Knot in My Backyard (A Quilting Mystery)

by Mary Marks

  Her voice gave out and she took a sip of water. “Anyways, Jefferson couldn’t take his eyes off me. We started talking and, well, we just clicked. He’s way older than me? But that’s cool. He takes good care of me.”

  “Did you and Dax Martin stay in touch over the years?”

  “No. We really came from different social circles. He got to Beaumont on a baseball scholarship. He was hot, though. We dated in our senior year. After he graduated, he went to San Jose State in Northern California, and I went to New York. You know how that goes. Out of sight? It was sad for a minute.”

  I could teach her a lot about sad endings today.

  Just then, her cell phone made a chiming noise. She reached in her purse, saw who the caller was, then looked at me apologetically. “Hi, honey. No, I’m with a friend. No, you don’t know her. Her name’s Martha? No, we just met. We’re at her house? Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

  Diane put down her water and stood up. “He likes to check to see if I’m okay.” She rolled her eyes. “Several times a day.”

  Seems like I’m not the only one with trust issues.

  She hoisted her yellow Birkin bag on her shoulder. “I have to give him props for loving me so much. I mean, most husbands are too busy to even care what you do, right?”

  That’s one way of looking at it.

  “You’re lucky to have him.”

  She looked around the room. “Thank you so much for the cold drink, Martha. Your house is really cute.”

  “My pleasure. I hope you’re feeling better.”

  Diane Davis put her perfect sunglasses back on her perfect face and glided out the door of my really cute house toward her perfect yellow Mercedes.

  Too perfect.

  Diane Davis was hiding something. Her puffy eyes revealed she’d been crying for quite a while. I knew exactly what that looked like. Why all the tears?

  Just how close had Diane really been to Dax Martin? She admitted they had a romantic history. Didn’t she say they joked about ending up where they started? Maybe she didn’t just mean back at the Beaumont School. Maybe she meant back in each other’s arms. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that happened with the young wife of an older man.

  What kind of husband checked up on his wife several times a day? You didn’t have to be a psychiatrist to figure out he must be a control freak. Did the lovely young woman who had sat before me feel trapped in her marriage to this older man? Was he the source of her grief? What if he found out about his wife’s affair with one of his employees? Would Jefferson Davis go so far as to kill Martin?

  Given the conflict between Ed and the school, Davis could have known where Ed’s backyard was—right across from the maroon-and-gold monstrosity. If he killed Martin, he could have tossed the murder weapon over the fence into Ed’s yard. Then he could have called in the anonymous tip to the police.

  Now I had a suspect, so finding a witness was more important than ever. If the homeless couple Javier and Graciela saw the murder, they might be able to identify Jefferson Davis as the killer.

  The clock read nearly five. I hadn’t eaten anything since the apple fritter at breakfast. Remembering breakfast made me once again think of Beavers. I needed food. Now.

  Thawing a chicken breast from the freezer and broiling it would take way too long to prepare. Ditto with a salad. Too labor intensive. I emptied a can of chicken noodle soup into a bowl and nuked it in the microwave for one minute and thirty seconds. Meanwhile, I counted out five saltine crackers and cut in wedges one medium peach for dessert. Total prep time from can to steaming bowl to table was three minutes—my kind of cooking.

  I had just finished the last juicy segment of peach when the phone rang. “Hi, Martha, this is Ed.”

  “Hey, Ed. You okay?” I could sympathize with his ordeal. My recent experience of overnight detention in jail was scary and exhausting.

  “Yeah, so far. Listen, what you did for me last night was awesome. I can’t thank you enough. Crusher says you were really brave. I think he likes you.”

  Crusher was in the background. “Aw, come on, man.”

  Ed chuckled. “Anyway, I’m having a meeting here tomorrow morning at ten with my lawyer and some other people to talk about my situation. Do you think you could come? You risked your life for me. You found the body. You’re good at putting things together. And my man Crusher—he’s crushin’ on you.”

  From the background, “. . . it, man!”

  Ed was only teasing, but I didn’t need another romantic complication in my life—even if it was just one-sided. I didn’t like Crusher in that way; but when Beavers walked out of my life, he apparently thought I did.

