Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series) (19 page)

Marty met us at the door, dressed to go out, California casual in a snug-fitting knit pants outfit. She’d even been at her hair with a curling iron. She wore a squash blossom necklace, and she was preoccupied with fitting matching silver earrings into her ears.

Libby spoke as if nothing had happened. “Hi, Mom. Can Esperanza sleep over?”

“You’re grounded tonight, young lady. Keil told me what you did—taking off without even telling him.”

“Oh, Mom.”

Marty relented a little. “You’re going to your dad’s tomorrow, but you’ll be home Tuesday night. She can sleep over then. How’s that?”

“Okay.” She smiled as brightly as if her mom had said they were going to Disneyland, and slipped inside. “’Bye, Rebecca. I had fun.”

Marty said, “Thanks for taking care of her. Sorry I can’t ask you in—I’m in a hurry.”

I wondered if this meant she was no longer angry with me. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but maybe that was as close as Marty got to making one.

“Another time,” I said.

I’d had to park about halfway up the block from Marty’s, on the opposite side of the street. I hadn’t yet reached my car when I heard a door slam, heels click. I turned automatically and saw Marty practically flying to her car—apparently she was late. As I got in my car, I saw her pull out. Another car, a dark one, a Chrysler, I thought, pulled out behind her and began to follow at a discreet distance. Or was it my imagination?

It could be, I reasoned, but if it wasn’t, I couldn’t leave her alone—not with the Monterey murder rate rapidly climbing. I followed the car following Marty.

It was only about seven-thirty, nowhere close to dark, but somehow I never could seem to get close enough to see the Chrysler’s license plate. It was a short ride, only as far as a fairly large, fairly impersonal motel where Marty didn’t register.

Instead, she pulled into the parking lot, next to a silver compact of some sort, jumped out quickly, and rushed up the stairs, apparently to a room on the second floor. At this point I lost sight of her. I kept a good distance away, because the car that had followed her parked behind hers, perpendicular to it. The driver simply sat there a few moments and then drove off.

I presumed that meant Marty was in no danger, but now I had to know who was in that car—at least I had to get the license number. I stepped on it, finally able to pull up parallel at a stoplight. It was Don in the car.

I leaned over to adjust my radio and busied myself until the car behind me honked, informing me I’d missed the signal. Don was a safe distance ahead. I could only hope he hadn’t seen me, but my heart was beating fast.

And that wasn’t entirely about my nearly embarrassing almost-encounter. I had to know about that silver compact. I drove back to the motel, took its license number, and found myself heading, without deciding to do so, toward Julio’s street.

He had a car like that, his initial was “J,” and Marty had yelled at me for going over to his house. So what? How was their romance any of my business?

It wasn’t. Anyway, I knew what I knew. I didn’t need confirmation.

These arguments did no good. The Volvo seemed to have a mind of its own.

On Julio’s block, cars were packed pretty closely together. I drove slowly. Was his car a Nissan or a Honda? Or maybe one of those funny little Fords? And what make was the one at the motel? Why hadn’t I noticed?

I only realized I was holding my breath when I released it—I did see a silver compact, though not quite where it was supposed to be. Across the street, in fact. I’d nearly missed it, and had to turn around, craning my neck, to get a good look. It was the right color, but was it really a compact? Was it the same design as Julio’s? I slowed down to almost a crawl.

And when I looked back, I saw what was about to happen, too late. I slammed the brake, but didn’t stop fast enough. Someone had had the nerve to park, not a normal-sized car, but a recreational vehicle that stuck out far more than the other cars, right in my path. I closed my eyes and braced myself. The thud was hideous. The shock was ugly. I was thrown mercilessly forward. Fortunately, I was wearing my seat belt. My body didn’t even bang anything.

My eyes flew open, and I saw that I was awfully close to the beige back end of the RV. My hood seemed to be shorter than it had been a moment before. I sat there, trying to take that in, figure out why that would be, and also trying to catch my breath. If my heart had been beating fast before, it was now doing double time, hammering like John Henry. I could feel it, but I couldn’t hear it—because of the shouting.

“Goddammit, you bitch! You stupid goddamn bitch!” I couldn’t see the shouter’s face, because his arms were going like windmills.

