Goose in the Pond (6 page)

I perched on the edge of his desk. “That’s certainly an obvious sentiment. I think everyone would like it solved fast. Did she drown?”

“No. The medical examiner’s first assessment was that she was killed somewhere else and dumped in the lake.”

“Why does he think that?” I leaned over and picked a slice of cheese off his sandwich.

“The rope ligature marks around her neck are a slight hint.”

“You mean like rope burns? She was strangled by a rope?”

“Very good, Detective Harper. Now, thanks for lunch, but don’t you have something you need to attend to? Maybe planning a gourmet dinner for your hardworking husband?”

I reached over and snagged a slice of avocado. “I’m guessing that’s your not very subtle way of telling me I’m asking too many questions. And Chief Ortiz, the only gourmet dinner you’ll be getting this week is the one you’re holding in your hands. I’m up to my ears in storytellers and artists, not to mention I got a phone call from Dove this afternoon.”

“And?”

“You’ll never guess who’s back in town.” I reached for his sandwich again. He held it away from my grasp.

“If this is all I’m getting, then I’m not sharing. Who’s back in town?”

“Aunt Garnet. Or at least she will be as of tomorrow. She and Uncle W.W. are on the outs. Dove’s having a hissy fit over it. Aunt Garnet’s visit, that is, not their marriage woes.”

“The infamous Aunt Garnet,” Gabe said, chewing thoughtfully. He took a long drink from his grape soda, then grinned at me. “Well, they’re
your
family. I’d help, but as you can see I’m going to be extraordinarily busy the next few days. Sorry.” He set his can down on his desk blotter, not looking the least bit remorseful.

“Don’t act so smug,” I warned, slipping down off his desk. “If Dove has her way, Aunt Garnet will be staying with us. And believe me, if you think Dove meddles—”

He reached over and pulled me between his legs. “
Querida,
I have complete confidence in your ability to maneuver around your grandmother. Now give me a kiss and run along like a good girl. I’ve got work to do.”

I bent down and kissed him, nipping him sharply on his bottom lip.

“Ow!” he said, jerking back. “That hurt.”

“Then don’t talk so condescending to me, Friday, or the next time I’ll draw blood.”

He laughed and ran his hands over my hips. “What makes you think that’s a turnoff?”

“You’re a real sicko, Chief.” I gave him a real kiss that time. A slow, lingering one. “What time will you be home?” I eventually asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Who knows? You know how these things go. As soon as I get changed, Jim and I are going to head over to the sheriff’s crime lab and wait for some test results. Looks like it might be a long day. What do you have planned?”

“There’s an emergency meeting of the festival committee at the museum at two o’clock. I ran into two of them when I dropped by Blind Harry’s. They’re very upset about Nora’s murder.”

His face grew sharp and questioning. “What are their names?”

“Peter Grant and Ash Stanhill.”

“That first one sounds familiar.”

“He’s very active in environmental rights here in San Celina. You’ve probably seen his name in the newspaper. He and his friends would love for all the ranchers and farmers to just donate all our land to the public trust. Of course, I don’t know what he expects us to do for a living or where in the world he and his vegetarian friends would get their broccoli and salad greens, not to mention the leather for their Birkenstocks—”

He interrupted me. “Did they know Nora Cooper well?”

“Peter did. We all went to Cal Poly together. She was a few years older than us. I don’t know if Ash knew her well but I could casually ask—”

Gabe stood up and rested his hands firmly on my shoulders, squeezing them in warning. “No.”

Before I could answer, a knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” Gabe called out.

The door opened, and Jim Cleary’s head appeared. “Am I interrupting anything?” He gave us a wide, white smile.

“Nope, Benni was just leaving,” Gabe said evenly. He kissed the top of my head. “See you tonight. Stay out of trouble,
niña
.”

I rolled my eyes at Jim. “You promised me that you’d have that arrogant macho stuff trained out of him by now.”

Jim stepped into the room. He was wearing dark slacks, a pure white dress shirt, and a conservative striped tie. He was head deacon at St. Stephen’s Baptist Church over near the lake where Nora was killed, and from the looks of his attire, he’d been called straight out of church services. He held up his hands. “I never made any promises. You know there are some cases that even fasting and prayer won’t help—only a miracle straight from the Good Lord Himself.” He gave me a broad wink.

