“How can you be sure?”
He was silent a moment, staring at me. “I just knew.”
“Do you know who the guy was?”
“Nah. I don’t know and I don’t care. I just wanna forget the whole thing, okay? The cops have already been here and they bugged the shit out of me. I didn’t have anything to do with her anymore. Crazy bitch.” He threw the towel into a bucket and walked to the front entrance. “I’m closin’ now.”
He still avoided looking at me. Reaching up, he grabbed a chain attached to the door mechanism. I can take a hint. I stepped out to the sidewalk as Steve released the overhead door. It clanged as it hit the concrete. This guy wouldn’t win any prizes for looks or charm. Even if Moira’s life had been a train wreck, I wondered what she’d ever seen in him.
When I got home, the message light on the answering machine was blinking. I hit the play button and groaned when I heard Celia’s voice asking if I had Michael’s things ready to return to her. The woman had a one-track mind. What had set her on this current course I could only imagine, but I knew I’d have no peace until I had searched, packed up anything in my possession, and sworn there was nothing further. I decided to do the mature thing and ignore her for now.
I was starving. I washed my face and hands and threw my T-shirt in the laundry basket, exchanging it for a fresh sweater. I stuck a tortilla in the toaster and when it was hot, slathered it in mayo, making a big wrap with lettuce, tomato, and some croutons. I wolfed it down, cleaned up the counter and washed my sticky hands. Then I went into the office and flicked on the computer. It was time to do the charts.
I plugged in the birth information I had for every member of the family—Geneva, Brooke, Moira, and Mary. I didn’t have Dan’s or David’s birth times, but I could set up solar charts for them. I didn’t have Rob’s information at all. Hopefully Geneva would be able to get that for me. With luck, she might also find out Andy’s birth date and time, or maybe I’d be able to discover that when I caught up with him.
I quickly set up the charts for Geneva, Mary, and Brooke. I noted that Brooke’s progressed Moon was about to move into her twelfth house. The twelfth house represents a lot of things, but one thing that always comes to mind is secret enemies. It can imply a form of imprisonment. Modern, psychologically oriented astrologers look upon the twelfth house as forces of the unconscious, and if one wants to take an esoteric point of view, planets placed there represent unfinished business from a former life. The movement of Brooke’s progressed Moon into this house would signify a period of being bound to a situation, resulting in a feeling of imprisonment.
Brooke’s natal chart showed a lovely Sun and Venus conjunction in Libra in her eleventh house. She would be a charming, ethical person, blessed with love and popularity. All three charts showed current difficult transits from Saturn and Pluto to various points in each chart. No small wonder, given the murder of a family member.
I left Moira’s chart for last. I said a silent prayer for her and hoped she’d forgive me for prying into her life and her death. She’d only been twenty-eight years old. She’d seemed older, but I knew, given Brooke’s and Geneva’s ages, that the year of her birth was correct. She was born near dawn in late November, a Sagittarian, with three planets in Sagittarius—her Sun, Moon, and Mercury—clustered near a Sagittarian ascendant. Full of personality and a zest for life, but a Mars-Pluto conjunction in Scorpio in the twelfth house painted a different sort of picture. At the time of her death, Pluto was transiting her natal Venus. Was her love life out of control? Had she not cared? Aries was on the cusp of her fifth house, ruled by Mars and affected by the Pluto conjunction. A secret love affair? A heavy sexual and romantic involvement in her life?
Who was her real lover?
nineteen
I grabbed a large pad of paper and began to make a list of what I’d learned over the last few days. Moira drank too much. She could still have been doing drugs, and those drugs or the money for them might have been provided by her brother. I wrote Dan’s name with a big question mark next to it. Maybe Rita was right and Moira had had a local dealer, or maybe Rita was just spreading dirt about a coworker. Andy was Moira’s current boyfriend, Steve was her ex, and perhaps she was cheating on both of them. If so, she’d been a very busy girl.
