by Susan Kandel
Two minutes later, I was turning in my badge, signing out, and fleeing with the contraband. Of course, once I found out what was inside, and who or what had failed to perform, I’d have to hand this stuff over to Ian with some cockamamy story about how I happened to have it, but that was my next problem.
I sat down in my car, turned on the interior light, and pulled out the thick stack of papers. But I didn’t get a chance to go through them. Not then at least. My cell phone had started to ring. It was Bridget, sounding upset. She told me to turn on the radio and find a news station right away.
They had just reported another murder at Christietown.
CHAPTER 26
he Vicarage was an unholy mess. Business types in rumpled suits were pacing the floor, looking panicked. Cops were filling out reports and bellowing into cell phones. A pair of reporters from the L.A. Times had taken over Teenie’s desk. The plasma screens had all gone black.
I marched in looking for Ian, but Detective Mariposa intercepted me like a heat-seeking missile.
“You again,” he said. “Keep turning up like a bad penny and people are gonna talk.” Somebody called his name from across the room. “Be right there,” he answered without taking his eyes off me. “Is that a beret?”
“Can you please tell me where Ian is?” I was trying to keep my voice calm, but he brought out the worst in me.
“Why are you asking about Ian?” Mariposa’s beeper went off. He checked the number, then turned on me again. “You interested in who got whacked? You want to know if it was him?”
Asshole. “Yes.”
“Classified information, sorry.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Probably looking for a pen to suck on.
On the other side of the room his partner, Detective McAllister, was hunched over a phone. He looked pale. Some people don’t have the stomach for the profession. Gambino said it’s like being a doctor. You have to disconnect from your emotions. If you get too involved, you can’t do the work.
Mariposa, following my gaze, said, “He’s talking to the next of kin. We always let Pretty Boy break the news. Do me a favor and don’t bother people at work, okay?”
Ignoring him, I started across the room but stopped short when I saw McAllister look up and give a nod to one of the reporters, who then shouted into his phone, “That’s ‘h,’ not ‘z.’ You deaf or something? Holtzman!”
Silvana.
My stomach lurched.
Mariposa was on me like a flash. “You knew her?” he asked.
I’d have to tell Dot her Friday lunch date was off. I’d have to tell her that her friend was dead. I didn’t think I could do it.
“Yes,” I said. “I knew her.”
“Come with me,” said Mariposa, taking my arm. “I want to ask you a couple of questions. McAllister,” he yelled, “I think you might want to be in on this.”
He led me into Ian’s office and pushed me into the same upholstered swivel chair Dov had. That seemed like a long time ago.
McAllister stood in the doorway and gave me a small smile. “Hey,” he said. “How have you been?” Then he shook his head.
“Are you done now?” Mariposa asked, ushering McAllister in and closing the door. “We got a job to do, remember?”
“There’s this key,” I blurted out. I turned to McAllister. “I don’t know what it’s to or where it is, but Dov Pick was very upset about it the other night.”
“Do you think it has something to do with what happened to Silvana Holtzman?” he asked. “Or Liz Berman?”
Hell if I knew. “I think Dov and Silvana went back a ways.”
“Since when is that a reason for shooting somebody?” Mariposa interjected.
Oh, god. This wasn’t happening. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and wished everything was different, but when I opened my eyes everything was exactly the same. Liz was dead. Silvana was dead. Neither of them was coming back.
“What is it?” McAllister asked.
“Silvana said she and Dov had an understanding,” I said, trying to make sense of it myself. “That’s a strange thing to say, don’t you think? About somebody with a reputation like his?”
“He’s quite the ladies’ man,” Mariposa said. “You seen his girlfriend? The one who looks like Gina Lollabrigida? Boobs out to here.” He stuck his hands out in front of him. “Don’t know why he’d cheat on her, but maybe he and Silvana had something going. Hey, forget about Dov. Maybe Gina Lollabrigida whacked Silvana!” He turned to McAllister. “Crime of passion, what do you say?”
