Dead Soon Enough: A Juniper Song Mystery (6 page)

I picked up one of the books and opened it up to the title page. It took a few seconds for me to process what I was seeing—tucked snug against the inner spine was a business card with Nora Mkrtchian’s name on it.

The card was bright and a little bit gaudy, with three horizontal stripes in red, blue, and mustard yellow. The Armenian flag, if I had to guess.
Who Still Talks
was emblazoned over the red stripe in black, and Nora’s name, URL, and e-mail address were printed in the yellow. I picked up the other two books and found identical cards wedged in their first pages. I was fairly confident I’d find similar cards tucked into every volume under the same call number. It would have been clever marketing if enough people would end up seeing it.

My head was buzzing with the enormity of this coincidence but I had a hard time extracting any meaning. I shook my head and started reading instead.

The genocide was consuming my imagination. A million people. A third of a race. My mind skimmed around the edges of these figures, and their reality in flesh, in life, flickered in lurid flashes. It didn’t seem possible, and each link in the chain that led to it came off sounding over the top and absurd. Yet there was the death toll—there was nothing more ridiculous than that, but that was very real. Even the genocide deniers didn’t contest that many, many Armenians had died, well before their times. And here was Nora Mkrtchian, her name wedged firmly in their histories.

One cigarette and several pages later, Lusig came into my field of vision. I’d been keeping an eye out for her approach, but she’d gotten within signal distance of her car without drawing my attention. She was coming from the direction of the library, walking slowly on a pair of low professional heels. The heels didn’t square with the image I had of Lusig, but they went with what she was wearing. I hadn’t noticed her because she looked like a different person entirely. Instead of the big army jacket, she had on a black blazer, black slacks, and a pastel blouse that gave her pregnant belly a demure definition. Her hair was washed and neatly styled, and the only piercings she wore hung from the centers of her earlobes.

She teetered to the Prius and climbed into the backseat with apparent effort. Her eyes darted all around her, scanning her surroundings with furtive curiosity. I watched her without staring, afraid of making eye contact. I wondered what she could possibly be doing. A few seconds later, she shrugged and lowered herself further into the seat, and she seemed to squirm and struggle against herself.

She was changing. Her movements had the awkward quality of getting in and out of pants without exposing underwear. When she straightened back up she pulled a hooded sweatshirt over her fancy blouse and got back out of the car. I was right—now she was wearing jeans and ratty loafers that slipped off her heels when she walked. She maneuvered herself back in the car, this time in the driver’s seat.

She flipped down the mirror, then mussed up her hair and reattached her piercings.

It was a strange transformation to witness, from order to calculated dishevelment. It was even shady enough to justify Rubina’s vague suspicions.

What was she doing that had to be done in a suit and heels? She’d come from the direction of the library, but I doubted she was spending her afternoon reading in her pregnant professional finest. She must have had business above Fifth, maybe in one of the office towers on Bunker Hill. Whatever it was, she meant to hide it from her cousin.

She was making a phone call now, and I called Rubina and got a busy signal. I started my car and drove it into the cul-de-sac between Sixth and the library, where I could wait for Lusig to come out. Her car nosed out of the lot, and I followed it down Hope, keeping a safe distance.

Rubina called almost as soon as I’d started moving.

“Looks like you heard from her,” I said.

“Yes. Did you see her?”

“I see her right now. She just left the parking lot.”

“Do you have anything to report?”

“She was wearing a suit,” I said. “She changed when she got back to her car.”

“A suit?” she asked with genuine puzzlement.

“Any idea as to what she might have dressed up for? I’m guessing she wasn’t going on a job interview.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue.”

“What did she say to you when she called?”

“She said she would be at the doctor’s in ten minutes. I told her I was on my way home, and that she could forget about the appointment. She apologized.”

“Sincerely?”

“Yes. She did seem very sorry.”

“So, what now?”

“I’ve asked her to come to my house.”

“She’s going there now?”

“Yes. And I would like for you to come as well.”

I felt my eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said. “I would like to confront her.”

