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  Thad slipped his right hand inside his waistband and looked at me insolently. “You know, for an old lady you’re kinda hot.”

  “Just answer my question, punk.”

  Again, that high laugh. “Some guys thought the cops strung him up. Other guys said no, the cops said some kinda shit to him that made him do it. They play with your mind that way. You gotta be hard.”

  “Did you see when they brought him back to his cell?” I asked again.

  “I said no. That woulda been around three, maybe. When I was asleep.” His face turned blank. “That’s it, lady.” He stuck out his hand.

  I took the two bills out of my pocket. “Not quite. I think you recognized the guys who pulled my brother out of his cell, Chaffee. I want their names.”

  “They weren’t the cops who worked in the jail. I didn’t recognize them.”

  “So they definitely were cops.”

  He hesitated. “Yeah. They were cops, I could tell. But only a couple of ’em were wearing uniforms. Look, that’s all I got to tell you. I’m done.”

  Off-duty cops? What the hell were they doing in the jail in the middle of the night?

  I studied Chaffee. He wasn’t smiling anymore. And in his eyes, I saw something that surprised me: a spark of fear. I knew that was all—for today.

  I poked the money through the fence. Thad pulled the bills from my fingers, then pressed them to his lips. “Baby, that’s sweet.”

  * * *

  I slow-pedaled along Cabrillo, half hoping I’d spot the white van. Where the hell was Charlie? I needed to tell him about Brodie. When I talked to Charlie, things fell into place.

  As I passed the dolphin statue at the entrance to the wharf, a long-haired kid leaned out the window of a beat-up old pickup. “Santa Barbara is so beautiful,” he yelled.

  An out-of-towner, of course. No resident would mock our little city. Most of us fought too damn hard to stay here for nothing but the beauty: the terra-cotta mountains, red-tiled buildings, and bright sparkling water. But beauty could be deceiving, it was true.

  I stopped at West Beach and propped up my bike on its creaky old kickstand. I sat on the low wall bordering the sand and stared out at a blindingly white cruise ship, seemingly taller than it was long, anchored in the harbor. Cruise ships were frequent visitors to Santa Barbara these days, now that the drug wars had heated up in Mexico.

  Charlie’s absence was nagging at me. Something wasn’t right. Maybe I should give Mike a call.

  I pulled my phone from my messenger bag and tapped in the number I’d erased from my contacts, yet knew by heart.

  “Hey, Jaymie. How’s it going?” Mike’s tone was impersonal, and I guessed he was with someone. Six o’clock on a Friday evening: my mind conjured up an image of Mike and Mandy, bumping heads over a plate of raw oysters.

  “Fine. Can we talk?” Meaning, get up and walk outside, I have something to tell you.

  “Can it wait? I’m busy right now.”

  “Don’t bother.” I pushed the button and ended the call.

  Before I could get the phone back in my bag, it rang. “What, not so busy after all?” I snipped.

  I heard an exasperated sigh. “Come on, Jaymie. You didn’t say it was important. What’s up.”

  “I wouldn’t want to take you away from whatever you’re—”

  “Cut it out. I’m at work.”

  I was a tad ashamed, ashamed for being such a jealous tigress, and for asking for my ex’s help yet again.

  “It’s about Charlie. Have you seen him around? His van hasn’t been down at the beach, not for three or four weeks now.”

  “Can’t say I’ve noticed. I’ve been working up in north county lately.” A few seconds of silence rolled by. “Jaymie—I know you care about Charlie. But is something else going on?”

  “Brodie,” I admitted. “I learned something, Mike. Something not good.”

  “Hold on, I’m walking outside.” I heard the sound of a heavy door slamming. “Now, what. You heard something about your brother?”

  “Yeah. I talked to a guy who was working in the jail the night it happened. Mike, they messed with Brodie. Some off-duty cops, maybe plainclothes, dragged him out of his cell. Brodie was kicking up a fuss when they took him away. Later on, they carried him back. They could have beat him up, Mike. They could have hung him.”

  “Jesus, Jaymie, do you know what you’re saying? Who is this guy, how did you find him?”

