Red House Blues (29 page)

“What would that have to do with
anything?”

“Jonson tells Sean that the next day when he
went back to the parking lot to get his car he asked the bartender
for his keys. The bartender didn’t have them. After a whole comedy
about Triple A and a locksmith and searching the whole car, the
keys were located under the car. Jonson said that was weird enough
but even odder was that the car wasn’t parked where he usually
parked it. He was sure he parked it on the end by the Dumpster but
it was way on the other side of the lot.”

“So, where is this going? Sounds like either
he was too hammered to know where he parked or someone borrowed the
car. Big deal. He got it back, didn’t he?”

“Jonson didn’t think it was a big deal
either until he remembered that Marla had been the one who put him
in the cab. That suggested it was Marla who ‘borrowed’ his car that
night. Earlier she and KiKi got into a huge fight. People at the
Comet heard them yelling at one another. The cops later figured the
fight was why KiKi stormed off. Jonson told Sean it sounded like
Marla took the car to catch up with KiKi.”

“But obviously she didn’t find her,” said
Claire. “Because if she had caught up with her KiKi wouldn’t have
been killed, right?”

“Not if the fisherman was the one who killed
her.”

“Suzan, you can’t be saying that Marla
killed KiKi. The fisherman was convicted on forensic evidence.”

“D.N.A. evidence proved he raped her,
Claire, but think about it. It didn’t prove he killed her.”

“Okay, I see the distinction,” she said.
“Though I think that would be one improbable coincidence that the
poor kid ran into a rapist and a murderer on the same nasty night.
God, that would be some serious bad karma.”

“Weren’t you the one who used to say that
sometimes shit happens?”

“Yeah, well . . . I can see that if Marla
killed KiKi and if she knew about the Comet conversation, that
would be a pretty good motive for murder but, sweetie, how would
she ever find out about the conversation? Are you going to say
someone who overheard Sean and Jonson blabbed to her about it?”

“No. What actually happened was my dear dumb
husband asked her about it after he talked to Jonson.”

“No way! You have got to be kidding.”

“Sadly, no. He apparently asked her about it
one night when she came to the house looking for Ferlin,” said
Suzan. “By the way, Sean cleared up another mystery that has
plagued me from the first. I kept wondering what Marla’s connection
was to the house and its inhabitants. It couldn’t have been merely
that she hung out at the Comet with Sean’s friends. She was hip
deep in everything and I couldn’t figure out why. Alexis apparently
hated her yet she was always hanging around the house. Well, here’s
what Sean wrote; ‘KiKi had a fight with Marla, Ferlin’s
granddaughter’. Which explains so much. How she gained access to
the house, why Ferlin tried to cover for her, and why he played
along with her when she hauled me into the kitchen the night I was
beat up. The people who assaulted me were probably Ferlin’s little
pals from the neighborhood, sent to scare me off but not to kill
me. I don’t think Ferlin is the killer type but he couldn’t let me
get too close to the truth. I’m sure he either knew or at least
suspected that Marla killed KiKi, and then had killed Sean and
Jonson because they knew she drove after KiKi that night.”

“But, Suzan, the fisherman had already been
convicted and was in prison. Marla had gotten away with murder.
Even if Sean and Jonson had gone to the police with their
suspicions, who would believe a junkie and a guy who was dead drunk
the night of the murder?” asked Claire.

“Do you think Marla would have wanted to
take that chance?”

“Maybe not. But to kill two men just in case
. . . and she would have killed you, Nick and me too. That woman
was seriously off the rails.”

“No question about that. Ferlin too could
have died in the fire. What a whole lot of carnage . . . and all
for love.”

“Love?”

“Marla was in love with KiKi. Sean said all
their friends knew Marla was crazy about Zell, jealous of her. Was
practically stalking her. That was what the fight was about. Zell
had had enough. She told Marla to leave her alone. KiKi was going
to take Alexis on an upcoming concert tour, not Marla.”

“Love. A crime of passion, in other words.
At least the first death.”

