At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(43)

Her house had originally been built for an executive at Boeing in the 1950s, and Penny had had it renovated to be fully wheelchair accessible. A ramp led to Penny’s front door, with a narrow set of stairs beside it. Verraday reached out to ring the bell, but before he could touch it, the door swung open, revealing Penny in her wheelchair, smiling.

“Fantastic sunset, isn’t it?”

“Were you watching me?”

“Not watching. Observing. I observe everything. I’m very, very good at it. Don’t ever forget that, little brother,” she said in a mock-menacing tone.

Verraday smiled. “You must be pretty good at it to be able to afford this place.”

“I like to think so. And I observe that you’ve got something on your mind.”

“How can you tell?”

“Sorry, trade secret. Come on in.”

Penny wheeled herself easily through the wide foyer into the open-concept main floor. There was a spacious living room with a large fireplace and a low bar area that separated it from the kitchen beyond. In one corner of the living room was a small shrine with a stone Buddha, a hand-painted Tibetan prayer on parchment, and beneath it, a photo of the Dalai Lama. In another corner, water splashed across beach stones in a fountain, bathing the room in gentle white noise. Penny’s home was an oasis of calm and sanity. Verraday knew his house would never be like this.

“Do you still meditate?” he asked.

“Every day. Would you like to try it with me?”

“Sure. We could do that sometime, I guess.”

“Did you ever listen to that meditation link I sent you?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

Penny smiled knowingly. She could always read him, and he knew it. “You look like you need a glass of wine. I’ve got a Walla Walla Cab or a Willamette Pinot Noir.”

“You going to have some?”

“No, but be my guest.”

“I’ll have the Cab, please,”

She rolled over to the mostly empty wine rack, where she kept a couple of bottles on hand for the benefit of her guests. She pulled out the Cabernet and handed it to her brother.

“I’ll let you do the honors. There’s a corkscrew in the cutlery drawer.”

Verraday examined the label. “Wow. 2008 Leonetti Cellars. This is a spectacular bottle of wine. Not cheap, either. You sure it’s okay if I open it?”

“I’m never going to drink it, so knock yourself out. I’ve got one of those Coravin argon gas gizmos that will preserve whatever you don’t drink—and I won’t let you drink it all, since you’re driving.”

He uncorked the wine and poured some into one of the large crystal wine glasses. He swirled it around, savoring the deep garnet color and the earthy, fruity notes on the nose. It was so full of sensual nuances that revealed themselves only gradually that he closed his eyes and inhaled it without actually bringing the wine to his lips. At last, he took a sip.

“My God, that’s unbelievable,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

“Positive. There’s a bottle of elderflower pressé in the fridge. You can pour me one of those with some ice while I check on the dinner.”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

“It’s delicious. You should try it instead of the wine.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he replied.

Over dinner, as she always did, Penny gently probed his affairs like the protective older sister that she was.

Finally, she said, “So listen, I’m curious. If you didn’t have a hot date lined up for our usual dinner night, why did you ask to see me now instead of next week? I know you. Something’s up.”

Verraday nodded. His expression became serious. “Yeah. You’re right. Something’s up.”

Penny looked alarmed. “What? It’s not something with your health, is it?”

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s about Robson.”

Penny’s face tightened. “Robson? What about him?” The words came out of her like they’d been stuck in her throat.

Verraday looked his sister straight in the eye. “He’s dead.”

Penny didn’t say anything at first. Just took a long breath.

“Dead. You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“The coroner says it was a gun-cleaning accident.”

“I wonder if it really was an accident.”

“No idea. I found out through a contact of mine in the Seattle PD.”

“Whoa, back up. You have a contact in the Seattle PD? Someone you’re actually on speaking terms with?”

“Long story for another time. Anyway, my contact didn’t know Robson. Just heard about it through one of the older guys who had worked with Robson back in the day.”

“I never figured him for the suicide type,” Penny said.

“Me neither. Seemed like too much of a self-absorbed asshole from what I can remember. But that was thirty years ago.”

“There are lots of reasons why even narcissistic people commit suicide. Maybe his health was failing and he couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I fucking hope so,” said Verraday.

Verraday was a little surprised when Penny let his comment go and didn’t gently chide him with some compassionate quote from the Dalai Lama or Thich Nhat Hanh.