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  “Who are you?”

  “Uh—Larry.”

  “Larry who?”

  “I’ll tell you my last name when we meet.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  There was a long moment of silence. I was tempted to hang up on the guy, but something told me to stay on the line.

  “A friend. John Tactacquin.”

  Now I was glad I hadn’t hung up. “Where shall we meet?”

  “Shoreline Park, near the steps down to the beach. Tomorrow afternoon, at four?”

  “That’ll work,” I replied.

  “I don’t know what you look like. How will I know you?”

  “I’ll have my bike with me. It’s an old Schwinn, blue.”

  “OK, then … OK.”

  “You sound undecided, Larry. Are you going to show?”

  “I’ve made up my mind. I’ll be there, you can count on that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I would never give up my fight to uncover the truth about Brodie’s death.

  But Charlie was right: I’d have to put that mission aside. John Tactacquin’s time bomb was ticking, and it was up to me to chop back the thicket of lies obscuring the truth about the murders.

  The following afternoon was humid as Honolulu, hot as hell. Monsoon clouds lurked along the mountaintops as I pedaled through a half-deserted Shoreline Park.

  An empty redwood picnic table stood near the steps down to the beach. I leaned my bike against it, climbed up on the bench and looked over the cliff’s edge.

  The tide was high, and the surf had swallowed the beach. The waves crashed against the base of the old sandstone bluff, eating it away in small steady bites.

  “Uh—Miss Zarlin?”

  I turned around. A good-looking guy in his fifties stood beside the picnic table. He wore workingman’s clothes: a pair of faded and worn jeans, a wide leather belt, and a light tan work shirt. His Dodgers cap sat square on his head.

  “Depends on who’s asking.” I smiled and stepped down off the bench.

  “Sorry to be so secretive.” He returned the smile, somewhat nervously. “Kind of silly, I guess. My name’s Larry Millar.”

  I walked up to the guy and held out my hand. “Not necessarily silly. Depends on what it is you need to get off your chest.”

  “Yeah. Well.” Larry Millar lifted his cap and ran a quick hand through his graying hair.

  “Let’s sit down, shall we?” I indicated the table. Larry was going to need a bit of coaxing to get under way.

  He nodded, then slid into the attached bench. His cap was on, then off again, twisted and smoothed in his roughened hands.

  “So I guess you’ve just come from work?”

  “Yeah. I work for the city—tree pruning, nearly twenty-four years. Of course, I don’t climb up in the trees anymore. That’s what we’ve got the young guys for. I’m one of the old farts who tells them what to do.”

  I watched Larry Millar. He was more than just nervous. He looked downright scared.

  “Hey, that’s how it should be. So John Tactacquin’s a friend of yours?”

  I thought I’d said the right thing. But Larry dropped his head into his hands. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  Behind Larry Millar, a squadron of seven or eight brown pelicans swept past, following the surf line. Their lives were so simple, I thought, so pared down and focused.

  “Mr. Millar? Are you sure you want to talk?”

  He placed his hands palms down on the weathered tabletop. “Yes. Yes, I do.” He met my gaze. “John still hasn’t given the police an alibi, right?”

  “Right. Not for either of the murders. And I have to tell you, it makes him look guilty as hell.”

  “Of course it does.” He drew in a deep breath. “He was with me, Ms. Zarlin. Both Friday nights. I was the one he was with.”

  “But I thought—I mean, I assumed—” I stumbled and started again. “I don’t get it. I thought the whole reason John didn’t want to talk was due to the fact he didn’t want to hurt his family.”

  “That’s pretty much true.”

  “But now you’re telling me he was hanging out with you on those dates, at those times. What’s so incriminating about that? What, were you guys at the Rhino Bar or something? Big deal.” I felt a spark of anger. “John’s risking his life. How is that not hurting his family? And besides, Donna loves him. She’d forgive him in a second for something like that.”

  “I know she would,” Larry said. “Donna’s a good woman. She’d probably forgive almost anything. Just like my ex-wife would’ve done for me.”

  “Mr. Millar.” I released a sigh of frustration. “Are you prepared to give a sworn statement to the police?”

