Girl With a Past (25 page)

“I’ll drive,” Ron said pushing the remote
lock and opening the door to his Highlander. “It’ll be easier since
I know the way.”

Steven looked at me. “We could follow
you?”

“Whatever for?”

I knew Steven felt the same bad vibe I did,
and was not so much a fan of getting in a car with this man. On the
other hand, we had known him all our lives, and he was looking
uncomfortable. I mean, he’d offered to help us. How awkward was
this?

“Okay, Steven, let’s go with Ron.” I climbed
into the back seat behind Ron, leaving Steven to go around to the
front seat.

“Hey, what did you find out from Mrs. Mac?”
Ron asked while Steven circled the car.

“She has an amazing memory,” I said.

“Yeah, she kept those old brain cells
intact,” Ron answered. “Never could talk her into dropping acid.”
He went on with a long story about an LSD trip, all of which was
pretty unbelievable, filled with unlikely occurrences and a story
I’d heard many times both in the sixties and in this century.

I nodded and pretended to listen; glad I had
distracted him from the subject of Mrs. Mac and her revelations. I
didn’t know how much of our conversation I wanted to share with
him.

48

Jamie wasn’t home.

He worked in the Tuolumne County Court
house, a masonry building with a distinctive clock tower that
actually made it easy to find. Sonora hadn’t grown as dramatically
as many other California towns.

“Wow, he’s official. Is he really the
district attorney?” Steven said.

“Something like that, yeah,” Ron answered
with his usual carelessness.

Ron took us in a back entrance. Jamie’s
secretary sat in a rotunda in front of a private office. “Mr. Gregg
is not in the office today,” she said and refused to answer any
further questions regarding Jamie’s schedule.

Ron pulled a phone out of his pocket. “Yo,
Jamie, I’ve got some people with me that’d like to see you.
Sometime today man, or if you’re doing a deposition or somethin’,
maybe this evening.” He winked at us. “Voicemail. Wanna grab
lunch?”

He called Jamie back and told him where we
would be. Then he showed us around the corner to a wine and bistro
place that looked like Tuscany on the inside. I ordered crabcakes
on salad. I looked longingly at the wine list, but I was still
taking pain meds.

“What do you want to ask Jamie?”

“Same stuff I asked you.” I toyed with the
breadbasket, picked up a piece of focaccia bread.

“Al’s got this idea––a theory I guess you’d
call it––that for some reason somebody shooting her and Mom’s
disappearance has something to do with Lexi’s murder," Steven said.
"But it seems likely that the guy who killed Lexi is dead. Then
again, we can’t figure out why someone would steal a file Dad had
on Lexi’s murder. Or why they’d try to kill Al. So we are talking
to Dad’s friends. Lexi’s friends.”

Ron seemed to think over what Steven said
before he asked, “Who have you talked to?”

“Dave, the Macs, and Tom,” Steven said.

“We tried to talk to Elliott, but ended up
just talking with Nancy,” I said.

“What about Carol? She was Lexi’s closest
friend.”

“We did talk to her, and definitely plan to
do more of that. We’ll head back to the city when we finish
here.”

“Ya know, I could talk with Jamie.” Ron
said. “ Tell me what you want to ask him.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather do it
myself. I don’t really know exactly what to ask until I see how he
answers,” I said.

“Don’t suppose you considered doing this by
phone?” Ron asked.

Totally not workable, I thought, facial
expressions and body language were important in these situations. I
had learned a few things in my criminal anthro class, like signs
that a person was lying. But I didn’t voice any of those thoughts,
merely shook my head.

I remembered that Ron had been quite the
drinker in college. I wondered if he still was. Maybe beerboarding
would work. You know, when you get someone drunk to get answers.
“Steven,” I said, “Don’t you want a cocktail before lunch?”

Steven gave me a blank look. He didn’t get
it.

“Maybe a martini?” I looked at Ron. “You
like martinis Ron?”

“Sure, but I gotta drive.” He shrugged.
“Well, maybe one.” He grinned and waved down the waiter.

