Red House Blues Page 17

  “Your dad called me.” A voice from the other side of the boat. “He wanted to come down but he’s got the flu.”

  The voice is familiar, but intrusive. It is pleasant dozing in the dark boat, listening to the pulse of water against the wooden sides. But there is someone in the boat with me - floating along beside me, unseen and unwanted. A fragrance reaches me through the salty mist. Something floral.

  “Are you with me, girlfriend?” whispers the voice.

  How did she get here?

  “Suzan, I know you’re awake. Open your eyes, sweetie.”

  “Oh no,” said Suzan, easing herself into consciousness. “It is you after all, Claire.”

  “Hey, that’s not exactly the warm welcome I expected!”

  “Sorry. I’m dreaming, I think. So where are we, exactly?”

  “If you open your eyes you’ll find out.”

  Light seeped between her lids. Not night after all. Damn, why can’t I go on dreaming, floating in a safe place with no death or pain or lies. I might have known it couldn’t last.

  A dim antiseptic room materialized. Claire sat in a metal chair beside the bed holding Suzan’s hand, a hand from which snaked a plastic tube to somewhere behind her head.

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  “An impressive collection of bruises and a mild concussion. Some stitches on your head where you must have hit the concrete retaining wall,” said Claire. “That’s pretty much the inventory.”

  “So, I’ll live?”

  “Basically.”

  “At the risk of perpetrating a cliché, where am I and what happened?”

  “You’re in Harborview Hospital. You got mugged or something. What were you doing wandering around the city at night, anyway? God, Suze, that was not the smartest move you ever made.”

  “Guess not, considering,” she said. “Can’t remember a lot. Marla took me to meet a guy at that house where Sean used to live. After that ... well, I think I remember running down the street at some point. That’s all I’m coming up with.”

  “Well, never mind for now. The important thing is to rest. The doctor says you’ll be okay to travel in a few days, as soon as your eyes are tracking again. Then I’ll load you in the Ford and we’ll get you home. You scared the shit out of us, let me tell you.”

  “I can’t leave yet. Things are just getting interesting.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Maybe interesting isn’t the right word,” said Suzan. “Could you do me a favor?”

  “It depends.”

  “There’s a guy, the guy who moved into Sean’s old room. I have to talk to him,” she said. “He was hurt. He may be in this hospital.”

  “Hurt?”

  “Marla said it was a traffic accident. If he’s still here I need to know what room he’s in.”

  Claire released Suzan’s hand.

  “That’s the concussion talking. No way am I indulging this craziness. You screwed up wandering around in the dark, making yourself a target for every gangbanger in Seattle,” she said. “I don’t know, maybe you need help. Maybe see someone when we get home.”

  Had Clair always treated her like a baby sister who needed to be taken care of? Suzan hadn’t noticed until then. Or maybe in the years since Sean left they had fallen into those roles, a co-dependency of sorts. Claire needing to be needed, Suzan a basket case requiring an extended period of mothering.

  A realization took shape in Suzan’s pounding head. Someone had gone to a lot to trouble to convince her to turn tail.

  “I know you mean well, Claire, but this is my call,” she said. “You’ll have to leave without me. I don’t have the strength to fight about this but I’ve decided I’m not about to let them run me off.”

  Whatever pain meds they had given her were wearing off, her whole body was screaming in a vice of misery. She wanted to be left alone to process what had happened but Claire perched by the bed watching her as if she expected her to disintegrate the second she turned her back.

  “I’m not leaving you,” said Claire. “Especially now. Who exactly is trying to run you off?”

  “I’m not sure. If you want to help me find out, see if you can learn what room Nick is in. I don’t know his last name but I know that won’t stop you. You’ll have the whole hospital eating out of your hand in ten minutes. Buy some flowers in the gift shop and say he’s your boyfriend. Get me the room number, that’s all. I’ll get to him as soon as I’m mobile.”

