Payce spotted the chief. “Glad you’re here. Peg called and reported that Louise was drunk. Peg refused to serve her any more drinks. That’s when the crowd got rowdy. They took Louise’s side. Peg got worried there’d be a riot, so she called it in.”
Lando stared at his dispatcher and knew she wasn’t drunk at all. She was doing a fine job of acting like she was, though. She wanted him to react, maybe even arrest her for disturbing the peace or drunk and disorderly in front of all of her friends. But Lando refused to take the bait. He looked around at the faces in the throng of customers. Janet Delgado and Claude Mayweather sat a few seats away. He motioned for Janet to follow him into a side corridor that led to the restrooms.
“Get your friend out of here. Take her home and put her to bed.”
“I honestly don’t know what to think, Chief. I’ve known Louise for two decades and I’ve never seen her so…she’s all over the place. First, she blames Gemma for killing Mallory. Wants us to follow that way of thinking. Then she mentions that maybe the mayor had something to do with it. Now tonight, she’s jumped on Dale’s case. Is it the grief making her act this way?”
It didn’t appear to be grief to him, Lando decided. But he kept his opinion to himself. “Just get her out of here. Get Claude to help you or anyone else who’ll volunteer.”
“You aren’t arresting her? She said you would.”
“Imagine that. Something else Louise is wrong about.” He decided to sweeten the pot. “She’s probably grief-stricken, like you said, and lashing out at anyone she doesn’t like. That’s why you should take her home and make her more comfortable. Maybe sit with her and let her cry her eyes out.”
“Oh, that’s just it, Chief. She only a shed a few tears at the funeral service. I think she must be holding it all in.”
“I’m sure that’s it,” Lando said. “All the more reason, you should look after her.”
After leaving Thackery’s, Jimmy was all over Lando with questions. “Why didn’t you haul her ass in? You had every right to let her cool her heels in jail overnight.”
“Because that’s what she wanted out of that little performance. Every man and woman in that place would’ve sworn on a stack of ten Bibles that she was the victim, and beside herself with grief over her daughter’s death. That was a no-win situation.”
“When I walked in, I didn’t see any grieving,” Payce added. “She was laughing and having a blast. It was only when she spotted me that she started all that BS about the police department.”
“And how corrupt we are,” Jimmy snarled. “I’m Jimmy Fox and I haven’t once in all my life had to change my name.”
Lando whirled around to grab Jimmy. “You can’t go saying stuff like that. What you heard back at the house is confidential, a part of the investigation. Got it? You don’t go around sharing details like that or spouting off to the wrong people.”
“I’ve got it. Wow, we’re all on edge.”
“It’s only gonna get worse until we figure out what’s going on. That’s why we keep facts to ourselves.” He angled toward Payce. “Try sticking close to Louise’s house without anyone picking up the surveillance. If you get caught hanging around her street, just act like you’re on regular patrol. I want you to let me know what happens after she gets all tucked in for the night. Understand?”
“You bet. You want me to call you every hour?”
“Make it every two.”
“What do you want me to do?” Jimmy asked.
“Keep tabs on our illustrious mayor. And again, keep it very lowkey.”
“Sure thing. What are you gonna be doing?”
“Me? I plan to dig deeper into a certain person’s background. I want to know why she’s so hostile about learning the truth.”
It bugged him enough that he spent the next several hours in his office on the computer, combing through state databases hunting for other women named Louise Rawlins. He wasn’t so much concerned with Deborah Borelli, but he did want to know how she’d hit upon choosing the name she ended up using her entire adult life. He hit pay dirt in Utah, a state that young Deborah must have passed through on her way to Reno. He set that aside for now and thumbed through Mallory’s bank statements for the fourth time.
Around two in the morning, he began to put his theory down on paper.
19
Elnora’s house overflowed with Happy Bookers. The librarian took the time to introduce everyone to her new boyfriend, Ansel Conover, who seemed friendly enough carrying around a tray of rolled chicken tacos and dip.
Overall, the turnout was more than Gemma had expected. Just as club members had hoped, there were lots of new faces in the crowd.
Lianne had dragged her reluctant next-door neighbor, Enid Lloyd, to the meeting by promising her food and drink. On the other hand, Gemma had pushed the novel onto Leia hoping the chef would appreciate the depression-era southern recipes. Leia in turn had sweet-talked Rima and Willow into coming.
Gemma joined the others as they took seats in a circle around the living room, determined to fit in with the klatch no matter what.
While Elnora filled their glasses with a nice merlot that went well with the finger food, Gemma decided to bend Ansel’s ear on his next trip around the room with the hors d'oeuvres. It didn’t take long.
“You have an unusual first name. Anything to do with Ansel Adams, the photographer?”
“My mother was a huge fan. Ansel. Now there’s a name that gets you beat up a lot after school. You’re from San Francisco, right?”
“Actually I’m from Coyote Wells, born and raised. I spent several years in the Bay Area though until I moved back here a few months ago.”
“Weird weather there. Cold in the summer. Is there ever a time when it’s warm?”
