“Not me, I’m never silly. Guess what? I brought you something.”
“What is it?”
“Tuna fish ice cream.”
“Ewwww.”
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s yucky.”
“Your daddy told me it’s your favorite.”
Charlotte wheeled on me. “No. Daddy!”
“I must’ve gotten mixed up,” I said.
“Okay, let me see if I have anything else.” Regina rooted in the gift bag.
Amy glanced at me. This is Mrs. Potty Mouth?
Regina produced a wrapped box. “How about this?”
Charlotte peeled back the paper on a set of Magna-Tiles.
“Wow,” Amy said. “What a fantastic gift. Thank you, Regina. Charlotte, what do you—”
Charlotte took off running.
“Charlotte, what do you say?” I called.
“Thaaaaank youuuuu.”
Regina presented Myles with a wooden stacking toy.
He clung to Amy, one finger in his mouth.
“I know,” Regina said. “I wouldn’t trust me, either.”
The Trader Joe’s bag contained flowers, Chardonnay, and chocolate.
“I tried to cover all the bases,” Regina said.
“Yes, yes, and yes,” Amy said.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said.
“And yet I did,” Regina said.
Over dinner, Amy asked Regina if she’d grown up in Santa Cruz.
“Nnn.” She swallowed and wiped her mouth. “LA. I came up for undergrad, then went home to do my master’s.”
“What in?”
“Social work. I was with County Children and Family Services till I got burned out.”
Amy nodded sympathetically.
“How’d you transition to being a PI?” I asked.
“I had this friend, a child advocacy lawyer. She hooked me up with a guy who taught me the ropes. I worked for him for a while. But I was sick of LA and I had all these good memories of Santa Cruz. I didn’t realize that I only had those memories ’cause I was in college. Now I’m just a person, living in a place.”
“Regina,” Charlotte said, “you have to eat your broccoli if you want to earn dessert.”
“Says who.”
“Daddy.”
“Well.” Regina forked a floret. “Rules are rules.”
Charlotte displayed her plate. “Can I be done, please, Daddy?”
“Yes,” I said. “Do you want to play for a little?”
She ran out. Immediately Myles began waving his arms, flinging specks of salmon, knocking his sippy cup to the floor.
“All done?” Amy asked.
“Ah duh.”
“Very good talking.” She unbuckled the high chair, wiped him down, and set him on her lap to continue eating. He didn’t want to sit still, began twisting and arching his back.
“You think he’ll go to me?” Regina asked.
“Let’s see,” Amy said, handing him over.
He squirmed, but within a minute his head was on Regina’s shoulder as she stroked his back.
“You’re the baby whisperer,” I said.
Regina smiled. “Do I earn dessert?”
She and Amy sat outside, drinking and talking, while I did bedtime routine. From across the house I heard their laughter, brash and honest.
I stepped out onto the deck. The wine was down to an inch.
“We’re trading war stories,” Amy said.
“She rules,” Regina said.
“I know it,” I said.
Amy stood. “Wonderful to meet you, Regina.”
“Likewise.”
“Take care of my husband, please.”
“Listen, I’m only human.”
Amy laughed, pecked me on the cheek, and slipped inside.
“She’s nervous,” Regina said. “Do I need to be nervous?”
“A little bit probably wouldn’t hurt.”
“Then we need to set some fucking ground rules.”
I took a chair. “How’d you learn to turn it on and off like this?”
“A childhood spent in musical theater.” She rubbed her nose. “Rule number one: Full transparency, starting now.”
“Cuts both ways.”
“You first. Talk.”
I did, for almost an hour.
She said, “You ran over her?”
“Not over. Into. A glancing blow.”
“What the fuck, Clay? The fuck are you getting me into?”
“She’s fine. The doctor checked her out and I haven’t heard anything from them since. No lawyer letter. No calls. She accepted my friend request.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a valid legal defense in zero of the fifty states.”
“I know it’s not ideal.”
“No shit.”
“Silver lining,” I said. “It gives me an excuse to check in on Shasta while we’re there.”
“And what? You’re just gonna casually segue into questioning her about this guy she had a thing with who also happens to be missing?”
“I’ll ask where she got the necklace.”
She put on an adolescent whine: “ ‘This? My boyyyfriend gave it to me.’ ”
“ ‘Okay. Who’s your boyfriend?’ ”
“Don’t ask her that. Why are you asking her that? That’s fucking weird.”
“Suggestions welcome.”
“Before we get into any of that: Why assume what happened to Nick is connected to what’s going on up there? Why can’t it be that he met her, banged her, and took off?”
“It can,” I said. “But she’s still the last person to have contact with him, so we need to talk to her. I think we should at least explore the possibility that somebody didn’t like him getting close to her. She’s the majority landowner. The scheme runs through her. Nick waltzes into town, sweeps her off her feet — that poses a threat to their control.”
“You’ve decided Little Miss is free of sin.”
“No. But I told you, they’ve been at this for thirty-some years, way before she was born. She’s not the one emailing me and pumping me for information. Beau Bergstrom is.”
“Exactly why I don’t like it,” she said. “It feels like he’s trying to smoke you out.” She drummed the chair arm with her purple nails. “You think your cover’s still good?”
“I’m hoping your being there will help shore it up.”
“Me and my feminine fucking wiles. All right. How do we fold me in? Details.”
“You’re my sister,” I said. “I want your opinion on the property.”
“Are you shitting me? Sister? Look at me. Now look at you.”
I conceded the point.
She said, “The only logical story — and it pains me deeply to say these words — is I’m your, ahem, wife. And, because I’m smarter than you and oodles more practical, I’m skeptical about this whole land idea. We already own a place in...”
“Tahoe.”
“Tahoe. Why do we need more headaches? But I leave the door open just enough for them to think I could be convinced.”
“How’d we meet?”
“The circus,” she said. “We were both in the freak show.”
“A mutual friend set us up. What kind of work do you do, Mrs. Gardner?”
“Fuck off with your patriarchy. I kept my name.”
“All right, what name do you want?”
“Edison,” she said, cracking up.
“Can you focus?”
“Ah. You’re having second thoughts about me.”
“And third.”
“Regina Bloom,” she said. “I’m a pediatric social worker. You fell for me because I’m so passionate about helping people. But. I have a secret dream.”
“Impossible. You’re married to me. What more could you want?”
“I write.”
“Gives you and Beau something in common,” I said.