  “Yes. I’d do anything for John.”

  I looked at him for a long minute. And then I realized that the heat, the goddamn August heat must be muddling my thinking, slowing me down.

  “We’ve been together a long time, six years.” Larry Millar’s eyes moistened. “Know what? You’re the first person I’ve told, ever. John didn’t want me to tell you. But Jesus—to die for something like this?” In the quiet the surf boomed against the cliff below.

  “But I still don’t think I get it, Mr. Millar. It doesn’t make sense. Why couldn’t John just say you two were having a couple of beers?”

  “Why? Because he knows what I think. I’ve been telling him for years he should tell Donna the truth.” He grimaced. “John won’t give you my name because he doesn’t trust me to keep quiet about us. And you know what? He’s right. I’ve told you, and now I’ll tell anyone else who asks. I’m sick and tired of living a lie.”

  I thought of Donna and Taryn. Whatever else might happen, their lives were about to implode. But my job wasn’t to protect them, I reminded myself. It was to solve the case.

  “Larry. You need to contact John’s lawyer, today.” I pulled out my card and scribbled the name of the attorney on the back. “Your information may not be enough to halt the wheels of injustice, but it sure as hell can’t hurt.”

  “You’re wrong there, Miss Zarlin.” He took the card and shook his head. “It’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt some people a lot.”

  * * *

  As I pedaled back through Shoreline, my phone rang. “Claudia. Hi.”

  “His name was Gary Hobson,” the junior detective announced. “I found it on the net, how he died back in 1969. Somebody set fire to the La Playa Rental Agency. Hobson was asleep upstairs.”

  I braked, stepped off my bike, and straddled the frame. “Gary Hobson, huh? Was he a student?”

  “A UC student and a night watchman. I guess that means security. He kept an eye on the building, and had a room above the office.”

  “Say where he was from? His hometown.”

  “He was from right here, Santa Barbara. And he was—let’s see—twenty years old and a junior. That’s about it.”

  “Anything about who might have set the fire?”

  “Nope. But BJ and me, we could go out to UC and research it some more if you want.”

  “You and BJ?”

  “Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

  “Not at all. It’s very sweet.”

  “Eff that shit,” Claudia said happily. “I don’t do sweet.”

  “No. No, I suppose you don’t.”

  “Jaymie? Don’t worry, we got it covered. BJ and me, we’ve got a plan.”

  * * *

  “I swear, girl, I usually have to drag you out to lunch. And this time, you call me?” Tiffany Tang swirled her iced tea with a long clinking spoon. “That nasty case you’re working on—I suppose you were just dying to get away from it for an hour.”

  “It’s hard to think about anything else.” I studied my friend. Everything about Tiff was perfect, as always: her plum lipstick, glossy black hair, turquoise and tangerine scarf. “How do you do it, Tiff? You look great—you’re so put together. You make me jealous.”

  Tiff’s laugh
was always a surprise: low-pitched and naughty, it was one of the things I liked about her.

  “What’s put-together? I was late for an appointment this morning. I barely made it out the door.”

  “That scarf, for instance.” I sipped my ice-cold pale ale. “How the hell do you tie a scarf? When I try, it comes out looking like a rat’s nest.”

  “Dressing is like selling real estate, Jaymie. You rave about the view to draw the customer’s attention away from the termite holes.” Tiff fixed me with an appraising glance. “Let’s take you, for instance. You’re pretty, anyone can see that. But your eyes are two different colors.”

  “It confuses the enemy.” I picked up a crunchy slice of sourdough and spread it with a pat of pale yellow butter. “Stay back, or I’ll fix you with the evil eye.”

  “Of course, asymmetry isn’t necessarily unattractive,” Tiff mused. “Like tucking your hair behind one ear, or wearing one earring.” She set the spoon on the edge of her bread plate. “Listen, sweetie. I can give you the name of a woman who will make you over. Jennifer’s an artist, an absolute artist, I swear.”

  “Thanks but no thanks.” I leaned back in my chair as the waiter set a tossed salad in front of Tiffany and a tuna melt with fries in front of me. The aroma was to-die-for.

