Elizabeth C. Main - Jane Serrano 01 - Murder of the Month (20 page)

I picked up the revolver from the passenger seat of the Volvo. Its unfamiliar weight sat awkwardly in my hand. I looked toward Gil’s house. His car was in the driveway so I knew he was home. The paths we had made only yesterday through the alfalfa were still visible, but today was a new day. Gil was going to tell me what I needed to know.

I fumbled with the tape recorder at my belt, making sure I could activate it without looking. The sonorous tones of Gil’s voice should carry clearly through the lightweight sweater I had thrown on for concealment. I’d have to get near him, but not close enough for him to grab the gun. Ridiculous to wear a sweater on an August morning, but no more ridiculous than my whole plan. Goading Gil into revealing anything about Bianca by threatening him with a gun—especially a gun without a firing pin—was pathetic. I’d be more likely to catch a burst of Gil’s laughter on tape than any useful information about Bianca. Still, what choice did I have?

Once more I fought down the sick feeling that came over me whenever my mind strayed to the specific question about what Gil had done to Bianca. Perhaps my obvious agitation would convince Gil that I wasn’t bluffing. Any information I could squeeze out of him would be worth whatever penalties it cost me. Susannah and Emily would just have to understand.

For the thousandth time, I wished Tony were here. For one thing, he’d have been more convincing with the gun. Of that I was sure. I had no previous experience with firearms and had, in fact, been uneasy about even having this family heirloom in our home. Though its lack of a firing pin rendered it harmless, I’d insisted Tony keep it in a locked cabinet.

But Tony wasn’t here. Minnie, Alix, and Tyler would be eager to help, but I didn’t want to involve them further. The sheriff’s department saw no reason to look for Bianca. They’d made that clear. Harley kept offering assistance, but he was Gil’s best friend, so that made him off-limits for this particular task. Laurence was in the hospital. I even considered calling Nick, but he’d left a message yesterday informing me that he was fishing on the Crooked River and would call when he returned. I was on my own.

As I made my way across the field, I thought back to last night’s conversation with Tyler and Max Wendorf. I had dragged home from the encounter at the sheriff’s department to find them waiting for me, literally lurking in the shrubbery flanking my front door. While I had been glad to see that Tyler had escaped from Gil’s property undetected, Max’s presence reminded me that I had promised to talk to him. After observing yesterday’s encounter with the police outside Gil’s house, Tyler might find it hard to recommend me to Max as a model of adult authority, and neither of them knew about my ineffectual outburst at the sheriff’s department. Following that episode, I understood better how Kurt Wendorf could have been goaded to fury by Gil’s supercilious attitude. Max’s first words told me that I needn’t have worried about him condemning me for our escapade at Gil’s house.

“Cool idea, Ms. Serrano. Even if you did get busted, you threw a scare into him.” Max and Tyler were at opposite extremes physically. While Tyler was wiry and blond, Max looked like a shaggy brown bear. If he’d taken up high school football instead of setting off smoke bombs, he’d have been a formidable obstacle.

“I don’t know, Max,” I said. “It didn’t seem to scare him all that much. I’m glad you got away, Tyler.”

“Didn’t see any reason for all of us to get hauled in.”

“Let’s go inside. No sense advertising that we’re in contact more than necessary.” I led them into the living room and plopped wearily onto the couch. They perched on the edges of the armchairs facing me, avid to hear the details.

“Don’t get too excited. It was a mess. Gil didn’t buy our cover story.”

“I wasn’t close enough to hear what you said.”

“We told them we were there as friends to help Gil with the housework.”

Not surprisingly, they both snickered. Tyler said, “That wouldn’t explain the dive out the bedroom window.”

“Not unless Gil’s a real moron,” Max contributed.

“Well, he’s not, and it didn’t,” I replied. “Besides, Minnie was mad that he hadn’t eaten her pot roast.”

Max looked totally lost, so I said, “Don’t bother trying to make sense of it. The point is that everything is out in the open now.”

“So how come you’re not in jail? My dad was held overnight after he went after Gil,” Max said.

