“Parfait!” she said, channeling her foreign-exchange mother who had given her the recipe.
She hoped Solange was a light eater.
Before leaving for work, Ben brought over his latest creation, a heat-and-leak-proof food basket that fit on the floorboard of Lola’s passenger seat. Attractive and functional.
As promised, he also “threw in a few things” to round out the meal. She already had a green salad and fresh baguette from Tava’e’s, but Ben extended the menu with an hors d’oeuvres of water crackers, black-olive-and-anchovy tapenade, and a fresh summer dessert of strawberry shortcake, homemade with real whipped cream.
The man was a god.
Per Solange’s instructions, she did not add wine to the basket, looking forward to sampling a bottle from the French woman’s cellar.
Avoiding the afternoon tangle on PCH, Logan made Lola climb Killer Hill and turn right, going through town slowly, but steadily, on Jacaranda Avenue, which ran a few blocks up and parallel to the beach. Not as scenic, but it would get her there faster. She wanted the chicken to still be hot, and the whipped cream cold, when she arrived. She had to make one stop on the way, to drop off the last of her grant applications at the post office, which was about six blocks away, before coming back to Solange’s.
The short drive gave her time to reflect on the last couple of weeks. The attacks, Jeff’s death, almost losing Amy in the storm. Almost losing Otter 1.
The funerals, Amy’s engagement and upcoming wedding, the whole Fractals situation. She was still dealing with that last one. The family had decided. Their attorney called this morning to inform her they would not be funding any of their mother’s former projects. Period. She didn’t even have Rita’s job offer to fall back on. She was sure it would be snapped up quickly.
Greuger said he was going to talk with the rest of the board to get them to finance at least Logan’s salary for the first few months of the school year, until she could secure additional funding, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Her old nemesis, Bitterman, still had friends at district, and they were friends with several board members. Instead of expanding Fractals, she might be shutting it down completely.
In the meantime, Amy was getting a lot of pressure from Liam’s parents to “do things properly” in regards to their wedding, which, according to Liam’s mother, meant spending more money and inviting half of Scotland. Logan hoped, for Amy’s sake, that Liam had a backbone and stood up to his parents. It was their wedding. The way he handled this would tell Amy a lot about her future husband.
Last Monday, when Ben was working late, she’d indulged herself with a beach run, which cleared her mind, but she hadn’t been out since.
She used to run whenever she wanted. It wasn’t that Ben asked her stop. So why had she? She knew he’d be fine with her doing whatever, whenever. But he did like her to be home when he was home.
Jack had, too. Jack was a lot more obvious about it and pouted if she ever did something by herself or with a friend, so she’d gradually adjusted herself to his schedule. She didn’t want that to happen with Ben. She didn’t want to go backward. She wanted to be with someone, but still be herself.
Why did relationships have to be so hard?
Since she was just dropping off, she didn’t have to wait in line at the post office. Now all she had to do was remember the name of the street to turn right on to get to Solange’s place. Located on a bluff overlooking most of Jasper, it wasn’t far, but the entrance to her property was way up the hill and wound around from the back.
Agate. That’s it.
Recently tuned by Mr. Delgado, Logan’s best friend’s father and the best mechanic in the area, Lola made the steep climb without so much as a hiccup.
Approaching the driveway, Logan was glad they caught the man who had attacked Solange, killed Jeff, and almost got Amy. She shuddered at how close she came to losing her daughter.
According to Rick, the police hadn’t caught him so much as found him already dead somewhere down in Guadalajara, Mexico. Through the driver’s license picture Detective Andrews showed her, Solange identified the guy, an attorney named Schofield, as her attacker, but that’s about all Rick knew. It was an ongoing investigation. If the detectives knew more, they weren’t sharing.
Amy hadn’t seen the attack on Jeff, but given that a man had tried to assault her just after Jeff was killed, they had to assume the attorney was not only Solange and Amy’s attacker, but also the boy’s murderer.
Logan was just glad it was over. Even though it was August, it wasn’t too hot yet. She had a couple of weeks left to fund Fractals or start looking for a job. Amy was happy and in love. And she had to admit, so was she.
She let that thought roll around in her mind.
She pulled in next to a black Ford F-150 that was parked beside Solange’s silver Audi.
Must have company.
Logan parked and walked around to retrieve the food basket from the passenger side.
Down the bluff, the ocean sparkled, and the sky was denim blue. What a gorgeous view. Like Bonnie said . . . if no one was in jail or in the hospital, it was a good day.
Hooking the basket over her left forearm like Little Red Riding Hood, she knocked on the door of Grandma’s house.
49
Monday, August 3, 2015
I don’t ask twice, and I don’t take no for an answer,” the man said calmly, waving Logan over to the couch with a gun. At least she thought it was a gun. She was too scared to look at it directly. Something dark gray and shiny was pointing at her. He’d already relieved her of her food basket at the door.
“Sit,” he said.
She sat.
While he checked the windows for any other unwanted visitors, Logan tried to focus. Rick said something once he’d learned in the police academy about how to accurately describe someone. Something about estimating height to door frames and looking for details like are their earlobes attached or not.