It still didn’t explain why Moira had been in the garage in the middle of the night, or who had taken shots at Rob. There had been no gun near Moira’s body and the police were undoubtedly still searching for one. Rob had heard one shot and then a second before he fired his gun. I struggled to remember what he’d mentioned earlier: I heard a gunshot … then I heard a second shot, and I knew the bullet hit the wall behind me. If Marjorie’s information was accurate and Rob’s bullet wasn’t the fatal shot that had killed Moira, then she had been shot by an unknown intruder.
Moira had been fighting with Andy. Was that the argument I’d overheard when I was near the creek at the wedding? Or had she been arguing with her brother, even though Dan denied it? Or with someone else altogether? Moira had sulked all the way back to the city, definitely unhappy about something. Had she been in the garage planning to take off in Andy’s car? I hadn’t seen any keys near her that night, but they could have been in a pocket of her hoodie. And why had the lights been out? Who knew the house well enough to unscrew the fuse?
When the doorbell rang, I jumped. I’d been so engrossed in my musings, I’d lost all track of time, completely forgetting that Dan might stop by. I hurried down the stairs and peeked through the glass of the front door. Dan was there, wearing the same outfit—jeans, boots, plaid cotton shirt, and a windbreaker. A tool belt hung around his hips loaded with screwdrivers, pliers, and various other implements.
I opened the door. “Hey, Dan. Come on in.” There was a stoop to his shoulders. His face looked strained. “Are you sure this is okay?” I asked. “I didn’t mean to put any pressure on you at a time like this.”
“Nah. It’s no problem. Just take a few minutes.” He climbed the stairs behind me and stopped in the hallway. “Is this the switch you want a timer on?”
“Yes. For the outdoor light. It’s a dual switch. I can turn it on up here or at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Well, let’s get a timer installed right here.” Dan dropped a workbag next to the banister and pulled out a screwdriver to remove the light switch cover. “Show me where your fuse box is and I’ll just unscrew those. Don’t think I need to shut off the power completely.”
“It’s in the laundry room off the kitchen. I’ll do it—I know which one it is. Dan, I really appreciate this. When you’re finished, have a cup of coffee with me?”
True to his word, fifteen minutes later, Dan peeked around the corner of the kitchen door. “It’s all set, Julia. I set the outside light to turn on around eight o’clock at night and off at five-thirty in the morning for right now. How’s that?”
“That’s perfect. I hate not having a light on when I come home, and I can never get my key in the lock in the dark. Let me pour you a cup.”
Dan pulled out a kitchen chair. “I’m really glad you’re staying close to Geneva right now. She needs your support. You can’t believe how weird some of our relatives have been through all this.”
“Oh, I can imagine,” I replied grimly, thinking of Celia.
“I apologize for losing my temper today at Moira’s place. It’s just …” He trailed off. “I just never liked the guy, at the gut level, you know what I mean?”
“Well, he seems like a sensitive, thoughtful guy. I’m sure Brooke really fell in love with him. If this hadn’t happened with Moira, would you feel the same way about him?”
“Like I said, I never really took to him. Just something about him. But I never said anything because … hey, she’s my sister and I love her, and it really isn’t any of my business.”
“Did Brooke know how you felt?”
“Not in so m
any words. I think maybe she suspected. I think Rob turned into a control freak. And … don’t repeat this … but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he was cheating on her.”
“Really!” I thought about that one. “What kind of trouble did they have?”
“He wanted to have another child. He wanted a son. After Ashley was born, Brooke decided one child was enough. She didn’t want any more. It caused a lot of problems between them. Typical, isn’t it? Macho man isn’t happy with a daughter, he wants a son. It got pretty serious, the fights between them. Brooke finally told him if he wanted a divorce, he could have it. If he was so set on having a son, then they could split everything up and go their separate ways.”
“Dan, the night of the wedding, Moira said something about Sally Stark. She was convinced that Sally’s drink was meant for her.”
