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The screen door slammed shut once more, and the office was quiet. Except for a crackling sound from the coffeepot, everything was still.

  * * *

  Fueled by the fury of a woman scorned, Gabi must have caught a low tide and marched all the way from Butterfly Beach to Goleta. Three hours later, she still hadn’t returned.

  The office was getting me down. It was quiet, too quiet. For once, I was glad when my cell jangled in my pocket.

  “Jaymie, it was so cool,” Claudia effused into the phone. “BJ took me out to UC, to meet this administrator who knows BJ’s parents. I told her I want to go there when I get out of high school. They need Hispanic students real bad—she almost wet her pants.”

  “I guess that means you aren’t dropping out of school on your fifteenth birthday, like you planned?”

  “Uh—maybe not. Just so you know, I didn’t tell BJ about that idea.”

  “I won’t mention it. Anyway, it sounds like your plans are changing. Glad to hear it.”

  “Hey, you know me. I always keep my options open.”

  I wasn’t sure that spending a good part of her freshman year in juvie had been “keeping her options open.” But the last thing I wanted to do was dampen the kid’s enthusiasm.

  “So tell me. Did you find out anything?”

  “Yeah we did. BJ told this librarian we needed to do some research. Guess what, she gave him a special library pass cause his parents are professors. We looked through at least a hundred issues of old college newspapers, they’ve still got it all on microfiche.”

  “And?”

  “And we read every article about the antiwar protests in the spring semester of 1970, I think there was around eighteen or twenty of them. A lot of it was repeat info, but we got some good stuff. See, we figured out the paper couldn’t legally print the names of the students who were suspects in Hobson’s death, because nobody was ever charged. But the paper published articles about the protest leaders, and then they put those articles right next to the ones about Hobson and the fire. BJ and me, we think the paper was kinda telling the readers who might have torched the rental office. Who was guilty, you know? And Jaymie, guess what.”

  “I can’t imagine,” I obliged. “You’ll have to tell me.”

  “Skye’s grandfather was one of the leaders. Actually, the main one.”

  I wasn’t completely surprised, or even sure what it meant. But the news sent a shiver through me.

  “Good detective work, huh?”

  “Yeah, it is. Listen, did you copy everything?”

  “Sure. Hey, are you at the office right now? Do you want me to drop the stuff by?”

  “When do you get out of school?”

  “Any time I want, woman. Ain’t like the school’s got bars or nothin’. I’m at the Hamburger Habit right now.”

  “I thought the high-school campus was closed during the lunch hour.”

  “I didn’t see no CLOSED sign.”

  I knew I shouldn’t contribute to the delinquency of this minor. But I felt frustrated and stalled, and I needed to move on with the case. Besides, I was starved. “Have any money on you?”

  “Some. I’ll have more after you pay me.”

  “I paid you three days ago, Claudia. Now order me a teriyaki burger, and get up here on the double.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fifteen minutes later the screen door crashed back against the wall. I looked up from the kitchen table as Claudia wheeled her yellow and orange bike inside the office and leaned it against Gabi’s desk.

  “Hey, Jaymie. Where’s the witch? Did you fire her like you shoulda done a long time ago?”

  “Claudia. Maybe you should give Gabi a chance.”

  “What for? We’re the opposite.” Claudia swung her massive backpack off her narrow birdlike shoulders and carried it into the kitchenette. “She wants to Clorox the whole world. Me, I like it dirty.”

  “All right, grubby girl. Come in and show me what you’ve got.”

  “First, I got this.” Claudia opened the pack, removed a wrapped burger, and tossed it over to me.

  “Thanks. I owe you.”

  “Three-forty-nine. Got some tape? I’m gonna do what you do, Jaymie. Tape all my stuff to the wall.”

  I bit into the juicy burger and studied the grainy pictures and articles as they went up one by one. And I saw what Claudia meant: the university paper had paired half a dozen articles about the protest and its leaders with others about Gary Hobson’s death and the rental agency fire.