  On the other hand, I remembered Diane Davis and the phone call from her husband. I had just stumbled upon someone besides Ed Pappas who might have had a motive to get rid of Dax Martin. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

  CHAPTER 14

  I arrived at Ed’s house at ten o’clock on Thursday morning. Three Harleys sat in his driveway and a blue Prius sat at the curb. I knocked on the door. Ed gathered me in a warm hug. “Thanks for coming, Martha. And thanks for everything you’ve done.”

  He led me into the living room, where Crusher sat along with two other men and a woman. “You already know Crusher.”

  We nodded at each other.

  Next to Crusher sat a man I recognized as the biker who had scooped the bleeding Arthur off the ground and put him in the backseat of my car. He was slender, with strong shoulders and arms, had blond hair, and looked to be barely out of his teens. Ed introduced him as Carl.

  “Thanks for helping me with my dog the other night.”

  Carl smiled. “He’s one great dog. How’s he doing?”

  I remembered how furious Beavers had become when he learned Arthur was seriously wounded because of my stupidity. I also remembered the pretty blond vet who flirted so openly with him. “He’s recovering.” Would I?

  Ed pointed to a man sitting alone in a chair. “This is our friend Simon Aiken. He’s also my attorney. Fortunately, he was here when the cops arrested me. He stuck with me during the interrogation and eventually got me out without being charged.”

  Simon Aiken acknowledged me with intense dark eyes. He had a raptor’s nose, high cheekbones, and dark hair. Instead of biker leather, Aiken wore a gray Italian suit, with a tie of sky blue silk loosened around his neck.

  Ed finally introduced me to a young woman, with very long brown hair, wearing gray linen slacks and a blue cotton blouse. The Prius probably belonged to her. “This is Dana Fremont, Simon’s assistant. Simon has to be in court this afternoon, so we only have these two for a short time. Dana’s going to be taking notes.”

  Dana smiled and wiggled her fingertips before looking back down at her iPad.

  Ed provided a cardboard container of Starbucks coffee and pastries from Eva’s European Bakery in a pink box. Next to the pink box sat a white box from Western Donuts with six apple fritters. I glanced up. Crusher watched to see which box I’d choose. I took a fritter. Crusher smiled.

  Dear God.

  I took a seat in a brown chair so large that my feet dangled awkwardly above the floor.

  “Okay. Let’s review the facts.” Simon Aiken took control of the meeting. “Martha, can you tell us about finding the body and the homeless camp? Then maybe you can walk us through the details of your search for those possible witnesses. Start at the beginning.”

  All eyes turned toward me and I put down my coffee and fritter. “I discovered Dax Martin’s body Monday morning behind the Beaumont School ball field on the riverbank. He died where he lay. Looked like he was beaten to death.” I explained my theory about how, since Martin was a bully, he wouldn’t have gone outside the perimeter fence alone—unless he knew his attacker and felt safe.

  Ed nodded in agreement. “The guy was a tool.”

  I took another sip of coffee. “You know how the sides of the river back there are covered with stucco? Well, on the far side, the riverbank is overgro
wn with bushes and small trees. Before I discovered the body, I noticed a couple of bedrolls, a metal pot, and other camping items hidden in the underbrush. I wonder if whoever slept over there witnessed the attack on Sunday night. I learned there were two of them, a man and a woman.”

  Simon typed something on his laptop. “Tell us how you found that out.”

  I reviewed my conversation with Hilda and her setting up the ten o’clock meeting with Switch. “You probably are all aware of what happened afterward.”

  Simon circled his index finger in the air in a gesture for me to continue. “I want to hear it from your perspective. Don’t leave out any details.”

  “I contacted Yossi and—”

  Dana looked up, confused. “Who’s Yossi?”

  Crusher shifted in his seat and grunted. “Me.”

  Dana looked at him, raised her eyebrows, snorted, and then bent once more to her typing.

