Chapter Nine
“No,” Julia Ford said through lips that barely moved, but Phoenix could read the dawning horror crossing her face.
Maybe she was faking, maybe she wasn’t. But she sure as hell was afraid Joe Ford had been wheeling, dealing, and cheating.
Phoenix took in the young woman trembling before her and decided in that split second that no, Julia Ford wasn’t faking. She looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights, just waiting for the car to hit her. It was a good bet she had one helluva story to tell.
“Relax,” Phoenix said. “I’m here to help. Mind if I take this chair over here?”
Julia mutely shook her head, so Phoenix chose one of the cups of decaf and one of the cups of cream nestled beside the cups and took a seat. Twenty long years as a reporter for the North Coast Spirit had taught her patience, something sorely lacking in her character when she’d first graduated from the University of Oregon with a degree in journalism and then had applied for jobs up and down the Willamette Valley and from California to Washington with no success. Too young. No jobs. Sorry, sorry, sorry . . . So she’d come home to the coast, her dreams dashed, her tail between her legs, and old Mr. Templeton, who owned the paper and had a soft spot for idealistic individuals who wanted to change the world and had enough energy to do so, had hired her as a gofer around the newspaper office, which was settled in the right half of the lower floor of an old brick building in Tillamook. The left half was originally a printing/copy shop, which seemed a natural next to the paper, but it had only lasted a few years. The space then turned over to a number of businesses—shoe repair, computer repair, appliance repair, whatever. Currently it was a coffee shop, which was why Phoenix had come to the hospital with two cups of coffee snug in a gray paper carrier the exact color of her hair. She had never colored her hair in her life, even when the first strands of silver had shown up in her late twenties. It just wasn’t her style, then or now. She’d always let her mass of gray hair grow because she didn’t want to fuss with it. She also eschewed makeup of any kind, and when she appeared in Jules’s room, she looked like the aging hippie everyone accused her of being, although she’d missed that particular stage in American culture by about as many years as she’d been on the planet.
“Joe would never do that to his investors,” Julia said.
“You sound just like your brother-in-law, but that wasn’t what you said when you came to see me.”
“What did I say?”
“You said, and I’m paraphrasing here, ‘I don’t know if my husband’s involved with Cardaman or not, but maybe this will help.’ And you handed me the file, which is locked up in my office file cabinet.”
“What’s in the file?”
Phoenix could barely hear her, she spoke so softly. “A list of names, mostly. People you wanted me to check out. I’m about three quarters down the list, and no one’s blamed your husband yet. Of course, with his death, that could change, I suppose, and if there’s no clear head of the company, I’d imagine those investors are going to be lining up to get their money back. Do you know who inherits the company?”
“No.”
“Would you like your coffee?”
Julia turned blankly toward the table that held her cup, still in the cardboard carrier. Like an automaton she picked up the paper cup and removed the lid, peeled back the top of one of the miniature cream tubs, dumped it in. She put the lid back on and took a sip.
“I usually drink regular coffee,” she said, as if testing out the idea.
“I tried to see you yesterday,” Phoenix said, “but there was a guard outside your door. I thought he was going to be there for the duration, but he’s not there now. Apparently you’re no longer either in danger, or a suspect.”
“A suspect!” She nearly dropped her coffee.
“I don’t think you’re a suspect,” Phoenix said, “but yesterday I didn’t quite know what was what. The general consensus was that boating accident was just that, an unfortunate accident that sent you to the hospital and took your husband’s life.”
“But you don’t think that,” she said, lifting the cup to her lips. Without makeup, she looked about twelve years old.
“You handed me the Cardaman file after Denny left the company. Your husband had just closed his Seaside office, and you were no longer working for him. You wanted me to see if there was any wrongdoing.”
The blood drained from her face. “Who’s Denny?” she whispered.
Once again, Phoenix thought the amnesia wasn’t an act. “He was your husband’s bookkeeper. There were a few other employees, off and on over the years, but he was the last one. He left around March. He complained to me about financial fraud.”
“I can’t . . . remember,” she wrenched out.
Phoenix debated how hard to push. The answers were inside Julia, no matter what the cause of her amnesia, so it was a matter of unlocking them. “You know what happened, even if you don’t have all the pieces yet.”
