been eavesdropping. She recovered herself quickly though, and I had to admire her regal bearing as she continued on into the living room. “Thank you, Detective McCain,” she said. “It was insufferably hot in that kitchen.”
McCain gave a little laugh. As he came back to where we were seated he smothered a yawn, then said, “Excuse me. I think I’ll call it a night. You’ll be in the area for the next few weeks, Ms. Kelly?”
“As far as I know.”
He took out a card. “Give me a call if you have any questions, or if anything comes to mind.”
“One moment,” Aunt Mary said.
He waited.
“I assume you aren’t charging Irene with any crime?”
“No, as of now, I have no reason to do so,” he said.
“Is there any reason why she can’t visit Briana’s apartment, take things out of there?”
He hesitated, then said, “It’s no longer sealed, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I don’t want-” I began.
“Hush!” she snapped at me. “I want you to go over there tomorrow morning and clear her things out. You can keep them in boxes and give them to Travis when we find him. That’s fine.”
“But her furniture-we don’t have room-” I began again, grasping at the first argument that came to mind.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll even arrange to have movers bring the furniture here. I’ll store it for you until we find him.”
“What’s your hurry?” McCain asked.
She folded her arms across her chest. “I drove over to Briana’s apartment the other day. I’m sure one of your men mentioned that to you.”
McCain just smiled.
“Well, he wouldn’t let me in the apartment, but I spoke briefly to Briana’s neighbors. They said up until you and your patrolmen started hanging around, there had been problems with break-ins in that building. I don’t want thieves looting what belongs to Travis.”
“Neither do I,” McCain said, looking right at me.
Frank rose halfway out of his chair. I placed a hand on his arm and said, “That won’t help anyone.” He sat back down.
“What’s your real reason for wanting her to go over there?” McCain asked Mary.
“That’s real enough,” she said, narrowing her gaze on him. “I don’t lie as readily as some people do.”
He didn’t say anything, just kept smiling.
“I do have another reason. I want her to find her cousin. I’m very worried about him.”
“We’ll find him.”
“Hah! Listen here, Mr. McCain. There are only about six or seven
“We have other professionals who-”
“So does she!” Mary crowed. “One sitting right next to her.”
“I’m sure Detective Harriman won’t want to cause jurisdictional problems.”
“No,” Mary answered for him. “Even though you’re in his right now. But he’s going sailing tomorrow morning. Irene’s going to hire that private investigator friend of hers to help us look for Travis.”
It took all the acting skill I have not to betray my surprise at this announcement. I’m not sure I succeeded. McCain seemed skeptical. Frank was cooler under fire.
“Rachel Giocopazzi,” he supplied, not missing a beat. “She worked homicide in Phoenix. She’s my partner’s wife.”
McCain’s working smile suddenly brightened into the genuine article-this one lit up his face with pleasure. “Giocopazzi? Rachel Giocopazzi got married?” He laughed. “‘Pazzi! Well, I’ll be damned!” He quickly looked over at Mary and said, “Pardon me, ma’am.”
She waved that away. “You know her?” A bold question, since Mary had never actually met Rachel, only heard us talk about her.
“Know her?” McCain said. “Yes. I know her. Lord, yes. We worked together on a long, tough case-two victims killed here, bodies taken to Phoenix.”
This led to some grisly shop talk between Frank and McCain, during which it was obvious that Jim McCain’s unspoken reminiscences were not strictly about the case.
“Married,” he said again. “Your partner must be quite a guy. I don’t think there was a man in the Phoenix department that didn’t dream about ‘Pazzi. They’d call her that, or ’the Amazon.”“
I wondered what he’d think of Pete Baird when he met him. I had a feeling he was in for a shock. I’m fond of Pete, but a page off the Hunk-A-Day Calendar he ain’t.
“So you’ll give Irene the keys to the apartment?” Mary asked.
He rubbed his chin, then said, “Sure, but I don’t have the keys with me. I tell you what, I’ll meet you and Rachel over there.”
“But we go through the apartment on our own,” I said.
Again he hesitated, looking at me curiously before he said, “All right, meet you there at ten o’clock. But you’ll tell me if you come across anything that has a bearing on this case?”
“If someone murdered my aunt, Detective McCain, I’ll do everything in my power to help you find her killer.”
“Good. And no trying to get in there before ten, all right?”
“Fine. I’ll see you then.”
“You sure Rachel can make it?” he asked.
“I’m almost certain,” I said, praying Rachel wouldn’t mind giving up sailing, too.
“Families,” Rachel said on a sigh, her eyes not leaving the heavy traffic in front of us. “My brothers, we might not speak to each other for years, but one of ‘em calls up and says, ”Hey, Rach, I need a little something from the dark side of the moon,“ and even though my mouth might say, ”Are you nuts? I’m not going to any damned moon,“ I’m already thinking, Gee, wonder how I’ll look in a spacesuit?”
“You’re just as good to your friends as you are to your family,” I said. “Thanks for giving up the sailing trip.”
Uneasy about McCain’s suspicion of me, Frank had talked about canceling, too-but Rachel had shooed him out the door with the other men. When we first mentioned McCain to her, she frowned a little, glancing over at Pete, then said, “Yeah, I think I remember him.”
She helped me gather up some empty boxes, and offered to drive us over in her Plymouth sedan, which was better suited to hauling boxes than my Karmann Ghia.
Now we were on the Vincent Thomas Bridge, high above LA Harbor. Rachel hit the brakes as a pickup truck made a sudden lane change into the space in front of us, and I heard her muttering something in Italian.
“Starting to regret this?” I asked.
“Aw, I don’t mind this at all. Glad to come along. You think I’d be happier stuck on a sailboat all day with those clowns? No way.”
“If you needed an alternative, you could probably think of something more fun than going through a dead stranger’s possessions.”
“Hell, I’m used to it.”
“I guess you are,” I said. Rachel had retired in her early forties from her job in Phoenix homicide, after putting in twenty years in the department-where she’d started as a meter maid, back when they called them that.
“Am I horning in on something you’d rather do alone?” she asked.
“No-not at all. Even if you hadn’t been so willing to offer your car or to help pack boxes, I’d be grateful just to have you with me. I’m glad I’m not facing this alone.”
“That’s understandable. You said you don’t know how much stuff is in this apartment, right?”
“Aunt Mary said the place is small and that it wouldn’t take long to pack up, but she’s never moved from the first house she bought in Las Piernas, so I’m not sure she’s much of a judge.”
After McCain left her house, Aunt Mary said she hoped we didn’t mind the way she’d rescheduled our Saturday.
