Nineteen
Brooding, worrying, second-guessing accomplished nothing.
Still, she sat down, wrote a long email to a friend who would understand. Ashley McLean—now Ashley Murdoch—reminded her, always had, always would, that life could go on.
She’d nearly called, just wanting to hear Ashley’s voice, but the time difference meant she’d wake her friend before Ashley got out of bed with her husband of ten years come June, got her kids fed and off to school and herself off to work.
And emails came easier—gave her time to compose her thoughts, edit things out. All she really needed was that touchstone.
It helped, it all helped, making breakfast, watching the sunrise with the man she had an undefined thing with, gearing up for a day of errands while construction noise filled the house.
Life had to go on.
With the dog as company—and why had she tried to convince either of them she wanted him to stay home?—she drove into town. At the post office, she unloaded boxes, carted them in, found herself caught for a full ten minutes in that oddity of small-town conversation.
“Check one off the list,” she told the dog.
She drove down Water Street. Busier today, she noted. Full-blown spring didn’t just bring out the green and the flowers, it brought out the tourists.
They wandered the streets, the shops, with go-cups and cameras and shopping bags. As she looked for parking, she saw boats gliding or putting out of slips, and the kayak/bike rental, with those colorful boats displayed, doing a bang-up business.
She really wanted to try kayaking.
She found her parking spot, pulled in, turned around to the dog.
“You have to wait in the car—I warned you—but we can take a walk around after this stop and before the grocery store. Best I can offer.”
He tried to get out when she opened the back to get the box, and the tussle that ensued to deny him illustrated clearly he’d put on weight and muscle. Gone was the weak, bone-thin dog limping down the shoulder of the road.
She got the back closed again, had to lean against it to catch her breath. When she glanced back, he was all but pressed against the rear window, blue eyes devastated.
“I can’t take you into the shop. That’s how it goes.”
She picked up the box she’d had to put down to win the war, started down the sidewalk. Looked back.
Now he had his muzzle out the partially opened side window.
“Don’t let him win,” she muttered, and aimed her eyes forward.
She knew Jenny worked that morning, as Jenny had called her the night before. Had offered sympathy and comfort. Had offered to bring food, bring alcohol, bring anything needed.
Friendship so easily offered was as unusual for Naomi as ten minutes of small talk in the post office.
She opened the door of the shop to a lovely citrus scent, an artistic clutter of pretty things, and the bustle of business. The bustle made her consider coming back during a lull—if she’d known when and if lulls happened. But Jenny, discussing an old washbasin currently filled with soaps and lotions with a customer, spotted her and gave her a cheerful come-ahead signal.
So she wandered, saw half a dozen things she wanted to buy. Reminded herself she hadn’t come to shop, had a house in crazed construction and shouldn’t shop.
And ended up picking up a set of wrought-iron candle stands that absolutely belonged in her library.
“Let me take that.” The minute she could work herself over, Jenny took the box, set it down. “And do this first.”
Smelling lightly of peaches, she wrapped her arms around Naomi, tight, tight.
“I’m so glad to see you.” She loosened the hug enough to tip back, study Naomi’s face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Xander stayed with you?”
“He stayed.”
“All right. We’re not going to think about it right now. It’s all anyone’s talking about when they catch a breath, but we’re not going to think about it.”
“You’re awfully busy.”
“Tour package.” Jenny took a satisfied and slightly calculating glance around the shop. “We’ve got two busloads in town for the day. The town planner worked the deal months ago. So we’re very carefully not mentioning what you and I aren’t thinking about in front of tourists. Or trying not to mention.”
She bent down to pick up the box again. “I want to show these to Krista. Come with me. She just went in the back, and we’re covered out here for a few minutes.”
“You’re really busy,” Naomi reminded her, but Jenny was already nudging her along.
Jenny skirted around tables, displays, all bright chatter, and reminded Naomi of a pretty bird singing as it flitted from branch to branch.
She skirted around a counter and through a door into a storeroom/office area where a woman with streaky brown hair bundled up and held in place with a pair of jeweled chopsticks sat at a computer.
“Tracked the shipment—it’s out for delivery, praise Jesus.”
“I’ve got some potential stock and Naomi Carson for you, Krista.”
Krista swiveled on her chair and slid off a pair of purple cheaters. She had a good face with wide brown eyes, a long, full mouth—and the glint of a tiny ruby stud on the left side of her nose.
“I’m so happy to meet you. Pretend there’s a seat I can offer you. I really like your work,” she added. “I’ve combed your website several times, and nagged Jenny to get you in here.”
“I love your shop—which I’ve avoided because I’m weak. I’ve already picked out candle stands, and I probably can’t leave without that oval wall mirror with the antiqued bronze frame.”
“Jenny’s piece.”
