Electric Blue (10 page)

I’d brushed my hair down straight and added some faint, curling-iron curls at the ends, burning the side of my neck in the process. (Had to cover the redness with serious cover-up, then fretted about that, too.) I refused to ask myself what all the fuss was about. I knew anyway. Jazz Purcell was handsome and I didn’t want to completely shrink into the wallpaper. There was no competing with him, but hey, I wanted to at least look worthy. I didn’t want to read the looks on the other patrons’ faces that said, What the hell is he doing with
her?
Maybe they would anyway, but at least I could try and mitigate it.

The maître d’ took one look at me and said, “Ms. Kelly?”

This was a good sign. “Yes.”

He smiled warmly and nodded to a girl holding a pile of maroon leather menus in her arms. “Mr. Purcell’s waiting for you.”

She led me to a table for two by the window. Jazz half rose as I walked toward him. Silly me, my heart skipped a beat or two. Good God. He was all in black. Black collarless shirt, again something silky and primal, black slacks. His hair was brushed back artfully. I kinda liked that it was longish. Not too much. Not scary, ex-hippy ponytail stuff. Just brushing his collar…if he’d had one.

“You look great,” he said, trying to hide his surprise.

This was more gratifying than annoying. “I clean up good.”

Outside the window was a dizzying view down to the Willamette River and east toward Mt. Hood. It was spectacular, so crisp and clear it was as if someone had taped a picture of the mountain to the window in lieu of the real thing.

As I sat down Jazz reached across the table and covered one of my hands with his own. Surprised, I nearly jerked back, just managed to keep my hand in place.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked.

I hesitated. I didn’t want to spoil the moment, but I always feel the compulsion to lay down ground rules even when there appears to be no need. “Not really,” I hedged. I worried he was going to go all mystical on me.

“I’ve had a life-changing year. It really started last Christmas when my wife died in the car accident. I’ve been trying to get past it, and move on, but…” He gave me a look out of those killer blue eyes. “You know about the memory loss?”

“Memory loss…?”

“They didn’t tell you?”

I wasn’t sure who “they” were. “I guess not. You mean your family?”

“They all liked you. I just thought maybe one of them took you aside and explained.”

I was still struggling with “they all liked you.” Clearly Jazz was overstating the situation. “I really didn’t talk to any of them other than Orchid.”

“Nana loved you,” he gushed. “Just loved you.”

I heard distant warning bells. “What memory loss are you talking about?”

“After the accident, I couldn’t remember anything for a little while. I guess it’s common after a head injury. No memory of the accident. But I haven’t had much of a memory even past that,” he admitted. “I knew who I was. And I knew Logan and Jennifer. But it just seemed like kind of a mess. Like I had pieces of somebody else’s life…a movie…that wasn’t mine, in my head. It all came back pretty fast. Well, in a couple of weeks, but I lost a lot of my short-term memory. Now, it’s hard to learn new things.”

“How did the accident happen? Do you know?”

We paused while the waiter brought a bottle of red wine that Jazz had asked for before I’d arrived. I’d been thinking of having a cocktail, but when Jazz questioned if I liked the name of the particular zinfandel he’d already ordered, I said, “I’m sure I do,” and left it at that.

The waiter began the uncorking ritual and poured us each a glass of a deep red wine that looked luscious, reflecting bloodlike from the light of the table’s votive candle. “I don’t recall, but I’ve heard them say it enough times. It was just before Christmas. Logan and Jennifer and I were shopping. We’d been in downtown Lake Chinook and were driving home. We were on the hills when a car came around the corner too fast and pushed us off the road. We actually went over the side of the cliff but got hung up in the trees.”

…Over the side of the cliff…
I had a mental image of Jazz’s car careening off one of the steep Dunthorpe slopes. A finger of fear coldly touched the base of my neck. I’d had a similar experience not too long ago. I hadn’t had the benefit of an automobile, if it was a benefit. I’d lost my grip on a tree limb and fallen to the ground, which had been a long, long way.

