Mission Canyon

by Meg Gardiner

  She stopped near the kitchen, examining an Ansel Adams print. ‘‘It’s kind of stark. Real outdoorsy. But you always were a tomboy.’’

  She continued perusing the room. I felt my angst meter rising, and I scanned the room too, trying to stay ahead of her. No anarchist literature lying around. No Star Trek stemware. What else . . . ? Argh, the wedding mound. I couldn’t let her get hold of my wedding plans. I stepped in front of it, but the thing had grown so large I couldn’t block her view. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d touched it. I was at the point where I dreaded reaching into the center of it for fear I’d let oxygen in and it might spontaneously combust.

  She looked toward my bedroom door. ‘‘Ooh, let’s check out your boudoir.’’

  What could go wrong there? What couldn’t?

  But she was already through the door. She stopped, said, ‘‘Oh.’’

  She was staring at my bed. It was made. No socks hanging from the bedposts, no drool on the pillow.

  ‘‘It’s Grandma’s quilt,’’ she said. ‘‘You have Grandma’s quilt.’’

  ‘‘Yes, she gave it to Mom, and Mom gave it to me.’’

  She looked at me with an unusual expression on her face. Her lipstick was cracking. ‘‘I told Grandma I wanted it. She knew that. Everybody knew that.’’

  ‘‘Taylor, I—’’

  She looked away, waved her hand. ‘‘Never mind. It’s just a shock, is all.’’

  Over a quilt?

  Spinning on her sandals, she hurried back into the living room, and that’s when she saw the photos on the mantel. There was one of Brian, smiling from the cockpit of an F/A-18 Hornet, and another of me hugging Luke. And one of Jesse, a great shot, a close-up of him in the sunset, grinning. She picked it up. And here we went, on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

  ‘‘Is this your fiancé?’’ Her forehead crinkled. ‘‘Why . . . he’s very handsome.’’

  ‘‘I think so.’’

  ‘‘My goodness. But he’s . . .’’

  She peered hard at the photo, and actually tipped it up and down. I knew she was trying to imagine what the rest of him looked like. I had an urge to clutch the photo to my chest, protecting it. She was going to say it; I knew she was. . . .

  ‘‘But isn’t he handicapped?’’

  I felt like screaming. ‘‘He has a spinal cord injury.’’

  Illumination. ‘‘So he wasn’t born that way.’’

  ‘‘No, he—’’ I stopped myself from saying had an accident . ‘‘He was hit by a car.’’

  ‘‘And you’re fixing to marry him anyway.’’

  ‘‘Yes. No. I mean, not ‘anyway.’ ’’

  She looked at me, and I knew without a doubt that back in Oklahoma she had speculated about me, and my wedding plans, at length. She and my girl cousins, Kendall, Cameron, Mackenzie, a bunch of successful women whose names sounded like counties . . . and how had the discussion run? What is up with Evan? Did she hit thirty and turn desperate?

  She touched my arm. ‘‘Bless your heart. You are really a special lady.’’

  ‘‘I’m lucky. He’s a great guy.’’

  ‘‘Listen to you. I’ll bet you just give him the courage to keep on living.’’ She examined the photo again. ‘‘But getting married. Have y’all checked it out with doctors and everything?’’

  It. Don’t respond. . . .

  But her blueberry eyes looked eager. ‘‘You know.’’

  She’ll take your words and repackage them as ammunition. . . .

  ‘‘Hon, I’m talking about marital relations.’’

  I lost it. ‘‘You mean, can he do it?’’

  ‘‘You don’t need to put it that crudely.’’

  ‘‘But that’s what you mean.’’

  ‘‘Why are you so touchy? It’s a perfectly understandable question.’’

  ‘‘Really.’’

  ‘‘Everybody naturally wonders—’’

  ‘‘Everybody?’’

  My blood pressure shot up so fast, I’m surprised my eyeballs didn’t burst out and smack her in the cheeks.

  ‘‘Tell everybody that we do it ten times a day. I have to guzzle power drinks to keep my weight up. We keep a fire extinguisher beside the bed so the freakin’ sheets don’t catch fire.’’

  The look on her face was both shocked and lascivious. ‘‘Well.’’

  That’s when the phone rang, rescuing me. Or so I thought. It was Harley Dawson.

