Rain pelted the parking lot as I bolted to my car and climbed inside. I hadn’t dressed warmly enough for the weather. A chill slithered up my neck. I flicked on the windshield wipers and cranked on the heat. Headlights strafed the road as I pulled onto the street.
Turning left onto El Camino Real, I felt another chill. Of apprehension. Was someone following me? I peered into the rearview mirror. It was hard to make out shapes in the dank darkness. I didn’t see anyone overtly tailing me. I checked the sideview mirrors, too. Nothing.
An image of Damian standing beside me at the table last night flashed in my mind. Had Serenity known he would be dining there and made the reservation so she could break the news to me about the two of them dating with him nearby? Or had Damian found out that Serenity was meeting with me and parlayed a reservation for himself? That would have been just like him, to take control and set the scene.
I craned my head to the right to get a glimpse of the blind spot. No car, and I didn’t see one dart behind another to avoid detection.
Another worry struck me. What if, as I suspected, Fisher had written the Go home note? What if he was tailing me? His threat on the phone, Or else, had sounded real. Had he found out where Viraj Patel lived? Had he set the fire? Had he remained in the area and hidden and watched the fire department and police handle the scene?
Get real, Aspen. How would he have found you?
On the other hand, Fisher did work for a tech guy. Maybe there was a digital way to trace my cell phone. I had called him first.
By the time I parked in the driveway, paranoia had planted its roots deeply in my psyche. How I wished Cinder was at the house to greet me. Or Nick. Or better yet, that this case was resolved and behind me and I was back in Lake Tahoe.
I sprinted inside, locked the front door, and switched on the lights. I was trained in self-defense, but that wouldn’t protect me if someone broke in with a gun. Given the conversation with Nick the other night, I decided to scout for possible weapons. A fireplace poker in the living room. A fry pan or knife in the kitchen. The decorative bronze statue of a dancing girl in the foyer. Every room had something I could use, should the need arise.
Breathing easier, I shrugged out of my blazer, blouse, and slacks and slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans and Tahoe sweatshirt. In the kitchen, I poured a glass of chardonnay and sliced some cheddar cheese. I set the cheese on a plate with multi-seed crackers, and then sat in a chair, eyes closed, to meditate on Tahoe. I imagined the placid lake, the heavenly scent of the pines, and the chittering of squirrels. Within minutes, I was calm and focused and ready to address the murder board.
I added a note to Patel’s section: Shot with Glock semiautomatic. If Patel’s killer was the same person who’d killed my parents, he had armed himself with a new weapon. Not unheard of given the fourteen-year gap.
By now, my aunt must have taken my grandfather’s gun to the Placer County sheriff’s forensic division. Had they found anything? Had they contacted Atherton P.D.? Had they determined yet whether the striations on bullets fired by my grandfather’s gun proved it was or wasn’t the murder weapon used to kill my parents? If it was—
My chest tightened at the notion. I couldn’t imagine my mother facing the killer, seeing her own gun being used against her. Had she cowered in fear or steeled herself with righteous indignation? Had she questioned how the killer had found the gun or accepted the discovery as a moot point?
I stared at Rosie’s name on the murder board and shook my head. She had not killed our parents, but I had to wonder whether she had instigated the murder. I prayed that she had not sent me to reopen the cold case with the sole intent of finding her guilty.
Tapping the marker against my chin, my gaze traveled to the name Herman Hoek, his witness statement among the many in Evers’s collection. The detective had interviewed Hoek once. I attached a Post-it note to Hoek’s interview: Ask about the car Patel saw. Ask about Patel’s hacking proclivities. Who had he hacked? Might he have created enemies? I added the cryptic note that Olga had provided: Where is Patel’s new business located? Did he have any partners? Were any of them suspects in my parents’ murders?
I skimmed everything a second and third time. Nothing was gelling. As I opened my laptop to search the White Pages for Hoek’s telephone number, I heard a sound outside. The closing of a car door.
Heart jackhammering my rib cage, I flew to a window and peered out. By now, rain was coming down in sheets. Two hooded figures ran up the path to the front door.