  “And what do you seriously think that will accomplish? The guy is probably in a coma anyway. Even if he’s awake, what’s he going to tell you he didn’t say when you saw him at the house?”

  “He might tell me why someone tampered with the Vespa and nearly killed him.”

  “You said the guy had an accident.”

  “No, I said Marla told me it was an accident. There is a difference. She isn’t the most reliable source,” she said, suspecting that was a vast understatement. “You’re going to call me paranoid but I don’t like the idea that Nick crashed after talking to me, then I’m attacked the same night I go to that house with Marla. I suppose it could be a coincidence.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Would you?” said Suzan. “There’s also the matter of Marla seeking me out at the hostel. I’m almost positive she and her pals were waiting for me when I got into town. Those people have to be connected with Sean’s death and I’m curious to find out in what way and how they knew I was coming.”

  Suzan waited for Claire to speak. She was uncharacteristically silent, studying the folds of crisp white hospital sheets.

  “I know how they knew,” she said.

  Suzan could see the pain as she struggled with how to tell her what she had already guessed.

  “I was all set to come down to tell you when your dad told me you were in the hospital,” she said. “I couldn’t trust the phone or e-mail. Sean’s nasty little pals knew . . . they knew you were in town because Tony told them.”

  There it was. Suzan didn’t remember much of the night she was attacked but she did remember she had started to piece it together. Tony. It had to have been Tony if it wasn’t Claire. And Suzan refused to believe Claire was capable of such a betrayal.

  “I didn’t want to believe it,” Claire continued. “I told myself that Tony didn’t know where Sean had gone any more than we did. At least that’s what I thought. Now I suspect he knew from the first where Sean was. All that hand-wringing and searching was window dressing for our benefit. I think they kept in touch by e-mail.”

  “How could he do that to us, Claire? Why? I would have sworn he was devastated. If he was in contact with Sean for the last two years he’s a better actor than Tom Hanks.”

  “I don’t know why. Maybe Sean swore him to secrecy. Band of brothers or some such crap.”

  “My god, Claire.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What made you think . . .”

  “Remember I found you the Sea Turtle Hostel on the internet? But as you know I’m not much of a geek. I pulled the name from Tony’s bookmarks list, not really thinking what interest he had in a Seattle hostel. I figured he must have stayed there some time or other when he came down for seminars at the University of Washington,” said Claire. “I now know that didn’t make sense. Tony would have stayed closer to the university. Then when I hadn’t heard from you for a few days, I thought something might have corrupted my e-mail settings or something. What do I know? I thought maybe you hadn’t gotten my e-mails because there was something wrong with the computer. In the process of trying to find out what was wrong I went into the address book. Half way down the list was the e-mail address I’d seen on the hostel’s web site. Someone has been e-mailing the hostel and it certainly isn’t me. Tony is the only other person who uses our home computer.”

  “What did he say when you asked him about it?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t asked him. Which touches on something else I’ve wanted to tell you, Su
zan. I haven’t seen Tony much lately. I’ve been staying at your apartment. I know I should have asked first, but I just had to get away from him for a while.”

  “You’re splitting up?” Suzan could not imagine one of them without the other. They had seemed the perfect couple.

  “Maybe not splitting. I’m not sure yet, Suze. He asked me to marry him before all this went down. Now I don’t think I can trust him. He kept you in the dark when he could have told you Sean was alive in Seattle. It goes without saying he didn’t tell me because he knew I wouldn’t keep it to myself.”

  “Even if it’s true, why would Tony tell Sean’s friends that his widow was headed to Seattle looking for his notebooks? Why would he want them to scare me away, or whatever it is they’re trying to do?”

  “Could be because you are a handy scapegoat. He blames you for what happened to Sean. Or because you mean to stir up dust better left to settle,” said Claire. “Or he might think there’s something in Sean’s notebooks he’d just as soon not know or not have you know. Also it could be he thinks you deserve to suffer and fail as Sean suffered and failed. Who knows?”

