Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series) (18 page)

“Yolie. Great old gal.”

“Was she ever there when you were?”

“Sure. She used to serve us drinks. And sometimes snacks.”

“Ricky, think hard. Was she there the night Katy gave you the pearl?”

He frowned, marshaling resources. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure she was. Made us margaritas.”

“Did she see Katy give you the pearl? Or could she have heard the two of you talking about it?”

“I see what you’re getting at—can she verify my story?” I nodded.

He stroked his cheek, as if checking to see whether he’d shaved. “I don’t know about that. It’s a thought, you know that? Yolie might have been there.”

“I think I’ll drive out to see her this afternoon.”

“She goes away on weekends. To see her family down south somewhere—Santa Maria, I think. She probably doesn’t even know Katy’s dead yet.”

“Maybe I could call her. What’s her full name?”

“I don’t know. Yolie’s short for Yolanda, I know that. Some Spanish name, I think.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I ever heard it.”

“Does she get back on Sunday nights?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been around Sunday nights when she was there—even seen her come back. Gets in around seven, seven-thirty. Say, you want me to go?”

“No, it’ll be better if I do it. You just go home and give the cops a buzz—after your nap.”

I waited till he’d left and got out of my car—I needed a walk to clear my head.

I walked in Pacific Grove, along the shore, watching pelicans and gulls (western ones, of course), mostly just drinking in the sea air, thinking about the Sheffield Pearl.

Much as I hated to admit it, I thought Esperanza’s nightmarish theory had a lot of merit. Sadie might have been killed for the pearl. She must have had it with her when she went to the roof, perhaps planning to show it to Julio.

But maybe it wasn’t true. I’d made a promise to Esperanza, and it was time to try to keep it. Both Marty and Ricky seemed to be off the hook, but Esperanza was still my client. That was the way with
pro bono
work—it always took longer than the paying jobs and was usually more difficult. I walked for forty-five minutes, working off my coffee buzz, just as Ricky (I hoped) was sleeping off his champagne one.

Then I consulted a phone book, made a call, and hung up when a man answered; a man with a familiar voice. Don was home.

The listed address was the one for Sadie Swedlow, the love nest where she’d lured Marty’s husband and where she entertained her children on weekends. I was sure Marty looked at it that way—as a usurpation of her possessions, of her children as well as her husband.

It was a modest house in Pacific Grove, a one-story frame house, old and charming, but perhaps a little small for a stepfamily of four. If she’d lived, she and Don would probably have moved soon.

Don was tousled, wearing only a pair of khaki shorts I suspected he’d just pulled on. “Oh. Rebecca.”

“I guess I woke you up. I’m sorry.”

“Not at all. Not at all. Will you come in?” He didn’t move aside to permit me, but I’d come there to go in, and good manners weren’t going to stop me.

“Thanks,” I said. “We need to talk.”

He led me into a living room of antique wicker furniture and plants—Sadie’s taste, I was sure. It was an inappropriate room for a house with two children—a little too delicate and breakable, a little too feminine. The furniture would soon have been replaced with sturdier stuff, I thought.

But for the moment it was lovely, as cheerful as a nineteenth-century house in the country. The windows were open, and the breeze had caught a lace curtain. There was no television or stereo anywhere in sight. The walls were even hung with flowered wallpaper, completing the effect. They were decorated with a child’s drawings, Libby’s, I was sure.

“Are the kids here?”

He gave me a rueful smile. “No. I lost the argument.”

He looked sad and vulnerable sitting there barefoot with his chest naked. I felt intrusive.

“I’m really sorry about this morning,” he said. “I was upset.”

“You have a lot to be upset about. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He leaned over, catching his face in his hands, not wanting me to see his expression. “This is very hard for me.”

“Don,” I said, “I hope you don’t think I’m judging you, that I bear you any ill will because Marty’s my friend. Things happen. And anyway, I’m beginning to think I didn’t really know Marty at all.”

“She can be difficult.” His eyes were full of pain. “Sadie was so soft—so sunshiny.” He stopped. “I’m having a hard time with this.”