I grabbed the bronze statue off the foyer table.
Someone pounded on the door. “Aunt Aspen! Open up.”
Candace. My pulse settled down. I replaced the statue, whipped open the door, and let my niece and aunt in. They shimmied like wet dogs and removed their raincoats. Both were wearing sweaters over jeans.
Max grinned. “I hope this place allows dogs. Candace insisted on bringing Cinder.”
“Jewel put up a fuss,” Candace added.
My aunt clapped her hands and Cinder bounded out of the Land Rover and into the house. He nearly knocked me over with his enthusiasm. All of us hugged.
Snug in a group embrace, I said, “What are you doing here?”
“We missed you,” Candace said.
Max nodded. “So we decided you needed company.”
“A phone call or text to alert me might have been nice.” I freed myself from their grasp.
“Did we scare you?” Candace asked, grinning. “Sorry. We thought you’d like the surprise.”
“I like surprises. I don’t need a heart attack.”
Max eyed me warily. “Are you nervous about something? Or someone?”
I asked Candace to put on her raincoat and fetch their overnight cases.
When she did, I told my aunt about Viraj Patel contacting me, him winding up dead, the note on the car, and the feeling that I was being watched.
“But no one has approached you,” Max said. “No one has attacked you.”
I hitched a shoulder. “Maybe it’s a witness who wants to share information but is shy.”
“My sweet girl, you are an eternal optimist.” She bussed my cheek. “By the way, I couldn’t find the license plate you noted the other night. That’s the info I opted not to leave on my voicemail to you. It wasn’t a private plate, and it wasn’t assigned to a rental car, either.”
“I suppose the driver could have altered the plate.”
My aunt nodded. “All it takes is a good magic marker or duct tape.”
“Or I could be imagining things.”
Max winked. “Known to happen to the best of us.”
“What about the gun? Are you making headway with that?”
“The sheriff’s department is waiting for Atherton P.D. to release the results of the original bullets. Be patient.”
Patience was not my forte. It never had been.
Candace bounded into the house with one duffel, a grocery bag, and a box from Chick-fil-A. “Gluten-free chicken nuggets and buns—they’re delicious—and a couple of salads. Hungry?”
“Starved,” I said.
Max took the bag of groceries and dinner from Candace, carried them into the kitchen, and returned.
Next, I set them up in the two additional bedrooms. Candace chose the one with the white-and-green lace coverlet. Max simply wanted a good pillow.
When the three of us settled at the kitchen table, we chowed down on chicken and got caught up. Waverly had a new boy that she was interested in; Rory did poorly on a test so he’s grounded; Yaz and Darcy both said hello. Darcy might be getting engaged. And did I know that Gwen was returning to Lake Tahoe?
“When? Why?” I asked. “Is she still married to Owen?” Gwen Barrows, one of my dearest friends, had owned the Tavern, the restaurant that had become my hangout in the Homewood Area, but when she met Owen Goff, she’d decided to retire.
“The sale fell through. The buyer thought she’d be able to save enough for the lease-option, but she couldn’t, and Owen, it turns out, has seasickness. No more cruising for them. It’s a good thing he likes Lake Tahoe and adores Gwen. If she wants to go back to running the place, he’s okay with that. He’ll do whatever will make her happy.”
Candace made kissing sounds.
I grinned. “For my own selfish reasons, I’m thrilled to hear this.”
Max squeezed my arm. “I knew you would be. By the way, we’re only staying the night.”
“Aw,” Candace whined, even though I was certain Max had spelled out the rules before getting in the car.
“School Monday, young lady,” Max said. “And you still have homework to complete.”
Candace frowned and folded her arms on the table, elbows and all.
“What’s your plan, Aspen, going forward?” Max asked.
“Yeah, what’s your plan?” Candace gave up her peeve and sat taller.
“I’d like to reach out to a witness tomorrow.”
“Who have you spoken to so far?” she pressed.
“To whom have you spoken?” I corrected.
She moaned. “C’mon. One night without an English lesson, okay? Who have you questioned?”
