There was a fresh breeze coming in off the Bay, and we were in the shade, but he broke out into a sweat again and seemed to have difficulty breathing. I was afraid he would pass out. I put my hand against his cheek and made him meet my eyes.
I said, “Beto told me you signed Lacy into rehab last night.”
He shook his head. Choked with emotion, he managed to say, “I committed her on a seventy-two-hour psych hold. Danger to herself and to others.”
“Namely, a danger to me?”
“You had it figured out, didn’t you?” he said.
“After overhearing what you said to her last night when you manhandled her out of the Bartolinis’ backyard, I started to wonder,” I said. “But it wasn’t until I saw your name on the work order for repairs to a certain shot-up silver car that I actually knew.”
“That crazy bitch,” he said, dropping his head into his hands for a moment before he straightened up and faced me. “Yesterday afternoon, I went over to the dealership to make sure your truck was locked in a secure area until the ballistics techs could go over it. And there was Lacy’s car, already parked at the body shop. She shot off her own side mirror, for chrissake.”
“The good news is, Lacy is a lousy shot and no one got hurt.”
He let out a long, labored breath. “My career is over.”
“Oh, sweetie, lots of cops have crazy wives.” I patted his shoulder. “If they all got fired when their wives spun out of control, there would be no one left to write tickets. You’ll get through this, Kevin. Just tell me you haven’t done anything really stupid yet, like filing a false report or making anything disappear?”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“Does Lacy have a psych history?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Then get her a good lawyer and let it all play out, Kev,” I said. “It’s up to the Oakland PD to file charges, and so far they don’t seem inclined to get overly involved. Your insurance company will probably pay mine off and then cancel your coverage, but that’s the worst they’ll do.”
“I’ll have to file a report with my department,” he said.
“Do what you need to do,” I said. “I won’t press charges, Kevin. You didn’t need to try to bribe me with the murder book, but I’m glad you did.”
He let out a long breath, one he may have been holding for the last day. “Know a good lawyer?”
“Uncle Max will,” I said. “He’s at the house now. Take me back to my car and then you go right over and talk to him.”
“Are the Lopers on patrol?”
“Of course they are, but surely you haven’t forgotten the secret way into my backyard?”
He laughed, a big, full-chested ha-ha-ha that verged on sobs. Without warning, he pulled me against him and held me in a tight bear hug.
“God, Mag, I’ve missed you.”
“Just don’t flip me, Kev,” I said, my face pressed against the front of his sweaty polo. “And don’t tickle me. Okay?”
“Okay.” He set me on my feet and released me. “Not this time.”
As he drove us back down the hill, I turned toward him. “Yesterday, no one knew where Jean-Paul and I were going, not even us. So, how the hell did Lacy track us down?”
“She followed you,” he said.
“All day? Impossible. I would have seen her.”
“How many silver cars do you think were out there on the freeway yesterday? Would you notice one little piece-of-shit Focus?”
“Maybe not. So, has Lacy been lying in wait for me?”
“She didn’t have to,” he said. “You know where her folks live, right?”
I nodded. “Across from Beto.”
“The other night, when I picked her up from your house, I took her to her parents’ house because I didn’t want my daughter to see her like that. She had it in her head that I was hanging out with you. When she saw your truck go by on Saturday with a man driving, she assumed it was me. So she grabbed her dad’s gun from a drawer in the front hall table and lit out after you.”
“And stuck with us all afternoon?”
He nodded. “All afternoon, probably dogging you, waiting to get a good shot. This isn’t exactly pickup country so your truck wasn’t hard to follow.”
“It wasn’t me she was shooting at, though, was it? It was you.”
“What can I say?”
“Hell hath no fury?” I said.
“Crazy jealous bitch?”
“Hey, Kev?”
“Mmm?”
“The other night, when Lacy was pounding on my front door because she thought you were inside with me, what if the door had been unlocked and she had been able to come in, and if she’d had her dad’s gun with her then, what would she have done?”
“Probably woulda shot you through the heart.”
Chapter 14
“Oh my God, Maggie.” With delicate hands, my cousin Susan took the dragonfly brooch out of its red leather box and held it up to the light. The gems sent streamers of bright color across the room. “I had no idea this still existed. There’s a portrait of our great-grandmother on the wall at home. In it she’s wearing this brooch. Dad told me it was a very special anniversary gift. I can’t believe I’m holding it.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I said, feeling just a pang of regret seeing the brooch for probably the last time. “Mom always wore it on special occasions. I hope you enjoy it as much as she did.”
“Me?” Susan seemed taken aback. “Thank you for showing it to me, but it’s your mother’s.”
“Mom says it’s time for the next generation to wear it.”
“But it should pass to you and Casey, not me.”
I shook my head. The brooch had passed from mother to daughter in Mom’s family for three generations. But I was not part of Mom’s bloodline. As much as I cherished my memories of evenings when Mom dressed up, and last thing and with some ceremony, pinned the brooch to her dress, I felt that the jewel could not rightfully come to me. I was, however, keeping the black dress I wore on Friday night, and that was memory enough.
I said, “The brooch should go to you and your daughter, Maddie.”
“What does your mom say about that?”
“I told her what I think, and she left the decision to me.”
“Oh my.” Susan held the brooch against her shoulder and looked at it in the mirror over Mom’s dressing table before she put it back in its box. “I’ll have to think about that.”
Standing beside her, I looked at Susan’s reflection in the mirror. She was still as pretty as I remembered her, blue-eyed, with dark blond hair, and tall like the women in Mom’s family. Indeed, she closely resembled Mom and my deceased older sister, Emily. Growing up, people often said I was Daddy’s girl, though I had no clue until last fall how literally true that was. My sister and brother and I all had Dad’s long nose, and looked enough like each other that if it ever occurred to me that I hadn’t inherited Mom’s height or her hair, it also never occurred to me that I might not be biologically connected to her. That revelation struck me the very first time I met Isabelle’s mother, Élodie Martin, and saw how closely I resemble her.
“Susan,” I said, “the brooch is a Robnett family heirloom. It needs to remain within your family.”
She met my eyes in the mirror. “Maggie, I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t absolutely shocked when I found out that Aunt Betsy isn’t your birth mother.”
“You and me both,” I said, laughing a bit, surprised by her frankness. The topic was awkward for me, but I had brought it up.
“No one in the family ever said one word to me about it,” she said. “You know why?”
“Too scandalous for words?” I asked.
“No, not that at all,” she said, turning to face me. “Truthfully, I think everyone just put it out of their minds, a non-issue, if you will. You were a fully enfranchised member of the family, and how that came about, well, so what?