Saturday morning I called the person I most wanted to talk to about Jerry Saxton. She couldn’t meet me until noon, so in the meantime I took a walk over to the Cozy Cove Diner to have breakfast with my dad and Uncle Pete. The two men met there every morning unless they were away on a fishing trip, which was more often than not lately.
“Morning, Shannon,” Cindy the waitress said. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”
“Thanks, Cindy.”
“There’s my girl.” My dad waved me over to the booth he was sharing with Uncle Pete.
“Got time for breakfast with the old man?” Dad asked.
“Of course.” I gave them each a smooch on the cheek and slid into the booth next to Dad. “What are you two rovers up to?”
“Going fishing,” Uncle Pete said, and checked his watch. “Leaving in an hour.”
“I’m shocked.”
They both chuckled as Cindy poured coffee into my waiting mug.
Once I’d moved back to town from San Francisco and Dad’s health had improved, I’d taken over the house and the business and he’d bought the massive Winnebago he’d always wanted. It had long been the plan for him and my mom to raise us kids and then take off to see the country in their RV.
With Mom gone, Dad had still been determined to hit the road. Halfway to the Oregon border, though, he’d realized he wasn’t so keen to leave his hometown and see the world after all. Not by himself, anyway. Besides, the Winnebago was huge and he didn’t feel comfortable driving it much over twenty miles an hour. So he turned it around and headed back to Lighthouse Cove.
Most often he parked it in my driveway and that was fine with me. Dad liked living in what he called his Rolling Man Cave with its big-screen TV and comfortable furnishings. His construction-crew buddies and Uncle Pete met there once a week to play poker, watch football, and share their opinions about what I should be doing with my life. Every month or so, Dad would indulge his wanderlust by driving the Winnebago up to the river or down to the beach to go fishing with Uncle Pete or one of the other guys.
I ordered the hash and eggs and listened to Dad and Uncle Pete talk about the two lovely ladies they’d met at my uncle’s wine bar the night before.
That was something else in which my dad and uncle shared an abiding interest: the ladies. And why not, since they were both good-looking, eligible bachelors? They were sweet men and always treated women nicely, but it was funny to hear them talk about their strategy as though they were planning a reconnaissance mission into enemy territory.
I told Dad about Wendell parking in the driveway and Dad brushed it off. “We’re leaving this afternoon to go fishing so I’m not worried about a parking space.”
“Probably be gone a week or so,” Uncle Pete said, after taking a big bite of bacon.
“Will you be okay while I’m gone?” Dad asked.
“I’ll be fine. I’m hoping for a lot less excitement than we had last week.”
“Damn straight,” Dad said, then lowered his voice to add, “But if that police chief comes sniffing around, accusing you of anything again, you call me. I’ll race back here and give him a piece of my mind.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”
? ? ?
At noon, I drove over to meet Penny at her house. My main objective was to find out more about Jerry Saxton and the rumors about the foreclosures he might’ve manipulated. But I hadn’t mentioned that subject when I spoke to her on the phone, hoping I might bring it up more casually at some point. Instead, I’d told her I had the samples I’d gathered for her counters, floor, and backsplash. I had wood-grain samples, too, from which she could choose her cupboards and drawers.
“I’m sorry I have only an hour to spend,” she said, slinging her suit jacket and purse over the back of a dining room chair. “It’s crazy busy at work today. And I just realized I’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
“I guess being busy is better than the alternative.”
“Absolutely,” she said with a grin. “I should be used to it by now, but I’m always surprised at how many people like to bank on Saturdays.”
I checked the clock. “I think we can get through all of this with time to spare.”
“Sounds good.” She sat down at the table and pulled an apple out of her purse. “I hope you don’t mind if I munch while you talk.”
“Please do.” I placed the heavy box of samples on the table and pulled the tiles out one by one. I discussed the pros and cons of each floor tile and counter sample, weighed the benefits of travertine versus ceramic tile, and discussed prices. I laid the tiles down on the kitchen floor for her to imagine how they might look. “I’ll leave all of these with you for you to play with during the week.”
“Thanks.” She pointed to one of the squares on the floor. “I love that rust-colored travertine, but I’m not sure the color will go with everything else I like.”
