Blood Orange

by Karen Keskinen

  “Uh-huh. And notice: the roots aren’t more than an eighth of an inch long.”

  He looked up at me. “Why is that important?”

  “Because the god Apollo bleached his hair about one week before these fell out of his scalp.” As I spoke my voice tightened with anger.

  “Jared Crowley,” Mike snarled. “I’ll murder the little bastard. I’ll kill him tonight!”

  Oh, I wanted to share the sentiment. But right away, I knew it was all wrong. And I needed to get that message through to Mike, before he blew the case to bits.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We walked down to the south-facing beach and then headed west, into the setting sun. The burning orb lingered, bobbing on the horizon as if it were a balance beam. Just friends … It was strange, and it didn’t feel so good to me.

  I glanced over at Mike. “Calmed down yet?”

  “My blood was up, I admit it.” Mike picked up a stick, tossed it ahead for the dog. “Still is. Just seeing Dex hobble, I get pissed all over again.”

  “Remember what you said about things being too personal to think straight?”

  “Sure. We need to keep quiet for now, run those hairs for DNA to be certain. Let Crowley be, for the moment. But this is evidence, Jaymie. Crowley tortured Dex and most likely killed Lili. Maybe even Danny, for Chrissake!”

  “I’d love it if it was that simple.” I hopped over a heap of drying seaweed, and a cloud of black gnats rose up and buzzed my ankles. “But something’s not right. It’s too obvious, just too damn obvious! I feel like I’ve been handed the killer on a plate.”

  “Don’t do this, Jaymie. For once, just accept the fact: it is simple.”

  “No.” I shook my head stubbornly. “Like I said, this killer needs things to be complicated. Complicated and misleading.”

  “Damn it, Jaymie. He’s not some genius!”

  “Not a genius, no. But he’s smart, real smart. My guess is he somehow obtained Jared’s hairs and stuck them on the tape. I’ll bet he also planted hair on the tape that got tossed at the vet’s.”

  Mike groaned. “Come on. Do you really think the killer’s that clever?”

  “Absolutely. He’s a chameleon, deceptive. It’s in his nature, his way of hiding: nothing can be what it seems.”

  “OK, OK. Going with that theory for a moment, how about this? Jared’s the killer. He’s so damn clever, he pretends to be someone else—implicating him.”

  “You’re making my head hurt.” I laughed a little. “But no, Jared wouldn’t do that. He’s sly, but he hasn’t got the nerve. If he were guilty, he’d never do anything to turn the spotlight back on himself. By the way, there’s something I haven’t told you about Jared.”

  “Sure there is.”

  “Bruce Wiederkehr and Jared are lovers.”

  Mike stopped dead in his tracks. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “It’s kind of a long story. But the thing is, somebody out there knows all about their relationship. Jared’s being blackmailed. Of course, Wiederkehr’s the one paying up.”

  “Shit, Jaymie. You’ve been keeping all this to yourself?”

  I ignored his question. “My point is, the blackmailer could very well be the killer—and the one who stuck Jared’s hair on the tape.”

  Mike toed a broken sand dollar. “A blackmailer wants cash. That eliminates most of our suspects, doesn’t it? Apparently they’re swimming in it. Everyone except Crowley, that is. Maybe he’s actually the one wringing the dough out of Wiederkehr.”

  “Possibly. But there are other fruits of blackmail, remember. Like causing the victim to squirm, and enjoying his pain.” I looked out across the channel to the now-dying sun. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see a green flash at sunset. Most often it happens in the tropics, but they say every once in a while it happens right here.”

  “It’s getting late,” Mike observed. “I’ve got to go.”

  I wanted to ask him where he had to be, but I kept my mouth shut. A lover might have the right to ask such a question, but not a mere friend.

  “No green flash,” I said as the sun plunged away.

  * * *

  “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages.” I carefully pried a loose chunk of sea glass from the Vee-Dub dash, dabbed on glue, and pressed the translucent blue piece back into place. “It isn’t until you actually work on this that you realize how seamlessly it all fits together. Your van belongs in the Smithsonian.”

