One Murder More, page 20
So he was willing to do what he needed to keep Marilyn happy. He told her his sister would be more than ready to stop single parenting and give the kid to a proper set of parents, a dad and a mom. But he wasn’t as sure about that as he made himself out to be.
Billy was high when he showed up that last time at Sal’s, and she had been anxious for him to leave. Not that it was anything new. Sal hadn’t wanted Billy around for a long time. Ever since he started wanting fun in his life and was willing to take some risks and use alcohol, weed and blow to get it. Meanwhile, Sal seemed stuck in “Ms. Responsible” mode. He figured that was why Sal accepted the kid from Tilly in the first place. Out of a sense of duty. His older sis was such a straight-arrow goody-goody. If she saw now that he had changed, that he had a good woman, that he stayed sober most of the time (Marilyn didn’t like him using), Sal would hand the kid over.
He remembered the tiny baby sleeping in the crib. True, Sal had made him sign some paper she wrote on the spot saying he gave up his rights, something like that, he couldn’t remember exactly. Then she had given him money, more than she usually did.
But she can’t buy a baby, he reassured himself. Or at least he didn’t think she could. Anyway, things are different now, Sal will see that, he told himself, still more conclusively than he felt.
It was after 10:00 p.m. when they pulled into the lot in front of a Motel 6 in downtown Davis. The next day they planned to check out apartments, and Billy would apply for temporary landscape help or construction jobs. Marilyn wouldn’t work so she could get the mom thing going. She insisted on that. She had even endured a visit with her old man to wrangle some extra dough. They would visit Sal, make nice, and show how stable they were. Not ask for anything. He hoped Sal wouldn’t take long to see what was best. As soon as they had the kid, he wanted to get back to Houston. Sacramento was too law-and-order for him.
As he carted their bags from the car to the motel room, Billy had a pleasant thought. It will fall in love with Marilyn. Everyone does. Then he corrected himself. She. She will fall in love with Marilyn. At least, he was pretty sure he had it right when he told Marilyn his kid was a girl.
CHAPTER 29
The squeaky wheels of gurneys rolling past, call bells ringing, and unintelligible announcements in hospital code over the loudspeaker all faded into the background as Noel concentrated on Maren’s iPad.
He scrolled through icons at the bottom of the home screen until he came to an image of a globe and clicked on it to access the Internet. Once in, he could see Maren’s problem. The tablet had been set up by the retailer with a drop-down list of major email providers: Google, Yahoo, Firefox. He tried each one before determining that ecobabe.org email accounts had been established through a Gmail account in Google. He figured Maren had gotten stuck because she missed that step. After that it was simple—he used her email address and password to get to the administrator functions, which included a link to mail. He could view her list of sixty-two unopened messages. Maren definitely had some catching up to do. Noel would have stopped there, but something caught his eye.
Maren was terrible at visual challenges. She always had been. As a kid, she would throw partially completed jigsaw puzzles up in the air in frustration, dodging the pieces as they fell, then moving on to something free-form—painting or clay. Noel was the opposite. He took comfort in the patterns he encountered in life, like how their mother methodically set knives, forks, plates, and spoons on the table always in the same order. So when he saw that an email from the same address with the same subject line had arrived in Maren’s inbox each day at 12:01 a.m. for the past two weeks, his interest was piqued.
To: MKane@ecobabe.org
From: senrabyllit@talk.com
Re: Urgent—Investments!
It was not only a clear pattern, but also an unusual one since marketing spam on autosend was typically randomly generated to avoid detection by ad blockers. Groggy from his medication, Noel fought the wave of sleep that pulled at him, the desire to set the tablet aside and look at it later. He was concerned the messages might be malicious, perhaps carrying a virus. Given the recent demise of Maren’s laptop, he felt he better take a look rather than leave it to her. He might need to delete the message since opening it could activate the virus. But then again, he didn’t want Maren to miss something important, in the off chance this wasn’t spam. The gears in his overactive brain whirred.
Then he saw it.
