by Tracy Weber
Rene bit off another chunk of steaming, freshly buttered carbohydrates and spoke between mouthfuls. When you two finish the love-a-thon, can you look at the menu? I’m starving!”
I cracked open the bound leather menu and tried not to cringe. The items ranged from fifteen-dollar side salads to forty-dollar lobster linguine, with not much below twenty-five in between. I settled for pumpkin ravioli and a bottle of sparkling water. Sam ordered vegetarian lasagna; Rene went for fettuccine primavera with extra fettuccine on the side. The twins slept like identically dressed angels inside their stroller.
Sixty minutes of intense but deeply satisfying gorging later, Mona sagged into a chair beside me. “The last tables haven’t finished yet, but I can spare a minute or two now. Talk fast.”
I didn’t waste time. “Like I said earlier, I’m looking for information about Gabriella Massey.”
“What are you, a reporter?”
“Not exactly. I’m a friend of her husband.” The word husband still caught in my throat.
All exhaustion on Mona’s face vanished, replaced by a huge, bright smile. “Michael Massey? Why didn’t you say so?”
“You know him?” I asked.
“Know him? I adore him! He saved Pugsy.” She pushed back her chair. “Wait here a minute.” She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few seconds later carrying a cell phone. “Pugsy is this sweet little thing here.” She pointed at a photo of a black pug sporting pink lacquered toenails and a matching collar. Her tongue, also pink, lolled out the side of her mouth, reminding me of a geoduck clam. “Isn’t she cute?”
“She’s adorable,” I said honestly.
“Pugsy started having kidney problems when she was just a puppy. Wouldn’t touch the expensive prescription food the vet tried to push on me. Michael did some research and found a food that she loved. Not only that, he special ordered it for me at cost. I never could have afforded it otherwise.”
That sounded exactly like Michael. When it came to animals in need, he was a big softy.
Mona continued. “He’d have gotten into a lot of trouble if his boss found out. Nearly broke my heart when Michael told me he was moving to Seattle. I thought that meant the end of my sweet little Pugsy for sure. But you know what? Michael still has that food delivered to me every two weeks from his store in Seattle, and still at his cost. Pugsy’s vet said she should have died years ago. And she would have, if it weren’t for Michael. That boy is solid. A good man.”
I smiled. “He is indeed.”
“Which is why I never understood why he hooked up with that …” She lowered her voice as if uttering a swear word. “That Mexican.”
I deliberately kept my voice neutral. “You don’t like Mexicans?”
Mona held up her hands. “Oh now, don’t go getting the wrong idea. I’m not prejudiced or anything. I just wish they’d stay in their own country. They come here, sign up for welfare, and take all of our good jobs.” I didn’t point out that drawing welfare and working at “good” jobs were typically mutually exclusive. She tapped her chest with her index finger. “This employer hires Americans.”
“Except for Gabriella,” I said.
She waved her hand through the air. “Gabriella was an exception. I had to hire her, for Michael. She couldn’t get a job anywhere in Cannon Beach except as a maid in a hotel, and she didn’t want to work as a maid. After everything Michael did for me, how could I say no?”
I tried to imagine the challenges Gabriella must have faced when working for Mona, given her prejudices. It couldn’t have been pleasant. “Did you and Gabriella get along?”
Mona looked surprised. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”
I paused, working hard to keep the judgment out of my voice. “Given your views about immigrants, I’d have assumed it would be hard for you two to work together.”
“Oh, honey, you weren’t listening. Like I said earlier, I’m not prejudiced. I just think we should take care of our own problems before we let other countries saddle us with theirs. Mexico doesn’t exactly send us their best and brightest, now do they? Gabriella was lucky I agreed to take her on.” She nodded grudgingly. “I have to admit, though, she was a hard worker. I was pretty upset when she left me.”
This time I couldn’t hide my frustration. “You know that she didn’t leave, right? She was murdered.”
Mona made the sign of the cross. “Yes, God rest her soul. But that was after she quit.”
The skin on the back of my neck prickled. “She quit? When?”
“The night she got herself killed.” Mona’s lips wrinkled. “Frankly, I was pissed. After all I did for that girl? I hired her when no one else would, and she up and quit on me without notice. And on the busiest week of the year!” She harrumphed. “She didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me in person. I came in Wednesday morning to a voicemail message saying she was leaving town. No thank you. No two-week notice. No arrangement for coverage. Nothing.”
“Where was she going?” I asked.
“She didn’t say. Didn’t say why she was leaving, either.”
Sam interrupted. “Where were you supposed to mail her last paycheck?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“Didn’t that strike you as odd?” he asked.
“Nope. Like I said, I normally hire Americans.” She shrugged. “How am I supposed to know what those people do?”
I was beginning to understand why Michael had been drawn to help Gabriella. Even with his assistance, her life in the States hadn’t exactly been roses and sunshine.
“Did you tell the police that Gabriella was planning to leave town?” I asked.
Mona’s expression remained blank. “They never asked me.”
I made eye contact with Rene and Sam, clearly asking them, Any more questions? They both shrugged. I had a huge one. One that Mona couldn’t answer.
