Bleeding hearts, p.13
Bleeding Hearts, page 13
Cate echoed his words. “…suck it up?”
Anastasia chimed in. “Get over herself. Am I right?”
Pax nodded. “Pretty much. Thing is, if she can’t talk to him with other people around, it won’t work. His friends are a part of him. They’re going to be around if anything happens. And those other ways are…too much.”
A soft smile played on Declan’s lips. “So, what should I tell this writer?”
Pax said, “Guys admire bravery. Any guy who’s worth liking would think it’s pretty great someone came to talk to him. Doesn’t have to be anything big, just a ‘Hey, how’s it going?’ Or ‘Did you get the notes for Spanish?’ Anything to get the ball rolling. If he talks, great. If not, then there’s no physical proof of her crush and she can move on without embarrassment.”
“I like it, the kid’s smart,” Joe said. “Might have to replace you.”
“Funny,” Declan said. “You haven’t even paid me for my first gig, and I’m already ousted.”
“Maybe he could do a young reader version,” Anastasia said. “Couldn’t hurt to have options.”
Maeve tilted her chin. “Could be good. Get Joe new readers.”
“I want to read the next one,” Cate whined, reaching out to snatch a card from Maeve’s hands.
Pax raised both eyebrows as his attention volleyed between those in front of him. “Is this what you all do every Friday night?”
The adults stopped their chatter. Declan looked at his friends, the Bleeding Hearts, and smiled at Pax. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Kinda weird,” Pax said. “But I like it.”
Eighteen
“Special delivery,” Cate called. She entered the plant shop with a bag in each hand. “Are you a halibut fan?”
“Depends. What’s that?” Declan had finished unpacking his latest plant delivery onto the new shelving. He’d repurposed a few glass bowls from the bar’s days to create height in the displays. This allowed him to make better use of space. He bumped one orchid against another, and a bloom fell off. “Son of a siren.”
“What was that?”
Declan picked up the fallen blossom and twirled it between his fingers. “Oh, just something Pax says, to keep from swearing. Kind of rolls off the tongue.”
“Yeah, if you don’t know any si—” Cate began, then changed the subject. “Halibut is a fish. You know…” she pressed both palms together and waved them outward from her middle. “Might be the last catch of the season so I saved you some. Got a fridge?” She eyed the plastic sack, heavy with filets. “And a freezer?”
“In the kitchen,” Declan said. He whipped out his phone to add “how to cook halibut” to his research list, then hunted in a drawer for some wire.
Several minutes later, Cate emerged. Her damp hair was tied back in a customary braid. “Went out with the fellas to see what’s biting,” she said. “Got some dirt on Steve in addition to the fish.”
“Tell me more,” Declan said. He held out the fallen orchid blossom to her, two fine wires sticking out from his wrap job. “For your hair.”
Cate took the gift. “I love it,” she said, and wove the wires through her thick plait. Reminds me of when I visit Hawaii. Get all kinds of things stuck in my hair, but I’ve never minded the orchids. Too many tourists toss their leis into the ocean to make a wish. Such a silly waste,” she said, looking at the blossom.
“You were saying?”
“Oh, yes. Steve has a boat at the docks. No one’s been near it since he died. The guys were saying no one would want it now that it’s haunted. No one local, anyway” Cate tucked the flower behind one ear and reached into the paper sack she’d left on the bar. She removed a stack of napkins, half of which she piled in front of Declan before creating her own stack. Her hands disappeared into the bag again.
“Haunted?” Grown fishermen scared of a personal watercraft was ludicrous in Declan’s mind.
Cate withdrew two newspaper-wrapped bundles and set one on Declan’s napkins before placing the other in front of herself. Declan stepped behind the bar and filled a couple of water glasses while she continued to talk. “Al said he heard bumps and clattering from it a couple nights this week. Random lights on. According to him, Steve’s last sail was a disaster, then with the way he died…no one wants to take on that kind of luck. Fishermen are a superstitious bunch.”