“What is wrong with you?” McAllister asked. “This isn’t a joke.”
Mariposa pursed his lips. “Didn’t mean to upset you, Pretty Boy. Sorry, okay?”
“Maybe Silvana knew too much about Dov’s shady business affairs,” I said quietly.
Mariposa’s eyebrows shot up. “What shady business affairs?”
The papers from the Antelope Valley East Kern Water Project were still in my car. I didn’t know what shady business affairs yet.
“Look, can I go?” I asked. “I have to talk to Ian.”
“Be my guest,” said Mariposa. “And if you find him, give us a call.”
If you find him? Where was he? “Is he a suspect?” I asked.
“Classified information,” Mariposa said with a smirk.
“No, he’s not a suspect,” said McAllister. “We just want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Is Ian in some kind of danger?”
“Who isn’t?” said Mariposa philosophically.
I opened the door and the cool desert air slapped me across the face.
Dot.
She’d become close to Silvana in the past few days.
Was she in danger, too?
Was someone going to shoot her?
No. Dot was fine, I reassured myself. But my racing pulse told me otherwise. I ran out to my car, whipped open the door, grabbed my cell phone from the charger, and furiously punched in her number.
Dot had nothing to do with this.
Why would anybody want to hurt Dot?
My heart felt like it was coming out of my chest until I heard her voice on the other end of the line. She started to thank me for the other evening, but before she could get too far I blurted out the news. I probably should’ve had her sit down, or made sure she wasn’t alone, but I didn’t think of those things at the time. In any case, Dot didn’t cry. She barely even seemed shocked. She did ask a lot of questions.
How exactly did it happen?
Who did it?
Why?
I didn’t know.
All I did know was that I’d never seen aquamarine eyes like Silvana’s.
Dot had to go. There was someone at her door. I’d used that excuse before. I was about to pull out of the parking lot when I caught a glimpse of Teenie, walking toward the Vicarage with an empty cardboard box in her hands.
I leapt up, slammed the door shut, and ran her way. “Teenie!” I called out. “It’s Cece. How are you holding up?” A diamond on the third finger of her left hand caught my eye. I was glad we weren’t going to be cheating on our husband with Mr. Knight.
“Not well,” she said.
“I can imagine. Do you need help with that box?”
“I’m fine,” she said tersely. “If you’d excuse me . . .”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up. I was actually looking for Ian. Have you seen him today?”
“No.” Her face was etched with worry lines I didn’t remember from two days ago. “Not today and not tomorrow, if I’m lucky. And not ever again once he pays me the two weeks he still owes me.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Are they shutting this place down or something?”
“No, they’re not shutting this place down.” She put a hand up to block out the sun. “Didn’t Ian tell you? Murder is good for business. But I’m done. I’m through making tea for a madman. I’m quitting. I can’t take this anymore.”
“I have some papers f
or you at my house,” I said carefully. “They got mixed up with some of my things accidentally. What would you like me to do with them?”
“You can burn them for all I care.”
“They’re from some kind of water company. In Antelope Valley, I think it was. Does that ring any bells? Some kind of trouble there?”
“Just business as usual,” she said bitterly. “To tell you the truth, I don’t give a damn.”
Teenie was history.
Ian was missing.
Two women were dead, and as far as I knew, all they had in common was Christietown.
It didn’t sound like business as usual to me.
CHAPTER 27
nfortunately, I was not able to reflect upon the day’s events as I would have liked because I was stuck on the 14 for two hours and didn’t dare lose focus. Lose focus on the 14 and you die. That was no exaggeration. The 14 was home away from home for people who lived so far away from the places they worked that they had to get up at four o’clock in the morning to make it on time. Bleary-eyed, they listened to talk radio and sucked down coffee from commuter mugs in the hopes they wouldn’t fall asleep and crash and die and kill you while they were at it. The return trip was worse because everybody was eight hours more tired. The 14 represented everything that was bad about southern California.
