Blood Orange

by Karen Keskinen

  “I know you’re involved, but I doubt you killed Lili Molina. I think you know who did, though.”

  “I’m not involved in anything. And how the fuck should I know?”

  “You lied to me, Jared.”

  A group of drunken young people wove by the fence. “Make nice now,” one of them taunted. I let the silence return.

  “I lied?” he sputtered at last. “That’s bullshit, lady.”

  “Is it? You said Lili asked you to drive her back to the warehouse the afternoon she was murdered. That’s just not true, is it. You drove her, all right, but it wasn’t her idea to go.”

  “Go fuck yourself.” Even in the half-light, I could see the look of a hunted animal creep into Jared’s eyes. “I—did—not—kill—Lili. Get it?”

  “Maybe not. But the person who texted you probably did.” The only sounds now were the rasp of a cricket under the table and the muffled traffic noise out on the street.

  “Look, Jared. Let me be plain. I know somebody texted you and told you to drive Lili down to the warehouse. Either you followed her inside and raped and killed her, or the person who texted you was already inside, waiting.”

  In fact I’d no idea what the text message had said, and I couldn’t even be a hundred percent certain he’d received a text. But I needed to make Jared Crowley shake in his pointy-toed boots, to shake so hard that something fell out. “Who contacted you, Jared? Tell me, and you’ll do yourself a big favor.”

  Jared jumped up and shoved back his chair. It crashed to the concrete pad. “It’s bullshit, total bullshit. Leave me alone, will you?”

  “A name, Jared, that’s all I want. One little name.” I stood too, and stepped sideways to block his exit. Then the light dawned. “Hey. Somebody has something on you, don’t they.”

  In a flash, he pulled his arm back to punch me in the face. I caught his wrist and twisted his arm hard. Jared Crowley let out a small and pleasing scream.

  I put my mouth to his ear. “Give me a name or I snap it.”

  “Go to hell!”

  I was on the verge of reacting badly to the god Apollo. Quickly, before I could fall to temptation and damage more than his fragile ego, I let him go. He and I had traveled as far as we could.

  I reentered the kitchen and passed through to the bustling restaurant without looking back. Then I kept on going until I’d melted into the shadows on the far side of the street.

  Three minutes later, when Jared Crowley scampered out the front door and down Anapamu, I followed.

  He didn’t catch sight of me as I trailed him to the city lot. I climbed in the Honda as he hurried over to his Beemer. I’d parked close by, and when he exited the lot, I was right on his tail.

  * * *

  “Who the hell is she, Wied? She talks like an undercover cop or something.”

  “Jari, she’s nobody, absolutely nobody. Believe me, I had Zarlin checked out.”

  I pressed my ear tight to a sliver of a gap in the wall of the plywood box. It sounded like Bruce Wiederkehr, of all people. He stood mere inches away.

  “No, she’s connected to the cops. Gotta be. She knows stuff—”

  “Her boyfriend’s a detective in the county sheriff’s department. That’s as close as she gets.”

  I planted one hand on the wall to keep my balance. So Dr. Bruce had been sticking his long skinny beak into my business. I’d been sticking my nose into his, but that was different.

  “Zarlin knows nothing,” Wiederkehr continued. “She’s got one connection that matters, just one. Zave Carbonel.”

  “Never heard of the dude.”

  “No, Carbonel doesn’t operate on your level, Jared. But believe me, there’s nothing for you to worry about. The lady detective is clueless.” He chuckled a little. “Get it? The detective is clueless.”

  “The fuck she is!” Jared’s shrill squeal drilled my ear like a dentist’s tool. “She knows you texted me, Wied, OK?”

  “I did what?”

  There was a pause in their conversation. I tried to shift in my uncomfortable position, and somehow knocked my knee against the wall.

  “What was that?” Jared snapped.

  “Nothing, Jari. Nothing at all.” Dr. Bruce sounded as if he was soothing a frightened toddler. “Things go bump in the night.”

  “Shut up. And don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You texted me and told me to drive Lili down to the warehouse.”

  “I what? What the heck are you talking about? First, I don’t ‘text.’ And second, what did that girl have to do with me?”

