I must be truly spooked in general, because I’m ready to pick up a stray beam and swing it at whoever appears. So it’s kind of good that I don’t, considering that Jeff Ferris appears with his father. They’re both wearing suits, but they’ve tucked their pants into knee-high rubber boots. The sight of that is so silly that my fear drains away immediately. Anyway, since Jeff still owns the house, it makes perfect sense that he would be visiting it.
The reason for my presence, on the other hand, is not so clear.
“Gracie Kenzie,” Jeff says. “What are you doing out here?”
“I hear so much about these houses,” I say. “I just wanted to see for myself how great they are.”
“Yeah. Look at that view.” Jeff turns toward the cove and clicks into realtor mode. “It’s one of the prime spots on the island.”
His dad’s gaze roams over the back of the house. “Looks all right. We’d better check the inside, though. Kids. That Fusilli should throw them in jail.”
“He doesn’t know who they are, Dad.”
“Are you going to move in here?” I ask.
Jeff shakes his head. “I bought it for an investment, but man, it hurts to let it go.”
“They vandalized our office,” Franklin Ferris says. “They turned off the refrigerator so everything would spoil. Somebody smeared peanut butter all over my desk. I’m allergic to peanut butter! What kind of a person would do something like that?”
I just catch a hint of a smile as Jeff bends down to knock some dirt off the rubber boots he’s wearing. Could it be that Jeff is amused at the thought of his prissy father getting hives? He slides a look at me. “You know Mason Patterson, right?”
“My cousin goes out with his sister, so yeah, I guess so.”
“He’s a good kid,” Jeff says neutrally. He doesn’t fool me. He’s wondering if I’m in with the crowd who’s vandalizing the development. So is his dad, who clears his throat and looks away. “So. How’s the house?”
“Still standing. Did you hear about Hank Hobbs?”
Jeff nods. “Freaky, huh? My loss—he’d just gone to contract on this house. I had lunch with him right before he died. I mean, I guess I did. They found him the next day.”
“I don’t know why,” Franklin Ferris says, “everywhere I go, I have to discuss this.”
“Dad sold Hobbs his first house on Beewick. A big sale for us, back then.”
“Did he seem depressed or weird or anything?” I ask Jeff.
“No. Why? Do they think he committed suicide?”
“They don’t know.”
“Well, neither do I. He seemed fine. But you never know what’s in someone’s head.”
Jeff doesn’t look too thrilled at discussing a former client with a teenager. I have a feeling I’m at the end of my conversational rope with him. His dad has decided to ignore me. He’s wandering over to look in the windows.
We hear the noise of a car door slamming. Footsteps head toward us. This time I’m not scared. I have a feeling I know who it is.
Joe Fusilli heads toward us. He steps in an enormous mud puddle on the way, which really pisses him off. He should have worn a pair of rubber boots. He shakes off some of the mud and keeps on coming.
“Gracie. What are you doing out here?”
“Checking out the view,” I say.
He gives me that Joe-probe, the look that’s supposed to make me squirm, but I don’t react, so he turns to Jeff and his father. “Hi, Jeff, Franklin. Glad I ran into you—I left a message on your cell. I wanted to look around a bit.”
Joe notices that I’m still holding the Starbucks bag. “What’s that?”
“I found it here,” I say, pointing to the stairs. “I think Hank Hobbs left it here.”
“Why do you say that?” Joe asks.
I shrug. Joe sighs.
He whips out a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and takes the bag from me. He lifts out first one cup, then the other. He bends down to look. “Lipstick stain,” he says.
He turns to Jeff. “Did Hobbs come here with his wife?”
Jeff looks uncomfortable. “You know, a realtor is like a psychiatrist, in a way. We know everybody’s secrets.”
“Like who’s getting divorced?”
Jeff shoves his hands in his pockets. “I heard him talking to a Betsy on the phone. His wife’s name is Pam.”
“Jeff, that’s gossip,” Franklin Ferris says disapprovingly.
“Actually, it’s not,” Joe says. “I’m investigating a death. Go on, Jeff.”
“I was struck by the conversation, because I thought he was talking to his wife. He had that tone in his voice. And whenever we talked about this house, he never mentioned her. So I just kind of assumed that maybe,” Jeff looks at his father nervously, “there was someone else. But of course I don’t know anything for sure.”
Joe is writing in his notepad. “There’s no Starbucks on the island,” he says. “Whoever this Betsy is, she could be from the mainland.”
“Well, Hank Hobbs lived in Seattle,” Jeff says. “I mean, you know that, of course. I’m just trying to be helpful.”
Joe puts the cups and the bag into a plastic bag and seals it. “Can you show me around?” he asks Jeff.
“Sure.”
Nobody pays attention to me, so I tag behind them as Jeff opens the door and punches a code into the keypad to turn off the alarm.
“Never thought I’d have to use an alarm on Beewick,” Jeff says. “That’s a sad thing.”
“We sold houses with alarms twenty years ago,” Franklin Ferris says. “I hate this false sentimentality.”
