Move to Strike (24 page)

Nina handed the phone back. “I’ll take it in my office. Say, Sandy, if I wanted to go up there and mine . . . are those places still open?”

“Every summer. I’ll bring you a brochure.”

“Thanks.”

Sandy nodded.

“Uh, I have to apologize for leaving you in the lurch today. Sometimes I just . . .”

“Hmph.”

“How’s Linda doing?”

“Sobering up. She agreed to go into detox. We’re driving her to Placerville tonight. Now, you better get in there and talk to that man,” Sandy said.

“I’m waiting outside in the lot,” Paul said on the phone. “Too hard to get in and get out and all that. I’ve got to show you something.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Where’s your van?” she said after hurrying outside. Paul was sitting inside an unfamiliar car, the motor growling, his blond hair striking against the bright color.

“Gone,” he said. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

“You bought this? A new car!”

“What do you think?”

He sounded like a little boy. She made an instant decision not to tell him what really flashed in her mind. You didn’t put a damper on adolescent wet dreams. You politely overlooked them.

He had bought a cherry-red Mustang convertible with a white canvas top.

“Sensational,” she said, placing her dusty shoe onto the pristine floorboard.

“V8,” he said cheerfully. “Brand-new, even though it looks classic.”

“What happened to the van?”

“I’m selling it to Wish,” he said, stroking invisible dust off the dash with his left hand while he started the engine with his right. “Didn’t even make a very good deal. I wanted this one too much to dicker.”

“I’ll miss the zebra-skin upholstery.”

“You mean the leopard-skin bed.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe Wish will preserve it for posterity.”

“This is . . . not exactly practical.”

“Depends on what you use it for.”

“Hard to picture you going off-road in this. If a case ever called for it.”

“True. I considered a metallic-blue SUV, four-wheel drive, but I just couldn’t get passionate about it.”

“What’s gotten into you, Paul?” she said. “You’ve got a broken leg you won’t explain, an attitude that won’t quit, and now, out of the blue, a brand-new car. So many changes. I’m thinking . . .”

“What?”

“Oh, never mind.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh?”

“And frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

They rode along with the tourist traffic on Lake Tahoe Boulevard in silence for a while. Paul turned into the McDonald’s and bought them both coffee. Then he drove them back to Regan Beach and they sat in the car watching the kids wading in the lake.

Nina thought the choice of location was oddly appropriate. They weren’t more than a few blocks from the house where William Sykes had been murdered. That was what they needed to be thinking about right now, not messing around with low leather seats. Nina didn’t like the car. She didn’t like any changes at all right now.

“Something disturbing has happened,” she told Paul. She related the whole story about Nikki’s rocks and the man who had climbed into the back seat of the Bronco.

“Did you call the cops?”

“I thought about it, but I can’t even describe the guy. He didn’t hurt me.”

As Paul listened, his powerful body gave the impression of growing larger until he barely seemed to fit in the car.

“The worst thing was that I thought at first it was the other one,” she said, and he understood immediately.

“No,” he said. “Stop scaring yourself like this.”

“I can’t control it,” she said. “I sense him around every corner. The only way I can protect myself and Bob is to put my head in the sand and hide. I do my work and then I just want to go home and lock the doors and check and check and check the locks, and then I still can’t sleep.”

“He’s long gone. I told you that.”

“You don’t know he’s gone. You only think he’s gone. You don’t know him like I do, Paul. How he thinks.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Anyway. Let’s just drink coffee and watch the kids and the sky.” They did that for a while, and Nina calmed down, but Paul seemed to have fallen into deep thought.

“What are you going to do about Bob?” Paul said eventually.

Startled, Nina didn’t answer.

“How are his grades?”

“Sliding a little, but still okay.”

“How’s his mood?”

“Boomeranging from one extreme to another. He sinks into moods. He’s jumpy. I tried to put my hand on his cheek yesterday and he flinched. He has nightmares. And now—going over to Nikki’s house—he knew better.”

