Suspicion

“You stopped taking notes about twenty minutes ago,” she said. “And interesting is one of those words people use when they can’t think of anything else to say.”

He looked at her for a full five seconds. “Interesting.”

HOURS LATER HER FACE STILL burned every time she replayed the exchange. Screw him, she finally decided. It wasn’t as if she didn’t already have enough on her mind. Like her father still giving her the runaround on the cottage. That night, she packed an overnight bag, put Henri in her Land Rover and drove across the island to Ingrid’s. The following morning, she called Sam on her cell phone. When he continued to waffle, she left Henri at Ingrid’s, drove back to Avalon and tried to work. Thursday night she checked into the Bay View Hotel. Friday morning she ran into her father when she stopped at Von’s to pick up food for Henri.

“About the cottage, Dad,” she began.

“We’ll go and have a look at it. Don’t even know if it’s safe for you to live there. Deck’s rotting, roof leaks.”

“I told you, I’ll get it fixed.”

“I want to see it first,” he said. “Come on. Jeep’s outside. Just have a couple of things to do and we’ll go look at the place.”

Two hours later they were barreling across the interior, Sam rambling on about a species of cactus he wanted to show her. “Never seen anything like it growing here before,” he said. “You’ll be amazed. Just can’t remember exactly where I saw it.”

Eventually he gave up searching and they headed back into town. The wind pressed her back into the seat as Sam whipped the Jeep around the curve of Pebbly Beach Road. Maybe Ingrid was right. Maybe the cottage wasn’t worth the headache of dealing with Sam. Maybe she should have Lil show her the place on Marilla. Sam was driving and gesticulating and rambling on about this and that. You don’t listen to Sam, she reflected. He’s background noise.

“The purpose of this little expedition,” she reminded him, “was to see the cottage. If we’re not going to do that, just let me off in town. I’ve got Henri locked up in the studio. I need to get back to feed him.”

“Aaah.” Sam waved her protest away. “That dog’s not going to starve. Do him good to lose a few pounds, anyway. Damn.” He looked across Ava at the blue waters of the bay. “I’d like to get another Catalina marathon organized next year. No reason why it couldn’t be done again. The English Channel at its narrowest point is the same width as the Catalina Channel. Twenty-two miles. I could see reinstating the George Young Spirit of Catalina Award. He’s the guy—”

“Who swam it in 1927,” Ava interrupted. “Do you have any idea how many times you’ve told me that?”

“What was his time?”

“Fifteen hours and forty-six minutes.” She’d committed the facts to memory when she was about ten. “And in 1952 Florence Chadwick beat his time by nearly two hours. I need to get back, Dad. Forget about the cottage, okay? I’m not interested anymore—”

“Sure you are. You’ve always wanted that place. There’s a Dumpster around here somewhere.” He drove slowly, checking the side of the road. “I saw it this morning. Someone dumped a whole load of lumber. Just what I need for the deck.”

“So I can have the cottage?”

“Makes no sense, but if that’s what you want to do… Need to fix that deck, though.”

“I can buy the damn wood.”

“Why waste good money?” He brought the Jeep to a screeching halt in the middle of the street. “There it is. See the wood sticking out?”

“Dad, you can’t stop here,” Ava protested, but he was out of the car, the top half of his body already disappearing into the Dumpster. Through the sideview mirror, she could see a white van, and behind that a golf cart. Neither vehicle could move until the Jeep made way. Drivers would recognize her father’s car, though, and wait patiently, because that was Dr. Sam for you. She glanced again at the mirror—four cars behind them now. Over at the Dumpster, she could see her father’s tanned legs beneath a pair of tattered paisley Bermuda shorts. She slid over to the driver’s seat and drove the Jeep to the side of the road.

The other cars trickled past, the drivers sending jaunty waves. Through the windshield, to her left, the Bay View Hotel and, next to it, the Argonaut office, where Scott Campbell was probably sitting at his computer making condescending observations about small-town life.

Her father yelled something from the Dumpster.

Ava glanced at her watch. Five. She tipped her head back against the seat rest, closed her eyes. Her head was a giant gourdlike thing, crammed to the bursting point with…stuff. One tap and it would all come pouring out. Orange emotional goo, seeds of doubt, stringy bits of memory…

“Ava.” Her father appeared at the passenger window. “Are you deaf or something? How come you moved the car? I need you to help me haul out the wood. It’s good stuff. I’ll be able to do the whole deck and the handrail.” He started back toward the Dumpster. “Come on.”

