“What did you and your husband do on the break?” Barbara asked.
Paula pursed her lips more tightly. For a moment I thought that Barbara had lost her. But then she spoke.
“We chatted with Meg Quilter for probably one or two minutes. Meg is an old friend.” Paula paused, her eyes looking past us, remembering. “Then I went to the bathroom. Gary waited for me in the dining room. The two of us left the restaurant and walked to the park across the street. We saw you there, lying on the grass,” she said with a nod in my direction. “And that woman, Iris. Though I think she left fairly soon afterwards. I don’t know where she went.”
She squinted her eyes. “Later, Leo and Ken came down the block. Leo had been drinking, apparently. He made crude remarks to a young woman walking by.”
I nodded. I remembered the young woman in the halter top.
“Then Leo and Ken returned to the restaurant. I’m afraid I can’t vouch for anyone else,” Paula said with a little sigh. “Gary and I walked inside again. I wanted to speak to Leo, but I couldn’t find him. Ken said he was in the bathroom. Gary and I wandered back into the kitchen. A few minutes later we heard your cry from the pantry.”
She shrugged her shoulders and her eyes focused on us again. “You know the rest,” she said.
“Had you ever met Sheila Snyder before last night?” Barbara asked, her eyes on Paula’s face.
“Not to the best of my knowledge,” Paula answered with a change in expression.
“How about Gary?” Barbara pressed.
“My husband has nothing to do with this mess,” the attorney rapped out, jutting her chin forward. So, Gary is the sore spot, I thought.
“Could we arrange a time to speak to him?” Barbara asked, lowering her voice a bit. “He might have noticed something.”
“Or he might not have,” Paula pointed out. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry to be so brusque,” she said after a moment. “I’m concerned about my husband. Mr. Snyder, the dead woman’s husband, has been making phone calls to Gary, accusing Gary of murdering his wife.”
“Dan Snyder called Gary?” Barbara and I cried together.
Paula nodded, her eyes perplexed.
“He called each of us too, and accused us of murder,” I explained. “Maybe he’s calling everyone.”
The information flowed more freely after we told Paula about our own troubles with Dan Snyder. She expanded on his phone calls to her husband. First he had accused Gary of being Sheila’s lover, then he moved on to an accusation of murder. Using a string of racial epithets, he had threatened to kill Gary, and to kill Paula just to “even the score.”
No wonder Paula was sensitive about her husband.
Finally, Paula said that she and Gary were usually home together on Thursday afternoons. I could see the reluctance in her face when she gave us her home address. We might still be the murderers for all she knew. But she gave it to us, then showed us out. She was a fair woman.
The reception area was empty when we left. The young mother had gone home, along with her baby and her baby’s story.
It was almost seven by the time I got home. I had left Barbara at her apartment, still clutching her chart, then driven the last few miles to my house in a state of exhaustion. Wayne’s car was conspicuously absent when I pulled into the driveway. Damn. I was going to have to face Vesta alone. I pulled my box of paperwork out of the car and took a deep breath.
She was waiting for me at the door.
“About time you were home, Little Miss Stuck-Up,” she said.
“Did you miss me?” I asked sweetly.
I was gratified to see her jaw drop. I left her standing in the entryway and put my box down next to my desk, smiling a secret smile. One point for Kate. Finally.
Why had it taken me so long to score? Working in a mental hospital some years earlier, I had learned that the personalities of the insane vary widely beyond their diagnoses. There were friendly schizophrenics, quiet schizophrenics, and spiteful ones. The same went for the manic-depressives and the alcoholics. Vesta was a spiteful one, whatever her diagnosis. And the only way to handle the spiteful ones was to ignore the spite, to act as if their words and gestures were benevolent. It always threw them. I had also learned never to turn my back on them. Another important lesson. How could I have forgotten?
The doorbell rang-before I had a chance to ponder the question any further.
Vesta was at the door in a heartbeat, opening it an instant later. I wished she would show more restraint. There was still a murderer running loose.
“Does Kate Jasper live here?” came a high, trembling voice that seemed familiar.
