Chapter Ten

Sunday drives had become a routine. Max knew gas rationing would soon take this off the table, but for now, he and Elizabeth still enjoyed a drive along the coast, stopping for lunch at Alf’s, a favorite roadside diner.

Max was surprised, he actually enjoyed driving. He had not done it much in New York, and at first he’d been tentative on the highway, but he’d adapted. Now he liked being behind the wheel, the feel of the Bakelite steering wheel, the low growl of the engine, the smell of the leather car seats.

He leaned back in the seat, feeling warmth spread from his chest to his fingertips and trying not to focus on the investigation. He needed a breather, needed time for new facts to filter down.

It was a clear, cold day; the sky brittle blue and a breeze off the land.

They headed north, intending to make it to an old fishing village where you could get mouth-watering deep-fried artichoke hearts at Alf’s.

They had barely made it out of San Ignacio though, when slowing for a truck, Max felt his brakes go mushy underfoot. He pumped three times and each time the pedal went down further.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked, alarm in her voice.

“The brakes. They’re not working.” He felt panic, the same helplessness that had hit him in most emergencies since the shooting. He tried to blot it out, to focus. He’d learned what to do for brake failure, but his mind shut down. Fear took over, his heart pumping so hard his chest hurt. Then his vision blurred and he couldn’t suck in air.

“Pull over,” Elizabeth shouted. “Max. Pull over.”

Ahead an intersection with a stop sign in their lane. And from their right a sedan was speeding toward the cross streets, but Max now could not even speak. He just held onto the wheel, his arms rigid.

“Max! Shift down.”

Elizabeth now saw the car coming fast toward her side. “Shift down!” she yelled again.

The approaching car finally saw that they were not stopping, honked furiously and then a squeal of brakes as it fishtailed.

The horn then got through to Max and he ground the gears as he shifted into second. Elizabeth at the same time reached across and pulled the parking brake. Then a complete halt halfway into the intersection, the approaching car skidding to a stop just feet from their passenger side. The driver didn’t even bother to get out but flipped Max off and roared away. Now a car behind them began honking, and Elizabeth waved it past as she shut off the ignition.

“Max?”

He felt himself finally begin to relax his grip on the wheel. He could breathe again.

“Jesus. I’m pitiful. Can’t even drive a car without going into shell shock.”

She put a hand to his cheek. “It’ll get better. They said it would. But what the hell happened?”

He put his foot on the brake pedal again; it sank with no pressure.

“The brakes. They went out.” He shook his head.

The car behind pulled up by him now. “Jesus. You could’ve gotten killed,” the driver called out. “What happened?”

“No brakes,” Elizabeth said.

The other driver nodded. “Well, you’re in luck.” He pointed to the right.

A gas station on one corner of the intersection with a sign, “Mechanic on duty.”

Before Max could offer thanks, the car was gone.

They got out and with Max steering through the open window, they pushed the car to the side of the road. Securing it, they went across to the gas station. The mechanic was a balding man in a blue jump suit that showed off a prominent belly. His lower lip bulged with chew.

Max told him what happened.

“Just went out like that?” the mechanic asked, snapping a finger.

“Pretty much,” Max said.

“Well, better take a look at her.”

Then, back at the car, the mechanic pushed on the brake pedal with his hand, muttering to himself.

He crawled underneath, barely making the clearance. Then more muttering.

When he came back out and struggled to his feet, he whistled lowly. “You’re lucky, mister.”

“How am I lucky?” Max asked. “My damn brakes went out.”

“Lucky you’re alive. There’s good sized nick in your brake line. Enough so’s the fluid’s all gonna get squirted out the first time you hit those brakes.”

“Did we damage it somehow?” Elizabeth asked. “Run over a rock and tear it?”

Max and the mechanic exchanged knowing glances.

“Ragged edges or clean?” Max asked.

“Clean,” the mechanic said, nodding. “Looks like you might have yourself an enemy.”

Son of a bitch. Our dog and now this. Max felt the heat in him build, a raging furnace. They could have been killed. Somebody’s going to pay for this.

