When his grandmother died and left him her house in Bellingham, Boo figured it was time to get out of town. He was failing his classes and drinking too much. It was only when he was packing up that he realized the grenade was missing from his locker. He asked Ellie about it. She only looked at him with wide eyes and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He tried to persuade her to move to Bellingham with him but she insisted she had to stick around for the trial. She and Marty had big plans: to turn the tables, to put the war on trial, to prove that US policy was immoral. Boo was one of the witnesses for the defense, testifying about his experience in Vietnam.
By then, Ellie, sitting at the defense table was as big as a house. That was Ellie. Always scheming. She told him she thought being pregnant would make the judge more sympathetic. When he asked, “Who’s the lucky fellow?” she just said, “Who knows?” but he thought he heard some uncharacteristic sadness in her voice.
Of course, the plan didn’t work. The judge wasn’t at all sympathetic. Ellie went to prison: the women’s prison in Gig Harbor. The kid went into foster care. Boo thought about visiting Ellie but never did. It was a long way from Bellingham to Gig Harbor. And he was busy. He started buying up rundown houses and fixing them up. Soon he had a string of properties he was managing.
Years later, he heard about the shootout at the Mutual Bank. Learned that Ellie was on the run and hoped she would come to him. But she didn’t. Not for ten years.
Chapter 21
Boo was a take-charge kind of guy. He didn’t waste a minute. He ran back into the house, ordered Grace to call a cab to take her to a friend’s place, then returned with a full duffel bag. When he threw it into the back of my jeep, it landed with a thunk.
“I need to hook up with Matt,” he said. “Can I get a ride to Seattle?”
“Sure!” I thought it was a great idea to have Boo in my car. And when he offered to drive, I said yes. I don’t usually let people drive my Jeep, but I was still shaking. I didn’t mind having him take charge. He navigated the Jeep through the early afternoon traffic on Highway 5 like a porpoise cruising through the waves.
We were about halfway to Seattle before either of us spoke.
“Who do you think was shooting at us?” I asked.
Boo looked surprised at that. “Isn’t it obvious? The Jimi Hendrix killer.”
“He was in my apartment,” I said with a shudder. I told him about how my purse had appeared on my desk after the bomb blew up Matt’s houseboat. “Maybe he was following me,” I said. “Maybe that’s how he found you.”
Boo shook his head. “Can’t blame yourself,” he said. “And maybe whoever it was, wasn’t after me. Maybe they were after you. What are you working on anyway? Something to do with Ellie?”
“Yeah. Apparently she wants to come up from underground.”
“Why? She’s successfully evaded the FBI for almost twenty years. Why surface now?”
“I have no idea. I don’t think the lawyer does either.”
“What lawyer?”
“The one who’s negotiating with the authorities on her behalf. She got in touch with my dad and my dad got in touch with the lawyer.”
“She got in touch with Marty?” He sounded surprised.
“Yeah.”
“Well, well, well.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“I didn’t say anything,” Boo responded, his eyes on the road.
“I’m not stupid,” I said, thinking I knew what he was thinking. “I know they had an affair. I saw my dad with her. In fact, I told my mother about it. That’s why they got divorced.”
“Oh, that’s not why they got divorced,” said Boo.
I felt like I should know more than he did about my parents’ marriage but I asked anyway: “Why did they get divorced?”
“That marriage was coming apart way before Marty got involved with Ellie. The Seventies were hard on marriages.”
We were both quiet for a while.
“Were you ever married?” I asked.
Boo snorted. “Ha!” I assumed that meant no.
“So how did you end up with Ellie’s albums?” I asked him.
“She left them behind when she went to jail and I took them with me when I moved to Bellingham. I told her to come and get them but she never did. Too busy being a radical, I guess.”
“Did you visit her while she was in prison?”
Boo shook his head.
“What about after she got out?”
“Not after she got out of prison.” He chose his words carefully.
“But you did see her again?”
“Yeah, she showed up at my door in the late-Eighties. She was on the run, hiding out from the FBI. Said she spent a couple of years in Canada. Trained as a nurse. Then she went to Vietnam and worked with kids who had been injured by mines that exploded. I think she was trying to make up for what happened to that janitor. That was fucked up.”
“Yeah, it was,” I said. We were coasting into Seattle, Boo weaving expertly in and out of the traffic. “So did she stay with you?”
Boo shook his head. “We both knew the FBI would be keeping an eye on me. I sent her down to stay with my buddy Smitty in Astoria. He needed a caretaker.”
“What was wrong with Smitty?”
“He got his legs blown off in Nam. He was in a wheel chair. Had all sorts of medical complications. But he ran off everyone who came to help him. He was a bitter, nasty drunk and he was drunk most of the time. I figured since Ellie was into helping the wounded, she might be able to help him.”
“Smitty? Was he in your old platoon?”
“Yeah! You know Smitty?”
‘No, but I was trying to find his address so Matt could go warn him.”
“He was living in Astoria back then.”
