Authors: Christy Evans
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Large Type Books, #Mystery Fiction, #Murder, #Crime, #Investigation, #Murder - Investigation, #Oregon, #Plumbers
Sink Trap (6 page)
“I have to go. Some problem with a contractor at the Commons, and nobody else seems capable of dealing with it.
“Barry, I’ll have that report on my desk this afternoon, right?” She made it a question, though we all knew it was a command.
“Right,” Barry answered.
She left without a good-bye, dismissing us with a vague wave of her hand. A couple minutes later, we heard
the deep-throated rumble of her Escalade pulling out of the drive.
the deep-throated rumble of her Escalade pulling out of the drive.
As the sound of her engine faded, my stomach rumbled, and I glanced at my watch. It was nearly one, and breakfast was a distant memory.
Barry caught the gesture, and copied it. He sighed when he saw how late it was. “I think I’ve got enough to go on,” he said. “I need to get back to the office and do the estimate for Whitlock.”
“All right if I take lunch?” I asked.
Barry waved. “Go on. I know your guys need to be let out, and you want to swing by and talk to Paula. Just don’t mention the Jack Russell.”
“And after lunch? I can’t work here without a journeyman, and you’ll be in the office.” Being an apprentice had its drawbacks, and one of them was the need for constant supervision. I chafed under the restriction, but I had to abide by the rules if I ever wanted to earn my certification.
Barry thought for a minute, then flipped a few pages in his notebook. “The McComb job,” he said. “Tell Sean he’s got an extra pair of hands for the afternoon.”
“Will do.”
I grabbed my jacket and hurried to the Beetle. Time to get home while my carpet was still pristine. Daisy and Buddha were well trained, but they would need to go out soon. Or else.
I tried to ignore the fact that my Friday afternoon was going to be spent on the McComb job.
Chad and Astrid McComb were prime examples of a uniquely Northwest species, the Microsoft millionaire. They were young, brilliant professionals who had taken a chance on an upstart company when Redmond had been little more than a sleepy bedroom community of Seattle, and their dedication had paid off handsomely.
They had retired in their forties, with enough money to do whatever they wanted.
What Chad and Astrid wanted was a castle. Not just a castle, but one with a moat. Which was where Hickey & Hickey Plumbing came in.
The McCombs bought their acreage well outside the influence of zoning boards and urban growth boundaries, they hired local contractors, and they paid their bills on time and without complaint. As eccentric millionaires went, they were good ones.
Digging a moat, though, was a hard, dirty job. Sean had a fleet of power machinery, but it couldn’t do everything. Some of the work had to be done by hand, and that was what I would be doing later today.
Another fact of the apprentice life: If there was ditch digging, or trenching, or pipe hauling to be done, the apprentice—in this case, me—got the job.
My stomach grumbled again, and I pushed the McComb job to the back of my mind. No sense worrying about something I couldn’t change. Better to concentrate on something I could.
Less than a half hour later I was back in the car and headed for the library. The dogs had protested, claiming the few minutes I had taken to nuke a couple slices of leftover pizza and wolf them down was an inadequate visit to the backyard, but I had overruled them.
The Pine Ridge Library was a small clapboard building on the corner of the high school campus. The size was deceptive, though. Pine Ridge had joined the regional library association, and had access to all the materials of several larger libraries.
In that, the library was a miniature of Pine Ridge itself. Outside the metropolitan area, small and seemingly insignificant, Pine Ridge still had access to all the amenities of a large city. Within an hour’s drive there was an international airport, shopping, movies, several well-respected universities, and live theater.
Not to mention one of the best bookstores in the world.
I hadn’t been to Powell’s City of Books in several weeks. Time to plan a trip into Portland.
First, though, I wanted to find out about the brooch in my pocket, and Paula Ciccone was the one person I knew I could trust. She was Miss Tepper’s closest friend in Pine Ridge, and she would calm the suspicions that cropped up every time I looked at that cameo, and wondered about how it got in that drain pipe.
Just inside the front door, the check-in basket sat on the high wood counter, a few books stacked in the bottom of the basket. The revolving rack of stamps had been replaced by a computer terminal, and Paula was logging the returns into the library system.
She looked up at the sound of the door, a quick glance over the top of her reading glasses. When she saw me, a smile of welcome spread across her round face.
She tapped a couple keys, and put a small pile of books on the return cart. Her glasses slid off her nose, held by a beaded chain against her ample chest, and her eyes twinkled.
“What brings you here in the middle of the day?” she asked, coming around the tall counter and giving me a hug. Paula hugged the way most people shook hands. She said she’d never met anyone who didn’t deserve a hug.
I followed her to the table in the back of the building, where a coffeepot and mugs waited for visitors. That hadn’t changed, either. I had started drinking coffee when I was in my early teens, sneaking a cup when I didn’t think Miss Tepper was looking.
I poured my coffee, and took the brooch out of my pocket. I didn’t have a lot of time, and I wanted to get right to the point of my visit.
I set the brooch on the table, and waited for her reaction.
Paula’s eyes widened in shock. She reached out to touch it, then drew her hand back, as though she was afraid it would burn her fingers.
“Miss Tepper’s brooch! How did you get it?”
Funny how she could ask the exact same question as my mother, and mean something entirely different. Instead of feeling accused, I felt as though Paula was genuinely concerned about where the brooch had been.
I gave her a quick explanation of the previous day’s events. Her brow furrowed with worry as I told her about finding the brooch in the sink trap.
I mentioned that I had found it just before Barry headed home for dinner.
She slapped her palm against her forehead, and rolled her eyes. “That’s what he was talking about!” She looked embarrassed for a second. “Barry was going on about something when he got home,” she explained with a nervous little laugh. “I was trying to get his dinner on the table, and supervise homework at the same time, and I wasn’t listening carefully.”