“She asked us to visit if we were in town,” added a deeper, gruffer voice.
I walked up behind Vesta, who seemed to have been struck mute, and I looked over her shoulder.
Two women, both older than Vesta, stood at my door. Two women I hadn’t seen in two years. The first woman still looked like a geriatric schoolgirl, her frail body dressed in a bright yellow T-shirt, culottes and knee socks. Her tiny face was framed by wispy white hair. Thick glasses obscured her eyes. The second woman was larger, more substantial. Her solid body was packed into heavy jeans and a flannel shirt. Her cheeks were even jowlier now, and there was some white in the gray braid wrapped around her head. But her blue eyes were as bright and sharp as ever.
I pushed past Vesta with my arms extended. The twins! That was what the Delores locals had called these two lifelong companions. And that was how I remembered them. Arletta Ainsley and Edna Grimshaw, the twins. The women who had saved my life.
I hugged Arletta first, gently. I was always afraid I’d crush her frail body. Then I hugged Edna, hard.
I stepped back and looked at the two of them. Edna’s jowly face grew flushed. Was she embarrassed? Living in Marin, it was easy to forget that some people didn’t hug automatically. But Arletta’s face held a different emotion beneath her glasses. Curiosity.
“Introduce your friend,” Edna ordered, with a jerk of her head in Vesta’s direction.
I looked back at Vesta. Now I understood the looks on the twins’ faces. Vesta had turned on a hundred-watt glare for the occasion.
“Vesta Caruso,” I rattled off quickly. “Wayne’s mother. You remember Wayne, don’t you?”
“Of course we do,” Arletta warbled. “A very kind man, as I recall.”
She stepped forward and pumped Vesta’s hand, introducing Edna and herself with the grace of a diplomat.
Even Vesta couldn’t resist her. She mumbled an acknowledgment, then backed away from the doorway.
I motioned the twins into the living room. Edna’s sharp eyes darted around the room and landed on the canvas chairs that hung from the ceiling beams. She smiled and lowered herself into the chair for two. Arletta fluttered down beside her.
“Good as a porch swing,” Edna commented. She pushed off with her feet without being instructed.
“We read about last night’s murder in San Ricardo,” Arletta whispered. She leaned toward me, her voice soft but insistent. “Do you know anything about that one?”
My mouth dropped open. How did she know? Did she just figure I would be involved in any murder in the vicinity? Or was it was an inspired guess?
The silence grew longer. I looked behind me. Vesta still stood in the entryway watching us. And listening.
“No,” I squeaked. I hated to lie to them. “Not really,” I amended.
Arletta looked at Edna with triumph in her eyes.
The doorbell rang again. This time I beat Vesta to the door. When I opened it, I wished I hadn’t.
“Okay, Kate,” Felix snarled. “Give!”
I put a finger up to my lips, gesturing for silence. Felix ignored it.
“Barbara won’t talk to me,” he whined. “I can’t friggin’ believe it. I’m her old man and she won’t give me diddly.”
“Felix—” I tried.
“Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat,”
he said, his big brown eyes narrowing. “And you’d better tell me what you know. Capeesh? You were with her when she found the body. And now the two of you are bugging the suspects, asking questions. I know it!”
I looked behind me. Vesta was smiling again. Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach.
“What are you two up to?” he demanded.
I did the only thing I could think of. I suggested dinner. Dinner out. My nausea would pass once we were out, I told myself. Edna, Arletta, Felix and I could share a friendly meal. The twins had met Felix a couple of years before in Delores. I even essayed a half-hearted invitation to Vesta. She declined. I almost kissed her. Almost.
The rest of us piled into Edna’s rental car. I was so relieved that Vesta wasn’t joining us that I didn’t stop to ask what restaurant we were headed for.
Fifteen minutes later, we were parked a block from the Good Thyme Cafe. My stomach was doing high jumps, aiming for my throat.
“They won’t be open,” I kept saying as we walked up the block. Nobody seemed to hear me.
