Chapter 20

A housekeeping cart blocked Sarah’s door when she returned to her room. A middle-aged couple was inside, both with the same light brown hair speckled with gray. The man was short and fit and carried a toolkit. He wiped his hands on a towel on his belt. The woman smoothed the down comforter on the bed. They turned toward Sarah in the doorway.

“Your faucet’s fixed,” the man said. His nametag said “George.” The woman’s said “Glenda.”

“I didn’t even know it was broken.” Sarah sent up a silent “thank you” to Tommy, the handyman in their apartment building, because if she had a leaky faucet at home, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to fix it.

“Come on in, honey, we’ve just finished. We’ll be out of here right quick,” Glenda said.

“Thank you,” Sarah said.

“Funny to be here by yourself. Almost everybody has children.” Glenda plumped the pillow and surveyed the room. “Makes our job easier, though, for the cleaning. No bits of cereal on the floor, no sticky counters.”

“I’ll bet,” Sarah said.

“Not that we mind,” Glenda continued. “We love children, George and I. We weren’t blessed with them ourselves. That’s why we love this job. We love having all these children around.” She looked to her husband.

“Right,” George grunted.

“Our days are filled with joy, working here. Children bring so much happiness. Seeing all these families with all these children, I feel like I have children myself,” Glenda said.

“Well, we got Dylan, ain’t we?” George said.

“Oh, Dylan.” Glenda turned to Sarah. “He works here too. He’s my brother’s boy. He and my brother, well, they don’t get on.”

“We got Dylan now,” George said again.

“Turned out all right for him,” Glenda said. “He’s got a job. And a place to live.”

“He’s got us,” George said. He helped Glenda gather her cleaning supplies and they headed out.

So that was the pool boy, then, Sarah thought.

Sarah went with Alma Gordon, Mr. Glenn, and Baby Owen to the dining room right at five. They had finished off Mrs. Noonan’s cookies on the drive down. Baby Owen snacked on rice cakes and cheese sticks all afternoon, but the grown-ups were starving.

At the door to the dining room, Sarah paused. She saw her table from the night she overheard the Blackwells argue. Where she waited for so long with little Ben. She remembered the intensity of the man’s emotions. The tiredness in his wife’s responses. What happened to them? How could things have turned out like this?

Tonight they sat on the other side of the room. The rain had stopped, and light poured in through the large windows. The trees looked silvery and sparkly.

She pointed out the other table to Mrs. Gordon and Mr. Glenn. She told them what she remembered about the argument.

“They might have been fighting about the very same things that led to the murder,” Alma Gordon said.

“Only if he did it,” Sarah said.

“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean that,” Mrs. Gordon said.

“But it does sound like they were an unhappy couple,” said Mr. Glenn.

“Julia Blackwell said they were starting to patch things up,” Mrs. Gordon said. “Paul called her to come down to take care of Ben so he and Andrea could have some time alone. After his mother came, they moved to their own room and spent a few days together, just the two of them. Apparently, it did wonders for them. That’s what Julia said.”

Sarah could believe it, wanted to believe it. She had seen the man’s commitment.

“Time alone together is a wonderful thing.” Mr. Glenn patted Mrs. Gordon’s hand. “Even with the little guy, it’s still like being alone.” Baby Owen sat in a high chair next to him and munched on a cheese stick.

“Do you know, she decided to go with Spencer Tremaine,” said Mrs. Gordon.

“What? When?” Sarah asked.

“She must have decided some time ago because he’s already been on the case a week. I think she was too embarrassed to tell Frances.”

“What was wrong with his old lawyer?” asked Mr. Glenn.

“Nothing, most likely. He was recommended by their family lawyer and I’m sure was doing a fine job,” said Mrs. Gordon. “One thing Julia hopes for, and Spencer Tremaine apparently promised, is to get Paul out on bail. The judge thought he was too much of a flight risk and denied bail. Spencer Tremaine said this was inexperience on the lawyer’s part, that a judge will always say this in a high profile case, and the trick is to find an angle, in this case Ben, to compel the court to think past a knee-jerk decision.”

“What about Ben?”

“That Paul needs to be out of jail so he can be with Ben, and that he is not a flight risk because it is too hard to flee with a child. Or something to that effect. When Julia explained it, she had a lot of impressive phrases, but most of it’s gone out of my head.”

“Probably because it was just fluff,” said Mr. Glenn. “Guy sounds like a shyster.”