“I brought another book with additional colors for you to look through.”
Her eyes lit up. “You think of everything.”
“That’s my job,” I said with a smile.
We went through the same process with the marble and granite samples for the kitchen counters. She picked out a beautiful black-and-red-speckled granite that I knew would go perfectly with the vertical-grain Douglas fir she’d chosen for the cupboards and drawers.
“If you’re not happy with something, I’ll keep looking,” I assured her.
“I’m happy, I promise.” She stood and pulled her jacket on.
“Okay, but you can always change your mind.” I stood, too, and grabbed my purse. “I’ll give you another week to go through the books, and if you’re still happy with these choices, I’ll start ordering.”
“Sounds great.”
As she led the way outside, we talked some more about a tentative schedule for the work. Then I broached the real topic I’d wanted to discuss with her. “Hey, do you mind if I ask you a question about Jerry Saxton?”
“Ugh,” she said, making a face. “No, I guess not. Have the police talked to you yet?”
“Oh yeah. Two hours the other night at the police station, plus a few minutes the next day. I doubt it’ll be the last time they question me.”
“Unfortunately, you’re probably right,” she said. “They talked to me for a while, too. I’m glad they’re being thorough, though. It’s creepy to know there’s a killer on the loose.”
Very creepy, I thought, barely suppressing a shiver.
“Anyway,” I said, getting back to the subject, “I heard a rumor that Jerry pulled some shady maneuvers with some of the bank loans. I’m worried that a few of my clients might’ve been affected.”
“Oh, God.” Her shoulders sagged slightly. “It’s all true, but you didn’t hear it from me. I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but, believe me, if Jerry wasn’t already dead, my bank president would gladly kill him.”
“That sounds bad.” I grimaced, wondering if the bank president should be considered another suspect.
“It’s beyond bad,” she assured me with a serious frown. “Besides being a jerk and a womanizer, the guy was a crook.”
“That sucks for the bank,” I said, then added, “But on the bright side, at least you didn’t date him.”
She began to laugh. “No, thank God.”
I sighed. “I guess I’d be laughing, too, if I didn’t have the cops breathing down my neck about it.”
She gave me an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. They’ll figure out you’re not guilty and move on to someone else pretty soon.”
“Hope so.”
She opened her car door, and with a wave good-bye I headed for my truck.
“Oh, wait,” she said. “I wanted to ask you something.”
I turned. “What is it?”
“I think we go to the same gym. Flex-Time over on Old Cove Road?”
“Yeah, that’s the one I go to.”
“I just joined last week and I thought I saw you driving out of the parking lot a few nights ago.”
“Probably so,” I said. “It’s a nice facility.”
“Do you want to meet there sometime and work out together? We can spot each other.”
I thought about it. I could never get my friends to go with me. Penny was new in town and probably didn’t know a lot of people, so I was happy to say yes. “That sounds great.”
“I usually go after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Sunday mornings.”
“Okay, I’ll try to be there Tuesday afternoon. About five?”
“Wonderful,” she said. “I’ll see you there.”
? ? ?
When I arrived home, Wendell Jarvick’s car was parked in my driveway. For the fourth day in a row! My shoulders stiffened instantly. I was so sick of him and there was nothing I could do to get rid of him. At least I wasn’t alone in my feelings. There wasn’t a hotel in town that would give him a room.
He had complained about Robbie barking at him, but who could blame the little dog? I’d seen Wendell glaring at poor Robbie and I wouldn’t put it past Mr. Dog Hater to try to kick my little guy when I wasn’t around.
I’d had to laugh, though, when I saw Tiger approach Wendell and start winding her way around his ankles, tripping him up as he was walking to the stairs. Wendell began to swear at the cat, who dashed away. By the time Wendell reached the top of the stairs, he was sneezing loudly. My Tiger knew exactly whom she was dealing with.
Maybe on a world-hunger scale, it was no big deal that Wendell’s car was blocking my access to the garage. But in my little world, he was a major pain, deliberately obtuse and disrespectful. Not only to me, but to my father. And my animals. And half the people in town. I thought back to that scene with Whitney and wondered what would’ve happened if Tommy hadn’t stopped her from strangling the man.
Before I lost my nerve, I decided to confront the passive-aggressive jerk.
