Murder Mile High

by Lora Roberts

  “Not unless everything else evaporates. Sounds like you’ve got plenty.”

  Molly’s hands curved into claws. “If he gets off—”

  I pulled on her arm. “Don’t make any rash remarks here, Molly. Byron will be well enough to testify, I’m sure.”

  Her expression changed. “Oh, my God. My son, on the witness stand? How humiliating! I’ll never be elected to the school board!”

  Kyle was led away, with O’Malley and Phil in attendance. Eva paused beside us. “Don’t worry,” she said, smiling. “These things can take awhile to come to trial. And I’ll vote for you in November!”

  “So, we can leave?”

  Eva nodded. “I told the hospital someone would drive Mrs. Fahey over there. Do you want to?”

  “Sure. It’s as easy as that? Everything’s settled?”

  “Lots of work ahead, but not for you.” She patted my shoulder. “Thanks for your help, Liz. You shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in it, of course.”

  “I felt I had to. I heard O’Malley tell you to back off, and I figured someone wanted me to take the fall.”

  “I know. I thought that, too.” Her gaze fell. “An internal investigation was going on, but only a few cops knew about it—and O’Malley was one. When he got orders to slack off, he had to appear to slack off. The investigation was completed late this afternoon. I can’t tell you about the results—although they might end up in the paper—but some people rather high up have been found guilty of impropriety at the least, in both the INS and police services. Evidently Naylor hadn’t been making the proper payoffs, and had threatened to do some whistle-blowing if he was pressed for the money.”

  She shrugged, glancing at Molly, who had clearly checked out of our conversation and was gnawing nervously at her knuckle. “Anyway, we moved as soon as we could to get the search warrants and things. But by the time we were ready to pick up Baldridge, he’d slipped away. I was coming to tell you to be careful, but it was too late.”

  “So, can I go back to California?”

  “Probably.” Eva nodded. “Come in Monday to wrap up the paperwork. If they need you to testify, whenever that is— she glanced at the school board candidate— “they can fly you back.”

  “Cool.” I took Molly’s arm. “Come on. Let me behind the wheel of that monster you drive.”

  My sister’s face was wan. “What if Byron—”

  “He’s too ornery to die,” I predicted, pulling her out the door.

  Chapter 30

  Biff was asleep on the cranked-up hospital bed; he was pale, and his breathing sounded labored. A patchwork of bandages covered his shoulder and torso. Among them was a very nasty-looking plastic tube which the nurse last night had told me was a drain. In the pale daylight that came through the vertical blinds, he looked surprisingly attenuated.

  Amy stood beside me. She’d been complaining all the way up in the elevator about visiting a jerk like Biff, but once in the room, seeing the evidence of his danger, she turned thoughtful.

  “Maybe we should just leave the book,” I said, low-voiced. “Looks like he’s racked.”

  “I’m surprised Aunt Molly isn’t here.” Amy laid down the book we’d brought on the bedside table. “He looks, like, below the absolute lowest.” She clutched my arm. “I mean—it’s not like I like him or anything, but he is going to get well, isn’t he? Not be, like, on screen-saver forever or anything?”

  “Molly said the doctor said complete recovery after the wound heals. Maybe some limited motion for a while—”

  “Oh, shit.” Biff opened his eyes. “You mean I can’t lift? Damn—”

  Amy actually patted his arm. “Probably just for a while, Biff-boy. You’ll be whirling the dumbbells in no time.”

  He looked up at her, and a touch of his old arrogance surfaced. “Had to come to my sickbed, did you, Amy? Gonna figure out a way to take my mind off my pain?”

  I expected her to turn around making gagging noises, but she surprised me by smiling tolerantly. “You’re in no condition to chase anyone around the room, sonny.”

  “Yeah. Right.” He closed his eyes again. I hadn’t noticed before, with his eyebrows lowered so far over his eyes, that they were a nice shade of blue-green.

  “We brought you a book,” Amy said, thumping it on the bed beside him. Biff flinched. “Sorry.” She patted his arm again, and shot me a look. “Aunt Liz picked it out.” Amy had wanted to give him Backlash, which she was currently reading for a social studies class, and which she thought he really needed.

  “Sort of for younger kids, but I thought it would be easy to read.” Now I was sorry I’d selected Redwall, by Brian Jacques. I’d read it out loud to Bridget’s kids one night, and gone on reading when they’d gone to bed. Admittedly, Bridget’s oldest is nine, but I figured a recuperating Biff would regress from his current emotional age of about fourteen to right around Corky’s age.

