by Bulock, Lynn
“That’s fine. She needs the company right now.” When I went back inside she also tried to convince me that she needed some of my cereal while I ate breakfast. It didn’t work. Afterward we took a brisk walk around the neighborhood, Sophie trotting along checking out every bush and tree. She had a gait that looked like prancing when she wasn’t as interested in the plant life along the way. Of course she spent a major amount of time investigating, but we still managed a good walk.
When we got back to the house, Dot gave Sophie her breakfast and ushered me in for coffee, which I certainly didn’t turn down. I was happy to be on friendly terms with the Morgans again. They felt like substitute family to me as well as landlords, and I didn’t want to give up our relationship.
Now that Dot and I went to the same church, attended the same Christian Friends group and I lived in her backyard apartment, almost every area of my life would be impacted if we were on the outs with each other. Thankfully we could still be friends instead.
“You missed a visit by Detective Fernandez while you were at work and school yesterday,” Dot told me once she sat down at the table with me, her own cup of coffee in hand. “But then he didn’t want to talk to you anyway, so it wasn’t much of a loss.”
“I expected you would get at least one more set of questions this week, because he had plenty I couldn’t answer Wednesday,” I told her. “He wanted to know all kinds of stuff about the subcontractors for the remodel, and I couldn’t remember the names.”
“That was mostly what he wanted this time. I got out my folder that I’ve been keeping. I think I impressed him.” Dot had kept her own meticulous set of records since she’d employed Frank and it had turned out to be a good idea.
“He wasn’t too happy to hear about all the billing errors that I’d found in Frank’s dealing with his suppliers and subcontractors. I think it just gave him three or four times the number of suspects he wanted.”
“Were there that many billing errors?” I reached over to the plate Dot set out and picked up one of her apple cinnamon muffins. They were still warm, and I figured I better get one before Buck came into the house, because once he did, he and Hondo would both want one. Buck letting the dog eat one, or at least half of his own, would upset Dot. It would upset Sophie too for that matter, because Hondo was the only dog that got to break the “no people food” rule.
“I’m generous to call them that. When I pointed them out to Frank I always called them mistakes or errors, even though I was pretty sure after the third one or so that I found that he was trying to slip things by me and by the suppliers.” Dot’s nostrils flared in aggravation. I could just imagine those conversations she had with Frank. He might have been a tough customer, but I didn’t think he could out-argue Dot. So far I hadn’t met too many people who could.
“Did he correct the errors, or whatever they were, when you pointed them out?”
Dot waggled a hand in a noncommittal gesture. “He corrected some of them. I think his subcontractors straightened out a lot of them on their own. Especially once I took to copying Frank’s information and passing it on to the subs. The plumbing contractor was particularly interested in what I had to show him.”
“I remember seeing the truck here a lot, but I don’t remember the guy’s name.”
“Frank was using Leopold Plumbing this time. I might have gotten Ed Leopold into that, because I knew one of his workers wanted the hours. After all this mess, I’m sorry I ever suggested him to Frank.”
I had to imagine that Frank Collins had not been easy to work with. “Still, it sounds like you tried to do the right thing.”
“I really did. Matt, the worker from Leopold, is a nice young man, and he’s trying to move up in the business as much as he can.” Dot took a sip of her coffee and made a face. “Ugh. I need a warm-up. Want one?”
Once she refreshed both our cups she sat down again, just in time to welcome Buck and Hondo into the house. For a change she was firm about not feeding the dog muffins, and Buck seemed to agree with her. I noticed, however, that he took his plate and the newspaper into the living room where we couldn’t see him around a corner.
“Where was I?” Dot asked after all of that.
“Matt,” I prompted. “You said he needed the hours and he’s trying to move up in the business. What would keep him from doing that?”