“How are you going to stop it?”

“I don’t know. I think I’ll call Kurt and talk to him about it.”

“Kurt can’t do much from Germany.”

“No.”

“If I was his dad, I’d take him out behind the wood-shed. He thinks he can get around you on everything.”

“So shall I beat the tar out of him?” Nina said, gloomy. “I’ll tell you, Paul, I feel like it sometimes. Matt recommends it too. Beat his butt, he says.”

“I like Bob,” Paul said. “More now that he’s older. I think he’s going to be all right. Of course, I’m speaking of years from now.”

Nina shook her head.

“When do I get to see the opals?” Paul said. In answer, she opened her purse and took out the pouch and handed it to him. She was keeping them with her. He took out a chunk of raw opal and went through the same double take she had when the sun hit it. When she told him they were probably from the Virgin Valley, Paul said, “Then they’re not from Daria and Beth’s claim.”

She managed to get her coffee swallowed, barely. “Why not?”

“It’s in my report. Their claim is eighty or ninety miles from the Virgin Valley. Nowhere near. Might as well be Australia.”

“Not good, Paul. Speaking as Nikki’s lawyer.”

“Not good? Why?”

“Well, it could have been a main point in the 995 hearing coming up. If I could have established that the opals did come from that property, I could attack the felony-murder rule that’s keeping her in the adult criminal system.”

“And if you can’t?”

“She’ll go in as an adult.”

“And that’s not good.”

“She might get out when she’s in her forties,” Nina said.

Paul was silent for a minute. Then he said, “Think she did it?”

“No.”

“I don’t think she did it either.”

“Well, that’s a first,” Nina said, secretly thrilled. To have Paul on her side somehow added weight to her position. “I don’t think I ever heard you say that about one of my clients. It’s encouraging.”

“Maybe, instead of worrying about legal shenanigans this time around, we should concentrate on finding out who killed the good doctor.”

Nina folded her arms.

“Not that I don’t highly esteem and honor your respectable, integrity-saturated profession,” he added.

“So what’s your plan?”

“Wish is over at Prize’s right now trying to find out what he can about the man Linda saw. If that doesn’t work, we’ll check the description with Daria and Beth and see if they know anything about him.”

“You do that,” Nina said. “I’ll get to your reports right now, Paul. Then I’m going to take advantage of the client cancellations and go over to the law library and do a little research for the 995. Can I use your phone for a second?” She picked out Daria’s number. Nikki answered. Daria was gone again. Nina hung up, frustrated. She was dying to hear an explanation of what Daria had been doing at Dr. Sykes’s house that night. Why hadn’t she told anyone? She hated knowing, hated what it probably meant.

Shutting the door with some care so as not to leave marks on the brand-spanking-new wax job on the Mustang, she waved good-bye to Paul. He revved up the car and tore out of the lot, showing off. She walked slowly back to her office, thinking, whatever gets you through the night. Wasn’t that what John Lennon, keen philosopher of the twentieth century, had said? If a red Mustang did the trick, however temporarily, maybe she ought to be in the market.

CHAPTER 18

IN ADDITION TO a series of closely scheduled clients that she could not miss the next morning, Nina had a lot of catching up to do. She spent a harried half hour returning emergency phone calls. Pausing for a breath, she took a sip of her coffee and found it cold.

“What’s the afternoon look like?” she said, passing Sandy’s desk and heading for the drip coffeemaker in the conference room.

“Busy.”

“Any holes at all?”

“One big one. Nothing scheduled between twelve-thirty and three.”

“Perfect.” Carrying her freshly brimming mug very carefully, Nina stopped in front of Sandy. “I want you to reserve tickets for the one o’clock magic show at Prize’s. Want to come?” She took a sip, relishing the hot Kona coffee. Black, freshly ground. Heaven.

“You ever seen one of those shows?”

“No.”