Dan shook his head. “Julia, I honestly don’t know. I thought about that too. But here’s the reality. First of all, we have no idea what caused that woman to collapse. It might have nothing to do with anything she ate or drank. As much as I love my sister, Moira was drunk and maybe taking other substances. Don’t forget, I was pretty upset with her. She passed out and claimed she’d only had two drinks, which was probably a lie. She could be a twenty-four-
karat drama queen when she wanted to be. I wouldn’t lend too much credence to what she said. It was likely an attention-getting device.” Dan sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “My mother and sisters are lovely women, but they’re people who have a hard time telling the plain unvarnished truth. They don’t want to see the dark side in people. I think that’s the real reason Moira was always acting out. There was a certain lack of emotional reality in our house.”
“I heard that Moira caused some trouble for Brooke in the past.”
“Yeah. I’m sure it all stemmed from resentment toward Brooke. Don’t get me wrong. She loved Brooke, she really did, but sometimes … it was like the monster would come out. That’s the best way I can put it. Everything Brooke did was perfect. She was a hard act to follow, and Moira would alternately resent her and admire her. I guess that’s what a shrink would say.”
“How did Moira meet Andy? Through you?”
Dan nodded. “Yeah. I met Andy a few years ago when I was in computer school. They hooked up much later. Maybe the end of last year, I think.”
“What does he do for work?”
“He’s a bookkeeper. He’s doing well, lots of clients. He does some real estate deals for people and takes a commission, but he’s not licensed. Kind of under-the-table stuff. I don’t really know any details. To tell you the truth, I never paid much attention. Not my thing at all.”
I thought about the partial tax form I’d found in Moira’s desk. If her name was on real estate records, I wondered if it was connected to Andy. “Dan, what do you really know about Andy? Do you think he’d have any reason to hurt Moira?”
“Not a chance. Listen, Julia, if I thought for a second Andy had anything to do with this … well, let’s put it this way. I’d take care of him myself. I can’t see that. Andy doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.”
“I had to ask.”
“It’s okay. We’re all on edge. Anyway, thanks for the coffee. I’m beat. I’m heading home.”
“Dan, how did you manage to get to Brooke’s house so quickly that night? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you showed up, but …”
Dan shrugged. “That’s okay. The cops asked me the same thing. Actually, Andy called me. I’d stopped at a bar on California Street on my way home and got talking to one of the guys I know there. We ended up hanging out well after closing time. That’s where I was when the call came in. Just a few blocks away.”
“Listen, before you go. What do I owe you for today?”
“Forget it. You paid me. A cup of coffee.”
“Come on, Dan—I don’t feel right about that.”
“No, really. It’s nothing. I’ll talk to you later.”
“There’s something else I have to ask you.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to have to deal with Dan’s temper if he blew up.
“Okay,” he replied, a puzzled look on his face. “What is it?”
“I don’t know how to say this …” I took the plunge. “Did you supply Moira with drugs?”
“Whaaat?”
“Did you get drugs for her?”
“Absolutely not.” Dan’s face turned red. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
“Someone told me that.”
“Who? Who said that?” His voice rose.
“Steve. Moira’s ex-boyfriend.”
“Ah! That jerk. I’d like to put his lights out. I would never do anything like that. I don’t do drugs and I sure as hell wouldn’t give any to my sister.”
“Do you have any idea where she’d get drugs, or where she got the money to buy them?”
Dan continued as if he hadn’t heard my question. “I can’t believe that guy. See, he knows I told Moira to dump him. And besides, I don’t think Moira was fooling around with anything. She really wanted to get sober. She even went to some AA meetings, even though she was still drinking. I guess they don’t throw you out if you’re not totally sober. But I can’t believe that guy would put that story around. Christ!”
“I had to ask.”
“Why, Julia?” Dan shook his head. “You’ve known us for years. I can’t believe you’d even listen to that creep.” He looked like he wanted to put his fist through the wall. “Moira had terrible taste in guys. That’s why I wanted her and Andy to get together.”
