Hot, Shot, and Bothered

by Nora McFarland

  She giggled some more and then spoke in her natural voice. “One of the other interns warned me about him. He’s used that move on every girl who came through.”

  “Did he try it on Jessica?”

  Cathy took a bag of crickets and placed them on the table. “She’s a woman and he met her, so probably.”

  “What about Dr. Polignac? Does he hit on all the interns too?” She shook her head. “He flirts like a horndog with anything blond, but I think he’s secretly faithful to Ceasonne. He’s just terrified of getting older.”

  I heard footsteps and we both turned to the stairs. Ceasonne walked up. Cathy’s cheeks turned scarlet.

  “I’ve got your latte.” It seemed impossible that Ceasonne hadn’t heard at least part of our conversation. Yet from watching her as she crossed the room, you’d never guess it. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

  “No problem.” Cathy took the latte without making eye contact. She almost spilled it trying to take a drink.

  Ceasonne’s own hand was rock solid as she took a sip of her own. “I just spoke with Tyler downstairs. He says you’re an old friend of Jessica’s. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize when I saw you at Bonny Hazel. I thought you were an official or something.”

  “It’s okay. You were focused on evacuating.”

  She turned to Cathy. “I don’t mean to be rude, but would you mind giving us some privacy.”

  “Not at all.” Cathy looked relieved. “I should go home anyway. You can only delay the inevitable for so long.” She picked up her purse and took her coffee. “I gave them all crickets and only the ones on the far tables need water.”

  On her way out she looked at me. “If I don’t see you again, thanks for the advice.”

  “It really will be okay. You won’t feel this bad forever.”

  Cathy left and Ceasonne pulled a phone from a pocket on her long skirt. She checked the screen, then returned it to the pocket.

  “When did you hear about Jessica?” I said.

  “My husband called last night. I was shocked. Jessica is almost thirty years younger than me. How can she be gone and I’m still here?”

  Those were hardly the words of a grieving friend. “Were you close?”

  “No. But we worked together for ten years. She was a big part of my life then.”

  “Did Tyler tell you I think Jessica was murdered?”

  Ceasonne walked across the room and retrieved a plastic spray bottle. “Yes, but I can’t believe it. Jessica wasn’t a friendly person, but nobody could want to kill her.” She checked the bottle, then walked to the far table.

  I followed her. A bank of frosted windows filled that end of the room with soft lighting. Ceasonne looked beautiful while still seeming completely natural.

  “Do you know anyone she was close to?” I said. “Maybe someone she might have confided in?”

  She removed the top from a box and misted the contents with water. “No. This job was her life. She dated a couple times over the years, but never seriously, and she never mentioned friends.” She looked up suddenly. “Except, maybe you should talk to her neighbor. I remember he was her emergency contact.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “No, but Jessica said he took care of her yard.”

  “Is that code for something?”

  Ceasonne laughed. “No. Jessica has notoriously bad luck with plants. She’s killed so many of them in the office that some of the less charitable volunteers started saying, ‘Jessica may love the environment, but the environment doesn’t love her.’ ”

  I must have frowned because Ceasonne said, “I know it sounds mean, but in the early days if someone wanted to make a joke at your expense, they’d lace your coffee with LSD.”

  I followed her as she moved down the table to the next boxes.

  “The early days sound pretty extreme. How many years were you with Green Seed?”

  “I joined in the seventies when we were nothing more than a loose coalition of activists. Everyone had their own agenda. We were completely disorganized, but we made up for it by being loud and annoying.” She was describing discord and chaos, but her tone was almost nostalgic. “But those days are long gone. Green Seed has been squarely in the mainstream for more than twenty years.”

  “Why did the organization change so much?”

  “We all got older. The movement got older. By the time Jessica became involved, we were already an organized nonprofit with a board of directors and a five-year plan.”

  “Could Jessica have been killed because of her work for Green Seed?”

  Her forehead creased. “It’s not a controversial organization.”

  “What about the McClellans?” Ceasonne looked confused so I continued, “The family that owned the property in the Terrill Valley. Could they still be angry that you protested and stopped their plans?”

  “Why would they be? In the end, we paid them a fair price to buy the land, and they didn’t have to invest time and money in developing it. Everyone was happy.” She checked the phone again, then replaced it before moving to the next table.

  I followed her. “Jessica’s friends and family seem to think your group alternated between drug orgies and chaining yourself to trees.”

  Ceasonne rolled her eyes. “Jessica was the only one who was ever crazy enough to trespass on private property and chain herself to something—and it was a bulldozer, not a tree.” She shook her head. “We told her not to do it. Everything was about PR and paperwork at that point. We were working through official channels.”

  “I have a hard time believing there were absolutely no shenanigans or recreational drug use in your group. I was living up by Elizabeth at the time and I remember the stories.”

  She tried to suppress a small grin. “There were a few hangers-on who were into that sort of thing. Those types were always around. Leftovers from the early days.”

  “Did you know Jessica was a minor and her father didn’t approve of her involvement?”