“I have. I’ll pass. You should be working, shouldn’t you?”

“I am working. I’ve been trying to reach Daria Zack. Nikki told me this morning she’s on stage there today. I thought I might catch her before or after the show.”

“It’s so urgent you’ll spend the afternoon with a bunch of tourists watching a man in a tuxedo torture a hat?”

“I have to talk to her. And I like magicians.”

“You would.”

She called Andrea on the off chance.

“Why aren’t you at the shelter today?”

“I’m part-time, remember? That means I come home and think laundry, do laundry, fold laundry, and accumulate laundry.”

“Well, I’m going to a magic-show matinee. You want to come to see the magician with me?”

“Can he make laundry disappear? No? Then I’d better not.”

Calling Caesars, Nina was surprised to find Paul still in his room at eleven in the morning. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said, intentionally using the gratingly cheerful phrase he had used on her, aware from the stickiness in his voice that he had been dozing. It made her jealous. Anyone who slept regularly made her jealous these days.

“What time is it?”

“Time to get a move on. You’re coming with me to a magic show at Prize’s this afternoon.”

“Four is my appointment with the crash investigator,” he said.

“The show will be long over,” Nina said. “You all right?” She wondered about that leg of his. She had seen little improvement in his condition. She had given up trying to find out how he had injured himself in the first place. He sidestepped all questions coming from that direction.

“Yep.”

“The matinee, twelve-forty-five at Prize’s. Got it?”

She could hear him scribbling. “Got it.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of turmoil and trouble. She left with only a few minutes to spare, too late to catch Daria before the show. Parking next to the casino, she made her way to the small theater.

The line snaked like a heavy boa through the casino. After making sure the line was for people with reserved tickets, she found her way to what looked like the end and waited for Paul.

Most of the audience consisted of two-parent families with kids, but she didn’t feel odd alone. An older couple in line ahead of her engaged her in conversation while the couple behind her took turns standing in line and dropping coins into the nearby slots. The husband, a man in a red aloha shirt who appeared to have gambled through one night and into the next day, if his wrinkled clothing and ashen skin spoke the truth, hit a $250 jackpot just as the line began to move. Tossing the coins into his straw hat, he whooped and screamed, gathered up his wife into a hug, and let the kids begin the long count for him.

Paul arrived just before Nina and the line moved into the anteroom and out of sight. “I had my eye on that machine,” she complained. “My slot muscles were twitching in anticipation. I probably missed out on two hundred fifty bucks because of you.” She handed over his ticket.

“Stop grumbling. I probably saved you from dropping a bundle. Mind telling me why we’re here, not that I philosophically oppose frequenting dens of iniquity in the afternoon, it just doesn’t seem your style.”

She told him about Daria’s car. He rubbed his forehead and said, “Ah. So that explains why you seemed so upset at Daria Zack that night in the woods. She was there the night of the murder, and she’s been lying about it.”

“Let’s see what she says now.”

They sat on faux leather seats at the back of the small theater in a raised, semicircular booth surrounded by regal purple velvet drapery. A brass railing kept them from the riffraff below.

“How’d we rate the plush seating?” Paul asked.

“Your handicap,” said Nina.

“You’re kidding.”

“No. They said you might have trouble at one of the tables below. I wasn’t taking advantage, I promise.”

The theater, though not jammed, held a respectable crowd for an afternoon show. A big screen in one corner of the stage, now blank, would reveal, presumably, the details of the magic tricks to come. Projected on the stage curtains were the words “Phantasm of Fantasy.” A waitress wearing a tuxedo which ended more or less at her waist where the black stockings began, arrived at their table to take orders almost before they had a chance to settle into their booth. Given the earliness of the hour, they went for what Paul called the fuddyduddy choice, soft drinks.

The permanent midnight effect of the casino was enhanced by twinkling lights that offered little to no illumination, and a black ceiling sucked up any stray beams. Small gold individual candles flickered murkily on the tables. Paul fumbled for his drink, accidentally touching Nina’s hand.

