Dragon Fruit Page 11

  My first case: the Solstice Murders. That’s what Santa Barbarians were calling them now. I’d put the perp away in Pelican Bay State Prison up in Crescent City, but I couldn’t take much satisfaction in that. To me, the murders of Lili Molina and her friend were still too painful to think about. And then there were the murders in the Santa Barbara Aquarium. The conclusion of that heartrending case had brought me nothing but sorrow.

  ‘I understand, Darlene.’ I waited. I knew how it hurt her just to remember the abuse she’d endured.

  ‘Anyway, there’s no need for me to revisit all that.’ Darlene walked to the edge of the flagstone patio and back again. ‘Laura and Bernadette are fine women. And the Magdalen congregation is caring, nonjudgmental. I can’t make even one negative comment about them, Jaymie. The priests and the members – they’ve all welcomed me.’

  Even so, I was pretty sure I heard a reservation in her voice. ‘But there’s something, if I’m hearing you?’

  She turned and faced me with her hands open, palms up. ‘The thing is, I can’t say I truly know Laura and Bernadette. No, wait. That’s not quite right.’ Her arms fell to her sides. ‘I think I do know Bernadette. While she hasn’t told me much of her history, I feel she would if I asked.’

  ‘But you’re less sure about Laura.’ I stopped petting Chica and stood too. ‘You’ve surprised me. Bernadette is the one I’d have wondered about.’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I understand that.’ Darlene laughed. ‘Bernadette can be a bit snippy. But think about Mother Teresa – she could be snippy, too!’

  ‘On the other hand, Laura—’ I stopped. I didn’t want to put words in my friend’s mouth.

  ‘Laura is sweet. Very gentle, children love her. And you know what good instincts children have. She’s just very private, I suppose. I asked her once about her prior work experience, and she changed the subject. Of course, I just left it at that.’

  The oriole swooped through the air again. It made me think of an orange and black note of jazz, flying along a staff.

  ‘And what did they do before they were ordained, do you know?’

  ‘Bernadette was a nun. An order based in San Francisco, I think, one that serves the poor. She may still be a member of that order.’

  ‘And Laura?’

  ‘As I said, I know so little about her. I believe she worked with children. I think she may have worked for an adoption agency, something like that.’

  An adoption agency? I felt myself flush, and it must have showed.

  ‘Jaymie, what is it?’

  I bit the inside of my cheek, to keep from saying too much.

  ‘Jaymie? It’s Paul here.’

  I was on my way from Darlene’s to the office when I stopped my bike to answer the ring. And it was just as well I stopped, because I’d been cruising down Mountain Drive at a good rate of speed. I was so surprised by the caller’s identity that I might have sailed off into thin air.

  ‘Dad – is something wrong?’ When he’d married Glenda, Dad had insisted that Brodie and I switch to calling him Paul. In a way he’d always been a stranger, so it wasn’t that hard.

  ‘Nope. Well, yes. I guess there is.’

  I heard from my father about once a year. We had a tradition: I sent him a card on his birthday, and he followed up a week later with a phone call. But his birthday was in November, and this was February.

  ‘It’s your mother.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Doreen’s got cancer. I guess you better get in touch with her.’

  My stomach dropped. It wasn’t just the word ‘cancer’ that did it. It was the three phrases together: ‘your mother’ plus ‘cancer’ plus ‘get in touch’.

  ‘What? When did you hear?’

  ‘She called last week and told me. I figured Doreen would call you next. But then she called me again, three more times as a matter of fact. She told me she wasn’t going to tell you because – ah – you don’t care.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘You know how she is.’

  ‘Yeah. I know how she is.’ A full-blown narcissist, that’s how she is.

  I looked over the edge of the road to the neighborhoods spread out below. The little city was bordered by a scallop of yellow sand and the bluest of seas.

  ‘I’m not telling you what to do, Jaymie,’ Paul said.

  ‘How’s Glenda?’ I replied in an attempt to change the subject. The plump little woman controlled my dad with one finger, and unlike Doreen, Glenda had the smarts to do it in a way that seemed to make Paul happy.

