Lead-Pipe Cinch (7 page)

“And?”

“And I hadn’t seen him in years until he showed up out at the job site.” I scowled. “Which I have said about a thousand times in the last couple days. Can we just let it go?”

My stomach grumbled, reminding me all I’d consumed all day was a thermos full of black coffee. I glanced at the clock, amazed to see that it was already past lunch hour.

I offered Wade a sandwich while I frantically tried to remember if I had anything to make a sandwich
with
. He declined and said he had to get back to the office, if I was sure I was okay.

I thought about the blinking light on the answering machine, and the calls I would have to return once he left. It was tempting to ask him to stay, but he did have an accounting practice to run and I had already taken him away from the office when he should be working.

Besides, he likely would keep bringing up the subject of Blake Weston and I didn’t want to talk about him. Ever.

“No,” I said. The regret in my voice was genuine. I really did wish he could stay, if only so I could postpone those phone messages. “I appreciate the offer, but you need to get back to the office, and I have stuff I should do.”

By the time Wade’s car pulled away I was already regretting my decision. I could use the distraction. The realization was sinking in. Blake Weston, a man I had once known well, was dead.

And he was dead in a way that made no sense.

When I thought about Blake’s death—and I didn’t seem capable of thinking of anything else—there were lots of questions, but no answers.

What was Blake doing in Pine Ridge? He had steadfastly refused to leave the city for any reason in all the time I had known him.

Why was he palling around with Chad McComb? I was sure they didn’t know each other, yet Blake had acted all buddy-buddy with Chad and Astrid.

For that matter, what was Samurai Security doing on this job to begin with? I mean, it was a job I’d have taken in a heartbeat, but it certainly didn’t fit with the “new direction” the board had cited when they’d tossed me out of my own company.

Why was Blake out at the job site in the dark? There was nothing there for him to see particularly, and he wasn’t fond of the outdoors.

Another thing that didn’t make sense was how he died. Sure, babies could drown in a few inches of water, but they were small and helpless. Blake was a full-grown man, perfectly capable of getting himself out of the water.

Unless he hit his head on the way down, or fainted, or something.

None of it made any sense.

My stomach growled loudly, reminding me a thermos of black coffee met only my daily caffeine requirements. There were several other food groups—sugar, salt, chocolate—and I should eat something.

I opened my refrigerator and stared at the contents—half a loaf of bread, not too stale; a couple eggs; a slice of pizza of indeterminate age; condiment packages from the drive-through; and a nearly empty jar of marmalade.

It was a bachelor fridge, a bad habit acquired in my high-tech life of hundred-hour workweeks and twenty-four-hour takeout. My mother would be appalled.

I stared into the fridge as though that would make something edible magically appear, but it wasn’t working.

The phone rang, and I ignored it.

I kept staring at the empty refrigerator, but instead of seeing stale bread I kept picturing Blake’s hand-stitched Italian loafers toes down in the water at the bottom of the moat.

The answering machine picked up, and I listened to myself telling the caller I wasn’t home. The message finished, and I heard Sue’s voice.

“Georgie? Are you there, Georgie? Pick up, girl!! I heard there was an accident out at the McComb job site. Paula called me, said some guy was hurt or something, but she wouldn’t really know anything until Barry gets home.”

Paula Ciccone, the town librarian, was Barry’s wife. He must have called her while we were at the sheriff’s station, and she called Sue. News traveled fast in Pine Ridge.

Paula was much more than my boss’s wife. The investigation of Martha Tepper’s disappearance and murder had drawn her into Sue’s and my friendship, and made us a threesome.

Sue paused, waiting for me to answer. After a few seconds she continued, “I’m at work, you know the number. Just call me, please. I need to know you’re okay!”

I gave up on the refrigerator.

Maybe I could just drive through someplace, or pick up some takeout from the deli in the grocery store. But if I wanted to eat I was going to have to leave the house. And no matter where I went in Pine Ridge,
somebody
would want to ask me about what happened at the job site.

Another thought struck me like a bucket of cold water.

With Blake dead, it was likely someone else from Samurai would take his place. There was every possibility that some other ghost from my past would show up at any minute.

Buddha bumped up against my leg. He stuck his head under my hand, begging to be petted. He didn’t do that often, and only when I was upset. Clearly, he sensed my agitation.

I sighed and rubbed his ears. There was no way I could keep what happened in San Francisco a secret for much longer. I had to trust someone.

I walked to the front door and pulled the leashes from the hook. “Come on guys,” I called. “Let’s go to the spa.”

 

 

Sue just nodded when I came through the front door of Doggy Day Spa with Daisy and Buddha on their leashes. It was like she’d been expecting me.

She had a beagle on the grooming table, clipping his nails.

“About time you showed up, Neverall.”

“I’m hungry,” I said lamely. “You want to get some lunch?”

Sue glanced at Daisy and Buddha. “You know someplace that will serve Airedales?”

I chuckled. “Figured they’d stay here and guard the place, and maybe I could get you to give them a bath after we eat.”

Sue finished with the beagle, and lifted him off the table. She put him in one of the kennels in the back of the shop and slipped him a green treat, all the while crooning to him in baby talk.

After the beagle was tucked away with a scratch behind the ears, she walked back up front and skimmed the appointment book. “Colleen will be here to pick up Peanut in a few minutes and we can go. The afternoon’s pretty quiet, so I should have time for the guys.”

