nineteen

I grabbed a large pad of paper and began to make a list of what I’d learned over the last few days. Moira drank too much. She could still have been doing drugs, and those drugs or the money for them might have been provided by her brother. I wrote Dan’s name with a big question mark next to it. Maybe Rita was right and Moira had had a local dealer, or maybe Rita was just spreading dirt about a coworker. Andy was Moira’s current boyfriend, Steve was her ex, and perhaps she was cheating on both of them. If so, she’d been a very busy girl.

It still didn’t explain why Moira had been in the garage in the middle of the night, or who had taken shots at Rob. There had been no gun near Moira’s body and the police were undoubtedly still searching for one. Rob had heard one shot and then a second before he fired his gun. I struggled to remember what he’d mentioned earlier: I heard a gunshot … then I heard a second shot, and I knew the bullet hit the wall behind me. If Marjorie’s information was accurate and Rob’s bullet wasn’t the fatal shot that had killed Moira, then she had been shot by an unknown intruder.

Moira had been fighting with Andy. Was that the argument I’d overheard when I was near the creek at the wedding? Or had she been arguing with her brother, even though Dan denied it? Or with someone else altogether? Moira had sulked all the way back to the city, definitely unhappy about something. Had she been in the garage planning to take off in Andy’s car? I hadn’t seen any keys near her that night, but they could have been in a pocket of her hoodie. And why had the lights been out? Who knew the house well enough to unscrew the fuse?

When the doorbell rang, I jumped. I’d been so engrossed in my musings, I’d lost all track of time, completely forgetting that Dan might stop by. I hurried down the stairs and peeked through the glass of the front door. Dan was there, wearing the same outfit—jeans, boots, plaid cotton shirt, and a windbreaker. A tool belt hung around his hips loaded with screwdrivers, pliers, and various other implements.

I opened the door. “Hey, Dan. Come on in.” There was a stoop to his shoulders. His face looked strained. “Are you sure this is okay?” I asked. “I didn’t mean to put any pressure on you at a time like this.”

“Nah. It’s no problem. Just take a few minutes.” He climbed the stairs behind me and stopped in the hallway. “Is this the switch you want a timer on?”

“Yes. For the outdoor light. It’s a dual switch. I can turn it on up here or at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Well, let’s get a timer installed right here.” Dan dropped a workbag next to the banister and pulled out a screwdriver to remove the light switch cover. “Show me where your fuse box is and I’ll just unscrew those. Don’t think I need to shut off the power completely.”

“It’s in the laundry room off the kitchen. I’ll do it—I know which one it is. Dan, I really appreciate this. When you’re finished, have a cup of coffee with me?”

True to his word, fifteen minutes later, Dan peeked around the corner of the kitchen door. “It’s all set, Julia. I set the outside light to turn on around eight o’clock at night and off at five-thirty in the morning for right now. How’s that?”

“That’s perfect. I hate not having a light on when I come home, and I can never get my key in the lock in the dark. Let me pour you a cup.”

Dan pulled out a kitchen chair. “I’m really glad you’re staying close to Geneva right now. She needs your support. You can’t believe how weird some of our relatives have been through all this.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” I replied grimly, thinking of Celia.

“I apologize for losing my temper today at Moira’s place. It’s just …” He trailed off. “I just never liked the guy, at the gut level, you know what I mean?”

“Well, he seems like a sensitive, thoughtful guy. I’m sure Brooke really fell in love with him. If this hadn’t happened with Moira, would you feel the same way about him?”

“Like I said, I never really took to him. Just something about him. But I never said anything because … hey, she’s my sister and I love her, and it really isn’t any of my business.”

“Did Brooke know how you felt?”

“Not in so many words. I think maybe she suspected. I think Rob turned into a control freak. And … don’t repeat this … but I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he was cheating on her.”

“Really!” I thought about that one. “What kind of trouble did they have?”