  “I contacted Yossi and asked him to back me up. He came up with the plan to hide on the off-ramp while I talked to Switch. I brought my friend’s German shepherd with me for protection. Switch told me the possible witnesses were Hispanic, Javier and Graciela. He said he collected rent from them. He also led me to believe he knew where they were. That thief charged me four hundred dollars for the information. Then he grabbed my arm and tried to drag me into the bushes. You know the rest.”

  Ed looked shocked. “You paid him four hundred dollars of your own money? Wait right there.” He briefly left the room and returned with four $100 bills. He kissed my cheek. “You’re really awesome.”

  Aiken looked at Crusher and Carl. “Tell me again for the record what happened.”

  Crusher leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “As soon as that guy touched Martha, me and the boys went in. Maybe five, ten seconds is all it took us. The dog attacked and Switch cut him. In the scuffle, the little slime ball was disarmed and he got cut too.” Crusher looked around the room, but he avoided my eyes. “Maybe a few times. Meanwhile, some of his guys came out of the bushes, but we fought them off. Carl’s job was to take care of Martha. As soon as she got out safely, we left too.”

  Aiken turned to Carl. “Tell me what you did.”

  “Like Crusher said, we got there in only a few seconds. I grabbed Martha’s shoulders from behind and dragged her around the other side of her car and told her to go. She wouldn’t leave her dog. So I helped her get him inside the car and she laid rubber getting out of there. When those punks saw Switch bleeding on the ground, they ran. That’s when we jumped on our bikes and booked.”

  Aiken turned back to me. “Do you have any more ideas about how to find this homeless couple?”

  I’d just taken a large bite of apple fritter; the flakes of sugary glaze clung to the corners of my mouth. I held up my hand, stalling a moment to take a sip of coffee and clean my face with a napkin. “I watched a groundskeeper mow the edges of the field yesterday. I think we should talk to him. Since his job takes him all around the property, he might have observed something. He’s one of those anonymous guys who labor quietly in the background. They may be unnoticed, but they still see a lot of stuff that goes on.”

  Aiken made another note on his laptop. “Dana, see if you can get his name and schedule.”

  Ed pointed out his living-room window to the field beyond. “No need. I think he works Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. I usually hear his mower then.”

  I raised my hand a little. “Tomorrow’s Friday. I can go talk to him. I find people are more likely to open up to a senior-looking citizen than to a biker-looking guy.”

  Aiken smiled for the first time that morning. “I can see why Crusher likes you. You’re one fearless little lady.”

  Crusher turned redder than normal and refused to meet my eyes.

  I actually felt sorry for him.

  “I’m pretty sure I uncovered a real suspect yesterday.”

  Everyone stopped smiling and looked at me. Even Crusher.

  “Out by the field, I came across a young woman standing at the fence, crying.”

  I told them about Diane Davis—her previous romantic history with Dax Martin and her possessive, controlling husband, Jefferson. “This may be farfetched, but if Mrs. Davis had an affair with Martin, maybe her husband killed him in a fit of rage.”

  Aiken nodded slowly. “That possibility could raise serious doubt in the DA’s mind and keep Ed from being arrested and charged with murder. It could also raise doubts in a jury’s mind if this ever goes to trial.”

  Ed slapped his hands together once and pointed at me, arm straight in front of him. “I told you she was good at figuring things out.”

  Aiken turned to his assistant. “Dana, see what you can find on Jefferson Davis and Diane Davis. Ed, you told me you uncovered something funny involving the school, the city, and the Army Corps of Engineers.”

  Ed talked about the lack of permits, inspections, or an environmental report on file with the city. “So I tried to get information from the Army Corps of Engineers about the land they lease to the Beaumont School, but they refused to make any documents available.”

  Aiken scowled. “They can be compelled to disclose under the Freedom of Information Act. I’ll put some pressure on them and see what I can find out. If this baseball stadium was built illegally, we want any future jury to see Ed as a concerned citizen trying to save his neighborhood from the bad guys—not as a villain out to kill a baseball coach.”

  He looked at his watch and stood. “Good work, everyone. Keep digging. Let’s meet back here tomorrow evening, say at seven?”

  I also stood. Donut crumbs fell from my lap to the floor. “Not tomorrow evening. I’m having dinner with my uncle Isaac. I’m available Saturday.”