Giving myself a mental shake, I asked, “Who was the other driver?”

“Don’t know. They never came forward.”

“A hit-and-run?”

“Maybe they never knew. Or, maybe that’s something I tell myself because I don’t want to believe anyone would be that callous. The police asked me to describe the car but I couldn’t. Logan thought it was yellow or tan. They tried to find a vehicle with a crumpled right fender, but it never turned up.”

“How have you been coping?” I sipped the wine and thought it tasted better than my usual stuff from 7 Eleven.

“Not so hot. I had to quit work. I’ve just been…waiting, I guess, for time to pass and things to get better. But then Nana started deteriorating. Well, it’s been going on for a while, but it’s just so much worse now.”

“How were you employed? Before the accident.”

“Oh. I worked for the family. We have some real estate investments. And some stocks…” He made a face. “I don’t really know. There were some apartments downtown. Dahlia said I managed them, but I don’t really remember. It’s one of those things that’s missing. Dahlia took over, or, maybe Cammie. I think Garrett handles the other financial stuff.”

“Is everyone in the family employed by the family?” I asked the question lightly, trying not to make a judgment call. These things are tricky.

“We’re all trust fund recipients,” he admitted. “I think that’s why Garrett’s so worried. It’s not all locked up. You’d have to ask him about it, but I guess Nana could rewrite everything if she wanted and cut us out.”

I nodded while the waiter took our order. I ordered prime rib with a loaded baked potato and a Caesar salad. Jazz had invited me, so it was a good assumption he was paying. If not, I had enough cash left over from his earlier payment to take care of myself. Either way I was going to have a fabulous meal. If I saved some of the meat for Binkster, I could maybe squeeze in room for crème brûlée.

Jazz refilled my glass and I felt a little glimmer of that first wine buzz. The outside light was fading. Mt. Hood glowed faintly orange, lit by the setting sun, and grayish-purple shadows slanted across the landscape. It was a feast for the eyes and I kept my gaze trained out the window until the last solar illumination faded away.

Melancholia sneaked in and took hold of me. Maybe it was the Spence/Janice/Miriam/Trevin thing. Maybe it was a recognition of my own “singleness.” I drank more wine and distantly worried that I wanted Jazz to fall in love with me. I needed to feel desired. I tried to talk myself out of these dangerous thoughts but for the moment I couldn’t.

“I want to hire you, Jane. To come and be with Nana.”

Oh, Dwayne, I hate it when you’re right.

In a faraway corner of my mind I knew I was in trouble. “I’m not a caretaker, companion, babysitter…I would be terrible at it. I’m too impatient. I like my freedom.”

“I’ll pay you triple your usual rate. Really. It’s not a matter of money. I can get money. I just need someone reliable and trustworthy to take care of my grandmother.”

“How do you know I’m reliable and trustworthy?”

He smiled. “I might have trouble with my memory, but I’ve got pretty good instincts.”

I squinted at him. He was looking even better, by this time. I sensed other patrons gazing at us with a kind of curiosity and wistfulness. Did we look like a couple? Well, of course we did. Jazz had reached for my hand. “Instincts, huh?” I asked. To my own ears I sounded sober.

“Yeah…” There was meaning in there somewhere.

The food arrived. Knowing I needed to be clear, I dug in with gusto. Okay, I was really hungry, too, and the prime rib felt as if it melted on my tongue. After a good ten minutes of pure eating, I said, “I think you’re wrong about your relatives. They did not love me.”

“They told me they thought you’d be good,” he insisted. “Nana’s been a worry. She needs someone there. I promise I’ll find someone else. We’ll keep interviewing, but this would be a great opportunity for you to get to know her, to talk to her. A lot.”

I was hovering. I closed my ears to Dwayne’s devilish laughter, which I could hear before it even began. But I’m weak. And…well…I can be bought sometimes.

“I’m not staying nights. I have a dog.”

“Nana’s in bed by nine. We can take it from there.”

“You live at the house, too.”

“No.” He sounded regretful. “I live in the West Hills.”