Didn’t Maren say Sean called Tamara by a pet name, Tilly?
Senrabyllit@talk.com
Senrabyllit is Tilly Barnes written backward.
There were two attachments. As he moved to open them, Noel’s heart raced.
A shrieking alarm went off. It seemed to be coming from the monitor by his bed. He heard running footsteps, then shouting.
Someone wrenched the tablet from his hands. Noel felt a stinging prick as the needle went in. He struggled to speak, but fell silent as the powerful sedative did its work. He could barely make out the voices.
“Were we in time?” asked the nurse.
“His heart rate is dangerously high,” Dr. Wheaton replied. “We won’t be able to image his heart to view the aortic tear to see whether there is any new damage until he is stable.”
“Will he be okay?” the nurse asked.
In a gesture uncharacteristic of a busy doctor, Wheaton removed Noel’s hat and gently adjusted his head on the pillow.
“I don’t know,” Noel heard the physician say, the last words he could make out before he lost consciousness.
But Dr. Wheaton was not done speaking.
“It is now between Mr. Kane and his God.”
CHAPTER 30
Noel had given everyone a real scare when his heart rate escalated, and his blood pressure suddenly shot up. The episode could have been fatal. Maren felt terribly guilty that tinkering with her iPad had evidently been too much for him.
Doctor Wheaton explained that they had gotten there in time and were keeping Noel heavily sedated in an induced coma-like state. The goal was to slow his heartbeat for as long as it took to ease pressure on the aortic tear so it would heal. It was frightening, but the doctor assured Maren and Sal it was a necessary step for this type of injury and would not cause Noel any permanent harm.
Sal still had vacation time she could use to be with Noel, but it was impossible for three-and-a-half-year-old Bethany to stay day and night at the hospital. So Sal and Maren worked out a weekend visit for Bethany at Maren’s.
Maren was sure now that Bethany was Tamara’s daughter. All that was missing was placing Sal at a church connected with the Farmer Home. But Maren had taken Rorie Rickman’s warning to heart—unless Maren could find a compelling link between Bethany and Tamara’s murder to help Sean with his case, she would be wrong to delve into a secret that Tamara was not there to explain or defend.
Maren purchased foods Sal recommended for the visit—goldfish crackers, baby carrots, chicken noodle soup, peanut butter and jelly, and whole wheat bread. Not much different from when Maren was little, except for whole wheat replacing the squishy white Wonder Bread she remembered.
She heard the car door slam out front. Maren shut Camper in the backyard for the initial greeting. She didn’t know how Bethany might feel about such a big dog, and Camper had a tendency to go for an unaccompanied run around the neighborhood if he got out the front door or up the driveway on his own.
Sal unlatched Bethany from her booster seat and the little girl climbed down. She navigated her descent well, given that she had one arm in a cast and the other clutching a small brown corduroy lion with a worn and shaggy mane made of brightly colored ribbons. Meanwhile, Sal unloaded what looked like luggage for three weeks at sea. Maren came down the stairs in time to carry the car seat inside.
“Who is this?” Maren asked, looking at the lion.
“Daniel,” Bethany replied solemnly, hugging the battered toy closer as she dragged a small rolling suitcase behind her using her good arm.
“Hello Daniel,” Maren offered, “we are happy to have such a distinguished guest.”
Bethany rewarded Maren with a smile.
Maren showed Bethany and Sal to the guest room, a converted breakfast nook off the kitchen. It had two windows, one overlooking the drive and the other the garden out front. There was a single bed, a desk with a computer, and a small stuffed armchair. Sal started to unpack Bethany’s things, but Maren offered to handle that. “It’s a long drive back for you, and there will be traffic.”
Sal acquiesced and knelt for the serious business of saying good-bye to her daughter. She had told Maren that Bethany was used to being left with sitters and friends since she worked most nights. Still, this weekend would be the longest they had been away from one another.
Bethany wrapped her arms around her mom, cast and all, kissed her, and then pushed Daniel toward Sal with the command “Kiss Daniel.”
