Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series) (5 page)

“Esperanza.” She made no move to sit.

“What a beautiful name. It’s Spanish, isn’t it?”

She looked anxiously at the stairs. “Honey, I’m not sure Libby’s going to be able to play this morning—let me just ask her, shall I?”

She looked at me oddly. I thought she was wondering why I didn’t just send her up—she could ask Libby herself. I didn’t because I was afraid Libby in her current state would scare her even worse. The girl would be sure I was holding Libby captive and now had Esperanza to torture as well. Damn! If only I could get to a comb maybe she wouldn’t be so nervous.

I raced up the stairs, not able to get away fast enough, and found Libby crying her heart out. “Honey, Esperanza’s here.”

No answer, just sobs.

“Shall I tell her you can’t play?”

She nodded, the back of her head going up and down on her pillow.

No surprises there. I ducked into a bathroom and saw that I didn’t look awful at all, but ran a comb through anyway and headed back down.

Esperanza was huddled small and miserable against a chair that would have held three of her, just leaning, not sitting down, as if at the ready for quick takeoff. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, she just isn’t up to it. Do you live close by?”

She shook her head.

I tried to think. I didn’t want to leave Libby and Keil, assuming he was still somewhere about. For one thing, they hadn’t even eaten yet… .

The thought brought me up short, it was so stereotypical. Maybe I did have maternal instincts.

“Want to call your mom to come get you?”

“My dad. He won’t be home yet.”

“Does he have a machine? We could leave a message.”

“My dad says machines are for yuppies with nothing better to spend their money on.”

“Okay, honey. We’ll wait a few minutes then. Have you had breakfast?”

She nodded, barely interested, finally getting up the nerve to say what was on her mind: “Can I watch TV?”

“Sure.” She scampered off almost happily. Why hadn’t I thought of it? The world’s greatest babysitter and I wasn’t even taking advantage.

It was forty-five minutes before her dad had made the round trip, and as miserable a three-quarters of an hour as I’ve ever spent. First I went to look for Keil, and despite my frantic wails of
Kiiiiiull
!, which must have pierced the neighbors’ eardrums, he didn’t turn up. Then I went up to try to talk to Libby and was rudely told to get out of there. Thank God Esperanza had opted out of the equation.

I thought maybe I could drink my coffee in peace. It was cold, of course. So I made some more, but found I couldn’t sit still and relax. In fact, I didn’t need the coffee. I was on full-tilt adrenaline.

I phoned my law partner. “Chris, I’m in a bind.”

“You poor peach—you're supposed to be resting.”

“Well, something’s come up. I need a judge in Monterey.”

Quickly I sketched in the details. I could almost see Chris as I talked, stroking her long, gorgeous nose with a long, elegant finger, her face a symphony of sympathy; the project was close to futile, and she knew it as well as I did. Judges hardly ever overrule each other.

As she well knew, judges don’t list themselves in the phone book. And not only that, with a problem like I had, I’d do well not just to pick one at random, but to arrive with an introduction. Chris said she’d phone around to find out if we knew anybody who knew anybody. But her tone said she thought Marty’d better say good-bye to her weekend plans. The back door slammed. “Keil? Are you all right, baby?”

“I’m not a baby.” He spoke not at all defiantly, simply stating a fact.

“I’m sorry. Can I make you some breakfast?”

“That’s okay. I’ll do it.” He started rummaging about the kitchen.

Again, the doorbell rang. And the telephone at the same time. Keil answered the phone and began speaking in low tones, making it unnecessary to ask for whom the other bell tolled.

The man on the front steps was in a truly rotten mood. “I’ve been honking for the last five minutes.”

“We were in the back of the house.” I stared at him, unnerved, feeling like a kid who’d been reprimanded. “Uh—Esperanza’s watching TV. None of us heard you.”

“TV! She’s not supposed to watch TV!”

Without a trace of a warning, tears arrived in my eyes and overflowed. I was crying like a kid in front of a perfect stranger—and the perfect part, from what I could see, was an apt description, at least of his physique.

“I didn’t know that,” I said, like the five-year-old I felt. “How could I know that?”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s okay. She does it all the time, anyway. It’s no big deal. Really.”

Wiping tears with my bare hand, I said, “Come in. I’ll get Esperanza,” and left before I could further humiliate myself.