  I polished off the burger and rinsed my hands at the sink, then walked over and scanned the copies more closely. The young and handsome Rod Steinbach was oft-photographed and quoted. “We will keep pressing until our demands are met … the fascist university machine will have to deal with us sooner or later … the military-industrial complex includes the University of California.…” Then, as now, the man apparently loved to hear himself talk.

  It wasn’t until the final page went up on the wall that I spotted what I was looking for. It was a photocopy of six young women seated around an outdoor table. One of the women was Alice Steinbach. Another, seated in the center of the group, was the unidentified woman in BJ’s photo: Rod’s partner. The accompanying article was titled “Women in Protest.”

  “Bingo.” I leaned close to read the caption. “Alice Tanaka, secretary. Rachel Berger, chair, Women’s Committee. Yep. That’s her.”

  “Her? Who’s her?”

  “The fourth person, the woman who was with Steinbach the night of the fire.”

  “Rachel Berger, huh? She looks kinda hot.” Claudia turned to me. “So we did it, right? We figured out who she is.”

  “We’re halfway there,” I conceded. “We need to find out where Rachel Berger is now.”

  “That’s a good job for me. Jaymie, can you switch on the computer? La Bruja won’t give me the password.”

  It only took five minutes for Claudia to deliver the unwelcome news.

  “I can tell you exactly where Berger is,” she called from the front room. “Plot 34 North, six feet under. Fresno Cemetery.”

  “Damn!” Disappointment dropped like a lead sinker in my chest. “When did she die?”

  Claudia entered the kitchenette with a printout in hand, and parked her tiny butt on the edge of my table. “About a year ago. She was Dr. Rachel Berger. Survived by a sister, a brother, and a shitload of nieces and nephews.”

  I wasn’t ready to give up. “Does it say where the sister and brother live?”

  She peered at the printout. “The brother, David Berger, lives in Boston. The sister lives in Fresno. Her name’s Judith Rosenfeld.”

  I ran a fingernail along the wood grain of the desktop. “Tell you what. You get back to school. I’ll pull up a phone number and address for Judith. Maybe Rachel confided in her about the past.”

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Claudia pulled the cord on her backpack and knotted it shut. “You’re gonna try and prove Skye’s grandfather set the fire back then. Maybe he did. But what does that have to do with the murders we’re trying to solve?”

  “I don’t know how they’re linked,” I admitted. “Rod Steinbach had no apparent reason to kill Cheryl Kerr, and Skye was the last person in the world he’d have murdered. Still, something tells me there’s a connection between the present and the past. At this point, all I know is Rod Steinbach’s not the upstanding marine biologist and civic-minded fellow he seems.”

  Claudia hoisted the pack. “We’re done, right? I’m takin’ off. There’s a movie at the Arlington I wanna see.”

  “No you don’t. You’re going back to school. We’ll toss your bike in the Camino and I’ll drop you off. I’m going down to Hard Body Gym.”

  “Hey, what are you gonna do at the gym? Maybe I’ll tag along. Are you going to work out or maybe pick up a hard body? I’d like a hard body right now.”

  “You’re too young for hard bodies, child.” I reached for my messenger bag. “Besides, you’re bluffing.”
/>   Just then the door squeaked open. “Miss Jaymie? It’s me—”

  Gabi appeared in the kitchenette doorway. “Miss Jaymie, I’m sorry. I—” Her eyes settled on Claudia, and she stopped.

  “I’m outta here. I don’t need no ride.” Claudia hopped off the table. “See ya, Jaymie—good brainstorming session.” She tilted her chin and looked over at Gabi. “You can go home, take a rest. Jaymie and me, we’ve practically got the case solved.”

  Gabi looked stricken. Her big purse fell to her side. She didn’t even react as Claudia bumped her on her way out.

  “Hi, Gabi! I hope you had a nice walk on the beach,” I began.

  “Mr. Thaw, he’s having a party tomorrow. I shoulda cleaned him last week, I got way behind.”

  “Gabi, come on. Just now, what Claudia said—”

  “Miss Jaymie? I gotta go clean.” She hefted her heavy bag to her shoulder again, and walked back out the door.

  * * *

  I’d decided there was no point in approaching Rod Steinbach. Even if I were able to corner him, I’d never be able to extract anything out of the guy—he was too self-controlled. I didn’t expect his wife to be a pushover either, but with Alice Steinbach, I figured I had a fighting chance.

