Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery) (21 page)

He was in, and willing to talk to me. But as the saying goes, willingness and a quarter will buy you a cup of coffee. At least he was able to confirm that Eddie was going to purchase Susie’s share and become half-owner of The Mine Shaft. The papers had all been drawn up and were to have been signed that week.

“And George Marrero was willing to go along with it?” I asked.

“He didn’t have a lot of choice.”

“He was upset then?”

“No, not really. As I understand it, he’d originally wanted to keep the place to himself, but by the time I got involved, he seemed resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to be able to.”

“Did he say
why
he wanted the whole thing?”

“Not that I recall. Makes sense, though. A guy’s been his own boss for a number of years, I can see where it might be kind of unpleasant to have a new partner.”

“What about Eddie? He was pretty determined himself.”

There was a laugh on the other end. “That he was. Reminded me of myself when I first got out of law school. Heavy on theory and vision, and short on practical knowhow. He was busting at the seams to give it a go, though.”

“Where was he getting the money?”

“Beats me. It never seemed to be an issue. Sorry I can’t be more help. The only thing I did was draw up the papers. They already had matters pretty much worked out between themselves.”

I left my name and number in case he thought of anything else, then dialed Sara Stewart. She answered the phone herself, on the first ring.

“Ah, you’re there,” I chided. “I was afraid maybe you hadn’t rolled in yet.”

“It was a hot date, but not
that
hot. In fact, I’ve been here waiting for your call since ten o’clock this morning.”

“Sorry, I got tied up at a funeral.”

"Another
one?”

“I know. It’s not something I hope to make a habit of, believe me. Do you have time to talk?”

While I kicked off my shoes and peeled my pantyhose from my sticky skin, Sara filled me in on the firm’s woes. The last year had been even less profitable than expected, and this was on top of several already tight years. The client base was down, receivables were up, and one of our major outstanding accounts had gone into bankruptcy. The bottom line was that there would be no new partners in the foreseeable future. No promises of partnership and no bonuses, either.

“They’ve even done away with the morning donut and coffee tray,” Sara sniffed.

“Do you think they’ll start laying people off?”

“That’s certainly been the pattern at other firms. For now, there’s nothing but a lot of closed doors and long faces. And enough rumors to launch a tabloid. Mr. Goldman has been holed up in his office all week, won’t talk to any of us. He even canceled tomorrow morning’s staff meeting. Nobody really knows how bad it is because the partners aren’t talking.”

My stomach twisted into a knot. I’d had friends who’d been down this road. It wasn’t easy to find a new job in a tight market, particularly as a senior associate.

“Heck,” Sara said, “you have a direct line to the inside. What does Ken have to say?”

“We haven’t really had a chance to talk, what with my being away and all.”

“You mean the phone lines have been down or something?” she asked.

Sara has never been particularly fond of Ken, and she gets her jabs in where she can. There were times I thought she might be closer to calling it right than I was. But there were also times I was certain she was wrong.

“It’s a difficult position for him,” I added, out of fairness to Ken. “A lot of what goes on among the partners is confidential.”

Sara snorted. Her point made, she changed the subject, and we spent the next ten minutes catching up on less weighty matters. We even found things, to laugh about, but the knot in my stomach stayed tight

By the time Loretta and I actually made it out the door, the air had already turned brisk. The sky was a shimmery, indigo blue, fading at the western edge to crimson. In the distance, the trees were a black silhouette, as though they’d been painted flat against the sky. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fresh scent of mountain grass and wild mustard weed, and silently thanked Loretta for talking me into a walk.

I’d placed classified ads in the local paper, listing my father’s truck and power tools, but I’d somehow neglected to run the “Free to good home” blurb about Loretta. I’d have to make sure, when I did, to mention how much she liked getting out for walks.

We cut across the open field and down to Sycamore, where a wide dirt path runs by the side of the road. Loretta trotted along, sticking her nose into cracks and crevices. At one point, she caught a ground squirrel by surprise and started after him, only to stop a few steps later. She was getting fat no doubt about it. I was going to have to cut down on her Kibble, or she’d soon be too wide to fit through the doggy door. Then I sucked in my stomach and made a similar promise to myself.

I hadn’t been paying much attention to where we were headed, and I was surprised to find myself passing by the foot of Tom’s long driveway. It wasn’t the path I’d intended to take. I gave some thought to stopping off to thank him again for last night’s dinner. Then I caught myself grinning. Okay, so I wouldn’t. Even Miss Manners would probably say that a personal visit for such a purpose was overkill.

But as I was turning to leave, Tom pulled up.

“Hey,” he said, “fancy meeting you here.”

“I was walking the dog,” I explained. Loretta did her part to corroborate this.

“Come up and have a drink with me.”

