Murder Bone by Bone Page 9

  She nodded and sprinted for her car. As soon as she’d driven away, leaving the space at the curb vacant, the police team put up their barricades there, stringing caution tape.

  Bruno closed up the laptop. “I’m going to start Rhea going door to door,” he said, gesturing at one of the uniformed cops. “Maybe someone saw something out here this morning.”

  “You think it was this morning?” Drake looked thoughtful. “I noticed his back was damp.” He looked at the tarp. Though it had been pulled back for a while, it still glistened with condensation on the underside.

  Bruno went to talk to the policewoman, and Drake turned to me. “Let’s go inside.” He brushed cracker crumbs off Moira’s cheek. “I need some coffee. I’ll make it,” he added, catching my eye. “And then we can put our heads together.”

  “My head has nothing to contribute,” I said. I could see my day evaporating—my luxurious day of just one child to mind. My trip to the library, my watering expedition to my house.

  “It won’t take long.” Drake seemed to read my mind. “We need to see where we are here. It might be safer for you and the kids to go away for a while.”

  That got through to me. I led the way up the stairs, replacing my useless uneasiness about my own position with something more relevant—the knowledge that someone was targeting Bridget’s house for violence. Someone who might move on to Bridget’s family soon.

  Chapter 12

  Drake made me a cup of tea while he was brewing coffee. We sat around the kitchen table, Moira drawing designs in the high chair tray with the grape juice she shook out of her sippy cup. Barker seethed around our legs, sensing turmoil in the air, until I sent him to lie down in the living room.

  Drake took a big sip of his coffee and sighed in satisfaction. “Now,” he said, setting down the cup. “Tell us everything that happened this morning from the moment you opened your eyes.”

  I went through the list of what we’d done that morning to get everyone off on time. Bruno nodded; he was familiar with that list, it seemed.

  “No unusual noises outside? Barker didn’t alert you to anything?” Drake cast a look of disapproval through the door at Barker, who was doing his rug impersonation on the living room floor. “He’s no use at all if he won’t even let you know when someone’s being assaulted outside.”

  “He woke me up this morning.” I tried to remember back that far. “He barked, in fact. Usually he just shoves his cold wet nose into my arm until I get up.”

  Drake grinned for the first time since he’d arrived at the house. “And do you like that?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” I said with dignity. “This morning he barked, and I did hear a door slam. When I let him out, I saw the couple next door heading for the health club. At least I assume it was the health club. They had sweats on, and big duffel bags.”

  “Then what?”

  “I took a shower before the kids got up. Then I was busy.” I shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “I think, Paolo,” Bruno said, “that Grolen was assaulted while Liz was walking to the nursery school.”

  Drake nodded. “You’re probably right. It was a stupid time to choose—someone must have seen something at eight in the morning.”

  Bruno shook his head. “I don’t know, Paolo. Neighborhoods like this can be deserted after seven-thirty. Everyone’s at work or school or day care.”

  “Maybe Rhea will turn up a neighborhood busybody,” Drake said hopefully.

  A dull ache in my fingers made me realize that I had my teacup in a death grip. The picture was a chilling one: a body being planted under the tarp in broad daylight while Moira and Mick and I were walking downtown without a care in the world. What kind of person was so desperate to dispose of Richard Grolen that he—or she—would take the risk of being seen?

  Footsteps thudded up the front porch steps, followed by brisk knocking at the door. Bruno gestured me back into my seat. “This will probably be for us to take care of,” he said, putting his cup on the table. “You just relax.”

  Drake craned around in his seat to see the front door. “Press,” he said, scowling. “Don’t talk to them, Liz. We can’t stop them from taking pictures, but don’t add fuel to the fire.”

  “I know that.” I ladled a few more Cheerios onto Moira’s tray. “Look, I have things to do this morning, places to go—”

  “But you don’t want to see people, right?” He got up, too, and carried his and Bruno’s cups over to the sink. “Let us clear away the press and get stuff straightened out. Then you can go.”

