Murder Bone by Bone Page 11

  I took her over to the sink for a quick hose-down and debibbing while Drake cleared the rest of the meal. He tried to put his arms around me after depositing the dishes on the drain-board, but I forestalled him by turning and handing him the baby. “She’s wet.”

  “Where’s the towel?”

  “No.” I took the tea towel out of his hand when he started dabbing at Moira’s smeary overalls. “Her diaper’s wet.”

  He blanched. “You don’t want me to—”

  “Why not?” I turned back to the sink and started rinsing dishes. “Use the disposable diapers. There’s a stack of them right by the changing table, and one of those step-on trash cans.”

  “But—but she’s a girl baby!”

  “So?”

  “All the—equipment is different. Everything’s—funny.”

  “You’ll manage.”

  While he was gone—and it took the best part of twenty minutes—I tried to figure out my problem with Drake wanting to be my honey. I was attracted to him physically. He made me downright quivery sometimes. But the closer he tried to get, the more I backed away. My intimate experience of men was limited to my ex-husband, who’d engendered such fear and loathing in me that at one time I tried to kill him, which earned me several years in a correctional facility for women.

  Tony’s recent death at someone else’s hands had freed me, I thought, but inside my head he was still alive, telling me I wasn’t worth a man’s attention, that I didn’t have what it took to satisfy a man. And my own experience told me that love is just a source of pain for a woman.

  The kitchen was almost clean by the time Drake came back with Moira. “I put her sleeper on,” he said proudly. I didn’t mention that he’d put the bottom half on backwards, though the little plastic feet pointing behind her should have been a dead giveaway. “Hey, I would have helped you with the dishes if you’d waited.”

  “I took care of it.”

  Moira squirmed to get down, then sat on the floor and tugged on her toes. “Feets bad,” she said, her eyebrows puckered. “Bad!”

  I pretended not to notice. Drake watched her for a minute before he figured it out. “Just a minute.” He scooped her up again. “We’ll be right back.”

  He would make some kids a good father. But they wouldn’t be mine. I just don’t have it in me to be a mother. I could cope with this temporary version, and I did like Bridget’s children and enjoy them for short stints, but the concept of the endless responsibility that parenthood carries is too scary.

  The rest of the evening went by in a blur of stories, games, constant picking up of toys, shooing the boys into bed, rocking Moira into somnolence, putting Sam back to bed again. I might have collapsed if Drake hadn’t been there. When the kids were finally down and staying, we both sat in the quiet living room for a few minutes, stunned by the silence.

  “So I didn’t get to ask you this afternoon,” I began. I was determined to get some answers to questions that had been nagging me all day. “How’s Richard Grolen doing? And exactly what did you find out about the bones?” I felt safe bringing up this topic with the children in bed.

  Drake took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Grolen’s holding his own. The MRI looks positive, but the docs say he’ll be in a coma for a while—maybe days. They expect him to pull through, barring complications. He was found soon after the attack, and that’s in his favor.”

  “And Dinah Blakely? She seemed pretty distraught.”

  “She was still at the hospital when I checked in there this afternoon.” Drake moved a little closer on the sofa, his arm tightening around my shoulders. “Melanie was there, too. Had a bit of a confrontation with Dinah over who got to sit next to Grolen. The ICU staff had to threaten to toss them both out before Melanie would leave.”

  “Melanie is really acting strange.” I tried to ignore the warmth stealing through me at Drake’s touch. “What Richard said to her yesterday while I was in the Suburban—like he knew something that she wouldn’t want to come out. Do you think—nah. No way she would get so possessive over him if she’d bashed him with that chunk of concrete.”

  “She sure seems to have a thing for him.” Drake sounded absentminded. His hand made little circles on the ball of my shoulder.

  “But what about Hugh? Do you think they’re having marital troubles?”

  “I’m not particularly interested in someone else’s relationship right now.” He tightened his hand, turning me to face him. Paralyzed by indecision, I couldn’t move. His face came closer.

