“It sounds mean, but yes,” Brandy said, “a man attacked us today, and it’s all your fault.”
“He’s out there, and you know what?” Angel asked. “He wants my sister dead.”
“So our question is-”
“What are you going to do about it?”
13
T HEY DON’T HANG PEOPLE in Old Hangtown anymore. They don’t even call it that anymore; it has mutated into the innocuous foothill resort town of Placerville where they pop the accused into the sleek new El Dorado County Jail, all very civilized.
On Wednesday afternoon, Paul exited and drove uphill past swatches of red dirt to Forni Road and parked in the second parking lot. He followed a long concrete walkway inside to the blue-and- white-painted glass-walled entry of a brick building that resembled a college campus. Only a closer view to the left of the main building, behind barbed-wire-topped fencing, exposed slitted windows that revealed its true purpose.
He walked into a blue-and-white room on a color-coordinated white vinyl tile floor speckled with blue toward the reception area behind glass at the right, wondering what considerations determined decor for a place that housed criminals. Were these two colors thought to be neutral? Upbeat? Tranquilizing? He spoke into a metal disk-shaped speaker in the center of the glass, signed paperwork, and slipped it through the slot below. The clerk directed him first to a set of blue-and-chrome chairs permanently attached in rows balanced on one bent leg apiece where he waited for a few minutes. Then the clerk moved a hand toward him, allowing him through the door and into the windowless bowels of the building. A green stripe led the way.
A young man wearing a blue shirt that strained to cover a muscular build entered the visitors’ room and sat down across from Paul. Paul introduced himself as an investigator for attorney Nina Reilly.
“She’s not my lawyer,” Mario said. “What are you doing here?” A shave and a haircut and a few days in jail had eliminated the unkempt drunk the sisters had described. This tall, strong ex-con had pale green eyes, a mouth with only a hint of meanness in its arc, and an intelligent expression. Paul classified him as salvageable, although he had a long record, a lousy education, and a public defender who didn’t return Paul’s phone calls.
“I need some information.”
“I can’t talk to you about my case.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I’m just looking for information about a friend of yours, Cody Stinson.”
Mario sat back and laughed from one side of his mouth. “I thought you said a friend.”
“I’m trying to find him.”
“So?”
“So I’d like your help with that.”
“So what?”
“Don’t buck me, man. You talk to your lawyer lately?”
“She’s coming in today.”
“She’s bringing good news. A witness in your case saw Cody come back to the campground the night you allegedly strangled your girlfriend. The D.A. took a statement that may just be your ticket out of here.”
“Is this a joke or a trick? Because I don’t take kindly to being jacked around.”
“It’s all true.”
“Let me see your license again.” He examined it, then said, “You got any cigarettes?”
“Sorry.”
“Lay ten bucks on the guard and I don’t even care if you are jackin’ me.”
“I always pay my way,” Paul said.
“I’m getting out?”
“I don’t know what the next steps are. But Cody’s looking like the killer.”
Mario leaned in toward Paul. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Because I never touched her. I’ve been saying it all along. How’d he do it?”
“Came back while you were sleeping it off that night.”
“And didn’t kill me?”
“Here you are.”
Mario looked down. “I can’t believe I was laying right there. I was royally passed out. Poor Phoebe. I ain’t never drinkin’ again. Now let’s think. You all want Cody. I know old Cody, I sure do.”
“Cody’s made himself unavailable to the police. They can’t question him; they can’t arrest him if they can’t find him. They’ll be along, probably today with your lawyer.”
“What’s your interest?”
“I can’t get into that. Going back to our original question, do you have any idea where he might go?”
Mario wiped a bead of perspiration off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “I think I can help you there. Thing is, he’s waiting on some big money, supposed to come in any minute. He won’t leave Tahoe without that.”
“Where would he wait?”
While Paul was down in Placerville visiting with Mario Lopez, Nina scooted out of an appointment to stop in and see how Brandy and Angel were making out at the shelter.
A roomy old vacation house within walking distance of Regan Beach, the structure for the women’s shelter had been donated by an eccentric widow, Anabel Wright, a dozen years before. In those years it had provided a refuge for women and children with all sorts of problems.
