Fox Island (5 page)

“Where are you?”

“Fox Island.”

“You’re supposed to be on the radio.”

“That’s what I thought. They never called.
Check it out for me, would you?”

“I confirmed it with LaPointe yesterday.
Don’t go away. I’ll see what’s happening.”

“Hey, do you know an agent named Terrance or
Terry Davidian?”

“Book agent?”

“Movie agent.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Yeah, well, call me back about the
interview.”

He poured another half cup of Rattlesnake
Blend and the phone rang.

It was Liz. “Tony, Shari LaPointe got fired
last night from WBAC, and no one knows anything about the
interview.”

“Fired?”

“Yeah, isn’t that nice? And you won’t
believe what for.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Good. Anyway, they offered to re-book you
next week. What do you think?”

“Tell them to forget it. I’m too busy with
this Hidden West project.”

“How’s it coming?”

“Slow. By the end of summer I’ll be
ready to write
Standoff at Rifle
Ridge.
Listen, I’ve been thinking about...”

“That reminds me, Brock said he needs
a story synopsis and some cover ideas for
Standoff.”

“Tell him I’ll have no idea what’s going to
be in that book until late September.”

“I’ll tell him you’re working on it.”

“Liz, I’m not working on it yet, but I’ll
meet the deadlines. Don’t I always?”

“In your fashion. Look, if you can jot down
a paragraph on a couple possible scenes, it will keep them happy a
while.”

“Have a grubby Houston riding a Tobiano
horse pointing a ’73 Winchester carbine at some unseen enemy.”

“What kind of horse?”

“A paint. You know, basically white with
dark patches.”

“We’ve already done that one, so send me a
little something when you get a chance. Meanwhile, if an agent
shows, remember the publishing house and I both need to be brought
in on the deal.”

“Right.”

“One other thing. They finally got a
photographer hired for Fox Island. Fax me a possible photo shoot.
I’ll line it up.”

“I’ll tell Price. She handles that.”

“Have a good week. Boy, I envy you two.
Famous writers spending every summer at some different remote
exotic resort, while I slave away in the hot, humid city. Bye.”

A sea gull swooped over the patio and
deposited unusable parts of its breakfast in the middle of the
redwood table. “Lord, there are lots of ways you can keep me
humble. That’s not one of my more favorite ones.” Tony gathered the
phone and computer, scooted into the house, and headed straight for
the shower.

The Yacht Club benefit consisted
mainly of Tacoma and Seattle socialites who owned a cabin or boat
slip on Fox Island. The buffet style luncheon featured piles of
smoked clams and baked oysters, shrimp jambalaya and hot crab dip,
open-faced sandwiches and tiny, slimy
hors
d’oeuvres.
Seaweed pudding filled long wooden bowls
and double chocolate mousse was shaped like sail boats.

Tony finished his sixth “Oh, I’ve never met
an author before” conversation when Price tugged at his elbow.
“Excuse me, Mr. Shadowbrook.” She tilted her head and batted her
blue eyes. “But you remind me so much of ... my father.”

“Come on, you. We’re going for a walk.”

“What? And leave all your adoring fans?”

“There aren’t three people here who’ve ever
read one of my books, and that includes you and me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To look at the boats.”

A slight breeze pushed fluffy white clouds
out Hale Passage toward the Narrows. The air reeked of fish and
salt and clean sweat. Sipping from plastic glasses of lemonade,
they wandered along the rough wooden docks and boat slips.

“Tell me what Josh said,” Tony quizzed.

“It happened in the stunt where Josh chases
Paul to the top of the barn and they end up with the somersault
into the wagon.”

“Yeah?”

“There was a scrap two-by-four tossed on the
gigantic air mattress, and Josh caught the board when he
landed.”

“But he’s not going to take some time
off?”

“No, he insists he’s fine. He’ll wear
leather cuffs and that will cover the brace.”

“I don’t suppose his mother could talk him
out of it?”

“Not a chance. He did mention there’s a new
girl in the act. She has an awesome smile.”

“Oh, joy, another sweet young thing who’s
going to try to keep up with Josh Shadowbrook. You know what I
don’t under-stand, babe? How did two sensible, reasonable, rational
people end up with a daredevil son?”

