Family Skeletons (21 page)

“That might make Bev more honest than some,”
Jonathan observed. Then he added, as if in afterthought, “And it might not. It
certainly doesn’t make her less complex than anyone else.”

Ryan nodded, his attention on the people in the
yard, but casually so. If anyone looked this way, Sunny realized that they most
likely wouldn’t realize they were being scrutinized.

“And Tom,” Ryan mused. “He’s a good man, but sometimes
I get the impression he’s trying too hard. Part of his persona is a facade. I
just don’t know how much. And I wonder if Mavis knows that next to Roberta, she
looks like a maid in waiting.” He paused, then added, “She might know it and
just rolls with it. There could be a downside to that...but I don’t see it.”

Sunny continued to study the three women. Similar in
stature, yes, but Roberta carried a regal air that would always outshine
others. No wonder she’d caught Franklin’s eye.

Ryan raised one leg to rest the ankle across the
other knee and glanced sideways at Sunny. “And what’s wrong with your friend
Matthew?”

“You saw it, too?” she asked, and from the corner of
her eye she caught Jonathan’s nod, which signaled he’d also noted the young
boy’s sullen manner.

“Something’s bothering him,” Ryan said. “Got any
idea what?”

“He obviously doesn’t want to be here,” Jonathan
said.

“Uh-huh,” Ryan agreed. “But why? My gut tells me
there’s more to his mood than just reluctance.”

Sunny stood. “Do me a favor? Looks like Bev’s on her
way out. Waylay Matthew for a minute or two, and maybe you can even answer your
own question. I want to talk to Bev.”

Playing the role of hostess bidding a casual goodbye
to her guest, Sunny walked Bev out to the pickup. “Thanks for coming. And for
the casserole.”

And that was the end of small talk. There was only
one way to get information, Sunny figured: ask for it.

“I want to talk to you, Bev. Please don’t be
offended or clam up on me.”

Although Bev frowned, and appeared apprehensive,
after a short moment she shrugged in acquiescence. “Okay, shoot.”

“I got the impression the other day that you knew
more than you were telling me. Was it about Franklin, and...and anyone around
here?”

“Oh, shit,” Bev said softly. She looked at the pickup,
beyond it to the eucalyptus grove, and then her gaze returned to Sunny. “Okay.
I already talked to Tim Joyce. If you’re asking, you might as well know.” She
laughed wryly. “You may know anyway, and that’s why you’re asking.”

Then with a sigh, she nodded. “Yes. I saw Franklin
one more time after he came into the store that day. He was having dinner at
Sal’s that night with Mavis. But the meeting didn’t look like it’d been
planned,” she added quickly. “She was almost through eating, and he came in and
sat down at her table. Whether invited or uninvited, I wouldn’t know.”

Still appearing edgy, she glanced away at the
expanse of ocean. “That in itself is nothing, of course. But that was at a time
when Mavis and Tom were separated, or close to it, and that’s why it caught my
attention. His parents were having problems, health wise and even marital, I
believe, and it was tearing him apart. He spent as much time out of town as he
did at home with his wife.”

Bev grew quiet, but Sunny sensed there was more. She
waited. Bev didn’t seem to know what she wanted to look at; her gaze darted
from place to place until it once more settled on her hostess.

“It bothered me,” Bev confided. “I’d hoped Mavis was
smart enough not to get involved with Franklin. She had a good marriage, Tom
was—is—a good guy, and then her friendship with your mother, but...whoever
knows? Sometimes we go with the moment. You know what I mean?”

Sunny didn’t doubt that the meeting between Mavis
and Franklin had been accidental, but if Bev had sensed something beneath the
surface that evening, anyone else in the restaurant could’ve also seen it. Tom
might have heard about his wife’s transgression before she’d told him.

Bev’s attention moved beyond Sunny. “There you are,
Matthew.” She seemed relieved. “Are you about ready?”

He hesitated, gaze traveling uncomfortably between
the two women, as if he suspected they’d been talking about him. Then he walked
around the pickup to the passenger’s side. He stopped and looked at Sunny over
the empty bed of the truck. “Uh, thanks, Sunny, for, uh...” He broke off, as if
not sure what to thank her for.

