Sweet Dreams, Irene ik-2 Page 21
I thought over what I had heard Devon and Raney say, placing Paul Fremont in their cryptic references to Sammy’s murder. I looked up at Frank.
“Paul had a knife. After they killed Sammy, he cut this Pony Player with the knife, so that it had both the Pony Player’s and Sammy’s blood on it. Devon and Raney had a blanket they were going to use in the same way — so that if they were caught, they had a way to protect themselves, to implicate this same Pony Player.”
“That was when you broke the window,” Frank said, remembering what I had told him. “Devon took the blanket and hid it somewhere in Las Piernas.”
“Right. Devon took a long time getting back to the cabin. When Raney asked Devon why it took so long, he said something like ‘it was out’ and talked about having to ‘wait until they brought it back in.’ I think he meant the yacht. Raney said he ‘didn’t think they would do that this time of year.’ It puzzled the hell out of me at the time. Then Devon said something about a client or an investor being with the Pony Player. Maybe Gannet had the yacht out that night.”
“So why do you think Gannet and the Pony Player are the same man?”
“His yacht is called the Long Shot — and a pony player is someone who gambles on horses. He wanted your mother’s land. He was at her funeral even though he hated her.”
“He didn’t hate her,” Jack said.
We both stared at him.
“He even dated her for a while. I was about twelve or thirteen. She figured he was after the beach property, but I’m not sure. They were rivals, but in some ways, that also made them respect each other. I think if they hadn’t fought about developing the beach, they would have been friends, or maybe more. I used to watch the way he looked at her. I think he thought of her as someone unattainable.”
“Maybe she was unattainable, Jack. But so was her beach property, as long as she was alive. I think she was killed because Gannet wanted it. You were ill. If she died, and you died or went to prison for killing her, then Paul would get the property, right? So maybe Gannet put ideas in your son’s head. Maybe Gannet even planned the whole thing. I think the knife that killed Sammy can link him to her murder. And that blanket — that might do the same.”
“Can you get a search warrant, Frank?” Jack asked.
Frank was quiet. The whole time, he was watching my face. “It’ll be tough.”
He saw my disappointment.
“Look, I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll do my best. But he’s powerful and all I’ve got is your word about something you overheard and guessed at the meaning of—” I started to open my mouth to complain but he motioned me to silence. “Settle down, I believe you. But we’ll have to come up with some way to convince a judge in order to get a warrant.”
I saw the hopelessness of it.
“I’ll try,” he said firmly. “But in the meantime, don’t talk about this to anyone else, Irene. I mean it. If he is involved and he thinks you’re on to him — please just don’t say anything to anybody for now, okay?”
I nodded.
ON THE WAY BACK home, I resolved not to let seeing the Long Shot spoil a great day. When we got to the house, I gave a surprised Jack a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Why, Irene! If I had known I could get kissed, I would have taken you out on the Pandora long ago. At your service any time, my dear.”
He left. Frank had a look on his face that bordered on jealousy, and it made me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he said testily.
I didn’t answer, just hobbled over and gave him the kind of kiss that could make him forget his name and address. When I remembered mine, I said, “Do you think we could manage to work around my orthopedic supplies and take up where we left off this afternoon?”
He kissed me back, moaning softly. “I’ve missed you so damn much.”
The guy had been tethered to me night and day for two weeks, during which I had been a regular pain in the butt. But I knew what he meant. I had missed him, too.
33
THE PHONE WOKE US UP when Frank’s sister called just before six, saying she was in town and would like to stop by and see us. I had never met her before; she lives up in Bakersfield. Frank invited her to join us for dinner.
LIKE FRANK, Cassie had light brown hair and gray-green eyes; there was a striking resemblance there. But she must have favored her mother otherwise. She was shorter than Frank and me, and slim, with delicate features. Those eyes, warm and friendly, were resting on me now.
“You must be Irene,” she said, smiling and extending her right hand, but quickly changing to the left to accommodate my injuries.
“Good to meet you, Cassie.”
As we made our way back to the living room, Cassie walked at a pace that allowed me to move alongside her without hurrying, and without making me feel like I was being babied.
“Well, is this the world-famous Cody?” she said, bending to pick up the final member of the greeting committee. Cody purred loudly and shut his eyes in contentment as she scratched him under the chin.
“That is indeed Wild Bill Cody, tramp and tomcat.”
“The cat that scratched Frank’s face!” she laughed.
“He’s also an ankle-biter,” Frank said.
Cody gave Cassie a look that tried to convey he was being slandered.
“He has sort of a combination cowboy name, doesn’t he?” she asked. “Wild Bill Hickok and Buffalo Bill Cody?”
“When I acquired this wild cat, I remembered that as a kid, I used to mix those two names together, confusing things adults were saying. I also used to think that there was a song called ‘My Darling Turpentine,’ and that during Mass the choir was singing ‘Cheerios, A Lady’s Song.’”
She looked puzzled.
“Sorry. Catholic lore. The actual phrase was ‘Lord have mercy,’ or in Greek, ‘Kyrie eleison.’”
