Proof (Caroline Auden Book 2)

by C. E. Tobisman

  She glanced over at Lani. With almond-shaped eyes and deeply tanned skin, Lani could’ve been part Polynesian, part Filipino, part Japanese, and a mishmash of a half dozen other genetic lines, all of which had come to mix in the Hawaiian Islands. And she was beautiful. It wasn’t inconceivable that some talent agent somewhere would’ve plucked her out of obscurity. Serendipity had more than a little to do with fame.

  “I never wanted to prove them right,” Lani finished quietly. “How much farther?”

  “We’ll be in Desert Hot Springs in another hour,” Caroline replied, allowing Lani to change the subject.

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll wait until morning to visit the Mullers,” Caroline said. It hadn’t been difficult to find an address for Federica’s parents. The Mullers had purchased their home forty-three years earlier. Plus, they were the only Mullers in the town.

  “Hotel?” Lani asked.

  “We’ll sleep in the car,” she declared the grim verdict. After bankrolling the residence hotel and meals for a small village of people, plus purchasing the car, her funds were running low. As it was, she’d have difficulty covering her next month’s rent. She’d worry about that if she survived her current adventure.

  Lani accepted the decision without comment. After nights on the street, a night in an Eldorado’s front seat didn’t sound so bad, Caroline realized.

  “Have you figured out what you’re going to say to Federica?” Lani asked.

  “No, but I think she’s on the run.”

  In her periphery, she saw Lani turn to study her face.

  “No one at Oasis knows where she is,” Caroline said. During the hours she’d waited for Albert to ensure that the LAPD had called off its hunt for her, she’d reviewed all of the evidence she’d gleaned about the woman that everyone at The Pastures had known as Patricia Amos. She’d found her notes about the e-mail she’d seen when she’d hacked Conrad Vizzi’s account.

  “Vizzi lost track of her—they can’t find her,” Caroline said.

  “But you think her parents know where she is?”

  “I do.” Caroline couldn’t explain exactly how she knew the Mullers would know where their daughter was hiding except that she knew if she had good parents, she’d go to them, too, if she found herself on the run.

  “Are you going to tell the Mullers what happened to your grandma?” Lani asked.

  Caroline shook her head. The gesture was equal parts uncertainty and disbelief. That she was trying to find the woman who’d murdered her grandmother was unfathomable. That she needed to find her was undeniable, though. She tried to imagine what she’d say to Federica.

  Hello, you killed my grandmother. Will you be a witness in a criminal prosecution?

  Maybe Lani would do the talking.

  CHAPTER 26

  The sun rose crisp and clear. Though it shed no warmth at the early hour, it reflected bright and blinding off the small house. A garden of rocks covered the spot in the front yard where people from more temperate climates might’ve planted grass. A pickup truck sat in the driveway, its wheels caked in white dirt.

  Behind the dwelling, hills rolled into the distance, dotted with tan tufts of dried plants. The Santa Ana winds that still plagued the city had left the desert pleasant. The sky was an electric blue, stark against the hills.

  Caroline stretched her arms and heard something pop back into joint in her neck.

  A night sleeping in the Eldorado in a residential neighborhood ten miles away in Palm Springs hadn’t done good things to her back. And yet, the discomfort of spending a night in a car seat had been at least a partial boon—it had distracted her from the dreaded task that now lay a mere twenty yards ahead of her at the end of the driveway.

  “You ready for this?” asked Lani.

  “No,” said Caroline, walking up the front walkway toward the front door.

  When she reached the door, she knocked before she could change her mind.

  A chorus of dog barks let her know their arrival had been duly noted by the occupants.

  Soon, there was a shuffling and then some clicks as someone unlocked the door.

  It swung open to reveal a woman with auburn hair streaked with gray.

  Federica Muller’s mother.

  At the sight of her, Caroline’s mouth went dry as the desert hills.

  Fortunately, Lani spoke.

  “Are you Mrs. Muller?” she asked.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m a friend of Rica’s, and I was hoping she might be here.”

