An audience had gathered on the pier to watch the action. Had Jennifer been part of the crowd? Or, worse, had Jennifer been dating him secretly?
The only person I could ask was Whitney, but would she tell me? Of course not. I supposed I could ask Tommy to ask her, or even Eric, but would the chief yell at me again for running my own little side investigation?
I was hoping we might be past all that, but he seemed to be a stickler for keeping nosy people away from police business. But, really, how could he blame me for trying to figure out who had bopped me over the head?
Turning back to my step-by-step process, I wrote down that according to the coroner’s report, Jerry was killed sometime Friday night, the night after our date. I didn’t find his body until late Sunday afternoon at the Boyers’ house.
Stan Boyer’s neighbor Daphne had been walking her dog by their house, and when the dog began to bark she went to investigate and heard water running. She had called Stan to let him know. And then she left for Europe.
The following day, Monday, was when Wendell Jarvick arrived in town. I tangled with him almost instantly, first over whether I would carry his suitcases upstairs and then, a while later, I told him to move his car out of my driveway and he refused. My two neighbors had overheard my argument, but was there someone else in the vicinity who heard it, too?
Around that time, my closest friends and I decided to find out what had really happened, mainly to draw suspicion away from me. They began to talk to people around town, asking questions, gathering information. Did one of them spark someone’s indignation? Did someone object to my friends asking too many questions?
The next night, I was in the pub with Jane and Emily and saw Wendell attack Whitney with the ketchup. Joyce and Stan had been there that night, too, and Penny and her friends. Eric and Tommy were there, and Jennifer, as well. She might’ve gone after Wendell in retribution for humiliating her best friend.
The following Sunday, my truck battery died. I had never considered it a part of the bigger picture, but now I had to wonder if the dead battery was another “coincidence” connected to my other so-called accidents.
That same afternoon, I’d had a late lunch by myself at the Cozy Cove Diner and witnessed Wendell treating Cindy the waitress very badly. I could still hear that coffee mug shattering against the wall and wondered how traumatized Cindy was. She might have been angry enough to kill Wendell in that moment. But, then, what did she have against Jerry? Or me?
I almost crossed Cindy’s name off my list. I felt ridiculous for suspecting her and had no doubt that she was completely innocent in all of this.
I tried to remember who else was eating in the diner that afternoon when Wendell pulled his juvenile stunt. I visualized the booths; saw Penny and her bank friends in one, Stan and Joyce Boyer huddled together at another against the back wall.
There were plenty of other townspeople dining there, too, because of the Sunday prime-rib special. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Wendell had had run-ins with every single one of those people. I wished I could recall who else was sitting at the front counter, but all I had seen were their backs.
And that was the same afternoon I had met Luisa Capello and her brother Buddy, practically right outside the diner. Maybe they’d had a run-in with Wendell earlier, but that was admittedly a long shot.
The following day, on my bicycle ride out to the lighthouse, my brakes had stopped working and I’d crashed into a field. That’s when I met Mac Sullivan fortuitously.
If my bicycle brakes had been tampered with, would it automatically have been done by the same person who killed Jerry? When would he have done it? And how would he have known I would be forced to ride my bike for the next few days?
Had he screwed around with my truck battery? Or had he merely seen me riding around town on Sunday? Maybe he had seen my truck being towed to the auto shop. It was either one of those possibilities—or it was all one big coincidence.
The next night, I picked up my truck and parked it in my driveway. The following morning, Wendell was found dead in his car. Two days after that, the bench-press rack broke—or was tampered with—and I was almost strangled by the heavy barbell. If the gym incident was deliberate and connected with the other attacks, then Penny and Jennifer were the ones to watch. Whitney had been there, too, but had left early. Or so Jennifer claimed. Had another suspect been at the gym that evening? Someone I hadn’t noticed? Stan or Joyce? What about Luisa? Or her brothers, Buddy and Marco?
Three days after the gym accident, I was bashed over the head with my own hammer, less than two hours after a nasty run-in with Jennifer and Whitney.
And that was it.
