by Mary Feliz
I wiped my eyes with a napkin as surreptitiously as I could manage.
“That fire, and all the smoke,” said Katherine, pretending the poor air quality was the reason our eyes were tearing up.
I sniffed the air. “It’s close to being contained, which is great, but they’re still fighting to extinguish the blaze inside the borders of the fire. We need rain. And calm winds.”
Katherine lifted her glass in agreement, and I returned to answering her series of questions. “I haven’t heard anything about a memorial service yet. Nothing will happen while Tess is in jail. I’ll pass along whatever I learn.”
“How do we get Tess out of the clutches of the sheriff’s minions so that she can take care of that beautiful boy of hers?” She punctuated her sentence with a firm pat on the table, then rummaged in her bag, pulling out a bright yellow Google pen and a pad of lined paper.
Shivering either from the increased breeze off the nearby San Francisco Baylands or from the enormity of what we were undertaking, I welcomed the comfort of the fleece Katherine had offered. It was enormous, like wearing a blanket.
Katherine pointed at the jacket with the end of her pen. “It’s huge,” she said. “But it fits everyone.” She held the pen poised over the pad of paper. “Where were we?”
“Who really did it?”
Katherine leaned back against the bright red cushions and sighed. “It’s that simple, isn’t it? That simple and that difficult. Who would want to hurt Patrick? And by extension, his gorgeous family.”
“I talked to a guy this morning who seemed convinced Tess did it.”
Katherine gasped, but I couldn’t look at her. I watched a distant group of employees cheer as one of them spiked a volleyball, outfoxing the opposing team. “This guy, Robert, thinks Tess killed Patrick because he was having an affair. An affair with you.” I sucked in my lips as if to stop myself from hurling any more dreadful words Katherine’s way, but I watched her face as they hit their target. At first, her pained expression reflected the wound my words had inflicted. But then she laughed.
“Robert? That officious money-grubber? Tess’s wannabe sidekick?”
I smiled slightly over her apt description, but said nothing. We’d already detoured into near-hysteria once, and I didn’t want to go there again. I needed to make progress on this investigation, fast. “Exactly. He seemed to have a lot of hostility for Patrick. Do you think Robert could have done it? And then thrown suspicion on Tess to prevent everyone from suspecting him?”
Katherine bit her lip and intertwined her fingers as she considered the question. “Maybe. There was certainly no love lost between them. Robert was jealous of the time that Tess devoted to her family, so he despised Patrick, but he didn’t like anyone else Tess spent time with, either. If more of Tess’s friends disappear, I’d look to him, but he’s so wrapped up in the real estate business that I can’t see him taking the time to bump someone off. Not unless he could figure out a way to make Patrick’s death put money in his pocket.” She shook her head and sat back in her seat. “Nope. Not Robert. If he did do it, we could prove it with his time sheet.”
“Time sheet?”
“Another one of his goofy ideas to improve office efficiency. He wanted everyone to keep detailed records showing which projects they were working on every fifteen minutes, like they’d do in a law office. Patrick told me about it, oh, about two months ago, I guess. Tess let him make a presentation to the office, but then made the time sheets optional. Robert was the only one who followed through.”
“Good to know. But at the moment, looking at time sheets sounds like a big fat bore, and not very helpful. How would we know they were truthful?”
“Right. If I had to fill out a time sheet, it would be like ‘bungee jumping at nine,’ ‘hot date with major movie star at ten’—totally fake.”
I smiled at Katherine’s sense of humor. I liked this woman.
“Too much joking?” she asked. “These are dark times.”
“And when do we need laughter more?”
We sipped our drinks in silence for a moment.
“I have an alibi, by the way,” Katherine said.
“Your foot?”
