Hot, Shot, and Bothered

by Nora McFarland

  He put his hand up. “Don’t overreact.”

  “Did Callum make a deal with KBLA?”

  “It’s the right move. They don’t have a reporter and we don’t have a satellite truck.”

  I put down my camera and sticks. “But now we’ve got two shooters, and I don’t want to work with Slim. He’s lazy and won’t do anything.”

  “Who’s Slim?”

  I gestured toward the baseball field. “That shooter from L.A. He’s a slug and his name is Tim or Jim or something.” Several passersby were looking, so I tried to lower my voice. “I call him Slim.”

  “His name is Dennis.”

  “Who cares? The point is, he’s a slug and I don’t want to partner up with him.”

  “But isn’t this what you’ve wanted for the last two weeks: the chance to broadcast live pictures from where the fire is actually happening?”

  He was right. It was the kind of opportunity a breaking-news junkie lives for. I wanted to cover the fire just as much as Rod, probably more. But was it right to run off chasing a big story while Jessica’s killer quietly got away with murder? And someone had tried to kill me too. Was I supposed to ignore that?

  I shook my head. “I have to go see the Elizabeth police. Hopefully when I tell them about the man at Road’s End, they’ll start a real investigation.” I suddenly remembered something. “Crud. I was supposed to call Detective Lucero, but my station phone is at the bottom of the lake.”

  “Lucero from the Sheriff’s Department?”

  I nodded. “He’s technically in charge of the case and hasn’t threatened to arrest me.”

  “You mean he hasn’t threatened to arrest you today.” Rod handed me his work phone. It was from the same set as the one I’d lost.

  “Very funny.” I scrolled through his contacts looking for the Sheriff’s Department’s nonemergency number. “Let me make this call, and then I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Go ahead and keep the phone when you’re done.” He picked up the tripod and started to walk away. “I can use my personal cell for the rest of the night.”

  “I see what you just did, and for the record, I’m only letting you carry my sticks because I almost drowned.”

  He turned around and smiled. “Let me have my tiny chivalrous victories.”

  The dispatcher that answered said Detective Lucero didn’t work the overnight shift and transferred me to his voice mail.

  “Hey, it’s Lilly Hawkins. So, okay, I’m just going to put it all out there.” I paused to take a breath. “Jessica Egan, the drowner from today, I mean yesterday. Anyway, the body you took back to Bakersfield, she was murdered. She had a bad shoulder and couldn’t have started the boat herself. So, I went out to Road’s End and I surprised a guy planting evidence and he tried to kill me, but I didn’t get a good look at him . . . so call me back, okay?” I started to hang up, but then rushed the phone back to my ear. “Oh, and the local police don’t like me and didn’t want to investigate when I told them about her shoulder. . . . But that was before the guy tried to kill me. I mean, I still knew she was murdered. That’s why I went out to Road’s End. But I think the local police are going to be mad about that too, not just me yelling at them . . . which I shouldn’t have done and regret now. I mean, not that I regret pushing them to investigate, but I shouldn’t have—”

  Beep.

  The voice mail cut me off.

  When I reached the live truck, Slim—I mean Slennis—and Rod were in the middle of an amiable disagreement.

  “But Ultimate Universe Nick Fury is just better.” Rod took a bite from a doughnut.

  Slennis spoke while chewing his own glazed old-fashioned. “He may be better but he’s not canon.”

  “Where’s Bud?” I said.

  “Right here, Little Sister.” Bud walked around from the other side of the truck, carrying a bucket of water and a towel. “I tell you, there’s so many folks wanderin’ around this place, you could stir ’em with a stick.” He set the bucket down in front of me. “This here’s clean water if you want to wash up.”

  “Thanks. How’d you know I needed it?”

  He gestured to Slennis. “Your friend here said you didn’t have time for a proper shower.”

  Slennis reached back into the truck and then tossed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt at me. “I grabbed these for you too. From the commissary.”