I realized belatedly that I’d completely forgotten about his son. “How’s Logan doing?”

“He’s okay.”

“Good.”

“Jane…?” His blue eyes gazed at me in a way that made me want to reach over and touch his face, run my hand down his smoothly shaven jaw.

I also, however, wanted to face-plant into my bed and not wake till noon. I said, “When do I start?”

He grinned. “Tomorrow. Thank you. Thank you.”

I
showed up at the Purcell mansion at eight o’clock sharp the next morning, as instructed by Jazz. He’d told me he wouldn’t be able to meet me and to just make myself at home. In his giddy joy over having coerced me into the job he hadn’t specified the particulars of my employment. Maybe that’s why I grabbed Binkster at the last moment and settled her in her fuzzy, little car seat. Or, maybe perversely I simply wanted to let them know what I was all about. Hire Jane Kelly, hire her dog.

Binks has a tendency to sit up in her seat like a person, her butt down, her front legs dangling. Her tail, being curled, doesn’t get in her way. There’s something so humanoid about her that I find myself confiding in her about all kinds of things. On the way to the Purcells, I suggested that she ingratiate herself with Orchid so that I could keep bringing her. This was motivated by fear on my part that I might be in this new job a
loooonnnggg
time. I also wondered what my rates should be. Since Jazz was tripling them, this could be quite a windfall.

Clipping Binkster’s leash to her collar, I climbed out of the Volvo and she scrambled to the ground beside me. I nearly choked her as I dragged her from sniffing every leaf, fir needle and clod of dirt on our short trek from the car to the Purcells’ back door. What is it about dogs, especially their first time out each day? I swear it’s like they’re reading the morning paper. I’ve heard they get something like fifty different bits of information about the animal whose urine or feces they’re smelling. Maybe it’s more. Whatever it is, it’s like ambrosia to Binks. Since she has no nose to speak of, she gets her whole face so close to the loathsome poop or pee that I suspect one of these days she’ll get some on her. And then I think about how she licks me in delight, washing my face with that pink tongue whenever she gets the chance. Germophobe that I am, those chances are few. It’s enough to send me to the shower just thinking about it.

Once in a while though, she takes one quick whiff and backs up as if she’s been stung. Makes me wonder about the dog that left that information.

A young Hispanic woman met me at the back door and instantly looked worried about the dog. A rapid-fire stream of Spanish brought another Hispanic woman—this one a bit older—who said, “Mrs. Dahlia does not allow pets.”

Mrs. Dahlia herself appeared at that moment. A look of distaste crossed her broad face. “You brought a dog?” she said incredulously.

Although I had no reason to be, I was instantly irked. A few months earlier and I’m sure I would have had the exact same reaction. But now I’m a dog person. And being a nouveau dog person, I ignore the fact that others don’t feel the same way I do.

“The Binkster is well-behaved.”

“Just because Mother loves animals doesn’t mean we let them in the house.”

“I told Jazz I was bringing Binks.” I’m an opportunistic liar, if there ever was one. Dahlia had unwittingly given me information I could use, and by God I was going to use it. If Mother loved animals, then
voilà,
I had the animal for her.

Her lips compressed. “He should have checked with me.”

I waited. Dahlia gazed at me hard. She didn’t have the male Purcell beauty but she had those eyes. I found it a little unnerving. Some people just look kind of crazy.

In my own thoughts I heard a remnant of Dwayne’s recital about Cammie: “…She opens her eyes, gazes at me with that really crazy look…you know the one. Something about it’s just not right.”

“Make sure his feet are clean,” she grudgingly said, holding the door.

“Her.”

“What?”

“Binkster’s a girl.”

We followed Dahlia inside and upstairs. Binkster tugged on the leash like she was at a race, but I held her in check. Dahlia hesitated outside Orchid’s rooms, her hand on the knob.

“You should know, it wasn’t our idea to have you take care of Mother. Jazz was insistent, and well…” She looked me up and down as if to say, “This is what it’s come to.”

“I understand.” I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t my idea, either.