Edna, Felix and Arletta shared a smile when we got to the entrance. The sign on the Good Thyme door said “Welcome.”
Edna pushed the door open. Then someone inside the restaurant screamed.
SEVEN
THE FOUR OF us rushed through the doorway of the Good Thyme Cafe as the long, undulating scream came to an end.
It wasn’t hard for me to spot the screamer over Arletta’s shoulder. There weren’t many patrons in the dining room, and they had all turned to look at a young, red-haired woman wearing a checked apron. She stood in the center of the sea of white, vinyl-covered tables with her eyes closed and her head thrown back.
“I can’t take it anymore!” she howled. She let out another, shorter scream in confirmation, then shouted, “I quit!” and ripped off her apron.
“Maybe we can eat here another time,” I whispered hopefully.
My whisper fell on deaf ears. Felix, Arletta and Edna stood transfixed as they watched the young woman. I walked in front of Felix and waved my hand in his face. It was useless.
“Earth to Felix—” I began.
“You can’t quit!” shouted a new voice.
I spun back around just in time to see Dan Snyder stomping into the dining room. Kitchen whites clothed his burly body. Anger clothed his face.
“Oh, yeah?” said the redhead. “Watch me.”
She strode to the cash register, grabbed her purse, then sauntered past us and out the door, without a backward glance.
Dan watched her exit with squinting eyes. As I watched him watch her, a thought occurred to me. Maybe his squint wasn’t a sign of a cruel nature. Maybe he just needed glasses. He wasn’t a bad-looking man otherwise. His jaw was strong, his features were even, and the combination of his curly black hair and mustache was appealing. His gaze shifted to the four of us near the doorway.
“You!” he roared.
Damn, Nearsighted or not, he had spotted me. I swallowed, then attempted a friendly smile.
“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, showin’ up here,” he snarled. “Wanna see where she died again, huh? Wanna check that you didn’t leave anything behind, maybe?”
I let my smile die.
Dan was within a foot of me in four long strides. He bent his head toward my face. He wasn’t squinting anymore. But I still didn’t like the look of his eyes, whites showing around dark hazel irises. I swallowed again.
“Was it you, bitch?” he hissed. “Was it you? Or maybe that lesbo friend of yours?”
Lesbo friend? I wouldn’t even attempt to address that one.
“I didn’t kill your wife,” I said, taking a step backwards. I wished I could stop my voice from shaking. “Nor did my friend—”
“No!” he roared. “No more bullshit!”
I closed my eyes. No wonder the waitress had quit, I thought with sudden sympathy. My whole body was trembling now. I knew I shouldn’t keep my eyes shut, but I didn’t want to see Dan Snyder’s face anymore.
“Young man, behave yourself!” came a high, trembling voice from my side.
I opened my eyes. Arletta was speaking, her index finger extended and shaking.
“Whatever grief you are experiencing, you have no right to take it out on Kate,” she told him. “Kate is doing her best to help you.”
I could see the confusion in Dan Snyder’s face as he turned his eyes in Arletta’s direction. How was I supposed to be helping him? Arletta gave him no time to rally.
“Come along,” she said, leading the way out the door. “We’ll go elsewhere.”
I directed Edna to the Starship Cafe. Goofy as it was, the Starship had to be an improvement on the Good Thyme. Ten minutes later, the four of us stood at the Starship’s entrance, which was designed to resemble the Star Trek transporter.
“Far friggin’ out,” breathed Felix.
“My,” twittered Arletta. “They’ve made it very realistic.”
Edna just chuckled, then led the way into the transporter.
Our host was dressed in silver tights and a navy blue tunic. He had great legs, but a surly expression. He seated us at a table decked out in a metallic silver tablecloth and handed us menus. The menus were new, different from the last time I had visited the Starship. These were large round disks of laminated cardboard that pictured “Star Station, Planet Earth” on one side in blue seas and green continents, and listed dishes from the Asteroid Appetizer Platter to a Zodiacal Light Linzertorte on the other side.
