by Kathy Krevat
“Reeds?” I asked.
Steven nodded. “Every serious oboist makes their own reeds.”
“Can’t you buy them?”
He blew out a breath as if the idea was ridiculous. “Those are awful. If you want to sound good, you have to master making your own reeds. They take a long time to make and even if you get a perfect one, lots of things can go wrong.”
Yollie explained. “You have to scrape bamboo to be the perfect size and the perfect width. Like to one micrometer.” She squeezed two fingers together. “All oboists spend hours a day, on top of practicing, scraping away at reeds.”
“Do you have to do that with other instruments?” I asked.
“No,” he said, a little wary as if he knew what I was going to ask next.
“Then why did you choose to play the oboe?”
He jutted out his jaw like he’d heard that question a million times. “Because it is so difficult,” he said. “It’s both mentally and physically challenging like no other instrument in the world.”
Yollie explained. “Exceptional musicians have to be obsessive, but oboists take it the next level. They’re their own breed of musician.”
“Mom,” he said, embarrassed.
“I think that’s cool.” I remembered the tools I’d seen when I barged into his lesson. “Hey, does, did, Benson use the tools he had in the garage?”
Steven nodded. “Yeah. He had tools to hold the bamboo in place and razors to scrape them.”
“Could one of them be used to, like, poke someone?”
Steven eyes widened. “A mandrel.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Lani typed away on her computer and then turned it around to show the images of various sizes of a small tool that looked like a stick.
“It’s what you put the reed on to help hold it in place,” he explained.
Lani turned the computer back, both of us thinking the same thing. Someone had used Benson’s own tool to kill him. “You know, you should get Tod to look into this.”
“Tod?” Steven asked.
“He’s a friend who knows how to use the internet to find out information,” I explained.
“A hacker?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Definitely not a hacker.”
“Oh.” He seemed disappointed.
“But he knows hackers,” I said.
“Oh my God,” Yollie said, staring at her phone.
“What?” we all asked together.
She grabbed Steven’s arm. “Tabitha Higgins is taking auditions. She’s opening up her schedule to make room for a few of Benson’s students!”
“Is that okay?” I asked. “It sounds like she’s taking advantage.”
Yollie looked shocked. “Tabitha is the best oboe teacher in all of Southern California. She has been closed to new students for years. Steven couldn’t even get an audition before.”
“Sign me up, Mom,” Steven said. “Hurry.”
She clicked on her phone. “You have an audition Thursday morning. I’ll get you out of school.” She turned back to me. “She’s being extremely gracious—she’s very busy and doesn’t need to squeeze in more students.”
Lani had gone back to typing away on the computer, and I’d bet I was going to find a bunch of information about mandrels when I got it back from her.
“Maybe we should talk to this Tabitha about Benson,” I suggested.
Yollie’s mouth opened and closed like a fish for a moment. “Don’t. You. Dare. She doesn’t have anything to do with his…death.”
“Of course not,” I said. “But maybe she’d have ideas of who might hate him enough to, you know.”
“Not until after Steven’s audition.” She pointed her finger at me. “You messed up with Benson. I’m not letting you do that with Tabitha.”
“Mom,” Steven said, embarrassed by his mom again.
“Yollie,” I said, keeping my voice calm like I did when Elliott was too emotional to make a good decision. “Someone murdered Benson. Tabitha might know something that will clear Quincy. It might not seem like it, but finding out who did it is more important than Steven getting into the right college.”
She scowled stubbornly. “You know, when Elliott is applying to college, I’m going to remind you of this conversation.”
“Okay,” I relented. “After his audition.”
“And don’t mention Steven’s or my name at all.”
“Deal.”
I took her grudging scowl for a metaphorical handshake.
“Okay,” I said. “We have the beginning of a plan. I’m going to speak to this Opal Volker and Steven is going to ask around to find out if any students or parents were mad at Benson.” I usually had more to work with, but I looked at the clock. We were out of time. “Sorry, you guys have to go.”
“So you can go on your hot date,” Lani added, making Steven grimace.
Yollie hit his arm as they stood up. “Stop it. Moms are allowed to date.”
“I know,” Steven said, “But can you please not talk about it?” His tone made it seem like the whole idea was painful for him.
After they left, I took a minute to look at what Lani had pulled up, trying to figure out if that tool could have been the murder weapon based on the quick glimpse I’d seen of Benson’s wound.
I wasn’t going to be able to figure it out with Google images, so I cleaned up and headed over to the farm. Joss had made lasagna and salad, and we sat on his front porch to eat as the sun set. After dinner, we held hands as we walked over to the goat pen and watched them settle in for the night. They curled up around each other, their hooves tucked under their chests.
I decided to get the tough stuff out of the way. “So I finally met Gemma.”
He looked at me warily. “Yeah.”
I decided to go for it. “You never said how beautiful she was.” I was very proud of my casual tone.
