Reilly 02 - Invasion of Privacy (12 page)

11

BY NINE A.M. NINA HAD COME DRAGGING BACK TO Matt’s, just in time to hear a yelp and a whomp coming from the backyard. She ran to the gate and threw it open.

"Are you okay?" Nina asked.

Andrea was sitting in the dirt, her face streaked with mud. "There’s still all this snow melting. Even though this yard gets pretty good sun." She stood up, making dusting motions with her hands, spreading muck around on her denim pants. "It’s a minor boo-boo." She resumed her work with a hoe.

"Looks like very satisfying work. Need a hand?"

"Thanks, but we only have one hoe. I’m aerating the dirt. By June, this yard will be a thick green carpet."

"I never could understand why you’d want a lawn up here. Rocks, pine needles, chaparral ... the natural scene is so marvelous, and your yard will only last through the summer—"

"You haven’t lived here long enough to understand," Andrea said, puffing. Half the lawn area was already hoed into damp, pungent earth. "A lawn is a sign of human civilization. That’s why the locals work so hard to have one. We live in these grand natural landscapes, and it makes us feel pitiful after a while. So we fence in a little piece around our cabins and plant flowers and grass, and feel safer."

"It’ll be warm today," Nina said.

"How was last night?" Andrea leaned on the hoe, looking at Nina.

"Thanks for taking care of Bob last night. Paul and I had a great time."

"I’m really glad, Nina. You’ve been alone for too long. Why didn’t you ask him to breakfast?"

"I ... guess you could say I had another early date. "

Andrea stared at her. "Really? Well, shut my mouth. Who is he?"

"Just come right out and ask."

"Well?" Andrea said, unmoved.

"A ghost."

"Very mysterious. What ghost?"

Nina sat down in the dirt, picked up a damp clump, and smelled it. Andrea sat down beside her.

"I saw someone I haven’t seen in twelve years, after court yesterday morning," Nina said. She squeezed the clump and dirt sifted down. "His name is Kurt Scott."

"A man you knew twelve years ago. Hmm. Maybe you can guess what I’m guessing."

"Right. Bobby’s father."

Andrea was silent. Then she said, "Oh, boy. Did Bob find him after all?"

"He said he didn’t. But Thursday, there he was standing in the hall. I came toward him, and he seemed to recognize me. He looked thrilled, and he opened his arms. I knew it was Kurt, but at the same time I couldn’t process it. Now I know what people mean when they say they can’t believe their eyes."

"What did you do? I think I might scream if my ex-husband surprised me like that. I prefer these things court-ordered."

"I just felt flooded, floored. I don’t know how to explain it. Overcome with feeling. I couldn’t move. Our eyes met for one instant. Then—and this is the strange part of the story—I had just recognized him, just recognized his existence, that it wasn’t someone else who looked like him. That it might really be Kurt. His expression changed. I never saw a look filled with such ... loathing. Then he disappeared. Ran out the door to the parking lot."

Andrea laid her hand on Nina’s arm, and said, "Listen, Nina. Something’s rotten in the state of California. First Bob goes looking for his father. Bingo, after twelve years, the guy shows up. What’s going on?"

"I don’t know. I had to work the rest of the morning. Later on, I had some time to think. Maybe he didn’t expect to see me there and it was just an awful shock."

"Please. This can’t be coincidence. Why would he be in Tahoe?"

"We met here. He must still have some roots. When I moved up from San Francisco last April I thought I might see him. I thought he might still be here."

"Did you try to find him?"

"I looked in the phone book, that kind of thing. But nothing came of it, so I tried to forget about it. Then Bob started obsessing about who his dad was, which is why I thought I might be imagining it when I saw him yesterday. But Kurt dropped off a note at the office saying he wanted to warn me about something and he wanted to meet me at seven this morning."

"Wow."

"I was pretty nervous, but I went. And he never showed. I feel so angry and ... tricked again. Brings back some old bad feelings."

Andrea put her arm around her. "You going to fill me in? You’ve never said a word about him before."

"I was too ashamed to tell you," Nina said.

"He was married."

"Yes. Separated. But yes, married."

"He left you when he found out you were pregnant."

"Worse. I never told him. He has no idea Bobby exists."

