by Mary Feliz
I didn’t like it. I knelt and wrapped the handgun in a purple sweatshirt with Namaste printed across the front in pink glitter. I stuffed the bundle as far as I could under the front seat and packed frilly dance clothes around it.
I sucked in my cheeks, not wanting to lecture Flora on the danger of handguns, real or pseudo-real. Orchard View wasn’t as close to California’s growing gang problems as we’d been in Stockton. Children here didn’t wake up to the sound of gunshots and wonder whether one of their classmates would be missing from school on Monday because their uncle, older brother, or neighbor had been killed.
In the northern part of Stockton where we’d lived, we’d been insulated from that trouble for the most part, although Brian’s first-grade teacher had lost her brother in a drive-by shooting.
Here in Orchard View, maybe kids only associated guns with target-shooting or video games, and a handgun could be separated from tragedy, fear, danger, and death if it sported a fluorescent orange tip on the barrel. It was a question for another day.
All I knew for now was that Flora seemed like a good soul and an unlikely killer. She worked the long hours required of a single mom and small-business owner who volunteered in the local school. Neither Flora nor her daughter had likely spent yesterday night at our house shooting out our windows with a purple polka-dotted handgun.
I took the black binder from Flora and promised her I’d be back to visit the shop. It seemed like a great place to pick up birthday presents for my nieces, and a massage was definitely going to be part of my future as soon as I could squeeze in the time.
We were walking back to the shop when Flora froze. I turned toward her. Her face was pale, her eyes were wide, and her teeth were clenched. She made a short hissing noise and fisted her hands. I was about to ask if she was in pain and needed help, when I realized she was staring down the alley. I turned to see what she was looking at. A black SUV with darkly tinted windows drove toward us. Flora put out her arm and pushed me back toward her store like a mother trying to keep her child from hitting the dashboard. I stepped back and watched the scene unfold. Flora was clearly upset, to the point of barely being able to breathe or talk. The black SUV kept coming, but slowly. It didn’t seem like a threat to me.
As the SUV drew abreast of us, the rear window rolled down, and a man with a round face and cheery smile leaned out.
“Morning, Flora!” he said. “How’s the family?”
Flora still looked sick, but she answered, “Doing fine, Umberto. It’s good to see you.”
“Do you have that order ready for me yet?”
“On Thursday, Umberto, just as we discussed.”
“Great! I’ll see you then.”
Flora and I stood in the shadow of the building and watched the SUV until it reached the end of the alley and turned onto the main road. I wondered if this Umberto could possibly be Dennis DeSoto’s brother, the one who ran their family foundation. I discarded the thought. There was little to no resemblance between rail-thin Dennis and the more rotund Umberto.
Flora let out a deep breath and walked back into her shop. She sank down onto the sofa in the front window, poured a glass of iced tea, and drank most of it before looking up. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead.
“I’m sorry, Maggie. Would you like a glass?”
I shook my head. “Is there anything I can do for you, Flora? That man upset you. Do you want me to call someone? Are you safe here?”
“He’s just a client,” Flora said, finishing the rest of her tea. “Please sit down, Maggie. There’s something I need to tell you.”
I sat, thinking that she was going to tell me who Umberto was and why he scared her. I was wrong.
“At the meeting the other day we were talking about who had secrets, and who had a motive for murder,” Flora said. “Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember. What about it?”
“Pauline Windsor is telling people that you had the best motive for murder, and that you were furious with Miss Harrier for changing Brian’s schedule. She says that Orchard View was a quiet town with zero murders on the books until you moved in and ‘found’ a dead body in your basement. She’s suggesting you brought the body with you, that you killed Harrier, and that you’re faking the vandalism at your house to deflect attention.”
Flora looked horrified, but I laughed, assuming she was kidding. “Seriously? She doesn’t even know me.”
“It’s awkward telling you about it. Maybe I shouldn’t have? I thought you’d want to know. Stephen said we needed to share everything and look at the big picture if we were going to learn anything.”
Flora sounded hurt. I thanked her and assured her she’d done the right thing. I glanced at my watch.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked. “I need to get home, but I could call someone for you.”
Flora convinced me she was fine, so I returned to my car and reviewed the odd behavior of the only people I knew in town. First, there was Elaine pushing me to investigate.
Second, there was Flora, who accused Tess and Dennis, but was driving around with an airsoft gun in the car—an airsoft gun like those that had done so much damage at our house. And who was Umberto, who was chauffeured in a black SUV like a movie mobster and terrified Flora, but seemed nice enough to me?
And what was with Pauline, who’d been accusing me of all sorts of nefarious activities starting with parking-spot stealing?
And where was Tess? Why hadn’t she returned my call?
Flora had said there was friction between Tess and Miss Harrier over Teddy’s eligibility for school. Tess, like most mothers, was ferocious in support of her son. How far would she go to secure the best education possible for Teddy?
