21
Sheriff Archer arrived just after Claire and Nick shared a solemn, almost silent breakfast. Archer said he wanted to talk to Nita in the parlor first. Jace had seemed only too happy to head for the airport for once, promising to keep an eye out there for anyone they knew—or didn’t really know.
“I mean like Kirkpatrick coming or going again,” Jace had told Nick. “I know you said lay off, but we can certainly pass intel on if we get it.”
Nick had nodded. The two men had been on even tenser terms than ever this morning, Claire thought. Heavy frost had blanketed the grass this morning, and that was the way it felt in here.
“Nita’s really nervous,” Heck said, hovering in the hall after she went into the parlor with the sheriff. “But she’ll do just fine. Poor girl. She didn’t ask for any of this. At least Bronco’s splitting headache is better, even if he still doesn’t remember one thing from the time the old man wanted to show him that six-shooter.”
“Did you ask him if he smelled cigar smoke?” Claire asked.
“He doesn’t remember.”
“Cigar smoke—inadmissible, right, counselor?” she asked Nick, trying to cajole him a bit. Lexi had slept in the middle of their bed last night, but Claire felt there was more between them than that. Surely, he didn’t think she’d been the one to seek Jace out so they could tell Lexi about Julia’s death together—or for any other reason. She wanted to clear the air on that, but so much else was going on.
After about fifteen minutes, Nita came back into the dining room, looking shaky with watery eyes, though she wasn’t crying. “He said you can come now, Jenna,” she said. “Berto,” she said to Heck, “you promised you’d let Meggie play a game on your laptop, so can you do it now while I keep an eye on Cody?”
“Sure. Fine. That’ll keep her busy for a while. Come on up with me.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Claire called to Nita as she left the room with Heck.
Claire stood and took a few steps toward the parlor door. “And the same to you, Jack-Nick,” she whispered.
“Good to hear,” he said, but he didn’t even look at her as she left to talk to Sheriff Archer.
* * *
Trying to buck herself up, Claire went into the parlor and slid the pocket door closed behind her.
“Hope you don’t mind a voice recorder,” the sheriff said. “Full disclosure. I’m lousy at taking notes and listening too.”
“I sympathize with that,” she said, sitting down in the upholstered chair facing his. “When I interview witnesses, I’m the same way.”
“Yeah, I read you’re a forensic psych,” he told her and hesitated with his hand hovering over the on button on his recorder that looked like one she’d left in Florida. “So let me get right to the nitty-gritty here, and I know you’ll understand.”
He clicked the recorder on and went through the protocols of identifying the two who would be speaking, the time and date and place—and the investigation of the death of Julia Collister, age forty-eight, a resident of Mackinac Island in Mackinac County, Michigan.
Gripping her hands in her lap, then telling herself to relax as she had tried to calm many a witness, Claire sat waiting to hear what he considered the nitty-gritty.
“Of course,” he said, “the four possibilities for any apparently unobserved death like this are natural, accident, suicide or homicide. Jenna, in the time you spent with Julia Collister on the day she died, and as a trained psychologist who has worked with people under pressure before, did you pick up on anything that might indicate Julia was suicidal?”
Claire’s insides cartwheeled. This man might be sheriff on a far-flung island, but he knew how to go for the jugular. She didn’t want to overemphasize that aspect of Julia’s personal sharing time with her, in case it was an accident or someone had murdered her.
“Let me note first,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and calm when she felt just the opposite, “that I did spend a few minutes with her privately, earlier that day—early afternoon—on those Spring Trail stairs, which might have been the spot from which she—maybe fell later. She said the view from there was her favorite and she could spend a lot of time there. And she did mention that her mother had a heart attack there, evidently years ago, and died there.”
“Actually, ten years ago, yesterday,” the sheriff put in. “I wasn’t in office then, but I looked it up in the records of the island newspaper, The Town Crier.”
Claire nodded. She’d known suicides could be triggered by anniversaries, especially tragic ones. And she really hadn’t answered his question about suicide yet.
“She didn’t mention the date of her mother’s death,” she said. “She did tell me she was having a hard day.”
