Family Skeletons Page 20

  She was aware that something in Jonathan’s manner suddenly changed. He was sitting just a little straighter than he had been. Sunny glanced at him, careful to keep her expression casual.

  Yeah, I thought he was flirting, too.

  As her gaze moved from him, she caught her mother’s eye, and Roberta gave her a minuscule smile.

  You caught it, too, huh.

  Joyce’s long legs must have made it difficult for him to be comfortable in the position he was in, half reclining with both feet on the ground on one side, because he sat up and rearranged himself next to her and then stretched his legs out. He was also long-waisted, so he towered over her whether they were sitting down or standing up.

  “Louise remarried two years ago and now lives in Arizona.” His tone was conversational, his manner casual, and it appeared that he was talking to the trunk of the eucalyptus tree. “Seven years ago she was living and working in San Francisco. She’s not off the hook. She had motive. She had opportunity. Langley doesn’t know where he was or what he was doing. He was experiencing blackouts around that time. This is vouched for by his boys, neighbors, and employer. He managed to hang on to his job by joining a substance abuse program his company had for employees.”

  Sunny wondered if he still had the same job. He’d either relapsed, or trained himself to indulge in binges when he thought it was safe. Talk about living on the edge.

  “No alibi and plenty of motive and opportunity,” Joyce continued. “He’s not off the hook either. Because of the blackouts, he looks good for doing in Franklin in a rage that he can’t remember. But the fact that that possibility is so convenient bothers me.”

  He paused, still staring at the tree in a thinking attitude. Then he went on. “Howard returned to Oregon, where he’d come from, and he’s worked for a couple different logging firms up there. He’s hopped around a bit more than anyone else has, but we’ll run across him in time.”

  He turned his head to give Sunny a dazzling, sideways smile. “Anything else, Ms. Corday?”

  “Yes. How about Reno?”

  “Zilch. Nothing whatsoever promising about anyone or anything in Reno.”

  “It’s local,” Tom said under his breath.

  Joyce looked at him and nodded once.

  “I’ve got a question,” Jonathan said. “I want to know whose prints are on that bloody bat we found.”

  “I’d like to know that, too,” Tim Joyce said. He looked pointedly at the two women sitting opposite him. “And the best way to do that is to first figure out whose prints aren’t on it. At the moment it’s still a voluntary action on your part, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “I know, I know,” Roberta said. She gave Tom an apologetic frown. “I promised, and I will do it. I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “So will Mavis,” Tom said, and she nodded. She didn’t appear uneasy at the prospect.

  “That will be a help,” Joyce said. “Another question, the money question, is who it was that the bat walloped. But we can only take one step at a time.”

  Tim Joyce left at dusk, and Mavis and Tom quickly followed. Sunny said goodnight from her seat in the backyard, allowing whoever was inclined to play host and hostess to do so.

  Within a few minutes, Jonathan returned by himself. The kitchen light flicked on and she heard Ryan and Roberta clearing up. Ignoring the empty chairs, Jonathan motioned for her to move her legs to make room for him on the lounger she’d confiscated from Joyce. She turned onto her side and bent her knees, and he sat at the end. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his suit coat and tie. The two top buttons on his shirt were unfastened and his cuffs were rolled up to his forearms. Nothing persnickety about him today. He looked at ease, comfortable, and sexy.

  But she didn’t feel sexy. She felt her brow wrinkle. How come?

  “It would never work,” he said, staring toward the ocean. It was dark enough that it couldn’t be seen, but it was always heard.

  She thought that over, then had to ask, “What won’t work?”

  “You and Joyce. He’s too tall for you. You look like Mutt and Jeff.”

  She smiled. “Yeah?”

  He smiled back. “Yeah.”

  He reached for her feet. She’d kicked her shoes off once she’d gotten the lounge to herself, and he grasped both her ankles and pulled until she was forced to change position. She ended up on her back, supporting herself on her elbows, and he captured both her feet in his lap.

  “I warn you,” she said. “If you start tickling, you’ve made an enemy.”

