Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery)

Copyright 1996

Digital Edition 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

For my parents, with affection and gratitude

Author’s note on the digital edition – This book was written before the widespread use of cell phones and computers. You will find Kali searching for a pay phone, calling on special help to get information now readily available on the Internet, and being unable to reach people by phone if they aren’t at home. I hadn’t really focused on how much our lives have changed in this regard until I re-read the book in the process of formatting it for digital download. I hope none of this spoils your enjoyment of the story.

Chapter 1

It started with my father’s death and nearly ended with my own, although both these events were somewhat peripheral to the murders that rocked the town of Silver Creek early last summer.

It was my father’s funeral that brought me home in the first place. When I left Silver Creek twelve years ago to attend college, I vowed I’d put as much distance between the town and myself as possible. And while I ultimately ended up less than four hours away in driving time, my life in San Francisco was light years away in other respects. I was a senior associate in one of the city’s small, but notable, law firms; I owned my own architecturally significant (albeit heavily mortgaged) house in the Berkeley hills; and I was in the early stages of what I hoped might become a fairly serious relationship with the firm’s star litigator, Ken Levitt. If you had asked me, I’d have said that I’d finally brushed the last of Silver Creek’s dust from my shoes. Which goes to show just how wrong a person can be.

My father and I had one of those relationships which improve with distance. Although I was diligent about calling on alternate Sundays, my visits home were infrequent and usually quite brief, sometimes lasting only an hour or so as I drove through town on my way to some more glamorous destination. I would have liked my stay that June to have been as abbreviated. To drop in for the funeral, the way Sabrina did, and then out again less than forty-eight hours later, leaving the loose ends of an emptied out life for others to deal with. But Sabrina had children, a husband, and several thoroughbred horses, all of whom needed her at home, while I had not so much as a single house plant that required my attention.

“You’re so much better at these things anyway,” Sabrina told me as she slid into the airport limo that Friday morning. It was no use arguing, but I knew the only thing I was better at was getting suckered into taking on responsibility she didn’t want. It had been like that as long as I could remember. Of course, Sabrina had at least shown up, which is more than could be said for our brother, John, who pleaded an inflexible schedule and sent an ostentatious arrangement of lilies instead.

The patterns of our childhood, it seemed, hadn’t changed much. As the oldest, and only boy, John had more or less assumed a posture of aloofness, deigning to mix in family matters only on those occasions when it suited him. And my parents, knowingly or not, had encouraged his behavior by treating John as someone whose affection was to be wooed. Sabrina, on the other hand, had cast herself in the leading role at every opportunity. Two years my senior, she was very much like our mother—bubbly, fun-loving, and conveniently helpless when it came to anything tedious. Growing up, the three of us had been like the points of a triangle, each pulling in a different direction. I couldn’t say we’d worked out our differences really, but over time we’d come to accept them.

Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t have liked a little help in winding up my father’s affairs.

Still, I was managing just fine until the day after the burial when I found myself alone with my father’s springer spaniel, Loretta, and a houseful of memories I'd never known existed. I hadn’t counted on that. I’d figured I could sweep through the house fairly quickly, tossing most of what was there into the big Goodwill boxes I’d brought with me, and the remainder of the stuff into the trash. But I’d been at it since seven that morning, and I wasn’t even half through with the kitchen. I simply couldn’t decide what belonged in which pile. I’d even started a third pile, things I might want to hold onto. And while it wasn’t yet large, its very presence confused me more than I cared to admit.

By late afternoon I’d had it. I picked up the phone and tried calling Ken, whose own world fell so easily into neat little piles it sometimes scared me. As usual, he was in conference and couldn’t be disturbed. This could mean anything from a heavy negotiating session to a late lunch, and his secretary, a stern old-school type who didn’t approve of women attorneys, wasn’t about to clarify the issue for me. “I’ll tell him you called,” she sniffed, then added with emphasis,
“again.
I’m sure you realize what a terribly busy man Mr. Levitt is.” I did, although I was still a trifle peeved that he hadn’t come with me to the funeral.

“It’s not like I knew your father,” he’d explained before I left.

“You’ve met him,” I countered, “and besides, you know
me. ”

“I’m sorry, Kali, but the timing’s terrible. I’m swamped with work. And the partner’s retreat is that weekend.” Reluctantly, I’d conceded the logic of his argument, but that didn’t stop me from feeling put out. And the fact that he’d been tied up in meetings the last two times I’d called hadn’t helped matters.

