Maybe. Or maybe not. Doesn’t really matter. Whoever killed Jake Green did the world a favor.
TUESDAY, JANUARY 17
1:43 p.m.
Here’s a place that looks interesting,” Hy said.
“Hmmm?” We were taking a day off: we’d slept late and now were reading last Sunday’s newspaper in bed at the RI hospitality suite; he was into the house ads and I was into the car ads.
“Victorian home, Noe Valley.”
“Where in Noe Valley?”
“Twenty-Fourth Street.”
“Garage?”
“Um…no.”
“Too congested for on-street parking.”
“Right.”
I asked, “What do you think of a Corvette?”
“Too low-slung. They ride like skateboards. It’d ruin our spines.”
“Yeah, and when the fiberglass shatters, you’re looking at huge repair bills.”
“Another BMW?” he suggested.
“Maybe, but I don’t like the new ones as much as the one I had, and I do want a brand-new car. Something sporty and fun to drive, before I get too old to enjoy it.”
“You’ll never get too old for that.”
The phone rang, and I picked up. Deputy Ortiz in Sonoma County. He said they’d begun testing on the human remains in the wine barrel and had come up with preliminary evidence that they were Kayla Walden’s, based on dental records and jewelry. DNA testing to confirm the identification would take longer.
“What?” Hy asked when I hung up.
“The remains in the wine barrel apparently are Kayla Walden’s.”
“What about this Valerie Benbow? Have they located her?”
“Not yet, and neither has Mick. She’s probably going under a different name in a different part of the country by now. But eventually they will. She’ll testify against Walden and get off with a slap on the wrist. In a way, I feel sorry for her.”
“Why?”
“She’s one of these small-time con artists who thought she had a toe through the door into the good life, probably imagined she could charm Dave Walden, but his kind aren’t susceptible to being enchanted.”
“Well, greed drives people to stranger acts than that. Like Walden: he would’ve lost everything under the terms of Kayla’s trust.”
After a moment I said, “There’s still a problem about a highly sophisticated detonator belonging to Green that’s gone missing.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that.”
“Oh?”
“It’s been in my office safe since the day after Green died. Mick gave it to me.”
“He found it?”
“Yeah, while you were upstairs in Green’s house. It was in the basement room where the firearms were.”
I recalled my nephew holding up something that looked like a flash drive for a computer and saying, Decoding device. Something I whipped up in my spare time.
“So he didn’t actually have this creation that unlocks security systems?”
“Sure he does. But most of that stuff he can do on his own.”
“The little shit! Why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“He suspected what it was and was afraid that if he gave it to you, you might set it off.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because nobody in my organization really knows how it works, any more than Mick does. We’re holding it for the feds—who probably won’t know either.”
“God. I probably would’ve set it off. I’m sorry I called Mick a little shit—don’t tell him.”
“My lips are sealed with duct tape.”
We both contemplated our want ads in silence for a moment.
“You know,” I said, “there’s a real irony in this case.”
“What’s that?”
“It all centered around the issue of gun control, yet in the end I had to use my gun to stop Walden.”
“But you used it responsibly, in self-defense. People who are empowered by the law to carry guns for professional reasons—”
“Aren’t always responsible. The federal probe last year of the cops who were using their exemptions to buy assault weapons for resale to arms dealers proved that.”
“The probe resulted in crackdowns. Slowly, we’re gaining ground.”
“Too slowly for me.”
Hy went back to the want ads. After a moment he said, “Now here’s a property for us: Lake Street, corner lot, three stories, exceptional details. Brown-shingled. I know you love brown shingles.”
“Mark it,” I told him. “You know, the Mercedes S-Class models look good.”
“Pricey, though.”
“Not really. You should see what they’re asking for one of those asshole-creating machines.”
“Porsches? You’d never buy one, anyway.”
We continued perusing the ads.
Hy said, “Here’s an even better one. Another corner lot, but in the Marina. Two stories, four bedrooms, three baths, two-car garage, quiet block.”
“I’ve always loved the Marina, but think what happened there during Loma Prieta.”
The October 17, 1989, quake, measuring a major 6.9 on the Richter scale, had toppled many residences in the Marina, and the ensuing fires from broken gas lines had swept through the district.
“Could happen anyplace in the city,” Hy said. “Anyplace in the country. Hell, they just had a big quake in Indiana. No point in spending your life worrying about the what-ifs.”
“You’re right, no point at all.” Homes in the Marina had been rebuilt, retrofitted against another disaster. Other precautions—utility systems, home foundations, fire department response times, and seismic monitoring—had been upgraded.
I looked back at the car ads: Audi, Chevrolet, Nissan, Toyota, Volvo… All models of all makes were making me crazy. I dropped the pages to the floor.
“McCone, this house is open today from two till five.”
“Is it affordable?”
“Yes.”
“Four bedrooms. One for us, two for our offices, one for guests. Is there a picture?”
He showed me.
“Too grainy. Can you pull it up on the laptop?”
He did. “Oh, yes, it’s great,” he said as he passed the machine over to me.
Spanish style, red-tiled roof. Hardwood floors and fireplaces. Newly remodeled kitchen and bathrooms. A pretty landscaped backyard with a garden gnome. Usually I hate them, but I could see myself sticking a Santa cap and glittery garland around it at Christmastime.
I said, “Two to five. Let’s get up, go out to brunch, and take a look at it.”
He turned to me and smiled. “This reminds me of when I changed the plane’s course for Reno and we got married.”
“It’s much the same—a turning point.”
Sharon McCone Mysteries By Marcia Muller
CITY OF WHISPERS
COMING BACK
LOCKED IN
BURN OUT
THE EVER-RUNNING MAN
VANISHING POINT
THE DANGEROUS HOUR
DEAD MIDNIGHT
LISTEN TO THE SILENCE
A WALK THROUGH THE FIRE
WHILE OTHER PEOPLE SLEEP
BOTH ENDS OF THE NIGHT
THE BROKEN PROMISE LAND
A WILD AND LONELY PLACE
TILL THE BUTCHERS CUT HIM DOWN
WOLF IN THE SHADOWS
PENNIES ON A DEAD WOMAN’S EYES
WHERE ECHOES LIVE
TROPHIES AND DEAD THINGS
THE SHAPE OF DREAD
THERE’S SOMETHING IN A SUNDAY
EYE OF THE STORM
THERE’S NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF
DOUBLE (With Bill Pronzini)
LEAVE A MESSAGE FOR WILLIE
GAMES TO KEEP THE DARK AWAY
THE CHESHIRE CAT’S EYE
ASK THE CARDS A QUESTION
EDWIN OF THE IRON SHOES
Nonseries
CAPE PERDIDO
CYAN
IDE WELLS
POINT DECEPTION
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Contents
Title Page
Dedication
TUESDAY, JANUARY 3
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 4
THURSDAY, JANUARY 5
FRIDAY, JANUARY 6
SATURDAY, JANUARY 7
SUNDAY, JANUARY 8
MONDAY, JANUARY 9
TUESDAY, JANUARY 10
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 11
THURSDAY, JANUARY 12
FRIDAY, JANUARY 13
SATURDAY, JANUARY 14
SUNDAY, JANUARY 15
MONDAY, JANUARY 16
TUESDAY, JANUARY 17
Sharon McCone Mysteries By Marcia Muller
Newsletters
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Pronzini-Muller Family Trust
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First e-book Edition: November 2012
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ISBN 978-1-4555-1802-9
Looking for Yesterday Page 20
