by Lora Roberts
Just because I was feeling good didn’t mean I’d let her completely off the hook. I went back to the kitchen and got out the phone book to chase down the number of the parking enforcers. Before I could open the book, the phone rang again.
I picked it up and caroled a cheery hello, thinking it was Drake with some forgotten tidbit for me.
Bruno’s voice. “Good, you are there, Liz. When the line was busy, I hoped you were using the phone. How long have you been there?”
His words alarmed me. “Since Bridget dropped me off. I checked on Amy and then came here to see if Drake had called. He hadn’t. But he did, a few minutes after I got here.” I glanced toward the front of the house. “Say, Bruno, I was just about to call you folks. Carlotta’s been blocking my driveway since before Drake called. Who should I call to have her ticketed? This is really going too far.”
“She has been parked?” I heard clacking, and realized Bruno was in note-taking mode.
“What’s going on? Are you taking this down?”
“You are a lucky person tonight, Liz. Your Carlotta has been very helpful to you. I will speak with Bridget, and then there will be no problems.”
“Why should there be problems?” Apprehensive shivers made their way down my spine. “What are you talking about?”
“Lois Humphries was found at the garden tonight, after you and Bridget left.”
The shivering intensified. “Oh, no. No.”
“She was dead,” Bruno continued, his voice implacable. “She had fallen behind the pile of wood chips the gardeners use for mulching their paths. She was holding a wooden box, about shoe-box size, which we think must contain the husband’s ashes she was so careful of. She had not been dead long, Liz. And several people told us that you were there.” He paused, but I could say nothing. “You would have made a very convenient scapegoat, if not for your Carlotta. Do not leave Drake’s house. We will be there shortly to interview both of you.”
He hung up, and so did I. I tried to take in what he’d said, but it was hard to believe that scrappy little Lois could be dead.
I went back into the living room. Carlotta was still parked out front. Little did she know the effect her spiteful act would have. Nervous giggles bubbled out of me, turning into laughter. I knew it was hysterical, but I let it have its way with me.
It took the sound of cars approaching to sober me. I went to the door to let in Bruno and his minions.
Chapter 16
Bruno herded Carlotta into the house, followed closely by Bridget and Officer Rhea. Carlotta sputtered with indignation; Bridget looked worried.
“You do not seem to understand, Mrs. Houseman.” Bruno spoke, for him, sternly. “You are blocking a driveway. That is serious. What if emergency vehicles could not get by?”
“I would have moved my car if there had been any need.” Carlotta shot me a venomous look.
“I do not understand why you felt this was necessary.” Bruno gestured toward Drake’s couch. “Please, be comfortable.” He nodded at Officer Rhea, who wandered through the archway into the dining area, returning with a chair that she parked in the doorway.
Bridget also sat on the couch. I chose the straight, uncomfortable chair near the hall, the one that’s usually piled high with Drake’s gym bag and pieces of clothing he’s discarded. When I’d tidied it up earlier, I had no idea I’d be sitting there, feeling like a criminal in the witness box.
Bruno sat in the chair by the door, his laptop perched on his knees. He arched his eyebrows at Carlotta, who crossed her arms over her bosom and refused to speak.
“Carlotta has gotten some idea that Liz is dangerous, Bruno.” Bridget leaped into the breach. “Why, I don’t know.” She looked at Carlotta, exasperated. “Her behavior has been totally unacceptable.”
“I resent that.” Carlotta sat up straighter. “I have only done what needs to be done to protect everyone around here.” She stared at me angrily. “You all don’t seem to realize the danger you’re in. Since this woman somehow managed to snatch poor Vivien’s property, people have been murdered. I call that cause and effect.”
“Well, I call it libelous. Or is it slanderous?” Bridget’s cheeks flamed. “Either way, a lawyer could make a good case against you. And I advise Liz to get one.” She turned to Bruno. “I’m glad to see the police are taking this kind of stalking and loose talk seriously. Are you going to arrest her?”