“Amen, Brother Cleary,” I replied.

“You get in here,” Gabe said good-naturedly to Jim, then pointed at me. “And you beat it.”

It was one o’clock when I left the police station, and I decided to make a quick pit stop at home to use the bathroom and scrounge in the refrigerator for a bite to eat. Standing in front of the refrigerator, I was chugalugging a can of Coke and trying to remember just how old that enchilada from Pepe’s was when the doorbell rang. I tossed the aluminum tray in the sink, not entirely certain whether those green specks were peppers, and answered the door. I stared up into a darkly tanned, high-cheekboned male face wearing a dazzling smile that would have buckled my knees had I been fifteen years younger.

“Hi, Mom,” he said. “What’s for dinner?”

4

I WAS SPEECHLESS.

He tilted his head and lifted one dark brown eyebrow in question. His friendly, open expression reminded me of a sweet-natured Irish setter we’d had on the ranch when I was a girl. Reddie was a terrible ranch dog with the bad habits of sucking eggs and chasing calves, but he had a perpetually happy spirit that could make even the grumpiest ranch hand crack a smile.

“This is the Ortiz residence, isn’t it?” he asked, his smooth young face turning slightly worried. He scratched his cropped brown hair and looked down at the envelope in his hand. He flashed his brilliant smile again. “You’re Benni, aren’t you? I’m Sam Ortiz, your stepson.”

“Uh, yes,” I finally managed to say. My mind started darting in a million directions. Gabe’s son? Here? Now? This was all he needed. Aaron’s death, Nora’s murder, his errant son showing up on his doorstep. The bright yellow duffel bag sitting at his feet was huge, as if it contained all his worldly possessions. A surfboard in a lime-green nylon cover leaned against it. I glanced behind him. No vehicle except the Corvette in the driveway. How did he get here? How long did he plan to stay?

His eyes flicked over my shoulder into the house. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Come on in. It’s great to finally meet you.” I held out my hand, and he enveloped it with a large cool hand that felt so much like Gabe’s it startled me.

We stood in the middle of the living room without speaking for a minute or so. My mind was still speeding a hundred miles an hour. Sam took my disorientation in stride and quietly inspected his surroundings while I tried subtly to study him. He was dressed in the loose, faded jeans common to his age group and a bright turquoise Hawaiian-patterned T-shirt that complemented his glowing burnt-sienna tan and muscled biceps. Gabe’s first wife, Lydia, was a full-blooded Mexican-American, and Sam had inherited her chocolate-colored eyes and a skin tone darker and more coppery brown than Gabe’s. He was taller than Gabe by an inch or so, and except for his well-developed arms, still had the slim boniness of a late-adolescent male. When he and his muscles matured, he was going to be a very striking, formidable-looking man. Like his father.

“Do I have mustard on my chin?” he finally asked, still smiling.

I shook my head and felt my neck turn warm. Apparently I’d been as subtle as a clown. “I’m sorry. You don’t look much like your pictures, and we weren’t really expecting you. . . .” I gave him an apologetic look. “I’m usually much better with surprises. It’s been a rough morning. Your dad’s going to be just thrilled—”

He interrupted me with a cheerful laugh. “Benni . . . can I call you that? I was kidding about the mom part. You’re way too young to be my mom.”

I smiled at his shameless compliment. He’d certainly learned better than his father that a little charm can go a long way in easing an awkward situation.

“I know my dad, Benni, and thrilled he
won’t
be. That’s okay. I’m his only kid, and he’s stuck with me.” He fiddled with the small gold hoop in one ear. I could already hear Gabe grumbling about
that
. “I hate to bother you, but could I have a glass of water?”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Do you want something else? We have Cokes and orange juice, and I’m not sure what else.”

His eyes brightened. “Got any grape soda?”

I groaned. “Forget the blood tests. You
are
Gabe’s son.”