Sue snapped her fingers. “In fact, I could use your help.” She dug around on the desk for a minute and came up with one of the thumb drives I’d insisted she get. We traded grooming for computer services, and it looked like it was time for me to pay up.

“I can’t get the computer to read this thing. I plug it in and nothing happens.”

She handed me the drive. “Where do you want to have lunch?” It was another one of Sue’s conversational U-turns.

I checked my watch. “Dee’s?” Dee’s Lunch was close and cheap, and it would be near closing time. With luck, the place would be empty.

“Works for me. You want to take a look at the computer?”

The bell over the front door rang, interrupting our conversation. Colleen came in and claimed Peanut. She stuffed some bills in Sue’s hand, and hurried out without asking me about the accident. I took that as a good sign.

We put the dogs in the big pen at the back of the shop, locked up, and walked down Main Street toward Dee’s Lunch. It was just down the block, past the Radio Shack franchise and across the street from Katie’s Bakery.

The aroma of fresh bread wafted across from Katie’s and I knew I’d have to take a loaf home with me. The stuff in the refrigerator was past its prime anyway.

Dee’s was barely wide enough to hold a lunch counter along one wall and a handful of tiny two-seat booths along the other. The kitchen was a gas grill, a couple deep fryers, and a decidedly low-tech coffeemaker. She refused to consider an espresso machine, and her one concession to the twenty-first century was a minuscule microwave oven, which was only used to heat pie.

Dee herself seemed as ancient as the coffeemaker. She had served breakfast and lunch as far back as I could remember, and she locked the front door promptly at 2:00 P.M. every day. If you showed up hungry at 2:01, you were out of luck.

Fortunately for us, it was only one thirty, and Dee was behind the counter, topping up the coffee cups of a couple bank tellers on a late lunch hour.

Sue and I walked past the three empty booths and slid into the last one in the back. I took the side facing the door, where I could see if anyone else came in.

Dee looked up and smiled a welcome. She didn’t bother with menus, since the selection never changed. Instead, she set two glasses of iced tea on the counter, waved at Sue, and busied herself at the grill.

Sue retrieved the iced tea and set the frosty glasses on the table. It was cold and gloomy outside but the diner was nearly twenty degrees warmer—thanks to the grill and the fryers—and the cool beverage was welcome.

Besides, I wasn’t sure I trusted the coffee. I was pretty sure that pot was older than me.

We sipped at the tea, Sue watching me over the rim of her glass. Finally, she set the glass down. “Well?”

“Well what? Can’t I get hungry?”

“Yeah. And you’d go visit Mayor McCheese. Or get Garibaldi’s to deliver. You wouldn’t come down here without calling, with the lame excuse that you wanted to get the dogs bathed.” She stopped for breath, then added, “Especially that part about the dogs. You’re usually very good about checking my appointments first.”

“Thank you for recognizing that,” I replied lightly. “I am nothing if not kind and considerate.”

Sue snorted. “You know what I mean, Neverall. There’s something on your mind, and you’re stalling.”

Sue was right. I had made up my mind to trust someone—to trust her—but now that I was here it was hard to know where to start. How much did I have to tell her?

My life in San Francisco had been a taboo subject for a long time. I told myself I didn’t want anyone to know about the humiliation and failure, but now I did want to get at least some of it off my chest. While I was trying to figure out what—and how much—to say, Dee came hobbling out from behind the counter, two heavy white plates in her gnarled hands. She refused to surrender to the arthritis. She said working at the Lunch was what kept her going and she wouldn’t know what to do with her time if she quit.

She set a patty melt and fries in front of Sue, and a club sandwich with onion rings in front of me. It was the same thing we’d eaten every visit since we were in high school. There was something reassuring about a place where they knew what you wanted without asking.

I suspected what Dee would really miss if she retired was the chance to be in the middle of everything that went on in town. If Tiny’s was the local gathering place in the evening and on the weekends, Dee’s was the only place to get a decent breakfast or a quick lunch. It was usually busy from the first coffee at 6 A.M. to the last burger at 2. Everybody ate at Dee’s.

Including, I realized too late, Sandra and Gregory. Who were walking through the front door.

I must have looked as trapped as I felt. Sue’s eyes widened, and she whirled around quickly to see what had caused my reaction.

She turned back and shrugged. “Looks like we have some company.”

I grimaced.

Sandra spotted me, and dropped Gregory’s hand. She walked back to where Sue and I sat and gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. “I heard there was an accident, Georgiana. Are you okay? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“No, Mother.” I looked up and saw real concern in her face. No matter how little we understood each other, I was still her only child.

I reached up and squeezed her hand. “I’m okay. Really.”

She looked at Gregory who waited at the counter, radiating impatience. “We’re just picking up sandwiches to take back to the office,” she explained, turning back to me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded and smiled. “Sure, Mom.” I hoped she would be reassured.

She looked from me to Gregory and back again. Dee was already putting food in a brown paper bag, and it was clear Gregory was in a hurry.

“Go on, Mom. Your food’s ready.”

My mother hesitated, her expression troubled.

“Really, Mom. I’m fine.”

“You will call me, Georgiana? Soon?”

I crossed my fingers under the table, like I’d done when I was eight years old. “Sure.”

Sue watched me closely, as if she could see through the table to my crossed fingers.

Mom gave me one last look. “Call me,” she repeated as she turned back toward the front door.

Gregory tossed some bills on the counter and followed my mother out the door without looking back.

“You won’t call.”

“I had my fingers crossed,” I protested.

“Georgie! What are you, ten?” Sue rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t lie to your mother.”