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I turned to look at Buck and could see him worrying the corner of his silver mustache with his tongue a little. “Well, about as good as I’ve found any kid his age to work out. He’s prompt most of the time anyway.”

Buck almost always found a good word to say about somebody, even when he said it in his gruff way. While punctuality was important to him, the fact that noting it was the best thing he could say about Frankie told me a lot about his quality of work. Still, the kid needed the money, so I knew Buck would be patient with him for quite a while.

“Ah, there he is,” Buck said, and I turned around to see Frankie come out of the pen he had finished with and slip off the headphones. “Frank, I want to introduce you to Gracie Lee. If Mrs. Morgan and I have to go anywhere, Gracie Lee will be working with you. I probably should say
Mrs. Harris
will be the one telling you what to do. Gracie Lee, this is Frank Collins, Jr.”

“Hey. Good to meet you, Frank.” I put out my hand, but then realized he probably wouldn’t shake it. Between being a young teen at an awkward phase and the tools he had to balance, it wouldn’t work. When it became evident quickly that I was right, I put down my hand so as not to fluster him.

“Hi,” he said more to the ground than my face. In an adult I could have taken offense at that; from a boy his age it was normal behavior. After a bit of a shuffle he looked up at Buck. “What else you got for me to do?”

“Have you ever brushed and groomed a dog before? Sophie could sure use it.”

“Nuh-uh. Is it hard to do? I don’t want to hurt her or anything.”

“I wouldn’t let you. Why don’t I get the dog and Mrs. Harris will show you the tools and how to use them.”

“Okay.” Frankie put the hose and other equipment down without a lot of grace. I went over to and turned off the water without saying anything. Maybe if I modeled good behavior he’d catch on eventually. Or maybe I’d just have to be blunt and tell him what to do.

I went over to the supply cabinet next to the dog runs where Buck kept grooming equipment. Opening a drawer, I got out the brush and flea comb we’d use on Sophie. I explained how to use them, and then held them out to Frankie. “Do you want to try it first, or watch me a little before you try it?”

He had a speculative look, eyes narrowed, that made me see a bit of his father in him. I could almost feel him debating which was worse; possibly making a fool of himself or taking instruction from a woman. Finally he gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I’ll watch. Just for a little while.”

Buck was leading sweet, docile Sophie toward us by then. She never complained about being groomed, so she was the best choice for this exercise. She and Dixie were Lab mix with something much furrier thrown in, like Shepherd or collie. “This is Sophie.” Buck stopped and patted the wide grooming bench and she jumped up on it looking happy. He dropped the leash. “You don’t have to leash her to anything while you groom her. Some of the other dogs you do, but you wouldn’t want to start with them anyway. I’ll leave you two to your work.”

Without a lot of fanfare I started brushing the dog in long, easy strokes from her neck to hips. “She grows a heavier winter undercoat and that’s what sheds if we don’t brush her pretty often. It doesn’t usually tangle, but don’t jerk the brush or she’ll grumble at you.”

Frankie nodded, watching silently. After a few more strokes I stood back a step and handed him the brush. He was a little tentative at first, which was better than being too rough with her. At first he worked quietly. It was only after he had finished almost a whole side of Sophie’s dark body that he spoke. “I still get paid for this even if you’re showing me how, right?” He sounded suspicious.

“Sure. You can’t know how to do everything right away. Learning is part of the job.”

“Good. I’ve got plans for the money already.”

“Cool. Plans are good…you have a new CD in mind?” I asked, pointing down at his player.

He gave me a look more scornful than Ben would ever have dared. “Get real. I want to make sure the cops keep the lowlife who killed my dad locked up. Or maybe I can do something about it if they screw up and let him go.”

I felt stunned into silence. His voice was so cold and calculating that for a moment I forgot this was only a thirteen-year-old next to me. He had a man’s anger without a man’s maturity. It was a dangerous combination I knew I needed to tell Ray Fernandez about, and soon.

