suicide pact. My damn surveillance tapes must’ve run out while I was sleeping. The pops we heard indicate the gun was equipped with a silencer, but it’s gone now.”
“Man, we better call the police.”
Craig shook his head. “No, neither of us wants to be here when they’re found. And that won’t be for a few hours. Since nobody but us heard the shots, it’s safe enough to take off, put some distance between this place and us. We’ll meet up at Monterey. I know a diner there that’s always open.”
The thought of food made Mick’s stomach lurch and he grimaced.
“Hold on,” Craig said. “I know you want to puke, but you’ll be surprised how fast your appetite comes back. Besides, you gotta eat. Now, here’s what you do: you’ve paid in advance?”
“Yes.”
“Registered under your own name?”
“No.”
“Good. Leave the key in the room, roll your bike out of here and up the highway a ways before you start it. The diner in Monterey is called Lulu’s, on Munras Avenue. Wait there for me.”
“You’re not leaving yet?”
“Pretty quick. There’re a few things I’ve got to do.”
Mick stood still, numb. Craig gave him a nudge. “Go. Get your stuff and leave now!”
SHARON McCONE
Ma arrived on Hy’s arm at ten in the morning. She was wearing a smart blue dress and carrying a bunch of yellow roses-my favorites. But when she looked at me she started to cry and Hy, rolling his eyes, helped her into the chair and took the flowers.
“Can I touch her?” Ma asked him through her tears.
“Of course. She can see you and hear you. You can look into her eyes and ask her yes-or-no questions. One blink yes, two blinks no.” He sounded weary, as if he’d repeated this to her many times. “I’m going to get a vase for the roses.”
He fled. Ma started to cry. She’d cried all through dinner with Hy last night, he’d told me. The hell of it was, I couldn’t put out my arms to hold her, or say something funny that would soon jolly her out of it. The past thirteen days had defined the word “impotence” in depth for me.
Hy came back, removed the dark red roses he’d brought me the day before, and replaced them with Ma’s. Their delicate yellow petals reminded me of the ones he’d sent me weekly at the office for years until, as our relationship deepened, he’d changed the standing order to a darker and darker red; they still came-in fact, some might be sitting on my desk at the pier right now.
Suddenly Ma gave a strangled cry and threw herself on my chest. Grabbed my head with both hands and stared into my eyes. “You really are there, my precious baby! I know you are!”
Hy lifted her off and set her back in the chair. “Kay,” he said, “you’ve got to calm yourself. You’re upsetting Sharon.”
Sobs. “How can I upset her? She just lies there and… Oh!” A wail.
And then, like a messenger of the deity whose name I’d just invoked, my other mother walked into the room. Saskia Blackhawk. She smiled at Hy and me, but went straight to Ma.
“Kay, don’t cry. Sharon’s here with us. Just ask her if she is.”
Ma, her makeup ruined by tears, looked hesitantly at me. “You
I blinked yes.
Ma sank back into the chair, then gave me a tremulous smile.
“Kay,” Saskia said, “I noticed a pretty little atrium garden when I came in. Why don’t we go out there and talk about what we’re going to do for our daughter?”
Ma nodded, clearly eager to be out of my presence. Hy watched them go, shook his head, and said, “Thank God Saskia’s plane was on time. I don’t think either of us could’ve taken much more of that… caterwauling.”
I blinked.
“I have another surprise,” he added. “And a pleasant one.”
He turned to the door, and a man entered. Slender and stooped, with gray hair in a long ponytail. He held a cowboy hat in his long artist’s fingers, and his dark eyes were calm and compassionate as they met mine.
Elwood Farmer, my birth father. The impossible had happened-he’d been lured off the rez in Montana.
JULIA RAFAEL
Sunday morning. Normally she would’ve taken Tonio to the park and then come home to one of her sister’s big dinners. But now she was at the pier, digging deeper into her files, as Shar’s intense gaze last night had commanded her to do.
Over and over during her probationary period with the agency, her boss had told her that.
On a legal pad she printed Larry Peeples’s name. Linked it with an arrow pointed to Haven Dietz’s. Below Larry’s she drew another arrow and linked it to Ben Gold, the boyfriend.
Julia paged through the file to the transcript of the initial interview that she’d held here at the pier with Gold. He and Larry had been together two years, and Ben had had dinner with Larry the day before he disappeared. They’d met at work, the Home Showcase in Union Square.
Julia scribbled down, “Reinterview Ben.”
Back to Dietz. She’d worked for WKP Associates, a money management firm. She’d been good at her job, monitoring the portfolios of several high-profile clients, and was in line for a promotion at the time of the attack.
The attack had been a particularly vicious one, as indicated by the severity of Dietz’s injuries. The police had contacted many of her friends and associates, but none of them could name anyone who held a grudge against her. Julia had reinterviewed those she could reach, but many of them had left the area, and after a year memories had faded.
She picked up the phone and called Dietz to remind her of their appointment to continue their conversation tonight; she’d tried to meet with her last night, but Dietz had refused-it was Saturday and she had plans.
Bullshit, Julia had thought. This from a woman who seldom left her apartment? Dietz was losing interest in the case, and maybe it was a sign that she wanted to put the attack behind her and move on. But if the Dietz investigation had something to do with Shar getting shot, she’d press on in spite of the client’s best interests.
Haven sounded surly and hungover when she answered the phone. Probably her plans for the night before had involved a bottle. Yes, all right, Julia could come over that night, but not till after eight. A friend was coming for an early dinner.
Julia agreed, even if it meant another evening without being able to read to Tonio.
She ended the call, then sat back and stared at the thick files.
Not likely that Larry Peeples-with or without the cooperation of Ben Gold-had taken a branch of Home Showcase for 100,000 dollars in small bills. He’d worked in the stockroom, had no access to money. Ben worked the sales desk, but Julia knew from Sophia’s experience as a clerk at Safeway that the cash drawer had to balance out to the penny every day. Besides, most people paid by credit card.
