by Mary Marks
Earl smiled again at Birdie. “Anything you need, just ask. Shame that a lovely woman like you should be all alone in the world.”
Jazz put his arm around Birdie’s shoulder. “Does she look like she’s alone?”
Earl ignored him and put his cap back on. “Keep your headlights on. You’ll be easier for me to spot in my rearview. Plus it might discourage other drivers from cutting in between us. Although, you’d be surprised how some meatheads have no respect for a funeral procession. They don’t realize one day they’ll be taking the same ride.”
Five minutes later we headed down Alameda Avenue toward the northbound onramp of Interstate 5.
Lucy kept both hands on the wheel. “I’m getting one of my bad feelings about this Earl.” She claimed to have ESP, but I maintained her intuitions sprang not from some sixth sense but from the challenges of raising five sons. “He’s a little long in the tooth to be driving.”
I had to admit, however, I shared her feelings.
CHAPTER 15
Birdie sat in the front passenger seat holding on to the grab bar above the door. I sat directly behind her, with my Double Wedding Ring quilt on my lap. Jazz also sat in the backseat, holding Zsa Zsa’s yellow carry-all.
Jazz’s phone rang. “No, Johnny absolutely cannot wear yellow. It makes his skin look too sallow. He needs pinks and blues. Just tell him I said so.” He closed his phone and looked up. “Just between you and me, that man is beginning to show his age. It’s a good thing I know how to dress him.”
Arthur lay between us, panting and drooling. Every once in a while, he leaned over and snuffled the yellow bag. The little white Maltese popped her head out and he nuzzled her face with his enormous black nose. Zsa Zsa sneezed and shook her head. Today she wore a pink bow and a miniature green cargo jacket with tiny pockets.
“Her traveling outfit,” Jazz explained.
Traffic crawled at fifteen miles per hour on Interstate 5 until we hit Sylmar in the north San Fernando Valley. Once we approached the truck route, the semis and long-haul trucks veered to another road on the far right, relieving the congestion on the freeway. Earl kept the hearse in the right-hand lane and increased his speed to fifty-five miles per hour, about twenty miles per hour slower than the rest of the cars whizzing past us. At this pace we’d be lucky to get to Stockton by nightfall.
The megalopolis of Los Angeles gave way to the parched summer landscape of the Tehachapi Mountains. As we got closer to the Tejon Pass, known locally as The Grapevine, semis and tanker trucks merged onto the freeway again, surrounding our small procession. Fortunately, the truckers kept a respectful distance.
Birdie relaxed and let go of the grab bar. “I think I’ll sew a little.” She spread out her appliquéd rooster project and began to stitch a black and brown striped tail feather in place.
I quilted around a Wedding Ring pieced with two dozen wedges of different green fabrics.
Jazz watched my hands intently as I fell into the rhythm of running the needle in and out of the cream-colored background fabric. “Do you think I could try that sometime?”
His interest didn’t surprise me. After all, he was a fashion designer and, judging from the workmanship on the silk Maltese shirt, a skilled tailor.
“Sure. You want to try now?”
“I’ll wait until Zsa Zsa goes to sleep. She’s feeling pretty frisky at the moment.” He relaxed back in his seat and gazed out the window.
For the next several miles, we sat in silence.
I sensed the nose of Lucy’s Caddy tilting forward and looked up to discover we were heading into a steep descent toward the San Joaquin Valley. Prominent signs on both sides of the highway pointed to runaway truck ramps.
Birdie’s hand flew to the grab bar again, and she scanned the road nervously. Once we reached the valley floor, without being crushed by an errant semi, she relaxed and glanced over her shoulder. “How did you and Russell meet, Jazz?”
I’d been dying to ask the same question but was afraid to. I didn’t know what details about Russell’s other life Birdie was prepared to hear.
“We met at a musical in San Francisco twenty-five years ago.” Jazz smiled wistfully.
Lucy glanced in the rearview mirror. “Ray and I went to a couple of those when we visited the Bay Area. We saw South Pacific and Phantom. Which show did you see?”
“A review at Finocchio’s.”
“The drag club on Broadway?”
