by Mary Marks
A nasty smile curled her lips. She raised the hammer. “You’re dead.”
I closed my eyes and waited for the end. I pictured the people who would be sad if I died. Quincy. Uncle Isaac. Lucy. Birdie. Beavers. Crusher.
Then I heard a loud bonk! It wasn’t on my skull. I looked up.
Diane’s eyes rolled back in her head just before she dropped the hammer and fell sideways.
“You okay?” wheezed Tony DiArco. He sat in his scooter next to me, holding a heavy green metal oxygen tank.
Sonia panted as she arrived and helped me out from under Diane’s body, while Ron and Yuki’s grandson, Parker, pulled out his cell phone and called 911.
I looked at the three of them. “How did you get here so fast?”
Sonia said, “The EAP. Don’t you remember? When the spotter heard you screaming and saw you being chased out of your house, he called HQ. HQ called Tony, who was on patrol nearby. I heard the screaming and came out of my house. Looks like we got here just in time.”
I’d forgotten all about the enemy attack plan. When I knew Barbara Hardisty was in custody and no longer a threat, I forgot to tell Sonia to cancel the EAP. Thank God! They must have been watching my house this whole time. If they hadn’t been, I’d be as dead as Dax Martin right now.
CHAPTER 42
Detective Arlo Beavers insisted on riding with me in the ambulance to the hospital, even though I told him I was okay. The ER doctor sent me for a full-body scan because I’d fallen on my back. Aside from the nasty green marks blooming on my upper arms, where Diane had pinned me down with her knees, I had no other injuries. But I knew I was in for a bad fibro flare-up because of the trauma my body had just gone through.
The doctor gave me an injection of Dilaudid for the pain and sent me home with a prescription and an admonition to “take it easy for a couple of days.”
Between the Dilaudid and the fatigue, I don’t remember exactly how I got home and into bed. I vaguely remember Beavers wiping the drool from the side of my mouth. I think Sonia was there too, along with Alex Trebek, but I can’t be sure.
I slept until ten the next morning. The first sensation I became aware of was my bladder warning me I had exactly ten seconds to get up and pee. The second sensation was one of whiskers tickling my cheeks. I opened my eyes. Bumper’s green eyes stared at me from two inches above my face.
When I rolled over to sit up, the third sensation hit me. Pain. My muscles and nerves were screaming, especially in my arms and back. I groaned like an eighty-year-old, pushed myself off the bed, and shuffled over to the bathroom, holding my right hip. The sound of the toilet flushing brought Lucy into my bedroom with a cup of coffee and a brand-new bottle of pills.
“Good morning, sunshine. From the looks of you, I’d say you’re not doing so well.” She thrust the bottle toward me. “Here. I sent Ray to get your prescription filled this morning.”
“Thanks, Lucy. I don’t remember much about last night. When did you get here?”
“Arlo called me from the hospital. I was waiting here when he brought you home. I put you in some clean pajamas and stayed the night in Quincy’s room.”
“What about Alex Trebek?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” I looked at the label on the bottle. Inside were ten tablets of Dilaudid. I shook one out and swallowed it with the coffee. It must have been a lot milder than the injection, because I didn’t slide directly into a coma. After about twenty minutes, I did go to a happy zone, way north of the pain. I mean, if the pain was located in Los Angeles, I was floating somewhere over the Yukon.
I put a bathrobe over pink pajamas printed with frosted cupcakes and stumbled in a daze into the living room.
Lucy sat me down on the sofa. “Just stay here and I’ll make you some breakfast.”
I glanced out the window and over to the driveway. The windows in my car were shattered and every surface was disfigured by huge dents. “Lucy! My car!”
“Better your car than your head. Don’t worry, hon. Ray is going to take care of everything.” She came into the living room and closed the drapes so I wouldn’t have to look at the results of Diane Davis’s murderous temper tantrum.
At eleven o’clock, Ed Pappas showed up at my front door with a huge flower arrangement, along with a humongous box of See’s chocolates. He hurried to the sofa, where I sat with a dopey smile. He bent down and gathered me in grateful arms.
