Decorating Schemes Page 18

  “Ah... umm... I’ve been kinda busy these days. What did I miss?”

  “Everyone starts out snorkeling. I’ll teach you how to clear your mask and how to swim on the surface and breathe through the snorkel. Then I’ll have you hold your breath and dive deeper in the pool.”

  “Oh. You mean I don’t have to mess with the hoses and stuff?”

  “Not for a while.”

  “Phew!”

  He laughed. “Aw, you’ll do fine. Trust me. You’re going to love diving. Everybody does.”

  I responded with a wry grin. “Even those who were dared into signing up for lessons—”

  “Yoo-hoo!” a familiar voice called out.

  I shut my eyes tight.

  I shook my head.

  I wailed, “No...”

  But nothing changed. I opened my eyes to see Bella march up to us, excitement smeared all over her round, pretty face, her rotund body sausaged into an orange one-piece swimsuit that didn’t go well with her Southwestern Turquoise hair.

  “Can you believe my luck, Haley girl? I got a chance to sign up for lessons with you. You and I are gonna have so much fun.”

  Fun wasn’t exactly what I would have called it right then.

  But I would have been wrong. To my surprise, I enjoyed every minute of the class. And the next one. And the one after that. And I couldn’t wait for the day when I got to go on my first real dive.

  When I wasn’t paddling around in the dive shop’s pool or handling the details of Norwalk & Farrell’s Auctions’ large sale of Pennsylvania antiques, I paid the Marshall home multiple visits. I tried every conceivable trick to try to sneak into the various nooks, crannies, and corners all over the place. But no dice. Deedee wasn’t about to let me go snoop. Not after the pantry fiasco.

  On the other hand, there was nothing she could do to keep me from nosing around the yard, which I did to my heart’s content.

  But I came up with nothing—nada, zip, zilch. I found no fresh digs, no unexplainable mounds, no unusual trash containers. In other words, I came up with no evidence at the Marshall estate to show how the doctor disposed of his tiny victims’ corpses.

  Dutch had the same kind of luck.

  We touched base on the phone almost every day and met at Starbucks to commiserate more than once. The only thing that gave us hope was that Lila hadn’t come back to hound him.

  Yet.

  Deedee and Stewart approved my designs. They signed off on the funds Dutch needed to start demolition. They signed checks for furniture, fabrics, rugs, paints, artwork, and tchotchkes. I was going to have to go through with my pink, pink, pink design after all.

  Then, early the day before I was scheduled to go for my first saltwater dive off the end of the Wilmont pier, I got a call from Lori Richardson. She wanted to meet me for lunch at a downtown Seattle café. The invite nearly shocked my socks off.

  She said she’d done little but think about our visit and had remembered something she’d heard a while back. When I pressed her for details, she insisted we needed to meet, that what she had to tell me was odd, that she wasn’t sure how important it might be, but should really be shared in person.

  “Dutch must’ve told you about me,” I muttered.

  “I haven’t talked to him since the day you two came over. He’s called Ron a couple of times, but that’s it. Why would you think he’d talked to me about you?”

  Great. I’d set myself up for it. “Because he thinks I’m too curious, and this would fit his idea of torture for me.”

  Lori chuckled. “Torture, huh?”

  “Chinese water torture wouldn’t work as well.”

  “See you in an hour, then.”

  At the café we ordered soups and salads, iced tea, and decadent stuffed cannoli. We swapped light chatter, but when the waiter brought our food, I decided I’d been patient enough.

  “What is it, Lori? What did you want to tell me?”

  She sighed and put down the fork she’d picked up. “I don’t know if it matters or not...You know that Ron urged me to go to Stew for some minor work I wanted done.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know I took KC to see him for her skin.” When I nodded, she continued. “Well, one time when we went to his office for follow-ups, we saw Deedee there—she’s kind of hard to miss. This was before they were married, of course.”

  “Hmm... I thought he met her in Portland, that he went there to visit her. But you’re saying that she came here? Was she a patient?”

