“I came back for the Chumash High reunion on Saturday,” I said. “We missed you there.”
“I wasn’t up for it.” She shrugged, a tattoo snaking up her neck from the black T-shirt she wore under the apron. “But I meant what are you doing, like, here behind the restaurant?”
“I wanted to say hi to you. I ate dinner inside, and my waitress told me she takes a smoke break with you back here at seven.”
She crossed her arms. “Right. You just happened to eat here and mention my name to Deb, your randomly assigned waitress.” She puffed again and blew smoke to the side. “I call BS, Robbie.”
“You’re onto me.” I gave a little laugh. “Your mom told me you worked here, so I asked Debbie if you were on tonight. That’s all.” I studied her. “You and I used to be friends. I can want to see you, can’t I?”
“I guess. But we live in pretty different worlds now.”
True. “Are you still doing art?”
“Not really.” Her right heel jittered up and down, making her whole body vibrate.
“Sad news about Paul, isn’t it?”
Her foot stilled and she looked straight at me for the first time. “How did you know him?”
“I’m trying to get more information about how my mom died. Your mother suggested I talk to him.”
She stared at me, as if she wasn’t sure she believed me. “Yeah, it’s super sad.” Her focus shifted to the far dark corner of the parking lot. “He was a cool dude. He was nice to me.”
“I liked what I saw of him, too. I met with him for a bit on Sunday. He and my mom were in an anti-agrochemical group together.”
Zoe let my words hang in the air for a few beats without responding. “Look, I’m not sure how much we have to say to each other.”
Not that she’d asked about me. Not one question, not one sympathy extended about Mom dying. “Maybe not. Well, I’ll head out and let you get back to work. Take care, Zoe.”
“Yeah, you, too.” Her tone was sardonic as she ground the butt under the toe of her black Doc Martens. She pulled open the restaurant door.
“I almost forgot,” I said. “Katherine Russom was asking about you at the reunion.”
Zoe froze. She stared at me and blinked, then spat out an obscenity. “Katherine Russom is a witch. You should keep your distance from her, Robbie. She’s the definition of bad news.” The screen door slammed behind her.
Chapter 21
I shouldn’t have napped earlier. Back in my B-and-B room at nine, I was restless and not a bit sleepy. I opened the window for some air, but started coughing from the wildfire smoke. I shut it again and the room felt stuffy, so I switched on the air conditioner to a low cool setting. I settled on top of the bedspread with a pen and The New York Times crossword puzzle book I’d brought. After rereading a clue for a full two minutes, I slapped the book onto the bedside table and got up.
In keeping with the decor downstairs, the room had a cheery, south-of-the-border feel. The woodwork was painted orange, the dresser and bedside table a warm yellow, and the curtains were a zigzag pattern of reds, oranges, and greens. An intricately painted blue-and-yellow papier-mâché pig sat on the dresser. Two framed pictures on the wall showed Day of the Dead skeletons. One painting depicted them in surfing clothes; the other showed a beach cookout.
I barely saw any of it as I paced. Paul was dead. Zoe was an addict. I didn’t know for sure how my mother had died. Katherine’s father ran an agrochemical company. What did it all mean? What could I do about any of it?
Grabbing my iPad, I sat at the small desk and searched for news. Except I still didn’t know how to spell Paul’s last name. Wait. Liz had said she would text it to me. I searched my phone, but she’d sent only his first name and number. Back on the iPad, I found the local news outlet. I saw stories about national news. A bit about the annual restaurant week and details of a major road project starting up. An article about the baby giraffe born at the zoo. A heart-wrenching story about the aftermath of the mud slide that had covered half a town on the Pacific Coast Highway south of here. But not a single word about a man found dead in his apartment. And I couldn’t search for him online because I didn’t know how to spell his last name.
I snapped my fingers and grabbed my phone. There was something I could do. Mel Washington had given me her cell number. Was it only this morning? It seemed like a week ago. I texted her.
Check Paul E’s body for the Agrosafe fumigant.
I hit Send. But would she check? I hoped so.
I paced some more. The room didn’t have a television, which was fine with me. I’d brought a novel on the trip, but I didn’t think I could concentrate on reading, either. What I really wanted to do was have this whole mess sorted out, go home, and curl up on a couch with my sweetie.
Laughing out loud, I jabbed Abe’s number as I figuratively slapped my own head. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t curl up with my man in person until Saturday night, but I sure could talk things through with him, and he should be home from work by now.
Except he didn’t pick up. I swore to myself. He could be any number of places. Having dinner with his son, or his folks,