“Flea market rehab,” Jenny confirmed. “Naomi brought us some photos.” Jenny set the box on the crowded desk. “I resisted pawing through myself.”
“It’s good to remember the pecking order around here.” Pushing off the chair, Krista opened the box, then put the cheaters back on to take a close look.
She’d gone with small prints, wildflower studies, a series of four of the inlet, one of the marina, another set of nurse logs.
“They’re beautifully matted and framed. You do that yourself?”
“Part of the process, yes.”
“I can sell these.” She propped a pair against the box, stepped back, nodded. “Yes, we can sell these. In fact, with the tour, we can sell some of these as soon as we get them on the floor.”
She took off the cheaters again, tapped them against her hand. Then named her price point. “Standard sixty-forty,” she added.
“That works for me.”
“Good, because I really want them. And I can take more, especially of local flora and fauna, local water scenes, town scenes. I can sell them as unframed prints, too. We can think about that. I’d love the inlet and marina shots as postcards.”
“I can do postcards.”
Turning, Krista wrapped an arm around Jenny’s shoulders in an easy, unstudied way that told Naomi they were good friends. “She can do postcards. Do you know how long I’ve wanted classy postcards?”
Jenny grinned, slid her arm around Krista’s waist. “Since you opened.”
“Since I opened. I’ll take two dozen postcards right off, as soon as you can get them to me. No, three. Three dozen. I can sell a dozen to the B-and-B in a flash.”
“A variety of shots?”
“Dealer’s choice,” Krista confirmed. “Jen, get these priced and out on the floor. Pick your spot. She’s my right hand,” she told Naomi. “Even if she’s planning to leave me in the lurch.”
“Not for months yet. I know just where to put these.” Jenny stacked them back in the box, hefted it.
“If you’ve got a few minutes, Naomi, I’ll print out the contract for what we’re taking.”
“Sure.”
“Don’t leave without seeing me,” Jenny said, and went out to work on the display.
“I’m going to do an order sheet for the postcards while I’m at it. How’s work going up on the bluff?”
“Really well, which is why I need those candle stands, the sinuous ones. They need to be in my library. I think the mirror’s for the foyer. But . . . it needs to be in there somewhere. And whatever smells so damn good out there.”
“That’s mock orange in our diffusers today.”
“I’m told I need those—the plants. I think I need them in the diffusers, too.”
“Tell Jenny you get one—on the house. We’re going to make some money together, Naomi.”
She left with more than she’d taken in, justified the purchases. The house needed things, and Krista was right. They’d make some money together. No question of it, as four of the framed prints sold before Jenny rang her up.
“We’ve got work to do, Tag.”
She clipped the leash on him when he was too distracted with joy to object, loaded her purchases in, got her camera and backpack out.
“Let’s take that walk and make some postcards.”
—
By the time she got home, the crew was knocking off, again proving the advantage of men in the house. The tile team carried her groceries in while Kevin grabbed her gift shop finds.
“I guess you saw Jenny.”
“And it cost me. But I also now have art displayed by her hands—and a contract for more.” She stopped in the living room, felt the satisfaction of a day well spent kick up another notch. “You finished the crown molding! It just makes the room.”
“It’s a busy day. Why don’t we go up, and you can see what else we finished?”
“If you’re talking about my bathroom, I may break down in tears.”
With a grin, he tapped her arm. “Grab some tissues.”
She nearly needed them.
“You can’t walk on it until tomorrow,” he warned.
“It’s okay. Actually going in might bring me to my knees. It’s beautiful, Kevin. It’s beautiful work. Everything.”
She’d wanted muted and restful, heading toward Zen, and had it with the stone gray tiles, the soft pearly gray of the walls, the gray veining in the white granite counter. She’d added rustic with the big claw-foot tub, gone indulgent with the oversized glass-walled steam shower.
“The brushed nickel was the right choice,” he said. “Chrome would’ve been too shiny. And the open shelving’s going to work, too, because you’re a tidy soul from what I’ve seen.”
“I’m going to bring some blue in—with towels, some bottles. I saw some old blue bottles at Cecil’s. And some green with a plant. Maybe one of those bamboo deals.”
“You oughta put some of your pictures on the wall. Some of the ones of the channel.”
“Brushed nickel frames, dark gray matting. Good thought. I just love it.”
“Glad to hear it. I didn’t know if you wanted your desk back in here, and didn’t want to move it until you said.”
“Maybe tomorrow, when the room’s fully functional.”
“We made some progress on your studio, if you want to see that.”
She wanted to see everything. They spent the next ten minutes going over her choices, discussing timelines. And she began to buy a clue.
“Kevin, are you keeping an eye on me?”
“Maybe. I figured Xander might be coming by shortly.”
“And I imagine your wife and kids are home, wondering where you are.”
