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Standing next to Lana in the capitol restroom, Maren was finding it difficult to get ready. Lana’s thick black hair shone as she brushed and twisted it into a knot at the nape of her neck. It was too hot to wear it loose. Meanwhile, Maren’s curls were giving new meaning to the word frizz. The mirror seemed to Maren to yield two options. Movie star siren on one end and frazzled working woman on the other. She wanted to trade sides.
Polly was oblivious to Maren’s engagement in a silent beauty contest. Her short, spiky hair never needed combing. Besides, she was wrestling with understanding Caleb Waterston’s involvement in the murders. “The bloke poisoned the journalist Simone what’s-her-name because she was on to the Hopkins murder, and then he poisoned Wallis Lisborne to keep her from talking and also for the investment money?”
Lana nodded, carefully blotting the dark-red matte color on her full lips.
Not, as Maren observed, that they needed any help.
Lana tightened the black belt on her deep-green sleeveless sheath, accenting her hourglass figure. Maren adjusted her scarf. Brown to match her cane.
“Maren, you figured out it was one person who killed Hopkins and Tamara. But for Waterston to also be involved in Tamara’s death—wasn’t he engaged to her?”
“No.” Both Maren and Lana answered at the same time.
Maren let Lana finish. “Caleb faked his engagement to Tamara after Tamara’s death, cropping group photos at capitol events so it looked like just the two of them. He thought it was a good cover for the fact that he and Wallis Lisborne had been involved since her Hollywood stuntwoman days. Caleb’s the one who brought Wallis up here.”
Polly finally faced the mirror as she spoke, appraising her black mini-skirt and black-and-white geometric top. She seemed satisfied. “It’s too bloody much to believe.”
Maren shrugged. She had known Caleb Waterston for years and it wasn’t as surprising to her. “I doubt Caleb started with murderous intentions. But with the clause in the partnership that living investors split dead ones’ shares to the tune of millions of dollars, the temptation to eliminate partners must have been too great. Especially with Wallis starting things off with Hopkins’s murder.”
“The background check showed Wallis Lisborne had an extremely abusive mother,” Lana said. “Wallis seemed to find an outlet for those issues through feigned violence in the stuntwoman work she did, often killing women according to script. At some point, the line between staged and real blurred for her.”
The three women left the capitol building on foot. Maren’s leg was aching. She had been overdoing it, no question. Fortunately, Lana’s car was in the lot right across the street. As they waited for the light to change to cross at Tenth and L, Maren saw Alec Joben approaching from a block away.
Maren hadn’t seen him since that night at the Hyatt.
She tried to steer Polly and Lana behind one of the big oak trees on the edge of Capitol Park.
“What are you doing?” Lana protested.
Too late. Alec had seen her. He broke into an easy jog, heading toward them.
Jogging? Is he really jogging in his suit in ninety-degree heat? Maren looked for somewhere better to hide.
“It looks like someone is happy to see you,” Polly remarked, watching the handsome senator gaining ground.
Lana noticed Maren turning in circles. “What are you doing?”
Alec was there before Maren could get her brain and body coordinated to choose and implement an escape route.
Then it happened. What always happened when men were confronted with Lana Decateau, real-life screen goddess. Alec stopped functioning. He stared at Lana. Her perfect oval face, flawless skin, the slight scoop in the neck of her soft-green fitted dress, the curves, so many curves, then the long legs without stockings in black leather pumps.
Maren was lost. Despite coaching herself that he was flawed and that it was a bad move, given their work, to start a relationship, her heart hadn’t listened, and the heartbreak she expected had arrived.
There is a biological imperative for a straight male when faced with a perfect physical female specimen to honor it, to react. Alec did just that. And in some men the physical response takes over.
But not for Alec. Within a moment he could speak. He introduced himself to Lana. Then she might as well not have been there.
He turned to Maren and pulled her toward him, his arms around her waist, and kissed her. She kissed him back, encircling his neck with her arms and stretching up as he leaned down and into her.
When more than a moment had passed, Alec moved his mouth from hers to her ear. He whispered.
“I’ve missed you. It’s hard to find a good cowgirl in the city.”
* * *
GOVERNOR RAYMOND FERNANDEZ sat down with his wife, Martha, for a private dinner at the window table in the bedroom overlooking their back garden.
The historic California governor’s mansion had long since been retired as a residence, last used by Governor Ronald Reagan in the ’70s. Each governor had found more comfortable and less expensive quarters, while the old mansion was opened to the public and used only for special events. In their move to the capitol upon his election, Martha and Raymond had chosen to live in a modest home in Midtown Sacramento in a diverse neighborhood reminiscent of their LA roots.
Tonight the server brought the meal to their bedroom and left so they could eat uninterrupted on one of their rare unscheduled evenings at home. The imperatives of gubernatorial security meant fences, alarms, and capitol security on the premises at all times. The best they could do for privacy was keep to their room.
As he lifted his wine glass, Fernandez reflected how glad he was that “the episode” with the Barnes girl was resolved.
He owed Maren Kane a special thanks for figuring out “the governor” Tamara Barnes had referred to in the investment scandal was former governor Jack Caries and not him. Though Ray was disappointed Maren hadn’t decided to go for the Washington position—she would have been good at it, and it would have been a great connection for him to have her on the inside there.
