Larkspur (7 page)

I turned my ankle again, harder, slowed to a stop and stood on the graveled shoulder of
the road, panting and flexing my knees. Dumb thing to do, running at night.

I walked on feeling the sweat dry on my body and shivering, though the air was still
fairly warm. Was Jay running a marathon? I untied the sweatshirt and pulled it on. Well, I had
wanted a stroll. I would take a stroll. The heck with running races.

There was no wind at all. On either side of the road enormous conifers towered in black
silence. What if the old man died? I didn't want our efforts to go to waste. More than that, I had
liked Llewellyn in spite of my prejudice against poets. He'd enjoyed playing the host, and after
the picnic he'd even seemed relaxed. I knew too little of medical matters to say a heart attack was
impossible, and I liked that thought better than poison in the Campari.

I skirted a dead opossum. More evidence of mortality. Ugh. I walked on.

After the ambulance had raced off, my mind had widened its focus to include the other
guests once more. They had all seemed human in their shock. Now I wondered whether any of
them besides Angharad stood to gain from Llewellyn's death. He was a very wealthy man.

Our holiday was over. I thought of the lake with regret, and of my need to have a
peaceful time with Jay. We were going to have to talk, have it out, clear the air, put up or shut
up--stale phrases slid in and out of my awareness. That had been one of my motives for coming
to the lake--a little crisis counseling. But the crisis was over. I stopped dead in the dark road.

It was true. Maybe the fact that we had spent an hour and twelve minutes breathing
together in perfect unison had told me something. The tangled resentments had vanished. Jay and
I, for better or worse, were a team, and we would work things out.

Where was the man? I cocked my head. Silence. Maybe he
was
running a
marathon. I walked slowly onward, taking in the spangled arch of the Milky Way and savoring
the new insight.

If Jay and I had been out of synch the past six months, the fault was at least half mine.
The sheriff had shoved a load of work at Jay about the time I began drilling my basketball team.
If either of us had been less busy we could have adjusted our schedules. As it was we had seen
each other perhaps twice a week. Not nearly often enough. But it hadn't been his fault any more
than mine.

As I came to this safe conclusion Jay hove into sight, up the twisting stretch of asphalt a
good quarter mile and still running steadily. Downhill now, toward me.

I began jogging in place as I watched him approach, and when he neared me I turned,
lengthening my stride until it matched his. "You can pass the baton now."

He gave a short choke of laughter, breathing hard, and reached for my shoulders, pulling
me toward him. We did not stumble and fall on our faces. We strode along, even-paced, until we
were in sight of the lodge, then Jay broke step and slowed, panting. I was a little out of breath
myself.

We crunched across the graveled drive, half jogging, half walking, but as we approached
the veranda steps I touched his arm. "The dock?" I wasn't ready to go in.

He nodded and swerved aside, and we skirted the porch at a slow jog. Jay stumbled on
something, a grass-clod probably, and fell to one knee. He got up again, but we both slowed to a
walk. Jay's breathing was almost back to normal. I had no excuse to huff and puff, and I'm happy
to say I didn't. It pays to stay in shape. I was wide awake and in the mood to talk.

When we reached the dock I went clear to the end. I sat down by Miguel's sad, unlit
fireworks display, pulling off my sneakers. The water felt good on my bare feet. After a moment
Jay hunkered down beside me and splashed his face. The dock bobbed.

"Hello."

He sat and took off his sneakers, dangling his feet in the lake, too. "What's up?"

"Us."

"Smartass."

"I love you a lot," I said seriously.

He put his arm around my shoulders, and I hugged his middle with my right hand. "I
love you, too."

"Why?"

"Because I'm nuts about women who run in the middle of the night."

"I was just following your lead. Why, Jay?"

"Let me count the ways."

"Cut it out. I mean why the nightmare? Did something happen...he's dead, isn't he?"

He sighed and pulled away slightly. "Yes. I phoned the hospital from the kitchen
extension while everybody was going upstairs to bed."

I shivered and withdrew my arm. "You should've told me. It's not fair. We did our
best."