“I’ve got time. You know, I wanted to ask you about—”
“You’re making time,” she interrupted. “And I appreciate the thought, but I’m fine. I have a fierce dog.”
Kevin glanced back to where Tag lay, studying his own thumping tail as if fascinated, while Molly snoozed beside him.
“Yeah, I see that.”
“And I have a brown belt.”
“I’ve got a couple of them.”
“In karate. I could’ve gone for the black, but brown was enough. And that’s on top of the self-defense courses I’ve taken. Single woman, traveling alone,” she added, though that hadn’t been the primary motivator.
“I’ll be careful not to get in a fight with you, but I’d feel better if I hung around until Xander gets here. And I did have a couple of questions about the bathroom off the green room.”
He distracted her with talk of tile borders and showerheads, with plans on demo—the black-and-blue bath—until Tag’s head reared up, and he raced off barking. Molly yawned, rolled over, and went back to snooze.
“Must be Xander.”
“Then you’re welcome to stay, have a beer with him, or get out.”
“I wouldn’t mind a beer.”
They walked down while Tag danced and barked at the front door. She wondered if the thing she was in with Xander had progressed to the point of giving him a key and the alarm code.
It seemed a very big aspect of the thing, one to think about carefully.
But when she opened the door, Tag raced out and rushed lovingly to Lelo.
“There’s that boy. There he is!”
They adored each other for a moment before Lelo straightened. “Hey, Kev. Hi, Naomi. I got those drawings and figures for you.”
The Naomi who’d bought the house would have said thanks, taken the packet, and said good-bye. The Naomi she was trying to find took a breath. “Why don’t you bring them in? Kevin’s going to have a beer. You can have one with him.”
“I don’t say no to beer after the workday. Want a beer?” he asked the dog.
“He’s underage,” Naomi said, and had Lelo laughing like a loon.
She went back to the kitchen, opened two beers, then the accordion doors. “I’m going for wine. Those spring chairs out there don’t look like much yet, but they’re comfortable.”
She could hear their voices, muted, quiet, as she poured wine. Curious, she opened the packet out on the counter, began to study the drawings.
When she stepped out, Lelo and Kevin sat in the rusted spring chairs like a couple of guys on the deck of a boat, studying the horizon.
Both dogs sat at the rail, doing the same.
“Lelo, you’re an artist.”
He snickered, flushed lightly pink. “Aw, well. I can draw a little.”
“You can draw a lot. And you’ve turned the grounds into a garden oasis without compromising the space or the open feel. And the raised beds on the deck, that’s inspired.”
“Can I have a look?” Kevin took the drawings, paged through, studied. “This is nice, Lelo. It’s real nice.”
“There’s a brochure in there with different pavers, different patterns. We can get you whatever you want in there.”
She nodded, sat down on the glider to look over the estimates. He’d done it several ways. The entire grounds and deck—holy shit!—and breaking it down section by section.
And breaking it down yet again with the bartering factored.
“My dad did most of the figuring and math there.”
“It’s a lot of math and figuring.” And would take some of her own, but . . .
“I want the raised beds on the deck. Cooking can relax me after I’ve worked all day.”
“If you ditch Xander, maybe you’d marry me. I can’t cook worth shit,” Lelo told her, “but I sure like to eat.”
“I’ll keep you in reserve. I really want the front done, just the way you’ve drawn it. But I’m going to need another five percent off for the photographs.”
“I can text my dad, see what he has to say. I’m thinking he’ll go for that.”
“And you can tell him if this turns out the way we all want, I should be able to do the rest in the fall. Or next spring. You can’t do the whole front until the Dumpster’s gone, but I’d love to see some of these trees and shrubs in place.”
“Give me a sec.”
When Lelo pulled out his phone, the dogs leaped up and raced down the deck steps.
“That must be Xander,” Kevin noted. “Dogs are a good early-warning system.”
The dogs ran back. Molly settled, but Tag ran away, ran back, all but doing cartwheels until Xander caught up with him.
“Are we having a party?”
“Apparently.”
“Good thing I brought more beer.” He came up with the six-pack he carried, setting it down long enough to grab Naomi’s face and give her a kiss that went from hello to steamy in a heartbeat.
“Just letting them know to get their own woman. Do you want me to top that off?”
She looked down, a little blankly, at her wine. “No, it’s good.”
“Another round?” he asked Kevin.
“No, one’s enough.”
He glanced at Lelo, who wandered the deck as he talked on the phone, and held up his three-quarters-full beer.
“Just me, then.” Xander took the six-pack inside, came back out with a cold one. “What’s all this?”
“My landscape. You didn’t tell me Lelo was an artist.”
“He’s got a knack.” After he sat and blew out a cleansing breath, Xander took the first pull.
“Long day?” Naomi asked.
