Pre-Meditated Murder Page 4

  “Want to go for a quick walk, sweetie?” My dog let out a sigh and rested her head between her paws, clearly declining my offer. I ruffled her ears, promised her that I’d be back soon, and headed for the center.

  C-BAC was housed in a large cement building fronted by a huge parking lot and sandwiched between sprawling green lawns. The grassy area to my right was filled with an assortment of brightly colored playground equipment; the one to my left had enough open space for a makeshift soccer field. Three cement stairs led from the parking lot to the building’s blue double doors. Each time they opened, live bluegrass music belted outside. Banjo, guitar, fiddle, and the telltale wail of a harmonica. I felt myself grin. It was impossible to be cranky while listening to bluegrass.

  Michael and Shannon weren’t waiting for me on the sidewalk, so I followed a group of boisterous teens into the building. I froze as the door banged shut behind me.

  Good lord, Michael wasn’t exaggerating.

  Every citizen in the greater Cannon Beach area—and at least three towns outside its perimeter—seemed to be crowded into the large, cavernous space. People of all ages—retirees, young adults, teenagers, grade schoolers, and toddlers—milled around the room, animatedly chatting and carrying plates heaped with pasta and red sauce.

  The live bluegrass band I’d heard earlier played “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” near a small dance floor, which was filled with children jumping up and down and flailing to the music. I closed my eyes and took a deep, calming breath. The delicious scents of simmering tomato sauce, oily garlic bread, and recently poured beer wafted into my nostrils, and the smile I’d felt earlier returned, times two. I’d been in town less than an hour, but I’d already reached one firm conclusion: Cannon Beachers knew how to party.

  An ancient woman sat in a folding chair next to a seascape-themed quilt stitched in teals, blues, grays, and greens. A sign next to it read, Raffle Tickets $5 each or 3 for $10. Proceeds benefit the Cannon Beach Animal Shelter.

  “Care to buy a ticket?” she yelled over the din.

  I imagined Bella gleefully rolling on top of the gorgeous art piece, pulled out my billfold, and handed her a twenty. “Sure, why not?” It was for a good cause, after all. If I won the quilt, I would gift it to Sam and Rene.

  I was writing my phone number on the tickets when a boisterous, dark-haired toddler wearing overalls, a bright red shirt, and the world’s tiniest cowboy boots screamed toward me, followed by an exhausted-looking twenty-something I assumed was his mother. Loose tendrils of hair escaped her brunette ponytail, framing her frantic face. The boy zipped toward the door behind me—and the busy parking lot on the other side.

  “Jimmy, slow down!” his mother yelled. “Wait!”

  He pushed the door open, but I grabbed him a millisecond before his feet crossed the threshold. “Whoa there, partner,” I said.

  Evidently, being captured ruined Jimmy’s fun. The now-howling beast-child kicked, screamed, and pummeled my chest with tiny, angry fists. Exactly how Dad used to describe my own three-year-old temper tantrums.

  His mother gave me a wan smile and took the flailing child from my arms. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem.”

  She gently chastised him as she led him back through the crowd. “I told you, Jimmy, you have to stay close to Mommy.”

  Disaster averted, I thrust my raffle tickets into a gallon Mason jar, stood on my tiptoes in a tennis-shoed Tadasana, and tried to locate Michael and Shannon. They weren’t on the dance floor and I didn’t spot them in the food line, so I carefully wove my way through long rows of tables, each of which was painted with a multicolored mosaic of kid-sized handprints. An early fall project, I assumed, for stir-crazy schoolchildren.

  Shannon waved to me from a table opposite the dance floor.

  “We were starting to get worried,” Michael said.

  “Speak for yourself, Baby Brother.” Shannon poked him in the arm. “Mr. Worrywart here is convinced that you’re going to dump him and run back to Seattle the first chance you get.” She narrowed her eyes and frowned at me. “You’re not, right?”

  I grinned. “Not tonight.”

  Her frown lifted and she poked Michael again. “See. Told you, silly.” She gestured toward the food line with her thumb. “Now go buy your girls some meal tickets.”