  “Saturday good with everyone?” The rest agreed. “Okay, let’s meet here at ten on Saturday morning.” I walked outside and watched Aiken put on his helmet, stow his laptop in a carrier behind the saddle, and ride his Harley toward the Van Nuys Courthouse.

  Simon Aiken inspired confidence with his take-charge attitude. I was sure we’d get to the bottom of what went down among the Beaumont School, the city, and the Army Corps of Engineers. If Dax Martin’s murder had anything to do with it, we might even discover his killer.

  CHAPTER 15

  Before I reached my front door, Sonia Spiegelman rushed over from her house across the street. She wore tan cotton trousers and a loose paisley blouse from India. Thin bangles clattered on her wrist. Her smile was genuine, but her eyes had a certain hungry, wolverine quality. Sonia was sniffing around for news. “Hey, Martha. I see you have a new guy coming to your house. You know, the big biker. I thought you were dating a cop.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Really? I have all types of friends. Like you, for instance.”

  “So I see Ed Pappas is home now. Has your cop friend told you anything new about the murder?”

  Of course Sonia would ask. No matter what happened in the neighborhood, she needed to know about it. Despite this annoying compulsion, Sonia deserved props for organizing The Eyes of Encino—a neighborhood watch that patrolled our community in times of, well, peril. Since Dax Martin’s murder, the Eyes had been walking and driving up and down our streets at night, carrying their walkie-talkies and wearing matching yellow T-shirts, with a big eyeball logo on the back. Sonia’s idea.

  The patrol leader was Ron Wilson, a Korean War vet, who lived with his wife on the next street over. Ron’s military crew cut had long ago turned white and sparse, but he and some of his fellow geezers took community safety very seriously. Even old Tony DiArco joined the patrol on his Chair-A-Go-Go scooter, oxygen tank strapped to a holder in back. They shortened his shift to one hour because the scooter’s batteries were unreliable.

  Sonia could be pesky when she nosed around in someone else’s business. As far as I could tell, though, she never meant anyone harm.

  “Ed’s okay. He’s been through a lot, poor guy.”

  “Like what?”

&n
bsp; “Well, I’ll leave it up to Ed to decide how much he wants to tell other people about his business.”

  A shadow of hurt crossed Sonia’s face.

  “I can tell you his spirits are good and he has a strong support network.”

  Sonia reached up and adjusted the tortoiseshell clip holding her long brown hair in place at the back of her neck. I had recently been in Sonia’s house and saw her with her hair hanging loose. She looked a dozen years younger then, and the wrinkles became softer around her eyes and mouth. That was also the day I saw a photo of her with Mick Jagger in her younger, groovier days.

  “So, do the cops think a homeless person is the killer?”

  How much does she know about the homeless couple, and where does she get all her information, anyway?

  “I wouldn’t know what the police think. I did see evidence someone lived in the bushes across the river from the crime scene. I don’t think it’s possible they killed Dax Martin.”

  Sonia leaned forward in eager anticipation. “Why do you say that?”

  I explained my theory that Martin would never have gone outside the field with someone he didn’t know and trust. “I just think it’s more likely they witnessed the crime and fled the scene out of fear.”

  “Those poor people. I can’t stand the thought they actually live without decent shelter. Sure, the weather’s dry now in the summer, but what do they do when the weather’s cold and rainy? I wish we could give them blankets or something. . . .”

  Bingo! I looked at Sonia and smiled. “We can.”

  “Can what?”

  “Give them blankets.” I explained how our guild gave away quilts to hospitals, shelters, and the homeless. Maybe we could organize some kind of distribution. With Switch gone, I wanted to get into the wildlife reserve in the worst way so I could try to find out where Javier and Graciela had disappeared.

  Sonia looked doubtful. “Nobody’s going to go anywhere near the place, Martha. It’s way too dangerous.”

  “Things may have changed recently.” I wasn’t going to tell Sonia about Crusher putting Switch out of business. “I’ll check with some friends of mine to make sure, but I think that with some help, we could go in there and do some real good.”