  ‘‘I just got a call from Mako Technologies,’’ she said. ‘‘Adam Sandoval’s at their office, causing a riot. Get over there and help calm the situation down, girl.’’

  12

  I pulled into Mako Technologies in Goleta, hoping I wouldn’t find a fistfight in the parking lot. I knew Harley had called me hoping a friend could convince Adam to leave, rather than having security guards drag him away. And she thought getting Jesse over there would only add fuel to the flames. I was still sputtering about Taylor’s remarks, the lurid glow in her eyes. . . . Everybody naturally wonders. Her curiosity was ravenous. Even as I rushed her out of the house, she asked, ‘‘Who was on the phone? Who’s in trouble? Is it Jesse?’’ And as I jumped in my car, she said, ‘‘We’ll talk. I’ll take you to lunch tomorrow. Someplace nice, so spruce yourself up.’’

  I ground my teeth together.

  Mako’s headquarters spread across several buildings in a business park. With their mustard-colored walls and exterior struts painted white, they looked like shoe boxes held up by slide rules. The parking lot shone with new cars.

  No fight. So far, so good.

  I pushed open the door to the lobby. The walls were decorated with posters advertising Mako’s products— ‘‘Tigershark: security against hacking, viruses, and insider threats’’ and ‘‘Hammerhead: protecting your infrastructure against intrusion.’’ Photos portrayed Mako’s history: men with slicked-back hair standing next to electronic boxes, surrounded by cabling and by other slick-backs in lab coats or military uniforms. There was none of the trendy aspiration of Diamond Mindworks.

  However, behind the desk was something directly out of Cal Diamond’s company: the receptionist. It was the girl with the pudgy cheeks and unruly black hair, who had been crying on the phone the day Diamond suffered his heart attack. She was drinking a Slim-Fast shake and eating a glazed doughnut. Her HI, I’M AMBER GIBBS plaque sat next to a Beanie Baby frog.

  I said, ‘‘I’m looking for Dr. Adam Sandoval.’’

  ‘‘The professor guy? Okay.’’ She started punching buttons on a phone console. ‘‘But I don’t think you’ll have to go looking. You can follow the noise.’’

  My teeth started to grind again. Past the front desk I saw a security door with a keypad. It had a window, and down the hallway on the other side I saw secretaries at their desks and men chatting by a vending machine. Amber spoke on the phone and hung up.

  ‘‘It’ll just be a minute,’’ she said. ‘‘Can you tell me what is up with him? He came in saying he had to see Mr. Rudenski Senior about a murder.’’

  ‘‘Yep, I’ll bet. Can I go back and find him?’’

  ‘‘Who got murdered?’’

  ‘‘His brother.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ Her mouth blossomed. ‘‘That’s horrible.’’ She blinked several times. ‘‘Did it happen here at Mako?’’

  ‘‘No.’’ I looked at her frightened face, realizing she was new, and may not have known the flurry about Brand. ‘‘Is this your first day here?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. Diamond Mindworks laid me off.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘It’s okay; things are getting weird over there. The doughnuts are gone, and the Coke machine. I’m like, Hello, the doughnuts didn’t make Mr. Diamond go cardiac; do we all have to suffer?’’

  Then I did hear the noise, coming from beyond the security door. Men’s voices raised in anger. I looked through the window and saw Adam in the hallway, arms in the air, talking at Kenny Rudenski. I heard him mention Mako’s computer records. Kenny pointed a finger and Adam swa
tted it away as if it were a buzzing fly.

  I said, ‘‘Amber, unlock the door. Now.’’

  She froze. ‘‘I don’t know. . . .’’

  ‘‘Come on.’’ I peered through the door. Adam was yelling. Kenny crossed his arms. He looked starchy in a white shirt and designer tie. His expression combined recalcitrance and condescension. I pounded on the door. Adam frowned at me and kept talking.

  ‘‘Evan.’’ Harley came into the lobby, her heels hammering the linoleum. She was sculpted into an Armani suit, swinging a handbag as small and sleek as a blackjack.

  ‘‘Be nice if we could stop Kenny and Adam from coming to blows,’’ I said.

  She looked at Amber. ‘‘I’m Harley Dawson, Mako’s counsel. Open the door.’’

  Amber jumped up. ‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’

  She came around the desk and punched a code into the keypad. Harley opened the door and we went in.