He didn't answer. Something plopped in the lake. We both stared out across the black
water. On the other shore the roof of the Peltz cabin gleamed a dull gray against the black
evergreens. My ankles were aching with cold so I drew my feet out and swiveled sideways,
leaning against Jay and staring at my pale toes. "What a stinking rotten thing to happen on the
Fourth of July."

"Yeah."

"I liked him. I didn't expect to, but he was funny and sharp as a tack and obviously in
charge of his life."

Jay said nothing.

"We did our best," I repeated.

He swore under his breath.

"Didn't we?"

I felt him take a deep lungful of air. "You did your best. I did mine. Our best just wasn't
good enough. It's an old story. I'm sorry, Lark."

I sat up and turned, trying to see him. His head was bent, and his feet still dangled in the
icy water. I reached out and touched his cheek. "Me, too. Don't go too far from me, Jay. I need
you."

"Jesus." He pulled me to him and hugged me almost desperately. He was trembling.

A light came on in the lodge.

Jay groaned.

"What is it?"

He gave me a last squeeze and scrambled up, feet dripping. "Shit. Telephone--can't you
hear it?"

I was squishing my damp feet into my shoes. "Dimly. Is it for you?"

"Bound to be. Miguel will be wandering around looking for me..."

"And waking everybody up."

"You got it."

It wasn't that bad. We found Miguel as he made his way back downstairs looking sleepy
and gorgeous in white pj bottoms and nothing else.

As usual his conversation with Jay was conducted in rapid Spanish. Jay went off to use
the phone in the hall. Miguel and I looked at each other.

"You want me to make the coffee,
señorita
?"

"I'll make a pot. Show me where, Miguel, and go back to bed. We're sorry to wake
you."

He shrugged philosophically and led me into the gleaming, state-of-the-art kitchen. A
coffee maker stood on the tiled counter. He pulled out a jar of coffee and a box of filters for me
and wandered off yawning. I found herb tea for Jay.

Janey stumbled downstairs about six-thirty. By that time we'd showered and dressed, and
I'd drunk about a gallon of what tasted like fresh ground Colombian. With cream.

"Is there any news?" Janey rubbed her eyes and took the cup of coffee I poured her. We
were standing in the kitchen.

I looked at Jay.

He said, reluctantly, "Mr. Llewellyn died last night."

"Oh, no!" Her face crumpled, and her nose turned pink. "That's so sad." She set the cup
on the counter. "And worse for you two. You worked so hard."

She was a sweet kid. I felt my eyes fill.

Jay said, "Did you know him very well, Janey?"

She picked her cup up again and took a distracted sip. "I've known him for years, since I
was in high school, actually. Mom and Dad got divorced when I was a freshman. Lydia knew
Dai, and when she married Dad they started coming out here in the summer. I spent my summers
with them, so I came, too. He was a nice old guy, but we didn't talk much. I don't think he found
me very interesting." She flushed and looked into her cup. "You know about his...about Hal
Brauer?"

"Yes."

"Well, that was two years ago. I'd just started my job, so I didn't come that summer.
Lydia said Dai was really down, and I can see why. Hal was fun, and they'd been together a long
time. When Hal was alive the joint really jumped." Her large brown eyes lifted to Jay's, pleading.
"It was like they were married, really."

Jay nodded. "Did Mr. Llewellyn come to the lodge last summer?"

"Yes, but he only stayed a week or so." She blushed again. "Then there was that business
about Ted Peltz and the pot farm this spring. Lydia said Dai came up for a few days then."

"How long have the Peltzes lived in their cabin?"

"It's not
their
cabin. Dai let them stay there. To keep an eye on the lodge." She
glanced at me and back to Jay. "Lydia says he did it to spite Angharad's mother. She didn't
approve of the marriage." Janey frowned. "I don't see it, though."

"Why not?"

"Dai wasn't spiteful." She teared up. "Gosh, I can't I believe he's gone."

"It was sudden," Jay said gently, "but he was an elderly man, and he had a long
productive life."

He wasn't ready to talk murder, I supposed. I felt uncomfortable, listening in on their
conversation because Jay was interrogating Janey, and she didn't know it. I wished he'd warn her
or something.

On the other hand, he didn't know for sure that the wine was poisoned. He was just
doing a little fishing while he waited for the hospital toxicologist to phone.

