Faye checked her reflection in the car window before opening the door. “Beauty shop gossip is always so interesting, too.”
Again, our experience differed.
“Of course, today everyone was talking about that girl who died. Marlene, the woman who owns the shop, knows her. Or I guess I should say, knew her.”
“Knew her, how?”
“She lives across the street. Marlene hadn’t heard about the girl’s running away, so when she opened the paper this morning and saw the headline, it was a real shock.”
“I can imagine.”
“We read about tragedy in the papers all the time, but when you know someone who’s involved it’s a different thing entirely.”
I leaned over to help Faye, who was struggling with her seat belt.
“Marlene feels like she’s partially responsible,” Faye continued after I’d managed to secure the buckle. “That makes it even worse.”
I straightened into my own seat. “She feels responsible, how?”
“Because she didn’t say anything.”
“Anything about what?”
“Sometimes when Marlene’s little granddaughter came to visit, Julie would go over and play with her. The little girl is only four and she thought Julie was just the cat’s meow. You know how kids are at that age. Marlene liked Julie, too. She says the same thing you do about the Shepherds being strict.”
“What does this have to—”
“That’s why she didn’t say anything.”
“Anything about what, Faye?” It drives me crazy when the point of the story gets lost in the telling.
Faye gave me a stern look. “I’ll get there if you’ll give me the chance.”
“Sorry.”
“It seems that Julie didn’t always obey the Shepherds’ rules. Marlene saw her sneak out on several occasions, and she once saw her riding on BART in the middle of a school day. There may be some other things, too. Now she’s kicking herself for not speaking up. If she had, the girl would have gotten in trouble, but maybe she would have stayed out of trouble, too. Bigger trouble, I mean.”
I nodded. “She’s not the only one wishing she’d done things differently. Julie tried to talk to me the morning she was killed, but the conversation got put off. I keep thinking that if we’d had a chance to talk, it might have made a difference. In retrospect, it was clear she was worried about something.”
“Life is never tidy, is it?” Faye said, and then after a moment’s pause added, “Marlene also told me about her daughter.”
I practically drove off the road. “Julie’s daughter?”
“Goodness, no. Marlene’s daughter.”
My breathing returned to normal.
“She and her husband were having some problems, but they saw a marriage counselor here in town. He’s apparently very good.” She paused. “They were on the verge of separating but now they’re back together and quite happy. It all boiled down to the fact that they weren’t communicating clearly.”
We were stopped at a red light so I took the time to give her a solid look. “Andy and I are beyond the phase of ‘having some problems.’ We’re in the final stages of divorce.”
“But to throw away all that’s good between you, just because of some ...” She made a helpless gesture with her hand. “Just because of some temporary lapse in judgment.”
“It’s something that had been building for a long time, Faye.”
“There’s Anna to consider as well.”
“We have.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to talk to a counselor, would it?” Her voice was as pinched as her expression.
“There’d be no point.”
“Andy may not be perfect, but you could do a whole lot worse.”
“You’re right. But that’s no reason to stay married.” I took a breath. “Andy and I have worked this out, Faye. We’re not bitter or angry, we just don’t want to be married anymore.”
She folded her arms and stared straight ahead.
“Besides, you’re forgetting about Michael.”
“The policeman?” Faye’s expression soured. “He’s the reason you’ve turned your back on Andy, isn’t he?”
“Andy walked out on us before I ever met Michael.”
She eyed me steadily. “In my day, we rode out the ups and downs of a bumpy marriage.”
Even if it cost a lifetime of happiness, I added silently, remembering Andy’s father. Besides, I’d tried riding out the bumps. All it got me was saddle sores.
I parked the car near the front of the building and we took the elevator to the third-floor offices of Sterling Enterprises.
“We’re here to see Andy Austen,” I told the receptionist, another new face in a series of many.
“Fancy office,” Faye observed, impressed no doubt by the mahogany paneling and expansive glass-walled conference room. “Andy must be doing quite well for himself.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Andy’s office was a tiny, unpaneled nook with only a small interior window. On the other hand, given Andy’s history, he was doing well. In a little over six months, he’d moved from an open cubicle to a closed office, and from administrative assistant to leasing agent. For a man who’d heretofore changed jobs as often as shoes, this was something of an accomplishment.
I saw him emerge from his office at the end of the hallway, accompanied by a shorter, stockier man in a flashy, mustard-and-black plaid jacket. Andy walked the man to another door closer to the reception area and ushered him through. It was when the man turned to shake Andy’s hand that I recognized him.
“Wasn’t that Walton Shepherd?” I asked after Andy had joined us.
He nodded. “You know him?”
“I’ve met him. What’s he doing here?”
“The same thing all our customers are doing,” Andy said, with only a hint of sarcasm. “He’s conducting business.”
“Shepherd’s a customer? I thought he was an appliance repairman.” Sterling Enterprises had its finger in many pies but most of it was rooted in real estate and development. I couldn’t imagine what interest Walton Shepherd would have in commercial property.