“I know him through Candace,” Dot said as if that explained everything. In some ways, since I know Dot well, it did. Her daughter had Down syndrome and lived in a group home in Camarillo so if Dot knew Matt through Candace he likely had some challenges in life. “He went through some of the job training classes that she attended at one point. He’s much younger than Candace, so it must have been one of the more recent sets. And he doesn’t have as many problems. I think he’s dating Candace’s roommate Lucy.”
So there were several ties between Dot and this young man. I said as much, and she nodded. She looked a little worried as she explained all this to me. She stopped talking for a moment, looking thoughtful. “You know, Detective Fernandez asked a lot of questions about Matt.”
“More than he asked about other subcontractors and their helpers?”
Dot waggled a hand. “Maybe a few more. But now that I think of it, he was focusing on the young men who worked with all the contractors. I guess that makes sense after what I told him before.” Her brows wrinkled together. “And Matt is one of the taller, skinnier ones among them. He’s built a lot like Ben. You’d never confuse them from the front, because Matt’s dark-haired and clean-shaven….”
“While Ben is closer to blond and has that awful goatee right now, which I hope he’ll outgrow soon,” I finished for her so she didn’t have to.
Dot shrugged. “At least he didn’t dye his hair blue his first semester. I don’t know how many freshmen I’ve seen on campus over there with blue or purple or maroon hair. Why do they think that’s attractive?”
“If you figure it out, let me know,” I told her. “It’s not attractive to me, but I’m not eighteen, either. I don’t think it’s supposed to be attractive to me.”
I looked out the kitchen window to where I could see my apartment. “This all keeps going back to the apartment one way or another doesn’t it? Did Frank have anything to do with building your apartment when it was new?” I seemed to remember him making claims in that regard, but I wasn’t sure how truthful they might have been.
“In a way he did. He was somebody else’s ‘helper’ at that point. I’m not too sure how much better he’s gotten at the business, to tell the truth,” Dot said with a grimace. “When we were building he mostly pounded nails and painted, the kind of work it didn’t take much skill to do. He certainly hung around enough after things were done and we were moving the girls in.”
“Was he married then?”
“Not yet, although he did marry rather young. I think he would have waited longer, but he made a mistake there and found a girl whose family insisted they get married immediately. If I remember right, Tracy has several older brothers.” Dot still wore a look of distaste over Frank’s behavior.
That made me think of another question I wanted to ask her. “Does Candace’s original roommate from the apartment still live around here?”
“No, and we might have Frank to blame for that, too,” Dot said tartly. “Susie got very interested in boys and young men shortly after the girls moved into that apartment together, and I know Frank egged her on. I always hoped it wasn’t more than that.”
I felt my stomach give a little lurch. “But you’re not sure?”
“Not totally, no. I always felt thankful that Candace didn’t ever go through much interest in relationships and, well, sex to be perfectly honest. Developmentally she tests out at about thirteen, where all of that starts to really catch fire for a lot of girls, but it never did for her. Susie was another story.”
“Did it lead to problems?”
“Some. Her parents had a lot of talks with her, and Buck and I certainly
kept a close eye on the place, since they were on our property. We were trying to give the girls as much freedom as we could and still monitor them. I suppose most of Susie’s behavior was pretty natural. But either she just didn’t have many inhibitions or she didn’t have any impulse control. After about six months her mother decided that they’d had enough and Susie moved to a group home in a very sheltered environment out past San Bernardino. We haven’t heard from them in years.”
“Wow. Sounds like it was heavy stuff to deal with.”
“Definitely. The more I think about Frank Collins, and hear things about him, the more I could just kick myself for giving him another chance remodeling that apartment this time. And now you and I are both in a fix because I have no idea what we’ll do about getting somebody to finish up there.”
I’d thought about that, and had no great ideas to offer. “The bulk of what’s unfinished is in the bathroom. Maybe Ed, the plumbing guy, would want to take over.”
“It’s worth a try. I might call him and see what he thinks of the idea.”
