Somehow I made it up the stairs and started running the water for a bath. I was so shaky that I had to sit on the edge of the tub for fear of fainting dead away. I’d never fainted in my life, but, then, I’d never gone flying off a bike before, either. When I finally got a look at myself in the mirror, I wanted to cry.
“Way to make an impression, Shannon,” I muttered to myself. If only there were just grass stains, but no. My face and neck were streaked with brown mud and guck. A small clod of weeds and dirt was stuck in my hair. And speaking of hair, mine was no longer merely wavy, but had moved unswervingly into Bride of Frankenstein frizz. It wasn’t a good look for me.
Shaking my head in disgust, I moved away from the mirror and stripped out of my ruined clothing. Clipping my hair up off my neck, I poured half a box of Epsom salts into the stream of hot water and added a handful of girly bath salts for good measure. I stepped gingerly into the warmth and moaned out loud, it felt so good. I really needed to take baths more often, but who had the time?
Sinking down until the water covered me up to my chin, I closed my eyes and rested my head against the curved rim of the tub.
And thought of Mac.
MacKintyre Sullivan, my hero. Just wait until Lizzie heard about this one.
But now at last I could worry in peace. Would Mac really take my bike to the police? What would Chief Jensen say when Mac demanded that they check out the cut brake line and dust the whole thing for fingerprints? It wasn’t like someone had cut my truck’s brake line. It was just a bike.
Would Chief Jensen laugh him out of his office? I didn’t think so. In fact, maybe it was a good thing that Mac was the one taking my bike in. Chief Jensen would listen to him when he might not listen to me.
Of course he would listen to Mac. The man was awesome. An ex–Navy SEAL, a crime writer, a cool guy. A nice guy. He probably knew as much about police procedure as any officer on the force.
On the other hand, I wasn’t sure Mac’s theory was correct. First of all, why would someone deliberately try to hurt me? And second, if they really were out to injure me, why would they cut the brake line on my bicycle? It seemed like such a silly thing to do. At the most, I would call it malicious mischief. And who in my world was capable of doing something petty like that?
I would’ve loved to blame Whitney and Jennifer, but I knew they wouldn’t go to the trouble. And I barely had anything to do with the other mean girls in their circle. Two of them, Lindsey and Cherise, hadn’t been around lately. I think they were busy being stay-at-home moms.
And then there was Wendell.
“Ugh.” I took a few slow, deep breaths and tried to concentrate on something else besides that jerky tenant of mine. Flowers. Balmy ocean breezes. Ice cream. Mac Sullivan.
Much better.
? ? ?
Tuesday morning my knee was marginally better, but I was still so achy in every last corner of my body, I could barely move. After popping some ibuprofen and brushing my teeth, I managed to dress myself and hobble downstairs. Once I reached the kitchen and had my first cup of coffee, I accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be going anywhere today.
Which was just as well, since I had no means of transportation until my truck was ready sometime tonight.
I called Carla to let her know I was housebound for the day.
“Everything’s cool over here, boss,” she said. “Don’t worry about a thing. You just take care of yourself.”
“Thanks. I will.”
She chuckled. “You know, I figured something must be up with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Jesse told Jane, who told Emily, who told my mom, who told me that a man was seen carrying you up your front stairs yesterday. It was a real Rhett and Scarlett moment, according to Jesse.”
So my darling old next-door neighbor had spread the word about me and Mac. Great. I could feel my cheeks heating up. As a true redhead with the requisite smattering of freckles across my forehead and nose, my skin tended to turn pink at the slightest hint of embarrassment.
“Um, yeah, about that,” I stammered, then tried to brazen it out. “Here’s the thing: I fell off my bike and thought I sprained my ankle. The guy who found me was nice enough to, you know, carry me up the stairs. Otherwise, I would’ve had to crawl. It wasn’t pretty. He did me a favor.”
“A favor.” I could tell by her tone that there was no way she was buying my lame explanation. Even though it was essentially true. “So who was the guy?”
“Nobody.”
“Oh, Shannon,” Carla said, and started to laugh.
“Really,” I said, assuming an air of nonchalance. “It was nothing. Doesn’t matter. Move along now.”
She laughed. “Your protests will just force us to dig farther.”