They got a loaner car from Walt, the mechanic who it turned out owned the gas station. An old Ford, but it got them home. Walt figured he could have theirs repaired by tomorrow. But that wasn’t what was on their minds.

“It’s got be to Carswell,” Max said as they drove south now through San Ignacio. “First Tiny and now the car.” He tried hard to keep his voice calm but inside he was fuming.

“But why?” Elizabeth asked. “You said he’s got an alibi for Tadeo’s murder. He was with the Coastal Watch that night. What does he care if we’re investigating?”

“We humiliated him last night at Tadeo’s service. Made him run away with his tail between his legs.” He paused. “Or there’s somebody else who doesn’t want us messing around in this. Maybe the person who did kill Tadeo.”

They reached their house and as they were getting out of the car, Max said, “Maybe we should leave this to the local police.” The last thing he wanted, but this investigation was now endangering Elizabeth. She deserved to have a say in it.

She stopped and stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “You’re joking, right?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, hon. And I’m not sure I can protect you.”

“All I’m sure of is that somebody tried to hurt both of us. To scare us. And I want to find that bastard.”

His heart swelled. “That’s my Lizzy. Let’s figure it out.”

Time to put Jimmy’s list of suspects into action, Max thought.

“Way I see it, three main suspects. Hicks the holy roller, Martindale with her dreams of a classic golf course, and Pinkus, the aggrieved ex-partner. I need to check alibis for the night Tadeo was killed.”

“I’m not going to be the simpering wife watching for your ship on the widow’s walk,” Elizabeth said as they entered their house. “I want in on this. And I’ve got something more than anger to offer.”

That evening at Emilio’s, an Italian restaurant, they met Elizabeth’s brother, Theodore Schuyler. Like his sister, he had left the big city to come back to this coastal town where the family had summered.

Not a favorite of Max’s. A so-called big gun in real estate, he hadn’t even been able to find them a house when they moved here.

“Sorry Pru couldn’t make it,” Teddy said. “A little under the weather.”

Which meant she was drunk again, Max thought. Another reason they didn’t socialize much.

“We should do this more often, Sis.”

Elizabeth smiled, then took a sip of her Chianti.

The ruins of Ossobuco lay on their plates; bullshit conversation had so far carried the evening. Crunch time now. Max eyed Elizabeth, waiting for her to make her move. Turned out Teddy had sold Babs Martindale her house and was now representing her in the proposed purchase of the Suzuki farm. They needed an in with her and Teddy was their man.

Crazy that they came from the same family, Max thought. Once two peas in a pod, inseparable as children, but now grown far apart. Not just in silly politics. Teddy, a Republican, was scornful of everything for which Roosevelt stood and Elizabeth the flip side, as if their brains had actually diverged since childhood. The accumulation of money was his raison d’être.

“You know Max and I are looking into the death of Tadeo Suzuki,” Elizabeth finally brought up.

“Terrible thing,” Teddy said. “They say the old guy was drunk.”

“No. It was murder,” Elizabeth said calmly. “Max has pretty much proven that.”

Teddy shot him a sharp look. Max shrugged, said nothing. This was Elizabeth’s play.

“Well, Jesus, who’d want to kill old Suzuki?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” she said. “And I think you might be able to help us, Teddy.”

He laughed. “I’m not really the Sherlock Holmes type, Sis.”

You can say that again, Max thought.

“Fact is, we need to talk with certain people who might have a motive for Tadeo’s death,” Elizabeth said.

“What motive?”

“Land. He had plenty of it. And people were trying to buy it and he wouldn’t sell.”

Teddy now squinted at her. “I’m beginning to suspect this little dinner could have an ulterior motive.”

“Sharp as ever, Teddy,” Elizabeth said, which brought a smile from Max.

“One of those persons wouldn’t happen to be my client, Babs Martindale, would it?”

“Got it in one,” she said. “It would be helpful if I could talk with her. Just find out her whereabouts on the night of February twenty-third. We’re eliminating suspects, Teddy. Get the harmless ones out of the way first.”

