JP Beaumont 11 - Failure To Appear (v5.0) (27 page)

It wasn’t necessarily a logical decision. I didn’t have to worry about proving anything beyond a reasonable doubt, because it was strictly personal—an internal verdict, not something happening in a court of law. In those painful midnight proceedings, J.P. Beaumont weighed both guilt and innocence, analyzing Tanya Dunseth’s complicated fabric of lies. I thought about questions of opportunity and motivation. I pondered the connections between her and the two victims and weighed Tanya’s access to the murder weapons.

When my middle-of-the-night hearing ended, somewhere close to three in the morning, I decided that Tanya Dunseth was too damn hot for me to handle. If Ralph Ames wanted to defend her or help her cop a plea, that was strictly up to him—but I wouldn’t be involved. I wanted out. And once I finally reached that conclusion, I was able to sleep.

The next day I was up and out so early that I arrived at the airport a full two hours before my scheduled departure. I figured once I reached Ashland would be time enough to tell Ralph that I was bailing out on him. I didn’t figure he would give me that much grief over it, but I worried about potential repercussions from the Tanya Dunseth cheering section, both Alex and Kelly.

I worried, too, about whether or not Gordon Fraymore had learned I was AWOL from Ashland. What was it he had said?—If I were you, I wouldn’t leave town. Fair enough. Detective Gordon Fraymore was definitely not J.P. Beaumont.

I flew into Medford from Portland aboard a Dash 8 called, appropriately enough,
The Great City of Medford
. Once back in my 928 with my cellular phone handy, I figured I had returned to civilization. I picked up the phone and dialed Ron Peters. He answered after only one ring.

“It’s about time I heard from one or the other of you,” he complained. “I’ve been calling all over and haven’t been able to raise either Ralph or you. I even talked to Alex. She said she didn’t know where you were and didn’t particularly care. What happened? Did you two have a fight?”

“We didn’t have a fight,” I said. “I got called out of town. What’s happening?”

“I’ve managed to pick up some information for you,” Ron said. “Is now a good time?”

“It’s fine. Shoot.”

“For one thing, I tracked down that prison guard in Walla Walla. Everything official says he’s a real straight shooter. He’s retired now. So’s his wife. For many years, she’s been a cook in the high school cafeteria over there.”

Ron Peters was up in Seattle doing what he could to help. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his information was yesterday’s news.

“What else?” I asked.

“Martin Shore was a sleaze, but you already knew that. Here’s the surprise. Years ago, Shore was married to Daphne Lewis, and the two of them ran a lucrative kiddie-porno ring out of Yakima. It got busted up about the time Shore was kicked off the force over there. They had split up shortly before all hell broke loose. After they split, Daphne somehow managed to go straight. Later she hooked up with Guy Lewis, while Shore started working in Seattle as a private eye.”

“Any current connection between them?”

“Between Daphne and Shore? Could be, but I haven’t found one yet.”

Networking has always been Ron Peters’ strong suit. Nonetheless, it was amazing that, sitting stuck in a desk-bound wheelchair in Seattle’s Public Safety Building, he had learned almost as much as I had, with considerably less trouble and at far less expense. Knowing that made me humble.

“You’ve been working overtime,” I said.

He laughed. “You know me. I’m a big one for using inside sources. That Ashland cop, Fraymore, has asked Seattle P.D. to cooperate with his investigation. Right now, they’re looking into a possible blackmail angle. All I’ve had to do is ask a few discreet questions.”

“And know who to ask,” I added. “Anything else?”

“That’s about it, except for some clippings I’ve come up with on Guy Lewis. The guy’s a real publicity hound. He ends up with his picture in the paper almost as often as the mayor, along with whichever wife is currently in vogue. Does he have a complex or what?”

“If you’d made your family fortune with chemical toilets, maybe you’d be defensive, too.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I have a whole fistful of society-page-type clippings and several photos of him and his two wives. Separately, of course. Naturally, Daphne Lewis and Maggie Lewis don’t appear in any pictures together. If you’d like my unsolicited opinion, and judging by the photos alone, Guy did lots better in the looks department the second time around.”

“I suspected as much.”

Ron Peters laughed. “I’ve got a picture of Maggie Lewis and a puppy she picked up at a Humane Society benefit. The dog’s better-looking than she is. Want me to send you this stuff?”