“I don’t have any of the pieces.”
“Yeah, you do, and I think you know it. You just can’t access them right now.”
The last few years of her tenure with the North Coast Spirit, since Phoenix had diverged into her own kind of reporting—a decision made when old man Templeton died and left her a big chunk of the paper—she’d learned a few things about coaxing information out of reluctant informants. This was a little different, but along the same principles. Phoenix felt she was pretty damn good at her job, so it was just a matter of fitting the right key in the right lock. “How about I tell you all I know about you and then maybe that’ll be the grease that gets things going, hmm?”
“I’m afraid I won’t like what I hear,” she said, swallowing.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. Apart from what you told me, I didn’t know much about you, so I did some research. I asked people about you. And everyone who knows you said you were good people.”
Tears suddenly filled her eyes. “That’s nice to hear,” Julia choked out.
“But the question’s about your husband and whom he was in bed with, financially speaking.”
“You think he’s sleeping with the enemy. I was just thinking about that movie,” Julia said, her lips twisting.
“You were the one who brought me the file,” she reminded gently.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Rapid. Approaching. Phoenix moved up to Julia’s bed and said quietly, “You met me at the coffee shop next to my office. Perfect Cup, which I think truly overstates their product, but it’s handy. You were the one who set up the meeting. Do you remember that?”
“No.”
“You said you wanted to know the truth about your husband, no matter what it was, and then you handed me the file. Do you still want to know the truth?”
A nurse pushed into the room, older, solid, with a take no prisoner’s attitude. Phoenix knew she was about to be bounced out of Julia’s room, but she kept her eyes on the girl, waiting.
In this Julia didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she said firmly. “I want to know the truth.”
* * *
Sam arrived at Tutti’s a little after six-thirty, tying his canoe to one of the shiny, silver cleats on the dock, then swinging onto the ladder that reached from the dock into the water and hauling himself up it. Hap and Tina weren’t there yet and he looked down the canal and saw Tina move out to their deck and look his way. Neither of them waved. It had taken Hap and her a good twenty minutes to drive from Joe’s around the bridge on the north end of the canal and back down to their house, a much longer route than across the water. Hap came out to join her and they moved together to a motorized rubber raft floating near the attached boathouse. Beyond them sunlight glittered on the green waters of the canal, which took a sharp bend on its way to the main body of the Nehalem River, then the bay and eventually the ocean.
Sam’s head was full of questions for Hap about Joe’s business. He would like to get him alone for a deep discussion, but if it had to play out in front of the other Fishers, he didn’t know if he much cared. He wanted results fast. He wasn’t interested in finessing answers if it was going to take too long.
“There you are!” Tutti declared, spying Sam as he walked up the five steps from the dock to the upper deck, which was on the main level of her house. The sun beat down on the back of his neck, but the breeze was cold, now coming off the ocean. No more east wind.
He let himself be propelled by Tutti toward an outdoor wooden table where a sweating, ice-filled bucket held bottles of wine and beer. Sam added his wine bottle to the mix, but chose another Corona for his drink, which Tutti immediately took from him. She stuffed it with a lime slice and handed it back to him with a flourish. Only one other couple had arrived thus far, and they were inside the house in front of the television. Sam could see them through the screen of the sliding glass door. The man had the remote in hand, aimed at the television.
Tutti was saying, “. . . and Jackie Illingsworth. They’re on your side of the canal, or Joe and Julia’s side, I should say, four houses down, right over there.” She pointed and Sam dutifully turned to look. “The house next to the Illingsworth’s is empty, just sold, and it’s a second home, I believe. I haven’t met the new owners yet. Then you’ve got Byron and Zoey, and between them and right next to Joe and Julia are Stuart and Bette. They’ve got the German shepherds.” Less and More.
Sam’s cell rang at that moment. The local news was just coming up on the television. “Excuse me,” he said, glancing down at his cell.
“Sure,” she said, but she didn’t move.
The caller was Gwen. He gave Tutti a “just a minute” sign as he moved toward the steps that led back down to the dock. “Hey, Gwen. How’s Georgie?” he answered.
“Fine. Better. Sorry about that. I didn’t know she’d called you. She was in her room.”
“I’m happy to talk to her.”
“Yeah, thanks. She’s finally resting. I had to give her one of my sedatives to calm her down.”
