He waited.
I said, “That’s all. At least that’s all I had to do with it. But Guidry told me that Victor had already been dead when he was thrown out of the boat. Somebody shot him. His body had been tied to an anchor, and the rope that tied him was too long. That’s how he floated up high enough for fishermen to snag him.”
Michael’s eyes got a look that said he might laugh. “They tied him to an anchor with a long rope?”
I said, “It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little bit funny.”
I ate some more chili.
Michael said, “So what was the deal with the marshal? Who was he looking for?”
I was almost to the bottom of the chili bowl, so I ate the last of it and polished off the second breadstick before I answered him. I figured I’d need all the strength I could get.
“A couple of days ago, three teenage boys came in Reba Chandler’s house while I was there with Big Bubba. The parrot, you know. I turned around and there they were. They seemed to think a girl named Jaz lived there.”
“You know her?”
“She’s a teenager I had seen at the vet’s office, the same girl that marshal you slugged was looking for. He was with her at the vet’s. He’d run over a rabbit and killed it, and she was upset about it. Cute girl. He claimed he was her stepfather, but he was lying. She’s in witness protection and he’s her guardian or whatever.”
Michael erased the air with a flat palm. “I don’t want to hear about the girl. I want to hear about the guys that came in on you.”
“But they’re all connected. They’re all from L.A., and the boys are part of a gang there. One of them left latent prints on a jar of birdseed at Reba’s house, so the fingerprint people were able to identify him. He’s one of three guys who killed a boy in a drive-by shooting in L.A., and Jaz is the only witness willing to testify. That’s why she’s in witness protection. They hid her here to wait until the trial. Now Jaz has disappeared, and the marshal thinks the gang got her.”
He went still. “Why did he think you’d know where she was?”
“He probably saw my car at Hetty’s house and followed me.”
Michael raised an eyebrow asking for more information. I hate it when he does that.
I said, “Hetty Soames has a new service-dog pup she’s raising, and she took a shine to Jaz and offered her a job. She wrote her address for Jaz, so the marshal knew it. Jaz was secretive about where she lived—well, she was secretive about everything—so Guidry asked me to try to learn more about her. I’ve been stopping at Hetty’s every day.”
“Guidry has known about this?” Michael’s voice was defensive and a trifle hurt.
“He’s investigating a homicide that happened here a few days ago. A man was killed during a gang-related burglary. Some neighbors saw teenagers loitering outside the man’s house earlier, and they matched the description of the boys who came into Reba’s house. The sheriff’s office got a positive match on prints at the murdered man’s house and the prints left at Reba’s house, so they knew they were the same guys.”
“The gang members who killed a boy in L.A. also robbed and killed a man here?”
I could tell he was having a hard time finding slots in his brain to hold so many dismal bits of information. “Their trial in L.A. is the one Jaz is a witness in.”
Michael stood up and got a cornbread stick and ate it in two bites. He does that when he’s agitated. Probably a holdover from the time that feeding himself and me was the only escape he could find from our mother’s self-consumed immaturity.
“Okay. And what else?”
“I’m afraid Harry Henry had something to do with Maureen’s husband being kidnapped. I can’t believe he’d kill him, but I think he’s involved somehow.”
“Harry Henry? Nah, Harry wouldn’t do something like that.”
“He told me Maureen had planned to get a divorce from the first day she married Victor. Then he said he hadn’t seen her for two or three years, but I know he was lying about that. Besides, who else do you know who’d sink a dead body with an anchor but use a rope so long the body could float to the surface?”
Michael’s eyes had gone slitty.
“What do you mean, he told you? Did you ask him about it?”
“Not exactly. We just talked a little bit at the Sea Shack.”
Michael sat down and put his elbows on the table. He lowered his head between his hands and squeezed it for a long time while Ella widened her eyes and looked alarmed. When he raised his head, his eyes were considerably less cheery than they’d been when I first came in.
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. Harry asked about you, by the way. Said you were a good fisherman.”
“Hell, Dixie.”
“I’m not involved in anything, Michael. It’s just that I know all these people.”
Michael sighed. “Let me get this straight. You’ve delivered ransom money to kidnappers. You’ve talked to a man who might have killed Maureen’s husband. And you’ve spent time with a girl who’s on the run from a murdering gang from L.A.”
“It’s not as bad as you make it sound.”
“Stay away from Harry Henry.”
“Aw, Harry’s all right, he’s just weird. He has a new dog, named him Hugh Hefner.”
“Figures. Hugh Hefner’s probably Harry’s hero.”
I got up and rinsed my bowl and cup and put them in the dishwasher. I went around the bar and kissed Ella’s nose. Then I kissed Michael’s cheek.
“Thanks for the chili. Don’t worry about me. I’m cool.”
When I closed the kitchen door, I could see them through the window. Michael was letting Ella lick crumbs from his fingertips. Ella looked blissful. Michael looked worried. On top of his concern about Paco, I had just given him another load to carry.
As for me, I didn’t feel half as cool as I’d pretended. Laying it all out for Michael had made me feel like I was in the middle of a hurricane’s eye. It was calm there for the time being, but hurricanes move on. When they do, you get slammed by winds from an entirely different direction than the one you’ve been facing.
I still had some time before I had to make afternoon rounds so I ran upstairs and got my car keys. I needed to talk to Cora Mathers.
23
Cora Mathers is an eighty-something-year-old friend whose granddaughter was once a client of mine. The granddaughter was murdered in a most brutal way, and I had been immensely impressed by Cora’s strength when it happened. Afterward, she and I had sort of adopted each other.
Cora lives on the mainland in a lovely condo in Bayfront Village, a posh retirement tower on Tamiami Trail overlooking the bay. Her granddaughter bought the condo for her with money made in ways Cora has never suspected. As far as Cora knows, her granddaughter was a smart woman who made wise investments, and because she had a good heart she provided well for her cat and for her grandmother. The good heart part is true.
Driving north on the way to Bayfront Village, I swung off the Trail for a few blocks to Whole Foods. Leaving the Bronco in the parking garage, I hotfooted it inside and bought a dozen pink roses and a carton of frozen soup. As I loped back to the garage, a motorcycle arced around me and pulled into a parking spot. The driver’s head was covered by a black helmet and he wore so much denim that I couldn’t see his body, but I kept a hawk eye on his hands in case he flashed Paco’s signal. He pulled off his helmet and turned his head to look at me. He had a broad freckled face, little piggy eyes, and a scowl that looked as if it had been there forever. He definitely wasn’t Paco.
I pretended I hadn’t been staring at him and got in the Bronco and raced off. When I pulled under Bayfront’s portico, the parking attendant sprinted smartly to open the Bronco’s door before I had time to get out. Rich people get service like that.
When he saw it was me, he lost the servile look but kept the grin.