Kiss Me Awake (4 page)

Marilyn was a widow, an aging eccentric who lived alone, and a self-appointed window watcher for the neighborhood watch. She missed nothing. 

Jaida smiled to herself and released the latch on the gate. “Thanks, Marilyn.” Baseel should hire her. Or maybe she should. Marilyn would probably have her standing in the same room with her mother in a matter of hours.

She picked up the paper and tested its weight in her hand. It was heavier and thicker than usual. More bad news to report, she guessed. She slipped the key from the pocket in her running shorts and went inside, tossing the paper on the dining room table.

She had two days to work on Auggie, to sell him on sticking with the Gale case. He was being hasty, irrational even. Walking away now didn’t make any sense.

After downing a large glass of water, she pulled the elastic band from her hair and headed upstairs to shower.

Inside the steamy stall,
she leaned her head back, dunking it under the stream of hot water. For the first time in weeks, she
allowed herself to relax. What if she told Auggie the truth? Told him everything? They were friends. Good friends. He would understand. Wouldn’t he?

But then she remembered what he said last night about not risking Baseel’s credibility. His loyalty was first to Baseel, which meant that even if he agreed to keep the case open, he would surely pull her off it.

Jaida washed the sweat from her body and then stood under the stream until the water ran tepid. Behind the shower tiles the pipes groaned like a wounded whale. It had been more than a week since she put in a call to the plumber to diagnose the noise, but he still hadn’t shown up.

With a shiver, she twisted the water from her hair then wrapped herself in a bath towel and stood before the oval mirror, foggy with moisture. She swiped a hand over the surface and through the rippling beads of water, Jaida studied the outline of her face, her features, the blonde hair that hung in a wet clump between her shoulder blades. Who did she look like—her mother, her grandfather? Who was genetically responsible for her small stature and her square jaw line? Who was she? 

She leaned in closer until she was eye to eye with her own reflection. “Who are you?” she asked. The question had haunted her since she was old enough to ask it, and two decades later she was no closer to learning the answer.

She dried her hair then dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a fitted yellow tee shirt. The waistband of her shorts slid down to her hips and she hitched them up. She’d lost a few pounds, but then regular meals hadn’t been a priority the past few months.

Jaida hung the wet towel on the rack then rushed down the stairs when the doorbell rang.

She squinted at the distorted image through the peephole and then opened the door. Carina Keller stood on the porch, her eyes concealed by an oversized pair of white-framed sunglasses.

“It’s about time,” Carina scowled.

Her early morning appearance left Jaida unsettled. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Was someone sick or in an accident?

Carina waved off her concern. “You worry too much. Why would anything be wrong?” She stepped over the threshold, the flowery scent of Pure White Linen filling the foyer.

“It’s 6:30 in the morning. If you’re out of bed before noon, then something has to be wrong.”

Irritation flushed her cheeks. “
Nothing
is wrong.”

“Fine.” Jaida held up her hands in surrender, wishing she’d left her standing on the porch. “Have a seat,” she said, collecting the discarded fishnet stockings from last night. She wadded them into a ball and set them on the stairs.

If this is what she was like early in the morning, she pitied the man who married her.

“What
is this
?” Carina asked.

She looked up. The leather mini from her botched escapade was dangling from the tip of Carina’s finger.

“It’s my new uniform.” Jaida picked up the newspaper she’d left on the table and snapped off the rubber band.

“Made a career change, did you?” Carina let the skirt slide to the floor.

“Temp job,” she said, then shook open the paper. The inserts fluttered to the floor and she picked them up.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Carina did a graceful pirouette then posed to show off her bronzed legs. “Do you like it?”

Jaida lowered the paper and looked her over. The dark shade of her skin stood out against her white shorts and mint green blouse. “It actually looks like you’ve been outside,” she said. 

The color was natural enough, but with Carina’s aversion to the outdoors, it had to be from a tanning salon or a bottle.

“Well, you know me. I’d rather do South Coast Plaza than the beach.”

“No shame in that,” she said, although she didn’t share Carina’s fondness for chilly air-conditioned stores and fawning sales assistants.

The strong scent of newsprint and ink brought her attention back to the paper she held in her hands. Jaida folded it up and set it back on the table. She’d flip through it after Carina left. Right now what she needed was a dose of caffeine to ward off the subtle throbbing that was building in her temples.

“Do y
ou want some coffee?” she asked then headed for the kitchen.

“I’ll take a double shot,” Carina muttered past a yawn. She dropped her handbag on the floor, a Gucci knock-off. For a prosecutor she made good money but not enough to buy the real thing.

Jaida poured the steaming hazelnut into two mugs. When she turned to hand one to Carina, she found her sifting through the stack of unopened mail on the counter.

“What is this?” Carina waved the envelope from Edison in the air, the pink paper in the cellophane window announcing to the world that she hadn’t paid her bill. There ought to be a privacy law against that.

“They’re shutting off your electricity, and you haven’t even opened the bill?” 

Jaida set the cups down. She yanked the envelope from Carina’s fingers and tucked it under the stack. “It’s just a warning. They aren’t going to shut it off.”

“That’s a shut-off notice if I ever saw one.”

“Yes, but they aren’t going to shut it off
yet
. I have time.” 

“You see? This is exactly why you need Kevin.”

“Don’t bring Kevin into this, Carina.” Kevin was a bad idea from the start.

“I’m talking strictly business here. Nothing personal. He’s a genius at handling money. Just swallow that pride of yours and let him help you.”