“But he is Spencer Tremaine,” said Mrs. Gordon dreamily. “That might count for something.”

“I hope so,” said Sarah. “Ben must be lost without his parents. Poor kid.”

“Milk, milk.” Baby Owen had finished his cheese stick. He had a sippy cup in his fist, and he banged it on the high chair tray. “Milk, milk.”

“Owen, Owen, dear, I’ll get you milk.” Mrs. Gordon took the cup and looked around the room. Baby Owen banged his hands on the tray. “Milk, milk,” he demanded.

The waiter was across the room taking an order from another table. Mrs. Gordon fished in her purse and came up with another cheese stick. Baby Owen seemed satisfied and started to eat again.

The waiter came over. Sarah remembered him from before. Emanuel. His black hair was pressed back with a gel, and he had a trim moustache and one gold tooth. “Beverages?” he asked.

“Milk,” said Mrs. Gordon. “For the baby. I’d like hot tea.”

“Hot tea for me too,” said Sarah. The wind whistled outside, and the dining room was a little nippy.

“I’ll have a beer,” said Mr. Glenn.

“Sorry, sir, no beer. No alcohol at all,” said Emanuel.

“No beer?” said Mr. Glenn. “Hmm. Just water, then.”

“Could we order our food now too?” asked Mrs. Gordon. “I’m not sure how long Baby Owen will last.”

“Of course,” said Emanuel. “For the boy we have buttered noodles or spaghetti and meatball or pizza wheel.”

“Buttered noodles,” said Mrs. Gordon.

“And for the adults?”

The menu was written on a chalkboard by the wall. Linguini with clams, rosemary chicken, pizza with mozzarella slices and basil. Sarah and Mrs. Gordon ordered chicken and Mr. Glenn ordered pasta. The food arrived in less than ten minutes.

“This is delicious. And all included in the bill. You’re right, Sarah, this place is a true find,” said Mrs. Gordon.

“It’s pretty neat to watch the chef.” Mr. Glenn nodded toward the half wall where Marco worked away with two skillets. “Hopefully this place won’t get too much publicity. If more people knew about it, I’m sure it would be packed.”

“Well, I think it’s pretty well known already. And not just locally. When I was here before, there was a family from Connecticut. Their kids were older and kept asking when they were moving on to Disneyland. Maybe there’s not enough to keep the older ones interested.”

“And it’s just rustic enough to keep out the hip crowd.” Mrs. Gordon pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders.

“And no alcohol,” said Mr. Glenn.

“Yes, no alcohol. I guess it’s just the young families and us old folks,” said Mrs. Gordon.

“The drive alone will keep us away,” said Mr. Glenn.

“You’re right. Maybe it won’t be mobbed after all. Which is good for me,” Sarah said.

The dining room was only half full, but far louder than when Sarah was there before. They saw the family from the pool and another with three young children, one of whom kept running around the table. The mother struggled with a screaming toddler and a baby while the father corralled the boy. When their food came, the boy sat still, and the toddler devoured her pizza without another word. Another couple had four children, and the family sang songs to keep their baby from crying. Sarah also recognized a couple from her first visit. She noticed them the last time because they seemed to be the only other ones besides Sarah without children. She had talked to them briefly, and they said they lived in San Jose and stopped at the resort sometimes if they took the scenic route back from her mother’s in Los Angeles.

Baby Owen ate his noodles and had several loud outbursts. With all the other children, his shouts were no problem. At one point he called out “wing, wing,” which meant he wanted to swing on Sarah’s arm like he’d done with Harold. They’d started that afternoon, and Sarah’s arm was sore. But she accommodated him, and after a while he wanted back in the high chair for more noodles.

Mr. Glenn spoke, but Sarah couldn’t hear him over the dining room noise. She leaned in. He repeated, “When they say ‘family resort,’ I guess this is what they mean. This is not exactly a relaxing meal.”

Sarah laughed. “I ate later last time. I think it quiets down a bit when the little kids go to bed.”

Mrs. Gordon seemed completely at ease, sitting back in her chair with a smile on her face, perusing the room and sipping her tea.

“Sheer bliss,” she said. “I don’t have to worry about Baby Owen at all. He could yell all he wants in here and no one would care. This is the first meal out with him that I haven’t been on tenterhooks the whole time. It’s a parent’s dream.”

“This and those party places with pits full of balls to jump in,” said Mr. Glenn. “A parent’s dream and everyone else’s nightmare.”