Decorating Schemes Page 17

  The click-click of the turn signal alerted me to our location. We’d reached the Richardsons’ very ritzy Seattle neighborhood. Dutch put on the brakes. We stopped outside a sculptural, cedar-and-glass contemporary masterpiece.

  “We’re here.” He took his key from the ignition, then turned in his seat. “Will you promise me one thing?”

  My “He’s gonna make a sucker of you” alert went off. “What’s that?”

  He leaned closer. “Promise you’ll be careful. That you won’t try to take on Stewart Marshall on your own.”

  “What do you mean, promise to be careful? I’m always careful—”

  “I don’t want to argue. I just want you to know how hard it hit me when I walked in last year and found you passed out on the floor, your body full of morphine. I don’t want you hurt again.”

  His expression, the sincerity in his voice, touched me. I ditched the bravado. “Thanks, Dutch. I really mean it. For caring, and for what you did last year. And yes, I promise I’ll be careful. I’ll keep an eye out for Dr. Marshall, and I won’t do anything stupid like try to catch him, not by myself. I’ll call Lila the minute I even think something might come down.”

  My words did nothing to ease his troubled look.

  “I know you mean that,” he said, “but I just can’t help it. I’m afraid something’s going to go wrong, that you’re going to wind up on the wrong end of whatever that might be.”

  “Then we’ll have to trust God, won’t we?”

  “You think God’ll come through? That he’s going to keep an eye out for the two of us? Don’t you think he might be a little busy these days? There are wars and floods and famines and earthquakes, you know.”

  “He sent you after me last year.”

  “And here I thought all along it was Bella who sent me to find you.”

  “He used Bella and you to keep me alive. I have to believe he had a reason not to take me home then, and I have to believe he’ll see me through this time. You too.”

  He sat for a moment, silent. Then he smiled. “Let’s get back to this God talk later on. We have to get the show on the road.”

  “Before you chicken out, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Hey, I’m here to hold your hand... or something like that.”

  We got out of the truck. I walked around to the sidewalk and took hold of his outstretched hand.

  “Partners?” he asked.

  “Partners.”

  We walked to the glass front door, hands tightly clasped.

  The brunette who opened the door burst into tears. “Oh, Dutch...”

  Her face was blotchy, her eyes bloodshot, her nose red. She held a crumpled tissue in one hand and reached out for Dutch with the other.

  Lori Richardson was gorgeous, even now, ravaged by grief. Dutch untangled himself from the embrace, said hello, then reached back for my hand. I avoided his touch but stepped up to stand at his side.

  “Lori,” he said, “this is—”

  “What are you doing here?” The six-foot-plus, burly man looked as torn up as Lori. I assumed he was Dutch’s former partner, Ron. “Come to gloat?”

  The compassion on Dutch’s face stole my breath.

  He reached out a hand. “Not at all, Ron.”

  Ron looked at it as if it were a snake.

  Dutch didn’t back down. “I came because I know you’re devastated. Didn’t need to see you guys to know it. And... and I really want to put the past behind us. When something like this happens, it makes everything else look stupid.”

  Ron still wasn’t buying. Contempt twisted his features. “I don’t need your pity.”

  “Ron!” Lori cried. “He came in peace—”

  “Sure he did. He’s just trying to save his—”

  Lori’s warning look cut off her husband’s words.

  He shrugged. “He’s trying to save his sorry hide, all right? Don’t you read the papers, Lori? Didn’t you hear that Detective Tsu woman on TV? She said she had a suspect, and the newscast was all about him after that. This... this scum is the one who killed KC. Revenge is his game.”

  Dutch took a step toward the enraged man. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I haven’t seen KC since you and I argued some time after her baptism. And I never tried to get revenge. Yeah, I was angry, have been for years. But that doesn’t mean I’d do anything to hurt you. Or her.”

  The red in Ron’s face darkened. “Get out—”

  “Listen to me,” Dutch said. “Please. Give me a minute of your time. That’s all I ask. When I’m done, you can kick me out. But please. Give me a chance to talk.”