He took a sip of the Cabernet from the local Berryessa Gap Vineyards. It was outstanding. Although his own name had been cleared, Ray couldn’t avoid the fact that tragedy had struck the California capital during his term.
His predecessor in the governor’s office, Jack Caries, and Tamara Barnes had both been murdered, as had a journalist. Evidently tapes she had made were going to provide evidence in the case against Caleb Waterston. He’d never liked the guy, the worst of what the lobbying profession had to offer.
Money for votes, and now murder for money.
Fortunately, in all this mess the signing ceremony that afternoon for the driver cell phone ban had gone well. Both Republicans and Democrats voted for the bill in the end. It had taken a tragedy, a neighbor of Republican Senator Joe Mathis being seriously injured. Still, Ray was glad the two parties had gotten together, whatever the reason. Controversial bills were never easy, but it was possible for him to sign one if there was bipartisan support.
Content, he lifted the silver warming cover off his plate and tried a forkful of the chicken mole. Fernandez hadn’t wanted to replace the chef for the governor’s mansion when he was elected, but he had heard Governor Caries was a pot roast man and was concerned whether he could go four years without the Mexican dishes of his childhood. He needn’t have worried—Caries’s chef could cook anything. But Caries wouldn’t be enjoying any more meals of any kind.
Really a shame, he thought.
“Feeling better, dear?” his wife asked, watching him eat with gusto after days of picking at his food. “You seem more yourself.”
“Yes, it was just exhaustion, I’m sure. We’ll have to think hard about that second term. Maybe better to have time to ourselves instead of trying to solve the intractable problems of this state.” He left unmentioned that he had decided to let Delilah go as his receptionist. Maybe then he would get a little more rest. “I hear Senator Rorie Rickman might be interested in the job. Perhaps I will endorse her . . .”
* * *
IT WAS STICKY HOT, even at 7:00 p.m. Summer had come early, pushing its way into the Sacramento Valley. The fog was gone. Sean didn’t seem to notice. He left his black suit coat on and didn’t bother to loosen his red-striped blue tie. Or is that a blue-striped red tie? Maren smiled to herself. Despite the sad occasion, she was so happy to see him free.
There were days when she had doubted it would ever happen.
Alec Joben wasn’t there. He had left to attend a caucus meeting. She knew if this clicked for them, he would be on his phone, or late, then later, then absent, much of the time. That was okay with Maren, at least for now. She figured it could all be worked out later. Or not. There was too much for her to be happy about in this one moment to let the thought of future problems spoil it.
The six adults and one child formed a small circle around Tamara Barnes’s grave.
Sean, Maren, Polly, Lana, Sal, Noel, and Bethany.
Sean kept his head down, ignoring the tombstone, unable to look at the engraving. The flowers he brought were wilted. Daisies were Tamara’s favorite, but they didn’t hold up. He laid the small bouquet on the grave, then took a crumpled paper from his pocket.
He read quietly, still not looking up.
“Tamara Barnes. Beautiful. Smart. Very smart. Funny . . . Sparkling.”
His voice cracked. He stopped. Maren closed her eyes and willed him strength.
Sean put the paper down, unable to finish what he had prepared. He looked around at the unexpected group there with him, into each of their eyes, before he spoke again.
“Tilly, heaven has welcomed you. But we love you still.”
The informal service over, Bethany found an open area of grass unmarked by graves for now. She set Daniel, her little red lion, down nearby and was whirling in circles, finally falling in a cascade of laughter, then stumbling dizzily toward Sean, begging him to come play. He walked over, spread his arms out under the open, cloud-free sky, and began to spin.
Maren observed them. One hand on her cane, with the other she lifted her hair up off her neck and took a deep breath. Lana and Polly joined her, one on either side. Maren took in their presence. She felt fortunate, recalling the walk with death she and Noel had almost taken, and the close call Sean had with the wheels of justice, which had almost veered off track.
Bethany, her red-orange hair tangled and her clothes spotted with grass stains, squealed with delight as Sean staggered after his last spin, struggling to stay upright. He steadied himself, picked up Bethany, and held her in his arms as he walked toward the three women, grinning.
At first Maren thought Sean was smiling at her, but then realized he was looking past them. She wondered what had lifted her friend’s heart.
She didn’t yet know that Sean’s pain was eased, in part, by the knowledge that he would soon start the paperwork to put the millions Tamara had left in his name into trust for Bethany Castro, with Sal Castro as executor until Bethany turned twenty-one. Tamara had made the switch in beneficiaries from Jack to Sean the last day of her life, and Sean intended to make good on his promise to protect what was hers. Always.
Even if she had known about the money, Maren would have been the first to assert that Tamara’s inheritance couldn’t be the cause of Sean’s broad smile. There was too much tragedy associated with it.
Sean reached Maren.
“Feel like going to a wedding?” he asked.
Maren, Polly, and Lana turned back to see Noel on one knee holding Sal’s hand in his.
Not in a cemetery—and your hat, take off that hat. Oh, Noel. But Maren could see from where she stood that Sal’s eyes were brimming with tears, and Sal was nodding yes.