  Adam was saying, ‘‘You can’t brush me aside.’’

  Kenny shook his head. ‘‘I’m not. But you can’t just barge in here and commandeer our records.’’

  Harley walked toward Adam with her palms up, trying for conciliation. ‘‘Dr. Sandoval.’’

  Kenny raised his hands and backed away from Adam. ‘‘Here you go, amigo. Put your demands to our attorney. ’’ He looked at Harley. ‘‘He claims we’ve been sitting on proof of murder for three years.’’

  Adam said, ‘‘I’ve told his father, it’s all in your computer systems, proof that Brand killed my brother deliberately. ’’

  Harley said, ‘‘That’s a strong accusation, sir.’’

  ‘‘It’s the truth.’’

  She shoved her silver hair away from her face and looked around. Several secretaries, the cluster of men at the vending machine, and Amber were watching us as though we were an amateur production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.

  She pointed at Kenny. ‘‘In your office.’’

  We marched past his wide-eyed secretary into a corner office that faced the beach and the university. It had sofas and soft lighting and an ostentatious desk. Adam stalked in and planted himself in the center of the room. He was not going to be moved until he was ready.

  Harley said, ‘‘Dr. Sandoval, I’ll look at any documentation you provide, and—’’

  ‘‘I’ve already given it to the police. I want Mako to preemptively protect their records so nobody can tamper with them.’’

  Kenny said, ‘‘Data protection is our bread and butter. Why don’t you dial the intensity back down into the visible spectrum?’’

  Harley’s nostrils were wide. She was struggling to maintain her composure. ‘‘You’ve already been to the police?’’

  I said, ‘‘That’s where you take evidence of a crime, Counselor.’’

  She looked from me to Kenny. She said nothing, but her aura was emanating, Crap-o-rama.

  Adam said, ‘‘I’m talking about doing the right thing. You shouldn’t have to wait for a warrant or a subpoena; you should stand up.’’

  Kenny said, ‘‘You have nothing to worry about. Mako has severed all ties with Franklin Brand.’’

  A golf club was leaning next to the desk. Kenny picked it up and took a swing. Watching him work on his grip in the face of Adam’s righteous grief, I decided that if Adam took the club and bent it around Kenny’s neck, I would put my finger on it so he could tie it in a bow.

  I said, ‘‘I saw you give Brand a ride from the jail to his motel the other day.’’

  Harley said, ‘‘What?’’

  I said, ‘‘Did you put up his bail bond?’’

  Harley said, ‘‘Don’t answer that.’’

  Kenny ignored her. ‘‘No, I didn’t.’’

  I said, ‘‘Why did Brand look so unhappy when you dropped him off?’’

  Harley pointed at him. ‘‘Don’t. This conversation is finished.’’

  She looked tighter than a high wire. For a second I felt remorseful. She was on the verge of losing control of the situation. But I’d just caught Kenny in a lie.

  Kenny said, ‘‘He wanted money.’’

  Harley hissed out a breath.

  I said, ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘Because he’s a butthole.’’ Backswing, stroke, follow-through. ‘‘He claims Mako owes him his annual bonus for the year he disappeared.’’

  Harley said, ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’’

  ‘‘I told Dad. It wasn’t a legal issue; it was greed. I told Brand to piss off.’’

  Adam looked as though he were having trouble swallowing. ‘‘Why did he come back? What does he want?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’

  ‘‘You know who the woman was, don’t you? The anonymous caller, she’s from Mako, isn’t she?’’

  Harley said, ‘‘Kenny, don’t even speculate.’’

  He took another swing. ‘‘I’ll tell you what I think. I think there wasn’t any woman in the car with him.’’

  The same thought had occurred to me, but that’s not why his statement surprised me. ‘‘When did you concede that he was the driver?’’

  He shrugged. ‘‘Three years on the run? At some point, denying it started sounding lame.’’

  Adam said, ‘‘I thought he was your friend.’’

  ‘‘So did I.’’ He stopped swinging the club. ‘‘But he’s a leech. He latches onto things and sucks them dry. I’m talking business, friends, women.’’

  I said, ‘‘Do you think the woman was an ex with a grudge?’’

