The steel blue ocean sparkled in the noon sun as if diamonds had been scattered on its surface. Brilliant white cumulus clouds floated in an equally bright blue sky as we drove up the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) to the condo site. I’d decided to take the scenic route, even though it added another ten minutes to our drive, since it was such a beautiful day. Sam turned toward me. I followed his gaze through the open window to the whitecaps dancing on the incoming tide. The therapeutic effects of viewing the ocean, hearing the waves, and breathing in the salty air never lost its magic.
I rolled up the window. “How’s school going?”
“Okay.”
“What’s your favorite subject?”
“Math.”
“Least favorite?”
“Psychology.”
“Really? Why? I used to love my high school psych class. I loved reading social psychological studies about relationships. It was fun trying to apply the findings to myself and figure out why guys I liked didn’t like me.” I laughed and got a reluctant chortle out of Sam.
“I like learning about experimental design and methodology. It’s all the touchy-feely stuff I don’t like.”
“Like what?”
“Like my psych teacher asking me if I want to share my feelings with her.”
“In front of your class?”
“No, after class. With her or with one of the counselors.”
“And that’s a bad idea, why?”
“I don’t know.”
All righty then. New topic. “Are you still working part-time for Paloma and Blanche? I had tea with Paloma the other day. She seems nice.”
Silence from Sam.
I decided to go for it, at the risk of having him totally clam up on me. That wouldn’t be much worse than his taciturn manner thus far. “Paloma mentioned to me that she’d read your palm.”
He snapped his head in my direction. “What else did she say?”
I paused, deciding between door number one, total honesty, and door number two, white lie. I decided to go with two. “Nothing much.”
I cringed when I heard my own high-pitched, singsong response. I was sure he’d detect my attempt to feign ignorance and wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of the trip. I resigned myself to silence, kicking myself for not choosing door number one. Some detective.
A few minutes passed and out of the corner of my eye I caught Sam’s chest heave as he sighed.
Sam’s voice quavered. “I think Esmeralda was murdered because of something I told her.”
“What!” My heart skipped a beat and I hit the brakes abruptly out of shock, inflicting a mild whiplash on both of us. “Sorry ’bout that. That’s quite a revelation. Why would you think that?”
“Because I think someone found out she knew. I should never have told her. She’d probably still be alive.”
Stunned, I took a deep breath to maintain my composure. I resumed my normal speed while shooting him astonished glances. “What was it that you told her? Did it have anything to do with someone stealing money from Benning Brothers?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why can’t you tell me?”
He suppressed a sob. “Because I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”
I inhaled and exhaled audibly. “Well, we’re in agreement on that point, for sure.”
For better or worse, we’d arrived at our destination. I figured getting out of the car, breathing in some fresh air, and stretching our legs would alleviate the tension. The site was comprised of one-third old abandoned strip mall and two-thirds empty lot dotted with dry brush and tumbleweeds. The mall contained stores that marked it from a different era. A video store, a vacuum repair shop, and a diner called, fittingly, the Greasy Spoon. I pulled up in front of the deserted storefronts and parked.
I wracked my brain, trying to think of an angle to get Sam to confide in me. Milo and Sam had had a good relationship. They both could talk sports forever, particularly basketball. Like me, they both adored the Los Angeles Lakers.
“What do you think about the Lakers this season? Milo would have already planned out his life around their schedule.”
His head was hung low and I barely heard his response of “Okay.”
“Did you happen to tell anyone else what you told Esmeralda?”
When he raised his head, tears were welling up in Sam’s eyes. He nodded his head and fought them back.
“Was it Milo?”
He nodded vigorously and finally let out a sob.
I sucked in a breath and felt lightheaded and clammy. I took a deep breath and then another. “Do you know who murdered your mother?”
Sam jumped out of the car and ran into the empty lot. I flung open my door and trotted behind him. He was half my age, in good shape, and faster than me. As I ran, an onslaught of emotions filled my head. This kid definitely knew something about Jo’s murder, and probably Milo’s too.
Huffing and puffing, I finally caught up to him, only because he’d slowed his pace, which was a good thing since I was ready to collapse. I jogged up behind him and grabbed onto his arm for balance. “I thought I was in good shape. No wonder you’re so good at sports.”
