Half Life

by Helen Cothran

  Half Life

  A Sam Larkin Mystery

  Helen Cothran

  Copyright 2012 Helen Cothran

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 1479220442

  ISBN-13: 978-1479220441

  Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  For Kathy

  Thanks to Kathy Najjar, Joy Rapaport, Jack Passerella, and Vicki Harden

  1

  It was a typically lovely spring day in Desert Rock: Hurricane-force winds drove fast food bags across empty lots, sand blasted against houses, and tumbleweeds rolled down the streets like an invasion.

  It was business as usual for me, too. My editor, Vince, called to berate me for missing the final deadline on my latest book, an occurrence so common it triggers bouts of yawning. Then my sister phoned, threatening to stop by soon to “catch up.” This subterfuge does not deceive—I know by now that catching up means Vanessa wants to start a fight with me about something. After her call, I sneezed nineteen times in succession, evidence that spring in the desert had arrived. Oh, yeah, and I had a pebble in my eye.

  The trouble with business as usual when it’s this bad is that one assumes that it can’t get worse. This, as it turns out, is wrong. If only I hadn’t answered my cell when Eddie called, I might have spared myself the misery of the next three weeks. I might not have almost gotten murdered, either, which is about as bad as it can get. But I did answer the phone—it was Eddie after all. And that, unfortunately, is the crux of it.

  2

  I stumbled into Coffee Buzz looking fine: sweaty running clothes, damp hair stuck through the pony port of my tatty cap, right eye streaming from the pebble that had lodged there during my morning run. Dirt covered my running shoes and calves, sweat carving lazy rivers through the grime. I didn’t smell too swift, either.

  Eddie’s request to meet me had sounded urgent, so I had hopped in the car pronto, sans shower. And, here I was, ten minutes later, entering the coffee shop in all my glory. As I closed the door behind me, or rather, let the wind slam it shut, I prepared myself for some smartass comment on my appearance. I was ready for him, prepared to point out my sacrifice on his behalf. Bring it on!

  I scanned the coffee shop with my one good eye. I expected to see Eddie behind the counter, helping Sonia and Mike handle the Saturday morning crowd, but they labored without their boss. The place was packed, the line to order nearly out the door, all the tables occupied. Searching the cafe, I finally spotted Eddie at one of the back tables, the sight of his face making me smile like it always did. Then I noticed that he wasn’t alone. And that he didn’t look up, didn’t sense my arrival like he usually does, some clever put-down ready on his lips. In fact, he seemed oblivious to all but his companion.

  A woman.

  Who the hell was this?

  And what was up with Eddie? He wasn’t wearing his usual brown Coffee Buzz T-shirt. Instead, he wore a button-down white shirt that made his skin glow. His shoulders looked bulkier than usual under the fabric, suggesting uncharacteristic trips to the gym. His wavy black hair, usually shorn by the barber for five bucks, now looked quaffed and shiny from some kind of styling goo. He had also shaved off his goatee, his clean angular jaw making him look younger than his thirty-three years. When I approached the table, I learned the worst: Instead of soap, he smelled of aftershave or—could it be?—cologne. I had never seen Eddie like this and was flummoxed.

  All this because of this woman?

  I practically had to lie on the table before Eddie finally noticed me. His solemn expression lightened, and his warm brown eyes took me in.

  “Just come from Goodwill?” he asked, standing, his grin exposing white teeth.

  “You going for a job interview?” I shot back, face hot. My yellow pit stains and sweaty hair suddenly seemed worse standing there beside Eddie’s gorgeous tablemate, who looked like she just came from Le Tete Salon and Day Spa, my sister Vanessa’s favorite hangout.

  He saw me staring at his companion, and said, “Sam, I’d like you to meet Gabby Castillo. Gabby, this is Samantha Larkin.”

  Gabby Castillo? The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I did, however, get right in touch with my dislike. The woman stood and we shook hands, her cool slim fingers slipping into my sweaty palm. I put her age around Eddie’s and mine. She had straight dark hair, swooped coquettishly over one eye, a style that would drive me nuts. Who wanted to walk through life looking through a curtain of hair? She wore a crisp peach blouse tucked into white slacks. High-heeled sandals, painted nails, large hoop earrings. Lots of makeup. I had one of those out-of-body experiences, seeing the two of us standing in the middle of the café, she looking fresh and tall and beautiful, me looking, well, like me, short, skinny, and disheveled. I could feel myself squinting on account of the pebble, tears streaming out of my eye. Then I sneezed three times, hard, just to make sure everyone knew I was a complete disaster.

  “What’s with your eye?” Eddie said.

  I smirked and dropped my butt into a chair.

  Eddie and Gabby sat, too, and then, to my shock, Eddie began to chatter. Eddie, king of telegraphic speaking, chattering! He went on and on about Gabby this and Gabby that. Finally, he got to the part where she had just moved back to Desert Rock after living in New York City for two years. That’s when I got it.

