Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  SHADOW OF DOUBT

  A Kali O’Brien Mystery

  by

  Jonnie Jacobs

  Copyright 1996

  Digital Edition 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  For my parents, with affection and gratitude

  Author’s note on the digital edition – This book was written before the widespread use of cell phones and computers. You will find Kali searching for a pay phone, calling on special help to get information now readily available on the Internet, and being unable to reach people by phone if they aren’t at home. I hadn’t really focused on how much our lives have changed in this regard until I re-read the book in the process of formatting it for digital download. I hope none of this spoils your enjoyment of the story.

  Chapter 1

  It started with my father’s death and nearly ended with my own, although both these events were somewhat peripheral to the murders that rocked the town of Silver Creek early last summer.

  It was my father’s funeral that brought me home in the first place. When I left Silver Creek twelve years ago to attend college, I vowed I’d put as much distance between the town and myself as possible. And while I ultimately ended up less than four hours away in driving time, my life in San Francisco was light years away in other respects. I was a senior associate in one of the city’s small, but notable, law firms; I owned my own architecturally significant (albeit heavily mortgaged) house in the Berkeley hills; and I was in the early stages of what I hoped might become a fairly serious relationship with the firm’s star litigator, Ken Levitt. If you had asked me, I’d have said that I’d finally brushed the last of Silver Creek’s dust from my shoes. Which goes to show just how wrong a person can be.

  My father and I had one of those relationships which improve with distance. Although I was diligent about calling on alternate Sundays, my visits home were infrequent and usually quite brief, sometimes lasting only an hour or so as I drove through town on my way to some more glamorous destination. I would have liked my stay that June to have been as abbreviated. To drop in for the funeral, the way Sabrina did, and then out again less than forty-eight hours later, leaving the loose ends of an emptied out life for others to deal with. But Sabrina had children, a husband, and several thoroughbred horses, all of whom needed her at home, while I had not so much as a single house plant that required my attention.

  “You’re so much better at these things anyway,” Sabrina told me as she slid into the airport limo that Friday morning. It was no use arguing, but I knew the only thing I was better at was getting suckered into taking on responsibility she didn’t want. It had been like that as long as I could remember. Of course, Sabrina had at least shown up, which is more than could be said for our brother, John, who pleaded an inflexible schedule and sent an ostentatious arrangement of lilies instead.

  The patterns of our childhood, it seemed, hadn’t changed much. As the oldest, and only boy, John had more or less assumed a posture of aloofness, deigning to mix in family matters only on those occasions when it suited him. And my parents, knowingly or not, had encouraged his behavior by treating John as someone whose affection was to be wooed. Sabrina, on the other hand, had cast herself in the leading role at every opportunity. Two years my senior, she was very much like our mother—bubbly, fun-loving, and conveniently helpless when it came to anything tedious. Growing up, the three of us had been like the points of a triangle, each pulling in a different direction. I couldn’t say we’d worked out our differences really, but over time we’d come to accept them.

  Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t have liked a little help in winding up my father’s affairs.

  Still, I was managing just fine until the day after the burial when I found myself alone with my father’s springer spaniel, Loretta, and a houseful of memories I'd never known existed. I hadn’t counted on that. I’d figured I could sweep through the house fairly quickly, tossing most of what was there into the big Goodwill boxes I’d brought with me, and the remainder of the stuff into the trash. But I’d been at it since seven that morning, and I wasn’t even half through with the kitchen. I simply couldn’t decide what belonged in which pile. I’d even started a third pile, things I might want to hold onto. And while it wasn’t yet large, its very presence confused me more than I cared to admit.

  By late afternoon I’d had it. I picked up the phone and tried calling Ken, whose own world fell so easily into neat little piles it sometimes scared me. As usual, he was in conference and couldn’t be disturbed. This could mean anything from a heavy negotiating session to a late lunch, and his secretary, a stern old-school type who didn’t approve of women attorneys, wasn’t about to clarify the issue for me. “I’ll tell him you called,” she sniffed, then added with emphasis, “again. I’m sure you realize what a terribly busy man Mr. Levitt is.” I did, although I was still a trifle peeved that he hadn’t come with me to the funeral.