The text alert on my phone went off as I reached the car. Juggling my backpack and my keys, I pulled out my phone. I’d assumed it was Tess, but the alert said it was the middle school.
Assuming the news was bad, I unlocked the phone and read the text. It was from April.
Brian’s fine. No rush, but please call me when you get a chance.
I had to admire an administrator who led with Your child is fine. What parent didn’t panic at a message from school during school hours?
I texted back:
On my way.
I pulled into the school parking lot, which seemed empty now that the emergency vehicles had left. The crowd of concerned parents had dispersed and the students were safely ensconced in their classrooms.
April, in her canary-yellow garb, stood behind the front counter sorting papers.
“Oh, hi Maggie,” she said. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t mean to alarm you. We could probably have covered this over the phone or after school.”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
April looked around. “Hmm. We can’t meet in Miss Harrier’s office. Let’s go to the table in the break room. This will only take a minute.”
I followed April out the back door of the office and across the open-air corridor to a teachers’ break room. Counters filled with copiers, laminating equipment, and stencil machines lined the room, which held the smell of stale coffee and microwaved popcorn.
April pulled out a chair and asked me to sit in the chair opposite.
“What’s up? You said Brian was fine.”
“He is . . .”
“But?”
“I don’t know if this is anything to worry about, but I know your family has been under a lot of stress, so I thought I’d mention it.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Brian’s eyes were super-red this morning and he fell asleep in math and music. I know those are his favorite classes.”
“I hope he’s not coming down with something. Although things have been so crazy at our house, he may not be sleeping well. And then there’s our move, I guess, though I’ve kind of lost sight of how that might be affecting the kids, what with everything else going on.”
April raised her eyebrows as if she were asking whether I’d
finished what I had to say.
“Sorry,” I said. “Tell me more about your concerns.”
“Falling asleep in class could mean a number of things, including that he’s a normal middle-school boy who is growing fast and needs more sleep than he’s getting,” April said. “It’s one of the signs we watch for. I don’t think it’s anything serious in Brian’s case, but it can mean that things are rocky at home, that a child is experimenting with drugs, that they’re depressed, studying too much, texting too late, or reading to the end of a great book.”
“But . . .”
“I asked Brian to come see me at lunchtime and asked him how things were going. I offered him a soda—which the kids know is pure contraband around here—and asked him why he was so tired.”
“And . . .” I was desperate to hear her answer, but worried too.
“He told me that you and Stephen set up spy cameras to watch for the crooks who’ve been trashing your house.”
“That’s right.”
“Could Stephen have said he wanted eyes on the cameras all night? Could Brian have overheard that?”
I thought for a moment and nodded. “Not Stephen, I don’t think. But Jason.” Of course Brian could have heard him. Kids hear everything. Jason, Stephen, and I hadn’t tried to keep anything from either Brian or David about efforts to catch the local miscreants in the act.
“Apparently he stayed up all night watching the feed on his computer.”
“That’s just like Brian—taking on more than he can handle, trying to single-handedly manage chaos. I’ll talk to him, April. Thanks.”
“No problem, Maggie. It’s what I’m here for. You seem tired yourself.” April leaned forward and whispered, “You wanna soda?”
I laughed and said I was fine, but I was glad to know where I could score a cola if I needed one.
I drove home and pulled into our driveway, cringing as the car lurched from pothole to pothole. I’d have to move resurfacing the driveway higher up on my list of necessary renovations.
I sat on the back porch to eat my lunch and keep an eye on Belle—and so she could keep an eye on me. I texted Tess. My previous messages had been purely social. Now, I was growing desperate to talk to someone about how crazy things were getting. I was worried about the murderer and the vandals who threatened the security of my home and my family. I was concerned that the police were making no progress in the investigation into any of the crimes. And I worried about the toll that sleepless nights and the chaos were taking on all of us, particularly Brian.
And I still had the nagging feeling that I was missing something—something important.
Chapter 21
One of my guilty pleasures is watching Game of Thrones with Max. I love that the Stark family motto is based on being ever vigilant, organized, and prepared for what’s ahead.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Tuesday, September 9, Afternoon
After lunch, I phoned a heating and air-conditioning technician Tess had recommended. As soon as I mentioned Tess’s name, he said he’d drop what he was doing and come out. In some of the first good news we’d had in a long time, he gave our system a clean bill of health. He cleaned the filters, tested the main unit, examined the ducts, and said it was all ready to turn on as soon as the weather grew cold enough. Usually, that was sometime around Halloween, but the weather could turn nippy before then.
Of course, having a working furnace probably assured us of the warmest fall on record. But it was nice to know something in the house—and in my life—was working as expected.
I checked my phone. Still no answering text from Tess. I needed to ask about Pauline and Dennis. At minimum, they were odd birds. But were they dangerous? I needed to talk to someone who knew them. I wanted to bounce some ideas off Tess and hoped that I could convince her to call another meeting to help us shine some light into the darkest corners of Orchard View. Those corners almost certainly hid one or more people who might be murderers—or at least be thriving on spreading the kind of fear that tears communities apart and keeps young boys and their mom awake at night.