“So did she stay with Smitty?”
“Damned if I know. I never heard from Smitty again.”
“Was that unusual?”
Boo shrugged off the question. “Not really. Smitty and I talked maybe once a year. I thought maybe he objected to my sending Ellie down to help him. He was that kind of guy. Really offended if you thought he needed help.”
“Take the next exit!” I said, as we headed over the high freeway bridge across the Montlake cut. Boo nodded and eased over into the right lane.
The waters of Lake Union glittered under the sun. If it wasn’t for the trees in the way, I would probably be able to see the dock where Matt’s houseboat used to be.
“But you never heard from either of them again?”
“Not a word.”
Chapter 22
I didn’t have time to do much more than take a quick shower and slip into a black lace top, a pair of black Capri pants and my favorite sandals, before heading down to meet Joel for dinner. I did leave a quick message for Matt telling him I had found an address for James Smith in Astoria. He wasn’t answering his phone so I left a voice mail.
Joel had chosen a little Greek restaurant about a block from his office. It was a long narrow space with one window facing out onto Broadway, the main street of Capitol Hill. One of the walls was painted the bright blue of the Greek flag. A bar ran down the center of the restaurant on the left and you could see the cooks working in the kitchen through an open window.
Joel was sitting at a small table in the far back on the right. He was talking on a cell phone but he hung up when I entered. He stood up as I approached and smiled.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, but my voice quivered.
A waiter approached, a tall, fair-haired man, and asked me if I wanted anything to drink. Joel already had a glass of what looked like Scotch in front of him. That looked good to me but I haven’t had a drink of liquor for years. Instead I ordered a lemonade.
We exchanged a few sentences about the weather before the waiter returned with my drink and a description of the specials. I chose the fish special—dill-crusted halibut—w
hile Joel ordered the lamb burger. When I picked up my glass and noticed my hand was shaking. I thought about Melody and her case of the shakes.
“Is something wrong?” Joel asked.
“I was shot at this afternoon,” I said.
“What happened?” Joel leaned forward, his eyes full of concern.
“I was interviewing a witness and someone fired at us.”
Joel reared up and frowned. “I don’t like this. It’s becoming too dangerous.”
“I don’t think it was me they were shooting at.”
“Well, who were they shooting at?”
I tried to explain about Matt’s case and how someone was killing members of his old platoon. “But the amazing thing,” I said, “was that right before this happened, I was holding in my hands an album that once belonged to Ellie Foley. In my hands! An album she held in hers! I felt I was getting close to her.”
“You’re really getting into this,” Joel said. “But you know, your assignment is not to find Ellie. It’s to identify character witnesses who can help us put her actions in context.”
“Well, if that’s what you want, I’ve got some great information.” I told him about Melody and her account of the bank robbery. I thought he would be pleased but he looked dismayed.
“That’s not the official version,” he said. “The police and the FBI put Ellie on the scene firing at civilians.”
“Well, of course, they would say that,” I said. “They thought they could capture her and silence her before she could tell her side of the story.”
Our food arrived. The halibut was a symphony of green and white framed on the plate by fingerling potatoes and green beans. I took a bite of the fish and let it melt into my mouth. It was cooked perfectly.
“I wish I could talk to her,” I said.
“No, that’s not why I hired you.” Joel’s voice was sharp.
I leaned across the table. “I think I might know where she is.”
“Look, I don’t want to know this. If I knew where she was, I could be accused of abetting a fugitive. And so could you. Please restrain yourself…”
“I don’t know for sure,” I went on. I told him about what I had learned from Boo about her time in Canada, and her work in Vietnam. “Surely you want to know about her good deeds.” I realized that Joel wasn’t listening to me. Instead he was staring at something behind my back.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
“I think that man is watching us,” he said, leaning forward and nodding his head.
I twisted around in my seat and saw a single man sitting at the end of the bar, with his back to us. He was close, probably close enough to hear our conversation. I’ve been told I have a loud voice.
“The guy in the white shirt?”
“Yeah.” Joel said. “Lower your voice.”
The guy had just signaled to the waitress and asked her a question about something on the menu.
“He was standing in the hallway, then he came in the back door and took the seat closest to us,” Joel said.
I polished off the last of the potatoes.
“It’s not just that,” said Joel. “Someone went through my office this afternoon. Of course, they didn’t find anything about this case.”
“That’s weird,” I said. “A sheriff’s deputy came to my house yesterday and took my notes on the case.”
“You had things in writing?” Joel looked horrified.
“That’s how I keep track of all my cases.”
“And the King County Sheriffs have that information?”
I nodded.
Joel looked upset. “That’s terrible,” he said. “They were involved in the shootout at the bank.”
“Why were they at the bank?” I asked.
“The house where the Weevil members lived was out near Sultan. Sheriff’s jurisdiction. Didn’t you wonder how the police got to the bank so quickly?”
“I didn’t think about it,” I said. “I guess I assumed someone activated the alarm and they showed up.”
