Decorating Schemes Page 14

He gave me an exasperated head shake. “No joke. That’s why we only let you into the pool at first. Then you go off the end of the pier. You’re not going into the Sound for real until you know what you’re doing.”

  “Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.”

  He gave me another weird look—well, his look wasn’t weird. It just was the kind of look that told me he thought I was weird.

  If he only knew.

  “Why don’t you, like, take a look at some of the books over there,” he said. “Some of the more basic ones will help you get an idea what you’ll be doing.”

  “Great. I’ll take a few minutes to do that. Thanks.”

  Since it’s always better to know something about any new endeavor you’re about to undertake, I scoped out the titles in the pair of side-by-side seven-foot-tall shelves. I really wanted something like Scuba for Dummies, but they didn’t seem to stock it. The books with glossy photos appealed to the artist in me, but I knew those weren’t the ones I needed most. Then, on the third shelf down, I found one with the word basic in the title. That was the one.

  I opened to the table of contents and then heard a door open and close in the back of the shop.

  “Hey, Max!” a young man called out.

  “Tom, dude! What’s up, man?”

  The conversation continued more quietly than their greeting, but I turned just enough to catch a surreptitious look at the newcomer from behind the cover of my canyon of books. How many Toms would walk into the shop with that much familiarity?

  At about five foot ten, Tom stood a couple of inches shorter than Max. He also lacked the overblown muscle mass that Max displayed in his tank top. Blond and tanned, Tom looked like a poster boy for Southern California living. I snagged another diving book and stepped toward the checkout counter without letting my Birkenstocks slap.

  Sure, I eavesdropped—shamelessly.

  “... You sure you’re ready to come back? Stingray said you could take off as long as you wanted.”

  Tom shrugged, his expression grim. “It’s not like it’s going to do me any good. I’m not making any money, and sitting around all miserable isn’t going to bring KC back.”

  “I’ll tell Stingray to put you on the schedule for next week, then.”

  “That works.”

  Max scribbled something on a tablet hung by the back door. “Monday okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Tom turned to leave the way he’d come in, and Max walked the other way, right past the bottle-topped table. “Hey, man. Before I forget. Some woman just left who wanted to talk to you about your bottles. She gave me her card for you, says she, like, owns some auction place or something.”

  “I must’ve heard from every one of them in the country since the Intelligencer got ahold of the story.”

  “Well, have you given it all some thought?”

  “Are you crazy? A couple of bottles aren’t no big deal to me right now. Sure, I’m gonna want to sell them. They’ll pay a good chunk of tuition, but, man, give me a break. I can barely think or sleep or eat for thinking of KC.”

  “I hear you.” Max reached into his shorts pocket. “Here. This is her card. I’ll tell you, this one’s... different. She wasn’t so big on the bottles as some of the others.”

  “Really?” Tom said, his gaze on my card. “You mean she didn’t start hitting you with dollar amounts up front?”

  “No, not really. She just, like, got this great big grin when she saw the bottles, touched one of them like it was... oh, I don’t know, dude. A treasure, a real treasure.”

  “That’s a change.”

  “Yeah, man. I’m not gonna forget real quick the guy who wanted to rip you off and tried to sneak away with two of the blue ones.”

  “That ripped me.” He shook his head. “But I can’t get all worked up about a chunk of old glass right now. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, but you gotta think about it, dude. School starts up again before you know it. Those bills are big.”

  Tom flicked the card against his thumb. “Maybe I will give her a call.”

  Here I stood, dying to talk to Tom but embarrassed to be outed as a snoop. What to do? Did I somehow try to sneak out the front and then barge back in? Or did I just guts my way out and go shake the guy’s hand?

  Since I couldn’t very well walk out without being heard—they had that dopey chime hooked up to the electronic motion sensor on the door—that wasn’t much of an option. I really didn’t have any choice but to go meet Tom.

  “Max!” I called out, the dumb act once again my ally. “Max, I’d like to buy these two books. They’re great. I just started flipping through them, and I couldn’t stop reading—oh! I’m sorry. I see you’re busy.”