  “Don’t ask me, prick. But you did it, OK?”

  “Jared, what are you playing at?” Dr. Bruce’s voice grew stern. “Is this one of your little games? Because if it is, it’s not funny.”

  “Oh right. Yeah, man, I’m playing a game.” There was another long pause. “Here. Take a look at this, Wieder.”

  “OK, but what’s it got to do—”

  “Need your specs, old man? Sent from your fucking phone. See the date? See the time? Let me read it to you: Sweetie, find Lili Molina right now and drive her down to the warehouse. Tell her to change out of the costume, it’s valuable and we don’t want her screwing around in it. Be sure to wait for her and then drive her back to the park. Love you, Wied.”

  “But that—that was sent during the party. Have I ever called you ‘sweetie’? Somebody must have—” The doctor dropped his voice, and I strained to hear.

  “—tell me you didn’t—you didn’t drive Lili down to the Guild.”

  “Yes I did! You told me to drive her down. I did what you said. I didn’t wait for her, though—why the fuck should I? But you were there, all right. You raped and killed her.” Jared laughed harshly. “I have to admit, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “I don’t have it in me. And you damn well know I don’t. In fact—”

  Again, there was a lengthy silence. I held my breath so I wouldn’t miss a word.

  “In fact what?”

  “I don’t have it in me, but I’m not at all sure you don’t have it in you.”

  “What the—you’re setting me up! You killed her and now—”

  “Shut up, will you? I think I heard something.”

  “Things go bump in the night,” Jared sneered.

  The door at the front of the container abruptly slammed open. Thankfully, I was standing at the back in pitch dark. I faded into the shrubbery lining the broken-down fence.

  “There’s nobody out here,” Jared said to the night. The plywood door closed with a hollow thump. I waited a moment before I returned to my post.

  “OK,” Jared was saying. “If it wasn’t me—and let’s say for a second it wasn’t you either—then who the hell sent the message? Somebody at the party, somebody who got hold of your phone. One of your so-called friends, that’s who.”

  “I sincerely doubt that.” Bruce Wiederkehr’s voice was careful now. “But someone at the house on that day … it’s possible, I suppose. A cleaner, a caterer, a gardener—”

  “Yeah, right. Or it could have been one of your rich dick buds, or one of their kids, or—or your own kid. How about that, Wieder? It could have been your darling Sarah.” He said the name Sarah in a snide, sexy tone.

  “Stop. Stop right there. I’ve told you before, Jared, my family’s off-limits. I put up with your smart-aleck remarks, I pay your ridiculous blackmail demands. But there’s one thing I—”

  “Yeah, yeah. One thing I will not tolerate. I’ve heard it all before. And another thing you can stuff is the blackmail shit. You think it’s ridiculous? If one of your buds or relatives or whoever it is wasn’t blackmailing me, I wouldn’t have to ask you—”

  “Oh, come on, Jared. Somebody keeps threatening to out us if you don’t pay up? I’m not sure I believe a word of it. If you—”

  “I’ve showed you the notes, haven’t I?”

  “Faked. I’m pretty sure of it, Jari.”

  “Screw off. Find somebody else t
o play your sick little games, old man!”

  This time the plywood door crashed open. I heard Jared, muttering, hurry over to his car. He roared out of the small space and screeched down the drive.

  Blackmail. So somebody knew all about Jared and Bruce, and was making a little money off their secret. Making a little money—and maybe having fun tightening the screws.

  After a moment, I again pressed my ear to the crack and heard a strange noise. It took me a moment to understand: inside the plywood box, Bruce Wiederkehr was weeping.

  * * *

  “Jaymie Zarlin.” Zave smiled across his football-field-sized mahogany desk. “Enter the lair.”

  “Hi, Zave.” I made a mock bow. “Good of you to grant me an audience.” The undraped walls were glass, edge to edge and floor to ceiling. I spun slowly in a circle, drinking in the three-sixty panorama of the clay-tile-roofed city, terra-cotta mountains, and dark blue channel waters.

  “This has to be the best view in town.”

  “I thought you didn’t like coming to my office. Too public, wasn’t that the complaint?” Zave walked an end run around his desk and reached for me.

