Blood Orange

by Karen Keskinen

  “Huh?” I almost managed a smile. “What are you reading these days?”

  “Positively Positive: Self-Talk-n-Walk Your Way to Fulfillment.” She poured a cup of steaming black coffee and set it on the kitchen table, then went to the ancient fridge and took out a container of half-and-half. “You need coffee, extra strong. And a big chocolate croissant.”

  “Yeah. That should fix everything.”

  “Pastries, coffee, and positive self-talk. You can’t lose on that combo.” The seams of her uniform strained dangerously as Gabi sat down in the chair opposite me. “Miss Jaymie? You’re real mad, I can tell.”

  “Mad? I’m fucking furious.”

  “I never heard you use the f-word before.”

  “If I had a stronger word, I’d use it.” I drowned the stern coffee in the half-and-half.

  “Did you tell the kids what happened?”

  “No way. As far as they’re concerned, Dexter wandered off. Tonight I’ll tell them I checked the pound and found him there, injured. I’ll say I took Dex straight to the vet’s, and they’re taking good care of him now.”

  “What about Alma?”

  “I didn’t tell Alma either. I told her about the smashed light, though. She needs to know someone was around, so she can watch out.”

  “I gotta be honest, I don’t like dogs that much. They make my houses all dirty with their hair and their feet, they lick themselves down there and then they try to lick you in the face. Pft! But still, to make God’s creature suffer like that…” Gabi frowned and ran her fingernail along a crack in the tabletop to dig out the dirt. “Anybody who would do that to a perro could do it to a person, I think.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “So. It’s not your fault, but what do you mean, it was a message?”

  “What happened to Dex was a warning to me to back off. I’ve been talking to people, Gabi, asking awkward questions. It’s no surprise the killer heard I was poking around.” I shoved my chair back from the table and stood. “Or maybe I’ve got it wrong. Maybe I’ve made an enemy just because I’m protecting Danny, letting him stay at my place.”

  Gabi got to her feet and gave her uniform another tug. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Continue. Push on.”

  “That’s positively positive for sure. But I am the one who hired you, Miss Jaymie. And I say you should be very careful.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Sure you do.” Gabi raised an eyebrow. She carried the cups to the chipped sink and turned on the tap. “Did you tell Mr. Mike what happened to your dog?”

  “Not yet. He might … interfere.”

  “Hm. Alma told me you went to visit his father this weekend. If you were Mexican, that would mean—”

  “It means never-you-mind. Now, I gotta move on. I’m going to see Celeste Delaney, and I don’t dare be late.”

  “Just tell your boyfriend what happened to your dog, right away. I’m begging you, Miss Jaymie. He’ll be real mad if you don’t.”

  Gabi was right about that: Mike would be furious. Besides, he had a right to know.

  I dialed his number as I shut the office door behind me and descended the steps. “Mike? It’s me, Jaymie. I’ve got some very bad news.”

  * * *

  More often than not now, my bike was left languishing in the breezeway at El Balcón. Maybe I was just getting lazy. But driving a car had its advantages, such as transporting me to Sheffield Drive, Montecito, in ten minutes or less, minus the sweat bath. I needed to be there by 2:30, Marisol’s quitting time.

  A battered old Datsun was parked under the shade of a towering eucalyptus, across the road from Darlene Richter’s home. The woman in the driver’s seat was younger than Marisol, her features softer, but clearly kin.

  I continued up Sheffield and made a U-turn, then pulled up to one side of Mrs. Richter’s gates and switched off the engine. I leaned back in the seat and stared at the torn fabric under the El Camino’s roof.

  I didn’t much like what I was about to do. But I’d avoided it long enough.

  Marisol, outfitted in her severe black uniform and carrying a black handbag, appeared at the smaller pedestrian gate. She stepped through, then firmly pulled the gate shut after her. As she began to walk in the direction of the Datsun, she glanced over and caught sight of me.

  I hopped out. “Marisol, can I speak with you, please?”

  “No—no.” She took a step away. “I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry. My sister…” She waved vaguely.