  The look Max gave me spoke a thousand words, none of which I liked. He’d seen right through my dumb act. Tom, on the other hand, barely spared me a glance.

  “Sure thing, Haley,” Max said. “And since you were so busy reading, I’d better introduce you to Tom Pitney, right? I’m sure you, like, have lots to talk to him about his bottles.”

  Tom’s frown didn’t give much encouragement. “This your card?”

  I held out my hand. “I’m Haley Farrell. I own Norwalk & Farrell’s Auctions, as you can see on the card. And yes. I’m interested in handling the sale of your bottles.”

  He looked me up and down with a clear, direct stare. “Why should I agree to have you sell them instead of all the other people who’ve called?”

  I hadn’t expected a job interview. “Ah... well, because I’m local, for one thing. Norwalk & Farrell’s Auctions is located right here in Wilmont.”

  “What difference does that make? A New York check’s not going to be any different from a Wilmont check.”

  He was no dummy. “No, but it’s always a good idea to patronize local commerce.” Lame, lame, lame.

  He knew it too. “I’m only in this area because I’m at U-dub. Once I graduate I’ll turn my back on the grand old University of Washington and leave this soggy place.”

  “Hey! We get good weather too.”

  My outburst made him chuckle. “Okay,” he said. “That’s better. At least you got some human in there with all the business babble.”

  “So you’re interested in testing me.”

  “Well, it’s a whole bunch of expensive bottles we’re talking about.”

  “Do you know just how expensive they are?”

  “Not really. I only found them three weeks ago, and then KC...”

  The wounded look I’d first seen on his face returned. Here was another young man devastated by KC’s death. I had to be careful. It wouldn’t be difficult. I knew how he felt.

  “I’m sorry, Tom. I understand you knew KC Richardson. By a weird coincidence, I’m one of the people who found her.”

  He closed his eyes and averted his face.

  I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t the time to get into details about the bottles, and I know it.” I took a deep breath. “My business—Norwalk & Farrell’s Auctions? I inherited it from a woman who was like a mother to me. She was murdered last year.”

  He tensed up under my hand, but he did face me. “I guess you do know.”

  “Yeah. And I also found her. I can’t tell you how hard it was to see her like that, and then to walk out onto that patio a year later and find KC there.”

  He drew in a ragged breath.

  My squeeze to his shoulder was an inadequate gesture of understanding, but it was all I felt I could do under the circumstances. “You have my card. I’ll be there at those phone numbers whenever you’re ready. I hope you do decide to go with us for the sale.”

  I gave him a final, awkward pat, then walked to the register, where Max stood, his attention glued to us. I rummaged through my backpack purse. “Here’s my credit card.”

  “Dude. You’re okay, you know?”

  I smiled. “Thanks. But I didn’t do much.”

  “You didn’t hit him up hard fo
r the bottles, and you were nice about KC too.”

  “I told you I know what it’s like to lose a loved one.”

  “Guess you do.”

  “Haley,” Tom said. “I don’t need to think about it. I’d like you to sell the bottles for me, but I’m not ready to do a whole lot of thinking right now. Give me some time, and then we can talk about money and stuff.”

  Instead of feeling triumphant, I felt humbled. To my surprise, my eyes prickled with tears. “Thank you for your trust, Tom. It means a great deal. And I do understand. Like I said, you can reach me at those phone numbers any time you’re ready.”

  The register pinged the total for the books, then clacked out the receipt. I signed, stuck the yellow copy in my wallet, and grabbed the bagged books.

  “I’ll see you next week,” I said on my way to the door. “Oh, Tom. Before I forget. We have a secured warehouse and can keep the bottles safe there for you if you’d like.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll call you on Monday to make arrangements.”

  “Hey, dude,” Max said. “You’re going to be teaching her on Monday. You guys can talk all about old bottles then.”

  I grinned. “That works.”

  Tom nodded. “Good deal.”