No wonder I was exhausted. And dizzy. I stared at my list of occurrences and couldn’t quite believe I had been through all that grief and trauma in just a few short weeks. I wasn’t the only one, of course. Two people were dead and the entire population of Lighthouse Cove was awash in fear and suspicion and guilt.
I stared at my notes and tried to see a pattern somewhere. Sadly, though, my brain had turned to mush. I couldn’t begin to make any connections to anything with my head spinning and my vision fogging up. I would have to think about it later. For now, I popped two headache pills, grabbed the soft throw, and pulled it over me and tucked myself into the couch for a nap.
• • •
I woke up to eat a little dinner and then went back to bed and slept for twelve hours straight. When I arose the next morning, I felt better than I had in days.
The first thing I noticed when I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror was that my eyesight was no longer as impaired as it had been. My face wasn’t as blurry. I was so happy I almost cried, except I knew the tears would screw up my vision, so I stopped myself.
A part of me was sorry my vision was so good again, because now I could see that I looked like crap. My hair was a tangled mess because I’d done nothing but sleep and avoid showers for the past three days. I had been warned not to get the bandage wet, so while I’d soaked in the bathtub yesterday morning, I hadn’t been able to wash my hair. I now looked like a red-haired, washed-out zombie.
I went downstairs to grab some coffee and call my doctor. I needed to remove the damn bandage and finally wash my yucky hair.
“You’re looking a little more lively today,” Dad said when I walked into the kitchen. He was eating cereal and reading the
Lighthouse Standard
, our local newspaper. Dad always said it gave him all the news he needed.
“I feel pretty lively, except for this hair.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know. I’d say it’s looking pretty lively, too.”
“But not in a good way, right?” I chuckled as I poured the coffee and glanced around. “Did Lizzie take off?”
“She’s got something with the kids this morning. She said she’d be back later this afternoon.”
“Okay, although I really don’t think she needs to stay with me. I’m feeling so much better.”
“Glad to hear it.” He flipped a page of the newspaper. “Your new tenant came by to see how you were doing.”
“You met Mac?”
“Yeah. Nice guy.” He flipped through the newspaper to find the sports section.
“Dad, didn’t you recognize him?” I sat down at the table. “That’s MacKintyre Sullivan.”
“Who?” He gave me a puzzled look; then his eyes went wide. “Wait. You kidding me? That’s the Jake Slater guy?”
I grinned. “The very same.”
“What in hell is he doing here?”
“He bought the old lighthouse mansion and he’s going to have it restored. While that’s going on, he’s renting the apartment upstairs.”
“Whoa,” he whispered.
I grinned. “I know.”
“MacKintyre Sullivan,” he whispered reverently, and shook his head. “I love that guy.” He tried to go back to reading an article on the World Series, but he was too distracted. He finally gave up, folded the newspaper, and stuck it in the recycle bin. Setting his cereal bowl in the sink, he headed for the back door. “I gotta go call Pete. This is the biggest news in years.”
I shook my head as I watched him jog down the kitchen stairs. Great. Two grisly murders, one deadly assault on his own daughter, not to mention any number of other weird accidents lately. But Jake Slater was the biggest news in years. What else could I do but laugh?
• • •
Two nights later, Lizzie picked up a pizza before coming over to spend the night.
“Hooray for pizza,” I said, reaching for my first piece. “I’m feeling so much better. I didn’t want to tell anyone how dizzy I was for a while, but that’s all cleared up.”
“I’m really glad.” She poured herself a glass of wine and handed me a small bottle of apple juice. Wine was still forbidden, and that was getting old, too.
“Of course, we still have no idea who did it.”
“And it’s driving everyone in town crazy,” she said as she sat down and placed a slice of pizza on her plate. “This kind of stuff has never happened here.”
“I know. I’m as mystified as anyone.”
Lizzie swallowed a small bite of pizza. “But now everybody goes around eyeing strangers and friends alike. Nobody trusts anyone. That’s the worst part.”
“I hate hearing that.”
“Luisa Capello was taken in for questioning,” she said.
“What? No way. Really?”
“She was dating Jerry Saxton. Did you know that?”