  By this time I was standing beside her. I touched her arm lightly. “Please,” I said more firmly. “It’s important for us to talk.”

  “But I—I’m in a hurry.” Then she grew still. Her hands fell to her sides in defeat.

  “Marisol, I’d like you to look at this photo. I printed it off my phone.”

  As Marisol studied the picture of two little boys eating cones filled with blue ice cream, and two very hopeful pooches sitting alertly at their feet, her face collapsed.

  “Oh no. Are you—are you going to—”

  “Let’s talk, just for a few minutes. In my car, OK?” Oh, I felt like a criminal, all right. The poor woman had folded like a puppet with slashed strings.

  “Please, don’t—”

  “Tell your sister she can go, Marisol. I’ll drive you home.”

  “Not home. To my next job, on Hot Springs.” Instead of crossing the road, she dialed her phone and spoke rapidly in Spanish. Her sister stuck an arm out the window and waved, then drove off.

  Marisol raised an eyebrow at the El Camino, then climbed in and placed her bag in her lap. “That picture.” Marisol turned to me. “Who is the other little boy?”

  “His name is Chuy. His family lives with me. It was his idea, actually, to give your nephew an ice cream cone.”

  “So you know Beto’s my nephew.” She shook her head. “That little devil. He’s supposed to stay in the backyard or inside the house. I love Beto, but he never does what you say, and he talks too much. He told you everything?”

  “Pretty much. The ice cream made us friends for life.” I pulled into the road.

  “That’s because he doesn’t have any friends,” she said sharply. “At school, what the kids did to him, you don’t know! At first they spit on him. Then one day a bunch of them pushed him down on the ground and rubbed gravel and dirt in his face. Where were the teachers, that’s what I want to know! The kids kept rubbing and rubbing till Beto was bleeding and screaming. So my sister decided, no more school. She told the principal Beto went to live with his father in Mexico.”

  “So that’s when you and your brother decided to give him a dog—a friend.”

  “It’s a nice little dog, and we knew Beto would love it. It really doesn’t like living with Mrs. Richter, that is the truth.” Marisol shrugged. “I don’t know who’s more happy now, Beto or the dog.”

  “It’s going to be hard for him to let Minuet go.” I tried to disguise the regret in my voice. “Couldn’t you get him another dog, maybe from the pound?”

  “That’s what we should have done in the first place, I know. But we didn’t think, ’cause that little dog was just perfect for him. And now it’s too late. He loves Chica, he says she’s the best dog in the world.” Marisol stared at the purse in her lap. “I know you have to take the dog back. Go ahead. But even if you report me to Mrs. Richter, please, I’m asking you, don’t tell her about Beto. If the school hears, they’ll send CPS. My sister will lose her son.”

  “Look, I’m not going to report Beto or you either, OK?” I turned into Hot Springs Road. “But there has to be something better for Beto than staying at home. He’s a kid, he needs friends—human friends, his own age.”

  “Yes, he needs friends. Not bullies.” She scowled. “What, you think my sister has money for a private school or something?”

  “Private school kids wouldn’t behave any better.” I glanced over at Marisol. Tears had sprung to her eyes. “Listen, I have a plan. A
plan that trusts in the goodness of human nature.”

  “Human nature is not good. You learn that when you’re on the bottom of the pile.”

  I slowed down the car. “What number am I looking for?”

  “304. Down more.” Marisol placed the photo on the dash. “So what happens now?” she asked in a resigned tone.

  “Tomorrow I’ll give Mrs. Richter your sister’s address. I won’t mention you or your brother, and I’ll fib—I’ll tell her Beto’s family found the dog wandering in the street.” I pulled up at the house.

  Marisol put a hand on the latch, but she didn’t move. “It will be so hard for my nephew. Outside of our family, the only thing that loves him is that silly dog.”

  “That’s where the goodness of human nature comes in. I’m going to show that picture to Mrs. Richter. When she sees Beto’s birthmark, she might realize he needs the dog more than she does. She doesn’t seem like a bad person.”