  She shook her head. “Not until the chaining incident. Her father showed up making a lot of threats. We told him we didn’t like it any better than he did, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “But you still let her help once a week, didn’t you? Every Saturday.”

  She froze in the middle of removing a lid. “How did you know that? Nobody knows that.”

  “Jessica told me.”

  “You really must have been close.” She finished removing the lid, then misted what was inside the box. “I should have sent her away, but Jessica typed a hundred words per minute. It was too much of a temptation. As soon as she turned eighteen, I offered her a real job here in our main offices. And when I told her she’d need a college degree to move up in the organization, she went to school at night.”

  “No wonder she didn’t have a personal life.”

  “Everything for Jessica was about Green Seed and doing the good work. She may have died young, but her life mattered. She made the world a better place. Some people live to a hundred and can’t say that.”

  Ceasonne set down the bottle and rubbed her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was crying or just tired. I wondered if she cared more for Jessica than she’d admitted, but then decided she probably wasn’t even sure herself.

  She looked at the cell phone. The skin around her eyes sagged. “I should go talk to her neighbor. Someone needs to tell him.”

  “Why don’t we go together? We can finish talking in the car.”

  She replaced the final lid. “I’d like to go straight home afterwards. You won’t have a way back here.”

  “I have someone waiting in a car downstairs. They can follow us.”

  She let out a deep breath. It wasn’t as obvious as a sigh, but the implication was the same. “Okay, but I’ll be a minute.” She picked up the phone and stared at it, as if willing it to ring. “When you left Bonny Hazel, was my husband still refusing to evacuate?”

  “He was.” I smiled. “But I told Farris to follow your advice and
act like he didn’t care.”

  Her head jerked to look at me. “Really?”

  I nodded. “I think Professor Polignac will go. He’s got the RV loaded and is moving the remaining salamanders into the basement.”

  “I don’t know why he’s being so stubborn. The equipment and property are all insured, and when the University of California takes over next year, they’ll invest even more money in the facility.”

  I straightened. “I thought UC was just providing logistical support. Are they taking over the property?”

  She looked away. “I believe so.”

  I thought about the empty desks downstairs. “Is Green Seed selling them Bonny Hazel? Does Green Seed need money?”

  Ceasonne returned the mister to where she’d gotten it. “I’m no longer privy to their private financial business.”

  “But you’ve heard things?”

  “I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.” She flipped open the phone. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a few moments of privacy while I call my husband.”

  I went downstairs. Tyler wasn’t in his office so I approached the receptionist. “Where’s Tyler?”

  “He’s out back in the alley.” She hesitated. “We have a situation out there.”

  “What kind of situation?”

  “It’s just something that comes up every once in a while.” She took a quick look around. “We call him the poo fairy.”

  “Who?”

  “Tyler thinks he must be a homeless man, but we don’t really know who it is. He leaves his . . . presents for us.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  She shook her head. “I wish I were.” “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but how do I get to the back alley?”

  She pointed behind me. “Straight back, behind the staircase.”

  “If Ceasonne comes down, tell her I’m out there with Tyler.”

  I found him hosing down the asphalt between Ceasonne’s Prius and an Insight. He heard me coming and shut off the hose. “This must look odd, but you see we have—”

  I raised my hand. “I got the basics and I don’t want the details.”

  He looked embarrassed. “It’s worth putting up with some inconvenience for this location, and it’s rent-controlled.”

  “Is Green Seed in financial trouble? Is that what you were trying to hide earlier?”

  He stepped back. “I’m not going to talk about private financial matters with a reporter.”

  “I’m a shooter, not a reporter, and I’m not doing a story.”

  He turned the hose back on and resumed spraying the ground.

  I started to yell at him, but at the last moment stopped myself. I tried to muster enough self-control to sound polite. “You can trust me. I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here for Jessica, because I owe her and because nobody else cares enough to speak up for her.”

  He stopped the hose.

  “I’m not trying to harm Green Seed,” I continued. “Or publicize whatever financial trouble you’re in. And by not telling me, you’re making it seem much worse than it probably is.”

  He looked at me. “Do I have your word this won’t end up in a story?”

  I nodded. “You have my word.”

  He glanced up and down the alley. “Perception is important for fund-raising, and what I’m about to say is not for public consumption.” He stepped close to me and lowered his voice. “The recession has been very hard on all nonprofits. Charitable giving is way down.”

  “Was Jessica going to lose her job?”

  “No, nothing like that, but we’ve been cutting costs and looking for ways to increase revenue.” He took one last look around. “A little over a year ago I floated a plan to liquidate our land holdings near Elizabeth.”

  “You don’t mean . . .”

  “I tried to sell the nature preserve.”

  TWENTY

  Friday, 12:41 p.m.

  Tyler looked around again. “The land used to be environmentally significant because of the Terrill salamander, but now it’s thriving down at the local lake. There’s no reason to hold on to that property. And we’ve been paying to maintain it all these years.”

  “I’m guessing Jessica didn’t see it that way.”

