Twenty-Four

The next few days, for the five of us, were a haze of Neosporin and acetaminophen. I wanted calamine lotion and Paracetamol but I’d have had to go to Mexico and run them back up across the border, so I dealt with it as best I could: bitching and whining and bugging everyone.

We kept a careful eye on the place, but there were no more visits from the scion of the Poggios. Roger coughed up to have the pool drained and cleaned and Diego was so inconsolable that on the third day, I finally knocked the crust off the worst of my facial boils and set off, with Todd, to the pet shop. We had parked outside when my phone rang. My blood ran cold when I heard the voice on the other end of the line.

“Beteo County courthouse, clerk of courts here, for Lee—k—seth Campbell?”

I cleared my throat. “This is she.”

“This is she,” said Todd in a Monty Python voice, and rolled his eyes.

“There are papers in the mail, Ms. Campbell,” the voice said, “but the judge wanted to make sure you got this immediately.”

“Oh?” I said. Here it was then. The start of the citations that would line the Cuento coffers and empty Bran’s bank account.

“I’m calling in connection with case number—”

“Wait, wait!” I said, scrabbling for a pen as he reeled off a string of digits.

“—and to inform you that your undertaking is complete.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I said. I waved a hand at Todd to try to stop him mouthing What? What? at me.

“You are the Lee—k—seth Campbell who cosigned a bail bond for Mrs. Visalia Bombaro in the matter of—”

“Oh!” I said. “Yes!”

“Some people would remember a thing like that,” the clerk said. “Well, anyway, the case against Mrs. Bombaro has been dropped and she has been released without prejudice from her bail conditions.”

I clutched Todd’s arm. He wriggled out of my grasp and smacked me. His main aim was to get through the boils without any permanent scars. Remembering how he looked in the tiny white Speedos, I agreed it was a worthwhile goal. Me? I’d seen my body in enough swimsuits to know it was no biggie.

“They’ve caught the real killer?”

“I’m just passing on a message. Mrs. Bombaro was insistent that you be told immediately.”

“Well, that was nice of her,” I said. “She could just have phoned me though. Is that all?”

The clerk huffed. “Some people would think that was plenty.”

I killed the call and turned to Todd with tears in my eyes. “Vi has been released from her bail,” I said. “She wanted me to be told straightaway.”

“Why didn’t she tell you herself?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I hope she’s okay. Could you … ?”

“On it,” said Todd, already taking a late corner and heading for The Oaks. “I know it’s not likely, but will you call…?”

“On it,” I said, already dialling. “Barb? Lexy. Just checking in. You’re okay, are you? Nothing going on?”

“Lexy!” Barb sounded sober, cheerful, and entirely un-arrested for murder. “Nothing’s going on here except me getting tormented every day by the neighbor from hell over a few small lapses in cleanup during my remodeling project.”

“Oh?”

“Her kids used my paint cans as helmets and might have got a tiny little bit of paint in their hair. An improvement, if you ask me. Dishwater blond and not a single eyelash between the whole family. But you should have heard her bitching.”

“Some people!”

“Don’t tell Teo!”

I agreed. Todd was concentrating on the road anyway. We raced through the winding streets, empty and flagging on another triple-digit day.

“That’s weird,” I said as we rattled along the road towards the house. The firework gates were standing open. Todd took the drive on three wheels and pulled up at the front steps with a squeal of his brakes.

The door opened as we piled out and we saw Sparky Dolshikov standing there with a swollen nose and bug-eyes from crying.

“We heard about Vi’s bail getting lifted,” I said. “I just wanted to come and say—”

“You’re too late,” Sparky said, sniffing. “She’s gone. You missed her.”

“Oh, Serpentina!” I said. “I am so, so sorry!”

I went to hug her but she put a hand up and stopped me. “Do you have some kind of disgusting disease?”

“No, but good point. Is there anyone else here who could hug you? Are you alone?”

“I had no idea how alone,” she said and started weeping again. “My marriage is over. All my plans for Boomshik-a! are in tatters, and now Auntie’s gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Todd, coming round the car and hugging her hard, risking all kinds of disaster to his golden perfection. She laid her head on his shoulder and wept. Then she sniffed and straightened up.

“Well, it’s probably a net gain,” she said. “But just a lot to take in at once.”

“Net gain,” I repeated.

“My husband wasn’t a keeper, as it turned out,” she said. “As soon as he heard the terms of Auntie’s bequest, I couldn’t see him for the dust. The whole marriage was just a way for him to get his hands on Uncle Boom-Boom’s empire. Can you believe that?”

“Shocking,” I said, deciding that this wasn’t the moment for honesty.