  The auburn-haired woman squinted at Lani in distrust. Behind her, a tabby cat slunk by, slowing its step to regard the strangers. The suspicion in the cat’s golden eyes mirrored the owner’s.

  “I lived with Rica,” Lani continued. “We were in the dorm together at Oasis. Nobody’s heard from Rica in a couple of weeks, and I got worried. I thought maybe she needed help.”

  Lani’s tone was convincing, and Caroline realized it was because she was telling the truth. She really was worried.

  Mrs. Muller stepped back, making room for Lani and Caroline to step into the foyer.

  The dwelling was modest. The foyer and living room were covered in thick brown carpet. The ceiling was made of acoustic material. Sandwiched between the cottage cheese and the shag, Caroline felt like a hamburger inside a bun. The effect was stifling.

  “I haven’t seen my daughter in quite some time,” Mrs. Muller said, glancing toward the cat, which had turned to slink back toward what Caroline guessed was the kitchen.

  “When’s the last time you spoke with her?” Caroline asked, finding her voice.

  “Oh, let me see,” said Mrs. Muller, looking away again. “We must be going around two months ago now. But that Rica has always been an independent-minded gal. She calls whenever she calls. Always been like that.”

  The woman was lying, and not very well, Caroline decided.

  Mrs. Muller was protecting a murderer. That Federica happened to be Mrs. Muller’s daughter didn’t matter to Caroline.

  “Who’s there?” came a man’s voice from somewhere in the house.

  “Just some friends of Rica’s,” said the woman, her voice still artificially cheery.

  “Did you tell them we don’t know where she is?” asked the man, who stepped into view. Tall and wiry, he stooped slightly. At his side, a large golden retriever panted. The dog’s mouth stretched into a wide smile that Caroline wished his owners might have greeted her with.

  “I sure did, honey,” answered Mrs. Muller.

  “Good, then I’m sure they’ll want to be on their way now,” said Mr. Muller, his lips pursed together tightly.

  “I know Rica’s had some trouble in the past,” Lani said. “She used to tell me about how she’d left town to follow that band and then things kind of went downhill from there.”

  Caroline watched Mr. Muller’s lips purse even more tightly. He was bristling at the implication that he should have done something to prevent his daughter’s downward slide—a slide he didn’t realize involved taking people’s lives.

  “We really need to speak with her,” Caroline said. “She might’ve gotten wrapped up in some . . . bad stuff.” The last two words were so dense with understatement and euphemism that she almost choked on them.

  “I heard Rica got herself together,” Lani piped in, shooting Caroline a warning look.

  Caroline understood. She was pushing too hard. The edge in her voice was too evident. Vowing to let Lani do the talking, she took a calming breath and tried not to focus on Charles Manson’s parents.

  “She’s been doing really well,” Lani continued. “I know she even got herself an apartment and everything. That’s why I wanted to make sure she’s okay. Are you sure you can’t help us find her? We just want to help.”

  Caroline saw a glimmer of something in Mrs. Muller’s eyes. Remorse. Or longing.

  She wanted to talk, Caroline realized. But she couldn’t.

  The awkward silence str
etched out, filling the brown-carpeted living room.

  “That’s a beautiful dog,” Caroline said finally. At least the dog hadn’t killed anyone. “What’s his name?”

  “Max,” said Mrs. Muller.

  “Do you mind if I pet him?” Caroline asked, squatting.

  Mr. Muller opened his mouth to speak, but Mrs. Muller answered first.

  “Sure, honey. He’s a friendly one.”

  Caroline squatted. “Come here, Max.”

  The dog obliged, trotting over to Caroline for a rub between the ears. The sensation of soft fur under her hands calmed Caroline. The Mullers hadn’t killed anyone. Regardless of what they thought or didn’t think about their daughter, regardless of what they knew or didn’t know about their daughter’s job at Oasis, they were innocent of the wrongdoing that Caroline laid at their daughter’s feet.

  Caroline reminded herself she’d come to the desert for a reason.

  “We really just want to talk to her,” Caroline said. “I understand what it’s like to have a loved one end up places you wish they’d never gone. I know how hard that can be.”