“I can pay my own bills, thank you very much. I just haven’t had the time.” Besides he would mistake it for something more.

Carina scolded her with a look and then surrendering the argument, she shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

That was what she intended to do. Jaida scrounged the nearly bare refrigerator for a carton of milk and found one between the Styrofoam take-out boxes. She swished around the small trace left inside and added the remains to Carina’s coffee.

Her friend raised the mug and eyed the intricate floral swirls etched in the jade ceramic. “I think my assistant has one just like this,” she said. She set the mug down and hot coffee sloshed over the rim and onto her fingers.

“What do you want, Carina?” 

Carina looked up, paused, and then shrugged with her face. “Maybe a doughnut to dunk in my coffee? If you have any.” She shook the dribbling coffee from her fingers. “And, I could use a napkin.”

Jaida wrung out the dishrag and handed it to her. “No. I mean, why are you here?” Showing off her tan, small talk about coffee cups, digging through her mail. Carina never did anything just because. There was always a reason.  

She looked up at that, her mouth twisted in a frown. “Do I need to have a reason to stop by?”

“Yes, you do. Apparently no one is dying, but something must be up for you to be sitting in my kitchen at the crack of dawn on a Saturday.”

She watched Carina wipe the stickiness from her fingers. “Speaking of dying,” she said, “did you hear Mark Vickery passed away?”

Jaida calmly shook her head, giving nothing away, but inside chaos reigned, charging her heart and leaving it pounding in her ears. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I heard about it at work, but there’s a decent article in the obits.”

Her gaze drifted to the table where she’d left the newspaper. That was about as far as she’d gotten with the weekly copies. Opened, but unread. No wonder she didn’t know.

Carina sipped her coffee. “You knew him didn’t you?”

Jaida nodded. Not personally, but she knew of him, and his passing could change everything. Mark Vickery was the attorney who handled her adoption. 

She’d called him once to request Eva’s files, but he’d refused, claiming that attorney-client privilege didn’t end when a client passed. But what about when both
client
and
attorney passed?

“The funeral is Monday,” Carina said.

Jaida looked at her then. Would she know? “What happens to the client’s files when an attorney dies?” Did they become public record? Could she request them? Or did they destroy them? What if she was too late? The thought of all those secrets being run through the shredder left her shaken.
Was
she too late?

Carina lifted her shoulder. “I don’t know. But that is a good question. What are you doing today?”  

Houdini couldn’t have changed the subject faster. Carina was a master at putting her concerns above everyone else’s. Jaida answered with a disappointed shrug then crushed the empty milk carton and tossed it into the trash. 

The phone was closer than two feet from where she stood. She looked at it, her fingers itching to pick it up, to dial Vickery’s office.

“A shrug? All I get is a shrug for an answer? Does that mean you don’t have plans?”

Jaida looked at her. “What?” What was she rambling on about?

“I just asked what you were doing today.”

“Nothing. I’m not doing anything.” She took a drink from her mug, her mouth twisting at the bitter taste. She forgot sugar.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t know Vickery’s death would upset you. Were you two close?”

“What? No, I wasn’t close to him. And what makes you think I’m upset?” She scooped some sugar into her coffee and stirred.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it was that stricken, deer-in-the-headlights look you got when I mentioned it. And since when do you take that much sugar in your coffee?”

Was she keeping tabs on everything she did? Jaida glanced down at the mug braced between her palms wondering how many spoonfuls she’d put in. She wasn’t about to ask.

She looked up then and waved off Carina’s observations. “It was just unexpected, that’s all.”

“So you’re free then?” Carina pressed.

“To do what?”

“Lance borrowed his uncle’s catamaran. We’re going to Catalina. Auggie was supposed to tell you last night, but I guess he forgot.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Why didn’t she just say so in the first place? “I don’t know…” Jaida made a face at the dirty dishes stacked in the sink.

Carina followed her gaze and said, “I’ll do the dishes while you throw some things in a bag.”

She glanced at the telephone again. With Carina here she wouldn’t be able to talk openly anyway, and it was the weekend. No one would likely be in until Monday.

She nodded. “I’ll go.” If she stayed, she would drive herself crazy counting down the hours until she could make that call.

“You’ll want some extra clothes. We’re staying overnight.”

Overnight? Jaida turned at the bottom of the stairs. “I thought it was just for the day.”

“Is that a problem? You said you didn’t have any plans.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not a problem.” But already she found herself wanting to make an excuse and back out. If she could just remember the name of Vickery’s assistant, she could look her up and call her at home. It started with the letter B. Was it Barbara? But Barbara what? She couldn’t recall, and it nagged at her.

At Carina’s urging, she climbed the stairs, dragged out her overnight bag, and
reluctantly packed.

It
was going to be a scorcher. The sun’s rays pulsed against Jaida’s face as she shuffled along beside Carina, the heat of the marina’s blacktop burning through the thin soles of her sandals.

This was supposed to be fun, a good time, but she couldn’t seem to rally her mood. She adjusted the duffle strap on her shoulder and looked up at the gulls circling overhead. Their cry was a cacophony of second sopranos, the notes dangerously off-key.

Water lapped against the vessels secured in their slips, the fiberglass hulls knocking restively against the wooden planks. That same restlessness infected her. She was edgy and impatient, the records in Vickery’s office dominating her thoughts.

She glanced over her shoulder, searching for Carina’s car. The silver Volvo was locked up at the south edge of the lot. It wasn’t too late to beg off. She could insist that Carina take her
back, but it wouldn’t be without a fight. They were already getting a late start, and catering to her would set them back even more.