  Michael glanced at me, seeming uncertain. “Maybe we should all go together.”

  “Don’t be silly. Why make Kate put up with all of that small talk?”

  “What small talk?” he asked.

  “You haven’t visited in almost three years. You’ll bump into tons of people who want to catch up.” Shannon pointed to a sultry-eyed, dark-haired man about Michael’s age who was staffing a table near the buffet line. “Von, for example. He and his new boyfriend, Andreas, are selling the meal tickets.”

  I glanced at the man she referred to, then quickly looked away again and tried to quash the unease gurgling in my belly.

  Tried, without success.

  Von was gorgeous. Gorgeous enough that Rene would have gone gaga. I might have, too, if it weren’t for the thick, dark facial hair that smothered his chin. I’d been working hard to overcome my pogonophobia—the irrational fear of beards—since I’d discovered its origins a few months ago.

  Intellectually, I knew that Von’s beard, by itself, wasn’t the problem. Facial hair was simply a symbol—a reminder—of a long ago, much darker day. Physically, however, I still felt the same reaction: cold sweat dotting the back of my neck; gripping nausea in my belly; jarring, staccato beats in my chest. I’d been learning to suppress these reactions, with some success. But Von’s thick, bristly beard was particularly … well, particularly beard-like.

  I mentally chanted OM Bhuh, the mantra used to overcome obstacles, and stared at the man seated next to him. Andreas, I assumed. He was clean-shaven, balding, and equally handsome. Each time he finished putting money in the cash drawer, he lathered his hands in hand sanitizer.

  Neither man looked in our direction. Neither of them looked at each other, for that matter. The energy between them was tense. Their bodies angled away from each other. If they were lovers, I doubted there’d be any romance tonight.

  Shannon nudged Michael’s arm. “Go on. Talk to Von. It’ll give Kate and me a chance for some girl talk. Just don’t sneeze on Andreas. He’s a huge germaphobe.”

  Michael didn’t move.

  “Seriously,” Shannon chided. “Go. If Kate makes a break for the door, I’ll tackle her.”

  Michael didn’t look happy, but he acquiesced. He slowly made his way across the room, stopping every few steps for shoulder claps, hugs, and more than a few squeals of delight. Michael may have been gone from Cannon Beach for a while, but he was obviously still popular.

  Shannon watched him work the room for a few seconds, then pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and slid it across the table toward me.

  “I forgot to give this to your friend Rene today.”

  I glanced down at it curiously. A check. For almost as much as my monthly salary as a yoga teacher. “What’s this?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Shannon spoke slowly and enunciated clearly, like a teacher speaking to a not-very-bright student. “It’s a check.”

  I gave her a droll look. “I get that. But what’s it for? Blackmail? A bribe?” I smirked. “For the record, if you have extra cash burning a hole in your pocket, your brother needs it more than Rene does.”

  “It’s for my next order from Infant Gratification.”

  “You’re buying Rene’s baby baubles? Are you expecting?”

  “No, but some of my real estate clients are, and I’m always looking for creative housewarming gifts. After Michael told me about her business, I looked it up online. It’s fabulous! When she heard I was Michael’s sister, she offered me a friends and family discount. If I pay cash, I get
twenty percent off. This check is for my third order.”

  No wonder Shannon and Rene seemed to be so familiar.

  “Your real estate clients want pacifier purses?” I asked incredulously.

  “Have you checked out her catalogue? It’s super diverse, and it has products I haven’t seen anywhere else, including products for new moms.” Shannon rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a plasticized package. “Like this, for instance. Rene gave me this sample while you were letting Bella out of the bathroom.”

  The clear plastic package contained a spray bottle enclosed in a bejeweled leather case. I gaped at the label. Mommy Mace. Designer Pepper Spray for Mommies Who Want to be Safe AND Stylish.

  “Are you sure about this, Shannon?” I asked. “Personal defense weapons don’t exactly scream ‘welcome to your new neighborhood.’”

