Secrets Don't Sink, page 19
“It takes time to get used to the positioning. Eventually, it feels natural and becomes second nature.”
“You seem to be under the impression this is going to become a hobby. It’s not. I’m only doing it to make you feel better. What you should be doing is teaching me how to use my crutches for self-defense.”
“Ease a bit on your grip. Your knuckles are white as a ghost.”
“I’m afraid if I loosen my hands, I’ll drop it and shoot one or both of us in the foot. I’ve got decent protection with this boot. You’ve got nothing but nylon and rubber between a stray bullet and your toes.”
“Relax a bit. Not completely, just enough so your hands don’t fatigue. You’re gonna feel a decent kickback compared to the rifle. Make sure you’re leaning slightly forward. You’re going to take a deep breath, let out half, fire, then exhale fully. Let’s practice a few breaths.”
He breathed in and out, and I began to sync my breathing with his. As our chests rose and fell together, I closed my eyes, lulled by his warm breath on my neck and the rhythm of our bodies moving in coordination with each other. For a moment, I forgot where we were.
The door buzzed, breaking me from my trance and causing my eyelids to fly open.
A large gentleman passed behind us with a case the size of a tuba.
“What the hell does he have in there, a cannon?” I asked.
“I’m guessing that’s a pretty large weapon, and it’s gonna make a lot of noise. It’ll be harder for you to shoot if his blasts make you jumpy. Let’s have you fire off a couple shots and get out of here before he gets set up. We don’t need you becoming even more skittish.”
After a few additional directions from Holden, I fired the Glock. It exploded like a bomb going off in my hands. I engaged the safety and set it down.
“Whoa! That flash was much brighter! And the shot was much louder!” I said.
“Yeah, I tried to warn you. Let’s do one more.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
He evaluated me for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. Picking up the Glock, he fired off the remaining rounds. He roped in the target paper and handed it to me.
“Souvenir.”
“Thanks. I think I smell like gunpowder.”
He smiled. “You have a shell casing sticking out of the hood of your sweatshirt.”
Reaching around, I pulled it out as the first blast came from the cubicle on the end. I threw my hands in the air, causing the casing to fly. “Aanndd, I’m done.”
As we passed the video viewing area, the tables were filled with about a dozen giggly twenty-somethings on a group date. One guy made a gun with his hands and said, “Pew! Pew!” to the delight of his female companion.
The comfortable rapport which had developed between us diminished into tension once we were back in the car and on our way to my apartment. I fidgeted and fought the urge to babble. I couldn’t stop thinking about what it felt like to have his arms around me.
Holden gave me a sidelong glance. “You wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Who says anything’s on my mind?”
He turned to look at me with a who do you think you’re fooling? expression. “How about we start with what precipitated your early morning visit to George?”
I breathed out my relief. If there was one thing Holden and I shared, it was a mutual desire to avoid uncomfortable conversations.
“So, get this…they were married!” I clapped my hands.
“Who was married?”
“Jonathan and Nettie.”
“How do you know?”
“These days, many resource libraries scan entire books, especially out-of-print and hard-to-find copies, and they upload them to their websites. When I searched for Nettie, a link to a book came up. It was a local travel guide written by none other than George Hart. In it, he asserts the Jeannetta River was named by Jonathan for his French-Indian bride Nettie!”
“I guess if they were married, that lends credence to the rumors about an heir. So, you went to see George hoping to get more info?”
I sighed. “Yeah, George was being stubborn last time I went to see him. He said it was because he was protecting me. I feel like I’d have been better off knowing what dangers I was dealing with. Maybe I could’ve saved his life.”
“It’s important we separate fact from supposition. We don’t know George was murdered. Yes, we know his visitor was lying about who he was, and he used Marcus’s name, which is fishy, but George was ninety-nine. That’s really old, Audrey. He was living on borrowed time and then some. Any secrets he knew about the Chattertons, he’d known for decades, so he wasn’t an imminent threat to anyone. We also don’t know Renee’s been kidnapped, only that she’s missing. Not to mention, we don’t know for certain Peter killed Marcus.”
“He practically admitted it to me!”
“He was playing a game of cat and mouse with you. From everything you’ve told me, I think he was fishing to find out what you know and what you think you know. Did he ever outright say he killed Marcus?”
“No, he didn’t say,” I scrunched my face and lowered my voice. “‘I killed Marcus.’ Not in those exact words.”
“That was actually a pretty good impression of Peter.” He laughed. “Maybe he did it, maybe he didn’t. I don’t know. I just don’t think we’re doing ourselves any favors making assumptions.”
“I get it.”
“Can I count on you to behave yourself?”
“Define behave.” I fluttered my eyelashes.
“Nice try, but I’m immune to the eyelash flutter. You’re recovering from an injury you sustained while escaping a man who threatened to kill you. If George was murdered and our Justin Bieber/Timberlake look-alike is somehow connected to Marcus’s death, someone’s still out there with bad intentions…probably toward you. I’d offer to give you my gun for protection, but after what I just witnessed, that’s not a good idea. The city doesn’t have the manpower to position an officer at your apartment, especially not this week, but I can call in a favor and get a patrol car to drive by your place a few extra times per day just to be on the safe side.”
