by Mary Feliz
“Okay, you two,” I said, relenting. “Escort me to the back porch.”
Belle’s leash was coiled up on a redwood picnic table in the back. I was attaching it to her collar when Elaine came out to greet me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Did we wake up Jason?”
Elaine shook her head. “He was already awake. Do you have time to come in and say hello? He’s going stir-crazy. How those doctors expect us to be able to keep him still for weeks on end is beyond me.”
I unhooked Belle’s leash, told her I’d be back in a moment, and followed Elaine into Stephen and Jason’s front room.
“Maggie,” Jason said, pushing himself up to a seated position on the couch. “It’s great to see you. I was afraid you might be the physical therapist coming back to torture me some more. We’re now working on the exciting skill of getting dressed.” He grinned and shook his head. “The bloody tyrant timed me.” He tapped his watch. “Sixty-five minutes is the number to beat. Strip, shower, shave, and dress, including socks and one shoe. Socks are the hardest. Think about me next time you put your socks on, Maggie. You don’t know how good you’ve got it.”
“I’d punch you for wallowing in self-pity, if you didn’t look quite so pathetic.” I kissed his head, though I knew the last thing he’d want was to feel that I was mothering him, smothering him, or in any way suggesting he couldn’t stand on his own two feet—even though, at the moment, he couldn’t.
He grabbed his clipboard from the coffee table and flipped through the pages.
“I know you need to get home,” he said. “But do you have time to fill me in on what you’ve learned? Elaine said you’d been doing some investigating. Did you get lunch? Do you want a sandwich?” He pointed to a plate of sandwiches and cookies someone had made and covered with plastic. “Nice haircut. Looks good.”
I grabbed a cookie and chewed while I thought. Jason was obviously revved up at the moment, but I didn’t want to overtire him.
“How ’bout just the key points for now?” I said. After I’d filled him in, I asked if he needed anything and promised to phone him tomorrow if I learned anything new.
“Next time you come, be sure to bring Belle. She wore poor Munchkin out today, which means Stephen won’t need to walk him. Unless . . .”
Jason was referring to Stephen’s practice of taking long walks with Munchkin in the wee hours of the morning, trying to walk off the terrors that had plagued him since he’d returned from Afghanistan several years before. Stephen had told me his symptoms grew worse when he was under pressure, which he certainly was now. Stephen’s post-traumatic-stress issues were only one of the reasons I wanted to make sure he had the support he needed while Jason was recovering.
I filled Jason in quickly and headed to my car. I’d just gotten Belle settled in the backseat when Tess called.
“Hey, Tess. What’s up?”
“Maggie, I’m so glad I caught you. I wanted to let you know that I’m worried about our schedule. If that Detective Awful creature keeps us out of Linc’s house much longer, we won’t be able to meet our deadlines for holding the tea there. And everyone knows that I hold my holiday party the weekend following the long Thanksgiving weekend. I can’t change the date. I’ve been looking at other possible locations but haven’t found anything yet.”
Thoughts raced through my head, including wondering whether Tess would deliver on her plan to promote my organizing business if she held her tea in an alternate location. The whole point of my involvement in the promotion was that my skills had transformed the house and made the event possible. I struggled to find a way to ask her that didn’t make me sound like a child left out of a playground game. But it turned out not to matter. Tess kept me from saying anything as she rattled on about her efforts. “I’m not going to panic yet and I don’t want you to, either. I just wanted to keep you posted.”
“Can you check with the police to find out when we’ll be allowed back in? Surely they can’t keep us out forever.”
“If it were up to Sir Awful the Stupid, they would,” Tess said. “I think it hinges on how soon they can get their electrical expert to look at the scene. I called my lawyer this morning and he’s looking into it. He thinks we may be able to go around Sir Awful.” She paused. “That’s probably the attorney now. I’ve got to take this call, Maggie. Talk to you tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
If Tess’s words were meant to be reassuring, they’d failed miserably. But I started my car and headed home, determined to leave the worries about the tea to Tess. As I drove, I thought about how my own efforts had gone today. My stomach growled and I realized that part of my problem in getting people like Boots to open up to me might be the fact that I hadn’t brought cookies. To arrive bearing cookies was an important part of the Orchard View social contract and was a ticket into places where I might not otherwise be welcome.
