Live and Let Fly Page 13

  “Let me deal with him.”

  I threw back my shoulders and marched into the shop. “You,” I said.

  “Ah, the domestic angel arrives.” Nicky Byrd appeared to be wearing the same high-water trousers and short-sleeved button-up shirt as before, and they were the worse for the wear.

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I took another step forward. “Look. I told you I’m not interested in talking about Jasmine’s death. I have nothing to say. Period. You’ll have to leave.”

  “Hmm. I’d hate to have to write that the suspect had no comment.”

  I bet Nicky Byrd got the stuffing beaten out of him in grade school. That greasy tone, that insinuation in every syllable he uttered, grated on my brain. “Suspect? The sheriff apparently doesn’t think so. Why should you?”

  “Who else threatened America’s sweetheart in front of the whole town? Who else was standing on the beach the night she was murdered?”

  I kept my outraged expression frozen in place, but now I was curious. Where’d he find that out? “Well, if you’re so smart, why aren’t you after Marcus Salek?”

  Nicky swatted as if batting a fly. “Pshaw.”

  “What? He’s the one who left town, not me.”

  “You have a blob of something on your chin,” Sunny told him.

  Nicky rubbed his palms on his face but only managed to displace some of his pancake makeup. “Got it?”

  “No. Just below your lip. Looks like a piece of egg. There.” She pointed, but wisely kept her distance.

  He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it away. “As I said, Marcus Salek is not my concern.”

  “Not even if you knew that his wife was killed in a hit-and-run accident, and no one was charged?”

  If this was news to Nicky Byrd, he’d fooled me. “Naomi Salek? That’s old news. It’s you I want to talk to.”

  He knew about Marcus’s wife. How? Tabloid reporters must have secret sources. What else did he know? “Like I said, forget it.”

  “I could make it worth your while.” He pulled a wallet from his front pocket—a city move; no man in Rock Point would keep his wallet in front—and opened it to display a fat wad of green. “For only ten minutes of your time. All you have to do is tell me about your walk on the beach that night. What—or who—you saw.”

  I heard Sunny swallow at the sight of the cash. She was itching to give him investment advice, I knew it.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You’ve already told the sheriff. It’s not like you’d be revealing anything secret, or anything that could hurt anyone. Jasmine’s death left hundreds of thousands of people in mourning. They yearn for closure. You can help.”

  Sunny’s gaze met mine, then moved to Nicky Byrd’s wallet, then back. I shook my head. The cash would be great, but I still had some dignity.

  “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” I’d been dying to tell someone that for years.

  • • •

  With Nicky gone, I took over the shop while Sunny had her informational interview with Rose. Business was steady, but not outrageous—yet. In a few more days, as the kite festival drew nearer, I expected things to pick up. A deliveryman had just dropped off a couple of crates of kite supplies, and with one eye on the clock—I had to get ready for my date with Jack—I unpacked and priced them.

  The sound of someone singing “Money, Money, Money” reached my ears and I knew Sunny was coming before she skipped through the open door. I hadn’t even had the chance to ask her how things went with Rose when she burst out, “It was the best! I love Rose.”

  “What happened?” I set the price gun aside and leaned on the counter. “You’ve been gone almost two hours.”

  “Well, we talked—doesn’t she have the most darling office? Plus, it’s so smart of her to convert her garage like that. No extra rent, but a nice tax write-off.”

  “And she told you about what she does?”

  Sunny raised her arms above her head and danced in a circle. “Not only that, but she offered me a job.”

  “That’s fantastic!” We hugged. I pushed her away after a few seconds. “What job? What are you qualified for?”

  “Well, I guess it’s not really a job. More like an internship. She said that as long as I’m here, I can help her with data entry and getting her accounts ready.”

  “She’s paying you?”

  “A little. She said she’d write me a letter of recommendation for business school, too.” She pumped her fists in the air. “I’m so happy.”

  “So, how long does this job last? Are you staying in Rock Point?”

  Sunny looked mysterious as she helped me unpack the box. “I have a plan. That’s all I’ll say. But don’t worry. I won’t stay with you and Avery forever.”

  “A plan, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s terrific, Sun.” I picked up the price gun again and started labeling some dual line packages. Maybe she’d work for Rose for a few days and give the whole thing up. It would be like Sunny to do something like that. Even Mom would approve of my letting her work for Rose, especially if it let her cross something off her list.

  “I started today with some filing.” She picked up the packages I’d priced and started placing them in the shop. When she returned for the next armload, she said, “Jasmine has a really fat file.”

  I halted. “Really?”

  “I couldn’t see what was in it, though. But it was packed.”

  As an actress, Jasmine probably had a lot of financial matters for Rose to deal with. Rose had said as much. Of course, Jeanette had implied that they might be more along the lines of letters from creditors rather than investment firms.

  Two women, most likely window-shopping, wandered into the store.

  “We’re closing in a couple of minutes,” I told them, and they glanced at each other.

  “Not immediately, though,” Sunny added. “Please, come in. Look around.”