Jazz smiled. “Have you been?”
“I’m surprised Russell would take the chance of being seen in a club for gays.” Lucy held up her hand. “No offense, hon.”
Jazz shrugged. “I know what you mean. But Finocchio’s was world-famous. All kinds of people came. Straights and gays.”
“Did you go there frequently?” Birdie asked.
“I should hope so. I worked there.”
“You were a female impersonator?”
“I wish. Those people earned a lot more money than I did. No, I designed and made all their costumes.”
Birdie shifted in her seat. “So how did you manage to meet Russell?”
“It was so romantic.” Jazz’s eyes glazed over. “During a break, I went to the bar for a drink. I spotted this gorgeous-looking middle-aged man and sat next to him.”
Russell? Gorgeous?
“He smiled with those blue eyes of his, and my heart just melted.”
“What was Russell doing in San Francisco?” I asked.
“Attending some conference at the Fairmont. We dated every night for the next four days.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, there was quite an age difference between the two of you. What was the attraction?” Lucy had a knack for stating the obvious.
“He was fifty-one and so sure of himself. I was twenty-eight and still trying to make it in the fashion industry. When he offered to set me up with my own business in LA, I knew I had found my Prince Charming.”
And you’d also found a gold mine. Would Jazz have fallen in love with the older man if Russell had been poor? I put down my needle. “Jazz, last night you never got around to telling us about your conversation with the FBI agent.”
He sat straighter and shifted to face me. “Right. She asked me about our friends, my boutique, every aspect of our lives, really. She seemed especially interested in our finances. It’s only when she asked if someone might’ve had a grudge, that I remembered Cisco.”
“Who?”
“His real name is Francisco. Francisco Conejo. He owned the house next door. When the recession hit, he needed to refinance. Of course, none of the banks would give him money.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t have a steady income, and his mortgage was under water.”
“Yes, that happened to so many people,” said Birdie. “Russell felt proud of the fact he kept his bank out of the whole bad loan business.”
Jazz nodded. “Exactly! So anyway, Cisco came to Rusty desperate for money. Rusty approved the loan, against his better judgment.”
I had a hard time picturing Russell as a mortgage Santa Claus. “That seems really out of character, doesn’t it? Especially if Russell was such a fiscal conservative.”
“What can I say? Cisco was a friend and neighbor. I guess he caught Rusty in a generous moment.”
“Something doesn’t make sense. Why did Cisco hold a grudge? Seems to me he’d be grateful to the guy who bailed him out.”
“He was. He used to bring us plates of divine Cuban food he cooked. Have you ever had fried plantains? Délicieux! Anyway, Cisco defaulted on his payments because he couldn’t get a job. Between you and me, I don’t think he looked very hard.”
“Did Russell call in the loan?”
Jazz nodded. “Rusty had to foreclose. That’s when the guy flipped out.”
“Oh, dear!” Birdie tugged her braid.
“Cisco came over drunk one night, screaming and cursing. He said, ‘Nobody takes my house from me. I’ll get even with you. When you least expe
ct it.’ Then he called Rusty a bunch of names. When he saw me getting ready to do some jujitsu moves on him, he stormed out.”
“When did this happen?”
“About a year ago. Agent Lancet promised to check his alibi.”
Now we knew of two possible suspects who could have hired Levesque to kill Russell Watson: his brother, Denver, and Francisco Conejo. But what about the attempted break-in at Birdie’s last week? Why would Conejo want her dead, too? Or was he after something else?
I gazed at the arid landscape. Some sections of the once-green farmland of the central valley now lay fallow and brown. As the historic drought became more severe, the state resorted to water rationing. Farms and orchards in the San Joaquin Valley, the largest consumers of water, were taking the biggest hit.
We’d been driving for two hours when we saw a blue sign announcing a rest area in five miles. Birdie put away her sewing. “I need to go, Lucy dear.”
I sympathized. The older I got, the less able I was to go for long stretches without a pit stop. Lucy picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed a button. “Hello, Earl? Can you hear me?”
The radio crackled. “Roger that, young lady. Over.”