It seemed cruel to make him go through it alone. I was furious at Marty. “I’m sorry you don’t have the children with you. I think they need to mourn Sadie, too, and I have a feeling they don’t think they can with Marty around.”

He looked at me as if I’d just pulled him from a burning building. “Yes. You think that, too?”

I nodded. “I think they really miss Sadie a lot.”

“She was so warm—they’d never been around a woman like that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” He certainly was pulling no punches.

“Marty and I got married when she was pregnant with Keil. She told me later—when she wanted me to know how much she hated me—that she’d gotten pregnant on purpose. I was on her list. A goal. Two goals. She wanted to get married, and she wanted to marry someone successful. Also she wanted a kid. Three goals. Though why she wanted that, I don’t know. She isn’t the maternal type.”

“And she had Libby because, having had a boy, she then had to have a girl. That was the next goal.” I was surprised to hear what came out of my mouth, and apparently Don was, too; I could see it in his eyes.

I was on a roll and I wasn’t going to stop: “Tell me something. Does she often yell the way she was doing this morning?”

“No. I’ve never seen that before in my life.”

“She’s not the type to get mad?”

“She got mad when I left. First time I’ve ever seen it.”

“I came here because I need to ask you about something, and I also need to ask a favor.”

“Of course, Rebecca.” To my amazement, he smiled; perhaps the anticipation of doing a favor had made him comfortable, given him something he knew how to cope with.

“Did you talk with Sadie Friday? Even Thursday?”

“Both days, but only once on Friday. We usually talked several times a day.”

“Did she mention a pearl to you? Something Esperanza brought her?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Esperanza came into possession of something that might be valuable—she said she found it on the beach. This is going to sound strange, but it looked like a pearl the size of a Ping-Pong ball.”

He stared.

“But she wasn’t sure it was a pearl, and she took it to Sadie for confirmation. Sadie, I think, recognized it as something she’d seen before—she knew it was genuine. But that isn’t the point. The point is that it’s missing now. It wasn’t in Sadie’s desk, but there’s a chance she brought it home. I’m wondering if you’ve seen anything like that.”

He shook his head, still staring, trying to take it in. “The police didn’t mention it.”

“To tell you the truth, Esperanza didn’t come out with it right away. She was upset about Sadie’s death—”

“They were very close.”

“She’s an awfully sweet child, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” He looked befuddled, not sure where I was going with that one.

“I told her I’d try to find it for her. I wonder if you’d help me? I mean—” I wasn’t quite sure how to put delicately the fact that I wanted to search his house “—I thought we might look for it together.”

Slowly intelligence began to seep into his expression, momentarily replacing the grief and pain. “Rebecca, how much is that thing worth?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

“A lot?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Did Esperanza really find it on the beach?”

It was no good. His mind had worked its way up through the mire of his loss.

I wasn’t going to get away with a story about a sweet kid we had to help. “No. I’ll be honest with you, Don. There’s a possibility someone killed Sadie for it.”

He stood up, jaw tensed. “Let’s look.”

We tossed the house, starting with Sadie’s underwear drawer and jewelry box, working our way through her file cabinet, the toilet tank, the ice trays, the frozen food packages, the sugar bowl, everything we could think of. We searched Sadie’s car as well, and even a fake rock in which she and Don hid their door keys.

We didn’t find the pearl—which made me feel jumpy on Esperanza’s account—but the exertion was good for both of us, I think. Don had more color when I left, and seemed to have recovered some of his energy.

I left thinking I’d never spent so much time with Don, never really known what he was like. I liked him enormously. Anyone missing his girlfriend so desperately had to be a person of strong feelings. And all along I’d thought he was just another cold-blooded businessman.

Marty was the warm one, I’d thought, because of her love of the ocean. That seemed out of character now that I knew the ice-cube Marty. But I knew it wasn’t, really. It was the doorway to her good side, the one she didn’t seem to know about herself. It would be easy to find it, I thought. If she could just work her way up the Darwinian ladder—transfer her affections from fish to reptiles—it wouldn’t be that much of a step up to birds and then on to mammals—rodents first, say, and then on up to the lower primates. From orangutans she could go to gorillas, and next thing you know, she might even get interested in bald-bodied apes.