We ordered three martinis with Steven
glaring at me until I slid my untouched glass in front of Ron. By
then Ron was chattering his way through college hero stories, more
than half of which were bullshit. I let him rant on until he
finished the second drink without seeming to notice it had
miraculously appeared in front of him.

“Ron, around the time that Lexi was killed,
who was the girl staying at the farm?” I asked.

His eyes widened. His mouth opened, then
shut without a sound. He cleared his throat and said, “What the
hell?”

“The girl at the farm. Who was she?” I
repeated the question.

“No idea what you’re talking about.” He
waved at a waiter and motioned at his empty glasses. In need of
more alcohol, it seemed.

“The guy that Tom met in the bar, at the
Monk. Did you guys suspect he was the Zodiac?”

Ron jerked his arm at the bartender. He
stared at me for a quick minute, then got up and rushed to the
bar.

When he returned with a fresh martini, I
pounced with a new question. “Did Tom worry that he might have led
the Zodiac to Lexi?”

“Look, Missy, I don’t know where you’re
coming up with these wild ideas, but you’d better watch it.”

“Watch what?”

“Saying stuff you might regret.” No sign of
his usual grin now.

“Like Tom regretted getting the Zodiac
involved in our––your lives?”

Ron’s face glowed red. Was it anger?
Embarrassment? Or both? He glared at me, looked away, then glanced
back. His eyes glistened with tears. He downed the cocktail. “When
awful shit happens to your friends, like when Lexi was killed, I’m
sure we each and every one of us worried about what we might’ve
done to . . .” he cleared his throat. “You can’t help but wonder if
you could’ve done something to prevent what happened. We were so
fucking careless in those days.”

Over Ron’s shoulder, I saw Jamie walking
toward us in his usual Armani suit. He ran a hand through longish
hair, still thick, but gray at the temples. For a small town
lawyer, he was quite the dresser and had lost none of the elegance
in the photo I carried with me––or in my memories of him.

Jamie had carried through on his professed
dedication to building a better civilization. Carol had stolen a
line from a song from
Hair
when she talked about Jamie, he
“cares about strangers, evil and social injustice, more
concerned about the bleeding crowd, than a needing friend
.”
That was before he accompanied her unconscious body to the Pebble
Beach hospital. He could seem oblivious of his wealth, or his
friend’s lack thereof until the occasion called for generosity.

He didn’t seem all that surprised to see us
even though Ron had described us as “some people.” Perhaps word had
gotten around to expect us to show up. We exchanged hellos.

“Well, to what do I owe this unexpected
pleasure––to see my niece and nephew?” He emphasized the niece and
nephew bit although of all our “aunts” and “uncles” he was the
least involved in our lives.

“We’re looking for Mom.”

“For Lauren?” He frowned as he pulled up a
chair. From the hovering waiter, he ordered a merlot and a salad.
“Is she missing?”

“Yes.”

“How may I help you?”

“Tell us about the weekend before Lexi was
killed. Who was Jennifer, the girl who was at the ranch? What
happened to her?”

“I am surprised you are interested in her.”
He didn’t look surprised. His red face looked more like
embarrassed. “What does she have to do with now, with your
mother?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think there’s
a connection to what has been happening recently and what happened
then.” I said.

“Jennifer got some kind of flu. When the
rest of us went back to Berkeley, she stayed behind.” He studied
the napkin on his lap like it was the key to the world’s greatest
mysteries, flipping it over, checking out the seams. “When we got
back, she was gone.”

“Did Tom catch the flu?”

“Yes, I believe he did.” Still looking at
the napkin.

“And Mrs. Mac? Did she have the flu that
week?”

“Perhaps. Yes, as I recall she may have.” He
squirmed in his chair, but didn’t look up from the napkin. His
fingers went to his nose.

Shit, they were all lying, well at least
Tom, Ron and Jamie, all in this together. In my criminal anthro
class I’d learned that when a person lies, a rush of adrenaline to
the capillaries in the nose causes it to itch. Thus Jamie touched
his nose when he lied about Mrs. Mac having the flu.

I asked him more questions, about Lexi,
about my mother, about the year spent on the farm, but I already
knew what I was disappointed to learn.

