Electric Blue (18 page)

“Jazz said it was Orchid who made sure he was part of the family, that he had the Purcell name.”

“Well, it wasn’t Percy,” William allowed. “But he never got over it anyway. I guess he thought he was doing the right thing, but it killed him in the end. A lot of things happened. And I don’t think Orchid ever forgave him. When he died, there wasn’t a lot of mourning.”

“You seem to be pretty well-informed.”

He skewered me with a look. “Can I trust you with a secret?”

“Sure,” I lied. I always say the same thing when someone asks me that question. I mean, come on, if it’s a secret about something illegal, I’ll be the first to spill. If it’s not, I sort of choose whether to tell or not. This is why I believe there are no real secrets. People just can’t keep them, and they don’t want to anyway.

He leaned in toward me, and I leaned in toward him. “Orchid and I have been in love for years.”

“Really.”

“Oh, it isn’t the kind of cheap, tawdry thing that Percy indulged in. And it’s not the kinda sick thing that”—he stumbled a moment, then glanced at the dark, blank eye of the television screen—“you see on TV all the time now. It’s just something we both know. But Orchid didn’t want her family to know about us, so it’s been something we kept to ourselves.”

“I see.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I’m just wondering why you don’t seem really worried that Orchid’s missing, since you’re so in love.”

“Of course I’m worried! I’m terribly worried.” Color swept up his neck. “Damn, girl. Orchid’s everything to me. They took away her phone and kept her from seeing me. It’s been months. I don’t know how you can accuse me of not caring.”

“I stand mistaken,” I said.

“Well, I should say.”

We both sat in silence for a few moments. I was pretty sure William wanted to throw me out on my ear, but he seemed to be fighting his own impulse. After a long few minutes, he said stiffly, “You should go on down to that place and see for yourself.”

“River Shores?”

“Fancy schmancy,” he muttered. “Yeah, that place.”

“I might just do that,” I said, watching him. I couldn’t tell exactly what was going on, if he was giving me a clue or just trying to dismiss me.

I left a few moments later. It was getting long after lunch and my stomach was growling. I went home to Binks and leftover pizza, and gave Lorraine a call to get the particulars on her friend’s house. It wasn’t that far from William’s, so I decided to do a bit of surveillance after the sun went down.

I was planning my stakeout wardrobe—pretty much my usual everyday wear—when my cell phone buzzed. Again I didn’t immediately recognize the number on Caller ID, though it was a 503 prefix which meant it was somewhere in the Greater Portland area. “Hello?” I answered.

“Is this Jane Kelly?” a female voice asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“This is Eileen Knopf. You called me?”

I’d been critically examining my jeans, determining if they needed a trip to the wash. Now, I zeroed in on the conversation. “Oh, yes. Hi,” I said enthusiastically. “I’m working for the Purcells, and I’m—”

“You’re an employee of theirs?” she cut me off.

“Well…of sorts…”

She snorted. “Be careful they don’t accuse you of theft or worse. Orchid’s a lovely woman but the rest of them aren’t worth two cents. Except maybe Jazz,” she added grudgingly. “He’s at least nice. They don’t care about Orchid at all. They’re just waiting for her to die. And since you’ve probably already heard, the jewelry she gave me was a gift. And it was costume jewelry. Just
stuff.
But they act as if I stole the family’s heirlooms. I say good riddance to all of them, and I hope Orchid’s all right. Have you checked the playhouse? She seems to have an obsession with it. She’s wandered before and I’ve found her there.”

“The playhouse was checked. It was empty.”

“Yeah? Well…that would be my guess.”

The playhouse had been scoured by me and numerous Purcells, but her words brought up an interesting point. “Do you know why Orchid is drawn to the playhouse?”

“God, no. But she’s haunted by it. I’ve found her crying there, more than once.”

I tried to quiz Eileen more about the Purcells but apparently I’d tapped her out. She was far more interested in defending her own innocence. Just before we hung up I asked her about both Bonnie Chisholm and William DeForest.