“Rebecca! Rebecca, is that you?” The second shouter was Julio.

Fear of the first shouter overcame my embarrassment. I jumped out of the car and into Julio’s arms, looking for any protection I could get from the mad van owner.

“I just had the goddamn thing painted! Do you see the ‘For Sale’ sign? Goddamn thing’s for
sale
, you stupid bitch!”

Julio said, “Take it easy, Mr. Donahue. What happened, Rebecca?”

“I looked away for a second.”

“Mr. Donahue, you really didn’t park very well.”

I looked at the curb and saw that the van probably was more than the legal eighteen inches away.

“Stupid bitch!” said my persecutor. He was a freckled man of about fifty. His hair had probably once been red, but it was now a pinkish-gray color, what there was of it. The top of his head was a contrasting pink. His suffused face clashed horribly.

On their small front porch was an overweight woman in an apron, which she was clutching and squeezing as if wringing it out. She was probably terrified of the madman she was apparently married to.

I stuck out my hand. “Rebecca Schwartz, Mr. Donahue.”

“You wrecked my RV!”

He wouldn’t shake.

“Well, I’m sorry about that, but my insurance will pay for it.”

“Insurance! I’m supposed to leave on a three-week trip to Europe in a week!”

Maybe he was right—maybe I was stupid. I couldn’t really see how that applied.

Julio said, “Rebecca, are you all right?”

I nodded.

“Are you up to moving your car?”

I realized then it was still in the middle of the street. Cars were going around it, but people had come out of their modest homes to inspect the damage. I had become a neighborhood spectacle.

I nodded, and then took a good look at my car. The front end was more or less pleated. I looked back at Julio. “Oh, my God. It’s totaled, isn’t it?”

He nodded gravely. “You needed a new car anyway.”

If I’d expected sympathy for the gaping wound that opened when I saw I’d killed my beloved old Volvo, I’d come to the wrong place entirely. This was the guy who’d complained about my car even when it looked good. Sadness turned to fury, and I would have stalked off if I’d had more than two steps to go. As it was, I gave the door a good slam.

But of course, the damn thing wouldn’t start. I had to get the traitor and a couple of other neighbors to help me push it to the curb—after Mr. Donahue consented to move his precious RV—and then I had to endure the humiliation of describing the accident to the teenage policeman summoned by Mr. Donahue:

“But, Miss Schwartz, what were you looking at?”

“I thought I saw a bug.”

“A bug?”

“A bee. I thought there was a bee in the car. I tried to swat it.”

“But your windows were closed,”

“Officer, is this really relevant?”

“It just seems so … unusual.”

Julio offered to take me home, though he seemed to take it for granted I had to be medicated before I could travel.

Without asking, he poured me a glass of wine and one for himself. He sat down and apparently felt I should sit next to him.

“Were you coming to visit, I hope?” he said.

“You didn’t go for the bee story?”

“If you weren’t coming to visit, perhaps you were watching my house. Don’t you trust me, Rebecca?”

He was wearing khaki pants and a black polo shirt, as if dressed for a date. That and the memory of the kiss threw me off for a moment.

And then I remembered about the murders. I was so horrified, I gasped. “You mean was I hoping to catch you on your way to commit another murder, thereby clearing both my clients?”

“Well, I heard that joke about the white rats. I haven’t been around that many lawyers, but people say they’ll do anything.”

That made me mad. “You probably also think Jewish women don’t date outside their faith.”

His eyes went all twinkly on me. “Esperanza tells me otherwise.”

“Little big mouth. Where is she anyway?”

“At Amber’s. Could I ask you something?”

Would I go out with him? Sure.

Would I run away with him? Why not?

Would I marry him? Maybe.

“Would you tell me what you were up to when you demolished poor Mr. Donahue’s RV?”

I’d had a glass of wine by now, and nothing to eat. I said, “I was trying to see if the silver car across the street was yours.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s complicated. Maybe I’d better ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you seeing Marty?”

“Seeing her? You mean dating?”

“Something like that. To be euphemistic about it.”

His brows knit in confusion. “
Marty
? Of course not. Why on earth would you think that?”