This guy’s head came up to the painting on the wall beside him. Large brown eyes, neat nails. Gold chain bracelet. Thick gold wedding ring. Hispanic. Solid, but not cut, dressed conservatively for a criminal. Nice jeans, golf shirt. Expensive-looking watch. Also gold.
If only she had known Solange’s thin, raspy invitation to come in had been done at gunpoint.
“As soon as my business is attended to, I’ll be out of your hair,” the man stated calmly.
Logan was not reassured. She’d seen his face. She could identify him. Wasn’t that always a bad sign? Didn’t that mean they weren’t planning on letting you live long enough to tell the police?
Think, Logan, think!
Solange sat very still, perched on the end of the couch, looking pale.
Just then, a Siamese cat stalked past the gunman and meowed at the sliding glass door leading onto the back patio.
“He wants out,” Solange said.
The cat meowed again, this time pacing insistently back and forth.
The man nodded for Solange to open the door and let the cat out. She left it open.
“He’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said by way of explanation.
Continuing smoothly, as if the interruption hadn’t occurred, the man went on. “As you may have heard,” he said, directing his comment to Solange, “I no longer have an attorney, but scum suckers are easy to replace.” His voice was smooth and low, almost honeyed. “I bought a new one last week and had these drawn up yesterday.” He indicated the papers on the coffee table in front of them. Keeping the gun on Logan, he turned his head slightly left to Solange. “As we were discussing before your friend got here, all you need to do is sign.”
Solange’s hand wavered, and it looked like she might be sick. She dropped the pen.
“Now,” he said.
Picking the pen back up, gripping it harder this time, she did.
&nb
sp; “All three copies, puta,” he said, never raising his voice.
When she was done, he had Logan place the original and all the copies into a secure messenger envelope and hand it to him. He tucked it under his arm.
Solange sank back against the cushions.
Not ready to leave yet, apparently, he took a moment to gloat.
Assuming he was going to kill them, Logan looked for an opening—any opening. If she could knock the gun out of his hand, maybe it would go off and a neighbor would hear it and call the cops. Or better yet, come help.
Right. Nobody in their right mind would run into a house where they’d heard gunshots.
It wasn’t much of a plan, but there was no time to make a better one.
The man seemed more relaxed now. He’d gotten what he came for and seemed in no rush to leave.
“Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. McKenna. Felix Rodriguez.”
It was not a good sign he knew her name.
“Yes, I know all of you people. All you otter people,” he laughed.
He sat down in one of the chairs but kept the gun trained at Logan’s chest. She hoped he knew how to handle that thing, and it wouldn’t go off accidentally, then realized that was a weird thing to wish. She probably shouldn’t want her attacker to be an experienced gunman.
“You know what this is about, don’t you?”
“No,” she said honestly.
“Money,” he said. “Just money. And hard work. But not necessarily my own.” He stretched his legs out in front of him, then pulled them back, resting his elbows on his knees. “My father now, and his father, and every other wetback father, brother, or uncle. They worked hard. Gardening. Pounding nails. Eking out a living. But they don’t get a very big piece of the pie. Just a little slice. And they’re supposed to say thank you, then crawl back across the border when they’re done. But me, I figured it out. You don’t settle for a sliver and you don’t say thank you. You take the whole pie.”
None of this made any sense to Logan, but she wasn’t in a position to ask questions. The longer he rambled, the longer they stayed alive.
“This land, for example,” he tapped the messenger envelope. “Lot 429. Thanks to your generous gift just now, I own the surface of it. But thanks to the greed of my former attorney, I also own its guts. All the riches underneath—that big pool of oil just sitting there, waiting to be sucked out. There’s a fortune under there. But I don’t have to get it out. I don’t have to do the work. I just have to sell it to someone who will.” He leaned back and smiled broadly. “And I own a controlling share of your idiot half brother’s project, Paradise Shores. Isn’t he going to be surprised when he finds out the oil company’s going to drill right under him? Even if he wins in court, he loses.”
Logan felt sorry for Scott but was relieved to learn he wasn’t part of this. That would have crushed Solange. She heard Scott had visited his new sister several times in the hospital.
“Well, I’d love to stay, but I have several phone calls to make on the drive back,” Felix said, “and you’re coming with, Ms. McKenna.”
He made them both stand up, put Logan in front of him, then turned and casually backhanded Solange hard across the face, knocking her back toward the couch.
Someone rang the doorbell.
Was everyone visiting Solange today?
Felix tightened his grip on Logan and stuck the muzzle of his gun between her shoulder blades.
“Not one sound,” he whispered into her ear.
She had no intention of making any sound, let alone more than one.
Not daring to move her head, she cut her eyes back over to the couch, where Solange was slumped sideways, half-on, half-off the couch. She hoped she was OK. The woman was in her seventies. How many hits could she take? She was just recovering from being strangled.
“Ms. Sauvage?” said the voice from outside. “It’s Detective Diaz. My partner spoke with you on the phone. We have an appointment to speak with you today. We need you to review and sign your statement. ” He knocked again. “Ms. Sauvage? Are you there?”