She laughed. “‘Cheerios, A Lady’s Song’ — definitely a happier-sounding tune.”
We had made it to the living room by then. I eased myself into a chair and let them have the couch.
“So what are you going to feed me?” she said to Frank.
“Nice to see you, too, Cassie,” he said sarcastically.
Soon they were talking about Cassie’s husband, Mike, and her two sons, Michael and Brian. Turning to me, she asked, ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“A sister. Her name is Barbara. She lives here in Las Piernas.”
“That must be great, being so close.”
“It is,” I said, thinking that Barbara and I might be close in terms of residences, but we couldn’t match these two in affection for one another. I watched as they bantered with each other, teasing good-naturedly. Cassie in turn watched me, drawing me into the conversation whenever she could. Frank quickly picked up her cue and did the same. We talked about my job at the paper, her job as a teacher, and Frank’s nephews.
“So,” she said, “where’s the famous grandfather’s chair?”
I was puzzled for a moment, but Frank jumped in with, “Was your grandfather famous, Irene?”
“You know what I meant, Frank,” she protested. “I thought you told me you were going to move this woman, her cat, and her grandfather’s chair into your place. I can only see two out of three.”
Let’s see you get yourself out of this one, Harriman, I thought with a grin.
He turned red and gave me a pleading look. Cassie laughed.
“Well, Cassie, after two weeks of my constant companionship, he’s probably nailed that chair to the floor of my house. Your brother has had hell to pay since the day he brought me back from the mountains.”
“She never used to lie,” Frank said. “Must have been one of the blows to her head. But to keep you from sticking your nose in any farther — Irene never officially agreed to move in. Just this morning she wanted me to take her home.”
That earned him the hairy eyeball from me, but he didn’t flinch.
I laughed. “Don’t worry, Cassie, Frank is just gloating because he knows I’m not going anywhere, and wouldn’t if I could.”
Frank looked at me in surprise, then turned and said, “Cassie, I love you. Keep talking to her. God knows what she’ll agree to next. I’ll go to the store and pick up some steaks.”
“WELL, IRENE, I have a confession to make,” she said as soon as he was out the door.
I waited, not knowing what to expect.
“I didn’t have any other reason to be in Las Piernas today — although I told Frank I went to a teacher’s supply place down here — well, I did go to it, but only so that I wouldn’t be a complete liar. Anyway, the confession is that I came down here because I just had to meet the woman who was able to get Frank to come back home for Thanksgiving.”
“What?”
“I knew I would be meeting you next week, but Mom will be there and it’s just not the same with the whole family scurrying all over the place. I guess I figured it would take something or someone special to get Frank to come to the house again, and I was right. I mean, I knew that you would be the one, because Frank has been so happy since this summer. There’s been such a change in him since he started seeing you.”
“Cassie, what are you talking about? What about Frank and the house? Which house — your mom’s?”
She looked at me. “Uh-oh, I’ve done it again. He didn’t tell you.”
“Didn’t tell me what?”
She cleared her throat. “Frank hasn’t been inside my mother’s house for three years.”
“Since your dad died,” I said slowly.
“Oh, so he did tell you.”
“Not exactly. I know about your dad, but not about the house.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Oh.” Sighed. “I guess you could say Frank didn’t handle Dad’s death very well. It was hard on everybody, but Dad and Frank were really close. I mean, we all were close, but Frank and my dad especially. Frank blames himself, I think. Maybe that’s over, I don’t know. We never talk about it. Anyway, Dad died at home, and Frank hasn’t been inside the house since that day.”
“But I know he’s been back to Bakersfield since then.”
“Yes, but he comes over to my place, meets my mother there, and drives back home. Once in a great while, he’ll spend the night at our place. He usually refuses to come to Thanksgiving dinner. Sends my mom right over the edge every year. They start arguing about it in October, and don’t stop until after Christmas, which he also spends at our house.”
It was my turn to say, “Oh.”
I guess the look on my face said even more, because she hastily added, “Don’t worry about her. She’s a bit overbearing at times, but she means well. Frank can handle her, and I’ll run defense for you. Oh God, I make her sound like a harridan. I hope I haven’t talked you out of coming!”
“Not at all,” I said, realizing that I might have a way to return some of the kindness Frank Harriman had showered on me since bringing me home.
I smiled, catching myself using that word. Home. Yes, I thought, this was home, even without my famous grandfather or his chair. I didn’t want to go back to my house, but it wasn’t just that. Frank’s house was more than my refuge for the moment.
I looked back over to Cassie, to see her returning my smile.
FRANK CAME BACK in with an armload of groceries. “Is it safe for me to be back in my own home?”
“Our home,” I said.
“Good work, Cassie,” he said. He began unloading the sacks, pulling out a bottle of red wine.
“In fact,” I said, “I was just about to tell Cassie how nice it will be to know somebody besides you when we join the family for Thanksgiving dinner.”
