Jeremy Kapp was in front to ring the bell, and when Nathaniel Ferris answered the door, they shook hands and smiled. Fenway didn’t see Charlotte, and all four Kapps entered the house, Donovan steering his mother inside.
“Where was Charlotte?” Fenway asked.
“She had just gotten in the shower.”
“Seriously? So close to the time your guests were coming over?”
A rakish grin slowly spread over Ferris’s face. “We might have lost track of time.”
“Ugh.” Fenway rolled her eyes and turned back to the screen, fast-forwarding the video. About twenty minutes later, Jeremy and Ferris exited the house through the back door, and walked down a rocky path out of view of the camera.
Something was out of place, nagging at the back of Fenway’s mind. “What’s back there? The pool?”
“No,” Ferris said. “The pool’s around the other side. Jeremy did such a good job with the fountain, I wanted him to work on the garden. We’re walking to the area I wanted to have Jeremy working on next. It’s overgrown right now. Charlotte wanted to put a vegetable garden in there, but I’m afraid we didn’t have time to take care of it. Kind of a fire hazard.”
“And Charlotte was still in the shower when you and Kapp left the house?”
Ferris nodded. “Yes.”
Fenway thought for a moment. “Dad, did you know Charlotte said one of your recent dinner guests walked in on her when she got out of the shower?”
“What?”
Fenway shrugged. “That’s what she told me.”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“Maybe she didn’t think it was a big deal.” Fenway paused. “Who else have you had over for dinner lately?”
Ferris shook his head. “The Kapps are the only ones recently. In fact, they’re the only ones since you and the sheriff and, uh, Everett Michaels came over a couple of months ago.”
“Are you sure? I thought you two were social butterflies.”
“I’ve been busy. A lot of late nights with the board of directors up my ass.”
Then it clicked into place. “Wait—she didn’t say ‘walked in on me,’ she said, ‘sneaked a peek.’”
Ferris looked at Fenway. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That’s the turn of phrase you’d use if your friend’s sixteen-year-old son walked in.”
“What?”
Fenway searched her memory. “She also called him ‘the little pervert.’ That’s a phrase you’d use on a teenager, too.”
“Fenway, what are you talking about?”
“You left Cricket and the two kids in the house while Charlotte was in the shower, and you and Jeremy Kapp took a little stroll.”
“Sure. Sandrita was serving drinks. Dinner was almost ready. Why not take a walk?”
“Someone took Charlotte’s gun, and I want to find out who.”
“And you think it was one of the Kapps?”
“Maybe it was Donovan.”
“You’re saying he walked in on Charlotte, and then stole her gun?”
“Or maybe he sneaked into the room to steal the gun, and got caught on the way out and had to act like he was trying to see her naked.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.”
Fenway shrugged. “Maybe not. Charlotte came back downstairs and no one was guarding the room, right? So it could have been Cricket, or even the daughter. You guys didn’t have it in a safe or anything, right? It lived in Charlotte’s bedside table?”
“It makes her feel more secure.”
“You don’t have to defend it to me, Dad, I’m just saying the drawer wasn’t protected. Anyone with access to the room could have gotten it.” Fenway paused. “When did you see it last? Before that Saturday or afterward?”
“I have no idea. It’s Charlotte’s gun. Probably about four weeks ago, for me. I went to put away something of Charlotte’s and opened that drawer. The gun was in there then. Charlotte would have seen it much more recently.”
“Okay. I’ll have to ask her.”
“And you think it’s Sandrita. Or maybe Roderick.”
“If Charlotte didn’t do it, and you didn’t do it, it was somebody else—someone who took the gun from the drawer. If the last time either of you saw the gun was a month ago, we’ve got to look closely at everyone who came to the house.” She pointed at Blair walking outside the front door, talking on the phone—to her boyfriend Jasper, Fenway was sure. “That’s why I’m looking at these three people.”
Blair didn’t have her purse with her—she must have left it inside. And she was much more interested in her conversation than anything else. Fenway looked closely, but she didn’t think it was possible for Blair to have the gun. Not during her phone call anyway.
She fast-forwarded to when Jeremy and Ferris came back from the garden. Nothing strange. She fast-forwarded again; the sun went down and the Halloween decorations lit up. Her father and his wife had gone with tasteful gourds and pumpkins more appropriate for the background of a clothing catalog than for any actual Halloween purposes. No ghosts, no spiderwebs, no witches, and nothing humorous or playful.
Finally, around ten o’clock, the Kapp family departed. Jeremy came out first, followed by Blair and Donovan, with Charlotte stepping out with them. Jeremy hugged Charlotte, perhaps holding it for a little too long. Cricket came out, her purse over her shoulder, and Jeremy broke from the embrace. Cricket had a worried look on her face.
Fenway zoomed in on Cricket’s purse, looking for a telltale bulge or the glint of the stock of the gun, anything to give the game away. She found nothing.
“Was Cricket drunk or high or something?” she asked.
“She seemed a little out of it,” Ferris said. “She kept insisting she was fine. Honestly, Jeremy seemed a little embarrassed.”
