by Lora Roberts
He waved his hand impatiently. “One or two programmers, maybe.”
“Even Jason didn’t know. Mindy was keeping him away from Jenifer’s cube until you were done.”
Drake stood up. “Well, looks like I won’t be done for a while. Can you show me this Larry’s office?”
I took Drake through the maze. “He’s got a door,” Drake remarked. “Guy must have really rated.”
“He had a good opinion of himself, certainly.”
“You didn’t like him.” Drake tried the doorknob. It turned, and he let himself in.
“No. He had an unattractive personality—always snooping and eavesdropping. Tried to weasel my phone number even though he didn’t need it.” I remembered something. “He was strange when Suzanne raked him down. Said he was sure he’d have a job here as long as SoftWrite existed, or something like that. It sounded threatening.”
Wearing his plastic gloves, Drake opened Larry’s desk drawers. A couple of them were locked, as was the brief case sitting on a side table. Drake didn’t bother with the drawers, but be did something to the briefcase locks that popped them right open.
“How did you do that?”
“You don’t need to know.” He rifled the papers, flipped through a pocket diary. Then his hands stilled. “Eureka.” He lifted a small leather-bound book.
“What’s that?”
“Hmm? Oh, Jenifer’s notebook, looks like.” Drake turned the pages delicately, hardly touching them. “Clarice found it under the sofa, near Jenifer’s hand. She noticed some juicy bits in it about Jason, and was going to use it to ‘prove’ that Jenifer’s allegations of abuse were true.”
“Some proof.” Jason’s denial the day before had rung true to me. A young girl whose parents suddenly died might eventually turn her own repressed guilt and anger against her brother, and there are some therapists around eager to cash in on vulnerable people’s confusion. “So Larry’s the one who took it out of her bag when she made such a scene. He was sitting near where Mindy found it for her. Did he just want to snoop in it, or what?”
Drake sealed the notebook in a plastic bag. “Probably.” His voice was the noncommittal one that says he won’t tell.
“You’re taking it away?” I watched him put the notebook in his big case. “Can you do that?”
“As it happens,” Drake said, his wire-rims flashing at me, “I have a search warrant. Why don’t you tell me everything you did after I went back to Jenifer’s cube.”
Already it was hard to remember. I tried to get things in the right order—Jason’s arrival, Ed’s request for coffee, Suzanne’s change in appearance, the exodus of the suits and the return of Suzanne and Ed, Larry’s summons. Drake had his little tape recorder on to listen for him while he sifted papers from Larry’s in-box, but he listened, too, and asked questions.
“Jason was standing right there when you went back for the coffee?”
“Yes.” I pictured the scene. “So I guess Mindy, Jason, or I could have poisoned it.”
“You took it up front. Did you take it right into the office?”
“I followed Suzanne in.”
“Were you alone in Ed’s office at any time?”
“No.” We exchanged looks. “But it was probably unlocked all during lunch, and I was alone at my desk a good part of the time. I could have done it then.”
This made Drake more cheerful. “That’s what I like, willing suspects. I’m expecting a phone call, Liz. Can you route it to me here? Or if I’m back cruising the cubicles, give it to Bruno.”
I left him at Larry’s desk and went back to mine. Muted thumps came from Ed’s office, and voices talking. A couple of times I saw his line light up when Detective Morales or one of his team made phone calls. It gave me the creeps. I wondered if Ed and Larry were okay. I kept seeing that look in Ed’s eyes, that terrified look. Had anyone else noticed that he seemed to be looking at me? Did Ed have something special to say to me?
After twenty minutes Suzanne came back, followed by Drake. “I’m letting everyone go home,” Suzanne told me, her eyes not really meeting mine. She kept fingering the jade beads she wore around her neck. “You can go, too, Liz. Let the callers get a recording.” She laughed; it wasn’t a lighthearted sound. “What does it matter?”
Drake shook his head at me very slightly. “I’ll just get things wrapped up then,” I said.
Suzanne turned around, glaring at Drake. “And you don’t need to follow me everywhere.”