H
onestly, I expected Ray to be far more appreciative of my information. I only got voice mail that evening when I tried to reach him, so I left a barebones message. There are some things you just don’t want to say over a phone, and discussing the possible murderous tendencies of a young teen was one of those things for me. By eight Tuesday morning my phone rang. “Is this worth my coming over there this early?” It wasn’t the most pleasant greeting I’d ever gotten from him, but it wasn’t the worst, either.

“I think it is. Should I put on coffee?”

“I’ll grab some on the way. Should I bring you anything?”

“No, I’m okay with what I’ve got here,” I told him and he hung up quickly. I made a face at the phone when I put it back in its cradle and went to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee anyway. I was worth it even if he disdained my coffee.

No sooner had I started filling the coffeemaker carafe with water than the phone rang again. By now I should know to always look at the caller ID before I pick up, but lately I’ve gotten lazy. This time that gave me a problem.

“Hey, Gracie Lee. How’re you doing?” That smooth Tennessee-tinged voice still made me want to drop the phone every time.

“Okay, Hal. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to Ben about his ticket for Christmas, and what we’re doing. Is he there?”

Where did the man
expect
his son to be this time of morning? He’d obviously forgotten so much of his own teenage life, and paid so little attention to Ben’s that he had no clue. “Of course he’s here. Sound asleep, but here.”

“I’m not going to have time later to do this again and it’s urgent. Can you get him awake enough to talk pretty quick?”

Oh, sure. Hal Harris could make my temper flare more quickly than any man on the planet. Even Fernandez ran a distant second most of the time. Silent prayer was the only weapon powerful enough to deal with this without shrieking into the phone. After saying a fervent, silent prayer and taking a deep breath I felt calm enough to speak again. “I’ll try, Hal, but I can’t make any promises. He’s a pretty sound sleeper.”

There was a masculine noise of frustration on the other end of the phone. “You let him get away with anything, don’t you? What’s he doing in bed this late on a weekday?”

Still making my way to Ben’s bedroom, I kept my temper as best I could. “First, let me remind you that it’s several hours earlier in California than Memphis. And second, he’s less than a week into his first break after a tough semester of college. If that’s letting him ‘get away with’ anything, then deal with it because I’m fine with him sleeping in.”

By then I was at Ben’s door and I knocked harder than I’d planned to. Muffled, non-alert noises came from inside. “Ben? Your dad’s on the phone. Do you want to talk?” I held the phone away from me so Hal didn’t hear Ben’s answer in case it was less than polite. While I’d cheerfully argue with Hal if only the two of us were involved, once Ben joined any situation I’d be pleasant and civil for his sake.

There was a groan and some thumping, and Ben opened the door just wide enough for me to see his rumpled hair, the one eye he had open and the saggy flannel pants he slept in. “I guess. Phone?” He held one hand out and I gave him the cordless handset and the door closed again. I went back to the kitchen to finish making coffee. It was still filling the carafe after brewing when there was a knock on the door.

“Hello. Come in,” I told Ray. He stood at the doorway for a minute with his lidded paper cup and viewed me silently.

“Honest, if I knew it meant that much to you I would have agreed to drink your coffee,” he said, sounding as if he meant it.

“What are you talking about?” This seemed to be my morning for male aggravation.

“You sound really ticked off at me and we haven’t even talked yet.” I waved away his concern and ushered him in.

“It’s not you. Ben’s dad called to talk to him a few minutes ago. I’m always unpleasant when I have to deal with Hal this early in the day.” Of course I wasn’t any better when I dealt with him later in the day, either.

Ray wore an expression of relief. “At least it wasn’t me for a change.”

My mood was already toast. “No, that will come in a few minutes when you tell me how wrong I am for suspecting anything.”

He smiled weakly. “Aw, c’mon. Give me a chance here. I might even say you have a point.”

I poured myself some coffee and sat down in the living room armchair, where I proceeded to tell Ray all about my encounter with Frankie Collins the day before. Of course I also had to give him the background information on the kid from talking to his mom a couple times. I did leave out the little shoving match the two of us had at Christian Friends over a week ago. None of the rest of it impressed Fernandez, though.