  “I had to see you in a hurry.” I ducked out of his embrace. “No foreplay, OK? I’m here about a serious matter.”

  “Whatever you say.” Zave halted his pursuit and held up both hands, palms outward. “Sorry about Armenta, by the way. Was it suicide? I hear maybe not.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Hm. The police got a cover-up going? Surprise me and say no.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe they just don’t want to admit they made a mistake.” I shrugged. “You’re the one who knows how the cops operate.”

  “What I hear is they’re in one hell of an unholy hurry to shut the case down. The DA is mighty unpopular, and she doesn’t need another black eye.” He tapped his desktop. “Come close and I’ll spell it all out.”

  “Zave…” I felt myself flush.

  “What, strictly business? Ain’t no such thing between you and me. We changed all that a couple years back, remember?”

  I met his gaze full on. “How about this, then: I’m very fond of you and I always will be. Also, it’s true I want something from you: information. But the thing is, Zave, I will not pay you with sex.”

  He tipped back his sleek head and laughed, then sat on the edge of the desk and leaned forward. Our eyes were now level. “Prostitution is a time-honored profession, Jaymie.”

  “You’re not going to take this standing up, are you, Zave?”

  “Very funny, sweetheart.” He nodded appreciatively. “But let’s cut the crap. You’ve finally admitted it to yourself, haven’t you? Once again, you’ve fallen for the dep-u-ty.”

  “Rest assured, he’s out of the picture,” I stiffly replied.

  “Oh. Like that, is it? OK, so what other explanation is there—it just doesn’t ‘feel right’ anymore between you and me?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll believe it if you’ll let me put it to the test.”

  “What test?”

  “You heard of the carbon test. Well, this is the Carbonel test.” He rose to his feet and drew me to him, pressing his body tight to mine and kissing me long and slow. Actually, it was humanly impossible not to respond.

  “Zave,” I squeaked when we at last came up for air. “Please, I’m asking you as a friend!”

  “Aw shit.” He stepped back and grinned. “I’m warning you, girl, you’ll come a runnin’ back.…”

  I laughed breathlessly.

  “OK, Jaymie, have it your way. So now I’m going to walk around and sit behind the barricade. I’m putting on a different hat. Comprende?”

  “Yeah, comprende.” I did understand, and it made me wistful. Playtime with Zave had always been fun.

  “So, Ms. Zarlin.” Zave rapped on his desk with a pen. “What can I do for you? I’ll give you five minutes.”

  “Damn it, Zave!”

  “Sorry, Jaymie. Just teasing. I’m a little hurt, that’s all.”

  “Don’t be. Friends forever, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I’ll buy that for now. So what’s up?”

  “I need more information about certain members of our local uppity crust. Specifically, Vincent Stellato and Sutton Frayne the Third.”

  Zave thrummed the fingers of his right hand on the desk. “Members of the Triune. What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know if they have girlfriends. Current or recent past. I’d like the women’s names and addresses.”

  “Girlfriends. So that’s why you’re not asking about Wiederkehr too.”

  I raised my hands in admiration. “Is there anything you don’t already know?”

  Zave shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “How soon do you need it?”

  I couldn’t resist teasing him. “Fast as it takes us to you-know-what. And that’s pretty damn fast.”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh, my. Now you just ain’t playin’ fair.”

  * * *

  “I don’t wanna be rude, but I never heard of you.” Crystal Makler held onto the door frame and swayed a little. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Jaymie Zarlin. There’s no reason you would have heard of me, Miss Makler.”

  “That’s Missus Makler, honey. I was married. Not for long, but long enough, I can tell you.” She nodded four times, slow. “Who gave you my name, anyways?”

  “A friend.”

  “Oh yeah?” Crystal attempted to repin her updo with one hand, but a few more bleached strands tumbled to her shoulders. “OK, what do you want? The sun’s hurting my eyes.”

  “I’d like to talk with you about Vincent Stellato.”

  “That wop son of a bitch! What, did something happen to Vince?” She scowled. “I hope something bad happened to him.… I guess.”

  “Last time I saw Mr. Stellato, he was just fine.” I handed Crystal my card, and she squinted at it.