“Okay.” He sure as hell hoped she wasn’t giving a prescription drug to her twelve-year-old. “She can call me anytime.”
“It’ll probably be tomorrow. She wants Julia’s number at the hospital, too. Do you have it?”
“Call the hospital, they’ll connect you to her room, but . . . um . . . Jules is having some memory issues, so don’t expect too much.” A collective gasp went up from inside Tutti’s house. They must have just learned about Joe. “I gotta go.”
“When you see Julia, warn her that Georgie is going to want to see her. Probably she’ll talk me into that tomorrow. I just can’t do it today. That kid sure can make life miserable when she doesn’t get her way. You’re lucky you don’t have any.”
Her attitude stunk, he thought as he jogged quickly to the upper deck. The screen door was open and Tutti was inside with the other couple, the Illingsworths, Sam reminded himself. Tutti turned to Sam accusingly, her hand to her mouth.
The hand dropped. “Your brother’s dead?” she cried.
“I didn’t want to say anything earlier.”
“Oh, my God!” The TV screen showed a shot of the ocean and then the back side of The Derring-Do, the boat’s name visible through the blackened charring of the stern.
“I wasn’t planning on coming,” Sam admitted.
“What about Julia?” she practically shrieked.
“She’s in the hospital. She’s okay. She’ll be okay.”
“Well, what happened? What did she say happened?”
“She . . . hasn’t been able to remember the accident.”
The man detached himself from his willowy wife, who was balancing a martini, looking stunned as she teetered on high heels. “Rob Illingsworth,” he introduced himself as he stepped onto the deck and shook Sam’s hand. He was just under six feet, muscular and wiry. He sported a close-trimmed beard, tan Dockers, and a dark brown T-shirt. His wife was in white capris and a shiny red top.
“This is Sam,” Tutti said distractedly. “Joe’s brother.”
The woman sloshed her drink onto Tutti’s carpet before joining them outside. “Jackie!” Rob snapped at her.
“Sorry . . . sorry, I’m so sorry,” she murmured. She looked absolutely shattered, and she was clearly already less than sober.
“Why is Jules in the hospital?” Tutti asked Sam anxiously as she closed the screen door behind her. “Is she okay?”
“She’s got a broken collarbone. Some head trauma.”
“Can she remember what happened?” Rob asked, frowning.
From the corner of his eye, Sam noticed that Hap and Martina had arrived. Hap was tying up his raft before helping Martina out. Both of them had changed. Hap wore a black silk shirt and pressed denim jeans and Martina had changed into a different sundress, this one black, which showed off her tan legs and a pair of black high-heeled sandals. It took Sam a moment to realize they’d dressed in black for Joe.
“Are you staying at their house?” Rob asked Sam as Hap and Martina greeted everyone.
“No, I’m just trying to piece some things together.”
“You’re investigating?” Rob asked. “Tutti said you’re a cop with the Seaside Police.”
“That’s what Julia told me,” Tutti inserted quickly.
“Was. I’m in between jobs,” Sam said at the same time.
“Jackie and I raised dairy cattle. My dad’s farm outside Tillamook. Big farm. Too much damn work, so we sold a few years ago, and we’ve been looking for something else.”
“We invested with Joe,” Jackie gasped out tearfully. “Now what?”
Tutti grabbed Sam’s arm again. “I’m so sorry,” she declared again. “I’m just so sorry.”
Tina, who had overheard the remark, said a bit huffily, “Your investments are safe, Jackie. Hap’s going to take care of everything.”
“How’s Hap involved in Joe’s business?” Sam asked her.
“Hap has his own firm. Well, with his father, but Walter isn’t doing all that well these days. He’s had some heart trouble, so Hap’s taking over.”
Jackie asked Tina on a gulp, “Did you know about Joe?”
“I heard earlier. It’s terrible. Come on, let’s get you another martini.” Tina put her arm around Jackie and steered her back inside the house where apparently the hard liquor was kept.
Everyone kept commiserating with Sam and each other. Sam’s throat grew tight and he had to cough to clear it several times. Two other smaller boats arrived, bringing two more couples.