“I wonder how good an actor Cricket is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, she was stumbling all over herself when she gets to your house. But when she leaves, she can definitely put one foot in front of the other.”
Ferris shook his head. “She had quite a bit to drink at the house. She was there for a few hours, so I guess it could have worn off, but I had to open a new bottle of vodka for her Cape Cods.”
“Interesting,” Fenway said, under her breath.
Next, she rewound the video and zoomed in on Blair’s purse. She didn’t see anything that looked like a gun, even after viewing it again.
She did the same with Donovan. He might have been carrying the gun in his waistband, but she didn’t see it. The polo shirt was long and draped almost to the midway point of his hips, but he didn’t walk strangely.
“Do you see anything?”
Fenway shook her head. “No. Dammit. I thought for sure there’d be something here.”
Sandrita appeared at the door of the study, “I’m sorry, Mister Nathaniel,” she said, “but Miss Charlotte wants to see you.”
“Sorry, Fenway,” he said. “I’ll be back down in a minute.”
“I’ll finish up,” Fenway said.
He left the room, followed by Sandrita, and Fenway fished the USB drive out of her purse. She looked at the laptop and realized that her father, of course, had one of the fancy Mac laptops that didn’t have a regular USB port. Cursing silently, she pulled a drawer open, then another, and found the right cable when she lifted up a pair of expensive headphones.
She quickly plugged the drive in, went back to the desktop, and copied the video files over to the USB drive. It took a few minutes, through which Fenway could hear nothing but her heart pounding in her ears, but finally it finished. Fenway had the cable back in the drawer and the USB drive back in her purse as she heard her father’s footfalls on the stairs.
“I asked Charlotte about the gun,” Ferris said, coming into the study. “She went to the shooting range about three weeks ago and ran into Jeremy and Donovan. She invited them for dinner. She doesn’t remember what day it was, but she had the gun cleaned and prepped af
ter her target practice. So—it was definitely taken in the last three weeks.”
Fenway nodded, trying to get her heart to calm down. She had only taken footage from her father, after all, not stolen money.
“Okay,” Fenway said, “I’m done here.”
“And Sergeant Roubideaux finished her interviews as well,” he said.
Fenway stood and they walked to the foyer, where Dez was waiting for them.
“One more thing, Dad,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever heard of a company called Global Advantage Executive Consulting?”
“Global Advantage? No. We use a leadership training organization, but that’s not their name—unless it’s some big umbrella company I don’t know about.”
“Maybe GAEC?”
Ferris furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Why do you ask?”
“I wondered specifically if you knew anything about payments to or from that organization.”
“Never heard of them, and I certainly never got a payment from them.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
The three of them stood there in the foyer, not speaking for several awkward moments.
“Okay,” Fenway finally said. “Election Day tomorrow. Millicent is going to want me to be pretty visible. You voting?”
“Mailed it in last week,” Ferris said. “I figured out who I was voting for pretty early on.” He winked.
“You doing okay?”
“Sure. You know.” Ferris shrugged. “I’m glad Charlotte’s home.” He paused.
“All right,” Fenway said, opening the door.
“Wait,” Ferris said. “I just—thank you, Fenway. I know you got kicked off the case, and you didn’t have to do anything to try to get Charlotte out. I know you and Charlotte haven’t gotten along, and I know it would have been easy for you to keep her in there.”
“No, Dad,” Fenway said. “It wouldn’t have been easy. She wasn’t guilty. I knew she wasn’t guilty.”
“I’m trying to tell you I appreciate the extra work you did to get Charlotte home to me,” he said, and his eyes were watery. “Just accept the damn thank you and I’ll call you up tomorrow to congratulate you.”
“Oh, Dad, don’t jinx it,” Fenway said. “But—uh, you’re welcome.”
“All right.”
For a moment, Fenway turned over the thought in her mind of asking about seeing another therapist—maybe one of the doctors who had been on her short list—but simply nodded and turned to leave. Dez followed her out and opened the Impala for them.
“Where to now?”
“Just drop me at home, Dez.”
“Yeah. It’s late. And you’ve got a couple of final campaign appearances tomorrow, right?”
“Don’t remind me. I wish I didn’t have to dress up to go vote.”
“Aw, rookie, you look so precious in a pantsuit.” Dez cackled. “And think of how the photo will look, blown up life-size on the wall of your office for everyone to see.”
“I’m not getting a life-size picture of myself.”
“Oh, you might not be paying for it, but Christmas is right around the corner.”
Fenway rolled her eyes. “Hey—did you find out anything from Sandrita or Roderick?”
Dez shook her head. “They don’t know anything, I’m sure of it. The driver didn’t know Charlotte had a gun, much less where she kept it.”
“What about the housekeeper?”
“She doesn’t open drawers.”
“A housekeeper who doesn’t open drawers?”
“I got the feeling she was put off by something she found once. I didn’t want to ask a lot of, uh, probing questions.”
Fenway made a face.
“My sentiments exactly,” said Dez.
AS SOON AS FENWAY WALKED in the door, she got a call on her phone from a number she didn’t recognize. She thought it might be another call about the evidence against Charlotte. She swore lightly—she hadn’t downloaded a phone call recording app—but she thought if she could talk to the person, she might be able to figure out who it was.
