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  Skye would have been in a hurry to feed the big jellyfish. His family planned to gather for his mom’s birthday party at 7:30, so he didn’t have much time to catch a few waves.

  The aquarium closed to the public at 4:30, and the volunteers and staff members were usually gone by 5:00. Cheryl Kerr, however, left at around 5:10.

  I’d no reason to suspect her of murdering Skye, even if she were physically capable of the act, which I doubted. Cheryl was so out of shape I wasn’t even sure she could climb the stairs to the top of the tank. So the question was, who besides Skye had entered the aquarium between 5:10 and 5:45?

  Of course, there was another possibility: someone could have entered earlier, hidden in the building, and emerged after Cheryl left. Either way, I wondered if Cheryl Kerr might have seen someone hanging around.

  * * *

  The small pre-WWII stucco house stood only a block from the freeway, and the roar of the traffic was heavy, oppressive. I sat on my bike for a moment and studied the faded paint, worn asphalt-tiled roof, and steel-framed windows.

  Nothing had been done to the place in more than half a century. The yard was tidy but the lawn was thin, bare earth in spots. The property suffered from neglect.

  I left my bike just inside the wooden picket fence, walked up the cracked concrete path, and ascended the three steps to the door. A dead azalea stood in a terra-cotta pot on the porch. The stiff, brittle branches seemed to beg for water.

  When I pressed the bell, I heard it ring inside the house. I listened for footsteps, but the noise of the freeway filled my ears.

  After a full minute or so, I rang again. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a movement in the window at my right. A finger hooked back a limp beige curtain, and a single bluish eye peered out at me. Then the curtain fell back into place.

  Still I waited. At last the door crept open. “Hello?” Cheryl was wearing a fuzzy gray sweat suit. She looked upset.

  “Hi, Cheryl. I’m sorry to bother you on your day off. But I need to speak with you again, if you don’t mind.” I waited, hoping she’d step aside and invite me in, or at least open the door further. Instead, it began to close.

  “I’m sorry. It’s not—not a good time.”

  I decided to try a pity plea. “OK. But I’ve ridden my bike a couple of miles, and I forgot to bring along my water bottle. Could you just spare me a glass of water? I don’t need to come in, I can wait here on the step.”

  “Oh … all right.” Cheryl probably wanted to close the door in my face, but she just couldn’t bring herself to be that rude.

  She disappeared, and after a moment I heard a querulous, haranguing voice call out. “Cheryl, what are you doing?”

  I nudged open the door with the toe of my sneaker, and peered in. There wasn’t much to see, just a narrow shotgun hall leading to a kitchen at the back. A collection of framed photos hung on one wall, but I stood at the wrong angle to make them out.

  Cheryl stepped back into the hall, a glass of water in her hand. She noticed the door and gave me a sharp glance. “Here. I’m sorry, it’s not very cold. Our refrigerator isn’t keeping up with this heat.”

  “Cheryl,” the voice whined. “Cheryl!”

  I accepted the glass and took a sip. “It must be difficult, being a caregiver for your mom.” It was low of me, using this tactic to get Cheryl Kerr to open up. But I’d run out of options.

  “She’s not good today.” Cheryl shrugged. “I don’t know why, her moods come out of nowhere.”

  “How do you manage while you’re at work?”

  “I come home on my lunch hour. And I have backup, a neighbor who checks in.” Cheryl tucked a strand of iron-gray hair behind an ear. “So far it’s worked out, but I don’t think it will for much longer.”

  “It’s not an easy life for you, I’m sure. All your spare time must be spent with your mom. How do you manage it—shopping and appointments, that kind of thing?”

  Cheryl opened the door a little further. “My boss, Dr. Thompson? He’s very good about letting me have time off when I need it.”

  I nodded and took another sip. “I can see why you’d be concerned about Rod Steinbach taking control. He’s tightening everything up, isn’t he?”

  There it was, that same flash of anger I’d witnessed the other day. Cheryl opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment her mother gave a shout.

  “Let me out! Cheryl, I said let me out of here!”

