Blood Orange Read online

  “We’ll just shoo him away. I’m off-duty, and besides, that’s a job for Harbor Patrol.”

  We reached the water’s edge, then turned and walked westward up the south-facing beach. “The fog’s so wet it’s dripping off the end of my nose,” I groused.

  “Hey, come on now. Don’t spoil the mood.”

  Spoil the mood? I was struggling to not get swept away. Mike and I were playing pretend: the pretense for this meeting was to exchange info about the murder investigation. Who were we fooling? Our minds weren’t on work.

  Within two or three minutes, we stood below the crumbling sandstone cliffs. The tide was pulling out, leaving behind a string of caves with wet, hard-packed sand floors.

  “Jaymie, how about this one? If we climb, there’s a dry place to sit.”

  “Why not,” I heard myself say. I knew I had reasons not to get too close to the guy. Reasons I couldn’t seem to recall.

  The tide had swept the cave clean, but even so, you could smell urine under the sharp odor of brine. A century and a half ago, the caves were used by smugglers. Now dealers hung out here. Recently I’d heard Harbor Patrol had arrested a kid from LA in one of these caves. Fourteen years old, heroin-addicted, the boy was prostituting himself.

  Avoiding the sea anemones clustered at the base, I scampered up a sandstone boulder. “Hey, try and climb up. But I warn you, I’m queen of the hill.”

  “No, you’re a princess. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

  I laughed. “You’re spreading it on pretty thick.”

  “All right, that’s it. Out of my way, I’m storming the ramparts.”

  “Mike, I’ve got something to tell you,” I said when he’d squeezed in beside me. “Something about the murder case.”

  “OK. Just be sure you tell me everything—don’t edit like you usually do.”

  “Sure.” I gave him a sly grin. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  “What’s new,” Mike laughed.

  “Seriously, listen. Did you learn that old song in kindergarten: Go in and out the window, in and out the window…”

  “My mom used to sing that to me. She had a nice voice … kind of like yours.”

  I didn’t know how to answer. Awkwardly, I skipped over it. “Uh … well. I thought about that song yesterday, it just popped into my head. See, I’ve got this dognapping case I’m working on—”

  “You what?”

  I ignored the question. “The dog—owned by a very wealthy client, I might add—was apparently pulled or lured out of her yard through a hole in the fence. But actually, I’m thinking it was just meant to look that way.”

  “You mean the dog was taken by someone inside?”

  “You’re quick,” I teased.

  “Smarty. But how’s this connected to Lili Molina’s murder?”

  “It isn’t. But it made me realize something.” I picked up a broken shell and carved at the damp sandstone boulder. “The window was shut when the girls found Danny. Shut and latched, right? But like I told you, if you looked you could see where someone had pried it open from the outside. And the sill was wiped clean, as if an intruder had climbed through.”

  “Right. And that would mean the killer came in from outside and left through a door. We’ve been over this before, Jaymie. It sounds like someone who didn’t have access, a stranger. A stranger who latched the window afterward, to make it look like an inside job. That’s gotta be good for Danny Armenta, right?”

  “That’s what I thought, at first. But then the song started singing in my head: ‘Go in and out the window.’ … Don’t you see?”

  He shook his head. “All I see is you contradicting yourself.”

  “The window frame, Mike. It was just too obvious.”

  Mike groaned. “Jaymie—”

  “No, listen. Here’s what I think happened. At first, the killer wanted us to believe he’d climbed in through the window. He wanted us to think he was a stranger. But I’ll bet you anything he entered the warehouse through a door.”

  “OK.…”

  “Now, when the girls found Lili’s body, the window was shut and latched, correct?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Mike, don’t get cranky. See, there was no good reason for the killer to close the window if he wanted to make it look like an outsider committed the murder—which he initially did want to do. But what if the guy changed his plan in the heat of battle? At some point, I think he realized Danny Armenta was in the building. That’s when he saw an opportunity that was too good to pass up. After all, what better person to frame?”

  “Hm. I see what you’re getting at. And that would mean the killer knew who Danny was, knew he was mentally ill. An insider for sure. An insider like Jared Crowley, maybe?”

