Tumbling Blocks (6 page)

Maggie rubbed her cheek against Boo’s head. “The only advice I have is that a person can fake anything for two weeks.”

“I certainly intend to try.”

The door opened as soon as the words came out of my mouth.

“Try what?” Gabe asked.

I looked away from Maggie, afraid the amused look in her shiny black eyes would cause me to start laughing. “Try to figure out how to tell my darling husband that he’s the most wonderful, understanding, open-minded, caring and generous person I’ve ever known.”

He gave a disbelieving grunt and raised his thick eyebrows. “What do you want? I’m already tempted to say no.” He glanced over at Maggie. “Who’s this cute little guy?” He reached over and scratched Boo under the chin with his forefinger. “Bet you can pick up fifty channels with that ear.”

Maggie carefully handed Boo back to me. “That’s my cue to head for the snack machine. I hear a Snickers calling my name.”

The situation dawned on Gabe. He had, after all, been a detective for the LAPD for many years before he took this police chief job.

“Oh, no,” he said, holding his hands up. “We’re not getting a puppy.” But the indulgence in his voice told me that, if a puppy was what I wanted, he wouldn’t fight me on it.

“That’s not what I’m asking.” I followed him into his office. “Boo belongs to Hud, and he asked me to baby . . . uh . . . puppy sit for the next two weeks.”

Gabe turned to study me, his jovial expression suddenly careful. He knew how Hud felt about me but had reluctantly conceded to my absolute assurance that Hud’s crush would pass and that Gabe had nothing to worry about. Gabe was sympathetic to Hud and what he’d gone through last month when his daughter was held hostage and, I guessed, felt a little guilty for the part his cousin played in it.

“Hud is going with Laura Lee and Maisie to Texas for Christmas. He bought Boo for Maisie at the suggestion of their family counselor.”

“Hud’s going to Texas with his ex-wife,” Gabe repeated, looking thoughtful.

I smiled. “I told you there was still something between them. Think of taking care of Boo as our way of helping reignite their love.”

“Don’t count on it,” he said, ever the cynic. “But, since you’ll be doing most of the work taking care of the little guy, I can’t say much.”

I set Boo down on the floor, where he promptly squatted and presented Gabe with a highly personal and aromatic gift.

“Stop him!” Gabe said. “The DA is meeting me here in ten minutes.”

“Relax,” I said, laughing. “I’m sure it won’t be the first time he’s smelled crap.”

“Very funny.” Gabe took a box of tissues from his credenza and held it out to me. “You can do the honors.”

I picked Boo up and handed him to Gabe. “Keep him out of trouble while I clean this up.” I picked up Boo’s mess with a doggie bag I’d stuck in my back pocket. “I have something else to discuss with you.”

He glanced up at the wall clock. “Can it wait?”

“It’s quick, I promise.” As I scrubbed the spot with some alcohol I found in Gabe’s desk, I told him about my odd encounter with Constance and her belief that Pinky Edmondson was murdered.

He groaned and shifted Boo in his arms. “That woman is nuts. Her friend died of a heart attack, plain and simple. Arva Edmondson’s doctor and the medical examiner both said there was absolutely no sign of foul play. The only family Mrs. Edmondson had was some distant cousins back East. They would not give permission to do an autopsy, and I don’t blame them. She was cremated, and her ashes will be flown to some family crypt in Philadelphia. Case closed.”

“I agree with you, but she’s all over me, Friday. Did she tell you she’s convinced that one of the aspiring members to the 49 Club offed Pinky to claim her spot? She also tried to hire me to investigate.”

Gabe threw back his head and laughed. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve heard all week.”

“Which statement are you referring to?”

He wisely refused to say. “Go ahead.”

I cocked my head, confused. “With what?”

“Tell her you’ll investigate. But don’t sign anything or make a statement that says she is hiring you to investigate. You’re not licensed, and that could get sticky. Call yourself an artistic consultant or something.”

I opened my mouth and clutched my chest, feigning a heart attack. “Am I hearing correctly? You actually
want
me to investigate Pinky Edmondson’s death?”

“I want you to keep Constance Sinclair off my back. If she thinks you’re investigating, she’ll leave me and my detectives alone.”

