by A. J. Carton
Instead, she stumbled out of bed into the same clothes she’d worn the day before and thrown on a chair. She brushed her teeth, took all her blood pressure pills, and zipped up her overnight case. She realized she’d forgotten to brush her hair, but also realized she didn’t care. Finally, she looked around the room for a coffee machine. There was none. They’d get something on the road.
Standing by the car waiting for Steve, Emma started to shiver. The nights really did get cold, she mused. A few minutes later, Steve clomped down the stairs from the second floor looking miserable.
“I can’t believe I offered to do this,” was all he said as he unlocked the car and got in.
Once they were on the road he added, “You owe me big time.”
Emma wanted to reply that it was Steve who was repaying her for accompanying him on a mad dash to Coachella. But why bother, she thought.
They stopped for coffee and rancid muffins at the first gas station they found. Then Steve gunned the car north. No one talked for the first two hours, till Steve found an open Micky D and turned into the drive through for bacon, egg and cheese McBiscuits, hash browns and more coffee. Emma didn’t complain. Instead she fed Steve his McBiscuit while he drove, trying not to spill her coffee on the upholstery.
“So,” Steve finally said when he’d finished eating all the breakfast, “what’s your plan for dinner? Did you call your friend and cancel? Or did you just change the menu?”
“Neither,” Emma answered. Then she told Steve about her phone call to Andy.
“Ouch!” Steve replied. “That’s some favor you called in. Wait,” he thought a minute. “Isn’t your ex still under house arrest?”
Emma explained about charity events.
“Kinda awkward, huh? Your ex and your boyfriend?”
“Jack’s a friend. He’s not my ‘boyfriend,’” Emma explained.
“Oh,” Steve nodded. “What’s that supposed to mean? No sex? Aren’t you guys kind of old for that, anyway?”
“Yes. No sex. And no. I’m not too old for that.” Emma blushed. “And don’t get any ideas. I’m not propositioning you.”
Now Steve blushed. “Believe me, Emma. I didn’t think you were. It’s just that…well, I’m wondering about men and women being friends. At my age at least, my experience tells me it doesn’t work. Something always happens.” He paused, “Doesn’t it?”
Emma glanced at her driving companion. It was still dark. Hard to see his face, but she could tell he had something more specific on his mind than her Platonic relationship with Jack.
“Does it?” Emma asked. “I mean, does it always happen. In my case it hasn’t. I’m not sure why. I’m conflicted myself. I think he’s depressed about his wife,” she added.
“Take my wife, for example…” Steve ignored her answer. “She’s got this friend at work. At least that’s what she calls him. It’s OK. Don’t worry. No sex. He’s just a friend. That’s what she says. Well, is it?” he asked.
“Is it what?” Emma asked.
“Is it OK?”
Emma took a deep breath. Then she decided to be honest. “Probably not, Steve. It’s probably not OK. She’s probably more involved. Is she…” she hesitated. “Is she unhappy?”
“My wife?” Steve replied. “I don’t know. Who knows if anyone’s really happy or unhappy?”
“Does she say she’s unhappy?” Emma persisted. “One way or another, women usually let you know when they’re unhappy.”
Steve sighed. “Yeah, she says she’s unhappy. She says it all the time. She wants kids, but she says we can’t afford them. Not on my salary. Not if she stops work. She’s a teacher,” he added.
“And the ‘friend’?” Emma asked. “Another teacher?”
Steve nodded. “They hang out a lot – after school. Doing things I don’t have time to do, like going to museums, taking walks, grabbing a coffee and talking. Heck, they even cook together – now that I don’t have time anymore. And she makes me eat the stuff.”
“She’s unhappy and she’s having an affair, Steve,” Emma leveled with him. “Do you love her?”
“Yeah,” Steve nodded.
“Then you have to do something about it.”
“Like what?” Steve asked.
He sounded so helpless, Emma almost wanted to cry. “Get her back!”
“How?”
“Stop working so hard. Be there for her. Take her to the places she wants to go. Win her, Steve. Win her the way you go about winning a court case. Find out what she needs and do it.”
“But I don’t have time, Emma,” Steve answered.