I went back to packing, but didn’t make it past the lumpy, woven pot holder I’d made my mother one Christmas years ago. It was stuck in the back of a drawer filled with her homemade aprons and hand-embroidered dish towels. Like a sudden nighttime fever, the past swept over me and filled me with longing. There I was, Ms. Cool-Headed Efficiency, propped against my father’s greasy old stove, blinking hard at the worn linoleum floor in an effort to contain the rush of tears.

Which all goes to explain why, when Jannine Marrero called and invited me to a barbecue that evening, I accepted without a moment’s hesitation.

“I hope you don’t think it’s rude, inviting you at the last minute like this, and so soon after your father’s passing. Eddie says it’s downright insulting, but I figured you might be ready for a little diversion by now.”

Jannine’s voice has a kind of twang to it which I’ve always found comforting. We were best friends all through high school but somehow, without meaning to, we’d drifted apart after graduation. Although we exchanged Christmas cards and occasional phone calls, I hadn’t seen her in five or six years.

“I’m not insulted at all,” I told her truthfully, “and I’d love to come.”

“There won’t be many people you know, mostly other teachers from the school and stuff, but now that I know you’ll be there, I’ll see if I can’t get some of old gang to drop by, too.” She paused to take a breath. “Gosh, Kali, it’s going to be good to see you again.”

I didn’t know about that. I thought there was a good chance we would run out of things to say to one another very quickly, but I was pretty sure I couldn’t stand my own company for the whole night either.

<><><>

Jannine greeted me at the door with an expansive hug. “Shoot, Kali, you don’t look a day older than you did when you left home. Or a pound heavier. Must be that big city drinking water or something. Maybe I ought to try a jug or two myself.”

We looked each other over, discreetly at first, then much more candidly. Jannine, who had always been a little plump, was now a good thirty pounds overweight. Her overly permed hair hung at odd angles, forming a shapeless mass around her face. But she had always been one of those people blessed with true inner beauty, and that had not diminished. When she smiled, her whole face lit up with an honest down-to-earth pleasure that caught you up in it, willing or not.

“It’s good to see you, too,” I told her, surprised to discover I truly meant it. She squeezed me again, then clasped my hand as though I were an errant child and dragged me into the backyard. “Eddie, come look who’s here.”

From across the yard, Eddie turned and gave me one of his prize smiles. It hit me in the stomach just the way it had in high school. He had been handsome then, the stuff girl’s dreams are made of, and if anything, he’d grown better looking over the years. Curly black hair, dark eyes and straight white teeth. Even the slightly thicker middle looked good on him.

“Hey, kiddo, long time no see.”

I gave a self-conscious laugh. “Well, here I am.”

“She looks terrific, doesn’t she, Eddie?”

He slapped Jannine playfully on the fanny. “Damn sight better than you, sweetheart, that’s for sure.”

“Jannine looks wonderful,” I protested, but she’d already given him a solid jab in the ribs with her elbow. This was apparently an old argument.

“I’d like to see what you’d look like after four babies and two miscarriages.”

Eddie raised his arms to fend off an imaginary blow. “Jesus, don’t go pulling that woman stuff on me again.” He reached into the ice chest and dug out a beer. “Want a drink?”

“Sure.” I took the can, then looked at Jannine.

“Nah, Jannine doesn’t want any,” Eddie said, with a laugh. He draped an arm loosely around his wife’s shoulder. “It addles her brain. Doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

Jannine laughed too, though not quite so heartily. “My brain’s always addled.”

“How’s life in the big city?” Eddie asked, turning his attention back my way. “You rich and famous yet?”

“A long way from both.”

I’d gone into law initially with the intention of righting wrongs and tipping the scales of justice in the direction of fairness and decency, but I’d discovered that people with sizable student loans couldn’t afford such lofty principles. Although my five years at Goldman & Latham hadn’t done much for the general good of humanity, it had made a fair dent in the size of my indebtedness. Still, I wasn’t rich and I wasn’t famous. Sometimes I wondered if I was even happy.

Eddie took a long slug of beer. “I’m working on my M.B.A now,” he said. “Did Jannine tell you?”