  That was it. No way I could keep calling him by a derogatory nickname. “Thanks, Dennis.”

  He answered while still chewing a doughnut. “No problem. I figure we’re a team now.”

  Bud leaned against the side of the truck. “Little Sister, since we’re all poppin’ for the same patch, why don’t you fill us all in on the details of your latest escapade.”

  I gave everyone a quick recap. Rod added a few details I’d forgotten. When I finished, I asked Dennis about the interviews he’d done earlier in the evening at Bonny Hazel.

  “The mad scientist and his minions were weird, but they certainly didn’t seem like murderers.” Dennis looked troubled, but still took a bite of a doughnut. “And they definitely weren’t there to party. They’ve got all kinds of expensive lab equipment. I think they said it was all run through the University of California.”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt.” Rod looked at his watch. “But Callum’s expecting us to go live in half an hour.”

  I shook my head. “I have to go see the police.”

  Dennis grabbed a rag from inside his truck and wiped the doughnut glaze from his hands. “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t do that tonight. This is the absolute worst time to get in trouble with them.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The governor declared a state of emergency. It’s not martial law or anything, but due process is going to be hard to come by. It sounds like they already threatened to arrest you for harassing witnesses. What if they decide to hold you and sort out the business at Road’s End tomorrow?”

  I found my opinion of him rising. “Thanks for pointing that out, Dennis.”

  Rod shook his head. “And you have no proof that the man who attacked you had anything to do with Jessica Egan’s death. You could have walked in on a drug deal, or he could have been a crazy homeless man who stole a boat. Anything’s possible.”

  I managed not to say the denial on the tip of my tongue. Rod was right. As obvious as it seemed to me that the two events were connected, there was no real proof to force the Elizabeth police into action.

  “What about that other cop?” Bud said. “The one you were goin’ to call at the Sheriff’s Department. The one you ain’t poked in the eye with a stick.”

  Rod laughed. “If you’re speaking metaphorically, then she has poked him in the eye with a stick, just not today.”

  “That’s probably the most we can hope for with my little niece.”

  The three of them laughed.

  “Ha-ha,” I said. “If everyone is done judging me, maybe we can get back to the issue at hand.” I waited for their laughter to die down. “I left a message for Lucero, but I doubt he’ll get it until tomorrow morning.”

  “Then I suggest you hold off goin’ to the cops until then,” Bud said. “It’s almost mornin’, anyways. You’re only talkin’ about a few hours.”

  I nodded. “But if we’re not going to the police, then at least let me stop at Byrdie and Lee Fitzgerald’s house on the way to the live shot. All of Jessica’s things are still there, and no one has even bothered to look through them. For all we know there’s a threatening letter or a diary explaining exactly who wanted her dead.”

  Rod opened his mouth to say no, but I cut him off.

  “It’s not very far out of the way, and you have all that footage of the governor to edit. While I drive, you can work in the back of the live truck.” I looked at Dennis. “And then we’ll meet you as soon as we can at the top of the mountain.”

  Rod looked uncertain, but didn’t say anything.

  I used the GPS on Rod’s phone to find the a
ddress Byrdie had given me. Rod edited in the back of the truck while I drove.

  Byrdie hadn’t lied about the drive to her house. I timed us beginning at the local government buildings near search and rescue. It actually took us longer than the twenty-five minutes she’d said. Being a speed demon behind the wheel didn’t fit with Byrdie Fitzgerald’s sugary demeanor, but from the way she’d attacked the incident commander, she obviously wasn’t really all that sweet.

  Byrdie was some kind of unholy combination of Ladybird Johnson and Lyndon Johnson—a hybrid that could give gardening tips while breaking a political opponent’s nose.

  I parked in front of the Fitzgeralds’ house. Their McMansion had its own gate across the driveway and a high masonry fence that hid the house.

  I joined Rod in the back. “How’s the governor’s material.”

  He finished an edit, then looked up from the small screen.