“He wanted to have another child. He wanted a son. After Ashley was born, Brooke decided one child was enough. She didn’t want any more. It caused a lot of problems between them. Typical, isn’t it? Macho man isn’t happy with a daughter, he wants a son. It got pretty serious, the fights between them. Brooke finally told him if he wanted a divorce, he could have it. If he was so set on having a son, then they could split everything up and go their separate ways.”

“Dan, the night of the wedding, Moira said something about Sally Stark. She was convinced that Sally’s drink was meant for her.”

Dan shook his head. “Julia, I honestly don’t know. I thought about that too. But here’s the reality. First of all, we have no idea what caused that woman to collapse. It might have nothing to do with anything she ate or drank. As much as I love my sister, Moira was drunk and maybe taking other substances. Don’t forget, I was pretty upset with her. She passed out and claimed she’d only had two drinks, which was probably a lie. She could be a twenty-four-
karat drama queen when she wanted to be. I wouldn’t lend too much credence to what she said. It was likely an attention-getting device.” Dan sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “My mother and sisters are lovely women, but they’re people who have a hard time telling the plain unvarnished truth. They don’t want to see the dark side in people. I think that’s the real reason Moira was always acting out. There was a certain lack of emotional reality in our house.”

“I heard that Moira caused some trouble for Brooke in the past.”

“Yeah. I’m sure it all stemmed from resentment toward Brooke. Don’t get me wrong. She loved Brooke, she really did, but sometimes … it was like the monster would come out. That’s the best way I can put it. Everything Brooke did was perfect. She was a hard act to follow, and Moira would alternately resent her and admire her. I guess that’s what a shrink would say.”

“How did Moira meet Andy? Through you?”

Dan nodded. “Yeah. I met Andy a few years ago when I was in computer school. They hooked up much later. Maybe the end of last year, I think.”

“What does he do for work?”

“He’s a bookkeeper. He’s doing well, lots of clients. He does some real estate deals for people and takes a commission, but he’s not licensed. Kind of under-the-table stuff. I don’t really know any details. To tell you the truth, I never paid much attention. Not my thing at all.”

I thought about the partial tax form I’d found in Moira’s desk. If her name was on real estate records, I wondered if it was connected to Andy. “Dan, what do you really know about Andy? Do you think he’d have any reason to hurt Moira?”

“Not a chance. Listen, Julia, if I thought for a second Andy had anything to do with this … well, let’s put it this way. I’d take care of him myself. I can’t see that. Andy doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.”

“I had to ask.”

“It’s okay. We’re all on edge. Anyway, thanks for the coffee. I’m beat. I’m heading home.”

“Dan, how did you manage to get to Brooke’s house so quickly that night? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you showed up, but …”

Dan shrugged. “That’s okay. The cops asked me the same thing. Actually, Andy called me. I’d stopped at a bar on California Street on my way home and got talking to one of the guys I know there. We ended up hanging out well after closing time. That’s where I was when the call came in. Just a few blocks away.”

“Listen, before you go. What do I owe you for today?”

“Forget it. You paid me. A cup of coffee.”

“Come on, Dan—I don’t feel right about that.”

“No, really. It’s nothing. I’ll talk to you later.”

“There’s something else I have to ask you.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to have to deal with Dan’s temper if he blew up.

“Okay,” he replied, a puzzled look on his face. “What is it?”

“I don’t know how to say this …” I took the plunge. “Did you supply Moira with drugs?”

“Whaaat?”

“Did you get drugs for her?”

“Absolutely not.” Dan’s face turned red. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Someone told me that.”

“Who? Who said that?” His voice rose.

“Steve. Moira’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Ah! That jerk. I’d like to put his lights out. I would never do anything like that. I don’t do drugs and I sure as hell wouldn’t give any to my sister.”

“Do you have any idea where she’d get drugs, or where she got the money to buy them?”