  “Huh. I know my boss better than you do,” Marisol snapped. “The señora has no children, no family. She will grab that stupid little dog in a second. It’s her baby, that’s what she always says.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But maybe not,” I said lamely.

  Marisol shoved open the door and got out of the car. Then she bent down and glared through the open window. “What do you know about human nature, anyway? Do you clean people’s toilets every day of your life? Do you have to—to—let the señor have sex with you or else lose your job? Humans,” she hissed, “are ugly and cruel!”

  I sat there, stunned, as Marisol strode away to the house, queenly in her righteous anger.

  Let the señor have sex with you or else lose your job. My, yes. Yes indeed.

  * * *

  Bright and early the next morning, Mike filled the office doorway. He was in uniform, achingly commanding. “Jaymie? Let’s talk.”

  “Good morning to you too,” I winced. The night before, I’d only half slept while my brain churned over the case.

  Ignoring my sarcasm, Mike stepped into the room and took charge of the space. “Hey, Gabi. How’s it going?”

  “It’s going good. But I just remembered I gotta go to the store.” She started tossing things into her big beach bag.

  “Gabi, don’t let him push you around. Just because Mike’s here, it doesn’t mean you have to—”

  “We’re outta napkins, Miss Jaymie, OK?”

  Mike dropped into the puffy recliner Gabi had recently acquired, over my objections, via Craigslist. “Let Gabi go, Jaymie. She doesn’t want to listen while I chew on her boss’s ear.”

  “Miss Jaymie? I’ll be back in one hour. Anything you want from Smart and Final?”

  “Nope.” I perched on the edge of the desk and waited until the screen door had banged shut behind my PA. “What’s up at work?” I asked nonchalantly.

  “We’re cleaning up a big meth operation, over at Seis Pinos Ranch.” He brushed the topic away with a sweep of his hand. “How’s Dex this morning, still getting better? I called the vet yesterday and they said he’s out of the woods.”

  “Yes. The operation went pretty well, thank God.” A shudder went through me just thinking about it. “They had to take his leg, Mike.”

  “I heard, sweetheart.” His tone softened. “He’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

  “I know. And I’ll be fine too, after I find out who mutilated him.”

  “That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.”

  “What—do you know who it was?” My heart began to pump faster at the thought of revenge.

  “No, and this is where you listen to me for a change.” He picked up the chunk of sandstone on the desktop and smoothed it like a baseball. “Jaymie, this time I mean it: you need to back off. The game’s way too dangerous now.”

  “No. No way am I backing off!”

  “I’m saying you will. Leave the revenge to me.” Mike morphed into a cop. He straightened to his full height and leaned forward slightly, towering over me. His voice turned quiet and hard. “I’m responsible, because I got you into this business in the first place. And I’m not letting what happened to Dex happen to you. Got it?”

  I’d seen Mike like this once or twice before, and I knew I’d come up against a wall I couldn’t go through. I would need to find a way around the obstruction. “I’m willing to compromise,” I said carefully.

  “Compromise? What do you mean?”

  “I’ll forget about revenge—if. If you’ll help me poke around behind the scenes.”

  “What do you mean, ‘poke around’? Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Just a little evidence-gathering, Mike.”

  “Well—maybe. Depends on what kind of evidence you’re talking about.”

  “Nothing risky.” I swear, I batted my eyelids. Then I worried: was I being too obvious? But no, apparently that was impossible: Mike was smiling sweetly now. Thank God for male gullibility.

  “Hey, hold on. Why do I feel like a steer with a ring in its nose?”

  “Oh, come on. That’s just your paranoia talking. Listen, as a sign of my sincerity, let’s gather some evidence together.”

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What have you got in mind?”

  “How about a trip to the morgue?” I said brightly.

  “Uh-huh. Because you know you can’t get in there without me.” Mike folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Yeah, I’m a steer, all right. Neutered and fattened for slaughter.”

  “You’re no steer. Only men with cojones can allow a woman to take the lead.”

  He tipped back his head and guffawed. “Know what? Deirdre Krause has nothing on you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m taking you to the morgue like I said I would, right?” Mike raised his hands from the wheel in protest. “All I’m asking in return is for you to let me give you shooting lessons. And when you’ve had them, I’m buying you a gun.”