  “How’s work?” I asked, to change the subject.

  “Work’s fine, you know? But prices are still slightly depressed. Believe me, we can’t climb out of this recession fast enough.” She speared a curly leaf with her fork. It looked just like a weed growing in my yard.

  “But my work is boring, Jaymie. I want to hear about yours. The Aquarium Murders, I hear they’re calling them now. Were they committed for money or for love? It’s got to be one of those two, right?”

  “Not necessarily.” I felt sorry for Tiff, having to munch away like a rabbit. My tuna melt was living up to its name, melting on my tongue.

  “No? What else then?”

  “Wounds and resentments.” I dabbed at my mouth with my napkin. “Maybe revenge.”

  “Revenge? That’s bad. ‘If you embark on a journey to seek revenge, dig two graves.’”

  “What?” I lowered my fork. “Who said that?”

  “Confucius, sweetie. And he was usually right.”

  “Tiff, I know you practice tai chi. But Confucius? You don’t seem like the type.”

  “Chinese school. Every Saturday for five years when I was a kid, Mandarin lessons at the Salinas Confucius Center in Chinatown. I can’t speak more than a few words of Mandarin, but those sayings? Let’s just say Confucius kind of sticks with you.”

  I sat back in the chair and stared at my half-eaten lunch. I wanted revenge. Revenge for my brother’s death. According to Confucius, I was digging my own grave. And I didn’t doubt what Tiffany had said: Confucius was usually right.

  “Jaymie, I’m sorry.” Tiff’s gold bangle rang against the tabletop as she reached out to touch my wrist. “Did I say something to upset you?”

  “No. I’m fine.” I pasted on a smile. “Listen, can I show you something? I’ve got a photo I’d like you to take a look at. It’s of a flower I can’t identify.” Before Tiff had transformed into a real estate agent, she’d owned a florist shop. I figured it was worth a shot.

  “Oh, so that’s why you called me for lunch! Sweetie, do you ever stop working?” Tiff took the phone from my hand and peered at the photo. “Something half dead, that’s for sure. Kind of looks like a plumeria blossom.” She touched her finger to the screen.

  “But here, in the next photo, it looks like it’s orange and blue. I’ve never seen a plumeria that color.” She handed me back the phone. “Now you’ve got me curious. Hold on.”

  She pulled the latest iPad from her black patent bag, tapped away, and peered at the screen.

  “Hm. How about that. ‘Plumeria, Eternal Flame. Rare in cultivation. From Madagascar.’” She handed me her device. “Is it a clue?”

  “It might be.” I studied the picture. Sure enough, it looked like a match.

  “This detective business is fun! Too bad there’s no money in it.” Tiff slipped her iPad into her purse and closed it with a loud snap. “I have to run in five, Jaymie. So tell me, how’s that dishy boyfriend of yours?”

  “Ex, Tiff. You know Mike’s an ex.”

  “Whatever you say, sweetie. Whatever you say.”

  * * *

  The next morning I gave a guilty glance to my trusty old Schwinn as I passed by the breezeway. I told myself I needed the El Camino today, especially as the afternoon would be hot. Truth was, I was getting soft.

  The old redwood doors squealed on their hinges as I propped them back. Dex pushed in ahead of me when I opened the driver’s-side door. This time, quick to accommodate, he zipped across to the passenger seat.

  I backed out of the tight little garage and turned the Camino so that it pointed downhill. Then, just as I did every morning, I flipped down the visor and spoke to the snapshot of Brodie.

  “Another day, brother. I’ll make this one count.”

  Five minutes later I arrived at 101 West Mission. I found a spot right out in front, two cars down from Gabi’s big old station wagon. I hopped out, then walked around and let Dex out at the curb. I had a lot to tell Gabi. Hopefully she’d stopped by the Rosarita Bakery on her way in.

  Dex pushed into the shrubbery the minute we entered the overgrown courtyard. I heard him crashing around, but thankfully there was no yelping. I didn’t need a trip to the vet’s, not today. Dex felt it was his job to purge the courtyard of cats, and not all the feral felines chose to turn tail.