In the kitchen I filled a glass with ice while trying to decide what course of action would be most prudent. Call Gabe? Let him walk in on Sam without warning? Take off for the hills while there was still time? I glanced at my watch. It was twenty minutes until two. If I left now I’d just make it to the museum in time. The meeting shouldn’t last longer than an hour or so and most likely Gabe wouldn’t come home until later tonight. I could be at the door to meet him before he even saw Sam. I couldn’t imagine how I was going to break it to him short of “Guess who’s coming to dinner?”

I walked back into the living room carrying the purple soda. Sam was studying the wedding portrait Gabe and I had taken in Las Vegas. It hung on the wall next to Sam’s formal high-school graduation photograph, back when he was earring-free and a year and a half younger. That pudgy young man didn’t look at all like this handsome, lean-faced surf bum standing in my living room. He turned around when he heard me walk in.

“I can’t believe you trapped my dad. Ever since I was eleven, when he and Mom got divorced, he never dated a woman longer than a month or two. What did you do, cast a spell on him?”

“Here.” I shoved the glass into his hand. “Why is it everyone always assumes that
I
trapped
him
? Doesn’t it ever occur to anyone that it might be the other way around? Believe me, he’s no garage-sale Rembrandt.” I felt myself flush again.
Good job, Benni. Very mature. You’ve known this boy exactly three minutes and you’re already trashing his dad.

“Hmm, the dove has talons.” He took a long drag off his drink. “I see now why you attracted him.”

I glared at him. He responded with a wide innocent smile. It wouldn’t have worked except for the purple mustache staining his upper lip. I burst out laughing. Why should I hold it against this kid just because his father and I had such transparent pathologies?

“I bet you drove your parents crazy as a child.”

“Past tense?” he answered, sitting the glass on the table. “So, where is my dad anyway? Don’t tell me he’s working on a Sunday?”

I picked up my purse. “Unfortunately he is. There was a homicide this morning down at Laguna Lake. He probably won’t be home until late and he’ll be pretty upset.” I hesitated, then said, “Sam, your father tried to call you a few weeks ago—”

Sam lifted his hands in entreaty. “I know, I know, I should have left a number. But I was all bummed out ’cause my girlfriend broke up with me. I went to stay with a friend who had a house on Kauai. His phone was disconnected, and like I said, I was so bummed out ’cause of this chick—”

“Sam, he was trying to call because of Aaron.”

Sam’s face grew still. His throat rippled with a tiny convulsion. “He died, didn’t he?”

I nodded. “I’m sorry. Rachel was with him. And your dad and Esther saw him just hours before. The funeral was three weeks ago.”

Tears pooled in Sam’s dark eyes, and I was amazed to see one slowly roll down his cheek. “Aaron was a good guy. He taught me how to dive when no one else could.” He impatiently swiped at his cheek. “I never thought he’d . . . how’s Dad taking it?”

“I’m not sure,” I said honestly.

“In other words, Mr. Tough-Guy-Show-No-Emotion. Right?” A tinge of bitterness etched his words.

I didn’t answer. He obviously knew his father’s personality, but
I
didn’t know Sam well enough yet to discuss Gabe with him.

“What about my mom? She and Rachel were good friends at one time. Before the divorce.”

“She couldn’t come to the funeral. She apparently couldn’t get an important court date changed since Aaron wasn’t an immediate family member.” I touched his forearm. “Sam, I have an emergency meeting I have to attend. Are you going to be okay?”

He shrugged, feigning coolness though a faint sheen of water still coated his eyes. “Yeah, sure. I saw him the last time I was here. And it doesn’t much matter about the funeral. I don’t really believe in them and I’m sure dad handled it perfectly, like he does everything. He didn’t need
me
.”

I didn’t contradict his statement, though I wasn’t sure of its accuracy. Maybe Sam was just what Gabe had needed. At any rate, this whole father-son thing was beyond my area of expertise and was something that, like it or not, Gabe was going to have to deal with. I gestured down the hallway. “The guest room is on the right. You can put your stuff in there. Feel free to eat whatever you like. I’ll pick up some groceries after my meeting. Like I said, I don’t know when Gabe’s going to be home, and he won’t be in the best mood when he does.”