  Ron’s struggle showed. Finally he seemed to surrender. His shoulders sagged, and he looked about thirty years older. “Go ahead. But make it quick. The ME’s going to release KC’s...” His voice broke. “He’s done his thing, and we have an appointment with an undertaker.”

  Tears filled the man’s eyes.

  Lori sobbed.

  I slanted a glance at Dutch. He looked haggard; grief etched deep lines on his face.

  “Look, Ron,” he said. “When did I ever go behind your back for anything? You know I never made a secret of how I felt. That’s how I’ve always operated—still do. I lay my cards on the table, and everyone knows where I stand.”

  Ron didn’t respond.

  Dutch pressed on. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone, not intentionally. And much, much less your daughter. No matter how mad I was at you—and I don’t deny my rage—it never crossed my mind to lash out at you. Not at you, not at Lori, and never, never at little KC. One of my greatest regrets over the years is that I didn’t get to know her.”

  The rough quality of his voice brought me to tears. I looked over and saw the dampness in his eyes. There was something so real, so open about his revelation.

  I was glad I’d agreed to help. Dutch is a good man.

  “I believe you,” Lori said. “I never thought the detective’s suspicions were right. Or Ron’s.”

  Her husband shot her a glare. “Yeah, seems you’re still stuck on him, even after all these years.”

  “That’s not true, Ron.” I admired Lori’s composure in the face of the accusation. “I love you. I married you because I loved you then, and I still love you now. But that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes want to grab you by the ears and shake you. This is one of those times, pal.”

  Dutch chuckled without humor. “Give me a break, Ron. Every step of the way, you came out on top. Did I ever come at you because Lori chose you over me?”

  Ron didn’t reply.

  “I didn’t. I even agreed to stand up for you at the wedding.”

  “You did?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Wow! You’re nigh unto angelic for that one.”

  Lori smiled through her tears. “Let’s not get carried away here. These two are too obstinate for anything like that.”

  I could come to like this woman. “Oh, I’ve bumped my head against that wall a couple of times.”

  “Dutch never got to the introductions,” Lori added. “But let me tell you. I never thought I’d see the day I’d meet the woman willing to take on this ornery beast. How long have you two been married?”

  “Oh no!” A blush sizzled all the way to my hairline. “We’re not... we’re...”

  What were we? I turned to him for help but found him frozen in place, his gaze glued to me, his jaw gaping wide.

  I was on my own for this one. Better to start at the beginning. I held out a hand. “Haley Farrell. I’m an interior designer, and I’ve worked with Dutch before. Deedee and Stewart Marshall hired the two of us for the remodel and redesign of their home. I was the one who... who found your daughter that day.”

  Lori’s tears resumed, as did her soft sobs, but she also took my hand in both of hers. She didn’t speak; she couldn’t, but she patted my fingers in a sad, distracted way.

  “Haley’s agreed to help me clear my name,” Dutch finally said. “She’s been where I am. She’s Marge No
rwalk’s heir.”

  Husband and wife traded glances; then Lori cleared her throat. “I remember the story in the papers last year. You’re the one who cracked that case, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “And Dutch pulled a white-knight rescue. I was on the floor, dying from an overdose of morphine—not self-inflicted, you understand. If he hadn’t charged in when he did, a killer would’ve gotten off scot-free. And I’d be dead. I owe him, and I especially want to help since I know he didn’t kill your daughter.”

  At my words, Lori underwent a transformation. She stood tall, took a deep breath, and stepped to the side.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “Come on in to the living room. We need to talk. And, Ron.” She glared at her husband. “It’s way past time you and Dutch buried the hatchet. You’ve come a long way from the man you were fourteen years ago. Besides, neither one of you is blameless in the falling-out, so give it up.”

  With a shrug, Ron led the way to the soaring living space. A full wall of stone housed a huge fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling sheets of glass made up the far length of the room and offered a fabulous view of Lake Washington. Hardwood floors gleamed underfoot. Crossbeams held up the matching ceiling. We sat on leather furniture that felt softer than whipped cream. I wished I’d been the one to design the gorgeous space.