She frowned, glared at the foot, then stared off into the distance. “I spent most of the afternoon, evening, and into the night in the emergency room on Saturday. ERs are so slow when your condition isn’t life-threatening. Don’t get me wrong. It’s good that they take people with life-threatening illnesses first. But it was ages before I got anything for the pain. They gave me an ice pack, but I think I did some real damage to my dental work, gritting my teeth through the agony. My sister-in-law was there with me. She deserves a medal. She kept me distracted and supplied me with coffee and chocolate, both of which have surprisingly powerful painkilling properties in a pinch. I nearly kissed the nurse who finally brought me a pain pill.” She took a sip of her coffee, then glanced at her phone. “Too soon for another dose. Do you have any ibuprofen?”
I rummaged in my purse and handed her a bottle. She shook out three. Or maybe four. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like a lot. She swallowed them with the last bit of melted ice from her drink.
“What happened?”
She winced and put her foot up on a neighboring chair. “A stupid fall on my hardwood floor Saturday morning. I’m a klutz, and I’m sure I’ve twisted my ankle worse than that a hundred times before. On stairs, stepping off a curb, or on that equestrian trail at Rancho San Antonio near where Patrick was found. The horses make a mess of the mud after the rains, and then it hardens. It’s treacherous when you’re running. This time, though, the culprits were just my slipper socks.” She shook her head. “At least I’d just had my toes done.” She wiggled her brightly painted toes, which sported pink polish that was nearly a perfect match for her cast. “My husband treated me and my sister-in-law to a full-service spa day on Friday. Massage, manicure, pedicure, salt scrub, meditation lounge, the works. I took the day off work, and he hired a limo to take us there and back, so we didn’t have to drive afterward, when our brains were mush.”
I made the appropriate envious noises and pantomimed the motion of crossing her off a list of suspects.
“There’s Debra, though...” Katherine’s voice startled me.
“Debra?”
“Debra Mah. She works with Patrick and me. But honestly, if she wanted to kill anyone, it would probably be me. Robert isn’t the only one who thought Patrick and I were having an affair. Tess, Patrick, and I laughed it off, but Deb was sure all the juicy rumors were true. And I could so easily see her bumping me off so she could have Patrick for herself.”
Chapter 18
Pay attention to warnings issued by emergency personnel and government officials. Obey signs prohibiting admittance to restricted areas.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Tuesday, August 8, Afternoon
Katherine phoned Debra for me and explained that I was a friend of Patrick’s who was devastated by his death. “She’s working on a memorial project for him and wants to interview people from every sphere of his life. You know, to build a complete portrait of the great man he was.” She was laying it on pretty thick, it seemed to me, but Debra was apparently eager to help.
Katherine muted the call. “She’s leaving early today for an appointment. Can you meet her tomorrow, here at Google for lunch?”
I nodded and waited for her to end the call.
“Twelve thirty, tomorrow afternoon, right here.”
I shook her hand. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry we didn’t meet under better circumstances. May I contact you again if I have more questions?”
Katherine rummaged in her backpack, pulled out a rumpled business card, brushed it off on her shirt, and handed it to me. “Sorry. I don’t use my cards much. They get a bit grubb
y sliding around in the pockets of my bags.”
I held the card at arm’s length and squinted. “I think I can make out the contact information, so it’s fine.”
“My husband’s meeting me here in a bit. He wants to pick up some stuff from the employee store and needs my badge to get the discount. Let me walk you to your car.”
I protested, but Katherine insisted that the parking lot was on her way back to her office. We paused halfway there so that I could return the fleece jacket Katherine had loaned me. I tucked it into her backpack, a gallant act I hoped would save her an awkward moment on her crutches. But I nearly toppled her over when a large forest-green van screeched to a stop next to us. I instinctively took a step away, still holding on to Katherine’s backpack, pulling her off balance. She fell back into my arms, and I quickly righted her, apologizing profusely. Disaster averted. Then I lifted my hand to shield my eyes from the glare reflecting off the shiny finish of the van that had caused the trouble.
Katherine knew the driver. “Ah, Sean,” she said. “This is Maggie McDonald, a friend of Tess and Patrick’s. Maggie, this is my husband, Sean, and my sister-in-law, Fiona.”
