Crunch Time

“Gee whiz,” said Yolanda, “I’ve heard of cops doing racial profiling before, but I’d never actually experienced it. And they’re called duck suits.”

“I was joking,” said Tom, but he realized he’d made a mistake. “Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Yolanda muttered. “I’ll bet you’re sorry.”

Tom went on. “And Humberto said, ‘Here, Yolanda, take seventeen thousand bucks, and by the way, I don’t actually have a place for you to stay, but I have an idea. To earn this money, could you and Ferdinanda go live with Ernest McLeod, because he’s investigating me, even though he’s not a cop anymore?’”

Yolanda said, “Ernest was investigating Humberto?” Once again, I detected a note of . . . what? Dishonesty?

Tom said flatly, “Don’t try to convince me you didn’t know that Ernest was looking into Humberto’s affairs.”

Yolanda closed her eyes. She said, “Okay, I knew.”

John Bertram was summoned by his cell, and I found myself blinking rapidly. I was surprised by what Yolanda had admitted, but I still felt sorry for her. When my business had been closed after someone tried to poison a guest at an event I was catering, I’d been subjected to Tom’s questioning. In fact, that was how we’d met. But I hadn’t enjoyed the interrogation one bit.

Tom pressed her. “Did you know anything about the investigation?”

Yolanda took a deep breath. “Something about gold and gems.”

“Yeah,” said Tom, “something. Do you know if Ernest found anything?”

“I do not,” said Yolanda, staring straight at Tom.

John Bertram returned and took a seat. “I just got off the phone with our guys who went to see Kris Nielsen. After the rental house burned down, why didn’t you go stay with Kris? Just temporarily? He told our officers he offered to have you and Ferdinanda—”

“The hell with you!” Yolanda cried, jumping to her feet. “I told you, that man was stalking me—”

“He denies stalking you,” John said simply.

“He’s lying,” said Yolanda.

“Was Ernest working for you?” asked Tom. “Trying to prove a case against Kris Nielsen?”

“I don’t know.” She glared at Tom. “But let me ask you something. When your guy went to see Kris, did the officer treat Kris the same way you’re treating me? I’ll bet he didn’t, because Kris is rich. And white.” While these words hung in the air like an indictment, Yolanda pointed first at Tom, then at John. “Kris Nielsen is my ex-boyfriend, and his house is the last place I would go. Ever.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a faded gray nylon windbreaker, the kind that had been fashionable about twenty years ago. The jacket made a slithery sound as she put her arms into the too-large sleeves. I wondered if she’d bought it at Aspen Meadow’s secondhand store, Julian Teller’s favorite clothes shop. “I’ve had enough,” Yolanda announced. “I need to go get my aunt, and then I need to drive back to Ernest’s place and take care of the dogs. And then I’m going to start calling Ernest’s friends.”

“Actually, Yolanda,” I interjected, “I’d feel better, well, actually, you and your great-aunt need to stay with us. With someone gunning for Ernest, and with Kris acting . . . you know, the way he is, I’d feel more comfortable all the way around if you were here.”

Yolanda looked at Tom. “I told Ernest I’d take care of his puppies.”

John Bertram piped up. “I can take care of the dogs tonight. Feed them, take them out before we go to bed. But my wife’s allergic, so I can’t have them in our house. They’ll be all right at Ernest’s place after you get your stuff.”

Yolanda had not stopped staring at Tom. “Are you sure you want us here? I can go back and forth to take care of the dogs.”

Tom’s tone turned gentle. “Yes, I already checked with the department. It’s fine, really. You know how Goldy worries.”

“You want to spy on me,” Yolanda said to Tom.

“We want you to be safe,” Tom replied.

Yolanda pushed through the kitchen door and moved down the hall. “I’ll think about it,” she called over her shoulder. “Now I’m on my way to the church.”

“I told you, we’re coming to talk to Ferdinanda,” Tom replied.

Yolanda pushed the kitchen door open and again pointed at Tom. “When you talk to Ferdinanda? If you treat her the way you treated me, she’ll spit in your face.”

“I thought you said we’d frighten her,” said Tom. “I thought you said she was vulnerable and weak.”

“If you frighten her, it doesn’t matter how vulnerable and weak she is, she’ll hit you. I am not kidding.”

Tom shook his head mildly. “We’ll be nice.”

I thought, Uh-huh.

I went out to the driveway with them, because I wanted to make sure Yolanda was okay. Tom and John, meanwhile, tried to settle on who was going with whom and what vehicle they were going to take. Out back, Jake began to howl, as if he wanted to get his two cents in. The wind had picked up even more strength, and whenever one of us tried to say something, the words were whipped from our mouths. Finally, Tom huddled in next to Yolanda and spoke to her. She rolled her eyes, dug in her purse, and came out with a ring of keys. Then Tom walked over to me and came close to my ear.

“Drive Yolanda’s van, would you please, Goldy?”

“Sure. Can you lock the house?”

Tom walked back up the steps and made sure our front door was secure and the alarm was set. When he returned, he dropped the key ring into my hand. “We’ll drive her to the church. We want her to be with us, in case she decides to share any more information. Then you can drive Ferdinanda and Yolanda over to Ernest’s place, so they can take care of the puppies and pick up their stuff before they come back here.”

“What if they don’t want to stay with us?”

“Then I’ll come get you at Ernest’s.”

“Will department investigators still be at Ernest’s house?”

Tom glanced at his watch. “They should be.”

“Whatever,” I said as I marched to Yolanda’s vehicle.

It was an ancient van that had been retrofitted with a small elevator for a wheelchair. Even with that, the vehicle couldn’t have cost more than a few thousand dollars. Formerly turquoise and white, it was now mostly rusted. I gingerly opened the door. Inside, it was immaculate, although the carpet was worn and the windshield cracked. I cranked the key in the ignition, shifted into Drive, took my foot off the brake, and turned the steering wheel. When nothing happened, I gently stepped on the accelerator. After an initial hesitation, the behemoth growled and jerked away from our curb. It listed to starboard and the engine made a horrible grinding noise.

As I moved down our street behind Tom, John, and Yolanda, the hair on the back of my neck prickled. Was I being followed or watched? Or was I being paranoid? Maybe our discussion in the driveway, or Jake’s howls, had brought unseen neighbors to their windows. I checked the van’s pitted rearview mirror but saw only tiny stalks of silvery snow-in-summer. Tom had told me it was a favorite perennial in Aspen Meadow because it spread rapidly and withstood the summertime hail that crushed more delicate flowers. Tom had helped Trudy, our next-door neighbor, plant a dozen of them along the fence in her front yard, and with this summer’s record rainfall, the invasive plant had taken over.

I refocused my attention and checked the street. No one was behind Yolanda’s van. The sidewalks were empty. The FOR SALE sign in Jack’s front yard rippled in the wind. Oh, Jack, I thought, I miss you. My heart twisted in my chest.

The wind kicked up waves of dust as our vehicles lumbered down Main Street and up toward Aspen Meadow Lake. The water itself formed dark wavelets that mirrored the charcoal sky. My watch said it was only quarter after five, but it seemed like much later.

Our Lady of the Mountains loomed on the hill just above the lake. Despite the cold wind, Ferdinanda and the