Cape Perdido

by Marcia Muller

  “Banged my forehead, but I’ll be okay. The car—”

  “We’ll have to get a tow truck to pull it out of the ditch. My van doesn’t have enough power.”

  “Oh, God, Fitch is gonna kill me! He hates the way I drive.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t’ve turned across the road on a blind curve.”

  She pressed her hand to her forehead. “I didn’t even see the curve. And please don’t you start on me. I feel bad enough, and I’m gonna get an earful from Fitch later on.”

  He turned off her car’s lights, took the keys from its ignition, slammed the door, and helped her up to the road. She leaned heavily on him, and he feared that she might be more badly injured than she claimed. As he buckled her into the passenger side of his van, he said, “What were you doing up here, anyway?”

  She closed her eyes. “Give me a few minutes, okay?”

  “You should see a doctor—”

  “No doctor. I’m fine.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.” Briefly he considered taking her to Rose to be checked over. He’d just come from there after having dinner and then helping his aunt complete the arrangements for Harold Kosovich’s burial. No, he decided, he’d brought enough trouble to her doorstep in the past twenty-four hours. Instead he drove downhill and then south on the highway, heading for the Blue Moon and Steph.

  Steph wasn’t at the restaurant, however, and even though business was light, Arletta, Tony, and the Puska twins were frantic. While Joseph got Jessie settled in the bar area with a glass of water and a towel full of ice to apply to her head, Kat Puska kept up a steady complaint about her employer’s absence.

  “Until Sunday, the woman practically lived here twenty-four seven, and then that morning she takes off to go to the Friends’ meeting in the middle of the breakfast service. That night she’s gone for dinner, and today she took off at three, told Arletta she’d try to get back by six. Acted damn secretive, too. Six-thirty now, and she’s a no-show. Not at home, either, although her car’s in the driveway. I don’t know where her head’s at lately, but it hasn’t been on the business.”

  He frowned. Steph was conscientious in all aspects of her well-ordered life. An unexplained absence wasn’t like her. Cause for real concern here.

  “She didn’t give you any idea where she was going?”

  “No, like I said, she was real secretive.” Kat looked at Jessie, who slumped at the table holding the towel to her head. “You want I should get her some aspirin?”

  “Please.”

  She went away to the kitchen, and Joseph asked Tony for a beer, then sat down opposite Jessie. His mind was still on Steph, but he said, “You sure you don’t need medical attention? There’s a twenty-four-hour emergency clinic at the Landing.”

  “No, I’m okay, really. More than anything else, I’m embarrassed.”

  “You ready to tell me why you were driving around up there?”

  He listened as she described the conversation she’d had with Neil Woodsman at the Oceansong and how she’d followed him up the road toward the rez.

  “Playing detective, were you?”

  “Yeah. And I guess I’m not very good at it. I think he spotted me on the highway and led me up that road to lose me, then doubled back. My bad luck I’d started my turn when he came flying around the curve.”

  “You’re saying it was Woodsman driving that car?”

  “What I saw of it looked like his.”

  “He deliberately try to run you off the road?”

  “No, that was my fault. I panicked. It was just a really weird accident, but Fitch is gonna kill me anyway.”

  “What is it with you and Fitch?”

  “A bad professional pairing, although I’m starting to like him better. He’s got his good points.”

  “If you say so.”

  Kat reappeared with the promised aspirin, deposited them in Jessie’s hand, and retreated to the kitchen. Joseph drummed his fingers on the table, thinking again of Steph, while Jessie swallowed the tablets. He asked, “You said Gregory Erickson has gone to Sacramento?”

  “That’s what Woodsman told me. Something about fixing a problem with the paperwork they submitted to the water board.”

  “Late to be amending the apps, this close to the hearing.”

  “Well, I don’t know. That’s what he said.” Jessie leaned her head on her hand, looking sick.

  “You sure you’re okay? You could have a concussion.”