  Instead of tickling, he massaged. It felt good, but it seemed that her bones were too rigid to allow her to relax. After a moment she lay back and stared at the stars, wishing she could just give in to what could be a very sensuous massage.

  You’re not making sense, Sunny. You were so mellow earlier that you were ready to melt, and now that you’ve got him to yourself, you’re so uptight you can’t even enjoy his touch.

  And he must have sensed it. He’d admired her legs and appreciated her stockings, but there was nothing sexual—overtly sexual—in his touch. He finished one foot and started on the other. “I don’t have to ask what’s wrong. I can’t think of a more stress-filled topic of conversation than who killed your father.”

  When she didn’t respond, he glanced sideways at her.

  “Did you get anywhere with Matthew?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “He was too uptight, almost defiant, and neither Ryan nor I wanted to push.” He waited a beat, still watching her, then asked, “Is there one thing that’s bothering you more than another?”

  Her sigh was deep. “That question’s a little late. I already got off of worst-case scenario and was on to wishful thinking. For instance, wouldn’t it be convenient if someone showed up and swore they saw Langley Bowers push Franklin off the cliff? Or if Louise arrived tomorrow and said she’d killed Franklin and couldn’t stand keeping it to herself any longer? Or maybe when Howard Wilkes is found, he’ll confess and surrender with his hands up? But none of those things is going to happen.”

  “Okay,” he said mildly, gaze returning to her feet in his lap as his hands continued to rub them. “Then what is going to happen?”

  With her eyes on the stars she drew in a breath, blew it out slowly, then refrained from drawing in more air for several seconds. That simple activity sometimes worked wonders in settling nerves.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she said softly. “But I can’t rid myself of the thought that my father’s killer was sitting in the backyard with us today.”

  His hands stilled. He didn’t look at her. “Who?”

  Muscles in the back of each leg stretched and tightened as she leaned forward. She rested her hands on her knees. “Think about it, Jonathan.” Though she hadn’t raised her voice, she heard the agitation in her tone. “All that motive and opportunity that was sitting out here with us today. Every time I turn around I’m reminded of Mavis’s assignation with Franklin. It happened the last time he was up here. It’s like it was a catalyst. And Tom...”

  Exhaling heavily, she lay back. “And Tom is an investigating officer. I don’t care that he says he was relieved. He’s still on it. Unorthodox doesn’t even begin to describe this situation. Ludicrous is more like it. And, while we’re on the subject, who checked his prints against those on the bat?”

  “I think you’re underestimating Tim Joyce.” In contrast to hers, Jonathan’s voice was mild. His hands resumed their massage. “He’s not a fool. He’s got his eyes and ears open. And a trained expert checks prints, not the investigating officer.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. But that’s not the worst part anyway. The worst part...”

  When she didn’t finish, he looked her way and prompted, “What?”

  Go ahead, Sunny, you’ve gone this far. “If it wasn’t a convenient outsider, and if it wasn’t an inconvenient insider, then it’s my mother.”

  He said nothing.

  �
�It’s not even farfetched, Jonathan.” She heard the anguish, and uncertainty, and pain and pleading in her voice. “I hate it, but it fits. It fits so well.”

  “Okay.” His tone was matter-of-fact. Soothing and calming. “How does it fit?”

  She kept her gaze on the sky, on the stars just beginning to appear. “That was when I was being released from rehab.” Her tone was flat and unchanging, no inflection on words or facts. “She was aware of my pain and anger, and how I couldn’t stop punishing myself because my father had tried to disown me. She also had her own pain and anger to deal with. Her emotions would’ve been high right about then. She knew he was up here, and she might’ve wanted to talk to him, maybe ask him for financial help—that place I was in cost a mint—and one thing led to another, and...”

  She stopped. “No, there’s nothing else. That’s all. That’s enough.”

  With each hand he squeezed a foot. “No wonder you’re so uptight I can feel it all the way into your toes.” He gave her a long and serious look. “But you skipped over some important points. For one thing, I’m more concerned with who pushed you off the cliff than who bashed Franklin’s head in. And your mother didn’t push you.”