“Oops,” he said.

The juggler, dressed in an electric-orange jumpsuit, bounced five balls off a drum to a maniacally inventive medley that somehow melded the Hallelujah Chorus with the 1812 Overture. He then began with the rings, big silver rings which he put around his neck, then pulled off as others flew in the air.

“I am so fired,” he said after he dropped one. “Wonder where I’ll be workin’ next week.”

Mesmero, the magician, handsome in his tuxedo, put on a good show riddled with doves and knives and thrills galore for the kiddies. Daria showed up about halfway through his act for one of many finales, the girl jabbed by swords in a box, who emerges unscathed to great fanfare. From a distance, with stage makeup, she could pass for any one of the fresh-faced assistants, but Nina sensed desperation in her frantic gestures and bright smile. When Mesmero finally closed the box on her with malevolent enthusiasm, Nina had to wonder how long she would last in the role.

After the audience had thinned out, Nina and Paul spoke with the stage manager, who agreed to allow them backstage for a word with Daria.

They located her in a closet-sized dressing area, her sequins tossed aside, wearing a shabby robe. After a distracted greeting, she resumed a conversation with Mesmero, who stood in the corner, hands on hips, looking years older, smiles erased, all his staged insouciance mysteriously disappeared.

“You almost got yourself killed in there!” he shouted. “You know as well as I do, you’ve got to move yourself the hell into position and stay the hell out of my way.”

“I had a cramp,” she said in a small voice.

“That kind of fuckup could ruin me! Just imagine the looks on everybody’s face when the girl pops up gashed and bleeding!” Suddenly noticing Nina and Paul gaping in the doorway, he stalked out, turning one last time. “I’m sorry, Daria. You’ll have to find yourself another gig. I’ll help you find something if I can.”

Daria turned to her mirror and wiped a cloth across her face, rubbing gently below her eyes. “He’s sleeping with Regina, now,” she said. “He just felt he owed me one last bow since he’s the one who introduced me to Kyle and my part in the show fell apart and everything. But I’m hoping the backers will change their minds about my singing. And one of the girls just turned me on to this terrific voice coach . . .”

“My apologies if this is a bad time,” Nina said, “but it’s been really difficult getting hold of you.”

“I’m glad you came. Nina, I’m sorry I blew my top at you after court the other day . . .”

“Forget it,” Nina said. “That was a really rough day.”

“I got your messages. I didn’t get a chance to call back sooner. Rehearsals,” she said, “not that they did me any good.” She shrugged, looking rueful. “Go on, heap it on me,” said Daria. “I take it something’s up with Nikki’s case? News?”

“It isn’t news, Daria. Just a question. What was your car doing parked outside the Sykes house the night William Sykes was murdered?”

“My car?”

“Your car.”

“Someone says they saw it?”

“Yes.”

She chewed over the information.

“Were you there that night?”

“I was hoping no one would ever know. Let me get dressed and we can talk at the bar.”

So it was true. Nina felt grim. She couldn’t stand another second in the dark casino. She wanted to get outside into the summertime, where she could see more clearly. “No,” she said. “At my office.”

After the dim nether realms inside, the sunlight stung her eyeballs like buckshot. Agreeing to meet at the Starlake Building, they caravaned west up the highway, Daria in the lead. Although a frowning client waited across from Sandy, they went directly into the conference room and closed the door.

Outside on the lake, sails billowed and snapped in the stiff afternoon breeze. Daria sat facing the window, the sun in her eyes. Nina and Paul sat in front of it in the classic interrogation stance, although Nina hadn’t intended it. Taking out a yellow pad and pen, she uncapped the pen and dropped the lid on the table. They all watched it roll off.

“Tell us about the night Bill Sykes died,” Nina said.

Daria pulled back from the table, closing her eyes against the sun then opening them slowly, adjusting to the shadows. “There are some things I haven’t told you that I want to say first about Nikki. Can I do that?”

