Trophies And Dead Things

'I suppose not.'

'Jake and Harley came around after I told D.A. about the baby. They tried to talk me into getting an abortion. Said they'd pay. Maybe I was stupid not to take them up on it. You think I was stupid?'

'Do you think you were?'

'I don't know. I love my kids. They're mine; at least I have something. No way of knowing if my life'd been any better if they'd never come along. But sometimes I wonder-could I have made something of myself if I'd of at least had a chance?'

Age-old question, never to be answered. 'Did Jake and Harley tell you why they were making such an offer?'

'Oh, sure. They went on and on about D.A. being weirded out. But like I said, I was young and dumb and didn't want to believe them. Fourteen. Jesus. I thought I could help him.' She laughed mirthlessly. 'You hear that? Help him! I can't even help myself.'

'Mia, the money will make a difference.'

'Not if Jake and Harley have their way.'

'Hank Zahn can get around them-I promise.'

Her eyes stared intently into mine for a few seconds. I thought I caught a glimmer of hope, but then she shrugged- as if to say she knew all about promises and that everything she knew was bad.

'Anyway,' she said after a moment, 'here's that necklace thing you wanted.' She pushed a handful of gray metal across the table at me.

I picked up the chain, which was the same type as the one I'd found at Hilderly's, and let the letters dangle from it. They were an A and an M; the A was bracketed with the same kind of curved edging as the one on the other chain; there was also a clip-like protrusion on the back of the M. I took the other chain from my bag and lay the two beside one another on the table, beginning to visualize the whole. It would have been an oval, perhaps two inches across and three high. I wondered how many pieces it had been broken into.

'May I borrow this?' I asked, pointing at the one that belonged to her husband.

She hesitated, then shrugged. 'If you bring it back soon. D.A.'s gonna be too out of it for a while to notice it's gone.'

'Thanks.' I put both chains in my pocket.

Mia asked, 'Do you know what those are?'

'I think so.'

'Some devil-thing, maybe?'

'No, nothing like that.'

'But then why does that one have this… power over D.A.? What does it mean?'

'Nothing much now. But it's not bad. You shouldn't worry. It's…' I paused, searching for the right words. 'It's nothing but a symbol of things that are over and done with.'

Sixteen

When I stopped the MG next to the paddock fence at Moon Ridge Stables, Libby Ross was emerging from the tack room. She again wore faded jeans and a down jacket, and in her hand she carried a plastic bucket full of brushes and currycombs. She saw the car and shaded her eyes with one arm as she peered toward it.

I got out and called hello. She acknowledged me with a wave and went to a rail where one of the pintos stood, the lead rope of its halter looped around it. As I approached she selected a rubber currycomb from the bucket, fitted it to her hand, and began brushing the horse's coat in a circular motion.

'Didn't expect to see you here again,' she said over her shoulder. 'I talked with your boss; he said everything's in order about my inheritance.'

'Yes, it is. Actually, I stopped by to check up on you, make sure you're all right.'

She glanced at me, the lines around her eyes crinkling. 'Why wouldn't I be?'

I recalled that Ross neither owned a TV nor took a paper. 'You haven't heard, then.'

'Heard what?'

'One of the other beneficiaries of Hilderly's will, Tom Grant, was murdered last night.'

She turned slowly, her wide mouth pulling down. 'Murdered? By who?'

'I don't know. The killer got away unseen.'

'Last night, you say?'

'Yes.'

'How?'

'He was beaten to death, in a studio behind his house.'

She shook her head. 'What is it-you think this has something to do with him being named in Perry's will?'

'It might. And then again, it might not.'

An odd expression came across her face-part fear and part comprehension. For a moment she seemed to be lost in thought. 'So what you're thinking is that if it did, the rest of us might also be in danger.'

'It's a definite possibility.'

Ross looked around-at the cypress-covered knoll, the paddock, the barren stretch of land between the ranch buildings and Abbotts Lagoon. I knew what she was thinking: this was an isolated place, where a solitary person would be easy prey for a killer. I asked, 'Are you alone here?'

'The kid who cleans the stalls is here right now.' She motioned at the barn. 'But most of the time, yes. My stepson Dick comes and goes, but even when he's around, he's pretty useless.'

'Is there someone you could get to stay with you for a while? A friend or a relative?'

'No, no one.' She continued to contemplate the lagoon for a bit, then shrugged and went back to grooming the pinto. 'Don't worry about me,' she said. 'I've got a rifle and a couple of twenty-twos in the house, and I'm a damned good shot when I have to be.'

I went over and leaned against the rail, watching her brush the horse. The wind blew her dark blond curls across her face, so I couldn't see her expression. I said, 'I was just talking with Mia Taylor. She told me about D.A. having been in prison.'

Her hand slowed in its circular motion, then picked up the rhythm again. 'So? It's not exactly a secret.'

'What did he do?'

For a moment I thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she said, 'Tried to bomb the Port Chicago Naval Weapons Station out at Antioch.'

'When?'

'August of sixty-nine.'

'Who else was at Port Chicago?'

'Why do you ask?'

'Bombing a federal military installation isn't something one undertakes alone.'

'The collective-'

'What collective?' Silence.

'What collective, Libby?'

Abruptly she tossed the currycomb back into the bucket and turned as if to go to the barn.

I stepped in front of her, reaching into my pocket for the two medallions and holding them up at eye level. 'Do you remember these?'

Her violet eyes widened. Then she looked away, trying to sidestep me. 'You're not making a whole lot of sense today. First you tell me I might be murdered. Then you dangle some cheap jewelry in front of me-'

'Drop the pretense, Libby. A man's been killed.' She was silent, biting down on her lower lip. It was dry and chapped; when her teeth came away from it, blood welled from a fine crack.

I continued to hold the medallions up. Their gray pot metal gleamed dully in the sun. Ross stubbornly refused to look at them.

I asked, 'What did the whole thing look like, Libby?'

No response.