I just wished Dad hadn’t left to go fishing with Uncle Pete, so he could park his gigantic RV right behind Wendell’s car, blocking him in. That would get Wendell’s shorts in a twist.
I ran upstairs and knocked on his door, but there was no answer. It was early afternoon, so he was probably out having lunch somewhere. Or perhaps he was off annoying some shopkeeper in town. I decided to watch and wait until I saw him arrive. I’d forgotten to check the mail the day before, so I walked out to the mailbox and that’s when I saw him strolling up the sidewalk without a care in the world.
“Hello, Wendell,” I said with forced cheerfulness. “Now that you’re home, you can move your car.”
His face scrunched up and I could tell he was insulted by the demand. “I refuse to allow you to treat me this way. It’s not right to ask a guest in your home to park on the street.”
Aggravated, I clamped my teeth together so tightly, I had to wonder if I was wearing out the enamel. “Technically, you’re not a guest—you’re a tenant. You’re renting a room from me for two weeks and you’re bound by the contract you signed when you first made the arrangements.”
He sniffed at me. “There was nothing about assigned parking space in the contract.”
“Exactly my point. You’re not assigned a parking place so you can’t park here.”
“That’s a stupid argument.”
“This is private property.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my next-door neighbor Jesse walk out to check his mailbox. From twenty feet away, he asked, “Everything okay here, Shannon?”
“Everything’s just great, Jesse.”
Then Mrs. Higgins from across the street toddled down her walkway and stood at her picket fence to watch. Mrs. Higgins was in her late seventies and hardly ever left her property, yet she always seemed to know everything that was going on in town. By osmosis, maybe?
The two senior citizens had the biggest ears in Lighthouse Cove. I should’ve lowered my voice, but I was so angry, I no longer cared who heard me.
I turned back to Wendell. “I’m asking you nicely to move your car, so please do it now or leave my premises.”
“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” he said, shifting his shoulders for emphasis. “At least my car looks good. Better than that hideous truck you drive.”
Okay, now he was just being nasty. My truck was in perfect condition, and I washed it regularly.
I could feel my nostrils flaring like those of a bull about to attack. “I don’t care what you think of my truck. It’s my truck and I’ll park it in my driveway whenever I want to.”
“Whatever.” He brushed me off with a sweep of his hand. “I’m going to go take a nap.”
“Don’t you walk away from me.” I could feel my blood pressure spike and I shouted, “You are not authorized to park on my property. If you don’t move your car this instant, I’ll have it towed.”
He whipped around. “You tow it and I’ll sue you.”
He would sue me? He couldn’t sue me, could he? Did I care?
He reached the garage and walked haughtily up the stairs. His chin was stuck up in the air like that of some pissy six-year-old pretending to ignore me.
“Just move your damn car!” I yelled.
He got to the top of the stairs, unlocked the door to the suite, and disappeared inside.
I let out a frustrated scream.
“He’s not a very nice man,” Mrs. Higgins cried out from across the street. “You should tow his car.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Higgins,” I said, waving at her. Just what I needed was advice from a veritable shut-in. Even though she was right.
“That reminds me,” she said loudly, her elderly voice shaky in the chilly air. “Did you two hear about the strange man who bought the old lighthouse mansion?”
“What?” I asked, thinking she must be deluded. “Jesse, do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”
He shrugged. “Some movie star just moved here. That’s what I heard up at the diner.”
“Really? Where have I been?” But I knew the answer to that. I’d been running around town, trying to find out who killed Jerry Saxton. And I’d been squabbling with Wendell Jarvick in an attempt to get his stupid damn car off my property. I stared up at his room over the garage and wondered what to do next.
Jesse followed my gaze. “He’s something else, that guy.”
“I can’t stand him.”
“So tow his car like you threatened to do,” he said, leaning his elbow against his mailbox. “Gus’ll take care of it for you.”
Gus was the auto mechanic who’d been servicing my vehicles since high school.
“I know, but I have a feeling it would cause more problems than it’s worth.” I yanked the mail out of the box and slammed the door shut. “I just want Wendell to go away. Forever.”
“You can’t always get what you want, kiddo,” Jesse said.
“Don’t I know it?” I muttered, and walked back into the house.