The Sunset Witness (15 page)

It seemed what had begun as an ordinary day had
turned out to be a day we could not have imagined.  I wanted to tell Michael
that I might be pregnant, but I needed more time to get used to the idea myself
and thought it best to wait a full week before I tried the test.

We walked as far as Frank's house together to make
sure he was all right.  Then Michael kissed me goodbye and left to pack a few
things before he started the drive to Seattle.  He would have lunch with his
father the next day, talk about ways to extricate himself from the financial
mess he was in, and ask for his father's protection.  There was still the
problem of the man he refused to represent in the robbery case.  He'd been set
up by the mob.  The man's family knew Michael had seen the robbery and withdrew
as counsel.  In either case, he was a witness, and it was a no-win situation. 
Without his father's help, he would wind up in the meat grinder.

After all the excitement, I was not in the right
frame of mind to spend time with my plot outline.  Instead, I ironed the fabric
I'd bought the day before and began stapling it to the artist canvas.  It took
most of the afternoon to be sure it was stretched evenly and the design was
properly aligned on the finished side.  Then I began coating it with the
decoupage glue so the fabric would not stain or attract dust.

While I waited to apply another coat of the
decoupage, I composed an email to Detective Gannon and attached a copy of the
photo I'd taken of the mural before and after it'd been touched up.  With all
that happened since I met Michael, the incident with the mural seemed light
years in the past.  Perhaps Detective Gannon would have some new information by
the time I called her Monday morning.

Michael called me before he left Portland and headed
up I-5 to Seattle.  He had a good trip so far, but he missed me.  He promised
to call me in the morning, and we said goodnight.

I applied one more coat of decoupage and called it a
day.

Monday, June 13, 2011

While I waited for Michael to call Monday morning, I
decided time would pass more quickly if I did laundry.  There were several
loads because Sarah left sheets and towels behind to wash.  I lugged the
laundry to my car and drove to Main Street.

The laundry was part of the cabin rentals.  The owner
said if I could show proof I was renting one of his cabins, he'd refund ten
percent of the total I spent on the machines.  I explained I was renting a
beach house from Dinah Devore.  The man gave me a knowing smile.  He said he'd
like to be able to compensate me for the aggravation, but rules were rules. 
Then he laughed.

The laundry was clean, and the machines were fairly
new.  I've always had an aversion to putting my clothes in the machines in
public laundries.  Some of them are more disgusting than gas station
restrooms.  It was painful to part with $3.50 per load to wash and $1.25 to
dry.  I dried the first load at a low temperature.  I was afraid I'd shrink my
clothes.  I discovered low was too low.  Then the woman next to me said high is
safe because the machines never get more than warm.  She also advised me to use
the hot water setting because the owner set the water temperature at lukewarm. 
I could see my tip money evaporating fairly quickly if I did much laundry.  I
sympathized with people who are trying to save for their own washer and dryer
when they have to spend almost $5 to wash and dry a load.  No wonder so many
travelers look as if they've worn their clothes for a month.  They probably
have.

I was folding Sarah's sheets when the scruffy-looking
man I'd first seen in the parking lot entered the laundry with a pillow case
full of dirty clothes.  He nodded, and I said good morning.  I noticed he
stuffed all the clothes in the pillow case into one machine.  He mixed dark
clothes with light, and he seemed unconcerned that his towels might shed on his
fabrics.  His dryer was next to mine.  He dried the entire load at the high
setting.  I'd separated my delicate items from the rest of my load so I could
take them home to drip dry.

"I see you're painting the windows at Twyla's
Tea Room.  I work there as a waitress," I said.

"It's in the sun now.  I'll be back at it later."

"I like your accent.  Is that British?" I
asked.

"Australia.  Haven't lived there in a while."

"What did you do there?" I asked.

"I studied art after I was discharged.  Had a
good job, but I wanted to see the states."

I hoped he was not discharged from an asylum.  I decided
to give him the benefit of the doubt.  "Did you see any action when you
were in the service?"

"Afghanistan," he said, as if the word
explained everything.

"Have you worked in the US?" I asked.