When I returned, the stranger had composed himself enough to be civil. He said, “I’m Julio Soto.”

“Rebecca Schwartz. Sorry it didn’t work out with the kids.”

“Is Marty home? I need to ask her something.”

“I’m afraid not. Shall I have her call you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll call her later today.”

“No, you won’t.” It was Libby. The three of us turned to find her sitting at the top of the stairs, now dressed in shorts, no trace of tears on her face. “My mom’s in jail. She got framed for killing Sadie.” She turned and ran.

Julio’s tanned face registered shock. “Sadie!”

Esperanza crumpled—sat on the floor, face contorted, knees drawn up, unable to speak. It was like a sitting version of the fetal position. I dropped to my knees. “Honey, are you all right?”

She swiveled her head, panicky, not wanting to deal with someone she didn’t know. Julio scooped her up. She whispered, “Daddy, what did she mean?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at me, seeking confirmation.

I nodded. “Sadie Swedlow was killed last night.”

Julio hugged Esperanza to him as if she were a large teddy bear. Bewilderment and trouble spread over his face, making him look about her age. I’m a sucker for vulnerable men and have more than once gotten in trouble trying to take care of them. I tried to disconnect emotionally. Esperanza sobbed softly into Julio’s chest.

Julio said, “I saw a lot of hoopla in front of the aquarium.”

“Yes. The police sealed it off. You knew Sadie?”

“She was my boss.”

“And Esperanza?”

“They were close. Kids like Sadie. I mean, they liked her. I can’t believe she’s dead.”

“She isn’t, Daddy! Sadie can’t be dead!” Esperanza wailed it out. She formed fists and started to beat on his chest.

“We’d better go,” he said, but over Esperanza’s shoulder, he mouthed, “What happened?”

Silently I formed the word, “Murdered.”

He blinked, shocked, but nodded to show he understood. “Can I call you about this?”

I nodded. That would be fine. I wasn’t interested in married men, and therefore, there wouldn’t be a problem.

As he headed out the door, he said, “Are you a neighbor?”

“I’m from San Francisco. I’m Marty’s lawyer.” At the mention of the word “lawyer,” he pursed his lips. He probably knew, along with most of Monterey, the details of Marty's busted marriage.

I couldn’t tell what his reaction was to Sadie’s death, busy as he was, attending to his daughter. But I thought it odd Esperanza should have been so upset. It was normal that the Whitehead kids had been—Sadie was their stepmother, in a de facto sense—but why this kid?

I was exhausted. I needed to do Marty’s errand for her, but I didn’t dare leave Libby in the state she was in, and anyway, I needed to make sure she ate something. By this time the downstairs was filling up with the smell of grilled cheese sandwiches, which was apparently Keil’s idea of breakfast. Libby wasn’t the only one who needed to eat—it was getting close to noon, and Auntie was working up an appetite. I went into the kitchen.

Keil was standing over the stove wolfing down a grilled cheese. The table was neatly set for one, and he was just pulling another sandwich from the skillet. He delivered it by spatula to the plate on the table. “That’s for you.”

“Me? You made a sandwich for me?”

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t get over it. Here was a twelve-year-old whose mother was in jail, whose stepmother was dead, whose dad was God knows where, and he was taking care of
me
. To avoid falling at his feet in gratitude, I fell on the sandwich instead.

Keil hollered, “Lib! You want a grilled cheese?” nearly pulverizing my tympana. I put my hands over my ears.

Keil looked ashamed, caught being a kid. “Sorry.”

Deep silence reigned from upstairs. I knew I should go up. I really should try again. But I couldn’t find the reserve strength right then.

Keil seemed to be reading my thoughts. “She puts everybody through changes.”

The doorbell rang, the front door opened, and someone with heavy footsteps trooped through the house. I hoped it was someone friendly.

“Grandma.”

“Hello, Keil. Come kiss your old grandma.”

Reluctantly Keil stepped forward and would have given her a kiss on the cheek, but she engulfed him. She wasn’t particularly fat and she wasn’t particularly grandmotherly, but it was already obvious she was a strong presence.

She turned to me. “Ava Langford. You must be the lawyer.”

I took the hand she offered. “Rebecca Schwartz.”

