by Mary Marks
Sandoval smiled. “We’re only a small stopover in an underground railroad, Mr. Levy. With the help of God, we save innocent lives.”
A minute later we were in the tiny living room of a California bungalow built in the 1940s. A striped Mexican blanket hung over the back of the old blue sofa, and every flat surface in the room was covered with school pictures of four children progressing through the years. The remnants of a spicy dinner remained in the air, and my stomach juices churned in hunger.
Sandoval shook hands with a man I recognized as the one who gave up his seat for me on Sunday afternoon. The wife’s long black hair was pinned back into a bun and she wore an apron with a bib over a simple flowered housedress. The man turned to his wife and nodded. “Bueno, Ana.”
Ana disappeared down a narrow hallway and came back followed cautiously by a young man and woman: Javier and Graciela Acevedo. At last I’d found the people who witnessed Dax Martin’s murder. People who could clear Ed Pappas.
They were small in stature, with the distinctive nut-colored skin of the Indio. Javier was about twenty years old, and I guessed Graciela was still in her teens. She looked to be about six months pregnant. When they saw Crusher, they instinctively clung to each other, glancing frequently at Pastor Sandoval for reassurance. Crusher took one step back in a gesture of peace.
I asked Sandoval if they knew why we were here, and he said they did. I pulled out my cell phone. “I want to record what they say. Is it okay?”
He conferred with the couple, turned back to me, and nodded. “They don’t want you to take their pictures. Just ask your questions and I’ll translate.”
“Buenas noches.” I smiled. “You know why I’m here. All I need to know from you is, did you see the murder of the man across the river from your camp?”
Sandoval spoke in Spanish and then turned back to me. “They did see the murder. They are very upset and afraid.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“They said two men walked in back of the ball field to the river’s edge. At first, they seemed to be friendly, and the victim laughed. Then suddenly the killer pulled out a baseball bat he carried behind him and hit the second one in the head. The man went down and the killer hit him a few more times.”
“Can they describe the killer?”
“They were too far away to get a look at his face in the dark. Plus, he wore a baseball cap.”
I pressed a button on my cell phone and pulled up Ed’s picture. “Is this the man you saw?”
Javier and Graciela studied the picture for a long time. Finally they shook their heads and shrugged.
“They can’t tell for sure, because of the darkness. It could have been him.”
Could have been him?
“Can they remember any details about him? Color of hair, build, how tall?”
“They say he was as tall as the victim and thought he had light hair under the baseball cap. The night was cool and he wore a sweatshirt, but they could see he was slim.”
Crap! This doesn’t look good for Ed.
Both he and Dax Martin were around six feet tall. Ed was slim and his hair was light brown. Their testimony wouldn’t help. In fact, it would only make Ed look more guilty.
“Is there anything else they can tell me? Anything at all they might have noticed?”
Both Javier and Graciela thought for a moment. Finally Graciela spoke.
Sandoval looked at me. “She thinks the man in the cap had a funny voice.”
“Can she be more specific?”
Graciela just shrugged again and I knew I had gotten all the information they possessed.
Okay. Maybe Ed resembled the killer, but so did thousands of men. Plus, Ed’s voice was normal, which ruled him out as far as I was concerned. Was Martin killed by an angry school parent because his kid didn’t have enough time on the field? If so, that would give a whole new meaning to the word hardball.
What about Jefferson Davis? I’d never actually seen him. Was he tall? Slim? Did he have gray hair? Gray hair would look light under a baseball cap. Time to get a good look at the headmaster of Beaumont.
I thanked the couple for the information and wished them Godspeed.
Sandoval drove us back to the truck. “Did you get what you needed?”
“Yes and no, Pastor. I know my friend didn’t commit this murder, but except for the voice thing, he fits their description of the killer. The good thing is, we now have more details than we had before.”
Back at the church, we thanked him for his help. As we walked toward Crusher’s truck, he called after us, “Diós guarde.”