  “I’ve—I’ve locked her in her bedroom.” Cheryl looked down at the worn carpet under her feet. “I have to do it whenever I answer the phone or the door. I feel bad about it, but I don’t have a choice.”

  My conscience got to me at last. “Look, I’m sorry for the intrusion. I just wanted to ask you again, are you sure there wasn’t something you noticed that Friday Skye died? Maybe you saw somebody when you went to say goodbye to the octopus out on the wet deck.”

  “How do you know about Legs?” Cheryl had tensed. “Who’s been talking about me?”

  “Actually, you told me. The first time we met, remember?”

  “Oh. Well, I didn’t visit Legs that afternoon.” She shook her head. “I don’t always do it, you know. Sometimes it upsets me to see her.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They need to release her. The tank is starting to drive her crazy, she’s been banging her head on the glass. I told Dr. Thompson, but he—”

  “Let me out!” Inside the house, something crashed.

  “I’m sorry.” Cheryl stepped back. “But you can hear how she is.”

  “I’ll let you go. Just one other thing.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “What?”

  “John Tactacquin may have visited the aquarium that afternoon, after closing. Are you sure you didn’t see him? How about his van?”

  “No. No, I already said. I didn’t—”

  “Cheryl!” her mother screamed. “Cheryl, come here this instant!”

  “She won’t give me a minute’s peace!”

  A sad pair of women, I thought as I walked back down the path to the wooden gate. How long had mother and daughter been locked in their painful embrace? Even in paradise, it seemed, there were pockets of hell.

  * * *

  The brash rose perched on the corner of the desk was flagrantly red. It seemed to pulse with desire.

  I closed the office door behind me. “Good morning, Miss Gabriela. How was the hot date?”

  “What?” Gabi’s shocked—and slightly guilty—face shot out from the side of the computer. “How do you know?”

  “How? The rose tells the tale.” I dropped my messenger bag on the couch. “What’s it called?”

  “Passio-na-te,” Gabi admitted.

  “You’ve turned nearly as red as that rose.” I couldn’t resist the temptation to tease.

  Like a tortoise, Gabi pulled her head back behind her computer. “It’s private,” she muttered.

  “Angel’s a nice guy and I’m glad it’s working out.”

  “Miss Jaymie, this is a place of business. Personal lives don’t belong here.”

  “I haven’t noticed you mind talking about my personal life, Gabi. But now that it’s yours—”

  My cell jangled in my bag. I made a mental note to change the ring.

  “Ms. Zarlin? Neil Thompson here.”

  “Dr. Thompson. How are you?” I eased myself down on the couch.

  “Fine.” His melodious voice sounded strained. “But we have a problem. I understand you visited Cheryl Kerr on the weekend? I have to tell you, she’s very upset.”

  “There’s no reason she should be.” Not unless she was hiding something, of course.

  “Reason or not, Ms. Zarlin, I have to ask you to stop harassing my employees.”

  Cheryl Kerr had the right to object to my visit. But I found it odd that Neil Thompson was so concerned for her feelings.

  “What’s changed, Dr. Thompson? Last I heard, you were happy to help out the Rasmussens in any way you could. My interview
ing your employees and volunteers was fine by you.”

  “Maybe so. But now I’m asking you to stop.” The tone of his voice told me something was going on. Something big was lurking below the surface, like a basking shark camouflaged on the ocean floor.

  “Melanie and Dave Rasmussen are my clients, Dr. Thompson. I’ll do what I judge to be in their best interests.”

  “The road you’re going down won’t bring the boy back. I’m saying, leave well enough alone. Let it go.”

  I’ve never left well enough alone in my life. Call it nosiness, obsessive-compulsiveness, or dedication. Whatever label you want to put on it, “leaving well enough alone” just isn’t in my vocabulary.

  And Neil Thompson had just convinced me to hold on tight.

  Chapter Eleven

  One hour later, the front door banged open without a knock. I leaned out from my chair in the kitchen as the imposing figure of Rod Steinbach filled the doorway. Without any hesitation, he strode straight into the office.

  Gabi popped up at her desk. “May I help you?”

