“You’ve been following us. Reporting everything back to my father, I take it?”
Rufus merely shrugged and gestured at the other side of the booth. “Reed, it’s been a while. Take a load off and sit a spell. Maybe have a drink.”
“It’s three thirty in the afternoon.”
Rufus grinned to himself and shook his head. “You know, I’ve always kind of admired that about you, Reed—you play by the rules even though you don’t have to. It’s … quaint.” He looked past Reed and nodded at Ellery. “Ms. Hathaway, we haven’t yet had the pleasure. My name is Rufus Guthrie. I work for Senator Markham.”
He rose awkwardly behind the table and extended his large hand toward Ellery, who looked at it and said nothing. Reed positioned himself between them.
“Is that what you’re doing here—my father’s work?”
Guthrie sank back down with a sigh. “If you’re not having a drink, I’ll go ahead and order another one myself.” He signaled for the waitress and tapped the table next to his glass. “Bring me another just like this one, will you, hon?”
Reed slid into the booth across from Guthrie, and Ellery hesitated just a moment before joining Reed on his side. “If my father wants to know how the investigation is going, he can damn well pick up the phone and ask me. He doesn’t need to send some lackey to follow me around.”
Guthrie’s eyebrows shot up. “Lackey? You wound me, boy. That’s a mighty hurtful word to throw at someone who used to carry you around on his shoulders.”
“Don’t pretend like you’re my friend.”
Guthrie looked annoyed. “I’m trying to be. I’m trying to prevent you from making a god-awful mess of your whole family, but you seem hell-bent on making life difficult for everyone.”
“Me? I’m the one making the trouble? I suggest you check your facts again, maybe have a chat with your boss. He’s been lying to me my whole life.”
“Right,” Guthrie said with dark irony as he took up his fresh drink. “I forgot about your whole miserable existence, brought up in that beautiful mansion with the best schools, the fanciest clothes, taking trips abroad and tended at home by household staff that made sure you didn’t have to dirty your little hands cleaning up all the messes you created.”
Heat flared in Reed’s face. “The money is supposed to make everything okay then, is that it?”
“It’s sure as hell a damn good start.” Guthrie crunched down on an ice cube and regarded Reed with bleary eyes. “He loves you, though. They all do. I think if you stopped to think just a second, you’d realize that’s true. You’d quit this fool’s errand and go back home where you belong.” He glanced appraisingly at Ellery. “Ask her. She’ll tell you about the value of what you’re trying to throw away.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ellery demanded.
Guthrie’s expression turned pitying. “Darlin’, no one should have to go through what happened to you. I can’t even begin to imagine what went on in that closet. I know Reed knows. He saw it up close and personal the night he pulled you out of there. He puffed himself up like a peacock, solving this big case, rescuing the girl. He didn’t know what he was sending you home to, did he?”
Ellery leaned across the table, furious. “What do you know about it?”
“Honey, that’s my whole job, knowing things. I’m paid to find out the details of everything and anyone who crosses Angus’s orbit, and as of last year, that includes you. So yeah, I know the whole story now. You must’ve been half-starved by the time Reed got to that closet, but then you were real scrawny to begin with, weren’t you? Mama couldn’t keep enough food on the table? All that work she had to miss to look after your sick brother.” He shook his head as if in sorrow, peering into his drink. “You see, Reed? Money does solve problems. Or it might have, for your girlfriend here, and if she won’t be honest about that, then I will. Having a home, a place to go where people welcome you with open arms, that’s nothing to sneeze at, either.”
Guthrie tilted his glass back for a big swallow, evidently pleased with his speech, while Reed fumed inside. “My mother was murdered,” he said, enunciating every word.
“No.” Guthrie banged his glass down with sudden force. “Your mother is back home in Virginia, probably getting ready to put supper on the table. You think she’d be pleased to know you’re out here tearing down your father’s good name?”
Reed could picture Marianne Markham, her white-blond hair now more white than blond, still slim, always pleasant, humming an invented tune as she chopped up vegetables for the dinner salad. He remembered how she used to pull up the red stool next to the counter so that he could work with her, carefully showing him how to hold the knife. She had trimmed his bangs and held his hand and read him bedtime stories in the old family rocker, his face pressed into her warm, perfumed neck. Even now, when he awoke with a start in the black of night, his first thoughts were for her. “Leave her out of this,” he said to Guthrie. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, no? Angus is her whole life, him and the home they built together. You’re running around trying to tear it all down. You think she won’t be hurt by that? Come on now.”
“Hey, I didn’t run around on her and break my marriage vows. That’s on him, not me.”
“No, you just want to rub her nose in it. That’s how you’re going to repay her after all these years, after she took you in with no questions.”
“She didn’t know,” Reed shot back. Once the words were out there, he suddenly questioned them. Guthrie coughed and looked away. “She didn’t know about me,” Reed repeated, less certain this time. “Did she?”