  She sighed at the stars, then looked at him. “You’re still hung up on that. One thing has nothing to do with the other. They just don’t...fit. I can’t explain it, and it scares me, too. I still don’t feel comfortable on my own because of that. But it could’ve been a stray hiker, or even a beach bum. We get them sometimes. Someone who’s long gone but is still muddying up the picture.”

  “I disagree. I think that if you can find the person whose prints are on that baseball bat, you will also find the person who killed Franklin, shot at you, and pushed you off the cliff.”

  “Yeah? Now that’s farfetched if I ever heard farfetched. Look at the time element. We have no idea how long that bat was in the attic, and Franklin was killed seven long years ago.”

  He said nothing as his gaze returned to the dark ocean. She sensed his growing tension. And it somehow worked to ease hers.

  She wriggled her toes. “You want to know what else I’m thinking?”

  She waited to tell him until he looked back at her. “I’m thinking that’s a beautiful moon up there. And if we got a blanket we could find a nice secluded spot on the beach, and—”

  He pushed her feet off his lap, jumped up, grasped her hands and pulled her up. “Well, let’s go. What are you waiting for? Someone to come out here and start up a conversation?”

  * * *

  The next morning Sunny found herself dodging three people while she tried to make French toast. As she waited for Ryan to move so she could open the drawer and get the eggbeater out of it, she forced a smile.

  “Wouldn’t you all like to go lounge on the porch with coffee?” she asked nicely.

  Ryan looked at the coffee pot and Jonathan looked at the porch, but no one moved.

  “Let me help,” Roberta said. “If I don’t have something to do, I’ll go crazy.”

  So will I. “You can cut the cantaloupe, Mom.”

  “Where...?”

  “In the refrigerator, Mom. And the knives are in that drawer, same as always. Jonathan, maybe you and Ryan can set the table.” And then sit down nicely and wait.

  She reached for the cinnamon, then double-checked to make sure she had what she thought she had. Got it right this time, but what do you want to bet you’ll grab the chili powder one of these days, just because he’d planted the possibility in your head?

  Next was the vanilla flavoring. It was a new bottle and the cap was tight. When she couldn’t twist it open she handed it to Jonathan. Maybe he could do something in here besides take up space. After working with it for several seconds, the small bottle almost lost in his hands, he frowned and handed it to Ryan. Ryan twisted the cap, grunted, got nowhere and also frowned. Roberta took it from him, tapped the solid end of a knife against the stubborn cap three times, then twisted it open and gave the bottle back to Sunny.

  Sunny grinned. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Once breakfast was ready, and they sat down to eat, Roberta still couldn’t settle. She continued to act as if she had ants in an uncomfortable place. She got through half a piece of bread, one slice of melon, and then simply could wait no longer to get out of there.

  “I’m sorry, honey, I just...”

  “Never mind. I understand.” Sunny let her own breakfast go and followed her mother outside, where Roberta’s suitcase was already in the car. The men joined them on the front porch.

  Sunny initiated a hug. “It’s over, Mom,” she whispered. “It’s finally behind us.” Please, Mom. Please let it be over.

  Roberta drew back to meet her daughter’s eyes. “Yes, honey, it’s done. But it took a long time to get to where we are, and it’s going to take some time now to get beyond it.” She managed a weak smile. “But I’m working on it.”

  She exchanged a hug with Ryan, and then shook hands with Jonathan.

  “Thank you, Jonathan, for that lovely piece of furniture. I’ll take possession once both of you are out of here, and I’ll take loving care of it. I promise.”

  Sunny followed her down the stairs to the sea green sedan. After getting into the car, Roberta motioned for her daughter to lean down so she could talk to her through the open window.

  “Jonathan is good for you,” she whispered in her ear so no one else could hear. “You deserve to be happy. And your mother deserves to see you happy.”

