I sent it, not wanting to be too explicit. There was nothing else I could do right now. My hands were virtually tied from being an outsider, albeit an interested one. After making sure Jason didn’t text me right back, I stashed the phone and glanced up.
“Anything happening?” Liz asked. “Was it news about Paul?” She searched my face.
I prayed she couldn’t read my thoughts. “No, no. Airline changing the departure time by four minutes.” I picked up my margarita and finished it instead of telling her the awful, terrible, dreadful truth.
Debbie appeared at the table. She’d said Zoe was here working. Why hadn’t the detective already come and taken her away? I stared at her, but I couldn’t broach the question in front of Liz.
“Guess you didn’t like those appetizers much,” Debbie said, gathering up the plates. “I’ll bring your salads right out.”
“Thanks,” Liz said. She also drained her glass and edged it toward Debbie. “Can I get a glass of the Firestone pinot grigio, please?”
“Of course.” Debbie glanced at me.
“I think I’d better stick with water, thanks.” The margarita was already going to my head.
“You got it.” She headed back to the kitchen.
Zoe wouldn’t have any idea she was washing her mom’s plate. Or that Cody might have just changed her life irrevocably.
Debbie came back with our salad split onto two plates. Except my stomach roiled like a rowboat on a white-capped ocean. I wasn’t sure I could eat.
Should I tell Liz what I’d learned? I wasn’t positive if she would forgive me if she found out later what I’d kept from her while sitting only feet away. But what if the whole thing was a mistake? Maybe Katherine had tried to bribe Zoe and she’d refused. Maybe Cody was lying to protect his father, and Zoe had nothing to do with the murder. I would have ruined Liz’s dinner for nothing.
Chapter 53
With full stomachs and me holding two takeout bags containing half a piece of the San Andreas cake each, Liz and I exited the restaurant. Both of us had realized halfway through our main courses that ordering the cake had been overambitious.
“Seven o’clock is when Zoe takes her smoke break,” Liz said. “Come on back.” She carried the cloth shopping bag she’d brought in with her.
I didn’t say I already knew what time she had her break. “Don’t you want to see her by yourself?”
“Actually? No. Please come with me?” Her voice shook a little.
We walked around to the back of the restaurant, as I had on Tuesday. The screen door to the kitchen whapped and a lighter flared. The cigarette tip glowed red in the darkness. I stayed a few steps behind Liz.
She approached her daughter. “Hi, Zoe honey.” She held out her arms, but Zoe took a step back.
“What are you doing here, Mom?” Zoe’s tone was harsh, accusing.
“I wanted to see you.”
“But you didn’t want me living in your house. In our house.”
Liz waited a beat without speaking. “I brought you a few things I thought you might need.” She held out the bag.
Zoe folded her arms instead of reaching for the bag. “What kind of things?”
“Stuff you like. Your favorite shampoo. Power bars. A couple of new packs of underwear. Even black nail polish.”
What a thoughtful thing for Liz to do. Give her stuff rather than money to buy it with—which Zoe might have used for drugs instead.
Liz set down the bag in front of Zoe’s feet. “How are you, sweetheart?”
Zoe looked away and blew out smoke, then gazed at her mom. “Life sucks. That’s how I am. But I’ve been clean for fifty-two days.”
Liz held her hand to her cheek. “I’m grateful for those fifty-two days, honey, and I’m pulling for you to keep it that way tomorrow, too.”
“And the day after, and the day after that.” Zoe sounded tired, even though I couldn’t really see her face. “I know the one-day-at-a-time routine, Mom.” She caught sight of me. “Great. You brought Miss Success Story, herself. Hey, Robbie Jordan.”
“Hi, Zoe.” I spoke softly.
Zoe puffed on her cigarette, not looking at either of us.
“We’ll go now,” Liz murmured. “There isn’t an hour in the day when I don’t think about you, Zo.”
Two cruisers roared around from the front, police lights strobing but sans sirens.
No.
Liz sucked in a breath, wide eyed. Zoe muttered an expletive.
The police cars pulled up in a V, creating a barricade. A spotlight came alive on top of one cruiser, bathing Zoe in bright light. She raised a forearm in front of her eyes. Two uniforms poured out of each vehicle, hurrying toward us. Detective Gifford suddenly slid around in front of me. I had a very bad feeling about this, but I wasn’t surprised.
“Zoe Stover?” Gifford asked her.
“Yeah.” She threw her cigarette on the ground and folded her arms over her chest. “What’s going on? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Gifford of the SBPD. I’m here to arrest you for the murder of Paul Etxgeberria.” He nodded to the closest officer, who drew out handcuffs.
“What?” Zoe cried. “No! It’s not true.”
“She would never hurt someone,” Liz protested, rushing toward Zoe. “You can’t.”
“Ma’am, please step back.” Gifford blocked Liz with his arm. “Ms. Stover, your co-conspirator signed a sworn statement.”
Katherine.
“My . . .” Zoe gaped at him, jaw dropped in disbelief.
Liz clutched my elbow in a death grip.
Gifford went on. “She told us she paid you to put a large quantity of methyl iodide, otherwise known as a widely used Agrosafe fungicide, in the victim’s food. The dose was enough to kill him. We found traces in his lunchbox and in his stomach. Your fingerprints are also on the food container.”
Liz drew in another sharp breath.
“I did not do it. Katherine is lying if she says I did.” Zoe’s voice grew low and furious. “She wanted me to kill Paul, sure. She asked me to. She bugged me on Messenger. She said she was going to give me a lot of money to support my drug