  “Maybe.” I brushed off my hands on my jeans.

  “Jaymie? You know something else you’re not telling me. Something about Crowley?”

  “I’m not sure about anything just yet. When I am, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Sure I will.” Mike sighed. “Listen. You be careful out there in crime land. It’s no place to fly solo. And don’t count on your good looks to get you out of trouble.”

  “Flatter me, I love it.”

  Mike dropped off the boulder to the firm sand. I began to climb down, clinging to the wet rock until he plucked me off the sandstone and into his arms. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d turned and melted into his body.

  “I’m hot. Jaymie … don’t tell me you aren’t too.”

  “Very … very … warm,” I admitted. Our mouths met.

  We moved together against the damp wall of the cave. Just then two middle-aged women walked past the entrance. They looked at us, then glanced away. But their retriever dashed in, squatted down, and pissed near Mike’s boot.

  We both started to laugh and couldn’t quit. Then, just as we got going again, a family with kids in tow walked past. “We’d better quit or we’ll get arrested,” I said. “Lewd and lascivious.”

  “That pretty well describes me right now,” he agreed.

  * * *

  “There’s something I want you to do for me,” Mike said as we trudged back through the dry sand to the parking lot.

  “What’s that?” I asked carefully. I was cooling down, wondering what the hell I’d been playing at.

  “I want you to come up to the ranch with me this weekend. Dad always asks about you, you know.”

  I almost groaned aloud. I could feel him reeling me in like a rainbow trout. How could I get my message across without hurting him again? “Mike, listen. Your dad’s a great guy. But I’m not sure I should—”

  “Before you answer, let me explain.”

  I heard an odd note in his voice and had the sense to back off. “Something serious?”

  “Yeah. Dad’s got cancer, Jaymie. He won’t be able to stay out at the ranch much longer.”

  “Oh God. I’m so sorry.” And I was. I’d met Bill Dawson back when Mike and I were together. Old-time rancher and all-around good man. We’d hit it off immediately, and over fish ’n’ chips out on the wharf, he’d let me know just how delighted he’d be to welcome me into the Dawson clan.

  “I’d really like to visit your dad. But—”

  “But what?” He halted, set his hands on my shoulders, and turned me to face him. “It’s lung cancer, Jaymie. Dad’s not going to beat it.”

  I looked away, to where a homeless woman was curled up on the sand, a threadbare beach towel wrapped tightly around her and covering her face like a mummy.

  “Mike, look. What are we together, you and I? Because your dad will ask me, you can count on it. And I wouldn’t want to lie to him.”

  “We’re not friends, Jaymie. I can tell you that.”

  “No. I guess not.” My voice sounded small.

  “Hey, come on. You know what we are.” He stroked my hair, lifting it back from eyes. “Just step aside, damn it, and let it happen.”

  * * *
r />   Vince Stellato had taught me one lesson: with this crowd, it was better to call ahead. I’d phoned Sutton Frayne for an appointment, and the move seemed to pay off: I was offered a welcoming smile.

  “Miss Zarlin. You’re more attractive than I expected,” Frayne said gallantly. “Please, come aboard.”

  I hopped the gap between the dock and the Icarus. “My reputation precedes me, does it, Mr. Frayne?”

  He tipped back his handsome head and laughed. “I’ve had an earful from Stellato, if that’s what you mean. Somehow Vince missed your obvious charms.”

  “And I missed his.” I knew I was being flattered by a grand master, but it was hard not to respond to the boyish grin.

  “Well. Let’s just say his was the greater oversight, and leave it at that.” Frayne ran a hand through his hair, which naturally drew my attention to it. Strawberry blond, of all things, on a man of fifty or so. The guy was charming, but vain as a thirteen-year-old girl.

  “I hope you don’t mind meeting me here on the boat, Ms. Zarlin. This is where I prefer to hold all my meetings.”

  “Not at all.” I looked over the deck, reminding myself to not be impressed. The Icarus was sleek and beautiful, and the yacht’s owner, while not exactly beautiful, was very good-looking in an upper-crusted, blue-eyed sort of way. Sutton Frayne III wore khaki slacks and an open-neck navy silk shirt. His sleeves were rolled back to reveal forearms tanned to a perfect warm-toast shade. And Frayne was slim and obviously fit: the advantage of a personal trainer, no doubt, if not a personal gym.