  Mr. Muller eyed Caroline, his jaw working.

  A bark from the other room caught the golden retriever’s attention, and the dog trotted off, apparently having found the human drama unfolding by the front door uninteresting. At the dog’s arrival in the kitchen, there was another chorus of barks, punctuated by some hissing.

  Mr. Muller took a step toward Caroline and Lani, forcing them to back up toward the front door.

  “Please,” Lani said. “We just want to help.”

  Caroline heard the desperation in Lani’s voice, but she wasn’t looking at Lani. She was looking at the two dog bowls by the door of the kitchen. Two large ceramic bowls with the name Max stenciled on their sides sat beside a small metal mixing bowl that had clearly been repurposed as a dog bowl.

  Giving a low whistle, Caroline was gratified to see the golden retriever return.

  But this time, he’d brought a friend. A Jack Russell terrier. Trotting gamely behind the larger dog, the terrier paused to regard the newcomers.

  Again, Caroline squatted low.

  “Baby, come,” she commanded.

  There was a short pause.

  And then the Jack Russell terrier trotted over to Caroline.

  The looks of mortification on the Mullers’ faces told Caroline she’d guessed correctly.

  “Hey, that’s—” Lani began.

  “We’re just leaving,” Caroline cut her off.

  As she rose to her feet, Caroline kept her eyes on Mrs. Muller.

  “I’m going to give you a note,” she said in a cool tone. “I want you to give it to your daughter—you know, if you by chance just happen to see her.”

  Taking a scrap of paper from her makeshift laptop bag, Caroline wrote three short lines of text. Then she folded the page in half and handed it to Mrs. Muller.

  Federica’s mother opened the note and read the text.

  When she met Caroline’s eyes, her own held curiosity.

  “Thank you for your help,” Caroline said rather than answering.

  Then she allowed Mr. Muller to usher them out the door.

  “That was Rica’s dog,” Lani said, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

  “I know,” said Caroline, opening the driver’s side door of the Eldorado. In the time since they’d been in the Mullers’ house, the day and the interior of the car had heated up. Neither fact could keep her from getting away from the house as soon as possible. It had already been a risk to come to Federica’s parents’ house. That the hit man had not made an appearance, too, was a blessing. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t near.

  “If you knew it was her dog, why’d you let them kick us out?” Lani asked, climbing into the passenger seat.

  “They served their purpose.” Caroline sat down behind the big maroon steering wheel of the Eldorado and turned on the engine. She pulled away from the curb and hung a U-turn before hurrying away from the Mullers’ house.

  Lani fixed the side of Caroline’s face with a stare.

  “What do you mean?” Lani asked.

  “I mean I’m going to meet Federica Muller for lunch.”

  “I’ll get out here.” Caroline moved over to let Lani take the wheel of the Eldorado.

  “Really?” Lani eyed the restaurant Caroline had stopped in front of. “Mexican food?”

  “I saw it on the way into town. Casa Blanca Mexican Feast. Nice name, right?”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Lani asked.

  “As I said, I’m meeting Federica Muller for lunch. Now please go park in the alley behind the restaurant.” Caroline had driven a lap around the restaurant to confirm it had a back door on the alley. “We could be here a little while, but I need you to be ready to help us get away fast if things go badly. I’ll bring you a burrito.”

  Caroline sat in the back booth of the Mexican restaurant for almost an hour before the bells on the door tinkled and a woman entered. With shoulder-length hair hidden beneath a hat, she looked more nondescript than the last time Caroline had seen her, but Federica Muller’s green eyes were the same, as was the tattoo that encircled the hand that held the door open.

  Federica wore a long sweater, handwoven and hanging down to her midthigh. The hiking shoes on her feet were covered with the same white dirt that Caroline had observed on the tires of Mr. Muller’s truck.

  Seeing Caroline waiting for her, Federica blanched. Her face drained of color. Her eyelids let loose a rapid-fire staccato of blinks. A nervous twitch, Caroline noted. Knowing that Federica was anxious didn’t do much to quell Caroline’s own nerves. Her heart rate increased with each step Federica took down the aisle.

