Black Current Page 27

  Had Wheeler learned I’d been talking to Chaffee again? Maybe the police chief figured this case would distract me from finding out what had happened to my brother.

  “Oh, the chief doesn’t like you, Zarlin. Get over yourself.” Deirdre patted a blond chunk of hair back into place. “He thinks you’re harmless, as a matter of fact. What did he say, Troy? Something like, ‘she’s as fucked up as her brother.’”

  It was good that I’d just seen Helen Hobson’s dead body. That kind of thing sobers you up. Otherwise, I’d be in a different sort of mood. Otherwise I’d be lunging for Deirdre’s milky white throat.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The office courtyard drowsed in the midday heat. Through the screen door of Suite D I heard the murmur of female voices conversing in Spanish. I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  Soft rock flowed from the ancient clock radio on top of the bookcase. The apricot rose perched daintily on the corner of the desk, just as I’d left it.

  Gabi and Claudia looked up at me. Confused, I looked back at them.

  They seemed to be having a calm and intimate conversation. Gabi sat in the hot seat, her hands folded in her lap. Claudia sat—upright, for once—on the couch. She wore nice jeans and a short-sleeved white polo shirt. For the first time I noticed that the kid was actually pretty. She looked a lot like her sister Lili.

  “Miss Jaymie,” Gabi began. “Claudia and me, we been waiting for you.”

  This was all very nice, but I knew the truce could explode at any moment. I pulled the desk chair around and sat facing them. “My trip to Fresno was very useful. I learned one or two things.”

  “We learned some stuff too,” Claudia said. “Last night.”

  “Last night?”

  “Yeah. I … I went somewhere.” Her voice trembled.

  “Claudia?” I went over and sat beside her. I could see she was making an effort not to cry.

  “Do you want me to tell Miss Jaymie?”

  “Yeah,” she said in a low voice. “Yeah, ’cause I—I don’t wanna cry like a girl.”

  “Hey,” I said. “Boys cry too.”

  Claudia managed a smile.

  “Miss Jaymie, it was like this.” Gabi leaned forward in the hot seat and cleared her throat. “You know how Claudia wants to be a detective? Well last night she decided to do it, you know? Be a detective.”

  “Ah.” I turned on the couch to face the girl. “So you got into a little trouble.”

  Claudia nodded, but said nothing.

  “Not a little trouble,” Gabi corrected. “They had another piñata party, those kids. Claudia, she went there. And she listened to two of those kids when they were talking. She found out something important, Miss Jaymie, maybe really important. But”—Gabi glanced over at Claudia—“I don’t know how much I should say.”

  I wanted to scold Claudia for going against my instructions. But something bad had happened, all right, and I figured this wasn’t the time. I just hoped it wasn’t as bad as I feared.

  “You know what? I’m being a baby.” Claudia tipped up her chin. “It was Port and Vanessa. I saw them talking together, you know? Out by where they’d parked all the cars. They were arguing, but trying to keep it quiet. So I snuck up behind a car to listen. And that’s when I heard, Jaymie. I heard Vanessa tell Port she knew he didn’t go to his therapy appointment the Friday afternoon Skye died.”

  My first thought was a resounding no! I was zeroing in on Rod Steinbach, and I didn’t need to open yet another can of worms. But reason took over: what mattered was the truth. “Are you certain you understood her right?”

  “Yes. Vanessa really pushed. She wanted to know where he went. And Port kept telling her to mind her own business.”

  “And then?”

  “And then—” Her voice faded. “Then I sort of started coughing. I don’t know why, I guess I was nervous. And they heard me.” Claudia walked over to the screen door and looked out into the courtyard, her back to the room.

  “Claudia? You need to tell me the rest.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, but I want you to know.” Claudia turned back to face me, but kept her eyes on the floor. “Gabi saved me, maybe even my life.”

  “Do you want to go over to the bakery, mija?” Gabi said. “I think we could really use some pastries right now. And if it’s OK with you, maybe me and Miss Jaymie will keep talking while you are gone.”

  “Yeah, that’d be all right.”