  “You’re the ex!” my words boomed out.

  Eddie abruptly stopped talking, and Gabby stared at me, which suggested that I had been rude. Given that this is not a unique occurrence, Eddie recovered quickly and went on blithering, completely ignoring my comment. It was all boring stuff, like “Gabby missed her brother when she was in New York” and “Gabby is working as a secretary at Bob Cone’s law offices,” and it was all about Gabby.

  While Eddie prattled, I stared at her, and she stared at me, dark eyes boring into dark eyes. Neither of us moved a muscle, not even to blink. Sounding far away, Eddie kept chirping away about Gabby’s every move since returning to town. I was waiting for him to tell me her social security number and bra size, when she broke in.

  “I think my brother Pete is dead. And fucking Raul killed him.”

  I stared at her from under my soiled cap, mouth flopped open.

  “Eddie thinks you can help me prove it.”

  Eddie finally shut up and looked at me
. He smiled, showing no teeth, the skin around his lips stretched thin. Then he shrugged—at least I think he did, the shoulder raise so slight it could have been a twitch. In a too-cheerful voice, he said, “Sam, how about a scone? Or how about a café mocha, on the house?”

  I frowned at him, then turned back to Gabby. “What are you talking about? Who the heck is Raul?”

  “Eddie said you’re some private investigator or something. When I told him Pete had disappeared, he said you could help me.”

  Eddie chirped, “I told Gabby you solved the wind farm case.”

  That was rich. Eddie had been all over me about that case, chastising me for sticking my nose in places it didn’t belong, like I always did, and almost getting myself killed. Now he was offering up my amateur detective services to his ex.

  Feeling stupefied, I asked the obvious. “Have you told the police?”

  “Of course,” she snapped. “Do I look like an idiot?”

  I declined to answer that, showing admirable restraint. “Well?” I prompted.

  “The cops in this town are idiots.”

  “Hey,” I said. “One of those ‘idiots’ is a friend of ours.” Eddie and I went to high school with Trent Wise, back then known as “the streaker” for his propensity to tear around the football field at halftime wearing nothing but his shoes.

  Gabby held up a manicured hand. “Sorry. I meant no offense. The deputies asked me a bunch of questions, checked out Pete’s apartment, talked to his friends. That was it. They said they didn’t find anything to make them think it was foul play or even that he was really missing. They said maybe he was on vacation. What a joke.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “I know exactly when Pete disappeared. Thursday night, two weeks ago. That would be March twenty-seventh.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I met him for lunch that Thursday. Then, Friday night after work, I went to his apartment to see if he wanted to go out for drinks, and he was gone.”

  “How do you know he isn’t just on a trip somewhere, to Palm Springs or L.A.?”

  “You’re just like the cops,” she said, shaking her head in disgust. “You act like I don’t know my own brother. Look, his cat was there, all right? He would never leave the cat. I checked back the next day, and still no food and water. And the litter box was dirty. Pete would never let that happen—he loved that cat.”

  “OK, so for the sake of argument, let’s say Pete really is missing. Why do you think this Raul person killed him?”

  “Raul is my older brother.”

  Like this explained anything. I’ve had some rough times with my brother, Connor, but though I might have thought it often enough, I would never have actually killed him. At least I don’t think I would. “Why would Raul kill Pete?”

  “Raul has always hated Pete. When we were growing up, Raul made Pete’s life a living hell. I did what I could to protect Pete. Our parents were worthless when it came to raising kids. They were so tired from working crappy jobs to put food on the table, they were checked out all the time. I don’t think they even wanted kids. So I pretty much raised Pete by myself. Raul ran amok. He was always beating people up, the classic bully. Pete was his favorite target.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Pete’s gay,” Gabby said with force, squaring her shoulders as if preparing herself for a wave of homophobia. “Raul couldn’t deal.”

  I thought about it. “So if this bullying has been going on for Pete’s whole life, why would Raul suddenly decide to kill his brother?”

  Gabby shrugged. “I don’t know. Things had settled down between them once Raul graduated from high school. The two just didn’t have that much to do with one another. But then a few weeks before Pete disappeared, Raul beat him up bad. Pete had ten stiches in his lip, broken ribs, the works. Pete said he’d be dead if a friend of his hadn’t made Raul stop.”

  I felt myself getting pulled into the story despite my aversion to Gabby and my resistance to getting involved. I hated hearing about bullies beating people up. I had stopped a few of them myself growing up, and I have the scars to prove it. These acts of heroism did not please my mother, who said I needed to use my brain, not my fists. I asked Gabby, “So you don’t know what triggered it?”

  “I asked Pete, but if he knew, he wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Are you aware of anything different happening in Pete’s life in the last few months?”

