Thirteen

"How about if I meet you in the parking lot behind the tea shop?" Alastair said.

Kate held her cell phone to her ear as she looked around at the chaos of Sara's house. There seemed to be an endless stream of delivery people: food, drink, flowers, chairs, tables, cutlery. Sara had long ago escaped to the tiny courtyard outside her bedroom. Jack was hiding out in the garden with the fountain. Kate wished she could join either of them, but Ivy and Heather needed help with all the preparations.

"I don't think I can," she told Alastair. "Looking at houses is going to have to wait until all this is cleared up. Wednesday afternoon at the earliest."

"What did you have for lunch?"

"Tastings," she said. "Every person who has donated a dish has asked me to taste whatever he or she brought, then waited for me to give lavish praise. I've used the words fabulous and extraordinary a dozen times."

"They like to hear amazing."

"Not in this house! Jack warned me that one utterance of that word and Sara might kick me into the street."

"Are you in love with him yet? Is my chance completely lost?"

It was the first genuine laugh she'd had all day.

"I have something I want to show you," Alastair said. "Something that I think you'll like. And it won't take long. Promise."

Kate looked around the big room. A man in a white chef's jacket looked like he was filling yet another spoon for someone to taste. "Ten minutes?"

"You can make it in eight."

"I'll take Aunt Sara's MINI and be there in six."

It took Kate a whole eleven minutes to get there because she had to maneuver the MINI around three vans parked in the driveway. But Alastair was waiting for her. Feeling like she was skipping school, she got out and gave a sigh of relief. She leaned on the side of the MINI beside him.

"That bad?"

"Worse. Noise and confusion and strangers."

"But aren't your housemates strangers? You haven't known them but a few days."

"I guess, but it doesn't feel that way. Jack says that Aunt Sara and I are so much alike that we're almost twins."

"Bit of an age difference, isn't there?"

"She's young and I'm old, so it evens out."

He smiled at her joke. "And you and Wyatt?"

Kate thought of what Jack had told her at the nursing home. It meant a lot that he'd entrusted her with that secret, and she wasn't going to reveal anything to anyone.

"Uh-oh," Alastair said in a way that made her laugh. They got into their cars and she followed him to a part of town she'd not seen before. When she saw the street, she drew in her breath. It was the same address as the house Jack had given her to sell. She pulled into the driveway beside his Bimmer, turned off the engine, then got out and waited for him to explain.

"You called Tayla and she called me. I saw the house this morning and I love it."

When Kate said, "Oh," the disappointment in her voice was clear.

"I screwed up, didn't I?"

"No, of course not. Good houses go fast and Jack said this one is a beauty."

"The ever-present Jack," Alastair mumbled, looking contrite. "Like to see inside?"

"Sure." It was very pretty on the outside and Kate's Realtor eyes checked the gutters, the windows, the concrete. It was all in good repair, well taken care of. Add a few flowers to the beds and it would be pristine.

She wasn't surprised when Alastair had a key to the front door. The inside was as well kept as the outside—and the floor plan was what everyone wanted: open, light, simple. The kitchen had cream-colored granite countertops and she recognized the documents on them. Alastair had already made an offer and it had been accepted.

Kate's name was on the papers. She was going to get the commission. She'd share a percentage with Tayla's company but the bulk of it would go to Kate. "You and Tayla didn't need to do this. I didn't show you the house."

"You're the one who finagled it out of Wyatt."

"He volunteered it," she said. It was her first sale at Kirkwood Realty and she didn't feel that she'd earned it. Where was the chase? The agony of showing twenty houses and the buyers hating them all? Then at last she would open a door and they would fall in love. Never mind that the house bore no resemblance to what they'd said they wanted—love was love.

"Sorry I messed things up for you," Alastair said. "It's just that as soon as I saw this house, I knew that I wanted it. And Tayla said it would go soon. Come see the Florida room."

She followed him past the pretty kitchen to a big screened-in porch. There were two cheap aluminum chairs and a table with a white cloth. On top was a bottle of champagne, two glasses and plastic containers of food.

"Please forgive my decor," he said. "May I serve you lunch in my new home?"