On the drive home, I suddenly remembered what the groundskeeper had said. Dax Martin had argued with one of the parents who wore a baseball cap and had a stutter. Was that what Graciela meant by a “funny voice”? It was too late to ask her.
We stopped at a drive-through and brought our dinner home. Crusher unwrapped the food at the kitchen table while I set up my laptop and pulled up the Beaumont School website. A smiling head shot of a handsome, older man displayed. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell how tall Jefferson Davis was, but his silver hair did qualify him as a suspect. I showed the picture to Crusher and closed the computer. “I’m starving.”
I attacked my burger with enthusiasm. Crusher looked up from his second double-double. “I’m spending part of the night with you.”
I remembered his offer to “make it better” from earlier in the evening. No way was I going to let anything happen between us. “What do you have in mind, exactly?”
He raised one eyebrow. “I’m your bodyguard, babe. Remember? I’ll camp out on the sofa until the next guy comes to relieve me at two in the morning.”
Heat warmed my cheeks and I ducked my head so, hopefully, he wouldn’t see my embarrassment. “Let me get you a pillow and bedding.”
“I won’t be needing those. I plan to stay awake and alert. You, however, should go to sleep. Go on. You’ll be safe with me.”
I looked up at the gentle giant before me with—what had he said on Shabbat?—hidden depths. What did I actually know about him? Nothing. Yet I knew I could trust him.
“Good night, Yossi.” I turned and walked down the hall.
How did this happen? I’d lived alone successfully for years, happily doing without any man in my life. Now there were two. The one I thought I loved made me very sad, because I was sure I’d lost him; while the other kept reminding me he was more than willing to step in the breach.
Heaven help me, what was I going to do? Thank goodness tomorrow was quilty Tuesday. I hoped Lucy and Birdie would help me figure things out.
CHAPTER 32
When I woke at eight, Carl was sitting in my kitchen. “The guy who was supposed to take over from Crusher last night couldn’t make it, so the big dude crashed on your sofa. He filled me in on everything when I got here at six.”
“Want a cheese-and-egg-white omelet?”
“Cool. Very healthy.”
I grated cheese and chopped onions, mushrooms, green peppers, and tomatoes. Twenty minutes later, I topped two steaming hot omelets with slices of fresh avocado and salsa and served them with buttered toast and coffee.
So much work and the food was gone in thirty seconds. That’s why I hated to cook.
As we left the house, Sonia hurried across the street. “Hi. Did you hear about the Army Corps of Engineers destroying the wildlife reserve the day after we were there? What’s going on?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. “I saw the cops at Ed’s house yesterday. Then I saw Yossi’s truck. I noticed he stayed quite late.” Her words hung in the air like dirty laundry.
“We can’t really stop to talk now, Sonia. Ed’s been arrested and I’ve been threatened by someone in the engineer corps. Yossi stayed as my bodyguard only.” I emphasized the last word and gave her a meaningful look. She seemed to relax.
“Because you were part of the giveaway on Sunday, you might even be in danger. You’ll probably be okay, but ju
st be careful.”
Sonia’s eyes lit up. “I know exactly what to do. I’ll ask Ron Wilson and the Eyes of Encino to activate the EAP.”
“What in the world is that?”
“Enemy attack plan. It’s an armed patrol with spotters. Ron will post people on roofs at night to serve as lookouts. Then if anyone comes after us, they’ll radio HQ, which is Ron’s living room. Ron will then direct the armed patrol to the scene. He knows all about combat stuff. He was in the army special forces.”
“Yeah, but that was more than fifty years ago. Haven’t military tactics changed since then?”
“Don’t worry. Desperate times call for desperate measures!” Sonia power walked back to her house.
We waited until ten; then Carl drove my car to Birdie’s house for our weekly quilting bee. I pointed to the bulge under his black leather vest. “Are you carrying Ed’s gun?”
He looked at me and gave me a half smile. “I prefer my own piece.”
“Do you have a license to carry?”
