Cooking Up Trouble (9 page)

She had picked an artichoke for each person. She put them on to boil. Instead of salad, she’d serve artichokes with a variation of a
sauce moutarde
, made with Dijon mustard, mayonnaise, a dash of olive oil, lemon juice, parsley, and her own addition, a hint of curry.

This should make everyone happy, she thought. If not, they were welcome to take over the kitchen anytime.

Chelsea was the first to come into the dining room for lunch. Reginald Vane followed and sat beside her. They were soon lost in a conversation about the existence of angels. Moira and Running Spirit were next, followed by Martin and Bethel. Last, Paavo entered the dining room. Angie felt as if her heart would stop when he sat beside Moira.

Patsy didn’t join the others for lunch.

Angie took their requests for the crêpes. Everyone wanted her recipe, not Finley’s. She went into the kitchen, rolled the crêpes, put sauce over them, and placed them under a moderate broiler just long enough for the top of the crêpes to brown lightly—not quite ten minutes.

When she brought the crêpes out to be served, she discovered the group in a heated discussion over Patsy. Apparently, it had required a lot of questioning before Running Spirit admitted that he hadn’t seen her all morning.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “She’ll turn up.”

Angie had stopped in the doorway when she first heard this bickering, but given Jeffers’s assurances, she proceeded to give out the platters of hot crêpes, then stood back to watch the expressions of pleasant surprise and receive words of admiration as the group tasted some good food for once.

Bethel picked up her fork, then put it down again. “Do I have to remind you, Greg Jeffers,” she said, “that Finley is still missing? If Patsy’s gone too, doesn’t that feeble brain of yours tell you we should know it, and we should worry about it?”

“She’s around.” Running Spirit didn’t even try to hide his exasperation. “Patsy never goes far enough away from me to have anything happen to her. She’s sulking somewhere. That’s all.”

“Sulking?” Bethel said. “Whatever would she be doing that for?”

Running Spirit’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you tell me?” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Or maybe Allakaket can do it? In fact, since you’re such a know-it-all bitch, why don’t you clue us all in on where she is?”

“Martin, are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

Martin had taken a bite, but had to quickly swallow it in order to answer. “He’s got a point, you know.”

Bethel turned to Paavo. “Inspector Smith, don’t you think we should be worried about Patsy?”

Paavo glanced at Running Spirit. “If Jeffers really has
no idea where she is, then yes, I think we should go out and look for her immediately.”

“Go out?” Running Spirit stood. “Patsy’s in the house, I tell you. She wouldn’t set foot out in nature alone. There’s no way she’s gone off and gotten herself lost. She’s hiding. She just wants to make trouble.”

“A commendable pastime, I’m sure,” Martin said, raising his glass to Running Spirit.

Moira half stood, leaning over the table, her face absolutely devoid of color. Her body shook as she faced Running Spirit. “Tell me you’re sure she’s hiding somewhere in this house. Tell me she hasn’t disappeared like my brother.”

He grabbed her wrist. “She’s all right.”

“Let’s find her so we can be sure.” Moira turned and glided from the room. Running Spirit leaped from his chair and hurried after her.

Martin and Bethel got up to follow, as did Reginald Vane. Chelsea cut the crêpe in half with her fork, picked it up with her fingers, and crammed it into her mouth before running after the others.

Angie slowly walked toward the table. Paavo still sat there watching her. She noticed that he hadn’t taken a bite of his lunch, either.

Disappearing owners, constant bickering, occult noises, Paavo spending his nights with another woman…

She sat down across from him, looked at the crêpes and artichokes she’d so carefully and proudly prepared, then burst into tears.

“
One of these must be the cliff
Elise Sempler jumped off,” Angie said to Paavo as she peeked over the edge of the cliffs near Hill Haven Inn. Jagged rocks, separated by frothy, swirling ocean waves, dotted the cove at the bottom of a long, sheer drop. She stepped away, struck by the image of Elise hurtling three hundred feet to her death, and directed her gaze outward.

Despite the constant fall of rain, the scene before her was beautiful, perhaps made even more so by the dark swirling grays of the sky, the stark gloom that surrounded them. Tall, rough monoliths of dark brown and tan jutted through the surface of the ocean, taking the full brunt of the incoming waves and shooting sprays of mist high into the sky. Up and down the coast, craggy rock formations tumbled into the Pacific.

Paavo held his hand out to her. She took it, knowing he’d asked her along more as a peace offering than because he needed her assistance in searching for Patsy. He had quietly and gently comforted her after her disappointment at lunch, going around the table to sit by her side and wrap her in his arms. She dampened his shoulder
as he told her she was the only one who seemed to be trying to do anything special at the inn. That if the others didn’t appreciate her, it was only because they were too wrapped up in themselves to appreciate anyone else. He appreciated her.

How could she stay angry with a man who said that?

She hadn’t thought of the others that way, but Paavo’s words made sense. Sometime they needed to have a long talk about this place and the strange things happening here, but not now. Not in this quiet, beautiful setting, where she wanted nothing more than to enjoy his nearness and their truce.

