129
“Is she coming?” Jones asks.
Bill Blasingame, his wrists and ankles duct-taped to a dining-room chair, shakes his head. “I don’t know. I guess not.”
Jones smiles. “Oh, dear,” he says, “my employer is not going to like that.”
130
Donna Nichols looks especially radiant as she moves through the crowd, working the room, making small talk. The crowd is lively and happy, munching on expensive finger food, sipping champagne, laughing, and chatty. The lantern light makes her shine particularly golden.
Balboa Park is beautiful.
On this soft summer evening, yielding to the nighttime cool, with the glow of lanterns lighting the courtyard of the Prado—bathing the old stone and grillwork in an amber light, and sparkling on the water in the fountain—the effect is magical.
The people are beautiful, too.
San Diego’s beautiful people—the women in plunging white dresses and the men in white jackets and ties. Beautiful tans, beautiful smiles, beautiful hair. A beautiful event, this fund-raiser for the museum, and Boone feels out of place in the summer wedding and funeral suit he’d climbed into to come over here.
He stands in the shadow of an archway, at the perimeter of the gathering, and scans the crowd to find Dan. He admires the Nicholses for not hiding in their house but confronting the Schering scandal head-on, and proceeding with an evening like this. He knows there must be sidelong glances, behind-the-back whispers and jokes, but the Nicholses seem unaffected. Finally he makes eye contact. Dan excuses himself and walks over to Boone. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Can we go out and talk?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dan says.
He follows Boone outside onto the Prado. A few strollers are out, and a couple of San Diego police watch the entrance to the courtyard, to keep the public away from the glittering party inside.
“You didn’t kill Phil Schering,” Boone says.
Dan’s smile is totally charming. “I guess I already knew that, Boone. But I’d sure like to know why you know it now.”
Over his shoulder, Boone sees Donna come out from the courtyard. She walks up and puts her hand on Dan’s shoulder. “What is it?”
She looks alarmed.
Dan smiles and says, “Boone’s about to explain, darling, why he doesn’t think I killed your lover. We speak openly about these things, Boone. Our counselor said that was a healthy thing.”
Boone tells them about Bill Blasingame, Paradise Homes, and Nicole’s documents that prove it.
“Thank God,” Donna says when he finishes. She wraps her arms around her husband and puts her face into his neck. When she raises her head, her cheeks are wet with tears. She looks across at Boone and says, “Thank you. Thank you, Boone.”
“Is this over now?” Dan asks.
Boone shakes his head. “No, there’s a ways to go, but I doubt they’ll even charge you now, and if they do, with your alibi and the other potential suspect—”
“We owe you, Boone,” Dan says. “More than we can say.”
Donna nods.
“I did it as much for myself,” Boone says.
“I don’t know what Alan’s paying you,” Dan says, “but there’ll be a big bonus, I can tell you that.”
Boone shakes his head. “Not necessary. Or wanted.”
“Okay,” Dan says. “Tell you what. I think it’s time that Nichols had a chief of security, and I think that’s you. Mid-six-figure yearly salary, benefits, profit-sharing, stock down the road if you choose.”
“That’s generous, Dan,” Boone says. “I’ll think about it, I really will. I’m also thinking about law school, though.”
“Law school?” Dan asks. “I could see that.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“We’re going to be okay, Boone,” Dan says. He holds Donna a little tighter. “We’ve talked a lot, we’ve been really open. We’re committed to each other, and we’re going to be okay.”
“I’m glad,” Boone says.
Dan turns to Donna, “Well, honey, we’d better go back in before everyone thinks we’re involved in another murder.”
Donna kisses him on the cheek, extends her hand to Boone, and says, “Thank you. Truly.”
“You’re welcome.”
Dan says, “Well, see you at the Gentlemen’s Hour?”
“Sure.”
That’s where he surfs now.
With the gentlemen.
131
Cruz Iglesias gets on the phone.
Not a lot of people have Red Eddie’s backdoor number, but Iglesias is one of the privileged few.
Eddie answers on the third ring. “W’asup?”
“Eddie,” Iglesias says, “I have a favor to ask of you.”
Gentleman to gentleman.
132
They hit him as soon as he steps through the door.
One pistol shoved into his face, then the other slammed into the back of his head.
Boone drops to his knees, not out but wobbly. Even with the world tilting he can see that the gangbangers have wrecked his place, gone through it like a hurricane. But he’s too out of it anyway to stop them from wrapping the duct tape around his mouth, then over his eyes. They jerk his arms behind him, wrap more tape around his wrists, and push him to the floor.
He kicks out, but there are at least three of them, and they hold his legs and tape his ankles together, then pick him up and carry him into his bedroom. He feels the air of the open window as they lift him, then push him out.
Into the water.
Into the dark sea.
133
