Shadow's Lady (A Pajaro Bay Cozy Mystery + Sweet Romance) (15 page)

"So," Aunt Zee said, as if concluding the conversation, "you will stay with me until you decide what you want to do next."

"But—" What could she say? That she liked it out there? That the wind through the gnarled pines, and the ticking of the revolving light, and the cherry red aga stove, all of it had changed her somehow, and she didn't want to go back to the person she had been before?

"I'm going back out," she finally said.

Aunt Zee sighed. "I don't want to pull rank on you, my dear, but no. The historical society has rescinded its permission for you to stay there."

"Since when?"

"Since later this afternoon when I tell them to at our monthly meeting."

"So you think I can't handle myself?"

"Everything isn't about you. I think Matteo is up to something and he needs, as he put it, 'the field clear' so he can do his job."

"When did he tell you what he was up to?"

"He didn't. Not exactly. But while you were wandering around the village trying to find out about him at the newspaper office, I was going to the horse's mouth."

"How did you know I...? Never mind. Of course you know everything that happens in Pajaro Bay."

"Even before you went and bit his head off at the clinic, he knew you weren't going to listen to him. I think you need to take a step back and really look at what's going on."

"What do you mean, what's going on? He's up to something, and you don't even have a problem with it. He sells drugs, Aunt Zee!"

Those blue eyes, so much like the ones Lori saw when she looked in the mirror, gazed calmly back at her. "You are not to go out to the island until he says it's okay."

"You invited me to the island."

"Yes, I did."

"Why did you do that, if you think it's stupid?"

Aunt Zee paused for a moment before answering. "Because I didn't do it for your mother. When she tried to rebel, I wasn't there for her, and she never did break free."

This was news. "My mother's the one who thinks I should live in a prison."

"Have you ever stopped to think that your mother might just be a human being, one struggling to figure out how to live with epilepsy just like you are?"

"No. I never have." That was the truth. Her mother had always been the one saying no to her. How could she picture her mother chafing against rules when she was the one who always set the rules?

The doorbell rang, and when Sandy turned from the sink where he was scrubbing a copper frying pan, Aunt Zee waved him back. "No, dear. I will answer it."

She left the room, and Lori tried to imagine her mother at her own age, with parents who kept her restricted because of her disorder, and with the burning desire to make her own choices. It was impossible to picture her like that. The image of her mom as a hidebound conformist was too deeply ingrained.

Sandy cleared his throat.

She looked up and saw that he was looking at her plate. "Oh, I'm sorry. Yes, I'm done."

He looked from the leftover eggs on her plate to Shadowfax.

"I suppose so," she said. "He'll eat anything."

Sandy happily fed the dog the leftovers. The dog wolfed it down, then gave Sandy a big lick to his face. Sandy grinned, and Lori did, too.

But then they heard a man's voice raised in anger and both ran to the front door.

A tall man in a sheriff's department uniform stood there.

Aunt Zee waved them back. "It's fine. Captain Knight and I were discussing a little problem." She led them all back into the breakfast nook. "Please get Ryan a cup of coffee, Sandy. He likes cream in it."

The captain sat down with a resigned sigh. "Ma'am, I really can't stay. I just need to take care of this one little problem."

"Which window are we talking about?" Aunt Zee asked.

"The storm blew out that little pointy one in the attic. You know the one—it's right beneath the eave in front."

"Ryan and Camilla live next door, in one of the best-preserved Stockdale cottages," she explained to Lori. "The attic is going to be their son Oliver's room, since they need the second-floor bedroom for a nursery." Then she turned back to the captain. "I know the window, Ryan. Redwood framing, hand-blown glass, and the lead caming. It's a shame we lost that one. So what's the problem?"

"I went down to the hardware store, and Velma wouldn't sell me a replacement window."

"Velma is one of the historical society's most conscientious members."

"I'm sure she is, ma'am. But I need to cover the window today."

"I'm sure Camilla has ordered windows in the past."