“You almost got killed, Martha. I’m so sorry. And to think it happened because you wanted to find the real killer and clear me. You’re awesome. I’m so glad you’re okay. I don’t know what else to say. ‘Thanks’ isn’t enough.”
I smiled at him. “You’d do the same for me, right?”
“You know I would.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “Crusher wants to come and see you. He’s right outside. I’m tellin’ you, if you don’t let him in, he’s going to explode. He told me to ask you for something called rachmunes and let him in.”
I giggled. Crusher had used the Yiddish word for “pity” and “compassion.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” I slurred.
Ed just looked at me. “I’ve never seen him like this.”
I felt hugely magnanimous in my happy place. “Sure, why not.”
Ed rushed to the front door and motioned with his hand. In two seconds, Crusher was inside. He held a bouquet of fragrant flowers in one hand and a large brown sack from the deli. “I brought you chicken soup with matzo balls and a loaf of deli rye.”
He hastily set everything on the kitchen counter and returned to sit next to me on the sofa. I grinned stupidly at him and put my arms around his neck. “Thanks, Yossi.”
The next thing I knew he was holding me and giving me a lovely, long kiss, which I was happy to return.
“Babe,” he whispered, “you could have died.”
Finally Lucy cleared her throat. “Okay, lover boy, put a sock in it. This woman’s in no condition to give her consent. She’s higher’n a kite.”
Then she turned to Ed. “Take him back to your house and let him cool down. Hose him off if you have to.”
Ed smirked and punched Crusher softly in the shoulder. “Come on, man. You can see for yourself she’s okay. We’ll come back another time.”
Crusher gave Lucy one last pleading look, but she crossed her arms and jerked her thumb toward the front door.
As soon as they left, Lucy sat in a chair and fanned herself with her hand. “Dang, girlfriend, I see what you mean. The man is just crazy about you.”
I grinned from ear to ear. It was all good.
At four in the afternoon, I took my second dose of Dilaudid. Beavers showed up ten minutes later, carrying a dozen yellow roses and a pink box of pastries from Eva’s European Bakery. I was already flying over Portland, Oregon, in my mind.
Beavers asked Lucy, “How is she?”
Lucy took the packages from his hands. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
Beavers came over to the sofa and sat next to me. I gave him a loopy grin and put my arms around him. He gathered me in a tender embrace and gave me a long, gentle kiss, which said, I miss you; I love you; I’m glad you’re alive.
Of course I kissed him back. The Dilaudid made me do it.
Lucy returned and sat on a chair directly across from us, apparently determined not to let anybody take advantage of my diminished capacity. She looked at Beavers. “Down, boy. What’s the latest?”
“Thanks to Martha, the murder is solved. Diane Davis suffered a concussion, but she’ll survive.”
“What about Jefferson Davis?” I asked.
“He’s being held as an accessory to murder. We’ve handed off the rest of the case to the fraud division. The DA is looking into the shady deal over the baseball stadium.”
“What about Barbara Hardisty? Why did she want to scare me away from finding the witnesses to Martin’s murder?”
“Jefferson Davis called Detective Kaplan to find out how the investigation
was going. Kaplan told his former headmaster the police were looking for two homeless witnesses. Davis was afraid the witnesses could identify his wife, Diane, as the killer, so he contacted Hardisty and told her to get rid of the homeless. When she found out you were sniffing around the wildlife reserve, she ordered Lawanda Price to scare you off. Then she hatched the plan to pay her husband with federal funds to bulldoze the area.”
“Why would she agree to help Davis if she had nothing to do with the murder?”
Beavers shrugged. “She was up to her neck in conspiracy and fraud. If Davis was somehow involved in the murder and if he was caught, their corruption would be exposed. She had a stake in keeping Davis’s secret because she had a lot to lose. Once we threatened to charge her as an accessory to murder, she gave us everything.”
“Like how the stadium was allowed to be built in the first place?” I was approaching the Yukon once more.