By the time I finished he looked a bit sour and his coffee cup appeared to be mostly empty. He still waved away the offer of a refill. “Okay, you were right. I’m not going to tell you that you have a point. You have a son. What kind of stuff did he say at thirteen to sound tough?”

“Certainly he didn’t offer threats of murder, at least not in my hearing.”

“Now, look. If what you’ve told me is accurate, Frankie didn’t threaten murder, either. There are lots of ways to ‘take care of’ somebody you don’t like besides killing them. He’s an angry kid who has a lot of good reasons to be angry. Let’s leave it at that. Meanwhile I need to leave to prepare for court this afternoon.”

“For this case or another one?”

Ray scowled. “This one. That hot-shot lawyer Ms. Adams got Seavers has made a motion to get the charges down to suspicions of manslaughter
and
get his client released on his own recognizance because he’s such a low flight risk.”

“Hey, you were the one who said you didn’t think Matt was a murderer.”

“That was before the evidence techs found his handprint on an inside wall of that portable facility, right where you’d expect to see it if somebody pulled a heavy object, like a body, in there.”

Lexy had been right in her assumptions, but this still made me mad. “Ray, that handprint could be from any time since they put that thing in the driveway. How can that one thing make you change your mind so radically?”

He gave me a look much like the one Ben usually gave me when he thought I was being denser than usual. It wasn’t any more attractive or less annoying on Fernandez. “I’m not changing my mind that much. Seavers has been a person of interest ever since we knew how his girlfriend was involved. And now on top of everything else I have to worry about him getting out of jail and being back on the streets.”

“As much as I want to see that happen, now I’m afraid he’ll be in more danger out than in,” I told him.

“Why? Because you heard a thirteen-year-old boy shooting off his mouth? Maybe you and that church group of yours can find a way to pray over both of them and make the situation go away.” He pushed off the couch and left me to jump up and follow him to my own front door. “But if you’ll excuse me, I still need to prepare for that hearing in Ventura.”

He turned around when he got to the doorway. The speed of the motion almost made me run into him. “If you have any information like this again, please just call.”

“As if I’d bother,” I muttered after the door shut and I could hear him descending the stairs.

“Was that Detective Fernandez? What did he want?” Ben asked as he put the phone back in its cradle.

“Not much. What did your dad want?”

“To change the dates I’m going to be in Memphis, moving my flight up to Thursday instead of Friday. He, uh, wants me to meet somebody.”

Oh, boy. The sheepish look on Ben’s face gave me a clue as to what kind of “somebody” that might be. I just hoped that this time the “somebody” would be a little more serious, for Ben’s sake, and maybe even be old enough that no one would mistake her for his older sister. Given Hal’s taste in women, that last part might be too much to hope for. Not that I’d say that to Ben. “So does that work for you?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “They cut into my planned time with Cai Li, but otherwise it’s okay. You already planned for me to be gone anyway. I figure a day earlier wouldn’t matter much.”

“True.” I’d be lonely without him, but technically it was Hal’s year to have Ben for Christmas. If my ex-husband had a serious love interest at this point, he’d be even more anxious to start his time with Ben. Chances are good that Hal had actually changed the tickets last week sometime, before even asking his son. “How do you feel about all this?”

“What? Do you mean the changed date or spending Christmas with Dad and the Tennessee Grands?” When Ben put it that way, Hal’s family sounded like a bad country band.

“Both. I imagine you were more anxious to go to Memphis before you had a girlfriend. And I know you enjoy spending time with your dad.”

“A lot more than I like spending time with his parents sometimes.” Ben sighed. “Do you think Grandma and Grandpa will ever get tired of showing each other up with money?”

“I’d like to think so, Ben, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen. They were doing that before you were even born, so I certainly can’t promise you that it’s going to end anytime soon.” It probably wouldn’t end until one or the other of Hal’s parents died. Even then whoever went first would be at a disadvantage because the last man—or woman—standing would have a chance at a better bequest to Hal or Ben. But for now I didn’t want to dwell on all that stuff. “Do you think you’ll shave before you fly out there?”