“I’m not.” Drake looked surprised. “I just want to talk to you.
“I’ve already been talked to by that woman. I told her all about the coffee and why I didn’t have any. Just because I didn’t want coffee that’s been sitting around in a pot for a while doesn’t make me a poisoner!”
Drake listened calmly to this. “I didn’t say you were. I wanted to ask you about Jenifer.”
Suzanne stepped back. “Jenifer?”
“What was there about her that would make someone want to murder her?”
Suzanne’s shoulders slumped. “I wondered if it was that way. I wondered if she’d been killed.”
“That’s what we’re all doing, wondering.” Drake rubbed the bridge of his nose, then shoved his glasses back up. “So give me some reasons.”
She glanced at me. “Here?”
“We’ll go into your office.” Drake opened the door, but Suzanne hung back.
“Do we know—” She looked at me helplessly. “Has anyone found out—how they are?”
“There’s no word yet.” Drake took her arm. This time she followed him without further protest.
In a few minutes Morales came out of Ed’s office. “Where is Paolo?”
I pointed to Suzanne’s office, and he went inside. All was quiet behind the dividers. I took a couple more phone calls before the one Drake was waiting for came through.
I gave it to Suzanne’s extension, and then I listened in. It was brief. A policeman had been stationed at the hospital. He reported that Ed was holding his own, expected to pull through. Larry had been dead on arrival. Strychnine had been found in the blood and stomach contents of both men.
Suzanne came out soon afterward. She carried her briefcase; in her nice clothes she looked like just another high-powered Silicon Valley woman. But her eyes were as red as if she’d been swimming without goggles.
“The police are going to lock up when they’re finished,” she said. “Most of the staff is already gone. Just put the phones on auto when you go, Liz.” She hesitated. “Thanks for helping us.”
“You’re welcome. I hope everything turns out okay.”
She tightened her grip on her briefcase. “Nothing will ever be okay again.” She went through the double doors. I could hear her high heels going down the steps.
I put my tote bag on the desk, but for some reason I was reluctant to leave. After a few minutes, Drake came out of Suzanne’s office. He parked himself in the client chair and opened up his little tape recorder. The tape he removed was the size of a matchbox. He wrote a tiny label for it and put a fresh tape in. “There,” he said. “And don’t tell me how outmoded my technology is. If I have to hear that one more time I’ll scream.”
“Speaking of screaming, I didn’t see Clarice this afternoon. Where’s she been?”
He pulled out his notebook and thumbed through it. “Ah. Angel, the office manager, says that she and Clarice lunched together, then Clarice took the afternoon off to get an outfit for the funeral.” He raised his eyebrows. “Funerals, now.”
I shivered. “Don’t.”
“So you heard. Larry’s dead.”
“I heard.”
He looked tired. “Have you got anything else to tell me? Because if not, you can go on home. We’re going over this place with a fine-tooth comb.”
“Don’t forget the tonic in the refrigerator. Mindy said it was Ed’s special stuff. Maybe it’s been poisoned, too.”
He made a note. “Anything else?”
“Not
hing I can think of now.” The fancy clock on the wall said it was just past three. That surprised me; it seemed like much longer than an hour and a half since those terrible noises had come out of Ed’s office. “At least Ed’s alive. Suzanne couldn’t seem to take it in.”
“She didn’t look overjoyed.” Drake’s voice was flat, without inflection. “She’s in charge now, isn’t she?”
“I guess so.” I picked up my tote bag and stood. “I guess she can cancel the stock offering and postpone the new product if she feels like it. Ed’s probably not going to be up to much for a while.”
Drake looked at me steadily. “I want you to be careful, Liz. Someone’s really playing hardball now, and I have this uneasy feeling that you’re featured prominently in the lineup.”
“I didn’t even make the coffee—”
“But you were there.” He picked up his case. “Suzanne saw you with the coffee. Jason was on the scene. Clarice says she was shopping, but she could have slipped in while you were in the bathroom. All those people have reasons to want Ed and even Larry out of the way. And one of them may see you as a dandy red herring. Just be careful.”