  The phone rang.

  I jumped up, almost taking out Drake’s nose on the way. “The phone!”

  “Let it ring.” He stood, too, reaching for me.

  “It might be Bridget. She’d be worried.” I rushed to pick up the receiver, relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  It was Bridget, sounding happy and relaxed. “Hi, Liz. Sorry I didn’t call earlier, but we just got back from a surfing expedition. Are the kids in bed?”

  They weren’t anymore. Corky popped out of his room, Sam behind him. They seethed around, demanding the phone, and I let them each speak to their mom and dad. Then I had to answer Bridget’s questions and reassure her that things were going well. The boys said good night, getting a bit choked up in the process, and took twenty minutes after we hung up to settle down again. I was just glad that Mick and Moira had slept through it.

  The phone rang again. I glanced apprehensively at the boys’ bedroom door, but they stayed down.

  “Bruno, for you.” I handed Drake the phone.

  He listened, hung up. “Bruno wants to get together, review the data. I’m going over to his house.” He came closer, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Then I’ll come back. I don’t want you here alone tonight.”

  His eyes asked a question.

  “I made up the couch.” I hesitated, not knowing what else to say. Despite the feelings he created in me, I couldn’t offer him a place in Bridget and Emery’s bed. I kept imagining Sam getting up in the night, finding us together. “This—is not the seductive hideaway of your dreams, you know.”

  “I know.” He kissed me on the forehead and headed for the door.

  “You didn’t tell me about the bones. Did you identify them?”

  “There’s nothing positive yet. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.” He left, jingling the house key I’d given him. I pulled out the sofa bed and fluffed the pillows, locked up, and took Barker with me into the bedroom. He was the only male of my acquaintance content to sleep on the floor beside my bed, a gallant, if hairy, knight.

  I fell asleep quickly, despite my turmoil. I dreamed that someone came into my room, sat on the bed, smoothed my hair back, kissed me warmly. But in the morning I was still alone in the wide expanse of sheets.

  Chapter 16

  I got up when I heard sounds from the kitchen, even though the clock said six A.M., far earlier than the kids arose.

  Drake sat at the table, drinking coffee. He’d made himself some toast. I started a large pot of oatmeal and got out the jar of Bridget’s extra-special blackberry jam from its hiding place. It’s not that children shouldn’t have jam; Bridget is lavish with the strawberry and plum jams, also homemade. Anything so wonderful as that wild blackberry jam is too fine for their wee, untutored palates.

  Drake appreciated it. His heavy frown lightened a little after he spread a liberal amount on the toast.

  “What’s wrong? Get up on the wrong side of the sofa bed this morning?”

  He gave me a Look. “Every side of that bed is wrong.”

  I regretted even starting that topic. “You don’t have to stay here,” I said, hating the defensive note in my voice but unable to moderate it. “There’s no danger, and if there was, Barker would let me know.”

  “Huh.” Barker had taken up a stance by Drake’s knee, seeking and getting head scratches, but Drake stopped petting to glare at me. “You credit this mutt with far too much sense.”

  “He’s got no sense
at all, I know that.” I stirred the oatmeal. “But he’s a deterrent. Kind of like those car alarms that go off all night long.”

  “And how much attention does anyone pay them?” He chomped on his toast and couldn’t help smiling.

  “Blackberry jam hath charms to sooth the savage policeman,” I murmured, setting a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. “Try this. It’s Bert’s favorite.”

  Drake eyed the oatmeal suspiciously. “I don’t eat much breakfast, you know that. And who’s this Bert?”

  I started trying to explain the “Sesame Street” hierarchy, on which I was rapidly becoming an expert, but gave up the notion. “Nobody. And you do, too, eat breakfast. You just go down to Jim’s Cafe for it.”

  Drake evidently thought his frequent forays into bacon-and-eggs territory were a secret. “Who told you that?”