  “She was that day. He... um... did her breasts.”

  Chalk up another one for Bella. She’d called it right on Deedee’s silicone assets.

  “So Deedee wasn’t really from Portland? Dr. Marshall didn’t go visit her during their dating days?”

  “I don’t know a thing about Portland. She might have met him there and then come up here for surgery. Anything’s possible.”

  “Okay. That could be.”

  “Anyway, she was there with another woman, a friend. They were talking—pretty loud too—and I couldn’t avoid overhearing them. Deedee told her friend that she was going to marry him. I didn’t know who the him was at that time. She also said she knew exactly how to make sure this one didn’t get away.”

  Barbie doll Deedee? “Hmm...”

  “Hmm indeed.” Lori stirred her soup. “She also said she was sick and tried of living her dull old life. She was tired of wanting things and never having enough money to buy them. She was ready to trade in her life for a new one. She was ready to trade places with the kind of woman who always got what she wanted.”

  So much for admiring her inner strength. “Calculating, don’t you think?”

  “Devious. Then, just as KC and I were called to go to the examination room, I heard Deedee say she’d learned enough about him that she knew how to make him pop the question, and she’d soon be headed down a very swanky aisle.”

  I leaned forward and stared. “Do you mean... blackmail?”

  “In hindsight that’s what it sounds like to me.”

  “Oh boy.” I flopped back into my chair. To think I’d come to like the woman. “She must have learned about his sideline.”

  “That’s what Ron and I figure.”

  “Do you think she’s been helping him?”

  “I don’t know. She doesn’t strike me as the kind who’s about to do a day’s work. Not even for all the money in Stew’s bank accounts. I’d say she’s more likely to make sure he keeps his nose to the grindstone.”

  I nodded slowly. Boy, had I missed the mark on this one or what? “That might explain why she reacted like she did when I found the meds in the pantry.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t want his sideline exposed. I suspect it brings in even more than his outrageous prices for legit care.”

  My stomach grumbled, and I dug into my lunch. All the while my head churned the bits and pieces of information I’d gathered since the day KC died. Nothing seemed to want to gel into a solid picture. I knew I didn’t have all the facts yet.

  After my last scrumptious mouthful of crisp wafer and creamy filling, I pushed back from the table and stood. “I hate to use the old cliché, but I really do have to eat and run. I want to catch up with Dutch, tell him about Deedee, see if he’s learned anything in the last couple of days.”

  “Let me know as soon as you have something solid.”

  “Of course. You and Ron will be the first to know.”

  To my surprise, Lori got up and hugged me.

  “Thanks,” she said, her voice husky.

  “Don’t thank me until I do something or come up with something helpful.”

  “I can thank you for caring. And for trying.”

  We said good-bye, and I ran to my car. I phoned Dutch. We agreed to meet for coffee later that evening. I went down to the auction house warehouse and pretended to work. But in reality I counted down the hours, minutes, and seconds, then drove to Starbucks, still unable to link together the information I’d gleaned.<
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  When I told Dutch about my lunch with Lori, he smiled. “She’s a great lady. I’m glad you like her.”

  “What’s not to like?” Then I turned to the topic at hand. I told him about Deedee’s surgery, about her conversation with her friend, about Lori’s and my suspicion that Deedee had blackmailed Stewart Marshall into marriage.

  He let out a long, low whistle. “So much for the ditzy naïve blonde. Are those two a pair or what?”

  “But that still doesn’t get us from point A to point B.”

  “No, but maybe we can find Deedee’s friend. She might know what Deedee had on Stewart—obviously, the abortion mill. That would give us another witness who knows about it. And she wouldn’t have anything to fear from testifying against him.”

  “Road trip!”

  “Wanna go to Portland, do you?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Not particularly, but I’ve a feeling it won’t matter what I want.”

  “You’re right. And there’s just one more thing to decide.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your car or mine?”

  “Since I don’t own a car in the first place, then I think we’d better choose yours rather than my junky truck.”