  ‘‘Here’s what I think,’’ he said. ‘‘The caller was some chick he tricked into picking him up after he set fire to his Beemer. You know—‘Hey, baby, the car broke down. Can you come get me?’ She shows up and he smells like smoke and gasoline. Later she hears about the hit-and-run, puts two and two together. Decides she doesn’t like being made a . . .’’ He snapped his fingers. ‘‘What do you call it, Harley?’’

  ‘‘Accessory after the fact,’’ she said.

  "He’s a user. Capital U. And I ought to know, since I’m the idiot who brought him on board at Mako.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Never hire somebody more ambitious than yourself. They’ll stick the blade between your ribs every time.’’

  I tasted acid in my mouth. Kenny thought this was about him. If he felt any anger, it was at being betrayed by Brand. I saw no evidence of sympathy for Isaac.

  His phone rang. He answered it, talked. ‘‘Dad wants to see us, Harley.’’

  Adopting a serious expression, he turned to Adam. ‘‘Brand’s caught in the court system. And the police have all the information you turned up. It’s out of our hands.’’

  His gaze settled on Adam’s crucifix. ‘‘Mexican silver, right?’’ He reached out, took it between his fingers, and started rubbing it. ‘‘Looks like you got a higher power you should be calling on right now.’’

  Adam raised a hand and removed the cross from Kenny’s fingers. His eyes looked like arrowheads.

  He said, ‘‘Let’s go, Evan.’’

  We walked out of the office. Kenny’s voice followed us.

  ‘‘Light a candle, Doc. That’s what you should be doing. Saying Hail Marys.’’

  Outside, Adam stalked toward his pickup truck. He carried himself as though he were expecting a punch, ready to clench a fist at the slightest provocation.

  ‘‘Pray to the Virgin. Treating me like a campesino, thinking I wouldn’t know I was being insulted.’’ He wheeled on me. ‘‘And what were you doing here? Did you think I was going to tear the lobby apart, or pour gasoline over myself and strike a match?’’

  ‘‘Please, that’s not it.’’

  ‘‘Franklin Brand murdered my brother. I cannot repeat that word enough. Murdered. Murdered. I am not overreacting.’’

  ‘‘I know you’re not.’’

  ‘‘I’m not suffering a breakdown, or going fuzzy-headed. To the contrary, I’m seeing things with astounding clarity.’’ His hands clenched and released. ‘‘Don’t worry about m
e. Take care of Jesse. He needs you now more than ever."

  "Of course I will."

  ‘‘He was run down and left to die because Brand was after Isaac. He was treated like litter.’’ He put a hand to his forehead. ‘‘It’s ghastly.’’

  He looked toward the beach, the university sitting on the bluff in the distance.

  ‘‘George Rudenski is going to look into things,’’ he said. ‘‘For what that’s worth.’’

  ‘‘That’s good.’’

  ‘‘Not good enough.’’

  Cue the straight line. ‘‘What would be good enough?’’

  He looked at me. ‘‘Brand’s head on a pike.’’

  Half a second after I started the Explorer, Amber Gibbs bounced through Mako’s front door. She looked like a kid set free for recess. I started to call to her and changed my mind, not wanting Mako people to see me asking her questions.

  She unlocked a blue Schwinn from a bike rack and pedaled away toward the shopping center up the road. I beat her there, and was waiting when she puffed in and dismounted. When she strolled into Jerry’s, I was behind her.

  Diners crowded the Formica tables. The TV in the corner was showing the Dodgers game. While Amber read the menu on the wall, I ordered a taco. I sat down and heard her tell the counterman, ‘‘Burrito, two tacos, large pintos with extra cheese. And a Diet Coke.’’

  She turned around to find a seat.

  I said, ‘‘Pull up a chair.’’ She sat down at the table. ‘‘You’re having quite a first day on the job.’’

  ‘‘No lie.’’ She smoothed her unruly hair.

  ‘‘How do you like Mako so far?’’

  ‘‘It’s complicated. There’s all these departments, and two Mr. Rudenskis, and an internal computer network with a million security rules.’’

  I tried to look sympathetic. ‘‘Well, cybersecurity is Mako’s business. Didn’t Diamond Mindworks have security rules?’’

  ‘‘ ‘If a reporter phones, hang up,’ ’’ she said. ‘‘ ‘And if anybody comes in looking for Mr. Diamond, tell him he’s gone for the day.’ ’’