“I thought he drowned?” Declan pressed. He set the two glasses in front of each of them, added a pair of forks and some salt and pepper shakers. Whatever Cate brought had a delicious aroma.
His surprise lunch date unwrapped her parcel. “Open yours,” she said. “You’ll love it.”
Declan lifted the layers of newspaper to reveal several hunks of fried meat atop a bed of fries. Cate handed him a packet of malt vinegar and a couple that contained ketchup. “Dig in,” she said, and took a bite. Declan followed suit.
“This is incredible,” he groaned.
“One of my favorites,” Cate said. “I’m a…sushi kind of girl. I like most of it raw, but halibut’s the exception.”
As the long-haired beauty chowed down, Declan observed her. The woman’s sun kissed cheeks were smattered with freckles, the pupils of her green eyes circled in yellow. Her arms were lean and muscular. She was curvy and nimble, an athlete. Also of note, she showed no signs of attraction to Declan. Sure she was married, but that hadn’t stopped thousands before her from throwing themselves at his feet. He wondered if these were platonic relationships—what he had with the Bleeding Hearts. Not every interaction had an undercurrent of romance.
“Anyway,” Cate said, daubing more vinegar on her halibut. “They told me Steve was a championship swimmer in college. Used to swim every morning, even in the pissing down rain. Said it was good for him. I’m surprised I never saw him out there. The idea that an experienced seaman who could swim like a fish would drown is baffling at best, a curse at the worst.”
Declan dipped a fry in ketchup. “Are the fishermen forming their own investigation club?”
Cate shook her head. “Coroner already ruled it a drowning and said that he’d been bobbing about for a while. They’re lucky the sea lions didn’t play catch with him.”
From his position on the widow’s walk, Declan watched Pax head up and over the hill. He’d claimed his house to be just over the ridge. The boy sent his mother the promised text, then saluted Declan as he trudged over the hill.
“I like that kid,” Declan said.
“I do, too,” Anastasia said. She huddled over a case of equipment, snapping parts together.
After saying goodnight to Pax, they’d ducked into Jess’s house through the back door. Declan ignored the guilt of having pocketed the house key along with the key to the garage during the power outage. If anything else happened and he needed access, he would have it. The new owner would change the locks when they took over, he thought, so no harm in having access for a while.
Anastasia had balked at the ladder to the uppermost story but acquiesced when Declan volunteered to carry the case up for her.
“Beautiful spot,” she said. “I can see why Jess liked it.”
Declan didn’t reply. Being on the narrow walkway, a chunk of railing still missing, was unsettling. He tried not to picture Jess’s body splayed out in the grass. He faced the Columbia, its surface an eerie darkness. Lyncus waited near the edge of the walkway, licking one paw and rubbing it across his forehead as though several stories up was an everyday situation.
“Hey, meant to ask you,” Anastasia started. “Would it be cool if my ex drops off our dog at your place? Just until I get off work. He’s got to head to Portland for a meeting.”
“Your…ex…dog…what?”
“We share custody of a dog. Uncle is his name. I know, that’s a thing people on TV do,” Anastasia said. “We just both love the little guy so much.”
“I’m still back at ex.”
Anastasia laughed. “Brody. We were married for a dozen years, about eight of them happy. Friends-ish, now. Anyway, when we weren’t sure if we wanted kids, we adopted a dog from Maeve. Now we trade off every week—like a kid. Kinda nice for vacation purposes…” She trailed off. “Look it was a dumb idea, sorry for asking. It’s just that I can’t have a dog at work. But if Brody could leave him with you before he leaves, then I could come get him on my lunch and run him home. Normally the timing’s better.”
“Not a problem. Don’t know much about dogs, but I’ve managed to keep the cat alive this long. How much harder can another animal be?”
“You’re a life saver,” Anastasia said. “Brody will bring him as soon as he docks.”
“Docks?”
“He’s a guide. Takes the wealthy out on whatever kind of adventure they want…within reason. Usually that’s fishing. Brody’s great for keeping gulls away from the amateurs who dangle their first catch like it’s bait.” Anastasia flicked a few switches, loaded up an app on her phone, and the drone, a machine the size of a serving platter, lifted from its rooftop launchpad. “And we’re off!”
