Sketcher in the Rye: (16 page)

“Worse,” she said, trying to affix a smile to her lips, but failing. “I thought there was a spider dangling from the ceiling, but it was just a dust web.” Aaron didn't seem convinced. He was studying her, his eyebrows cinched tightly over his eyes.

“Hey,” she said, trying to recapture their lighthearted mood, “who knew baking could be so hilarious?” Great—that sounded perkier than a cheerleader at halftime. She needed to tone it down, find some middle ground before Aaron thought she suffered from multiple-personality disorder. She took a slow, measured breath. “I really don't remember when I've had this much fun,” she said sincerely. Much better. She tried the smile again and this time it stuck.

“Same here,” Aaron said. “But I think we owe Hobo the snowman an apology and probably a bath.” The dog was trying to lick the flour off himself without much success, since the majority of it was on his head.

“I'll clean him up after I clean up here and we have our pie and coffee. I'm pretty sure a slice of pie will buy back his love.”

“Tell you what—you take care of the dishes; I'll tackle the floor,” Aaron said, bending over to retrieve the empty container. While he was in that vulnerable position, the marshal swung the refrigerator door open with enough force to knock him off his feet. Aaron went down with a grunt of surprise, arms and legs splayed. Shooting Zeke a venomous look, Rory stooped to help Aaron to his feet. But once she had a good look at him, she succumbed to a fit of giggles, in spite of herself. The entire front of his body was covered in white. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said brushing off the flour. “It's just a pity I'm not auditioning for Casper the Friendly Ghost; I'd be a shoo-in. What the heck happened anyway?” He turned to look behind himself. At least Zeke had had the good sense to disappear.

Rory threw the refrigerator door closed. “If it's not shut tightly enough the door swings open. Something to do with the way it's balanced. My dad told me I had to get an appliance guy over to fix it.”

Aaron shook his head. “No offense, but that door didn't just fall open. It felt like someone was giving it a good heave-ho on purpose. Are you sure you don't have any poltergeists in this house?”

“You believe in ghosts?” she asked with a smidge of ridicule in her voice.

He shrugged. “I never gave the subject much thought before. When you're raised by physicians, the supernatural doesn't often come up in dinner conversation. But I guess I never completely discarded the possibility of things that go bump in the night. “

“So you think I have a ghost, huh?” she asked, one eyebrow arched skeptically. She really hated teasing him like this. How often did you find a nice guy with a great sense of humor, a good head on his shoulders and an open mind? If she went by the crop of men Helene had sent her way, the answer was almost never. But she couldn't afford to have Aaron sniffing around for more evidence of the paranormal. Oh, the marshal had a lot to answer for.

By the time the pie was ready to be sampled, the kitchen had been put back to rights and the coffee poured. Rory watched Aaron's face as he slipped the first forkful into his mouth. Words of praise were easy enough to fake, but initial reactions were a lot harder to disguise. His eyes closed for a moment and he sighed deeply. “Wow—I haven't had pumpkin pie this good since my grandmother used to make it.” When he finished his slice and asked for seconds, Rory was convinced the recipe was a winner.

“Thanks for an interesting afternoon and some amazing pie,” Aaron said as she walked him to the door. “Now I'm really looking forward to Thanksgiving.”

“I guess my pie was quite a hit then.”

“Not just the pie,” he said, bending his head to kiss her. “Now I'm off to auditions, before I'm cut for being late.”

Rory was a little flustered. It hadn't been a long and passionate kiss, yet it had flashed across every synapse in her body. “Break a leg,” she called, as he crossed the porch to the steps. “Or is that just for a full performance?”

He looked back and smiled. “I don't actually know, but I can use all the good luck I can get.” His head was still turned to her when he reached the top step.

Chapter 19

If Rory hadn't yelled “watch out” at the last second, Aaron might literally have broken a leg among other things. But he'd managed to turn around in time to navigate the stairs without mishap and drive away still in one piece. Relieved, Rory closed the door and was on her way back to the kitchen when she nearly walked straight into Zeke.

“You should be ashamed to show your face,” she said, retreating a few steps. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“It was just some harmless fun,” he replied, not sounding the least apologetic. “There's no reason to get so danged uppity about it.”

“So your idea of having fun is to give me a heart attack?”

“Did it?” he asked.

“Did it what?”

“Give you a heart attack?”

“That isn't the point,” she said indignantly

“You just claimed it
was
the point. Which is it, darlin'?”

If Rory had had anything in her hand at that moment she would have thrown it at him. Although he was managing not to smile, there was a definite twinkle in his eyes that told her he was thoroughly enjoying the repartee. She took a moment to regroup and come at the issue from another angle. “Showing up when Aaron was here was totally irresponsible. Why would you take a chance like that?”

“You two seemed to be having so much fun, I wanted to join in, is all.”

“Yes, we were having a good time, but knocking Aaron down like that was neither fun nor funny. He could have been hurt.”

“But he wasn't,” Zeke said with a long-suffering sigh. “In fact, you laughed.”

“Only after I knew he was okay. Wait a second.” Rory frowned as a new possibility struck her. “Were you
trying
to hurt him?”

