I sat there numbly. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. What a jerk I was. Martha saw the look on my face and came over to sit beside me. She put her arm around me, pulling me close.
“There’s no way you could have known, Cass, so don’t beat yourself up. Anyway, Grimes, true to form, tried to insinuate that Erica, being a man-hating dyke who’d already killed a man once for rape, had done the same to her uncle when he tried to get a little too intimate with her. He talked to all sorts of people in town who claimed that Trinidad was acting like Erica was more than his niece. He ran a check on her, and when the computer turned up her part in the previous case, he went ape-shit. He was positive she’d flunk the polygraph and that he’d get her to confess. But Wong says she did real good. Even Grimes is admitting now that she may be innocent. Although he still doesn’t want her leaving town. Polygraphs aren’t foolproof, after all.”
“I can’t believe I said that to her.”
“Hey. So you stuck your foot in your mouth. Go apologize. I’ll wait here.” Martha gave me a little shove, and I got off the couch, making the long trek down the hall to the guest room. Her door was shut and I knocked. Receiving no answer, I opened the door and peeked in. Erica was throwing clothes into her overnight bag with barely contained fury.
“Erica?” I said. “Can I come in?”
“Suit yourself.”
I walked over and sat on the end of the bed. “Sometimes, I’m an asshole.”
“Obviously.” She wasn’t going to make this any easier.
“It’s just that I felt like you weren’t being up front with me. Like you didn’t trust me enough to confide in me. When the sheriff told me you’d been involved in a murder case, I didn’t know what to think. All I knew is that you’d lied to me, and that hurt.”
“I never lied to you.” She turned to face me. Her eyes were the color of sapphires, and they burned right through me.
“By omission,” I said. “You lied by omission.”
“I’m sure there were a few things you skipped right over yourself,” she said. “Anyway, I didn’t exactly feel like going into it right then. And I really don’t feel like going into it again right now either. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d feel more comfortable over at the lodge tonight. I’m sure Martha will give me a ride.”
“I’m sure she will,” I said. It wasn’t all the same to me at all, but I’d be damned if I’d say so.
“Maybe we can do the dinner another time,” she said, walking past me, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder.
“Yeah, sure.” I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, doing my best not to break into tears. I didn’t know if I was more angry or hurt. All I knew was, Erica was leaving and I didn’t want her to. But I’d apologized enough. I wasn’t going to grovel.
Martha tapped on the door and pushed it open. “I guess that didn’t go too great, huh?” she said. “You gonna be okay?”
I nodded and waved her away.
“You want me to come back over after I drop her off? You still want to talk about the case?”
I shook my head no and again waved her away.
“If you want to talk, call me,” she said, backing out the door. I listened to them leave, but stayed on the bed long after the whine of Martha’s boat had faded, alone with my conflicting emotions.
Chapter Thirteen
My dreams that night were fitful. Several times I awoke bathed in sweat, with images of severed penises and burning houses swirling in my head. But the last dream I had made up for all the others. It started in a hot tub, moved into the bedroom and was not interrupted by knocking on the door. My heart was still pounding wildly when I got out of bed Sunday morning.
After my shower, which I admit was less hot than usual, I dressed in jeans and a white button-down blouse that Martha always said showed off my tan. The day outside promised to be sunny, and both Gammon and Panic were anxious to go for a romp in the woods. It had been days since they’d been outside, and as I fed them, I promised them that when I returned we’d all go outside together. This seemed to satisfy them, and they curled up in a patch of sun on the sofa.
Over coffee and toast, I planned my next course of action. Regardless of Erica’s feelings for me, I intended to go through with the investigation. For one thing, this was my first real case, and I felt a strong need to succeed. Even if it turned out to be my last, I wanted to be able to hold my head up in town. By now, the way news traveled in Cedar Hills, I figured half the town knew I was a private investigator. For better or worse, my identity had changed. I’d rather be known as the one who caught the “Cedar Hills Killer,” as the locals dubbed Trinidad’s murderer, than the one who had tried and failed. For another thing, I was totally hooked, and felt a personal desire to catch the killer. I admitted that I also wanted to impress Erica.