  She shrugged, the gesture sending wafts of perfume my way. “Nothing that seems relevant. I mean, he was involved in the toxic waste protests. And he had recently started seeing someone. I asked him who it was, but he wouldn’t tell me, he said the guy didn’t want it to get out. Desert Rock is not exactly San Francisco, and Pete’s boyfriend was probably in the closet. Still, Pete usually confided in me. He was out himself.”

  “So Pete actively dated, there was nothing new there to set Raul off.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Unless the guy was someone Raul knew, and he didn’t like it.”

  She shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “And what about this toxic waste thing? What’s that about?”

  Eddie rolled his eyes. “Sam, don’t you read the paper?

  Gabby explained. “The mayor wants Desert Rock to build a toxic waste dump. Like the one at Yucca Mountain in Nevada. But protestors got Yucca Mountain shut down, so now the federal government is looking for volunteers to take the stuff. Mayor Tyler says it will bring a lot of money to Desert Rock. But there have been protests about it. Who can blame people? That shit causes cancer.”

  I said, “What side was Pete on?”

  “Against, of course,” Gabby said. “Pete had a social conscience, he wanted to work for the good. He was putting himself through school to become an attorney, working at the bank so he could help people.”

  “You keep using the past tense,” I said. “You’re really convinced he’s dead.”

  She stared at me, beautiful eyes smoldering. “I just know it.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a stack of photos. She handed them to me. “Look at these. Pete was a real person, handsome, smart, kind. Good athlete, lots of friends. No one would wish him harm, except for Raul.”

  I took the photos, flipped through each one. The café was noisy, I could hear the hum of people talking and the scream of the espresso machine. The nutty aroma of hot coffee filled the room. Gabby was right: Pete was handsome in the rugged athletic way of rugby and soccer players. He seemed to have a load of friends. Numerous photos showed him with various soccer teams, the guys hanging all over each other, smiling into the camera with fierce pride. Pete looked happy.

  I handed the photos back to Gabby and shook my head. “I’m a writer, not a private detective. You need to let the sheriff’s department handle this.”

  She rapped the polished nails of her right hand three times on the table. She said to Eddie, but she was glaring at me, “I told you she wouldn’t help.”

  The three of us sat there, the sounds of the café suddenly cacophonous: the clank of the front doors slamming in the wind, Mike barking out the drink orders for pickup, people in line guffawing and slapping each other on the back. Sonia and Mike looked two minutes away from cardiac arrest and kept glancing our way, doubtless wondering why their boss had abandoned them on their busiest morning. The other patrons sitting at the tables seemed oblivious to the noise as they read or typed on laptops. One old coot wearing a cowboy hat and an eye patch muttered to himself while staring at his smart phone as if it had done something despicable. I wondered where he got the eye patch—I could use one.

  Gabby glared at me, then stood. “Thanks for trying, Eddie.”

  He leaped to his feet, put a restraining hand on her arm. I didn’t like the way he left it there.

  “Sam,” he said, looking down at me, his voice disappointed, or maybe disapproving.

  I could feel their stares bore into me. All right, I admit it, I was being pervers
e. If I were honest with myself, I would admit that I was interested in the case. The potential murder of a young man with all of his life ahead of him. A violent bigot as a suspect, who just happened to be the victim’s brother. And then there was the heated controversy over the nuclear waste dump, the kind of thing I write about for Blue Nest Press. I was ready to start a new book, and maybe I could persuade Vince that this would be the perfect subject. Doing research for the book would give me an excuse to talk to people involved in the protest. I could work and investigate Pete’s disappearance at the same time.

  And yet.

  The truth was, I didn’t want to do Gabby any favors. What the hell was with her and Eddie, anyway? Was she back in town because of him? Were they sleeping together? I could feel my jaw clench on that thought. A hot pain welled up from deep inside and lodged in my chest. Damn it, why was I so bothered by this? Eddie and I were just friends, after all. I knew that he had had a serious girlfriend after I left town, and that she had eventually left him. But I realized now that I had never asked him about it, never bothered to find out if he was devastated or relieved. Or inquired as to why she left. Maybe I didn’t want to know. When I came back to Desert Rock, I had just picked up with Eddie again as if he had been in a holding pattern waiting for my return. I had assumed we would go back to the way it was before I left. Good friends, hanging out, playing tennis and hiking, drinking beer down at the Hideaway. Now this interloper shows up on the scene.

  I didn’t like Gabby, I thought she was a condescending ass, but at the same time I could understand why she wouldn’t be Little Miss Sunshine. She believed her favorite brother was dead. They had been close, and his loss would be devastating. And to think that her other brother had murdered him because he was gay—that was unthinkable.

  Eddie must have seen my face soften because he sat back down. “Sam, can you give it a few days? That’s it. Just a few days.”

  I hated that he wanted me to do this. For Gabby. When I looked at his concerned, handsome face I felt that pain again, bubbling up from deep within. My jaw ached.