“Great.” I stood up and gave Dot a quick hug. “But I have to get going. Thanks for the coffee and the chat. They were just what I needed.” Like a good guest I rinsed my cup and put it in the sink and cleaned up any crumbs I’d left behind. I called out a goodbye to Buck in the other room and headed for the apartment. I probably had as much studying and catching up to do as my son, with finals coming up soon.
Saturday morning, as Buck and I worked in the dog runs, a familiar car pulled up on the driveway. The nice, shiny sedan shouted “unmarked car” even without Ray Fernandez getting out of it with a steaming carryout cup of coffee in hand. He looked sharp for a Saturday in nicely faded jeans and a tweedy sport coat. A silk T-shirt appeared to be the one concession to the weekend. His outfit made me wonder if Armani made blue jeans. I had no clue, but if they did, Fernandez would wear them. His certainly fit him well in a way that looked classy.
He strolled over to the dog runs, and greeted us with a nod of his head. His expression was mostly unreadable thanks to dark sunglasses. “Mr. Morgan, Ms. Harris.” It was hard to tell if he was saying hello or taking roll call.
We both said hello to him, and Buck made a move to turn off the hose he was using to clean out a run. I finished sweeping with the wide broom, taking care not to push anything in Fernandez’s direction. Those loafers of his probably cost more than the bulk of my closet contents put together.
“I’ll be done here in a minute, Detective. Did you want to speak to both of us?” Buck asked as he went to the front gate of the run.
Fernandez held up his free hand. “Don’t stop on my account, Mr. Morgan. I really came by mostly to ask you to come to the station at some point and look at a few pictures for me.”
“That must mean you found something. Did you find the gun?” I blurted out.
Fernandez inclined his head, and I expected him to shut me down, but he surprised me instead. “We did. It was in the storage tank of the unit we towed in as evidence.” Once again I didn’t envy the crime-scene tech who had that job.
“So could you trace it? Were there prints on it?”
Fernandez shook his head. “I don’t know why you ask these kinds of questions, Ms. Harris, when you know I can’t tell you the answers.”
“If you’re going to continue looking at my son as a suspect, I feel we have a right to know things like this.” It might not have been the most solid argument, but it was the only one I had.
Fernandez took a drink of his coffee. “I can see your point, but it doesn’t mean I’ll be sharing much information with you. I do appreciate the fact that you and Ben have been honest with me so far.”
My temper flared and I felt like asking him what he meant by “so far” but I kept that thought to myself. There was no need to upset a man who could arrest my son. “I am almost always honest with everyone, Detective Fernandez.”
“And like I said, I appreciate that. I intend to be honest with you as far as I can be without jeopardizing an ongoing investigation.” He took a drink of his coffee and let the silence spin on for a while. “The most I can tell you right now is that we found the gun, and it appears to be one that Mr. Collins owned.”
“That’s a good deal of information,” Buck broke in. “And knowing my wife’s cousin, I’d say Frank didn’t own that gun legally. Or at least he kept it someplace where he shouldn’t have.” The gate on the run clanged shut behind him as he stepped out, emphasizing his words.
“Legal or not, I can’t comment on the brilliance of keeping a loaded gun in the cab of a pickup truck,” Fernandez said. “But plain stupidity or even the other kinds of behavior Frank Collins exhibited have never been grounds for murder.”
“If they were, there’d be far more homicides,” Buck said firmly. It was the kind of statement even Fernandez didn’t argue with.
Chapter Seven
Fernandez finished up with Buck, said his goodbyes quickly and started to open his car to leave. He stopped midway through the action and then came back to where Buck was coiling hose and I was scooping out dry dog food into large food bowls as the last part of the morning routine.
“I meant to tell you one more thing,” he said, directing his statement to Buck. “Your wife will probably want to know that we’re releasing Mr. Collins’s body to a mortuary today. I imagine the family is planning services soon.”
“Thank you, Detective Fernandez. I’ll pass on the word,” Buck said.
