Knot in My Backyard (A Quilting Mystery) (19 page)

Beavers’s voice was taut. “The murder. Tell me what you know about the murder. You were being deliberately cagey this morning, but you clearly know something you wanted me to look at. Stop playing games and talk.”

I wanted to tell him everything, but I couldn’t risk sabotaging Aiken’s defense strategy for Ed. If the cops tried to go after Javier and Graciela, Pastor Luis Sandoval would help them disappear.

“I’d take a real close look at the Beaumont School baseball stadium project. I’d want to know which government agencies were involved—both local and federal. I’d follow the money trail to see where the funds came from to build the stadium and where they went. I’d take a close look at the personal lives and finances of all the people involved, including the murder victim. That’s what I’d do. But then, if I did, I’d just be meddling in police business.”

“Do you have specifics?”

“You said so yourself. I have a weird knack for educated guesses that turn out to be right.”

“What about the homeless witnesses? I know you better than to believe you went in the wildlife reserve just to distribute quilts.”

I would be so insulted . . . if he wasn’t so right.

“I don’t know where they are.” Not exactly a lie, but less than forthcoming.

Then I took a deep breath, knowing I was about to open up a tender subject. I still felt terrible about putting his dog in harm’s way, but I also wanted to see if he’d admit to dating that vet. “When is Arthur coming home?”

Beavers grudgingly answered me. “He’s walking, and Kerry says he’s making a remarkable recovery. He’ll be able to come home tomorrow.”

He’s not even trying to hide he’s on a first-name basis with the blond vet. However, just hearing him use her familiar name sent pangs into my heart
.
I tried to avoid reacting, but tears immediately sprang to my eyes and I swallowed hard.

“I’m so glad to hear he’s going to be okay.” Beavers’s silence lasted so long that I thought he’d hung up. Then he said in a quiet voice, “So you and Levy—”

“Never happened.” Then I thought about his kissing the vet and added, “At least not yet.”

“I thought—”

“Yeah, I know what you thought. The trouble is, instead of asking me about it, you walked away and treated me very badly. Apparently, it hasn’t taken you long to get on with your life. Frankly, I’m glad I saw this side of you before falling even more deeply in love.”

Oh, my God! Did I just use the L-word? Where did that come from?

Beavers was silent again for a long time. “Martha, we should talk about this.”

“
Now
you want to talk? I’m going to have to think about having any further conversation with you. There’s a lot going on in my life right now, and I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with your crap at the moment.”

Someone knocked.

“I’ve got to go. There’s someone at my door.”

I looked through the peephole. Simon Aiken stood there; his new diamond still sparkled in his ear. I let him in and he sat in a cushy chair in my living room while I settled on the cream-colored sofa.

“You got my message?”

Aiken nodded. “Yes. You sounded urgent, so I came over right away. What have you found out?”

I told him about a conspiracy involving payoffs and possible blackmail between the Beaumont School and the Army Corps of Engineers, Hardisty’s new Jaguar, and Price’s demand for hush money.

“Simon, you really need to get the baseball stadium documents from the corps. Dax Martin may have known enough to get him killed. If so, his murderer might be anyone involved in that deal who wanted to silence him.”

I also told him I was pretty sure Price was the one watching us from the Sepulveda Dam service road and called the police with the false report of gang activity. “She was probably afraid we’d find the witnesses to the murder, especially if they could lead us back to the corps.”

“Good work, Martha. I’ll contact my friend in the US Attorney’s Office first thing tomorrow. Tell me about locating the homeless witnesses today.”

I told Aiken about my conversation with Pastor Luis Sandoval and his determination to protect the couple from deportation to their country, where they’d meet certain death. “If you can talk to your friend at the US Attorney’s Office about getting them political asylum, they will probably be willing to step forward and tell us what they saw. They might even be able to identify the killer. We only have a couple of days to do it. Otherwise, they’ll leave Los Angeles and disappear. We’d never find them.”