“Yeah. Pretty sad,” said Suzan, closing the
notebook. “Strangely, I kind of liked her, at least at first. As
deranged as the woman was, she was . . . personable, nice even. She
seems to have had lots of friends willing to help her, cover for
her.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself for not
spotting her. Marla was a sociopath. Sociopaths are masters at
playing people, otherwise they’d be out of business. Think about
it, predators have to lull their prey into a false sense of
security,” said Claire. “Ted Bundy made friends everywhere he
went.”

“True. I guess that was why Cliff, the desk
clerk at the hostel, was so willing to do her bidding. He’d known
her ever since the days when he tended bar at the Comet. He helped
her the night Kiki died too, letting her grab Jonson’s car keys and
he could have ratted her out the next day when he learned Kiki was
dead but he didn’t. He kept it to himself all those years. That’s a
pretty powerful friendship.”

“Or maybe he’s just a crazy old drunk with
too many dead brain cells,” said Claire. “Have you decided what
you’re going to do with the notebooks once the police arrive?”

“I’ll hand them over. There’s no need to
keep them now. They have nothing to do with me anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Chapter 26

The police had come and gone, taking Sean
Pike’s infamous notebooks with them. Nick sat on the edge of his
hospital bed sporting a brand new cast and a feeling of dread. He
was finally alone with Suzan. Under other circumstances he would
have been elated but not now. She would be going back to Bellingham
and he would be . . . what? Returning to California? He was still
under contract. That hadn’t changed. And now that they were out of
danger Suzan would have questions. It was the questions he
dreaded.

She was sitting in the
gunmetal gray bedside chair. She looked uncomfortable. He wished he
could keep his eyes off of her but he couldn’t. Even with half her
face covered with green and yellow healing bruises she was
beautiful.
She has no idea how beautiful
she is and I can’t tell her because then she’ll feel obligated . .
. or threatened. Or both.
It was a doomed
situation. He drank in her face, etching it on his memory because
soon enough she would be gone from his life.

“Where’s Claire?” he asked.

“Checking us out of the hotel.”

“So you’ll be leaving today?” He tried to
keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“She’s leaving. I’m staying . . . at least
for a while,” she said.

“You’re staying in Seattle?” Did he dare
hope she was staying for him?

“I thought I’d like to hang around until
you’re on two feet again if that’s all right with you.”

“Why? I mean . . . sure it’s all right.
Damn, what am I talking about, it’s great! But don’t you have to
get back to Bellingham?”

“I’ve been thinking about that and I haven’t
come up with any reason at all to go back. Not right now at any
rate. Claire is already staying at my apartment so I don’t have to
worry about the plants or the rent.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Suzan slumped back in the chair.

“Oh my God, I feel like such an idiot,” she
breathed. “You have other plans is that it? Here I am pushing
myself on you without even thinking what you might want.”

“No! God no, Suzan! I want you to stay.
Don’t even think . . . I was hoping you’d stay but I can’t say for
certain what I’m going to be doing yet. There’s a possibility I’ll
be heading back to Napa. That’s what my folks want me to do but I
don’t know . . . it’s complicated. I have certain obligations up
here.”

“That sounds pretty cryptic,” said Suzan.
“What ‘obligations’, if you don’t mind me asking.”

Oh boy, here it comes, he thought. Well, in
for a penny, in for a pound.

“I have a one year contract with Seattle
University that I’m only a few months into. I don’t want to bail on
them unless I have no other choice.”

“You teach at the University?”

If he had told her he made a living
threading clamshells she couldn’t have been more incredulous.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking, I guess you
could say I teach at Seattle U.” said Nick, steeling himself. “I .
. . I’m this year’s poet in residence.”

There, he’d said it.
It’s over now. She’s sure to lump me in with all
the worthless artsy-fartsy losers she’s ever met, most especially
her worthless musician husband. She’ll run full speed for the
exit.

“That’s the big secret?” asked Suzan.
“You’re a poet?”

“Go ahead, laugh.”

“I’m not laughing. It’s just that . . . it’s
the last thing I would have expected you to tell me. A poet.” She
was clearly at a loss for words.