  “She threatened to quit, and the board gave her a one-year reprieve to raise the money. But they made it clear that if revenue didn’t dramatically increase, they’d begin selling lots next year.”

  “You’re subdividing the land instead of selling it in one piece?” He nodded. “Except Bonny Hazel. We’re donating that to the University of California so they can maintain a research post there.”

  My voice rose. “But selling the land in pieces, for subdivisions and strip malls, is exactly what you prevented the McClellans from doing thirteen years ago.”

  He raised a hand at me. “I’m the first to admit it’s unfair, but that doesn’t change the reality of the situation. Green Seed acted in good faith when we bought the property, but now we need to liquidate assets.”

  “But Jessica was goofy about that land. She’d never sit by and allow this to happen.”

  “She acted like the money was going to come in somehow, but it was bluster. She had to have known it was a lost cause.” Tyler began coiling the hose. “When you asked me earlier why she stopped coming in on weekends, I couldn’t tell you all this for obvious reasons, but I think she was angry. She gave her entire adult life to this organization and she felt betrayed.”

  I suspected it had more to do with the weekend trips to Bonny Hazel her brother had mentioned, but before I could say so, the door opened and Ceasonne walked out. She looked down at the puddle. “This is still going on?”

  Tyler finished coiling the hose and stood up. “I’m calling the police this time.”

  “What are they going to do?”

  He shrugged. “It’s something at least.”

  Ceasonne hit a button on her key chain and the Prius beeped. “Have fun with that.”

  I thanked Tyler and gave him my business card in case he needed to get in touch. I was about to get in the car, but stopped. “E-mail me that story Jessica wanted to do.”

  “Pesticide overuse?”

  “If you send me something, I’ll see what I can do with it.” From the car I used Rod’s cell to call Teddy and Freddy and let them know the plan. They were illegally parked in a driveway down the block and had no trouble following the Prius.

  Ceasonne turned and drove toward the ocean. Even from several blocks away I could see the sun sparkling on the blue water. “It’s beautiful here, even if there is a poo fairy and nowhere to park.”

  “What?” she said.

  “The ocean, it’s beautiful. I guess people would put up with a lot to be able to live near something like that.”

  “You’d be surprised what compromise can do to you.” She turned onto Venice Boulevard. Trendy restaurants and boutiques competed with medical-marijuana shops and tattoo parlors. Every car was either an SUV or a hybrid.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The longer you compromise, the less the bad things bother you, but eventually, you stop enjoying the good things too.” She glanced at the ocean as we drove through an intersection. “Eventually you don’t remember which was which.”

  “That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.”

  “Sorry.” She glanced at me, then returned her eyes to the road. “I’m upset because I couldn’t reach anyone at Bonny Hazel. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Do you mind if I ask why you left Green Seed?”

  “I was upset about cuts to art programs in the public school system. When I heard Art for Life needed a new director, I jumped at the chance.” The answer was simple and made sense, but it rolled off her tongue as if it were something she’d memorized.

  We passed yet another marijuana store. This one had valet parking. “How many medical-marijuana stores do you have down here?”

  “A lot.”

  “Is t
hat why Jessica started drug testing?” “You know about that?” I nodded. “She pushed that through six years ago while I was still in charge—and not just for employees. She made volunteers test too. But despite that, she actually approved of medical marijuana.”

  “Why the exception?”

  “Her mother died of breast cancer. Jessica told me about it when she was campaigning for the ballot initiative. It was one of the few times she really opened up about herself.”

  “What did she say?”

  “It sounded pretty horrible. Her mother suffered through chemo, radiation, a double mastectomy, and then more chemo. It went on for years before she died.”

  “Is that why she allowed the salamander experiments to continue at Bonny Hazel. Was she hoping it could lead to a cure?”

  “Jessica never said.” Ceasonne slowed the car. “This is her apartment.” She pulled into a driveway and cut the engine. Jessica’s apartment was one of three units in a simple, one-story building. Bars covered all the doors and windows and a FOR RENT sign hung on the first apartment.

  I turned back from looking out the window. “Did she talk about her father or brother?”

  “Jessica has a brother?” I nodded. “I had no idea. She did mention her father a couple times, and I picked up a little bit here and there over the years. It sounded like Jessica got stuck doing most of the caretaking when her mother was dying. I think her father couldn’t handle losing his wife and lost himself. Jessica had no choice but to grow up fast.”

  “Or maybe her father was always weak and Jessica was always strong. Maybe instead of being changed by what happened, what happened brought out what they’d always been.”

  “Maybe. Jessica was definitely strong. She had a way of exhausting you. By the end of my time at Green Seed, I could barely keep up with her.”

  “Is that why you left?”

  “You want the truth?”

  I smiled. “That’s the general idea.”

  “What I told you earlier wasn’t a lie, but it’s not why I left.” Ceasonne paused. “Jessica wore me out. She was constantly pushing. She wasn’t ambitious for herself, but she thought Green Seed could always do more. She’s a big part of why we got into animal rights. And she was right. We could do more, but after ten years I was exhausted.”