Electric Blue (15 page)

“Paying you.”

“You’re really pissed about this.”

“I’m pissed about a lot of things.”

Dwayne shrugged, clearly disaffected. “Well, maybe Mr. Australia dumped her, but Miriam hasn’t broken down and fessed up to Spence, as far as I know. It’s still a secret.”

“She’s probably licking her wounds. Trevin is a shit.”

“She chose poorly.”

“Well, maybe if your buddy Spence wasn’t with Janice, Miriam wouldn’t feel compelled to choose.”

“Spence is not a buddy of mine, and we’re not investigating him.”

“Well, maybe we should.”

“And who’s going to pay us for that?” he asked, maddeningly logical.

“It isn’t always about money.”

“Since when, Jane Kelly?”

“Since I had to listen to those damn Purcells worry that Orchid wouldn’t sign the power of attorney.”

He slid me a look out of the corner of his eyes. “Is Jasper one of those ‘damn Purcells’?”

“I’m worried about her. Dementia patients wander off and bad things happen to them. Injury. Death. I don’t want to be responsible.”

“You’re not responsible.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dwayne, damn it…don’t go there with me right now. I’m just…”

“Irrational?” he guessed.

We stared at each other a moment. My mind cataloged nearby objects I could use for weaponry: pots, pans, lamps, the pile of books I’d left on a corner of the counter. I really, really wanted to throw something at him.

He watched my expression intently. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you should find Orchid Purcell on your own. You’re not going to feel right until you do. It’s not your fault. You know it’s not your fault. But the lot of them are going to act like it is, and you need action.”

My anger slowly dissolved. “The police have been called and there’s no money in it.”

“All right. This time you need something better: validation.”

It’s the rare day Dwayne can admit there’s something more important than collecting clients’ greenbacks. It’s even rarer that he thinks I should spend my energy in such pursuits.

But it made me feel lighter to hear him give me the go ahead. Rolling around in the back of my head had been the desire to take on finding Orchid myself. I said, “If Orchid’s still missing tomorrow, I’ll join the search for her. She can’t be far, but I wouldn’t put it past one of them to hide her. Maybe coerce her into signing the power of attorney. I don’t know.”

“Who would that be?”

“I don’t know.”

“How would they do it? You said they were all at the meeting when she turned up missing.”

“I don’t know, Dwayne. I’m just guessing. Someone could be hiding her at the house, for all I know. I didn’t get to search James’ suite.” I looked away, not wanting to meet his gaze. Jazz hadn’t been at the meeting. He hadn’t made it to the Purcells until after Orchid was missing, but I couldn’t believe this was anything to do with him, and I certainly didn’t feel like explaining that to Dwayne. “Whoever did it could have had help from outside,” I theorized. “It just feels like there’s something else going on.”

“You going to tell Jazz you’re doing your own search?”

“Maybe. I’ll see.”

He nodded, draining his glass of wine and pouring another.

I thought about telling him my feelings when I was inside the playhouse, but changed my mind. Dwayne works in facts. An attack of the willies isn’t something he would relate to. Instead, I said, “There’s something…off…with the Purcells. Something happened with Lily, Jazz’s mother, and it’s eaten away at all of them. Orchid was crying about Lily and how her husband treated her. I know dementia patients can get sad and upset and there’s no consoling them, but this seemed like something festering inside her. Something secret and dark. So, I’m going to look into that, too.”

I half-expected him to accuse me of being fanciful, but all he said was, “Put it down in a report. Then give me a copy.”

“What for? Posterity? You think someone’s going to pay you for it?”

“You just never know, darlin’.”

He finished a third piece of pizza and the rest of his wine, then tossed Binkster a teensy piece of crust. At the back door, he stooped to give Binks a couple of hearty pats on the head before he disappeared. I latched the door behind him, listening as I heard the engine of his boat rev to life.

I felt better. I had a plan. Corking the still half-f bottle, I glanced down at the pug who was staring through the glass at the inky night, hoping for sight of Dwayne. She looked up at me in silent recrimination, clearly blaming me for ruining her evening.