  Then Roberta turned away to twist the key in the ignition, but not before Sunny caught the moisture in her mother’s eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “No,” Jonathan said that afternoon. He took the packaged roast out of Sunny’s hands and returned it to the freezer. “You’ve done enough cooking. We’re going out for dinner tonight.”

  Ryan took two seconds to think about it, then nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Good idea. Matthew was telling us about this place where he moonlights.” Then with a frown he glanced aside. “That was hard on the ego, I must admit, batting a solid zero with the kid. Jonathan was the one who got him talking, and even then it was only about Sal’s.”

  Evidently he had a fast-healing ego, however, because his gaze quickly returned to Sunny. “It’s an Italian restaurant where he claims they make excellent lasagna, not to mention their minestrone.” With his expression going through yet another fast transformation, he added, on a critical note, “You never make soup.”

  “Well...dinner out.” Thrown by the unexpected development, Sunny looked around the kitchen, wondering what to do now that she didn’t have to cook. “How about that.” Then she looked back at her companions and decided to take full advantage of the moment. “I’ll tell you what, how about I go on vacation for the whole day and let you guys make lunch, too?”

  Ryan appeared surprised. Jonathan looked at the refrigerator, then the cabinets with a game but dubious expression. He lived on his own, but she didn’t know how he existed. TV dinners and takeout was her guess, which meant that lunch was most likely going to be Ryan’s baloney and mustard sandwiches. She debated about telling Ryan there should be at least as much baloney on the bread as mustard, but didn’t trust him not to slap extra mustard on her sandwich if she did, so she kept quiet.

  She opened the porch door. “Ryan, may I have a Sprite with my lunch?” she asked nicely, then glanced at Jonathan. “Would you mind getting my book for me? I think I left it in the parlor.”

  Relaxing under the umbrella at the picnic table, waiting for her soda and book and lunch, she smiled complacently at the ocean. Gee, life is good.

  She chose a blouse and skirt to wear out to dinner. The fact that Jonathan had liked her in feminine garb had much to do with her choice of outfit, she admitted to herself, but she skipped stockings. The skirt was a flared red print and she topped it with a white cotton blouse that had a squared neckline decorated with tiny strawberries. Jonathan watched her tuck it in at the waist, then slip on a pair of whi
te strappy sandals.

  “Casual,” he said. “And pretty.”

  So it’s not just stockings that turn you on.

  When she walked downstairs, Ryan took a double take. “Two skirts in two days?”

  The restaurant got Ryan’s approval. He concentrated on his dinner, wasting no time on small talk. “Excellent,” he said, as he sat back and pushed away his empty plate. “So good I didn’t save room for dessert. Highly unusual.”

  He studied the last piece of French bread. Apparently deciding he could manage just that little bit more, he reached for it, then looked up questioningly.

  Jonathan shook his head, indicating he didn’t want it, and Sunny said, “Go for it.”

  Then she said, “Ryan, dear, may I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “What are you still doing here?”

  The butter knife paused in midair.

  “I seldom catch you speechless.” She gave each man a wry glance. “And I noticed that Jonathan caught his breath for a second there.” She settled back. “Okay, guys, may I ask what your plans are, regarding me, for the next week?”

  “Go ahead, Jonathan,” Ryan said. “I’ve got my mouth full.” He stuffed half the piece of bread into it.

  Jonathan met her eyes. His stuffiness was back, and along with it was a steely look she’d not seen before. Apparently he could play hardball when he had to. “Both Ryan and I have to depart on Monday.” His speech was precise. “If you won’t go home with Ryan, Marcus will be here by noon to relieve us.”

  She put her elbow on the table, her chin on her fist, and stared at him. His expression took on a touch of wariness, but never lost its resolve. Then she sat up straight with a getting-down-to-business attitude.

  “Okay, now let me tell you what my plans are. The three of us could’ve talked this over in the first place, but that means the two of you would’ve had to forego your behind-my-back scheming of which you are so fond.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve got to go home, get back to work, and make some money so I can afford to find my own place and feed my cat. I’ll follow Ryan home on Monday.”