  “Claudia?” Something was bothering me, and I figured I might as well say it. “I’m sorry I took your knife away from you. Sounds like you could have used it last night.”

  “Maybe,” she said in a low voice. “But there were a lot of them.”

  “I’ve got it at home. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

  The girl shook her head. “I’m gonna kinda lie low for a while, you know? Hang on to it, Jaymie. I’ll tell you when I want it back.”

  It bothered me to see her like that. Defeated. I just hoped she hadn’t been hurt too badly by her so-called friends.

  “Anyways, the bakery. I’m broke. What do I use for money?”

  “Petty cash,” Gabi responded. “It’s in the bottom drawer of the desk, the brown envelope inside the Kotex box. Only this one time, remember. Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK.”

  After the screen door closed, Gabi and I looked at each other.

  “They dragged her off to one of the rooms,” I guessed.

  “The Chamber of Lust. She tried to call you, Miss Jaymie, but do you know your phone isn’t working? I tried this morning too.”

  “I left it somewhere. Out in the boonies. Damn, that was bad luck.” I felt guilty, responsible, even though I’d told Claudia not to go to the party. I should have known she’d ignore me.

  “When you didn’t answer the phone, she called me instead. I put on my cleaning clothes, Miss Jaymie. Nobody hardly noticed me—I walked right into that room. What worked real good was my spray bottle. It’s full of super-strong ammonia. That bottle shoots good, right where you aim it.”

  “I’m proud of you, Gabi.”

  “I don’t think they did the—the really bad thing to her. But they were going to, that’s for sure. Her clothes were almost all off. You know, they were all really drunk. That’s one reason nobody could stop me. Those kids, I think maybe they were too drunk to figure it out.”

  “You’re a superhero. Thank God for you and that lethal weapon of yours!”

  “I don’t know nothing about no superhero. But maybe I can find that phone you lost. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Pretty sure it’s at Cholame Junction. Right outside the Cholame Junction Café. But I’ll take care of that, Gabi. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Who’s worried?” She popped up from the chair. “That’s exactly the kinda job a PA should do. I’m going to call this junction place right now and get things moving.”

  “I’ve missed you,” I said.

  * * *

  Just as Claudia walked in through the door with the pastries, the office phone rang. Gabi was back in the kitchenette making coffee, so I picked up.

  “Jaymie? It’s Donna Tactacquin.”

  “Donna, how are you?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m afraid. Last night somebody smashed our living room window with a rock. Taryn was in there, watching TV. It could have injured her, Jaymie. Glass was everywhere.”

  “That’s terrible! I’ll come right over.”

  “We’re all right for now.” Donna took an audible breath. “We boarded it up, and a glass installer should be here this afternoon. I called a security company too, for an alarm system. But what good is that going to do? People know all about Johnny. Everybody knows. An alarm system won’t stop a rock. Or rotten eggs.”

  “So this isn’t the first time.”

  “Three days ago my car got plastered with eggs. And—didn’t Taryn tell you? She lost her s
ummer job.”

  I cursed myself for not staying in touch. Taryn and Donna were isolated—besieged—and for over a week I’d barely given them a thought. “Taryn was fired because her dad’s in jail? That’s illegal. We can do something—”

  “Jaymie.” Donna paused. “Jaymie, what about Johnny?”

  “We’ve had some good news.” I cleared my throat. “Good news for your husband’s case.”

  “But—why didn’t you call me right away? Never mind. What is it?”

  I stepped out on the tightrope. “Someone came forward. A—person—who will supply an alibi for Johnny.” I was working hard to avoid using a pronoun. “That person agreed to contact Johnny’s lawyer. Gamboa should have informed the police by now.”

  “But that—that is good news! Thank heavens.”

  “On its own, it’s not enough. But it’s good news, yes.”

  I heard a sob. Donna Tactacquin was a strong woman, but the stress had to be tough to bear.

  “Thank you, Jaymie. Taryn said you wouldn’t give up.”

  “The DA’s office still isn’t looking at anyone but John,” I cautioned.

  “You’ll get there. I know you will.” She hesitated. “I understand why you didn’t want to tell me about John’s alibi. You were afraid I’d be furious at my husband.”