  I had the feeling that he wanted me out of the way. But that was okay. I didn’t want to be there, in the midst of his investigation, dealing with the archaeology students and the press and who knew what else. I wanted to be back in my own house without any rug rats to care for, without any bodies turning up. Failing that, I would take Moira with me to the library.

  “Did you find out more about the identity of the bones?” I thought I might be able to slip the question in while Drake was distracted and get an actual answer.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Drake patted me on the shoulder. “Thanks for letting us know what Claudia thought, by the way.”

  “You don’t need to sound so patronizing.” I clutched the sponge I’d gotten to wipe Moira’s tray, barely keeping myself from wiping it across Drake’s smug face. “Don’t bother to tell me if you don’t want to. I’ll find out on my own.”

  He stopped grinning. “Don’t stick your nose in, Liz. It was academic until this morning, but now someone’s making fresh bodies. You don’t want to end up on their list.” He took the sponge out of my hand and pulled me close to him. I could smell the lime scent of his aftershave, and the coffee on his breath. “In fact,” he said, his voice rougher, “I’d better spend the night tonight. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be alone here.”

  “I’m hardly alone.” I let myself rest my cheek against his chest. It felt good to be held—too good. “There’s—”

  “Barker, I know.” His voice rumbled beneath my ear. “That mutt is no good as a watchdog.”

  “Plus four children.”

  “All the more reason for me to stay.” He pulled away, looking at me. “Deal?”

  “You’re welcome to the sofa bed, of course.”

  He shook his head, laughing. “You’re a hard case, Liz Sullivan. I can’t think why I stick around you.”

  He let me go, just in time. Bruno came back into the house.

  “I’ve sent them away,” he said, raising an eyebrow. I turned away, busying myself at the sink. “The archaeology students came. They seemed very upset when I told them what had happened. Rucker is taking their statements.”

  “I want to sit in.” Drake said, all business, as if that soft interlude had never taken place. “Especially the gum-chewer—Nicholas?”

  “Nelson,” I said. “Seems like an okay kid, really.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Drake bustled past me. “Give us a few minutes before you leave. We’ll get the students out of the way. Did you get an update from the hospital?” This was to Bruno.

  “Still alive. That’s all they’ll say.” Bruno looked sober. “This is a nasty business, Paolo. I don’t like these children being mixed up in it.”

  “That’s okay.” Drake was casual—too casual. “I’ll spend the night tonight.”

  “I’ll make up the sofa bed for you.” I had to say it in front of Bruno. But Drake deserved it. “And we’ll even fix you dinner for a change.”

  “Great.” His scowl changed to a pleased smile. “I love it when women cook for me.”

  “I hope you love it when children cook for you.” I ushered them both to the front door. “They’re very creative with the seasonings, I’ve always found.”

  A little of his pleasure drained away, and I felt ashamed of myself. But I didn’t like being pushed into a corner, no matter how cozy, how comfy, it was there.

  I went around the house, assembling Moira’s
needs for the next couple of hours, then changed her diaper for good measure. I could hear activity from the front yard, and the more muted sound of the road crew down the block. Moira was relatively mellow, although she took exception to the washcloth.

  The police van was still blocking the drive. I took Moira and the diaper bag out to sit on the porch and wait for them to be done, impatient to be about my business, away from all this turmoil.

  Chapter 13

  Drake and Bruno were talking to the students as a group. Kathy’s expression grew more and more shocked; she began crying, wiping the tears away with both hands. Impassive Hobart even clenched his fists.

  Nelson’s face glistened with sweat, despite the cool morning breeze. He chewed nervously at the ever-present gum. He had turned his back to the excavation site, but he didn’t look at Drake either. He just stared into space, wiping his forehead with a grubby-looking bandanna. Even when Bruno showed him the little baggie with his gum wrapper in it, he didn’t say anything. But the way he sweated said a lot.

  I picked up Moira and strolled around the yard. Not that I wanted to overhear the conversation, but it was too tantalizing to watch without knowing what was said.