“Probably because your dad seemed like a credible threat, Max. Everyone there just laughed at us. After making sure everyone knew how stupid we were, Gil graciously agreed to let us go.”

“That’s the same thing he did with Dad, except for the letting go part,” Max said. “It’s like Gil has some kind of invisible shield. Nobody sees what he’s really like.”

“You couldn’t expect him to give your dad a medal for hitting him,” I said.

“No, but he could’ve kept his mouth shut about me. He promised Dad he would.”

“Maybe, as D.A., he didn’t have that option once he knew—”

“But he wouldn’t have known who set off the smoke bomb if Max’s dad hadn’t told him,” Tyler said.

“You weren’t caught, Max?”

“No,” Max said. “Nobody knew who’d stunk up that locker until Dad figured it out. He was plenty mad at me, but he wanted to do the right thing, so he went to his old friend for help. Gil swore he wouldn’t say a thing to anyone, but next thing we knew, he was on TV and I was charged with arson. Yeah, I screwed up. I knew that right away, but he could have given me a warning, or charged me with criminal mischief or something. Instead, he picked the heaviest charge he could find. Now I’ve got an arson rap on my record. Great.”

“It’s great for Gil’s career,” Tyler said. “The way he told it on camera, it sounded like Max was trying to burn down the school. Then when his dad tried to tell everybody what really happened, Gil denied it and nobody believed Kurt’s story.”

“See?” Max said. “It’s the same with Bianca. She saw through him—”

“Exactly,” I said, “and now we do, too.”

“How about a private investigator?” Max offered. “Are there any in Juniper?”

Tyler bounded from his chair and started flipping through the phone book. “Here they are, under ‘Investigators,’ a whole bunch of them.” He looked up eagerly. “Or maybe we should go through Gil’s house again. It’d be faster.”

I started to nod my agreement, then pulled myself back to reality. What was I thinking, involving these two kids further? I was supposed to be a responsible adult. “I’ll call a private investigator first thing in the morning.”

“But—” Tyler said.

I forced a smile. “I don’t know about you, but I need some sleep before I do another thing.”

They both stood and moved reluctantly toward the door. Their slumped shoulders made an eloquent protest against the wasting of all the adrenaline their young bodies were pumping. I searched for a task to keep them busy for a few hours.

“How about writing down exactly what happened to you and your dad, Max?”

“What good will that do? Nobody believes us anyway.”

“Not yet, but it’s important to get the details down before they get hazy. As we gather more evidence, it would be good to have this information ready to use. Tyler, you can help. It gives more clarity when someone from the outside looks at things.”

“Okay.” They looked considerably more cheerful as they made their way out the door. “We’ll check back with you tomorrow morning.”

“How about noon?” I suggested. “You can stop by the hospital to see your grandfather on the way.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll do that.” Tyler looked abashed. Obviously, now that Laurence had passed the crisis stage, Tyler found it more exciting to chase a crook than to sit by a hospital bed.

* * * * *

As I reached the flagstone patio behind Gil’s house for the second time in two days, my head felt strangely detached from my body. This was like being in a play and watching myself disguised as someone else playing out this scene. Even as I proceeded, I doubted that I could really do this.

The back door opened at my touch. No need for yesterday’s assorted tools for breaking and entering. Maybe this easy entry was a portent that everything today would go smoothly. I’d find Gil and Bianca sitting in the armchairs that flanked the picture of Vanessa over the fireplace, and they’d rise up to greet me with smiles, saying, “Surprise! This was all a big joke.”

I shook my head and tried to rid myself of the floating sensation that had come over me. The kitchen was in perfect order, just as it was yesterday. The workmanlike hum of the Amana refrigerator was reassuringly normal. Had Minnie’s pot roast made it to the dining room table yet or had Gil thrown it away, now that his deception had been uncovered? If you led a double life, would you bother with such mundane chores as cleaning out the refrigerator?

Gingerly, I poked the nose of the gun into the back of my belt, under my sweater. That ploy was to be saved until needed. Before moving further into the room, I slid the bolt closed on the back door. I didn’t want anyone surprising me from the rear.