  Shannon opened the package and pulled out its contents. “I haven’t given anyone the mace yet. Like I said, this is a sample.” She placed her index finger on the trigger, held it up to the light, and tilted it back and forth, causing light to reflect off the royal blue rhinestones. For an insane, terrified moment, I thought she was going to spray me. Instead, she passed the canister across the table. “You’re probably right. Consider this my gift to you. Mace is better for people who live in the big city, anyway.”

  Seattle wasn’t exactly New York, and the one time I’d carried mace I’d almost been doused with it. But it wasn’t worth bickering about. I tucked the canister inside my purse, vowing to dispose of it later.

  Shannon continued. “You’d be surprised by how many baby gifts are appropriate for homebuyers, though. Lots of people buy new homes when they start a family, and everybody with a child under two loves baby baubles. The eighteen-karat infant ID bracelets have been a huge hit.” She paused and tilted her eyes to the ceiling. “I wonder if I could talk her into making platinum dog tags for my dog-crazy clients …”

  Who was I to argue with Rene’s success? I folded the check in two, slipped it inside my billfold, and watched Michael disappear into the crowd.

  Shannon followed my gaze. “He really did freak out when you drove past the parking lot. I told him you were probably looking for shade, but he still wanted me to follow you. He’s convinced that you’re going to leave him.”

  I didn’t reply, hoping that she’d take the hint and change subjects.

  No such luck.

  “Well? Are you?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  She frowned at me for several infinitely long, uncomfortable seconds. I thought I was going to be chastised, but she surprised me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I asked. “For what?”

  “For my part in this whole fiasco. I should have told you about Gabby.” She looked down at her hands. “I almost did. Dozens of times.”

  Shannon’s contrition should have made me feel better, but in fact, it did exactly the opposite. Irritation prickled my throat. “Then why didn’t you? Why didn’t Michael, for that matter.”

  Shannon frowned. “It’s complicated. I shouldn’t say anything else.”

  Yogi Kate understood that Shannon wasn’t to blame for Michael’s actions, but Yogi Kate wasn’t seated at that table. Betrayed Girlfriend Kate was. I felt exactly like Jimmy must have felt when I scooped him away from the doorway. Happiness interruptus.

  Three days of frustration spewed out of my mouth. “Complicated? That’s the same thing your brother told me. For God’s sake, Shannon! How complicated can it be? Michael was dating me while he was married to someone else. It seems pretty simple. Calling it ‘complicated’ is just the lame justification of a cowardly, scumbag cheater.”

  Shannon’s face turned so red, I thought her hair might ignite. She hissed at me through clenched teeth, “Hold up there, Kate. Let’s get one thing straight. That’s my baby brother you’re talking about. I will not tolerate anyone—especially you, the supposed love of his life—berating him. Michael made a mistake, but he’s no scumbag. Not even close. He’s certainly no cheater. Until you give him a chance to tell you his side of the story, back off on the judgment. About both of us.”

  One look at her fierce expression and I understood why she was angry. Michael was her brother. She would always have his back, the same way Rene would always have mine. I buried my face in my palms, embarrassed by my outburst. “I’m sorry, Shannon. He’s your brother. You have to be on his side.”

  Shannon’s voice softened. “Keeping my mouth shut wasn’t about taking sides, Kate; it was about loyalty. It wasn’t my place to tell you about Gabby.” She tapped her sternum with her index finger. “Make no mistake. I’m Michael’s sister—his blood. I will always love him. That comes with the territory. Therefore, I’m allowed to say this. You aren’t.” Her jaw firmed. “Michael was an ass for not telling you about Gabby.”

  Michael spoke from behind her. “Don’t mince words, do you, Shan?”

  Shannon’s shoulders tensed, so briefly that I almost missed it. A not-quite-real smile graced her lips. She winked at me, then turned toward Michael. “When have you ever known me to mince words? Don’t worry, Baby Brother. You may be an ass, but you’re family. That makes you my ass. I’ll stick up for you. Always. Even though Kate deserves better.”

  Michael didn’t smile at her joke. “You’re right, she does.” He avoided looking into my eyes. “Think she’ll settle for a doofus like me?”

