I let out a breath. “Of course. But us telling the cops the head of a reputable local company might have poisoned two people sounds kind of kooky. And I don’t know a soul in the police department . . . oh, wait. Of course I do. Jason.”
She frowned. “But didn’t you say he’s in cybercrime or something?”
“He is, but I’m sure he knows all the detectives. He’s the one who turned me on to the pathologist, Mel Washington. I’ll give him a call.” I sipped my beer, which was no longer particularly cold. I didn’t care. “I hope you’ll keep in mind coincidences do happen. Paul easily could have died of natural causes. Mom might have, too.”
“I know.”
Carmen bustled out with Liz’s beer and tacos and set them down. “I feel like strangling that Russom hombre. He’s a criminal.” She planted her fists on her hips. “It has to be him.”
“Carmen, we don’t know if he’s done anything wrong,” I protested.
“We gotta take action,” she insisted.
I made a tamping-down gesture. “Liz and I agreed I’m going to talk to my friend in the police department. See what he says.” I peered up at her. “Okay? Don’t do anything rash. We’ll figure this out.”
The ready bell dinged from inside. “All right. Maybe.” Off she went.
I popped in the last bite of my quesadilla, savoring the smooth mushed avocado with it, while Liz attacked her first taco.
I tilted my head and kept my tone casual. “To change the subject, do you think Zoe would like to hang out with me? We were pretty good friends when we were young, and you said she wasn’t doing too well.” I didn’t want to broach what Jason had told me, but if Liz needed to talk about Zoe, I wanted to provide an opening.
“That’s changing the subject, all right.” She took a long drag from her beer glass. “You could ask her. I’m not sure what she’ll say.”
“Is she living with you?”
Liz let out her breath with a whoosh. “No. She’s in a halfway house, Robbie. She’s addicted to opiates.”
“I’m so sorry.” Jason had been right.
“I’ve tried to help her. Got her into rehab more than once. She always relapses and uses again.” She lifted her chin. “Last time she lived at my place she started stealing from me. I can’t have her there.”
“It must tear you up to see Zoe go through such a hard thing.”
“You have no idea. I ask myself where I went wrong, even though I know I was the best mom I could be.”
“Of course you were. And she was fine in high school, as I remember.” I thought back. She hadn’t been in the top academic classes, but she was a gifted artist, sculpting and painting as well as creating art with photographs. “It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it isn’t. And her life is her responsibility. Still, it’s not easy.” She mustered a smile. “I’m so happy to see you healthy and doing well. Jeanine would be so very proud of you.”
I knew Mom would be proud of me. Liz and I shared a quiet moment, during which I resolved to find Zoe and talk with her if she’d let me. For old times’ sake.
Chapter 18
Jason pushed through the door at the Green Artichoke at five thirty, and I waved him over to the high-top I’d snagged. Without a reservation, I’d had to resort to a bar table, even though I preferred conventional seating because of my short legs. The place was hopping for a Tuesday, clearly a well-loved local restaurant. It helped that it was in the Funk Zone, an area between the 101 and the ocean with lots of renovated warehouses housing breweries, artists, and restaurants.
My friend exchanged fist bumps with me and slid onto the stool opposite. “How’s it going, Rob?” He wore a T-shirt with multicolored discs flying through the air and the words, Diskers Do It in Rotation.
“Not too bad. You?”
“More of the same. Work, play, sleep. Rinse and repeat.”
I pointed at his shirt. “Do you do Ultimate?”
“Yeah. I love it. I’m on a pretty competitive team, too.”
A waitperson stopped by. “Good evening and welcome to the Green Artichoke. My name’s Debbie. What can I get you to drink tonight?” She was an older woman whose skin looked like she walked the beach at midday on a regular basis. Her deep, raspy voice pointed to her being a longtime smoker.
“I’ll have a glass of the house chardonnay, please.” I smiled at her.
“Seltzer with lime for me,” Jason said.
“Coming right up.” Debbie turned away.
“Not drinking tonight?” I asked Jason.
“I’m on call. If I get summoned to work, showing up with even a speck of alcohol in my system is a big no-no in the force.”
“That makes sense.” I gazed around the spacious restaurant, abuzz with conversation. The walls were a pale artichoke green, of course, with lots of windows and the occasional painting of a giant artichoke in between. Booths lined the walls except here in the bar area, where all the tables and bar stools were full. “This is a popular place.”
“With reason. The food is excellent, the waitstaff well trained, and the prices reasonable. Plus, people love the whole farm-to-table thing. So what have you been doing with yourself?”
“Hanging out. Visiting with Alana. Riding. I even took a nap this afternoon.” I spotted a wicked grin on his face. “What?”
“We’re getting old, my friend. Did you ever take a nap ten years ago?”
“Only when I’d been up until three drinking too much. And I was a pretty boring teenager. Hangovers didn’t happen very often.”
“Same here. Like never, in my case.” He rolled his eyes.
When our drinks arrived, I thanked the waitperson, who wore a black armband on her white sleeve.
“What’s the armband for, Debbie?” I asked.
Jason blinked, watching me.
“It’s for Paul, one awesome dude and an environmentalist.” She patted the armband. “He died today.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, meaning it. “Did he work here?” I asked to draw