  “Seen you there myself.” I poured a cup of tea and sat down across from him with my own bowl of oatmeal. “See, this is what domesticity is about. An opportunity to quarrel early in the day.”

  That got another smile. “What makes you so chipper?”

  “The children will all be gone for the day.” It was a happy little refrain in my head—the children are gone all day, hey, hey.

  “So what will you do with your time?” He leaned across the table. “Let’s see how well I know you. You’ll go for a swim, work in your garden, do some writing—”

  “I’ve got my workshop at the Senior Center. And some errands. But you’re right about the swim, and maybe if there’s time, I’ll get to all those weeds I saw yesterday.”

  Drake looked smug. “That’s what domesticity is about.”

  Corky and Sam erupted into the kitchen. “Oh, boy,” Sam cried. “Oatmeal! Bert’s favorite!”

  Drake got up hastily. He’s really not big on early morning vivacity, certainly not the brand practiced by the Montrose offspring. “Well, I’ve got to run. I want to go by the hospital and check on Grolen. And I’m expecting a fax about the dental records today.”

  I followed him into the living room after helping the boys dish up their breakfast. “Must you leave so soon? Moira will be waking any minute now, and she’ll need changing.”

  Drake made a big show out of folding up the sofa bed. “You make it sound very tempting, but I’m out of here.”

  “Bye, honey!” I made June Cleaver faces at him until the door shut.

  Mick was struggling into his clothes when I looked in the boys’ bedroom. I gave him a hand with his shoes and established him at the table with some breakfast. I got Moira up and changed, but knowing her feeding habits, I left her sleeper on. She only cried a little bit. I felt proud.

  After a frantic few minutes of wiping jam off faces (I’d forgotten to hide the blackberry, and the boys made great inroads), brushing teeth, and finding school backpacks, Corky and Sam flew out the door when the carpool mom honked.

  Melanie came in a few minutes later, while I was still getting Moira’s multitudinous equipment ready.

  “Don’t worry about that,” she said impatiently when she saw me stuffing disposable diapers into the bag. “I’ve got everything at my house. Amanda and Susana are in the car, and I’ll take Mick as well and drop him at preschool with Susana.” She picked up Moira and cuddled her. I had cleaned her up after breakfast, putting on her grass-green leggings with little white polka-dots and a fleecy green dress that matched. With her red curls brushed and her nose freshly wiped, she looked a picture, and for once she acted as sweet as she looked, returning Melanie’s hug and blinking her big blue eyes.

  “Thanks, Melanie. I really appreciate this.”

  “I’ll enjoy having a baby to spoil for a while,” Melanie said, waving away my thanks. We both knew that her live-in helper, Maria, would pick up the slack for her. Maria was known to dote on babies.

  “Have you heard this morning how Richard is?”

  Her face tensed. “The hospital won’t say anything except that he’s doing as well as can be expected. Can you find out more than that from Drake?”

  “I’ll try. He doesn’t always tell me things, but I’ll call you if I find out something new. Last night, he said Richard was probably going to pull through.”

  She swallowed. “Poor Richard. I don’t understand what anyone could gain from trying to kill him.”

  “Maybe he remembered something that was dangerous to someone.”

  She gave me a sharp look. “I’ve now told everything I remember to that nice Bruno Morales. I’m sure he’ll work hard to find out what’s happening.”

  “I’m sure he will.” I didn’t tell her that Bruno was involved in another case, and wouldn’t be free to devote himself to this one for a couple more days.

  She carried Moira out and got her strapped into one of the convenient built-in car seats her luxury minivan came with. I followed with Mick and the diaper bag and toy bag. Moira waved nicely to me—of course, Amanda and Susana, two ruffled little beauties, were waving, too.

  The house was quiet. I spent exactly two minutes enjoying it before clipping the leash on Barker and heading for the door.

  The excavation site was deserted. All the police seals and fences looked untouched. I wondered what would happen to the first body, now that Richard had homed in on its territory. Maybe the police would just bring over that Bobcat and scoop it all up.