  Drake looked from Kathy to the white van. “You came in the van without Dr. Grolen this morning? Why?”

  Kathy sniffed and wiped her nose on her bandanna. “He said he’d meet us here. That’s all I know.”

  Unexpectedly, Hobart spoke. “Wanted to get over to the Bay early, get some sailboarding in.” He jerked his head up the street, where a sport utility vehicle with a plastic rooftop case was parked. “That’s his four-by-four there. He showed me his board. Really primo, top of the line. He gets his equipment free, and money besides, because he patented a sailboard design.”

  “So he was sailboarding early this morning, before he came here?” Bruno typed that into his computer, then gestured to one of the evidence team members, pointing out Richard’s car.

  “Did you go with him?” Drake pinned Hobart with a look.

  “Me? Nah.” Hobart’s face gradually lost the animation it had while he was talking about sports. “He didn’t invite me.”

  Nelson wiped his face again, more relaxed with the questions focusing on Hobart. Drake looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

  After the students drove away, I mentioned Nelson’s reaction to Drake.

  “Yeah, I noticed.” He scrawled something on his disintegrating notepad. “He was not a happy camper, for sure. I’ll let him stew a little while, and then go talk to him this afternoon.”

  “Are your guys just about finished out there? Can I get out of the driveway?”

  “They’re leaving shortly.” He put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me straight on. I could hardly bear to see the concern in his eyes. “Listen, Liz. I want you to take care of yourself today. No sleuthing around, no running risks—”

  “I’m going to the main library. Then to the community garden, then to my house. Then I’m picking up Sam and Amanda at kindergarten and dropping Amanda off—”

  “You’re going to see Melanie?”

  “It would be hard to drop off Amanda without seeing her mom.” I was struck with a thought. “Does she know about Richard yet?”

  “Not unless she’s the one who bashed him. But she’ll find out soon enough. Bruno’s got her on his list of people to interview, although she may find out before he even gets there. That woman’s ear covers all of Palo Alto.”

  I was relieved that I didn’t have to be the one to break the news. Melanie showed such a proprietary interest in Richard that it was hard to predict how she’d take his current state.

  “So I’ll see you at dinnertime if not before.” Drake licked his chops. “Mmm. I sure do love a home-cooked meal.”

  “Yeah, I know. There’s a whole freeway from your stomach to your heart.”

  “You guessed it.” He watched the police van drive away, then pulled me close again. I thought he might kiss me, but he left after a slow, heart-stifling hug.

  It took me a few minutes to calm down enough to tuck Moira into the Suburban and check that I had everything I needed—the baby stuff, the grocery list, and what I needed for notes at the library. I stopped briefly at my place and nipped into the garage for my bucket of gardening equipment.

  The reference librarians were delighted with Moira, and kept bringing her crackers and a selection of books they had squirreled away for junior patrons. I looked up the information I needed for the article I was writing, and then asked for the microfiche of the Palo Alto Times for fifteen years ago, plus a couple of years on either side.

  Scrolling through, I marveled at how hairstyles and clothing that I had considered the height of chic in my late teens could look not only ridiculous but ugly less than two decades later. The real estate section was a real eye-opener. Houses for sale under $100,000! Certainly there were no bargains like that available now. Hamburger at the Co-op was sixty-nine cents a pound.

  Even while I did the tourist thing through the year Melanie had graduated from Stanford, I knew it was futile. Drake and Bruno already had leads on the identity of the skeleton, and anyway the attack on Richard had shoved those old bones onto the back burner. I scanned the front pages for anything about drugs, and the police blotter for anything around Bridget’s address, but there was too much data and not much point in trying to absorb it. And I had other things to do before I could pick up the kindergartners.

  The community garden is behind the main library. It’s a wonderful space, full of exuberant vegetables, luscious berries, and Bermuda grass which, because the garden is organic, can’t be poisoned, only dug out. We all curse the Bermuda grass.