  Around 1:45 that afternoon I hopped in the Camino and headed downtown to Hard Body Gym. I found a park facing the front doors, rolled down all the windows and relaxed.

  A steady trickle of gym rats flowed in and out of the portals to fitness. Maybe I should join, I mused, work on the old solar plexus. Yeah, I should. Just not today.

  At 1:55 I slid down in my seat. Right on schedule, a newish gray Volvo had glided into the gym parking lot. Silver-haired Alice sat at the wheel.

  I watched as she got out of the car and crossed the lot. Alice wore a charcoal and fuchsia tracksuit with matching gym shoes. With her smart geometric haircut and confident stride, she looked like a cover girl for AARP Magazine.

  After a few minutes I tucked my phone in my jeans pocket, hopped out of the Camino, and set out after my quarry.

  Hard Body wasn’t messing around. Their security was tighter than a bank’s.

  “I’m interested in joining,” I said to the pert young woman at the front desk. “Mind if I look around?”

  “You’ll need to sign in. And show me your ID. Would you like a tour?”

  “I don’t really have time. But I’ll know if it’s for me once I look. I just need to—ah—see what equipment you’ve got.” I wasn’t much of a gym person. I preferred to take my exercise in the great outdoors.

  She studied my license and compared me with my picture, taking her time. “Hey, it’s not the Pentagon,” I quipped.

  The young woman frowned. “Here’s a map, and here’s your temporary pass. Stick it somewhere on your top.” Then she fake-smiled. “Enjoy!”

  “Will do.” I grimaced as I peeled the back off the fluorescent orange sticker and pressed it to my T-shirt. I love California—it’s home. I just wish my fellow citizens would deep-six our state’s nauseous motto: enjoy.

  Now, where was Alice likely to go? I stepped away from the desk and studied the map. I noticed a space labeled Women’s Weight Room and figured it was worth a shot. I pushed through a set of glass doors and headed down a tiled corridor.

  Unlike several other rooms I passed, the women’s weight room had no windows looking out to the hallway. A plaque on the door bore the image of a curvy female silhouette. Working out, apparently, would give you very large breasts.

  Alice was walking rapidly on a treadmill set up on the far side of the room. She gave a start when our eyes connected. But she recovered, looked straight ahead, and strode on. I wove through the equipment, keeping my eyes on my prey.

  “Hi, Mrs. Steinbach.” I tried on a nice smile.

  “Excuse me.” Alice didn’t miss a step. “I’m focusing, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. How funny to bump into you. I was just thinking we need to chat.” I spoke loudly, raising my voice above the clatter of the treadmill in the concrete-walled room.

  She glanced at my jeans. “You don’t look like you’re here to work out.”

  “Oh. Well, I didn’t have my gym clothes with me, but I just got the urge.” Did people still say “gym clothes,” I wondered? I was pretty sure I’d last used those words in what we used to call junior high.

  “You and I have nothing to ‘chat’ about.” Alice kept on power walking. Her face was composed and her breathing was steady. Only a light beading of sweat on her forehead revealed her heart rate was up.

  “Actually, we do.” I opened my messenger bag and withdrew the photo I’d obtained from BJ. “I came across something, Mrs. Steinbach. An old picture of you.”

  “Please let me get on with my day. I don’t—” I held it up in front of her eyes.

  Alice stared at the picture. Then, she stumbled. I caught her elbow, and she righted herself on the belt.

  “Mrs. Steinbach? Maybe you should switch that off for a minute.”

  Alice pushed a button and the machine ground to a halt. She reached over and snatched the copy from my hands. Her face was red.

  “You—what—dug up some old photo, from college? You really are pathetic. Our grandson’s killer has been caught. Go away, leave us alone.”

  “John Tactacquin didn’t murder Skye. I know that for certain.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She held the photo out to me with two fingers, as if it were dirty. “Take it, go.”

  “Sure. But first, I have a question. You see, it’s confusing. When I look at this photo, I see two obvious couples. But the curious thing is that you and Neil Thompson formed one of the couples, didn’t you? And Rod, your husband, was with this other woman here.”