She nodded and smiled, easing him out of the need
for words. He looked grateful for that, but still somewhat wooden. She watched
them drive off. As the pickup gained distance, Sunny’s thoughts were no longer
of Bev, but of her son instead.

Where did that hurt and whipped look
come from, Matthew? What’s going on with you?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jonathan and Ryan had joined the deputy sheriffs by
the time Sunny returned to the backyard. The men sat in chairs in the shade of
a eucalyptus tree, and Roberta and Mavis remained at the table under the
umbrella.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Sunny put her hands on her
hips. “I refuse to allow this to turn into boys over there and girls over here.
This is coeducational. Now one of you two groups, pick up your chairs and go
mingle.”

Everybody looked at her, but nobody moved.

“She may know how to make muffins, but she’s also a
bit on the bossy side,” Tim Joyce observed.

Ryan thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Uh, Sunny, if
you’re thinking that we should pick up our chairs and do the moving, isn’t that
being just a little bit sexist?”

“You want me to help you out of that chair, Ryan?”

He gave her a slow grin. “No, thanks.” He put his
hands beneath his head and crossed his ankles as he reclined in the lounger.
“I’m quite comfortable right where I am.”

Roberta picked up her chair, took it to the tree,
and plunked it down. “Daughters,” she said, clearly irritated with hers. “I was
perfectly comfortable where I was.”

Mavis followed suit. “Move, Tom. You’re hogging the
shade.”

Sunny was without a chair, didn’t want to sit on the
ground in her skirt, and wasn’t inclined to traipse back to the porch to
retrieve the one she’d left there. Ryan, quite possibly reading her mind,
watched her with smug amusement that she ignored. Jonathan started to pat his
knee, signaling that she should sit in his lap, then abruptly aborted the
motion as if becoming aware of their audience. He started to rise instead, but
Sunny shook her head. She wasn’t going to let anyone, including him, surrender
a chair to her. No way would she give Ryan the satisfaction.

Ryan had one lounger, and Timothy Joyce had the
other. At the moment, she preferred the police officer to the psychologist, so
she motioned for the deputy to move his legs to make room for her. He did, and
after a brief hesitation, Jonathan settled back into his lawn chair.

Sunny sat modestly and uncomfortably at the end of
the lounger with her back straight, knees together, and both feet on the
ground. There was so much freedom in pants, and so little in a skirt. She
folded her hands in her lap and inclined her head toward the man she shared the
chair with.

“So, Joyce, how’s it going? Have you located anyone?
Like Louise Bowers or Howard Wilkes, maybe?”

He gave her a long look. “You don’t mind putting a
man on the spot, do you? May I remind you that this is an ongoing
investigation?”

“I certainly hope it is. A simple yes or no will
suffice. And while we’re on the subject, have you come across any other
interesting possibilities?”

Contrary to his speech, his expression held no real
reticence. He even had a slight smile.

“Ignore her if you want to,” Tom told him.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Ryan said mildly.

Sunny was aware of Jonathan’s gaze on her. But he
seemed more interested in how she was conducting herself than in the
conversation, and she realized they’d shared few social situations. Out of
necessity, her present pose was prim and proper, but she, the person, wasn’t.

What you see is what you get, Jonathan.
Reserved, I’m not.

Her eyes nailed the long-legged cop. “I’m not asking
for state secrets, Deputy Joyce, just if you’ve located anyone?”

“Yes.”

Sunny waited for elaboration, which wasn’t
forthcoming. “Which one?” she prompted.

“Louise.”

She waited again, then prompted again, “And Howard?”

“Haven’t pinned him down yet.”

Carefully, she crossed her legs and clasped her
hands around the uppermost knee. “And what did Louise have to say?”

“About what?” he drawled.

Ryan burst out laughing. Sunny didn’t. She gave
Joyce a long, silent, unkind look.

“Come on, Tim,” Mavis coaxed. “You’re not
jeopardizing anything by talking about it. Your investigation consists of
hearsay. You might pick up something from us, too, if you keep the lines of
communication open.”