I nodded my head, grinning. “I wish I could get this on tape.”

“Don’t look so smug.” He handed Boo back to me. “If I really thought there was even a hint of truth to her story, I wouldn’t ask you to do this.”

“I’m just enjoying the moment. It’ll probably never happen again.”

“We agree on that.” He leaned down and kissed me lightly on the lips. “So what do you say, Mrs. Ortiz?” His voice caressed the words. I could tell it still thrilled him that I’d officially taken his last name a month ago. “Meet me at the train station at five forty-five? The other Mrs. Ortiz’s train is arriving at six.”

The
first
Mrs. Ortiz was the unspoken statement. I wondered briefly what she would think about me finally taking her son’s last name. “I’ll be there. What do you think we should do for dinner? Go out or eat at home?”

“You decide.”

He stuck his hand in his pants pocket and jiggled his keys. Gabe wasn’t the type of person who had nervous habits. Maybe it was his time in Vietnam as a foot soldier when he learned the art of perfect stillness, or maybe it was just his guarded personality, but it was hard for people, except the few who knew him very well, to tell when he was apprehensive. Anger and frustration he had no trouble showing. Fear or anxiety, that was something else. He was obviously more nervous about his mother visiting than I realized.

“How about my beef and barley soup, a green salad, baking powder biscuits and Dove’s peach cobbler?” I had all those things ready to throw together at home.

“Sounds perfect. I imagine Mom will be tired. Eating at home would be more relaxing.”

“Her room is ready down to her favorite Ivory soap and Meyer lemon hand lotion.”

He gave me a puzzled look. “You know her favorite soap and hand lotion?”

I shifted Boo to my other arm. “No great detective work there. I called your sister Becky. You should try it once in a while. She says you never call her back. Angel says the same thing.”

“I always mean to.”

I just rolled my eyes at him.

“Actually,” he said, changing the subject from his lack of communication with his sisters, “what you did is exactly what a good detective would do. Check the obvious source, those closest to the . . .” He stopped, obviously not wanting to compare his mother to a homicide victim.

“I’ll keep that in mind when I work on my new case.”

“
Pretend
case.”

I just shrugged. “Did you send someone to pick up Abe Adam Finch’s painting?” I’d called Gabe as soon as it was delivered at home this morning.

“Miguel picked it up. He’s the only one of my officers that Scout was likely to let in.” He nodded across the room at a locked closet. “It’s right there. Just let me know when you want it delivered to the museum.”

“Probably tomorrow. The security people are supposed to come by today and check the system.”

The intercom on his desk buzzed, and Maggie informed Gabe that the district attorney had arrived.

“See you tonight,” Gabe said. “Have fun playing Nancy Drew.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Chief. You owe me big time for this.”

On the way out to my truck, the more I thought about it, the more difficult it seemed. Would Constance fall for it? And how long did I need to keep up the charade? Maybe I needed a little coaching, so I decided my next stop would be my friend Amanda Landry’s office. Though she’d been a private attorney for years, she’d recently accepted a deputy district attorney position with the county. She specialized in crimes against women and children. Maybe Amanda could give me a few tips about what I could do to make Constance believe I was really investigating this alleged crime.

I hooked Boo in his car seat and headed for the government offices downtown. It was only when I parked on the street across from the county courthouse that I realized, unlike my well-trained, adult dog, whom I could, on a cool winter day like today, leave for a half hour or so in the cab of my truck with a dish of water and the windows rolled down, I couldn’t leave this little puppy for one second. And I doubted that he’d pass for a Seeing Eye or companion dog, so I couldn’t take him inside the county buildings.

“You are already beginning to put a crimp in my style,” I told him. He was sleeping peacefully in his padded bed. I sat there contemplating my next move when luck smiled upon me. I spotted my stepson, Sam, walking down the opposite side of the street.

I rolled down my window. “Hey, Sam! Want to make twenty bucks?”

He waved at me and called back, “Sure, I’m flat broke.”

