The smell of Tony’s cooking reminded her of the emptiness in her belly and also helped push away the frustrations from the day.
They’d lived together for five years—she, Tony, and Zephenaya. She’d expected it to be difficult to live with people. After all, she’d been living alone—aside from her dog, Barney—since her divorce from Tim. Almost two years. If she could call it living. Her post-divorce home had included precious little furniture.
Most of her belongings had been in boxes when Tony arrived in town and she agreed to be Z’s foster mother. In fact, those boxes had been unpacked by the three of them in a mad rush the night before Social Services was due for an in-home visit to determine Jamie’s suitability to be a foster mother. Somehow, she didn’t think the boxes would make a great impression.
Earlier that same day, the three of them had gone to IKEA and purchased two new beds, dressers, and side tables for the extra bedrooms and a desk for Zephenaya. By the time they were done, it was a home. Having Tony there felt natural. After all, he was the man she’d lived with longer than any other, albeit like a sister. From the time her mother had died, Jamie had spent as much time in the Galens’ home with Tony and his brother, Mick—or maybe slightly more—as in her own. Then, their mother died too, and the three kids had practically raised themselves while their fathers spent every third or fourth night at the fire station.
Tony had been married and subsequently divorced to a woman named Deborah whom Jamie had never met. Tony had never met Tim. The ten-year gap in their friendship meant they’d missed the relationships that might have made them seem like normal adults. Instead, when she looked at Tony, she saw the boy she’d always known.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Fine,” he answered, using a long slender knife to hollow out a red pepper. His tone suggested it hadn’t been fine. Not the time to bring up Delman. It could wait until after dinner.
“Z,” she called up the stairs.
“Not home yet,” Tony said. He moved the knife with ease and confidence, nothing like those first months when his hands shook nonstop. She was proud of him. Though now that he was leaving for Ohio and wanted to take Z with him, she occasionally found herself resenting his presence as if it had been five years of frustration.
He didn’t notice her staring.
“You were supposed to pick him up,” she said.
He gave her a look. “He texted. Team was scrimmaging. He has a ride.”
“With who?”
“He’s fifteen, Jamie.”
She set the mail on the kitchen counter. “He’s a freshman in high school.”
“High school,” Tony repeated.
“High school? That’s the time when we shut off the parental guidance?”
Tony julienned the red pepper, a dance between his fingers and the knife. It would have been impressive if he wasn’t pissing her off so much. She’d have cut off a finger. “It’s a ride home from baseball practice,” Tony said.
Jamie crossed behind him to pour herself some sparkling water. The boys had given her a soda maker for her last birthday. She filled an empty bottle with tap water and screwed it into the machine. Standing behind Tony, she pressed the button, releasing carbon dioxide into the water until it made a loud, hissing screech.
“There’s water made,” Tony said.
She knew that. She was hoping the hissing would alleviate some built up frustration. No luck. She poured a short glass and watched the bubbles rise to the surface before she took a long drink. This was her evening vice. Before Zephenaya, Jamie had been a smoker. She was an alcoholic, but she’d given up alcohol after her divorce. Living alone, though, who would care if she smoked? The little voice in her head sometimes added, who would care if she died? Zephenaya changed all that.
Becoming his foster parent, then adopting him, meant she’d had to give up smoking. She had enough insecurities about parenting; she wasn’t about to give anyone ammunition by smoking in the house where she was raising a child.
Closing in on forty meant she’d also had to give up caffeine after 10:00 a.m. if she wanted to sleep at all. That left sparkling water. She refilled the glass and took another long gulp. It burned the back of her throat the way whiskey once had. Then the bubbles went up her nose and brought on the tickling sensation of a sneeze. When it passed, she crossed back around Tony and sat on one of the stools that perched at their makeshift breakfast bar and stole a pepper off the cutting board.
“You could have lost a finger,” Tony said.
“I’ve got faith in your abilities.”
Tony gave her a sideways grin. “Like I said, you could’ve lost a finger.”
How did outsiders see them? Regular, single folks who had friends and dates. Though they hadn’t talked about it, Tony had dated a few times in the past few years. Had the relationships ended as soon as Tony explained his living situation? She’d never asked, never let on that she knew about the dates.
Jamie hadn’t dated since her divorce, so it was all the same to her. The truth was she liked Tony’s company, and she trusted him. That he was moving to Ohio was a sucker punch, no matter how many times she told herself it wasn’t about her. She would miss him. She wanted to ask if the new job was really worth it. A hundred times she’d tried to ask. What was wrong with her? Maybe he needed her to say that she wanted him to stay, that their life together—as odd and untraditional as it was—worked.
Tony looked up with the weight of her stare. “What?”
“I—” Her phone buzzed on the counter. Tony watched her, waiting, as Jamie lifted the phone to her ear. “Vail.”
“Inspector Vail, this is Sondra Borden returning your call.”
“Thank you for calling, Mrs. Borden. I wanted to follow up on the list of Charlotte’s friends we talked about in the hospital yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Also, I’d like to get contact information for any staff you employ at the house.”
“Staff?” she repeated.