I did my best to fill them in. Meeting Evers. Going through the storage unit with Tammie. Questioning Antoine Washington. Finding Viraj Patel murdered. I skipped needless details. “Detective Sergeant Quincy, who’s in charge of cold cases, doesn’t think Patel’s murder is related to my parents’ case, but he’ll give it consideration.” I rose to take dishes to the sink. “According to the man’s fiancée, Patel was talking to a buddy, Herman Hoek, on the day he died. I need to speak with Hoek. I was getting ready to look up his contact information when you two showed up.”
As I washed the dishes and Candace dried, she caught sight of the murder board in the dining room. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes.”
She tossed the towel on the counter, strode into the dining room, and jammed one hand on her hip.
“Dishes,” I said sternly.
“They can wait.” She aimed an arm toward the murder board. “Walk us through it.” I had made investigation boards at home. She was seasoned at picking them apart.
“Candace . . .”
“Don’t sugarcoat it, Aspen. Please. You know I want to solve this as much as my mother does.”
I sighed, realizing how much she hoped, like Rosie did, that I could solve the years-old crime and free Rosie from a guilty conscience. Help her get clean. Help her become a sober, caring mother again to her daughter.
My aunt offered a wry smile and crooked a finger. Dishes would wait.
I grabbed my glass of wine. Max, who had brought a flask of scotch, poured two fingers into a tumbler. We joined Candace in the dining room. Max sat in one of the card table chairs. I hovered beside Candace.
“Is this how Grandpa Jim and Grandma Lily were found?” Candace touched the edge of the photo of them lying together, my father facedown, my mother faceup and holding his hand. Even though Candace had been an infant at the time of their deaths, she had heard so many stories about them from me that she felt she’d known them.
“Yes.”
“Where did you get all the photos and details?” my aunt asked.
I explained how Detective Sergeant Evers had allowed me to photograph every aspect of his notes. “He was meticulous. I doubt the cold case file at Atherton P.D. has anything more to offer.”
“What is Evers like?” Max asked.
“A decent man. He regrets not having solved this case. He said that all these years later it still haunts him.”
Candace perused the material. “It says Grandpa Jim was killed first, but what if Grandma Lily was?”
“No. The notes clearly explain the sequence. The blood—” I halted. I was not going into gross details about the killer’s actions. “Trust me. That’s the determination. My mother was shot in the back.” I described how she had lived long enough to turn herself over and clasp my father’s hand.
“How c-cruel,” Candace stammered.
“Murder is not kind.”
“Did the detective think Grandpa Jim and Grandma Lily knew the killer?” she asked.
I eyed her. “Why would you think that?”
“They weren’t killed the moment they came in the door.”
“Interesting theory.” Max pursed her lips. “Which of the suspects might they have known, Aspen?”
“Kurt Brandt, a man trying to collect on an IOU, was an acquaintance of my grandfather’s. William Fisher is the father of one of Dad’s clients. And they might have known Antoine Washington, if Rosie had brought him around. The police questioned a ton of other people. Their friends. Neighbors. But those three were the prime suspects. And Rosie, of course.”
I stared at the photo of my mother. I couldn’t imagine the heartbreak she must have felt at not being able to save my father.
“What are you thinking?” Max asked, rising to her feet and joining us in front of the board.
I brushed a tear off my cheek.
Candace said, “I’ll bet you’re thinking about what Mom said, that Grandma Lily was still breathing when Mom arrived.”
“Still breathing?” Max gasped.
“Uh-huh. Grandma Lily said to her, ‘You’ll never get it.’” Candace stressed the word it.
“It?” Max gazed at me.
“We don’t know what it was,” I said. “Rosie didn’t mention the conversation to the police because she thought Mom—Lily—was reminding her that she had cut Rosie out of the will.”
“But now”—Candace focused on Max—“Mom’s wondering whether Grandma Lily didn’t know it was her. She said her eyes were closed, meaning Grandma Lily could have thought she was talking to the killer, which would make a big difference.”
Max gazed at me. “Because the killer might have been after something else. Not just the silver.”
I nodded.