  “We’ve got great stuff here. And the camerawork is phenomenal.”

  “I’m sorry to drag you away from it, but I doubt Byrdie will let me into the house unless famous journalist Rod Strong is along to interview her.”

  Rod cringed, but said, “You owe me big-time for this.”

  “Are you sure? I found out what Jareth’s Ball is.”

  He laughed, then gave me a peck on the cheek. “You’ll be the most beautiful faerie there.”

  I opened the side door and stepped out of the van. I looked down at the jeans Dennis had bought me and the dirty KJAY polo shirt I still wore. I was about as far from a beautiful faerie as was possible.

  Rod followed me out of the truck and put on his suit jacket. “The smoke sure is worse.”

  I picked up my gear and locked the truck. “This side of the lake is closer to the fire. Everything’s worse.”

  The front gate was locked, so Rod pushed the button on an intercom. Through the bars, I could see lights on inside the house.

  After a moment the doors opened and Byrdie Fitzgerald came out. “My goodness. What are you two doing here?”

  “Sorry,” Rod said through the bars. “I know it’s late, but we have a brief window in our schedule and Lilly thought you might be available for an interview.”

  Byrdie’s high-heel shoes clicked as she hurried down the walkway. She wore the same skirt and blouse as before, but had removed the jacket. “I only have a few hours to get some sleep before I have to be back at headquarters. Can we do it tomorrow?”

  Rod shook his head. “I doubt we’ll have time.” He began to step away. “But I understand that it’s the middle of the night and you need your rest.”

  “No, wait.” She unlocked the gate and opened it. “Maybe we can do something quickly out here.”

  “The smoke is too thick,” I said. “Rod needs to protect his voice.”

  She glanced back at the house. “Of course.” She hesitated, then held the gate open for us. “I have to apologize for the state of the house. Our cleaning lady didn’t come this week and I haven’t been able to do much myself.”

  I carried my gear and we walked through the gate. The house was constructed in the California mission style. White plaster arches and dark brown trim made the perfect backdrop for bright red bougainvillea vines climbing the walls. Much less ash was on the tile walkway than the grass, which meant someone had taken the time to sweep it earlier in the day.

  “Is your husband home now?” Rod asked.

  “No. He’s still at work. People are desperate for supplies and he doesn’t feel like he can close.”

  I turned around and glanced up. I couldn’t see the red glow in the sky above the mountain. Either we were too close or the thicker smoke was blocking the light.

  Byrdie opened one of the double doors that made up their elaborate front entrance. “Please come in.”

  Rod and I passed into a foyer. If the immediate area was any indication, Byrdie Fitzgerald’s idea of sloppy housekeeping did not match mine. I would have had no problem eating off the gleaming marble floors.

  She closed the door behind us. “Would you like some coffee or tea? I don’t have any made, but I can brew something.”

  The living room was filled with expensive furniture in pristine condition. Large windows looked out on what I guessed was the dark lake. There were lots of photos similar to the ones on Lee Fitzgerald’s desk, but nothing to indicate that children actually used the room.

  “I’d love some coffee.” Rod looked around. “Maybe we can talk and do a sort of pre-interview while you’re making it?”

  I set down my gear. “I’ll need some time to set up anyway.”

  Rod followed Byrdie into the kitchen. The door swung closed behind them, but I could still hear their conversation.

  “Why did you call the incident commander a liar?” Rod said. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “No.” I heard cupboards opening and closing, then Byrdie’s clear voice. “But I have to keep the pressure on them. It’s my job.”

  I unzipped the gear bag and found my Mini Maglite and a pair of rubber gloves I’d taken from the truck.

  “But according to the IO, your wishes are being honored,” Rod said. “They’re focusing on saving Tilly Heights and hardly giving a second thought to the nature preserve.”

  I crossed the room and headed for a hallway.

  “You don’t know how irrational the decision-making process can become when environmental concerns are raised. I can’t risk the citizens of Tilly Heights losing their homes because someone decided to try and save a lizard.”