“This is just an interim thing, until we replace Eileen.”

“Absolutely.”

I expected her to move out of the way, but she bent her head and added in a confidential tone, “We’re trying really hard to get Mother to see what needs to be done, for her benefit as well as the benefit of the family. It’s not easy. She rambles on about things that didn’t happen. She confuses her dreams with reality.”

“Jazz simply wanted me to do a personal evaluation of your mother—just as an outside party—and since I was on site…that’s why I’m here. This isn’t my usual job.”

“You’re a private detective.”

“Information specialist.”

She sighed. “I really don’t know what Jazz was thinking.”

She was starting to thoroughly bug me. It’s okay for me to ask these questions of myself; it’s not okay for someone else. I was saved from a response when she finally pushed open the double doors. Binkster shot inside. Wriggling and twisting her tan and black little body, she greeted Orchid affectionately. Orchid exclaimed in delight and leaned down toward her. Binks snorted right in her face, giving Orchid’s sprayed hair a puff of doggy wheeze that didn’t alter its shape one iota.

“Oh, he’s so cute. Come here, sweetheart. Oh, aren’t you lovely!”

Although her hair was done, and makeup was applied—a little clownlike, I might add—definitely too much fuchsia going on there—she was still in her bathrobe. That made me think that breakfast might still be forthcoming, which was immensely cheering.

Dahlia did not follow us inside, which was a win as far as I was concerned.

Orchid cooed over Binkster, who moved on and sniffed the thick, cream carpet in a way that made me worry we should have made a potty trip first.

“Binks,” I said sternly.

The dog looked at me. I motioned her to come to me, but she prowled around the room, performing her usual perimeter check, her pushed-in muzzle picking up all the hidden Purcell scents.

“Is the dog for me?” Orchid asked expectantly.

“She’s just here for a visit,” I said quickly, slightly alarmed. “The Binkster is my dog, and I just thought I’d have her come along.” I was suddenly wishing I hadn’t been so bold and pushy. This whole thing looked like it could backfire without much provocation.

“Oh, she’s a girl!” Orchid was even more delighted.

The door opened and Dahlia stepped inside. She’d allowed us a whole three minutes together before checking in. Big whoop. Binks looked up, but quickly went back to her exploring.

“Did you see the doggy?” Orchid asked. Her eyes joyfully followed the pug around the room.

“Mother, Jane’s here to help you look over those papers.”

My ears sharpened. Papers? I skewered Dahlia with a look.

“Oh…” Orchid gazed around the room in a lost way, then climbed to her feet with an effort and toddled over to her desk. She picked up a sheaf of about four pages. “These papers.”

Dahlia nodded, folding her arms under her breasts. I got a profile shot of the woman. Her weak chin slipped into her neck.

“You really want me to sign these, don’t you?” Orchid said to her daughter. “So afraid…so afraid…” She slid me a cagey look. “You agree with them?”

Dahlia said impatiently, “Mother, it’s a power of attorney. You know what it is. How do you expect us to take care of you, and everything Daddy left you, if you won’t even sign?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

“Everybody agrees it’s for the best.”

“Do you think Eileen was stealing?” Orchid asked me.

Dahlia made a strangled sound and lifted her gaze to the ceiling.

“I never met Eileen,” I answered truthfully.

“Eileen’s the nicest girl and they ran her off and gave me you.”

“Mother…” Dahlia sighed.

“All right, fine. I’ll sign it.”

I blurted, “Don’t do it unless you want to,” which earned me a lightning blue glare from Dahlia.

Orchid gloated at Dahlia. “Then I’ll leave it here till later. Come here, doggy. What’s his name again?”

“Binkster. Her name.” I watched Orchid set the papers back down on the desktop, my thoughts uncomfortable. We’d just gone over Binkster’s gender. Was it “old age” or serious memory problems that made her forget so quickly?

Dahlia stared at the sheaf, her jaw clenched. Then she slid a look my way. I realized very clearly that I’d been wrong: my time on this job was going to be very short. Muttering something about checking on breakfast, Dahlia strode stiffly from the room.