“Then you don’t really love her,” Emma replied.
Steve nodded again. “And the money? What am I supposed to do about that? Quit my job. Quit doin’ what I love so we can have kids?”
Emma shook her head. “Just tell her you want kids and that you want them now. You’ll figure the money out. I did. Besides, children need love, not money.” Then she added, “But if you don’t love each other, don’t have a kid.”
Steve thought about that for a few seconds. Then he shrugged. “You did. Didn’t you? I mean, you and your ex had a kid and stopped loving each other. Your kid turned out all right.”
“That’s true, Steve,” Emma replied, suddenly feeling very old. “We stopped loving each other, but we loved each other when we made our kid. At least, start with that.”
“And now, you cook together. And you get each other out of jams.” Steve laughed. “I guess that’s more than a lot of married folks do.”
“I guess you’re right,” Emma answered. She’d never thought of it that way.
They drove in silence for a long time. Suddenly it dawned on Emma that Dan hadn’t crossed her mind in two days. Once again, she wondered what to do. Get through the dinner first; then figure it out she answered herself.
Somewhere near the Harris Ranch Steve reviewed the progress they’d made in the Gomez case. He and the numbers man had calculated over a million dollars in damages caused by Gomez’s untimely death. Closer to eight million with punitive damages as well. Steve mused that those numbers could stick. At least against someone as rich as Curt Randall.
“And based on everything we’ve learned down here,” Steve concluded, “all fingers still point to him as the murderer.”
“I don’t think cousin Diaz it,” Emma acknowledged as they crossed the Richmond Bridge heading for Marin.
“The jealous husband had a motive,” Steve added, “but he also has an alibi.
“So does Cardenas, the guy who dropped out of the lawsuit,” Emma cut in. “The same alibi as the jealous husband’s. Still, there’s got to be a connection.”
“A connection with what?” Steve asked.
“A connection between Cardenas and the murder,” Emma explained. “I just don’t know what. Someone paid him to sabotage the lawsuit. Someone in Blissburg: Peters, Bugbee, maybe the Chinese? I still think Randall is innocent.”
Steve laughed. “Is this seniors solidarity week? Curt Randall killed Santiago Gomez because he hates Mexicans and he was mad about the lawsuit. Motive, opportunity, means. Dream on, Emma. We’ve got our man.”
Half an hour later, Steve dropped her off at her door.
“Thanks for all the help,” he said as she grabbed her overnight case and got out of the car. “And for the advice,” he added with a sad smile.
“Take it,” Emma replied. “See you Monday.”
The minute she got inside she checked her cell phone. Jack had called again three times. Seconds later, the land line rang.
She answered. But it wasn’t Jack whose voice greeted her on the other end of the line. It was Andy.
“Hi,” he greeted her in his jaunty voice. “I’m over at Jack’s setting up. When I explained the situation to my probation officer, he agreed to let me out for the whole day. I can’t leave Jack’s property though, and I have to be home by 10:00. So I thought I’d lend you a hand.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “And by the way, no wo
rries about Jack. I explained everything to him, too. I like him. Everything’s fine.”
Chapter 20: Saturday Afternoon – Whole Lotta Food
The look on Jack’s face when he opened his door, however, confirmed Emma’s worst fears. Contrary to Andy’s assurances, things were not fine. Jack stood barring the entrance to his house, like a scary goalie protecting the net, his face an expressionless mask of stone.
I’ve lost my best friend, she told herself and almost started to cry.
After staring at her silently for almost a minute, Jack finally said, “Your ex is in the kitchen cooking. You know where it is.”
No hi, Emma acknowledged. No, I was worried. No peck on the cheek. No hug. The relationship is over.
Part of her wanted to explain why things got so out of hand. But excuses were pointless once you’d broken the Cowboy Code: not kept your word, lied and been unkind to a senior.
“Jack, I am sorry,” she managed to say before walking around him and making her way to the kitchen.
There, she found Celina and Andy. They, at least, looked like they were having fun and glad to see her.
Celina eyed Emma curiously for a few seconds before greeting her. “Hi, Senora Emma,” she smiled uncertainly. “Don’t worry. We have everything under control. Right, Senor Andy?”
