is it, Sunshine?'
At first I thought the woman was being sarcastic and talking to me, but then I realized she was actually speaking to the dog. She strode over to the edge of the porch, leaned down, and patted the dog soothingly. 'It's okay, Sunshine girl,' she crooned. 'I'm right here.'
So Sunshine was a girl. With a strange dog, it's hard to tell that kind of thing from a distance. The woman caught sight of me and frowned, first at me and then at my shiny red Porsche. Since she was so much higher than I was, she appeared to be a giant. Not necessarily a friendly one, either.
'Who are you?' she demanded coldly. 'What do you want?'
'My name's Beaumont,' I said. 'I understand my daughter lives here.'
I'm not a particularly good judge of women's ages. She could have been anywhere from her late forties to her early sixties. Her hair, mostly gray, was parted in the middle, braided, and then pulled into some kind of knot at the back of her neck. Wearing boots, jeans, and a man's old dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, she stood on the porch with her arms crossed, staring down at me with the afternoon sun playing off the even planes of her spare, angular features.
I'm not a weight lifter, but I recognize muscle definition when I see it. Since the woman's forearms had plenty of muscle definition, it was safe to assume the rest of her did, too.
'Really. Kelly didn't mention she was expecting visitors,' the woman remarked with a coldness that was only one step short of sending me packing.
I wondered what I'd done to merit such open hostility. Before saying anything more, I studied the woman closely. Her face was tan, but without the leathery look that comes from too many years of unrelenting sun. Everything about her was plain except for her eyes. They were a startling shade of violet that hardened to a flinty gray while she gazed down at me.
'It's a surprise,' I answered, trying to keep things light. 'I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by.'
'I'll just bet,' the woman returned, not bothering to mute her biting sarcasm.
It wasn't going at all well. If this woman was the designated keeper of the co-op's gate, then I would have to find some way around her if I wanted to speak to Kelly.
'Look,' I said, drawing myself up to a full-attention stance. 'If you'd just tell my daughter I'm here…'
Eyeball-to-eyeball confrontations are just that. The first person to blink loses. My damn car phone rang just then. I lost the glare-down fair and square.
'You'd better go answer your high-priced toy,' she jeered.
Trying to maintain my somewhat damaged dignity, I turned and stalked back to the car. Naturally, my caller was Alex. 'Did you find Kelly?' she asked.
'I think so.'
'You're not sure?'
'Not exactly. I haven't seen her yet. Give me a break, Alex. I just now got here. What gives?'
'Denver found us a room at a place called the Oak Hill Bed-and-Breakfast. We've got tickets to Romeo and Juliet in the Bowmer Theatre tonight and to the opening of Taming of the Shrew in the Elizabethan tomorrow. Denver's going to try to get us in to see The Majestic Kid at the Black Swan tomorrow afternoon, and she's invited us to dinner tonight. Meet us in the dining room at the Mark Anthony at six.'
'The Mark Anthony?' I repeated. 'Where's that?'
'It's a hotel owned by one of Denver's friends. It's back on the main street, near where you dropped me off. You can't miss it. It's the tallest building in town.'
When someone giving me out-of-town directions says the words 'You can't miss it,' I know I can and will. Miss it, that is. 'Right,' I said. 'See you there.'
I put down the phone and turned back to where the woman stood watching me from the porch, her lips curled in grim amusement. The dog, exhausted with the effort of barking, had flopped down at her feet and was snoring noisily. From inside the house came the inviting smells of something cooking, soup or a roast perhaps, and the unmistakable aroma of baking bread. But baking her own bread didn't transform the woman in front of me into Homemaker of the Year or make her the least bit friendly, either. Certainly not to me.
'Well,' I said, 'is Kelly here or not?'
'It depends,' the woman answered gravely.
'On what?'
'On what you want with her.'
I was tired. My temper frayed around the edges. 'Look,' I said testily. 'My daughter is a runaway. She doesn't even have a high school diploma. I've come to send her back home to her mother where she belongs.'
'Kelly is eighteen years old,' the woman pointed out. 'What if she doesn't want to go?'
I was losing it. 'All day long, any number of people have been quick to remind me about how old Kelly is. She happens to be my daughter. I know damn good and well she's eighteen years old. I also know she isn't old enough to be out on her own. I want her to go back home and finish growing up.'
Suddenly, with the graceful agility of a cat, the woman hopped off the porch, landing effortlessly in front of me despite the four-foot drop. Her nimble leap both impressed and depressed me at the same time. My ability to jump like that has all but been eliminated by an ever-increasing assortment of middle-aged aches and pains- including incipient arthritis and heel spurs. Whatever this woman's age was, she certainly wasn't acting it.
Now that we were both on the same level, I discovered the woman wasn't that tall, only about five foot eight or so. From the way she glowered at me, though, she didn't find our relative sizes the least bit intimidating.
'Kelly may not be old enough to live on her own in your estimation, Mr. Beaumont, but in the eyes of the law she's an emancipated young woman. She holds a responsible job. Two, in fact. She pays her rent on time and causes no trouble.'
'You're telling me you're her landlord?'
'Landlady,' the woman corrected firmly. 'So don't think you can come in here and push her around.'
'I see, Miss…er…'
'My name is Connors. Marjorie Connors. Mrs. Marjorie Connors.'
At least I knew my opponent's name. 'Well, Mrs. Connors, I would very much like to see my daughter, if she's home.'
'She's out back, playing with Amber.'
'Who's Amber?'
'The girl Kelly baby-sits. Amber and her mother live here, too.'
'I see. Which way?'
Marjorie Connors didn't move. Her striking eyes never left mine. 'You're the policeman, aren't you?'
'Yes. I'm a detective. With Seattle P.D.'
'You may be a detective in Seattle,' Marjorie Connors said pointedly, 'but not here. Understand?'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'It means that if you try to bully your daughter in any way, I won't hesitate for a moment. I'll call the sheriff. Kelly came here of her own free will. As far as I'm concerned, she's welcome to stay as long as she wants. Do I make myself clear?'
Gorillas have a way of making their wants and desires known. So did Marjorie Connors. 'I believe we understand one another, Mrs. Connors. Now, if you don't mind…'
'Come with me,' she said, moving toward the back of the house. She set off at a brisk pace, with me trailing along behind. We walked around to a side yard and threaded our way through a collection of ladders. Here, the scraping was finished and painting was well underway. Around the corner, on the back of the house, restoration was complete. Fresh paint gleamed in the sun. A spacious, newly built, multilevel deck covered the entire length of the house. Slotted trellis material lined the insides of the rails, making the deck totally child proof.
'You'll find Kelly in the play area,' Marjorie said, pointing down a slight incline to where a small enclosure had been fenced off into a carefully mowed play yard. Inside it I could see a swing set, a small tricycle, and a huge tractor tire filled with sand. The sandbox was shaded by an unfurled Martini and Rossi umbrella that presumably had been liberated from the now-naked table of some unfortunate sidewalk cafe.
At first, I saw no one but a small red-haired child playing alone in the sand. She was enthusiastically pushing a plastic bulldozer back and forth, building mounds and destroying same.