  ‘Glenda’s just fine. You need to come and see us sometime.’ It was nice of him to say that. To the untrained ear, it would have sounded like he meant it. ‘Jaymie, your mother’s—’

  ‘Stephanie and Paul Junior?’

  ‘Doing good, both of them. But your mother, she’s—’

  I gave in. ‘I know, she’s hounding you to death. Paul, listen. I’ll get in touch with Doreen. But don’t lay a guilt trip on me, OK? It doesn’t work, not anymore.’

  ‘You always were a tough little nut. I saw that from day one. I remember when they brought you around to the house that first day …’

  Dear Jesus. One phone call, and I was already up to my chin in shit soup. ‘I’ll get in touch with her. All right? Soon as I can.’

  After we said goodbye, I got back in the saddle and coasted on down the steep road. When I arrived at the Mission I dismounted, parked my bicycle, and climbed the wide steps. I let the heavy door thud closed behind me, and the noisy world was immediately shut away.

  The sanctuary was dark and still and smelled of wax, incense, old plaster and wood. When my eyes had adjusted to the light, I crossed the worn concave tiles as I walked down the aisle toward the altar. Halfway along, I took a seat in a hard-backed pew.

  Santa Barbara Mission is a tourist attraction. I have no idea how many people tromp through it each year. But even so, there’s a sacredness about the place that cannot be spoiled.

  I’d spent time at the Mission in the months after my brother died. I’d prayed and lighted a candle or two. I don’t believe in much anymore, but I do have faith. Faith that something big is out there, something I’ll never comprehend.

  A woman entered from a side door and passed through the pews, swishing a feather duster. She was old and bent, Chumash, maybe. The Chumash maintained a presence at the Mission, though the Catholic Church owned the property. In the end, perhaps the European church would relinquish the Mission, as it had other California missions. But the descendants of the original inhabitants of the land would remain.

  The old woman glanced at me as she passed by, skipping my pew. I nodded, and she returned my nod without a smile. When you’d seen as much of life as she had, I guessed there was little left to smile about. Life was a solemn business, after all.

  So, Doreen had cancer. She hadn’t phoned, but she’d put out the message: she was waiting for my call.

  Paul, lucky guy, was out of the picture. I thought about my dad for a moment. He never would have managed his great escape if it hadn’t been for Glenda. She’d hooked him and reeled him in. But to be fair, he’d leaped at the baited hook.

  I shut my eyes. I could sense my mother’s centrifugal force dragging me in. I knew I had the usual choice: I could succumb to the pull and enter the funhouse, or do the smart thing: switch on the afterburners and blast away.

  I got to my feet and approached the bank of flickering flames near the altar. I emptied my pockets into the box, lit my own candle, and placed it in the rack. Was it for Doreen? No. I knew I couldn’t quite manage that level of good will. It took all my generosity just to accept her for what she was.

  Maybe the candle was for Brodie – or Rosie. Or maybe, if I were honest, it was for myself.

  I stood there for what seemed like a long time, losing myself in the wavering light.

  I stood on the steps outside the sanctuary, warming myself like a lizard in the weak sun. Inside the church time had slowed to a stop, but out here in the world time raced on at a blistering pac
e. I prepared myself to dive back into the stream.

  I switched on my phone and pushed the button on a familiar number. One I hadn’t pushed for awhile.

  ‘Zave? It’s me, Jaymie. I need to come and talk to you, OK?’

  ‘Sure.’ Zave’s voice was uptown, smooth. The way he sounded when he talked to other people – not to me. ‘Feel free to come by the office.’

  Zave’s cool tone hurt, I had to admit. As did the fact that he hadn’t invited me to visit him at home. But I understood.

  We’d been close, at times so close you couldn’t have slipped a sheet of paper between us. And now that was done.

  ‘OK, consigliere. When?’

  ‘Come when you want.’

  In the old days, meaning a few months ago, I’d have cracked a cheap and smutty joke in reply. But that was the old days. Now everything had changed.

  ELEVEN

  To attain the summit of Zave Carbonel’s office at the top of the Granada Building, I took a ride in an elevator so fast it could give you a nosebleed, then battled my way through a phalanx of skinny female assistants. One of them, a strawberry blonde not old enough to buy a beer, looked down her snub nose at me as she cracked open the door to Zave’s suite.