“Arrest me!” Carlotta bridled in outrage. “You must be joking. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“If spreading lies and rumors isn’t wrong, then it wouldn’t be wrong for me to do the same to you, is that right?” Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “I have a friend at the Forum, as a matter of fact. I think I’ll give her this whole story, with a lot of juicy speculation on how you’re losing your marbles, Carlotta. Going gaga. Ready for the locked ward.”
Bruno cleared his throat, and the two women halted the battle. I had been ready to give Carlotta a piece of my mind, but hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise. Besides, I rather enjoyed hearing Bridget defend me.
“I would like to know what happened after I left you two ladies at your car this evening.” Bruno’s words fell into the silence. Bridget looked at him speculatively.
“Nothing, as far as I’m concerned,” she said. “We drove home and I dropped Liz off here. She said she was going to check on her niece and then wait in here for a phone call. I went home.” She looked at Bruno, and some of the attitude left her voice. “What’s happened, Bruno? Why do you need to know this?”
Bruno didn’t answer. He turned to Carlotta. “When did you park your car across Liz’s driveway, Mrs. Houseman?”
She sniffed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I came directly here after poor Rita’s brother spoke so affectingly at the service.”
“You weren’t here when I dropped off Liz,” Bridget said.
“I parked down the street. She”—Carlotta pointed at me— “walked off down her driveway, and I realized I couldn’t see well enough.”
Bruno looked up from his laptop. “What was it you wanted to see, Mrs. Houseman?”
A pregnant pause ensued. Carlotta drew herself up. “I am watching her.” She jerked her head toward me. “I should think you would be grateful, Detective Morales. She knows I’m watching. She wouldn’t dare do anything for fear of what I’ll say.” Her eyes glittered.
Bruno was taken aback. “You truly believe Liz to be a murderer, and yet you risk angering her this way?”
“Well, she—I—” Carlotta floundered.
“If she is a killer, why does she not just make you her next victim?” Bruno seemed genuinely interested in the answer.
“That’s what I said last night.” I finally spoke, but no one paid any attention. They were all watching Carlotta.
Bright spots of red burned on her cheeks. “She wouldn’t dare,” she said huffily. “She knows I’ve told everyone about her. If she harmed me, everyone would know.”
“So tonight you kept Liz from murdering anyone, is that it?” Bruno clacked away at his computer.
“Bruno!” Bridget sounded incensed. “How could you—”
“Please, Bridget. I am talking to Mrs. Houseman.” Bruno fixed Carlotta with a stare. “Is that right? Tonight you saw her go down her driveway? Then you moved your car?”
“Yes.” She pressed her lips together, but finally added into the silence, “The kitchen light in this house came on just after I’d parked.”
“Did you see Liz in the house?”
“Not really. But it had to be her, gloating over how well she hoodwinked poor Vivien.” Carlotta looked around the living room in a disparaging way. “Not that this place is any great shakes, but since she seduced the man she sold it to, I suppose she’ll be getting it back.”
“That is totally outrageous!” Bridget bounced on the sofa as if she were planning to tackle Carlotta, who shrank back against the cushions.
“Please, Bridget. Allow me to finish. So, Mrs. Hou
seman, you were parked outside while Liz was in here. She did not leave at any time?”
“She couldn’t have driven away, since I was in the way of her getting out of her driveway.” Carlotta shot me a triumphant glance. “That’s why I parked there.”
“And you did not see her leave on foot?”
Carlotta snorted. “That’s not likely. She goes everywhere in that wretched old thing she drives. And in fact—”
Bruno looked up from his computer when she faltered. “What, Mrs. Houseman?”
“I saw a little movement back in the kitchen. I don’t think she’d realized I was here.” Carlotta wouldn’t look at me. She spoke as if I wasn’t even in the room. “I mean, she didn’t come out and yell at me like she did last night. I suppose she will try to murder me one of these days, and it will be your fault for not locking her up where she belongs.”
