Three Dog Island Page 12

  “Thanks, Jenny. My school books should be arriving in a couple days so that will help keep me busy.”

  “Oh, that reminds me!” I ran out to the car and returned with a pile of books. “Something to get you started.”

  And here I thought Matthew was the only kid I’d ever witness getting excited over library books. Holly always gave me her look of disdain that said, “If you expect me to read, can’t you at least buy the book?”

  “What?” Josh asked, observing the emotion in my eyes.

  I was beginning to think I’d given birth to a third child and had forgotten. “It’s just that you remind me of my son,” I told him.

  His smile had reached his eyes this time. “He likes books too?”

  “He hopes to write them some day.” Maybe one of these days they would meet. When this was all over. Maybe sooner, if Matthew came up to visit.

  “I did some research on Mark Simpson too, but I didn’t get anywhere. Nothing I didn’t already know.”

  “Well, if you didn’t get anywhere on the computer, I certainly wouldn’t. I’m not nearly as good with a computer as you are. I have made some phone calls, but I think we need Charlie’s expertise and connections on this one.”

  He sighed and took a bite of a second cookie. Had I already succeeded in teaching him the art of emotional eating?

  “Don’t worry we’ll solve that one,” I assured him. “It’s top priority. We just need Charlie’s help to do it. I’ve talked to the detective I know in Seattle and he doesn’t have any connections in the Portland area.”

  “But Charlie does?”

  I smiled. “Charlie has connections everywhere. If not with the police department, with the local waitresses.”

  Josh grinned. “Sounds like Charlie.”

  “You know him that well already?”

  “I like him . . . and Mac.” He responded to my raised eyebrow. “He told me I could call him Mac, said Matthew and Holly call him that.”

  It sounded just like him, doing what he could to make Josh feel included. “Yeah, they’re likable, those two.” Now if only they would check in with me, I’d like them a whole lot better.

  * * *

  It was one day and one very long night before I heard from Charlie and MacGregor. By then they’d docked on Anamcara and had returned the boat to Burt’s rental and were headed to the cottage.

  “Thanks a lot. If I hadn’t been so worried, I’d be furious with the two of you,” I said, running out to the car to greet them.

  “Sorry, darlin’. We got a wee bit sidetracked.”

  I looked from Charlie to MacGregor and back again. Women, was the first thing that popped into my mind. I didn’t care if Charlie indulged, but the thought of MacGregor . . . No, I did not want to go there, not even in my imagination, even as I wondered when I had suddenly become possessive of this man.

  “Too much to drink?” I asked surreptitiously.

  “We didn’t even make it to the pub after the game,” MacGregor said. Was he attempting to reassure me? Had he read my mind? Suddenly I felt the urge to wrap a second layer of clothing around myself. Aside from feeling naked, this guessing game of what someone really meant and what the message hidden beneath what they really meant, was very unsettling. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d played it. Oh yes, my first year in college. I remembered it well.

  “What are you two up to?” Not exactly to the point, but close enough.

  “Nothing, lass,” Charlie said. “We just made a wee detour to Tara Island.”

  “Why?”

  “Our friend Eddie didn’t show up for the game so we thought we’d pop in to see if he was on his wee island,” Charlie said.

  “He wasn’t there, but we stayed to visit with the caretakers,” MacGregor added.

  They headed for the porch stairs. I followed, not sure what to make of these two.

  “Sorry, we’re moving a wee bit slowly,” Charlie said, and I suspected it was an attempt to distract me.

  But I did notice how long it was taking him to make it from the second to the third porch step. “I must say you do resemble a bullfighter who lost out to the bull.” I glanced over at MacGregor. “And you got hit on the bull’s way out of the ring.”

  They exchanged a knowing look, further validating my suspicions that they were indeed up to something.

  “I assume your fingers are bruised?”

  “No, our fingers are fine,” Charlie said.

  MacGregor cringed as if knowing my question was a set-up.

  “So, what’s your excuse for not calling?” I hated sounding like a mother to two grown men—or worse—but I was out of sorts and they were the reason. At least one of them was.

  Charlie groaned and MacGregor grimaced. “We tried, McNair. But we didn’t have cell service where we were.”

  Did I believe them? Charlie didn’t usually lie to me, except when he was trying to protect me. I did not know what was going on, but my more vocal chakras were shouting that these two were up to something. And they were determined to keep me out of it.

  Chapter 12

  Snuggled inside my navy pea coat, I waved as Charlie and MacGregor drove off. It was nice having them at the cottage, even if it was a brief visit.

  “He sure likes you,” Josh said as I closed the front door behind me.

  “Who?”

  “Mac.”

  “We’re good friends. We go back a long time.”

  He responded with the raise of a single eyebrow, a look I was beginning to know well, kind of reminded me of myself. “I don’t think so, Jenny.”

  Now it was my eyebrow that was raised in doubt, but I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it at all. MacGregor had given me enough hints to keep me thinking about him for the next year and then some.

  Now there was a flat-out smirk on Josh’s face.