Why did Gabriella decide to leave town?
As soon as the question zapped between synapses, I realized that I already knew the answer.
She was running again.
That’s why she didn’t give Mona a forwarding address. She didn’t want to leave a trail someone could follow.
I wasn’t sure if Gabriella’s sudden departure worked for Michael’s defense or against it. On the plus side, the person she was running from might be her killer. On the minus, the police would probably assume she was running from Michael.
“Did anything else about Gabriella’s behavior strike you as odd lately?” I asked.
Mona replied with a disinterested shrug.
I flashed on the camo-hatted man again. “How about someone else? Did you see anyone weird or suspicious hanging around her?”
She thought for a moment. “Suspicious? No.”
My shoulders slumped.
“Annoying, yes.”
They lifted again. “Who?”
“I dunno. Some guy. He sniffed around that girl like a lovesick puppy.” She pointed to a tiny table near the kitchen. “He monopolized that two-top at least twice a week, sucking down coffee and eating my bread. Never once ordered more than an appetizer. Just sat there and mooned. I finally told him that he had to start ordering full meals or take his sad sack routine somewhere else.” She shrugged. “It must have worked, because he stopped hanging around a few weeks ago.”
I leaned toward her, finally hopeful. This might be our man. “What was his name?”
“Heck if I know. He always paid cash.” She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling and absently rubbed her chin. “Gabriella called him Broke once, so that might be his last name.” She smirked. “It would make sense, since he never seemed to have any money.”
The hair on the back of my arms prickled.
Broke.
I’d heard the name somewhere, but where?
Then it hit me.
From Gabri
ella, outside the community center. “Broke” wasn’t her admirer’s last name. It wasn’t his first name, either. “Broke” was what the name “Brock” sounded like in Gabriella’s thick accent.
Gabriella’s admirer was named Brock. As in Officer Brock Boyle. One of the police officers investigating her murder.
This couldn’t possibly be good.
“Do you think Gabriella and he were together?” I asked.
“As in having an affair?” Mona scowled. “I never considered that they might be sleeping together, but now that you mention it, maybe. Men were always buzzing around that woman. The affection seemed pretty one-sided, though.” She shook her head, disgusted. “I’d have fired her on the spot if I’d realized she was cheating on Michael. That man took good care of her.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “If she and that loser were sleeping together, I suspect it was over. The last time I saw him, they were arguing out in the parking lot.”
“What were they arguing about?” Rene asked.
“I haven’t the slightest. Gabriella was speaking in Spanish.” Mona’s lips wrinkled. “Again. I’d told her before: ‘You’re in America now. Speak American.’ Shouldn’t they at least try to learn our language?”
By “they,” I assumed she meant Mexicans. I didn’t reply.
“Anyway, that Broke guy must be a cop. They were arguing next to a patrol car. I have no idea what Gabby said to him, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He hauled off and started kicking the car. Broke the headlight and left some pretty decent dents in the bumper. Then he got in and drove away.” She huffed. “Our tax dollars at work.”
The elderly woman who’d complained earlier waved at Mona. “Ma’am we’re ready to leave. Can we get some change?”
Mona placed her palms on her thighs and stood. “That’s my line. Any last questions? It’s time to lock up and start dinner prep.”
“Only one,” I said. “Gabriella was trying to raise money. Do you know why?”
Mona shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. She shouldn’t have been hurting for money, though. That girl was a looker. She made plenty in tips. You know how men are.” She nodded at Sam. “No offense.”
He nodded back as if to say, None taken.
“Maybe she was saving up for something?” Rene asked.
Mona chortled under her breath. “Saving. Now isn’t that a novel concept? Sure wish I could do that. I pour my heart and soul into this business, and some Mexican waitress makes more money in tips than I do in profits. All because she has a nice booty.”
Mona wrote a phone number in her notebook, ripped out the page, and handed it to Sam. “That’s all I know. Call me on Monday and we’ll talk about that website you owe me.” She hurriedly shuffled to the other table.
Sam folded the paper in half and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He glanced over his shoulder at Mona, then lowered his voice. “Wow, she’s some piece of work. Gabriella was murdered, and she’s upset because she quit without notice and made decent tips.”
Alice started fussing. Rene pulled a binky from a bright yellow pacifier purse and popped it in the infant’s mouth. “Are you actually going to make a website for that woman?”
“I told her I would,” Sam replied. “I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t follow through.”
“But she’s a bigot!” Rene whispered.
He shrugged. “Honey, I work in high tech. Most of my customers are jerks.”
“Jerk is right.” I balled up my napkin and tossed it on the table. “Dale might be right.”
“About what?” Rene asked
“Immigration is a hot button.” I thought for a moment. “Do you think that might be why Gabriella was killed? Because someone thought she was an illegal immigrant, I mean.”
“I doubt it,” Rene replied. “First, why would anyone think that? You told me Michael and Gabby kept the reasons for their marriage top secret. Second, what moron would be angry enough to kill over it? Seems like a pretty weak motive.”
I looked pointedly toward Mona.
Rene shrugged. “Not impossible, I suppose, but I don’t see it.”