Andy stood at the marble kitchen counter with his back towards Emma. At the sound of Celina’s voice, he turned, his face wreathed in a benevolent smile. “Emma,” he began in his chirpy voice. “You’re back. Safe and sound. So soon! I’m relieved.”
He stepped forward to give her an awkward hug with his elbows. His raised hands were covered in spinach and flour.
At least, Emma thought, it was more of a greeting than Jack gave her.
“Look,” he said backing away and gesturing towards the counter top where a vast wooden board lay covered in flour and neat little green balls. “I’m almost finished. I shopped this morning. I didn’t want to risk having the malfatti sit overnight.”
How thoughtful. At least they look good, Emma thought to herself.
“Now,” Andy continued, “check the fridge. I think I found everything on your list. But if we’re missing something, Celina has offered to run out and get it. What do you think?”
Emma dutifully opened the refrigerator, checking her mental list against its contents. A far as she could tell, everything was there. Even ingredients for the Bavarian cream. But scrap that recipe. Driving up from Coachella, she’d realized there wasn’t time to make Jack’s favorite dessert. She’d make hot zabaglione with raspberries instead. No use telling Jack about that, she shuddered.
Emma closed the refrigerator and turned to Andy with a weak smile. “I think you got all of it.” Then she noted Celina’s raised eyebrows and added, “Thanks.”
Andy beamed back, like a five year old with a gold star.
“This is fun, isn’t it,” he said. “I was just telling my new girlfriend, Brigitte, how much fun we used to have cooking. Interestingly Brigitte doesn’t cook, even though she’s French. She says French girls don’t cook these days. So, since I’m stuck with this,” he pointed to his ankle thingie, “we eat at home and guess who does the cooking? I can’t tell you how many of the old recipes I’ve recreated.”
“I’ll bet,” Emma answered, trying to absorb a lot of new information at once. Not that Andy hadn’t always had girlfriends. It was just that…
“How did you meet Brigitte,” she asked. “I mean, while under house arrest?”
“She’s the delivery girl. From Whole Foods.” He raised his hands like Jesus multiplying the loaves and fishes. “That’s how I got everything here so fast.”
“Whole Foods! That must have cost a fortune!” Emma exclaimed. “I thought you were going to the 24 hour Safeway. What do I owe you?”
Andy shook his head. “Not too bad. Brigitte gets a ‘family and friends’ discount. I was going to Safeway till I realized Brigitte could deliver everything here by 8:00 a.m. Why pull an all-nighter when you can get that kind of service? By the way,” he added, “you owe Brigitte a little thank you. Maybe a nice bottle of wine?”
Emma clenched her teeth. She realized that her face bore the same stony mask she’d seen on Jack’s when she arrived.
“Sure,” she said. Then she thought of something else that made her stomach lurch. “You mean you’ve been here – here at Jack’s house – since 8:00 a.m.?”
Andy and Celina’s exchanged a questioning stare. “Maybe 8:15?” Andy said.
Celina nodded. “8:00-8:15.” Then she looked back at Emma and shook her head. “Is no trouble for Meester Jack,” she added. “He no sleep anyway. Maybe kinda depress. Maybe about hees wife.” She rolled her eyes. “No matter how early I come, he always up. I put the coffee maker on for 5:00 a.m. Is empty when I arrive. At 5:00 p.m. he fall asleep in front of the news. Poor Meester Jack.” She lowered her voice and squinted her eyes knowingly at Emma. “I think he’s lonely, Senora.”
Andy lowered his voice as well. “Classic signs of depression. Believe me, I recognize them. Happened to me after they put this thingie on.” He pointed to his ankle.
“Oh,” he added after a pause. “Wait till you see what Celina did out back.”
Celina led Emma outside. The day was a glorious eighty degrees. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. You couldn’t have asked for better weather for a party, Emma noted. If only…
Then she saw the table and let out a gasp. It had been set with French provincial placemats, white faience dishes, silver and cut crystal. Three bouquets of flowers cut from Jack’s garden formed the centerpiece. Peonies, roses, dahlias, bearded iris, lilies and hydrangeas. All arranged in hand painted vases.