“Thanks. You make me feel real good.” I took my tote bag and walked out the door.
There was a beautiful Friday afternoon waiting on the sidewalk, but I couldn’t enjoy it, not with Drake’s warning hanging over my head and my sister-in-law waiting to pounce on me when I got home.
Chapter 21
Renee sprawled on the Hide-a-bed, which still hadn’t been turned back into a couch. Her suitcase was open on the floor, disgorging a quantity of underwear and clothes that covered the small amount of floor space not occupied by the bed. She’d changed from her wrinkled traveling outfit into leggings and an oversized T-shirt. She didn’t look all that different from fifteen years ago, although her face was seamed with lines of discontent. She flicked through the pages of the Utne Reader. Amy was nowhere to be seen.
“So you’re off work already?” Renee sat up on the bed. “Short days you work around here.”
“Yep.” I hung my tote bag on the hook beside the door. The whining sound of her voice followed me into the kitchen. She’d penned Barker up in there; he was pitifully happy to see me.
“I’m appalled at the conditions here,” she began. I turned on the water to get a drink, which mercifully blocked the sound of her voice. When I turned the water off, she was still talking. “… impressionable young mind. I feel it’s so important—”
I carried my glass of water to the living room. “Look, Renee,” I said, interrupting her. “I don’t have room for a lot of visitors, and my budget doesn’t allow for much entertaining. When do you plan to leave?”
Her nostrils flared. “You are the rudest person I have ever known,” she declared, her voice shaking. “After all you’ve put me through, I can’t believe—”
“I didn’t arrive uninvited at your house and insult you,” I said gently, interrupting again. “I believe you take first place in the rude stakes, Renee.”
“You lured my daughter here.” Her voice was venomous. “You have some nefarious plan in mind, I know. My lawyer—”
“Will tell you to take a hike.” I wasn’t confident of this. Lawyers will usually accept anybody’s money, no matter how thin the case. I felt a pang of nostalgia for the old days, when the threat of legal action would have meant nothing to me, because I had nothing anyone would want to take away. Now I had a house—run-down, true, and small, but on a more than buildable lot. That made it worth something in Palo Alto.
“Why won’t she come home?” Renee’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “It’s hurt me deeply,” she sobbed, dabbing with a tissue. “She just refused, and after breakfast she stormed out. I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing or what awful things have happened to her—”
I sat down in my desk chair and waited for her to stop weeping. It’s much harder to throw out a weeping woman than one who’s merely scolding and nagging.
When Renee was somewhat in control, I got her a glass of water. “Amy’s probably gone to interview for a job,” I said, draining my own glass. All this melodrama was making me hungry. I went back in the kitchen to forage.
Renee followed me. “What do you mean, job?”
Half the bread was gone, all the sliced turkey had been eaten, and most of the grapes as well.
“She’s got a lead on an internship at Fidelity Investments downtown.” I nabbed the last bunch of grapes, just as Renee stretched her hand out to them.
“She’s going to work?” Renee watched absently as I gobbled down the grapes. “What is this investment place?”
“Stockbrokers.” I tossed the denuded stems into the trash and opened the refrigerator again. “I know there was some turkey in here—got it last night as a special treat for Amy—”
“She made a lunch before she left,” Renee remembered, blushing guiltily. “Guess she took it all.”
“Oh, well, beans again.” I took the bean jar out of the cupboard, rinsed some, and started cooking them.
“Stockbrokers.” Renee looked thoughtful. “I wanted her to get a job at the beginning of the summer, but no. Miss High and Mighty was too good for that.” She eyed me with hostility. “Why did she change her mind here?”
I shrugged. “I can’t afford to support her, and I made that clear. She’s going to chip in.”
Renee glanced around scornfully. “I should hardly think anyone would want to live here when they could live at home, with every comfort—why, I even do her laundry! She doesn’t have to lift a finger!”