The first thing I needed to do was to confirm Alan Pinkerton’s claim that he’d spent the night with Jess’s son, and that Jess could vouch for his presence there around ten o’clock. It would be nice to be able to rule somebody out. And, I decided, while I was out and about, I’d keep my eyes open for someone with a torn jacket. I’d started doubting my own theory about why someone had broken into the school science lab, even though I’d managed to convince Booker that it was at least a possibility.
It was getting harder and harder to connect Trinidad’s murder with the other crimes in town, but it would be foolish not to follow up on the few clues I had. It was obvious that Tommy wasn’t the only one in town who smoked Marlboros. The fact that Tommy had lied about seeing the fire didn’t bother me as much as the fact that on both the night of the murder and the night of the arson, he was out in his boat on the lake, without running lights, supposedly with a woman who had either slept with or come on to both of the victims. Had they done it together? I wondered. If so, what was the motive? Revenge for rejection? Jealousy? And then there was Ed Beechcomb. Could he really be so blind as not to notice that his wife was sleeping with every male in town? I made a note to check on Ed’s attendance at Wednesday night’s bowling and Friday’s Elks Lodge meeting. Suddenly, I had a busy day ahead of me.
I said good-bye to my furry companions, admonishing Panic not to let her portly sister eat all the crunchies in their bowl, and went out into what was shaping up to be a glorious day. The sun had already warmed the morning air, and mist rose from the water in vaporous wisps which floated lazily upward before disappearing into the bright blue sky. Blue heron cruised the shore while ospreys took turns diving into the water, fishing for bluegill and sunfish along the surface. The Sunday water skiers had not yet ventured out on the lake, so the only sounds were the exultant cries of the birds and the thunderous splashes when they dove.
For a moment, I was tempted to scrap my plans, set up a chair on the dock and try out my new fly rod. But the case was beginning to tug at me. I hopped into my Sea Swirl and sped across the glassy lake. Sometimes the sheer pleasure of ripping along at a fast clip, hair blowing straight back, being sprayed by water, is as much as a person can ask for. By the time I arrived at the marina, I was in much better spirits.
Buddy Drake was at the gas dock with Tommy when I arrived, and he waved me over. I noticed his usually scraggly black moustache had been neatly trimmed and his hair was slicked back with some kind of gel, making him look quite dapper. I’d hardly ever seen him without his baseball cap, and I wondered idly if Buddy might not have a romantic interest somewhere along his mail route. Smiling, I wondered if he knew Betty Beechcomb. He greeted me with a huge grin. “I hear you were quite the hero the other night. Congratulations.”
“You’ve been listening to Jess Martin too much,” I said, laughing.
“Actually, it was Sheriff Booker that mentioned it. He seems quite taken with you. Too bad he’s already married, huh?” Buddy had been trying to set me up with various locals for three years. I think he knew my preferences leaned toward women, but he was on a mission to save me. “You think your pal wants her uncle’s
mail, or should I have it held at the post office?” He ran his hand over his slicked back hair.
“I guess you better have it held,” I said. “I don’t think she’s going to be staying in town very long.” The realization that this was probably true hit me unexpectedly. But I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on it. I had a case to solve.
“Yeah, from what I hear, the cops are startin’ to look elsewhere. I guess she’s been cleared, eh?”
I was always amazed at the speed with which news traveled in this town. My own guess was that Buddy himself was largely responsible for this. His boat route took him from dock to dock, where more often than not people rushed out to greet him. What he learned from one person, he passed on to the next. By the time he was done with his morning route, he knew everything there was to know, and so did everyone else.
“You got any leads yet? This thing has got people all riled up. Some think there might be some kinda connection with that fire out at the Hendersons. Any truth to that notion?”
I knew I was being pumped for information, but I figured I could put Buddy’s gossiping skills to good use. If the killer thought the police were closing in on him, maybe he’d do something dumb to tip his hand. So I lied, big time.
