“Since you took your mom’s computer back in December,” I said, “the cops didn’t find it when they searched her house the day they arrested Sean. I’m guessing that when they talked to you, they asked if you knew where it was.”
Evie shrugged, without looking at me. So I wasn’t the only one she’d been lying to. I had to wonder whether she seriously considered the contents of Peaches’s computer irrelevant to the murder investigation, or whether she had another reason to withhold it from the police.
I said, “The detectives must have reviewed your mother’s bank records. Did they ask you where that forty-one K a month came from?”
“I told them I didn’t know,” she said.
Good grief. Had she been straight with Howie and Cookie about anything?
“It must have occurred to you,” I said, “that every one of your mother’s blackmail victims is a potential murder suspect. How do you know one of them didn’t get fed up with shelling out hush money all those years and decide to end it for good? The police need to know about those men, Evie. They need that computer.”
She was shaking her head before I finished speaking. “If one of them was going to kill her, they wouldn’t have waited decades to do it. The police have the right person—my brother. My mom’s background, the sex work and the blackmail, it’s awful, but it’s in the past, and it has no bearing on what happened to her.”
“At least consider—”
“No.” She stopped walking and speared me with a hard look. “It’s private family business, Jane. I have no intention of making our shame public. That’s final.”
Well, I’d done my best. I’d given her a chance to come clean on her own, to turn over Peaches’s laptop to the detectives and share what she knew. Evie might be counting on the fact that I’d once promised to keep everything she told me confidential. It pained me to have to violate a client’s privacy, but it would pain me more to keep mum about information critical to a murder investigation.
I’d phone Howie as soon as I got back to my car. Scratch that. I’d phone Cookie, since her grumpy partner would doubtless give me a hard time for involving myself in police business. That’s how he’d see it, when all I was trying to do was share pertinent information I’d come across, as any good citizen should. Detective Howard Werker needed to lighten up.
We continued slogging across the sand toward the boardwalk. “I hate to admit it,” Evie said, “but it’ll be a relief when they convict Sean and put him away. Then I can start to put this whole horrible thing behind me.”
I’d never before heard someone yearn for the day a family member would be sent to prison for murder. I wondered if she’d convinced herself he was guilty so she would no longer have to deal with the stress of the murder investigation.
“Meanwhile,” she added, “at least I now have the legal right to kick him out of Mom’s house and start to undo the damage he’s done. I still think of it as Mom’s house, but I found out it actually belongs to me.”
This was another You don’t say moment. With Evie, I was either pretending to know something I didn’t, or pretending not to know something I did. There seemed to be no middle ground. I pasted on a quizzical expression. “The house is yours? I thought you and Sean would have to split it.”
“It turns out my grandfather left it to me, not Mom,” she said. “She tossed out his will and told everyone the house was hers. Mr. Jakobsen managed to locate the original will. He’s done a terrific job for me, Jane, with that and other stuff. Thank you for recommending him.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “I’m glad Sten was able to help you. If I may ask, why do you think your grandfather disinherited your mother? I mean, I’m just assuming she didn’t inherit anything from him.”
To my daughter, Gertrude Violet Gillespey, I leave nothing, for reasons well known to her.
“That’s right,” Evie said. “Grandpa had no financial assets to speak of, but he did have the house and its contents, which included some fine furniture, antiques, and artwork. He left all that to me. She didn’t get so much as a spoon.”
“Even after she paid the upkeep on the house all those years?” I said.
“Grandpa made no secret of the fact that he disapproved of Mom’s ‘lifestyle choices.’ Most people assume he meant her living in sin with my dad, but that never seemed to bother him. He was always nice to me and Sean, and to Dad, too. But he was cold toward my mom. I never could figure out why, and Mom wouldn’t talk about it. What do I think now? I think he knew about the sex work.”
“I can see how that particular lifestyle choice might disappoint a parent,” I said. “Good luck getting the house in shape. I suppose this means your brother will have to move back in with your grandma and your dad.”