  Then we got down to business.

  I shared what I’d learned. I had no qualms about talking. Now that I’d met them, I had no doubt KC’s parents had played no part in her death. Not that I’d seriously entertained the possibility. It was clear they hadn’t known about the pregnancy, and they said so over and over again.

  At first they seemed reluctant to give my suspicions much credit. But as Dutch and I filled in the blanks with all we’d learned, anger and determination replaced their consuming grief.

  By the time we stood to leave, Dutch and Ron had made great strides.

  At the door Ron gave a loud “Ahem.”

  Dutch met his former partner’s gaze.

  “I... ah...” Ron took a deep breath, then seemed to gain the strength to go on. “Over the years I’ve refused to admit what I knew even back then. In my hunt for success, I made many terrible choices and associated with people I knew I shouldn’t. Then later I heard rumors about Stew, but I chose to ignore them. I even sent my wife and daughter to him when they needed minor medical care, and now I have to live with the consequences of my hunger for money, position, power.”

  Dutch remained rigid, his eyes riveted to Ron.

  In an abrupt gesture, Ron shoved his hand toward Dutch. “I’m sorry, man. You were right and I was wrong. I took the shady road, cursed you, hit you with everything the legal system allowed, but I lost in the end. All this—” he gestured at the house “—isn’t worth a thing in the end. You were right.”

  Dutch took the extended hand. “We all lost. Especially KC.”

  The big man sobbed. “And that’s what I’ll live with for the rest of my life.”

  Dutch pulled on Ron’s hand and gave him a brusque hug. Ron’s sobs echoed through the house.

  I wept for the dead girl, for the family torn to shreds, for the grief that sin had brought down on them. In the midst of the grief, as if a small voice had spoken, I realized that some good would come out of the evil we’d seen. Shared grief had thrown a blanket over years of hate. Two men would no longer live with an old rage that ate at them.

  “We’ll get him,” I said, my voice soft but certain.

  “Let me know what I can do,” Lori said.

  The men pulled apart, their hands still locked together.

  “I’ll call every day,” Dutch said, his voice raw with emotion. “I’ll let you know anything that happens as soon as it comes down.”

  Ron nodded. “I can’t just sit still here, you know. I’m going to look into everything he’s done for the last... I don’t know, twenty years at least. We are going to get him.”

  Dutch opened the door, turned, and looked at Ron. “Thanks.”

  Tears again welled in KC’s father’s eyes. “No. I’m the one who owes you the thanks. I hope you can someday forgive me. I harmed you, not the other way around.”

  “I forgive you, Ron. I’m just glad we can put the past behind us. Let’s look to the future, to getting Marshall. After that we’ll have all the time in the world to talk.”

  We walked to the truck in silence. Once inside the cabin, I reached out and touched Dutch’s cheek. “You’re all right.”

  “What took you so long to figure it out?”

  I blushed. “I’ve been known to be single-minded to the point of—”

  “Does blindness come to mind?”

  “Watch it! You’re about to blow your spiffy new good-guy image.”

  His laugh came out in a big burst, as if a dam had broken and the water rushed out to find its level. I supposed that was how he felt. Years of pain and anger had been set aside by a shared tragedy.

  Too bad it had taken a girl’s death to reach that point.

  After a bit he said, “Nah. You know me better than that. You know who I really am. C’mon. We’ve got work to do. There’s at least one last thing KC’s godfather can do for her. Let’s go make sure Stewart Marshall doesn’t get away with murder.”

  The weekend had to be the weirdest ever. My first scuba lesson was scheduled for Monday morning, and I still wasn’t all that psyched to go play underwater with Tom as my only protection against a watery end. True, I can swim, but that business of playing under the sea in an octopus’s garden made my stomach wriggle. One would think I’d swallowed an honest-to-goodness yellow submarine.