They journeyed southward along the edge of the land, searching as they went for any sign of Patsy. Or Finley. Above the cliffs, redwoods stood like sentries protecting the coast.

“What do you think of the Sempler ghost stories?” Paavo asked after a while.

“I love old ghost stories; most are so romantic and thrilling, not scary at all. But I’ve never been able to believe them, not even when I wanted to,” she replied. “I worry about Chelsea’s fascination with the ghost of Jack Sempler. I guess she’s seen
Ghost
one time too many. Jack Sempler doesn’t exactly have the Patrick Swayze look, though. He’s more
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
type, if you ask me.”

“Meaning?”

“Old and black-and-white.”

“But still a romantic figure?”

“Most definitely.”

“From what I’ve heard about the Semplers, they should be the last people any young woman would romanticize.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Angie glanced his way. “I think a
lot of women are fascinated by mysterious men—the quiet, hard-to-be-sure-about, dangerous sort.”

He looked puzzled. “I don’t understand it.”

She couldn’t stop the grin that played on her lips. “I know.”

They continued in silence, poking under the few bushes and brush on the wind-swept coast, searching the landscape and ground for any footprints, any sign someone had been here recently.

“The brother-sister connection—Jack and Susannah, and now Finley and Moira—is an interesting twist,” Angie said. “Don’t you think?”

He stopped and picked up a coral-pink pebble, rubbed it clean with his fingers, and gave it to her. “It means no more than that families usually live together. Don’t let these people get to you, Angie. It can be dangerous.”

Angie held the pebble, warmed by his touch, tight in her hand a moment, then put it deep into her pocket. “You may be right. But there seems to be something peculiarly sad and lonely about this house and the lives of both the Semplers and the Tays, and now, Patsy Jeffers. Patsy was likening herself to Susannah the other day. I hope she never sees herself as Elise, the outsider who loves, but then is abandoned, and kills herself by jumping off these cliffs.”

“If she did, with these tides we may never find her body.”

Angie watched the tide pound the huge rocks offshore and shivered. “Don’t say that. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

Paavo put his arm around her shoulders. Her arm circled his waist, and they held each other as close as their cumbersome rain slickers would allow as they walked along.

After a while, he said, “I think we should climb down
to the beach to see what we can find or observe from that angle.”

“What beach? All I saw were rocks. Judging from the waterlines, they’re probably underwater when the tide comes in.”

“Come on.”

Continuing along the cliff tops, they came to a spot where the land was less formidable, and where rolling hillsides led down to the water. “Here’s a path,” Paavo said, starting down.

She didn’t relish trying to climb down hillsides on bright, sunny days; in the rain it seemed impossible. “It might not be a cliff, but it still looks plenty steep and much too slippery,” Angie said. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

He glanced down at her shoes. Colorful Nike pump-up sneakers. At least they weren’t her green clogs. “Don’t worry,” he said. “If you get stuck, pump up your shoes and pretend you’re Michael Jordan doing an alley-oop. You’ll spring right up the hill.”

“Michael Jordan doing a what?”

He took her hand. “Let’s go.”

She had to admit Paavo was a good person to hike with. Whenever she started to slip, his grip would tighten and she’d steady herself. He never let her fall once.

When they reached the beach, Paavo climbed out on a jumble of boulders jutting far into the ocean. He stood on the farthest point, staring out at the ocean like some old-time sea captain. Seeing him out there, alone on the slick rocks, made her more than a little nervous. The breeze from the ocean was strong and chilly.

“Be careful!” she called.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “What?”

“I said, be careful. You scare me way out there. She
felt foolish the moment she said it, considering the dangers inherent in his job. But her ever-present fear of losing him was even with her on this beach. It was, she supposed, the ghost she carried.

He was walking back to her, surefooted as he clamored over the rocks.

“I’m sorry,” she began, holding her hands out to his. “I don’t mean to be such a pest about—”

He kissed her. He’d taken her hands, leaned forward and astonished her in midsentence. “Don’t be sorry,” he said.

His words, his actions, told her how new it was for him to have someone worry and call out a simple warning, the kind mothers and wives and families say all the time. But he had had none in his life. She nodded, not trusting her voice just then.

She took his hand, and they continued along the beach.

At the end of the small beach area, they had to climb over some large boulders, then found another small, sandy cove. This series of coves and boulders continued until the shore suddenly became a long, sandy beach.

“This is beautiful!” Angie gasped.

“What a great place,” Paavo said. “A place to lose yourself, to lose all notion of time.”

His words surprised her. Despite her hope that he could come to Hill Haven Inn and do nothing but rest, the strange disappearances, Miss Greer’s death, and, she feared, the peculiar people staying with them, didn’t allow him to relax. The lines of tension and weariness that so often marred his expression because of the constant, often heart-wrenching pressures of his job had eased little.

The first time she met him, his eyes had been hard as
granite, cold as the north Pacific. But later, when he turned them on her with warmth, she’d lost her heart. The more she came to know him, the stronger and deeper the feeling grew. If she had to stay on an isolated beach on a rainy, gloomy day like this with him forever, she’d be happy.