  “Somebody I trust put me in touch with him. Somebody … reputable.”

  “Reputable? Bullshit. It was the shyster lawyer, am I right? Carbonel. What the hell did he go and do that for?” I could almost hear Mike’s blood pressure roar up like Old Faithful.

  “Zave did it because I need to know. Want to know! And since it sounds like half the PD might know my brother was dragged out of his cell in the middle of the night, I’d like to know how you didn’t know!”

  A long period of silence simmered between us. When Mike finally spoke, his voice was measured and quiet. “Jaymie, you need to listen to me. I work for the county sheriff, not the city police. I don’t know everything that went on down there that night. But I do know one thing: Brodie hung himself. I wish to God it hadn’t happened, but it did. Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, I’m listening. And all I’m hearing is you telling me to back off.”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m telling you to let go, and start living your life like it matters. What are you after—revenge?”

  Revenge. I let the word roll around in my mind. It sounded delicious, like a smooth cool drink for a parched tongue.

  “What if I am? It’s what people have wanted for thousands of years.”

  “It will eat you up, Jaymie. Your life will shrink down to nothing else.” He paused. “Hell, you’re halfway there.”

  I was livid, furious that he was judging me. “Yeah? Let me tell you what I think. I think you know something about this. I think you’ve hidden something from me all this time, ever since the morning you arrived on my doorstep to tell me Brodie was dead!”

  “Knock it off. That’s bullshit and you know it. I’m telling you for your own good, let it go.”

  Oh, how I wanted to punch off the phone. But I took a couple of deep breaths and swallowed my anger and pride. “What about Charlie?”

  “I could look into it. What’s his last name? Funny, I’ve been talking to him for years, but I never asked.”

  “It’s Corrigan.”

  “Corrigan, huh? Tell you what, I’ll check our records. Maybe I can trace his van, issue a bulletin. How’s that?”

  “Thanks,” I said in a choked voice. “Thanks on Charlie’s behalf.”

  * * *

  The next morning I was pouring my second cuppa when the office phone rang. I jumped to answer it, sloshing hot coffee over my wrist. Cursing under my breath, I lifted the receiver. “Yeah?”

  “Zarlin?”

  I realized I detested Thad Chaffee’s cunning voice. It seeped into my ears like a sickening syrup. “How the hell did you get my office number?”

  “Get real. It’s all over the net. Listen up, I got something to tell you.”

  I couldn’t help it, I bit. “This better be good.”

  “Nothing like that. Just, don’t come near me again. I don’t have anything else for you, get it? So stay the fuck away.”

  “What, you’re trying reverse psychology now?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  The creep was toying with me. My blood pressure screamed skyward. “Call me one more time, Chaffee, and I’ll sic the cops on you.” I slammed down the phone.

  “Stop screwing around,” I muttered aloud. “There’s real work to be done.”

  * * *

  I decided to start with the kids. I wanted to catch Vanessa Hoague unaware, and preferably alone.

  “Vanessa? Hi. Jaymie Zarlin here.”

  “I’m really busy right now. Just a minute.” There was a clunk, as if she’d
tossed down the phone. I heard a distant voice speak, then Vanessa’s reply. “No. I need that one in a size two. The size four is like really huge. And this one, the size is right, but I want to try it on in the blue.…”

  After a minute she was back on the phone. “Like I said I’m really busy. What did you call for?”

  “I’ve got something to tell you, something you’ll want to hear,” I lied prettily. “But it’s not something I can talk about over the phone.”

  “I can’t. Meet you, I mean. I’m going down to USC tomorrow, and I’ve got a ton of stuff to do first.”

  USC—Daddy must have bought her a place in the freshman class. Maybe not though, I reflected. Vanessa didn’t impress me as much of a scholar, but she was plenty sharp.

  “Sure. Why don’t you just tell me where you’re shopping. Macy’s, Paseo Nuevo? I’ll be there in a jiff.”

  “Macy’s?” She sniffed. “I’m in Nordie’s. So this is something really important, right?”