“Was a repairman,” Andy corrected. “He retired from that job a couple of weeks ago. He’s taking space in that new shopping center we’re putting in out by the hospital.”
“Space for what?”
“A rod and gun shop. Shepherd’s a hunter and fisherman himself. It’s been a lifelong dream of his to open a store catering to others with the same interests. It’s a damn good idea, too. Most of these mega-sports stores focus on skiing, biking, camping, that kind of thing. You want a good fishing rod or hunting rifle, they’re not easy to find. And it’s even harder to find a salesperson who knows what he’s talking about.”
“That must be fairly expensive space.”
“It isn’t cheap. ’Course, he’s not going to have one of the prime locations.”
“But how can he afford it at all?”
“We wouldn’t be leasing to him if he didn’t have the money.” Andy’s tone was patronizing. “We don’t simply take people’s word for it, you know.”
He leaned across the narrow counter and left instructions with the receptionist. “I’ll probably be a couple of hours,” he told her. Then he turned to his mother. “I hope you’re hungry. We’re going to one of the best restaurants in town.”
“Well, you know me, I’m not really a big eater.”
From behind her back, Andy winked at me, and for a moment we were back in the easy camaraderie that marked the early stages of our marriage. Although I would never admit it to Faye, there were moments when I missed him. Well, maybe not missed him so much as felt the sweep of nostalgia for the man I’d once thought he was.
The three of us walked to the elevator.
“It’s Shepherd’s niece who was found murdered in the Berkeley hills,” I said.
Andy nodded. “He told me.”
“It seems a little odd that he’d be going abo
ut his business as though nothing had happened.”
“I think it shook him up all right. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night.”
“Sometimes,” Faye said, “carrying on with life is the best therapy.”
I concurred, but I thought that Walton Shepherd might be pushing it a bit. Of course, he hadn’t been any too happy with Julie’s presence in his life in the first place.
Chapter 11
It was the middle of the lunch hour when I pulled into the school parking lot, which meant that I had to jostle my way through clusters of screeching students en route to my classroom. As I was rounding the corner by the library, I spotted Mario Sanchez standing alone, tracing a crack in the cement with his foot. When I approached, he looked up with an uneasy expression and started off in the opposite direction. I called after him, but he either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore my greeting.
“Mario giving you trouble?” Marvin Melville asked, falling into step beside me.
I shook my head. “There was just something I wanted to ask him.”
“Looks like he wasn’t any too eager to hear it.”
“You’re right. Funny though, we’ve always gotten along fairly well.”
Marvin shrugged philosophically. “You get used to stuff like that when you’re a teacher. The trick is not to take it personally.”
I bit my lip. I wasn’t so much hurt as perplexed.
“If you ask me,” Marvin said, “there’s more to that kid than he lets on.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know exactly. But I suspect his laid-back, easygoing attitude is more armor than anything else. Whatever his real feelings are, he plays them close to the chest.”
I thought the same could be said of Marvin, and wondered again what Yvonne had meant when she’d mentioned rumors about him. “Is Mario in one of your classes?” I asked.
“Two of them. English and journalism.”
Maybe that was the connection I’d missed before. “Julie Harmon was in your journalism class as well,” I commented.
At the mention of Julie’s name, Marvin’s expression darkened. “It’s terrible what happened to her,” he said, pulling at an earlobe. “I’d heard that she was missing, but I just assumed she’d had an argument at home or something, and run off.”
“That’s what most of us thought.”
Marvin was silent a moment. “According to the papers, there are similarities between this case and the other dead girl out by the reservoir.” His voice held the same strain of disbelief that had characterized every other conversation I’d had on the subject.
I nodded. Although we were loath to speak them aloud, the questions were there in our minds. How could such a thing happen in Walnut Hills? Did we really have a serial killer on the loose? Was this only the beginning of what might prove to be a long reign of terror?
Marvin ran a finger under his collar. “Two murders, one right after the other. It’s eerie.”
We came to my classroom door and stopped. “Libby mentioned something about a project Julie was working on for the school paper.”
“The term assignment?”
“I guess so. Is it far enough along to be published? I was thinking it might be nice to run the piece in memory of her.”
“Unfortunately, I know very little about it.”
“Did she keep notes?”
“If she did, I haven’t seen them. Julie was tight-lipped about the whole thing.” Melville checked his watch just as the warning bell rang. “Oops, I’d better get going. Combs is already on my case for letting students use the classroom when I’m not there.”
My own class poured into the room minutes before the final bell. Their mood was subdued.
It had been my initial intention to spend the week working on visual perspective, but given all that had happened, I didn’t feel up to introducing a new subject. And I suspected that the students were in no mood to listen, either. The way I saw it, Julie’s death had provided a lesson in perspective of a different sort. We all needed time to absorb it.
Instead of lecturing, I let the class work quietly, finishing up loose ends or working on sketches for their portfolios. I did the same, spending most of the hour on a charcoal still life made up of the odds and ends on my desk. The process was soothing, the final result a disaster.