  “Mind your own business,” she blazed.

  “If you say so.” I slipped the sheet of paper back into my bag. “Oh—you don’t happen to remember the name of the woman, do you?”

  “I have absolutely no idea who she was. Someone who had a crush on Rod, I suppose. It happened a lot.”

  “Not good enough, I’m afraid. You know perfectly well who Rachel Berger was, since she was Rod’s lover at the time. No wife forgets something like that about her husband’s past.”

  Her upper lip curled slightly as she stepped off the treadmill. She walked over to her bag and pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the front desk.”

  “No need. I’ll go. But what are you hiding? That’s what I want to know.”

  A burly security guard approached me out in the hall. “You come from the women’s weight room?”

  “Yeah, you better get on in there. Somebody’s having a big hissy fit. They’re fighting over whose turn it is on the StairMaster.”

  “Girl fights. I hate them,” he groaned.

  * * *

  The next morning Gabi arrived late. I watched as she rummaged around in her purse, removing a pound of bagged coffee and a small paper sack.

  “I’m glad to see you. I’ve missed you, you know.”

  “Really? No, I don’t think so.”

  “Hey, come on. This office is lonely without you.”

  Gabi looked at the wall crowded with papers, then met my gaze. “I was here yesterday, remember? I saw you got somebody else to help you now.”

  “Gabi, come on. Claudia’s just pulling your chain.”

  “Huh? Pulling my what?”

  “I just mean she’s trying to get your goat.”

  “What are you talking about? I ain’t got no goat, not in Santa Barbara. Don’t you know nothing about goats, Miss Jaymie? You can’t keep them in a backyard like a dog, you know.”

  I knew Gabi understood perfectly well this wasn’t about goats, or chains either. She was in no mood for nonsense just now.

  “Sit down.” I pulled out a kitchen chair for her. “I’ll make the coffee, for once. Guess what? Last night I bought a new pot.”

  Without a word of protest, Gabi did as I asked. She glanced once at the loose papers mounded on th
e tabletop, then looked away.

  Five minutes later I set a steaming mug of coffee before her, and then a pastry oozing with chocolate. “Here, just the way you like it: three sugars, no cream.”

  Gabi frowned at the pastry as if it were poison.

  “Just listen to me. Claudia is helpful. She knows her way around a computer. And I want to support her because of what happened to Lili.” Gabi still said nothing, just bent her head to the mug and took a delicate sip.

  “You and I know she won’t be here forever. She’ll move on in her life soon enough. This operation—we’re the heart of it, you and I.”

  Gabi cradled the warm mug in her hands. “I … I know that.”

  “So is this really about Claudia? Or is it more about Angel?”

  Gabi opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Then she opened it again. “One time in my life! Just one time in my life I meet somebody, a man. And then he does that. You know, what he did.”

  “Angel didn’t want to lose you, Gabi. He knew you didn’t want a man with papers. But he wanted you, so he just kind of—hid the fact.”

  “Hid the fact?” She raised her face and looked at me. Her eyes were wet with tears. “I don’t like it that Angel has papers, but I guess it’s OK. What is not OK? He told me a lie.”

  “Lies are hard to take,” I admitted.

  “Especially for me. I guess I never told you this, ’cause it’s personal and this is a place of business, you know? I had a good father, but he died when I was six. He fell off a horse and broke his neck. Then my mother, she married a borracho—you know, a drunk. He hit me every day, my brother Eddie and me. My mother, she always said we would leave him, but we never did. She had more kids. El Borracho never hit them—only Eddie and me. Every day he hit us, sometimes with a stick, sometimes with his fist. And every day our mother said we would run away soon. That went on for five years.”

  “I’m so sorry, Gabi.” I reached down and gave her a hug, but Gabi didn’t respond.

  “That man, one day he fell down some steps and broke his neck. And I’m sorry to say this but thanks to God, three weeks later he died. And then we came to Santa Barbara, and that’s another story.” Gabi rose to her feet. “I’m just telling you, Miss Jaymie, that’s all. I’m a strong woman, I don’t feel sorry for myself.”