“Whatever you say, it can’t be worse than
what my dad said when I told him what I wanted to do with my life.
He’d have taken it better if I’d told him I was gay.”

“You must be a pretty good poet if you’re
Poet in Residence. He should be proud of you.”

“It’s growing on him. By the time my third
collection was published he was speaking to me again.”

Suzan laughed.

“
Jeeze, Nick, you were
being so cagey I thought you must be a hit man or, even worse, a
lawyer,” she said. “So if you were on the faculty at the university
why on earth were you staying in that horrible house? I would have
thought the school would provide more suitable housing.”

“
They would have. They
will. Right after I arrived from Napa and got settled in guest
housing all the electrical wiring in the building fizzed. The
university offered to put me up in a hotel downtown while the
building was rewired but I thought it would be a terrific
opportunity to get to know the neighborhood if I rented a room for
a few weeks in . . . well, a house more typical of the area. I
thought the experience might inspire a whole new series of poems.
Which, as it turned out, wasn’t the best decision I ever
made.”

“
You’re a master of
understatement as well as a poet.”

“
You know, Suzan, I have
to admit I’m surprised you’re taking it so well. I was really
pretty worried you’d Google me and I’d have no chance with you once
you learned I write poetry for a living.”

“
Why would that worry
you?” asked Suzan. “Oh wait, I see. You thought just because Sean .
. . boy, have you underestimated me, pal!”

* * *

E-mail to [email protected]

Hey, girlfriend! How do you like Napa
Valley? Hope you are getting some rest and sun down there. You have
really earned it. Is Nick getting around any better? Cool that the
university gave Nick a leave of absence while he heals.

I miss you so much, Suze! Your ficus is
still alive but it misses you too - I’m not much good with plants.
Mrs. Bloomquist says to tell you hello. It was so nice of her to
let me take over the rent. But remember, when you finally decide to
come home this place is yours. I moved the last of my stuff out of
Tony’s. I went over when he was working - thought if I saw him I
might do something I’d get jailed for. I know I should let it go -
forget I ever met him. It’ll be a while but I’m working on it.

Hey, note I have a new e-mail address -
bought my own computer since I don’t have the use of Tony’s
anymore. It’s a cute Apple laptop that Tony the Windows Geek
wouldn’t have a clue how to use! Such a freeing feeling! If you can
break away from all that delicious Napa Valley vino and that
equally delicious Napa Valley Greek-American, please e-mail me
right away. Love - Claire

E-mail to [email protected]:

Hi Claire! “Coffee Claire”? I love it! You
should have your own coffee shop and call it Coffee Claire’s. I’ll
come up for the grand opening.

Napa is glorious! And the winery - wow! I
had no idea that when Nick said his folks had a winery and an olive
orchard he meant it took up half the valley and that his family
lived in an Italian-style villa the size of Wyoming! Nick and I
have our own suite of rooms opening onto a secluded garden with a
fountain. A far cry from my bedraggled ficus tree - but thanks for
taking care of the poor thing anyway while I take care of Nick. The
leg is out of the cast and he’s working hard at physical therapy
three times a week. He says he wants to take me horseback riding by
next month.

Claire, he is also working hard trying to
convince me to stay here on a permanent basis and I have to admit I
am tempted. Don’t you dare think it’s the palatial digs and sunny
climate! (Although that’s pretty great too.) I know Nick and I
haven’t known each other all that long, but I am so comfortable and
happy when we are together. You’ll probably say I’m out of my mind.
Maybe I am. I haven’t been the best judge of men, considering how
my marriage turned out. But every time I think of leaving Nick and
going back to Bellingham alone I get sick to my stomach. If the
nightmare we went through taught me anything it was life’s too
short not to take a few chances. I am so weirdly happy! I’m
painting again. And Nick is writing. That’s a very good sign, don’t
you think? Nick’s mom - who is a sweet, lovely woman - bought me
paints and canvas. She has even forgiven me for not being Greek.
Needless to say I’m painting romantic landscapes with lots of grape
vines and olive trees!