I got the other half of the smile. “Gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
First of all, as far as I was concerned, Carl was barely old enough to be a man. Second of all, I wasn’t happy he was breaking the law. I had the urge to send him to his room.
“Carl, shouldn’t you be at school or something today?”
He laughed. “Dude! How old do you think I am? I’ve got a degree in computer science from Caltech.”
My mouth dropped open. Caltech rivaled MIT as the top science university in the nation. You had to practically be a genius to get in.
He laughed again. “I work with Ed, man. He’s a big deal in fraud detection and prevention software. You didn’t know that?”
“No.”
“Well, the sooner he gets out of jail, the sooner we can start working on our project again. We’ve got a gig right now with the SEC.”
I was speechless for the rest of the short ride to Birdie’s place.
Birdie gave a little shout of joy when she saw Carl. He scooped her up off the floor in a bear hug and gently swung her around, being careful not to bump her slight body. She laughed as he set her back on her feet.
“This is a big surprise. Why are you here today, dear? I’m guessing it’s not about quilting.”
Lucy wore red capris and sandals, a red-and-white striped blouse and red button earrings. She pointed at Carl, but she looked at me. “It’s always something with you. What now?”
“They arrested Ed last night, and I was threatened yesterday by the United States Army!” I filled them in on the events at the wildlife reserve and the threat from Lawanda Price.
“Yossi arranged for me to have bodyguards around the clock. Carl’s my guard today.”
Lucy scowled. “Are we safe? Do you think they might come after you here?”
Carl gave her a boyish grin. “Don’t worry. I made sure we weren’t followed.”
Birdie’s face glowed. “Well, you just sit right down and I’ll bring you a nice piece of cake.”
He chose a chair facing the door and the front windows and absently patted his vest. A minute later, Birdie gave him a plate with a double slice of applesauce cake and a big glass of milk.
Carl grinned. “Dude!”
I pulled out the Dresden Plate quilt from my tote bag and laid out my sewing supplies on the broad arm of my favorite green chenille chair. Soon Birdie came back in the room with smaller slices of cake for Lucy and me and cups of coffee.
I tightened the quilt in the hoop and threaded my one-inch needle with glazed cotton thread. I knotted one end, took a stitch, and popped the knot through the top fabric, hiding it in the batting inside. With a thimble on the hand that was on top of the quilt, I pushed the needle, guiding it with the fingertips of the hand that was underneath the quilt. In a slow and steady up-and-down, the point of the needle bit through the weave until I’d loaded the shaft with several stitches. Then I pulled the thread through all three layers and repeated the process. In this way, I began stitching a circle inside the center of the plate.
Carl swallowed the last of his glass of milk. “Tell us about last night.”
“Pastor Sandoval called me yesterday, and I finally talked to the witnesses last night before they left Los Angeles.”
Lucy stopped sewing. “What did you turn up?”
“Nothing that would help, I’m afraid. Their description of the killer was too vague and could have been a hundred people, including Ed. They did have a few specifics. Tall, slim, baseball cap, light hair, and a funny voice.”
Birdie looked at me over her glasses and nodded. “You’re right, dear. The description does sound like your neighbor Ed, except for the part about the voice. Do you know what she meant by that?”
“I’m not sure.”
Lucy said, “So, after all our efforts, the interview was a dead end?”
I ended off my thread and cut a new piece off the spool. “Not entirely. I remembered something the groundskeeper Miguel said about Martin having a fight with one of the fathers of his ballplayers. Miguel described the man as always wearing a baseball cap and speaking with a stutter. Graciela could have been referring to that when she mentioned a ‘funny voice.’ We need to check him out.”
Birdie looked befuddled. “Why in the world would a father want to beat a coach to death?”
Carl snorted. “You’ve never been to a Little League game, have you?”
I continued. “I also found a photo of Jefferson Davis online last night. He’s slender and has light hair. I just need to find out how tall he is and listen to his voice.”
“How do you propose to do that?” asked Lucy.