“Did she say anything to indicate why it was a hard day, if she didn’t reference her mother’s death? I’m already aware of her father’s dementia, which made him hostile at times, and her distress that her daughter was planning to leave the island for ‘the big city,’ as Julia put it to me once. Those things could lead to depression.”
“They surely could. And I think it unnerved her that her former husband was back on the island not only to advise Liz but to see Julia.”
The sheriff sat bolt upright. “She told you that? I didn’t know Michael Collister was here again.”
“Actually, I—we—met him. Julia introduced us when he showed up at her house as we were setting out in the wagon for Arch Rock earlier in the day. He wanted to stay at her father’s house but she said no. She asked him if he’d be staying at the Island House again. Technically hearsay, I know, but it’s my testimony.”
“So things seemed tense between them?”
“They both seemed under control, but yes. He’d brought her roses she didn’t take and she said to give to Liz, but he said he’d brought some for their daughter too.”
To her surprise, the sheriff snapped off the recorder. “Sorry,” he said, “but we’ll have to continue this later today. I’ve known Michael Collister for a long time from his visits. Mr. Charm, but a guy who manages to get his own way. I’ve got to go find him. I used to have his cell number, but he changes it a lot. The way word travels around here, he has to have heard of her death, so maybe he’s with Liz. The Collisters had a custody battle over her when they divorced, but she stayed with her mother. I hope we can keep this interview open-ended, so I can pick up on this later. I wanted to explore the smell of cigar smoke where you found Cody Carson, which your nanny, Lorena, mentioned.”
He rose and gathered his things, still talking.
“Each of you have given me a valuable person of interest, because she said your brother-in-law Seth had a little run-in at the airport with that guy Kirkpatrick from Las Vegas. Julia told me he wouldn’t take no for an answer about getting his hands on Hunter Logan’s Western collection. Cigars sprout from Kirkpatrick’s mouth along with ordering everyone around, including me. I’m telling you this so you all steer clear of him. Sorry to run, but I know you understand.
“And,” he said, turning back at the door, “I’ll try to keep this all low-key, even if I can’t keep it hush-hush. This may turn into a situation where you have to testify in an inquest or worse. Maybe you can do it in absentia, but we’ll see, as I know you all have to fly under the radar. I’ve contacted Julia’s one-step-up colleague in the FBI. He seemed very, very upset and said he’ll contact me soon and send someone to settle things with you.”
Settle things with you sounded ominous. “Thank you. We need that,” she managed.
He touched his hat brim and headed out the front door. Only after he was gone did Claire see Nick hovering in the hall.
She walked toward him and explained, “He didn’t know Julia’s ex, Michael Collister, was here, and he’s going to find him.”
“Gotta watch those ex-husbands who still carry torches, because those can burn,” Nick said and went back into the TV room.
* * *
Jace pedaled his bike hard through the cold morning wind toward the airport. Snow was imminent, even before Halloween here, and he’d have to drive a snowmobile then. All of them had to learn how. They’d managed to get a third used one from a neighborhood garage sale.
But his thoughts were on more than that. He was scared to death to tell Claire or Nick—anyone—that when he’d got off his shift early about three yesterday afternoon, he’d gone to Julia’s house to talk to her, kid her about showing him the sights at Arch Rock since he’d missed the tour there. He’d found her in the stable. He was amazed when she’d said she was going back to Arch Rock, but that she wanted to be alone. Actually, she’d seemed strange and abrupt, put him off and gave him the cold shoulder. Still, he’d really wanted to see it, and like an idiot, he’d followed her at a distance.
“Damn,” he said aloud as he pedaled onto the airport grounds and headed toward the terminal to begin his day shift. “I shouldn’t have. But everyone else had seen the site. I should’ve just gone home.”
And Julia wasn’t the only one in a bad mood. He’d love to have Claire back, Lexi too, of course. But with an investigation, he’d have to tread carefully, work on that lead to Vern Kirkpatrick being guilty, stinking cigar and all. Not that he’d seen what happened to Julia once she went down the stairs. He’d looked at the rock and left, but would the sheriff believe that? If Nick and Claire, even Heck and the others, had to testify, they’d say he was coming on to Julia and she’d snubbed him. At least he didn’t think anyone had seen him at her house. Who knew if her father was already gone then and poor Bronco was already lying out cold on the floor.