I’d known the Learys for years, but now their sister was dead. Everybody needed to be scrutinized. Somebody had murdered Moira. “Like I said, Dan, I had to ask.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you told me. I think I’ll go have a word with Steve myself.” Dan turned down the stairs and was out the front door before I could follow him, slamming it behind him. I watched through the glass as he put his canvas bag in the front seat of his truck and climbed in the driver’s seat. He slammed the door hard and pulled a U-turn, revving his engine as he headed toward Geary. It was a safe bet he was going straight to the Honda shop.
Maybe he was right. Maybe Steve was just bitter about being dumped and wanted to spread rumors about Moira and her brother to anyone who’d listen. I returned to the kitchen and rinsed out the coffee cups in the sink, mentally kicking myself that I’d forgotten to ask Dan for his birth time. I wandered into the office and sat at my desk. The conversations I’d had the past few days were spinning around in my head. I’d learned a few things, but I wasn’t sure it was anything that would help the family. Before it all slipped away, I grabbed the notes I’d started. I made a list of everyone connected with Moira, jotting down abbreviated notes outlining what each had said or thought of her.
I replayed the events of the wedding in my mind. I recalled Moira’s disappearance just before the ceremony, her claim that something was wrong with her drink. We’d all dismissed that as her covering up her alcohol intake, but what if she wasn’t lying? What if someone had spiked those drinks? It hadn’t killed her, but it had taken her out of commission for a while. Yet I couldn’t argue with Dan. He knew his sister very well, and what he’d said made logical sense. But it nagged at me nonetheless.
We’d initially assumed Sally collapsed because of exhaustion or some other condition, perhaps even a heart attack. Had Moira’s drink somehow ended up in Sally’s hands? Would Sally recover? Would they check for poisons or barbiturates? Only Dan and I had heard Moira’s comment in the car. Perhaps Detective Ianello should know about it. Maybe I’d ask Geneva what she thought.
When I finished my notes, a couple of things raised more questions. Rita had claimed Moira was very tight-lipped, but Rita was nevertheless sure that someone new was in Moira’s life. Someone who showed up in a dark expensive car. Moira had fought with Andy, and S
teve thought she was cheating on him. Was she seeing Andy before she and Steve broke up, or was there another man even then? Maybe Geneva would remember the chronology of Moira’s love life.
I glanced at the clock. It was only seven and I was free for the night. The more I thought about Andy, the more questions I had. I called his home number again but there was still no answer. I dialed his cell and he picked up on the first ring.
“Andy, it’s Julia.”
“Who?”
“From Geneva’s wedding.”
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t recognize your voice.” His words were slurred. Noise in the background. It sounded like a party.
“Did I call at a bad time? I wanted to talk to you.”
“Let me guess. About Moira. Everybody wants to talk about Moira. Sure, what the hell.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the …” I imagined him looking around and trying to remember. For all I knew he was on a bender that had started days ago. “I’m at the Plough.”
“I’ll be down.” The Plough and Lyre is a boisterous Irish pub on Clement Street, half a mile from my apartment. I suspected most of its denizens still had former IRA connections and the other half were eager to play the role. Disguised as a friendly neighborhood pub, it was in fact a virulent meat market. I didn’t particularly want to deal with a drunken, bereft boyfriend, and certainly not at a loud Irish bar, but I also didn’t want to take the chance I wouldn’t be able to connect with him again.
I grabbed my jacket and purse and headed out. I found a parking spot on a side street and walked to the front door. Inside, the aroma of fish and chips assailed my senses. My stomach growled in response. What is it about grease and salt, my two favorite food groups, that’s so tempting? The place was packed. The crowd surrounded three musicians playing an upbeat Celtic tune with instruments I couldn’t name.
I fought my way through a gauntlet of guys hanging by the front door and located Andy at the bar. I signaled the bartender and ordered a basket of fish and chips. He nodded and held up his hand to indicate a five-minute wait.
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