I pictured the jagged family scene and wanted to object. “With me there?”

“You can say no,” she said.

“I’m aware.”

“But I would like to have you there. Please.”

There was no supplication in her voice, only the neutral tone of a stated preference. I found it difficult to resist.

“Sure,” I said. “Should I follow her?”

“No. I would like you to beat her here if possible.”

She gave me an address in Glendale, and I sped ahead of Lusig.

*   *   *

Glendale was technically its own city, a separate entity from neighboring Los Angeles, though surrounded on almost all sides. It was heavily Armenian, even more so than Little Armenia, which was smaller and less defined, sharing most of its space with Thai Town. It wasn’t far from where I lived, but I rarely ventured that way unless I had a pressing need to visit a Nordstrom Rack or an Ikea.

Rubina’s place was a mansion in the hills, a beautiful white house with a perfect lawn trimmed with perfect flowers. I didn’t know too much about real estate, but I guessed this house cost a few bucks more than my apartment. I parked and stared at it for a few seconds before plugging the address into Zillow. A cool two million, sold two years earlier. Someone here had more than young doctor money, or at least ready access to generous parents.

I rang the doorbell and Rubina let me in within two seconds. She was wearing a smart, conservative gray wool dress with low black heels. She could have been a politician’s housewife.

“Nice place,” I said. “You could raise five kids in here.”

“One will do for now.”

I gave her a tight smile and cracked my knuckles. The entryway echoed with the pop of my bones.

She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “You’ve been smoking.”

“I didn’t know meeting Lusig was part of the plan.”

I flapped my shirt to air it out, and she frowned. “Well, come in,” she said. “I’ll make us coffee.”

She led me into an immaculate kitchen, where she bade me sit in a breakfast nook that was too new and spotless to be quite cozy. She stepped across cold tile to a massive chrome-colored espresso maker, then pressed a button and brought the sleeping beast to life. Its groan displaced the silence in the room.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Black’s fine,” I said. “Thanks.”

She sat across from me and folded her arms on the table, keeping her back straight.

“So,” I ventured. “What’s the plan here?”

“I’m going to come clean, then I will ask her where she went.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a private conversation?”

“Are you not a
private
investigator?” She forced a smile and I saw that this was as close as Rubina ever came to cracking a joke.

I dropped that line of inquiry. “So I just sit here and what, like, testify when called?”

“Yes,” she said. “Essentially.”

I sipped at my coffee. It was unusually good, and it gave me something to do.

I was almost relieved when the doorbell rang and Rubina sprang up to answer it. I geared myself for an unpleasant scene, making sure there was enough coffee left to fill a few pauses.

“Where have you been?” Rubina’s voice traveled loudly from doorway to kitchen.

“I told you,” said Lusig. “I was in Marina del Rey.”

“What for?”

“Lunch. It ran long, and then there was terrible traffic.”

“Who with?”

“Derek. I don’t think you know him.”

“Where’d you eat?”

“We had burgers. What is this?” Lusig’s tone was annoyed now, even righteously petulant. If Rubina didn’t have proof her cousin was lying, Lusig’s tack might have worked. “Why are you interrogating me about my lunch? Lay off.”

“You missed the appointment. I have a right to know why.”

“I told you why, and I said I was sorry. Now will you get off my back? I have my own life. I am literally just doing you a favor and that gives you permission to be on my ass all the time?”

“We had a doctor’s appointment!” Rubina was shouting now. “And thank you, by the way, for reminding me of your favor. As if I
wanted
to leave this to you. As if there were any chance I wouldn’t be happier carrying my own baby to the doctor.”

Lusig was silent.

“Please don’t lie to me,” Rubina said, in a calmer tone of voice. “Where were you?”

“I was getting lunch with Derek,” she said, enunciating each word.

“Come here.”

“Hey, ow!”

I looked up and saw Rubina march in, dragging Lusig behind her by the wrist.

“I know you’re lying to me,” she said.

A strange pallor came into Lusig’s complexion, and I could see it turn into a shade of recognition, an acceptance of defeat. “How?”