“Oh, get over it,” I said, and we both headed to the bedroom.

I
n the middle of the night I clawed myself awake from a dream about annoying insects that were buzzing and buzzing and tangling in my hair. I thrashed an arm out to ward off a cloud of some kind of wicked, stinging black hornets, effectively waking myself, and that’s when I heard the little buzzing sound. It came from my desk. Vaguely I recognized it was happening every few minutes. As I came to full wakefulness, I realized it was my cell phone. On vibrate mode, it was telling me I had a message.

I brought the phone back to bed with me and punched in the numbers to access my voice mail. After the female computer voice instructed me to please enter my password, I pressed in the four-digit code—1, 1, 1, 1. (I never claimed to be a security expert.) I had two unheard messages.

The first was from Lorraine Bluebell, a real estate agent in Lake Chinook whom I’d befriended last summer. “Hi, Jane. Believe it or not, I have a gift certificate to The Pisces Pub. Are you free for lunch tomorrow? I’m buying…” She left her cell phone number and I saved the message, so I could input it to the phone later. I probably had one of her business cards floating around, but I didn’t want to chance it and miss out. There’s something about The Pisces Pub that doesn’t lend itself to the “gift certificate” criteria. It’s a beat-up, shit kicker kind of place whose theme was once something to do with the sea and now is mostly ranch or cowboy.

The second message was a sales call for a reduced interest rate on a credit card. They wanted me to call the number back immediately. I squinted at the phone. Telemarketing on my cell phone? That was low.

I snuggled deeper into bed and Binkster took it as a means to lobby for entry under the covers. I allowed it and she curled her furry little body up next to me. I put my arm around her and felt incredibly protective and possessive. I don’t get what’s come over me. All my affections seemed to be targeted at her. I fell back asleep wondering if this was the result of a nonexistent love life—or a symptom of something worse.

I was up at the crack of dawn the next morning, determinedly shaking off my blues of the night before. Any thoughts I had for a run to the Nook were dropped when I saw the streaming rain pouring down from the heavens. I drove myself instead, my thoughts on Orchid. I hoped she was inside somewhere, safe and sound.

Things were hopping at the Nook. No Billy Leonard, but the crowd was intense. Julie was working like she had six arms, and her right-hand woman, Jenny, was also delivering orders at top speed. Julie and Jenny are the Coffee Nook’s sugar and spice: Julie’s sugar; Jenny’s spice. Kind of jalapeno spice, actually, since you never know when you’re going to get zinged. Jenny can zap you good but her sharp repartee is a major draw for the Coffee Nook customers.

I poured myself a cup of black coffee and blew across the top, searching for a place to sit. One stool was empty but someone had her purse on it, so I stood in the center of the room and watched Julie and Jenny serve the customers. There was no sign of Spence or Janice this morning; too early, perhaps. Since I didn’t want to run into Miriam, either, I was going to have to keep my eyes peeled.

Seeing Jenny reminded me of Jennifer, Jazz’s deceased wife. I wondered if Jazz was still mourning her more than he let on. I also wondered what effect his short-term memory loss had created. Had the accident changed him? What had he been like before?

I called Lorraine at eight o’clock. Early, yes, but she struck me as the kind of person who got going in the morning. She answered promptly and was thrilled that I could join her. We settled on twelve-thirty.

I next called Jazz but I got his cell phone voice mail. I thought about leaving him a message but changed my mind. I didn’t feel like telling him Cammie had “fired” me through Dwayne, and I knew if there were any news on Orchid he would let me know first thing.

Blessedly, the rain turned to a fine mist on its way to stopping completely. Back at the cottage I wrote up the hard copy report about my trip to Complete Me for Dwayne to give to Spence, then I read it over and fixed a few typos. I afterwards examined my online banking report and was pleased at the five hundred dollar deposit I’d made. I’d kept out a hundred dollars to use as mad money from Jazz’s first payment. I wondered vaguely if he would pay me for yesterday. Does it count if you lose the woman you’re supposed to be looking after?