He spun around and violently shook off my touch.
I lurched back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Sam scowled. “I don’t want to talk about any of this anymore.”
“Okay. We won’t. My intention wasn’t to upset you and, for that, I’m sorry, but if you know anything that could help the police arrest the person responsible for your mother’s death, it would be helpful for you to let them know.”
He bowed his head, but when he raised his eyes to look at me, they were smoldering with anger. Okey-dokey. This line of questioning was going nowhere and emotions were thick for both of us.
I backed off and forced a smile. “Let me show you some features of the site.”
I spent the next twenty minutes showing Sam around the site and taking photos. I took out a printed copy of preliminary plans from my tote. As we strolled along the strip mall’s sidewalk, I reviewed the landscape design we’d proposed, pointing out where different design elements, like the community garden, would go on the site to give him a better sense of what we envisioned.
Once back in the car, I turned on the radio to lessen the pressure of making conversation, since I didn’t want to risk upsetting him again. As I drove along listening to coverage of the wildfire and investigation in the background—so far this fire season had been the most destructive on record—I reflected on Paloma calling Sam troubled.
I shot a concerned glance over at him. His reddened face reflected a thunderous storm inside him. When he looked back at me, I could’ve sworn I saw fear in his eyes too.
The next second a flash of anger overrode the fear and he blurted out, “Can you change the station?”
“Sure.” I pulled up the screen and clicked on an oldies station, hoping it was a safe choice that would calm him down.
“Thanks.”
I wondered if Paloma was right or whether her talk of auras was just nonsense. I had to say, I agreed he seemed troubled. Had Sam fallen in with a bad crowd at school? Who had he gotten himself mixed up with? Or had the stress of his mother’s death caused him mental distress to the point he was making stuff up to get attention? But Paloma had sensed his distress prior to Jo’s death. One thing I did know was that adolescents were hormonal, and hormones were the devil when it came to mood swings.
I’d planned on taking the freeway home, but it was already three thirty. The time I’d spend in traffic made the PCH the quicker route this time of day. Besides, the sea beckoned.
Sam twisted in his seat a couple of times.
Now what?
I tried to leave the annoyance out of my voice. “Something wrong?”
When I took my eyes off the road to glance over at him, he was drained of color.
“What’s the matter? Are you feeling sick?”
I started to pull over, concerned he might be carsick. Truth be told, I wanted to avoid having him vomit all over my car, caring cousin that I was.
“That car behind us. I think they’re following us.”
I squinted in my rearview mirror. We were alone on the road except for an older sedan several car lengths behind us. As I slowed to park on the shoulder, the car slowed down also. Sam became more agitated and I realized he wasn’t sick—he was terrified. There were no other cars to be seen in either direction, and I suddenly freaked out too. I came to an abrupt stop and grabbed my phone out of my purse. I punched in Adrian’s number. Of course, it went to voice mail. I told him our situation and then called Ashley. She answered and said she’d call SSPD.
“Take a photo of the license plate if you can,” she said.
“Good call.” I twisted around and took several pictures.
The driver must have figured out what I was doing. The car made a U-turn and took off in the other direction.
I glanced at Sam as I sent the photos to Ashley. “Well, that was exciting.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and shifted his gaze over at me. He looked at me like I was crazy.
Despite still feeling tense, I flashed him a smile. “Fun road trip, huh?”
We both chortled out our nervous energy in a brief moment of relief and lapsed into a comfortable silence for the rest of the trip back to the office.
I didn’t know whether Sam had clammed up for good or just for today. While I drove, I cooked up a little reconnaissance plan of my own. I’d follow Sam for a couple of days to see if he led me anywhere interesting. If he couldn’t tell me what he was hiding with his words, maybe I could figure out what it was by his actions.
Once back at the office, Sam wandered off across the hall to visit his father. I sighed loudly once he’d left, relieved I didn’t have to walk on eggshells anymore. I wasn’t going to lie—I was rethinking my decision to hire him. Maybe Jed or Matt, or whoever didn’t want him here, had been doing me a favor. Last thing I needed was a testosterone-fueled kid on my hands. Let him spread his own brand of sunshine on my uncle.