  “Only if you think catching Skye’s killer is important.”

  “What? Oh. OK, I’ll be out in front in fifteen minutes. But I can’t talk very long.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I skipped out of the office and jumped into the red El Camino. In no more than a minute I was cruising down State Street. The town was bustling with shoppers, women swinging labeled paper bags and chatting away with their shopaholic buds. Was the economy still struggling? If so, it was news on State.

  I skimmed into the underground parking lot, hopped out, and took the escalator up to Paseo Nuevo. With its pseudo-adobe storefronts and concrete-cobbled walkways, the outdoor mall was meant to resemble the streets and shops of old Spanish California. But there was more than a whiff of Disney about it, and I suspected that was intentional. Shoppers were encouraged to forget that the cash in their pockets was real.

  I joined the throng of women and men ambling along the passageways, chatting and laughing. Spending money, apparently, was not only child’s play but an aphrodisiac. I’d never understood that. For me, spending my hard-earned dollars set off heart palpitations, and not the sexed-up kind.

  I reached Nordstrom’s steps and wasn’t surprised to not find Vanessa. The Princess would make a late entrance. I noticed an empty bench and took a seat facing the department store’s big plate-glass doors.

  Vanessa stepped through the doors fifteen minutes later, a bulging bag in each hand. She paused on the top step and looked around, then spotted me. The soon-to-be-queen of the USC freshman class scrunched her face in a frown. Then she tossed back her long blond hair and descended to my level.

  “I haven’t got much time. I’m getting my hair cut.”

  “Oh, you’ve decided to wear your hair short?” I said by way of conversation.

  “Huh?” Vanessa looked at me like I was from some other planet. “I’m getting like one inch taken off.” She sat down on the bench, placing her open bags between us. The bags pulsed out waves of perfume.

  “What’s this about?” She lifted her eyebrows, to inform me I would enjoy but a brief moment more of her time.

  “Ever heard of BJ Bonfiglio?” I stopped talking then, content to observe the aftereffects of the bomb I’d just dropped.

  “BJ … what? Who is that?” She succeeded in looking like a dumb confused blonde. Not a bad ploy.

  “Who is that?” I let the moment draw out. “He’s the guy you and Porter nearly killed. At one of your piñata parties, remember?”

  “I told him!” Vanessa flushed. “I told that kid not to—” She stopped.

  “What, not to talk? He hasn’t. I’ve never spoken with the guy, never even laid eyes on him. This kind of gossip has legs, Vanessa. Know what I’m saying? It just gets around.”

  “I thought you had something important to tell me, something about Skye,” she whined. “You lied. I should—”

  “Stay right where you are,” I growled. “This isn’t a game, and I don’t give a crap about your hair appointment. You and your friend tortured that kid. You could go to jail for it. Would you like that, Vannie? Maybe you could do your freshman year through correspondence, from the women’s prison up in Chowchilla. One thing’s for sure, you wouldn’t have to worry about your hair.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Panic crept into her hazel eyes. “I swear, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Are you blaming Porter? We’ll do better here if you just tell the truth. Porter couldn’t plan his way out of a paper bag. No, you devised BJ’s torture. Just a game, an amusement, right? And Skye stopped it, he intervened. You must have been pissed.”

  “I—huh?” Her mouth fell open as she stared at me. “It sounds like you think I—” Her lower lip trembled. “I did not hurt Skye!”

  Time to back off the bad cop. “Vanessa. Maybe you should just tell it like it was.”

  “I really, really liked Skye. How could you—I miss him!” she wailed.

  “Make me buy that.”

  “OK. I’ll tell you.” She pressed the palms of her hands together and raised them to her chin. “I did think up the idea. But it was just a joke. That kid BJ wasn’t supposed to really get hurt. I wasn’t even in the room when Porter got going.”

  “But you were there at the beginning.”

  “All right, yes. But not when Port stuck his fingers down BJ’s throat. I was somewhere else.”

  “Some other room?”

  “Yeah.” She glanced at me. “In the sloth room, actually. I was stoned. And plenty of kids were there with me. I can prove it if I have to.”

