A High-End Finish(63)
Saturday morning, I was still in pain. I felt drained and stiff all over again. But on a positive note, at least I hadn’t dreamed of barbells strangling me.
Another happy note was that when I hobbled downstairs to make coffee, I found Jane already there, fixing breakfast.
“Good morning,” she said, sounding way too cheerful at this hour of the morning. “Coffee’s ready and breakfast is minutes away.”
Recently, Jane had begun testing recipes to use for breakfasts once Hennessey House opened for business. Today she was making her famous apple, bacon, and French toast casserole. I could smell the syrupy topping bubbling in the oven.
It was as delicious as it sounded and went a long way toward making me feel better about life in general again.
After breakfast, Jane went home to take care of some chores and run errands. I washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.
As I was finishing, the phone rang and I grabbed it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me.” I recognized my sister Chloe’s voice instantly.
“Hey, superstar, how are you?” I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to talk.
After years of office and production work in Hollywood, Chloe had climbed up the food chain and had recently become the host of her very own home-improvement show on the DIY Network.
So all those years of hanging out on construction sites with our dad had finally paid off for both of us.
These days, Chloe rarely came back home to visit except on holidays. She had made a good life for herself in Hollywood and had a number of close friends who had also moved there from everywhere else in the country. Last year, Dad had helped her buy an adorable cottage in the Silver Lake hills. She’d been with her steady boyfriend for a few years now and his parents loved her.
After we touched on all the important stuff—health and happiness and new clothes—I said, “Tell me about the show. What are you working on?”
“We just filmed a segment on earthquake damage to concrete patios.”
“Ooh. Fascinating stuff.”
We both laughed. As long as she was happy, that’s all I cared about. Chloe had a warm, caring soul that somehow, for no lack of effort on Dad’s part or mine, had never fit in here in Lighthouse Cove. During her freshman year in high school, her best friend had died of cancer. Some of the new rich kids in her class thought it was funny that Chloe was so distraught about it, so they liked to make fun of her. Chloe kicked the crap out of a few of the girls and even one boy. After she was threatened with expulsion from school, she resisted making friends again or even getting close to anyone from around here.
She loathed the whole class structure that some newer, wealthier residents had tried to impose on those of us who’d been born and raised here. The townies.
Maybe it helped that in Hollywood, everyone she knew was from somewhere else, so they all started out on an even playing field. For whatever reason, she had found it easier to make friends there and be happy again. Dad and I missed her, but we both knew she was better off where she was. Besides, I talked to her on the phone every other week or so.
I shared all the stories about the murders and she was fascinated, especially with my major role in the macabre scenarios. When I revealed that the murder weapons were actually my own tools, she was horrified.
“Yeah, it’s been pretty awful,” I confessed, “especially when our new police chief thought I should be his number-one suspect.”
“No way,” she said. “You wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“You’re wrong. I kill fleas all the time. I take great pleasure in doing so.”
“Well, no wonder he suspects you. You’re a brazen flea killer.”
And after I told her about my bicycle crash and the severed brake line, she accused me of going to a lot of trouble just to meet the delectable new author. We laughed awhile longer, talked about our holiday plans, and promised we would send photos and e-mail more often before we finally ended the call.
Once I hung up the phone, I felt restless and unsure of what to do next. After talking to my sister for almost an hour, I missed my dad. But since he wouldn’t be home for a few more days, I was stuck with this antsy feeling.
Whenever I felt this way, the best thing to do was bury myself in work. But, sadly, I was still in too much pain to actually show up at one of my job sites and pound nails. Instead, I decided to do some gardening and then figure out where to go from there.
For the next hour I clipped fragrant herbs and tied them in bundles to dry. Later this winter I would stir the savory bundles into soups and stews. Some of the herbs I dried were pretty enough to use for decorating and aromatic enough to add to sachets and potpourri. So rather than aimlessly running out the clock, I could chalk up this extra time toward making Christmas goodies for my friends.
Although the air was cool, the sun had grown warm, so I took off my sweater and stared up to see if there were any clouds in the sky. That’s when I noticed that the window of Mac’s apartment was halfway open. I took that to mean that he was in there, even though I hadn’t seen him since he’d moved in. His big black SUV was parked in front of my house, another sign of his presence. As I continued to wrap twine around stalks of herbs, I began to fantasize about his lifestyle.
Was he hunkered down writing a new book? Did he work all night and sleep all day? I wondered if he knew many people in town, the best places to eat and shop, and whom to call for deliveries. Did he realize that our town was a magnet for New Age foodies and health nuts? Did he care? Was he a vegan? I hoped not, although it was none of my business. But, really, what was wrong with a little red meat, anyway, as long as the animal was raised humanely?