twenty-two

My phone rang just as I was about to ask Holly if she knew who her father was. The call was from Greg. He was calling to see how I was doing and asked if I wanted anything special for dinner.

“Zee brought over chicken and dumplings, so we’re good to go for dinner,” I said into the phone. Holly got up to leave, but I signaled for her to stay put. “Will you be home soon?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m leaving right now and just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.” There was a short pause. “I know I was an ass this morning. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m just worried about you and don’t want you going back to the firm. I think it’s time for you to move on to something else.”

“I know, honey,” I told him softly. “We’ll work it all out, and we’ll do it together.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Are you still in a lot of pain?”

“Yeah, I’m still pretty sore, but I managed to take Wainwright for a walk. We’re at the beach now.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice perking up. “Then you must be feeling a lot better.”

“Not really,” I said, “but I thought moving would help the stiffness in my legs. It did, but I’m going to feel it tonight. We’re about to do the slow shuffle home.” I glanced at Holly. She was kneeling on the ground making friends with Wainwright. “By the way, Greg, we may have a guest for dinner. Someone I bumped into at the beach. Do you mind?”

“No, not if you’re up to it,” he said. “I don’t want you to get too worn out. Who’s the guest?”

“It’s a surprise,” I told him. “See you soon.”

“Well, if it’s Dev,” Greg said with a chuckle, “tell him not to drink all my beer before I get there.”

Holly needed some convincing to stay for dinner. She’d left her car near our house, and on the slow walk back I wore her down until she accepted. I also learned during those two long blocks that she’d graduated from the UCLA film school. She lived in Belmont Shores, a nice section of Long Beach, in the home she’d grown up in with her mother, and earned her living as a consultant, shooting and editing videos for web content, including for a couple of very popular YouTube channels. She liked working for herself, she told me. It gave her the freedom she needed to pursue her own art while still earning a living. If Greg had a daughter, I thought, this was probably the type of path she would have taken, and she would have been just as independent. I couldn’t wait for them to meet.

When we got back to our house, she looked around with appreciation. “Wow, this living area is huge,” she said. “You’d never know it from the outside.”

“This used to be a duplex, two identical two-bedroom units attached in the middle by a common wall,” I said. “Greg bought the building and combined them to make one large house to suit his needs. He designed it himself,” I told her proudly. “To the left is the master suite and bath, which he totally redid. He left the two bedrooms and the bath on the right pretty much the same except for widening the doorways and adding a hidden laundry area behind those folding doors.” I headed to the left. “I’ll be right back. If you need to use the bathroom,” I told her, “the guest bath is down the hall to the right. Just make sure to shut the door when you’re done.”

When I came back out, Holly was studying the sticky notes plastered to the dining table. In her arms Muffin was sucking up a lot of pets and strokes. Wainwright was in his bed, tired from the excursion. Holly glanced up. “There’s a duck in your tub,” she announced with curiosity.

“Just a temporary resident,” I told her. “His name’s Dumpster. He’ll be going to a new home in a few days. And the scamp in your arms is Muffin.”

“Cool,” she said without emotion and went back to studying the notes. “Were you trying to figure out who I was or why Burt Sandoval was killed?” she asked without taking her eyes off the table.

I looked down at the notes. “Both.” I tapped the sticker with Jordon’s name. “Zee and I met him. He’s a lovely man. A quadriplegic living in an assisted care place. Your mother never mentioned him?”

She slowly shook her head. “Just to say that he was not my father.”

She’d taken off her sunglasses and I could finally see her full face. It was slender, with smooth, youthful skin, a small nose, and a delicate mouth. I knew she was twenty-six, but her petite build and clothing made her look much younger, almost high-school age. But her eyes were not the eyes of a teen. They were sharp and curious, absorbing and weighing the information she took in through them, much as her videos did. Her eyes also spoke to her Asian roots.

Holly put Muffin down and pointed at the note between Marla and Burt. “What does home remodel mean?”

“That’s the connection between them,” I explained as I went into the kitchen to turn on the oven. “They might have met when the company Burt worked for did a remodeling job at a home the Kingstons used to own. But that was a couple of years back. We honestly didn’t think there were any other connections, but today you told me you’ve seen them together recently.”

She nodded. “Yes, definitely.” She turned to me. “What about Burt’s wife? Have you talked to her yet?”

I spun around to look at Holly. The sudden movement sent shock waves of pain through my battered body, and I grabbed the counter for support. “Burt wasn’t married. He was divorced.”

“A girlfriend maybe?”

I had been trying to wrangle the heavy casserole dish from the fridge, which was difficult with one arm incapacitated. “Here,” Holly said, coming into the kitchen. “Let me get that.” She lifted the dish out of the fridge and set it on the counter by the stove. “What’s this?” she asked, indicating the dish.

“Zee’s wonderful chicken and dumplings. She brought it over this morning for our dinner tonight.” I glanced at Holly. “I should have asked you, are you vegan or gluten-free or anything like that?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I eat most anything. Let me know when the oven’s ready, and I’ll stick it in for you.”

She went back to the table and looked down again at the notes in Burt’s column. “The last time I saw Burt meet with Marla Kingston there was a woman in his car. She stayed behind while he went into the coffee shop for the meeting.”

I went back to the table and sat down, exhausted from doing not much of anything. “When was this?”

“About a week or so before he was killed. The meeting was at the Starbucks that’s in that same strip mall.” She closed her eyes and was silent for a bit. “In fact, I’m pretty sure she was there last Saturday, the day you rescued the dog.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Burt slipped away, but I never noticed where he went or when.”

“Pretty sure,” Holly answered. “He left right after the police arrived and started questioning you guys. He watched everything going on as he melted to the back of the crowd. I turned to watch him leave and saw his truck in the next row. The same woman I’d seen with him before was in it.”

“Did you get that on video?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, I had my camera still fixed on the commotion with Marla. But I definitely saw Burt go to his truck, and the woman was in the truck.”

“Do you remember what the woman looked like?” I asked, leaning forward with expectation.

“Hard to say since I’d only seen her a few times and it was always in the vehicle, but I think she had blond hair, dark blond or very light brown. In her forties, maybe, or late thirties. I could only see her from the shoulders up, but I’d say she was on the thin side.” Holly paused in her narrative. “Oh, and one more thing. She wore glasses, big ones, and they were red or maybe dark pink.”

I reached toward the pad of yellow sticky notes. Holly picked them up and handed them to me, along with a pen. On the top one I wrote Donna, tore it off, and handed the note to Holly. “Would you please put that in Burt’s column for me?” She did as I asked.

“You know her?” she asked after placing the note.

“I’ve met her,” I said. “She works for the same company Burt did, and I think it’s time I pay her a visit for a little one-on-one chat.”

The same small smile I’d seen on Holly’s face before made an appearance. “I’ll drive.” She pulled car keys from her jeans pocket and started for the door.

“Hold your horses,” I said, amused at her eagerness. “It’s too late today. The office is either closed or will be by the time we get there.”

If Greg and I had a daughter, she’d be like this—smart and creative like him, nosy and impulsive like me.

Instead of tracking down Donna, I instructed Holly to pop the casserole dish into the oven. She’d just done that when Wainwright got to his feet and headed for the back door, his tail wagging with excitement. “Greg’s home,” I said.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Holly said, looking out the back slider.

“Give it a second,” I said with a smile. Sure enough, seconds later we heard the garage door open and Greg’s van come up the alley. We couldn’t see it because of the wall that separated our property from the car port and alley, but we could hear it as it slowed and made the turn into the garage.