I wondered whether the detective would be upset with me if I went to pay my respects. He’d probably see it as horning in on the investigation, but at the same time I wanted to meet Frank’s family. The hardest part would be finding somewhat pleasant, neutral things to say about him. I was still pondering that when Fernandez left and I went to go have breakfast after all the dog run chores.
Later in the day Dot and I met at the mailboxes at the same time and I shared my reservations about going to the visitation with her. “I think you should go,” she said. “You would learn a lot from being there that might help Ben, and besides, I want company. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get Buck to go with me on this one. He hates funeral homes and he wasn’t that fond of Frank, so it’s going to be a hard sell.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “If it will be doing you a favor, I’ll plan to go. Let me know when it is and I’ll try to work my schedule so that I’m off to go with you.”
It wouldn’t be that hard to get Maria to let me off during an evening to do something. She didn’t usually schedule me past seven or eight anyway, giving the later night hours to kids who lived on campus. She was a good manager with lots of “people skills.” I felt very fortunate to have this job. At some point I’d need full-time work, but I was hoping to eke out what I could until I finished my degree in counseling at Pacific Oaks and could get a job there or one of the community colleges in the area in advising or counseling.
In the midst of all this I was struck by an odd thought. What did Californians wear to a funeral? The only two I’d been to had been my husband’s, where I was in no condition to pay any attention to what anybody else wore, and my mother-in-law’s, where I was tempted to forgo the black or navy I normally wore to such events in favor of her favorite pale aqua. In both cases I was so wrapped up in grieving and the services at hand I hadn’t paid any attention to the local traditions on such things.
Given that folks in Southern California tended to show up for church in anything under the sun, I had to suspect their funeral behavior wouldn’t be much different. There might not be many Hawaiian shirts present, but I’d imagine that there still would be some Tshirts, shorts and flip-flop sandals. Some people might be more casual than usual since Frank worked in construction and many of the apprentices and helpers would be involved. It was hard to picture Darnell, for example, owning anything fancier than jeans and Tshirts. His most expensive item of clothing was probably a wetsuit.
There were even plenty of people who went to church
at Conejo Community Chapel who were comfortable showing up every Sunday in jeans no matter what they wore during the week. This wouldn’t be the typical Midwestern crowd I was used to seeing at a visitation, or what we’d call there a “wake.” Hopefully those in attendance would all turn their cell phones off, but I wasn’t going to count on that.
Sunday at church Pastor George announced that there would be a funeral service for Frank Collins on Wednesday at the church, adding that he was the nephew of Dorothy Morgan—which was the first time I’d ever heard her full name used—and noted the funeral home where visitation would be held Tuesday night. It was a branch of Dodd and Sons, who had handled the arrangements for Dennis and his mother. Fortunately they had several different locations in the Conejo Valley, and the one Frank would be at was in Simi Valley, not in Rancho Conejo. It would give me a lot fewer bad memories to recall this way, and I was thankful.
I’d gone to an early service, which meant I had no expectations of Ben joining me at church. When he came it was definitely later on Sunday morning or at their most contemporary service on Saturday night. There was a chapel on campus at Pacific Oaks, and he often worshipped there instead. I was just happy he was keeping a faith life. So many college kids, even in small colleges like his, use that break from home to also break with church and faith. I often wondered if I would have married Hal as young as I had if part of my rebellion in college hadn’t been to reject anything and everything organized religion had to offer for a while. If I hadn’t been rejecting the church just then, would it have been as “cool” to be married at nineteen and somebody’s mom shortly after my twentieth birthday? It was a question I couldn’t answer, but one I still pondered every so often.
Definitely it wasn’t a path I’d recommend Ben followed, especially since he was at Pacific Oaks on nearly a full scholarship. I didn’t think the financial-aid folks would look too kindly on somebody who decided he had enough funds to support a wife on their nickel.