That’s what I was counting on. Sam, Gabe’s only child, had lived in San Celina for the last few years, most of the time out at my dad and gramma Dove’s ranch. He worked as a part-time ranch hand for his room and board, and at various other jobs around town, including Elvia’s bookstore, for his spending money. In between that and his extensive social life, he attended Cal Poly University. Right now, his major was culinary arts, his latest ambition to be a chef. He’d stuck with this major longer than any other and worked occasionally for a couple of the town’s catering companies, so it looked like this major might be the
one
.

Sam loped across the street toward my truck. Though my husband was a handsome and distinguished-looking man, his son was magazine model material. His once short, black, shiny hair was shaggy and wild, a new, slightly artsy look for him. He wore black jeans and a red T-shirt that said, Chicks Dig a Man who Bastes. He and Gabe had an often fractious relationship, but Sam and I had hit it off from the beginning, mostly because, not ever being a mother, I didn’t have any interest in mothering him.

“Who do I have to kill?” he asked when he reached me. He leaned inside the open window, resting his tanned arms on the frame. “Wow, cute puppy.”

“Glad you think so. That’s what I need you to do for the next hour. Take care of Boo while I investigate a murder for your father.”

“Who and what?” His dark brown eyes sparkled with questions.

I gave him the quick rundown on Boo’s name, his temporary visit, Constance Sinclair’s assertion about her friend and Gabe’s request of me.

“Man, Pinky is dead?” Sam said. “That stinks. She was a cool lady. Outstanding tipper.”

“You knew Pinky Edmondson?” Today offered one surprise after another. Sam and Pinky were about a thousand miles apart on San Celina’s social scale.

“Met her when I worked a couple of gigs for Jacques.” Jacques of San Celina was one of the oldest caterers in the county. Many Cal Poly culinary students had learned their catering chops working for Jacques.

“Pinky liked real traditional catering,” Sam said. “Stuffed mushrooms, shrimp puffs, Brie, French Chardonnay. You know, old-school finger food. She belonged to some ladies’ club that we did a couple brunches for. Unlike some of the women there, not mentioning any names . . .” He raised one dark eyebrow. “She was real nice. Like I said, good tipper and didn’t throw any crazy fits.”

I knew he was referring to Constance, whose fits were legendary. “Pinky actually died of a heart attack, but Constance has been haranguing your dad with her absolute belief that Pinky was murdered. Your dad has passed her obsession on to me.”

“Harsh,” he said sympathetically. “You have to, like, fake her out?”

“Exactly. I decided to get some tips on how I could do that from my friend Amanda in the district attorney’s office, but then I remembered my furry little friend here.”

“No problem. I’ll watch the little monster while you learn how to lie.”

I grimaced at the word
lie
. “There’ll be no actual lying taking place. I’m just going to . . .” I faltered.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, okay,” I conceded. “There might be untruths spoken, but it’s in the name of harmony.” That certainly didn’t justify it, but it was all I had.

“Whatever,” Sam said. “Tell it to your priest. No judgment here.” He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Boo was awake now and ready for some new fun.

“Meet me back at the truck in an hour. Here’s a leash and some plastic bags. Don’t forget to clean up after him.”

“Got it,
madrastra
.” Sam stuffed the leash and bags in his pocket, then picked Boo up. “This’ll be sweet,” he called over his shoulder. “Women love puppies.”

“An hour,” I called back. “Then you get your twenty bucks.”

I watched him walk down Lopez and, sure enough, before he reached the end of the block, two college-age girls had stopped him and were cooing over Boo. I had a feeling after an hour, I’d have to search him out and pry that girl-attracting puppy out of his arms.

Inside the gray concrete government buildings, I took the elevator up to the district attorney’s offices on the third floor. The cool, nondescript foyer was empty. Behind the bulletproof, Plexiglas window a clerk asked me if I had an appointment with Ms. Landry.

“No,” I said.

“I’ll see if she’s free.”

I flipped through a three-month-old
Time
magazine, thinking that this bland office was a huge change from the one Amanda had leased above the Ross Department Store. Earlier in her law career she worked for the San Francisco district attorney’s office. When her father, a retired Alabama judge, died and left her a small fortune, she moved to San Celina and went into private practice. She was tired of dealing with sociopaths every day, she’d told me the first time we’d had lunch when she dropped by the museum and offered her pro bono services to the museum and co-op.