“It’s quieter than I thought,” Declan said. He kept his eyes on the whirring machine, its blinking white light a beacon.
Anastasia ran the device through a pattern of maneuvers in the yard. The device bobbed and whirred, landed, did a flip, then took off again. She handed her phone to Declan. “Here’s the camera view. You can be the eyes of our operation.”
Declan held the small screen displaying a patch of grass below. “Are we allowed to do this?”
“Fly a drone?”
“At night. To potentially spy on people,” Declan said. The screen followed the fence line as Anastasia skimmed it with the drone.
“Yes and no. I don’t need a permit to fly for you over your own residence, but then things start to get tricky. I’ve got a license, and our drone is up to code, but we’ve still got to be careful. I won’t be flying into anyone else’s yard, just sticking to the streets and public areas. That I’m allowed to do.”
“Reasonable,” Declan said, ease settling in.
“I’m also using one of my personal drones, which is far more generic than those we have at work. If anything happens to it, there’s no ties to me.”
Declan’s eyes were wide. “So, you think we’ll see something good? This is far more exciting than I thought.”
Anastasia laughed. “Covering my bases. Don’t want to get fired from a job I just landed.” Her eyes on the drone, Anastasia flew it out and over the street. She stuck the tip of her tongue out between her lips while she focused. “That said, you never know what will come into view.”
“Any idea where we should look?”
“Flying kind of blind as far as that’s concerned. I’ll fly a pattern so it’s easy to track.”
Anastasia flew a zigzag, east to west. They spotted a couple making out in a car, someone smoking behind a dumpster, and a group of kids throwing French fries for the gulls. “Pretty mild night,” she said.
Declan squinted, attempting to spot the drone in the sky. Through the camera, he watched bushes and trees rush by, a rainbow of parked cars below. “I see it,” he said, triangulating. “It’s by the Astor Building.”
Anastasia nodded. “Coming up the backside of the brewery block now.”
Declan watched through the screen as sidewalk squares fell away. Movement in the corner caught his eye. “Wait, back there,” he said, aware of how misdirected that statement would sound. “I mean, by the corner of the building. I saw someone.”
Anastasia brought the drone in a wide circle until a lone figure came into view. She peered at the phone in Declan’s hands. “That’s Hamilton Wainwright.”
“Mr. Mustache, himself. Can you follow him?”
“I’ll keep him in our sights but stay back a bit.”
From the screen, Declan watched Hamilton zip up a black hoodie and lift the hood over his head. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked at an easy pace, as though he had nowhere to be. At Exchange and 14th, he turned up the hill. Several houses down, he ducked into a yard. “Between the fences—there.” Declan pointed to the screen.
Anastasia shook her head. “Can’t go closer. Private property. I’ll hang back.”
Hamilton emerged moments later, stuffing his phone into his back pocket. He continued up the street a half block before ducking into another yard. He repeated this pattern for several more blocks.
“What is he doing?” Anastasia asked. “Can you tell?”
“Involves his phone, whatever it is,” Declan said. “Taking pictures?”
At a street corner, he whirled. On camera, he stared straight at Declan and held up both middle fingers. “I think we’ve been spotted,” Declan said.
Anastasia checked the screen. “Oh boy. All right, I’ll bring her in.”
Minutes later, the drone landed on the widow’s walk in a gentle descent.
“Think he followed it?”
Anastasia shook her head. She collected the machine and began to disassemble the parts for storage. “Nope, I took too many turns at a decent speed.”
“He was up to something,” Declan said. “The question is what.”
“Joe might be right,” Anastasia said. “One Hamilton Wainwright is worth a second look.”
A series of short yaps announced the Scottish terrier to the shop. The dog was followed in by a cheerful man holding the end of the leash. “Hi,” the man said, holding out his hand. “I’m Brody. ‘Stasia said you’d be expecting me?”
Declan’s watering can was filled to the brim. He gave the man’s hand a firm shake, willing the water not to slop over the sides. “Come on in. It’s good to meet you.”
