though. With a catch in my voice, I said, “I’ve got to be honest. I’m not truly in love with Cotton, but I really care about him as a person. He’s such a good man. And he’s faced so much tragedy. I don’t want to think about him dying, but I can’t hide my head in the sand. I’m going to keep living. I’m worried that I’ll have wasted a lot of time…years…Can you assure me his health is better than he’s intimated?”

“I’m not his doctor.” His eyes darted all over the silk blouse, following the lines of my breasts. I got to my feet, paced to the window, glanced back in anguish over my shoulder.

“I just want to hope that I’m remembered, that’s all, in case the worst is realized.”

“I can’t divulge what’s in Cotton’s will, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Yeah? He looked like he might give up the code to Fort Knox for one good feel of a breast. I strolled back toward him, sliding a hip on the corner of his desk. Now, I’m no good at seduction if it’s for real. I’ll start laughing or joking or doing something gauche and stupid. When it matters, I can get all goofy and embarrassed. The man really has to make the move or we can’t get out of the starting gate. But playacting? This I could do.

I batted my eyes, at least I hoped I did. His vision never came north of my faint cleavage. “Isn’t love hard to believe?” I said in a soft voice. “Just when you think it’s impossible, there it is?”

“I thought you didn’t love Cotton.”

Oh. Right. I barreled on as if he hadn’t spoken, “Are you certain you can’t tell me if there’s anything for little old Ronnie in his will?”

His hand lifted to his face. He rubbed his jaw and I saw the slight tremor. “I don’t think you should expect anything…Ronnie. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’m giving anything away by letting it be known you’re not listed as one of the beneficiaries. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”