  Biff examined it. “Looks good.” He sent me a shy glance. “Mom was wishing she had something to read aloud to me. I always liked that when I was sick.”

  “Well, great.” I had something to say, but didn’t really want to say it in front of Amy. “Can we—do anything for you? Get you anything?”

  “My water pitcher is empty,” Biff said hesitantly.

  “Would you?” I handed the pitcher to Amy.

  “Sure.” She started for the bathroom.

  “Why don’t you find some ice for it somewhere?” She started to protest, glanced at me, and then shrugged.

  “Sure thing, Aunt Liz.”

  Biff lay back on his bed, eyes still closed. I took a step closer. “Listen, Biff, I’m glad you’re awake, because I wanted to thank you for tackling Kyle last night. I’m sure you kept him from shooting me. I’m just sorry he shot you.”

  “He didn’t really mean to, I think.” Biff surprised me, wrinkling up his forehead in thought. “I went over it this morning with Officer Gutierrez. She’s actually pretty cool.” He licked his lips and glanced at me. “Actually, I pretty much acted like a jerk. I was just looking for something all the time to keep myself amped.” He sounded wondering. “I mean, like, I almost died! I mean, people were always telling me I was looking for trouble, and then—bam! I found it.” He glanced at me again. “Mom said you kept me from bleeding to death. Thanks. I—I owe you.”

  “No you don’t. We canceled each other out.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back.

  Molly bustled in, followed by Amy, who carried a brimming pitcher of ice chips. “Now, my boy needs his rest,” Molly said, edging me aside and lovingly smoothing the sheet that covered Biff’s stomach.

  “Look, Mom. They brought us a book to read.” Biff turned to his mother.

  Molly looked at the book, then at me. “This looks—interesting, Liz.”

  “I liked it.” I watched Amy set the pitcher down. “We should go. Don’t want to tire the patient. I might not see you again, Biff, so I hope you get well quickly.”

  Molly turned quickly. “You’re leaving that soon?”

  “In a day or two. I’m going to talk to Mom and Dad this afternoon, and then tomorrow or the next day I’ll be pulling out.”

  Molly started to speak, glanced at Amy, and bit her lip. “Maybe I’ll stop by Morn and Dad’s later, too.”

  “Okay. See you.” I waved at Biff, and he waved Redwall back.

  Mom answered the door. Her color was better than I’d seen it, and she looked pretty steady on her legs. “Lizzie.” She smiled at me. “Molly just got here. She said Biff is doing so much better this afternoon. He might get out of the hospital by Wednesday.” She stepped aside for me to enter. “And at least, the police finally got the man who killed your husband. And Conchita came back this morning, she said—just visiting her sister.” She guided me into the kitchen. “Come have a cup of coffee. Molly brought a tea cake.”

  Dad sat at the kitchen table, a big slice of tea cake in front of him. He nodded at me, but didn’t look pleased. “That policeman was by,” he said,
setting his coffee cup down with a solid clunk. “Said I can’t get my gun back because I didn’t report it stolen, and my permit’s expired.”

  “I’m glad,” Mom said, sitting across from Dad and sipping from her cup. Molly sat between them, and I sat across from her. For a little while we were a microcosm of a happy family, even if we all knew it wouldn’t last. “I don’t want that nasty thing around here. If someone wants to break in, let them. We don’t have anything worth stealing anyway.”

  “You need a good dog,” Molly said, with a sly smile at me. “To bark and scare the burglars away.”

  Mom seemed divided as to which was worse, a dog or a gun. Dad paid more attention to his tea cake than to the conversation.

  I was feeling liberated. One more stop at the police station on Monday, and then I was free to leave.

  So I made a cup of tea with the flow-through tea bags which had probably been in the cupboard since before I left, and took some cake myself. I looked at Mom and Dad, arguing now over whether it was going to rain next week, and felt ashamed of my eagerness to be gone. I had lived a loner’s life too long, and family closeness felt too smothering. Besides, the internecine squabbling in my family would drive me mad before long.

  “So,” Molly said, guessing some of what was in my mind. “You’re leaving soon?”

  Mom and Dad stopped arguing and looked at me. I looked down at the murky surface of my tea.

  “Yeah. I gather it may be a while before Kyle even comes to trial, and if they need me then, they’ll fly me out.” I glanced quickly at Mom, and then away. “The writers’ workshop I teach starts a week from Tuesday, and I have other responsibilities, too.”

  We were silent for a moment. Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. “So it’s all over now,” she said softly.

  ‘‘I guess so.”