“I can’t read minds,” Guthrie replied carefully. “I don’t know what all Marianne knew and when she knew it, but she’s a smart lady. Those girls who hung around your father, they saw his wedding ring. They knew what they were getting into. Your mom, she knew it, too. As long as he wore that ring, as long as he had political aspirations, he’d be coming home to her. She somehow made her peace with the rest of it. What she didn’t ask he didn’t have to tell her—leastways until now, when you’ve suddenly got a bee in your bonnet about what happened to Cammie.”
“I’m just trying to find out the truth,” Reed insisted.
“Sure, right. You want to come out here to the desert and find your origin story, is that it? You think tracing Camilla Flores’s life, mucking around in her death, that’s going to teach you who you are? Listen up, son—that DNA test you took, that’s the truth. Your father is your father, just like he always has been. Is he a perfect man? No, I’m sorry to say he is not. I’m sorry, too, if you got to age forty before learning that fact. Angus Markham is human and he has sins just like the rest of us. But he did not kill that girl, and if you don’t understand how close you are to ruining him over some half-cocked, wrongheaded idea—” He broke off in disgust.
“How do you know? How do you know he didn’t kill her?”
“I’m in the information business, remember? It’s my job to know. Besides, I know your father. I’ve known him since we were knee-high to a grasshopper, and he’s worked every day to make life better for the people of Virginia—most especially his family.” He shot Reed a withering look. “He screwed up when he bedded that girl, and he was sorry for it. But he’s a good man. How do you think he gets his way so often with the teamsters, with the preachers, with the tree huggers and tax lawyers and all that long line of people stretched out the door, all of whom want a bigger slice of the pie? He sits down and lets them feel heard. He listens. For as long as you’re in front of him, your problems are his problems, and he makes you feel like he’d move mountains just to clear an itty-bitty path for you. I used to think he was just a good showman, and then somewhere in there I realized it isn’t an act—he’s sincere, every time. He wants to get you what you need, even when he promised the exact opposite thing to someone else the day before.”
“Yeah, yeah, he excels at lying. I get it.”
Guthrie scowled. “You aren’t listening to me. They aren’t lies, because he means it at the time. He always does. Maybe he’s promising some councilman that he’ll get more dollars for sidewalk repairs, or maybe he’s telling some sweet young thing that she’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on. They always believe him, see, because he really does mean it.”
Reed wondered what pretty words his father had used with Camilla. Wondered what darker words might have followed when Camilla turned up pregnant. “Camilla wanted money,” he said to Guthrie. “Lots of it.”
Guthrie ran a hand over his mouth as if debating whether to reply, but it was all the answer Reed required. “I advised him not to pay,” Guthrie said finally. “It set a bad precedent. We couldn’t even be sure he was the father.”
“He was,” Reed broke in evenly.
“Yeah, sure, we know that now. Back then? Who knew how many other men Camilla might have been friendly with? Maybe she had her hand out to all of ’em.”
“If you’re in the information business, then you know that’s not true,” Reed said coldly.
“Regardless, what’s to say she wouldn’t take the money and then turn right around and ask for more? But your father, he wanted to pay her. Said it was the least he could do. Now does that sound like a man who wanted to kill her?”
Reed frowned. “Talk is cheap. Twenty-five thousand dollars, that was a lot of money back then. Maybe he had second thoughts about handing it over—especially if, as you say, it might have been just the start.”
“He was committed, the last I talked to him about it. He wouldn’t hear reason.”
“But you don’t know if he made the payment.”
“I said I’d do it myself, if he wanted to go through with it. He needed some time to round up the cash. I don’t know where he was with the process because then she up and got killed, and suddenly we had a whole new set of problems on our hands.”
“He said you’re the one who told him about the murder.”
Guthrie paused, just for a second. “Maybe. It was a long time ago.”
“How did you learn about her death?” Reed asked. “Surely you must remember that.”
Guthrie worked his jaw back and forth, contemplating. “I had a buddy at the LVMPD, and he called me after it happened. I’d asked him earlier to find out anything he could for me about Cammie—anything we might use to get her to shut up and go away—but she came back squeaky clean. A model citizen, he said. Crusading against some neighborhood drug dealer. We can see now how that all turned out. She might’ve done better just to keep her mouth shut and mind her own business.”
“So she deserved it,” Ellery interrupted, and Guthrie wagged a finger at her.
“I never said that. Those are your words, not mine.”
“Her death must have been a relief to you then. Problem solved, money saved.”
“Not in this case,” Guthrie replied hotly. “We just got a whole shit storm of new trouble because Angus wanted that baby.”
Reed sat back, blinking as the truth hit him. “You didn’t, though. Did you? You would’ve left me on my own.”
