Chapter Nine
I parked my car at the curb in front of my little gray-with-white-trim Craftsman cottage and gave the emergency brake a firm shove with my foot. I stalked past my well-planned flower beds on the verge of becoming colorful, climbed the steps to my porch, and headed straight to my kitchen for a glass of water. I took some ibuprofen and went to my office. I absolutely had to get some work done. I absolutely had to keep my flipping mouth shut. It'd taken some fast talking to get out of my aunt and uncle's house after all that thinking out loud.
I tried to focus on my work, but the more my columns of figures behaved in logical and predictable ways the more of a jumbled mess my life seemed. Part of my brain constantly made the comparison: tidy and neat versus messy and chaotic. I longed for order and needed to put right all that had upset my life lately. I loved my rut. It promised security, predictability, and no excitement or unexpected emotion to pump up my adrenalin. I thrived on serenity. In a moment of epiphany I understood why I'd stayed with Jonathan for so long, and why my need to stabilize my life right now made the idea of going back to him -- even accepting his proposal -- not so abhorrent.
The whirlpool effect Valerie's murder created was gaining momentum, and using Jonathan to try and save myself was foolish in the extreme. As irritating as she had been to me alive, she was downright upsetting dead.
Disgusted at my inability to concentrate, I gave up and shut down my computer. Tomorrow I would do what was necessary to enforce a routine on my life and bring back order. Right now I had unfinished business. I had to call Jonathan to get the name of an attorney, and I had to tell him I needed breathing room. I could only deal with one crisis at a time. Jonathan would have to wait to get dumped.
I balanced on the edge of my padded desk chair and dialed his office. His secretary told me he was in and available -- a disappointment, but better than leaving a message and having to field all of his reactions later.
"Thea." He sounded glad to hear me.
"Hi, Jonathan." I tried to sound casual.
"Have you --"
"No. I mean I haven't had time to think about last Saturday. Something's come up and I need information."
"Of course," he said in his professional tone, impressing me with how well he switched gears. "Is this about Valerie Parsons?"
"How did you know?" I was really impressed now.
"Connections," he explained, explaining nothing.
"This may take a couple of minutes. Do you have time?"
"Of course." Again in his best attorney mode.
As briefly as I could, I told him of finding Valerie dead in her own pasture Sunday morning, Greg's threat to Blackie, and my meeting with Detective Thurman.
"I know this isn't your area, and well, you'd probably rather not get involved, but can you recommend someone for me to call? You know, just in case?"
"Yes, of course. I'm always here for you. You should know that."
I heard him tapping on his keyboard, probably paging through his address book. What I didn't hear were any horrified gasps or polite hints at ending our relationship. I knew I was going to have to be the one to end it.
"Jacob Green," he said.
I dutifully jotted down a Bellevue address and phone number.
"He's excellent, should be able to take care of all contingencies without a problem."
"Good. Thank you." I hoped that included Valerie's parents.
"You're welcome. I expect you'll be entering some horseshows, now that Valerie isn't around to take up all of Henry's time."
"No." My temper, previously nonexistent, shot perilously close to slamming-the-phone-down level. "Why would I do that?"
"Oh, uh, well," he spluttered. "Wasn't she the reason you wouldn't compete in horse shows? I mean, Henry's always wanted you to and…So, the guy who tossed Greg out of your house, Paul Hudson, isn't he the one who picked you up Saturday night from McMurphy's?"
It wasn't a question. I knew a question when I heard one. It was a deduction stated as fact and I was startled -- but only for a moment. He pulled his typical attorney trick on me, launching an offense as soon as he realized he'd made a mistake. I'd made a mistake, too. I'd told him too much.
"You followed me." I was on the edge of a shout. "I can't believe you followed me."
"Of course I did." He was equally irritated. "You don't think I was going to let you roam around downtown Seattle on a Saturday night by yourself, do you?"
"I'm a big girl, Jonathan. I can take care of myself."
"Ensuing circumstances might argue otherwise."
The insult had me on my feet. Damn his incessant parenting. I threw my anger into rapid pacing and explained again, with far more patience than I felt, how my sister called my aunt, who in turn asked Paul to drive into Seattle to fetch me. I repeated the events at the farm this morning and how my aunt's best option was to send Paul to my house when she couldn't reach me on the phone.
"What about Greg?" His question still telegraphed hostility. "It looked to me like you met him Saturday night."
This was getting ridiculous. Jonathan was far more jealous than I imagined. I just wanted to break up with him, not drag the rest of the population in as co-respondents.
"That was purely a chance meeting."
"He kissed you."
Jeez, and this morning he beat me up. That would demonstrate how much he cared for me. "I can't for the life of me explain why," I snapped. "He was drunk. He toasted Valerie, he toasted my sister's beguiling beauty, and he kissed me. You'll have to ask him why."
"Oh." He sounded like the starch had been taken out of his argument. "I thought you were toasting dumping me."
"Honestly, Jonathan, does that sound like something I would do?" I thumped into my chair. Wasn't it enough that the sheriff was considering me a person of interest? Did Jonathan have to chip in and assassinate every other aspect of my character?