  “I’m okay! All right?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m tired and I haven’t eaten, and I think I need to get some takeout and go back to the motel.”

  “Arletta can box you up some of her fish-and-chips.”

  “That’d be great.”

  Joseph went to the kitchen and, finding Arletta busy, boxed them up himself. He offered to walk Jessie back to her room, but she declined and left, walking stiffly.

  A tough woman, he thought. Bound and determined to have things her way, and maybe a little foolhardy because she was on unfamiliar territory, dealing with forces she—and he, for that matter—didn’t understand. Foolhardy and stubborn and brave—a lot like the woman who had been the love of his life, and who now had gone missing.

  STEPH PACE

  Steph couldn’t shake the feeling she was being followed. She stopped walking, looked around, saw nothing but the rolling fog. Heard nothing, either. Of course, fog had the property of muting sound, as did the sandy ground beneath her feet. After a moment she went on, but the feeling was stronger than before.

  Ahead, blurred by the mist, lay the jagged tumbledown cliffs that looked like a slumbering dinosaur. When she’d called Curtis to ask that he meet her, the beach at Cauldron Creek had immediately come to mind because, like the rhododendron grove, it would be deserted and they could talk privately. All she’d had to say was “where we spoke the other night,” and he’d known what she meant, and agreed to be there in thirty minutes.

  Strange that she didn’t fear Curtis as she did Timothy McNear, even though she’d begun to suspect he had killed Mack.

  An indistinct sound came from behind her. She whirled, saw only the fog. Why in God’s name had she insisted on such secrecy? Wouldn’t it have been better if she and Curt had met in a crowded, well-lighted place like the Deluxe?

  Well, no. You didn’t talk about betrayal and murder in a crowd, or under revealing light. Better to have isolation and darkness. Besides, McNear had given her till the morning to find out if Curt was the waterbaggers’ eyewitness, but she didn’t trust him not to follow her and interfere. The beach was insurance against that; a man his age would never climb fog-blind down the steep trail. Steph, on the other hand, was agile and could have followed the trail in her sleep.

  Another sound, louder. “Curt?” she called out.

  No answer. No more sounds, either.

  An animal. A deer or a stray dog. Probably as scared of me as I am of it.

  She kept going.

  How long had it been since her call to Curt? Thirty minutes, anyway. More like forty. Was he lurking in the fog, playing games with her?

  She reached the sleeping dinosaur, leaned against its cold, damp flank. Realized she was panting—not from exertion but from fear. She got her breath more or less under control, peered up at the ledge where Curt had been sitting on Friday night. It was empty now.

  He’s late, that’s all. Never been on time for anything in his life. No need to panic.

  She was starting to relax some when the heavy weight dropped from the rocks above and smashed her to the ground.

  TIMOTHY MCNEAR

  Timothy walked along the path in his garden, tracing the route Stephanie Pace would have taken that night in 1984. It was very late—perhaps midnight, he wasn’t sure—and an odd, stationary fog cloaked the tall palms.

  Yes, this was the way Miss Stephanie would have come, past the statue of Kwan Yin. Stopped by the wall when she heard the shot. Then climbed ove
r it, clutching the bag full of his money.

  He hadn’t asked her what they’d done with the cash. Three thousand dollars—not enough to care about. The money had never been important.

  He turned, retraced his steps. The stones were moss-slick under his shoes, and he moved with care. Kwan Yin was crumbling; there was a chip on her nose. Dried fronds drifted against the trees’ boles, and some of the flagstones were broken. He didn’t often come into the garden, hadn’t for years, and hadn’t realized that the part-time groundskeeper had let it get so shabby. Caroline would have been horrified to see it in such a state, after all her efforts.

  Doesn’t matter now. None of those things do.

  He reached the spot where Mack Kudge’s body had lain. He’d known the boy by sight, had seen him hanging around the general store on the highway with Stephanie and her other friends. He’d never approved of any of them—wild, crude small-town kids who didn’t seem worthy of her company—but who was he to speak out? Well, Kudge had come to the expected bad end—a worse end than he deserved.