“Yeah. I heard.” I’d included Luisa’s name on my personal suspect list right after Jerry Saxton was found. But how could she have had anything to do with Wendell’s death? Or my attack? Unless the police knew something I didn’t know.
I suppose that’s possible,
I thought, and chuckled at myself.
“Things have really gone squirrelly, as Taz would say.” Lizzie grabbed her wineglass and took a healthy sip. “And what must be going through Mac’s mind? He just moved here. He must think we’re a town full of bloodthirsty pirates.”
“I wouldn’t know what he’s thinking because he’s been holed up in his room writing all week.” I was beginning to feel some pressure behind my eyes and grabbed two headache pills to ward off the pain. “Let’s talk about something pleasant. How’s the store doing?”
“Business is booming. It’s probably because I’m your friend. Everyone comes in to talk—well, gossip, really—about you, of course. And then they feel so guilty for trying to suck information out of me that they end up buying something. And I’m perfectly happy to guilt them into it.”
I laughed. “Good to know I’m helping to drive commerce.”
“You are, believe me.” She put her wineglass down and fiddled with her rings, so I knew she was nervous about something.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Well, don’t get bent out of shape, but I’ve met a really nice man. He’s in sales. He came into the store the other day and we hit it off.”
“What does Hal have to say about this?”
“Very funny,” she said, brushing off my question. “Look, since I haven’t seen you going out with either Mac or with Eric, I figured nothing was happening there, so I thought I would ask you if you wanted to meet Frank.”
Was my jaw on the floor? I couldn’t believe it. “You’re joking, right? You’re honestly asking me to go on another blind date?”
“No,” she said bluntly. “Look, I want you to be happy and settled. You live a good life and you’re a wonderful friend, but I don’t think you’ve been really happy for a long time. And I haven’t noticed Mac making any moves in your direction. And as far as Eric is concerned, well, does he still think you’re guilty of something? Because he’s not coming around, either. So I say it’s time to look elsewhere.”
“Like with
Jerry
?”
Lizzie winced. “Okay, granted, Jerry was a mistake. This guy Frank, though, is a gem. I really think the two of you could hit it off together.”
Rather than blow a fuse, I actually smiled at Lizzie’s latest attempt to set me up.
It made me realize that I hadn’t told any of my friends about Mac kissing me or about Eric’s sweet words of determination in the hospital. I knew why I’d kept mum. I just wanted to keep a few little secrets close to my heart for as long as possible, because I knew that as soon as I mentioned them to anyone, they would cease to be mine and become breaking news on the Lighthouse Cove gossip wire.
And though I wanted to keep a few things to myself, I had to convince Lizzie to quit the matchmaking already. I tried for a gentle smile. “Thank you for thinking of me, but no. I’m sure Frank is a nice guy, but I refuse any more setups.”
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”
“Jerry ended up dead, remember?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t
your
fault.”
“Thanks for that,” I said, and patted her hand. “But seriously, Lizzie, let it go, okay?”
“Fine. I’m officially retiring as your date Yoda.”
“Thank you, O wise one.” I gave her half a bow.
“Very funny,” Lizzie muttered, and sank back into the couch. Then she perked right up. “You could always try dating a woman for a nice change of pace.”
I gawped at this person I’d known since I was in first grade. I had shared countless secrets with her over the years because she had been my babysitter and an older woman by five years. She had life experience. Naturally I had looked up to her. But somehow, just recently when I wasn’t looking, she had gone bat-crazy insane.
“Are you high?” I asked.
“Of course not,” Lizzie said, and leaned forward across the table. “Shannon, men haven’t been working out for you, so . . .”
“Lizzie, listen carefully.” I grabbed both of her hands. “I like guys. Men. And when I’m ready, I’ll get one on my own, okay?”
“Fine.”
“I know a bunch of nice men.” I grabbed another slice of pizza and took a big bite. “I just meant I never want to go on a blind date again. So the next time you get a bug up your butt to set me up on a date with anyone—I mean,
anyone
—I want you to remember these two words:
Jerry Saxton
.”
“I will,” she said, sighing. “But I can’t help wishing those two words were
Mac Sullivan
.”