Dan continued as if he hadn’t heard my question. “I can’t believe that guy. See, he knows I told Moira to dump him. And besides, I don’t think Moira was fooling around with anything. She really wanted to get sober. She even went to some AA meetings, even though she was still drinking. I guess they don’t throw you out if you’re not totally sober. But I can’t believe that guy would put that story around. Christ!”

“I had to ask.”

“Why, Julia?” Dan shook his head. “You’ve known us for years. I can’t believe you’d even listen to that creep.” He looked like he wanted to put his fist through the wall. “Moira had terrible taste in guys. That’s why I wanted her and Andy to get together.”

I’d known the Learys for years, but now their sister was dead. Everybody needed to be scrutinized. Somebody had murdered Moira. “Like I said, Dan, I had to ask.”

He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you told me. I think I’ll go have a word with Steve myself.” Dan turned down the stairs and was out the front door before I could follow him, slamming it behind him. I watched through the glass as he put his canvas bag in the front seat of his truck and climbed in the driver’s seat. He slammed the door hard and pulled a U-turn, revving his engine as he headed toward Geary. It was a safe bet he was going straight to the Honda shop.

Maybe he was right. Maybe Steve was just bitter about being dumped and wanted to spread rumors about Moira and her brother to anyone who’d listen. I returned to the kitchen and rinsed out the coffee cups in the sink, mentally kicking myself that I’d forgotten to ask Dan for his birth time. I wandered into the office and sat at my desk. The conversations I’d had the past few days were spinning around in my head. I’d learned a few things, but I wasn’t sure it was anything that would help the family. Before it all slipped away, I grabbed the notes I’d started. I made a list of everyone connected with Moira, jotting down abbreviated notes outlining what each had said or thought of her.

I replayed the events of the wedding in my mind. I recalled Moira’s disappearance just before the ceremony, her claim that something was wrong with her drink. We’d all dismissed that as her covering up her alcohol intake, but what if she wasn’t lying? What if someone had spiked those drinks? It hadn’t killed her, but it had taken her out of commission for a while. Yet I couldn’t argue with Dan. He knew his sister very well, and what he’d said made logical sense. But it nagged at me nonetheless.

We’d initially assumed Sally collapsed because of exhaustion or some other condition, perhaps even a heart attack. Had Moira’s drink somehow ended up in Sally’s hands? Would Sally recover? Would they check for poisons or barbiturates? Only Dan and I had heard Moira’s comment in the car. Perhaps Detective Ianello should know about it. Maybe I’d ask Geneva what she thought.

When I finished my notes, a couple of things raised more questions. Rita had claimed Moira was very tight-lipped, but Rita was nevertheless sure that someone new was in Moira’s life. Someone who showed up in a dark expensive car. Moira had fought with Andy, and Steve thought she was cheating on him. Was she seeing Andy before she and Steve broke up, or was there another man even then? Maybe Geneva would remember the chronology of Moira’s love life.

I glanced at the clock. It was only seven and I was free for the night. The more I thought about Andy, the more questions I had. I called his home number again but there was still no answer. I dialed his cell and he picked up on the first ring.

“Andy, it’s Julia.”

“Who?”

“From Geneva’s wedding.”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t recognize your voice.” His words were slurred. Noise in the background. It sounded like a party.

“Did I call at a bad time? I wanted to talk to you.”

“Let me guess. About Moira. Everybody wants to talk about Moira. Sure, what the hell.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the …” I imagined him looking around and trying to remember. For all I knew he was on a bender that had started days ago. “I’m at the Plough.”

“I’ll be down.” The Plough and Lyre is a boisterous Irish pub on Clement Street, half a mile from my apartment. I suspected most of its denizens still had former IRA connections and the other half were eager to play the role. Disguised as a friendly neighborhood pub, it was in fact a virulent meat market. I didn’t particularly want to deal with a drunken, bereft boyfriend, and certainly not at a loud Irish bar, but I also didn’t want to take the chance I wouldn’t be able to connect with him again.