“Fenway Stevenson.”
“This is the Hanford Women’s Facility calling Fenway Stevenson,” a crackly voice on the other end said. “I have Lana Cassidy on the line.”
Lana. “I’ll take the call.”
“Miss Stevenson?”
“Hi, Lana. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
“Oh.” Her voice was heavy with disappointment. “I guess that means you haven’t started looking into Carl’s death.”
“On the contrary,” Fenway said. “It seems like it’s wrapped up in a lot of complicated matters.”
“With Ferris Energy?”
“Yes.” Fenway coughed. “The investigation is just starting, but it seems like it might be big. I wish I could say more. I’m in the middle of another murder investigation right now, but I promise, Lana, this is one of my top priorities.”
“Okay,” Lana said. She hesitated. “I don’t get a lot of mail. It might be nice if you could keep me up to speed. These phone calls cost me a lot of money.”
“I understand. I’ll do whatever I can as long as it doesn’t jeopardize the investigation.” Even as the words were coming out of Fenway’s mouth, she doubted she’d write a single letter to Lana Cassidy.
They said quick goodbyes, and Fenway felt a burst of adrenaline from the conversation. She had trouble winding down after that, but with a few episodes of some stupid television shows and a glass of red wine with the delivery of penne arrabiata from Zorro’s, she calmed down enough to go to bed. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet, but the week had taken a lot out of her, and she had a busy Election Day ahead.
She wondered if Piper would be able to assess anything on the footage she had on the USB stick, or if the lab had analyzed the paper or ink from the printers yet. She was sure it would lead to Cricket, or Donovan, or Blair. And there would be enough evidence for not only an arrest, but a conviction—even if the Kapps could afford a high-priced criminal lawyer.
She walked around her bedroom with her toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. Her phone buzzed on her bedside table. She glanced at it; the message was from McVie.
It’s me
The doorbell rang.
Fenway looked down at herself; the night was chilly, and her light blue flannel pajamas, while comfortable, weren’t exactly flattering. She went into the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste, and grabbed a long robe from her closet, before deciding it looked even worse than her pajamas.
She opened the door. McVie was there, in a white shirt, navy blue tie, and gray slacks.
“You just come from a campaign event?”
McVie nodded.
Fenway’s eyes raked over McVie’s body. “You clean up pretty good, Craig.”
“I’m down by five points in the latest poll.”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“And I don’t care,” McVie said, and he stepped inside, wrapping his arms around her.
Fenway turned into him and put her hand behind his head, running her fingers through his hair, and then pulled him into her, kissing him fiercely, melting into the emotions she had to put on pause the last three months. He put his arm around her back, pulling her closer.
Fenway’s other hand started to loosen his tie.
McVie’s other hand closed the apartment door solidly behind them.
They kissed, both of them feeling the weight of the last few months leaving their shoulders, their muscles, their hands as they intertwined. Fenway broke from the kiss so she could pull McVie’s tie over his head. McVie’s hands started unbuttoning her pajama top.
They fell together onto the sofa, and forgot about the election for a while.
Part VI
Tuesday
Chapter Twenty-Six
AT FIVE O’CLOCK IN the morning, Fenway woke up as McVie tried to disentangle their arms and leg
s. “Five more minutes,” Fenway mumbled, but McVie’s stubble scratched her face as he kissed her goodbye.
“Can’t have the press seeing me leave your apartment on Election Day,” he said, pulling on his boxer shorts and slacks. Fenway watched his muscular torso through half-lidded eyes as he walked around the near-dark room before going out to the kitchen to locate the dress shirt he had worn the night before.
After he left, Fenway tried to get back to sleep. Twenty minutes later, she gave up. It was an unexpected way to start Election Day, but she was in a good mood. The pent-up energy between the two of them had needed release, and if the price to pay was four hours’ sleep, she might as well make the most of it.
She pulled on her sweats and laced up her running shoes, looped her apartment key through her shoelaces, and dug through a drawer to get a headlamp. It still worked. She was about to grab her phone when she saw a call come in.
Millicent Tate.
Didn’t that woman ever sleep? Fenway decided to ignore it—she could say she was in the shower. She’d return Millicent’s call when she got back.
She was out of her apartment at five forty-five and turned left down to the end of the street, then up to the hiking trail and to the canopy of trees that served as a butterfly waystation in May and October. Her jostling headlamp lit the hiking path and showed her the fork in the trail that led down to the ocean.
Just as she stopped where the hiking trail emptied out onto the beach, the first fingers of light escaped over the horizon and lit up the black water to a brilliant indigo. Fenway closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, hearing the waves crash over the rocks, listening to the seagulls starting to wake and cry out.
What would she do if everything Ivanovich had done had somehow resonated with most of the voters? She wasn’t worried too much about the young voters, or the voters of color, but most of the county residents were older and white. She wasn’t even worried about Estancia proper—or about Paso Querido. It was the rural areas, the people who lived off the county roads. The people who lived off 326 and whose pickups had confederate flag bumper stickers. Or worse.
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