“You won’t hear any protesting from me.”
Holden pulled into a parking spot in front of my apartment complex, turned off the car, and unbuckled his seat belt.
“You don’t have to come in.”
He crooked his head to look at me. “Do you not want me to come in?”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated. I’m pretty self-sufficient.”
“You’re also too stubborn for your own good. So, what’s your plan for the rest of the day?”
“I’m gonna take it easy.”
He gave me a skeptical look.
“I am. I have a small story to write about a disastrous widows’ luncheon, and I need to get my notes into a cohesive form to write my first piece for the Kupit Festival. If I get organized, maybe something I’ve missed will pop out at me. What about you?”
“I’ve got some groveling to do at home. I was supposed to spend the day with Emily, but that obviously didn’t turn out as planned. We have dinner tonight at my sister’s, and I need to have a talk with Noah.” At this last statement, his expression darkened.
“Ah, yes, Sunday family dinner.”
Holden’s younger sister Harper hosted a monthly dinner with their parents, two brothers, and their families. His middle brother Liam lived in Seattle and sold insurance, while his youngest brother Noah lived with his wife and three young kids just around the corner from Holden and Emily.
“Everything okay with Noah?”
Holden frowned. “You know, I love the guy. I’d do almost anything for him, but sometimes, he makes his life hard for no damn reason at all and without thinking about how it affects the rest of the family.”
“I get it. When Viv nearly drowned, my mom blamed me, so I blamed myself. I swore from that day forward I would be her protector. I was seven. I’ve always felt a responsibility to chart the course and make it safe for her. Sometimes, though, I get a little resentful because she never stops to consider how her reckless choices affect me. I’ve been so terrified of water for twenty-five years I don’t even own a swimsuit. Meanwhile, she’s got no problem cliff diving in Mexico or snorkeling in Hawaii. How’s that fair?”
“We resent them for choices we’re making on their behalf, which isn’t fair either. We aren’t their parents. We gave ourselves a responsibility no one asked us to take on. I’ve gotten involved in all sorts of shenanigans trying to clean up my baby brother’s messes. You came back to Chattertowne the instant Viv was in trouble. You gave up your job, your apartment, your friends…why?”
My shoulders slumped. “If I didn’t, who would?”
“I doubt your mom intended for you to carry this burden. Just because Viv almost lost her life when you were kids doesn’t mean you’re supposed to perpetually give up yours in tribute.”
I studied Holden’s face. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to about this who understands. Most of the time, I keep these feelings bottled inside me because of all the guilt.”
“Trust me when I tell you this. I understand more than you could possibly know.” His mouth tightened. “Hey, are you sure you don’t need my help getting upstairs?”
“There’s an elevator.” I opened the door and climbed out. I thrust my head back into the car. “Uh, I might need help after all. My crutches are in the back seat.”
“Gimme a sec.”
He hopped out and came around to my side. I held on to the passenger door for support. He handed the crutches to me and stood by while I wrangled them under my arms.
“Got it?”
“Yep.”
He studied me. “What’s that look?”
“What look?”
“That grimace. The puckered lips, like you just took a swig of lemon juice.”
“Nothing.” I swayed, shifting my body weight from one crutch to the other.
He placed his large hands on my shoulders, stopping me from rocking side-to-side.
“It’s all gonna sort itself out, eventually. We just gotta be patient.”
“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”
“I’ve gathered. Now go upstairs and lock your door. Don’t open it for anyone.”
After flipping the deadbolt to the locked position, I took a pain pill from the bottle on the kitchen counter, popped it into the back of my throat, and drank straight from the tap to wash it down. En route to the bedroom, I grabbed my laptop. Once in bed, I adjusted the pillows to support my back, put one under my booted foot, and propped the laptop on another. With my phone, I snapped a picture of my leg and sent it to Holden with the caption,
Snug as a bug in a rug.
Three dots appeared. After a minute, the dots disappeared. When they reappeared, all he sent was a thumbs-up emoji.
Chapter Twenty-Two
My Good Monday morning! text to Holden received a phone call in response.
“Hey. You couldn’t just text me back?” I asked.
“Morning…and I prefer the phone. Less chance of miscommunication that way. How are you feeling?”
“Decent. I don’t even think I’ll need a pain pill today.”
“What’s on the docket?”
“I’ve got to dig deeper into this whole Nettie component. I know she’s significant, maybe even the lynchpin at the center of everything. I’ve been going through the Current’s archives. This area’s history didn’t start when Jonathan showed up, but you’d never know it by reading past Kupit articles. It’s been the same thing year after year, a celebration of colonizers’ stories. Other than a few random references, there’s been minimal mention of the Coast Salish People. I refuse to do that with my articles.”
“You’re gonna upset a lot of people.”
“Anderson told me to write the articles my conscience compels me to tell. Who’s been served by whitewashing the truth all these years? Not Marcus. Not his dad. Certainly not Nettie. It’s like ripping off a bandage. It may be painful for this town to face its complete history, but some wounds must be laid bare in order to heal.”