“I’m not protesting,” I protested. “Go ahead and dig. You won’t find anything.”
She chuckled softly, but said nothing else, which scared me, frankly. She deftly changed the subject to the new cedar shingles on the Paradise Drive house. After we hung up, I just had to hope she’d decided to buy the sprained-ankle story.
Not that it mattered. Jane and Emily would be pumping me for information within the hour. If they were smart, they’d bring Lizzie along. Eventually, I would break.
I poured another cup of coffee and called Wade at the Boyer house to tell him I wouldn’t be out there today.
“No worries, boss,” he said. “But you might be interested in something that happened here yesterday.”
I sat up straighter. “What happened?”
“Joyce and Stan were here and they couldn’t stop sniping at each other. They were like a tag team. First Joyce would start chitchatting with one of our guys and end up ranting about something or other. Then Stan would come over, tell her to shut up, and start in on his own rant. This went on for a couple of hours.”
Probably slowed down the work on their house, too, I thought. That would be the only reason Wade would pass along idle gossip. I would have to tell the Boyers to leave my workers alone if they ever wanted their house to be finished.
“That must’ve been pleasant,” I said.
He snorted. “It was entertaining, anyway.”
Wade said that both Stan and Joyce seemed anxious to divulge all the details they’d heard about the murder investigation. They had both been brought in for questioning, of course. Joyce was extra vocal about her negative feelings for Jerry, blathering to anyone within hearing distance about what a slimeball he was.
“I think you were the one who set her off, Shannon,” Wade said somberly. “You might want to be a little careful around her.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“According to Stan, it was after your scene on the beach with Jerry that Joyce went ballistic. I guess she had a date with him the next day and confronted him about his cheating. Jerry blew off her tantrum, told her she was in no position to complain about him seeing another woman when she was married to another man.”
I did the math and realized that their date was on the day that Jerry died. “But just to be clear, you don’t think she’s angry at me specifically, right? I just happened to be the one woman she found out about.”
“No, I think her anger is specifically aimed at you,” he clarified. “You represent all the other women he’s been seeing. Probably because you’re the one who nailed him in public.”
“I didn’t,” I said, groaning inwardly at the ongoing myth. “Never mind.”
“Whatever happened in reality, in Joyce’s mind you personify Jerry’s betrayal to her.” Wade paused and then lowered his voice to add, “So I really think she’s got it in for you now.”
“But why?” If she had half a brain, she’d be thanking me for kicking him. “I refuse to believe she didn’t know Jerry was cheating on all those other women.”
“I guess the others didn’t make quite the splash you did.”
“Thanks a lot.”
He chuckled. “Sorry, boss.”
I didn’t blame him for laughing, but I wondered if I would ever live down that awful scene on the beach. Was it possible that my evening with Jerry had led directly to his murder? What if Joyce killed him and was trying to make me look guilty? Had she somehow arranged for Stan to lure me to their house? Did she set me up to find Jerry’s body in the basement? Was she angry enough to come after me next? I thought about my bicycle’s damaged brake line and shivered a little.
But that was just an accident, I tried to convince myself for the umpteenth time.
“Meanwhile,” Wade continued blithely, “Stan was making his own snide comments on the side.”
I tried to concentrate on his words. “You guys must’ve been shaking your heads at all this.”
“We were,” he said.
“I’ll have to find a way to ask them not to come around. We’ll never get their house finished at this rate.”
“Good luck with that,” Wade said. “Oh, but there’s more. Stan was listening to everything Joyce was ranting about and finally he gets right up in her face and says to her, ‘You’re such a bitch, I’m surprised the guy didn’t kill you.’”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. It got a little dicey there for a few minutes. She threatened to punch Stan, and he dared her to try it. I had the guys circle around them in case we had to pull one of them off the other.”
“Aren’t they a fun couple?” I was starting to get a headache.
Wade chuckled and I thanked him for that lovely golden snippet of gossip, even though it was more disturbing than I was willing to admit to him.
A minute later we ended the call, and as I drank the rest of my coffee, I thought about Jerry Saxton and what a jerk he’d been. And besides being a jerk, he really knew how to pick his women.
Was it just me, or was it getting more obvious every day that Jerry had driven some woman over the edge? And whoever that woman was, she’d seen no other way out than to kill him.