  When Federica reached the booth, she stopped.

  With her left hand, she pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and put it on the table.

  In the half-unfolded sheet, Caroline could see the message she’d scrawled.

  8-3-16, 8-16-16, 9-11-16,

  Casa Blanca Mex—11:15 today

  “Sit down. Please.” Caroline gestured to the seat across from her.

  With halting movements, Federica obliged, sinking into the red vinyl booth, hands clasped in her lap, her eyes downcast.

  “Can I call you Rica?” Caroline asked. “Seems like that’s what people call you.”

  Federica winced at the words. She made no attempt to explain why she’d introduced herself as Patricia Amos when they’d met at The Pastures.

  “You messed up, didn’t you?” Caroline asked.

  Federica just blinked.

  Caroline pointed at the dates. “My grandma made her last will on August 3. She died on September 11. But by that day, you’d already given Simon Reed the watch for his birthday. There’s video footage of him wearing it at a birthday banquet on August 16.”

  When Federica didn’t disagree, Caroline continued, emboldened.

  “You gave it to him too soon, didn’t you? My grandmother was still alive,” Caroline said. It had bothered her when she’d realized that Simon was wearing her grandma’s watch. But when she’d focused on the dates, her concerns had deepened. There was only one explanation for it: Federica had given Simon the watch as soon as Kate had remade her will.

  Instead of answering, Federica shrank down in the booth, looking as if she wished she could disappear into the floor.

  “Even if you killed my grandmother later, you couldn’t undo the timing. Or the videos documenting it. The fact that Simon was wearing that watch before it became Oasis’s property incriminates him.” Much as she despised facing the woman who’d killed her grandmother, it gave Caroline a malevolent thrill to see her squirm.

  “That’s why you’ve run away,” Caroline pressed. “You knew they’d come for you. Even killing my grandmother later couldn’t fix what you’d done to Simon by exposing him.”

  As Federica blinked her fears in a wave of nervous tics, Caroline felt no sympathy. All of the chapters wi
th her grandmother were finished. No more would be written. She’d have memories, but there would be no new material. And this was the woman who’d stolen that from her.

  “I didn’t kill her.” Federica’s voice was tiny but insistent. Her green eyes, which had fluttered throughout Caroline’s cross-examination, now held a surprising earnestness.

  “The timing of my grandmother’s will and her death speaks for itself,” Caroline said. She’d seen the pattern. Once her uncle had pointed it out, the pattern had become an irrefutable indictment of the woman who’d called herself Patricia Amos.

  “I’m not saying I wasn’t supposed to kill her,” Federica began, “but I didn’t. I couldn’t. They tried to tell us these are mercy killings—you know, euthanasia for old people with dementia whose lives are hell. But even an old person who’s having trouble remembering stuff has a right to live, right?”

  “Um, right,” Caroline agreed.

  “Well, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill anyone. I’ve been living in a yurt the last few weeks up in the hills. My parents know where I am, but that’s all.” Federica twisted her hands together in her lap. “I’ve got some granola and some lentils and rice, and a camp stove and some tanks of water, but it’s cold and there are coyotes at night and—”

  “Wait, go back to the part where you didn’t kill my grandma,” Caroline said. “You’re saying she died of natural causes?”

  “Yes. I swear that’s the truth. Your grandmother was really great. I meant it when I said that to you. She was so warm and giving and nice. When I told her about Oasis, she wanted to help with the homeless program. She said something about wanting to help people like her son.”

  Caroline couldn’t deny that her grandmother might’ve done and said exactly as Federica’s words suggested. That was the kind of woman Grandma Kate had always been.

  “She wrote that new will,” Federica continued, “and then I went and picked up the watch. I knew Simon liked watches, so I gave it to Vizzi to give to him. I thought it would make Simon like me and that would be good since he’s the guy running everything and he’s got all kinds of connections, too.” As the ex-caregiver’s fire hose of words petered out, she looked back down at her hands and fluttered another cascade of nervous blinks.