Murder Among Us (A Kate Austen Mystery)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “Do you have any idea why Julie went to Berkeley on Friday night?” I asked.

  “None. I wish to God I did.”

  “The police have a witness who thinks he saw her getting into a car on San Pablo about seven-thirty that evening. One of those sport utility things. I’m guessing that it was a planned meeting, not a pickup.”

  “Do they have a description of the car?”

  “Dark. That’s all. They’re looking into the possibility that it might be someone she met on-line. Same with Cindy Purcell.”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Julie would do. One thing that was clear to me was that she was a level-headed girl. Of course, where boys are concerned, it seems none of them at that age act like they’ve a head on their shoulders.”

  “I’m not so sure adults are much better.”

  He looked at me and laughed. “Touché. I’m hardly one to talk, am I?” He rocked back in the chair. The furrows in his face grew pronounced. “It’s funny the way life turns out. My affair with Leslie was a mistake, something I knew was wrong even at the time. And yet as a result of it, I had a daughter. I was still reveling in the wonder of it when she was killed. And now there’s a heaviness in my heart that will be there forever.”

  I nodded in sympathy. It had to have been hard on him. There were few people with whom Steve could even share his grief.

  “I’ll tell you this, losing Julie has made me appreciate more than ever before the fact that I have Yvonne and Skye.”

  As I headed for home in the gray dusk of early autumn, I, too, offered silent words of gratitude for those who were near and dear to me.

  Chapter 29

  When I rounded the corner of Wisteria Road and saw Michael’s car parked in my driveway, I felt a rush of delight, followed quickly by the sinking realization that he would have expected Faye to be gone by now. I had no trouble imagining his surprise at finding her still here, or hers at having him march in and make himself right at home. God only knew how long he’d been there and what they’d found to say to one another.

  I gave half a thought to driving on and letting them handle it alone. But my cowardly bent was overshadowed by my eagerness to see Michael. Resigning myself to an evening shaped by tension, I pulled into the driveway.

  The aroma of roasted garlic was what I noticed first; the ring of conversation and laughter struck me next. Both were coming from the direction of the kitchen.

  “Mommy’s home,” Anna announced, looking up from her glass of chocolate milk. And then to me, “We couldn’t imagine what was taking you so long.” Faye’s intonation and, no doubt, her words as well.

  “Sorry, I expected to be home before this.”

  “Not to worry,” Faye said brightly. “We’ve got things under control.” Her smile was immediate, her cheeks rosy. The half-drained glass of red wine in front of her probably accounted for both.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Michael said, kissing my cheek while he layered ricotta cheese on the lasagna he was making.

  After glancing at Faye, who seemed unperturbed by this display of affection, I gave Michael a hug around the middle.

  He whispered into my ear, “I thought she was leaving.”

  “She was. Is,” I whispered back. “On Saturday. I’ll explain later.” I pulled away and raised my voice to a conversational level. I didn’t know you were coming back so soon.”

  “I’d done everything I could in Dallas.”

  “When did you get in?”

  “A couple of hours ago. I stopped at the grocery on the way home.”

  “Ye of little faith.”

  He laughed. “And much prior experience. After four days of coffee-shop dining I was hungry for something more than canned soup and a cheese sandwich.”

  “It smells divine,” Faye said. Then to me, “Imagine, a man who can cook. Could I have a little more wine, Kate, while you’re up?”

  I refilled her glass and poured a large one for myself.

  Libby waltzed through the kitchen on her way to the fridge. “Hi, Kate,” she said, reaching for a Coke. “Didn’t know you were home. I asked Mr. Melville about Judge Burton.”

  My confusion must have been evident in my expression.

  “You know, about whether Julie had mentioned him in connection with her term project. Mr. Melville said she hadn’t told him anything about the assignment at all.”

  Michael slipped the lasagna into the oven, then gave me a one-eyed squint. “Are you still working that angle?”

  I shook my head. “Not after today.”

  Faye, Michael, and I took our wine into the living room and I told them about my meeting with Steve Burton. “You were right,” I said to Michael when I’d finished. “None of it had anything to do with her death. The book of poems, the letters she got at Dennis Shepherd’s, the news clippings and research on Judge Burton, none of it turned out to be important.”

  “That poor girl,” Faye said sadly. “Imagine seeing ‘father unknown’ on your birth certificate.”

  Michael nodded. “It’s fortunate that she found him, and that he seemed to welcome her into his life.”

  “Seemed?” I turned. “You sound like you don’t believe him.”

  “Sorry, force of habit.”

  Faye sighed. “Too bad the reporter who wrote the article in today’s paper didn’t talk to you first.”

  “What article?”

  “It’s in the Sun. ” She rustled through the papers on the coffee table and handed it to me.

  “Susie Sullivan?” Michael asked.

  I checked the byline. “The one and only. Here, you read it.”

  While Michael scanned the article, Faye continued to sigh. “Poor girl, so sad.”

  “Well?” I asked when he’d finished.