  “I always thought I was safer without a gun.”

  “And maybe that was true in the past. Not now. Lili Molina’s killer is hard-core.”

  “Please don’t say he’s a crazy lunatic, Mike. Just do not say that.”

  “I don’t think he is.” Mike frowned. “This one’s a cold-blooded executioner who plans ahead.”

  “You believe me now, don’t you? You agree it’s not Danny.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen the light. OK, here we are.” Mike pulled into the morgue lot, parked, and turned to face me. “Look. Are you sure you’re cool with this, Jaymie? I know you’re no shrinking violet. But still, you saw the pictures from the murder scene—”

  “I’m fine with dead bodies, Mike. I’ve been to the morgue a few times before this.”

  “OK, then. Let’s go.”

  The morgue was like every other county building, run-down after years of tight funds. There was a whiff of an odor just inside the door, though, that announced this wasn’t city hall. I’d noticed it on my other visits: a smell that was both acrid and cloying at the same time. Formaldehyde, maybe? It reminded me of tenth-grade biology lab.

  Mike showed his badge to the teenager behind the desk. She paused her texting but kept one eye on her cell. “Help you?”

  “Dr. Jorgensen’s expecting us.”

  “I’ll buzz you in. You know where to go?”

  “Straight down to hell.” Mike looked over at me and smiled apologetically. “Gallows humor. Joking’s good in a place like this.”

  “A laugh never hurts,” I agreed.

  He held open the heavy door. “You look almost eager, Jaymie.”

  “I’ve got one or two theories in mind. I want to see if I’m on the right track.”

  “Funny place to bring a date, Mike.” The guy who met us at the end of the hall was blond and good-looking, except that his mouth was soft and sulky.

  “Vaughn. This is Ms. Zarlin,” Mike said sternly. “She’s helping with inquiries into the Molina case.”

  “Vaughn Jorgensen at your service.” The guy actually
winked.

  “Glad to meet you, Vaughn.”

  “I need her to take a look at the vic,” Mike interjected.

  “Is this on the record?”

  “Come on, Jorgensen. Remember that little slipup of yours a while back?”

  Jorgensen shrugged and turned back to me. “The pleasure’s all mine, Ms. Zarlin. Are you the sensitive sort?”

  “Only around the living.” I smiled. “And please call me Jaymie.”

  Mike gave a grunt of disapproval.

  “Well, Jaymie, your timing’s good. I just completed the final autopsy on Molina. Unfortunately for me, I’ll have to send in Samuels. I’ve got to go to some joke of a meeting down at county.”

  Jorgensen unlocked the steel door, passed through, and held it open. “But please call me Dr. Jorgensen. Most women are hot for doctors. How about you?” The guy was just kidding around, but this time Mike actually growled.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it,” I said, mainly to annoy Mike. “I suppose I could be.”

  “Excellent.” He gave me a wink. “Hope to see you again soon, Jaymie. Anytime, anywhere.”

  “Anywhere but here,” I corrected, waving at the long white room. The two of us laughed.

  “He’s a jerk,” Mike groused as the door swung shut. “Jorgensen was flirting with you.”

  “But you said joking’s good in a place like this.”

  “To you it’s a joke, but to Jorgensen it’s foreplay.”

  “Look who’s the sensitive one.”

  The door opened again and a motherly round-faced woman in her forties stepped into the lab room. “Hey, Mike. How’s it going? Haven’t seen you here in the crypt for months.”

  “Nina, how are you? This is Jaymie Zarlin. Jaymie, Nina Samuels.”

  “Hi Jaymie. No wonder Vaughn had that big stupid grin on his face just now. Stupider than usual, that is.” She set a file down on the shiny stainless countertop, then selected a key from the ring attached to her belt. “Are you ready, folks?” She waited for each of us to nod.

  “Not that anybody could be ready for this one.” She handed us gloves from a dispenser on the wall, then unlocked a cabinet and drew out a long steel tray on rollers.