  “Maybe something like that,” I said in a weak voice.

  “You don’t need to worry. Like I told you, I love John, and I forgive him.” Her own voice was firm now. “I’m not saying I’m happy he had an affair, but we’ll move beyond it and be a couple again. Can you tell me her name?”

  I opened my mouth and closed it again. After a long moment I found a few words to fill the strained silence. “I’m sorry, Donna. That’s got to be between you and John.”

  “OK, I understand. It probably wouldn’t be ethical for you to tell me. Anyway, I don’t want to upset him. When all this is over, I’ll ask him then.”

  * * *

  That evening I poured myself a glass of chilled wine and went out to sit on the low wall separating my concrete patio from the edge of the cliff. The evening sky was a soft funereal purple, the channel waters a solemn blue gray. Santa Cruz Island, dark and still, stretched along the horizon.

  I thought about time. Heavy, grinding, unstoppable, time crushed everything in its path. And in spite of Larry Millar and the alibi, I feared time would crush John Tactacquin soon, if I couldn’t find a way to solve the case. As so often happens in this world, a killer would go free.

  A coil of worry tightened in my chest. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew I had a problem. My money was on Rod Steinbach, but was Porter Logsdon somehow involved? I couldn’t see how he fit in the picture. But what Claudia had overheard at the piñata party had me thinking.

  I hopped off the wall and reached into my pocket for the throwaway phone. My first thought was Mike. But no, that was out of the question. Mike was up in San Luis with Trudy and her family. They were mourning Bill’s death.

  I thought of Charlie. Somehow, in a few words, Charlie always managed to set me straight. But his pneumonia had proved to be tough to cure, and he was still languishing in Cottage, sorely trying the patience of the staff. I could visit Charlie tomorrow, but I didn’t want to bother him now. It was too late.

  Then I thought of Zave. He was a night owl. I picked up the phone and dialed his cell. I was surprised at just how disappointed I was when there was no answer. But the deep velvety recorded voice encouraged me to leave a message.

  “Zave, I need to see you tonight. Sorry I didn’t make an advance appointment, consigliere. I’m in need of advice. Call me back at this number. I’m using a temporary phone.”

  The minutes crept by. Dexter stood and stretched, as best as a three-legged dog could. I knew Zave kept his phone close, was sure he’d see that I’d called. Why wasn’t he getting back to me?

  When the phone rang some twenty minutes later, I grabbed for it, and it tumbled out of my hand. Thank goodness, it only fell on the patio and not down the steep bank. Zave was leaving a message by the time I managed to reply.

  “Hey, Jaymie.” Immediately, his voice calmed me. Zave was purring tonight. “How can I help?”

  “It’s the aquarium murders. I think I know who the killer is, but I don’t have enough evidence. And besides, something’s not right.”

  He hesitated. “Can it wait till the morning?”

  It was bedtime, and Zave was asking me to come tomorrow? That should have alerted me, but I was too frazzled to think straight.

  “No, but never mind. If you don’t want to help me, that’s—”

  “Jaymie, stop it. Give me thirty minutes. The gate will be open, just drive on through.”

  * * *

  The moon, strong as a searchlight, illuminated every pebble and blade of grass as I crossed the yard. I slipped into the narrow car shed, climbed into the El Camino and inserted the key in the ignition. The engine responded with its new throaty grr.

  I drifted down El Balcon and through the Mesa, driving slow. I’d be arriving early at Zave’s, so there was no need to rush. I switched on the fancy new CD player, relaxed and listened to music—the Eagles, of course: There’s a hole in the world tonight.

  I turned off Carrillo, into the Lower West Side. Here and there women chatted under porch lights, and young men joked on the corners. A couple of kids tossed a glow-in-the-dark Frisbee. The day had been long and hot, stifling. No doubt the little stucco-and-wood-frame houses still retained the heat of the sun, like ovens. Outside, the temperature was refreshing, cool.

  The road began to rise up from the flats. Streetlights disappeared. I watched for the rutted alley leading to Zave’s place. At the last moment, my headlights illuminated the entrance. I backed up, then entered the overgrown track.