The first couple docked their craft and headed up the ladder onto the dock. The man followed beneath the woman. He must have made some comment on her short, blue silk skirt because as soon as she was on the dock, she lifted it higher so he could get an unadulterated view. He laughed and she smiled and strutted away from him. He was carrying a plastic bowl of some potluck dish, balancing it as he got to the dock.
Then the woman spied Sam and he got a good look at her face.
He immediately was thrown back in time to the night of the Triton/Hawks football game . . . the night of Hap’s party . . . the night he met Jules.
Zoey Rivera, he thought in surprise.
What the hell was she doing here?
Zoey saw him at the same time. “Sam!” she shrieked, then ran up the stairs to greet him.
Byron and Zoey. Sam hadn’t clicked to it, when Tutti had said their names. He’d been thinking about other things. Now, as Zoey threw herself into his arms, he saw that her companion was the same Byron from high school, Byron Blanchette, her onetime boyfriend, the one who’d broken up with her because she’d supposedly been with Rafe Stevenson.
“Oh, my God, oh, my God. I heard about your brother,” Zoey said, her whole body shaking. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? How’re you doing? It’s terrible. Just terrible. What about Julia? Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!”
Byron came up behind her and diffidently offered Sam a hand, which Sam shook. “I’m Byron,” he said. “I remember you.”
“I remember you, too,” Sam said. Byron was about Sam’s same height, though he carried a few extra pounds on his six-two frame. There were faint touches of silver in his dark hair, but he looked fit and strong, as did Zoey.
“We all remember each other,” Tina said with a tight smile as Zoey eased herself out of Sam’s arms.
Hap added, “A lot’s happened since then.”
Zoey’s eyes were teary. “I’m just so shocked. And so, so sorry, Sam.”
“It’s all right.” Sam weathered Zoey’s continued sympathy for a while. He learned Zoey and Byron both worked in Seaside. He was a real estate developer and she was an agent. Zoey wasn’t wearing a ring and it came out that they were living together and had been for quite some time, but there were no wedding plans in the future as yet. Byron handed off the bowl to Tutti, who set about placing it on the outdoor table atop the red and white checked plastic tablecloth.
The other arriving couple was Stuart and Bette Ezra, Jules and Joe’s next-door neighbors, the couple who owned the German shepherds. They were as shell-shocked over the news of Joe’s death as everyone else. Stuart was in his late thirties or early forties and wore a black Polo shirt that emphasized the muscles in his arms. His hair was brownish blond and he sported a close beard a few shades darker. His wife, Bette, had large breasts and was stuffed into a black cotton tank dress that was beyond form-fitting and hugged her curves. Her skin was honey colored and she surveyed him critically through large brown eyes.
Stuart set the casserole dish, filled with some pasta and cheesy thing he’d carried from his rowboat, onto the table beside the bowl from Byron and Zoey, then came up to Sam. “Sorry, man. It’s hard to believe. Joe’s a great guy . . . was, I guess. . . .”
Bette’s dark eyes were full of pain. “We really, really liked them,” she said to Sam. “I can’t believe this. You must be devastated. And Lord, what about Julia? How’s she handling all this? She’s so fragile. I worry about her.”
Fragile? Not the Jules he knew. Sam explained about Jules’s injuries to the crowd as a whole. They were all sober, all stunned. He did mention that she was having some troubles with memory, but they all took it that she simply couldn’t recall the accident. He didn’t correct them.
While they were all talking, Tutti buzzed around as the host, checking to make sure the guests had everything they needed. But she kept coming back to Sam, grabbing his arm and hanging on as if for dear life, maybe more for her support than his. Hap spent a lot of that time checking his phone, and Tina seemed to slowly relax a bit, chatting with Zoey and Tutti, while the Illingsworths stood to one side, in some kind of deep discussion.
Sam tried to catalog Joe and Jules’s friends with a detached part of his mind, but their shock and grief renewed his own, and he found himself drifting out of their conversation. The one thought that kept circling was about the gasoline. Why had Joe purchased a can of gas from the marina gas station? Why had he taken it on his boat? The boat fire had been fueled by gas. How had that happened?
Who set the fire?
Tutti opened the bottle of wine Sam had brought and poured herself a glass, taking a large gulp. She then stopped for a moment and leaned her back against the warm exterior wall of her house. She’d changed into short shorts since he’d seen her earlier, which showed off a nice pair of legs. Her pink halter top barely kept her breasts in place, but she seemed oblivious to that fact. Her gaze, Sam realized, tended to fix on Stuart Ezra from time to time.