Sal did so with appropriate reverence and then rose, turning to Maren. “Thanks again.”
Maren noticed Sal was still wearing the wedding ring, even away from the hospital.
“We’ll be fine. We’ll have a great time. Daniel will take good care of us,” Maren said.
Bethany frowned. “No, we will take care of Daniel. He’s the baby.”
After several more hugs, Maren and Bethany stood on the porch and watched Sal drive off.
Not a tear. Courageous kid, Maren thought to herself.
Maren gave Bethany a tour of the rest of the house and the backyard. Not surprisingly, Bethany was most taken by the hot tub. “Let’s go in, let’s go in. I want to swim.”
“It’s not really for swimming,” Maren told her, although she could see how to an almost four-year-old it might look that way. “It’s a big bathtub, more for soaking. Besides, I’m betting that cast of yours isn’t supposed to get wet.”
Bethany carefully set Daniel by her feet so she could use her good hand to support her injured arm, holding it straight up away from her body where Maren could clearly see it. “That is pretty true,” she said, “but this is not a plaster cast. This is a fiberglass cast.” She said fiberglass very slowly, to be sure Maren got it, raising her eyebrows as though it were a great discovery. “Fiberglass should not get wet. But it will not fall apart like plaster if it gets a little wet.” Bethany eyed the cast and turned it slightly to show top and bottom. “A little wet,” she emphasized, “would be fine.”
Maren nodded, suppressing a smile.
“I have plastic bags that go over my cast for baths.” She guided her arm back to her side and picked up Daniel again. “And this is like a big bathtub, for soaking. It’s not for swimming.” Having fed Maren’s own words back to her to make the case, Bethany giggled at her own cleverness, making her curly red-orange hair bob and her ivory skin flush.
“I see,” Maren said, now smiling, too. “Let’s get dinner and let our food settle a bit. I’ll call your mom and make sure I understand how the bags work and that it’s okay with her, and if it is, then we’ll go in the water.”
Bethany was hopping in place. “Mom will say yes. She’ll say yes, I know it. She knows how very careful I will be.”
Maren and Bethany returned to the kitchen and set about making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and noodle soup. Bethany explained that Daniel wanted his sandwich with the crusts cut off, so she would like hers that way, too. Maren smiled. Some things don’t change, whole wheat bread or not.
THE LONE FIGURE WAS pleased to find Maren Kane’s street quiet—no traffic or walkers. Getting down the driveway to the chosen spot between the garage and the neighbor’s fence had been easy, concealed by overgrown bougainvillea vines. But the waiting was unpleasant.
Seven thirty. Nothing. Eight. Still no Maren Kane. Then there were voices.
“You dressed quickly. Are you warm enough? It’s good to have our swimsuits underneath to be ready, but it will take the spa a while to heat up. While it does, we can sit on the edge and count the stars.”
The figure in black recognized Kane’s voice.
“Isn’t the bathtub that way? Where are we going? Daniel doesn’t want to go down those stairs.”
“The stairs lead to the garage. We have to go there to heat the water.”
The target wasn’t visible at the top of the stairs from around the corner of the garage, but the assailant could hear the conversation and didn’t like the sound of things.
A second speaker, a child. First, the trench-coat guy appears out of nowhere in the parking structure and now she’s got a kid with her?
There was more talking as Kane and the child entered the garage.
“What’s this for?”
“That one turns on the bubbles,” Kane said. “And this dial heats the water.”
Pulling on a black ski mask, the hidden intruder quickly tried to weigh the ethical score generated by murdering an adult if the accompanying child was spared. Suppose the kid got in the way. Collateral damage?
There were mechanical, whooshing sounds as the gas heater engaged. They would be out and headed back to the house any minute now.
No more time.
UPSTAIRS, CAMPER PUSHED his nose under the back door and breathed deeply. There was a bad smell—the smell of adrenaline, the raw smell of a hunter. The dog door was latched tight. He scratched at it and barked.