  “Annie has the artist’s touch,” Charlie rumbled from somewhere in the back. “You’re the only one she trusts to work on it, Jaymie.”

  “Well, at least that’s one person who trusts me. It’s a short list these days.” I paused and studied the next item: a seventies Matchbox car, its paint worn off by surf and sand. “Truth is, Charlie, I’m stuck.”

  “You’re talkin’ about the murders now?”

  “Yeah. I’m stuck in other ways too, but that’s the one I’m most worried about.”

  “Hm. Knowing you, I bet you already walked down every avenue.”

  “More than once. And I’ve learned plenty about certain people. Stuff they’d prefer to keep under wraps.”

  Charlie sucked noisily on a horehound. “So the investigation just goes round ’n’ round, like one of these damn roundabouts they’re building all over town.”

  “Round and round. A handful of suspects, and I can’t seem to shorten the list.”

  “There’s a way outta that stuck situation, you know. You’re doin’ it all on your own. You gotta ask other people for help, let in some fresh air.”

  “Other people, they let you down.” I ran my hand under the dash. “Wow. Annie even lined this part under here. Feels like shells.”

  I opened the van door and stretched out along the floor on my back, my legs sticking out into the parking lot.

  “Yeah, we remember when she worked on that, don’t we, Annie? Hard on the back, it was.”

  I ran my fingers over the rounded cowry shells. “It’s all intact under here. Doesn’t get the sun on it, I suppose.”

  I was about to leverage myself out when something pink caught my eye. Glued way in the back, all by itself, was a tiny plastic treasure chest. It was the sort of toy a kid might get from a gum-ball machine.

  “Charlie? Do you know about this? There’s a little pink treasure chest up in here.”

  “Might know something about it.”

  “Should I open it? Looks like the clasp really works.”

  “Well…” He was quiet for a long moment. “Why not.”

  I hesitated. Something was in there, all right. Something that mattered. Maybe something that was just plain none of my business.

  “Jaymie, it’s OK. Annie says take a look.”

  With thumb and forefinger, I popped it open. A small object dropped out and hit me on the nose, then rolled to the floor of the van.

  “Hold on.” I backed out like an upside-down crab, then knelt on the pavement to scan the van floor. “Can’t really see—” I shifted, the sun angled in over my shoulder, and something winked back at me.

  “Oh, how about that!” I picked up the tiny gold ring and held it up to the light, admiring the miniature diamond surrounded by what looked like ruby chips. “Charlie, what—” But then I stopped short.

  It was a ring for a child. A little girl.

  I turned and stared at the tattered gauze curtain. “Did Annie put this ring in the treasure chest?”

  “Who else? It’s all Annie’s work.”

  “Tell me what it is, Charlie. Don’t make me guess.”

  “Well. S’pose Annie would want you to know.” He coughed heavily. “Long time ago now, Annie and me, we had a baby girl. Named her Bonny. We kept ahold of Bonny for nearly a month before they took her off us. Claimed we weren’t fit parents. We was living pretty rough then, up in the hills. But I always reckoned somebody wanted Bonny, somebody with clout. She was a real beautiful baby.”

  “What a terrible sorrow to carry wi
th you.”

  “It was worse on Annie. Hard.”

  “And this ring, was it Bonny’s?”

  “Yep. Annie came from money, you know that. The Longstreets. She had a little cash of her own stashed away. When Bonny was born, Annie designed that ring and sent the design to a jeweler’s. But the ring didn’t arrive till after our baby was gone.”

  “I’m so sorry. Did you try to find your daughter later on?”

  “Dozens a times. Wrote letters to agencies, that kinda thing. Nothin’ ever came of any of it.”

  “Must have been tough on both of you.”

  “Still is, Jaymie. Still is.”

  I sat in the seat, carefully cradling the ring in the palm of my hand.

  After a time, Charlie cleared his throat roughly. “But Annie, she’s got an idea. She thinks it’s time for us to pass the ring on.”

  An uncomfortable feeling swelled up inside me. I looked out to the sea, rolling in, rolling out, over and over and over.