  “Out with it,” I said, wondering if encouraging his blunt honesty was wise. Of one thing, I was certain. It was good that he was opening up. Even if the result was my discomfort.

  “If you want to deny you noticed, it’s okay with me,” he teased. “But just so you know, you’re a lot easier to read than you think.”

  Despite my embarrassment, I laughed. Or maybe it was to cover my embarrassment. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling more at home. And thanks for the warning.”

  “So, why do you call each other by your last names?”

  Relieved to have moved on to somewhat of a new topic I explained. “Professors usually call their students by their last names. When we became friends, I started doing it back to him. It stuck.”

  Josh nodded one of those all-knowing nods. “And why do you call your dad Charlie?”

  My back straightened. It was not a question I’d been asked. “You know, I’m not sure why. I suppose it’s because I knew so many of his friends and they all call him Charlie so I did too. I’ve been calling him Charlie since— I guess since I was in college. Maybe earlier. Actually I think it was when I went to live with him and my step mother. She called him ‘Charlie’ to me instead of ‘Dad.’ ”

  “You have a step mother?”

  “Did.”

  “Was she . . . okay?”

  “Yes, she was. We’re as different as night and day but we really like each other. We got along a lot better than I ever did with my mother.”

  “But you have a good relationship with Charlie.” His voice became hoarse.

  “Kind of like your relationship with your grandfather?”

  “Kind of. Except lately I haven’t gotten to see him that much. And now—”

  “You’ll get to see him, Josh.”

  “I know. It’s just that I usually call him at least once a week.”

  “As soon as Charlie ties up the loose ends with his case and once your school books arrive, he and I will go down to Portland and see if we can get to the bottom of this.”

  “You’re really gonna do that?”

  “Of course.”

  “I wish I could help more.”<
br />
  “You’re doing plenty.” Besides the research he was doing, he was diligent about helping out, making small repairs here and there, cleaning the house, and he’d even tried his hand at cooking. So what if it was ramen? He’d added carrots. “You focus on your school work, okay?”

  I went into the kitchen to clean up the breakfast dishes. MacGregor had offered to help but I knew they were anxious to catch Ned’s shuttle ferry so they didn’t miss the early ferry from Gael to Anacortes. Josh followed, clearing the rest of the dishes and drying them as I washed them.

  “Will you be okay on your own for a few days?” I asked, knowing he would insist that he’d be fine because that was what he always did.

  “Of course. I’ll be fine. And I’ve got Rocky, remember? You’re leaving him here, right?”

  “Of course.” I looked across the room at my dog whose tail was wagging wildly. Had we forgotten to give him breakfast? No, Josh had fed him while I was cooking my veggie omelet special. I opened the kitchen door, stroking him as he ran out. No whine this time, just an anxious tail wag. I was still learning his language.

  Standing in my back doorway, protected from the soft drizzle, I thought how different my life was now. A few short months ago I was living in Seattle with a husband and a daughter and a weekend son who came home from the dorm to do laundry and get a home-cooked meal. I was working away on my pottery and leading support groups and doing spiritual counseling and assisting my father with his cases.

  Only a couple months ago, I had moved to my dear Aunt Winnie’s cottage on a remote island in the Strait of Juan de Fuca. And now? I looked from the garden to the kitchen sink. Now I was living with a boy and an Australian shepherd with a big head. Life certainly was interesting.

  “Really, Jenny, I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.” Josh misread my thoughts for a change.

  “I’ll ask Sasha to stop in and check on you.”

  He gave me one of Matthew’s “oh mom” looks. “I really don’t need a babysitter.”

  Bravely I reached out and rustled his hair. Unlike my dog, he flinched and I knew which of the two had been abused.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Rocky came bounding back into the kitchen and settled down in his favorite crumb-catching spot under the table. Josh and I sat down to drink a fresh cup of tea. He had started out so quiet, so shy. In little more than a week, he had opened up significantly, but there was still so much he was keeping inside.

  Watching him, I said, “You’re thinking of your mother.”

  He shrugged.

  “You miss her.”

  “Yeah. I do. But I was really thinking—I just wish she could—I wish she were stronger, you know? Like you.”

  “What’s she like, Josh?”

  “She’s real pretty. Small. Kind of nervous all the time. She’s smart but she doesn’t know it. She had a tough childhood, you know? Her father wasn’t anything like my dad’s father. Hers was real mean. I guess she got to expect meanness from men because my dad was a real ass—sorry—jerk, from what my grandfather told me. My grandfather never understood why he turned out like he did. He really loved him, you know, but it didn’t fix everything.”

  “And your step father?”

  “Worse. She’s so scared of him she’ll do anything he wants her to.”

  “Why did she marry him?” Stupid question. Like he said, she’d learned to expect meanness from men.

  “He was real nice to her in the beginning. It was around four years ago. I remember he’d bring her flowers and take her to nice restaurants and be all friendly to me. I even liked him at first. I guess we both fell for his crap. Sorry.”

  “I raised two kids, remember? These aren’t words I haven’t heard before.” Or used myself.

  He finished off his tea and cleared his cup and saucer. He was used to the routine. “Anyway, it didn’t take long for him to show us what he was really like.”