“Yes. For a background check,” she lied. What she really wanted to do was locate the person who overheard Charlotte’s argument about the art teacher.
Jamie waited for Sondra to say something else. “Would it be easier to e-mail them to me? Or I can take them down over the phone?”
The line was silent. Jamie pulled the phone from her ear to check that the call was still live.
“Mrs. Borden, the sooner we talk to Charlotte’s friends, the better our chances that someone remembers something. I really need your help finding who did this to Charlotte.” This wasn’t the right time to ask about the underwear. “Perhaps I could come by tomorrow?”
“Let’s meet at the house, then,” Sondra agreed. “Say, 10:00?”
“10:00 will be fine.”
Sondra rattled off an address that sounded expensive.
“One more question before you go,” Jamie said.
“Mmmm,” replied Sondra.
“Are you aware of any damage to your Mercedes?” Jamie asked.
“How do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean, are there any dents on the car? Has it been in any accidents or scrapes?”
“No. It’s quite new,” Sondra said. “Why? Has something happened to it?”
Jamie said nothing.
“It hardly matters,” Sondra added. “I’ll see you in the morning, Inspector. Good night.”
When Sondra hung up, Jamie retrieved her laptop from her bag and turned it on. It was natural to ask about damage to the car. Sondra’s reticence wasn’t necessarily a sign she was hiding something. The thing that struck her as odd was that Sondra Borden should have been anxious to help Jamie. So, why was she reluctant to offer the names of Charlotte’s friends? Was it possible Sondra knew who had assaulted her daughter? Or did she have evidence that it wasn’t an assault at all, that her daughter had been involved in a relationship her parents didn’t approve of?
Someone had pushed her down those stairs.
Curiou
s, Jamie sat at the kitchen counter and read up on Sondra and Gavin Borden. Sondra was active in a number of San Francisco philanthropies, most notably the opera. Gavin was a partner at Bishop and Borden Law Firm. Bishop and Borden, Jamie read, was started by Sondra’s grandfather, Reginald Bishop, the first African American attorney to open a law office in San Francisco.
Since then, a number of Bishops had joined the practice. Sondra had several cousins who headed a New York office and another in Atlanta. Sondra, in fact, was the first in Reginald Bishop’s line who opted not to pursue law. Her degree was in art history.
Beyond that, there was precious little about them other than images of fancy parties and ribbon cutting ceremonies. Charlotte and her sister, Katherine, were in a few of the pictures as well. Beside their parents, dressed in beautiful frocks, the girls smiled widely. They certainly seemed like the perfect family.
Tony shut off the burners and eyed the front door. Jamie didn’t want to fight about Z tonight, so she pretended to be engrossed in the search she was doing of Michael Delman’s known associates and their current whereabouts. No red flag waved from the files. Even Michael Delman’s list of associates included little to go on. Delman’s crimes were mostly solo ones—assault, robbery, B&E.
In his jail stints, he rarely shared a cell with someone for more than a few months; the ones he bunked with were similar, less serious offenders. If Delman were looking for help, his family was the most likely target. The thought made Jamie slightly uncomfortable. Zephenaya was not his family, she told herself. He was her family. Right now, a patrol car was stationed in front of the apartment building where Delman and his sister, Tanya, both lived. Tanya’s kids were with Social Services, but one of them had to come home eventually. Jamie had no idea where they lived, had never seen where Z had lived before he’d taken refuge in her backyard.
“Your case was on the news,” Tony said, pulling plates down from the cupboard.
“My case?”
“Well, I assume. You were at the hospital yesterday, and today they were reporting on that wealthy couple’s daughter.” He paused. “Borden?”
“It’s mine.” She watched his face, waiting for him to recognize the name. The press hadn’t mentioned where the victim went to school. She imagined that fact was a relief to City Academy, and it was to her as well. The press didn’t yet know that Michael Delman had dropped off the victim. That wouldn’t be made public, not while the investigation was active, but it could easily be leaked. She did not look forward to having that discussion with Tony. What better argument for moving Z to Ohio than that his father had been involved in the attack of a girl at his school? Not just any girl. The wealthiest girl? The most popular girl? Jamie didn’t know that yet, but it wasn’t a stretch to imagine.
Tony set the plates across the counter while Jamie exited out of Michael Delman’s record. She and Tony rarely spoke about her cases other than the occasional comment about what was on the news. Occasionally, Jamie ended up getting caught in the footage; Tony and Z liked to tease that she ought to try smiling on camera.
This case was relevant for Tony, too. If he hadn’t taken the job in Ohio, if he hadn’t been moving, she would have told him about Michael Delman. Tony was Z’s father. He, too, would be worried about how Z would feel if he knew his biological father had attacked someone at his school. Not to mention how others would react. How long before they released Michael Delman’s name?
It was a race.
Her stomach growled as Tony checked his phone. The smell of dinner filled the air, and her hunger was starting to make her a little ill. Tony was worried about Z. It was almost 9:00. Practice ended at 7:30. She watched Tony cross to the refrigerator and pull out a Diet Coke and pop it open, drain the first few drinks like a beer. Those things would kill him.
