When I called, it went to her voice mail. I didn’t leave a message, instead texting back.
Did you find something? Tried calling but you didn’t pick up. Call me back any time. Thx.
Now what? I wished I’d gotten the name of the conventional farmer who was so buddy-buddy with Walter Russom. The one who’d said Mom had nearly ruined her. The name of the farm hadn’t been posted. At this point I wasn’t interested in going back and asking. I checked my e-mail again. Nothing from Adele had come in, either.
I didn’t know what to do next. I felt desperate to find out what had really happened to my mom, and to Paul, too. Back home I could have asked Lieutenant Buck Bird, my friend and local police contact. Back home I overheard snippets in my restaurant. Back home I . . . I blew out a breath. I wasn’t back home. I was here. I stood, resolved to drive back to Carmen’s, get the bike, and take myself for a really hard ride. The heck with wildfire smoke. I just wouldn’t go up into the foothills. There was plenty of coast to ride along.
Maybe I’d head over to Montecito and pay homage to the late Sue Grafton’s home. I’d grown up reading her mysteries. How could I not? They were essentially set right here. My mom had bought each new one as soon as they came out. I read through all the existing books when I was eleven, but I’d had to wait to dive into each new one until after Mom had finished it. The situation had reversed itself every time a new Harry Potter book came out. I hadn’t let her get her hands on it until I’d read it twice.
I needed a long ride to clear and sort my brain, and I needed it now. At home I might have pulled out my graph paper, ruler, and pencil, and created a crossword about the case—or cases—to organize my thoughts. Here I didn’t have those supplies, and I was antsy. A hard ride would fix that.
I’d left my rental car in the municipal lot. When I was nearly at the little red Toyota, I slowed. Katherine stood, fists on hips, talking to someone through the open driver’s window of a silver Lexus. She didn’t look happy. I bent down a little to see through the passenger window, then straightened. Walter sat in the driver’s seat. Katherine threw a hand in the air with an angry gesture, or maybe it stemmed from frustration. I couldn’t tell which.
A woman with impeccably streaked hair brushed by me, nearly colliding with the flowers sticking out of one of my bags. Katherine’s face hardened at the sight of the woman sliding into the passenger seat of Walter’s car. The car took off. I pointed myself at Katherine. She might want a friendly face right about now. It was worth a try.
“Katherine, would you look at this.” I mustered a cheery tone as I approached. “Three times in one morning. Want to go for a coffee, catch up on old times?”
She’d been gazing after the car, but whipped her head around to look at me. “Are you following me, Robbie?”
“Not at all. I’m parked right there.” I pointed at my economy rental. “I was headed back to my B-and-B, but I don’t have anywhere in particular I have to be.”
“Coffee, hmm. What I could use is a drink.” She raised her chin, as if challenging me to say it was too early. “You game?”
“Hey, ten thirty is five thirty somewhere.” So much for my bike ride, but drinking with Katherine could prove a lot more fruitful, information-wise.
She barked out a laugh. “My favorite words. Follow me.”
Chapter 25
Katherine and I sat on the courtyard patio of the Mission Hotel. The ubiquitous bougainvillea crawled tenaciously over a trellis, while a little fountain burbled in the corner. The stucco walls featured inset arches reminiscent of the mission itself and were topped with curved red tiles.
A waiter, an older gentleman with a full head of white-streaked dark hair, appeared and set down two thick green-rimmed glasses of water. “What would you ladies like to drink this morning?”
I jumped in. “I’d like a mimosa, please.” I figured the OJ in my drink, which the menu claimed was fresh-squeezed, was good for me. Sipping it slowly would keep me as alert as possible.
“A bloody Mary for me.” Katherine omitted the “please.” “And double the vodka in it.”
“Very good.” He disappeared through the door to the building.
Katherine drew an expertly manicured finger through the condensation on her water glass and didn’t speak.
I broke the silence. “Was that your dad’s wife who got into the car?”
“No. It’s his girlfriend, if people in their fifties can even be called girls. They’ve been an item for about six months.”
“You didn’t appear to like her much, back there at the car.”
“I don’t.”
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Her name’s Sydelle Moore, and she has deep pockets.”
“Meaning . . . ?”
“Meaning she’s rich and is an angel investor in my father’s company. Sydelle is the furthest thing from an angel I can imagine.”
I opened my mouth to say I’d met a Tommy Moore. I shut it when I realized she might ask me where. I hung a conversational right turn in a hurry. I’d asked too much about her father’s lady friend as it was. “So how did you get into the wedding planning business?”
“I like to run things.” She glanced up as if checking whether I was agreeing with her.
“That sounds familiar.” I softened my agreement with a smile. Her Chumash student ID might as well have read “Controlling Kate.”
“Some have called me bossy. But hey, if people want to pay me to manage their biggest life event, we’re all good. I majored in business at UCSB with a design minor, so this line of work is kind of a no-brainer.”
“I didn’t know you were interested in studying business.” I tried to hide