My phone rang. I glanced at the screen. Tess.
“Tess, I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. How are you?”
“Sorry, Maggie. I had a client meeting, followed by a meeting with Teddy’s dad, trying to figure out how to fit in all the after-school activities he wants to try, and still have time for each of us to see our kid.”
“Teddy’s dad?”
“My husband, Patrick. He’s a love.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
I did, of course, Flora had told me. But Tess didn’t know that, and I didn’t want her to know I’d been talking about her behind her back.
“Oh, we don’t live together. He lives in Mountain View, in an apartment with a building concierge to look after him.”
I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. While California was full of people living alternative lifestyles, the vast majority of couples I knew were pretty darn ordinary. A married couple living apart was new to me.
“We love each other and we love Teddy. We just can’t stand living together. I’m a complete slob at home, but want my clothes picture perfect when I go out. He’s the exact opposite. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure I understand our relationship, but it works for us.”
I heard slurping, as if Tess was sucking down a smoothie. As an organizer, my job is often about developing systems to help households of diverse personalities and cleanliness standards get along. But now did not seem the time to mention that to Tess.
“So, spill. What’s so important that you sent me three texts?” she said.
“Do you have time to meet me before school gets out?” I asked. “David’s got band, but I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I need to pick up Brian.”
“Not really. That client meeting? It’s for a firm bringing in a bunch of engineers from Texas. They’re flying them in tomorrow and I have no idea what to show them. I’ve got tons of research to do.”
“Rats. I’ve talked to a bunch of people lately, many of them strange, and I wanted to get your take on them, since you’ve known them longer. I was also hoping you could call another meeting for me. They’ll show up for you.”
“Maggie, I’d love to help, but I don’t have time this week. Can we meet on Monday for coffee after the kids are in school?”
I didn’t want to wait that long. For all I knew, the vandals might have destroyed our house by then and more people could be dead. But that wasn’t Tess’s fault. She had a business to run with meetings that couldn’t be rescheduled or postponed. I was disappointed, but I understood.
“Okay, Tess,” I said. “I’ll let you get back to it. See you Monday?”
“Monday,” said Tess. “With the dogs.”
I hung up the phone and spent a good three minutes feeling sorry for myself and hunting for cookies in the cupboards.
I couldn’t find any cookies, didn’t really need any, and it was almost time to pick up Brian. If I couldn’t have Tess as a sidekick, I’d need to tackle the problem myself. I’d talk to the people I knew. If that didn’t work, I’d try to find some other leads.
* * *
It wasn’t until after both kids were home, finishing their homework after dinner, that I had time to talk to Stephen over tea in the kitchen.
I filled him in on what April had told me about Brian and asked Stephen to talk to him and assure him that several officers were keeping on eye on the camera feeds. I’d tell Brian the same thing, but I thought it might mean more coming from Stephen. I hoped we’d both be able to reassure him enough so that he could get a good night’s sleep.
“Is Jason making any progress?” I asked.
Stephen grabbed one of the chocolate-chip cookies he’d brought over—leftovers from a meeting at the VA hospital. He looked thoughtful or as if he was going to try to dodge the question. I was
n’t sure which.
He surprised me. “Some new evidence has come to light,” he said, smoothing out the corner of a place mat and aligning it with the edge of the table. “Fingerprints.”
“Whose fingerprints?”
Stephen cleared his throat. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “Jason’s team collected fingerprints from your basement when he investigated Javier Hernandez’s death. They did the same in Harrier’s office.”
“And?”
“Fingerprints belonging to Tess Olmos and her son Teddy were found at both locations.”
“Tess?”
“And her son, Teddy.”
“That’s ridiculous. It can’t be them.”
“I agree. But let’s look at it as if we didn’t know them. Teddy’s parents are separated. They both want the best for their son. Like a lot of Silicon Valley parents, the message is that they expect their kid to do well—really well. Some kids crack under that kind of loving pressure. There are kids all over town who are cutting or self-medicating. Teddy could be one of them.”
“But we don’t think he is, right?” I said. I hadn’t met Teddy yet, but the quirky lifestyle of his parents seemed to be a model for being the person you wanted to be and finding ways to make it work. But what did I know? Tess and Patrick’s parenting methods could have backfired and Teddy might be letting off steam by blowing up porta-potties. And if I really stretched, I could concoct a scenario in which a group of kids convinced themselves it would be funny to get their principal unknowingly drunk. Liquor, combined with tranquilizers they didn’t know Harrier was taking, could have resulted in an unintended consequence, a deadly consequence.
But it didn’t fit. Not with the Tess I thought I knew.
“No, I don’t think Teddy is guilty,” Stephen said. “But sometimes, trying to stretch your brain to make sense of evidence is a good exercise. Sometimes, it brings other possibilities to light.”