  “Annie’s handing the ring over to you, Jaymie. To keep for your little girl. And she says if you have boys instead, keep it for your granddaughter.”

  “Charlie, I—” My throat was so tight it hurt. “I’m just not the right one.”

  “You’re the one, all right. I don’t care to argue with you, girl. But if Annie says you’re the one, why, it’s you.”

  “But what Annie doesn’t know … is that I won’t be having any kids.”

  Charlie was quiet for a time. The whole world was quiet, except for the surf pounding the shore.

  “OK. But it don’t make no sense to me, ’cause I was a foster kid. There’s a million kids out there in the world nobody wants—why, you’d love one or three of those kids no problem, I know you would.”

  I didn’t answer until I was sure my voice was steady. “I’ll take the ring, Charlie. I’ll keep it safe and hand it on to the right person. Tell Annie I promise to do that much.”

  * * *

  I hopped out of the way as Gabi pivoted and nearly ran over my foot with the purple vacuum.

  “Sorry,” she shouted with what was obviously barely restrained patience. “My two jobs don’t mix so good when I’m in a hurry!”

  “Just for one minute,” I shouted back, “would you mind switching it off?”

  “One minute? Sure.” Suddenly it was quiet in the big empty room. “Miss Jaymie? You never chased me down at one of my houses before. It must be important.”

  “You’re never at the office, and I need your advice.”

  “I want to be there—it’s where I belong.” Gabi let out a long deep sigh and released her grip on the vac handle. “But Sparkleberry still only has one employee, me. I tried those three girls, they didn’t work out. One showed up when she felt like it and the second one had a big mouth. And the third, Kathy, the one I really liked, stole my other vac, my favorite, right out of my car.”

  “You’ve had some back luck,” I agreed.

  Gabi hesitated. “But it’s not just that, I gotta be honest with you. Nothing’s happening, Miss Jaymie. New clients call, I tell you about them, you don’t follow up.” She shrugged. “What’s there for me to do, except maybe keep a seat hot?”

  “That’s how it’s going to be, until I find the killer. Patience is part of the job.”

  Again, Gabi sighed loud and long. “Let’s go make some expresso, Jefa. I finally figured out the señor’s machine.”

  After a hiccupping start, the shiny contraption, big as a car engine, cooperated. We carried our cappuccinos into the ultra-modern living room and perched on the hard rectangular furniture.

  “I’ve been selfish.” I took several sips of my drink, and noticed Gabi was smiling at me.

  “You got a mustache. But what did you say?”

  I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. “I said I’ve been selfish.”

  “That’s what I thought you said. But no, it’s one thing you are not. Stubborn, yes. Selfish, no. So what are you talking about?”

  “I can’t expect you to live on nothing, Gabi. Me, I’ll live on boxes of noodles until—until I look like a noodle. But it’s not fair to ask you to do the same.”

  “I still have a little money left over from the five thousand you gave me. I’m OK for now. I just—I just don’t like doing nothing, you know? I don’t like to be useless.”

  “Believe me, neither do I.” I set my cup on the big glass coffee table and rubbed my face hard. “I’m running around in circles, and I hate it.”

  Gabi had spotted a spiderweb, very small, on the rock fireplace. She jumped up, grabbed her long-handled duster, and swiped at the gray strand. “Keep talking, Miss Jaymie. I’m all ears.”

  “Well, a friend of mine said I should ask other people for … ideas.” I leaned back in the stiff uncomfortable couch and gazed at the ceiling. “Oh, hell. He said I need to ask for help.”

  “Good advice! I thought you’d never say something like that.” Gabi propped up the duster in a corner. “Listen, I been biting my tongue. It’s about Mrs. Richter. That’s the only thing I seen you do I don’t agree with, sending her off like that. She had something to tell you—didn’t you hear?”

  “I heard, but she took off, and I didn’t feel like chasing after her.… You know what? I didn’t think any more about it.” An uncomfortable feeling crept over me. “Damn, did I screw up?”

  “I think maybe you did.”

  “See, I thought she deserved the cold shoulder. That little boy … life is so lonely and hard for him with that birthmark. What friend did he have but the dog?” I stood and walked to the huge plate-glass window that looked out over the city below. “I still get pissed when I think about it.”