Joyce nodded at her, then directed his attention
back to Sunny. He had a very disarming smile. “Sorry, Sunny. Something about
you brings out the worst in me.”

She was aware that something in Jonathan’s manner suddenly
changed. He was sitting just a little straighter than he had been. Sunny
glanced at him, careful to keep her expression casual.

Yeah, I thought he was flirting, too
.

As her gaze moved from him, she caught her mother’s
eye, and Roberta gave her a minuscule smile.

You caught it, too, huh.

Joyce’s long legs must have made it difficult for
him to be comfortable in the position he was in, half reclining with both feet
on the ground on one side, because he sat up and rearranged himself next to her
and then stretched his legs out. He was also long-waisted, so he towered over
her whether they were sitting down or standing up.

“Louise remarried two years ago and now lives in
Arizona.” His tone was conversational, his manner casual, and it appeared that
he was talking to the trunk of the eucalyptus tree. “Seven years ago she was
living and working in San Francisco. She’s not off the hook. She had motive.
She had opportunity. Langley doesn’t know where he was or what he was doing. He
was experiencing blackouts around that time. This is vouched for by his boys,
neighbors, and employer. He managed to hang on to his job by joining a
substance abuse program his company had for employees.”

Sunny wondered if he still had the same job. He’d
either relapsed, or trained himself to indulge in binges when he thought it was
safe. Talk about living on the edge.

“No alibi and plenty of motive and opportunity,”
Joyce continued. “He’s not off the hook either. Because of the blackouts, he
looks good for doing in Franklin in a rage that he can’t remember. But the fact
that that possibility is so convenient bothers me.”

He paused, still staring at the tree in a thinking
attitude. Then he went on. “Howard returned to Oregon, where he’d come from,
and he’s worked for a couple different logging firms up there. He’s hopped
around a bit more than anyone else has, but we’ll run across him in time.”

He turned his head to give Sunny a dazzling,
sideways smile. “Anything else, Ms. Corday?”

“Yes. How about Reno?”

“Zilch. Nothing whatsoever promising about anyone or
anything in Reno.”

“It’s local,” Tom said under his breath.

Joyce looked at him and nodded once.

“I’ve got a question,” Jonathan said. “I want to
know whose prints are on that bloody bat we found.”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Tim Joyce said. He
looked pointedly at the two women sitting opposite him. “And the best way to do
that is to first figure out whose prints aren’t on it. At the moment it’s still
a voluntary action on your part, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I know, I know,” Roberta said. She gave Tom an
apologetic frown. “I promised, and I will do it. I just haven’t gotten around
to it.”

“So will Mavis,” Tom said, and she nodded. She
didn’t appear uneasy at the prospect.

“That will be a help,” Joyce said. “Another
question, the money question, is who it was that the bat walloped. But we can
only take one step at a time.”

Tim Joyce left at dusk, and Mavis and Tom quickly
followed. Sunny said goodnight from her seat in the backyard, allowing whoever
was inclined to play host and hostess to do so.

Within a few minutes, Jonathan returned by himself.
The kitchen light flicked on and she heard Ryan and Roberta clearing up.
Ignoring the empty chairs, Jonathan motioned for her to move her legs to make
room for him on the lounger she’d confiscated from Joyce. She turned onto her
side and bent her knees, and he sat at the end. Somewhere along the way he’d
lost his suit coat and tie. The two top buttons on his shirt were unfastened
and his cuffs were rolled up to his forearms. Nothing persnickety about him
today. He looked at ease, comfortable, and sexy.

But she didn’t feel sexy. She felt her brow wrinkle.
How come?

“It would never work,” he said, staring toward the
ocean. It was dark enough that it couldn’t be seen, but it was always heard.

She thought that over, then had to ask, “What won’t
work?”

“You and Joyce. He’s too tall for you. You look like
Mutt and Jeff.”

She smiled. “Yeah?”

He smiled back. “Yeah.”