“Yeah. Once Davis brokered a deal with Hardisty, he was instructed by certain trustees and big donors to set up a dummy company, SFV Associates. Money was then funneled through the company to pay off Hardisty by using Valley Allstar Construction. In addition, the Hardisty kids were given full scholarships to Beaumont, worth about one hundred thousand a year. The Hardisty boy was assured a place on the baseball team.”
I yawned. “There has to be more to the story than that. What about permits, inspections, environmental impact reports—all the things the City of Los Angeles is supposed to oversee?”
“The councilman used his influence to bypass the permit process. It wasn’t hard to do. The head of Building and Safety has a kid in Beaumont. There is the possibility, though, that because the stadium was built illegally, the school will be forced to tear it down and restore the land to open space. The fraud division is working on that right now. As far as we’re concerned, Dax Martin’s killer has been caught and our job is over.”
Lucy said, “That would make a lot of people around this neighborhood awfully happy, wouldn’t it, Martha?”
I thought about the people who were still homeless. “It’s a beginning.” Then I asked Beavers, “What was the deal with Noah Kaplan and Diane Davis?”
“Kaplan didn’t do anything worse than leak information about the investigation. He had no clue he was dealing with the killer. He just thought he was talking to his old school friend. The captain gave him a warning and a lecture about poor judgment.”
Through the fog enveloping my brain, I remembered something. “I think you should know your partner told Diane Davis you were a ‘stupid bastard.’”
Arlo shrugged. “Was that before or after he was pulled from the case for leaking information to the killer?”
I giggled. Happy place.
“The US Attorney’s Office is all over the misappropriation of public funds and the mismanagement of public resources by the Army Corps of Engineers. The commanding officer of the Los Angeles office, Colonel Trane, has already been replaced. Between the City of Los Angeles and the Feds, there are enough crimes and malfeasance to keep the prosecutors busy for the next decade.”
My eyes got heavier and Beavers’s voice receded into the distance until it was only a droning sound and then nothing. I floated in sweet oblivion for the next few hours.
Lucy gently touched my shoulder, waking me at seven. “Come on, Martha. Time to eat some of that nice soup Yossi brought.”
I opened my eyes and found the room filled with bouquets of flowers. I turned to Lucy in amazement. “Where’d these come from?”
She smiled. “Your friends and neighbors. I guess Sonia got the word out.”
Good old Sonia. The ATT and CNN of our community.
I stretched my stiff body and walked into the kitchen, where a steaming matzo ball the size of New York sat in a bowl of savory chicken soup. When she opened the refrigerator to pull out the loaf of rye bread, the shelves were filled with covered casseroles. The countertops all around me were laden with plates of brownies, homemade cupcakes, and chocolate chip cookies.
I looked at her. “Really? These all arrived when I was sleeping?”
She smiled. “I had to put a sign on the door that said, ‘Please knock softly. Do not ring bell.’ People are grateful, Martha.”
The following day, Saturday, Ed threw a party and asked Sonia to get the word out and invite all the neighbors. Two folding banquet tables stood under the mulberry tree in Ed’s front yard topped with barbequed burgers and hot dogs. I insisted on donating all the food everyone had so generously given me.
People arrived with their folding chairs, tables, and umbrellas; the lawn and sidewalk in front of Ed’s house and three of his nearest neighbors were filled with dozens of chatting adults and playful children. The teenagers sat in the primo spot on Ed’s roof underneath the mulberry branches, while Parker told them the story of how his quick thinking saved my life.
Ed thanked everyone for showing up and gave a little speech about friendship, neighborhood, and community. He asked me if I wanted to say a few words.
Flanked by my friends Lucy and Birdie, I praised Tony, Sonia, and the Eyes of Encino. I thanked everyone for their flowers and food. Per Lucy’s insistence, Crusher stayed his distance, although he watched my every move.
A cheer went up from the crowd when Simon Aiken announced his law firm would sue the Army Corps of Engineers and the Beaumont School pro bono to remove the baseball stadium and restore the wildlife reserve on behalf of the community.