Around ten I had a
mazda:
I decided to call Eileen. Punching in her saved number, I eagerly waited for her to answer with no clear idea of what I planned to say. But she didn’t pick up her phone, so I left a message saying who I was and what my connection to Orchid had been before her disappearance.

At ten-thirty Jazz got back to me with the information that Nana was still missing, and the police were taking down a detailed record of Orchid’s daily life and schedule. I mentioned to him that I was thinking about conducting my own investigation. He didn’t jump on the idea of “hiring me” for that as well, but clearly his mind was full of other things—worry, chief among them. We ended the conversation with “let’s get together later” words of good-bye.

Around noon I headed to The Pisces Pub. The front door has a carved mermaid who looks as if she’s been abused by every patron who’s walked through the doors. She lost her breasts years ago and her fins aren’t in the best of shape. Her face has been hacked at or eroded, too, so she looks perpetually pissed off.

I could relate.

Lorraine wasn’t about when I entered so I sat myself at the bar right in front of the wooden fish statue that is bolted to the front counter. Said statue wears tiny spurs, a western vest, chaps and a hat. Since the last time I’d been here someone had added a string tie around the fish’s neck adorned with a turquoise clasp. Our little fishy cowboy friend also had a new sheriff’s star on its right breast. “Jewels Verne” was imprinted into the star’s dull copper finish.

“We had a contest,” the bartender said, catching me examining Jewels. “That’s the winning name. Want anything?”

I chose a light beer. Having tended bar in California, I always examine the style of the bartenders with a critical eye. I liked this guy’s easy manner. And I liked The Pisces Pub for its lack of pretension and its kitsch. I hadn’t been here for a few weeks but apart from the fish’s name and get-up, nothing had changed: same scarred wooden floor, same wagon wheel overhead lights, same random mix of the seven seas meets the wild west.

I was halfway through my glass when Lorraine burst through the doors. Her brown hair is cut short and feathered, and a white streak slashes across her bangs. She has to be in her mid-fifties but she seems to be fighting the middle-age middle fairly well. Her deep purple pantsuit fit well, the kind of cut that spoke of designer tailoring. She looked thinner than when I’d last seen her, and I complimented her as she sat down on a stool beside me, loading her current big-ass purse onto the counter beside Jewels. The purse matched her outfit: dark purple and gold. She even wore gold flats.

“I’ve been at class all morning,” she said, turning her attention to the bartender. “Do you have a decent Chardonnay? I don’t care if it’s good. But decent I have to have.”

“It’s decent. Barely,” he said.

“Bring it on.”

Lorraine gave me her full attention. “Luckily I don’t have to go back this afternoon.”

Real estate agents are always taking classes. Part of the ongoing requirements to keep licensed in the state. “I’m glad you called.”

“I have an ulterior motive,” she admitted. “I may need some help. I sold a property to a friend and now one of her neighbor’s flipped out and seems to be sabotaging her home.”

“How?”

Lorraine shook her head. “She lives in First Addition. It’s one of those tricky neighborhood association things. They’ve got a rogue player causing havoc. He doesn’t like all the construction going on around him, and those that agree with him are turning a blind eye to the vandalism. I was wondering if you could do a stakeout at my friend’s, catch the guy in the act? He’s been pretty actively targeting her since she added an addition and second story.”

“Did the renovation affect someone’s view, or something?”

“No. It’s all about stopping progress using any means possible.” Lorraine sniffed. “Some of the longtime residents feel the homes are getting too big…that they’re moving away from the original concept of the neighborhood. A lot of First Addition was built in the forties, and the homes were two-bedroom cottages with one bathroom. New people moving in are paying high prices and they want more. And yes, they’re making them bigger.” She gave me a look. “The guy’s stolen items from the job site. He’s broken tile. When she went out to her mailbox, it was filled with dog poop.”

Yuck. “I’ll see what I can do.” Since I was working for myself on the Purcell case unless Jazz decided to butt heads with Cammie and hang onto me, I could use another job.

“Thanks.” And as if reading my mind, Lorraine added, “Bill me your usual rates.”

I nodded. Note to self:
I’m going to have to get some of those.