  “Let’s talk in the cabin, shall we? We’ll enjoy a glass of iced tea, and I’ll tell you a thing or two about my friend Vince.” He gave me a knowing half-smile. “You said on the phone you’re interviewing people who had contact with the dead girl. But my guess is, you’d like to know more about Stellato.”

  “I’d appreciate hearing your opinion of him,” I said politely.

  “And for a pretty young woman like yourself, I’d be willing to oblige.”

  I followed Sutton Frayne down several steps, to a shipshape lounge gleaming with brass fittings and polished mahogany paneling and built-ins. He waved me to a chrome and black chair, something by a midcentury designer—original, no doubt. “Please, take a seat.”

  “Sure,” I murmured. I couldn’t take my eyes off an oil painting hanging on the opposite wall, over a narrow table. A impressionist still life, the painting depicted a footed green-glass bowl brimming with oranges, apples, and a banana. Cleverly, an identical antique bowl holding a similar collection of fruit sat on the table.

  “That picture—it’s wonderful.” Wonderful but mildly pornographic, was what I was actually thinking. Plainly, the painting was not only a still life, but also a voluptuous depiction of female breasts. The banana spoke for itself.

  “You have excellent taste, my dear. That painting is rather valuable.” Frayne glanced into the mirror over the bar and smoothed back a stray strand of hair. “Now, instead of iced tea, may I offer you something with a bit of a kick? A mimosa, perhaps?”

  The mimosa was tempting. And the realization that I was tempted reminded me to stick to business. “Tea would be fine, thanks. I’m working today.”

  Frayne chuckled. “Unlike we idle rich, I suppose you mean.” He bent down behind the bar and emerged with two crystal glasses and a carafe filled with a shimmery leaf-green liquid. “I have this tea sent from an exclusive Chinese import shop in San Francisco. Sparrow’s Tongue makes the best iced tea in the world.”

  Frayne dropped several ice cubes into each glass with a pair of silver tongs, then poured the tea over the rocks. “Sugar, Jaymie?”

  “Half a teaspoon,” I answered cooperatively. I wasn’t sure when I’d morphed from Ms. Zarlin to Jaymie, but I let it go. After all, I wanted to get the guy to talk. “Sparrow’s Tongue? Sounds very exotic.”

  “Very exotic, and very expensive.” He handed me my tea, and somehow our fingertips touched.

  “Anyway. You asked about Vince.” Frayne dropped into a leather butterfly chair and draped one long leg over the other. “You’ve opened a can of worms with my friend, that’s for sure. Vince was on the phone with me for thirty minutes last night. The man can rave, that I’ll admit.”

  “I didn’t mean to step on his toes, Mr. Frayne. Frankly, his reaction to me seems kind of excessive.”

  “I wouldn’t read anything into it. I’ve known Vince Stellato for years. Both his parents were Sicilian, and everything about the man is excessive and passio-na-te. And after all, I believe you did invade his home, his castle, without his prior knowledge.” His eyes met mine and he smiled warmly. “May I call you Jaymie?”

  “You already have, Mr. Frayne.”

  He laughed, revealing beautifully capped teeth. “Call me Sutz. Everyone does.”

  Dear old Sutz was trying his best to seduce me. And the more he did it, the more it annoyed me. “Did Vince tell you I’m representing Danny Armenta’s family?”

  “Yes. Yes, he did.” Frayne frowned slightly. “And especially now that I’ve met you, I have to admit I’m flummoxed. I’m not at all sure why you’ve taken this on. A dollar’s a dollar, is that it?”

  “No. That’s not it.” I allowed a bubble of silence to expand between us.

  Frayne opened his hands, palms up. “Well, then … what?”

  “My reasons have to do with justice. Danny Armenta is innocent.”

  He frowned again and shook his head. “Is that what the police think? Or just you?”

  “I couldn’t say what the police think, Mr. Frayne. Do you mind if I ask you one or two questions?”

  He leaned back in the chair, spreading his arms. “I’m all yours. I’ve got an appointment, though, at two.”