  “But you must have heard the commotion.”

  “I came out when Porter and Skye started fighting. Everybody did.”

  “What happened? Describe it to me.”

  “I saw Skye hit Porter hard. Port was drunk. He fell over, and sort of like couldn’t get off the ground. He looked ridiculous, and people were staring at him. Then…” She shook her head. “I can’t exactly remember. But Skye helped BJ get away.”

  I kept my eyes on Vanessa’s mascara-smudged face. “What happened next?”

  “Everybody was laughing after Skye and BJ left, you know? Laughing at Port.”

  “He must have been furious.”

  “Later, especially after he got sober. Yeah, later he got really mad.”

  “Mad enough to kill Skye?”

  Vanessa frowned and leaned forward. “Port and Skye were friends, don’t you get it? Besides, I know Port couldn’t have killed Skye. I know it for sure.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “See, I know where Port really was when Skye, you know … died. Port wasn’t surfing that afternoon. That wasn’t true.”

  “What then? Why did he lie?”

  “He was too embarrassed to tell you. See, Port’s mom makes him go to therapy every single Friday at five o’clock. A psychologist, it’s so lame. And after, his mom makes him come home and they’re supposed to like, bond, and talk about his session. She’s controlling, and it’s kind of sick. Porter hates it, really hates it, you know?”

  “And he was there that afternoon, with his therapist, and later on, he was with his mom? How do you know that for sure?”

  “Because even though Porter hates it, he never ever skips it. See, his mom won’t give him any money for the weekend if he does.” She straightened. “I don’t know the therapist’s name, but she’s in the San Marcos building downtown. You know, on the corner of State Street and Anapamu? One time I had to drop Port off there. It’s easy to check—if you’re really a detective, that is.”

  I smiled at the jab. “It sounds like you and Porter are close. But you aren’t a couple, right?”

  “God no.” She flipped her hair over a shoulder. “We’ve been friends for ages, but Port isn’t my type.”

  “Well, you two must have something in common. To be friends for so long, I mean.”

  “I guess.” She stared down at her purple-black toenail polish. “We—well, both of us have divorced parents, you know? And f
or me, it’s fine. Great, actually. I get everything I want. But for Porter … I don’t know.…”

  “His family life is difficult?”

  “Yeah, it is. His dad left his mom when Port was around five. He married some other woman who worked in his office and they had three kids, all boys. Port—he’s nothing to his dad, it’s almost like he doesn’t exist. His dad just buys him stuff, like skis and a car—Port got a new Mustang for graduation, a guilt gift, you know? But his dad didn’t bother to come.”

  This was a side of Vanessa I hadn’t seen before. “So your friendship’s been important to him.”

  “I guess.” She continued to stare at the pavement. I could see something was on her mind.

  “Vanessa, anything else?”

  “No … no.”

  But there was something. I decided to probe. “Are you sorry to be leaving Santa Barbara? I mean, USC’s not all that far away. But still, it’s going to be a change.”

  “Sorry?” Her head shot up. To my surprise, her expression was filled with pain. “No, I’m not sorry. I’m going down early. I’ll be there the day they open the dorms.”

  She seemed to want me to ask why, and I obliged. “Is Santa Barbara that bad?”

  “What I just said, about getting everything I want? Yeah. Yeah, I do. And I get stuff I don’t want, too.” Her face scrunched in anger, with the effort of keeping it down. “My stepdad. I hate him.” Her words were half-choked.

  “Vanessa, does he abuse you?”

  “Oh, not quite, you know what I mean? He bumps into me in the hall and touches my breasts. Or he comes up behind me and pats my ass. That kind of thing, constantly. He’s a lawyer, right? He never does anything he couldn’t argue his way out of.”

  “I’m so sorry you’ve had to put up with that shit. Have you told your mom?”

  “Believe me, she doesn’t want to know.” She gathered up her bags and stood. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I just want to go away and never ever come back to this place.”

  I watched Vanessa hurry off. When she reached the corner, she stopped and looked back at me. I lifted my hand. For a moment, I thought she was going to wave too.