He stopped what he was doing and looked up at me, clearly amazed. He turned to his sister. “Cassie, I may have to have you over more often.”
“What’s with you, Frank?” she asked.
He didn’t reply. He was looking back at me, and I liked being looked at that way. Kyrie eleison.
34
FRANK WAS GETTING READY for work the next morning when the doorbell rang, so I answered it, and was surprised to see the coroner standing there.
“Good morning, Miss Kelly,” he said, seeming uncomfortable.
“Hello, Dr. Hernandez,” I said, gesturing for him to come inside. “Frank must have forgotten to cancel his order. He changed his mind about killing me yesterday.”
He smiled. Frank had made his way down the hall by then, and also seemed surprised to see Dr. Hernandez. “Carlos? What’s up?”
“Good morning, Frank. Sorry to bother you at home. I, uh, wanted to talk to you away from the office.”
Frank nodded. “Come on into the kitchen, I’ll get you a cup of coffee. Okay if Irene hears this?”
He hesitated. “Only if it doesn’t end up in the newspaper.”
My curiosity was fairly raging. “I’m on medical leave,” I said. “I know it’s hard to see why.”
“You look like you could still use a telephone.”
“You’re right. But I won’t.”
That seemed good enough for him, and he followed us into the kitchen. When we were all settled around the table, he said, “I don’t suppose you or Pete were in contact with anyone from the county lab over the weekend, were you, Frank?”
“No. Pete should be by in a few minutes, but I’m fairly certain he wasn’t, either. Why do you ask?”
“I dropped by on Sunday to review our caseload and to prepare work schedules for next week. I also wanted to do a little more work on the Sammy Garden case. I discovered that between the time I left Friday afternoon and yesterday morning, someone took a look through my computer files.”
“And you thought it was me?” Frank asked, taken aback.
“No,” Carlos said quickly. “I never thought it was you or Pete. That’s why I came by. If you weren’t the ones who asked for the information, I wanted you to be aware of what had happened. I know you have a…” He glanced over at me. “You have a personal interest in the files that were read.”
Frank and I exchanged a look. “Which files?” I asked, the knot in my stomach already predicting the answer.
“Those having to do with the Fremont murder and the Garden case.”
The knot tightened.
“How could you tell?” Frank asked.
“The computer notes the last date and time anyone opens a case file. The display doesn’t show up unless you ask for it, but I check it fairly often, as a way of managing our work — helps me to keep track of which cases aren’t moving.”
“Maybe one of your assistants was in on the weekend,” Frank suggested.
Carlos was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe. But other than the man who was on duty, no one is admitting it, and he normally wouldn’t be in the part of the building where the computers are. These files are generally accessible on a “read only” basis from either my offices or the D.A.’s office, but it’s too early for any involvement from the D.A. As far as I can tell, the files weren’t accessed randomly, the way a hacker might enter them, and no other files were opened. So who felt they needed to wait until the weekend to take a look? It disturbs me.”
“Anyone you would suspect of doing this?”
“I’d rather not speculate, Frank, at least not yet. I just wanted to ask you and Pete to be careful about who you talk to. I have no idea what was being looked for; the files don’t seem to have been disturbed, just read.”
“You’ve got backups?”
“Yes, on disks which are kept in a completely separate area. I checked them. No one looked at the backups.” He paused, glancing at me, then back to Frank. “I’ve never mentioned my conversations with you in my notes. I know you aren’t supposed to be on either case, but no one has forbidden me to discuss them with you. I know you have reasons to be interested in both of them, and I haven’t minded taking care of a friend.”
Carlos waved it off. “It’s nothing. By the way, I think I’ve finally identified the hairs.”
“The ones from the wounds?” I asked.
“So, Frank has kept you up on all of this. Yes, from the wounds. The hairs are from a deer.”
“A deer?”
“Yes. Does that mean anything to you?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” I said. “Not unless it means she was killed in the mountains, where there might be deer hairs on the ground.”
He shook his head. “I suppose it’s possible, but why would she pick up deer hairs only in the wounds, and not on her clothing or other parts of her body?”
“The hairs are bound to figure in somehow, sooner or later,” Frank said. “It’s just too weird otherwise. We’ll keep thinking it over.”
“I’ll do the same,” Carlos said, standing up. “Thanks for the coffee. I’d better get going.”
WHEN FRANK CAME BACK after seeing Carlos out, he leaned over and kissed me. “Maybe Pete and Rachel will be late this morning,” he murmured into my ear. The doorbell rang. I was getting ready to disconnect it.
“See you after work, Frank.”
“Count on it,” he said, moving to answer the door.
The boys left for work, and I moved back into the kitchen with Rachel. I set the table while she cooked; I hadn’t gotten around to one-handed breakfast-cooking yet. She was making a frittata, an Italian-style omelet.
“Sweatpants,” she observed. “We should have thought of that sooner. Those look a little big on you.”
“They’re Frank’s. I’m afraid this is the second pair that will have the elastic around one ankle stretched out.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind.” She smiled. “You seem full of energy today.”