Guthrie’s gaze flicked over him. “It’s not like it was personal. I didn’t even know you. You were a few months old, not even conscious yet. They could’ve found you a nice home with a new momma and daddy, and you never would’ve remembered any different. Instead, Angus had me tracking down adoption attorneys willing to take big money and not ask too many questions. ‘Just you wait,’ I told him. ‘This whole thing is going to blow up in your face one day. It’s gonna hit like a bomb.’” He narrowed his eyes at Reed. “I just never imagined it’d be his own son throwing the grenade.”
Reed stretched out over the table so he could look Guthrie in the eyes. “That’s right,” he whispered. “Boom.”
Outside, Reed thrust the keys toward Ellery. “You drive,” he told her. His mind felt jumbled and careening, rolling like an avalanche picking up speed. He had no place behind the wheel.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they climbed into the SUV.
“To see a man about a motorcycle.”
They drove to the Owens house, where they found the front door open and a small army of young women dressed in black pants and crisp white shirts carrying food containers from the house to the catering van in the driveway. Amy Owens appeared with a large platter wrapped in cellophane. “Oh, hello there,” she said with some surprise. “I’m afraid you caught us at a bad time. We’re working the Harris wedding tonight over at the country club, and we can’t be late or the bride will throw an absolute conniption fit. You know how it goes.”
Reed sidestepped one of the girls as she made another trip back into the house. “Is your husband at home?”
“He’s bringing up the rear,” Amy replied.
David appeared in the doorway carrying a large cooler. “Agent Markham, Ms. Hathaway. What can we do for you?”
“I just had a few follow-up questions for you,” Reed said, and David frowned.
“Can it wait? We have to get going.” He didn’t hang around for an answer and started walking toward the van.
“It’s about Wanda Evans,” Reed called after him, and David froze with the cooler in hand. He turned back around slowly, his expression wary.
“Who?”
“She was a friend of Camilla Flores. They worked together at the Howard Johnson’s.” Reed removed the picture from his breast pocket and held it out for David, but David didn’t even glance at it.
“Yeah, I think I remember a Wanda. What about her?”
“We had a long talk with her today about the days leading up to Cammie’s murder,” Reed said. At the word “murder,” one of the girls stopped packing the van and turned to stare. “I, uh…” David licked his lips in nervous fashion and shifted the cooler in his hands.
Amy came around the side of the van and put her hands on her hips. “David, honey, we’ve got to go now or Miranda Harris will have my hide.”
“Maybe David can catch up with you later,” Reed said, holding David’s gaze. “I need to talk to him.”
“And I need him to make the hollandaise,” Amy replied impatiently. “Can’t we do this later?”
“They’re talking about a murder,” the girl told her in a hushed voice, and Amy pursed her mouth, looking conflicted. “Kayla, honey, you and the girls take the van over to the club and start setting up, okay? David and I will be right behind you.”
“But—”
“Make sure to reassure Mrs. Harris that we’ve altered the recipes to accommodate her black pepper allergy.” She crossed from the driveway to join Reed, Ellery, and David near the door to the house, her smile fixed in place but her voice steely as she said, “Now then, what’s this all about?”
Reed glanced at Ellery, trying to get her eyes. Maybe she could take Amy off somewhere like last time so Reed could grill David alone. David would be less likely to confess his indiscretions with his wife standing right there. Ellery seemed to understand the look and gamely took up the idea. “Mrs. Owens, maybe we could go inside just for a second—”
“No,” Amy interrupted her. “We don’t have time for that. What’s going on?”
David cleared his throat. “They were asking about Wanda.”
Amy looked blank. “Wanda?”
“Wanda Evans,” Reed explained, and he tried showing off the picture again. Amy accepted it and took a look. “She was a friend of Camilla Flores.”
Amy squinted at the photograph a moment. “Wanda. That’s the waitress—the little floozy you were seeing for a time. Right?” She cocked her head at her husband, who looked both pained and oddly relieved not to have to dance around the topic any longer.
“A long time ago,” he agreed, nodding. “But I only saw her a few times.”
“Saw her a few times without her clothes on,” Ellery clarified. “At the same time you were talking about getting married to Camilla. That’s what Wanda told us.”
Amy handed the picture back to Reed. “He felt horrible about it, if that matters any.” She shot her husband a grim look, and he ducked his head from her gaze.
“You didn’t mention the affair to the investigating officers,” Reed said.
“Why would I have? It was over. It didn’t mean anything. And it didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Cammie. Billy Thorndike killed her.”
“Maybe,” Reed said agreeably. “Maybe not. It doesn’t seem like the police investigated any other leads.”
“Anyone like me, you mean.” David’s voice took on a hard edge. “They looked. I had an alibi.”
Amy raised her hand. “Me,” she reminded them. “We were on the job.”