  “Was he abusive?”

  His lips were clamped shut. I’d gone to that disturbing place he was avoiding. “It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

  His eyes were focused on a speck of dirt on his shoe. He slouched back into his chair, reaching his hand down into the soft fur of Rocky’s head. Several deep breaths later, he spoke. “Mostly he was mean in other ways. Yelling at her. Calling her stupid and worthless. Telling her she couldn’t do anything right. And yeah, he hit her sometimes. I’d—”

  “Try to stop him? So he ended up hitting you too?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “It’ll be okay, Josh. You’re safe here.”

  “I know. I’m just worried, you know—about my mom.”

  Understandable, but I couldn’t help him with that. Well, maybe I could. She was abused, not just physically but emotionally and mentally.

  “Jenny?” He raised his head and looked at me. “Do you think you could maybe try to see how she’s doing when you’re there? And let her know I’m okay?”

  “I can see how she’s doing, but I don’t think I should say anything about you. That would be a huge risk.”

  “I know, but you can tell her not to tell anyone, not Mark or Al.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I know she’s worrying about me.”

  I knew she was too. She was a mother. I just didn’t understand why she’d sent a sixteen-year-old kid out into the world to fend for himself. But then it wasn’t my place to judge her. She’d done what she thought was right to save her son.

  * * *

  Since there wasn’t much I could do on Josh’s case until Charlie and I went to Portland, I took advantage of the time to do more investigating on Jasper’s missing art work. First I stopped in to see Sam.

  “What can I do for you, Jenny?” He was friendly enough, but his shoulders were tense and his jaw was locked in defense mode.

  Although I had given up on his doing anything, a tiny part of me held out hope. “Anything on the art theft?”

  He exhaled a deep breath. “I told you—”

  “I know. I just thought maybe you’d discovered something.” Although with his obvious reluctance to solve or even consider this a case, that something would have to throw itself in his path for him to discover it.

  “No, Jenny. Nothing else has turned up.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Well, thanks.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Uh, yes,” I told him.

  He was holding his breath again.

  “Well, maybe there is one more thing,” I said, pausing long enough to give him time to agonize. Revenge for his not taking this case seriously, I figured. “What did you decide to do about proposing to Frankie?”

  He blew out another breath of relief, comfortable with this subject. “I’m waiting until Christmas. Saving up for the ring.”

  “Well, if you want Sasha and me to go to the jewelry store with you, just let us know.”

  “Thanks, Jenny.” There was an apology in there somewhere.

  Next stop Army’s. He was hand building a new project, too new to recognize what it was going to be. He glanced up from his work to say hello.

  “Don’t let me interrupt.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep working if you don’t mind. What did you need, Jenny?”

  “Actually, a couple things. I came to buy some of the new batch of clay you picked up, and to drop off a couple of my pieces that need firing.”

  “Put them over there. I can put them in the kiln in a little while.” He nodded toward a bench in the studio that had other pieces lined up. I looked down the row of pots until I came to an amazing sculpture of an athlete and a ballerina. Both reflected immense strength with their sinewy muscles but that power did not diminish their grace. It reminded me of my athlete son and my dancer daughter. I wouldn’t have minded having it on my fireplace mantel. I was startled by the detail of the work. Usually Army’s work was less refined.

  I set down my pieces beside the athlete and the ballerina, still entranced b
y it.

  “You like it?”

  I whirled around to see Navy coming into the studio. “It’s amazing. Very different from Army’s usual work.”

  She grinned. “It’s not his. It’s mine.”

  “Yours? I didn’t realize. It’s gorgeous.”

  “Thanks, Jenny. That’s always nice to hear from a fellow artist.”

  I caught myself before slipping into self deprecating protests that I was not an artist, certainly not one in their class. “I thought you were focusing on your painting.”

  “I am. This is an old piece. I figured it was time I got it glazed and fired.”

  “It definitely deserves it.”

  “Jenny needs some clay, Navy!” Army called over from his work. “Can you help her with it?”

  “Of course.”

  As Navy and I loaded the clay into the back of the Volvo, I asked her if Army had inquired about anyone who might have bought clay from them recently. She couldn’t remember anyone either.

  “Some of our students take home clay on occasion, but it’s just to fool around with, nothing serious.”

  “No serious students?”

  “I wish.”

  “Okay, well thanks anyway.”

  “You haven’t gotten anywhere on this strange situation with Jasper’s model, I take it.”

  “No, I haven’t. I don’t know what to think.”

  “Me neither,” she said. “It’s too bizarre. I don’t know anyone who’s capable of duplicating Jasper’s work the way he does it—certainly not anyone on this island.”

  I nodded and paid her for the clay. Next stop Jasper’s studio. It was time for the personal tour he had promised me.

  He opened the door cautiously.

  “I should have called first,” I said apologetically.

  “Jenny, you come any time you want.”

  “You’re not used to visitors.”

  “I am, but mostly they’re deliveries—mail, groceries, my stone shipments and of course, Army and Navy bring me my clay. I don’t get out much, you know. Just to the gallery on occasion.”