I took down the particulars on her friend’s house. First Addition is close to Lake Chinook’s downtown business area, and it’s always been a desirable neighborhood but in the past few years the prices have gone from hot to blistering. I knew someone who owned apartments in that area, so I jotted down a note to call him and catch up.

We settled into the business of ordering food. I chose the coconut shrimp, knowing they’d be probably frozen, heavily battered and rubbery. But when in The Pisces…Lorraine chose a small bowl of chili. “You can’t trust the salads here,” she said in an aside.

“I’ve got some questions for you, too,” I said as they brought our orders. My shrimp were exactly as I’d expected, and I soaked them in a gingery salad dressing that they served in a small, clear plastic cup. Honestly, they were dang good.

“What do you need?” Lorraine asked.

“Do you know much about the Purcells?”

“Hmm…yes and no. Don’t know them personally, but they’ve got amazing real estate. Not just in Dunthorpe but the West Hills and Portland Heights. Central Oregon—Bend and Black Butte. And you can’t miss that “P” on a lot of commercial buildings in downtown Portland.”

“Know anything about the family history?”

“The usual, I guess. One of them ended up in a sanitarium.”

“Lily,” I agreed encouragingly as the bartender brought her drink.

Lorraine took a swallow and made a face. “Should have ordered a martini,” she said. She was a woman after my own heart. “Mostly what I know is rumor. What are you searching for? Are you doing work for them?”

I suppose it was slightly unethical of me, but I brought her up to speed on my adventures in senior-sitting. I figured it wasn’t exactly client-investigator privilege, and the police were involved now, too. Lorraine’s eyebrows lifted upon hearing Orchid was missing. “That’s too bad,” she said.

“I kind of expected her to turn up today. Maybe they all did. I’m going there next and making finding her a priority. It’s not what they hired me for, but I can’t just walk away and forget about her.”

“Don’t you go feeling responsible,” Lorraine cautioned me.

“Well, I do. I can’t help it.” I didn’t add that I felt the Purcells were responsible at some level, too, but it was what I was thinking.

Lorraine’s brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe I can help you with Lily…. As I recall, there was some rumored scandal surrounding her. All of the Purcells went to private school, not public, which isn’t a surprise but it means I didn’t ever meet them personally, and I don’t know any of their classmates. I went to Lake Chinook High. They were at some school on the east side of the river, I think. Lily was around sixteen when she was sent to that place on the Willamette somewhere around Salem? Or, maybe Eugene? Oh, what’s the name of it…”

I didn’t comment. Didn’t want to disrupt her thought process.

“It’s River, something. River…river…River Shores! And I think it’s closer to Salem. She wasn’t there long. She died of something.”

“She was there almost a year, I think. She had a baby. A boy. Jasper Purcell.”

“Oh, that’s right. And he’s the one who hired you. What did you call him? Jazz?”

I nodded. “Do you remember anything about his father?” This was a question I hadn’t wanted to ask Jazz, figuring if he wanted me to know he would bring it up himself. But I wasn’t above a little rumor-mongering if it helped my cause.

“Was he from the sanitarium?”

“I don’t know. I guess it depends if she was pregnant before she arrived or after she got there. Jazz says Lily was known for her meekness, but she died from being held down and restrained. The whole thing was hushed up. Orchid even believes she may have been murdered, but Orchid can be—fanciful.”

“Is she losing it?” Lorraine asked.

“Seems like it,” I admitted. “There are some signs. I never really had a chance to talk to her about Lily’s death. It didn’t come up, and honestly I didn’t know how to mention it without sounding like a ghoul.”

Lorraine nodded. “Well, I wish you luck. Are you going to go to River Shores?”

“Maybe. It’ll just be for my own edification, though.” I checked my watch. “Right now I’m going to the Purcells. Finding Orchid is a priority.”

An hour later I turned into the Purcell “in” driveway and headed toward the house. I wasn’t sure about the reception I would receive. I wasn’t really looking to be “rehired,” but I refused to be pushed aside, and as long as I had my connection to Jazz, I intended to use it.