  “It’s kind of a jumble, but her information is accurate. To her credit, she hasn’t jumped onto the Parkside Killer bandwagon either. Makes it clear there’s no solid connection between Julie’s death and the Purcell murder. There’s even mention of some mysterious search Julie may have been conducting.” He tossed the paper back on the table. “Your friend Susie’s never going to get anywhere, however, until she learns to write a complete sentence. A lesson in correct usage wouldn’t hurt either. Did that woman even make it past sixth grade?”

  I laughed. “She’s actually the graduate of a very expensive, though little known, college founded by one of her ancestors.”

  We ate dinner in the dining room with Anna chirping away happily about the upcoming Halloween parade and the cookies they were going to decorate in class. Libby seemed preoccupied and left the table as soon as she’d finished eating. After dinner, Faye also retired, somewhat bleary-eyed, to her room and Anna went off to watch TV.

  While I was cleaning up the kitchen, Michael wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “I was counting on picking up where we left off last Saturday.”

  “Before your beeper went off, you mean?”

  “Exactly.” He kissed my ear. “So, what’s the story with Faye? Why is she still here?”

  I explained about her illness and the missed flight. “You must have been surprised when you found that she hadn’t left.”

  He laughed. “Not as surprised as Faye to find a man she hadn’t expected puttering around the kitchen. Good thing she has a strong heart.”

  “It must have been awkward. What did the two of you ever find to talk about?”

  “Oh, a little of this, a little of that.” He ran a hand down my back. “Give her a glass of wine and she isn’t half bad.”

  “Does that mean you’re moving back home?”

  “It’s either that or a hotel. I already returned the key to Don’s apartment.”

  “I’m glad.” I nuzzled his neck with my nose, kissed the hollow of his throat, and was working my way to the warmth of his mouth when Anna skittered past on her way to get Max a doggie treat.

  “Yuk,” she said. “Do you have to do that mushy stuff in public?”

/>   “It’s not mushy, and the kitchen is hardly what I’d call a public place.”

  The phone rang and Anna grabbed it. “Libby,” she yelled, loud enough to wake the dead. “It’s Brian.” Then she turned to me and made a face. “More mushy stuff, I bet.”

  “So tell me about Dallas,” I said as we moved into the other room. “Is Frank Davis your man?”

  “He doesn’t appear to be. But the DA thinks we’ve got enough to get a court order giving us access to the computer in Cindy’s apartment.”

  “But you already checked it.”

  “Only what was obvious. The roommate wouldn’t let us take it, remember? Said she needed it for class. But there can be a lot of information stored on a hard drive, including files that have been deleted. We’ll get an expert to go through the thing and see if we can’t come up with names of more guys Cindy may have been in touch with.”

  “So you really think it was someone she met on-line?”

  “Right now it’s the only lead we’ve got. Everything else has been a dead end.”

  “Is Gates looking into this Internet stuff as well?”

  Michael nodded. “I talked with him just yesterday, in fact. Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to find the same name showing up in both places.” Michael yawned. “You think if I leave the house by seven o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll be out before Faye gets up?”

  I poked him in the ribs. “Chicken.”

  He flapped his arms at the elbows and squawked. And later, when the house was quiet, we got back to the mushy stuff.

  <><><>

  As it turned out, Michael needn’t have worried about crossing paths with Faye. She was still in bed when I left for work the next morning at nine.

  Yvonne hailed me as I passed her classroom on the way to the faculty lounge. “Steve told me about your conversation yesterday.” She lowered her voice. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to anyone around school.”

  “Of course not.”

  “But I’m glad you know the truth. It’s been so hard dealing with this—first with Julie’s sudden appearance in our lives and then with her death—and not having anyone I could talk with about it. I know it’s been even harder on Steve.”

  “It must have been terrible.”

  “We’d initially decided not to say anything until after the election, and then when Julie was killed, there didn’t seem to be a point in saying anything at all. But that only added to the strain.”

  “If I can help in any way, or if you want to talk it over—”

  “It’s a relief to know I can let down my guard with someone.” She reached into the closet by the door. “I was just making myself a cup of coffee. You want one?”

  “Coffee?”

  “One of the advantages of having a science lab for a classroom. And it’s far better than the stuff in the faculty room.” She filled a Pyrex beaker with water and set it on the burner.

  Brian Walker opened the door and peered into the room. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m looking for Skye.”

  “She’s in the library, I think.” Yvonne spooned coffee into a cone filter and poured the water through.

  “Thanks.” Brian ducked out as quickly as he’d appeared.

  “What’s the story with Brian’s father and Steve?” I asked. “Was it Brian’s grandfather that Steve worked for years ago?”

  She nodded. “As I understand it, Steve’s former father- in-law and Brian’s grandfather went to law school together. That’s how Steve ended up with the firm in the first place. He and the senior Walker didn’t get along, however, so it didn’t last long.”

  “And what about Brian’s father?” The coffee was hot and strong. Yvonne was right; it was much better than the stuff in the lounge.

  “Walker senior didn’t get along with him either. He wanted his son to be a lawyer, follow in the family footsteps. Thought he was wasting his life with music. And with Brian’s mother, who had a history of psychological problems and substance abuse. She had a couple of brushes with the law. Walker senior turned his back on them; Steve tried to help. When Brian’s father learned he was dying, he asked Steve to set up a trust and to act as trustee. He didn’t have much respect for lawyers, but he trusted Steve.”