“And then some. Finished now.”
Lelo wandered back. “We can start next week.”
“Next week?”
“My dad’s going to want to come take a look for himself—mostly to meet you, that’s the truth. He likes knowing who he’s working for, but we can start next week. Probably Tuesday. He’s fine with the five percent more.” Lelo held out a hand. “We have to shake on it. I’d rather kiss you, but Xander’d pitch me over the deck.”
“I’d knock you unconscious first so it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
“That’s a friend.” Lelo sat again, scrubbed Tag’s head, then Molly’s. “You’re going to have to teach him not to dig in your beds or lift his leg on the shrubs.”
“God. I never thought of that.”
“He’s a good dog. He’ll learn.”
Naomi sipped her wine. They were subtle about it—they’d known each other so long, these men. But she caught the signals passing back and forth.
Like Xander, she let out a breath. “Why don’t we talk about the elephant on the deck? I’m not the tender sort, and don’t need to be shielded. I don’t like it either. So has there been anything more about Marla’s murder?”
Lelo looked down at the beer he dangled between his legs and said nothing.
“They did the autopsy,” Xander said. “And there’s some talk leaking out. It could just be talk.”
“What could be just talk?”
“That she’d been raped, probably multiple times. Choked multiple times, cut up a little, beat on more than a little.”
“I don’t get how somebody could do that to somebody else,” Lelo murmured. “I just don’t. They’re saying she wasn’t killed down below here, just dumped there that way. I heard Chip about went crazy.”
“He loved her,” Kevin said. “He always did.”
“It couldn’t have been anybody from the Cove,” Lelo put in. “We’d know if somebody who could do that lived right here.”
No, Naomi thought, you don’t always know what lives with you.
—
She lost herself in work. She rarely worked on an agenda other than her own, and found it interesting to create photos with Krista’s specific wants in mind.
When she talked to or emailed her family, she said nothing of murder.
She didn’t give Xander a key—nor did he ask for one. But she thought about it.
Though it brought on a massive stress headache, she attended Marla’s funeral. She sat through the short service with Xander, with Kevin and Jenny flanking her other side.
It seemed to her nearly everyone in town had come, wearing sober faces, paying respects to Marla’s mother, to Chip.
The church smelled too strongly of lilies—the pink ones draped over the glossy coffin, the pink and white ones rising in sprays from tall baskets.
She hadn’t been inside a church in more than a decade. They reminded her of her childhood, of Sunday dresses stiff with starch, of Wednesdaynight Bible readings.
Of her father standing at the lectern reciting scripture in his deep voice, so much sincerity on his face as he spoke of God’s will, or God’s love, of following a righteous path.
Being inside one now, the sun streaming through the stained glass, the lilies clogging the air, the reverend reading all-too-familiar passages, she wished she’d stayed away. She hadn’t known Marla, had only had a difficult encounter with her.
But she’d found her, so she’d made herself come.
Relief came like a sharp wind through musty memories when she stepped outside into the clear, uncolored sunlight, the clean, unscented air.
Xander steered her away from where most gathered to talk before the drive to the cemetery.
“You went pale.”
“It was so close in there, that’s all.” And too many who’d come snuck glances at her.
At the woman who’d found the body.
“I need to go to the cemetery,” he told her. “You don’t.”
“I don’t think I will. It feels too much like gawking when I didn’t know her.”
“I’ll drive you back, drop you off.”
“I should’ve brought my own car. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s not much of a detour,” he began, then turned as Chip walked up.
The picture of grief, Naomi thought. Red-rimmed, dazed eyes, pale skin bruised under those dazed eyes from lack of sleep. A big man with a hollow look.
“Chip. Sorry, man.”
They exchanged the one-armed hugs men seemed to prefer before Chip looked at Naomi.
“Miss Carson.”
“Naomi. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“You found her. The chief said the way they’d . . . how they’d left her, it might’ve been a while before anybody did. But you found her so they could bring her back, take care of her.”
Tears leaked out of those dazed eyes as he took her hand between his massive ones. “Thank you.”
Habitually she avoided touching strangers, getting too close, but compassion overwhelmed her. She drew him to her, held him a moment.
No, killers didn’t think of this—or did they? she wondered. Did pain and grief add to the thrill? Did it season it like salt?
As he drew back, Chip knuckled tears away. “The reverend said how Marla’s gone to a better place.” Chip shook his head. “But this is a good place. It’s a good place. She shouldn’t have to go to a better one.”
He swallowed hard. “Are you coming to the grave site?”
“I am. I’m taking Naomi home, then I’ll be there.”
“Thank you for coming, Naomi. Thank you for finding her.”
As he walked off like a man lost, Naomi turned away.
“Oh God, Xander.”
And she wept for a woman she hadn’t known.