A low voice came from another room. Was Gil talking to someone? There had been no other cars in front. Maybe he was on the phone. I crept across the tile floor and crouched behind the counter to peer into the empty dining room. Now another voice sounded, followed by the familiar tones announcing CNN’s “Headline News.”

My feet moved forward of their own volition and my hand went to the switch of the concealed tape recorder. Again I had the peculiar feeling of being an outside observer of my own actions. Was this what it felt like to go crazy? Over the hammering of my heart, I registered the solid thud of the front door closing. Foot suspended in mid-air, I waited. Had someone entered?

Surely if someone had come into the living room, I’d hear conversation by now. I lowered my foot and continued my stealthy approach, composing myself for the anticipated confrontation. I wanted to appear calm, rational, and implacable.

I’d start by confronting Gil with my new-found knowledge of his betrayal of Kurt and Max. If that didn’t elicit a response, I’d move on to the idiotic “I know what you did” approach Bianca had chosen. If all else failed, I’d attempt to scare him with the gun, assuming I could stay far enough away so that he wouldn’t recognize it as inoperable.

This was like some Grade B movie from the nineteen forties, with me trying to convince him that I had him dead to rights … with nothing to back it up. He might not even believe me when I told him the truth, that I’d mailed a letter today to Nick, detailing my actions and my suspicions and asking him to take it to the Oregon State Police in the event of my death or disappearance. I could hardly look like more of a fool than I already did in the eyes of the law. Since Nick was an attorney as well as a new friend, he wouldn’t let the matter slide.

I rehearsed again my opening remarks. Everything sounded melodramatic: “Okay, where is she?” or “What have you done with my daughter?” Most likely, Gil would show the same scorn that he had yesterday, brush aside my useless gun, and usher me out the door.

As I entered the living room, I announced in a loud voice, “Okay, Gil. It’s …” I was talking to myself. CNN continued to give the headlines, but Gil was nowhere in sight. The former neatness of the room had been erased. Chairs were overturned, a coffee cup spilled liquid onto the luxurious carpet, and Vanessa’s picture above the mantle had a diagonal slash through it. The international chaos showing on CNN had nothing on the chaos in this room.

I recalled the sound of the front door closing. Had Gil just left? Maybe he was outside right now, calling the police again. I turned to retrace my steps just as the phone began to ring. I stood paralyzed, unable to think what to do next.

Four rings and the answering machine picked up. I recognized Harley’s voice. “Hey, Gil, where are you? If you’re hearing this, you’re in the wrong place. I’ll wait at McNulty’s a while longer, but I’m getting hungry.” He clicked off.

Maybe it hadn’t been Gil who had just left here. Gil was probably pulling into a parking spot outside the popular downtown restaurant at this very minute. Involuntarily, my thoughts turned to Kurt and his attack on Gil the other night. The deputies had dragged him away in handcuffs, a humiliating situation made worse by Gil’s perceived betrayal. Kurt could have done this. The desecration of Vanessa’s picture and the ransacking of the living room seemed too personal for a random burglary. Had Tyler and Max relayed to Kurt our conversation last night? If so, it might have stirred him up again. Kurt’s fiery temper had already caused him plenty of grief this week, but surely I didn’t have anything to fear from him, or did I? The violence of the destruction here might indicate that he’d lost all control.

Suddenly the house seemed very large and quiet. I couldn’t decide whether to go out the back door and run for my car or lock myself in and call the police. Calling the police from inside Gil’s house seemed like a really bad idea, given the events of the day before. But my car now seemed far distant across the field, so I put off the decision, opting to creep across the living room and lock the front door first. So far, so good. Now Kurt—or whoever it was that might be outside—couldn’t burst in. Carefully, I peered through the decorative glass door panels. Gil’s car was still in the driveway. In my consternation at seeing the condition of the living room, I had forgotten all about seeing it there earlier. Clearly, Gil hadn’t left to meet Harley for breakfast, unless he’d driven Vanessa’s car.