Deadly Collection, page 16
Molly had been poking in one of the boxes and almost dropped a Wedgwood blue jasper coffee can. “All of them?”
“Well, Carmel is cat city, so why not?”
Molly sighed. “Later, okay? We’ll negotiate.” The minute Emma was upstairs, she hurried to the desk and tried Daria again. Her three earlier attempts had been frustrating. Once again the answering machine came on. Her stomach was beginning to do somersaults. She was tempted to call Randall and ask him to check on her. But then she’d have to tell him why she was so worried. She looked at the mess in the shop and suddenly felt a wave of defeat. Slumping into a chair, she closed her eyes and prayed for guidance. What the hell…er, excuse me…what the heck should I do? She didn’t wait for inspiration. She knew exactly what she should do. The answer had been nagging her all day.
She ran up the stairs and found Emma with Tiger and her family. “We need to talk.”
Emma followed her into the living room and sat on the sofa. “Is this serious stuff?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
Molly tried for an upbeat smile, but she didn’t think it worked. “No, you’re in the clear. It’s…well, there’s a situation that’s going on, and I need to come clean with you about it. I’m only telling you because—”
Emma’s eyes grew huge. “Is it about her? She’s not coming back for me, is she?”
Molly wasn’t surprised that Emma still referred to her mother as her or she. The child had good reason. “No!” she quickly said. “Nothing like that. It isn’t about Carrie. It’s…well, it’s all this horrible mess at La Casa.”
“Whew! You had me really scared there for a minute.” Emma looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “I don’t want to see her again. I want to stay with you. And that’s that. End of story.”
Molly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She moved next to Emma on the sofa and hugged her. “You sound like Randall now. Don’t you worry about my sister. I won’t let her have you. Ever.”
“We’re a good team,” Emma said as she threw her arms around Molly.
Molly hugged her tighter. “The best.”
Emma let out a big sigh. “Okay, enough of this girly stuff. What’s on your mind?”
Molly wiped her eyes and laughed with her. “Yeah, right. Okay. Remember on the news this morning the reporter said a body was found in La Casa?”
“Oh, my gosh! I was so worried about the fire, and when you said someone was injured, I must have missed that part. What happened? Who was it?”
“Jason Lerner.”
Emma’s eyes popped open. “Oh, how awful! He seemed like such a nice man. I think that place is jinxed.”
“You might be right. But there’s more.” Molly still wasn’t sure how much she should tell her, but considering what she’d already been through with Emma, and how mature and pragmatic her niece was, she felt Emma could handle most of it. Besides, Jason Lerner’s murder would be on the news soon, and she would rather Emma heard it from her. Molly explained what she knew and told Emma what she’d learned from Davis Wood.
“He was murdered? Holy cow. Carmel’s not so sleepy after all, is it?” Emma cupped her chin in her hand, then said, “I wonder if Frances killed Jason.”
“Frances? She was hurt in the fire, remember? If she killed him, she wouldn’t have stuck around. Think about it.”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just because I don’t much care for her. What about Randall? You’re not going to keep secrets from him again, are you? You’re going to tell him everything your antique friend told you, right?”
“Are you kidding? I’m going to call him the minute I know Daria is okay.” As soon as she spoke, Molly knew she’d almost blown it. She hadn’t told Emma that Daria was at La Casa. “She wasn’t feeling well, remember?”
Emma thought that over. “So I guess you want to forget Chinese and leave me here?”
“Nope. I’m going to drop you off at China Gourmet, then make a quick run to Daria’s. I’ll call you from there, okay?”
“Cool. Maybe she might come back with you and have some won ton soup. It’s good when you don’t feel well.”
“Sure. Great idea. That should do the trick,” Molly said.
But she knew that Daria was going to need more than won ton soup.
19
It was late afternoon when Randall called Lucero on his cell phone as he drove back to Carmel from Ventana. “I’m headed back to the station. We’ve got a mess on our hands now. The sheriff’s new homicide dick’s got a chip on his shoulder and I can smell trouble. You might have to set his ass straight. You tell him I want updates as they come in, not when it’s convenient. If he thinks he’s gonna leave me in the dark, he’d better find out who the fuck he’s playing with, capice?”