“Orchid has a love/hate relationship with Bonnie. Two little old ladies trying to up one another, but Orchid had the money and prestige. Bonnie’s kind of…sour. William thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and they fawn over him. The only able-bodied male who hangs out at the Community Center, I guess, and I think he has some money. Bonnie always tries to catch his eye, but he’s all about Orchid.”

“He intimated they’ve been friends, maybe even lovers.”

She laughed. “In his own fantasy world. Orchid’s too prim. She did confuse him once for Percy, and that time she hauled off and hit him right across the face. Crack! I mean, I thought he might lose some teeth. Then she screamed, ‘It’s your fault she left.’ She’s never forgiven Percy for sending Lily away.”

I thought of something else. “Does she ever call Lily Violet?”

“Yes.” Eileen sounded surprised. “How did you know?”

“William said the same thing.”

“He’s a sweetie but such a putz. He parrots anything Orchid says. He’s just like that.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up lost in thought. I’d been getting a lot of information about the Purcells although I wasn’t certain any of it was truly helping me. Hearing Dwayne’s voice in my head yammering about hard copy, I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening writing down my new information, adding in William and Bonnie and the discovery of James’s knife paintings. It was really an exercise in futility as I had no client to bill, but it made me feel productive. As soon as we both had some time, I was going to talk the case over with Dwayne.

About seven that night I grabbed my soft-sided, blue, insulated cooler and stuffed in a water bottle and the last of the now foil-wrapped pizza. What I wouldn’t give for a salad. Sometimes my diet worries me. I wondered if I could talk Jazz into taking me out to some really healthy restaurant with lots of veggies, especially sprouts. I am not a sprout eater by nature, but having grown up in SoCal I feel it’s an homage to my roots. Actually, that’s a lie. I never want to eat sprouts. I made a mental note to drop them from my list of edible food, right alongside field greens.

I parked the Volvo about a half a block from Lorraine’s friend’s residence, just around a corner. First Addition is laid out in blocks with no sidewalks. The yards just sort of peter out into the roads with maybe a scattered edging of gravel. You’d think somebody would scream at the city to put in curbs and walkways, but it seems to be a source of pride to the inhabitants to keep it as it is and was.

There were other cars parked around, some of them in driveways, some of them jutted onto the grassy edges of their lawn. Many of the homes do not have garages. Others can be accessed by rutted, gravel alleys that bisect the blocks, so that the homes’ garages face each other, and the houses face each other as well across the streets.

Lorraine’s friend lived on a corner lot and it looked to me like she’d made the colossal mistake of adding a second story with high gables, higher than William’s house by a number of feet. She’d edged her yard with a low, stone fence, and the driveway was new concrete that fanned toward the street, crowned by an asphalt apron. She’d also hacked away at a couple of once draping cedars, probably to save her roof and gutters. I bet that really got the other residents’ panties in a twist. Trees were more valuable than children around here sometimes.

The overall impression of the home was of a well-tended, beautifully appointed house whose owner cared for it. It was hard to see what the ruckus was all about, but then what do I know when it comes to neighborhood politics. My landlord, Mr. Ogilvy, seems to be at war with the City of Lake Chinook on principle. He’s “parked” his trees over the years, turning them into telephone poles with frilly green tops. It’s saved him a lot of ground maintenance and given me a better view out my back window to the bay. I’m sure I have the wrong attitude, but I just keep my mouth shut whenever a group of Lake Chinookers start complaining about how people aren’t saving the trees, the lake, the atmosphere and/or Mother Nature in general.

I have become a dog person, however. That also seems to count for a lot around here.

I settled into my seat. My view through the windshield captured two sides of the house, and I could see partway down the alley. If anyone sneaked around the back side I would see them. If they were bold enough to show up at the front of the house, I would miss them, but I was pretty sure the vandals were cowards who would choose darkness and stealth.