Ben grinned, making him look more like his father than ever. Whatever bad I could say about Hal, he’d been a very handsome young man and his son was no different. “Shave? No way. If I shaved, Grandma Lillian might ask me about my grades and school and if I have a job and all kinds of stuff like that. If I don’t, all we’ll talk about is this.” He stroked his chin. So Ben was not only as handsome as his father, but he was even craftier. I’m going to have to keep an eye on that kid.

By four that afternoon I had gotten mighty antsy, wondering how the court hearing had gone for Matt. I hoped he wouldn’t be spending this week before Christmas in jail. I didn’t dare call Ray to find out, even though the information would be a matter of public record. None of the other Christian Friends were likely to know this soon, and I had no idea whether I could call the county courthouse and get information like that or not.

I’d cleaned up around the apartment and used up what excess energy I could by wrapping and mailing my mom’s Christmas package. The line at the post office was incredible, and if the clerks were supposed to make us feel any better by wearing Santa hats, it was a wasted effort.

Once I left the post office I contemplated stopping by school to see if Linnette was in the bookstore and whether she knew anything about Matt. I drove in that general direction, since it wasn’t much of a detour on my way home. Before I got there I passed another sign that made me pull into a different parking lot instead. Inside the building there I was likely to find somebody who could answer my question.

The Rancho Conejo satellite office of the
Ventura County Star
didn’t have a lot of desks or equipment. Maybe a dozen cubicles ranged across the one fair-sized room, and it was hard to see how many of them were occupied. The receptionist looked like she hadn’t been out of high school long, nor was she very concerned about security. When I told her I was looking for Sam Blankenship she stopped popping her gum while having a phone conversation long enough to point toward a corner cubicle and then went back to what she was doing.

The spot she’d pointed to didn’t seem to be occupied, but I headed that way anyway, and I was in luck. Before I found anything in my purse to leave a note for Sam with, he ambled across the open space between the cubicle maze.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” he said with a smile. “Want to give me a quote for the incredibly small story I’m going to write about the guy charged with doing in the DB you found?”

“Maybe. What’s a DB, and who is this guy?” I knew the answer to the second question, but not the first. Sam wore khakis and another one of his ties that I guessed came from a thrift store. At least he didn’t shop the bargain bin in the thrift store anyway. And his white shirt, while it wasn’t new, didn’t have any stains or holes, either.

“Ah. Sometimes I forget that I don’t always speak plain English any more. ‘DB’ means dead body. That’s shorthand the cops use all the time, not in court or anything, but when they’re talking to each other. And sometimes they use it when they talk to me. And the guy is…let me see—” he flipped out a notepad “—Matthew Seavers, age twenty-four, who just had a bail hearing that I covered at the county courthouse, for all the good it did me.”

“Why, didn’t anything happen?” My hopes sank a little at Sam’s disappointed look.

“Not much. Nobody said anything that was worth a story, even if the guy did get released. His lawyer got the charges knocked down to suspicion of manslaughter and got the guy released to the custody of his employer, who vouched for him. But absolutely nobody was saying anything to anybody outside the courtroom.”

I hated to tell Sam, but I thought that was as it should be. Ray wouldn’t likely talk to him about any of this, and Brian couldn’t have his client talking to anybody at this point. I was glad to hear that somebody at Leopold Plumbing thought enough of Matt to stand up in court for him. “So you think I’d have a comment on this?”

“Hey, it’s possible. You found the body so maybe you have some ideas about who killed the guy. The cops must have thought this Seavers did it or they wouldn’t have bothered to arrest him and hold him.”

“Sam, I can’t say anything you could use for publication. All I saw was Frank Collins after death. Nothing before that, and not much after that told me anything, either. Matt was on a crew that worked that remodeling project, but there had probably been a dozen guys around the site in the week before that, and I wouldn’t have expected the week after Thanksgiving to be any different.”