“What’s his name? I’ll take care of it,” Lucero said.
“I’m counting on it. His name is Reynolds. Here’s what I know: Steffi Lerner was shot in the back, then either fell or was thrown over the railing of the deck of her suite. It’s possible she was trying to get away from the killer. The shot was heard, but that’s all so far. The front desk said no one had asked for her. So the killer knew right where to find her, which leads me to believe he or she had either been in the suite before or had been watching her. My new detective had a digital camera with her and took photos, then made sketches and notes before dickhead got there. Smart gal. She had a feeling we might get shoved onto the back burner. I’ll get back to you later.”
By the time Randall pulled into the station parking lot, his temper had settled to a simmer. He’d gone out of his way to play nice with Reynolds, but he wasn’t going to take a backseat to the jerk. He found two messages on his desk from Loomis. Faxes would be coming in later that day. Randall grinned. He’d have to introduce Loomis to Reynolds. That ought to be a few moments to savor. Now that he thought about it, he’d be sure to have Lucero there. “Okay,” he mumbled, “it’s time to get the show on the road.”
Randall spread out the crime scene photos and sketches from La Casa on the conference table. He made a neat pile of the preliminary reports and interviews, then stared at the incident board. MOTIVE? There were no notes yet. He had a few ideas, but decided to see what info Loomis dug up. OPPORTUNITY made him pause. He needed a cigar to help him examine his reluctance to elaborate on the names listed there. He took his time lighting it, then stood by the window and stared blankly at the cars passing on Junipero Street. His eyes moved up, taking in the towering pines that guarded most of the village from the occasional gusts blowing in from Carmel Bay. He usually got a kick out of watching the crows swoop down and snatch up bits of food tourists’ children invariably dropped. It wasn’t funny today. It was too easy to picture them as carrions picking at a dead body.
He went back to the incident board and shifted his eyes to MEANS. Okay, who among them owned a gun? He added one more column. For lack of a name to put with the skeleton in the coffin, he titled it L.A. NOIR. How many young women, he wondered, lured by the glamour of the movies, had met their end trying to get on that ladder to fame? It was a bigger club than most people knew. It had opened up for membership the day the first movie camera clicked on. It was worse now. The mania for celebrity seemed to be the new national pastime. Every freak in the world was clambering to be on television. He thought those survival shows were the worst. They encouraged greed and dirty tricks. Great examples to the kids sitting in front of the TV.
Randall didn’t like where his thoughts were headed. He couldn’t change the world. But he could solve homicides, and he knew he’d better get back to what he did best. Philosophizing was for others. He was just a cop. Seated at the conference table, he pushed the photos of Jason Lerner aside and took a look at the crime scene sketches. Lerner had been found in the salon, and Frances in the dining room, apparently overcome by smoke. So far, no weapon had been found. So, did Frances kill Jason and try to run for it? Did someone else pull the trigger and was Frances was fleeing? How did the fire start? An accident, or was it to cover the killer’s tracks? Randall thought back to the night he was at La Casa when the Lerners showed up. The huge fireplace was blazing away, and long tapered candles burned in ornate gilt wall sconces. A bit dramatic, he’d thought at the time, for an informal visit. But then, Frances was an artist, and raised in a family with theatrical flair.
The stately mansion was a shambles. A lifetime of memories and treasures were pretty much gone. Why? And more to the point, who did it? By the time the fire department got to the scene, they had managed to contain the fire and keep it from spreading to the upper floors. With one-foot-thick adobe walls, and the floors and staircase primarily marble, the worst of the fire damage was centered on the lower floor. The wood-paneled walls in the study went fast, and the heavy velvet drapes and overstuffed furniture in the salon were now expensive cinders.