The earlier call had been Kevin Carey, Jay's second in command, reporting that the
medical examiner had already begun the autopsy. The fact that it was Saturday and the Fourth of
July weekend made everything awkward. The state forensics lab in Sacramento was in a holding
pattern during the holiday.

Maybe Jay decided he shouldn't push too hard, because he turned the conversation to
wind surfing, and Janey cheered up. She was heading north again in another week and could
hardly wait to get out on the river.

At that point we were interrupted by the cook who burst into a speech I knew was hostile
without understanding a word. We had invaded his territory. Janey and I refilled our cups, and we
slunk out to the lounge. Jay claimed the man was speaking Tagalog--he hadn't understood a word
either.

Bill Huff came down at seven. When he heard the news of Llewellyn's death, he said a
few conventional phrases and went off to the hall.

We heard him rummaging around for awhile, swearing. He returned with a pile of
creamy stationery and a plebeian looking ballpoint. Reportorial instincts. He began roughing out
a news story for the San Francisco
Chronicle
and an obit for his own weekly. I thought
that was cold-blooded, but he was just doing what came naturally--like Jay with Janey. I
reflected, cynically, that if Llewellyn's death from natural causes was a story, his murder was
going to be hot stuff. When Bill found out about it.

Miguel came in with a big coffee urn on a wheeled cart and announced that Domingo
was setting up a breakfast buffet. There would be food in half an hour. Not a minute too soon. I
was starving.

"
Señor
..." He was addressing Jay.

"What is it?"

"Is it true
el patr?n
is
muerte
?"

Jay drew a breath. "I'm afraid so, Miguel. I'm sorry."

"
Ay, Jesus
!" His hand flew to his mouth.

Jay said something in soft Spanish. After a moment, Miguel nodded and trailed out
looking like a whipped dog.

"You speak really well," Janey said. "I had two years in college, and I can barely say
huevos rancheros
."

"I grew up in one of the
barrios
."

That was not quite true. Jay had grown up at the edge of one of the
barrios
with
bilingual classmates in the days before bilingual education became respectable. He grew up
speaking street Spanish, but he also studied it for three years in high school and four in college.
For the second time in two days I wondered why Jay was being so loquacious about his
background. Maybe he wanted to distance himself from the privileged.

He succeeded in making Janey uncomfortable. Conversation languished. Bill was on a
second draft when Lydia walked in wearing white slacks and her lilac tunic.

Bill glanced up from his scribbling. "You'd better wake Denise. Llewellyn died last
night. Somebody will have to break the news to her."

Lydia's hands flew to her throat in a curiously theatrical gesture, but there was nothing
fake about her pallor. She sat down slowly on the nearest chair. "That's terrible."

"Yes." Bill crossed out a line. "Poor old duffer. Heart gave out for good."

I cleared my throat. "Had he suffered an earlier heart attack? I know he was on
digitalis."

"Angina, my dear," Lydia said sadly. "For his age he was remarkably healthy. Poor, poor
Dai. Someone will have to tell Ann."

"Mrs. Peltz?" Jay had been standing silently by the big fireplace.

"I was thinking of her mother," Lydia murmured, "but Angharad, too, of course."

At that point the telephone rang, and Jay went off to answer it looking thoughtful.

Bill scribbled, Lydia poured herself a cup of coffee, Janey and I sipped and looked at
each other. When Jay came back I could tell from the taut on-the-scent look that his suspicions
had been confirmed. It was murder.

He waited until he had caught everyone's eyes then said, without preamble or
explanation, "I want to talk to everybody who was here last night before you leave for home.
Mrs. Huff, if you'll wake Denise, Lark can walk over and let the Peltzes know. At nine. That'll
give you all time for breakfast and packing."

Janey and Lydia gaped at him. Bill frowned. "What the hell, Dodge? Aren't you taking a
lot on yourself?"

"Police business. I have some questions to ask you, and I might as well do it while you're
still here in one spot. Lark?"

I stood up. "What do you want me to tell them?"

"That Llewellyn is dead, and I want to question them." That was going to go down really
well with Ted Peltz.

"All right. Will you come with me, Janey?"