At first it had been lacking in almost every modern amenity, but the earnest efforts of Andrea and friends over the past two years had wrought big changes. A new laundry area attached to the kitchen had been built with two washers and dryers. New donated countertops and cabinets had been installed by skilled women who had volunteered labor on the project. A forest-green trim on the windows spiffed up the wood exterior without making any statements except that this was a well-kept property. Inside, gracious Arts and Crafts-style wooden furniture, more donations from wealthy patrons and grateful former clients, gave the living room the character of a charming mountain lodge, and due to the goodness of a group of retirees, every bedroom now sported a homemade quilt.
Andrea had decided to work part-time months before she even knew she was pregnant and Nina knew she was loving spending more time at home with her children, but she was there today to greet Nina and show her where to find Brandy and Angel, in the basement recreation room engaged in a savage game of foosball. Insults flew between the two of them as they flipped and thwacked the sturdy plastic characters. While Andrea and Nina watched, Brandy, cheeks ruddy with concentration, finally edged Angel out. “Ha!” She threw up hands open wide with delight. “I beat you.”
“Cheater.”
“Loser.”
“Flake. You blew three goals.”
“Ingrate. You know I gave you all three.”
Brandy noticed Nina and said, “Hey! You got him?”
“No, not yet. I’m just checking to see if you’re okay here.”
“Oh, we’re fine. Andrea’s very nice. The room is great. Everything’s great except that life’s on hold, Angel’s husband’s upset. She can’t go to work. My boyfriend’s missing and I can’t go looking for him. We’re twiddling our thumbs.”
“Let’s hope it’s not for long,” Nina said. Her mobile phone rang. With a quick good-bye to the two women and Andrea, she took the call on her way out the door.
“If there’s any possible way, Kevin Cruz wants you to stop by,” Sandy said.
“What, now?”
“That’s what the man said. He and Lisa are fighting about exchanging the kids this afternoon, one of those he-says-she-says deals. It’s his turn to take them for dinner. No, it’s her turn. You get the picture. I think she’s still there. He said please come to his condo. It’s urgent.”
From where she was parked, a slip of the blue lake glimmered in afternoon sunshine. “Everything’s urgent,” Nina said. “Where does he live?”
“Here’s the address. You going?”
She unlocked the Bronco’s door and jumped inside, checking the time. “I don’t have anything else scheduled until three, do I? I’ll swing by.”
Since splitting up with Lisa, Kevin had rented a condo at Lake Village just across the state line in Nevada, no more than a half mile past the casinos. Perfect for a bachelor, the hilly clumps of two- story buildings offered a generous pool and tennis courts, along with some glorious views of Lake Tahoe, spectacular sunsets, and a green-gold golf course. He had an extra bedroom for Heather and Joey.
Nina remembered his comments on the new bunk beds he had found in Reno at Macy’s, not even on sale. He seemed proud to have overpaid, as if he were making something up to his children by repudiating petty frugality.
Poor Kevin, she thought, understanding perfectly. Being a single parent sometimes meant that you did crazy things in the name of making your kids happy, which kept you from drowning in the bottomless well of guilt out of which you could never crawl.
Driving past Caesars, she thought of Paul and the nights they had spent together there, so romantic, in love, in lust, oh, God, she didn’t know what to call it. Paul had never been a parent, and according to him, he would never be. If she stayed with Paul, or married him, she would have to resign herself to the fact that she would never have another child.
Why did she keep thinking about Paul? Why was he, a simple man by his own definition, suddenly such an obsession?
Anyway.
She located Kevin’s place easily on Clubhouse Avenue, not too far from the pool or the highway, on the shady but noisy side of the street. Lisa stood outside shouting at him. Kevin yelled back. The language was not pretty. The children stood behind their dad, clinging to his legs. The little boy, tousle-haired and flushed with emotion, shrieked, eyes tightly closed, a siren without a fire on this clear, cool day. Silent tears ran down the stricken little blond girl’s face. As soon as Lisa caught sight of Nina, she ordered the kids into the car. Kevin kissed them both, wiped their cheeks with a handkerchief, and led them to their mother’s car, speaking softly to them, so softly, Nina couldn’t hear.