"Oh, Nina. Jesus. But how ...?"

"I was up here in the summer the year I started law school, staying at a friend’s cabin near Fallen Leaf Lake. You know how they have trouble with bubonic plague from the fleas on the squirrels up there once in a while? Well, the Forest Service wanted us evacuated, but I wouldn’t go because I was young and didn’t give a damn and that kind of terrible disease could never happen to me. I was determined to stay up there. I’d never had a month in Tahoe in my life and I would not go."

"You got bubonic plague. He was a doctor with experience in Africa who saved your life.

That made Nina laugh. "Not at all. I didn’t catch the plague. I had that whole part of the lake to myself. No, he was a summer employee for the Forest Service who took it upon himself to hassle me unmercifully. I’d get up and find him sitting on my porch steps, making sure no squirrels came up on the porch. If anyone was going to catch the plague, it would have been him. "

"Must have been lonely up there, with no one else around," said Andrea. She got up, her eye caught on a clump of invading weeds, which she attacked with a forked hand tool.

"Not for long. There was an old out-of-tune piano in the cabin, which he offered to fix. I invited him in to tune it."

"I’ll bet you did. What do you know about his wife?"

"Nothing. He wouldn’t talk about her. He was in the early stages of getting divorced. Or so he told me. She was down in L.A. the whole time I knew him. The whole six weeks."

"I take it things didn’t work out," Andrea said dryly.

"We all have unpredictable things that happen in our lives, people who change toward us for no reason we know, lotteries won and stocks busted, relatives who suddenly die...." said Nina. "It was like that. We fell madly in love, Andrea."

"This doesn’t sound like the solitary lady we’ve seen recently," Andrea said, but her smile softened her words.

"Madly, passionately, in love. I trusted him totally. I would have done anything for him, made any sacrifice. ... My life had changed utterly. We decided to get married as soon as he had the divorce."

"He must be quite a guy."

The words rushed out. "We made a plan to meet at the end of the summer. I had to go back to Monterey to get some things and he needed to get things finished up with his wife. I didn’t tell him when I found out I was pregnant. I was saving it for a surprise. He wanted to meet my dad and Matt. But he never came."

"Oh, Nina. How sad."

"I was going to pass on law school. Kurt was a fine musician, and he was going to join a symphony orchestra in Europe.... We planned a whole different life than the one I ended up with. But I did know he was keeping something from me, something important. I always knew that, but I convinced myself he’d tell me when he could. And then ... nothing. He never called, never wrote. He disappeared, just like yesterday."

"Why come back now?"

Nina shook her head. "No idea. He’s gone again, though, it seems." Her voice hardened. "Thanks for listening to my pathetic tale of romance and betrayal."

Having given up all pretense of gardening, Andrea opened the garden shed door and started putting her tools away. "Was it so easy," she asked, the clattering of hoes, rakes, and shovels making it hard to hear her, "to give up the idea of becoming a lawyer when you decided to get married?"

"I wasn’t sure I could do both things. You know, Andrea, to do this work I have to put on one hell of a thick hide every morning. I knew it would be a hard business for a woman with a family."

"But when he left, you went ahead."

Nina thought back. "That’s what made me realize how vulnerable I was. I knew being a trial lawyer would toughen me up, give me what I needed to deal with ... anything."

"Nobody messes with you and gets off lightly."

"Not anymore."

"You still got shot," Andrea said, almost casually, shutting the door to the garden shed and clicking the combination lock shut.

"Dammit, Andrea. What are you driving at?"

Andrea turned around, her small freckled face and pointed chin smudged and glowing from her work. "Maybe you’re ready to try a different approach, and drop the thick hide. I think you have already started."

"What do you mean?"

Andrea smiled. "You’re strong on the inside now. You’re opening up and showing a little more of that big-hearted and generous person I know."

"I’ll get eaten up alive by people like Terry London and Riesner if I drop my protections. The work I do—"

Andrea plopped down beside her again. "You can’t be ruled by fear. You go to the grocery store, right? Well, so do the lunatics. You can’t escape. They spit on your dang armor. Besides, most of these so-called crazies you’re so worried about aren’t violent."

"Okay, I’ll give you ’most.’ And remain alert."