“Right, ’cause that’s something you mention to your new girlfriend,” he said.
I was immediately stuck on the word “girlfriend.” We’d been very careful to say “dating,” and hadn’t defined it any more than that. I felt a rush of warmth.
“I’m sorry she said that about, you know,” he said.
“Our little hobby?” I quoted, smiling.
He looked chagrined. “I apologize for her,” he said. “I have a feeling I’m going to be apologizing for her a lot more. She’s got strong opinions about how Kai should be spending her time.”
“Oh.” I did not want to get involved in any parenting conflicts. Besides, it was only fair that I met Gemma. Joss had become used to Richard’s visits with Elliott and had easily accepted that Elliott’s dad would be around. I should be just as gracious.
“My dad’s been asking about Thanksgiving,” I said. “He’d love a big get-together. Any chance you and Kai can come?”
He blinked, making me wonder if he thought I was getting more serious than he was.
I rushed on. “Annie will be there, and Lani and Piper, if she’s not on duty, and maybe even Tod. Although he probably won’t be able to come.” I hadn’t thought of Tod before—it was just to show that inviting Joss wasn’t that big of a deal—but I liked the idea as soon as I said it.
He grabbed my hand. “I’d love to,” he said. “I get Kai for Thanksgiving and Gemma gets her for Christmas Day, so it would be wonderful to join your family at your house.”
I smiled. “Great. It’s settled then.”
“So when is Elliott getting home?” He pulled me close, running his hands up my back.
“We’ve got time,” I said.
Chapter 6
I woke up the next morning to Quincy’s full-on public relations response to reporters. My social media notifications were through the roof, and business owners who had worked with Quincy ove
r the years were all over the news, making statements in support of him.
I breathed a sigh of relief, even though I knew Quincy wasn’t out of the woods yet. But at least he was fighting back.
At breakfast, which included pancakes in the shape of elephants, I gave my dad the good news about Joss and Kai coming for Thanksgiving and he was delighted. My dad’s family was far away in Boston and we spent my early years going to our friends’ houses for holiday dinners. Now that Elliott and I were living with him, he was trying to create a new family tradition and including all of our friends was part of it.
Joss had moved to Sunnyside from Alaska to follow his daughter when Gemma moved closer to her family. Now, he only went home during the summer when weather was less likely to interfere with his travel.
I had my own issues with my ex. I’d dropped out of college during my freshman year when I got pregnant. Elliott’s father, Richard Winston III, had been yanked back home to New York by his family. For twelve years, he wanted nothing to do with his son. And then a couple of months ago, he appeared on our doorstep.
Elliott and his “bio-dad,” as I still called him when he wasn’t around, were working on their relationship and I tried to stay out of it as much as possible. Richard visited whenever he was on the West Coast. Since his extended family had businesses and homes in San Francisco, he was here enough that he had a regular room in the local bed-and-breakfast, where he had reportedly charmed the owner so much, that she started calling his room, Richard’s Room.
In October, he’d flown Elliott to New York over a long weekend. It was the furthest Elliott had ever been from me and I had felt it like a sharp pain in my chest. Richard took Elliott to see Hamilton on Broadway and even got him backstage. I guess having tons of money provides all kinds of opportunities Elliott didn’t get with me.
I worried the whole time he was gone, no matter what my dad and Lani said. Along with all the normal visiting the big bad city worries, was the awful thought that Elliott would prefer the rich lifestyle that Richard could give him.
But that hadn’t happened. Elliott had been terribly homesick, had not enjoyed meeting Richard’s wife at all, and couldn’t wait to get back to Sunnyside. Richard had hinted at picking up Elliott the day after Thanksgiving to go to San Francisco, but I was ignoring that until I was asked directly.
* * * *
Zoey was late. That had never happened since I hired her to be my head chef. Not seeing her at the kitchen threw me for a loop. She was never not there when she was supposed to be.
I called her and she answered. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m… sick.” She certainly sounded funny.
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll handle the cooking today.”
“Thanks,” she said, sounding distracted. She hung up without any further explanation.
She must be really sick.
Uri, one of the bakers who worked at the next counter, came in and said, “Hey. Did you see that supreme muscle car in the parking lot?”
“Nope, missed it,” I said. I rarely paid attention to cars.
Then a thought wriggled into my brain and wouldn’t go away. It wouldn’t have even come into my mind on a normal day. But Zoey wasn’t here and she sounded weird. She’d once told me her ex-boyfriend drove a muscle car—the same language as Uri had used. She’d also said that he was violent and she hoped he stayed out of her and her son Zeke’s lives forever.
The coincidence was too much.
She rarely mentioned him, but I knew he was the father of her son and that she was grateful he didn’t want anything to do with them. But she also worried that he could change his mind at any time.
“What color is the car?” I asked Uri.
It sounded more like a demand and he gave me a look. “Dark green, you know, the money color.”