Nicely done, Max thought. But he still did not have hopes for this. Theodore was not inherently helpful.

Max beckoned the waitress, ordered a third martini for his brother-in-law.

“My god, Max, are you trying to ply me with alcohol?” But Teddy’s protest lacked sincerity.

Damn well yes, I am, Max thought, smiling innocently.

When the drink came, Teddy eyeballed it greedily.

Then, “Rather simplistic, don’t you think?” Teddy surveyed the busy restaurant to make sure he would not be overheard and added: “I mean, a person like Babs, she’s hardly going to kill the man. More probable, she’d hire someone.”

Elizabeth looked to Max for this one.

“That is a possibility,” he said “But until we ascertain alibis, a search for a hired hand is premature.”

Teddy nodded at this, took another sip, and sighed. “Alright, then. I’ll take you to meet Babs. You can ask her. Why not?”

“No, wait a second, Theodore,” Max said. “That’s not what we’re asking. An introduction would be enough. It’s too much. I mean, you have a business…”

“Enough,” Teddy said. “I still owe you a favor for bringing dad’s partner to justice, Max. You can take this as a down payment. Besides, this damn war has played hell with the real estate market. Nobody’s buying. I’m bored and this might just be fun.”

“Fun?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, dear sister. One can have a business mind and enjoy a bit of fun from time to time. So, let the games begin!”

Next morning at Martindale’s door, Teddy was singing a different tune, no doubt nursing a hangover, but Elizabeth figured it was more than that. He bore the look of a prisoner facing the hangman.

Not a good idea for her to tackle this alone. She could use Max’s presence to remind her brother of the debt owed. But Max was off on his own round of questions with the crackpot Hicks and then to Pinkus.

A Mexican maid in a freshly starched baby-blue shirtwaist and a sparkling white apron around her waist answered the door.

“We’ve come to see Miss Martindale,” Teddy said, his voice quavering.

“She is bathing now.”

“Oh, then perhaps—” Teddy began.

“We’ll wait inside,” Elizabeth said. She glanced at her brother. “Bathing, as in swimming,” and he made an ah-ha gesture.

“Yes, please to come in,” the maid said. They entered through a foyer, all tile and potted palms, which led to a sunken living room with flagstone floors, leather and chrome furniture, and a vast picture window looking onto an Olympic-sized pool in the back.

Elizabeth gazed at it and the two swimmers doing laps. One was Babs Martindale and the other was a man.

“You still think this is a good idea, Lizzy?”

“It was your idea last night, Teddy, so buck up.”

He began pacing back and forth in front of the window, and Elizabeth turned to a bamboo trestle table at one end of the room filled with photographs in an assortment of ebony and silver frames. One had a picture of Martindale holding the 1936 Women’s Western Invitational trophy over her head, mugging for the camera. Others were of Martindale in the company of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Teddy.”

The chirpy voice made Elizabeth turn toward the windows as Babs Martindale made her entrance, engulfed in a long white terry-cloth bathrobe. Her severely short hair, still wet, was hand-combed like a Roman emperor’s.

“Babs, darling,” Teddy gushed, making Elizabeth want to punch him on the shoulder as she would have as an adolescent.

“Good news, I hope,” Martindale said, studiously ignoring Elizabeth.

“No, Babs. Sorry. Nothing new there. The estate has not been settled yet.”

“Time is getting short,” she said, then pursing her lips.

Teddy shrugged.

“And who is this?” Martindale said, finally acknowledging Elizabeth’s presence. Martindale looked her up and down as if she were a choice piece of meat hanging in a butcher’s shop. Elizabeth shivered.

“This is my sister, Elizabeth,” Teddy said, marshalling a smile. It was clear he was now feeling very sorry to have become involved in this.

“Wonderful,” Martindale said. “One can see the family resemblance. The blonde hair, the green eyes.” She came up close, too close, and Elizabeth stepped back. Martindale reached out and brushed her hand casually against her hair, and Elizabeth felt herself freeze.