She was right. Even if Mona had gotten angry enough about Gabriella’s deception to commit murder, losing a waitress on the busiest week of the year wouldn’t have been in her best interest. And I had a feeling Mona always acted in her own best interest.
I sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t see it either. I wonder why Gabriella decided to leave town all of the sudden. Who was she running from?”
“Maybe she wasn’t running from anyone,” Sam countered. “According to Mona, Gabriella’s message only said that she was leaving town, not where she was going or why. For all you know, she was running to something.”
My phone chirped. Shannon’s home number flashed on the screen.
“Finally. It’s Michael.”
I was wrong.
“Kate, it’s Shannon. I just got off the phone with Dale. Michael’s back at the police station. You need to come to my house. Now.”
fourteen
Angry tears streamed down Shannon’s face as she marched up and down the narrow hallway of her Manzanita cottage. “I can’t believe those idiots might actually arrest Michael.” Her boots clicked staccato drumbeats against the hardwood floor, pummeling my skull like flies buzzing against a window. “This whole fiasco is my fault. I never should have allowed it to happen.”
I’d arrived at Shannon’s house five minutes earlier, but thus far hadn’t gotten anything out of her except panicked grumblings that were frustratingly devoid of specifics. “What, Shannon?” I asked. “What shouldn’t you have allowed?”
She stopped pacing and frowned, as if noticing me for the first time. “Did you get a new haircut?”
“Yes, but that’s not important.” I repeated my prior question: “What shouldn’t you have allowed?”
“Michael’s marriage to that bloodsucking leech. If he hadn’t married Gabriella, she would have been shipped back to Mexico and none of this would have happened.” She paused and threw her hands in the air. “I should have just killed her myself.” She recommenced pacing.
Shannon was kidding, right? She was frustrated, of that I had zero doubt. The question was, why? Was she worried only about Michael, or was she stressed because her brother might be arrested for a crime that she had committed? Crystal had voted Shannon most likely to have bludgeoned Gabriella, and she knew both women better than I did. Which left me at an impasse: If Shannon was a suspect, I should keep my mouth shut. On the other hand, if she were simply a distressed loved one …
Clunk, clunk, clunk. Each heel strike hammering my head. Not like a fly anymore, like a goddamned jackhammer.
I cradled my forehead in my palms. Lord, I wished I’d brought Bella with me. I needed to calm Shannon, and nothing would do that better than a good dose of Bella therapy. Absent that, it would be up to me.
Then again, how hard could it be? I made my livelihood manufacturing peace.
I grabbed Shannon’s hands, pulled her to the living room couch, and spoke in my softest, most soothing yoga voice—a low, rhythmic monotone designed to lull stressed-out students. “Shannon, you need to calm down.” I lengthened my breath, making it long, smooth, and subtle. “Why don’t we do some breathing exercises?”
She looked at me like I was bonkers, yanked her hands away, and jumped up to standing. “Breathing exercises? Are you insane? Michael’s about to be arrested for murder and you want to sit around breathing?” She started pacing again. Back and forth, forth and back. Thump, thump, thump.
So much for that idea. Time to try tough love instead.
I grabbed her shoulders and forced her to stop moving. “You told me to get over here, and I came. Now I need you to stop pacing and tell me what in the hell is going on. Was Michael arrested?”
Shannon wiped tears from her cheeks wi
th the back of her hand. “No. At least I don’t think so. Not yet. But the police found something.”
“What?”
Shannon averted her eyes. I squeezed her shoulders. Hard.
“I don’t know,” she wailed. “That stupid lawyer friend of yours wouldn’t tell me. He got a phone call.” She held up her hands. “And before you bruise me again, I don’t know who called. But from the look on his face, whatever they told him wasn’t good. All I got out of him was that the police had new evidence and they wanted Michael to come to the station. He loaded Michael into that beat-up old pickup truck and they took off.”
The prospect of new evidence was concerning, but Michael had been summoned by the police before and Shannon hadn’t gotten nearly this upset. She was holding something back. “Shannon, what aren’t you saying?”
“Michael made me promise not to tell you. He doesn’t want you to worry.”
I gaped at her incredulously. “Not worry? Are you kidding me?”
Shannon turned away and squeezed her eyes shut. For a second, I thought she was about to start pacing again. She steeled her jaw and turned back to face me. “Fine. I told Michael it was stupid to keep you in the dark, anyway. The police told him last night that they found Gabby’s cell phone on her body. They were able to crack her password and retrieve her stored messages yesterday.”
“So?”
“Some of them were from Michael.”
“That’s not news. We already knew Michael called her.” I sounded significantly more confident than I felt. True, I knew that Michael had left Gabriella several phone messages. I didn’t, however, know if he’d said anything incriminating.
“You don’t understand, Kate. They also retrieved her text messages. They found one from Michael at ten-thirty the night of her murder. He asked Gabriella to meet him on the beach.”
I hesitated, confused. When I spoke, my voice quavered, like a child realizing for the first time that Santa Clause was a hoax. “That’s not possible. Michael lost his cell phone. He couldn’t have used it Tuesday night because he didn’t have it. He thought he’d left it at home.”