I checked my messages. Adrian had called to thank me for the photos and told me he was going to run a check on the license plate. He said he’d call if they got a hit. I put in a call to Blanche, Jo’s other fortune-teller friend. I wanted to find out more about Jo’s personal life. We agreed to meet at Mugs & Teacups in an hour.
• • •
Blanche was waiting for me when I arrived at the café. She had a jolly air about her, aided by physical characteristics reminiscent of Mrs. Claus—generous build with a round face, full cheeks, a small bulbous nose, and eyes that twinkled when she smiled, which was often. And her white curly mane completed the similarity, tamed today by a paisley scarf. She stood to give me a hug when I joined her.
“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”
She adjusted her silky gypsy blouse and voluminous skirt as she sat down. “My pleasure. How are you holding up? I’m still so upset about Jo.”
“I’m hanging in there, thanks. Paloma said you would know more about Jo’s past relationships.”
“Sure do. I’ve been divorced twice and so was she. Well, the second one took off before they actually got married. But they were engaged. The jerk got her preggers and then up and left her. From what she told me about him, that was a good thing. He was a bad seed.”
“In what way?”
“Mentally unstable. He couldn’t keep a job or a dollar in his bank account, but most of his problems, far as I could tell, were rooted in his mental problems. Drugs and alcohol didn’t help either. That baby was better off not being exposed to all that. His leaving was a blessing in disguise to Jo and her kid, I used to tell her.”
She took out a Kleenex and blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. “Sorry. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
I waited until she was more composed. “Do you remember her husband’s and her fiancé’s names?
“Sure do. Her husband’s name was Tom Keaton. He had a kid from another marriage. What was his name now? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Tad, no. Todd! In my humble opinion, that was the first bullet Jo dodged. Tom was a lot older than her and married Jo so she could take care of the kid is how it sounded to me. It’d be fair to say Tom wasn’t much of a feminist. The kid was around ten when they got married. She was closer in age to the kid than she was to Tom.”
I wrote down both names on my Notes app. “And her fiancé’s name?”
“Let me think for a minute. Randy, Randy what now? Tuttle! That’s it. Crazy Randy Tuttle.” She sipped her tea with satisfaction.
I added Randy to my list of Jo’s formers. “Do you know what happened to Tom or his son or Randy?”
“Nope. Probably all in jail, from the sounds of them, or dead.”
“Well, thanks so much.” I put my phone down and drank some tea.
“You bet. How’s Sam doing? I called him about a moving gig. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”
“I hope he’s okay. Hard to tell with teenagers.”
“Tell me about it. They’re crazy enough without having a crazy father in the gene pool. But I’m a strong believer in love. Looks like he’s been raised in a loving family. Love heals all, right?”
“Hopefully.”
I drove home happy Blanche had remembered all the names. I couldn’t wait to Google them. It was only five thirty, but I was ready to call it a night. I stopped and picked up takeout for dinner and headed home. Adrian called as I turned onto my street.
“Hi, what’s up?”
“We got a hit on that license plate you sent me.”
“No way! Whose is it? Anyone we know?”
“It’s registered to George Benning.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Don’t you have an Uncle George?”
“Apparently. I didn’t even know he existed until the night Jo was murdered. I can’t get over it. I wonder why he was following us?”
“I ran a check on him and he has a criminal record, but no arrests in the last seven years. Turns out, George is a white-collar criminal. He worked for an accountant several years ago and submitted some phony expense reports, bought himself a new TV, charged it to the company credit card, reimbursed himself twice for buying something, stuff like that over several years. It added up, to the tune of almost twenty thousand dollars. His boss pressed charges and he was sentenced to ten months in jail, with a fine and restitution, which apparently he is still in the process of paying back in monthly installments. The good news is that he’s never hurt a fly.”
“Wow. I can’t believe it. I’m in shock.”
A pregnant pause in our conversation told me we were both probably thinking the same thing.
“You don’t think my uncle George had anything to do with Benning Brothers’ embezzlement, do you?’
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
I whistled. “I wonder why he followed us. Any news on the neighborhood surveillance tapes?”
“Not yet. We’ve got about four more to look at. I’ll keep you posted.”