We ate; Jamie threw some money on the table
without waiting for the bill, and excused himself. “I have to be in
court.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek, shook Steven’s hand
and dashed out of the restaurant.

“Busy man,” Ron said. “Well, shall we head
back?”

“Sure,” Steven said standing up. “Can I
drive?”

Ron shrugged. “Why not?”

49

Steven pulled up next to Nancy’s car and we
said good-bye to Ron.

My brother and I were relieved to get out of
his car, as relieved as I think he was to be rid of us. We couldn’t
miss the effort he put into being his usual jovial self, acting as
though he were sober enough to drive into his carport.

I watched for the cyclist as we drove down
the private road. I thought I caught a glimpse of his bike leaning
against a tree halfway down the hill to the lake.

“What do you think, bro?” I shook my head at
Steven as soon as we cleared the front drive of Ron’s condo
development.

“Do
you
know what they are hiding?”
he asked.

“I’m pretty sure it has something to do with
that girl who spent the weekend at the farm right before Lexi was
killed. Maybe she turned out to be a high-class whore, like the
Hollywood Madam, and they don’t want the world to know their
connection to her, or something happened to her. Or . . . what do
you think?”

“Yeah, could be her. Or maybe they really
did deal drugs, and don’t want that known. After all, they’re
respectable professionals now.”

I shrugged. “Carol’s next?”

“Let’s call her. She won’t be hiding
anything from us, and we’re taking a long time to do this. Every
time I think of Mom, my heart skips a beat.”

“Mine too.” I scrolled to Carol’s number on
my cell. “Hey Carol, it’s Al.”

“Oh sweetie, how are you?”

“My head’s doing okay. I’m freaked about
Mom.” I tried to calm down by watching the dark green trees lining
the roadway.

“I know what you mean. I wish I knew what we
could do, that there was something I could do.”

“Steven and I are trying. Look, I have this
idea. Back in 1969––what do you know about a girl named Jennifer
who stayed at the farm the week before Lexi was killed?”

Carol was quiet for no longer than an
instant.

“That name doesn’t ring any bells. I was
only at the farm one time before Lexi was killed. Midterms,
papers––it was a hell of a time. You needed a gas mask to get to
class. Which was the main reason Lexi escaped to the farm some
weekends.”

“What about after Lexi was killed?”

Carol was quiet for a minute. “There was
this one strange thing, come to think of it. Nancy tried to take me
to the farm to chill after the murder, but when we got there, we
were sent away. Somebody was sick, or something. I’ve never
forgotten because, honestly, it really hurt my feelings.” She
sighed. “Nancy understood. She took me to the St. Francis for a few
days instead. Oh, god, that was such a horrendous time. I can’t
stand the thought of losing another––” She didn’t finish the
sentence but she didn’t need to. She didn’t want to lose my
mother.

Nor did I.

“Carol, can you think of anything, any
reason why someone would kidnap or harm my mother?”

“Unfortunately, reason doesn’t always have
anything to do with such acts. I mean, the nut who killed Lexi had
no reason, right?”

“Got it. But look, it’s possible there’s a
reason, so what could it be?” I asked.

“To keep her from telling something. Or to
keep somebody else from talking.”

“Like who?”

“You. Or your dad?”

“Me? I don’t know anything.”

“Maybe they just think you do,” she
hesitated. “I mean look at it this way, either shooting you and
kidnapping your mother were just random acts of violence, or . . .
that’s just a little unlikely as a coincidence,” Carol said. “So
maybe you do know something, or might know something that endangers
someone. Possibly their reputation, or financial well-being.”

“Hmm, gonna think about that for awhile,” I
answered. “Please call me back if you come up with anything at all.
Please.”

“Absolutely. I love you, sweetie. Take care.
Ciao.”

“Steven, what could I know?” Suddenly, it
hit me. How could I have been so slow?

I turned to my brother and punched his
shoulder. “Got it. It’s the file on the Zodiac. Look at all the
trouble somebody went to, to get those papers. That was Dad’s file,
not an official police file, but because of Dad’s connection to the
justice department he was able to include stuff not available to
everybody.”