She turned to face me. “Sorry about the wait. So how do you know Jason, Ms. Jordan?”
“We were friends at Chumash High together. I’m in town for our tenth reunion. Please call me Robbie.”
Mel nodded. “I went to Chumash, but a dozen years before you did. Where do you live now?”
“Indiana.”
“So what can I help you with?”
I exhaled. “As I mentioned in the e-mail, my mother died two years ago. They told me she had a ruptured brain aneurysm. A guy I met yesterday suggested she’d been poisoned. I wondered if you remembered the case or could check the records for me.”
“Poisoned?” She brought her eyebrows together. “Did you request the report?”
“Yes. But the woman at the front said it would take up to ten business days.”
She shook her head. “Don’t get me started on Inez. She bears no resemblance to the saint our mountains are named for. What was the name again?” She turned back to her laptop.
“Jeanine Jordan. She died on January sixteenth two years ago.” A date I would never forget, one that had irrevocably changed my life. Soon after, I’d found my country store and my new home, but I’d lost my mother, the only parent I had ever known until last year.
“Got it,” she said. “Of a ruptured aneurysm?”
“It’s what they told me. My mom was only fifty-three when she died.” Alone. Liz’s description of finding Mom dead at home tore me up. I should have been with her. Nobody should die alone. And if someone had been there, maybe they could have gotten emergency help and saved her life.
“Do you know if we did an autopsy?” she asked, tapping the keys, peering at the screen.
“No. I was a mess after she died. My aunt and I came out here together, so she might remember.” I wished I could call Adele and ask, but she was off doing service work in India again. I would shoot her an e-mail, though, in case she checked. Or maybe Liz knew.
“What reasons did this person have to suggest your mother was poisoned?”
“My mom was in a group protesting the use of a particular agrochemical in the region. A guy in the group said the effects of this fumigant can mimic an aneurysm.”
Mel twisted her head to stare at me. “You’re talking about Agrosafe, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“I’ve been following the story.” She looked at the laptop again and uttered a mild expletive. “Excuse my French, but this system is so slow, so old, so stupidly nineteen ninety. For some reason I can’t find the report on your mom.”
“What? It’s missing?”
“I doubt it got deleted or anything, but nothing has been updated here for centuries.” She gestured around the room, which, in fact, looked a bit worn-out. The walls were dingy and the woodwork was chipped. “Well, decades, anyway. Including and especially the software. I’d move to another county, but my kid loves her school and her friends.” She gazed at the picture of the girl.
“So . . .” My voice trailed off. “There’s no way to know if you did an autopsy or if my mother might have been poisoned?”
“I’ll find the report, Robbie.” Mel swiveled her chair to face me and leaned forward, her hands on the knees of her black pants. “If we did an autopsy, we would have seen if it was an actual aneurysm. If we didn’t, but had no reason to suspect a chemical agent, we might not have tested for a toxin. Rest assured, I will search every dark corner of the system for the report until I find it.”
“You don’t keep a paper copy?”
“Nope. We don’t have the room, plus a cost-cutting edict came down from on high four years ago. Go all-digital.” She scoffed. “What could possibly go wrong?”
Chapter 16
“The veggie quesadilla sounds perfect,” I told Carmen at one thirty from my table on the patio. Even in winter the California skies seemed to hold so much more light than where I lived. I’d looked up the latitudes. In latitude Santa Barbara was fewer than five degrees farther south than South Lick. Seemed like a pretty important five degrees, or maybe the ocean’s reflective effect made the difference. “With extra guacamole, please.”
“Coming right up, hija. Something to drink?”
“I think for old times’ sake I’d better have a Corona with lime. Because, you know, vacation.”
She smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
After I’d left Mel Washington, I’d taken the bike for a ride around the bird refuge, then come back to my room for a shower. After I made my way through a delicious lunch and a beer, a nap might be in order. If I could quiet my overactive mind, that is.
Now I tapped out a quick e-mail to Adele, asking whether she knew if they’d done an autopsy on Mom. I texted same to Liz. She’d been Mom’s bestie, after all. Something caressed my bare calf. I glanced down to see Pajarito rubbing his head on my leg.
I smiled, reaching down to pet him. “Hey, buddy. You’d get along great with my Birdy.”
Carmen set down the Corona and a glass with a wedge of lime stuck on the rim. “You had a good morning?”
“Kind of.” Two tables were occupied inside, but we had the patio to ourselves. “I met the pathologist at the sheriff’s office, but she couldn’t find my mom’s death report. I don’t know if they did an autopsy on her or not.”
“This is not good.”
“You’re telling me. She said she’d find it, though. Carmen, do you know anything about