I grabbed my jacket and purse and headed out. I found a parking spot on a side street and walked to the front door. Inside, the aroma of fish and chips assailed my senses. My stomach growled in response. What is it about grease and salt, my two favorite food groups, that’s so tempting? The place was packed. The crowd surrounded three musicians playing an upbeat Celtic tune with instruments I couldn’t name.

I fought my way through a gauntlet of guys hanging by the front door and located Andy at the bar. I signaled the bartender and ordered a basket of fish and chips. He nodded and held up his hand to indicate a five-minute wait.

“Andy.”

“Hey.” He turned blurry eyes toward me.

I leaned on the bar, hoping someone would give up a seat. Finally a young woman with choppy blonde hair slid off her stool and headed for the ladies room. She looked as if she was about to upchuck. I grabbed her stool, betting she’d never remember where she’d been sitting—assuming she didn’t pass out in the john. The band stopped playing, but no sooner had the decibels dropped than more loud music blasted from a jukebox.

“How long have you been here?”

“What day is it?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Not again. The cops had me downtown already.”

The bartender slapped a woven plastic basket in front of me filled with hunks of fish and potatoes aromatic with grease. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s too noisy,” I said.

Andy didn’t seem to object. I left some money on the counter and half supported Andy out the door, carrying my basket of food. The fog had rolled in and the street was slick with mist. I led Andy down the block and maneuvered him into my car. I really hoped he wouldn’t be sick.

“Have some.” I passed the basket toward him.

“Nah. Not hungry.”

I picked up a large piece of fried potato and munched on it. It was delicious.

“Whadya wanna talk about?” He leaned his head back on the headrest.

My ears were still ringing from the noise in the bar. “I want to know what was going on with Moira. What were you arguing about at the wedding?”

Andy crumpled forward and started to cry. “God. I accused her of cheating on me. She kept denying it, and now she’s gone.”

“You have any idea who it was?”

“I had my suspicions.” He spoke slowly, slurring his words. “There’s a bartender at the Macao—Asian guy. Moira did some catering a few times for private parties there.”

I remembered the silk-covered matchbook I’d found in Moira’s apartment. “What’s his name?”

“How the hell should I know?” Andy snorted. “Snotty guy. Thought he was too good for everybody ’cause he’s getting some advanced degree at Berkeley. What the hell does it matter now?”

Geneva had mentioned Moira’s friend at Macao. Maybe Andy was right. Maybe the bartender was more than just a friend.

“What do you know about Moira’s ex-boyfriend Steve?” I asked.

“Him? God, what a jerk!” Andy laughed mirthlessly. “He was still calling her months after they broke up. You’d think the guy could take a hint.”

“When exactly did they break up?”

Andy turned his head to look at me. He was having trouble focusing. “You sure have a lot of questions. I don’t know. I don’t know when exactly they broke up. Why are you asking?” He spoke slowly, forming his words with difficulty.

“I’m just trying to help Geneva. She wants to know what was going on with her sister.”

“Ya better watch out. You stick your nose into other people’s business, you never know what’s under some of those rocks.” I shivered, remembering Zora’s words: You don’t know this yet, but you’re in danger. Keep your nose out of other people’s business.

Andy’s head lolled back against the car seat. He seemed close to passing out. “I wondered if she wasn’t in some kind of trouble,” he murmured. “It woulda been just like her to do something dumb and think there’d be no consequences.”

I was still curious about Andy’s supposed real estate dealings that Dan had mentioned, but I didn’t want to tip my hand about the tax forms I’d found in Moira’s apartment, not yet at least. “What kind of trouble are you talking about?”

I waited, but Andy volunteered nothing more. I finished off the last piece of greasy potato, licked my fingers, and dug some tissues out of the glove compartment. I handed a few to Andy and he wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

“Sorry. I’m a mess.”

“I’m going to drive you home, since you’re in no shape to get behind a wheel. Where do you live?”