He looked so repentant, so sorry, that she forgave him. Besides, it was difficult to stay angry at a blond Viking. "I would love it." She sat down, then he poured the champagne and filled her plate with little sandwiches and salads.

"Tell me everything you've been doing," he said. "The whole town is buzzing with talk of the memorial service. Is Miss Sara really giving out free books?"

"Oh, yes. Boxes of them. Jack opened them and—" She broke off as Alastair groaned.

"Wyatt again."

"He does live there," Kate said tersely.

"I don't mean to be disparaging, but you'd think a grown man would want his own place. Whatever happened to that newscaster he was dating?"

"Cheryl Morris?"

"Jack dated Cheryl?" Alastair looked shocked. "I had no idea. You don't think he...?"

"No, nothing like that." Kate quickly realized her mistake. "I don't know who Jack has dated or is dating."

"Foot in mouth," he said, "but then I've thought of little else besides the murders since our dinner together. I've tried hard to remember if anyone ever mentioned that poor girl. Or her mother." He took a bite.

"And?"

"You remember the guy who yelled hello on that first day that I met you?"

"Dan, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Dan Bruebaker. What a good memory you have."

"Part of my trade. Did he know Cheryl?"

"I don't know but I remembered that he used to talk about her a lot. But then, most of the guys did. She was a very pretty girl and she dressed like an adult. I remember some women at church making remarks about her being a ‘painted harlot.'"

"Do you know who Cheryl went out with?"

"No one in the open, that's for sure. Maybe..." He looked down at his plate.

"Maybe what?"

"Did you ever think that she dressed up like that because she was trying to attract a man? I mean as opposed to a high-school boy. I think Cheryl—what with a mother like hers—might have been too much for us fumbling boys. I know I would never have approached someone like her." He paused. "I've made you frown. Sorry."

"It's just the concept of blaming the victim that I hate. Whatever she did, she didn't deserve what she got."

"Of course not. I apologize."

"From what we've found out, Cheryl was working toward getting the job she wanted. Maybe that was what she was trying to attract."

"And the boys' locker room was a by-product. Do you know when it happened? The date she was killed?"

"Not specifically. Early September, just before school started."

"When my class was heading off to college."

Kate looked at her watch. "Do you really think Dan Bruebaker was after her?"

"He and I weren't close, but I do know that he talked about her often. It was like she was some trophy he was trying to win. He used to tell all of us on the team in detail about what he'd like to do to her, that sort of thing. Locker-room talk. I dismissed it at the time." He paused. "So how was your adventure yesterday?"

At first she didn't know what he meant. "Oh, Aventura? The rest home. Mrs. Ellerbee wasn't... I mean... She'd passed away."

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry."

Kate put down her napkin and stood up. "I really need to get back."

He got up. "Give me a date if you hear about one and I'll do what I can to help you find alibis for the people in high school. I'm good at research and my mother kept every piece of paper about my high-school years. Her scrapbooks are practically a daily diary. It could help narrow down the list. Anything I can do to help, let me know."

"That's very kind of you. By the way, why did your mother go to Henry Lowell's funeral?"

"I didn't know that she did, but it makes sense. Mr. Lowell used to keep our house from falling down around our ears. I think he and Mother became friends, and between you and me, I don't think he charged her very much."

"I think he did that with a lot of people." She glanced at the table. "Thank you for all of this. It was a nice treat."

"Would you like my help tomorrow?"

"It would be nice if you showed up at the service at the cemetery in the morning. Maybe it's vain of us but we'd like to show Sheriff Flynn that Cheryl and her mother were remembered."

"Now, that's something I can do. What about afterward?"

Kate started to say that he might be good at interviewing people, but she stopped herself. She'd already told him a lot, and officially bringing in a fourth person was something that needed to be discussed with the others. The thought made her smile. She was now part of a team. "I think we have it covered."

For a while, they talked of his new house and how he was going to furnish it. She suggested he hire Ivy to decorate it and he liked that idea. Then they exchanged the double-cheek kisses that were prevalent in South Florida and Kate drove home smiling.

By 7:00 a.m. the next morning, Kate was up and ready to go to the memorial service. It wasn't until ten, but she was nervous. She hoped lots of people would be there, but at the same time, she hoped they'd be respectful.