Huh. Sam glanced across the canal to the house next to Joe and Jules’s, where the dogs, in the slanting sunlight, were now sleeping on the wooden deck. All of the houses on the canal were nestled close together, just a quick boat ride or swim from one back door to the next.
Zoey was going on about high school, a classmate of both Sam and Byron, and it was clear she kind of longed for those days again. Byron, however, made terse, snappish remarks to all of her reminiscences, which seemed to suggest he felt far differently.
When the subject of Joe’s death and Jules’s injuries was exhausted, the group finally moved to other topics, except when one of them was including Sam. If he was part of the discussion they wanted to make sure he was okay, so they kept asking him how he was. Though Sam’s whole purpose for joining the barbecue was to learn anything he could about Joe, he couldn’t get past the well-wishing. Finally Tutti, misunderstanding why he was so quiet, demanded that everyone stop making Sam feel bad, and then she took it upon herself to jabber away about anything under the sun, as long as it didn’t have to do with Joe. It was frustrating, but Sam figured he’d let some time pass, then maybe direct some conversations himself back to Joe and the accident.
In the meantime he learned Tutti’s real name was Kathy Anderson, but no one called her anything but Tutti. It was a nickname her ex, Dirk the bastard, had given her when they were dating because she’d ordered tutti-frutti ice cream on their first date to the fair and spilled it down his front, then had proceeded to lick it off his shirt, right in the middle of the fairgrounds, which had quickly led to their first sex in the fair parking lot in his Dodge Ram truck, right in front of God and everybody, had anybody been walking by at the time, which they hadn’t.
“Got pregnant right away, wouldn’t you know,” she added at the end. “Sean was already here by the time we got married and Devon was the next year. Too bad Dirk turned out to be such a bastard. We had good sex.”
Hap drawled, “The way I hear it, you have good sex with everyone.”
Tutti threw him a surprised look. “Well, if it isn’t good, why have it?” she asked.
“Amen, sister.” Hap gave her a “just kidding” wink, and Tutti waved a hand at him, like he was such a wag. But Sam saw the set smile on her face as her eyes followed him the rest of the evening . . . except when those same eyes slipped a look in Stuart’s direction.
Sam sipped his beer while Tutti went prattling on, explaining that Sean and Devon were thirteen and twelve, respectively, and they lived with their father. “Their choice,” she said shortly. “You know boys that age. They think they’ll have more freedom with him, but they should know better. They want to be here on the weekends, though. They like crabbing and fishing, anything to do with the boat, and of course that god-awful drone, also Dirk’s idea. I make them take it down to the beach.”
Zoey broke from Byron and came back to Sam. “Can I ask you a question about your brother?”
“Go ahead,” Sam said, ready to get back on topic.
But Tutti popped in with, “Sam doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“It’s all right,” Sam assured her.
“How did you learn that it was Joe’s boat? Did the coast guard or Sheriff’s Department call you?” Zoey asked.
“They didn’t have to because I’d guessed before I knew.”
“It’s not all right,” Tutti interrupted. She tried to steer Zoey away, but Zoey wasn’t about to be moved.
Sam continued, “Joe asked me to meet him on his dock, but when I got there, The Derring-Do, Joe’s boat, was gone. I figured he must be on it.”
“Were you supposed to go with him?”
“Zoey,” Tutti complained.
“Not that he said,” Sam said.
“Well, why did he want you to meet at the dock, then?”
“I don’t know,” Sam answered honestly. The question had certainly crossed his mind when he’d gotten the text, but then everything had gone to hell. “He didn’t say there was a plan to go in his boat.”
Tutti gave Zoey a speaking look, so Zoey said, “I won’t ask any more questions if you really don’t want to talk about it any longer, Sam. It’s just . . . it’s so terrible and hard to believe.”
“And that’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it!” Tutti declared.
Zoey ignored her, keying in on Sam, waiting to see which way he’d jump.
“Go ahead,” Sam encouraged her.
“So, the Sheriff’s Department found . . . Joe, or maybe the Salchuk Police?”