“Our specials tonight are fresh Solar Salmon in Dill Sauce and Heavenly Halibut with homemade chutney,” the host rattled off in a monotone. I guess I wouldn’t think it was very cute anymore either if I had to do it every night.
“Three soups,” he continued. “Lunar Lentil, Klingon Clam Chowder and Jupiter Jambalaya.”
He finished off with a list of drinks, and a little sigh.
“Look up,” I ordered after our host had taken our drink orders and sullenly departed.
We all gazed up at the ceiling, painted in shades of midnight blue and purple with a universe full of pasted-on silver stars. What magic, I thought. I let my eyes wander among the heavenly constellations and forgot my troubles.
When I brought my eyes back down, Felix, Arletta and Edna were all staring in my direction.
“No more stalling, Kate,” hissed Felix. “Give.”
I gave.
I told them most of what I could remember of the events from the night before. Our drinks arrived midway. I sipped my Quantum Carrot Juice and told them the rest. I had just finished describing Dan Snyder’s arrival, when our waitress appeared. She was a slender woman who didn’t fill out her official tunic and tights as well as Lieutenant Uhura, but she was friendly.
“What’ll it be, folks?” she asked cheerfully.
Arletta and Edna ordered fish. I asked for a Venusian Vegie Burger. Then the waitress turned to Felix.
“What’s low fat and low protein?” he asked unhappily.
“We have Planetary Pasta with steamed vegetables—” she began.
“I’ll have two orders,” he cut in, stroking his mustache. “What else?”
The waitress let her mouth drop open for a moment, then continued.
Felix added a green salad with no dressing, a side order of rice and a fruit salad to his order. He was a small man but he still had a big appetite, gout or no gout.
“So what’s the poop, Kate?” he asked as soon as the waitress had left. He bent forward and looked into my eyes. “Who did it?” he whispered.
I bent forward and whispered back three words: “I don’t know.”
“Kate!” he yelped.
“Now, now,” chirped Arletta. She put a restraining hand on his arm. “We all need to work together if we’re going to solve this mystery.”
I turned to her. On the surface, she was a frail old woman with wispy white hair and thick glasses. But I knew that through those glasses she observed things I didn’t see. And she had been any
thing but frail when she had joined Edna to save my life.
“What do you think?” I asked her.
“I think we haven’t nearly enough information,” she replied. “And there are a good many questions to be answered.” She smiled encouragingly. “Have you asked yourself who benefits from this death?”
I looked up at the ceiling again and thought. “I suppose her husband inherits,” I said slowly. “But I don’t know what she had to leave.”
“Diddly, besides her community property share of the restaurant and its building,” Felix contributed with a smug smile. I kept forgetting that as a reporter he was a source of information as well as an information sucker.
“Her husband was the angry young man we met at the Good Thyme?” Arletta asked.
I nodded in confirmation.
“You said the woman hit one of her children,” Arletta continued. “Do you suppose that was an isolated incident? Or was there, perhaps, a pattern of abuse?”
“A pattern, I think,” I answered, remembering the incident Alice had described. “But the children couldn’t have…” I faltered.
“You’d be surprised,” Edna offered, her voice gruff.
I turned her way for a moment. Her jowly face was stern, her blue eyes sparkling cold. She had been a nurse for all of her working life. She must have seen things in that job I would never see in my lifetime. Goose bumps formed on my arms.
“I’d like to talk about the class members,” Arletta said. Her high, wavering voice brought me back to the present. “Did any of them have a previous relationship with the murdered woman?”
“Alice did,” I answered reluctantly. Should I tell them that I thought Alice was in love with Dan?
“And…” prodded Arletta.
I looked across the table and caught a glint of hungry curiosity in Felix’s eyes. No, I decided. I wouldn’t share any vague theories.
“And the cooking teacher, Meg Quilter, had met Sheila once,” I said instead.
“Kate,” rumbled Felix threateningly.
I tried to ignore him, a task about as easy as ignoring detonating nuclear warheads.
“What kind of chucklehead do you think I am?” he demanded shrilly. “I know what you’re doing. You’re sitting on something—”
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