Bones

turned out to be a conventional ophthalmologist in a conventional building on Sepulveda near Olympic.

The waiting room was full. Small-print brochures for LASIK were the preferred reading material.

Reynolds’s job title was office coordinator. The receptionist at the front seemed happy for a break in routine. About my age, with short dark hair and an easy smile.

“Sorry, she’s gone to lunch.”

“Two forty-five,” I said. “Kind of late.”

“We were swamped all morning, I guess she didn’t have time till now.”

“Any idea where she eats?”

“This about her boyfriend?”

“It is. She talk about him?”

“Just that she misses him. Wants to see whoever did such a terrible thing pay-you don’t wear contacts, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so,” she said. “Your eyes are that natural gray-blue, with colored lenses they tend to overdo the blue… Alma likes Mexican, there’s a strip mall three blocks west.”

The mall provided easy parking and six ethnic restaurants. Alma Reynolds was the sole patron of Cocina de Cabo, sitting in a blue, molded-resin booth, enjoying blue corn fish tacos and a can of Coke Zero. Despite the heat, she had on the same mannish wool slacks, below a white V-neck that made her look ten pounds lighter than the work shirt she’d worn at the station. Long gray hair was tied back in a ponytail, and I thought I spotted makeup around wrinkle lines. Bright blue eyes made me wonder about cosmetic lenses.

I waved. She slapped a hand on her chest. “Stalking me?”

“Only in the service of public safety. May I sit down?”

“Can I stop you?”

“If it’s not a good-”

“Just kidding. Sentarse. I think that’s the right word, when in Cabo, do as the Caboans do.” Her big jaw jutted and the blue eyes lowered to her taco. “Sil was a vegan. I eat fish from time to time.”

“I was wondering if you’ve come up with any other ideas.”

Her mouth narrowed. “Citizen participation? The answer is no.”

“One thing we’re still trying to figure out is how Sil fits the other murders.”

“Maybe he doesn’t.”

I waited.

“That’s all,” she said. “Maybe he doesn’t. One of those lunatic copycats. Unless the scumbag who lured him over was trying to hide something about the first murders.”

“Lured him with a promise to help him solve the other murders.”

The hand on her chest shifted and I spotted a glint of gold. She moved her fingers back into position. “Yes.”

“Do you think it could’ve been someone who knew Sil well enough to push his buttons?”

“Such as?”

“A friend, even an acquaintance who understood his attachment to the marsh.”

“His friend was me,” she said. “Same for acquaintance.”

“Limited social circle.”

“By choice. People can be so tiresome.”

“What about someone who knew him indirectly-through his work?”

“That’s a possibility, but he never mentioned a name.”

“We can’t seem to find a membership roster for Save the Marsh.”

“That’s because it’s not a real group. In the beginning-after Sil rescued the marsh from the B.S. boys, Billionaire Scum-a board was established. But that was just rich people trying to feel virtuous. No meetings were ever held. For all practical purposes, STM was Sil.”

“Who paid the bills?”

“Said nine-figure scumbags. I told Sil it was risky, once he got too dependent on them they’d have complete control, like dope pushers. But he said he wanted to take them for every dollar they’d give, worry about consequences later.”

Her lower lip shook and her hand wavered for a second before returning to her chest. Just long enough to reveal a huge pearl on a chain.

She picked up a taco, nibbled, put it down. “I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Bear with me, please. What was Sil’s salary?”

“It was a stipend,” she said. “So the B.S. boys could avoid payroll taxes. Twenty-five thousand. Sil said anyone could live on that if they simplified.”

Her hand fanned out over the pearl.

“Pretty,” I said.

Her neck turned red. “Sil gave it to me for my birthday. I hated it, told him I’d never wear it, too ostentatious. Now I wear it.”

I nodded.

She said, “Don’t pretend you understand, because you don’t. People like Sil and myself are more than intelligent enough to play by the rules and live fat and sassy like every other urban droid. I’ve got master’s degrees in two subjects and Sil had a B.A. in physics.”

She leaned forward, as if offering a secret.

“We chose to embrace the core. But even Sil could be romantic. For our last anniversary, he wanted me to have something nice. Even idealists need some beauty in their lives.”

“I agree.”

“I told him I didn’t want it, demanded he return it. He refused. We sparred. He outlasted me. Now I’m glad he did.”

Her eyes traveled to the restaurant’s wall of windows. “That your car? The green whatever it is.”

“ Seville.”

“A Cadillac,” she said. “ Seville -nothing Spanish about it, what possesses corporate liars?”

“Sales.”

“You’re driving an egregious gas guzzler. What’s your excuse?”

“We’ve been together over twenty years and I don’t have the heart to trade her in for someone younger and prettier.”

The hand dropped and her chest arched. Flaunting the necklace.

The pearl was outsized, creamy, unblemished. Too heavy for the chain, which looked flimsy, maybe plated.

I said, “So the billionaires paid all the bills and Sil ran the show. Did anyone else donate?”

“Sure, people would send checks in from time to time, but Sil called it petty cash. Without the B.S. Brothers, he’d have been out of luck. May I finish my lunch in peace? I really don’t want to think about this anymore.”

I thanked her and headed for the door.

She said, “You’re not conservation-minded, but at least you’re loyal.”

***

The eye doctor’s receptionist said, “You couldn’t find her?”

“I found her, thanks for directing me. She seems pretty down.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“I’d probably be worse… maybe that humongous pearl will cheer her up.”

“I doubt it,” she said. “But it is something. She bought it for herself yesterday. We were all surprised.”

“Not Alma ’s style?”