  For his hair, his nails, or his tan? I resisted the urge to ask. “Oh, this will only take a few minutes.” I creased my brow like a bimbo, hoping this would encourage Sutz to open up. “Where were you on June twenty-first, between the hours of one and four P.M.?”

  “Ah, the detective’s shopworn question.” He smiled ruefully, as if I’d disappointed him. “I was at the Wiederkehrs’, of course. The Guild Triune hosts an annual get-together after the Solstice parade. Tradition, you know.” He knitted his fingers together and hooked his hands over his knee. “The Stellatos were there, plus dozens of Guild members-at-large and their families. Actually, I took along Caroline, to give her an outing.”

  “Caroline?”

  “My mother, Caroline Frayne. She seldom leaves Stonecroft, her home.” Frayne’s foot, shod in gleaming Italian leather, twitched rhythmically. “There’s not much more I can tell you.”

  “But maybe there is.” I took a minute to rearrange the cushions behind my back. “For example, I’d like to ask if you saw anyone leave during the course of the party.”

  “Leave? No. No, I can’t say I did. And to answer the question I think you’re really asking, as far as I could tell, Vince Stellato was there the whole time.”

  “How about Lance?”

  “Lance? What, Vince’s son? I don’t remember—yes, I think he was there.” Frayne abruptly waved a hand and rose to his feet.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but you need to go. You’re making me rather cross: I’m not the sort of fellow who’s comfortable gossiping about his friends and their families.”

  “To the gangplank with me, huh?”

  But Frayne didn’t smile.

  A few minutes later, he led me off the boat and back along the dock to the electrified gate. He punched in a code and stepped aside. “Hopefully we’ll meet again, Jaymie. I’m sure you’re a great gal and I’d like to get to know you better. Under more social conditions, perhaps?”

  “I’m not much of a socializer, Mr. Frayne.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He closed his hand around mine, exerting a slight but somehow intimate pressure. Ol’ Sutz was now back in his groove: his palm felt cool and dry.

  * * *

  Heavy wine-colored drapes swathed the windows, sh
utting out the light. Mesmerized, I stared at the silent silvery women, long dead, smiling to reveal their square little teeth as they danced hootchie-cootchies across the two-story-high walls.

  “Get down on your knees, Ken, and this time do it right,” Celeste Delaney snapped.

  Much as I disliked the arrogant Ken doll, I felt a twinge of compassion. I looked away from the walls and observed the tableau: Ken kneeling on the oak parquet floor to sweep up the crumbs with a clothes brush, catching them in his meaty hand.

  “There, that’s the way, head down and bum up,” Celeste Delaney crooned. “Whatever were you thinking, Ken, bringing a long-handled broom?” She looked over at me and smiled.

  “I demand perfection, my dear, and I get it. My staff care for me very well indeed, for they understand their generous remunerations will cease upon my death. I have left them absolutely nothing in my will. That would be unwise of me, don’t you think?”

  “You could be right.”

  “Ken, you missed something. Even my old eyes can see it. Over there,” she pointed.

  “That’s just dust,” Ken muttered.

  “Just dust? Well don’t just leave it there, man!”

  Ken looked up and met my eyes. Judging by his expression, the guy was furious. But he resumed his downward-dog position.

  “Will that be all, Miss Delaney?” His voice was rigid.

  “For now. Off you go.”

  Ken walked stiff-necked toward the door, until he was behind the old woman’s back. He turned and glared at me, then opened his hand and tossed the gleanings back into the room.

  “So, my dear Jaymie. How do you like this private theater of mine? I spend much of my time here, reliving the past.”

  “It’s very impressive. Like being in the movie yourself.”

  “Yes, it does draw one in. Here I can manage to forget what year it is—bah, what century it is—for hours on end.” She pointed a shaky finger at a nearby chair. “Sit down, won’t you? I’m pleased you came straightaway. I think you will find our little visit worthwhile.”

  “I’m sure I will, Miss Delaney.” I walked over and perched on the edge of an uncomfortable wingback chair facing the throne. “Thank you for posting Danny Armenta’s bail. He and his family are staying with me, and I can tell you he’s beginning to do better.”