For the next two hours, he studied the photos and sketches. His notes filled three pages. No one heard the shot. Scenic Road was filled with big houses, stone walls, a roaring surf just across the street, and people settled in front of TVs. When he was nearly through reading the resident interviews, he came across one that notched his temper back up to a boil. Two teenage boys who lived near La Casa had been walking home from the nightly gathering at the beach around eight-thirty when they stopped to check out a vintage pickup they thought was retro cool. They’d noticed it before, and when they saw it in front of La Casa again, they’d thought about leaving a note on the windshield to see if the owner might want to sell it. By the time they got close enough, a woman ran out the gate, got in the pickup, and tore off. There was only one battered orange El Camino in town. Randall pushed away from the table and stared at the statements. He wondered how he could have heartburn on an empty stomach.
He kicked his chair back so hard it almost toppled over. The cigar clamped between his teeth was in danger of breaking in half as he made his way to the incident board. He grabbed the marker from the chalk tray. The urge to throw it across the room was overwhelming. He stood before the column headed OPPORTUNITY. Frances O’Brien was already there. The second name was a long shot, but one he had to take. With regret, he’d had to add Daria DeMarco. His hand was nearly shaking with anger now as he added Molly Doyle.
When Molly arrived at Daria’s condominium at Spanish Bay, she could feel her heart flutter as she pressed the bell. Please be home. Please be okay. Please tell me what’s going on! She waited another moment, then tried again. The Hail Marys were coming fast and furious now. After a third try, she was ready to pound on the door, until she remembered the deck off the living room that faced the golf course. She hurried to the golf cart path between the buildings and pulled her sweater closer. She wasn’t sure if the sudden chill she felt was from fear or from the cool marine air over the bay being sucked in by the higher temperatures in the valley. Vaporous wisps of fog began swirling around her, and when the bagpiper on the golf course at the Inn at Spanish Bay began his nightly lament, she almost crumpled. She didn’t need that mournful sound right now. Making her way onto the deck, she found the plantation shutters closed. She had no way now to know whether Daria was okay, or pretending not to be home. She knocked on the glass doors and called her.
She was about to try again when a next door neighbor came out and said, “Are you looking for Daria?”
Molly turned and waved. “Yes. I rang the bell, but thought she might be on the deck and didn’t hear me.”
“She left for the city for a few days to do some shopping. If she calls, shall I tell her you stopped by?”
“Oh, would you? Ask her to call Molly.”
Back in the pickup, Molly called Emma on her cell phone. “Daria isn’t home. I’m on my way back. Give Ruby my order, okay?”
“We have company,” Emma said.
“Don’t tell me. It’s Randall, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is he, uh, in a good mood?”
“Nope.”
“Great. That’s just great.”
“Sweet and sour pork, shrimp fried rice, and what else?” Emma asked.
“Arsenic would go well with the rice.”
“I’ll tell Ruby.”
Molly knew she was in for it. What it was, she had no clue. With Randall, one never knew.
Randall was paying close attention to his Cashew Chicken when Molly slid into the chair next to Emma. “Whew! What a day. And what a nice surprise running into you here.”
He set his chopsticks down, took a swallow of Kirin beer, then gave her one of his deadliest smiles. “Surprise? You know I eat here at least three times a week.”
“Oh, right. I forgot, I guess. Too much going on. Max sent a truck down today with a few dozen boxes and—”
“Loaned out your El Camino lately?”
Ruby appeared with her dinner at that moment. Molly smiled her thanks. Stalling for time, she asked Ruby, “New haircut? Looks cute. I love the way it’s cut in the back.” When the waitress left, she said, “Sorry? What did you say?”
Emma reached across Molly for the soy sauce. “He wants to know if you loaned anyone the pickup lately.”
“Oh, uh, no. Why?” she asked.
“Just wondering. Pass that soy sauce when you’re done, Emma, would you please.”
Randall’s change in gears spelled trouble. A smile was teasing his lips, and he was almost too polite in asking for the soy sauce. Molly suddenly knew what it was. Someone must have seen her at La Casa the night of the fire. She was going to have to do something about that truck. It was like a billboard advertising her whereabouts. She knew she had to tell him about being at La Casa, and she’d planned to after she’d talked to Daria. Now she tried to think how not to tell him Daria was there.
When Emma excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, Molly asked, “How’s Frances? I’d like to visit when I can.”