“So I’ve got a company to run,” said Sparky, “and a staff to placate after the whispering campaign that tanked my light-show plans. I’ve got a marriage to end, and I need to go house-hunting. And somehow I need to get into Auntie’s safe to see if there’s any information in there that might help me.”

“And,” I said, unable to help it (occupational hazard), “you need to grieve.”

“For that turd?” said Serpentina. “He’s lucky I didn’t cut up his pants into little pieces.”

“I’ve seen his pants,” said Todd. “You’d be doing him a favor.”

“I meant for Visalia,” I said. “You can’t avoid mourning, Sparky. It only gets harder if you do.”

She stared at me a minute before she spoke. “Why would I mourn Auntie Fizz?” she said. “She’s not dead. She’s just gone.”

I was surprised at the waves that passed over me then. I really had failed completely at that professional distance thing. All the time she’d been talking I’d been telling myself that my client-counsellor agreement with Visalia had ended and her suicide wasn’t on me. But still there was a double wash of relief—a hot flood then a cold one, followed by a short bout of vertigo and finally a warm glow.

“Gone to Sicily?” I said. “Are the plane tickets gone?”

“No idea,” said Sparky. “I just know she signed over the business to me on condition of my divorce, gave the house to someone called Barbara Truman”—Todd squeaked—“and left. Where were the plane tickets?”

“She gave Barb the house?” I said.

“In recognition of all the unpleasant tasks Barb took off her hands over the years,” said Sparky. “Whatever that means. I’ve no idea. Do you?”

“Not a clue,” I lied. “But listen, the tickets were in the safe and I know the code.”

Inside, Casa Bombaro had changed. I had always thought of Boom as the spark in the marriage and Vi as the rock, but there was no denying it. This house, without the little woman who reigned over it, was a husk. I wondered what Barb would make of it, but not for long. Anyone who wore peach and black hibiscus-print hot pants in her fifties would take to a house full of gold and mirrors like a duck to water. And, a side benefit, Dorabelle would hate her.

Of course, I didn’t know the code and Todd could hardly start cracking with Sparky right there in Vi and Clovis’s bedroom, but it was easy to get rid of her. I looked around at the stripped bed, the empty nightstands and the bare hangers inside the open wardrobe and gulped. I wasn’t entirely acting.

“C-c-c-ould I have a glass of water?” I asked. Sparky headed towards the en suite bathroom. “Oh. Could I have a bottle?” I said.

“Let me get it,” Todd said. He was great at this. Serpentina immediately said she would go, but it took away any lingering notion that we were trying to get rid of her.

I sat on the edge of the bed bracing myself against the slide of the mattress cover and watched him go to work. The door was hanging open by the time we heard Sparky coming back up the stairs. When she entered the bedroom, he was sitting beside me pretending to pat my back, but not actually touching my boil scars.

“Sorry,” I said. “I opened it before I thought, but I haven’t looked.”

Todd had looked. There were a few compliment slips and covering letters in the back where they’d washed up and one item only under the light in the middle of the shelf.

Sparky drew it out and frowned at it. “Who’s Lay Ga S—” she said.

“It’s for me?” I said, managing to sound surprised. She handed it over and I undid the flap.

My dear Lexy, the note said. I know you only intended to counsel me and yet you ended up doing so much more. I could not have got through the last week without your help and support. Please accept a small token of my friendship and gratitude. It will be delivered in a day or two. Always, Visalia.

“That’s nice but it’s no help to you, is it?” I said. Sparky was reading the little scraps of paper left over in the back of the safe.

“Neither are these,” she said.

“Well then,” said Todd. “Looks like that’s that. Maybe we should make tracks, Lexy. I was thinking of dropping in on my mom. See how she’s doing.” I nodded with a smile. I wanted to be there to see what Barb made of this too.

As I gathered myself to stand, the phone at the bedside rang. Without thinking I picked it up.

“Mrs. Bombaro?” said a voice. Probably a cold call.

“Um,” I said.

“This is Leila from FA Plus Club at Alitalia.” A cold call.

“I’m n—” I said, but she rolled on.

“I’m calling to let you know that there’s been a delay in your flight this afternoon. The SFO to Roma leg has been put back to five thirty, I’m afraid, which means your Palermo connection is unlikely. As one of our valued Plus Club members we will, of course, provide you with hotel accommodation.”

But I was gone.

“She’s flying to Rome and the plane leaves in two hours,” I said. “Let’s go! We can say goodbye! We can say bon voyage! We can say thank you!”

“Tell her to call me,” Sparky shouted after us.

I stopped dead, making Todd run into my back. “You’re not coming?”

“Uh, no,” she said. “If I come I’ll be arrested for elder abuse. She’s left me a factory and no house to live in while I run it.”