“The Salchuk Police,” Byron declared loudly, coming over to be with Zoey. “They’re worse than useless. How’d their name come up in conversation?”
“We were talking about Joe,” Tutti said shortly.
“The coast guard was there,” Sam said.
“Oh, sure.” Zoey shook her head. “I just was wondering how it all happened.”
At that moment Rob Illingsworth called from inside the house. “Sheriff’s on the news about Joe!”
Tutti sighed heavily. She turned to Sam and made a face. “I tried,” she said as the group traipsed into the house.
“It’s okay. It’s all we’re thinking about,” Sam said.
On the television Vandra was relating the facts of the case to the media. He explained that Joseph Ford had drowned following a boating accident. There was a picture of The Derring-Do, up in flames, from either a chopper or a drone. The sheriff said it appeared Ford’s wife was onboard as well, but she was alive and being treated for injuries sustained in the accident. She had been rescued by her brother-in-law, Samuel Ford....
Bette Ezra turned to Sam, eyebrows high. “You saved Julia?”
“I was first on the scene,” Sam said.
“But you saved her,” Zoey repeated. “You did.”
Tina drawled, “Well, of course he did. It was Julia.”
Hap laughed. “You gotta find a way to hide that jealousy, honey.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tina said, and shot him a hard glance.
Jackie Illingsworth had finished her second martini and was swaying on her feet. Stuart Ezra reached out and grabbed her elbow, steadying her. “You might want to sit down.”
Tutti took over from Stuart, fussing over Jackie, helping her into an overstuffed chair positioned near a river rock fireplace.
About that time there was a knock on the back slider—another guest, a single man, who had come around the side of the house and onto the deck. Leaving the slider open, he stepped inside, kissed Tutti on the cheek, and introduced himself as Scott Keppler “You’re Joe’s brother,” he guessed, eyeing Sam. “Tutti told me she’d invited you.”
“That’s right.”
“Sorry to hear, about him. Must be rough.” He shook hands with Sam and said that he lived on the same side of the canal as Tutti and had decided to walk rather than travel by boat. He was a big man, about a decade older than the rest of them, somewhere in his forties. He gave Sam a long look, said he looked a lot like Joe, and offered condolences again, saying that he’d seen the earlier news report.
Bette Ezra watched Scott’s back as he took his bottle of wine out to the dock to add with the rest. “He was Joe’s lawyer,” she said in an aside to Sam. “But something happened, and he no longer is.”
Sam really examined Jules’s next-door neighbor. There was something sultry about Bette that was arresting. “You have the German shepherds, Less and More.” He hitched his chin toward the Ezras’ house where he could see the dogs still sleeping on the deck, though clouds had crawled across the sky, blocking the sun.
“I just picked ’em up from doggy day care. They haven’t bothered you, have they? How’d you know their names?”
From behind Sam, Stuart said, “Joe told him,” in a tone that suggested Bette was slow on the uptake.
“Actually, I heard Hap call them by name,” Sam explained.
“Hap?” Bette looked over at Hap, who was back to examining his phone. “The dogs don’t like him.”
“They’re in fine company then,” Stuart said. “Lots of people have issues with Hap.”
“Yeah?” Sam asked, taking a sip from his beer.
Stuart shook his head and said quickly, “Just kidding.”
Sam wondered. He sensed all wasn’t exactly Norman Rockwell perfect on Fisher Canal. Despite the laughter and conversation, the pretense of congeniality, there was something more going on here.
Rob Illingsworth had been glaring down at his wife. Jackie’s head was lolled against the back of the chair near the fireplace, her eyes closed. He said something under his breath, then as if realizing he wasn’t alone, looked around the room. He focused on Sam and then lifted his own beer bottle to him.
“You’re the guy whose ankle Brady Delacourt took out in high school, aren’t you?” he said. “You guys were on the same team. The Hawks.”
“Yep. It happened during the game against Astoria.”
Rob left Jackie and joined Sam’s group, who were all heading back outside. The clouds had taken over the sun completely, turning everything cool and dark. “I was good friends with Brady. My family had a summer place in Cannon Beach. He was a big son of a bitch. Even bigger now.” He put down his empty and grabbed another beer, nodded to Scott Keppler, who’d poured himself a glass of red wine, a new bottle as the one Sam had brought was already gone. “Too much money, right?” He shot a good-natured glance toward Hap, who was leaning up against the rail, his dark hair teased by the breeze. “It’s kinda going around.”