  ‘Mr Carbonel, I want to remind you that you have an appointment coming up at two.’ Could you believe it? The child dimpled when she smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Kayley. I won’t be long.’

  ‘So you’re down to the Kayleys now,’ I said as the door closed on the girl’s perky rear end. ‘The average age of your staff is younger every time I come by.’

  Zave narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his power chair. His desk looked bigger than my office.

  ‘Your observation is incorrect, Jaymie. The mean age of my staff remains the same. You, on the other hand, are getting older.’

  ‘Ouch.’ His jab stung. Not the jab itself, but the fact that my friend had aimed it at me. I walked over to the plate-glass window and looked out over the city. ‘I don’t mind getting older, Zave. How about you?’

  He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter so much in a man. Not if you have power.’

  I turned to look at him. This was painful. What did I have to do to get the guy to lighten up?

  ‘If the size of that desk is anything to go by, you must be the most powerful man in Santa Barbara.’

  ‘Not even close. The most powerful black man, maybe.’

  ‘But there aren’t that many black—’ I stopped. I’d never seen Zave Carbonel like this. I almost wanted to use the word ‘grim’.

  ‘Look, Jaymie.’ He glared at me. ‘What do you want?’

  I would not accept this. God damn it, Zave was my friend.

  ‘Hey, come on. What happened between us, it doesn’t feel good. But you and I, we were friends way before we were …’ I’d almost said the word ‘lovers’. But I stopped myself once more, because now I was beginning to feel grim too.

  ‘Bull shit. We were never friends, OK? Even before we fucked.’ He shoved back his chair and got to his feet. I stared at him, amazed.

  I’d never seen Zave show anger before, not even once. He was always cool and collected. In control.

  ‘Jaymie? Knock it off. Don’t look so damned surprised.’

  ‘Surprised?’ Now I was a little warm under the collar myself. ‘I’ll tell you what I’m surprised about. All those times we were together, Zave? Somehow you never felt it was necessary to tell me you had a wife.’

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. ‘I’m slightly married, all right?’

  ‘Bullshit. It’s like being pregnant: you are or you aren’t. And what’s more, your wife is beautiful, which I admit I deeply resent.’

  Zave laughed. I guess he just couldn’t stop himself. ‘OK, OK. I’ll give you round one.’

  Zave sat on the corner of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. Then he smiled that wicked smile, the one I knew and – to be honest – still adored.

  ‘Tell me how can I help, sweetheart.’

  ‘Don’t call me sweetheart. Here’s how.’ I was grinning back at him. It felt good, so good to be back in Zave’s arms. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Thank God Mike was many miles away.

  So I started to talk. I told Zave everything and didn’t hold back. Ten minutes later, I shut up at last. I’d emptied my mind of every single detail I could think of, everything even remotely connected to Rosie’s case.

  Zave rubbed his chin, cleared his throat. He began to look uncomfortable, then worried. And for the first time, it occurred to me that Zave Carbonel wasn’t one hundred percent invulnerable.

  On the other hand, the guy was pretty damn close.

  ‘I’ve got one thing to say to you, Jaymie. So listen up.’ He got to his feet and walked over to the window. His back was to me. ‘Get yourself the hell out of this case.’

  ‘Zave, there’s no way I can do that. A child’s involved.’

  ‘You can and you will. You’re not going to be able to find the kid anyway. Can’t you see what you’ve stumbled into? The girl’s a side issue. Who the hell knows what that’s all about? No. This is a drug operation, a fucking big one. And in case it hasn’t registered with you just yet, the Santa Barbara PD is involved.’

  ‘Zave, please. I’ll stay out of the PD’s hair. Just answer a few questions for me. Help me out.’

  My friend and former lover was quiet for a time. When he turned to look at me, I could see how much he still cared. I wanted to hug him, but I didn’t dare get that close. I knew it would feel too damn good.

  ‘OK, Jaymie. What do you want to ask?’

  ‘Staffen Brill and her husband. You know them, right?’