  “Sometimes we gotta compromise, you know?”

  “I’m not a great compromiser. But you’re right, Richter had something to tell me—who knows, maybe it was something about the case. I’ll have to eat crow, Gabi, that’s all there is to it.”

  “Eat a crow?” Gabi stared me. “What, are you crazy now?”

  “Just an expression. You know, like eating humble pie.”

  “Humble pie?”

  “Yes, humble pie. Definitely not my favorite flavor.”

  “English!” Gabi scowled. “It’s like a boxer. I never know when it’s gonna give me a punch.”

  How did she do it? Already my spirits were lifting.

  “Listen, I’m done here.” Gabi untied her apron and lifted the strap over her head. “I know you turned in the Honda to save money, so use my car to go see Mrs. Richter. We’ll put your bike in the back and you can drop me off at the office. You don’t wanna show up on that bike, Miss Jaymie. Impressions are important, you know.”

  * * *

  “Ms. Zarlin. I wondered when you’d turn up.”

  Something was different about Darlene Richter. And what was she doing out in her front yard with a butterfly net in her hand?

  “You mean, like a bad penny?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that.” She stepped closer and I saw what had changed: she wore no makeup, and gray roots showed at her temples.

  “I’ve come to apologize.” I’d expected those words to stick in my throat. But Darlene smiled up at me, her hand shading her bright-green eyes from the sun. I found it wasn’t so hard to speak after all.

  “I see, Jaymie. And what are you apologizing for?”

  “I was wrong to be angry. You had every right to take back your dog.”

  “I had every legal right, but no moral right. Isn’t that what you felt?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And if you had been in my place, what would you have done?”

  I thought of Dex, and flushed. “Taken my dog back,” I admitted. “But I wouldn’t have felt too good about it.”

  “Well, neither did I.” She smiled. “Call me Darlene, will you? Because honestly, I’m just Darlene Owens from King City.”

  To my surprise, Darlene Owens took me by the arm.

  “Let’s go around to the back, sha
ll we, Ms. Zarlin? I only came out front because I spotted your car.”

  “Call me Jaymie,” I said meekly.

  We were halfway around the house when Minuet appeared, scampering toward us. A blue rubber handball was clenched in her teeth.

  “She looks happy,” I admitted. This was an understatement: the froufrou little thing looked delirious with bliss.

  “Yes … and far too excited. But there’s not much I can do about that.”

  We turned the corner of the house. Two figures, one large and one small, knelt beside a flower bed a hundred yards away. The little one looked up, then jumped to his feet and shouted. “Chica! Chica!”

  Minuet-Chica raced back to the boy like a windup toy. “I do worry that little dog will have a heart attack,” Darlene murmured. “But I suppose she’d die happy.” She led me over to the pair.

  Beto wore a miniature beekeepers’ white suit and hat. He grinned widely at me. “Hi! I’m helping my tío.”

  “Good for you, Beto. I can see you’re working hard.” I couldn’t seem to wipe a silly smile off my face.

  “Yeah! But Chica, she keeps digging holes.” He giggled.

  “Jorge? This is Jaymie Zarlin. She’s the lady who found Minuet.”

  Beto’s uncle, the dog thief, looked up and appraised me. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. “Looks like you’ve got a couple of helpers.”

  “Yes, and no.” Jorge broke into a slow grin.

  “I’ll take them inside in a few minutes, Jorge.” Darlene turned to me and dropped her voice. “The doctor doesn’t want Beto outside at all, actually. He’s taking medication to prepare him for his procedure, and he can’t be in the sun. But you try telling that to a seven-year-old. So I looked online, and sure enough, I discovered they make beekeepers’ outfits in kids’ sizes.”

  “His procedure?”

  “Let’s walk to the house, shall we?” Darlene waited until we were out of earshot. “Beto knows about it, but of course he’s a little scared. I don’t talk about it too much in front of him. The truth is it’s surgery, not just a procedure.”

  “For his birthmark? I’m amazed it’s even possible to remove it, Darlene.”