The warm sun slanted through the trees onto the upturned dirt. From the house came the shouts, bangs, and thumping of children.

"I’d better go in and see what’s going on," Nina said.

"Wait a minute. I just had a thought. Who else was in court with you when Kurt skipped out? Is it possible he saw someone else he knew and didn’t want to see?"

"There were several people in the hall. And my client, of course. She’s been in Tahoe all her life. She might know him." Nina filed away this intriguing thought.

"What do you plan to do? Try to find him?"

"Don’t worry. He adiosed, and I’m not going after him."

"If you saw him again—would you tell him about Bob?"

"I never will."

The phone rang in the house.

"Will Matt get that?"

"He’s still in bed. Something’s bothering him, Nina."

"Let’s talk later," Nina said, making a run for the phone.

Collier Hallowell, brusque and businesslike, asked her to meet him as soon as possible at Terry London’s house. He hung up before she had a chance to ask why.

This time the way up the hill on Coyote Road was clear and dry, though pocked with mud holes. Rushing water from under the dirty piles of snow along the road ran in gullies down both sides. Two teenaged girls trudged up the road, talking excitedly. Nina wondered where they were going.

She had missed breakfast. She needed a cup of coffee. What could Collier want?

She followed the row of trees lining the drive to the gate and almost ran into an ambulance. The gate hung open.

The ambulance, rear doors gaping and waiting for someone; several squad cars, lights turning and flashing; and a firetruck with a couple of big men in yellow sitting on the back had all crammed into the small curve in front of the studio. Terry’s blue minivan looked lost amid the emergency vehicles.

Down the short path to the left of the house, half-hidden in the pines, several people hung around outside the white bungalow where Terry worked. Nina drew up away from the other cars and jumped out, leaving her briefcase, walking quickly toward the group.

The spectators made way, but Nina was stopped at the door by a young South Lake Tahoe police officer who held his hand up and said, "No entry."

"Is Terry London here?" Nina said. "She’s my client. I’m an attorney."

He cocked his head to the side, said, "Nina Reilly?"

"Yes. What’s going on? Where’s Ms. London?" The cop nodded toward the inside, and Nina’s heart sank. "Sorry," he said. "You can’t go in there right now. It’s a crime scene."

"A crime?"

"The victim’s still in there," the cop said. "They’re getting ready to take the body away." Nina tried to push past him. "Hey!" he said.

"Let me in!"

Collier Hallowell, a deputy district attorney for the County of El Dorado, walked out onto the porch. She hadn’t seen him in months. His gray eyes looked bloodshot, as if he had been up as long as she had.

"What’s happening? What’s going on? Is it Terry?" Nina said, as Collier took her elbow and guided her to the side of the studio.

"I’m afraid so."

"What’s happened?"

"Gunshot," Collier said. He wore heavy beige rubber gloves, an old unpressed shirt, jeans. Plastic booties covered his deck shoes. No socks, she thought automatically. He looked like he had been rousted from his bed. The gloves and booties frightened her. He had lost his usual friendly and kind expression and looked unapproachable and fierce. "We’ve been here all morning. We’re ready to wind things down. Where’ve you been?"

"She did it, didn’t she?" She tore her eyes from him and closed them, trying to collect her senses. "She was awfully worked up about everything, somewhat unstable ... but it was just a short delay, we won the case...."

"She didn’t kill herself, Nina," Collier said. The gloves, stained on the fingers with something dark, transformed his hands into something terrible.

"Somebody came in last night and blew her away. You have any ideas about that?"

"Me?"

"Sure you do," he said, watching her closely. "You come over to my office first thing tomorrow morning. Do you have the film with you?"

"You mean Where Is Tamara Sweet? No, but I have a copy at the office."

"I want to have a look at it right away."

"I’ll see what I can do—"

"Where were you last night?"

"Me? Home in bed."

"Alone in your bedroom?"

"Of course. Why? You think I killed my client?"

"It’s happened," Collier said. "You had a scene with her at the courthouse yesterday. You were filing a motion to get out of the case. I’ll need to know all about that. "

"Okay, sure."

A white van drove up, with KTHO-TV painted on its side. "Shit," Collier said, watching the van. "I have to go back inside."