  The last thing I heard was Rod saying, “It’s a salamander, not a lizard.”

  I found the laundry room—it was immaculate—and then the garage. Inside was a giant red SUV. Parked next to it, like a tiny bunny cowering next to a rhinoceros, was a hybrid Honda Civic. I had little doubt which belonged to Byrdie and which belonged to Jessica. As I put on the rubber gloves, I couldn’t help but wonder what had drawn two such different women into a friendship. Even as children their basic personalities must have been present. Even if they’d later grown apart, what had those two little girls seen in each other?

  The Civic’s doors were all unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition. A black carry-on suitcase sat in the backseat.

  I quickly searched the case, but didn’t find anything more than clothes and toiletries for a quick trip.

  Just as I opened the door to the front seat, Rod’s cell phone rang in my pocket. It was Bud. “What were you able to find out?” I said.

  “Fitzgerald’s been at his store all night nailin’ plywood up. Just left twenty minutes ago. No way he was the fella sent you for a swim.”

  I opened the glove compartment and looked through the registration and insurance. “What about the night before?”

  “Also got what you’d call a cast-iron-type alibi. He was out on a register all night.”

  A black backpack sat on the floor of the passenger seat. I reached for it and opened the clasp. An iPhone, a metal water bottle, and a wallet fit neatly into what was more purse than backpack.

  “Where did you get your information?” I said.

  “Several of the lady clerks were kind enough to help me with my shoppin’ needs.”

  I removed the wallet. “Are you sure Annette would approve of that?” Annette was Bud’s girlfriend in Bakersfield. He’d met and begun dating her seven months earlier when I’d been wanted by the police.

  “No harm in shoppin’, Little Sister.”

  The driver’s license in the wallet belonged to Jessica Egan of Venice, California. Some credit cards and a gym membership were also in the wallet. “Did you find out anything else while you were shopping?”

  “Word around the store is that Mrs. Fitzgerald’s got all sorts of political ambitions, but they’re havin’ trouble raisin’ the cash on account of they bought some fancy house.”

  I thanked him and said good-bye. A small case in the backpack’s side compartment held Jessica’s business cards. There was also a vegan chea
t sheet of easily available products in most grocery stores. I hit a button on the iPhone. It powered up, but a screen appeared asking for a security code. I returned everything to the purse, then got out. I glanced over my shoulder at the door, then slipped Jessica’s iPhone into my back pocket.

  This was probably inappropriate, but hadn’t the police abandoned it for Jessica’s father to collect? If I got past the security screen and discovered an important piece of information, then I’d be doing them a favor.

  I noticed a trash can pushed up against the wall nearby. It was too full and the lid wasn’t closed all the way. I saw something inside and quickly opened the lid.

  Someone had been doing a lot of shredding. I ran my hand through the confetti, but couldn’t make sense of the tiny squares. Then a larger piece caught my eye. It was about the size of a half-dollar. It felt thick and I realized it was the corner of a picture. Something about it was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  I pocketed it and then looked at my watch. I’d only been gone four minutes. How long did it take to brew coffee? Was there time to take a quick look out at the dock?

  I decided to push my luck. I wasn’t really all that afraid of getting caught. I would have asked permission when we arrived, but didn’t want to risk Byrdie saying no. Easier to gain forgiveness.

  Outside, I found stairs at the rear of the backyard. I carefully held the railing so I wouldn’t slip on the steps. At the bottom I used my flashlight to examine the dock. No one had bothered to sweep out here. A thick layer of ash and soot rested on the simple green planks.

  No boats were tied up, so I shone the flashlight into the water. The ash and muck on the surface reminded me of my recent plunge. The combined smell of the fire and the rotting vegetation normally along the lakeshore made me wish I’d brought a handkerchief.

  A light came on. “What are you doing out here?” Lee Fitzgerald stood at the top of the steps.

  THIRTEEN

  Friday, 4:20 a.m.