"I don't know, Thea. I just don't know you any more."
There was no avoiding a discussion. I was going to have to toss another ball in the air and hope gravity didn't win. Not being argumentative would help. I took a deep breath and softened my tone.
"Why don't we have dinner someplace quiet and talk? Tomorrow, maybe?"
"Can't tomorrow. Wednesday will work."
I looked ceiling-ward for some kind of divine deliverance from Mr. Control-freak. None arrived. I gave up. "Fine. Where?"
"Bernard's in Snohomish. You like that place and it's decent. I'll pick you up at seven."
"Okay. See you then, and thank you for Mr. Green's name."
"Not a problem … and Thea?"
"Yes?"
"I love you."
I grappled for a response that was true but not cruel. "I know you do." I immediately knew I'd missed the "not cruel" part.
Less than a minute later, as I rested my face in my hands and contemplated this character flaw, the phone rang. Now what did he want? On the third ring I picked up and sighed a "hello."
"Well, don't you sound down in the dumps." The brisk voice belonged to Andrea Anderson, my best friend since fifth grade.
Relief almost made me laugh. "I'm so glad you called."
"So," she said, slowly, as if testing the waters. "Rumors are flying. What's going on, and why haven't you called me?"
"About what?" So many things had gone on since I spoke with her a week ago I wasn't sure what she meant.
"Don't be cagey with me, now. Something's going on with Jonathan. Fess up. Am I the last to know he's been buying expensive jewelry?"
"Oh, that." I took a deep breath. "We went out to dinner with his parents Saturday night, he proposed, I failed to give him an answer, left and went home on my own."
"That's it? That's the condensed version. I want all the dirt."
"I don't know where to start. There's been so much going on."
"Jump in anywhere," she urged. "Obviously the rumor mill is woefully outdated."
So I did, and gave her a messy, disjointed tale of my recent misadvent
ures, from Paul showing up at McMurphy's instead of Juliet, to finding Valerie's body, Paul dealing with Greg and again with Randy, and my fun time at the sheriff's office.
"Good golly, Miss Molly," she commented when I took a breath. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"You're sure? You're just saying that, I know you are. Be honest with me. Have you been to the doctor? How about the police? Tell me you've talked to the police about Greg, please. And a lawyer? I know some good ones."
Andrea is an attorney, and like Jonathan specializes in corporate law. I wish she'd find a guy, get married and have some kids so she'd quit practicing her mothering on me.
"Yes, yes, yes, and I've got a name."
"Who?"
"Jacob Green. Jonathan told me he was good."
"Jeez, Thea, I'd be traumatized into the next decade."
"I'm okay. Believe me, and stop worrying. Aunt Vi and Uncle Henry are fussing enough for everybody."
"Well, I can put a lid on the fussing, but I'm still worried. Is there anything I can do?"
"You're doing it."
"I can do more --"
"Andrea!"
"Okay, okay. You know, I can't believe the little witch got whacked. I wonder who she pushed over the sanity edge." Without waiting for my comment she made a quantum jump to her favorite recreational topic: men. "Who's this 'Paul' you keep referring to? Just how sexy is he?"
"Paul?" I said, slightly unnerved. "I mentioned him twice."
"Sorry to inform you, but I stopped counting at six."
"No," I attempted to argue with her.
"Yes," she interjected. "He sounds intriguing. Is he the one who turned your head from Jonathan?"
I closed my eyes in resignation and exhaled, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. This conversation needed a whole lot more time than the five minutes I could give it before I'd be late for dinner at my aunt and uncle's.
"I have an awful lot to tell you, Andrea, but I have to get going or Aunt Vi will be worrying about me again. Can we have dinner this week?"
"How about tomorrow. No, wait. Wednesday?"
"Can't. I'm having dinner with Jonathan."
"Oh, so you haven't actually broken up with him? Thea, Thea, Thea --"
"I've postponed the confrontation because of everything else that's going on." I could smell a lecture. I wasn't up to it.
"In all fairness, you shouldn't get involved --"
"I'm not getting 'involved' with anyone. Period. I'm just saying, with everything that's going on, dealing with Jonathan is too much. Besides, I know exactly how it's going to go. He'll bring out that ring again, tell me to just try it on, tell me we can have a long engagement so I don't feel pressured, then poof, we'll be married and I'll wonder how it happened." I wadded my hair up in my fist, released it, combed it back into place with my fingers, and took a deep breath.
"Be strong, Thea. You know what you want. Don't listen to his arguments or he'll have you convinced he's the best deal in town and he's doing you a huge favor."
"Don't I know. He could give telemarketers lessons." I leaned back in my chair and put my feet on my desk.
"All you've got to do is look at his hairline and imagine what he'll look like when that blond hair gets thinner and disappears. Should keep you from listening to a word he says."
A giggle escaped as a snort. I grinned. "That's a trick I hadn't thought of."
"Let's meet for dinner on Thursday then," she said. "And if he's talked you into something you don't want we'll have time to fix it."
I laughed and agreed. Why hadn't I talked to Andrea earlier?