“It’s perfect,” Emma exclaimed. “You’re a…” she couldn’t think of the right word. “A magician,” she finally said. Then she caught Celina by the arm. “How’s Jack?” she added whispering.
Celina shook her head. “Not so good today. Senor Andy already here when I arrive.” She winced, “You know. Trying so hard to cheer him up.” She smiled shyly at Emma. “He such a nice man, Senor Andy. Too bad about the troubles.” She pointed to her ankle.
When Emma returned to the kitchen, the malfatti were done. It was lunch time. Andy had brought his swimsuit and announced he planned to eat by the pool.
“Join me.” He gave her a poke. “You must keep a swimsuit here.”
“Sorry, I have too much to do,” Emma replied.
“Whatever you say.” Andy scooped a generous serving of the malfatti onto a plate. “These turned out great. Try some. By the way, you were right about the flour.”
“Oh,” he added when he returned to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of white wine. “Don’t worry about Jack. As I said, we get along fine. He’s a great guy. Just a little depressed. Maybe you can, you know, help him...”
That was the last straw.
“Just because you like someone, doesn’t mean they like you,” Emma shot back angrily. “There’s another side to the mountain. But you never understood that!”
“Mountain?” Andy walked back towards the pool shaking his head. “Who said anything about a mountain?”
Hopeless, Emma thought. A few minutes later, she was taking her anger out on the veal. Pounding scaloppini. Filling them with prosciutto. Dredging them in flour. Coating them in egg. Sautéing them in butter and oil. And topping them off with Fontina cheese.
Next she Frenched the green beans, leaving them to soak in cold water until they were ready to cook.
Finally, she began the tomato sauce.
It was easy. Two cloves of garlic sautéed in oil. Salt, pepper and fresh cherry tomatoes.
By 5:00 p.m., everything was ready except for the dessert. Andy opened two bottles of wine to breathe. Emma prepared the hors d’oeuvres: prosciutto wrapped around wedges of cantaloupe, Mount Tam, a runny Cremont, Humbolt Fog and crackers.
Emma still hadn’t seen Jack since he stonily let her in the front door. When she noticed his car g
one, she asked Celina.
“He went to the club to play tennis,” she answered. “Meester Jack goes there a lot for the company.”
At 5:30 Emma drove home to change. When she checked her phone, there was an email from Steve.
“Emma, I did some poking around,” the message began. “You were right about Peters. He’s neck deep in debt. And the word around town is he hates his uncle. Says he cheated his mother out of her half of the Randall Estate. Including the plum ranch where she grew up.
“As for Cardenas,” he continued. “He was here all right. A few days after Gomez died. Guess who told me? Cousin Diaz who ran into him at the Hasta la Vista Lounge. I asked him why he didn’t tell you. Know what he answered? ‘She didn’t ask.’”
There was a second message, as well. This one from Dan Worthington.
Hi Emma – I trust your business trip went well. Hoping to see you soon. Thinking of you. Dan.
The message from Steve was intriguing. She’d been right about Cardenas. He’d been at the rally and lied to her when she asked.
As for Peters? He’d been cheated out of his birthright once. Emma wondered if he’d kill to save it now.
Emma finished dressing. She fished a Marimekko tent dress out of her closet. Then she grabbed Jack’s Loretta Caponi apron and stuffed it in her purse, got in her car and drove back to Jack’s house.
Chapter 21: Saturday Night – In Your Facebook
Jack’s daughter, Cara, and son-in-law, Mike, were already there when Emma arrived. Cara greeted Emma coolly. Nothing personal, Emma assured herself. That’s her nature.
Mike, on the other hand, was effusive.
“Emma Corsi,” he exclaimed. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Not just from Jack,” he turned to his father-in-law and smiled. “All good. All good.” Back to Emma. “You’re famous. That murder you solved. The courage.”
“Crazy, if you ask me,” Cara interjected.
Mike looked at his wife and frowned. They were an interesting match. Cara tall and thin, her long face dominated by dark almond-shaped eyes, framed with shoulder length black hair. Mike was equally tall - well over six feet – muscular, blond, and blue-eyed. Night and day, Emma noted.