  Moira hunkered down in front of the strawberry bed and helped herself while I picked green beans and corn and tomatoes and peppers. I went back and forth between my garden and Bridget’s, two down and across the path, with the baby trotting at my heels as if substituting for Barker, who wasn’t allowed in the garden and could be heard complaining about that from the car.

  I stripped the bloated cucumbers off Bridget’s vines, and pulled up as many weeds as I had time for. Moira enjoyed the watering until I accidentally sprinkled her. I placated her with a bag of green beans to carry. She munched one solemnly on the way back to the ear. If she hadn’t tried to feed half of it to the snail she’d put in her pocket, I wouldn’t have known about that slimy hitchhiker for a while. It was obvious Moira wouldn’t like to see me do what comes naturally to the snail. Instead of stepping on it, I dumped the dregs of coffee out of Claudia’s takeout cup, which was still in the front seat cup holder, punched some holes in the plastic lid with a ballpoint pen, and shoved a little grass in the bottom. Moira was delighted with her new pet. She clutched the cup tightly all the way to the elementary school.

  I pulled up in front just as the kindergartners streamed down the sidewalk. Sam and Amanda came out, Amanda holding Sam’s hand while be looked as if he weren’t participating. They each carried drawings stapled to construction paper that we all admired. I loaded them up and drove to Melanie’s.

  Amanda rushed ahead of me up the front walk, but Melanie didn’t answer the door. It was Maria, her live-in help, who scooped up Amanda and admired her picture. I wondered if Melanie was at the hospital, demanding that Richard Grolen return to consciousness. But I felt relieved, as well, that I wouldn’t have to talk to her.

  I took Sam and Moira with me to my place, feeling the usual rush of protective pride when I steered the Suburban down the driveway. My little cottage is nothing much, especially by Palo Alto standards, which mandate that old houses either be sensitively restored or knocked down for big new houses. Mine is old and although I’ve painted it, it’s still shabby and in need of a few things, the most significant being a new foundation. The front porch tilts a little one way, the steps tilt the other way. But it’s all mine, free and clear, and that makes it perfect as far as I’m concerned. I don’t care that the kitchen’s last upgrade was sometime in the
forties, or that the bathroom’s claw-foot tub has rust stains that no amount of cleanser and elbow grease have eliminated.

  Best of all is my yard, which I’m turning into a garden a little at a time. Drake, who is buying the house in front of mine, the one that faces the street, has a small front yard and a gravel area behind his house to park his car. The rest of the extra-long lot is mine, from the redwood trees at the back to the rosebushes that border his parking area. I have some lawn, which Barker is gradually outgrowing the need to dig up, and a series of raised beds I’ve created from scrap lumber gleaned from construction Dumpsters. During the summer I’d sold mixed lettuce and sugar snap peas and nasturtiums and herbs at the farmers’ market. A couple of restaurants still wanted all the salad mix I could produce. I didn’t make a lot of money, but enough to help pay the water bill and buy seeds and soil amendments.

  Sam and Moira chased Barker around the raised beds, shrieking with laughter, while I harvested salad mix and edible flowers for my restaurant customers, clipping the baby greens and tucking the flowers into plastic boxes that I collect and reuse. The nasturtiums and borage flowers glowed like jewels in their clear cases. I love the small, substantial rounds of Tatsoi and the sweet crunch of the Little Gem romaine. After I’d eaten close to a handful, I realized it was lunchtime. The kids realized it at the same time.

  I stuck the bags and boxes in the refrigerator and got us all a snack We sat at the kitchen table, Moira propped up on a dictionary and a thesaurus, and ate yogurt and carrot sticks and sugar snap peas—all I had on hand. Either the kids were hungry or the novelty carried them through. They cleaned their plates.

  I washed up the dishes while Sam took Moira on a tour of the kitchen, holding her hand and making up great stories about what was behind each cupboard door. Moira loved it. Although the boys are good with her, they generally regard her as not up to much in the way of fun, and prefer to play among themselves. But when one of them gives her attention, it makes her day. She even talked to Sam, which she hadn’t done much for me so far. “More,” she urged him after the second story. “Tell more!”