  “You’re on, Merrill.”

  “You’re nuts, Farrell.”

  “Takes one to know one.” I was itching to go. “So we’re agreed. We go to Portland tomorrow after my first real dive.”

  “I hope you have some idea what you want to do down there. Don’t forget. Portland’s a pretty big place. I don’t know how you figure you can drive in and pick Deedee’s friend out of the thousands of women who live there.”

  “Got it covered.” I puffed on the fingernails of my right hand, then buffed them on my T-shirt. “I’m going to hit up my soon to be stepmom for info on my future stepsister’s old pals. I’ll say something about a surprise house-warming party for Deedee, and that I’d need her friends to help me plan it.”

  The look he gave me came full of admiration. “A little devious, but I think it could work.”

  And it did. By 9:00 that night, I had the names and addresses of four of Deedee’s closest friends. I even wrangled from Madeleine which one Deedee trusted most. Tomorrow Dutch and I would be on the hunt for one Jackie Jordan, my future stepsister’s best friend.

  Before we could shuffle off to Portland, I had the minor matter of my first saltwater dive to survive. Well, it wasn’t all mine. Bella was coming too.

  She’d surprised me by how quickly she’d picked up on diving and how much she was enjoying herself. I’ve always loved the loony woman, but my admiration for her enthusiasm grew by leaps and bounds with each class we took. I hoped I was a little like her when I got to be her age. Minus the monster cats, of course.

  But I didn’t dare tell her. I’d live to regret it, and soon.

  At the dive shop, six or seven divers were preparing their gear. Some tested valves; others checked the seal on their masks; one strapped a mega-sized knife on his leg; two guys packed their collection bags. Into the bags went pry bars, other unfamiliar tools, and the lift bags they’d fill, balloonlike, from their regulators to get whatever loot they found up to the surface. I’d often wondered if all the stuff they took with them weighed them down, but it must not have, since they all hauled the mesh laundry bag look-alikes along every time they went on a dive.

  I found Tom at the back of the store where the bottles had once reigned supreme. These days they lived under safer conditions in my warehouse.

  “Are you ready?” he asked when he saw me.

  “Aside from the butterflies in my stomach, I think so.”

  “You can’t dive if you’re not psyched about it.” He waved toward the divers hanging around outside. “Just ask them.”

  The ring of the bell on the door kept me from responding.

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” Bella huffed and puffed toward us. “I... ah... had a minor problem with... um... my housemates.”

  “Housemates?” I howled. “Hah! Those maniac cats aren’t housemates. They’re a nightmare. What’d they do this time?”

  Bella averted her blue eyes. “Oh, it’s not important. Let’s go diving.”

  Sooner or later I’d get out of her what Bali and Faux Bali’s latest mischief had been. Right now I had to agree with her. “Let’s go diving.”

  Although Bella and I would only go off the pier, the experienced divers planned to start at the same spot. Then they’d wind their way along a natural ridge. It started a few yards from the end of the dock and followed the coast to the south. I noticed Stewart Marshall among the others. Just the sight of him made my stomach hinky.

  I turned my back to him. “Let’s get this show on the road.” Before my stomach has a chance to embarrass me.

  The dive went great. I had to give Tedd credit for pushing me. I’d fallen in love with the sport, and I had her to thank. There was something so peaceful about going underwater. No sound penetrated the depths but that of your own breathing and the buzz of the occasional powerboat going by. The sun glowed down in sparkly silver ribbons that wove throughout the greater swirl of blue, and I wished I could mimic that iridescence in a paint technique.

  I moved my arms and legs in a slow rhythm, so different from the rush I normally experienced up top, and noticed that the dance of the seaweed had a grace all its own. I couldn’t wait until Tom determined I was ready for the real thing, until he gave me the go-ahead for a dive where I could see more of the ocean, where schools of fish would swim around me, where I could explore this new world I’d never known before.