Held against his chest, but not as tightly now, Logan heard Felix’s shallow breaths and felt his sweat through the back of her shirt. Trying to hold herself perfectly still, her right calf was beginning to cramp.
Hoping Felix was too distracted to notice, she very carefully bent her right wrist and slowly extracted a small canister of pepper spray from her pocket.
Thank you, Little Brother.
He’d been insisting she carry pepper spray on her runs. Just as she was gathering her courage, planning her GI Jane attack, she felt as much as saw a shadow darkening the back door Solange had left open for the cat. Felix turned to look over his right shoulder, moving his gun away from her as he did so.
It was now or never.
Logan whipped around, tried to hold the can as far from her own face as possible, squeezed her eyes shut, and aimed.
At the same time, she heard someone rushing in from the open door behind them, yelling, “Police! Drop the gun! Drop the gun!”
Felix got slammed into the wall just as she pressed the top of the can down, letting loose a powerful stream of pepper spray . . .
. . . right into the eyes of her rescuer, Detective Andrews.
While Andrews and Solange were being treated by the EMTs, Diaz cuffed Felix and pushed him into the back of one of the squad cars recently arrived on the scene to take him into the station.
Miraculously, Solange was OK.
“We French have very hard heads,” she said, refusing to return to the hospital.
“I am perfectly fine,” she insisted. “I do not wish to leave my home.”
With a promise she would call someone to come stay with her for the night, they finally relented and packed up their gear.
After giving yet another police statement, Logan was also released. She put the chicken in the fridge and shared a glass of the wonderful Domaine aux Moines Savennieres Solange had intended for their meal, while waiting for her babysitter to arrive.
Logan learned that she and Scott were pulling the case out of court. They weren’t sure how yet, but they were going to sort out the lot 429 issues equitably. One thing both were set on—the Southern Sea Otter Sanctuary and Education Center would open on schedule. Apparently, Scott had met Sadie—everyone had given up calling her Otter 1—and it was love at first sight. Solange filling the dual roles of sister and mother figure didn’t hurt, either.
What Felix and Gary hadn’t known was that the California state legislature was passing a bill protecting wildlife centers from having any minerals extracted from the property if it disturbed the animals. And drilling for oil would definitely disturb recovering sea otters.
Everything else could be worked out. Solange was having a proper will drawn up, leaving everything to Scott, which went a long way toward helping him give up his Pacific Shores project on lot 429. In the meantime, they had already started working on a creative and profitable project on another piece of Solange’s property in Cormorant Canyon. Scott was building an even better version of his dream project, while also establishing a much-needed wildlife corridor.
According to Tava’e, who overheard their planning sessions when they met at her coffee shop, brother and sister continued to argue about the balance between the needs of animals and people, but at least they did it over decent meals.
They were family.
Although he would have to stay out of Detective Andrews’s way for a while, Rick was proud of his big sister. He and Paula promptly bought her another can of pepper spray.
Amy and Liam came by to make sure she was all right, and Ben didn’t let Logan out of his sight for several days.
Home never felt better.
50
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Digging her toes down into the cool, wet sa
nd, Logan looked out to sea, watching the lazy orange ball that was the sun slip past the horizon into the sea.
On Bonnie’s insistence, she bought, and actually wore, heels to go with her dress, but kicked them off as soon as the ceremony was over. What was the purpose of having a beach wedding if you couldn’t go barefoot? She refused to buy a frumpy beige mother-of-the-bride outfit, so with Amy’s permission, she had ordered a simple sea-green sundress online. It worked perfectly.
A soft breeze lifted her hair off her shoulders. From here, she could hear the band and see the glow of garden lights strung across the wooden dance floor, illuminating the happy, swirling wedding guests. She’d go back in a minute, but for now, she relished this moment.
Everything had gone beautifully. Somehow they’d managed to please Liam’s very particular parents, who’d flown in from Scotland a week ago, ready to take over, only to find everything handled.
Logan bought Amy’s dress, and she and Ben gave the newlyweds something toward their honeymoon. Luckily, that’s all the help they needed, because she was just about at the last of her savings. The board had spoken. She had until the thirtieth to come up with the funding for Fractals or she was unemployed. Again.
Amy’s dress was perfect, though. Four days before the wedding, they decided to try the ’70s place down the hill. They discovered a vintage ivory lace dream, carefully folded and layered in tissue in the bottom drawer of a handsome bow dresser, obtained by the owner of the shop in an estate sale. The original bride had been a little bustier than Amy, but with Bonnie’s sewing skills, the dress was converted into an elegant strapless wedding gown that fit Amy as if it had been designed for her.
Wanting everything “done right” for their only son, Liam’s mother originally wished to hold the reception at the prestigious Pacific Newport Golf Club, where, she informed them, “We have reciprocal privileges with our club in Scotland.” But after seeing Tava’e’s oceanfront spread, she wisely kept her mouth shut.
She also wanted a large, traditional wedding at a proper church, with a guest list long enough for “your father’s extensive business associates” and every relative, no matter how distant, who could be counted on for a gift.
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