“That’s right,” David said, folding his arms. “Besides, I loved Cammie. I never would’ve hurt her. Even if—even if she found out about Wanda and me, we would’ve worked it out. I had no motive to kill her.”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars sounds like a lot of motive to me,” Reed replied.
David’s mouth fell open. “Twenty-five Gs? We didn’t have that kind of money.”
“Cammie was going to be getting it, though—that was the plan. She was putting pressure on my father to pay up big-time, and you were going to get a motorcycle out of the deal. Maybe that wasn’t enough for you. Maybe you figured you’d keep all twenty-five thousand dollars and buy the motorcycle yourself.”
“What? No. I mean: yes, Cammie asked the baby’s father for the money. I don’t know if she ever got it. Someone came along and butchered her, you might remember.”
“You’re sure you didn’t get that money?” Reed asked. “You didn’t start driving a brand-new blue Harley in 1975?”
Color rose in David’s face. “I had the motorcycle, yes. It was a gift from my wife.”
Reed felt like the ground had been yanked out beneath him. “I’m sorry—what?”
“I gave him the bike,” Amy said. “Or rather, I loaned him the money for it. He was so torn up after what happened to Cammie, and I wanted to do something nice for him, something to take his mind off it for a while. I had a little inheritance money lying around, so I gave him a loan to get the motorcycle he’d been wanting. Only instead of paying me back, he married me.” She smiled at the end and hugged David’s arm.
He tried to return her smile, but there was no humor in his eyes. “I think if you have any further questions, you should direct them to my lawyer.”
“Why?” Reed asked. “If you have nothing to hide…”
David’s mouth contorted and he looked out toward the empty, sunny street. “Mr. Markham, I appreciate you want to know what happened to your mother. There was a time when that’s all I wanted, too. Maybe you won’t believe me, but I assure you the day she died was the worst day of my life. I loved your mother and I wanted to marry her.” He turned, and the intensity in his eyes seemed to bore a hole right through Reed. “I loved you, too.”
Reed swallowed hard, but he stood his ground. “Then you should help me find the truth.”
David shook his head, denying this fanciful notion. “I just told you my truth. I loved her and I lost her. I can’t change what happened and what you’re asking it’s … well, it’s too much. Reopening all those old wounds with no promise at all of any kind of resolution. And even then, even if we found the guy, what would it solve? What would it change?” He paused to let his words sink in, his expression growing sympathetic as he cut Reed loose. “I’m sorry, but you’re on your own. I can’t help you anymore.”
In the car, Reed leaned his head back against the seat and stared out at the road without really seeing it. Ellery drove them in silence toward the hotel. “Maybe he’s right,” Reed said after a while. “Maybe I should let it go. What kind of hubris is it to think I can come in here forty-plus years later and solve a case that no one else could?”
Ellery glanced over at him. “Because that’s what you do,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Solve the hardest cases.”
Reed answered her with a wry smile. “You know, I think our initial meeting perhaps gave you an unrealistic picture of my usual duties,” he said as he straightened up in his seat. “Normally I either push paper around at my desk or else I fly into some strange city, read a bunch of files, look at a crime scene, and offer my opinion. Half the time that’s not worth the paper it’s printed on. DNA usually ends up solving the case.”
“Maybe it will solve this one, too.”
“Maybe.” Reed’s own DNA test had started him down this rocky path, and so far it had offered up more questions than answers. He thought of all the trials he’d seen over the years, when various mundane murderers were dragged out from hiding into the ordinary light of day by virtue of a fingerprint or errant drop of blood. Science could prove they committed the crimes, but it couldn’t explain why. Maybe there would be some proximal cause, like a robbery or a rape, but so far DNA couldn’t truly explain why one human being decided to turn on another.
“If you want to stop the search, you can,” Ellery said gently. “Whatever happened to your mother, Reed, it’s not on you to put it right. You can say enough is enough and leave it alone if you want to. No one would think less of you.”
Reed considered this possibility but shook his head. “No. Not yet, at least.”
Ellery pulled into the parking garage at the hotel, checking the car’s mirrors as she did so. “I don’t think we were followed this time.”
“Guthrie will be busy reporting today’s conversation back to my father. They’ll have to regroup and form a new strategy.” He held out his hand for the car keys.
“Where are we going?”
“Not we. Me. I’m going to pick up some groceries for dinner.”
“Reed, you don’t have to go to that kind of trouble,” she protested as she dropped the keys in his hands.
“I like to cook. It keeps my hands busy, and I could use the distraction. I do my best thinking when I’m chopping.”
Apparently, the idea of him lost in thought while holding a sharp knife did not reassure her. “I’m serious,” she said. “We can eat out wherever you like, even if it’s fancy. I’ll even buy a dress if I have to.”
“Wear whatever you like,” he said, remembering the body-hugging number she’d rustled up the last time. “Just do me a favor and take it easy on the old man.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You’re the one who said you wanted a distraction.”