“Of course not. Why in tarnation would you say a thing like that?”

“Let's see—the first time I went out with him you slashed his tires, literally and figuratively cutting our date short. And today you knocked him down with enough force to fell a redwood. Maybe you need to examine your motives.”

“Don't you worry about my motives,” he shot back, no longer so cavalier. “They're just fine, thank you. Now can we put this nonsense to rest and talk about the investigation?”

Rory hadn't received an apology, but at least the marshal was no longer interested in fencing with her. That unruffled her feathers to some extent. Too bad she couldn't shake off the rest of her irritation the way Hobo had shaken off the flour. Come to think of it, he still had a heap of the stuff matted in the fur on his head. “Give me five minutes to shampoo the dog,” she said, “and I'll bring you up to speed.”

Five minutes later, as promised, a wet-headed Hobo bolted out of the bathroom and made a beeline for whatever part of the house was farthest from Rory or a water source. Zeke watched the action from the hallway, where he'd been waiting. When Rory exited the bathroom, he let out a whoop of laugher. “Looks like you got the worst of the deal,” he said merrily. She was dripping wet from head to toe, her feet squishing in her shoes as she walked past him to the bedroom.

“Not another word,” she warned him, “or we're done for the rest of the day.” After she'd changed into dry clothes and done some deep breathing to restore her equilibrium, she found the marshal in the study. He was sitting in the big upholstered chair she'd named the reading chair in the days when she was a child visiting her uncle. Zeke looked up at her with a wary smile, lips still sealed.

“Okay,” she relented. “I guess it was kind of funny.”

“Funny? It was better than any of those sitcom things you watch on TV. First the mutt came flyin' out of there like he had a posse hot on his tail and then . . . and then you came out a whole lot wetter.” Zeke did a good imitation of slapping his knee with delight.

“I'm glad I'm so entertaining,” she said evenly. “Would you like that update now?”

“Yes, ma'am. I surely would,” he said, trading the grin for a down-to-business face. He listened as Rory gave him a detailed recap of her talk with Ellen Harper. “So Luke's the only family member we haven't interviewed yet,” he said when she was finished.

“Right, and I happened to bump into him briefly the other day. Based on the few words we exchanged, I have a feeling he'll be difficult to pin down. He acts like he's got all of Harper Farms' woes on his shoulders, but I think he was exaggerating for my benefit.”

“All the more reason to corral him. Why don't you give him a call now—let's see what he has to say.”

Rory picked up the phone from the base unit on her desk and punched in the numbers she referenced from Gil's list. Luke answered on the first ring, as if he might have been expecting another call. He was cordial enough, but he claimed to be busy on every day she suggested. When she politely remarked that she'd leave their appointment for his father to schedule, Luke suddenly realized he was free the next morning at six.

“Six a.m.?” Zeke repeated once she was off the phone. “It's still dark out at that hour.”

“I'm pretty sure he was just trying to discourage me, because he seemed flustered when I agreed to it. But why does the time matter to you? You live in your own version of Neverland. I'm the one who needs her beauty rest.”

“Darlin', I believe you already have more than your fair share of that commodity. You ought to leave some for those less fortunate.”

Rory felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She didn't blush easily, but she'd never received a compliment quite like that one before, and certainly never from the mercurial marshal.

Zeke cleared his throat as if to cover up the fact that he'd even surprised himself with his words. In the silence that followed, Hobo made a well-timed appearance in the doorway. He peeked in, clearly trying to assess the risks of joining them. Eager to diffuse the awkwardness between them, both Rory and Zeke did their best to coax him to come in. When he finally did, he headed straight to the marshal, casting Rory an unmistakable look of disdain.

***

It was dark and cold when Rory's radio alarm jarred her awake. If a genie had appeared before her right then, she would have used up two wishes frivolously requesting a few more hours of sleep and a return to summer. But since the only paranormal oddity in her house was a ghost and not a genie, she dragged her weary butt out of bed.

Zeke didn't join her until she'd scrambled into her car and turned the heat on.

“Sleep in?” she asked wryly.

“No point in wasting my energy hanging around the house waiting for you to get ready,” he said. He was wearing his marshal garb, which meant he had no intention of manifesting for Luke's interview. Rory decided that was fine with her. He'd still be privy to everything that happened, so she wouldn't have to rehash it all for him.

They'd been to Luke Harper's home once before, to collect the sample of his hair. He lived in a townhome similar to his sister's but at the other end of Huntington. Rory turned into the small community of attached homes a little before six. At that hour of the morning, all the residents still seemed to be tucked in their beds. Aside from the widely spaced street lamps, the only lights that glowed were the small ones immediately outside each door. Driving along the gently winding roads, she passed only one other car. The middle-aged driver was delivering newspapers, throwing spiral passes from his window onto the little porches with surprising accuracy. She wondered if he'd aspired to playing professional football in his youth.