"Yes, ma'am. From the glassmaker in San Jose. But those take five months to be hand-built and delivered, and the baby plans to arrive in two weeks."

Aunt Zee laughed. "I see your problem. Sandy?"

Sandy handed her the cordless phone from the side table.

She patted Ryan on the arm. "You go on back to the store, and you won't have any trouble purchasing a temporary window."

"Thank you, ma'am."

He strode out, giving Lori a quick nod as he left.

Aunt Zee finished the call to Velma, and then she leaned back in her chair. "Now. Where were we?"

"We were done with talking about my decisions for today," Lori said.

"Not quite, though I like to hear you being more decisive."

"And less whiny?"

"Yes."

"I just don't see why you've changed your mind. It's not like Matt is going to have a gang shootout at the lighthouse or anything."

"I haven't changed my mind," Aunt Zee said. "You've proven your point and it's time to think about your next step."

"I've proven what point?"

"That you can live independently. There's not any reason to continue this, now that you know that about yourself."

"You think I should go home." She swallowed hard. She hadn't even spoken to her parents. She wasn't ready to go home. Not yet.

"I didn't say you should run back to your parents' nest. But living on your own isn't a permanent solution."

"You do it."

"I have Sandy."

Lori glanced over at the man, who was busily doing dishes and pretending not to hear the conversation. "I'm sorry, Sandy," she said. "I didn't mean to discount you. You are a very good friend to Aunt Zee." She turned back to her. "But you have lived alone a lot during your life."

"Well, I was married for most of my life, so alone is a relative term. You can be very alone while married. It depends on the marriage. But your situation is different."

"Because I have epilepsy."

"Yes. There's no point in pretending it doesn't matter. It does."

"I won't live in a cage."

She nodded. "No matter how gilded. Yes, I understand that. But there is a middle ground between living under your parents' thumb and running away to a deserted island."

"I can't believe you're suggesting I can't live alone. You're the one who came up with the idea in the first place."

"Because you needed to do this. You needed to prove something to yourself. But now you
have
done it. Now it's time for the next lesson: no man is an island."

"That's what Matt said."

"I always knew I liked that boy. You have plenty to think about. So we will get on with the day. What are your plans?"

"Nothing much. Take care of the dog—which takes up a lot more time than I ever imagined."

"I'm happy to see you with Shadowfax. He is another new experience for you."

"In more ways than one."

"What do you mean?"

Lori looked down at the dog, who was licking his paws to get the last of the eggs benedict off of them. "You know how I had wanted to get a dog?"

"Yes. You had intended to get over your fear of them and then work your way up to—"

"—a seizure-alert Chihuahua."

Sandy started coughing.

"Don't choke, Sandy," Aunt Zee said. She led him back to the table. He sat down next to Lori, the dishcloth in his hands, and Aunt Zee returned to her place opposite them.

"You okay?" Lori asked.

He nodded, then looked at her questioningly.

"What am I talking about?" Lori said. "Some people with epilepsy have dogs that warn them when they're going to have a seizure, so they have time to sit down or otherwise prepare themselves before it happens. It saves them from falling down or dropping things."

He gave her a thumbs up.

"Exactly. It's a good thing. But I've never had a pet, so I thought I would get a tiny one and see what happens."

"I'm glad you got Shadowfax," Aunt Zee asked. "It's another step in overcoming your fears. But do you really think this particular dog can learn to alert you to seizures?"

"It's possible. They say about 20% of dogs owned by people with epilepsy end up doing it." She looked down at the dog. "I had figured on something little and cute. You know, one that would wear a tiny sweater and a rhinestone collar and not shed all over the house." She smiled at Shadowfax, so he stood up and bumped her thigh with his bony head, almost knocking her out of the chair. "Something I could carry around in a purse. Not something that could carry
me
around. But now that I have Shadowfax, he seems just right for me."

Aunt Zee smiled at her with a very self-satisfied look on her face.

"What?" Lori asked.

"You wanted something small, and predictable, and safe. Kind of like Richard."

"Richard?"