I grabbed my phone and headed outside, turning on the camera app as I walked. I could see the car from the doorway. The front end seemed to lean forward, making me think that a panther had transformed into a sports car.
A man with light red hair pulled back into a ponytail sat inside the car with the engine off and the windows open.
I was about to step out when Uri came up behind me. “What are you up to?” he asked, making me jump and let out a squawk.
“I need to get a photo,” I said. “And find out why he’s here.”
He held up his own phone. “I can do it.”
“Thanks. I need to talk to him,” I said. Uri had played football in college. If this guy was actually Zoey’s ex, I might need him. “Can you be my backup just in case, I don’t know, something happens?”
He clicked on his camera app. “Sure.”
I took a couple of photos of the license plate and continued snapping away as I came around the side of the car. Then I looked down, switched the camera app to video and started rolling. By now, the driver had to know I was there.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
He turned toward me, and I realized that if this was Zoey’s ex, I knew why. With his high cheekbones and large eyes, he could be a runway model. He smiled. “No, you can’t,” he said. “So get your little butt back in there and cook.”
“I’m the owner,” I lied easily. “Who are you waiting for?”
He looked me up and down. “No, you ain’t,” he said. “And it’s none of your business, little girl.”
I tapped down my anger and faked a laugh. “Little girl? I’m old enough to be your mother.”
“Dang,” he said. “You still gotta get outta my face.”
I lifted one hand. “I wish I could, but this is my parking lot. So you can tell me what you’re doing here, or I’ll call the cops.”
He slammed both hands on the steering wheel with a loud, “Gah! Why you gotta get in my business? Why you gotta be such a bitch?”
I took a few steps back, his escalating anger making me nervous. Uri started walking toward me, and I took a deep breath.
“Fine,” I said. “Have it your way.” I turned around and dialed 911. Then I heard the car door open and whirled around. He got out of the car, but he didn’t come after me. He slammed the door closed so hard that it rocked the vehicle. Then he started kicking his own car.
I’d never seen anyone lose their temper so quickly and so completely.
Uri stopped beside me, his phone in front of his face, recording the whole thing. “He’s out of his freakin’ mind.”
The driver stopped suddenly, looking at the damage he’d caused to his own car. Then he threw his hands in the air and yelled at me, “Look what you made me do!”
* * * *
We retreated to the doorway while he paced around his car a few times and then the police arrived, two patrol cars blocking the entrance. They approached him cautiously, and he practically shape-shifted, becoming a charming and agreeable person who didn’t know why the police had been called.
I texted a photo to Zoey along with the message, Is this him?
She texted back. OMG. That’s Red, my ex. Are you okay?
I’m fine, I said. Are you??
I don’t know.
The police are here, I said. Don’t you have a restraining order against him?
Yes, she said. Not that it ever helped.
The police took statements from Uri and me, and I mentioned the restraining order. Uri also supplied them with the video of Red losing his nut. That drew the most response from them, and I was grateful he’d stuck around and taken it.
Red claimed that he was just resting, that he didn’t know Zoey worked here, that he’d simply been insulted that I was trying to kick him out of a public place.
Luckily, after seeing the video, the police cuffed him and put him in the back of the patrol car. He didn’t complain. He just kept saying he didn’t understand what the problem was.
/> As they drove away, he stared at me all the way out of the parking lot.
He definitely thought I was the problem.
* * * *
Zoey had told me we’d talk later that night, so I focused on catching up on the day’s production. It was much harder without her. In between batches, I pulled off my kitchen gloves and kept dialing Opal Volker, the counseling secretary, trying to catch her in. It was a complete waste of time. Was she ever at her desk? Did she just send all of her calls through to voice mail? Finally, I gave up and left a message.
Two hours later, nothing.
I really didn’t want to go to Sunnyside High School.
I called Yollie. “Do you think she’ll call me back?”
“I told you, it’s like pulling teeth to get her to contact you,” she said. “You should go there.” I heard a timer chime through the phone. “Gotta go wash out a client.”
I looked in the mirror at the copper stripe in my hair. It was fading fast. I made a mental note to make an appointment with her.
I resigned myself to the inevitable and drove over to the school, parking in the lot for visitors. Several signs said that I had to check in at the Administration Office, where I wrote my name and received directions and a red sticker that I assumed let me roam the school unchallenged.
I made my way to the Counseling Office, only to find a line of students waiting outside and the door locked.
“Why is it locked?” I asked the student leaning against the wall staring at her phone.
She blinked a few times before answering. “It’s scheduling time for next semester.”
“Okay.” I still didn’t understand. “Doesn’t that mean the door should be unlocked?”
She snorted with derision. “They open it for a half hour at lunch and then for last period, at two thirty.”
A girl behind her with blue hair spoke up. “Your kid must be new here. The counseling staff turns into raving lunatics right after the schedules are sent out. It’s to keep us from complaining too much about what they signed us up for.”