She sighed. “Poor Grandma. She should kick the both of them out and let them fend for themselves for once.”
We’d reached the ramp to the boardwalk. I halted there, and so did Evie. “Listen,” I said, “I have a question that might seem a little, well, odd. It’s about the day your neighbor Zak Pryce’s wife died.”
“Oh yes, what a nightmare,” Evie said. “I liked Stacey. She was always so nice to me. She took me out for my first mani-pedi when I turned twelve. My mom would never have done anything like that with me. Two months later, Stacey was gone.”
“Zak was at your house that day, watching tennis on TV with your folks,” I said. “That’s what he told the police, and your mom and dad corroborated it. So the thing I’m wondering is, did you happen to see him at the house that day?”
“No. That was a school day,” she said, “the first Friday of the school year, in fact. We had our first Mathletes meeting that afternoon. I remember I came home near dinnertime, and Sean—he was nine then—he couldn’t wait to tell me what happened across the street, like it was the most exciting thing ever. Like something on TV.”
“I guess the police had already talked to your mom and dad by then,” I said.
Evie nodded. “Stacey had already been... well, they’d already taken her away. The detectives were still over at Zak’s place, but all the emergency personnel were gone by the time I got home.”
“So Zak used to do stuff with your folks?” I asked.
“No, not really,” she said. “Well, not at all, as far as I knew. But I guess that day was an exception. It’s too bad. If he’d been home, Stacey might still be alive. They might have kids now. It’s too sad to think about.”
“Thanks.” We put on our shoes and started up the ramp. “I was just afraid you and your brother might have been traumatized by the, um, incident.”
“Well, coming home to the terrible news was bad enough,” she said. “Sean was around when the whole thing went down, but like I said, he found it entertaining. That’s how he’s always been, since he was in diapers. A little hoodlum.”
We’d reached the boardwalk, and I was about to take my leave of Evie when the opening bars of “Tequila” sounded from my phone. I almost dumped the call, but then I saw it was from Martin. He was more of a texter than a caller, so I figured it might be important.
I held up a finger. “One second, Evie. I apologize, I have to take this.” I answered the phone with, “Make it fast, Padre.”
“The crime lab got results on the residue in the soda bottle they found with Peaches,” he said. Obviously he’d been chatting with his cop buddy again.
“And...?” I said, while Evie politely waited for me to wrap up my call.
“And they found a sedative in the bottle,” he said. “A lot of it. Someone spiked Peaches’s soda.”
My nape prickled. “Do they know what brand? Specifically?”
“I haven’t been able to find that out,” he said, “but I’m working on it. Could be anything. Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew—”
“Not that. The, um, other,” I said.
“Oh, you mean the sedative. Yeah, it’s a new one. Never heard of it before. It’s called Zenaproche.”
14
Apathy
and Stultifying Torpor
WELL, THAT WAS AWKWARD, standing there with Evie at the very moment I learned that Peaches’s killer had apparently drugged her before doing the deed. And what had been the murderer’s drug of choice? Why, none other than Zenaproche, the new sedative that dedicated pharmaceutical rep Evie Moretti had been hawking.
You’d be proud of me. My facial expression didn’t change one iota as I took in Martin’s surprising news. Well, maybe one iota. Okay, more like three or four iotas if we’re getting technical. Fortunately, I don’t think she noticed.
I called Detective Cookie Kaplan as soon as I got home and filled her in on everything I’d learned from, and about, Evie Moretti. We talked about Peaches’s purloined computer, the prostitution and blackmail spreadsheet (positively brimming with new suspects), biological dad David Waldmann, and Evie’s connection to Zenaproche.
Cookie didn’t press me on how I’d learned the crime lab had found a sedative in the soda bottle. Well, not too hard, anyway. She was well aware that both Sophie and Martin somehow had access to sources of classified information, and there wasn’t a darn thing she or Howie could do about it. And since neither the mayor nor the padre—nor yours truly for that matter—tended to broadcast sensitive information all over town, Cookie probably figured she had more important battles to fight.