We waved at each other, making polite but awkward gestures. It turns out it’s difficult to greet someone when you’re separated by the door of a van that’s blocking traffic. I did a quick scan of the parking lot, which was decidedly short on empty parking spaces. “Nice to meet you both. I’m leaving if you want to nab my spot.”
Sean smirked. Fiona laughed aloud. “No need,” said Sean, pointing to the bright blue handicap placard hanging from his rearview mirror. “I get one of the primo spots by the door, marked by the banner of my people, the great white rolling chair.”
Their good humor was infectious and dispelled the dour mood that still lingered from my conversation with Katherine about Patrick and those who might want to kill him. It wasn’t until I reached my car that I turned, suddenly realizing that Sean and his sister, Fiona, both significantly older than Katherine, were undoubtedly the “Mr. and Mrs. Claus” whom Brian, David, and Teddy had mentioned.
I’d also met Sean briefly on Sunday at Tess’s place. “Mr. and Mrs. Claus” were apt nicknames for the siblings. They both had clouds of curly white hair, and the rosy cheeks and ready smiles I associated with the great Saint Nick. Sean sported an impressive beard. I tried to remember what the boys had said about Sean. Was it favorable? Suspicious? I shook my head, hoping a few marbles might fall into place.
My phone rang, and for the first time in a long time, I was able to answer it using the buttons on my steering wheel without hanging up on the caller.
“Max, it’s good to hear from you. Are you and the boys settling in, or do you still have nine hundred trips to make? I’m on my way home if you need me to pick up a load of stuff or the dogs or something.”
“We’ve got that in hand, but the boys are still antsy. We’re thinking of taking a run, or at least a walk, up the hill to check out the fire damage. And if it’s not too creepy, Teddy wants to see if he can get a sense of where his dad died.”
“I can see that, I guess.”
“Me too. But we’ll play it by ear. Once we get near the trail, it may seem like too much, too soon. In any case, we’ll get some more exercise, so everyone sleeps better tonight.”
“You’re a good man, Max McDonald.”
“As I keep reminding you, Maggie. As I keep reminding you.”
By the time I reached home, Max and the boys had taken off with the dogs. Dogs weren’t typically allowed on the Rancho San Antonio trails, but Max might have assumed that, since the parking lots were closed, and the vegetation had burned, there wouldn’t be any people or wildlife up there for Belle and Mozart to disturb. My husband typically followed laws to the letter, but at unpredictable times he’d surprise me by flouting rules I expected him to follow. We’d been married for many years, but he still held many mysteries. It kept things interesting.
I’d had time to unpack groceries, start a load of laundry, and consider taking a closer look at the fire damage myself when I heard them outside the back door, laughing.
I stood on the porch and surveyed my guys, who’d launched a full-scale water war to combat the soot that covered their skin and clothing.
“Can you get us some buckets, Mom?” asked Brian.
“And soap. Lots of soap,” Max added.
“What about the shower down in the barn?” I suggested. “And the washing machine down there? It may take several cycles to get all that soot out of your clothes.”
Max called up, “We were told that going up there was a super-bad idea and that we should wash this soot off as soon as possible.”
“It’s okay, Mom. Don’t freak,” David said, skipping the eye roll and filling his voice with empathy and reassurance. “As long as we wash it off, we should be safe. Firefighters are repeatedly exposed to carcinogens. And poison oak.” He paused to scratch at his skin, as though the words themselves had set off a reaction. “We got stopped before we got too far up there anyway.”
“How’s your breathing, Bri?” I asked. My youngest son had intermittent trouble with asthma. Smoke often triggered a flare-up. He’d been symptom-free for so many months that not one of us had thought about protecting him from particulates now that the fire and smoke had mostly moved on.