“Well, this is just between you and me,” I lowered my voice, “but I think we’re closing in on ’em. Things are really starting to fall into place now. I really can’t say more than that, though, or the sheriff will have my hide.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what he told me, too,” he said, lying smoothly. Unless, of course, Tom Booker was as devious as I was and had planted the same information with Buddy. Either way, I was hopeful that it wouldn’t take long before the murderer, whoever he or she was, heard that an arrest was imminent.
Buddy wished me good luck and Tommy told me to be careful. I eyed him, wondering if there was some hidden meaning in his warning, but he smiled innocently, his elfin face as carefree as a cherub’s. Which I knew didn’t mean a thing.
I tossed the kitchen trash bag I’d brought into the rusty dumpster and headed to Jess Martin’s. One of these days, I’d have to start my car, I mused, passing my Jeep Cherokee in its usual spot, next to the dumpster. The last thing I needed was a dead battery. With a pang of regret, I noticed Erica’s red Miata was no longer parked at the marina.
Jess’s house was right on Main Street, a block from Loggers Tavern. One of the benefits of living in a tiny town was that people didn’t have to worry too much about drunk driving. All three bars were within easy walking distance from most homes. I could see Jess’s legs sticking out from under an old gray Chevy parked in front, and as I got nearer, I could hear him humming to himself.
“Haven’t you got that bucket of bolts running yet?” I asked. His feet jerked, and I heard a loud thump, followed by a curse. “Oops, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” I said sheepishly.
Jess pushed himself out from under the wreck and sat up, rubbing his head. His brown hair had been recently washed and his ponytail was still a little damp, but the stubble of beard on his lean cheeks showed, as always, at least two days’ worth of growth. I wondered how he managed to keep it at that exact length without ever actually growing a beard.
“Oh, that’s okay,” he said. “Might’ve knocked some sense into me.”
“Jess, there’s something I want to ask you. I was talking to Alan Pinkerton yesterday, and he said that on Friday he and some other boys spent the night at your house.”
Jess looked at me curiously, then stood up and leaned against the car. “That’s right, Cass, he did. Dougie had a couple of friends over that night. Bonnie fixed up the bunk room this summer and they usually stay out there. I think they rented some dirty movies, to tell you the truth. Every time I went to the back part of the house, they were laughing and making lewd noises. And I suspect they were drinking beer too. I guess our philosophy on that is, we’d rather have them doing that kind of stuff at home than out driving around where they could get into some real trouble. Why all this sudden interest in Pinkerton?”
“Jess, I know you eat lunch with Buddy Drake, and I know you two gossip like crazy. But if I ask you to not tell him or anyone else something, can I count on you?”
“Cassie, you have my word on it,” he said without hesitation. I knew he meant it.
“I have a bad feeling about that kid—Pinkerton. I know he’s your son’s friend and all, but personally he gives me the creeps. Anyway, there’s a slight possibility that he might have had something to do with the fire out at the Hendersons’. Erica and I saw a boat leaving the scene, with no running lights. I know that there were other boats out there without lights around that time, but Pinkerton had been calling the older Henderson girl, harassing her for not going out with him. I don’t have any actual proof, you understand, but instinct tells me that he might be involved. Except if you can say with certainty that he was at your house around ten, then I can cross him off the list.”
Jess reached into his shirt pocket and took out one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. He lit it, took a deep drag and exhaled, blowing crooked smoke rings skyward. “The thing is, Cass,” he said, finally, “I can’t really say for sure where he was at ten o’clock. I mean, the boys came over around six. They were in and out, tossing a football in the back yard, listening to Doug’s stereo, watching dirty movies and who knows what else. I know they ordered a pizza from Kings Harbor around seven-thirty because the delivery boy came to the front door and I showed him how to get to the back. But hell, me and Bonnie were in bed by nine. She gets up at five and likes her eight hours of sleep. I suppose it’s possible someone could have slipped away without us even knowing. I do know they must’ve stayed up late, because they were all sleepin’ in the next morning. But that’s usual. Whenever they get together for a sleepover they tend to stay up half the night. I guess I’m not bein’ much help here, am I?”