"Ordinarily, Thea, I'd think it would be wonderful to have some guy be so attentive, but Jonathan? I don't know. He's so obsessive about you. Gives me the creeps. I'm sorry I introduced you to him."
"I don't think it's that bad." She tended to carry the over-protective thing a bit far.
"It is from where I sit. I'll bet I'm not the only one who thinks so, either. You're doing the right thing, and remember I'm here for you."
"Yes, Mother."
We made plans to meet at The Cheesecake Factory at the mall in Bellevue, two blocks from her office. We'd get dinner and retail therapy within steps of each other. I was feeling better already.
Right.
I should have known.
The doorbell rang as I put my last client file away. I wasn't expecting anyone, but then I had more than my usual share of unexpected visitors lately. I slid the metal drawer shut and went to the front door.
"Who is it?"
An unfamiliar male voice responded. "Mr. Frederick Parsons to see Miss Campbell."
Crap.
I sprinted into the living room and looked out my front window. A large black Mercedes sat idling at the curb.
Tell him you're not here. Tell him you're the maid, or the neighbor watering the house plants.
No. He'll come back. He has to know by now that Blackie is innocent. He can't know I'm a person of interest. Not yet. He won't hurt me. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and stuck it in my pocket -- just in case. With my pulse rate pushing optimal work-out level, I opened the door and looked up at a Frankenstein-sized man in a black uniform and dark glasses. An extra twinge from some recess of my mind added to my tension. I pushed it down.
"Miss Thea Campbell?" The big guy did not smile.
"Yes?" I tried to.
"Mr. Frederick Parsons would like a word with you."
"Of course."
He turned toward the car and, as though through some pre-arranged signal, its back door opened. Out stepped a gray-haired man impeccably dressed in a well cut, steel gray suit. He moved with the square-shouldered confidence you expect of someone who is used to having people snap-to at his command.
He mounted the steps to my porch before he spoke. "Miss Campbell, good of you to see me."
"Not at all." I hoped my nervousness didn't show. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Parsons. Please, come in."
He walked in and glanced around. Although I'm sure my whole house could easily fit into his garage, he gave no indication he held any opinion of it. The big guy in the dark glasses did not come in, but closed the door leaving Mr. Parsons alone with me.
Up close, Valerie's father was not as old as I first thought. He had classic, handsome features, and oozed elegance. But a steel-like formality about him made it clear he was not a man to cuddle up to. I tried to picture him bouncing his little blond girl on his knee. Nope, not this man.
"Won't you sit down?" I asked.
"I don't want to take much of your time," he said, disregarding my invitation. "I came to talk to you about my daughter."
He looked squarely at me. His gaze flicked to the bruises on my face, then back to my eyes.
"I understand it was your horse in the pasture at her house."
"Yes," I said, and swallowed. Blackie seemed to be everyone's favorite topic of conversation lately.
"I also understand I was mistaken in believing my daughter's death was an accident involving your horse." The muscles in his face were so tense his lips barely moved when he spoke.
"That's correct."
"How did your horse come to be in that pasture?"
"Someone took him from Copper Creek Saturday evening."
"Someone? Was it my daughter?"
His expression didn't change and neither did the tone of his voice, but I felt a rush of compassion for him. He was grieving and worried about the kind of person his daughter actually was.
"Mr. Parsons, no one knows who was driving Valerie's rig. No one saw the driver. It could have been her, but quite honestly, that doesn't make sense to me." In half a heartbeat I'd announced my abandonment of the "Valerie-is-a-crook" stance -- again. Who could blame me? Maybe I'd believe it myself on one of these go-rounds.
"Nor does it make sense to me, Miss Campbell." The floor creaked as he walked across the hardwood of my entryway and into my living room. He looked around as if browsing in a gift shop
. The photographs on the bookcase caught his eye and he strolled over to have a closer look. One picture was of Juliet. The other was of me on Blackie with Uncle Henry. Mr. Parsons picked up the one of Blackie and studied it, then did the same with Juliet's picture. "Your sister?"
"Yes." My face went cold, and my scalp seemed to shrink. I wanted to grab the photograph out of his hands. But before I made a move he returned it to its place on the bookshelf.
"Should you have any knowledge to share with me I would like to encourage you to do so. It would be prudent."
I locked eyes with him and set my jaw. "I'm afraid I'm as baffled as you, Mr. Parsons. More, perhaps."
"I intend to find out who killed my daughter and set her up to look like a common thief."
He held my gaze long enough for me to understand he considered me part of the equation. I did a quick reevaluation of my sympathy for him and discarded it. He nodded slightly, evidently satisfied I'd caught on.
"Thank you for your time," he said and left.
I closed the door softly behind him and slid the chain in place. It was a token gesture, to be sure. I watched from the living room window as the black car pulled away from the curb, then sat down to give my shaking knees a break.
Crap. How much worse could this get? An image popped into my mind of the little pig cowering in his straw house with the wolf at the door.
You're so pathetic, Thea.
No, now wait just one huffing minute. That story didn't end with the pig on a platter.
"Dammit, I've had enough," I said aloud to my empty living room. "I have absolutely, positively been terrorized for the last time. I will not continue to sit here and let people walk into my house and scare the hell out of me."