  “It’s not like I knew your father,” he’d explained before I left.

  “You’ve met him,” I countered, “and besides, you know me. ”

  “I’m sorry, Kali, but the timing’s terrible. I’m swamped with work. And the partner’s retreat is that weekend.” Reluctantly, I’d conceded the logic of his argument, but that didn’t stop me from feeling put out. And the fact that he’d been tied up in meetings the last two times I’d called hadn’t helped matters.

  I went back to packing, but didn’t make it past the lumpy, woven pot holder I’d made my mother one Christmas years ago. It was stuck in the back of a drawer filled with her homemade aprons and hand-embroidered dish towels. Like a sudden nighttime fever, the past swept over me and filled me with longing. There I was, Ms. Cool-Headed Efficiency, propped against my father’s greasy old stove, blinking hard at the worn linoleum floor in an effort to contain the rush of tears.

  Which all goes to explain why, when Jannine Marrero called and invited me to a barbecue that evening, I accepted without a moment’s hesitation.

  “I hope you don’t think it’s rude, inviting you at the last minute like this, and so soon after your father’s passing. Eddie says it’s downright insulting, but I figured you might be ready for a little diversion by now.”

  Jannine’s voice has a kind of twang to it which I’ve always found comforting. We were best friends all through high school but somehow, without meaning to, we’d drifted apart after graduation. Although we exchanged Christmas cards and occasional phone calls, I hadn’t seen her in five or six years.

  “I’m not insulted at all,” I told her truthfully, “and I’d love to come.”

  “There won’t be many people you know, mostly other teachers from the school and stuff, but now that I know you’ll be there, I’ll see if I can’t get some of old gang to drop by, too.” She paused to take a breath. “Gosh, Kali, it’s going to be good to see you again.”

  I didn’t know about that. I thought there was a good chance we would run out of things to say to one another very quickly, but I was pretty sure I couldn’t stand my own company for the whole night either.

  <><><>

  Jannine greeted me at the door with an expansive hug. “Shoot, Kali, you don’t look a day older than you did when you left home. Or a pound heavier. Must be that big city drinking water or something. Maybe I ought to try a jug or two myself.”

  We looked each other over, discreetly at first, then much more candidly. Jannine, who had always been a little plump, was now a good thirty pounds overweight. Her overly permed hair hung at odd angles, forming
a shapeless mass around her face. But she had always been one of those people blessed with true inner beauty, and that had not diminished. When she smiled, her whole face lit up with an honest down-to-earth pleasure that caught you up in it, willing or not.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” I told her, surprised to discover I truly meant it. She squeezed me again, then clasped my hand as though I were an errant child and dragged me into the backyard. “Eddie, come look who’s here.”

  From across the yard, Eddie turned and gave me one of his prize smiles. It hit me in the stomach just the way it had in high school. He had been handsome then, the stuff girl’s dreams are made of, and if anything, he’d grown better looking over the years. Curly black hair, dark eyes and straight white teeth. Even the slightly thicker middle looked good on him.

  “Hey, kiddo, long time no see.”

  I gave a self-conscious laugh. “Well, here I am.”

  “She looks terrific, doesn’t she, Eddie?”

  He slapped Jannine playfully on the fanny. “Damn sight better than you, sweetheart, that’s for sure.”

  “Jannine looks wonderful,” I protested, but she’d already given him a solid jab in the ribs with her elbow. This was apparently an old argument.

  “I’d like to see what you’d look like after four babies and two miscarriages.”

  Eddie raised his arms to fend off an imaginary blow. “Jesus, don’t go pulling that woman stuff on me again.” He reached into the ice chest and dug out a beer. “Want a drink?”