“Do they have these sleepovers often?” I asked.
“During the summer they do lots. Sometimes our house, sometimes over at one of the other boys’. A couple of times a week, I’d say.”
“Who all did Doug have over that night?”
“Oh, just his usual buddies. Dunk Foster—he’s that tall kid that bags groceries at McGregors—and Pinkerton. Those three are always together. Have been since about ninth grade. I’ve been after Dougie to get some new friends, on account of these guys are always ditching school and such, but Bonnie says we gotta let the boy find his own way, make his own decisions. Do you really think they might’ve started that fire, Cass?” Jess’s eyes searched mine, worry clouding his face.
“I hope not, Jess. Arson is a serious charge, and even though they’re not eighteen, they could be tried as adults. At least no one was hurt in the fire. It could have been worse. But if they did do it, there’s a chance they might be involved in other things too.”
I could see Jess thinking this through. He pinched out his cigarette with his forefinger and thumb, having wetted them first with his tongue. How he avoided burning himself, I didn’t know, but I’d seen him do this often enough that I’d quit worrying. He put the remaining stub in his shirt pocket. Later he’d mix the unused tobacco with other stubs and roll himself a new cigarette.
“If you’re right about this, and Dougie was involved in that fire, I won’t stand in your way. I hope to God you’re wrong. I mean, the boy is a royal pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s still just a kid. I just hope you’re wrong.”
“So do I, Jess.” I wondered if I should tell him about the incident in McGregors, but Jess had enough on his mind at the moment. “Tell me something. Where was little Jess when the boys had their sleepover?”
“Oh, she was at home. She wants like crazy to be accepted by Dougie and his friends, but they won’t give her the time of day. I know she went back there to see if they’d give her a piece of pizza, even though I told her to just leave them alone, and sure enough she came back empty-handed with her feelings all hurt. She went to bed about the same time
we did. If you’re thinking Jessie had anything to do with it, you’re nuts. That kid’s good as gold.”
“I know that, Jess. I’m just thinking she might be able to tell me more. Like maybe she knows for sure they were there around ten because she heard them laughing and it woke her up. Something like that. It would be nice if we could substantiate their being there.”
“Well, you’re welcome to talk to her, if you want. She’s inside cleaning her room. She’s got a mowing job in about an hour, so you’re lucky you came by early. But, Cass, try not to let on that you suspect those boys of causing that fire. I’d just as soon that rumor not get started. I mean, if it turns out that’s what happened, I’ll support the police all the way. But I’d hate to see my son’s reputation ruined because of a rumor that turns out not to be true.”
“Word of honor,” I said, holding up three fingers in the Girl Scout salute.
“Let me know what you find out. You know I’m going to worry about this now until you do.”
I reached up and gave Jess a hug which he returned somewhat awkwardly before breaking free to disappear under his car again. I left him to his mechanics, and let myself in through the screen door.
“Jessie?” I called. Receiving no answer, I made my way to the back of the house, peeking in open doors as I went. I was glad Bonnie was at work. It gave me a chance to snoop around a little. It was easy to spot Doug’s room, with its unmade bed, crumpled clothes and Metallica posters on the wall. Just like Alan Pinkerton’s, I thought. But being a slob and having bad taste in music were not a crime. Hoping that Doug wouldn’t materialize from somewhere down the hall, I stepped into his room for a better look. I noticed a green nylon jacket among the heap of clothing piled on the bed. Heart racing, I inched forward and lifted the jacket, examining it closely in the dim light coming from the hallway.
There were no holes or tears to be seen. But the color and feel of the fabric were perfect. It looked like the janitor was right. The orange logo across the back featured the wacky looking Cedar Hills Duck—the school mascot. Unfortunately, that meant there were a ton of these out there. But not all of them would be torn. I’d have given anything to go through Pinkerton’s closet. Or maybe Dunk’s. Pretty soon, that torn jacket was bound to turn up. These thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind me.
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