I thought about whether I had a right to give Marty’s secrets away and decided it wasn’t the lawyer she’d asked to get the calendar, it was the friend. “Because Marty met someone at a motel a while ago whose initial is J.”

Utter disbelief played over his features. Was he talking to a female filbert?

I said, “Oh, hell,” and laid the whole thing out for him, from the calendar to Don.

He was still mixed-up. “But what did you care?” he said. “What does it matter who she was seeing?”

“You’re making this awfully difficult for me.”

“Oh. You were checking on me.”

I nodded, knowing I must be the color of Mr. Donahue’s scalp.

“Well, that was sweet of you.”

“You’re handsome, Julio, but I don’t know if you’re worth losing a car over.”

“It was meant to be. That car was no good for you.”

“I loved that car.” The wound opened up again. I guess I looked as sad as I felt. Julio must have wanted to give me something. Or maybe he was just antsy around the “l” word.

He said: “Everyone knows who she’s seeing, by the way. I don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling.”

“Marty?
You
know who Marty’s seeing?”

“Jim Lambert, the chairman of the board.”

“Of the aquarium?”

He nodded. “Of course. Haven’t you figured that out about Marty? She likes to play the angles.”

“I think I’m starting to catch on. Is Lambert married, by any chance?”

“Sure. Why do you think they had to meet in a motel?”

“I get it. So if she covered for him to the point of going to jail, she might have quite an edge with him.”

“I happen to know she wants the job Warren thinks he’s got.”

“Oh, right. She sure does. And she seems to be seeing Lambert every night.”

“She probably even pays the motel bills.” He was smiling in that way that made me want to look at his mouth until the sun came up. But this was no time for distractions.

“Wait a minute. She acts so wronged about Don’s leaving her. Was she going out with Lambert first?”

“You catch on slow, but at least you catch on. To tell you the truth, Marty’s kind of a legend at the aquarium.”

“You mean—um—” I was trying to think how to put it. “She screws anything in pants.”

I gasped, remembering how mad she’d gotten when I mentioned Julio’s name.

“Everything except me and a few others who can outrun her. Poor Ricky got caught, though.”

“But—this is what she said about Sadie.”

He raised an eloquent eyebrow. Were you born yesterday? it asked. He said, “Are you hungry, by any chance?”

“Starved.” But then I remembered what I’d intended to do. “Damn! I was going to go up and see Katy’s maid.”

“I’ll take you.”

“You look like you’re going somewhere.”

“Esperanza and I were going to a movie, but she deserted when Amber called.”

I wondered if he knew how attractive the vulnerable routine was, or if he just did it naturally. “Let me buy you dinner,” I said. “Something simple—pizza maybe.”

Julio made a face. “Ewww. Gross.”

“What’s wrong with pizza?”

“It’s all ten-year-olds ever eat—especially melancholy ones who’ve just jumped in the bay. I’m going to turn into a pepperoni before Esperanza reaches puberty. Let’s get some tempura—she hates Japanese.”

There was something kind of wonderful about sneaking around when the kid was gone. Turning tempura into forbidden fruit made it taste twice as good, the way certain things had tasted in childhood. Pizza probably.

After we’d satisfied our lust for adult fare, we drove out to Carmel, to Katy’s wonderful beachfront house with its little servant’s cottage. I felt a little weird about this—if Yolanda didn’t yet know Katy was dead, I certainly didn’t want to be the one to break the news, but it was a chance I had to take.

As it happened, I needn’t have worried. The whole place was dark as a cave, and there was no car in the driveway. But Julio was determined our trip shouldn’t be wasted. He suggested a walk on Katy’s lovely beach.

It was foggy and a little spooky. The moon was waxing, nearly full—a gibbous moon, slightly pregnant and looking her most beautiful in diaphanous veils of fog. The night was too chilly for my thin T-shirt. It was necessary for Julio to put an arm around my waist and draw me close to his body for warmth. Hormones I didn’t know I had flowed into my bloodstream. Waves crashed. Diana the moon goddess was out for a frolic at my expense.

She let me see light on the water and the passion in Julio’s eyes. But Diana wasn’t the only one with us—some little worry-demon, a messenger from the mundane world we’d left behind, tapped me on the shoulder and started nagging.