I’d need a lot of cookies. I’d need to get started baking tonight.
I was nearing my driveway when I saw my neighborhood nemesis, Dennis DeSoto, and his three yippy Pekinese dogs standing by my mailbox. My heart sank. Dennis seemed to put a negative spin on anything happening within my family or on my property. I needed neither his judgment nor his condescension this afternoon. But there was no way to politely avoid him. I stopped in the driveway and walked around the car to check the mail.
“Hi, Dennis,” I said in a voice that I hoped seemed cheerful. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are things?”
“Everything was fine, but the police are at your house again causing a commotion. I hope you’re not bringing more trouble to the neighborhood.”
I grabbed my mail and looked in the direction of the house, though it was hidden by a dense patch of evergreen trees and shrubs that badly needed thinning.
“I can’t imagine what they want with us,” I said. “I’d better check it out.”
I raced back to the other side of my car, flung the mail onto the passenger seat, waved out the open window, and tried not to squeal my tires as I raced away from Dennis and toward the police, who I very much feared were represented by Detective Awful.
Chapter 9
When you’re overwhelmed, step back, get help, and make a plan.
Repeat as necessary.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald,
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Tuesday, November 4, 4:30 p.m.
Paolo’s Subaru was parked in the shade in front of our house. A marked police SUV with lights flashing blocked access to the paved area that marked the first stage of our efforts to restore our rutted driveway. One of the vehicle’s tires had crushed some of the heirloom roses planted by Max’s Aunt Kay.
I peered into the shadows on the front porch and spotted the distinctive profile of Detective Awful. I took a deep breath in and out, and then did it again, bracing myself to approach the abrasive man. Then I shrugged, engaged my four-wheel drive, and drove around the SUV into my normal parking spot.
I sighed and briefly wondered how long I could logically remain in the car, protected from Detective Awful’s bombastic personality. Sometimes it’s hard to be a grown-up. Belle growled.
“My sentiments exactly.” I got out of the car, opened the back door, and unhooked her leash. Low to the ground, she raced around the end of the car, barking and snarling.
By the time I reached the front porch, she was seated by Paolo’s side, held there by his firm grasp of her collar. He showered her with loving praise. I climbed the steps and tried to ignore the angry words Awful was spewing at my gentle and beloved Belle.
Maybe it wasn’t fair of me. Maybe it was. But it didn’t matter. If you were mean to my dog—or any dog, for that matter—you made my “bad person” list. Detective Awful was vying for the top spot.
I said a polite hello, anyway.
“You hiding the professor here?” Awful said to my back as I unlocked the door. “Why is no one answering the door?”
Belle stood between the detective and me,
growling.
“Untrained beast,” Awful said. “Can you put her away or put her down?”
I clenched my teeth and my fists and ignored him as much as I could.
Paolo pushed past the detective before I could invite the men in. I forgave him, because I was sure he was trying to help.
“Hey Maggie,” he said quickly, before Apfel could say anything else inflammatory. “What a day. I’m exhausted. Can you offer a poor cop some coffee? And maybe some cookies?”
He made the last statement in a wheedling tone, not unlike my own boys. It made me realize once again that this responsible young man was closer in age to Brian and David than he was to me. I waved my arm in the direction of the kitchen.
“You know where the mugs are,” I said. He was already pulling them from the cupboard.
I poured a scoop of kibble in Belle’s dish, hoping to distract her from giving Detective Awful her opinion of him. It worked and the room filled with the sound of her crunching. I hoped that with a full belly and all the exercise she had today, she’d be willing to protect me by laying her head on my foot and going to sleep.