The house, so full of what was needed that day, was quiet. Aunt Sara was sitting at the kitchen counter with a big plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. She offered Kate some but she got out a box of sawdust cereal and skim milk.

"Ready for today?" Sara asked.

"I doubt it. What still needs to be done?"

"Jack can't get his dress pants on over the cast. You wouldn't mind helping with that, would you?"

"Not at all. Where are they?"

"With him. In his room. He's expecting you." Sara pushed away her empty plate. "I need to..." She shrugged.

You need alone time, Kate thought. "Sure. Go ahead. I'll get our boy dressed and ready." When she finished her cereal, she went in search of Jack's room. It was down a hall that led to the laundry room—a place she hadn't yet used. She knocked and Jack answered. He was wearing only a low-slung towel and a cast. His chest was covered with black hair that fanned out over well-toned pecs and abs.

She stepped past him. "Are you appearing half-naked to get me back for saying you're like a brother to me?"

"I am. Is it working?"

"Yes. From now on, I'll think of you as my athletic brother."

Jack gave a snort of laughter and went into the bathroom, but he didn't close the door.

His room was large, a bedsitter really, with a couch and chairs, and big windows looking out at the front of the house. He'd be able to see who arrived and when they left. And being so near the garage would allow him to go and come without anyone knowing. His own guard post, Kate thought.

On the foot of the bed was a pair of dark trousers, which she picked up. "You have a pair of small, pointed scissors?"

"Here." He held a pair of nail scissors out to her.

"Thanks." She went to the bathroom door and saw that Jack had put white lather on his face. She leaned against the door as she prepared to trim away the stitching on his pant leg. But she didn't snip. Instead, she watched him.

He glanced at her in the mirror. "You look like you've never seen a man shave before."

"Just on film."

He halted, razor in hand. "No boyfriends?"

"Lots of them, but I didn't live with them."

"Mommy said no?"

"Kate said no."

Grinning, he kept shaving. "So what did you tell old man Stewart last night?"

"That I'm still considering his offer to elope."

"That's a joke, right?"

"Only on my part. He did make an offer. If you stop being a very hairy Mean Girl, I'll tell you what I learned."

"Think I should wax?" He ran his hand over his chest. "A lot of guys do now."

She ignored his question. "Tayla told Alastair about the house you gave me to sell and he bought it."

Jack rinsed his razor. "You didn't get to show him the house? Didn't get your ta-da moment?"

She ducked her head down to hide her smile at his perception, but she wasn't going to tell him that. Besides, she was rather enjoying looking at the back of him. Muscles under tanned skin...

"Do you know Dan Bruebaker?"

"He's more my mother's generation than mine. And Stewart's."

"Stop being a jerk."

"I will try," he said solemnly as he dried his face. "No, I don't really know the guy. He makes high-end wrought-iron fences. Good quality and expensive, but I've never needed to use his work. Which aftershave should I use?" He opened a medicine cabinet to show four brands lined up.

Kate stepped into the bathroom, opened them one by one and smelled them. "Alastair said that in high school Dan was obsessed with Cheryl. Bragged about what he was going to do to her. Sexual things." She handed him a bottle. "This one."

"Good choice. Guaranteed to drive women wild. Did you meet Dan?"

"No. He went after us on the day I arrived and Alastair nearly ran from him." Kate went into the bedroom, sat on the end of the bed and began taking out the inside seam on the trousers.

"Interesting. What else?" When Kate hesitated, he said, "Go on. Out with it."

"Ever since I got here, I've heard what a snob the Stewart family was, but Mrs. Stewart attended Henry Lowell's funeral."

"And he was just a building contractor."

"I didn't mean anything disparaging."

"Didn't think you did."

"Alastair said your father did a lot of work for her, and charged her too little, but still..."

Jack stepped into the room, hobbled over to a table by the window, picked up a framed picture and handed it to her. It was a black-and-white photo of three beautiful young men: tall, muscular, radiating good health. It was a candid shot. They had their arms around each other and were laughing. The one on the right was obviously Cal. He was a clone of Jack. The middle one looked enough like Alastair that he must've been his father—but he was better-looking than his son. There was something round and open and friendly about his features that Alastair didn't have.