"Nobody's hiring.  Not much building going
on."

"Can you make a living with your art?" I
asked.

He gave me an ironic smile.  "The painting keeps
me alive, so I suppose I make a living at it."

I took my sack of quarters from my purse and felt as
conspicuous as if I'd been caught committing a crime.  I knew he noticed I did
have cash on me contrary to what I'd told him the day he asked for help to buy
gas.  Then I realized he'd understand I needed the quarters to do laundry.  I
wasn't wealthy myself or I'd have my own machines.  Still, I felt a twinge of
guilt, because I knew I must be better off than he was.

My phone rang, so I excused myself and was happy to see
Michael on the caller ID.  I'd expected him to be happy to have found his
father.  Instead, he was upset.  He was at Ricky Russo's estate waiting for him
to finish a business meeting.  Michael was sitting at the pool and had phoned
his mother to tell her the good news.  She was furious with him and told him to
get out of Ricky's home as soon as possible.  He asked me what I thought he
should do.  I had no idea what was going on and didn't know what to tell him. 
His mother had not given him a reason for being so upset.  I was afraid
whatever I said would be wrong.  He was alone at the moment.  I suggested he
try to leave.  Once he knew what had upset his mother, he could make an excuse
to his father.  He liked my idea.  We ended the call when his mother called
again.

The phone rang again.  I was expecting Michael. 
Instead, it was a clerk at the floral shop in Hoquarten.  She apologized for
their error.  She was on vacation for a week and then realized they had sent
the wrong roses.  She said Michael would receive his roses that afternoon along
with a coupon good for a free bouquet.  I asked who sent the flowers.  The
party told her Michael would know who sent them.  She could not give out the
name on the account.  On top of Michael's distressing call, my conversation
with the florist left me with a sense of dread.

I went about removing clothes from the dryer and
starting new loads mechanically.  I was grateful to have something to occupy my
attention.  I was gathering up my supplies when the scruffy-looking man held
out his hand and introduced himself.

"Name's Harry Martin.  Pleased to make your
acquaintance."

"Rachel.  Nice to meet you.  I'm looking forward
to seeing the painting progress."

By the time I'd unloaded the laundry and supplies at
the beach house, it was early afternoon.  I was hungry in spite of being
concerned about Michael.  I made a quick sandwich so I'd be finished with lunch
when he called.  I ate over the sink and then opened a bottle of water.  I was
nearly finished hanging my clothes on the shower rod to dry when Michael called
again.

Donna called Michael to tell him Ricky Russo was not
his father.  She'd lied to him because she hated Ricky and wanted her son to
hate him, too.  Michael told Donna everything Ricky said on the phone.  She
agreed they did have a terrible fight when Frank testified against Ricky's
father, and they didn't make up.  Donna didn't tell Ricky about Michael because
Ricky was not the father.  Donna told Michael she was afraid Ricky had a
sinister motive for asking him to go to Seattle to get acquainted.  Ricky knew
he couldn't have children of his own.  She said it had to do with settling a
score when he was younger.  She didn't want to go into detail.

Then Michael told Donna that he found Frank in Sunset
and that Ricky promised to cancel the hit on Frank.  Donna assured Michael that
Ricky would never forgive Frank even if Michael had been his.  She said Frank
was still in danger and urged Michael to get him somewhere safe.  She promised
to call Frank and apologize.  She'd been very angry with him but did not want
him to die without hearing from her.

Michael said he'd stay on I-5 until he got to
Longview and then he'd take Highway 30 to Astoria before getting back on
Highway 101.  He hoped if Ricky was in pursuit, he'd stay on I-5.  Traffic was
picking up, so Michael ended the call.  I sat in my chair looking out at the
ocean and wondering when my dream had turned into a nightmare.

When my phone rang, I jumped, thinking it was Michael
with more bad news.  It was Detective Gannon.  She called to thank me for
sending the email with the photos.  She was definitely interested in knowing
the mural had been altered.  I told her I quit hiding the key under the loose
brick once I discovered the knife in the mural.  The person who stabbed the
girl in the mural had to have done it while I was working at Twyla's that
night.  Whoever removed the knife must have touched up the mural while I was
waiting for Deputy Nelson at Frank's house.  The photos were proof I'd seen a
knife.  There were no other incidents once I started making myself more
visible.