I hesitated. The drink sounded good, especially after my conversation with Sara. But there was something about Tom that piqued my interest in ways I didn’t want to consider just then. All in all, I thought it better to decline.

“Come on,” he nudged, “just a quick one. I’ve got to leave for a meeting in about forty minutes anyway.” He shut the door of the truck with a hearty thud. “Cub Scout night.”

I tried to picture the rowdy and rakish Tom I remembered teaching eight-year-old boys to weave potholders and wash behind their ears. It was enough to make me chuckle. But it also, oddly, warmed my heart. “Okay,” I said, following him into the house. “A quick one.”

“Beer okay?” Tom asked. He removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch. “I’ve got wine if you’d prefer.”

“Beer’s fine.”

He rolled up his sleeves, dug out some chips and salsa, and then opened two bottles of Anchor Steam. We sat on deck chairs in an unfinished room at the back of the house. The decor wasn’t much, but the view of the valley at sunset was spectacular.

“I did a little nosing around for you today,” Tom said, scooping a mound of salsa onto a too-small chip.

“For
me
?” I tried for an understated sarcasm. Apparently I succeeded, because Tom raised an eyebrow. “For me, then. That better?” He took another scoop of salsa. “You want to hear?”

I nodded.

He was suddenly serious. “It isn’t all good.”

“I still want to know.”

“I was talking to a police friend of mine. Seems the search of Jannine’s house turned up nothing.”

That much was good news, anyway.

“Also, they found a couple of kids who remember hearing what sounded like shots about three o’clock Saturday. They said they were looking for frogs down by the creek, but the suspicion is they were smoking dope — which is why they were reluctant to say anything before now.” Tom paused and looked at me. There was an unexpected softness to his gaze. “The kids also remember seeing a blue car turn onto the county road a little before that. It had one of those bumper stickers, ‘If you can read this, thank a teacher.’”

I looked away and took a long swallow of beer. Blue cars were pretty common, and the bumper sticker wasn’t exactly a special issue. I’d seen several of them out at the school. Turning onto the county road didn’t mean much either, since it was a natural turn-around for people who missed the entrance to the bridge. But it didn’t help Jannine any that her car was a blue Ford with the same rear bumper sticker.

“You think she’s guilty?” I asked.

Tom shrugged. “I’m just reporting what I heard. You obviously have reason to believe she’s not.” His voice was kind, and not at all patronizing.

“I’m not sure what I think anymore.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I’m glad you did.” I managed a smile. “And thanks for asking around.” I began peeling the label from my bottle. “Do you think they'll arrest her?”

“I don’t know. They might.”

The police still didn’t have a strong case, but I could see that it might be enough.

“At the funeral this afternoon I talked to George Marrero and his wife. They were supposed to have left for Arizona last Saturday morning, but they changed their plans at the last minute and didn’t leave until Sunday.” Tom looked perplexed, and I realized I’d jumped ahead of myself. “He and Eddie were involved in a dispute over control of The Mine Shaft. In essence, George lost. Now that Eddie’s no longer in the picture though, he gets full control of the business.”

“Are you suggesting he might have killed Eddie?”

“It’s possible. He’s got a motive, and he probably had access to Jannine’s gun.”

Tom looked skeptical. “George Marrero’s been a member of this community for a long time. Past president of the Rotary Club, member of the Silver Creek Business Association
...”

“Jannine’s been a member of this community for a long time, too,” I said, cutting him off. “It hasn’t prevented anyone from thinking
she
might be a killer.” I rubbed my head, suddenly weary of the whole business. “Anyway, George and Eddie had apparently reached an agreement. According to the attorney involved, George was more or less reconciled to taking Eddie in as a partner.”

I rolled the bits of peeled label between my fingers. When I looked up, I caught Tom eyeing me. A small, lopsided smile pulled at his mouth.

“What?” I asked.

The smile grew till it pulled at the corners of his eyes as well. “Nothing.”

There was a fluttery sensation somewhere in my chest. I looked away, remembering again why I’d been hesitant to join him for a drink.

Tom glanced at his watch. “Cripes,” he said suddenly. “It’s later than I thought.” He stood and tossed the empty bottles into the trash. “Sorry about the rush. You want a ride home?”

I shook my head. “I can use the exercise, and Loretta’s getting downright fat.”

Tom threw his head back and laughed. It was a rich, wonderful sound that ran across my shoulders like the tickle of a feather. “She’s not fat, Kali. She’s expecting.”

“Expecting?”

“Puppies. From the looks of it, I’d say she’s due in a couple weeks. You’d better get the whelping bed together, and anything else you need.”

I looked over at Tom to see if he was joking, but he was busy gathering up his jacket and car keys. Apparently he was serious.

What little I knew about birth, animal or human, I’d learned in eighth grade science class. I had steadfastly refused to add to that knowledge, and I certainly didn’t want to change the pattern now. I had enough to worry about already.