  ‘Sure. Ballbreakers, both of them. Jack Morehead is a partner in Fisk, Morehead and Brach, down in LA. Corporate lawyers, but he’ll take on anything that smells of money. Doesn’t practice up here in Santa Barbara, though. Keeps the nest clean. Brill, she has her lily-white hands in every money-spinning divorce that rolls down the pike. She wins for her clients, too. That crap she spouts about being an adoption attorney – that’s just window dressing. Something to burnish the image.’

  ‘Ah. I wondered about that. She doesn’t seem like the altruistic type.’

  Zave gave out a laugh. ‘That palace they’ve got. Neither of them was born into money. You don’t think they bought that with clean cash, do you? That’s not how the system works.’

  ‘So her nonprofit org – CHIA, she calls it – you think that’s just a scam.’

  ‘Sure. Or we could be generous and call it a smokescreen. And one more thing, while we’re dishing the dirt on Morehead and Brill. That errand boy they’ve got working for them?’

  ‘Eric?’

  ‘He was in law school when he was convicted on drug dealing charges. His paper chase came to a halt.’

  ‘I guess I’m not surprised. Eric looks like a choir boy, but he’s mean underneath.’

  ‘If you want my advice, Jaymie, you’ll stay away from Brill. She has nothing to offer you.’

  Were all my potential informants going to whither away under Zave’s searing gaze? If he kept this up, I’d get nowhere with the case. But Zave was seldom wrong, and I knew I’d do well to take heed.

  ‘All right, I hear you. Now, about the woman priest, Laura. Darlene Richter thought she might have done adoption work in the past.’

  Zave raised a skeptical eyebrow. ‘You’re suspicious of someone just because they once worked for an adoption agency, is that it? I’ll never understand the workings of the PI mind.’

  ‘It’s not just that, Zave. She’s hiding something. And the woman’s too nice.’

  ‘Too nice. I get it. OK, I’ll look into it. Got a last name?’

  ‘No, but I can get it.’

  ‘Don’t bother, I’ll figure it out. Mother Laura. Now you’ve got me digging into the past life of a lady priest, a modern-day saint. Who’s next, the pope?’

  ‘I don’t know who’s next, Zave.’ My ins
tinct whispered he was holding back on something. ‘How about you tell me?’

  Zave walked over to me and reached out his hands. I hesitated. If he pulled me into an embrace, I was done for.

  He waited, hands outstretched. After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped mine into his. Zave didn’t pull me any closer, but his warmth flowed up my arms, then down to … somewhere below.

  ‘Jaymie? About Chucha Robledo.’

  ‘Chucha?’ I shook my head. ‘Oh no you don’t. She’s a good person.’

  ‘Chucha has a record. Not an extensive one, but she’s been arrested a couple of times.’

  ‘Why would you know that? She’s – she’s not wealthy or powerful. Why do you have info about Chucha on the tip of your tongue?’ A suspicion crept into my brain. ‘You’ve been having me watched, haven’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be so goddamned dramatic.’ He squeezed my hands, hard. ‘I put two and two together, that’s all. Nobody’s spying on you, Jaymie. At least, I’m not.’

  The man had put two and two together. Sure. Zave never gave me the whole story, I knew that by now. Yet somehow I trusted the guy. Don’t ask me to explain it, but I trusted Zave Carbonel with my life.

  ‘I don’t want to hear it, but I have to, I guess. So Chucha’s been arrested. For what?’

  ‘Solicitation. She’s not only a make-up artist, like you think. She’s a sex worker. I thought you should know.’

  ‘That – that doesn’t make any difference. Chucha’s lost her daughter, and she loves her. I admit I’m surprised, but if you think this is going to stop me, you’re wrong, dead wrong. I have to find Rosie, Zave. No matter what.’

  ‘I know you do. But be prepared for failure, OK?’ He released my hands, then slid his own hands up to my elbows.

  ‘And stay away from the drug smuggling angle. Promise me that, sweetie. You know? For old times’ sake.’

  ‘Sure. I’m not interested in the maryjane trade. Eyes on the prize and all that.’ I heard a husky edge in my voice and took three steps back.