A High-End Finish(75)

And that was the same afternoon I had met Luisa Capello and her brother Buddy, practically right outside the diner. Maybe they’d had a run-in with Wendell earlier, but that was admittedly a long shot.

The following day, on my bicycle ride out to the lighthouse, my brakes had stopped working and I’d crashed into a field. That’s when I met Mac Sullivan fortuitously.

If my bicycle brakes had been tampered with, would it automatically have been done by the same person who killed Jerry? When would he have done it? And how would he have known I would be forced to ride my bike for the next few days?

Had he screwed around with my truck battery? Or had he merely seen me riding around town on Sunday? Maybe he had seen my truck being towed to the auto shop. It was either one of those possibilities—or it was all one big coincidence.

The next night, I picked up my truck and parked it in my driveway. The following morning, Wendell was found dead in his car. Two days after that, the bench-press rack broke—or was tampered with—and I was almost strangled by the heavy barbell. If the gym incident was deliberate and connected with the other attacks, then Penny and Jennifer were the ones to watch. Whitney had been there, too, but had left early. Or so Jennifer claimed. Had another suspect been at the gym that evening? Someone I hadn’t noticed? Stan or Joyce? What about Luisa? Or her brothers, Buddy and Marco?

Three days after the gym accident, I was bashed over the head with my own hammer, less than two hours after a nasty run-in with Jennifer and Whitney.

And that was it.

No wonder I was exhausted. And dizzy. I stared at my list of occurrences and couldn’t quite believe I had been through all that grief and trauma in just a few short weeks. I wasn’t the only one, of course. Two people were dead and the entire population of Lighthouse Cove was awash in fear and suspicion and guilt.

I stared at my notes and tried to see a pattern somewhere. Sadly, though, my brain had turned to mush. I couldn’t begin to make any connections to anything with my head spinning and my vision fogging up. I would have to think about it later. For now, I popped two headache pills, grabbed the soft throw, and pulled it over me and tucked myself into the couch for a nap.

? ? ?

I woke up to eat a little dinner and then went back to bed and slept for twelve hours straight. When I arose the next morning, I felt better than I had in days.

The first thing I noticed when I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror was that my eyesight was no longer as impaired as it had been. My face wasn’t as blurry. I was so happy I almost cried, except I knew the tears would screw up my vision, so I stopped myself.

A part of me was sorry my vision was so good again, because now I could see that I looked like crap. My hair was a tangled mess because I’d done nothing but sleep and avoid showers for the past three days. I had been warned not to get the bandage wet, so while I’d soaked in the bathtub yesterday morning, I hadn’t been able to wash my hair. I now looked like a red-haired, washed-out zombie.

I went downstairs to grab some coffee and call my doctor. I needed to remove the damn bandage and finally wash my yucky hair.

“You’re looking a little more lively today,” Dad said when I walked into the kitchen. He was eating cereal and reading the Lighthouse Standard, our local newspaper. Dad always said it gave him all the news he needed.

“I feel pretty lively, except for this hair.”

He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know. I’d say it’s looking pretty lively, too.”

“But not in a good way, right?” I chuckled as I poured the coffee and glanced around. “Did Lizzie take off?”

“She’s got something with the kids this morning. She said she’d be back later this afternoon.”

“Okay, although I really don’t think she needs to stay with me. I’m feeling so much better.”

“Glad to hear it.” He flipped a page of the newspaper. “Your new tenant came by to see how you were doing.”

“You met Mac?”

“Yeah. Nice guy.” He flipped through the newspaper to find the sports section.

“Dad, didn’t you recognize him?” I sat down at the table. “That’s MacKintyre Sullivan.”

“Who?” He gave me a puzzled look; then his eyes went wide. “Wait. You kidding me? That’s the Jake Slater guy?”

I grinned. “The very same.”

“What in hell is he doing here?”

“He bought the old lighthouse mansion and he’s going to have it restored. While that’s going on, he’s renting the apartment upstairs.”

“Whoa,” he whispered.

I grinned. “I know.”

“MacKintyre Sullivan,” he whispered reverently, and shook his head. “I love that guy.” He tried to go back to reading an article on the World Series, but he was too distracted. He finally gave up, folded the newspaper, and stuck it in the recycle bin. Setting his cereal bowl in the sink, he headed for the back door. “I gotta go call Pete. This is the biggest news in years.”

I shook my head as I watched him jog down the kitchen stairs. Great. Two grisly murders, one deadly assault on his own daughter, not to mention any number of other weird accidents lately. But Jake Slater was the biggest news in years. What else could I do but laugh?

? ? ?

Two nights later, Lizzie picked up a pizza before coming over to spend the night.