He reached for her feet. She’d kicked her shoes off
once she’d gotten the lounge to herself, and he grasped both her ankles and
pulled until she was forced to change position. She ended up on her back,
supporting herself on her elbows, and he captured both her feet in his lap.

“I warn you,” she said. “If you start tickling,
you’ve made an enemy.”

Instead of tickling, he massaged. It felt good, but
it seemed that her bones were too rigid to allow her to relax. After a moment
she lay back and stared at the stars, wishing she could just give in to what
could be a very sensuous massage.

You’re not making sense, Sunny. You were
so mellow earlier that you were ready to melt, and now that you’ve got him to
yourself, you’re so uptight you can’t even enjoy his touch.

And he must have sensed it. He’d admired her legs
and appreciated her stockings, but there was nothing sexual—overtly sexual—in
his touch. He finished one foot and started on the other. “I don’t have to ask
what’s wrong. I can’t think of a more stress-filled topic of conversation than
who killed your father.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced sideways at her.

“Did you get anywhere with Matthew?” she asked.

He shook his head. “He was too uptight, almost
defiant, and neither Ryan nor I wanted to push.” He waited a beat, still
watching her, then asked, “Is there one thing that’s bothering you more than another?”

Her sigh was deep. “That question’s a little late. I
already got off of worst-case scenario and was on to wishful thinking. For
instance, wouldn’t it be convenient if someone showed up and swore they saw
Langley Bowers push Franklin off the cliff? Or if Louise arrived tomorrow and
said she’d killed Franklin and couldn’t stand keeping it to herself any longer?
Or maybe when Howard Wilkes is found, he’ll confess and surrender with his
hands up? But none of those things is going to happen.”

“Okay,” he said mildly, gaze returning to her feet
in his lap as his hands continued to rub them. “Then what is going to happen?”

With her eyes on the stars she drew in a breath,
blew it out slowly, then refrained from drawing in more air for several
seconds. That simple activity sometimes worked wonders in settling nerves.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she said
softly. “But I can’t rid myself of the thought that my father’s killer was
sitting in the backyard with us today.”

His hands stilled. He didn’t look at her. “Who?”

Muscles in the back of each leg stretched and
tightened as she leaned forward. She rested her hands on her knees. “Think
about it, Jonathan.” Though she hadn’t raised her voice, she heard the
agitation in her tone. “All that motive and opportunity that was sitting out
here with us today. Every time I turn around I’m reminded of Mavis’s
assignation with Franklin. It happened the last time he was up here. It’s like
it was a catalyst. And Tom...”

Exhaling heavily, she lay back. “And Tom is an investigating
officer. I don’t care that he says he was relieved. He’s still on it.
Unorthodox doesn’t even begin to describe this situation. Ludicrous is more
like it. And, while we’re on the subject, who checked his prints against those
on the bat?”

“I think you’re underestimating Tim Joyce.” In
contrast to hers, Jonathan’s voice was mild. His hands resumed their massage.
“He’s not a fool. He’s got his eyes and ears open. And a trained expert checks
prints, not the investigating officer.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But that’s not the worst part
anyway. The worst part...”

When she didn’t finish, he looked her way and
prompted, “What?”

Go ahead, Sunny, you’ve gone this far.
“If it wasn’t a
convenient outsider, and if it wasn’t an inconvenient insider, then it’s my mother.”

He said nothing.

“It’s not even farfetched, Jonathan.” She heard the
anguish, and uncertainty, and pain and pleading in her voice. “I hate it, but
it fits. It fits so well.”

“Okay.” His tone was matter-of-fact. Soothing and
calming. “How does it fit?”

She kept her gaze on the sky, on the stars just
beginning to appear. “That was when I was being released from rehab.” Her tone
was flat and unchanging, no inflection on words or facts. “She was aware of my
pain and anger, and how I couldn’t stop punishing myself because my father had
tried to disown me. She also had her own pain and anger to deal with. Her
emotions would’ve been high right about then. She knew he was up here, and she
might’ve wanted to talk to him, maybe ask him for financial help—that place I
was in cost a mint—and one thing led to another, and...”