I was still hungry. At least, eating was a way to keep from thinking. I didn’t want to think. I made a piece of toast and got out my last jar of blackberry jam. It wouldn’t be long before the blackberries were ripe again in my secret picking spots along San Francisquito Creek, and I would replenish my jam supply then.
“Maybe that’s the problem.” Renee was waiting for me to answer her. “Maybe you make it too easy for her.”
“Nonsense.” She watched me spread the jam and put her own slice of bread in the toaster. She was a bit fatter than she had been fifteen years ago—puffy around the waist, her face round and blotchy from all the emotional upset she was putting herself through. “She’s my daughter, isn’t she? My own flesh and blood! And you’re trying to alienate her affections. My lawyer—”
“Look, Renee.” I put the toast down on the counter and turned on her, exasperated. “I’m doing nothing. I didn’t ask her to come out here—or you, either. All I did was offer her a place to stay instead of driving her out on the streets. I lived there for a while, Renee. It’s not a good place for a pretty, well-developed teenager to spend time. I suppose it’s too much to expect decent gratitude, but you could at least cease threatening me with lawsuits.”
“I—I’m not threatening,” she stammered, backing away from me.
I realized I was waving the butter knife around to make a point. I put it down. “Yes, you are. You’re being totally obnoxious. So okay, suppose I say you both have to get out—scram, vamoose, right now!”
“Right now?” She glanced uneasily over her shoulder.
“Yeah, right now. Find some way to the airport—I don’t care where you go or how you get there. What’s going to happen then?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes got rounder and rounder.
“You might succeed in dragging Amy back to Colorado with you.” I picked up my toast and went over to the table. Renee was poised in the kitchen door as if ready to run when necessary. “But she’ll just run away again, because you haven’t dealt with the problems. And next time she won’t come here, because she knows I’ll throw her out. Where will she go?”
“I—don’t be silly.” Renee was getting a grip on herself. “She wouldn’t run away again. For one thing, I’d make sure she didn’t have the means.”
I shook my head. “Honey, she’s got the bit between her teeth now. She’s ready for some responsibility and freedom. The more
you take it away, the more she’ll look for it somewhere else—by having sex or doing drugs or finding some way to defy you.”
“You don’t know anything about raising teenagers! Where do you get off giving me all this advice?”
“I was a teenager.” My appetite deserted me. “I made stupid choices. I did dumb things. I just wanted to help Amy not do that.” I stared at Renee. “What about you? Are you proud of the choices you made? Amy’s a great kid, really, but are you glad you got knocked up in the back of my brother’s old Pontiac? Is that what you want for Amy?”
Renee started crying again. “That’s the cruelest thing you could say,” she wailed. “It was all Andy’s fault, anyway. He told me he was using a rubber, but he’d been carrying it around so long it just didn’t work, that’s all! And I had to pay—”
“So now you’re going to make Amy pay?” Wearily I pushed away the plate that held the toast. “Oh, what’s the point of talking, anyway. Go home, Renee.”
“What?”
“I said, go home. I don’t want you here. Pack your bag and leave. Amy’s probably downtown—you can go to the brokerage house and embarrass her and drag her away, if you want. I won’t be in the middle of your family quarrels.”
“This is—it’s incredible! I would never have believed you could treat family this way—”
I pushed past her in the doorway and went into my room, shutting the door behind me.
She’d been in there, I could tell at once. The closet door was ajar, and one of the dresser drawers was pushed in crooked. There’s a trick to pushing it in straight; I always do it because I hate for things to be disarranged. It comes from years of living in the confined quarters of my bus.
What Renee got out of going through my sparse possessions I didn’t know. Maybe she was looking for skeletons in my closet. Certainly after the events of the past couple of days, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find some there myself. I didn’t hear any sounds of packing from the living room. Renee would just ignore me, camping in my house and complaining until I went mad. At least Amy would be home soon. Maybe she could talk sense into her mother and the nightmare would end. I would almost rather have been back at SoftWrite, coping with murder, than hounded in my own house by maternal lunacy.