Detective Gannon was convinced whoever stabbed the
girl in the mural also murdered Ryan Nichols.  She thanked me for the tip.  They'd
start looking at acquaintances of Ryan.  One of them might know something about
art.  In the meantime, she asked me to make a list of anyone whom I suspected
of having a grudge against me.  I wanted to tell her about Michael and the
danger he was in, but I decided to wait until Michael was back and we could
talk to her together.

In the meantime, I'd put off using the home pregnancy
test kit long enough.  I went into the bathroom and read the instructions.  I
hadn't read very far when I realized I should have done the test first thing in
the morning.  I was strangely relieved to put it off for a few more hours.  I
put the instructions back into the package.

I was on the way to the kitchen when my phone rang
again.  There was no information in my caller ID.  I answered the call and was
surprised to hear a man say he was the deputy district attorney in the county
where the truck driver had hit the woman on the bicycle.  He needed probable
cause to get the trucker's phone records and wondered if I'd seen the man
talking on his cell phone.

I remembered I'd not notified the trucker's attorney
that I couldn't testify for his client.

It seemed both attorneys were concerned about whether
the trucker was talking on his cell phone.  I asked the deputy D.A. what the
law was in Oregon.  At the time of the accident the trucker was allowed to talk
on his cell phone as long as the call was related to his employment.

I assumed the call must not have had anything to do with
the man's job as a trucker, because his attorney had asked me to testify that I'd
not seen him talking on his cell phone.  I knew the trucker was genuinely upset
by the accident and the woman's death, but I wondered if the accident would
have happened at all had he not been distracted.

I asked what he meant by “at the time of the
accident.”  He said the law was going to be changed so no one could drive while
talking on a cell phone in the future unless the driver was over 18 and used hands-free
attachments.  The Senate was voting that day, and the governor expected to sign
it into law by the end of the month.

The deputy D.A. again asked me if I'd seen the
trucker talking on his cell phone.  I told him I was sure the trucker was
talking on his cell phone.  He thanked me and said he'd probably need me to
testify at the trial.  The trucker insisted he was not distracted and had
refused to plead guilty.  I remembered Frank's advice about never being a
witness.

I dressed for work feeling as if I'd accomplished
nothing except phone calls.  I tried not to think of Michael, but I wondered if
Ricky Russo would pursue him and Frank.  Perhaps, he'd mellowed with age.  We'd
been so close to a resolution of Michael's problems, and now they loomed again,
more threatening than ever.

I arrived at Twyla's earlier than usual.  Harry was
busy sketching a rough outline of the proposed pictorial.  Twyla was watching
him.  I asked if I could have a word with her alone.  I told her something had
come up, and a friend of mine might be in serious danger.  I told her I might
have to leave without any warning, but I wanted her to know I'd not simply
walked out on my job.  I promised to explain later but said I didn't know any
more than that.  She was very understanding and wished she could be of more
help.

Breanna did not show up for work that night.  Joel
and Twyla had a conference in the kitchen, and I was sure it had to do with
Breanna.  First I'd unloaded on Twyla, and now Joel was making excuses for
Breanna.  I was sure Twyla was sorry she'd employed us.  She had her own
problems and might lose her restaurant.  Having unreliable help made the
problems worse.  I hoped I could avoid doing anything to cause her to regret
giving me the opportunity to work at her tea room.  It was great experience and
very pleasant working conditions.  I wished I could turn back the clock and
just be a waitress writing my novel by the sea once again.

Twyla took over the bakery counter and acted as
cashier.  The restaurant was quiet until almost seven o'clock.  Joel and I
talked in the kitchen while we did an assortment of chores that were saved for
such times.  He told me he'd broken off with Breanna and she'd taken it hard. 
He felt guilty for doing it so close to her accident, but he'd planned to do it
when the accident happened and made it so awkward.  He said she was fun to be
around at first and then became very jealous and demanding.