  “Sure.” I took the can, then looked at Jannine.

  “Nah, Jannine doesn’t want any,” Eddie said, with a laugh. He draped an arm loosely around his wife’s shoulder. “It addles her brain. Doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

  Jannine laughed too, though not quite so heartily. “My brain’s always addled.”

  “How’s life in the big city?” Eddie asked, turning his attention back my way. “You rich and famous yet?”

  “A long way from both.”

  I’d gone into law initially with the intention of righting wrongs and tipping the scales of justice in the direction of fairness and decency, but I’d discovered that people with sizable student loans couldn’t afford such lofty principles. Although my five years at Goldman & Latham hadn’t done much for the general good of humanity, it had made a fair dent in the size of my indebtedness. Still, I wasn’t rich and I wasn’t famous. Sometimes I wondered if I was even happy.

  Eddie took a long slug of beer. “I’m working on my M.B.A now,” he said. “Did Jannine tell you?”

  "She hasn’t had a chance to tell me much of anything yet.”

  “I’ve got plans. Someday I’m going to be a hotshot myself, just like you.”

  “Eddie Marrero,” I said, in a tone which was only half-playful, “you’ve always been a hotshot. It was you they had in mind when they coined the phrase.”

  Eddie grinned, cocking his chin and shoulders like a star hitter stepping up to bat.

  “Hey, Marrero,” a voice called from the porch.

  Eddie turned and waved. He tossed a pretzel into the air and caught it in his mouth. “Catch you later, Kali, I got to go check the grill.”

  Jannine shook her head. “To listen to him, you’d think he was headed for the big time.” She grabbed a beer and popped the tab. “Come on into the house for a minute while I finish up with the salads. A high school girl was supposed to come over and help, but she had to cancel at the last minute so I’m kind of behind schedule.”

  We moved into the kitchen, where Jannine began pulling plastic baggies of vegetables from the refrigerator. A minute later a lank, freckle-faced girl slid past Jannine and reached for a Diet Coke from the refrigerator.

  “Erin, honey,” Jannine said, draping an arm around her daughter, “this my friend Kali, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

  Erin offered me a weak smile.

  “She was just a toddler the last time you saw her,” Jannine said, beaming. “Now she’s eleven. Eleven, going on sixteen.” Erin gave her mother one of those icy glares girls her age are so good at, but Jannine let it slide right past “You want some chips, too? You can take a bowl up to your room if you’d like.”

  “Mom!” Erin made it a two syllable word.

  “Skinny as a rail,” Jannine said, as Erin scooted past us on her way out the door, “and she thinks she’s overweight. Won’t eat anything but rabbit food. If only I had that kind of willpower.” Jannine blew an affectionate kiss, which Erin, surprisingly, returned. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and dug out a big plastic salad bowl. “I was sorry to hear about your father,” she said, turning to face me. Her voice was soft, weighted with things left unspoken.

  I shrugged. The father I missed was not the reclusive shell of a man who had died of a stroke four days earlier, but the gentle, even-tempered man who had slowly withered away following my mother’s suicide my freshman year in high school. I didn’t need to explain, though; Jannine understood as well as anyone. She had lived through those years with me almost by the hour. Her family had, in fact, become my own.

  “We sent a donation to the hospital in his name,” she said. “Since there was no funeral, we didn’t know what else to do.”

  By my father’s own request we’d had a simple, private burial. Whatever sense of loss accompanied his death was also borne privately. It was a marked contrast to my mother’s funeral years earlier, and the emotional fallout that followed. I hadn’t realized until she was gone what a strong force she’d been in our lives, and how much my father had relied on her energy and strength.

  Of the three children, I bore the brunt of it. John was away at college by then, in a world where even living parents rarely made an appearance. And Sabrina had her boyfriends, an ever-changing parade of star quarterbacks and prom trotters who were more than willing to offer comfort The only person I knew to look to for comfort was my father, and he couldn’t provide it. I’ve never truly forgiven him that, nor my mother for being the cause of it.