He blinked back tears and cursed again, wishing he could just fly off into the wild blue yonder. Poor Julia had evidently done that.
* * *
About an hour after the sheriff left in a rush, Nick answered the knock on the front door. His wounded leg was feeling better but his heart wasn’t. Jeremy Archer, the sheriff’s son, stood there. No pizza this time, but an envelope in his hand. The kid’s bike was leaning against a front porch pillar.
“Your dad was here but he left,” Nick told him. “Do you need to see him?”
“A message came for him, but it’s to be passed on to you too, Officer McCallum said,” the boy explained, fidgeting as he stepped inside. “That’s the kind I have to deliver if the deputies are busy like they are today with Mrs. Collister’s death and all. I guess I’m like one of those old-time delivery boys on a bike, like in The Sound of Music, which my mom makes us watch every year, but the kid delivering in the movie ended up being a Nazi spy.”
“Well, I hope you’re not a Nazi or a spy,” Nick said. “Thanks for the message. Wait a sec, and I’ll get you a tip.”
“No, that’s okay. Not for police business. I asked Dad once what the messages were for, ’cause I used to take them to Mrs. Collister too, but he said it was enough to know it’s not to pick up something from the grocery store and it’s not the latest of his fantasy-football bets on the Detroit Lions.”
Nick really liked this kid—had liked the island before yesterday—but he was nervous about what was in this envelope. If things like this had come for Julia, it must be WITSEC news.
After Jeremy left, he saw Claire had come downstairs and was standing on the lowest step, just watching him. He knew he’d been acting like a jerk when she needed his strength and understanding, but it had really rocked him to see her with Jace and Lexi, all on Jace’s bed, so—so cozy and close.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked as she came closer.
“Sure. I just don’t want any more bad news.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. He craned around and kissed that hand. As they stepped into the den together, he opened the envelope with his finger. They didn’t sit but stood, both leaning a shoulder against the wall while he unfolded the single piece of paper.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Not really. Are you?”
“Nick, I’m sorry about last night, but I was glad to find Lexi with her ‘uncle Seth.’ Before you came in, she mentioned that she wanted Lily back. Then in our bed when we went to sleep, I had another of those narcoleptic dreams I dread, that Lily was the one screaming from the rooftop and she looked just like Lexi. In the nightmare, I went up to stop her and—and I fell.”
He tugged her to him, held her hard, and her arms went tight around him. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Guess we don’t need Freud for that interpretation. But we need to go up there when it’s windy and see if we can stop that, buffer it or something. No ghost for sure, but it leads to bad thinking. And I know, despite how Jace and I don’t get along sometimes, we can trust him. Not that I really trust his feelings for you.”
“Nick, that’s over. Only Lexi holds us together. At least last night you didn’t lose sleep over it. I might have been awake instead of conking out for once, but you slept like a rock.”
“I’d like to be a rock in all this—for you, for everyone. But I—”
He set her back gently, turned toward the window and opened the paper to read it in good light. In a hushed voice he told her, “It’s from Rob Patterson but in FBI-speak. He’s flying in day after tomorrow.”
Claire came closer. Without a sound, she mouthed the words You mean it doesn’t use his name?
“The person we’ll meet with is Pat Robart, my supposed literary agent from New York City. So not only am I writing the great American novel but I now have an agent.”
Nick scanned more of the page. “He’ll let us know where we can have a meeting with him about the deadline for my novel. He says he hopes our mutual friend rests in peace. Rob Patterson, aka Pat Robart, has always known what to do.”
“I don’t want to leave here. I can’t bear to move again right now. And despite what happened to Julia, I—I like it here, at least until we can go home free and clear.”
“Yeah. And if Pat Robart knows what to do, that puts him way ahead of me right now,” he said and his voice broke. “Like you, my gut instinct is to jump into this investigation of Julia’s death with both feet. It’s a classic example of what I founded South Shores to do—and it brings back my father’s supposed suicide when I know Ames killed him.”
They stood there, not speaking again, but holding each other tight.