"This guy?" she asked.

"Walter Kirkwood, Tayla's late husband."

"Could Mrs. Stewart have been there because her late husband and your grandfather were friends?"

"Possible. But not likely."

"What's she like?"

"Mrs. Stewart?" Jack limped into his closet. "As a person or your future mother-in-law?"

"Person."

"Cold, pinched woman. Granddad said Hamish—"

"Who?"

"Hamish Stewart. Named after some Scottish ancestor. Anyway, Granddad said Hamish was given a choice of marrying rich, smart Noreen or being disinherited. He was a very likable guy, but he wasn't strong in the brains department. And he didn't want to have to work for a living. He married her."

Jack came out of the closet wearing a white dress shirt and a tie, but no pants.

Thighs of a soccer player, she thought, then held up the pants with the open leg. "Try them on."

"I think I need help."

"I'll call Melissa."

"Spoilsport." He took the pants from her. "What else did ol' Stewart tell you?"

"Just that we need to get a date of when—when the murder happened. He has scrapbooks from high school. Maybe we can piece together something. Although, Alastair thinks we should look at men, not boys. He thinks that was why Cheryl wore so much makeup and dressed the way she did—she was trying to look older for some man."

Jack's jaw clenched. "She was trying to look older for the career she wanted."

"That's what I told him." He had pulled on his trousers and one pant leg flared out like a skirt. "That looks awful. You should sit down at the service and not get up again."

"Can't. I'm singing."

"You're what?"

"Singing. ‘Ave Maria.' Didn't have time to rehearse something new. Don't look at me like that. I can do things besides hammer in nails."

"Velcro," she said. "Wait here." She ran to the cabinet by the kitchen, where she'd seen a roll of the adhesive-backed fastener. She grabbed it and a pair of scissors and went back to Jack. She went onto her knees behind him. "Stand still, and no smart-aleck remarks. I've got to stick a strip of this on the cast and more on the fabric. There may be a gap but it's better than wearing palazzo pants."

"I saw Cheryl on her sixteenth birthday."

"That was the day Roy showed up, yelled at both of you, then ran over your bike. Happy birthday, Cheryl."

"Yeah, that's the day. School started a few days later, but she didn't show up. By then she was... She was..."

"I know." Kate was peeling the backing off the Velcro and sticking it to his cast. "That's too big of a time window. We need to narrow it down."

"Then find alibis for everyone in Lachlan?"

Kate sat back on her heels. "Not possible, is it?"

"No. This isn't going to itch, is it?"

"It won't touch your skin. Stop moving!"

There was a knock on the door and in unison Jack and Kate said, "Come in."

Sara entered, paused a moment to ascertain what they were doing, then sat down on the end of the bed. She had on a black dress that Kate was willing to bet was by some Italian designer. "What's going on?"

"Our Kate is going to elope with Alastair Stewart and have Noreen for her mother-in-law."

"That's good," Sara said. "Three months later you can ride up on your Harley and rescue her and be the hero."

"Been writing romances again, have you?" Jack said.

"Sort of. Kate, what did you get out of Alastair?"

She and Jack told everything, talking together, interrupting each other.

"Not much, is it?" Sara said.

"No, but I have something." Jack went to a cabinet by the door and withdrew a DVD in a jewel case. "It's a copy of the video of everyone who entered the nursing home."

Kate and Sara looked at him in awe.

"I called Gary—my security guy, remember?—and he knew someone who knew someone."

"How much?" Sara asked.

"Three hundred and fifty."

"Not bad," Sara said. "Have you seen it?"

"Yes. That's why I slept late this morning. There's no one I know on it. No one I've ever seen before."

"I'll have to look at it," Sara said. "Maybe some ancient old person is someone I went to high school with. Your pants look good. Great job, Kate."

She looked around his legs at Sara. "Can he actually sing?"

"Quite well. If I'd known that back when he graduated from high school, I would have kidnapped him and made him try out at Juilliard."

"Only if I could have taken Mom, Ivy and Evan with me."

They were silent for a moment. If they'd all left town then, maybe Evan would still be alive.