Ava sighed and got out of the car. Somehow it always ended up being Sam’s agenda. “Five minutes, Dad, and then I’m going to walk.”

“This won’t take five minutes.” He gestured at the Dumpster. “Okay, we can do this two ways. I’ll help you climb in and you can hand the wood to me, or I’ll get in there, but you’ll have to give me a boost—”

“Dad…” Ava held her hands to her face for a moment. Her heart was hammering so hard she felt dizzy. She took a deep breath and eyed the rusty Dumpster, brimming over with mattresses and cardboard cartons. “I don’t want to go climbing in Dumpsters.”

“Fine, I’ll do it.” He started shimmying up the side. “While we’re standing here yakking, we might as well unload it.” He threw a piece of wood at her. “Here, you start stacking it as I hand it to you.”

Exasperated, she took the wood, set it on the sidewalk and reached for the piece he held out to her. “It doesn’t matter what I have to do or what anyone else wants to do. It’s always your damn agenda first, isn’t it?”

“Fine.” He slid down to the sidewalk, brushed dust off his shorts. “Go feed the dog or whatever it is you have to do that’s so important. I’ll do this by myself. It didn’t seem like a whole lot to ask, but obviously I was wrong.”

“Dad…” He’d started walking toward the Jeep with an armful of wood and she grabbed his arm. “Why does it have to be this way?”

He pulled away, tossed the bundle of wood in the back of the Jeep and started back to the Dumpster. “Go. Leave.”

“No.” She stood in the middle of the sidewalk glaring at him. “Why, Dad? Why does everything always have to be so damn black and white? Why just for once, can’t you compromise?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I don’t want to stand here debating it.”

“Dad.” She watched him climb into the Jeep and start stacking the wood. “Just talk to me. Please.”

“Leave me alone,” he said. “You sound just like your mother.”

EVEN FROM A FEW YARDS distant, Scott could see that Ava Lynsky was not happy. He’d finished his beer on the hotel patio and was heading to the Argonaut office when he glanced up the road to see a Jeep blocking traffic. He thought he recognized the Jeep and the driver. By the time he reached it, the Jeep was on the side of the road, and Ava, in an oversize white T-shirt, black leggings and running shoes, seemed close to tears.

“Can I help?” he asked.

She looked at him. “Oh, no, we’re fine.” She pushed her hair back with her hand. “Dumpster diving is a Lynsky family favorite. Promotes bonding and understanding. I could be home working, feeding my dog, anything. But no…” Her voice cracked. “Sorry.” She flashed him a bright smile. “Enthusiasm. Sometimes it just carries me away.”

“Hey, Scott,” Sam Lynsky called from the Jeep. “Just in time. All kinds of good wood in here that’s just what I need to rebuild Ava’s deck. She doesn’t want to get her clothes dirty, but—”

“Go to hell, Dad.” Hands fisted at her sides, Ava glared at Sam. “Just go to hell. I don’t need you to rebuild my deck. I don’t need you for anything.”

Scott stood rooted on the spot for a minute. Ava had stormed off down the road and Sam was back at the Dumpster for more wood. It took him less than ten minutes to help Sam, now all cheery affability, load the rest of the wood into the Jeep and inquire casually about Ava’s address. “Need to get together to talk about that book,” Lynsky said as he drove off. “Remind me the next time you see me.”

Ava hadn’t gone far. As he started back to the Argonaut office, Scott glanced over his shoulder at the small triangular park squeezed into a piece of land between the St. Catherine’s Hotel and the newspaper office. Last week he’d taken his laptop out there to write, inspired by the views of the bay just across the road. Now Ava sat on a bench there, her back to the street, shoulders hunched. He stood at the edge of the park for a moment, then walked the few yards across the grass.

“Ava.”

She turned. Her eyes were red, her lips dry and chapped. Behind her, steep cliffs brushed clear blue sky.

“Hi,” she said.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“I can leave you alone. If I’m intruding—”

“It depends,” she said. “You have this sympathetic look on your face. If that’s why you’re here, then yes, you are intruding. Sympathy is not an acceptable reason for you being here.”