  To distract myself I worked on the design board for the Marshall job.

  Now, there was an exercise in futility. On the one hand, I did my best to come up with a stunning look—in spite of the pink—for that gorgeous old home. I always aim for my best. On the other hand, I was just as determined to come up with enough evidence to put my client behind bars.

  The Twilight Zone theme song followed me wherever I went.

  But always, in the back of my mind, sadness lurked. Three deaths. Three children gone: my own miscarried child... KC Richardson... her baby as well.

  Then on Sunday, at the end of the worship service, Dad asked the congregation to give him the luxury of a few minutes to share his good fortune.

  He beamed from the pulpit. “I’d like all of you to know that a new member of our church, Madeleine Ogleby, has done me a great honor and has agreed to become my wife.”

  The scoffs, snorts, and gasps of the faithful could have propelled the church building to Mars and back again. Dad didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he gestured for Madeleine, my future stepmother, to join him at the pulpit.

  “Since neither one of us is especially young, we aren’t planning on a long engagement. Please join us on the third Saturday in July for our wedding.”

  Boy, was the gossip gonna buzz! I didn’t even make it to the church door; members of the missionary society ambushed me right at the end of my pew. Ina Appleton looked curious. Penny Harham disapproved. The others landed somewhere in between. Needless to say, Bella took the lead.

  “How come you kept such a major secret from me, Haley girl? I thought we were friends.”

  Oh brother. “We are. I’ve just been very, very busy.”

  “Bogus! It doesn’t take but a minute to give me a call.”

  The ladies chimed in with support for Bella.

  My hands went up in surrender. “All right. Okay. You guys win. I blew it.”

  Bella donned a satisfied smirk.

  I continued. “Except that I did nothing wrong. The news wasn’t exactly mine to share, was it? I think it’s up to Dad to tell people about his engagement, don’t you think? Isn’t that what you would want if you were in his and Madeleine’s place?”

  No one argued further, not even Bella.

  She blushed, then slunk away.

  I grinned and headed home, where the nightmare in pink glowed at me from my
design board. As much as the challenge exerted a powerful lure, my disgust for and my anger toward Stewart Marshall repelled just as much.

  Dutch’s phone call distracted me for a while. I took the opportunity to ask a question that had teased my thoughts for a while.

  “Exactly how old are you?”

  “Does my age matter?”

  “I’m just curious. I understand you went to school with Ron and Lori, and they’re old enough to have had a teenage daughter. Were you some kind of prodigy?”

  He laughed. “I guess I look young for my age. Remember, Lori was an ‘older woman.’ Ron was older too, and they married before they finished college, right after they met my freshman year. KC came along nine months later. Oh, and for the record, I just turned thirty-one.”

  “Whoa! Six years older than I am.” He sure didn’t look it. “You’re nothing but an old geezer, then. Gotta watch out for you.”

  “I seem to remember remarking on the matter of maturity a time or two...”

  Before he had the chance to remind me of my various awkward moments, I switched the subject. I asked again if he’d thought of anything, remembered anything that might help, but he hadn’t. Since he had nothing new to report, we soon said good-bye.

  The day dragged on until I finally caved in to Midas’s demands. We went to the park with his Frisbee in the late afternoon.

  Dinner was a quick meal of zapped leftovers with a tossed salad on the side. Then I went to bed.

  I dreamt of Captain Ahab and Moby Dick.

  I dreamt of Jonah and his whale.

  I dreamt of Jaws.

  Even Flipper the dolphin and Jules Verne’s Captain Nemo cavorted in my dreams. Things went downhill from there.

  By the time the sun crawled up the eastern horizon, I’d revisited every movie, TV show, or book that dealt with an underwater creature. It didn’t bode well for my scuba diving gig.

  Regardless, I showed up at the shop. Tom caught me off guard when he met me with a snorkel in hand.

  I pointed. “What’s that for? Are you confused or something? I signed up for scuba lessons, not snorkeling.”

  “I thought you’d bought some how-to books. Didn’t you take a look at them?”