“But what about the fact that no drugs were found in Peaches’s system?” Cookie asked. “No Zenaproche, nothing.”
I hesitated too long.
“Great,” she said. “You didn’t know about that till I told you.”
“Look at it this way,” I said. “I’d have found out soon enough. We both know that.”
“You and your pals are out of control,” she said, but the complaint was tinged with admiration.
“So what does it mean that the sedative in the bottle wasn’t found inside Peaches?” I asked. “That someone tried to drug her and failed?”
“Well,” Cookie said, “the soda bottle was found on the floor, so maybe it got knocked over before she had a chance to drink it.”
“And they’re certain the bottle is connected to the murder?” I asked.
“The lab says the timing checks out,” she said, “so yeah, we’re going on the assumption it’s connected.”
THE NEXT MORNING I took Sexy Beast to the groomer’s. Back when Irene had owned him, she’d indulged his aversion to shampoo and clippers, essentially turning the poor little guy into a matted hairball on legs. Once I became his guardian, SB started getting his curls coiffed on a regular basis. He now looked and smelled like the pampered little lapdog he was born to be.
Rocky was the most sought-after groomer in Crystal Harbor and beyond. Not only did he do an exceptional job on all manner of canines and felines, but he had a sweet, patient personality that instantly put all animals at ease, including animals of the human persuasion. If Rocky had a last name, no one knew what it was. He was like a Hollywood celebrity that way, or one of his four-legged clients.
Minnie Shapiro was behind the desk when I carried Sexy Beast into Rocky’s salon, charmingly decorated in a laissez-faire bohemian style, with an eclectic mix of colors, patterns, and textures that shouldn’t have worked together yet somehow did. Minnie was a hundred ten years old. Okay, I don’t know how old she actually was, but I’ve often wondered how many of the town’s Prohibition-era speakeasies she’d frequented back in the day.
Minnie paused her yoga practice to greet us. “Well, hello there, you sexy little beast.”
“Thanks, Minnie.” I struck a pinup-girl pose.” You’re not so bad yourself.”
“SB,” she said, “how do you put up with this one?”
He snorted as if to say, I tried driving her out into the country, but she keeps finding her way back.
“The usual?” she asked, meaning the kind of cut I preferred for Sexy Beast’s apricot coat.
“Yep,” I said. “Clean face and feet, short all over the body, fluffy topknot.” No pompons for my beloved pet, thank you very much. Leave the froufrou for the show dogs. As for the topknot, I always suspected Rocky practiced on Minnie’s own neatly rounded tuft of dandelion fluff.
The door to the inner sanctum opened and Rocky emerged. He was around fifty, but the only hint of middle age was his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. We should all be so slim and fit at the half-century mark.
He said, “Well, if it isn’t my favorite toy poodle.”
“What about your favorite Death Diva?” I said.
He pretended to look around. “Is she here?”
I mock-pouted. “I’m feeling very unloved today. First Minnie and now you.”
“I pay Minnie to be mean. Makes me seem absolutely adorable by comparison.” He took in my jeans and dark green (stretched-out but comfy) sweater. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
This line had been a running joke between us since the previous summer when I’d found myself on detestable Miranda Daniels’s detestable TV program, Ramrod News, wearing nothing but some va-va-voom undies I’d been trying on, over my own drab granny panties. Did I mention this incident occurred in a lingerie store? My good pal Rocky never lets me forget the humiliation.
Well, isn’t that what good pals are for?
“SB,” I said, “you have my permission to pee on his leg.”
“As if he would ever.” He took Sexy Beast from me and played kissy-face with him for a bit, before turning him over to Minnie for scritches and a treat. “Jane, can I have a word?” He led me across the room to an overstuffed, zebra-patterned love seat out of earshot of his nosy receptionist.