“Bruno, what is it?” Bridget had realized something was going on. She looked at me anxiously.
“There has been another death.”
“Aha!” Carlotta was triumphant. “I knew it!”
“The death occurred after the meeting at the garden. During that time, I observed Liz until she left with Bridget. Then you began your surveillance of her.”
Bruno looked at Carlotta and allowed himself to smile. “Thanks to you, Ms. Sullivan has a cast-iron alibi.”
“Who was killed?” Bridget twisted her hands together. “This is terrible!”
Bruno watched Carlotta, who had lost the power of speech, if her gaping jaw was any indicator. “Lois Humphries. We have not yet decided how she died. It is possible she simply had a heart attack.”
“Lois?” Carlotta rose to her feet. “Lois is dead?” She stared at Bruno, then around the room. “She—but this can’t be. She said—”
“What did she say, Mrs. Houseman? When did you speak with her?”
“I saw her,” Carlotta whispered dazedly. “I saw her at the garden tonight. She was so angry when they wanted to set up a place for the flowers and candles in front of her plot. She made them move it outside by the fence. And she said—”
Her jaw worked. Bruno waited patiently. Bridget opened her mouth, then closed it again at Bruno’s commanding glance. Officer Rhea shifted in her chair, and the implements on her belt clanked faintly.
“She said she would pay back the person who’d desecrated her garden,” Carlotta continued, her voice faint. “I thought she meant Liz.”
“So you parked here, hoping to see a fight?” Bridget bounced on the sofa again. “I’ve never heard anything so outrageous in my life! You ought to be ashamed!”
Carlotta didn’t hear her. She looked as if she might faint. Officer Rhea went into the kitchen and ran a glass of water, but Carlotta didn’t even see her offer it. “I thought she was coming over here tonight to have it out with Liz.” She lifted dazed eyes to Bruno. “If it wasn’t Liz, then who was it?”
“That,” said Bruno, making a final note on his computer, “is what we would all like to know.”
Chapter 17
I sat in the waiting room at the Planned Parenthood clinic, trying to read an out-of-date People magazine. Amy was seeing the doctor for a pregnancy test and presentation of her options. She had called first thing that morning to find out if it was legal for her to get an abortion in California without her parents’ knowledge or permission. It was.
“It will cost over three hundred dollars.” Amy had been more shocked by that than by anything else. “Unless I have MediCal, whatever that is.”
“You don’t. It’s for California residents.”
“I hate Colorado,” Amy burst out. “I don’t want to go back.”
That, too, was troubling.
Amy hadn’t asked me for any money, which was fortunate. Not that I wouldn’t have dipped into my precious little savings on her behalf, but the insecurities of my life are such that I hoard every dime against an uncertain future. Aside from that, it seemed to me that it was up to Amy to pay for what she wanted so badly. I was still too ambivalent about the whole thing to be comfortable footing the bill.
I stared at the glossy faces in the magazine on my lap, but the coy snippets of gossip meant less than nothing to me—I had never heard of the TV stars, since I don’t have a TV, and the only movies I saw were those rented by Drake on occasion, which tended toward art films and classics. He’d taken me to a first-run movie once, but the cost was so incredible I felt guilty all the way through. Perhaps he’s right when he says I’ve been ruined for normal life.
Instead of the beautiful faces on the page, I kept seeing Lois Humphries—self-righteous, thin-lipped, disapproving, but still a person who worked hard for what she believed in. Now she was dead, and perhaps because of her hard work. I couldn’t help but wonder if her death happened through something at the garden. It seemed unlikely that two accidental deaths could occur so close together. One, or both, must have been caused by human machinations. But why would Lois be killed?
Unless she knew something about Rita’s death. Something that someone else had wanted to keep concealed.
I remembered her visit to me—was it only two days ago? Her perturbation, her anxiety once it was clear to her that I had nothing to hide. She had known something, and she had chosen to deal with it herself instead of telling the police.