She wasn’t ready to have a conversation about their son, so she remained nose-to-nose with the computer screen. She filled the time waiting for Z by running a background check on Brandon Shambliss. That guy was something more than the expensive suit and the hooked nose. Jeffrey Brandon Shambliss, born May 22, 1983. A juvie record that was sealed, then an assault charge in October 2005. It never went to court. Charges were dropped.
“Jamie,” Tony said, sighing.
“What did he say about the scrimmage?”
“Nothing.”
Zephenaya could be stubborn, but he was rarely late, and on the few occasions he was, he called. “Did you call him?”
Tony nodded. “A dozen times.”
“Where do you think he is?”
Tony’s expression was tight. “I don’t know.”
“He’s not answering his phone?”
Tony shook his head.
“He was getting a ride with one of the guys from baseball? Would have to be Sam or Paul, right?”
“I don’t have their numbers.”
“I do.” Jamie pulled out her phone and handed it to Tony.
Jamie started to close out of the file on Shambliss’s assault charge when she saw the name of his attorney. R. Bishop, Jr. Bishop. She opened her browser and typed the name into the search engine. Ten thousand records. She added the words “attorney San Francisco.” The first hit read “Reginald Bishop, Jr., Bishop and Borden Law Partners.” She went back to the date of the charge. Shambliss had been twenty-two. Had he worked for the Bordens before he was charged with assault or if that somehow happened afterward? Another question for Sondra.
She closed her laptop and listened to Tony on the phone. “This is Tony Galen. I’m Zephenaya’s father. Was he getting a ride home from baseball with you today? He’s not home yet.”
Tony stopped talking and Jamie caught pieces of the other end of the conversation. “Do you know who he rode with?” A frown set into Tony’s mouth. It was like his father’s—the deep crevice in his chin, hooded eyelids. “But he was at practice?”
Jamie got up and moved her laptop off the island where they would eat. Anything to keep from sitting and fretting.
“Thank you.”
She halted.
“He didn’t ride with Sam or Paul,” Tony said.
“Why not?”
“Sam said they didn’t see him.”
Jamie’s mouth went dry. “They didn’t see him?”
“Well, that’s where it got a little fuzzy. They saw him at practice, but not when they were leaving.”
“Were they covering for him?”
“Shit,” Tony said.
It wasn’t like Z not to call. He wasn’t always perfect, but he was usually responsible. Where could he be? Working in silence, Jamie spread out placemats and folded their everyday cloth napkins in their places. Her mind buzzed about Z, but she didn’t dare talk out loud.
Tony was responsible for getting Z tonight. He had let someone else bring him home. That wasn’t unusual. Z got rides regularly.
Her anger at Tony was caused by the fact that Z wasn’t home. She crossed into the kitchen for water glasses as Tony plated the dishes. He set hers on her placemat and then his. Finally, he set Zephenaya’s down, too. “He’ll have to eat it cold.”
There was tight pressure under her ribs. The mother pain. She’d never experienced something like it before Z came into her life. When she’d caught her ex-husband in bed with another woman, it was an explosive, searing pain that filled her lungs like smoke. In the divorce and the nights that followed, it waned into a wall of pressure in the pit of her stomach. This new pain, the ache of worry, was motherhood. It filled a very specific spot that felt like heartburn and shortness of breath. She resisted the temptation to press her fingers under her ribs. There was no alleviating the ache until she saw her son’s face. Tony sat at the bar and Jamie took her spot on the counter. There were only two places at the bar, so this corner was her spot. Tony avoided cooking there, and it had become a joke that it was always cleared for Jamie’s butt.
“You could sit here,” Tony said, motioning to Zephenaya’s spot.
Something cracked. “No.” She lift
ed her plate up, then set it down again. She couldn’t eat. He would be home. He’d always been home before. He was strong and smart. She thought of all the victims she’d seen. Was that what their mothers had said, too? “Jesus,” she whispered and slid off the counter.
Tony’s plate scraped across the countertop. “This is exactly why Ohio would be good for him,” he said in a low voice.
Jamie spun back to face him. “Really? You’re going to bring that up now? You were supposed to get him from school, and he isn’t here yet.”
“He said he had a ride,” Tony responded.
“He’s not going to Ohio, Tony. No way.”
“You’re making a decision based on emotion,” he charged.
Jamie froze, raised her hands. “Versus what? I’m his mother, for God’s sake.”
“Then you should want what’s best for him.”
Jamie pointed to the ground. “This is what’s best for him. I’m what’s best for him.” She jabbed her finger to her chest and for a millisecond, the mother pain vanished. Replaced by rage.
“Don’t I count? I’ve been his father for as long as you’ve been his mother!” Tony shouted.
“Then stay and be his father. Just because you’re moving doesn’t mean we should all move. You made that decision without us.”
“I can’t give up this opportunity.”
“Well, what then?” Jamie lifted her glass and drank down the fizzy water.
“Have you considered that there’s crime in Ohio?”
Exactly. And as much danger for Z. Realizing what Tony was saying, Jamie stopped cold. She set the glass down and rubbed her palm across her pant leg. “You want me to move to Ohio?”
“Did you consider it?”
“No.”
“You could.”
Everything to Lose Page 6