Orchid stretched her arms toward me and said, “I’m ready for my bath now.”

“Be right back.” I practically ran straight downstairs. When I found the younger Hispanic woman, I pantomimed what was required. The girl nodded and headed upstairs to take care of the situation. Bath time was definitely outside of my job description.

Relieved, I hung around downstairs. The smell of eggs and bacon made Binkster start to whine. I wondered if I was on the list for breakfast. The caretaker protocol was still a little vague. I was making up rules as I went.

I wandered around the hall and main salon for about fifteen minutes when the older, English-speaking woman brought out a tray with a plate that held one egg, a piece of toast and two strips of bacon. I could see the string from the tea bag hanging over the china cup’s rim. She headed for the stairs, but saw me look at the food. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Thank you. That’d be great,” I said with feeling.

“I will be back soon.”

She was good as her word. As soon as she was finished taking the food up to Orchid, she waved me into the kitchen. I parked Binkster at the newel post, wrapping her leash around several times. She tried to follow me, but I shook my head and she sat on her haunches and eyed me patiently. She seems to get it that I will return with goodies.

Inside the kitchen I perched on a stool, my mouth watering as I watched Reyna—my keen detecting skills took over when the other girl, momentarily back from her bath-preparation, called her by name—expertly fry up two eggs and a couple more slices of bacon. There was miserable whining heard from the other room. Reyna cocked her head and put part of an egg on a plate without my asking. Throwing her a look of gratitude I picked up the plate and carried it to the dog. Binkster received this bounty with a happy dance, then got to eating with a concentration I can relate to.

I returned to my own plate and a cup of black coffee, shaking my head to her offer of cream. I ate with appreciation, though I tried to be polite and not wolf it in like I’m wont to do. I also tried to manage some conversation but Reyna was very reluctant to say more than was required. Whether this was from difficulty with the language or reticence over appearing too friendly with me, the new, half-baked caretaker, I couldn’t be sure. I figured if anyone knew what was really up in the household it would be Reyna. She might even have a pretty good idea what the truth was about the much-maligned Eileen. As I was a member of the help, I could see how this might work to my advantage.

I spent the rest of the morning doing basically nothing. After Orchid’s bath and breakfast she went down for a little nap and I was off babysitting duty. I used the time to acquaint myself with the first floor of the house, which, besides the entry hall, main salon/living room and kitchen, yielded a wing devoted to maids’ quarters, which were obviously unused as the rooms were cold, musty and bare; a laundry room; a little room called the inglenook filled with glass shelves which in turn were filled with an array of knickknacks; and a library done in rich mahogany-stained wood complete with one of those cool ladders that slides around on a rail. Two oxblood chairs with high backs and brass studs were collected around a table near the floor to ceiling pane windows. I looked outside to a view of trees, the Willamette River far below, and a distant view of white-capped Mt. Hood.

I skipped lunch because I honestly don’t eat three meals a day, and for once in my life I wasn’t hungry. I talked to Orchid while she again ate in her room—this time a brothy soup and toasted cheese sandwich—but she seemed distracted and in her own world. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen any of the other members of the Purcell family since Dahlia’s morning greeting, though I knew most of them lived in the house. They’d moved back in recently, a result of taking care of Orchid. But nobody wanted the actual chore of babysitting her. Hence Eileen, and now me.

Deciding to walk the grounds, I was on my way out when Orchid stopped me with, “I really don’t want things to be like this.”

“Like what?”

“The way they are.” She regarded me beseechingly.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“She had to leave.” Her eyes filled with sudden tears and she started to gently weep.

I froze by the door, uncomfortable at her sadness. Binkster stared at Orchid, then went over to her and licked her leg. Orchid broke into sobs and hugged Binkster who, having offered up her sympathy, grew a bit alarmed at the sudden tight squeezing. She wriggled free and trotted a few steps away. Orchid swiped at her eyes to no avail. “I didn’t…” She hiccupped, still crying. “I didn’t…want it to happen…and she knew it would…”