Brian dashed to the bottom of the steps, then took a deep breath in and blew a long, hard breath out to demonstrate that he wasn’t wheezing and was able to use every cubic centimeter of his lung capacity. I felt my shoulders relax. I gave Brian a thumbs-up, and he beamed. Brian was remarkably patient with my tendency to go from normal levels of parental concern to DEFCON One when his breathing was involved. I knew it annoyed him, but he didn’t remember the long nights we’d spent in the hospital when he was an infant and toddler.
“There’s shampoo in the cabinet under the sink in the barn bathroom. I’ll bring down a change of clothes and a load of dog towels—maybe you could use them and spare the new ones on the shelves down there?”
Scruffy towels in our house were marked with Belle’s name and were kept in a basket by the back door, ready to wipe down her feet and coat during the rainy season or sop up unexpected kitchen spills.
Nearly a year ago, after our barn had burned down, we’d rebuilt it, matching the original footprint and design on the outside to speed the project through the planning commission. On the inside, though, we’d included two bathrooms; one was downstairs with a washer and dryer that came in handy when we were working in the garden or on other messy projects nearby. One day, we hoped to convert the loft to a small apartment. That day, however, was not yet here.
Watching the boys, Max, and the two dogs trooping down the hill toward the barn, looking for all the world like nineteenth-century coal miners, I was glad we’d sprung for an extra-large water heater in the remodel. That crew was going to use up every gallon of hot water we had before they were scrubbed clean.
Less than an hour later, they trickled back up the hill slowly, first Brian, then the older boys, followed by Max with the dogs. I was getting dinner ready, and they stopped to chat and pull munchies out of the fridge in quantities that might staunch the appetite of a small army, but that I knew would barely hold them until dinner.
“I ran the first load through twice. Unless the boys’ track team changes its colors to blue and gray from blue and white, though, they may need to be washed a third time. Don’t let me forget them.”
“Set a timer?” I was a big fan of timers. The trick was remembering why I’d set them. Max grabbed a digital one that I’d affixed to the fridge with a magnet.
“An hour should do it,” he said. “How did your interviews go?”
I filled him in on what I’d learned from Katherine and Robert, told him about meeting with Ketifa, and about my lunch date the next day with Debra. “Nothing earthshaking that will get Tess released,
I’m afraid. How about you? Did you discover anything new on your jaunt? How did Teddy feel about visiting the spot where his dad died?”
Max shook his head. “We didn’t get close. As soon as we hit the old PG&E service road, a ranger truck pulled up, and the biggest dude I’ve ever seen told us the park was closed due to the fire danger. Suggested we head back where we belonged. Didn’t say anything about the dogs, though.”
“Did you get a fine?”
“No, he was focusing on trying to keep people safe. Warned us about washing off the soot, but also said to be watchful for wildlife. With so many of them burned out of their homes—rattlers, mountain lions, deer, coyotes—they’re regrouping. And outside their established territories, they’re skittish and more dangerous than usual.” Max began clearing the table. “Interesting guy, though. Kon Sokolov. Huge. Six foot five, and maybe three hundred pounds, all of it muscle. He could fight a grizzly and win. He’s a first-generation Russian immigrant, and his granddad worked at Chernobyl. Died young. Kon wants to avoid similar environmental threats, so he leads a super-healthy life. He eats organic, home-grown vegetables. Passionate about ecological issues. Joined the U.S. Army right after high school to earn money for college, trained as a sniper, which he hated, but has been working for various branches of environmental or outdoor recreation groups ever since he got out.”
“You got his full life story. How long did you talk to him?”
Max ignored me. Part of our family lore was that Max could walk into a roomful of strangers and learn everyone’s life story in fifteen minutes flat. He rummaged through the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Somewhere here I’ve got the numbers he gave me to text if we see any hot spots flare up, or anything else we think the authorities should check on.” He pulled out a crumpled slip of paper, smoothed it out on the counter, and hunted for a thumbtack to affix it to our kitchen message center. He frowned, which affected my mood in much the same way that a passing cloud darkens the earth.