Bethany grabbed onto Maren’s hand at Camper’s outburst and pulled Daniel closer.
“Don’t worry.” Maren stroked the child’s soft red curls. “Camper really wants to get out tonight since you’re here.”
Camper abandoned the immovable door and pawed the side window, finding only the mild resistance of a screen.
“Okay, honey, that’s it,” Maren said. “Let’s go get Camper.”
She led Bethany out of the garage onto the driveway, the short flight of concrete stairs in sight. Every muscle tense and coiled, the weapon firmly gripped in both hands, the attacker rounded the corner and raised the gun.
Camper leapt into the screen, forcing it out and clearing the steps in a single movement. Snarling, roaring, he hit the stranger with the full force of his weight just as the gun came up.
There was a quick loud pop, then another.
Maren screamed, buckling to her knees. One of her legs felt nothing, then everything at once, the pain searing. Bethany wrapped her arms around Maren’s waist, still clutching Daniel.
Camper crouched low, ears back, and growled a deep warning, but the assailant chose to ignore it, pushing swiftly upright off the ground and firing again. Camper took a bullet as he lunged and bit hard on the shooter’s upper arm, sending the next bullet off target and into the air.
Maren managed to stand, Bethany’s arms still wrapped around her, the child’s face buried in Maren’s side. Dragging her bleeding leg, Maren willed herself and her small charge up the stairs, each step like another bullet piercing the wound. They made it into the guest room. No lock on the door.
Maren’s cell phone was on the desk charging. She dialed 911.
“Help us, help, someone is here. My dog needs help.”
“Calm down, ma’am. Slowly, please. What is this about a dog?”
Maren heard another shot, the breaking of glass. She hung up.
“Get behind me,” she told Bethany firmly as she sank to the floor on her knees, facing the door. She shielded the girl with her body, despite signals from her leg ordering her to lie down. To give up.
CHAPTER 31
The evening had passed in a blur. A medley of sirens wailing from an ambulance, a fire engine, and police cars—it seemed every emergency vehicle in Sacramento had been called up.
Maren woke the next morning across the street in Polly’s home in a cocoon of drugs, the dull, muted pain in her injured leg like a faraway, unasked-for visitor. A vision of Alibi Morning Sun floated before her eyes, but she couldn’t be sure if the detective had actually been there the night before. If he was, she had no idea what he might have said.
“You’re up, love, that’s good.” Polly set a tea tray on the desk next to the bed before engulfing Maren in a tight hug. When she released her, Polly’s face was wet with tears, but that didn’t stop her from berating Maren for having the audacity to get herself shot. “You had me right worried. I was downtown when it happened. I came back to a bloody circus on your lawn.”
Maren found it hard to move her lips, like she’d been to the dentist and was maxed out on Novocain. She could only manage one word. “Bethany?”
Polly smiled. “She’s fine. Her mum’s here. Sal arrived in the wee hours last night.”
Maren’s sense of relief was immeasurable, but brief as she felt her shoulders sink, her head drop to her chest, and a drug-induced sleep overtake her.
It was hours before she woke again. She could hear Polly in the next room telling Jenna there were cookies and milk on the table—normal sounds and actions as though it were a normal day. Maren adjusted herself on the bed, propping a second pillow behind her. She winced as she reached for her cell phone to call Lana. Her leg was throbbing. Even small moves were difficult.
She wondered how brave souls with chronic pain did anything—it must take courage just to live. Then she realized her mind was drifting from one thought to the next without edits due to the pain pills the doctor had prescribed. She tried to rein in the randomness of her thinking, worried if she wasn’t careful she might say things to Lana like, “Wow, totally.” She was pretty sure that wouldn’t be appropriate as a near-murder victim when speaking with the attorney of her friend, Sean, who was a near-murderer.
Near-murderer? Was that even a word?
This whole “communicating while on drugs” thing was going to be a challenge.
Fortunately, when she reached Lana, the lawyer did most of the talking. It was clear from Decateau’s first words that she was fully in the loop with the police on what had happened.