“How much is there?”

“Ten, twelve pages.”

Even though I personally was out of it, and even though I didn’t see that it would do much good, I didn’t want to sound ungrateful. “Please. Fax it on down to Ralph so we can take a look at it.”

“What about the information from
Consumer Reports
on the car seat and high chair?”

“Fax that, too,” I told him. “And thanks.”

“No problem,” he said. “Glad to do it.”

Once I reached Ashland, I drove straight to the Ashland Hills. All I wanted to do was tell Ralph I was out of it, that he was on his own, but Ralph’s rented Lincoln wasn’t in the parking lot, and no one answered the door when I knocked. I took a turn around the coffee shop in case he was there having breakfast, but when I couldn’t find him, I headed back to the Oak Hill B & B. Maybe he was joining Alex for breakfast.

It turned out Ralph wasn’t there, either. Alexis Downey was. So was Amber Dunseth. I found Alex sitting in the sun on the back deck watching Amber play with some stuffed animals. Alex didn’t seem exactly overjoyed to see me.

“It wasn’t nice to take off like that without letting me know,” she said. “Given the chance, I would have gone along.”

I was struck by her obvious irritation. The day before I had left Ashland in my single-minded work mode, intent only on the jobs at hand—of seeing Guy Lewis and hurrying on to Walla Walla to do what was needed there. Like detectives everywhere, once I’m immersed in a case, there isn’t much room left for personal considerations. It’s part of my nature and one of the things that makes me good at what I do. It’s also something that drives people around me crazy. It’s a leading factor in statistical studies of police-officer divorces—mine included.

Dummy that I am, it hadn’t occurred to me to invite Alex along on the trip to Walla Walla, much less that she might have wanted to go.

“Walla Walla’s not all that much fun,” I said, in hopes of worming my way out of the doghouse. “Besides, you enjoyed going to the play with Ralph, didn’t you?”

“That’s not the point,” she observed coolly. “You forget, I see plays all the time. I thought we came here to spend time together.”

Touché. I tried changing the subject. “Have you heard from Ralph this morning? I stopped on my way here, but he wasn’t in.”

“Naturally, you went to see Ralph first,” Alex returned. “Here.” She picked up Amber and angrily thrust the child in my direction. “You take care of Amber for a few minutes while I take a bath and cool off. All the actors and technical people have a required meeting at the Elizabethan this morning. There wasn’t anybody else to take care of Amber. Jeremy dropped her off again a little while ago.”

Carrying both the child and a collection of toys, I trailed Alex into the house, through the dining and living rooms, and up the stairs. Amber had spent the night with her mother, and I was in more trouble than I thought.

“Alex, what’s going on?”

“Going on?” She paused in the doorway and spun around. I fully expected the door to slam shut in my face.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on, Mr. Beaumont. This may come as a surprise to you. It certainly does to me. I think I’m jealous, dammit, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

I was standing there in the hallway, holding Amber with one arm while stuffed toys leaked out of my other arm and spilled down my leg. How could anyone be jealous of someone like that?

“Who are you jealous of?” I asked in genuine dismay.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. With Kelly and Jeremy and your whole family here—and now with all this business about Tanya—I feel like I’m on the outside of your life looking in. It’s not very pleasant. I don’t like it.”

“But, Alex, you
asked
me to help Tanya, remember?”

“I know, that isn’t fair, is it?” she agreed, her voice near tears. “If you’re doing what I wanted, it’s not right for me to feel lost and abandoned. I hate being unreasonable!”

I finally gave up and dropped the rest of the stuffed animals. Then I reached out and pulled Alex to me in an awkward, sideways, one-armed hug. “Go take your bath,” I said. “We’ll talk about all this when you’re finished. Maybe by then you’ll feel better.”

She disappeared into the bathroom. I put Amber on the bed, then went back into the hallway to retrieve the scattered toys. I had no more than closed the door to the hallway when the bathroom door opened, and Alex popped her head out.

“I have one question,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“Can we have dinner tonight? Just the two of us?”

By then I was prepared to grovel if that was what it took to earn my way back into Alex’s good graces. Dinner was easy.