I pulled cookie dough from the freezer and plopped frozen blobs on a baking sheet. They would smell great, feed Paolo, and might even begin to thaw the stiff detective.
“Coffee, detective? Cream and sugar?” I waved toward the table. “Please, take a seat.”
“Maggie makes the best coffee,” Paolo said, pulling up a chair. The detective frowned at him, but nodded at me. Licking crumbs of kibble from her nose and snout, Belle curled under the table with her chin on Paolo’s shoes. “And the best chocolate-chip cookies.”
The detective cleared his throat. “This is not a social call,” he said, drawing a small notebook from the chest pocket of his jacket. “We’re here about the murder.”
Paolo and the detective eyed each other. The room crackled with tension and there was a subtext here I didn’t understand. I checked on the cookies.
“I’ve got Jelly, the professor’s cat, in her cage out in the car,” Paolo said. “And a few things for Linc in a duffel. Shall I bring them in now?”
I nodded. “Linc’s at his lab, as far as I know. But sure, bring them in. Leave Jelly in her carrier, though. I’d hate to have her bolt in an unfamiliar place. I’ll take her up to Linc’s room when we’re done here.” And may that be soon, I thought.
It took Paolo a few minutes to go retrieve Linc’s stuff. Detective Awful felt the need to supervise. By the time they finished, the cookies were ready. I pulled the tray from the oven, transferred the cookies to a plate, and placed it on the table next to the sugar.
I sat in my normal spot, took a giant gulp of coffee, and forced myself to wait for the detective to speak. He doctored his coffee with almost all the cream from the little pitcher I’d poured. He added three spoonfuls of sugar and stared at his notebook for so long I was gritting my teeth to keep from talking.
The detective stirred his coffee, placed the spoon on his napkin, and said slowly, staring at me, “We need your help with our inquiries.”
The skin on my spine seemed to freeze, contract, and prickle. “Helping with inquiries” in the parlance of the British TV mysteries I watched meant, “We know you’re guilty and we’re going to do everything in our power, legal or illegal, to bring you to justice.” I checked my watch, wondering how much longer I’d have to put up with the detective.
“Are you in a hurry, Mrs. McDonald?” asked Awful. “Or nervous about talking to the police?”
“She’s got to pick up her sons from school,” Paolo said. “We can talk to Maggie tomorrow. She’s not going anywhere.”
The detective glared at Paolo. “Neither are we. Not without Lincoln Sinclair.”
“He’s not here,” I said.
The detective’s phone rang. He took it and looked at the screen. “This is important. I’ll take it in the other room.”
As soon as he’d walked into the living room and closed the seldom-used door between the front of the house and the kitchen, I grabbed Paolo’s arm.
“What’s going on here?” I asked. “Why is he so smug? Who is he talking to? Is it officially a homicide? I thought you were waiting for word from the electrical expert.”
Paolo looked behind his back and around the kitchen as if there might be two or three additional Apfels hiding behind him. He leaned in and whispered.
“We found Sarah’s car, purse, and cell phone in the long-term lot at San Jose Airport. Her keys were in the ignition and the car was wiped clean and vacuumed. Her death is definitely a homicide and Apfel’s got a warrant.”
“A warrant? For my house?”
“No, for Linc.”
“Based on what evidence? What judge would approve that?”
“That’s the problem. I tried to slow things down and get him to talk to the district attorney before going to the judge, but Apfel wasn’t having it. He and the judge play poker together. Approval for the warrant was a slam dunk. It’s a warrant for Linc’s arrest.”
“But—but—”
Paolo forestalled my sputtering. “Look, Maggie, I don’t know how long he’ll be on this call. Can you pick up Newton at Stanford? We’re headed there next. Apfel wanted to check out your house first, even though I told him Linc spends most of his time in his lab.”
I started to ask Paolo again what kind of evidence, if any, Awful had on Linc. But before I could, Awful pushed the door open and let it bang against the wall.