“We’re ready for a break, hon. Pull over at the rest stop ahead.”
The right-hand turn signal flashed on the hearse in front of us, and Earl guided the vehicle off the highway to Buttonwillow. The truckers and other motorists walking around the area stopped and stared as he parked the slow-moving hearse discreetly at the far end of the parking lot. Lucy parked the large black Caddy next to him.
I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and stretch my legs. My right hip ached from resting so long without moving. No wonder Earl walked with a limp. He’d spent his whole life perched in one position.
The Caltrans rest stop consisted of lavatories, a covered patio, benches, picnic tables, and a green space. A wooden display case covered in glass showed a road map of California. Next to a red dot on Interstate 5, a label in the shape of an arrow said You are here. According to the map, we’d covered a third of the distance to Stockton.
Lucy stood texting with a frown on her face.
I walked over to her. “Anything new?”
“Junior found a Beverly Hills lawyer.” Beverly Hills was the code for expensive and ruthless. “He’ll try to get a restraining order preventing Tanya from taking the boys out of LA County until the custody issue has been resolved.”
“That should put your mind at ease, right?”
Her lips trembled. “Trouble is, we may be too late. Tanya left this morning with the boys and several suitcases. Junior has no idea where they went.”
“I’m sorry, Lucy.” If the boys were on a plane to Hawaii, no telling when the Mondellos would see them next. “Maybe they haven’t left town. Maybe they’re just staying at a friend’s house.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I gave her a little hug and walked over to the vending machines. I purchased a bottle of Arrowhead Mountain Spring Water and swallowed my fibromyalgia meds for the stiffness and pain in my hip. Then I gave Arthur a drink in his shiny aluminum bowl. Zsa Zsa drank out of a very small pink bowl with her name painted on the side. Her tags tinkled together on her rhinestone-studded collar as she lapped up the water.
“Is anyone else hungry?” Jazz asked.
When was I never hungry?
“I could eat.” Earl removed his cap and smoothed back his hair with one quick swipe of the hand. “There’s a pretty good place in Coalinga.” He replaced the cap on his head and looked at Birdie. “It’s about an hour farther up, if you can hold on that long.”
As we walked toward the far end of the parking lot, Arthur strained at his leash and headed for the hearse.
“No! Leave it.”
He must have smelled death coming from the back of the vehicle, even though Russell’s casket was sealed tight. Police canines were trained to sniff out a lot of things, including dead bodies. Dogs could catch the scent of death from just a few molecules in the air. Seven months ago, Arthur dug up a human skeleton buried in someone’s yard. I still hadn’t told Beavers about that one.
An hour later we sat in the shade of an umbrella outside the Nothing Fancy Café. Arthur lay on the ground under the redwood picnic table, with Zsa Zsa at his side, waiting for clandestine handouts or a lucky crumb. I ordered a tuna sandwich and a Coke Zero. And to reward myself for not having eaten a burger with steak fries, onion rings, home fried chicken, or triple mac and cheese, I finished off my lunch with a slice of homemade apricot pie.
Earl barely spoke a word but kept sneaking glances at Birdie all during lunch. Finally, he took a sip of coffee and said, “So I guess you’ll be living all by yourself now?”
Birdie sighed. “It takes some getting used to. My husband and I were together for over fifty years.”
“It’s a shame, pretty woman such as yourself. I’m a widower, too.”
“You poor dear. I guess you know how it feels.”
Birdie had no idea that he was flirting with her.
Earl reached up to adjust one of his hearing aids and winced. A shrill electronic whistle came from the vicinity of his head. “Ouch. I guess I need new batteries.”
Lucy frowned. “You better fix that now before we get on the road, hon. In case we have to use the walkie-talkie again.”
He patted his breast pocket. “Don’t worry. I brought a whole card full of the little buggers. ’Course, batteries ain’t gonna help if the hearing aids go bad. They’re pretty old. It’s tough to get the VA to spring for new ones.”
Great. What if we have a real emergency on the road? What if his hearing aids suddenly die? I should’ve demanded Towsley find us a different driver when we had the chance. Now we were stuck with a deaf old man who kept hitting on Birdie.