Price slipped her arm into his. “I told you.
Josh believes every one of his dad’s books. He intends to live just
like your heroes do.”

“He should read
Fox Island.
That should calm him down some. I
still haven’t captured a heartbeat for this place. But there might
be something to all the Prohibition-era guests that stayed at the
Longhouse.”

“You think it was a West Coast organized
crime retreat center?”

“I guess I’m hoping it was. In the old days
it was fairly simple to smuggle goods into the Sound. Lots of fog.
Lots of islands. Lots of harbors. What about your trip with
Melody?”

“Doesn’t look too good about getting the
interview with Jessica Davenport. I find out she’s really ticked at
Melody for renting the house to us.”

“Great.”

“The whole family seems dysfunctional,
bordering on tragic. She’s an identical twin, you know.”

“Melody?”

“No, her grandmother.”

“Mr. Shadowbrook!”

Tony shaded his eyes toward the dock. A
tall, thin woman with a black hat, black silk stirrup pants and
heels approached them. A wide silver bracelet above the elbow
reflected darts of sun rays. A squat, balding man with a yellow bow
tie followed behind, munching pretzels in the shape of Mount
Rainier. She held out her hand. “I’m Sheila Lenore from Bellevue.
This is my Richard. He’s in enviro-safe sludge removal.”

Without a glance at Price, she huddled
close to Tony, like a vulture moving in on its prey. “Could I get
you to sign my copy of
Shotgun
Creek?
Just put, ‘To my good friend Sheila, love
Tony.’ I read all of your books, and I have to say
Shotgun Creek
is my favorite. I
especially like the way you bring Jake and that Indian girl ...
What’s her name?”

“Tukawa.”

“Their little scene up in that aspen
grove... oh, my, makes my heart flutter just to think of it.
Doesn’t it, Richard?”

“Yes, dear. It sort of reminded me of when
we were on the cruise to...”

“Thank you so much, Anthony. You know, I
once stood in line for three hours to get John Grisham’s autograph.
This is much easier, isn’t it, Richard?”

“A trifle, yes. Of course, Grisham was in
New York and it was...”

“Well, I’ll leave you alone. Who did you say
this young lady was? Is she related to you?”

“Yes, she is.” Tony slipped his arm around
Price’s shoulder.

“Oh, my, I’ll bet you are very proud of your
father, dear.”

She dawdled toward the clubhouse as Richard
turned back to whisper, “Keep writing those books. It keeps her
busy.”

Tony shook his head as they disappeared.
“Sometimes I wonder who I’m really writing these westerns for.”

Price held a cup of ice to her forehead. “I
think she was a delightful woman, with quite a discerning eye.”

“That’s not the first time someone’s called
you my daughter. Makes me feel like a lecherous old man... or an
extremely lucky one. Now, tell me more about Mrs. Davenport.”

“Mrs. Reynolds. That’s her married name.
Jessica and her identical twin sister, Jill, were born and raised
right here on Fox Island.”

“Identical twins. That would be different.
Do you think we’d have gotten two like Kathy or two like Kit?”

“Two Kits, and I certainly wouldn’t look
nearly so young, Mr. S. Anyway, as Melody tells it, Jill and
Jessica always dressed identical. They were the darlings of the
Island folks in the twenties and thirties. They were co-queens of
the Fox Island Fair and Pageant from 1932 to 1941. That’s when
Jessica did most of her paintings.

“I did learn something very fascinating. You
know how most of them are ‘Two Girl...’ paintings?”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked.

“The titles. ‘Two Girls in a Mirror,’ ‘Two
Girls at the Lake,’ ‘Two Girls Shopping.’ There’s always a full
view of one girl and her reflection in every one?”

“Yeah, that’s what made them so
popular.”

“Well.” Price whirled around to face him.
“It really is two girls. Jessica painted herself as the girl and
her sister, Jill, as the reflection.”

“That’s an interesting touch. I’d never
heard that before. That will give us some previously unpublished
data. That’s great, babe. This is more like it. Anything else?”

“They went to college at Radcliffe.”

“Somebody had some bucks.”

“Their father once owned most of downtown
Tacoma. Anyway, they were going to school in the East, and one
June, on their way home from college, they were in a car wreck in
Council Bluffs, Iowa.”