They reached the end of the beach and faced a pile of rocks higher and larger than previous ones, separating this beach area from the next cove.

“Stop,” she said. “Let me catch my breath.”

“You need to exercise more,” he offered.

“Thank you, Richard Simmons. Look how far we’ve come…and how high up those rocks are.”

“They’re too high for you. Wait here. I want to go over one or two more of these rock faces before we turn back.”

She couldn’t imagine the need for that. “Why?”

“We’ve already come this far.”

“True, but Patsy’s a lot more delicate than I am. There’s no way she would have walked this far. Especially alone.”

“I know.”

“So why are you going farther to search for her?”

“Remember, she’s not the only one missing.”

He was right.

“This won’t take long,” he said. “Stay here.”

As she watched Paavo climb quickly over the tall, slick rocks, Angie knew there was no way she could have kept up with him. Hard as it was going up the rocks, she hated to think of how dangerous it would be going down the other side.

So she waited.

And waited.

She walked along the beach, back in the direction
they’d come from. The cliffs loomed high above her, shrouded in fog and mist. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so alone. She was from a big family—four older sisters, a mother and father who were still married after forty-two years, a multitude of aunts, uncles and cousins up to four times removed. Whenever she went to do anything, there were always at minimum ten people there to do it with her. Being alone was a concept quite foreign to her. Looking around the quiet beach—without relatives, neighbors, cars, phones, or shops filled with people surrounding her—rather than seeing the beauty of it, she saw only the vulnerability of her isolation. Times like this, she found the city a much less frightening place than the country.

But then, she knew the city. Here life was alien.

She hadn’t thought much before about how narrow the beach was. She preferred the wide beaches of the Riviera and Tahiti. The ones you could get to by stepping out of your hotel room and walking a few feet. Those were proper beaches. She moved closer to the cliffs. Not these skinny, narrow…

She saw water in a crevice of the cliff about three feet up from the beach. Her mouth went dry. Surely it was rainwater. Wasn’t it? She watched a tall wave breaking on a boulder not far from shore. The spray shot high into the air, and when the wave hit the shore it flowed a lot closer to Angie than the last one had.

Oh, God, she thought. Was this low tide or high tide? She might not know much about nature, but she knew that when the tide came in, some of these coves were underwater. Well underwater. So if it was now low tide, how high would the water reach once it came in?

She looked at the water in the crevice. Did she want to stick around here to find out?

Paavo had told her to stay put because he thought it would be too dangerous for her to climb over the rock face with him. Compared to a tide coming in and drowning her, not to mention sweeping her off her feet and dragging her into the undertow or smashing her up against the rocks before it drowned her, that rock face didn’t look very dangerous at all.

She ran back to the rocks Paavo had climbed over, shouting his name the whole time. She got no answer.

She climbed up onto the rocks a little way, but soon the rock became so slick and smooth she couldn’t go any higher.

She watched another wave hit the shore. How fast did the tide come in, anyway? She remembered something about six hours, but was that one way or round trip?

Why hadn’t she paid more attention to these things about life? What had she wasted her time on instead?

She noticed that closer to the cliffs the rock ledge was higher, but also a lot more jagged. She could probably find a better toehold there. Once at the top, she might even be able to see Paavo. How far could he have gone?

She glanced over her shoulder, then down. Then up. The silence was eerie.

She worked herself sideways, able to climb a bit higher on the rocks before, once again, the boulder turned smooth and steep. She clung to the rock, halfway up and halfway down.

Maybe if she turned around and sat on the rocks she could sort of scoot upward? She tried it, feeling like a klutz; but at least she was making progress. All of a sudden, the ground beneath her bottom began to slide. Wet earth, sand, and small rocks turned into an oozing mud that whooshed her along right to a ledge near the foot of the cliff.

There she sat, her heart still up on the rock face while she thanked God that she was alive and, from all she could tell, hadn’t even bloodied herself.

Looking up, she realized she’d slid only about six or seven feet. No wonder nothing was broken. It had only felt like a plunge off the Empire State Building.

She crawled forward. She was on a kind of ledge, like a horizontal tuck in the hillside. The beach was still a few feet below her—straight down. She looked upward. The top of the cliff was so high, she could scarcely see it.

Well, she couldn’t sit here forever. She had to go up and over the rocks Paavo had climbed, or back down to the beach. Since down meant the tide, one way or another she had to go up.

To stand up, she put her hand down a little behind her to brace herself. But the loose, wet sand crumbled beneath her fingers and slid away. She moved her hand back a bit more and tried again, but this time the ground felt smooth, and soft, and mushy. Yanking her hand away, she turned and looked at what she’d touched.

A creeping horror filled her for a long moment before she turned and scrambled up the rock face, screaming Paavo’s name and climbing so fast she didn’t have time to worry about falling or how steep the rocks were or anything else but how to get far, far away from the rotting mass that Finley Tay’s face had become.