  Steinbach looked at her for no longer than the blink of an eye. Then he turned and met my gaze. “I want to talk to you.”

  I pushed back my chair, stood, and walked into the main office. “Please take a seat.” I managed a polite smile.

  “I want to talk to you,” he repeated. “Alone.”

  “Ms. Gutierrez and I work as a team.”

  “I don’t care how you work. Tell her to go.”

  “Go yourself.” No way in hell was this commandant going to order me around.

  “I’m going, Miss Jaymie,” Gabi said. “I need to move my car anyway, time’s up.”

  “No. Dr. Steinbach here needs to learn a few manners.” I was pissed. I was so mad my head felt like a teakettle coming to the boil.

  Gabi froze. I could see her wavering back and forth: should she stay or should she go? I made eye contact with her, and she lowered herself back into her chair.

  “Dr. Steinbach. You had something to say?” It was curious, actually. You couldn’t tell if the man was angry or not, he was so self-controlled.

  “Fine, have it your way. I’ll condense it down for you. Keep away from everyone connected with my grandson’s death. My family, the employees at the aquarium, Skye’s friends. Stay away, understand?”

  I understood him, all right. But Rod Steinbach didn’t understand me. The more he pushed, the more I would stand my ground. “Your daughter and son-in-law don’t feel that way. They want to know who killed their son.”

  “Killed? Are you trying to manufacture a murder case, Zarlin? What, for the money? That’s low, and I won’t let you get away with it!” His voice had roughened, and now he was angry. So what?

  “Melanie and Dave want the truth. What parents wouldn’t? I don’t get it, Dr. Steinbach. Why would you deny them that comfort?”

  “I think I know my own family. They want peace. And I’m going to see they get it.”

  “Once they have the truth, they’ll find peace.”

  Rod Steinbach’s expression changed. Oddly, it warped into something approximating friendliness. “Look. Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way.”

  He dropped down on the couch and crossed his legs at ankle and knee. “You know, it can’t be easy, running a small agency like yours.”

  “We do fine,” Gabi bridled.

  I said nothing, just waited for what I knew was coming.

  “I don’t know what Melanie and Dave agreed to pay you.” He fingered the sharp-edged cuff on his khakis. “But I’d be prepared to double it.” He smiled. “Maybe I’d even go higher.”

  I faked a smile of my own. “What, for me to cease and desist?”

  “If you want to put it that way.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? I told you why. You’re hurting people I care about.”

  “Altruism, Dr. Steinbach? That’s admirable. Or is it just that I’m rocking your world?”

  He shrugged. “What does it matter to you?”

  “It doesn’t. I was just curious. Either way, my answer’s the same: no way in hell.”

  Rod Steinbach flushed. “Stubborn, aren’t you. You’ll get that attitude knocked out of you one of these days.”

  “Maybe so. But not by you.”

  * * *

  I’d returned the rental car, and now I fantasized about the lost El Camino, much as a castaway might fantasize about a hamburger, as I climbed the hills of Montecito on my bike. I knew I should just forget about my brother’s sweet little ride. I should break down, take out a loan, and get a grown-up’s car.

  But how could I do that? Forgetting about Brodie’s Camino would be like forgetting about Brodie himself. I didn’t plan on forgetting anything about my brother, not the cocky tilt of his chin or his crinkly-eyed laugh. And I’d never forget how he struggled with his mind during the last years of his life, and how he’d been forced to defend himself against the scum who take pleasure in tormenting those who are different. The scum that will always be with us, till the end of time.

  In other words, I was in a lousy mood by the time I reached Riven Rock Road. I stashed my bike behind a dense stand of lemonade berry bushes and stepped out onto the asphalt.

  What was it about these neighborhoods? They were spooky, somehow. Only the cleaners roamed through the vast mansions, and only the gardeners admired the roses as they formed buds, bloomed, and withered away. The owners themselves were uneasy ghosts, unable to remain in one place for long. They flitted from mansion to mansion, from Montecito to Maui to Santa Fe.