“FBI, Seattle police and the King County sheriffs? All working together?”
“That’s unusual?” I asked.
“Highly! They clearly knew something was going down that day.”
“Why would they wait until people were in danger?” I asked.
“That’s the question. Something must have gone wrong.” Joel said. He was whispering. “So what did the sheriff get?”
“I hadn’t talked to Melody yet. I didn’t have even have her address,” I said. I looked down at my empty plate, wishing I had more food.
“What else did they get?” Joel asked.
“The notes from my interviews with the bank teller and Karen Eveschild,” I said. “Nothing really inflammatory there. The bank manager backed up the official story of the robbery and Karen talked to me about Ellie’s child.”
“Do you have any other leads?” asked Joel as he sopped up the last of his catsup with his French fries. I noticed he kept his eyes on the man at the counter.
“I thought I’d head down to Astoria tomorrow. Question this guy who she might have stayed with. Maybe I’ll even find Ellie there.’
“My God, don’t say her name out loud!” Joel hissed.
“Why not?”
“This is not the right place or time,”
“What is?”
“OK, there isn’t a right place or time. I don’t want to know.” Joel signaled to the waiter for the bill.
“But, Joel—” I was planning to order dessert. I had spotted a chocolate lava cake on the menu.
“Rachel please, just shut up,” he said, as the waiter approached with the black leather bill folder containing our check.
“I can’t believe you would speak to me like that!” I said, getting up as Joel looked over the check.
“Good!’ whispered Joel. “He’ll think we’re just a couple quarreling.” He pulled some bills from his pocket and stuffed them into the folder.
“God, you’re so infuriating,” I said.
I saw the man at the counter was watching us but that was hardly surprising. A couple arguing always draws attention. It also wasn’t surprising that he turned his attention back to his plate as soon as he saw me looking at him. I had never seen him before. He had almost mouse-like features: beady eyes and a pointy nose set in a rather small face. Nothing remarkable about him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Joel said, extricating himself from his seat.
We went up to the front where he dropped off the payment. When the waiter asked if he needed change, Joel shook his head No. I saw the waiter’s eyes light up. Apparently Joel is a good tipper. I like that in a man. But I don’t like people who tell me to shut up.
I kept my eye on the man at the counter, but he didn’t look up again.
The sun had set while we were eating, but the street was still full of people. Couples strolling, young people roaming in packs, single people with grocery bags, a homeless man pushing a shopping cart full of his belongings.
“Come on,” said Joel. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I didn’t drive,” I said. “I walked. I only live a few blocks away. Up the hill.”
“Then let me walk you home,” he said. “At least that way I can make sure you get there safely.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I said, rather heatedly.
“Do you own a gun?” he asked.
“No,” I admitted. Then I thought about Boo. “But the friend who’s staying with me might have a gun.”
“You have a friend staying with you?” Joel seemed concerned.
“It’s just temporary,” I said.
At the corner of Broadway and John, we passed a trio of teenagers clad in black.
“What’s that smell?” Joel asked as we passed through the cloud of smoke around them.
“What?” I sniffed the air. I recognized the spicy scent. “That’s a clove cigarette. I used to smoke them.”
�
��Really? I thought they were dangerous.”
“They are but so are a lot of things that are fun.”
Joel didn’t comment but his face looked grim.
“If I find out I’ve only got a few months to live, I swear I’ll start smoking them again,” I said.
We passed a rundown house concealed behind a tangle of hedges and rose bushes.
“That’s funny. I’ve never thought about that,” Joel said.
“What? You mean what you would do if you only had a few months to live?”
“Yeah.” Joel looked back over his shoulder. “Do you think about it often?” I sensed he was trying to make conversation to heal the rift.
I indicated we should turn left. That way we could pass by the bank of honeysuckle in full bloom edging a hidden garden.
“No, but I do have a life list. You know things I want to do before I die. Like see a complete solar eclipse.”
“I’ve already done that. Off the coast of Africa in 1962.”
“Meet the Dalai Lama.”
“Done that too. 1993. Vancouver.”
“So there’s nothing left for you to do,” I said. We had reached the honeysuckle and I paused to bury my head among the fragrant yellow flowers.
“Oh, I think there is,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
Joel looked around, then ran one finger gently along my cheek. “Once this case is over, maybe we can go away together for a weekend.”
“We don’t have to wait that long. There’s always the third date,” I said.
“What’s that mean?”
“I’ll tell you then. I think you should come over to my house for dinner Sunday night. You can meet my ferrets.”
“Ferrets!” he laughed. “I’ve always wanted to have dinner with ferrets. I should put that on my list.”
Chapter 23
Boo woke me up early, clanking around in the kitchen. When I came downstairs, the sink was full of dirty pans and Boo was dishing up hash browns, bacon, biscuits and scrambled eggs. He was wearing one my aprons: pink with ruffles. I told him he made a great house husband.
Hard Rain Page 13