The whole time we talked, Simon held his cell phone in both hands, texting notes with his thumbs. He looked up from the small screen. “It’ll be a tough sell, but I’ll get right on it. The problem is time. The US Attorney’s Office is pressuring the DA to arrest Ed. Based on what you’ve just discovered, I guess the US Attorney’s Office is getting heat from their sister agency, the Army Corps of Engineers. With all these Feds involved, they’d like nothing better than to wrap up the case fast in order to prevent any scandal with the engineers over this Beaumont thing.”

What chance will a little guy like Ed have in fighting the whole US government?

I looked anxiously at Aiken. “What are we going to do?”

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I’m trying to contact the DA to work out something.”

“There’s one more thing I’ve got to warn you about. You know a detective came into the wildlife reserve this morning? Well, he’s also working on Dax Martin’s murder. Until recently, he was my boyfriend.”

“Have you told him anything?”

“Not really. He’s been asking me what I know and I’ve managed to give him only vague answers. If I’m officially questioned, I’ll be compelled to answer truthfully. I can’t claim attorney-client privilege.”

He thought for a moment. “You told me Pastor Sandoval spoke in hypotheticals, right?”

“Yeah. He never said he actually knew Javier or Graciela or where to find them. He said things like ‘if they exist’ and ‘people like that.’”

“Then you should be okay. You really have nothing specific to tell the police.”

I walked Aiken to the door. He bent over and gave me a filial peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you at Ed’s house tomorrow night.”

I closed the door behind him and headed for bed. All I wanted to do was give my aching body a chance to lie comfortably on my memory foam mattress. I longed to fall asleep early and forget about Dax Martin, the Beaumont School, Lawanda Price, the riot police, and Pastor Luis Sandoval.

I especially didn’t want to think about Arlo Beavers and the fact that, even though I saw him kissing someone else, I’d told him I loved him. What had gotten into me? Right now, all I needed was the uncomplicated affection of my orange cat curled up next to me on the Ohio Star quilt covering my bed.

CHAPTER 29

I slept like the dead on Sunday night and woke up early Monday morning. My body still ached and my head pounded with a migraine. I suffered a fibromyalgia hangover from too much stress and activity the day before.

I struggled out of bed and reached for my pain medications. Bumper rubbed against my ankles and begged for breakfast. I learned a lesson from my uncle Isaac when I was a little girl. I had found a stray kitten and he said, “You have a big responsibility now. Your
ketzel
is relying on you to look after her. Torah says you must first take care of your animals even before you take care of yourself. Always remember that.”

And I did. I stumbled into the kitchen and poured some kibble in a dish and changed Bumper’s water before starting a strong pot of coffee for myself.

While my cat crunched loudly on his star-shaped kibble, I poured myself a cup of dark Italian roast. The extra caffeine in the coffee worked with my meds, and my headache slowly receded, but I felt fuzzy-headed and weak. The best way to get past a fibro flare-up was to spend the day resting. So, for the second day in a row, I’d have to postpone going to a Weight Watcher’s meeting. I fetched my Dresden Plate quilt from my sewing room, settled in my most comfortable easy chair, and put up my feet. My mind wandered in quiet meditation as I focused on guiding the one-inch needle through the fabric, making rows of small, even stitches.

My phone rang at eleven. My back and legs were stiff as I rose from my chair. “Hello?”

“Wonder Woman, this is Hilda. Something horrible has happened!”

“What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but you gotta do something. They’ve torn up the wildlife reserve.”

“They did
what
?”

“A construction crew showed up early this morning. All the people who lived down there were given ten minutes to get their things and leave. Ten minutes wasn’t enough time and a lot of people were forced to leave their tents and other belongings behind. The people who weren’t even there this morning will come back to find they have nothing left.”

“How can that be? The reserve is a federally protected wildlife habitat. No one can come in and destroy it. A construction crew you said? Not the army?”

“Yeah. Men with chain saws cut down the trees and big yellow bulldozers plowed the ground. They dumped all the tents and trees and brush into the lake and filled it over with dirt. The earth has been scraped clean. Plants, trees, lake—it’s all gone. There’s nothing left.”

“And nobody from the army was there?”

“I did see someone in one of those camouflage outfits sitting in an army jeep watching the whole thing from the service road.”