  Dad shook his head. “It’ll never be over.” He eyed me narrowly. “Her husband may be dead, but he’s not forgotten.”

  That was perceptive of him—I was surprised.

  “You should marry again,” Mom announced. “You’re not too old to have children.”

  Molly choked on her sip of coffee. “For heaven’s sake, Mom. Let her breathe for a while before you start throwing men at her head.”

  “I’d duck, anyway.” I smiled at Mom. “I’m not the marrying kind.”

  She looked troubled. Dad thundered, “You’d better attend Mass, girl, and get yourself straightened out. You’re asking for damnation, the way you’re going.”

  “Actually, I’m going West.” I cleared my throat. “But I wondered—Mom, you want to go look at the leaves tomorrow afternoon? I noticed on my way into town, the quakies are turning.”

  “What a nice idea!” Mom was delighted. “Why, it must have been two or three years since we’ve been out to look at the quakies, isn’t it, Fergus?”

  Dad just stared at me, amazed. “A big game is on TV tomorrow!”

  Molly laughed. “I think it sounds great. I’d go if I didn’t need to be at the hospital with Biff. But Amy and Renee might want to go. You could take my car.”

  “And we’ll stop for pizza.”

  Molly looked puzzled, but Mom clapped her hands. “Yes,” she cried. “I love pizza.”

  We settled on a time, and I got up to leave. Molly followed me to the door.

  “We’ve been planning to go to Hawaii this winter,” she said casually, walking me out to the bus. “Maybe we’ll stop over in San Francisco and visit.”

  “Sure.” I tried to sound welcoming, but I felt dismay. Molly, the family princess, visiting my humble little cottage? I couldn’t see her sleeping on the lumpy sofa bed that Amy had used.

  “We’ll stay at a hotel—I know you’re hard up for space.” I could forgive her the condescending voice in which she said this, since it relieved my mind. “But maybe you can show us around a little.”

  “That would be fun.” We smiled at each other, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “My little sister.” She hugged me once, fiercely. “I’ve missed you all these years.”

  I hugged her back. We stood there, silent, not knowing what to say.

  “Well,” Molly said finally, brightly, “I’ll come by tomorrow, and you can drive me to the hospital. And go on for your aspens and pizza!”

  “A truly cheesy excursion.” I got in the bus and drove away.

  Chapter 31

  I crossed the Bay Bridge at dusk, with the lights of San Francisco tempting my gaze away from the traffic that whizzed past me. When you drive a bus, you sit up high; I could see the Transamerica Pyramid and the fantastic top of the Marriott, which is nicknamed the Jukebox for its extravagance. My whole body hummed with road vibrations; I’d been driving since early that morning, stopping at Donner Summit to fix some lunch and let Barker run. He’d been sitting in the passenger seat for the last twenty miles, scenting the ocean in the breeze.

  We cruised down 101, mingling with commuters. After the airport, the traffic lightened considerably. I was low on gas, but figured I could make it home. And that’s all I wanted—to be home.

  By the time we reached the Willow Road exit, I wasn’t really safe to drive any more. But Babe knew the last few miles like the back of her tires. I turned off Middlefield, wound around Palo Alto Avenue, turned onto my street. Babe slipped down the driveway and stopped, panting, in front of the garage.

  Drake’s lights were on. When I opened my door, Barker bounded past me and tore wildly around the yard, revisiting all his favorite smelling posts. I shut the driver’s door and had a big stretch, breathing in the fragrance of freshly cut grass and the roses next to the driveway.

  Before I could start hauling my stuff out, Drake came hurrying out of his back door. His frizzy hair stood on end, a sign of emotion for him, and his wire-rimmed glasses made him look like a young, fit Einstein.

  “Liz!” He grabbed me in a bear hug, and it felt good.

  Real good. I hugged back. When he kissed me, I kissed him back. That felt good, too, but remembering how attractive I’d found Kyle, I doubted my ability to know what was what with men.

  “It’s good to be home,” I said, and Drake seemed satisfied with that.

  “I’ve missed you a lot. And yes, your seedlings are fine, but I think they need to be planted soon.”

  “I’ll get on it tomorrow.”

  “And I got you some milk and eggs and bread and stuff.”

  My stomach growled. Barker stood on the front porch, gazing commandingly at me—he was ready to remember his way around the house.

  “Come on in, then,” I told Drake. “I’ll fix you some tea.”

  Copyright © 1996 by Lora Roberts Smith

  Originally published by Ballantine Books as a Fawcett Gold Medal Book

  Electronically published in 2003 by Belgrave House

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this ebook may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.