“In the Haight. On Cole.”

“Okay. Let’s go. Put your seat belt on.”

I pulled up in front of the large Victorian Andy pointed out. He climbed out of the car slowly and walked away without shutting the door. I reached over, pulled it shut, and watched him stagger up the stairs and hopefully into his apartment. I sighed. I hadn’t learned a thing. Nothing I didn’t already know, at least. My trip was a waste of time.

Since Andy’s building was only a few blocks from the Alibi, I decided to cruise down Waller one more time. Hopefully I’d even spot Zims, the man in the wheelchair. A few people wandered along the street, but most of the shops, with the exception of the Alibi and the tattoo parlor, were closed. I made two more passes but didn’t spot anyone conducting illicit business, or any business for that matter, on the street.

I wasn’t sure how far my loyalty to Geneva would take me, but there was no doubt in my mind that David’s visit to Brooke’s that night, and his missing gun, had raised some flags with the police. What was lacking in David’s case was a motive—and if anyone had a motive for killing Moira, I wanted to know what it was. I decided I’d search for Moira’s possible drug dealer another day and headed home.

I left my car on the street and trudged up the stairs to my apartment. My fingers still reeked of potato grease and I hoped I hadn’t dribbled any over my jacket. I washed my hands at the kitchen sink and felt Wizard rub against my leg, patiently waiting for some attention. I dried my hands on a dish towel and picked him up before he had a chance to skitter away. He pushed his head against my forehead and I returned the pressure.

“Hey, Wiz. I’m not really ignoring you.” He yawned in response as if to say, Yeah, right! He squirmed away and I lowered him gently to the floor. He sat by his bowl, his back to me. I was getting really good at reading his body language. Translated, this meant, I’ll forgive you if I get a treat. Blackmailed by my cat. I fished out a pellet from his pouch of kitty treats and dropped it in his dish.

The light was flashing on the answering machine in the office. Two new messages. The first from Celia, the second from Gale. Celia wanted me to call her back. I groaned. I’d managed to procrastinate long enough. I would dig the boxes out tonight and get whatever I found over to her first thing in the morning. Otherwise I’d have no peace.

I returned Gale’s call.

“Thank God you’re there!”

“What now?”

“She’s signed over the house.”

“What?”

“Cheryl. She signed a quitclaim to the house. That jerk showed up on her doorstep and sweet-talked her into signing over the house to him.”

“Did he bring a notary?”

“Oh. No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, then, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t mean much if it’s not notarized.”

“You’re right. I’m so upset I can’t think straight. That son of a bitch turned up with wine and flowers and a line of crap about how they could work things out, and you know her, she talks big but she’s scared of her own shadow, and she agreed to sign the paperwork. And she didn’t even think to call me or at least call her lawyer, you know that nasty little short man I found for her. The ex-
Mafioso.”

“I don’t think you should keep calling him ‘ex-Mafioso.’”

“Why not? That’s what he looks like. He wears those terrible sharkskin suits. Nobody wears those outside of South Philly.”

“First of all”—I heaved a sigh—“if he’s a Mafioso, then I doubt he’d be able to become an ‘ex.’ And besides, you’ve got to stop making derogatory comments about my people.”

Gale laughed. “Honey, this guy ain’t your people. I’m calling Sam right now. He needs to know about this. The hearing is tomorrow morning.”

Sam Giovanni was the attorney Gale had retained to help Cheryl through her divorce. If you happened to be one of his clients, he was actually a terrific guy. He was Satan if you were the opposing party. He was a short, swarthy man who’d been in trouble with the police when young and then had his juvenile record expunged so he could be admitted to the bar. His specialty was family law, and his second specialty was sleeping with all of his clients. He had money and lifts in his shoes and the world was his oyster. Gale was probably right. He was exactly what Cheryl needed right now.

“I’ll see you there tomorrow?” she added.

I sighed. “You think I should come?”

“Yes.” Gale hung up.