  She struggled to reconcile what she knew of Tony with the picture Claire painted of a vindictive man who hated his friend’s wife. After all, this was Tony “The Geek” Gabriola, as Sean loved to call him, best friend since high school. When Suzan first started dating Sean there were times she felt like an intruder in their relationship but Tony went out of his way to put her at ease, welcoming her like a long lost sister. From then on the three of them had been nearly inseparable.

  There was never a doubt Tony would be Sean’s Best Man when Sean and Suzan married. At the reception Tony toasted her, hugged her, called her Sweet Suze. Joked that if Sean ever got tired of her he was ready to become husband number two. He wasn’t serious. Tony was rarely serious. Which was a nice balance for Sean who was too intense for his own good most of the time.

  How could Tony want somebody to break my kneecaps? Or worse. Impossible! But at gut level she knew it wasn’t. It explained so much. Using the hostel to contact Sean, Tony would have talked with Cliff the deskman, likely the messenger boy whenever an e-mail came in for Sean. Tony, on his supposed conference visits to Seattle, would have gone to the clubs to hear Sean play. Met Sean’s friends. Might even have visited the house on Fir Street where he was staying.

  Her head pounded. What threat could she possibly pose to Tony and Sean’s Seattle friends? They were afraid of something. That she’ll find Sean’s notebooks? Scraps of lyric, observations, conversations scribbled in his hurried semi-illegible script. Something incriminating? If that were the case and they knew where the notebooks were why hadn’t they just destroyed them?

  Maybe it wasn’t about the notebooks at all. Nothing hung together. There were way too many missing pieces. Every time Suzan thought she saw a pattern it fell apart like a broken chair.

  “Okay, Claire, for now let’s say you’re right about what Tony’s been up to. That makes it all the more important not to let these jerks win. There’s more to this than a few silly song lyrics. No one risks killing someone for anything that dumb unless the writer was famous, which of course isn’t the case. It’s about Sean’s death, I know it is.”

  “All the more reason to get away from here as soon as we can,” said Claire. “We’ll pass along what little we suspect to the cops from the safety of beautiful downtown Bellingham. It is the only sensible thing to do.”

  “Forget it, Claire. Until I locate those notebooks, if they exist, I am not leaving town. If you want to help, maybe we’ll get the job done faster. But if not, I’ll keep you posted on my progress.”

  “Are you getting hungry?” she asked, getting up from the chair.

  “What?”

  “Hungry. You know, food? As for me I’m starving and I could use a cup of coffee. How about if I go find out when they’re bringing the meals around?”

  “You’re not going to try to argue me out of staying?”

  “What would be the use?”

  “I suppose I should eat something, though I don’t feel all that hungry. What time is it anyway?”

  “Elevenish.”

  “So late? I should be getting up if I’m going to talk to Nick.” She started to sit up but Claire pushed her back down against the pillow.

  “Sorry, sweetie, but you can’t fly until the doctor clears you for take off. You’d fall flat on your colorfully scuffed face. What do you want me to ask this guy if I should, by some miracle, get in to see him?”

  “Just find him and let me worry about what to do next.”

  Chapter 22

  The Red House

  The tall woman was watching her from the shadows between the sideboard and the kitchen door. She’s upset, thought Alexis. She manifests when she’s upset. Doesn’t like dissension in the household. Ferlin stirred her up, damn him anyway.

  Alexis pulled the canvas tight and stapled it to the frame. With each satisfying ka-chunk as the staples sunk into the bare wood she imagined cracking a few skulls.

  Did that crazy old bastard really think I wouldn’t know what he was up to? It’s always something with him. A schemer since the last ice age. But no match for me. Alexis sighed. Truth to tell she loved the old man but he could certainly push her buttons. I can’t allow him to play dangerous games with our lives. Can’t have him letting that psycho bitch into our house, no matter what the reason.