  Perhaps that possibility was in Stewart’s mind. He jumped down from his truck when he saw me coming and intercepted me. His shambling sidekick, Doug, was with him.

  “Say, we heard somebody else was killed here the other day. What’s happening, anyway?” Stewart’s brow was furrowed with concern. Doug stared, fascinated, at the trench where the sidewalk had been.

  I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Someone was injured—maybe an accident. The police are looking into it.”

  “Should have let us dig up those bones.” Stewart looked back at his crew, who were preparing to lift huge metal plates off the road with a portable crane. The boys would have loved it. He seemed to be on the same wavelength. “Your young ones at home?”

  “School today.” I yanked back the leash. Barker was getting restive. “I’ve got a lot of errands to do—”

  “Sure. We gotta get back to work, too. Just wondered how it was going.” He glanced at the police barricades around the sidewalk and his lip curled. “Mark my words, they’ll be asking us to clean it up before this is over.”

  “You may be right.” I watched them walk away. Stewart pulled on a hardhat. Doug, whose hat was already on, had his chin on his shoulder, looking at the scene of the excitement as if he couldn’t get enough of it.

  Barker set a brisk pace for the two blocks to my house. Drake’s car was gone from the parking area that separated his backyard from my front yard. I unlocked my door to get my swimming things together, and then opened up Babe’s side door for Barker. Babe is my blue VW bus. She started with a little encouragement. I was happy to be back in the familiar driver’s seat, with Barker sitting tall in the passenger seat. After Bridget’s Suburban, Babe seemed very brisk and supple, pouring around the corners and whipping into a tight parking spot in front of the tennis courts.

  Leaving Barker to guard the car, I walked through the Magic Forest to the pool. The morning lap swim had less than an hour to go, and the pool was relatively deserted. I changed and got a lane to myself.

  I don’t swim fast or even particularly well. But I love the exercise, the sleek way my body cleaves the water, the breath streaming away from my mouth in silver bubbles. I wanted to think about the whole bewildering problem of the attack on Richard Grolen, but one of the best things about swimming is the inability to think in the usual linear fashion. My thoughts took on the color of the sky, the feathery redwoods stretching up above me as I backstroked for a lap, the intricate branches of an ancient valley oak that filled my vision while I sidestroked.

  After my swim, I shower in the locker room. This is a holdover from the days when I lived in Babe with only a tiny sink
and cold water for my ablutions. I swam every day, as much for the shower as for the exercise. Now I shower at Rinconada to save my own water. It’s not because the shower is pleasant—it’s a powerful stinging experience that leaves my skin flayed. But the habits of thrift are the only things standing between me and an ordinary nine-to-five job.

  I was fastening my jeans when Emily Pierce spoke to me.

  “Liz! I wondered if I’d see you here this morning.” She ran a comb vigorously through her short iron-gray curls. “I’ve finally got something to read this afternoon.”

  Emily was one of the attendees in the writing workshop I ran at the Senior Center two days a week. It paid a little stipend, and I enjoyed hearing the stories of these people who had so much to tell. Emily had done more listening than reading in the past couple of months, but that was okay, too.

  “I look forward to hearing it.” I pulled on my T-shirt and made sure I had all the toiletries I’d brought. Replacing those little bottles can be expensive if I leave them behind. I can usually refill them from bigger bottles many times before they wear out.

  “I’m dividing my scabiosa,” Emily said, stuffing her brush back into a bag. “You want some?”

  “Sure.” Emily was an avid gardener. More than once she’d helped me with a problem, and she’d been the one to introduce me to the master gardening library at the Gamble House. “Emily, you’ve lived around here for a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Since my undergraduate days at Stanford.” She walked with me out of the dressing room, and we stood in the sun by the baby pool. “Met my husband there—he was in graduate school after the war. We settled down here. Bought one of the first Eichlers. We moved over here after the kids left—it was smaller and closer to things.” She gestured toward the Magic Forest. I knew she lived on one of the streets near the Community Center.