  “We didn’t see each other all that often,” I said. “It’s like he’s been gone for years.”

  “Still, death is so final.” She began tearing lettuce into a bowl. “So what are you going to do?” she asked, after a moment.

  “Do?”

  “With the house and everything.”

  “Sell the house, if anyone will buy it There isn’t much else.”

  She grabbed a handful of chips and munched as she worked. “I wouldn’t worry about the house, I bet it sells quickly. It’s big, even if it does need work.”

  The whole time I was growing up I’d thought our house small and tight. I’d been surprised to discover that it was, in fact, quite spacious. Considerably larger than my own house in Berkeley.

  “Silver Creek has changed,” Jannine said. “It’s not the sleepy little town it was. Heck, we’ve even got a new movie theater going in on the east side of town, and I guess you know about the K-Mart over where the bowling alley used to be.” She paused to scoop up two year old Lily, who had appeared out of nowhere clutching a fistful of crackers in one hand and a mashed strawberry in the other. “This one here,” she said, nuzzling Lily’s head, “she wasn’t even in the hatchery last time I saw you. I can’t believe how time flies. So, catch me up on the last, what’s it been, five years?”

  While I finished my beer, I filled her in on my stint with the DA’s office and my subsequent transformation to corporate veteran. It didn’t take long. As I’d discovered on previous occasions, the life of a lawyer rarely lends itself to the heady anecdotes people seem to expect.

  “How about men?” Jannine asked.

  “They come, they go. What’s new with you?”

  Jannine shifted Lily to the other hip. “You know, same old stuff. Right now we’re gearing up for a summer of football practice.” Eddie, one-time high school hero, was now the high school coach. “Football’s big in this town,” she said with a sardonic laugh. “That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.�
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  “Neither has Eddie,” I told her.

  “Yeah, still the star, cocky as ever.”

  Before I had a chance to respond, a woman with dark, close-cropped hair sidled up next to me. “Kali O’Brien. I’m sure glad Jannine warned me you’d be here, or I’d swear I was seeing a ghost.”

  It took me a moment, but I finally figured out the woman was Nancy Walker who, at seventeen, had had stringy blonde hair and a reputation for cutting more classes than the rest of us combined.

  “I thought you were in the East,” I said.

  “I was, but my husband traded me in for a newer model so I came back here. I teach at the high school. English no less. Dumbest kid in school and now I teach there.” She laughed good-naturedly.

  “You weren’t dumb,” Jannine said.

  “No, probably not, but I didn’t know that then.”

  “Hey, Jannine!” Eddie’s voice rose above the din of

  backyard conversation. “Where are the goddamn buns?”

  Jannine groaned. “In front of his nose probably. But I’d better go see anyway. Sometimes I envy you gals without a man around to complicate your life.” I caught a look on her face, but just for a moment. “Don’t you go running off, Kali, not until we’ve had a good long chance to talk.”

  Nancy squeezed out of the doorway to let Jannine pass. “Eddie’s been a coach so long he’s forgotten how to act like a normal human being.” She chomped on a carrot stick. “Though he has charm to burn when he wants to. Come on, let’s grab another beer, and you can tell me about life in the fast lane.”

  We made our way out back and found a stash of beer and chips. While Nancy grumbled about overcrowded classrooms and budget cute, I watched the copper light of early evening gradually fade to darkness. Eddie was flip ping burgers, strutting back and forth between the old stone barbecue and the picnic table like a celebrity. There was a lot of back-slapping and buddy-punching with the men, and an equal amount of squeezing and winking with the women. I wondered, as I had before, how Jannine had ever ended up with someone like Eddie. A catch, I suppose, in some people’s book, except that he knew it and flaunted it. Definitely not the sort of partner I’d ever pictured for Jannine.