  I walked around the stand of giant bird-of-paradise plants which hid Suite D from view. There was my business partner, bent over with a dustpan in one hand and a whisk broom in the other. The office wastebasket stood beside her.

  “Morning, Gabi. How’s the war on dirt coming along?”

  She said nothing in reply, didn’t straighten up or look at me. Not a good sign.

  Gabi was sweeping up broken glass. Splashes of water darkened the tiled steps, and a squashed pink rosebud lay on the path. The flower looked as if someone had ground it under the heel of a shoe.

  “Angel’s latest offering? That’s too bad. What knocked it over?”

  Gabi looked up at me from the corner of her eye. “What knocked it over? My foot. My foot knocked it over on purpose.”

  I saw how furious she was. In fact, I’d never seen her so angry. I closed my mouth, nodded and waited.

  “Broken glass is dangerous,” she muttered. “So I guess I gotta pick it up.”

  Gabi swept up the remaining shards and emptied the dustpan into the wastebasket. Then, she straightened.

  “You want something, Miss Jaymie? ’Cause I’m really mad right now. You don’t wanna talk to me.”

  “OK. For how long?” An angry Gabi was a force of nature. Best to go with the flow.

  “Maybe a week, maybe more. Maybe a really long time.”

  “Whatever you say.” Edging around her, I climbed the steps and entered the office. I deposited my messenger bag on the kitchen table and began to make coffee.

  “I’m coming in now,” Gabi yelled from the front porch. “You want this perro inside?”

  “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

  A moment later the screen door banged. Dex skittered into the kitchen and dove under the table. Dogs know forces of nature when they encounter them, too.

  By this time, of course, I’d figured it out. Angel and Gabi were having a lovers’ spat. And Gabi was experiencing a super hard bounce, having dropped from such an elevated pink cloud.

  I’d reconciled myself to a week or more of towering silence when, ten minutes later, Gabi stomped into the kitchen. “No pastries. I am too mad to go to the bakery today.”

  “That’s fine. We don’t need pastries every morning.”

  “Why shouldn’t we have them every morning!” she exploded. “Just ’cause I find out Angel’s a liar, he’s been lying to me all
the time, why shouldn’t we have some pastries? Huh, tell me that!”

  “Fair enough, if you put it that way—”

  “I’m gonna tell you, Miss Jaymie. I’m gonna tell you all about it, what he told me last night.” She paused for dramatic effect. “That man, he told me he is a citizen.”

  Shit! Suddenly I wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

  “Gabi,” I ventured, “is that so bad? Come on, you love the guy. And if you two get married, well, then you could apply for—”

  “Stop!” Gabi pressed her hands to her ears. “I told you, Miss Jaymie, I told you a long time ago. Just like I told him when I met him! I don’t want no man who’s a citizen. Angel will always think he gives me something important, you know? We won’t be equal. But worse, way worse: he lied to me. OK, he didn’t say ‘Gabi, I got no papers.’ No, he just kept quiet about it. That’s still lying, Miss Jaymie! So how can I trust him, a man like that? I never can know if he is lying or telling the truth!”

  Panting from exertion, Gabi paused for breath. Dexter took advantage of the moment of silence to creep out from under the table and dash into the front office.

  I decided it was time to take my whipping. I pushed back my chair and rose to my feet. “Gabi, I have to apologize.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Oh? Miss Jaymie, what did you do?”

  “I told Angel he should tell you the truth. He wanted to tell you, but he was worried how you’d take it. Apparently with good reason,” I added.

  “No. I do not believe it.” Gabi tilted her chin and drew herself up to her full height, five foot flat. “My business partner and my boyfriend, having a secret behind my back.”

  “Gabi, that’s not—”

  “I’m gonna go walk on the beach,” she said with dignity. “I gotta think hard about this.”

  Head held high, she left the room. A minute later, the screen door slammed. Then it banged open.

  “By the way, you gonna put some water in that coffeemaker, or do you wanna burn down the office?”

  Only then did I noticed the smell of burning wire. As my hand reached for the Off switch, I heard a sharp pop.