Finally Crusher walked over to where Tony sat on his Chair-A-Go-Go to make him an honorary Valley Eagle. He presented Tony with a new battery for his scooter and a black leather vest with VE painted on the back in purple letters. Tony got the biggest cheer of all when he put on the vest and stuck out his scrawny arm to bump fists with all the other Eagles.
After another twenty minutes, I walked back to my house with Lucy and Birdie. My poor Corolla was gone from the driveway, and all the broken glass had been swept away. A loaner BMW from Lucy’s husband, Ray, sat waiting for me to use.
Back inside, Birdie made a pot of tea while Lucy put fresh linens in Quincy’s room, started a load of laundry, and packed up her things to go home.
“You sure you’re going to be okay by yourself now? Those pain pills are rather strong.”
“Yeah. The pain isn’t so bad now. I’m done with the pills. Besides, I need to be functional. Tomorrow’s Sunday and Quincy’s coming home.”
After they left, I carried one of the flower arrangements into Quincy’s room. Then I ran my hand slowly over the bumpy texture of the Grandmother’s Flower Garden Quilt on top of the bed. My little girl was coming home for a visit after a long time away. While she was here, she’d get all my attention. The other thing—my Beavers/Crusher dilemma—would just have to wait for another day.
I hung some fresh towels in the bathroom and spotted the scale on the floor. Two weeks had passed since I joined Weight Watchers. After all the running around, skipped meals, and physical activity, my jeans felt a lot looser. I stepped on the scale and smiled when I saw the numbers. Tomorrow Charlissa would give me a gold star.
Sometime during the middle of the night, I awoke to the smell of smoke. We were in the height of the fire season in Southern California, and the mountains ringing the San Fernando Valley were covered in dry forest and chaparral, the perfect fuel for out-of-control brush fires. The Santa Ana winds coming from the northeast had been responsible for the recent heat wave and were notorious for fanning small brush fires into conflagrations that could burn for days, consuming thousands of acres. I was afraid the smoke meant one of those fires was close by.
As I got out of bed and put on my robe, the guttering of a motorcycle receded into the distance. I opened the front door and looked to the south for signs of fire: a pink light in the night sky or a corona of flames on a mountain ridge. Even though the smell of smoke was strong, I saw nothing unusual. The winds had died down and all of Encino seemed to be sleeping peacefully. So I turned around and went through the
house to the back door to see if the fire was burning in the north.
As soon as I opened the back door, flickering light came from the direction of the baseball stadium. I rushed outside in my bare feet to get a better look. At the edge of the field, the maroon-and-gold two-story monstrosity—the place where Dax Martin was king, the place where he and Diane carried on their affair—was in flames. Fortunately, because the air was still, our houses were in no immediate danger from the fire spreading. Fire House Eighty-Three was just a few blocks away. If I called right away, it was possible they could save the building.
I walked back in my house, put on some water, and placed a bag of Taylor’s Scottish Breakfast Tea in a cup. All was quiet as I waited for the water to boil. After about five minutes, I brewed the tea, stirred in some milk and sugar, and sat on the sofa to enjoy a slow, satisfying cup. Then I picked up the phone and dialed 911.
Please turn the page for a quilting tip
from Mary Marks!
CHOOSING A
NEEDLE AND
THREAD
You’ve pieced the top of your quilt and made a “sandwich” by laying it over a backing with a layer of batting (wadding, if you’re British) in between. Now it’s time to stitch the three layers together. What do you do?
First you choose the right needle. Needles come in different shapes and sizes. The shapes are determined by what you’re going to use them for: embroidery, appliqué, basting, or quilting, to name a few. The sizes are numbered. (Note: the larger the number, the smaller the needle.)
“Betweens” are the preferred needle for quilting. A size twelve between is the shortest at one inch. I prefer to use the hybrid size eleven, which has the short length of the twelve but the bigger eye of the ten. (Larger eyes are easier to thread.)