Dragon Fruit Read online

  Still I sat there, with the engine rumbling. I sat there because I had no clear idea of where to go next.

  Blue Boy got tired of idling. He carried me out of the lot, along Mason to Milpas. I saw I was reverting to my usual fallback destination: the beach.

  And I wasn’t paying attention. I had to hit the brakes hard to avoid hitting an older woman who was crossing the busy street. Her shopping basket was piled high with all her belongings. She plowed forward into the traffic, head down, back bent.

  Sitting there stopped in the middle of the road, I woke up.

  I recalled the guy I’d caught sight of in the brush above the beach at More Mesa. Most likely he was homeless, too.

  He’d chosen a good place to hang out, I realized. He was less likely to be harassed by the usual assholes than he would be in town. And he had a vantage point at that location: he was hidden and could see trouble coming before it saw him.

  Then I wondered something. Something I should have wondered before. That night – what had the guy seen?

  The woman crossing the street stumbled and went down on one knee. The jerk in the car behind me leaned on his horn. My blood pressure zinged.

  I switched off the engine, got out of the car, and turned to look at the driver behind me. I’d expected some crusty old bastard, but it was a young woman of around twenty-five. I gave her a hard look, and she turned her head the other way.

  Meanwhile the woman with the cart was still frozen in position. ‘Let me help you,’ I said.

  Terrified, she moved just her eyes to look at me. I could see she’d been scared stiff for a very long time.

  I managed to get her to her feet. Together we pushed the cart across Milpas. She was desperate not to let go of the handle. ‘They won’t stop,’ she said.

  ‘Oh yes they will.’

  Five or six cars had pulled up behind little Miss Bossypants by the time I walked back to Blue Boy. As I climbed into the Camino, I gave her a nod. I’d have liked to jump up and down on the hood of her car, but what would that have accomplished, besides making me feel good? The homeless had plenty of enemies already. They didn’t need me to generate more.

  I decided to take charge of Blue Boy. We bypassed the beach and drove over to Cliff. I stopped off to pick up sandwiches,sodas, and chips, then headed on up the road to More Mesa.

  I crossed the meadow on foot, wading through the long luscious grass with my day pack on my back.

  Four years had passed since we’d had winter grass so green, thick, and high. The wind off the ocean ran through it like a giant invisible comb, parting it this way and that.

  All sorts of birds sang all sorts of songs under the fresh warm sun. It was a symphony, and under the melody ran a rhythm: the rasps, buzzes, and clicks of insects. Rich composty smells welled up from the wet warm earth.

  I reached the edge of the mesa and halted. The uplift from the breeze off the ocean was strong here. I shut my eyes and spread my arms like wings. If I jumped off, maybe I would soar.

  Something rustled in the brush, below me and to the right. I opened my eyes and peered into the lemonadeberry thicket. I couldn’t see a thing.

  I made my way down the path. As I descended, a thick layer of damp clay built up on the soles of my running shoes. It wasn’t long before I felt as if I were walking on lifts.

  The tide was high this morning, the exposed section of beach narrow. When I reached the sand, I turned and looked up. Something moved on the cliff face, but I resisted the urge to take out my field glasses. The last thing a homeless guy would want to see was some jerk searching him out with binocs, as if he were prey.

  I climbed back up the path. Halfway up, I stopped. Unless I made a first move, nothing would happen.

  ‘My name’s Jaymie,’ I called out. ‘I’ve got some food – sandwiches and drinks.’

  The guy had to be hungry. There were no shops nearby, and I was pretty sure he didn’t venture out often. ‘Look, I’ll wait up at the top for you.’

  I continued on up the cliff, slipped out of my pack and rested it on the polished exposed root of a Monterey cypress. Then I zipped the pack open and removed the sandwiches, chips, and sodas. I waited for several minutes, but no one appeared.

  I looked around and noticed a big eucalyptus log lying a few feet back from the edge. I walked over and placed a sandwich, soda, and bag of chips on the log. Then I returned to the cypress root and sat down to await my fellow picnicker.

  Before long his head appeared. He hadn’t used the path – he must have followed his own trail, and zigzagged across the cliff face. I raised a casual hand and let it fall. Then I opened my own bag of chips and popped one in my mouth. I looked up and saw the guy standing at the edge, in full view.