I wasn’t sure how many hours I wanted to devote to this endeavor. Stakeouts are notoriously boring. Without the proper zen attitude a person could snap. I used the time to half-nap, my thoughts zigging and zagging alone different lines.

About an hour and a half into my vigil I saw a circle of light bobbing along the back alley. A flashlight. My attention sharpened. Was I lucky enough to catch the perp on my first try?

Slouching in my seat, I peered through the darkness. I’d wrapped my hair in a black stocking cap and I hoped the lightness of my face didn’t show much through the window.

The newcomer shined the light on the back of the house. I was poised, every muscle ready for action. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do, but one thing I knew, I was going to find out who this guy was.

And then the flashlight circle returned to the ground and jerkily headed my way. I sank my head into my shoulders. A moment later I saw the perp was a neighbor who’d chosen the alley as the route home. Was he my guy? He was singing to himself and stumbling a bit. In fact, as I watched I realized he was dead drunk. He tripped over a loose stone at the edge of his lawn, swore good-naturedly, righted himself and dug in his pockets for his keys. He suddenly threw back his head and screamed the refrain from Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.” At least I think it was. Several dogs started barking and howling.

Not him.

Disappointed, I settled back down, but the adrenaline spike in my bloodstream had made me itchy and anxious. After a couple of minutes I got out, locking the car behind me. I just couldn’t stand it; I had to move. I left my post to take a brisk stroll around the neighborhood, sensing that my surveillance was an exercise in futility anyway, at least for tonight. Exercise seemed like a much better alternative, so I made a large circle around the blocks. The streets are letters one way, numbers the other. I started out on F and 9th and made my way to A and 3rd before heading back again, and I made a point of turning by William’s house.

The warmth of the La-Z-Boy seat came back to me. Someone, or something, had been sitting in it moments before I came in. It hadn’t been William because there were papers and books placed on the seat. Why would he put them there, if he was just getting up to answer the door? What was the point, unless he was trying to hide something, say, the fact that a guest had been sitting there? And the guy was pretty spry, too. What had taken him so long to answer the door? There was definitely some subterfuge going on. Who’d been with him? I wondered. Someone who called the Adult Community Center looking for him, perhaps?

And what about those eyeglasses…hadn’t they had blue frames? Didn’t they look a lot like Orchid’s?

I glanced at my watch. Its glowing LCD said it was about ten
P
.
M
. I punched out Nate’s number and waited for him to answer. I didn’t think it was too late to call, and I decided I didn’t care if it was. He picked up on the fourth ring.

“Yo,” he said sleepily.

“Sorry, did I wake you? It’s Jane Kelly. I’m the private investigator searching for Orchid Purcell?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I just fell asleep playing Fissure. Ever played it? It’s like Los Angeles falls into the San Andreas fault, and then it just keeps cracking. You’re trying to stay alive but the world’s coming to an end. Ya gotta stay ahead of the game. Cool.”

“Sounds exciting,” I said, wondering how you snooze through the end of the world. “I was thinking about Lover’s Lane…the Purcells’ driveway?”

“You want me to go check it?” He sounded suddenly wide awake.

“Actually, I just wanted to know if you could describe the last few cars you saw there.”

“What’s it to ya?” he asked.

“Part of my investigation.”

“Well…” I waited while he seemed to tick through his thoughts. I could picture him sprawled on some couch, a Mariner’s cap smashed atop his red curls, video game controllers surrounding him, chasms on the TV screen opening into a nightmarish hell of molten fire and smoke as people were falling and screaming as the ground broke up beneath their feet. “I mighta seen some yesterday,” he admitted.

“Can you tell me about them?”

“Do you want to know about the nighttime ones, or the one I saw in the daytime?”

My attention sharpened. “Let’s start with the daytime one.”

“A parent car. Sedan. Buick, I think. Maybe ten years old. Light green or tan. Really bad. My parents drove that, I’d walk.”