  I strolled on down Riven Rock, pretending to be a Montecitan taking the air. Meanwhile I kept an eye on the grand château. The design, a fantasy originally dreamed up by an eighteenth-century Parisian architect, was now improbably brought to life here in coyote and wildfire country. Somehow the result was unattractive and sterile, like the progeny of a donkey and a horse.

  I slipped into the shrubbery and lifted my pocket-sized binocs from my messenger bag. Thad Chaffee was most likely in the guest house, toiling away as a caregiver. No need to let him into the big house. Chaffee would be relegated to the guest quarters, to live out back with his inconvenient charge.

  The guest house appeared to be divided into two apartments, upstairs and down. I wondered which portion was given over to Mr. Chaffee. Then I saw the steel cables barring the downstairs windows: they were dental-floss thin, almost invisible. I’d only noticed them because they glinted in the sun.

  “See something?”

  I spun around. A pale young man with black hair stared back at me. He was tall and skinny, his Adam’s apple pointed. But his hands were powerful looking. Somehow I’d expected the caregiver to be big and bear-like, but he looked more like an overgrown ferret.

  “Mr. Chaffee?”

  He stepped forward. I noticed black silky hairs on his upper lip.

  “Depends, lady. Who the fuck are you?”

  Before I could answer, he raised the back of his hand to my face. A knife slid up from between his fingers, not six inches from my eyes.

  I knew not to think much. As I ducked down I brought my fist up where I figured his balls had to be. I figured right: the ferret let out a thin scream.

  He dropped the knife as he doubled over and crashed back into the bushes. I scrambled for it, grabbed it, and spun around. But then, as Chaffee sucked in ragged breaths of air, I halted.

  This was so screwed up.

  I’d just messed with a potential informant, the guy I was counting on to tell me what had happened to my brother. Damn it to hell. Chaffee might have been the last person to have seen Brodie alive.

  “Sorry,” I called into the bushes. “I didn’t mean to punch you so hard.”

  After a moment, the ferret slithered out of the thicket. If anything, Chaffee was paler than he’d been before. “Fuck, what kind of freak are you?” he snarled. “No girl can hit like that.”

  “Sorry,” I repeated. “I’m Jaymie Zarlin. You’re Thad,
right?”

  “Give me my knife, or I’ll…” He dragged in a breath. “Just give me my knife.”

  I knew the boy needed his knife to change back to a man. And for the same reason, he needed me to act more like a girl.

  Fine, whatever worked. I gritted my teeth. “Do you promise to put it away? You scared me with it.”

  “Give it the fuck back to me.”

  “OK.” I was taking a risk. But if I didn’t do this, I’d get nothing out of the snake. I closed the knife and held it out in my right hand.

  His hand grabbed mine, and tightened. Just enough to show me how strong he was. Then he opened his hand and took the knife. “If you want me to talk, it’ll cost you. You’ll have to pay.”

  I wasn’t too surprised Mr. Chaffee wanted to turn our conversation into a win-win. “I’ll pay what I can.”

  “You’ll need to pay more than you can. A body like yours, you won’t have a problem.”

  Blech. “You don’t even know what I’m here about, Thad.”

  “So tell me.” He was relaxing now, imagining he was in control.

  “What do you do here, exactly? The address seems a touch fancy for you.”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “What if I told you I know you’re a so-called caretaker? You keep an eye on whatever poor soul is locked away behind those bars.” I nodded toward the carriage house. “You know, I’m not sure it’s legal to lock a human being in a cage.”

  Why oh why couldn’t I be nice? I needed something from the guy, yet apparently I couldn’t resist the urge to grind him under my heel.

  “I do what I’m hired to do.” He curled his top lip, and I noticed several of his teeth were decayed. “Besides, plenty of people are better off locked up. Your brother was.”

  I nearly choked. Chaffee knew exactly who I was. And he knew about Brodie.

  “Didn’t think I knew, huh?” He adjusted the front of his pants. “Sure, I heard you were coming. Just didn’t know what you’d look like. Didn’t know—”

  “Didn’t know I could punch like a guy?”

  He scowled. “Like I said. I talk if you pay.”

  Across the vast lawn I saw the Dobermans. They must have been dozing in the sun. Now they were awake, standing at rigid attention.