"Richard was a very sweet man. But he was quiet, safe and very predictable."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"If you want to live a quiet, safe and predictable life." She raised an eyebrow. "But you are no more cut out for a safe little life than I was. So now you have a big, messy, and unpredictable dog. And a big, messy and unpredictable man to match."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

One look from her and Lori said, "Fine. I know what you mean. But I'm not interested in Matt DiPietro. He's—"

"—big and messy and overbearing and not at all safe." Aunt Zee stood up from the table. "And you're already more in love with him than you ever were with dear Richard. Did it ever occur to you that you did Richard a favor in ending your engagement?"

"No."

"It's awful to be married to someone who doesn't truly love you, even if you care about them. Richard deserves to find his true match. And so do you. And your match is not going to be a quiet little Chihuahua of a man."

Sandy stood up. "I'll need you to drive me to the meeting at eleven," she said. He nodded and headed off to his room.

Lori stood up, too, and rested her hands on the table. "It takes more than physical attraction to be right for each other, Aunt Zee. It takes shared values, respect, all sorts of things I could never feel for someone like Matt. You can't possibly think I should date a criminal. That's crazy."

"What's crazy is that someone as intelligent as you would not trust her own instincts."

"I don't have any practice trusting my own instincts."

"Well maybe it's time you learned. Now, we are going to dinner and opera in the city this evening. We'll be leaving around three this afternoon. You are welcome to join us."

Lori gave her a doubtful look.

"It's not that bad, Lori.
The Mikado
. Lots of English, beautiful costumes, easy to follow along."

"No, thanks. I'm sure I can find something else to do."

"Like stick pins in your ears?"

Lori laughed. "Sorry. I'm just not into opera."

"You don't have to enjoy opera. Just don't mope around the house all day."

"I won't. I'm going to walk down to the beach, and then it'll probably take me all afternoon to get the sand out of the dog's fur."

Aunt Zee laughed. "Fine. So I will attend the historical society meeting, Sandy will pick up the dog food Mabel Rutherford bullied you out of getting yesterday, and you will spend some time with your big, messy dog. And we'll all stay out of trouble for one day. It's a plan."

•••

"A spy?" Deputy Joe Serrano said it for the third time in as many minutes. "You, a spy?" He leaned back against the blue leather seat in the Spyder.

"Not a spy," Matt said, looking out the windshield at the redwoods dripping all around them. He had picked up Joe and taken him for a little ride out of town, and now they sat at the end of a dead-end road halfway up Pajaro Mountain, where no one could see them together.

Matt tried again to explain without giving away too much: "Not a spy," he repeated. "Not like secret agents and James Bond. I don't have an umbrella that turns into a machine gun or anything like that. It's more of a run-of-the-mill undercover operation."

"Like getting yourself shot while pretending to be a criminal," Joe said.

Matt nodded. "Without going into too much detail, let's just say you and I are more on the same side than my public image might imply."

"I get that part. You're working
against
the drug gangs, not for them." Joe tilted his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "It makes a lot of sense," he said, eyes still closed like he was trying to absorb all of this. "Murderous Matt DiPietro never felt right. But why are you telling me now?"

"I shouldn't be telling you, even now. But we've got a problem and I'm running out of time. I need your help."

Joe opened his eyes. "I'm sure we can help. I'll call Captain Knight and we'll get right on it."

Matt shook his head. "That's why I came to you. I can't go to the local cops."

"I'm a local cop."

"You're the guy who got me ten days detention when Sister Patience found us playing
Mission: Impossible
in the old church."

Joe laughed. "I thought I was pretty clever to tell her we were cleaning the cobwebs off the stained glass. It was better than saying that you were really Tom Cruise, and you were hanging from the rafters to infiltrate the enemy camp and steal the cache of microfilm from under the altar. I really don't think the sister would have appreciated the importance of your mission."

Matt smiled at the memory, even all these years later. "It probably would have worked if you had been a better liar."

"And if Kyle hadn't dropped the rope and made you fall into the apse."