“Not many know this but the hottest month in San Francisco is actually September.”
“Good to know. Maybe I’ll surprise Elnora with a trip there in the fall, make the rounds of all the museums. Elnora would love that.”
“Didn’t you used to teach archaeology at UC Davis?”
“Anthropology,” Ansel corrected. “The systematic study of our evolutionary origins. Studying our cultural backgrounds, processing our evolutionary biology, those are some of the most stimulating fields of study. How I do miss the classroom and looking out on the eager faces of my students. They always managed to ask great questions. I had to think on my feet and be prepared for any discussion.”
Gemma didn’t think she’d ever been that ecstatic about evolutionary origins, but then she’d come a long way since her days as a freshman. “I was wondering. Might you know a good forensic anthropologist, someone who could do a facial reconstruction like I’ve seen on the Doe Network?”
“What a fascinating question. I believe I could get you in touch with a former colleague of mine who does that sort of thing. Why do you ask?”
She filled him in on the town’s Jane Doe. “Her family deserves to know what happened to her. She at least deserves a name.”
“That’s a noble gesture. Don’t leave here without getting Candace Stewart’s number. She specializes in facial reconstruction at the Institute of Sciences. She still teaches a class at Cabrillo College.”
“Thanks. How much do you think something like that would cost?”
“Don’t worry about that yet. Besides, depending on the situation, it might fall under the federal grant Candace obtained. Or, she might get her students to do it gratis as a project. But you do realize the process takes months.”
“I just need to get it going. I don’t care how long it takes.”
“How long what takes?” Leia wanted to know as she elbowed her way into the conversation.
“The Jane Doe project.”
“The whole town could take up a collection and pay for it,” Leia suggested.
“Now you’re talking,” Ansel said as he moved on to fulfill his boyfriend duties.
Leia leaned in near Gemma’s ear. “When do I get to tell everyone h
ere that those recipes in the book suck?”
“Shh! Don’t make waves,” Gemma chided. “I don’t want to get kicked out my first time here.”
“Oh, please. Don’t give me that superior attitude. You’d feel differently if it involved chocolate.”
“How many recipes did you try anyway? Maybe it was a fluke.”
“Mom and I picked ten and split them up between us. Of the five I made, it was that awful breakfast casserole that was the worst. I thought poor Zeb might have to make an appointment to see Luke to get his stomach pumped.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I’m not kidding. I should’ve thrown the entire dish down the garbage disposal the first time I sampled it. If the author messed up chocolate truffles the way she screwed up a simple pasta recipe, you’d be livid.”
“Well. Yeah. Goes without saying.” Gemma looked around the room, her eyes landing on Edna. “Did you know she brings fresh flowers every day out of her garden to half the stores along Water Street, including the shop?”
“Sure. Where do you think the restaurant gets all those hydrangeas we put on the tables? Edna’s garden is a showplace.”
Elnora called the meeting to order and everyone took their seats. To Gemma’s surprise, the book discussion lasted a mere forty-five minutes. All the while she had to keep kicking Leia to prevent her from complaining about the recipes. But in the end Lucinda Fenton was the one who brought it up.
“I think maybe the author left out a few key ingredients. That recipe for homemade dumplings turned out just awful.”
That subject had Leia bounding to her feet, thoroughly picking apart each recipe she’d tried and ruined. For the next thirty minutes they discussed flogging the author before the talk turned to more docile gossip. Everyone wandered back over to where the appetizers had been set up to graze and chat about the next book selection.
Getting bored, Rima tapped Gemma on the shoulder. “I thought of something else that happened that summer. It might mean nothing. But then again, it might just help in some way.”
“Come with me, let’s take this outside so we can hear each other,” Gemma said, steering Rima onto a side terrace lined with flowerpots, rows of containers overflowing with every color imaginable of blossoms.
“Geraniums are Elnora’s specialty. She grows them from seeds,” Rima pointed out.
“So I see. What’s up? What did you recall from that summer?”
“Remember how I told you that Lindsay Bishop was the second car accident that summer in August. Well, I forgot one little detail. Lindsay got married that spring, April I believe. She’d only been Aaron Barkley’s wife for four months when she had that car wreck. You should check to see if Aaron collected a fat insurance payout afterward. I remember his spending a lot of cash around town after that.”
“Why Rima, you think like a super sleuth. I’m proud of you.”
“Hey, I watch crime shows. Theo teases me all the time about them. It’s sort of a hobby of mine at the end of the day. It’s time he respected the importance of murder mysteries.”
“I’ll say. Any time a spouse ends up dead four months after the wedding is cause for alarm and a reason to ask questions.”
“That’s just it. I don’t think anyone did…ask questions. Do you think the two accidents might be related?”
“You never know. But it’s a highly suspicious coincidence. And way past time to start digging for answers.”
After she left the meeting, Gemma drove out to that stretch of Lone Coyote Highway where her father had ended up like Hank Montoya and Lindsay Bishop. She got out of the Volvo and walked to the hairpin curve, Dead Man’s Curve they called it after all the accidents.