  “You’re what—a PI? Great, just great. See, this is not something I need, not at the moment. Nothing personal, but bye.” She wiggled her fingers at me, then closed the door in my face.

  “Uh, Mrs. Makler?”

  “Who hired you—Maryjune?” Crystal shouted through the door. “Why should she give a rat’s ass after thirteen years? Was it Vince? Does Vince think I’m gonna sue or something? Actually, maybe I will sue the bastard. He gave me this place, but I should probably get more, putting up with that jerk for so many—”

  “Mrs. Makler,” I shouted back. “It’s not about you, not at all. Please let me explain, and then you can decide if you want to talk or not.”

  After a minute, the door opened again. “Guess it’s your lucky day. I’m kinda sick of hiding in the house and dumping Bacardi in my Cokes. A little company would be nice. So Vince didn’t send you?”

  “No.”

  “How about mealymouthed Maryjune?”

  “Nope.” I suppressed a smile.

  “Well, it’s gotta be about money somehow. I’ve lived on this earth for forty-eight years.” She paused. “Forty-eight years, but listen, honey. As far as Vince is concerned, it’s forty-three.”

  “OK.”

  “So, who’s paying you to be here?”

  “Fair question. I was hired by the family of a person named Danny Armenta. But I’m also doing this now off my own bat.”

  “Don’t know Danny. Look, I’m starting to feel kinda woozy. I need to put some food in my stomach. It’s the damnedest thing. I’m hardly eating at all, but I’m still putting on weight. It’s my slow metabo-bolism. Come on in. It’s dumb to let someone you don’t know into your house, but God help me, you’ve got an honest face. Pretty one, too.”

  “Thanks.” I stepped inside and followed Crystal down a short hall to the kitchen. She pointed at a maple chair.

  “Sit down, why don’t you. What’s your name again?”

  “Jaymie.”

  “OK. Cuppa coffee, Jaymie?”

/>   “That’d be great.”

  A minute later, she caught me observing the room. “Checking it all out, huh?”

  “Sorry. Force of habit.”

  “Look, I’ll save you the trouble of working things out. Here’s the nitty-gritty.” Crystal plugged a coffeemaker into the wall. “I’m a waitress at Nonni’s. That’s where me and Vince met. We were together nearly thirteen years, off and on, as of June twenty-fifth. Were, not are. He broke up with me on June twenty-sixth, the son of a bitch. And this time it’s for real. Know how I know?” She opened the cupboard and reached for the filters. The stack toppled down to the counter. “Shit!”

  “This time it’s for real?” I prompted.

  “Yeah. Because this time he gave me the house. Had the paperwork all ready, the prick. Quitclaimed this place to me, free and clear. And that is not Vince, let me tell you. Vince isn’t cheap, but he likes to keep his hand in, know what I mean? He likes to be in control.”

  Crystal plonked down opposite me. “This time, we’re toast.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Makler.”

  “Oh, call me Crystal, for Chrissake.” She rubbed at her eyes. “Know what? I think I’m depressed. We were good as married for thirteen years, except for the times we split up.”

  I decided to give her a push. “Well, that would make Vincent a bigamist. One wife set up large in a mansion in Hope Ranch, the other stashed away in a worn-out sixties tract house in Ventura.”

  “Do you want my cooperation or not? Because talking like that is sure as hell no way to get it.” Crystal glared at me, then burst out laughing. “But it’s true enough. Know what? I like a straight talker.”

  With a practiced hand, she poured the coffee into a pair of turquoise-blue cups. “So. What’s this all about? Maybe I’ll answer your questions, maybe not. First off, who’s this Danny guy?”

  “Did you hear about the rape and murder of Lili Molina, up in Santa Barbara? ‘The Solstice Murder,’ they’re calling it now.”

  “Sure. It was all over the news. And Vince told me about it, right before we—” Crystal halted midsentence. “So that’s why you want to know about Vince. It’s that board thing he’s on, isn’t it.”

  “Yes, the Apollo Guild Triune.” I tasted the coffee: it wasn’t half-bad. “Danny Armenta was the boy they arrested for the murder.”