“I wonder how the more set-in-their-ways folks like Peg are gonna respond.”
“She may outweigh me, but I can outrun her if need be.”
Holden didn’t join my laughter. “Keep what you’re working on close to the vest for now, even with Darren. Maybe especially with Darren.”
“That’s not gonna be a problem. I don’t think he’s thrilled I left with you after breakfast to go to the gun range.”
“Perfect. Keep it that way. So, you’re determined to go to work today? I don’t think anyone would blame you for taking more time to recover.”
“Too much to do. Tasha offered to take me. Once I get to the office, I need to check in with Sandros, see if he’s discovered anything about the hacking stuff. Any leads yet on Renee?”
“I think I’d have heard if there were. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
My phone buzzed. “Can you hold for one sec? Mildred’s calling.”
“I have to go anyway. I’ll call you later to see how it’s going.”
I clicked over to answer. “Good morning, Mildred!”
“Oh, hello, Audrey! I hope I’m not calling too early.”
“Not at all. I was just finishing a call with Holden.”
“Well, dear, that’s why I’m calling. I want to invite you both over for supper tonight. I make a to-die-for butternut squash ravioli in cream sauce, and it’s been ages since I had a reason to make it.”
“Sounds wonderful, Mildred. I’m available, but I need to check with Holden. What time are you thinking?”
“How about five-thirty?”
“Okay, five thirty it is, unless Holden can’t make it.”
I passed along the invitation to Holden via text message, and he accepted, so I sent a text to Mildred confirming the plan.
I climbed into Tasha’s car. “Thanks so much for picking me up.”
“No problem. I’m surprised Anderson didn’t just tell you to work remotely.”
“I have been, and I don’t plan on staying long, but I really need to talk to Sandros in person.”
Tasha stiffened.
“Did I say something wrong?” I asked.
“No.” She gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, her mouth in a firm line.
“You know there’s nothing going on between Sandros and me, right?” I said.
“It’s none of my business. It’s just….”
“It’s just what?”
Tasha took a deep breath. “After all these months of flirty banter with Darren, you don’t even seem to like him anymore. You’re clearly not interested in Sandros, yet you kissed him at my party…when someone who really likes him could have been kissing him instead!”
“Oh, Tasha, I’m sorry. I…I didn’t know. That night at the party I was feeling bad about Darren’s hot and cold attitude, and I wanted to make him jealous. Sandros was willing to give me attention, and I used him without consideration for anyone else. There’s no excuse for my behavior, and I’m sorry.”
Tasha’s shoulders slumped. “Sandros doesn’t even notice me when you’re in the room. I laugh at his stupid jokes, I smile like an idiot every time he walks in the office, and I hand-deliver his messages when I could make him pick them up like everyone else. I’m making a fool of myself over a guy who barely knows I exist!”
“Sandros is a guy, which means by nature he’s a little clueless. I’ll bet if you invite him to lunch, his response will surprise you, in a good way.”
She gasped. “Come right out and ask him? I couldn’t!”
“Sure, you can. While I’m talking to him today, you should come in. I’ll help you wrangle a date.”
“You…you’d do that?” She blushed from her chest through her ginger scalp.
“Sandros may not be my type, but I think you two are a great match. I’d be happy to help.”
Tasha’s tight face eased into a hopeful smile.
Once settled into my office with my boot propped on an empty overturned trash bin, I finished editing the copy for the widows’ luncheon and updated my ads before sending everything to Anderson for review. I had a few minutes to spare before I planned to go talk to Sandros, so I made a call.
“Chattertowne Police Department, how may I direct you?” My sister’s familiar voice answered in an unfamiliarly formal tone.
“Oh my gosh, I almost forgot you work there! It’s so weird!”
“If you’re not calling to talk to me, why are you calling, Audrey? It’s busy around here.” Her voice was prim and clipped.
“I need to talk to Kimball. I’m hoping to find out if there’s anything new on Marcus’s case or Renee’s disappearance.”
“I don’t think she can comment on active police investigation. I’m not even sure she’s cleared you as a suspect.” She lowered her voice. “I need this job, Audrey.”
“Viv, please just put me through. I need to ask her some questions for my article.”
A sharp exhale came through the phone. “Fine. Hold, please.”
After ten seconds of “What’s Going On” by Marvin Gaye, Kimball’s voice boomed through the receiver.
“Good morning, Ms. O’Connell. How can I help you?”
“I’m checking to see if there are any developments on the Washburn cases, particularly Renee.”
“Is this on the record or off the record?”
“Whichever you’d prefer.”
“On the record, there are no new developments. Peter Chatterton is the prime suspect in Marcus Washburn’s murder. We have yet to officially rule out others, including you. Renee Washburn’s still missing. Off the record, and I’m only telling you this because I know anything I tell Villalobos he’ll share with you…as a matter of fact, you may have already heard this from him because I spoke with him a half hour ago.”
“I haven’t talked to him. What’s going on?” Marvin’s song echoed in my mind after I uttered the words.
“There’s a theory emerging Renee’s somehow involved in Marcus’s death, and she’s on the run.”