Luke's unit wasn't hard to find even in the dark, since the street numbers had been strategically placed beneath the porch lights. The instant she rang his doorbell, the two big dogs Zeke had met on his earlier visit started a ruckus that probably awakened half the complex. Rory could hear Luke yelling at them to be quiet but to no apparent effect. Then she heard a door slam somewhere inside, and the barking became more muted. When he finally came to the door, he was dressed in nothing but pajama bottoms, his blonde hair sticking up on his head like a hay rick. He squinted at her as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“Hi Luke,” she said brightly, determined not to let him know just how hard it had been for her to crawl out of bed a full hour earlier. She certainly had no regrets about dragging him out of dreamland. In fact, she was willing to bet that six o'clock didn't sound like such a great idea to him anymore. “Rory McCain—I believe this is the time you asked me to arrive?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said, with no welcome in his voice. “Come in.” He shuffled out of the way on bare feet. “I need a minute—you can sit in the family room.” He pointed to the large room at the end of the hall as he headed upstairs. A real charmer, Rory thought. At the same moment Zeke whispered, “What a charmin' fellow.”

“Shh,” she whispered back. “Behave.”

The family room was decorated in early bachelor. The large sectional couch and two armchairs were covered in black leather and clothing. For that matter, nearly every surface in the room was draped with one kind of apparel or another. There were sweatshirts, sweaters and tee shirts as well as a pair of jeans. Socks were strewn randomly across the hardwood, looking like alien wildflowers.

One glass side table was covered with remotes, presumably for the entertainment system that spanned one entire wall. The matching table held several empty beer bottles and one glass with a brownish liquid that Rory hoped was soda. In order to have a place to sit, she was forced to move a sweater off one of the chairs. She shrugged off her jacket but kept it draped around her shoulders. Luke definitely kept the place on the cool side. Maybe that was a good thing with all the dirty clothing lying around.

The man of the house entered the room a few minutes later. He was still sockless, but he'd traded his pajamas for jeans and a wrinkled tee shirt that looked like he'd dug it out of the bottom of a drawer. Young Mr. Harper was obviously not fond of doing laundry. He dropped onto the couch the way a kid would, making the cushion groan under his weight. “How long,” he asked, pausing to yawn widely, “is this going to take?”

“I promise to be out of your way as quickly as possible,” she said, pen and pad at the ready. “Let's start with your whereabouts the night Matthew was killed.”

“I was here watching TV. Went to bed about midnight.”

“Was anyone here with you?”

“I'm currently between girlfriends,” he said, with what was either a wink or a tic. Rory's money was on the wink. And it came as no shock to her that Luke was without female companionship. What woman wouldn't jump at the chance to live with this ill-mannered slob? Handsome can only get you so far.

“Interested in auditioning for that position, sweetheart?” he asked with a predatory grin.

She froze for a moment, worried the marshal would take exception to Luke's proposal. She was pleasantly relieved when nothing in the room suddenly developed the ability to levitate or fly. Luke looked as if he was still waiting for an answer to his generous offer. She decided the best way to defuse the situation, and Zeke, would be to ignore it. “Did you have pizza or anything else delivered that night?” she inquired.

“I usually pick up dinner on the way home,” Luke grumbled, clearly not cool with the brush-off.

“Did you bump into any of your neighbors?”

He shook his head. “Why does stuff like that matter?”

“It could have corroborated your alibi,” she said.

“I don't need any corroboration; I didn't kill Matthew.”

“Any lawyer will tell you that an alibi that can't be corroborated is no alibi at all. And if the other persons of interest have solid, verifiable alibis and you don't, then you could find yourself charged with Matthew's murder.” Okay, maybe she was overstating things a bit, but she wanted to see if he would squirm.

“So hook me up to one of those lie detectors,” he said, fixing her with a sullen glare, “and then you'll have your corroboration.”

“I'm afraid the results of those tests are not admissible in court.”

Luke came forward in his seat, his body gathered like a lion ready to pounce. “Oh yeah? Well in this country, you're innocent until proven guilty.” If he'd added a childish “so there,” Rory would not have been surprised.

She leaned forward, matching him move for move. No way was he going to intimidate her. “That may be true, but unfortunately a lot of innocent people wind up in prison, or on death row anyway. Even when judges and juries try their best, they don't always get it right.” Didn't this guy ever read a newspaper or listen to the news?

For a second or two, his brow lowered over his eyes, and he appeared to lose his focus. Then he must have given himself a pep talk, because he settled back against the couch again with a smug grin. “Like I said—I didn't do anything to be worried about.”

“Well, that's a relief,” she said. If he caught the sarcasm, he chose to ignore it. “Why don't you tell me what you thought of Matthew.”

Luke shrugged. “He's always been around, sort of like the furniture.”

“Did you resent him?”

He looked genuinely stumped. “For what?”

“I know your father was always generous to him.”

“Yeah, that's my dad,” he said wryly. “What a guy.”

“What does that mean?”

“Uh-uh, we're not going to play psychologist. If you have any more legitimate questions, ask them or leave.”

“All right, who do you think killed Matthew?”

“I haven't given it any thought. The dude never mattered much to me when he was alive, and now he doesn't matter at all. I'm not big on pretenses, in case you haven't noticed.”

Or sociability, she thought. But as much as she disliked Luke, there was a certain in-your-face kind of honesty about him.

“How did James and Lacey feel about Matthew?”