The baby next to me began wailing, jolting me from my thoughts. The girl in charge of the baby was very young, her shoulders bowed as if she carried the troubles of the universe instead of one small baby. She should have been strolling through the mall with her friends, giggling and stopping at the food court. Instead, she was the food court, trying to give her baby a bottle while rummaging in the enormous bag of stuff with her other hand.
“Can I help?” I indicated the bag. “What are you looking for? Perhaps I can get it for you.”
“Gracias.” Looking frightened, she tightened her grip on the baby. “I need nothing, thank you.”
She abandoned her attempt to find whatever it was in the bag, and the infant quieted when she directed all her attention toward giving it the bottle. I wondered why she didn’t breast-feed, why she was alone when she couldn’t have been more than fifteen, whether the father of her baby spent any time with her and it. But I couldn’t ask.
The outer door opened and a vivacious brunette swept in, her V-necked green scrubs proclaiming her a health-care professional. She carried a paper bag, and she stopped at the reception desk to pull out a tall, capped cup and hand it over to the woman behind the desk, who took it thankfully.
The brunette lingered, uncapping her own cup. “He’s out there again,” she said ominously.
The woman behind the reception desk looked alarmed. “Oh, no.”
“Yes.” The brunette shook her head. “I told him he had to get back, that he wasn’t allowed to stand so close. But he didn’t pay much attention. You may have to call the cops.”
The woman behind the desk seemed resigned. “I’ll get Evelyn to come over and escort people first,” she said, pulling the phone toward her.
A nurse came into the waiting room. She took a clipboard from a rack of them by the door and announced, “Teresa Hidalgo.”
The girl next to me stood up, clutching her baby, the enormous bag bulging off her shoulder. “This way,” the nurse said, and Teresa disappeared.
I went back to my magazine, but the people in it seemed even further from real life. They were in love, engaged, in counseling, divorcing, seeing someone new. What did it matter?
Amy returned, followed by a slight young woman in a white coat, with a dark, glowing complexion and short dreadlocks springing from a wide forehead. “Hello,” she said, offering a firm handshake when I joined Amy. “I’m Dr. Jones. Amy’s doing fine, and I’ve given her a bunch of stuff to read.” She turned to Amy, who clutched her pile of literature with a dazed expression. “You should go ahead and make an appointment now, and if you decide against the procedure, you can cancel it. But you should decide soon.”
&nb
sp; Amy tightened her grip on the literature. “Okay,” she mumbled. “Thanks, Dr. Jones.”
She went to make her appointment at the desk, and Dr. Jones smiled at me. “Amy seems very sensible, very centered.”
“Yes, I think she is.” Through the consulting room door, I could see Teresa Hidalgo being weighed while the nurse held her baby. “Do you all take care of babies here, too?”
“No.” Dr. Jones glanced over her shoulder. “We do offer gynecological care and contraceptives, though. The moms-to-be come to us throughout their pregnancies, and after the birth, too. If Amy chooses to have her baby, we’ll be happy to provide her prenatal checkups. Then she’d deliver at Stanford.”
This was another stunning thought. “But—she doesn’t live here. I mean, she’s from Denver.”
Dr. Jones wrinkled her forehead. “Somehow I got the idea—well, Amy will talk about it with you, I’m sure.”
Her brown eyes were sympathetic, her rich voice soft. “I understand your family is Catholic.”
“Yes, very. She hasn’t told them about her—condition. They’d hit the roof.”
“What do you think about that?”
“She’s making her own decisions. What I think doesn’t matter.”
“Well, that’s not really true. But it’s good you’re standing by.” Dr. Jones gave me a pat and went back to the consulting rooms.
While Amy waited at the appointment desk, I drifted over to the clinic’s door and looked through. A man stood at the sidewalk, his back to the clinic, holding up a large sign toward the traffic on Middlefield. Something about him was familiar. I assumed he was an antiabortion protester, and I didn’t think I knew any men foolhardy enough to tell women how to use their bodies.