  No rain had fallen for months. I could smell the dust and dirt in the jungle of ivy, and the sharp odor of rotting citrus.

  Another bend in the alley and I came to Zave’s beautiful Spanish colonial, La Casa de la Boca del Cañón. As the man had promised, the security gate was open. But there was a car I didn’t recognize in the drive.

  The Mercedes was silver and sleek. And the dark-skinned woman descending the steps, bathed in Zave’s Klieg lights, was sleek and beautiful too. Her clingy dress enhanced her stunning figure, and her impossibly high heels caused her to prance like a filly. She turned back to the doorway and gave an airy wave.

  The woman was all class. I hated her. I was tempted to ram the Mercedes as it moved out through the gate.

  I couldn’t do that—but I wouldn’t move out of the way. The beautiful one was forced to steer a few feet off the road. She slowed and came to a stop when our windows aligned.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw her window slide down. “’Scuse me?” she said in a voice as warm and smooth as Zave’s favorite cognac. “Girl, I’m talking to you.”

  I turned my head and met her sparkling eyes. I willed her to age quickly, and to gain fifty or sixty pounds. But she’d still be beautiful in either event, I supposed. “What? Something to say?”

  “Uh-huh. Just want to let you know, honey, you might as well go on home. Man’s in a funk.”

  As I was searching my brain for something smart to answer her with, anything at all, she smiled. Not sweetly, but broadly, revealing a crooked front tooth. Suddenly she wasn’t perfect. But now the lady was human, and beautiful in another, more genuine way. I saw I couldn’t win.

  She laughed, then drove on. I thought of turning around and leaving too. But when I glanced up at the house, I saw Zave looking down at me. His door was wide open, and it threw gold light all around him. The worst of it was, Zave was wearing his plush velour robe, the crimson robe I thought of as “ours.”

  No way would I let him see me run off.

  I pulled in through the gate, switched off the engine, and got out. “You should have told me you had company,” I snarled.

  “Come in, baby.” He stepped forward and held out a hand, but
he wasn’t smiling. “You’re early, you know.”

  I ignored his hand and mounted the steps. “If this isn’t a good time, I’ll go.”

  “It’s a good time. She had no intention of staying.” He took me by the elbow and steered me toward the open doorway. “Let’s go fix us something to eat.”

  I sat at the counter chair and watched as Zave selected ingredients from his massive stainless-steel fridge.

  “I’m gonna make you the fanciest damn omelet you ever had in your life.” When I didn’t answer, he stopped what he was doing and looked over at me.

  “What the hell, Jaymie? You jealous or something?”

  I stared at the speckled granite countertop. “Your private life is none of my business.”

  Zave set the green onions and sausage down on the counter and walked around to where I sat slumped in the chair. He put his arms around me and held me tight. “I get it. It hurts.”

  I wanted to just let go and cry on his shoulder. But I smelled her perfume on his robe, so I leaned away from the embrace. “She’s beautiful. Perfect for you. I feel like a skinny little white girl, I guess.”

  Zave tipped back his head and laughed. My heart softened in spite of myself. I loved it when the guy laughed, when his eyes narrowed to glittering slivers.

  “I knew you’d cheer me up, girl. But I’m not talkin’ about that woman to you.” Zave cupped my chin in one hand. “I just want to say something about you and me.”

  I nodded, dumbly. He held me in thrall, caressing my cheek with his thumb.

  “Love,” he said softly, “is a many-splendored thing. There’s all kinds of love. And some kinds, like this one you and me have, don’t have a name.”

  I noticed he’d gripped the edge of the counter with his right hand. “Zave, tell me. Who is she?”

  He looked at me for a moment. I’d never seen him like this: vulnerable, exposed. “Name’s Tonayah. Tonayah Carbonel.”

  “Carbonel? So you have a sister.” A tsunami of relief flooded over me.

  “Sister? She better not be. Tonayah’s my wife.”

  The wave of relief sucked back off the shore. “Your wife? But you never said you were married! And all this time—” I stared at him. “My God, Zave. You love her, don’t you. You love her for real.”