Suspicion

“Being unsympathetic is my specialty.” He sat on the bench. “Ask my ex-wife.”

Her eyes flickered over his face as though she was assimilating this new information. “About my father,” she said after a moment. “Pay no attention to what you just saw. Contrary to how it may look, I’m not mad at him. He’s—” she spread her hands “—very determined. He doesn’t trust anybody’s work but his own. That’s what he was getting the lumber for.”

“Must keep him quite busy. Do-it-yourself projects. A medical practice. And he has an asthma camp, too, right? I think I read something about it in a back issue.”

“Camp Breatheasy. Kids from all over the country come here to participate. You should do a story on it.”

“I will.” He watched her face. “You must be quite proud of your father.”

She looked directly at him. “I am.”

He felt reproved somehow, as if she’d just told him that she knew why he’d really come over to talk to her and he’d disappointed her by showing his cards. He cast around for something to say and found it in the bench they were sitting on. A tiled inset in the back of the bench was painted with a scene of young woman playing a piano amidst a setting of vibrantly colored tropical plants. “Come and Celebrate with the Girl of Our Dreams,” the painted inscription said.

“By the way,” he told Ava. “I’m still checking out examples of hand-painted tiles. I noticed this one a few days ago.”

Ava traced a brilliant red hibiscus on the corner of the mural. “Commissioned by a man to celebrate his marriage. They came to Avalon on a visit and married a few years later at the Wrigley Memorial. She died several years ago.”

“You probably know everything there is to know about this island,” he said.

“Maybe not everything. It’s a small island, though. I’ve spent thirty-four years on it.”

“Ever lived anywhere else?”

“Nope.”

“Ever wanted to?”

“Not really. It would be like leaving a house you’ve lived in forever. Everywhere I go, there’s an association or a memory.”

“A Pollyanna Princess living on her enchanted island.”

Her expression darkened. “A cynical outsider, determined to turn over stones.”

He’d offended her again. He drew a breath. “What I meant was that even though I haven’t lived here very long, I appreciate the island’s appeal. This morning when I was walking to the office, I looked out at the water and I could see the mainland. It did seem like another world. I can imagine it would be easy to feel as though fate had blessed you somehow. Although I know your personal loss—”

“Which is really what you’re here to talk about, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.”

“Of course it is. Just like you casually dropped by the studio to talk about tile-making. Please. Okay, get your notebook out. My mother didn’t accidentally fall overboard and drown. My father pushed her. At least, I think that’s what happened. It could be suicide, of course. Or maybe she staged her disappearance—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did mean. You’re exactly like everyone else in the damn media. You sit there thinking that I’ll fall for your fake friendliness, that I’m just going to pour my heart out. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not my day for pouring.”

IF SCOTT USED too much force to open the front door, which he tended to do because it frequently stuck, it would fly open and hit an ugly green velour chair. It was a bad location for the chair, but the room was little larger than a closet and already crammed with an orange sofa. Tonight, the sofa was occupied by his sister, Carolyn, who was curled like a pretzel around Mark. They both sprung apart like characters in a sitcom when Scott burst in. Carolyn wore black combat boots and the kind of cotton housedress his mother used to wear. Her hair, shorter than his, was the approximate color of a tangerine. The last time Scott saw her it had been lime-green.

“Surprise,” she said. “I got fired.”

Scott picked up the day’s mail from the coffee table. “The surprise would be if you managed not to get fired.” Until now she’d worked—for brief periods—at vintage-clothing stores in Pasadena and Los Angeles while she majored in theater at Glendale Community College. Carolyn was twenty-four and always just on the verge of getting her act together. Sometimes Scott felt as though he had two daughters.

“Since Mark’s staying with you,” Carolyn said, “I figured I might as well be here, too. Don’t look so horrified. I can cook and clean and if you just happen to get any action, I’ll make myself scarce. ’Course, Mark has to come with me.”

Later, as they sat around the table eating the enchiladas Carolyn fixed, Scott described his exchange with Ava Lynsky. After managing to offend her yet again, he’d ambled back to the office. But he’d thought about Ava on and off for the rest of the day. He still felt mostly sympathy for the fiancé, but something about her intrigued him.

Carolyn wasn’t impressed. “If you want my opinion, she’s hiding something. No one would get that bent out of shape if everything was okay.”

“Nah.” Mark shook his head. “Sounds to me like she’s just a brat.” He looked at Scott. “Didn’t you say the daughters were princesses? That’s probably how she is with anyone who isn’t in her social class. She probably got a bunch of media calls after the mother died, and reporters are just part of the unwashed masses.”

“Okay, I’ve got it.” Carolyn leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe she killed her mother. And she’s trying to pass it off as an accident. Next she’ll off the father, then the sister. And then, ta-da, the princess collects all the money.”

Scott and Mark both grinned. Scott tossed a tortilla chip at his sister.

“Bet you,” she said. “Three hundred dollars says I’m right.”

“Three hundred dollars would pay half of what you owe me for the clunker you conned me into buying for you,” Scott said. “And then there’s the fifty-dollar phone bill I paid—”

“I’ll wash dishes.” She climbed onto Mark’s lap, put her arm around his neck. “Seriously, can’t you see it? Murder on Catalina,” she said. “Tune in tomorrow to learn who gets snuffed next.”

“Carolyn missed her calling, don’t you think?” Mark asked Scott. “She should be writing movie scripts.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU LOOK A LITTLE TIRED tonight, sweetheart,” Ava’s fiancé, Ed Wynn, told her as they dined on trout amadine at the Catalina Yacht Club. “Are you feeling under the weather?”

“No, Ed.” She smiled brightly. “I’m fine. Fine, fine, fine.” A week now since she’d first seen the cottage and her father was still holding out. A week of alternating nights at Ingrid’s and the Bay View. But she was fine. Fine, peachy-keen, Jim Dandy fine. Tomorrow, she decided, she would spend the entire day without using the word.

Ed did not seem reassured. “Are you taking the multi-vitamins I bought you?”

“Religiously. I just have a bunch of things to do. In fact, maybe we could make this an early night.”

“Absolutely.” He helped her on with her coat and they waved and smiled to all the people they knew who were also dining at the yacht club. “I’m concerned about you,” he said as they walked out into the night. “What you need is a little TLC. A back rub, a warm fire. A little brandy.”

She felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t told Ed about the cottage yet. Either he’d be disappointed that she wanted to move into a place of her own, instead of into his luxurious home, or recognize how much she wanted the place and offer to intervene with Sam. Both prospects filled her with a dull sense of resignation. Ed was a truly good man, she was always telling herself—and then she’d wonder why she was always telling herself.

“It sounds wonderful,” she told him, “but I think I need an early night.”

“Suit yourself,” he said amiably. “By the way, I meant to ask you. What do you think of the new Argonaut editor? You’ve met him, I assume.”

“A couple of times.” She willed herself not to blush at the mention of Scott Campbell’s name. Since the last embarrassing interlude at the park, she’d taken an alternative route into town to avoid walking past the newspaper office. “I doubt he’ll last long.”

“My thoughts exactly. I met him at the Conservancy board meeting yesterday. A mainlander with an attitude.” He reached to adjust the coat she’d thrown over her shoulders. “Will your father be home, do you think?”

“I don’t know.” She stopped walking. “I’m not staying there tonight, Ed. I’ve been staying at the Bay View for the last few days.”

His brow furrowed. “What on earth for?”

“It’s just temporary…”