“Can you describe them?”

“I only saw red hair.”

Lawanda Price! She didn’t have the authority to order such flagrant destruction of protected land, but Barbara Hardisty, the woman who approved the Beaumont Stadium, did.

I could think of only one reason she’d do it. Hardisty must have gotten nervous when she found out we went into the reserve yesterday. She wasn’t going to take any chances someone might find witnesses to Dax Martin’s murder. So she made a preemptive strike and drove out all the homeless who lived in the basin.

This woman was a heartless monster. Where would those displaced people go now?

“How could you tell a privately owned construction company destroyed the wildlife reserve?”

“The name painted on the door of the truck was ‘Valley Allstar Construction.’”

Holy crap. Valley Allstar is the same company that built the Beaumont Stadium.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m calling from Rafi’s place. He let me use his phone.”

“Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

I threw on a short-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of jeans. The waistline wasn’t uncomfortably tight anymore, just snug. Did I lose some weight this past week? I was tempted to jump on the scale, but I decided not to take the time. I slipped into my pink Crocs and grabbed my keys.

Four hours had passed since I took my medication, and I felt clear-headed enough to drive. I drove south to the Boulevard and located a parking space in front of Rafi’s Falafel.

Hilda sat inside with a glass of cold water. Her fingers drummed anxiously on the table.

Rafi frowned at me. “Who do such a thing? It’s not enough these people have no house? Where is government? Where is
haganah,
the protection? Where they go now?”

I sat and shook my head sadly. “I don’t know, Rafi. We tried to help yesterday by giving them blankets and other personal items. Our mitzvah may have actually triggered what happened today. I think someone was afraid we might be down there asking questions, so they forced everyone to disappear.”

Rafi lowered his voice. “I don’t know what you involved in, but you must be careful. If they get rid of people who can
answer
questions, maybe they try to get rid of people who
ask
questions.”

Actually, that thought had crossed my mind—although I didn’t sense any immediate personal danger. I was determined to unravel the tangled threads connecting the Beaumont School, the Army Corps of Engineers, Valley Allstar Construction, and the brutal murder of Dax Martin. And for what they destroyed this morning, I wanted badly to hurt them all.

Who knew? If we could blow the conspiracy wide open, maybe we could even compel the engineers not only to rebuild the reserve but to also tear down the offending baseball stadium while they were at it. They might be shamed into restoring the land to the public green space it was meant to be.

“I want to go to the wildlife reserve. Will you go with me, Hilda?”

“What for? It’s done. I’m sick, I’m mad, and I’m ready to give up.”

“Because I need to see for myself.”

I parked my car on the shoulder of Burbank Boulevard, right where I parked the day before. My abandoned athletic shoes were gone. Hilda and I didn’t have to walk down the access road to see the devastation. All the brush was gone, and we could clearly look down at the reserve from Burbank. The heavy construction equipment was gone and the dust had settled. Only the scorched earth was left.

Hilda and I walked down the access road to the bottom. More than eighty acres were scraped down to the bare dirt. Trees that once sheltered birds, animals, and human beings were now just low stumps with jagged edges. I walked over to a mound of topsoil where the lake once was. The corner of the half-buried green-and-white Windmill quilt stuck out of the dirt like a dead hand, shredded beyond repair. What would the young boy do now for warmth this coming winter?

Silence hung heavily where only yesterday I listened to the trilling of birds. All I heard now was the sound of cars whooshing down the nearby freeway and the harsh cawing of several crows circling overhead. My heart broke.

“I’d sure like to know what your uncle Isaac has to say about this,” Hilda said quietly. “If there’s a God, He wasn’t much use this morning, was He?”

“I don’t know what Uncle Isaac would say. I’m not going to let them get away with this!” My head was roiling with anger as we walked back up the hill toward Burbank Boulevard. When we reached the top, an army jeep was parked behind my Corolla.

Lawanda Price leaned against the door of the jeep, arms folded across her chest. She leveled a hard look at my face. “I saw you on television last night. Did you enjoy your fifteen seconds of fame?”