  During the time we were down, every now and then I noticed the movements of the other divers off at a distance. Just when Tom gestured for us to head for the surface, I saw a flash of green and black.

  Bands of those colors had swirled across the legs of Dr. Marshall’s wet suit.

  I tried to see where he went, what he was doing, but the translucent water and the distance between us worked against me. All I could see was that he no longer swam with the others. He’d separated from the group, and unless I was mistaken, he was taking an underwater detour. Curiosity made me move toward him.

  Tom was having none of that.

  He grabbed my arm and yanked me back toward the pier. He made a rough upward gesture with his thumb, and his anger came through loud and clear in spite of the mask he wore. It wouldn’t be pretty for me once we were topside again.

  As soon as I surfaced, the chewing out began.

  “What were you thinking?” he yelled. “You barely know how to breathe underwater, and you decide to go off on your own? Are you crazy? Or do you just have a death wish?”

  Bella watched, her face white as bleached muslin.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you guys. I just got so into the whole world underneath that I forgot to...”

  What more could I say? Not that I wanted to follow a killer, that’s for sure. So I chose to leave things as they were.

  But Tom didn’t want to do that. And I guess he was right.

  “If you ever even think of doing anything that stupid again,” he said, his teeth gritted, his face red, “you’ll be banned from the school. You get it? I’ll make sure you can’t come back. What if I had to go chase after you, Haley? What about Bella? You think it would’ve been right for me to leave her there to make sure you didn’t kill yourself? Just think of the risk I’d have to take with her safety.”

  I shuddered. “I’m sorry. I really am. And this is one major wake-up call. I’m not about to lose track of what I’m doing again. I’d never want anything to happen to Bella.”

  “Oh, Haley girl,” she said. “I would’ve been fine. I was right by the dock. But you? Nuh-uh. You have to be more careful. Especially after I made sure Dutch saved you last year.”

  Tom narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me she’s in the habit of doing wacko things all the time?”

  “I don’t do wacko things—”

  “Wel
l...” Bella cut me off. “They’re not really wacko, the things she does. But wacko things do happen to her all the time. More than to everyone else, as far as I know.”

  I raised my hands in surrender. “Okay, guys. I’ve done my mea culpa, and I’m not going to sit here and let you beat up on me any more. I’ve got someone waiting. So trust me. I’m really sorry I messed up. It won’t happen again. But now I’m outta here.”

  Portland, Jackie Jordan, and the rest of Deedee’s pals, ready or not, here I come.

  By the time we made it into Portland, both Dutch and I were exhausted and talked out, and worse yet, he’d become a grouch. He even accused me of rampant grumpiness, but of course, he was wrong.

  It was late, just the right time to catch a nurse on her way home after her shift. We parked ourselves outside Jackie Jordan’s cute little Craftsman bungalow to wait for her to show up.

  We waited. And waited.

  It felt as though we sat there for days, weeks, decades. But it couldn’t have been longer than thirty-five minutes at most. Then a snazzy little red car, some Asian import I didn’t recognize, pulled into the driveway. A tall, willowy redhead in a mint green nurse’s top and crisp white pants got out of the car, locked it, and headed for the bungalow’s side door, key in hand.

  “Jackie?” I called.

  She spun, stuck a hand in her purse, withdrew a shiny canister, and took aim.

  “Don’t shoot!” The last thing I needed was a blast of mace. “We just have some questions for you. About a friend of yours.”

  “Get off my property before I call the cops.”

  Her other hand dove into her purse, and out came a cell phone. This woman was prepared; she meant business.

  “No, really,” I said. “Madeleine Ogleby gave us your name. She said you’re Deedee’s best friend.”

  “Madeleine who?”

  Dutch and I exchanged looks. I pressed on. “You know. Deedee Marshall’s mother. Deedee, the blonde who married the plastic surgeon in Wilmont, Washington.”

  Recognition dawned. “You mean Madeleine remarried—again?”

  “Remarried again?” I didn’t like where this was going. “I thought she was a recent widow. How many times has she been married?”