“You bet,” I said, meaning every word, not knowing that life was about to throw me another curve and that dinner with Alex that night would be a physical impossibility.

“Where would you like to go?” I asked.

Alex turned away from the bathroom door, leaving it slightly ajar, enough so that I caught a glimpse of naked leg as she climbed into the tub. “Oh, I don’t care. Someplace nice where we can talk. Dinky says there’s a new French restaurant that’s very good. It’s called Monet’s. We could try that.”

“Wherever you want to go will be fine,” I said.

With Amber playing contentedly on the bed beside me and in the comfortable intimacy of a bathroom/bedroom conversation, I slipped into a nodding doze. It wasn’t quite like being married, but it was very nice.

Downstairs I heard the distant ring of a telephone, but it didn’t cross my mind that it might be for me until I heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs. Someone tapped on the door. “Mr. Beaumont,” Florence asked. “Are you in there? Telephone.”

It was exactly like being married. I got up and opened the door. “Who is it?” I asked.

“Jeremy. He says it’s urgent.”

Thinking Kelly might have suffered a relapse, I bounded down the stairs to take the call. “Hello.”

“Mr. Beaumont, I’m glad you’re there.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Have you seen Tanya?”

“Tanya!” I heard the rising irritation in my voice. I was worried about Kelly, and here he was asking me about Tanya Dunseth. “I haven’t seen her anywhere. Why?”

“There’s a mandatory meeting here at work. We’re all required to show up. Anyone who isn’t present is liable to be fired. I offered Tanya a ride in earlier when I brought Amber, but she said she didn’t need one. She isn’t here, and no one has seen her, but I know she doesn’t want to lose her job. Would you mind running out to the farm to see what happened? Maybe a car broke down or something. They won’t call roll until just before the meeting ends at twelve. If she’s here by then, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

If I were as hard-nosed as I’d like, I would have said, “Forget it.” I would have told Jeremy that Tanya Dunseth’s problems had nothing to do with me. But the kid had a heart as big as all outdoors. I couldn’t very well turn him down.

“All right,” I agreed crossly. “I’ll go check.”

Back upstairs Alex, wrapped in a thick peach-colored towel, was out of the bathroom. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve got to go out to the farm for a few minutes,” I said.

“How come?”

“Because Tanya’s AWOL from the meeting, and Jeremy’s afraid she’ll be fired. He wants me to bring her to the Elizabethan before they finish taking roll, although if she’s on her way to the slammer, I don’t know why anyone should worry about her losing her job.”

“Go ahead and go,” Alex said, giving me a playful push toward the door. “Hurry.” Obviously, she was feeling better. She offered me a quick kiss on my way by, and I took it happily.

I hurried out to the car, but as I drove past the Ashland Hills, that old incurable stubborn streak reasserted itself. Here I was, one more time, rushing around trying to save Tanya Dunseth from herself. How about doing something for me for a change? I thought. Why not stop off long enough to pick up my faxes? Maybe Alex and I could run up to Medford that afternoon and order the high chair and car seat.

It was only eleven. If I arrived at the farm a minute or two later, it wouldn’t make any difference. I could still have Tanya at the Elizabethan long before they took attendance.

I swung into the parking lot, expecting to see Ralph’s car, but I didn’t. However, a maid’s cart stood parked outside his room, blocking open the door.

With a nod to the maid, I darted inside, collected the stack of faxes, and stuck them in my pocket. Without even bothering to look through them, I hurried back to the Porsche and headed for Live Oak Farm.

When I pulled into the yard, a blue Mazda Miata with Washington plates was parked directly in front of the steps. What the hell was Guy Lewis doing here? I wondered uneasily.

After parking between the Mazda and the house, I jumped out of the Porsche and locked it, all in one motion. Then I bounded up a set of newly completed steps. In the course of several days, I had been to Live Oak Farm a number of times. Always before, Sunshine had been there to greet and/or fend off new arrivals. This time the old dog was nowhere in sight. Despite rising midmorning heat, the house seemed unusually deserted and forlorn with the windows closed and the doors shut. It felt odd. I was filled with a sudden sense of foreboding, as though the house were somehow sitting there holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The push button for the bell had been removed and the wires taped. I knocked. No one answered. I knocked again. Still nothing—no sound of movement inside, no barking dog.