  He pictured the shocking stillness of the boy’s body as he lay facedown, bleeding on the flagstones. Heard the moan that had risen in his own throat. Felt the suspicion that grew within him once his horror had passed. And the resolve that hardened after his suspicion was confirmed.

  Not here, not in my garden, he’d thought. I can’t let this happen to one of mine.

  He still couldn’t.

  Timothy turned away from the garden, and from his memories.

  Tuesday, February 24

  JESSIE DOMINGO

  Jessie still had one hell of a headache, and Fitch wasn’t helping it any. She sat at the little table in his motel room, clutching one of the cups of coffee that she’d brought along by way of apology for putting their rental car in the ditch, and listened to him rant.

  “Jesus, every time I get to trusting you a little, you go and do something stupid! Chasing around in the middle of the night—”

  “It wasn’t the middle of the night.”

  “—after God knows what. It’s irresponsible, and now we don’t even have a car—”

  “Joseph recommended a garage that’ll tow it to the rental company in the Landing. They’ll give us a new one.”

  “All at great cost, no doubt. And Joseph—what was he doing there?”

  “Rescuing me, among other things.”

  “Your knight in shining armor.”

  “Well, you weren’t around. You were probably talking to some friend’s answering machine.”

  Fitch bit his lip and looked away.

  “Listen, I shouldn’t’ve said that.”

  “I didn’t tell you those things so you could throw them back at me.” He was hurt; she could see it in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, so am I. That I ever said anything. So what do we have to do before we call the tow truck?”

  Relieved that he wasn’t going to harp on her careless remark, she got down to business. “One of us should notify the foundation’s board members about Eldon.”

  “How about if we split the list?”

  “Fine. We also need to go to the sheriff’s department to give those statements Detective Swift wants. We could hitch a ride down there with the tow truck if the car’s not driveable, bring the replacement back later. Maybe by now they’ve got some idea of what happened to Eldon.”

  “They’d’ve called if they knew anything.”

  “True. You know what I’m wondering? Those reports on Erickson and Woodsman that the detective mentioned in his e-mail to Eldon—did he ever receive them? And if so, where are they now?”

  “I’d forgotten about them. They were coming by courier, right?”

  “Right. I’ll phone the Tides. Someone there’ll probably remember if they arrived.”

  But no one at Eldon’s motel could recall a special delivery from San Francisco.

  “Doesn’t mean anything,” Fitch told her. “The person who accepted the package could be off duty. Check back later.”

  “What about calling the private investigator? What’s his name? Tom Little? You’ve had dealings with him.”

  “Right. I’ll give him a ring.”

  Tom Little was out of the office and not expected back till afternoon. As Fitch hung up the receiver, he looked at his watch. “Nine here, noon at home. I don’t know about you, but that gives me the perfect excuse to delay calling the board members.”

  When Jessie phoned the garage Joseph had recommended, the tow truck driver agreed to pick them up at the motel, pull the rental car from the ditch, and give them a ride to Calvert’s Landing, if necessary. “But you never know—your vehicle may be in better shape than you think,” he added cheerfully.

  And it was: a number of scratches and a dent on the right front quarter panel, but perfectly driveable. Fitch, who had usurped the keys before they left the motel, muttered for miles about not knowing how they were going to explain to the foundation about the extra charges for the damage, and Jessie was tempted to tell him to shut up, but his grousing was really very mild compared to his earlier tirade, so she let him vent. After a while he seemed to get tired of the sound of his own voice.