“How’s Marty?” The question was sympathetic, but the brown eyes were full of judgment; of whom, I didn’t know yet.

“Doing very well,” I said. “Staying calm.”

“Cool as a cucumber. Libby?”

“Upstairs. She’s very upset.”

“She’s just trying to get attention. That’s the way she is. Keil! This place smells like a fast-food joint.” She opened two windows over the sink as she asked, “Will you be staying?”

She wasn’t tall, this woman, about five five or six, I’d say, and she was built strong. She was deep-bosomed and heavy-bellied, and she didn’t have much of a waist. Her hair was a rich brown—not a gray hair in sight—and it was a little wavy. She would have been a handsome woman if it hadn’t been for her eyes. They made me nervous.

I made a quick decision. “Yes. Until I get Marty out of jail.”

I didn’t want to stay. I wanted like hell to move to a quiet B&B, but something was holding me here—Libby. I had no idea why. She scared me. I didn’t know how to talk to her or how to help her. Keil could probably take care of half a dozen kids like her without even breaking a sweat. She didn’t need me and there probably wasn’t a damn thing I could do for her. I just thought I ought to stay, that was all.

“I have to do an errand for Marty. I’d better go get dressed.”

Ava followed me upstairs. “Is there food in the house for the weekend? If I know Marty, there’s not. I’d better go shopping and get things under control.”

I went into my room and heard her go into Libby’s. “Libby? It’s Grandma! Aren’t you glad to see Grandma?”

“No!”

“Libby! I’m ashamed of you. Your mama’s in jail and you’re acting like a two-year-old. How’s that going to help your mom? After all she’s been through, I’d think you could act a little more grown-up.”

“I’m playing with my Barbies now.”

“Grandma came all the way from Walnut Creek and you won’t even give her a hug.”

The shower into which I gratefully stepped drowned them out.

As I was putting on my makeup, someone knocked softly at my door. “Come in.”

Libby did, and made herself at home, sitting on my bed and bouncing. “Can you get Mommy out of jail?”

“Yes, honey. Absolutely. It might not be today, but she’ll be home by Monday at the latest. I promise.”

“What happened to Sadie? I forgot to ask.”

“Well, I think she really did get murdered. Somebody stabbed her.”

She found a loose thread in the bedspread to play with. “Mommy didn’t do it, did she? It really is a mistake, right?”

“Of course it is.”

Anyway, I didn’t
think
her mommy did it. I certainly hoped not.

She had an alibi, didn’t she?

I wasn’t being set up, was I?

Cannery Row was pandemonium. It was a Saturday, the biggest day for aquarium visitors. People were arriving in flocks, but the place was still roped off with yellow crime scene tape. Some left quietly, others stayed to rubberneck. Some, who had driven a hundred miles or more, wanted to argue.

Nice-looking young uniformed police were keeping the mob at bay. A couple, looking exhausted, hovered on the sidelines, apparently taking a break. One of them accosted me. “Hey, aren’t you Whitehead’s lawyer?”

“Yes.” I stared. I’d never seen the man before in my life. What could he want?

“Did you hear scientists are replacing white rats with defense attorneys?”

“Heard about that,” I said. “How many cops does it take to change a light bulb?”

For about six months everybody in the world was plaguing lawyers with the rat gag. “There are more defense lawyers,” the wag would intone. “The lab assistants don’t get as attached to them. And there’s nothing they won’t do.”

It reminded me of the joke about men and sex that made the rounds about the same time: “Why do men reach orgasm faster than women?”

The teller was always male. The answer was “Who cares?” The women in the crowd never found it funny.

Sometimes it’s tough being both female and a lawyer. One has trials, they both have tribulations.

Before the young cop could take the bait about the light bulb (I hadn’t an answer for him), I headed back to the rear of the building.

There were two rear entrances—the gate through which Marty and I had come the night before, and a nearer one, close to the building, that you could reach from a hiking and biking trail. The crowd had discovered that one. I kept walking back to the parking lot gate, and saw that it was deserted except for its uniformed guard.

I crossed to the Tin Cannery Building, found a phone booth, called the aquarium, and spoke to a female operator. Everyone wanted to be in the thick of things, so I let her talk to someone important.

“This is Special Agent Stone from the FBI. I need to speak with whoever’s in charge there.”