  “Poor Brian. Kids that age may think they don’t need parents, but it must be terrible to know you’re all alone.”

  Yvonne nodded. “I’ve taken to counting my blessings every day.”

  The bell rang and I hastily drained my cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Any time. Are you coming back for the faculty meeting this afternoon?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  She grinned. “Depends on whether you want to keep your job.”

  Friday afternoon was a lousy time for faculty meetings to begin with, and with Combs at the helm, they seemed much longer than the hour or so they actually took. He rambled, he backtracked, he added anecdotes that were supposed to enliven the proceeding but ended up only drawing it out more than was necessary.

  When we finally adjourned, Yvonne waved me over once again. “Can I bum a ride home?” she asked.

  “Sure. What happened to your car?”

  “Skye took it. She didn’t want to wait around until after the meeting. She offered to come back and pick me up, but I told her I’d try to dig up a ride myself.”

  We stopped by the office to sign out, and ran into Marvin Melville toting two large boxes back to his classroom.

  “You need some help?” I asked.

  “No thanks, I can handle it. This is the paper that was supposed to come out today. Back from the printers a little late for that.” He gave us an easy, boyish grin. “Guess Monday will do just as well.”

  “He seemed chipper enough,” Yvonne said when we got into the car.

  I nodded. “End of the workweek, who can blame him.”

  “I heard his girlfriend broke up with him recently.”

  “Cheri? The aerobics instructor?”

  “I don’t know the name. I overheard him talking in the faculty room.”

  “They seemed lovey-dovey enough last Saturday.”

  Yvonne shrugged. “Maybe it was just a lovers’ quarrel.”

  As I turned onto Yvonne’s street, she suddenly grabbed the dash. Before I had a chance to ask what the problem was, I saw for myself. There were two police cars parked in front of the Burtons’ house.

  Chapter 30

  Yvonne was out of the car and headed for the house even before I’d turned off the engine. I followed seconds later.

  “You the lady of the house?” an officer asked as she rushed through the door.

  Yvonne nodded, managing only a high-pitched mewing sound in place of words.

  “Your daughter’s fine,” the officer said gently. “She wasn’t even home when it happened.”

  Yvonne slumped against the wall. I could hear her sucking in her breath, the panic subsiding. “When what happened?”

  Before he could answer, Skye appeared from down the hallway and rushed into her mother’s arms. “Oh, Mama, somebody was here. He broke into our house.” Her voice grew more breathless with each word.

  “There was a burglary?” I asked, turning to the policeman. He was tall and thin, with downy soft skin that still bore traces of adolescent acne.

  “Looks like it. A pane of glass at the back of the house was broken.” He nodded to Yvonne. “We’ll need your help to determine what’s missing. The little lady here”— this time he looked at Skye—“handled the situation admirably. She called 911, then waited for us out front until we got here.”

  Yvonne smoothed her daughter’s hair. “Thank God you’re all right. But he might still have been in the house, honey. You should have gone next door to call.”

  “At first, I didn’t even realize there’d been someone here. I mean, it’s not like the whole house was torn apart. It wasn’t until I saw the broken glass and the . . .” She hiccupped as a sob worked its way loose. “And then I saw Daddy’s study. Ther
e were papers all over the floor.” Her eyes welled with tears.

  Skye had apparently managed the crisis with remarkable control, but now her emotions took hold. An understandable delayed reaction, but knowing Skye, I suspected she might have been dramatizing a bit. Given what she’d been through, I didn’t necessarily fault her.

  “Whatever he took,” Yvonne murmured, “it doesn’t matter as long as you’re not hurt.” She continued to stroke her daughter’s head. “To think that you might have been home when he did this. That you might have been in the house and . . . well, it could have been much worse.”

  The officer cleared his throat. “When you’re up to it, ma’am, I’d like you to walk through the house and tell me if anything’s missing or isn’t where you left it. You’ll have time to do a complete inventory later, but your initial reaction would be helpful.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked Yvonne.

  “Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

  I turned to Skye. “Would you like to come to our house for a while?”

  She shook her head, still wiping away the tears. “I need to stay and help my mother,” she said gravely.

  I drove home with an unsettled feeling in my chest. I didn’t see how the burglary could be connected to my conversation with Steve or to Julie’s death. But I didn’t see how it could be pure coincidence either.

  Friday night was one of those awful times when there was too much going on and none of it seemed to mesh. Libby was going to a party where she was hoping to encounter Brian. The usual trying on of multiple outfits escalated to a full closet search for the perfect ensemble—if what she finally chose, black netting over a black leotard and latex leggings, qualified as an ensemble. Anna was trying mightily to train Max to speak, in English, and Faye had taken it into her head that she had to wash and iron everything in her suitcase before repacking it. Michael had called to say he’d be a little late—which meant he could show up any time between 8:00 p.m. and 8:00 the next morning. And to top it off, Andy had left a message that he’d stop by with pizza for a farewell meal. It had apparently dawned on him, rather late in the game, that he’d seen very little of Faye during her visit to California.