She sipped her coffee, and shrugged. “You know how it is. After you’re with someone for years, there are times when you kind of tune them out.”
I nodded, as though she was actually speaking in English. Which, from my perspective, she was not.
Paula was only a few years older than me, but she had married Barry in her senior year of high school. She had her kids young, and started college when they started school. Megan, her twelve-year-old, was the youngest of three.
Paula and Barry had been married nearly twenty years. My longest relationship had been the four months I dated Wade in high school. Well, unless you counted the months with Blake Weston—which I didn’t. That wasn’t a relationship; it was just a lie.
Sure, I’d gone to a college with about the best odds in the country, as far as boy-girl ratio went. The math wasn’t the problem. The problem was, it was also one of the toughest schools in the country, and most of the dates I had during those four years had been study groups.
Long-term romances and I weren’t a good match.
Which was probably why I was taking things with Wade so slow. I didn’t know how to have a boyfriend. Well, that and the fact that my mother approved of him.
Which was probably why I was taking things with Wade so slow. I didn’t know how to have a boyfriend. Well, that and the fact that my mother approved of him.
Paula’s expression grew somber once again and she finally picked up the brooch. She handled it gingerly, still acting as though she expected to be burned for touching it.
“You’re sure it’s hers?” I asked.
“Absolutely.” Paula set the cameo back on the table, and slid into a chair. She pushed the jewelry away, as though trying to distance herself from the fears it created, but her concern was obvious in her expression. She looked even more worried than I felt.
She motioned for me to sit down. I glanced at my watch, figured I had a few minutes, and sat across from her.
“How well did you know her?” Paula asked.
“I practically lived in the library in summer.” I tried not to sound defensive, but I felt a pinprick of guilt. How well had I known Miss Tepper, really?
“I guess I didn’t know much about her personally,” I conceded. “Mostly, I knew her from the library, and from the teen reading group she sponsored. I went to a couple group parties at her house when I was in junior high.”
Paula sighed. She was a romantic at heart, and she loved to tell stories. I knew she was about to launch into the story of Martha Tepper, and I desperately wanted to hear it.
But Paula’s stories couldn’t be rushed, and I had to be at the McComb site on time. Sean was going to take enough pleasure out of making my life a living hell with the moat construction. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being able to report to Barry that I was late, on top of it.
I winced at Paula, and looked pointedly at the battered plastic watch on my wrist. “I have absolutely got to be on the McComb site in twenty minutes. Even though I would much rather spend the afternoon with you.”
It was the truth. Paula was a friend, even if she was my boss’s wife. We had different lives, but I valued every smart, interesting woman in Pine Ridge, and Paula was at the very top of that list. And she shared my love of books.
But right this minute, I had to get in the Beetle and drive out to the McComb site, or risk the wrath of Sean.
I dumped the remains of my coffee and rinsed the cup, propping it in the miniature drainer next to the sink.
“Can we get together later, and you can tell me the story then? ’Cause I know there’s a story, just from the way you looked at that brooch.”
“There sure is,” she said. “I know how upset Martha is without it.” She held her bottom lip between her teeth for a second, her concern clear on her face. “She likes to keep that brooch with her at all times. I’ll call her, let her know we found it.”
“Do you have her new number?” I asked. “Or maybe her cell phone number?”
“No, she was a little old-fashioned. All she had was the landline. She’ll have a forwarding number on her old line. She’s always been organized.”
I was practically out the door, but I stopped and looked back at Paula. “I tried her phone here, and it’s still working, but there wasn’t any answer, or a machine message, or a forwarding number, or anything. It just rang and rang.
“I met her attorneys, the Gladstones, this morning. They said they’d check for a new address.” I kept my misgivings about their promise to myself. “You have any other ideas?”
“Absolutely. A librarian can find out anything.” Paula had followed me to the front of the library, and stepped back behind her counter. “Let me see what we have for a forwarding address, and I’ll make some calls. Somebody in town must have a phone number for her.”
I left her rummaging through her files, and gunned the Beetle out of the parking lot, heading for the McComb site. Unfortunately, thirty-year-old Beetles don’t gun so
much as they meander. Fortunately, the traffic gods were on my side, and I made it to the site with a few minutes to spare.
much as they meander. Fortunately, the traffic gods were on my side, and I made it to the site with a few minutes to spare.
Not that Sean appreciated my dedication.
chapter 6
By the time Sean finished with me, it was nearing dark. Again. My arms hurt from hours of shoveling, and my back ached from hauling and leveling the gravel for the drainfield. I hadn’t been this dirty since I made mud pies in nursery school.
Sean had been Barry’s number two for several years, and when I signed on, he had made it clear that he didn’t like the idea of women on the job. He relished the opportunity to give me the dirtiest, most backbreaking tasks he could find.
I was not about to give him any opportunity to find fault with my performance. I’d already failed once in a man’s world, and I wasn’t going to do it again. I worked harder and longer than any man on the project, and I refused to complain.
But I was very glad it was Friday, and I had the weekend to recover.
I got home just in time to hear the answering machine click off. I had my cell phone with me, but when I
pulled it from my purse, I realized I had let the battery go dead.
pulled it from my purse, I realized I had let the battery go dead.
There had been a time when I not only kept my phone fully charged every minute of the day, but carried a second, backup phone. As the CEO of a high-tech company, I couldn’t afford to be out of touch for more than a few minutes. Now I let my phone run down, and sometimes even forgot to carry it.
I let the dogs out before I checked the machine. They ran into the gloom of the backyard, sniffing and barking, celebrating their freedom.
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