  “She will if she’s smart.”

  I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. Why were they talking about me as if I weren’t there? I considered asking them exactly that, but I decided that I might not want to know the answer. I pointed to the long strip of red tickets Michael held in his hand. “What are those?”

  “Drink tickets. I bought a dozen. I figured we could all use some liquid courage.”

  Shannon pushed her chair away from the table. “I know I certainly could. But first let’s get some food. I’m starving.” She grabbed Michael’s wrist with one hand, mine with the other. “Let’s go.”

  We made our way through the buffet line, plates piled high with a tantalizing assortment of pastas, breads, salads, and sauces. Michael skipped the meat sauce in favor of a vegetable marinara, a sure sign that my meat-loving boyfriend was working hard to get back into my good graces.

  Back at the table, we ignored our prior conflict and settled into a comfortable camaraderie. We shared jokes; we sipped wine. We noisily slurped spaghetti noodles through pursed, O-shaped lips. Red sauce dripped from my lips and spattered the front of my shirt.

  Michael dunked a napkin into his water glass and wiped oily red sauce off my chin. “You’re getting as bad as Rene.”

  I couldn’t explain why, but those cherished moments of normalcy—of hanging out with Michael and Shannon eating sloppy spaghetti—made me feel close to him again. I almost forgot why we were there. All worries of Michael, his marriage, and his yet-to-be-confronted wife disappeared from my mind.

  I should have known it was too good to last.

  Forty-five minutes later, we’d cleaned our plates and used up three-quarters of Michael’s drink tickets. Shannon wadded up her napkin and dropped it on the table. “This has been fun, but I have to get up for a 7:00 a.m. meeting tomorrow.”

  “You’re showing houses at seven in the morning?” Michael asked.

  “I wish,” Shannon replied. “That would be a lot more productive. No one gets any real work done this close to the Sandcastle Festival. It’s a planning committee meeting. I’m in charge of the fun run this year.” She looped her purse around her shoulder. “Do you want to hang out here with Kate and see if Gabby comes by?”

  Michael stared at me, eyes hopeful.

  I involuntarily flinched. Fun family dinner notwithstanding, I still wasn’t ready for us to spend the evening alone.

  Michael must have not
iced, because he sighed and pushed back his chair. “We may as well go. It looks like Gabby isn’t coming. Maybe that’s a good thing. I’ll call her again tonight. If she still doesn’t answer, I’ll leave a message saying I’m in town and that I plan to drop off divorce papers tomorrow.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Shannon asked. “To drop off papers in person, I mean. Wouldn’t it be better to use a process server?”

  “A server would cost money.”

  Shannon frowned. “Money’s that tight?”

  When Michael didn’t answer, she turned to me. I shrugged. “The house remodel was more expensive than we thought it would be.”

  Shannon paused for a moment, thinking. “The Mini Cooper put a dent in my savings, but I can loan you a couple of thousand if you need it.”

  “Thanks, Shan. If Gabby keeps insisting on a payoff in exchange for an uncontested divorce, I may have to take you up on that.”

  “You never told me how much she wants.”

  Michael swallowed. “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  My stomach constricted, just like it had the first time I’d heard the number.

  “A-Are you kidding me?” Shannon’s energy changed. Hardened. Her expression grew sour. “I warned you not to marry that manipulative parasite.”

  “Come on, Shannon. I asked you not to call her that.”

  “Why not? It fits. After everything you did for her, I can’t believe she has the gall to demand that much money.”

  Michael massaged his temples, the way he did when he was trying to hold back his temper. I glanced back and forth between the two siblings, conflicted. Should I interrupt Mount Michael before he erupted or let the sibling quarrel play out?

  In the end, Michael made the decision for me. He took a deep breath and held up his hands. “Look, I don’t want to argue. I’ll admit, Gabby’s being selfish. Uncharacteristically so. But she’s always been reasonable in the past. I have to believe that if she and I get in the same room, we can work this out.”

  “Skip the negotiations,” Shannon insisted. “Call her bluff and take her to court. She’ll back down.”