“I didn’t trust you, so I’ve been tracking you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I put a GPS device on your car.”

Lusig’s eyes widened, and she started to say something before breaking into a loud, indignant laugh. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. And I know you were in downtown half an hour ago. You lied to me.”

But Rubina had given up her advantage. I could see the emotions running across Lusig’s face—if there was any contrition there, it was drowned out by betrayal and fury.

“You
spied
on me. That’s crazy.”

“I was right to spy on you. You’re hiding something from me.”

“I’m entitled to live my life however I see fit.”

“You have no right to run around town endangering my baby. Now, tell me. What were you doing?”

Lusig shook her head in disgust, and she looked at me, registering my presence for the first time. “Who’s this?” she asked with a sneer.

“She’s my friend. I asked her to be here.”

“You don’t have friends,” she said coldly. “What is she, some kind of intervention expert? This is bullshit.”

I winced. My sister had been dead for years, and I’d almost forgotten the tone of open cruelty that entered certain familial disagreements—the abandonment of restraint that results from assured forgiveness, the bitter truths spoken in anger, shot with unerring aim. I recognized it immediately.

I took a long sip of my coffee and cracked my thumbs.

“Hi,” I said, getting up, when it was clear Rubina wasn’t about to introduce me. “I’m Juniper Song.”

“And
what
are you, Juniper Song?”

I smiled. “Korean?”

“Not what I meant.” She colored. She had white liberal written all over her, and I’d knocked her off-kilter.

“Rubina? It’s your move.”

“She’s been following you,” Rubina said with a light sigh. “For me.”

I raised my hand in a brief wave. “I’m a private investigator.”

Lusig turned white, then red with anger. “You’re a
what
?”

“You know, like a detective?”

She turned to Rubina with a vicious stare. “You care so much about this fucking baby? How about sparing me the emotional stress of an ambush?”

Rubina let out a quiet panicked sound that might have been the compression of a shriek. She pulled out the chair across from me and commanded, “Sit down.”

I half-expected Lusig to stand until fainting to make a point, but she sat.

“So,” she said, looking at me. “You’re a professional snoop, huh?”

I shrugged. “That’s more or less accurate.”

“You feel good about yourself?”

“I sleep okay. How about you?”

“I sleep like shit, what do you think? I’m up to my throat in baby.”

“Lusig,” Rubina interjected. “Stop being a snot.”

I smiled. There was something humanizing in this whole exchange, and I realized Rubina was a different person with Lusig in the room. She couldn’t manage to be formal, and her emotions, so skillfully checked on the phone with me, were ranging around in a way that was downright messy.

Lusig took a deep breath, and I saw for the first time that she wasn’t much more than an exhausted pregnant woman. “You had no right to spy on me, Ruby.”

“I did what I had to do.”

They spoke in reasonable tones for a few minutes, before anger reentered the conversation. I sat with my coffee while their argument ebbed and flowed, retreading the same hurt dignities, the same defenses. By the time they noticed me again, I was pretending to sip from an empty cup.

“You have to tell me what you were doing,” Rubina said. “Song saw you get in your car downtown.”

The mention of my name wrenched me back into the conversation, and I nodded attentively.

Lusig shrugged, her upper lip sulky.

“Take your sweatshirt off,” Rubina said.

Lusig laughed. “Why?”

“I saw that you changed,” I put in. I didn’t feel like listening to a five-minute fight about her sweatshirt. “You were wearing a suit. You’re still wearing that blouse.”

“You saw that I changed? You mean you watched me change.”

“Sure,” I said. “I watched you change in a public parking lot. For my own pervy gratification.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Tell me what you were doing,” Rubina said again.

Lusig sat in sour silence for a full minute.

“I have a guess,” I said.

“Please.” Rubina was trying to recuperate her formal tone.

“She was looking for Nora.”

Lusig’s eyes met mine at the mention of her friend’s name.

“Downtown?” Rubina asked, glancing from me to her cousin. “Why would she be downtown?”