  He was a wisp of a man, of less than average height and very thin. He wore a tattered and sun-faded pair of cargo pants and a threadbare T-shirt. He looked forty, but he was probably nomore than twenty-five or twenty-six years old. The wind rising up off the ocean ruffled his light brown hair.

  ‘Hi,’ I called over.

  He didn’t say anything, just stepped up onto the flat mesa and over to the food on the log. He walked on tiptoes, as if he feared that any minute the ground might fall away under his feet.

  Without looking my way, the guy picked up the sandwich, studied it, then slipped it into his cargo-pants pocket. He collected the soda can and the chips and turned to go.

  ‘Please,’ I called. ‘Please, before you go. I want to ask you something.’

  He still didn’t look at me. But he paused and stared out to sea. I knew he was listening. I also knew I had only one shot.

  ‘Listen, I’m Jaymie. I’m not a cop. I’m trying to help somebody, a lady who’s searching for her daughter.’

  He half-turned to look at me. I could see in his face how the poor guy struggled: no doubt he heard voices relentlessly, night and day. But he was working hard to push them away now, forcing them into the background.

  ‘I saw you.’ His voice was cracked from disuse. ‘You went down to the beach.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I came to have a look. But the boat that landed on the beach was already gone by the time I got here.’ I decided to take a risk. ‘What’s your name? Just your first name, I don’t want to get you in any trouble.’

  He was quiet for a moment, as if he were trying to remember. ‘Darren.’

  ‘Thanks, Darren. Listen, that night the boat landed on the beach. You saw it, right? You saw what happened.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good. What were they doing, unloading bales?’

  He nodded, then looked back to sea. ‘Yeah … weed.’

  ‘I thought so. But I’m not interested in that. See, I think there was also a baby in the boat. Maybe even two babies.’

  ‘I gotta go.’

  ‘I know you do. Just a second, OK? It’s important.’

  ‘No baby … but there was a lady. And a cat.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A really tall lady, she looked inside the boat. She was crying. But then – the – the lady turned into a man.’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’ That would have been Chucha. ‘But what did you say about a cat?’

  ‘One of the Mexican guys from the boat. Before the lady got here, he went back down and picked up a cat. I heard it, I—’ he stopped, confused.

  ‘What way did he go with the cat?’

  Darren pointed eastward, down the south-facing beach. Then he took a step away.

  ‘Darren, how about another sandwich? You can keep it for later if you want. You must get hungry out here.’ I took out my own sandwich and placed it out on the far end of the cypress root. ‘My brother used to live outside. He was like you, he stayed near the beach.’

  Darren walked over and stood looking down at the sandwich. ‘It sounded like a cat …’

  I’d assumed he’d been hallucinating. Because why would someone smuggle a goddamned cat? But then I had an idea.

  ‘Darren, do you think you heard
a baby, not a cat? A baby can sound like a cat sometimes. When it cries.’

  ‘Maybe. It sounded like it was sick, or … or real sad.’

  It was a kid, all right. It was Rosie or Millie, one or the other. My throat tightened.

  ‘I need to be someplace now.’ Darren looked up at the pristine blue sky. ‘Soon as it clears, I’ve gotta go.’

  SIX

  I walked back across More Mesa, slid into the Camino, and shut the door. I turned on the engine, then checked my phone. Dammit, I’d missed a call from Mike. I tapped on the voice message.

  ‘Jaymie, we’re about to go in. From here on out I’m going to be off the grid. Like I said, it’s going to be a few days before I talk to you again.’ He paused. ‘Be careful, will you? I’m not going to be around, so you’re going to have to look after yourself.’

  I had to smile. Mike knew just how much his last sentence would rile me. The guy couldn’t resist a parting shot.

  After a moment I scrolled down through my notes and pulled up the number Laura had given me from her Rolodex.

  ‘Staffen Brill’s office,’ announced a young, self-assured male voice. ‘Eric speaking.’

  ‘This is Jaymie Zarlin. I’d like to talk to Staffen Brill.’

  ‘Concerning?’