As soon as the dismissal bell rang, Brian Walker poked his head through the door.
“I hear you’re looking for me,” he said, brushing a shock of straight blond hair from his eyes. Brian towered over me and I had to look up to meet his gaze.
I nodded. “Word travels fast.”
He sat on the edge of the nearest art table and folded his arms. “It’s about Libby, I bet.”
“Libby?” My voice sounded like the croak of a frog. Did Brian know something I didn’t? Something, maybe, that I ought to know.
“I saw you in the library last weekend, trying to pretend you weren’t watching us.” Brian grinned, pleased to have the upper hand.
“I wasn’t really watching, just trying to locate Libby.”
“Sure.” His tone was amused. “Whatever you say.” Even among senior boys, who ran the gamut of shapes and sizes, Brian Walker was an anomaly. Tall, broad- shouldered, and as self-possessed as a movie idol. In fact, he looked more like Hollywood’s casting choice for lead student than an in-the-flesh young man barely out of adolescence.
I gave him an icy glare. “What made you think I might want to talk to you about Libby?”
He gave his shoulders a casual shrug. “Seems like a lot of mothers do. ’Course, I understand you’re not Libby’s mother.” He gave me a playful look. “You’re much too young for that.”
“You can cut the flattery,” I told him curtly. “I’m not impressed.”
Although at some level I was, but not in the way he expected. What I found fascinating was the fluid poise he managed to exude. It was no wonder Libby was smitten. I wondered if anyone at sixteen, or even eighteen, would be immune to his charm.
Brian laughed. “So, what’s on your mind, then?”
“Julie Harmon.”
His expression sobered. “I think she’s on everyone’s mind today.”
“Did you know her well?” I gathered my belongings and moved toward the door.
“Hardly at all.”
“I got the impression you did.”
He shrugged.
“I was hoping you might be able to help me.”
Brian held the door as we left the classroom. “I’m on my way into town to grab a cup of coffee. You want to come along?”
“Don’t you have a sixth-period class?”
“Just Spanish.” Brian matched his pace to mine. “I’m so far behind it’s not even worth going to class anymore.”
“That’s hardly the way to catch up.”
“Right, but there’s no chance I’m going to catch up no matter how you slice it. And Miss Lathrop drives me loony.” He paused. “So you coming?”
I wondered briefly if there was a rule against aiding and abetting student truancy. “Can’t we talk on campus?”
“Not if I’m your designated conversationalist,” he said with a trace of a smirk. “I’m outta here.”
Well, I reasoned, I wasn’t really helping him cut class; he was going to do that anyway. And Brian was an adult. I nodded, and followed him to the parking lot, feeling all the while as though I were attempting to slip over the wall at San Quentin.
Brian slid into the driver’s seat of a red Mazda convertible. Despite the increasing cloud cover and cool temperature, he kept the top down. We pulled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires and a cloud of dust. I held my hair with a hand to keep it from whipping into my eyes.
“I thought we were going to McDonald’s,” I said when we bypassed the golden arches and swung onto the freeway.
“That’s not my style.”
“But you had lunch there a couple of times with Julie.”
He raised an eyebrow. �
��Where’d you hear that?”
“You mean it isn’t true?”
He shrugged. “We may have stopped there once. Generally, we went back to my place.”
I turned abruptly. “Why?”
A grin spread across Brian’s face. “Why not?”
I could understand how mothers of the girls he dated might be concerned.
Brian made a sweeping U-turn in the middle of town and pulled into a spot in front of Josh’s Noshes, one of several new coffeehouses that had recently sprung up around town. Brian was apparently a regular customer. The woman behind the counter not only knew his name but his usual order of a double espresso and a croissant. If this was the way he routinely approached Spanish class, it was no wonder he was behind in the subject.
I had a straight decaf and willed myself to stop drooling over the croissants.
Brian leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So Kate— it’s okay if I call you Kate, isn’t it? Since we’re no longer at school, there’s no reason we should be constrained by formality.” He smiled and, without waiting for an answer, continued. “What is it you wanted to know?”
I scooted my chair backwards a few inches. “Did you and Julie see a lot of each other?”
“Not really.”
“But ...” I shifted uncomfortably. Despite the first- name business, I felt unaccountably old. “But you said the two of you spent time at your place.”
He looked at me over the rim of his cup, enjoyed a moment of amusement at my expense, then sighed. “It wasn’t anything like what you’re thinking. Friends come by my house all the time.”
“Did she ever talk to you about being an emancipated minor?”
Brian shook his head. “I’m not sure she even knew about it. I’ve been eighteen since August, before I met her.” He paused for a sip of coffee. “It would make sense though that she’d want to get away from those yahoos she was living with.”
“You know them?”
“Only by reputation. Their son Dennis is a couple of years older than me. We took swimming lessons together when we were kids, and we were both part of the school band my freshman year.”
Murder Among Us (A Kate Austen Mystery) Page 8