Birdie stood. “I know!” She returned with a newspaper. “Look here. I read in today’s obituary page there’s going to be a memorial service for Dax Martin at the baseball stadium on Thursday. Maybe Jefferson Davis will make a speech and you can listen to his voice.”
I took the paper. “Can I keep this?”
“Of course. Just leave me the crossword and jumble. Now tell me, what does Arlo think about all this?”
“He doesn’t exactly know I located the witnesses and talked to them. He won’t like it when he finds out. Imagine how furious he’ll be when he discovers I also let them leave town without giving him a chance to interview them.”
“I think you need to call him, dear.”
“Last time we spoke, I told Arlo about the bigger picture with the Beaumont School and the Army Corps of Engineers. He agreed Ed didn’t look guilty. I don’t want Arlo to change his mind back again because he’s mad at me.”
Lucy asked, “Does Arlo know you were threatened by the United States Army?”
“Yes. He said if I thought I was in danger, I should go stay with you and Ray.”
She looked stunned. “That’s all he said?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
“Well, you know you can always stay with us.” What Lucy didn’t say was if Beavers still cared about me, he would have been more proactive about keeping me safe. The fact he passed me off on my friends seemed to indicate Beavers and I were done. Her eyes told me she was pissed off and disappointed.
If she only knew!
The recent ups and downs of romance in my life were new territory for me. I wanted to talk to my friends in the worst way about it. I wanted to talk about how devastated I was Beavers had already moved on to someone else and how he had proven I was right not to trust him—or any man for that matter.
I also wanted to get some advice about how to handle the situation with Crusher. Obviously, pushing him toward my neighbor Sonia wasn’t working. Unlike Beavers, Crusher was actively protecting me, but he also indicated he wanted more than friendship. I needed to pour out my confusion and ask Lucy and Birdie to help me figure out what to do.
However, I couldn’t have a conversation in front of Carl, so I kept silent. I’d have to deal on my own for a while longer. At least that was territory I knew.
Becaus
e of the August heat, Birdie served a cold gazpacho for lunch made with fresh veggies from her garden. She also served thick slices of warm homemade bread with butter melting on top. She positively beamed each time she refilled Carl’s bowl. By the end of the meal, the pot stood empty and the whole loaf had vanished. All that work!
At two, Carl’s cell phone rang. The handsome young biker/computer scientist in the black leather vest had been winding balls of royal blue yarn for Birdie’s next knitting project. He stood and walked away from us. “Yeah? Okay. Right. Now? Right.”
He walked over to me. “Dana just called. She finally got hold of a directory for the Beaumont School.”
“Is Barbara Hardisty a parent?”
CHAPTER 33
The law offices of Aiken, Teeters & Proulx were on the fifth floor of a high-rise in Woodland Hills, near the Marriott hotel. The waiting room was paneled in dark mahogany, with splashes of colorful abstract art on the walls. A Remington bronze bronco and rider stood encased atop a locked glass pedestal in a place of honor near the reception desk.
Carl and I sat in two luxury leather chairs on one side of a glass coffee table covered with an assortment of magazines, a fresh flower arrangement with proteas, and a wire sculpture of a Harley-Davidson. A large Turkish carpet covered the dark hardwood floors.
Dana didn’t keep us waiting long. “Hi, come with me.” She smiled, tucking her long, dark hair behind her ear with her left hand. Her engagement diamond sparkled on her finger.
We followed her down the hall to a door with a brushed-nickel nameplate: DANA FREMONT, PARALEGAL. Her small office boasted one window overlooking the parking lot of the Westfield Plaza shopping mall. Carl and I sat in two plain office chairs while Dana took a seat at a desk full of papers, files, and a large computer monitor.
“How’s Ed doing?” I asked.
“He won’t be arraigned until tomorrow. If the judge agrees to release him, bail won’t be a problem, but the DA is going to argue for remand.”
That was distressing news. If Ed was denied bail, no telling how long he’d have to stay in jail before he went to trial. With a backlog of cases in the LA legal system, Ed might not see the light of day for months. Possibly more than a year.