  I sighed to myself. This was a gatekeeper, if ever there was one. Eric had the power to bestow or deny entrance, and I could tell he’d milk the situation for all it was worth.

  I wanted to inform Eric that it was none of his business. But this wasn’t the time for self-indulgence. ‘Concerning Ms Brill’s committed advocacy on behalf of illegally adopted children.’ It never hurt to flatter, I figured. ‘The women priests, Laura and Bernadette, suggested I talk to her.’

  ‘I see.’ Eric sounded disappointed. ‘I’ll have to consult with Ms Brill first. She’s extremely busy this week.’

  When I had to, I could manipulate with the worst of them. ‘Of course, I do understand. But please be sure to tell her a child’s life is at stake. This matter concerns the possible abduction of an unaccompanied minor.’

  ‘What’s your name again?’

  ‘Jaymie Zarlin. Here’s my number.’ I rattled off my cell, then the office number. ‘I don’t want to push, Eric’ – like hell I didn’t – ‘but time is of the essence. I’m sure Ms Brill will want to talk with me soon.’

  I was sitting at Gabi’s desk staring out the window when a movement caught my eye. The giant bird of paradise trees were in flower, and something partly hidden was sipping from one of the waxy-white flower cups.

  I’d just determined that the creature lapping up nectar was a rat when my cell rang. ‘Your message sounded urgent, Ms – I’m sorry, what is it? Zaren?’ Steffan Brill’s voice was clipped, businesslike.

  ‘Zarlin.’ What, was Eric’s handwriting messy? I doubted that, somehow. ‘The women priests, Laura and Bernadette, suggested I phone you. They said you work to expose illegal adoption.’

  ‘Oh yes, Bernadette and Laura. They’re so cute, aren’t they?’

  ‘Cute? No, I can’t say I – saw them that way.’

  ‘Perhaps you don’t know them as well as I do. But yes, illegal adoption is a terrible scourge. We do our best.’ She paused. Just as I began to reply, she started up again. ‘Eric said something about an abduction. Can you tell me more?’

  Time was money for Ms Brill. Did I give a damn? ‘I’d find it easier to explain in person.’

  ‘Oh? Yes, all right. I suppose that would be a good idea, if it’s an urgent matter. Hold on, will you?’ I pictured Staffen Brill consulting a desk calendar, black with appointment notations.

  ‘I can give you fifteen minutes, this afternoon at two. Does that work?’

  ‘Um, yeah. Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Please stay on the line, will you? Eric will give you directions.’

  Brill was all business, but she was fitting me in right away. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

  The name of the estate, Agua Azul, was worked into the scrolled wrought-iron gate. I rolled down the window and pushed the button on the intercom.

  ‘What?’

  Oh, that Eric. He and I were having just too much fun.

  ‘Jaymie Zarlin.’

  ‘And you are here for …’

  I’d had enough. ‘I am here to deliver the squabs and piglets for the great feast, m’lord’s servant.’

  There was a long moment of silence. I had the impressionMr Eric was dumbstruck. Then there was a well-oiled whirr, and the massive gate swung open.

  ‘See you soon, Eric.’ I stepped on the gas and gunned it.

  Blue Boy cruised up Staffen Brill’s landscaped drive as if the Cam were to the manor born. Agua Azul boasted a handsome Mediterranean-style mansion perched at the top of the hill. Just below the house, an infinity pool spilled a curtain of water down to a second pool below.

  I’d done my homework. Ms Brill was a local divorce attorney, and her husband, Jack Morehead, was a partner in a top-flight Los Angeles firm dealing in corporate law. Judging from their abode, the scales of justice were weighted with gold.

  Blue Boy and I tooled past the house, as Eric had instructed over the phone. Fifty yards on, I pulled into a short drive, then parked beside a redwood lattice screen. Beyond the screen I could make out the roof of Staffen Brill’s office.

  I got out, slammed the door shut, but didn’t bother to lock it. Not that there wasn’t plenty of thievery going on in this neck of the woods.

  I stepped onto a path of sandstone pavers set in black beach stones. Wispy Mexican bamboo arched overhead. The path curved to the right, and the bamboo gave way to ferns and begonias. Now I could see across the rolling hillside. I stopped for a moment to take in the estate.