  Satisfied with all I’d accomplished in my brief visit, I reached for the door handle, only to have it fly outward. I nearly fell flat on my face.

  “Easy there,” a tall, middle-aged man said, his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you the other side.”

  “Oh, it’s not your fault,” I answered, flustered. “I wasn’t paying any attention. I was too busy talking. I’m starting lessons on Monday, and the guys were telling me about them. Oh, and the bottles too. Those are great...”

  I let the babble dry up at the amused look on his face.

  “I’m always glad to see a newcomer show so much enthusiasm.” He held out his hand. “I’m Stewart Marshall. I spend much of my free time here. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other very soon.”

  This was Deedee’s husband? Another scuba diver?

  Oh man. KC’s murder had more strings than an Oriental rug’s fringe. “Funny you should say that, Dr. Marshall.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  I shook his hand. “I’m Haley Farrell, your interior designer. Unfortunately, I’m the one who was with Deedee the other day. We found KC.”

  His fingers spasmed around mine, and he released my hand. His expression took on a troubled cast. “I’m sure it’s a pleasure to meet you, Haley, but I do wish the circumstances were different. It’s a tragedy when a girl that young dies in such a terrible way.”

  I studied his reaction. He looked sad—not too much, but appropriately so. “I’d much rather meet you once the job is done,” I replied. “When everyone can celebrate the new look of your home.”

  He shrugged and gave a dry little chuckle. “I have no problem with the way the house is right now, but Deedee is such a cheerful woman. I can see why she wants a different look to the place.” His voice turned tender. “She has brought such joy to my life that I’m willing to put up with all the upheaval.”

  “I see you know what it means to redesign a house.”

  “My ex-wife tore the place apart back when we first bought it. It took us a year and half to finish the work. I hope it won’t take that long this time.”

  “Can’t make any promises yet. Deedee and I are going shopping tomorrow, and I have to check in with the contractor. Oh, and Deedee said something about a pool. Have to look into that too.”

  With a huge, dramatic gesture, the doctor reached into his back pocket and waved his wallet in the air high over his head. “No! You can’t have my last dollar. Have mercy on an old man.”

  I laughed. “I’ll do my best. I can see this is going to be an interesting job.”

  “I hope you and Deedee have fun. Goodness knows, a murder victim on your patio is hardly the best way to start a marriage. She’s been distraught since that day—understandably so.”

  “No doubt. It’s weighed on me too.”

  His look was full of kindness and concern. “I hope you’re getting more sleep and eating better than Deedee is.”

  I grimaced. “Okay. You busted me. I’m not doing too well, but I’m sure that as time goes by I’ll be fine.”

  He reached out and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry that was your welcome to my home. Please take care of yourself, and I promise to improve our hospitality on your next visit.”

  “Thanks.” I fell silent, and the moment grew longer, awkward. “Well! I’d better get going. I have a house to redesign, after all.”

  “It was nice to meet you,” Dr. Marshall said. “And I hope you enjoy your scuba lessons.”

  As I walked to my Honda, I tallied up the afternoon. It had been productive... sort of. I enrolled for classes; I met Tom and got him to agree to let me sell his bottle collection; I learned he too had loved KC Richardson, and I witnessed his genuine grief over her death; I met Dr. Marshall and found him to be a nice, gentle, funny man; and I bought two books on scuba diving.

  But none of that had brought me any closer to knowing what had happened to KC. I knew no more about the missing baby than I’d known before.

  I still stood at square one.

  “I love that!” Bella squealed later that evening. “You are so talented, Haley girl.”

  “Even though I’m a feline Philippine, huh?”

  Bella narrowed her blue eyes. “That, dear girl, is Philistine. Get it right, will you?”

  I chuckled. “So you like what I’ve come up with so far for the Marshalls’ kitchen.”

  “It’s absolutely fantabulous! I can just picture myself with my morning tea in the breakfast nook looking out over the pool.” She turned thoughtful. “I wonder if Deedee will swim before or after breakfast.”