  “Do you know a place we could get a margarita?” The one with the fringed handbag asked.

  I gave them directions to the Tidal Basin. As was true with Caitlin, the Rock Point Tavern wasn’t likely to meet their needs.

  “What’s with you?” Sunny asked. “Why not stay open a few more minutes if it means a sale?”

  “Normally I would, but Jack wants to go to dinner tonight.”

  Sunny raised an eyebrow. “Too bad. You’re going to miss my pizza. Mom told me how to do a gluten-free crust, and—”

  “At a nice restaurant. Jack wants to take me to the Tidal Basin.”

  “Oh. Fancy.” Sunny got it. “Time to take things to the next level, huh?”

  I played with a loose bit of kite line. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you should try walking at Clatsop Cliffs. Some of my biggest insights have come there. Seriously.”

  I looked at my sister and wanted to make a smart remark, but felt suddenly self-conscious.

  “You’d better get home and change. Don’t worry. I’ll close up here,” she said.

  Sunny had done a great job running Strings Attached that morning and, as a result, I’d made huge progress on my kite. All that remained was to attach the bridle and take it for a test flight. I could trust her to close the shop for the night. “Thanks, Sunny.”

  “One more thing. I ran some figures and talked it over with Rose. She agrees with me.” Sunny pulled a sheet of paper from under the store’s calculator. “Say you bought this building.”

  “I don’t have—”

  “Now, hear me out. You offer five percent below the selling price. We take that cost and amortize it over thirty years at four percent interest, add property taxes and insurance, and the payment is not much more than the average rent of a two-bedroom apartment in Rock Point.”

  I was only halfway paying a
ttention. I had an hour to get home and make myself presentable. For a date—a real date.

  “Don’t you see? You’re paying only a little more, but you’re getting the shop’s rent for free. Overall, it’s a big savings.” She pushed the paper aside. “A no-brainer. The only trick would be coming up with the down payment.”

  “I don’t even know how I’ll make it through the winter, let alone buy a building.”

  “That’s why they call it an investment. You find someone to help you, and they get a cut of the profit.”

  “And show this person what?”

  Sunny took the price gun from me and continued labeling. “It’s true that you need some guaranteed income until spring.”

  I glanced at the clock. “Well, when you figure that out, let me know. Meanwhile, I’ve got to get home.”

  “Fine,” Sunny said. She added some smooching noises behind my back. “Have fun tonight.”

  chapter nineteen

  A hum of conversation rippled through the Tidal Basin. A jazz pianist had set up near the bar, and clinking silverware and occasional laughter punctuated a languid version of “All That I Am” played on the baby grand.

  With a fluttering feeling, I scanned the room for Jack. He’d offered to pick me up, but I’d refused. It felt too—too intimate somehow. What I loved about spending time with Jack was how easy it was. He listened. He laughed. He seemed to like me the way that I was. In this environment, with all its unspoken romance, things were different.

  Jack stood to catch my attention. He was at a table near the room’s edge, and he’d apparently taken a moment to clean himself up, too. Normally, I would have joked at his pressed shirt and freshly shaven jaw. Tonight, the words couldn’t make it past my throat.

  “Emmy.” Jack took in my crisply ironed sundress and attempt at makeup. “You look great.” He pulled out my chair. This was new.

  If words had been stuck in my windpipe a second ago, now they’d solidified into a solid clog. “Thank you,” I croaked.

  The piano now played “My Melancholy Baby.” Dad would love this place, I thought. I’d grown up listening to his records of old standards. Mom used to play Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell, but now she was more apt to reach for a Cleo Laine record, too. I wondered what Mom and Dad would think of Jack.

  A waiter with a hipster beard—who knew that Abraham Lincoln’s facial hair would become the rage 150 years after his death?—and a starched white apron tied around his waist, French style, handed us menus and recited a special. I caught “sea beans” and “Caspian Pink tomatoes,” but my pulse throbbed too noisily to make out the rest. Is this what people did on real dates? And they thought it was fun? The tension was killing me.

  When the waiter left, Jack set down his menu. “This is awkward. Do you want to get a burger and hang out on the dock?”

  With those words, the lump in my throat dissolved. I smiled. Then laughed. “Thanks, Jack.”

  He laughed, too. “Seriously, though. I’m game if you are.”

  Sometimes I forgot about his silky gray eyes. I’d be caught up in conversation, then look up, and wham! There they were. And here they were again, soft and inviting. “Let’s stay. It’s a nice change. Did you catch what the special was?”

  “Sea beans. I think it included sea beans. I don’t remember the rest.”

  “Caspian Pink tomatoes. I remember that. Where do you think that name comes from? Is the Caspian Sea pink, or what?

  Soon we had an open bottle of wine and plates of food between us, and I felt as loose and relaxed as I would have were we fighting over the last take-out French fry.

  “How’s your kite coming?” I asked. I pretended to be rounding up a leaf of arugula on my plate, but I shot a glance toward him.

  “It’s finished. And yours?”