  “What do you think I should do?” she asked the shadow in the corner, not expecting an answer and of course receiving none. The tall shape hovered a few feet from the tin ceiling, undulating like pipe smoke. Alexis pried open a can of sizing and commenced to splash it all over the canvas she was working on. She was not in the mood to be fastidious.

  Ferlin was getting careless. That he hid things from her she had no doubt. But she had hoped he had better sense than to mess with Marla. What possessed him to let her into their house last night? Alexis had gotten home from the Comet just in time to see the other woman storming down the back stairs like a scalded cat. And to make matters worse, Ferlin lied about it, said he didn’t know what she had wanted. He lied but why? What was he up to?

  “If only you could talk,” Alexis said to the shadow. “You were probably eavesdropping from the chandelier when whatever it was went down. Well, at least you don’t sob like the one in the cellar.” The dark shape wavered slightly, its edges bleeding into the floral pattern of the stained wallpaper. There was something in the attitude of the fading form, a stillness that felt reproachful, as if the spirit was disappointed in Alexis for not correcting what was wrong.

  Would that I could, she thought. Everything had gotten so complicated, so out of hand. If only the slate could be wiped clean and they could start over, go back to a time before all the misery and death had descended on their household.

  Alexis set the canvas aside to dry, knowing she’d get nowhere with the painting today. She was too distracted and irritated. The mundane issues of keeping the household running needed her attention more than ever right now. Without a firm hand what would happen to them all? Left to Ferlin, the place would cave in under the weight of its own filth and negligence. She constantly had to nag the rest of the housemates into coughing up rent money or paying their share of the utilities before the shutoff notices began arriving. How had she fallen into the roll of housemother? Sometimes I ache to throw those lazy slackers out of my house.

  The word “my” echoed in her mind. Yes, she thought of the house as hers. She couldn’t deny it. Maybe, after all, she ought to take Ferlin up on his offer to buy him out of the house. Let him retire to some mobile home compound for elderly hippies, before he did something that would get them all busted. She’d consider it when she had more time.

  Soon, with any luck, Nick would be released from Harborview. Would he want to keep his room or would he be moving out? Either way someone should go up there and change the linen and clean the room. Which meant her. There was no one else who’d bother
or even think of it. The guys were hopeless slobs.

  All except Nick, thought Alexis. He was okay. It’d be a shame if Nick left. He hadn’t deserved what happened to him. Worth a dozen of the others. Unlike Pike. Sean Pike probably earned what he got. Always poking his nose into other people’s business. Jotting notes and being a pest. Someone was bound to get fed up with him eventually and set him straight. But kill him? You don’t decide to snuff someone just because he’s an annoying asshole. Not unless you’re insane. That narrows it down, she mused, to half the population of the Puget Sound Region. Sobering thought.

  A twinge of pain flashed behind her eyes. Another migraine on the way, she thought. Shouldn’t have had that final beer at the Comet last night. Shouldn’t have gone out at all. Shouldn’t have done a lot of things. Should have stayed home, gone to bed early. Then I would have been here to kick Marla out on her boney ass. Would have felt good. But would it have been enough to get her out of their lives for good? No, probably not.

  Alexis stretched, loosening the tightness between her shoulders and glanced to the corner of the room. The tall woman had vanished, though that didn’t mean her energy wasn’t somewhere close, keeping watch. There was always someone or something watching over the house, thought Alexis. As if the house had a weird hard-wired survival instinct. That thought was strangely comforting. Kind of nice to think there was some kind of spiritual force field keeping the old place together. Especially considering how accomplished her living tenants were at screwing things up. No telling how much damage they could do, left to themselves.

  She put the sizing brush into a jar of water and went upstairs to Nick’s bedroom, noticing on the way that the cold spot on the second landing seemed even chillier and creepier than usual. The tall woman wasn’t the only disturbed entity at home this morning.

  ***

  Suzan was disappointed but what had she expected? Did I seriously suppose he’d open his eyes as I crept into his romantically shadowed hospital room, recognize me as a kindred sufferer, smile through his pain and ask me to hold his hand?