  “Maybe both.”

  “It’ll be a heated pool, right?”

  “In the Pacific Northwest? Of course! Otherwise, they might get to use it all of two days out of a year.”

  Bella shook a stubby finger at me. “Don’t you turn eggs Benedict on me. I’ve always thought you were a good egg; now you’re bad-mouthing our weather.”

  I raised my arms in the universal “Don’t blame me” gesture. “Hey, I’m a native. I’m allowed to bad-mouth our weather. It’s foreigners who can’t.”

  “That’s an interesting way to put it,” Dad said from the doorway. “How’d your day go, honey?”

  I waggled a hand in the air. “So-so. Busy though. Oh, and I think you’ll get a kick out of this. Guess what I signed up for today?”

  “You didn’t say anything about signing up for anything,” Bella said, accusation in her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you were up to something cool again?”

  I could’ve just kicked myself. That slip of my tongue was sure to bring an avalanche of consequences.

  “Um... I forgot, Bella. Sorry.”

  Was there any way I could get out of this?

  As I scrambled for a conversational diversion, Dad walked over to the cupboard and took out a tall glass. At the refrigerator he helped himself to ice and fresh-brewed tea. He sliced a lemon, plunked the yellow circle in his drink, then faced us again.

  I stared as if I’d never seen Dad serve himself tea before.

  “Well, Haley,” he said, “are you going to tell us what you signed up for?”

  Oh well. “I’m starting scuba diving lessons on Monday.”

  You know that expression “You could hear a pin drop”? Well, you could’ve if you’d dropped a pin in our kitchen just then—even a feather would’ve busted eardrums. Bella’s eyes looked ready to pop from their sockets, and Dad just stood there and gaped.

  With impeccable timing, Midas parked himself by the cabinet where the doggy cookies live and woo-woo-wooed for another treat. Thank goodness this golden wasn’t silent.

  My father took more care than needed to set his glass down on the counter. “I ne
ver knew you had an interest in the activity.”

  “I didn’t. At least, not until the other day when Tedd... um... suggested I try it.”

  Dad’s gaze zeroed in on me, concern all over his face. But instead of speaking, he picked up his tea and took a long drink.

  Bella, on the other hand, popped up from her seat, indignation all over her pretty face. “You’ve been keeping secrets, Haley girl. How come you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend? How’m I gonna know if he’s good enough for you if you don’t let me check him out?”

  The gymnastics of Bella’s mind never cease to amaze me. “I don’t have a boyfriend. How did scuba lessons translate into a boyfriend?”

  “What? Do I look stupid or something?” She parked her fists on her hips. “This Ted’s gotten close enough to you that he’s sending you underwater. Who is he? How long have you been seeing him? How does he feel about Midas? And how soon is the wedding?”

  “Good grief, Bella Cahill! You really need to be writing books, or at the very least screenplays. How’d you get to a wedding from just hearing me mention Tedd?”

  Her chin jutted farther, and she continued to glare.

  With a sigh, I stood, placed my hands on her shoulders, and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Bella, my dear, Tedd’s a friend, a girlfriend. Her full name is Teodora Rodriguez, and I’ve known her for about a year now.”

  Bella sagged. “Oh.”

  “Sorry. It’s not that exciting, is it?”

  “Not really.” Then she perked up again—to my regret. “But the scuba stuff is. When’d you decide to become the wrinkly French guy who used to do the shows they reran on TV when you were a kid?”

  I fought a chuckle. “That’s Jacques Cousteau, Bella.”

  Dad turned on the tap to rinse out his glass. “What Cousteau didn’t know about the ocean and diving isn’t worth learning.”

  “Well, I’m not going to try to beat his knowledge, that’s for sure. Tedd just figured I could do with some... trust building, and from where I stand, I don’t know anything else that calls for anywhere near as much blind faith as scuba. I’m not sure it’ll work. I’m not even sure she’s right, but she wouldn’t let up. You know how persuasive she can be.”