I was about a block from my hotel and engrossed in this silliness—I often get giddy when I drive—when I noticed Libby trudging along the street with a backpack, loaded down and forlorn.

I waved and honked, but instead of breaking into a delighted grin, she covered her mouth with her hand, terror plain on her guileless features. Confused, she forgot to watch her step and stumbled on a raised piece of sidewalk.

I pulled to the curb, jumped out, and helped her get up. “What is it, honey?”

“I fell down.”

“I don’t mean that. You looked like you were afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She sounded mad now, had gone into a classic pout. She started to walk on.

I said, “Why don’t you let me give you a lift?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be okay.”

“Where are you going?”

She looked confused.

“Libby? Is something wrong?”

“No!” She fell into my arms, mouth working as she tried not to cry.

I stroked her hair and assured her it would be okay, the words sounding stupid and dishonest even to me. Sure it would be okay—in about twenty years if she could find a good shrink. Things in this kid’s life had gone seriously wrong, and I wasn’t going to be able to kiss them away.

Libby let go of me and bent down for her backpack. “I have to go now.”

“Are you going to Esperanza’s?”

She shook her head.

“Amber’s?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Your dad’s?” But surely not. It was too far to walk.

“I’m just taking a walk.” She spoke defiantly, but a nervous toss of the head gave her away.

I thought I understood the backpack, even knew why she just happened to be so close to my hotel. Like Dr. Freud, I don’t believe in coincidences. With Sadie gone, Libby needed someone to talk to—maybe unconsciously, but she was looking for me, I thought. Sure. Much the way Julio was probably hanging by the phone waiting for my call.

“Libby,” I said, “are you running away?”

She nodded gravely, almost hanging her head, the way kids do when they fear dire punishment.

“I don’t blame you,” I said.

Her head snapped up, her face unbelieving. “You don’t?”

“I’d probably do the same thing in your shoes. Come on. Let’s go get some ice cream.”

“I’m not allowed to.”

“I thought you were running away—aren’t you a free agent?”

Her face brightened. “I know! I could have frozen yogurt.”

Oh, boy. A real tough cookie, this one. To Marty she was “difficult”; to Ava she was “bad”; and she was so brainwashed she wouldn’t even eat butterfat.

She got chocolate chips on her strawberry yogurt swirled with white chocolate. And then, perhaps regretting the healthful strawberry influence, she decided on Oreo crumbles as well. I had a Diet Coke.

I was curious. “Would you have run away if you’d been at your dad’s house today?”

She colored. “I don’t think so. At least Daddy’d be home.”

“Your mom isn’t?”

“She drove Grandma home. I wanted to go; I thought I’d keep her company after she’d been in jail and all—but she wouldn’t let me. She just left Keil to boss me.” She covered her mouth with her hands and closed her eyes—she’d shoveled in such a big spoonful her mouth was freezing.

Her mouth still full, she said, “Do you know how much I hate that?”

It was all I could do not to snap, “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Chocolate dribbled from the comers.

“How much do you hate it?” I said, absently. I was thinking about Marty’s refusal to let the kids stay with Don on a day she declined to spend with them.

“A barrelful.”

“How about a truckload?”

“A boatload.”

“A planeload.”

She looked around before she spoke, mindful that the other customers didn’t hear. “A shitload.”

“Not so loud. Your grandma will hear.”

She had a giggle fit like the ones kids get in
Three Men and a Baby
when the baby wets her diaper. As this is not humor adults can readily share, there was nothing to do but wait till it passed. “You’re fun, Rebecca.”

“Well, sort of fun. I’ve got bad news.”

“I know. I have to go home.” She didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Eventually, anyhow. Why don’t you call Keil and tell him where you are—and then we’ll go to a movie. Want to?”

“Can I have popcorn?”

Born for business, most kids. Always making deals. When I took her home, finally, I went in with her—or to the threshold, as it turned out—to make sure she didn’t get in any hot water.