“Let’s go, Bianchi,” he said. He turned away, then came back to the table. “Mrs. McDonald, I’ll tell you this once and only once: Do not phone Professor Sinclair to warn him that we’re coming. If you tip him off and we need to chase him all over Orchard View, I’m charging you for the cost of that chase.”
I knew that the air-bag detective had no authority to do that, but rather than provoke him further and slow his departure, I laughed.
“In all the time I’ve worked with Linc, he’s never picked up his phone when I’ve called,” I said.
The detective glared at me, gulped his coffee, and grabbed a cookie that he shoved in his pocket. I filled a small, disposable plastic-storage container with the rest of the cookies for Paolo. If the snarly detective hadn’t been there, I would have referred to them as a bribe, but Detective Awful had no sense of humor and wouldn’t appreciate the joke. I couldn’t risk it. He would likely arrest me on the spot. I handed Paolo the cookies without saying anything and he nodded, winking as though he could read my thoughts. I walked them to the door.
“All these comings and goings,” Paolo said, shaking his head.
I wrinkled my forehead. Was he telling me something he didn’t want the fat detective to overhear? If so, I had no idea what he was trying to say.
The detective sneezed. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Damn cat,” he said as he left.
I decided I liked Jelly. I headed upstairs with her carrier, litter box, and the food Paolo had brought. “Well, Jelly, welcome to the household,” I said to the kitten. “I’m trying to imagine ways in which I could murder Detective Awful and get away with it. Would you like to help?”
Jelly didn’t answer, but there is nothing like a kitten for turning a foul mood upside down. I slipped into the bedroom, closed the door, and let Jelly out. She was a cute little black-and-white tuxedo cat, probably just a few months old. Sarah had loved her dearly and talked incessantly about the kitten’s antics and her fears that Linc and Newton would be unable to adjust to the little newcomer. I bit my lip. Did she say Linc was allergic? I couldn’t remember and decided it didn’t matter. Allergic or not, the kitten was the only living reminder Linc had of Sarah. He’d want to keep her close. Jelly dashed under the bed, where I left her to adjust to her new surroundings. I set up her litter box, dry food, and water in the adjoining bathroom, and wished I’d thought to tell Paolo to bring something of Sarah’s—an old sweater or sweatshirt to comfort the kitten. Jelly, Linc, and Newton had a long road ahead of them and were goin
g to have to find ways to comfort each other.
“Settle in, Jelly,” I said. “Linc will be home soon.” When I heard my words aloud I realized I had no idea when Linc would be home. Apfel, I was sure, would keep him locked up as long as possible.
I trudged back down the stairs and looked at my watch. All I wanted was to snuggle into the cushions of the sofa with a cold glass of wine in my hand and Belle at my feet.
But I couldn’t. I had to pick up Newton.
* * *
Despite using the GPS app on my phone, it took me ages to locate parking at Stanford. The university seemed to constantly be building new parking garages that were invariably several steps behind the capacity required. I plunked all the change I had into the meter and hoped twenty minutes would be enough time to find Newton and get him back to the car.
As Belle and I walked the three blocks to the building housing Linc’s lab, I became aware of heavy footsteps following mine. The man the footsteps belonged to stopped beside me as we both waited to cross Campus Drive. I took the opportunity to latch onto a possible tour guide. Belle leaned toward him. I knew she was hoping to snuffle his hand and get a pat on the head.
“Hi. Am I heading in the right direction for the Environment and Energy Building? I’m afraid I got turned around in the parking garage.”
The man smiled and held out his hand while taking a half-step back to avoid Belle.
“Walt Quintana. That’s where I’m headed. Shall we walk together?”
I shook his hand. “Maggie McDonald.”
“What brings you to us? Are you interviewing? Visiting?”
We crossed the street and I forced myself to pay attention to stepping up on the curb safely. Stanford’s campus boasted hundreds of fragrant eucalyptus trees, which dropped acorn-like buds that could make walking treacherous. Because of Walt’s obvious discomfort with dogs, I moved to put him on my right while Belle heeled on my left.