CHAPTER 16
We reached Stockton by five that afternoon. The recession had hit the city hard. Windows of storefronts gaped like empty eyes with FOR RENT posters. Foreclosure signs stabbed the weedy front yards of several houses we passed. Economic distress screamed from every corner.
Earl’s voice crackled over the two-way radio. “Can you hear me, Mrs. Mondello? Over.”
Lucy pressed a button on the radio. “Yes. Can you hear me?”
“Roger. We’re on Fremont Street. If you go straight, you’ll run right into the Delta Waterfront Hotel. Your rooms are already reserved. Over.”
“Aren’t you going there too?”
“Negatory. The hotel refused to let me park overnight. Even in the freight zone. Bad for the image. Over.”
“Well, how will we find you in the morning?”
“I’ll be waiting for you outside the hotel at eight. We gotta get an early start. Stockton to Ashland’s a long haul. We’re gonna drive through the Cascades. Over.”
I leaned forward in my seat and spoke loudly so Earl could hear me. “What’s the name of your motel?”
Static hissed again as he spoke. “Royal Palms. Have a nice evening, folks. Over and out.”
The red light pulsed on the rear of the hearse, and Earl slipped into the left turn lane. Lucy tapped her horn twice in salute as we continued toward the hotel.
The Delta Waterfront Hotel towered seven stories overlooking the Port of Stockton. The western sun reflected from a hundred glass windows on the tall structure.
We pulled up under the porte cochere.
“Very ritzy,” said Lucy.
The valet handed Lucy a green ticket. “Nice wheels. I seen one of these at a car museum once.”
Lucy unlocked the trunk, while the rest of us got out and stretched. A uniformed bellman wearing white gloves wheeled a rolling platform on a brass frame toward the rear of the Caddy, where he unloaded our luggage—five suitcases, two bags of dog food, and Zsa Zsa’s leopardprint bed. I hoped Towsley remembered to book pet-friendly rooms.
We ended up in three ground floor rooms with garden access to accommodate the dogs. Lucy and Birdie took the double next to my room,
and we left the connecting door between us open so Arthur could get to Birdie if Rene Levesque followed us to Stockton. Jazz and Zsa Zsa took the room on the other side of mine.
We met up again in the hotel restaurant at six-thirty. Birdie and I still wore our traveling clothes, but Lucy and Jazz had freshened up. Jazz wore a white linen suit with a lavender T-shirt and yellow scarf hanging loose around his neck. He smiled when he saw Lucy. She had changed into a pink blouse and slacks with the same yellow shoes from the morning. “You look très chic, darling. Very fresh. Emeralds would really pop with that outfit.”
“I’ll be sure to ask Ray to run right out and get me some tomorrow.”
Birdie laughed. “He would, too.” She looked at Jazz. “What did you do with the dogs?”
He inclined his head in the general direction of our rooms. “They’re keeping each other company at my place.”
The hostess showed us to a table covered with a white cloth and sparkling wineglasses. I draped my purse, with the Browning inside, over the back of my chair. Lucy kept her purse, with the Glock, on her lap.
“Is anyone besides me going to have a drink?” Jazz ordered a cosmopolitan. The three of us women shared a bottle of chilled California chardonnay. Half an hour later, our dinner plates arrived, along with a bottle of rich California burgundy.
All during the meal, Birdie kept looking at her watch and Lucy kept checking her phone for new texts. Jazz had just pronounced his dessert of crème brûlée magnifique when Birdie said, “It’s nearly time for Rizzoli & Isles. I don’t want to miss one of the few summer series I really enjoy.” She stood. “I already told them to put the dinner on my tab, so you can stay here as long as you like.”
Lucy stood. “Okay. This is my cue to say good night too. Let’s meet in the lobby at six-thirty tomorrow morning for breakfast.”
“Lucy dear, you don’t have to leave because of me. I’ll be fine by myself.”
Lucy patted her purse with the gun inside. “I don’t think so.”
Jazz and I watched them walk into the lobby.
He swallowed and turned to face me with deep creases between his brows. “There’s something I have to tell you. But I need another drink first.”