She tried to hide her unease. “Teddy’s got the nose for business, though,” Elizabeth said.

“Yes, he is a go-getter,” Martindale agreed. “How nice to meet you, Elizabeth.” Then another appraising glance up and down her body.

An awkward silence followed. Finally Martindale said, “Swimming gives one a powerful thirst, have you noticed? All that water and not a drop to spare.” She glanced at her wrist as if to check the time, then realized she had not replaced her watch after swimming. “Oh, what the hell. It must be five o’clock somewhere. Wonderful thing, time zones.”

She clapped her hands imperiously, turning toward the hall, and called out, “Juanita! A pitcher of Margaritas, please. And four glasses.”

Elizabeth and Teddy exchanged glances. He shrugged, shaking his head. She wanted him to keep this woman off her, but that obviously was not part of the deal.

Martindale turned back to Elizabeth. “Have you tried the Margarita yet? It’s all the thing south of the border.”

“My sister and her husband have only recently resettled here from New York,” Teddy joined in.

Martindale’s tongue darted out the side of her mouth, disappointment seemingly in her eyes at the word ‘husband.’ She sniffed, thrusting her shoulders back. “You must find us all rustic and boring after life in the big city.” Acid tone.

“Not at all.” Elizabeth now wanted to get the hell out of the place, away from Martindale’s roving eyes and advances. In New York she’d known a few lesbians, one who became her confidante during Max’s recovery. She had no prejudices, but Martindale was a different kettle of fish.

Forcing herself to sound offhand, normal, she said, “I have my art restoration work to keep me busy, and my husband has taken up private investigation after retiring from the New York police.”

“Oh my! A private eye. How exciting!” Again the ironic tone.

Then the maid who had let them in, entered, carrying a chilled pitcher on a silver tray accompanied by four stemmed glasses rimmed in salt. She set it down on a low table and left without a word. Martindale passed around brimming glasses, touching Elizabeth’s hand as she did so.

“He’s investigating the death of Tadeo Suzuki, actually,” Elizabeth said.

Martindale shook her head. “They say the old man was a Japanese spy.”

“There’s really no evidence to support that,” Elizabeth said. “In fact, Max… that’s my husband, Max Byrns… he believes Tadeo may have been killed.”

Martindale held her glass out in a silent toast and took a long drink, licking her lips afterward. “Murder in our small community? Who, may I ask, are among the suspects?”

Teddy cut his eyes to Elizabeth as if begging her not to go on.

“Well,” Elizabeth began, “we do have a provisional list. It would appear that there are a number of people who might benefit from Tadeo’s death. For example, those who would like to purchase the Suzuki strawberry farm. Tadeo’s death might make such a purchase more possible.”

Martindale now set her glass down, her glance turning to suspicion, her lips tightening in a thin line.

“And that is why you’re here today?”

Elizabeth felt her face go red, but plunged on. “Tadeo’s nephew told us there were several people who very much want the Suzuki farmland. And yes, you are on the list. But my husband…”

“Well, your husband should have asked me himself and not sent his wife with my realtor.” She shot Teddy a hard look. “What was your husband’s name again?”

“Max,” Elizabeth responded. “Max Byrns.”

“Is that Jewish?”

Open animosity now. Not going according to plan, Elizabeth thought. “Irish, actually,” she finally said. “Not that it matters. Jewish would be fine, too.”

Martindale ignored this, turning now to Teddy. “I’m disappointed in you,” she said. “You’ve come visiting under a false flag, Teddy.”

“What false flag would that be, Babs?” said a rotund elderly man now appearing in a flowing bathrobe similar to the one Martindale was wearing.

The other swimmer, Elizabeth thought. His thinning hair was cut short. Under twinkling, mischievous eyes and a nose red from exercise or too much drink, he wore a pencil moustache.

Then, looking more closely and recognizing the Carmel art collector who commissioned the Cimabue restoration, she said in amazement, “Mr. Chase?”

And he, now focusing on her, was as surprised as Elizabeth.