I stopped at home for five minutes to get Gambino and to freshen up. We came to a screeching halt outside Walt’s Baby Headquarters at exactly 6:28 P.M., two minutes early. Richard was going to hate that. Nothing would please him more than to have us stagger in just before closing smelling like sex and cigarettes—except maybe if Gambino was also wearing a ZZ Top T-shirt.
I’d made him change.
At the moment, Gambino looked imposing in a black three-button cashmere-blend blazer he must’ve borrowed from another six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound friend, because I’d never seen it before. I, too, was sporting businesslike attire: hair pulled into a sleek bun, pin-striped trousers, black sleeveless turtleneck. Of course, the sweater plunged to my waist in the back but Richard wasn’t going to know that unless I turned my back on him—and after ten years of marriage I knew better than to do that.
As we walked through the front door, a woman who looked like Snow White (pale skin, black hair) handed us each a checklist and a paper cup of hot cocoa. We downed the cocoas and checked each other for mustaches. Then we heard Jackie’s voice.
“Over here, Cece! By the gliders!”
Snow White led the way, telling us how important gliders were for the mother-child bonding experience. Studies show that babies who are breast-fed in gliders—in particular, collectible gliders handmade by Amish craftsmen exclusively for Walt’s Baby Headquarters—do better in life than babies who are fed in regular chairs or beds. Gambino started to cough and I pinched him.
“Hi, guys!” Jackie said brightly. The ex-cheerleader made quite a sight, gliding back and forth in her pale yellow Lacoste dress, a patchy-haired baby doll in her arms.
“Hi,” I said. “Where’s Richard?”
“Using the facilities,” she replied. “And this must be your fiancé. I’m Jackie Dehovitz.”
“Don’t get up, please,” said Gambino. He leaned down to shake her hand. “Peter Gambino.”
“Would you like to meet ‘My Breast Friend’?” She indicated the large foam-rubber pillow in her lap.
Gambino looked at me for help.
“It’s for breast-feeding,” I said in a low voice.
“Sorry. I think I’m a bit nervous,” Jackie said. “This is all kind of strange for me, this blended-family thing. My parents were married for thirty-two years. Never spent a night apart. They were so in love.” She blushed prettily.
“That’s what we all want,” Gambino said, looking at me.
“Well, then,” I said. “I guess I’ll check out the cribs now.”
Gambino sat down on a nursing ottoman at Jackie’s feet. “Good idea.”
“Don’t get up or anything. You just sit there and relax,” I said.
He stretched his muscular arms over his head. “It has been a long day.”
“Being a policeman must be so rewarding,” gushed Jackie.
I left the two of them to their own devices. It was time to get this show on the road. There were at least a dozen models on the floor, several with prices in the four digits. Then you had to choose a finish. I ran my hand across the samples, which were mounted on a pegboard. Their names sounded like flavors of breakfast cereal: honey, pecan, wheat, cherry, summer harvest. Made me hungry. I glanced at the clock over the cash register. Mickey was pointing to the 9 and Minnie was hovering between the 6 and the 7. Where were Annie and Vincent? I hoped they hadn’t gotten lost. Annie was going to hate this place, of course. Her version of shopping was to head over to the thrift store in Topanga Canyon, where she and Vincent lived, and grab an armful of anything that didn’t have buttons hanging off it. For most of the last nine months, she’d lived in ballet slippers, pajama bottoms, and Vincent’s shirts. For parties, she wore an old hippie skirt of Lael’s with a drawstring waist. It was apple green with little silver stars all over it. My pregnant pixie.
“How are we doing here?” asked Snow White.
“I’m wondering what the delivery time is on this one.” I pointed to a crib that was simple without being spartan. The tiny comforter draped over it was bumblebee themed, yellow and black.
“Four to six weeks is standard, ten percent extra for a rush job. But don’t forget, Baby will be sleeping in the bassinet first, next to . . . Mommy and Daddy, is it?” She looked at me for confirmation.
“That’s right.”
