Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery) (2 page)

"She hasn’t had a chance to tell me much of anything yet.”

“I’ve got plans. Someday I’m going to be a hotshot myself, just like you.”

“Eddie Marrero,” I said, in a tone which was only half-playful, “you’ve always been a hotshot. It was you they had in mind when they coined the phrase.”

Eddie grinned, cocking his chin and shoulders like a star hitter stepping up to bat.

“Hey, Marrero,” a voice called from the porch.

Eddie turned and waved. He tossed a pretzel into the air and caught it in his mouth. “Catch you later, Kali, I got to go check the grill.”

Jannine shook her head. “To listen to him, you’d think he was headed for the big time.” She grabbed a beer and popped the tab. “Come on into the house for a minute while I finish up with the salads. A high school girl was supposed to come over and help, but she had to cancel at the last minute so I’m kind of behind schedule.”

We moved into the kitchen, where Jannine began pulling plastic baggies of vegetables from the refrigerator. A minute later a lank, freckle-faced girl slid past Jannine and reached for a Diet Coke from the refrigerator.

“Erin, honey,” Jannine said, draping an arm around her daughter, “this my friend Kali, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

Erin offered me a weak smile.

“She was just a toddler the last time you saw her,” Jannine said, beaming. “Now she’s eleven. Eleven, going on sixteen.” Erin gave her mother one of those icy glares girls her age are so good at, but Jannine let it slide right past “You want some chips, too? You can take a bowl up to your room if you’d like.”

“Mom!” Erin made it a two syllable word.

“Skinny as a rail,” Jannine said, as Erin scooted past us on her way out the door, “and she thinks she’s overweight. Won’t eat anything but rabbit food. If only I had that kind of willpower.” Jannine blew an affectionate kiss, which Erin, surprisingly, returned. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and dug out a big plastic salad bowl. “I was sorry to hear about your father,” she said, turning to face me. Her voice was soft, weighted with things left unspoken.

I shrugged. The father I missed was not the reclusive shell of a man who had died of a stroke four days earlier, but the gentle, even-tempered man who had slowly withered away following my mother’s suicide my freshman year in high school. I didn’t need to explain, though; Jannine understood as well as anyone. She had lived through those years with me almost by the hour. Her family had, in fact, become my own.

“We sent a donation to the hospital in his name,” she said. “Since there was no funeral, we didn’t know what else to do.”

By my father’s own request we’d had a simple, private burial. Whatever sense of loss accompanied his death was also borne privately. It was a marked contrast to my mother’s funeral years earlier, and the emotional fallout that followed. I hadn’t realized until she was gone what a strong force she’d been in our lives, and how much my father had relied on her energy and strength.

Of the three children, I bore the brunt of it. John was away at college by then, in a world where even living parents rarely made an appearance. And Sabrina had her boyfriends, an ever-changing parade of star quarterbacks and prom trotters who were more than willing to offer comfort The only person I knew to look to for comfort was my father, and he couldn’t provide it. I’ve never truly forgiven him that, nor my mother for being the cause of it.

“We didn’t see each other all that often,” I said. “It’s like he’s been gone for years.”

“Still, death is so final.” She began tearing lettuce into a bowl. “So what are you going to do?” she asked, after a moment.

“Do?”

“With the house and everything.”

“Sell the house, if anyone will buy it There isn’t much else.”

She grabbed a handful of chips and munched as she worked. “I wouldn’t worry about the house, I bet it sells quickly. It’s big, even if it does need work.”

The whole time I was growing up I’d thought our house small and tight. I’d been surprised to discover that it was, in fact, quite spacious. Considerably larger than my own house in Berkeley.

“Silver Creek has changed,” Jannine said. “It’s not the sleepy little town it was. Heck, we’ve even got a new movie theater going in on the east side of town, and I guess you know about the K-Mart over where the bowling alley used to be.” She paused to scoop up two year old Lily, who had appeared out of nowhere clutching a fistful of crackers in one hand and a mashed strawberry in the other. “This one here,” she said, nuzzling Lily’s head, “she wasn’t even in the hatchery last time I saw you. I can’t believe how time flies. So, catch me up on the last, what’s it been, five years?”

While I finished my beer, I filled her in on my stint with the DA’s office and my subsequent transformation to corporate veteran. It didn’t take long. As I’d discovered on previous occasions, the life of a lawyer rarely lends itself to the heady anecdotes people seem to expect.

“How about men?” Jannine asked.

“They come, they go. What’s new with you?”

Jannine shifted Lily to the other hip. “You know, same old stuff. Right now we’re gearing up for a summer of football practice.” Eddie, one-time high school hero, was now the high school coach. “Football’s big in this town,” she said with a sardonic laugh. “That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”

“Neither has Eddie,” I told her.