Hap reminded easily, “You’ve done all right, Rob.”
“Hell, I’m not complaining. No, sir. Everything’s going pretty damned well. I have no complaints about Joe.”
There was a loaded pause and a woman behind Sam cleared her throat. She came into view and he saw it was someone new. She looked around the group and focused in on Sam. “Hi, I’m Joanie, Joanie Bledsoe,” she introduced herself, still studying his features and connecting the dots. “You must be Joe’s brother. Tutti said she’d invited you. I’m really sorry about everything. Such a shock. I’m still reeling, and I’m sure you are.” She wore very little makeup and her smooth brown hair was held at her nape with a tortoiseshell clip. Her dress was a blue pinafore over a white blouse, very earth-mothery.
“Traffic was a nightmare from Seaside. That’s why I’m late,” she went on. “The commute to work’s gotten to be just awful. I came into Tutti’s a little earlier, but you were all watching the news. My girls want to use the kayaks and stop by later, so I dropped them off before driving back here. So . . . sorry I’m late.” She smiled faintly and looked around, to see if anyone had heard her excuse, then turned back to Sam. “I’m planning to go see Julia. I’m worried sick about her. Think I can see her tonight?”
“Maybe,” Sam said, studying her. Joanie was all over the place. “Jules is being released tomorrow.”
“Oh. I didn’t know. You think I should wait?” She peered at him closely. “She’s such a great friend of mine. I really want to see her.”
“Leave it till tomorrow, Joanie,” Scott Keppler said. There was something long suffering in his tone that said maybe he’d had more than a few dealings with her.
“I just want to make sure she’s okay.” Joanie pointed toward Hap and Martina’s house for Sam’s benefit. “I’m further down the way, on the same side of the canal. My two daughters are friends of Georgie. I’m so glad she wasn’t on the boat with Joe and Julia.” At Sam’s silence, she said, stricken, “Oh, no! She wasn’t, was she? Oh, God!”
“No, no. Georgie wasn’t on the boat. She’s with her mother. She’s fine.”
“She’s with Gwen?”
Sam nodded, then realized Joanie had more to say on the matter. “Why?” he asked.
“Well, I’m not one to talk out of turn, I’m just surprised, that’s all. Gwen’s not . . . well, she’s not exactly mother of the year, if you know what I mean. But thank the Lord Georgie wasn’t here for this tragedy. You know—well, of course you do—Georgie’s living with Joe and Julia, not Gwen. She hasn’t lived with Gwen for years. I know it’s summer, but honestly, they just don’t get along. Mothers and daughters, sometimes . . . Luckily I’ve always been close to mine. What?” she demanded to the snickering that was going on between Hap and Rob Illingsworth.
“You’re not one to talk? Oh, come on, Joanie,” Rob said with a big smile.
Sam thought she was going to come unglued, but instead she just shook her head at him and dredged up a return smile. To Sam, she went on, “My daughters, Xena and Alexa, do everything with Georgie, but Gwen . . . well, she’s got a life of her own. She and Joe weren’t a good fit like he is . . . was . . . with Julia.” Her face fell. “It’s just impossible to think of Joe as dead. I’m glad, so glad, Julia is okay. I just feel terrible.”
“We all do,” Zoey said, unashamedly eavesdropping as she waltzed up.
“What are her injuries?” Bette Ezra asked. She dipped a cracker into an artichoke dip from the table and said, “I mean, specifically. Nothing super serious, I hope?”
“Broken collarbone. Head trauma,” Sam said again.
“Somebody here said she can’t remember the accident,” Bette said, nibbling on her cracker.
“That’s right.” And not much else, either.
“How’d the boat catch fire in the first place?” Stuart put in, eyeing his wife’s cracker and turning toward the dip as well.
Sam had a vision of his brother stowing a five-gallon can of gasoline on the boat and his stomach clenched. “Unknown,” he said shortly.
“Must have been a terrible accident,” Joanie said.
“Well, yeah,” Zoey rejoined. “What else could it be?” She looked over at Sam, the glint of challenge in her eye.
Everyone else turned toward Sam, too, as if expecting an answer.