I heaved another sigh. There was no avoiding this. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. I opened the closet door and stared at its contents. On one side were garment bags full of dresses, coats, and seldom-worn items. Most of these were samples from my grandmother’s shop before she retired. Boxes I’d never unpacked when I moved into my apartment were stacked on the other side. There were six. I hauled them out one by one and lined them up on the living room floor, then sliced through the tape on each with a pair of scissors. Chances were, anything of Michael’s would be in just one box, but I’d packed in such a hurry before the move, I couldn’t be absolutely certain. Now I just wanted to satisfy Celia and be able to tell her I had nothing in my possession that technically belonged to her.

The first box was full of old kitchen utensils and mismatched dishes. I remembered going shopping to replace a lot of this stuff after my move. I rummaged through and discovered a couple of items that could be useful now—a lemon squeezer and a small colander. I pulled them out and re-taped the box. This was a charity donation. Three of the boxes held high school and college memorabilia and old books. I separated the books I no longer wanted and added them to the giveaway pile. The rest I shoved into a half-empty bookshelf in the living room.

I found Michael’s things in the fifth box. There were a pair of hiking boots, gloves, and an olive green all-weather jacket with a hood and big pockets. I had such a clear memory of Michael wearing that jacket. A wave of longing swept over me. I buried my face inside the jacket and inhaled. I ached for him. Whether it was a lingering scent or my imagination, he was physically with me for a fleeting moment.

Reluctantly, I placed his boots, gloves, and jacket in a large shopping bag. I rummaged through the rest of the items. There were three books related to his studies. I added these to the shopping bag. Underneath the books, I found two fat notebooks from the work he’d been doing in Guatemala. He’d shipped them to me just prior to his return. A note clipped inside said, Julia—hang on to these for me. They’re important. I’ll fill you in when I’m home. See you soon. Love, Michael.

I ran my fingers over his handwriting. It was debatable whether Celia had a right to these or not. Technically, Michael’s possessions belonged to his next of kin, but these had been sent to me for safekeeping. One part of me was aware of Celia’s obsessive behavior and wanted to rebel, and the other part of me clung to Michael’s memory as fiercely as she did. These were mine. I was keeping them. There was absolutely no reason for Celia to ever know about his notes. And as for the rest—cards we’d given to each other, a shoebox full of photos—those were mine as well.

Most days, I never gave these things a second thought. But sometimes when I needed to pick at old wounds, I read his letters. Tonight I couldn’t bring myself to do that. We’d thought we were invincible, looking forward to our life together, never anticipating that there’d be no future for us. Ever since, I’d built a protective wall around myself, and I wasn’t sure how to tear it down. When Brooke had asked if there was anyone in my life, if I’d been honest I would have said I wasn’t sure I even wanted someone. It wasn’t a risk I could take again. Maybe never.

I replaced the photos, cards, and notebooks in the box. Celia could have the rest.

I rose from the floor and retaped the remaining boxes, stacking them once again in the closet. The day would come when I’d go through all of this more thoroughly. Another day. In the meantime, I could drop the giveaway stuff at a charity shop and deliver the shopping bag to Celia at Cold Comfort Farm, as I’d dubbed her house. I was sure I wouldn’t be thanked or invited in for a visit. Fine with me.

I turned off the lamps and put some water on for tea. Wizard had disappeared through the kitty hatch before I could lock him in. When the tea was ready, I shed my clothes and slipped on a nightie. I climbed into bed and grabbed my book on chart comparisons, snuggling under the comforter. Wizard meowed from the hallway. He ran into the bedroom and hopped up on the little slipper chair. He made two counter-clockwise turns and finally curled into a fetal position. I climbed out of bed, closed the kitty hatch, unplugged the bedroom phone, and did my best to concentrate on my book. I shivered, remembering that this was the same one that had lulled me to sleep the night of the shooting, but the foghorns reminded me I was safe in my own bed tonight.