Hocus

they’ll include a group photograph of the department. And while I’m doing that, there is something you can do for me that might not raise much suspicion.”

“What’s that?”

“Get Powell’s arrest records.”

Cassidy smiled. “The records are in storage, but Bakersfield PD has promised me they’ll have them for me this morning. Along with everything they can find about the Ryan-Neukirk case.”

“Sorry. Of course you would have thought of that already.”

“No, don’t apologize,” he said. “I’m spread pretty thin here, so I might miss something along the way. Keep making suggestions.”

“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but right now my best suggestion is to try to catch a little more sleep.”

“Sounds good,” he said, and we walked into the house. Just as I turned to go into my room he whispered, “Irene?”

I looked back at him. “Yes?”

“Careful you don’t muss your do.”

I flipped him the bird and shut the door. I could hear him laughing as he shut his.

I woke up in a good mood, in spite of little sleep and big worries. Maybe it was that I had tamed my hair or that I had Cassidy’s assistance in escaping the encampment in front of Bea’s house. Cecilia Parker, who now sat across from me in a booth at the Hill House Hotel Cafe, did not seem nearly so chipper.

She wore jeans and a yellow T-shirt. Not everyone can wear yellow without looking as though they’ve got liver problems. She looked good in it, I was disappointed to note. She kept her dark sunglasses on until the waitress innocently asked her if we’d like to be seated where the light wasn’t so bright.

Cecilia refused to order more than a cup of coffee. I ordered coffee and a breakfast roll and hoped she was hungry.

“So what’s all this about?” she said, apparently not in the mood for small talk.

I had a copy of the “Father’s Day” fax in my purse, and the easiest thing to do would have been to give it to her to read, but I didn’t know if I could trust her.

“You watched the news?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Have you read the Californian this morning?”

“Yes. Is this a media quiz?”

I ignored that. “So you know that Frank was taken by—”

“The boys he rescued. Some thanks, huh?”

“You remember them?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. They gave me the creeps back then.”

“Why?”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I felt sorry for them, just like everybody else. But even if they had a reason to be messed up, they were still messed up. You know what I mean?” She gave a dramatic shiver. “The silent treatment got to me. They could be in a room and not say a word to each other and communicate with just a look. Almost like they were psychic.”

The coffee and my roll arrived. She looked at it and said, “Maybe I’ll have one of those, too.” The waitress shrugged and brought one. I realized how petty I had been in wanting her to covet my breakfast roll as much as she coveted my husband.

“So, you think the boys were psychic?” I asked.

“No. I don’t believe in any of that crap. They must have given each other very subtle nonverbal cues, that’s all.”

I thought about saying something like, “I hear they had a good-looking speech therapist” but thought better of it. I needed her cooperation.

“They’ve only made one demand,” I said.

“Free their buddies who got caught.” She said it in a bored tone.

“No.” I savored her surprise, then said, “They want me to find someone who was involved in their fathers’ murders.”

“What? They are completely nuts, aren’t they? Everybody who had anything to do with their fathers’ murders is dead.”

“Everybody?”

She gave me a narrow look. “Everybody.”

“Who do you mean?”

“Powell. I mean Powell.”

“Just Powell?”

She hesitated only slightly before saying, “Of course just Powell!”

“But why use the word ‘everybody’?”