“These days, we have to remember so many codes and passwords, it’s a wonder our heads don’t explode,” Joe says as he pokes around the empty kitchen. “My secret system is to code everything on my dog’s birthday.”
“You remember your dog’s birthday?” Jeff asks, amused.
“No. That’s the problem,” Joe says, bending down to open the cabinet under the sink.
“Ha,” Jeff chortles appreciatively.
We follow Joe around the house. I can tell he’s disappointed by the lack of clues. The house is not only empty, it’s clean. There are amazing views from all the bedrooms, and each bedroom has its own bathroom. That would sure cut down on arguments in Shay’s house, let me tell you.
“Let’s take a look at the dock,” Joe says when he’s finished.
“I was hoping we could get back to town,” Franklin Ferris says.
“Just another few minutes,” Joe says. It’s clear they can’t say no.
Franklin Ferris’s face is flushed as we walk out the door. He doesn’t like being told what to do, that’s for sure.
I’m keeping very quiet, hoping they’ll just forget I’m there. Nobody suggests it’s time for me to get lost, so I trail behind them down the incline to the dock. Jeff punches another keypad, and the gate swings open. Our footsteps thud along the wooden dock as we walk down toward the end.
Joe stops at the pilings and runs his fingers along one. “Someone tied up a boat here.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jeff says. “Folks like to come into this cove to fish. Some of them probably use the dock, even though they’re not supposed to.”
“Did Hobbs ever come to the house by water?” Joe asks.
Suddenly, I notice Joe’s body stiffen. He’s seen something. He squats and plucks something that had been wedged into the dock boards. He holds it up. It’s a small capsule.
“Vitamin?” Jeff asks.
Joe slips it into a ziplock bag. “We’ll see.”
Joe looks around some more, but the light is fading. Franklin Ferris looks at his watch in an obvious way.
“Well, I guess it’s time to shove off. Thanks for your time,” Joe says. “Gracie, I’ll give you a ride home. We’ll throw your bike in the trunk.”
We walk back down the dock and up the hill to the house, then tromp through the mud back to the driveway. Joe looks mournfully at the state of his shoes. While Joe puts my bike in the trunk, I watch as Jeff and his dad sit in his car with the doors open. Together, they take off their rubber boots and put on their shoes. Jeff takes the boots and puts them in the trunk. He waves as he drives off. Franklin Ferris stares straight ahead.
I slide into the front seat. Joe just drives for a while.
As he hits the main road back toward Shay’s, he nods a couple of times, as if to give himself courage.
“I spoke to your dad.”
Somehow I don’t like hearing the word dad associated with him. “Nate,” I say.
“I think I scared him when I showed up. He seemed to want to defend himself from me, as if I was going to arrest him for being a deadbeat dad. I could have. I wanted to.”
I have to admit I get some pleasure out of that.
“I didn’t think that’s what you or Shay would want.”
“No. I don’t want him in jail. Mom never cared about the child support payments. She was lucky she didn’t have to. She just divorced him and never tried to find him.”
“I just want you to know that I’ll do whatever I can for you, Gracie. That’s all. That includes running him out of town if you want me to.”
Well, here it is. I could make him disappear. All I have to do is say a word.
“That’s okay,” I say.
“There’s nothing wrong with spending a bit of time with him, and then sending him on his way.”
I twist in my seat to face Joe. His expression is stern as he drives. “You don’t like him,” I say.
“Men who abandon their children are the worst sort.”
“He was sick. He thought we were better off without him.”
Joe’s mouth twists. “They all say that, honey.”
“Is he a suspect?”
“Well, he didn’t know Hank Hobbs. Never met him, he said. Shay backed him up.”
You might think Joe is finished, but I know something else is coming. He pulls into my driveway.
“Are you coming in?” I ask. “I’m sure Shay wants to see you. Even if she’s still mad at you.”
He shakes his head. “Stay out of the Hobbs case,” he says.
“I am out of it.”
“I mean it, Gracie,” Joe says. “Don’t forget what happened last time. You started poking around, and the next thing you knew, you were kidnapped by a seriously disturbed guy. We’re talking about a murderer here.”
“But you don’t know Hank Hobbs was murdered for sure.”
“I know he was.”
“You got the autopsy reports?”
“He was smashed on the head and pushed into that water when he was still alive,” Joe says. “Whoever did it is dangerous. Are you getting this now?”
“It’s just hard,” I say, “when I see things…”
“What do you see?”
I shake my head. “Nothing that would help you.”
I get out of the car and lean in the open door for a minute. “Thanks for looking out for me,” I say.
“Just doing my job,” Joe tells me. “Now do yours. Be a kid. Not a detective.”
Once I get my bike from his trunk, he pulls out and drives away. The evergreens look black, with spiky tips brushing the darkening sky. I shiver, thinking of what I saw. I had stood behind a killer’s eyes and watched him kill.
I wish I could stay out of it. I wish I could. I wish I could turn off the visions.
If only.