“Why, Mrs. Byrns. What a coincidence. How are you?” he said in his plummy British accent.

Martindale stood in silent amazement until Carlton Chase quickly explained to her about the commission.

“And what is all this about a false flag?” Chase said. “I do sense a smidgeon of tension in the room.”

“This woman has wormed her way into my home to question me about a murder.”

“Murder! My lord,” Chase said.

“Indeed,” Martindale grumbled.

“No. No accusation,” Elizabeth said. “My husband and I just thought people would like to cooperate. All I wish to know is your whereabouts on the night of February twenty-third. We are simply trying to eliminate names to help us get at the truth.”

“This is outrageous,” Martindale now thundered. “I will not be given the third degree in my own home.”

“Now, now Babs,” Chase soothed. “Hardly the third degree. And you’ve nothing to hide. You were with me that night, remember?”

Martindale looked confused.

“Yes. At our favorite little French restaurant,” he added. “We closed the place down. I had to drive back as you were a bit the worse for wear.” He made a tippling gesture with his right hand.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Right.”

“Well, now that is seen to, perhaps someone might offer me one of these superior drinks on the side table.”

Teddy, by way of atonement to Babs, poured the drink and Chase sipped, his pinkie outstretched as he delicately tipped the glass.

“Ah, bliss. Pure bliss. What the devil is it?”

“They call it a Margarita,” Martindale said, now regaining her composure. “After the woman who first drank it last year. It’s got tequila, a splash of triple sec, and a pinch of lime juice.”

Chase’s presence diffused the tension, and the four made small talk for a time. Elizabeth, paired off with Chase.

“Was it a good dinner?” she asked.

He blinked, not understanding.

“With Miss Martindale. At this French restaurant.”

“Oh, that. Yes, Quite a gustatory delight, as a matter of fact. Snails followed by an exquisite sole. All complemented by a Chablis of noble proportions.”

“Sounds wonderful. My husband and I are always on the lookout for good dining possibilities. What restaurant is it?”

“That’s the charming part about it,” Chase said. “As you Americans say, it is a mere crack in the wall.”

“Hole in the wall, you mean,” Elizabeth corrected.

“Right you are. A hole in the wall. But I am afraid you’re out of luck. It’s near the coast at the Big Sur, but with rationing of food and gas coming soon, the proprietors must have decided their business days were numbered. I was there just the other night, and to my dismay it was shuttered.”

“That is a pity,” Elizabeth said, regretting that earlier she had not been more direct with Chase. Now, if she asked him further about the name of the restaurant, it would imply she didn’t trust his word. Damned awkward. Now how to double-check Martindale’s alibi?

A few minutes later, Teddy and Elizabeth left. Climbing into his Chevy coupe, Teddy sighed.

“It’ll be fine,” Elizabeth said. “I think she forgave you. And it was very good of you, Teddy. Thank you. But also thanks for nothing that you didn’t warn me about her.”

He ignored this, putting the key in the ignition. Then he cast her a boyish grin. “It was fun, wasn’t it? Did you see her face? Went red as a beet. And thank whomever for your Mr. Chase.”

A battered pickup passed by the Martindale driveway as Teddy was turning onto the main road of the housing estate.

“Was that Frank Carswell in the pickup?” she said.

“Probably. He works for the estates. Bit of a handyman.”

“My God, Teddy. You cannot employ that man. He’s a racist. He tried to stop the Suzuki funeral this weekend. We think he killed our dog. Maybe cut our brakes.”

Teddy put the car in second gear. “I do not employ him. What would you have me do, Lizzy? Tell Babs and her friends to fire him?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a bit difficult getting help these days, or haven’t you noticed? Healthy young men are being called up. The Japanese gardeners are all being sent to internment camps. Frank’s got flat feet and a heart murmur, so he’s not going anywhere. He’s hired to keep the fences in order, tend to the common areas. What he does in his free time is really not my concern, sis.”

She was about to explode but held back. Teddy, after all, had already gone above and beyond the call of duty.