“She’ll be laid up for a while. The burns aren’t too bad, but she’s had some lung damage from smoke inhalation. I wouldn’t count on sending flowers yet.”
“What a horrible tragedy.”
Randall drained his beer. “On a lot of levels.”
Molly decided to let that go. Seeing Frances so badly hurt must have been hard for him. Or was he hinting at something else? She fought an urge to shift in her chair, or to flick a stray hair from her forehead. She’d frankly like to disappear into thin air. He was playing his cryptic game again. She hated it when he did that. “I hope there isn’t any nerve damage to her hands. For an artist that would be—”
“Yeah. Terrible. You lost a big commission too,” Randall interrupted. “You must be pretty bummed about that.”
Molly gave him a sharp look. Damn him! “That’s so insignificant considering what has happened. I can’t believe you said that.”
Randall inched closer and was nearly eye-to-eye with her. “And I can’t believe you failed to tell me you were at La Casa just before the fire broke out. I’ve got two witnesses who saw the El Camino there, so don’t try to weasel your way out of it.”
“Is this what you’re pissed about?” Molly demanded.
“That and a few other things. I don’t suppose you’ve had your radio on in that junk heap you drive, or watched a little telly today.”
Molly threw down her chopsticks. “I don’t watch the telly during the daytime. I work for a living. And the radio in the pickup doesn’t work anymore. What? Did I miss your big news conference or something? Boo-hoo. Bad girl, Molly.”
“Steffi Lerner was murdered.”
Molly felt like a Mack truck had just hit her. “What? When?”
“Last night. Early guess is it was before Jason bought it. Not sure yet.”
“Oh, my God!”
“You ready to tell me what you were doing at La Casa now?”
Molly stared at her dish. Her thoughts were like buckshot splattering all over the place. She lowered her voice. “Okay. I was there. But Jason was alive when I left.” Molly saw Emma coming back to the table and quickly said, “I’ve told Emma about most of this. I…I don’t want to have to lie to her, or do double-agent stuff again.”
“Emma doesn’t have to know the rest. She’s a kid, for Christ’s sake.”
“A damned smart one too. And more level-headed than some people I know.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Randall shot back.
“Are you two arguing again?” Emma chided as she took her seat.
“No. We’re having a discussion,” Randall said.
“Good. Are you talking about, uh, you know what?”
“Yeah. And you’re not part of the conversation.”
Emma looked at Molly. “Have you told him what you wanted to tell him?”
“Yes, but he’s already assuming I wasn’t going to.”
“No kidding?” Randall snorted. “You were actually planning to tell me you were at La Casa? Gee. Too bad I had to read it in a witness statement first. I might not have ruined a very expensive cigar if you had.”
“You should really give those things up,” Emma said. “I’m helping Aunt Molly and Daria to quit smoking. If you’d like, I could be your buddy helper too.”
Randall’s eyes went into slit mode again, but his voice was polite, “Thank you, Emma. I think I can manage on my own.” Picking up his chopsticks, he added, “Eat up. We’ll have coffee at your place.”
After Emma left for bed, and a second pot of coffee was brewing, Molly began telling Randall what she’d seen and heard at La Casa last night. Her stomach was in knots and she felt sick. She didn’t want to tell him about Daria, but knew she had to. She’d learned the hard way that holding back only led to disaster. She was near tears when she told him about Daria showing up at the apartment. “She was a wreck. I didn’t tell her I’d been there and heard what I had. I…I was hoping she would tell me what was going on. I begged her to stay overnight, but she insisted on going home.” Molly went on to tell him how she’d called several times today, and that she’d gone looking for her at her condo only to learn from a neighbor that she’d driven to San Francisco for a few days. “Oh, shit, Randall! I hate being a snitch! I wanted to talk to her first. I’m only telling you now because I’m afraid she might do something stupid. If anything happens to her…I couldn’t live with myself. You’ve got to find her! She couldn’t have killed Jason or Steffi! I don’t know what Jason was referring to when he was yelling at her, but I know Daria isn’t a murderer.”