“Great place you’ve got here. ‘Stasia will be the first to tell you I don’t get out much, so I could probably use a few plant buddies in the office. How long have you been open?”
“Not long,” Declan said. He thought of playing tag in the grottos as a child. Stately rows of Italian Cypress lining the great halls. Tumbling over a bed of rose petals with— “Wait, what was that again?”
“I said I could use a few tips myself. Got any that would survive a bachelor who’s gone for several nights in a row?”
Brody wasn’t tall, but he was sturdy. He wore a flannel shirt with a pair of corduroy pants, the cuffs tucked into hiking boots. He was shabby, but clean, if a little scruffy about the chin.
“I’m thinking of a snake plant. Also known as a mother-in-law’s tongue.” Declan lifted a pot with large, flat leaves edged in yellow, the spires twisting upward. “Can definitely handle a little neglect, and they look great year-round.”
“I’ll take it,” Brody said. He took out his wallet. “And thanks again for watching our dog.”
“So, this is the little guy, then?” Declan regarded the pup. “Doesn’t seem too tough.” He thought of Maeve’s wild pack.
“Aww, our Uncle’s a very good boy—except around pigeons. Hates ‘em.”
Declan accepted the leash. The scruffy black dog snuffed at his shoes before turning a tight circle to settle on the ground, chin on his front paws.
“Just walked him, so he should be good for a bit. A little water, if you’ve got a dish, but he shouldn’t need much else.” Brody squatted to pat the dog. “See you next weekend, bud.”
“I’ve never had a dog, but Anastasia said she wouldn’t be long. I’m sure he’ll be no trouble at all.”
When Anastasia asked if Declan would watch Uncle until she got off work, he’d jumped at the chance. His great-uncle had made dog ownership look easy. Feed them decent food, give them a task, and show affection. Trying on the hat of a dog owner had appeal.
Declan was more worried about Lyncus, however. He was unsure how the cat would handle a temporary canine buddy. Instead of protesting, the cat lounged on the bar top where he could maintain watch over the new furry intruder.
Brody walked toward the door, his plant tucked under one arm. At the exit, he turned back. “Say, Stasia said your little group was discussing Steve Corey—the real estate agent? She and I loved watching those true crime shows once upon a time, so it makes total sense she’d be into detective work.”
“Uh…yeah?”
“That man practically begged me to sell him the house when Stasia and I first decided to split. Said he had a big client looking for investment properties. Offered cash. I put him off. Never told ‘Stasia about it. Feelings ran a bit too high back then. You know how that goes.”
“Do I ever.”
Nineteen
“I’m here with a delivery,” Declan said, a massive autumnal flower arrangement in his hands. There were sunflowers and mums, eucalyptus sprigs, and a branch of magnolia leaves he’d clipped on his walk.
Pax had been more than willing to earn a little money by running an errand. Declan had needed to hurry, making do with fluffing up the bouquets Pax snagged from the grocery store. Waiting for Anastasia to collect Uncle gave Declan the time to assemble the arrangements. The dog yipped when Declan presented the final results of his artistry.
When Anastasia arrived, she was in full support of Declan’s plan. She dropped him off at his first afternoon stop and wished him luck.
Now, Declan leaned over a Formica countertop, engaging with a woman wearing giant glasses and her hair in a tight knot atop her head.
“What is the delivery?”
Declan looked down at the bouquet, then to the woman. “They’re flowers,” he said. “In memoriam.”
The woman blinked.
“Can I just give this to someone in management?”
With false talons decorated with rhinestones, the assistant tapped a few buttons on the office phone keypad before picking up the handset. “Mr. Jones? Delivery for you at the front desk.” She sank the headset back into its cradle. “He’ll be out shortly,” she said. “You can have a seat.”
Dismissed, Declan hefted the arrangement back into his arms and stepped away from the desk. Moments later, a man breezed into the lobby of Coastal Realty, a wide smile on his face. “Hello. And what have we here?” He held his hands out toward the bouquet, as though touching it were forbidden.