  The substation on Center Street looked brand-new—which it was, Rhoda Swift explained as she led them to her office, the headquarters for coastal law enforcement having been moved north from less populous Signal Port six months before. Swift’s work space was small but comfortable, with beige walls and dark-brown carpeting and windows that overlooked a courtyard with picnic benches. Diplomas and citations and a photograph of a goofy-looking Labrador retriever hung on the walls, and a studio portrait of an attractive man with silvery hair and a craggy face sat on the desk. While Fitch waited outside, Swift taped Jessie’s statement, then began asking questions.

  “Does Mr. Whitesides usually involve himself personally in the cases his employees are pursuing?”

  “Not usually, no. But he took a special interest in Cape Perdido.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess because it will set important precedent if our side prevails.”

  “What did he plan to do here?”

  “. . . I guess he wanted to be on hand to make sure nothing went wrong. To advise Mr. Collier and me, you know.”

  “And he needed to travel all that way to give advice?”

  What was Swift getting at? “I guess he felt he did.”

  “You seem to be guessing at quite a few things, Ms. Domingo.”

  Everything about Swift—her businesslike tone, her direct way of meeting one’s eye, even her well-tailored woolen blazer—was making Jessie feel nervous and unsure of herself. She stifled the words, “I guess I am,” and instead said, “Mr. Whitesides didn’t confide in me. I’m a relatively new employee, and I wasn’t his first choice for this assignment.”

  Swift made a couple of notes on a legal pad in front of her. “Tell me, Ms. Domingo, does Mr. Whitesides have any connections with anyone in the immediate area?”

  Joseph’s relationship to Eldon—Swift had seen the stuff about him on Eldon’s computer.

  “He and Joseph Openshaw went to college together.”

  “And how would you characterize their relationship?”

  “I . . . don’t think they like each other very much.”

  “Why not?”

  Jessie stifled another “I guess.” “They’re coming from different places. Opposite places, really.”

  “A philosophical difference?”

  “More one of style. Joseph’s an old-type ecologist—very Berkeley, if you know what I mean. Eldon’s more into the big money.”

  “I see. Would you say that in spite of their differences they get along?”

  “Well enough. They certainly agree on stopping the waterbaggers from destroying the Perdido.”

  “Any arguments between them since Mr. Whitesides has been here?”

  “None that I know of.” Joseph’s prickliness over Eldon’s use of the privat
e investigator didn’t constitute an argument.

  “Did Joseph Openshaw know where Mr. Whitesides was staying?”

  “I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.”

  “I intend to.” Swift switched off the tape recorder and stood. “We’ll be in touch when we have further information, Ms. Domingo. If you’d ask Mr. Collier to come in . . . ?”

  “Certainly.” Jessie moved toward the door.

  “And, Ms. Domingo, I hear your dad was one hell of a ballplayer.”

  She turned, surprised.

  Swift grinned. “My significant other is a New Yorker, and a Mets fan. I’ve heard all about Kip Domingo.”

  Now, why would Swift have been talking to her boyfriend about Dad? The answer was obvious: she’d been gathering background information on her. Did she consider her a suspect in Eldon’s disappearance?

  JOSEPH OPENSHAW

  Joseph had been to half a dozen places looking for Curtis when he finally spotted him, patching the roof of the general store. He pulled his van onto the shoulder, jogged across the highway, and hollered for him to come down.

  “No time,” Curt called. “I got another job this afternoon.”

  Business must be booming for Curt to have two jobs in a week, let alone in a day. “Get your ass down here,” Joseph insisted. “It’s important.”

  Curt made a leisurely process of nailing another shingle in place before descending the ladder. Just being contrary, Joseph thought. If he’d told him to take his time, he’d’ve been down in two seconds.

  “Okay, what is it?” Curt asked, wiping his hands on the front of his denim work shirt.

  “Have you seen Steph?”

  Something flickered in Curt’s eyes. “Not for a couple of days. What’s the matter, she hiding from you?”

  “She left the restaurant yesterday afternoon and never came back. I’ve checked her house and everyplace else I can think of. There’s no sign of her, but her car’s in her driveway.”

  “So why d’you think I’d know where she is?”