“Yeah, still the star, cocky as ever.”

Before I had a chance to respond, a woman with dark, close-cropped hair sidled up next to me.
 
“Kali O’Brien. I’m sure glad Jannine warned me you’d be here, or I’d swear I was seeing a ghost.”

It took me a moment, but I finally figured out the woman was Nancy Walker who, at seventeen, had had stringy blonde hair and a reputation for cutting more classes than the rest of us combined.

“I thought you were in the East,” I said.

“I was, but my husband traded me in for a newer model so I came back here. I teach at the high school. English no less. Dumbest kid in school and now I teach there.” She laughed good-naturedly.

“You weren’t dumb,” Jannine said.

“No, probably not, but I didn’t know that then.”

“Hey, Jannine!” Eddie’s voice rose above the din of

backyard conversation. “Where are the goddamn buns?”

Jannine groaned. “In front of his nose probably. But I’d better go see anyway. Sometimes I envy you gals without a man around to complicate your life.” I caught a look on her face, but just for a moment. “Don’t you go running off, Kali, not until we’ve had a good long chance to talk.”

Nancy squeezed out of the doorway to let Jannine pass. “Eddie’s been a coach so long he’s forgotten how to act like a normal human being.” She chomped on a carrot stick. “Though he has charm to burn when he wants to. Come on, let’s grab another beer, and you can tell me about life in the fast lane.”

We made our way out back and found a stash of beer and chips. While Nancy grumbled about overcrowded classrooms and budget cute, I watched the copper light of early evening gradually fade to darkness. Eddie was flip ping burgers, strutting back and forth between the old stone barbecue and the picnic table like a celebrity. There was a lot of back-slapping and buddy-punching with the men, and an equal amount of squeezing and winking with the women. I wondered, as I had before, how Jannine had ever ended up with someone like Eddie. A catch, I suppose, in some people’s book, except that he knew it and flaunted it.
 
Definitely not the sort of partner I’d ever pictured for Jannine.

I talked to Nancy for a while longer, and then to one of my sister’s old boyfriends. Jannine swooped down on me every so often to introduce me to a new cluster of names and faces, and then marched off to refill the chip bowl or bring out more salad. I heard about Elvira Arujo’s hysterectomy, the hail as big as golf balls that had fallen a week earlier, and the Scout Jamboree which was being hosted that summer for the very first time in Silver Creek. There were the usual jabs at San Francisco (“Did you hear they just put heterosexuals on the endangered species list?”) and at Berkeley (“Don’t you mean
Berserkley?"),
and a sprinkling of lawyer jokes, most of them so dated I’d already forgotten the punch lines. Since I had little to contribute, I listened and for the most part kept my mouth shut.

As the night wore on I moved toward the edge of things, and let the drone of muted conversation roll over me like the gentle summer breeze. The night was warm, and the air thick with the sweet scent of prairie grass. It was the kind of evening we rarely got in the Bay Area, where the fog usually rolled in before sunset. I watched Jan nine’s two middle girls straddle the beam at the top of the play-structure, and wondered what my life would have been if I’d never left Silver Creek. It’s a peculiar feeling, finding yourself face to face with your past like that, reconciling what might have been with what is, especially when you find the neat little pictures in your head unexpectedly askew.

I was sitting on the back steps nursing my third can of beer when Eddie dropped down beside me, sloshing his own beer in the process. He’d clearly had many more than three.

“You look like an ad for some high class perfume or something, sitting over here in the moonlight like that.” He winked. “Course you always were a classy-looking gal.”

I humphed and inched to the left. I can spot a line a mile away, and this one was so blatant it practically blinked in neon.

Eddie, though, seemed to think he was onto something. He leaned toward me so that our shoulders bumped. “God, we had us some good times back in the old days, didn’t we?”

We’d had, in fact, only one real “time,” and I would hardly have called it good, even then. I seriously doubted that Eddie had found it very satisfying either.

“Real good,” Eddie added, listing further in my direction.

I let my eyes meet his. “So good that you dropped me like a hot potato right after that night in the shed.”

I could see him take a moment to reassemble the past. He poked at the can with his thumb. “Shucks, Kali, a girl like you, it scared me. Shook me up to think I was falling for you.”

I laughed. Even at sixteen I hadn’t been so much heartbroken as humiliated, although at that age the pain is about equal. “Hang it up, Eddie. I’m not interested.”

He looked hurt for a moment, then grinned. “You always were a hard sell.”

“You couldn’t have done better than Jannine in any case,” I told him. “She’s one in a million.”

He glanced in her direction, and a shadow crossed his face. “Yeah,” he said soberly, “I know.” Eddie finished his beer, crushed the can with one hand, then turned and asked, “You going to be around town for awhile?”