“Of course.” Nina didn’t look at her watch. Her other client would just have to wait.

“Losing her father was an awful blow. This was six years ago now. We adults . . . well, there are things we can do to recover from someone leaving like that but a child has nothing but memories that are fading every day. She asked about him constantly: where was he; why did he leave us; when would he be coming back. At first, I was patient. Then, I just couldn’t stand the constant reminders. After a while, I quit answering. I quit making things up to console her. And it worked, too. She stopped asking about him. I thought she had gotten over it. Now I think I was dead wrong about that.”

“What was it like for you before . . . before your husband left?” Nina asked.

“Oh, we had such a blast. Beth and Bill lived here in town, and we were very close. My husband and Bill played cards together. We hiked in the mountains, stayed in tents, burned marshmallows. Then, after Nikki was born, we spent more time up at their house on the lake. We would swim . . .” Her voice faded, and she looked up at the ceiling, remembering. “Let me tell you something. Those years, I was really happy. No woman in the world could be any happier.”

“What was your husband like?” Nina asked.

“I met Nicholas at a concert down in Riverside. He played bass. After we had Nikki, he did carpentry to keep the money coming in and keep us all safe and happy. He fixed up the house. I used to put in bulbs every fall so we had pretty flowers in the spring, because I didn’t work for a couple of years when Nikki was young. He was crazy about Nikki. Taught her to ride a bike like a pro, up and down steep mountain roads before she was eight years old. He worked hard at his day job, too, even though music was what he loved. He specialized in remodeling jobs on run-down motels. For months after he left, these foremen would call asking for him.”

The low roar of traffic outside on the nearby highway migrated in and out of her words. “I know Nikki blames me for driving him away. Maybe she’s right. I’ve thought, gee, maybe the two of us were too much for him to support. It’s true, we had fights about money. Then I thought, okay, he wanted to really go for the music. But . . . I loved that, I wanted him to succeed. I suppose he went to LA where the music business is, unless you’re country, then you go to Nashville. He must have done all right somewhere, since he did send us money a few times. Anyway, I’ve thought and I’ve thought and I can’t understand why he didn’t take us if he had to go. Sometimes they just go and you never know why.

“Anyway, after he left we didn’t see much more of Bill and Beth. We lived different lives. Bill was a real local celebrity. He gave to all the right causes and came out to root for politicians he liked. He was on TV all the time. He had a reputation to protect. Nikki and I didn’t fit in. We were scraping the bottom. I was lonely. I started dating a lot. I didn’t think I’d be much use to Nikki moping around for the rest of my life, so it was my way of recovering. I’m afraid Bill didn’t think much of my kind of medicine.”

“Did Beth agree with her husband?”

“Oh, she called now and then. But Bill was the strong one in that relationship. He pretty much put us out of his mind and Beth went along.”

“That must have hurt,” Nina said.

“I could understand. Really. I mean, they couldn’t exactly call me up to see if I wanted to go golfing or weekend on Maui. Our lifestyles were different, that’s all. But we’re here to talk about Nikki, right?” She looked at Nina with the question, who nodded, even though she only half agreed.

“I suppose it was a couple of years ago that Nikki began to withdraw. I chalked it up to being that age. But she didn’t get over it. She read all the time in her room and started complaining that she hated school.

“Maybe while she was in that room stewing one time she suddenly decided that Bill was, I guess you might say, snubbing us because we were poor. She’s young. She took it like a needle in her heart. She thought that meant there was really something wrong with us, that we would be snubbed like that. Also, sometimes I have a hard time paying bills and that kind of thing. I’m disorganized and my income isn’t very steady. Bill and Beth were prosperous, and we weren’t. It made her mad. I tried to teach her about how negative feelings bounce back on you, but she—oh, she was fourteen. Anyway, I think that’s when she began to hate Bill.