“In this town, you never know,” Snow White said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t forget, you’ll be needing sheets and waterproof pads for the bassinet, in addition to flat sheets, fitted sheets, waterproof pads, bumpers, dust ruffle, mobile, toy cradle, and diaper stacker for the crib. It’s all there on your checklist.”
Along with car-seat tighteners, car-seat levelers, stroller shields, crib tents, sleep positioners, two-way mirrors, wire-mesh gates, high-chair hooks, nursery monitors, electric bottle warmers, electric baby-wipe warmers, shock guards, drawer latches, hypoallergenic pads for supermarket carts, and entertainment centers, which I think were Baby’s version of flat-screen TVs. The Bambi mural on the wall didn’t fool me. This place was evil.
“This is our top-selling crib,” said Snow White, directing my attention to a large structure with Corinthian columns. I noted the straight-from-the-manufacturer price of $1,699.00. “The side rail is supposed to go down to save Mommy and Daddy’s backs.” She gave it a delicate little kick with her espadrille.
“Sometimes, you have to use force,” I said, kicking it for all it was worth.
“Lovely,” said Richard, who’d appeared from out of nowhere.
“This is my ex-husband,” I said to Snow White. “He likes to sneak up on unsuspecting women.”
He crumpled up his paper cup of cocoa and tossed it into the trash. “Why do I bother? Don’t answer that. I’d like a word with you.”
“Fine.”
Once we reached the grooming center, he said, “Are you out of your mind? Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you dragged poor Dot to a murder scene? You live in some kind of sick fantasy world and I don’t want Dot anywhere near you. And why would you be cozying up to my future mother-in-law anyway? Answer me!”
“Guess what, Richard?” I was furious. “I don’t have to answer you. You aren’t my husband anymore, and haven’t been for years, thank god. So don’t try that shit on me again.”
“Language, Cece,” he said snarkily.
“Shut up,” I replied. “As for Dot, I’m sorry I involved her. Truly sorry. She’s a lovely woman, and I never meant her any harm.”
Snow White was back. “Sorry to interrupt, but you don’t want to overlook this.” She handed me a small plastic pouch. Not getting a response, she looked back and forth at the two of us, then said in a t
iny voice, “Number sixty-two on your checklist? The deluxe oral kit?”
Richard glared at her. “Would you please !”
As she made herself scarce, I called out, “You’d have left him, too, admit it!”
“This isn’t funny, Cece,” said Richard. “The police have been grilling Dot mercilessly. Like she’s a suspect!”
“Oh, you mean like I’m a suspect? Thanks for calling my mother, by the way, and getting her all worked up.”
“Stop changing the subject,” he said. “Jackie and I are livid.”
“Jackie didn’t look livid.”
“That’s because she’s got class.”
“She was talking to my boyfriend about breasts!”
Suddenly, Gambino was at my side. He towered a full half-foot over Richard, who didn’t like competition.
“Hey,” Gambino said, flinging an arm around my shoulder. “Everything okay?”
I smiled up at him. “Great. Detective Peter Gambino meet Professor Richard Durand.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” said Gambino with dazzling aplomb.
“Yes, I’m sure you have,” said Richard.
“Glad we can all put aside our differences and be here for Annie and Vincent. They’re great kids. I’m sure you’re very proud of them, Rick.”
Richard was suddenly at a loss for words. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked an imaginary rock.
“What’s wrong, Rick?” I asked.
“Look, Cece,” said Gambino, taking my arm. “The kids are finally here.”
Annie and Vincent were being dragged our way by Alexander, Vincent’s three-year-old son by a bad-seed ex-girlfriend. Vincent and Annie had fought for custody and won. I held out my arms and little Alexander flew into them.
“Your back feels cold,” Alexander said, burying his face in my shoulder. “You can borrow my sweatshirt if you want.”
“Hi,” said Annie. “Sorry we’re late. This place is a trip, isn’t it, Mom? But it does make the whole baby thing seem real.” Annie was in her pixie outfit and smiling her beautiful smile. Richard had found Jackie and was holding her hand. I thought I saw a tear in his eye. Impossible.