  The big house stood at the top of the hill, facing south. Brill’s office, a single-story Spanish-style structure, lay straight ahead and slightly below me. Between the two structures, some hundred yards away, was a large garden shed designed to look like a miniature barn. The barn doors were closed, and a ride-on lawnmower was parked out in front. Separate heaps of mulch and different grades of gravel were piled along the side of the structure. Agua Azul was quite the operation, it seemed.

  Just as I was about to turn away, a maid dressed in a black-and-white uniform and carrying a stack of what looked like bed linens approached the barn. She set the linens on an outdoor bench, took a key from her pocket and opened the door. A maid in a white apron with bed linens, sent to a barn? My interest was piqued.

  But I didn’t see what happened next because at that moment a large canine, some sort of Rottweiler mix, exploded out of the shrubbery.

  Let me say this: I love dogs, goofy creatures that they are. I like to think I understand them. And it was pretty hard not to understand the message this snarling beast was sending my way: lady, I’m going to chew on your ass.

  Options leaped through my brain. Turn tail and run? That would only encourage the Hound of the Baskervilles. Talk sweetly? Stand meekly? He’d relish that too – and me, into the bargain. This was an attack dog, born, bred, and trained up. What kind of a game was Staffen Brill playing, for fuck’s sake? And with that thought, I was furious.

  ‘Back off! Back off, you freakin mutt!’

  To my complete surprise, Fido fell back. He seemed surprised too, but I didn’t count on that to last long.

  ‘Greco, here boy.’ No doubt this was Eric who’d opened the door to the office building. The young man had a grin on his face, the junior son-of-a-bitch. Greco lifted a lip, then sidled over to the guy. The two of them disappeared inside, leaving the door ajar.

  I wasn’t all that keen on approaching the office. On the other hand, I wasn’t about to let Eric think I was afraid. So I stepped up to the door and kind of peered in.

  Eric was seated at a computer desk. Greco now sported a shiny chain-link leash. On the other end of the leash was Eric’s wrist. It was difficult to tell who was restraining whom.

  Greco snarled at me, but this time it was a
quiet snarl. He was using his inside voice.

  I took one eye off Greco and glanced at Eric. Man, he was a white guy. I don’t mean that as a racial designation: I mean he had an almost translucent white complexion. His blond hair was nearly colorless. I wondered if he glowed in the dark.

  Eric was terribly busy. It took him a full minute to look up and acknowledge me. ‘Ms Brill will be down in a few minutes.’ He nodded in the direction of an Italian chair, so very moderne, orange leather and chrome.

  There was no way I was getting into that chair. It looked like a torture rack, and besides, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to climb out in time if Greco got cozy. ‘I’ll wait outside. In the garden.’

  Eric shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

  I stepped out the door and sat down in one of two teak chairs sporting striped cushions. I tipped back my head: a weeping ficus, houseplant gone wild, provided a bright green umbrella high above. I wondered about Eric and his bad attitude. Did Ms Brill keep him around to express her shadow side?

  Three or four goldfinches hopped about in the canopy. Their breasts gleamed like gold bubbles caught in the branches of the fig. As I watched I became aware of a repetitive sound – footsteps crunching along gravel, from the general direction of the big house.

  I turned just in time to meet the steady gaze of Ms Staffen Brill. It was she, of course: who else could appear so in charge of this opulent world? Of average height, the woman somehow seemed taller. Her rich auburn curls bounced as she strode along in her black leather pumps. She wore gray slacks of a light wool, a gray-blue silk blouse, and a matching cashmere sweater.

  ‘Miss Zarlin? Staffen Brill.’ She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘I had some personal business to attend to.’ She smiled and extended a hand. Her handshake was perfect, like all the rest of her: not too soft, not too hard. But now that Staffen Brill stood in front of me, I couldn’t help but notice her face.

  She was attractive from a distance, but up close her features looked as if they’d been wired together. She’d had too much plastic surgery: everything was perfect, yet somehow the end result was not pretty. Nose, chin, cheeks: all were a shade too hard, too tight. Except for Staffen Brill’s brown eyes: they were soft and vulnerable. Did the attorney realize her eyes betrayed her?