“Hey, that wouldn’t happen to have been on
June 2,1942?”

“How did you know that?”

“Melody mentioned her grandmother could
always remember what happened on that date.”

“Jill was thrown from the car and killed.
Jessica was driving, and I guess she still blames herself for her
sister’s death.”

“And she’s been reclusive ever since?”

“Yes. She even refused to paint
anymore.”

“Because there was no more reflection? This
is good stuff, darlin’.”

Price glanced up toward the clubhouse.
“Looks like someone else has spotted you.” A man in a navy blazer
waved a nautical hat at them from the patio, thick hair blowing
slightly, left hand cupped to his mouth.

“Shall we return to the party, Dr.
Shadowbrook?”

“Do you need me to help you... Father,
dear?”

“Mr. Shadowbrook?” the man on the patio
called again.

“He seems quite insistent.” She waved to the
man and gently tugged Tony along the dock.

At last they stepped up to the
awning-covered deck adjoining the clubhouse. The man hurried up to
them; his blazer boasted anchor brass buttons.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Shadowbrook, but
there’s a tele-phone call for you. Said you should call back
immediately.”

“Who was it?”

“A Mr. Davidian. Terrance Davidian of
Hollywood.”

“Honey, did I tell you he called from
Portland this morning?”

“He’s quite tenacious.”

“How in the world did he know where I
was?”

The man with the brass buttons pointed to a
burgundy phone sitting on a metal table next to a purple and blue
Japanese iris arrangement. “You can take the call out there.”

“I can call him some other time,” Tony told
him.

Price nudged him. “Maybe you’d better check
it out. He must have thought it was important to track you down at
the Yacht Club.”

Tony sighed and plopped down in the metal
deck chair, almost tipping over the bouquet. He pulled off his
sunglasses and strained to read the slip of paper. Price rearranged
the flowers.

“Verne’s Garage and Espresso, where getting
an oil change never tasted so good. This is Verne, Jr. What can I
do for ya?”

“Eh, maybe I dialed the wrong number. Is
there a Terrance Davidian there?”

“Who?”

“I must have misdialed. I’m calling Terry
Davidian.”

“Oh, yeah, that Hollywood guy. Just a
minute. He’s eating lunch out of the candy machine.”

Tony signaled for Price to join the other
guests.

“Hey, Tony, big guy... Terry, here. Sorry to
pull you away from the social scene, but your research assistant
said I could find you here.”

“Research assistant?”

“Yeah, a Miss Mason, I believe. Here’s the
deal. I wouldn’t think of putting a bind on you like this, but
wouldn’t you know it, my car busted just as I was coming across the
bridge. Now old Verne, here, said he could have the thing fixed by
dark, but I said, ‘Hey, why waste time waiting in a garage, even
though the espresso is every bit as excellent as that on Rodeo
Boulevard. So, if I could talk you into coming over here and giving
me a lift to your beach cabana, we could spend the afternoon going
over the details of that movie deal.”

“I have the afternoon scheduled. Maybe you
should talk to my publisher first.”

“Tony, baby...
whew!
Don’t get me wrong. I’m on your side.
There’s no reason for you to give them the lion’s share of this
deal. If you got just two hours, I can show you how you can spend
next summer in your own house in Malibu.
Comprende?
Are you listening, Tony?”

“And you need a ride from the bridge?”

“Right. I’ll be waiting here at
Verne’s.”

“I don’t remember a garage on the Island.
Just where is this Verne’s?”

“Stone Drive exit right as you come down off
the bridge.”

“Exit? What bridge are you talking
about?”

“Hey, Verne, what’s that bridge called? Oh
yeah, it’s the Tacoma Narrows Bridge.”

“The Narrows Bridge?” Tony groaned. “I
thought you meant the bridge to Fox Island.”

“Thanks, partner. I’ll treat you to a cup of
mocha supreme. How long before you’ll be here?”

Tony looked at his watch. “At least an hour.
Maybe two.”

“What?”

“I’m in the middle of a benefit,
remember?”

“Oh yeah, right, one hour it is.”

“Or longer. I’ll send my research assistant.
She’ll pick you up.”