Unlike when her father drove this route, these days this spur was used mainly as a shortcut to connect Coyote Wells to the Interstate, rather than the main thoroughfare it used to be.
Side guardrails, five feet in height and made of steel, had long since been erected by the county so that vehicles would no longer slide off the road and down the steep embankment. Drivers might still lose control on the turn and smash into the guardrail for whatever reason, but they wouldn’t end up at the bottom of the ravine, not unless the car went airborne.
Looking out over the route that her father had driven that fateful afternoon from his job at the casino, she realized the narrow shoulder offered no room for error. So how had his car ended up turned in the opposite direction, on the other side of the roadway, heading back toward his workplace?
Standing there in the dark, she willed a vision that might answer her questions. But nothing happened. Distant headlights from an approaching car had her heading back to the Volvo. As she sat behind the wheel, she texted Lando.
I need to see the photos from Michael Coyote’s accident.
Should I bring them home or do you want to meet me at the station?
Home.
Mine or yours?
Mine. Need to check on Rufus.
Rufus is with me.
Okay then your house in twenty minutes.
On the commute home, Gemma turned up the volume on the radio. Tonight, the station had dedicated its playlist to 80s rock. She listened to a mix of songs from Prince, Springsteen, and Kenny Loggins, and wondered if she’d ever know anything of value about the man who’d fathered her. What was he really like? And would she be able to accept the truth if it wasn’t a rosy, pretty picture?
While Cyndi Lauper’s voice crooned from the speakers, the vision came with brutal clarity. The same five men she’d seen before, standing on a concrete roadway, pointing guns. Firing their weapons---rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat---repeatedly into…a vehicle. Cursing. Screaming. A door on the back of the truck opened. Someone wearing a uniform spilled out of the back, sprawled on the cement. Dead.
There was nowhere for her to pull over, no shoulder to ease off onto, no place to stop except in the middle of the road. She took her foot off the gas and coasted her way down to the bottom of the hill to where a four-way stop, an intersection, offered a place to get out of the traffic lane. Shaken, she gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, held on like it was her only lifeline.
What was it about these five men that wouldn’t leave her alone? And then it hit her. Had Michael Coyote been involved in a robbery, a shootout? She’d been thinking about her father right before the vision. Had he been a party to taking the life of an innocent victim? Had a bullet from Michael’s weapon found its mark?
The twenty-minute trip to Lando’s took forty minutes longer. When she walked in the door, Lando and Rufus greeted her with the same amount of enthusiasm. But Lando’s came with concern. “What took you so long?”
She bent down to rub the dog. “I…I saw something.”
“What?”
It all spilled out, everything about the vision came tumbling out in one long barrage of information. “I think maybe Michael Coyote was involved.”
“You saw his face?”
She shook her head. “Ski masks, remember?”
“Then how do you know it was him?”
“I don’t. But why else would I keep having this same thing pop up on my radar, again and again? My father is the only connection to that part of the highway.”
“Not necessarily.” He opened a door on the buffet that doubled as a liquor cabinet. “You look like you could use a stiff belt of Jameson’s.”
“I wouldn’t say no.” She smiled when she saw that he’d already arranged the file folder and the photos neatly out on the dining room table.
“Have you eaten? I wouldn’t want you drinking on an empty stomach.”
“Sort of. A bunch of rolled tacos with guac. How about you?”
“Luke and I made Mom feed us---she makes the best chicken fried steak around.”
“Now you’re just being mean.”
“Sorry. But I thought you females would probably pig out at the soiree.”
“It wasn’t all female. Elnora’s boyfriend was ther
e. Ansel Conover.” She pulled a business card out of her pocket. “Ansel knows this woman who does facial reconstruction at the Institute of Sciences. Leia suggested we have the town take up a collection for the Jane Doe project. Want me to contact this Dr. Candace Stewart and get the ball rolling? Ansel says it’s a long process, very time-consuming. Which means it might take up to six months. But this doctor has students who could help.”
He handed her a glass of whiskey. “Sounds like this Ansel guy knows his stuff.”
“I had Professor Conover in my freshman year at UC Davis. I wouldn’t say it was much of a thrill. I remember his classes were bone dry. Anthropology didn’t interest me much. He’s a smart guy, though. Elnora actually referred to him as her hunk with spunk. I tried to picture them…you know…doing it…and just couldn’t. Thanks for bringing home the file.”
“No problem.” He flipped open the manila folder. “This is the accident report. Start with that. The rest is…ah…pretty gruesome. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Why don’t you look them over and tell me if you see anything weird or suspicious.”
“What am I looking for exactly?” He shuffled through the pictures and stopped at one in particular. “Hold on. Maybe I’ve just answered my own question.”
“How so?”
“Approximately how tall was Michael? Never mind. I’ll look it up in the autopsy report.”
“What does it say? Van’s fairly tall, almost six feet so Michael would probably be near that.”
“Yep. Michael was six feet. Look at the driver’s seat. It’s pulled up all the way for a much shorter person. See. It’s locked in the forwardmost position. Someone else other than a tall person was behind the wheel when the vehicle crashed.”
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