  “Sunny wrecked my last take on it, but it turned out to be a good thing. I went in an entirely different direction with this one. All I have to do is bridle it up.” I set down my fork and looked him full-on. “It’s a five-star, A-one, blue-ribbon kite. I’m afraid yours doesn’t stand a chance.”

  He took the bait. “I admit you make a pretty kite, Emmy, but I’ve got you licked for performance. You get these wacky ideas—remember your comet kite?—that are more interesting than practical.”

  “That kite turned out great,” I said. “Eventually.”

  “And despite sending spies to Sullivan’s Kites—”

  “Spies?” I said. “I did not.”

  “Your sister? Nice try.”

  “I didn’t send Sunny anywhere.” Well, well. Sunny was working for me on the sly. I’d have to order her a subscription to the Financial Times.

  Jack set down his glass of pinot noir. “She came in yesterday afternoon, playing dumb, but checking everything out. At first I had the strange impression that she wanted to see if I was a good prospect for you.”

  “Ha-ha-ha.” I felt heat rise up my neck. “Why?”

  “She asked if I owned the building, how I handled winter sales—that sort of thing.”

  I relaxed. “That’s just Sunny. She’s into business management these days. She had an informational interview with Rose Normand this afternoon.”

  “Rose,” Jack said. “That’s got to be tough.”

  I knew he was referring to Jasmine’s death, not Sunny’s visit. “No kidding. Her sister. She must look at everyone and wonder who did it.”

  “So does everyone else in Rock Point—and elsewhere. Did you see the tabloid reporter, the one with the rhyming name, again? They say he’s still in town.”

  “Nicky Byrd the Third. He stopped by the store.” I didn’t want to talk about my own candidacy for murderer. “I’m not sure why.”

  Fortunately, Jack didn’t press the point. “He came by my shop, too. Asked a lot of questions about the festival. About Jasmine, too.”

  “Why ask you about Jasmine?” Hopefully I didn’t sound as peeved as I felt.

  He glanced up, an eyebrow raised. “Somehow he’d heard about the scene at the Brew House the day Jasmine arrived. Maybe that’s why he wanted to talk to you, too.”

  “That must be it,” I said quickly.

  The waiter returned to clear our plates and ask about dessert. We decided to finish the wine and forgo the marionberry mousse.

  When he left, Jack cleared his throat. He fidgeted with the front of his shirt, then finally raised his head. “Emmy, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you this summer.”

  There he was, across the table, funny and smart and, now, terrifying. The evening had been going so well, too. Anxiety fluttered in my gut. “And?”

  He drew a breath. “There’s something I think we should talk about.”

  “Don’t say it.” The words rushed out of my mouth unplanned.

  Jack’s nervousness vanished. “Why? How do you know what I’m going to say?”

  “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Why not? All I’ve told you so far is that I’ve enjoyed spending time with you.”

  “So far,” I said. “That’s what you’ve said so far. Next you might say that it’s getting a little old.”

  “No. I wasn’t going to—”

  “Or”—and this was worse—“that you think we should talk about our expectations, or take things to the next level.”

  He stared at me, lips slightly parted. “And?”

  “And I don’t want to talk about it. I see no reason things should change. They’re fine as they are.” I tossed back a mouthful of pinot noir and choked a little.

  “I didn’t say they weren’t fine. I said they were good. Remember?”

  I reached for my water and choked again. I pounded on my chest and tried to say, “Sorry.”

  Jack grabbed the edge of the table. “Should I try the Heimlich maneuver?”

  After a few more co
ughs, I sputtered, “No. I’m fine.” One more cough. “There.”

  “I didn’t think you’d take it this way,” he said.

  “It’s just—”

  “Just what?”

  The piano had drifted into a dreamy rendition of “All That You Are.” All around us, people were celebrating anniversaries and laughing and falling in love. I should be, too—who knew? Maybe I was. But the timing sucked. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with the shop, my sister showed up out of nowhere, and now Nicky Byrd the Third is on my tail and wants to take me and Strings Attached down.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t do it.”

  The waiter discreetly slid the bill onto the table and backed away.

  “That’s okay, Emmy. It’s not a big deal. We seemed to be getting along so well, that’s all.”

  The emotion stirred up over the past ten days boiled over. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Wouldn’t. With shock, I realized that tears were stinging my eyes. I pushed back my chair and stood up, tossing the napkin on the table. “No more change, Jack Sullivan. Do you hear me?”

  Jack stood, too, and made a motion to come to my side of the table. I held up a hand. “No.”

  He froze. I stomped out of the restaurant. I didn’t even turn around to see his expression. But he didn’t stop me as I left.

  chapter twenty

  I made my grand exit from the Tidal Basin without looking back, but apparently I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going, either, because not a dozen feet from the front door I slammed into a wall of muscle. Jasmine’s husband, Kyle.

  The wind was knocked right out of me, and I leaned against someone’s Suburban to catch my breath.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I gasped. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” Good grief. I could see why football was his thing. He certainly wouldn’t be easy to tackle.

  “Say, you’re one of Rose’s clients, aren’t you? The one with the sister who’s helping her out now?”