I’d never known Rocky to look uncomfortable, but he looked uncomfortable now as we settled on the love seat. I said, “Did someone die?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, you know, terrible, it’s just something Ian mentioned.” Ian was Rocky’s boyfriend. “You know he and Bonnie are good friends, right? I mean, you might even know this news already, only it just happened, so probably not.”
I thought of Bonnie’s antipathy toward Martin, her desire to apprehend him in the commission of some felony or other so she could have the pleasure of sending him away for a good long stretch. Had she gotten lucky? Had the padre gotten careless? I wiped my damp palms on my jeans. “Okay, let’s have it.”
“Well,” he said, “and I mean, I have no idea whether you even care at this point, because you are so over Dom. You are still over him, right?”
I allowed myself a sigh of relief. It wasn’t about Martin. “Rocky, are you trying to tell me Dom and Bonnie have set the wedding date?” I asked. “Because as far as I’m concerned, it’s about time.”
“That’s just it,” he said. “There’s not going to be a wedding. Not between Dom and Bonnie, anyway. She has a new man.”
My gasp was loud enough to make Minnie look up from her Warrior Pose, and Sexy Beast to look up from his Napping Pose on the little zebra-patterned dog bed that was a miniature replica of our love seat.
“No!” I blurted. “I mean, sure, they broke up for a little while last summer, but as far as I know, there was never anyone else.”
“Well, there is now,” Rocky said. “His name is Clay something, and he’s a, I don’t know, something in finance. Or insurance. Something boring anyway.”
“I appreciate the heads-up,” I said, “but if you’re expecting me to drop my ‘over him’ act and snatch Dom up now that he’s single, then make yourself comfortable, ’cause you’re in for a good long wait. Meaning yes, I am well and truly over him.”
“I’m relieved to hear it, Jane,” he said. “You wasted too much time mooning over that man. Not that I have anything against Dom. He’s a great guy, but he’s not the guy for you.”
“I must say, though, this is a surprise. I really thought it was going to work out between the two of them.”
“Okay,” he said, “I have to tell you what else Ian said. He’s about ninety-nine percent sure the breakup was mostly about you.”
“Me?” I said. “Rocky, you kno
w there’s nothing between Dom and me.”
“I know that,” he said, “and I’m pretty sure Bonnie knows it, too. But she also knows Dom is still hung up on you.”
“Sure he is,” I scoffed. “That’s why he went through those two other wives after we divorced, and had three kids with them. Because he’s still hung up on me.”
“Maybe he wasn’t always,” he said, “but he is now. At least, that’s what Bonnie thinks. Ian said she would never have given that finance guy a second look if she thought she could make Dom forget about you.”
The door to the shop opened and Zak Pryce entered, accompanied by Dylan. The big, white mutt made a beeline for Sexy Beast, their exuberant greetings marked by, yes, Downward Dog Pose as they invited each other to play. The dogs’ excitement over reuniting made me consider, not for the first time, getting a second pooch to keep SB company.
Zak was still the epitome of Brooklyn chic in slim black jeans, a black V-neck tee, a subtly striped wool scarf, and a charcoal-gray cardigan that appeared hand-knitted. The two of us exchanged greetings, and Minnie signed Dylan in.
“All right,” Rocky said, rising, “I’d better get busy or I’ll have a regular dog pageant on my hands. Come on, guys, let’s go get gorgeous.”
Sexy Beast and Dylan happily followed their groomer into the mysterious place where the magic happened. The door closed behind them.
Behind her desk, Minnie assumed the one-legged Tree Pose and said, “You two know the drill. It’s gonna be a while. I’ll text you when they’re ready.”
I was still seated. Zak turned to leave, but I caught his eye and patted the cushion next to me, wordlessly inviting him to set a spell. I hadn’t clapped eyes on Peaches’s neighbor since Dom and I knocked on his door nearly a week earlier, and I was hoping he might shed light on a Big Question that had been nagging me for several days.
Preserving Peaches Page 21