I spun, resumed my run, and jumped into the passenger seat, then drummed my fingers while Todd walked sedately to the driver’s side and climbed in.

“One of my boils burst on your back when you stopped dead,” he said. “If I get a scar on my pec, it’s your doing.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Come on, Todd! San Francisco! Go, go, go!”

“I’m not driving to San Francisco so you can say goodbye to a client,” he said. “I’ve got two of the little suckers on each buttock and if I drive for three hours, I’ll have them forever.”

“You’re kidding!” I said. “I can’t drive to the airport on my own. I’ll wrap the car round a lamppost or take it off a bridge.”

“Better hope Kathi or Nolly’s not busy, then,” he said. And there was no shifting him.

Noleen’s t-shirt told me everything I needed to know. The front said DON’T and the back said EVEN. I ran over to the Skweeky Kleen, wincing with every chafing step, and prepared to beg Kathi.

“I’m in if we take Roger’s road rocket,” she said. “He had it detailed yesterday. I’d like to meet this woman who stands up to the Poggios and goes back for more.”

I marched into Todd’s room, ignored him standing naked in front of his mirror inspecting two miniscule pimples on one buttock, grabbed his keys, and marched out again.

“Way-hay!” said Kathi, sliding into the car like Starsky (or was it Hutch?) through the window. It was a Duke of Hazzard. “San Francisco, here we come!”

“Open up your Golden Gate!” I sang.

“Bay Bridge,” said Kathi. “We’ll pick up 101 South in the city. The causeway over to the Golden Gate’s a parking lot. Let’s go, go, go!”

We went, went, went about a hundred yards before we heard the chirp of a police car behind us and pulled over. I looked in the side mirror and saw Mills of God, the slow cop, ambling up to us. I didn’t think anything of the fact that he came to the right side of the car. I hadn’t been here long enough to really accept that everything was back-to-front. Toll booths to drive throughs, it always seemed lucky that they were on the wrong side too as well as the steering wheel of the car I was driving.

“Jesus,” said Kathi, watching him, “he’s coming for you, Lexy.”

He drew up and twirled his hand to tell me to wind down the window. “Ms. Campbell?” he said. “I saw you passing. Just a word, won’t take a minute.”

“Right,” I said. “Got it. Kathi, bring me some clean knickers if I’m still there on Sunday, will you?” I undid my seatbelt.

“No need to get out,” said Soft Cop. “I just reckoned Molly wouldn’t have told you how it went down. She’s got a real hard-on for you and she’s as stubborn as hell.”

“Who’s Molly?” I said.

“Detective Rankinson,” he said.

I blinked. “You mean Mike?”

“I don’t like that name,” said Mills of God. “I mean, yeah. Mike the Dyke. That’s her station nickname and she never says a word about it.”

“Oh. My. God,” I said.

“I don’t like it, though. It’s not nice to talk to a lady that way, or put all that crap all over her desk every day.”

“Kids’ toys and kitchen equipment?”

“They’re good guys, but they’ve got a sick sense of humour.”

“Oh God,” I said. “And … when you say she’s got a hard-on for me?”

Mills blushed from his over-tight collar to the roots of his pale ginger hair. “I didn’t mean anything dirty,” he said. “I mean, she won’t tell you to stop and won’t show she cares, but you are getting to her.”

“And that stopped her from telling me something?”

“Oh! Yeah. We found a Marco Poggio, flew in Saturday, hired a car from the Hertz at the airport, stayed at the Great Northern, and tried to leave yesterday. We picked him up. He said it was a free trip from an anonymous benefactor. To Cuento. Not L.A., not even Yosemite. Cuento. So the DA charged him and dropped the case against Mrs. Bombaro. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Officer, do you think you could maybe give me a parking ticket or something so I’ve got an excuse to come in and say ‘Molly’ about ten thousand times?”

“Don’t worry ’bout that,” he said, with a laugh. “You been lying low but now that you’re back on the streets you’ll get plenty of chances. Now I’m gonna go. It’s too damn hot to be out here.”

We said our goodbyes and drove away. Kathi said nothing for a while and then: “Molly. I prefer ‘Mike.’”

“I am absolutely mortified,” I said.

Kathi was looking in her rearview mirror. “There he goes,” she said. “Okay, let’s see what this baby can do!”

It could do lots. We shot like a rocket through the endless I-80 strip malls, up and over the hills into the Bay, all the way down through the Berkeley bottleneck and the bridge chaos, skirting the skyscrapers and spaghetti flyovers, and arrived at the airport turnoff in just over an hour.

“International,” said Kathi, sliding across four lanes while the anxious tourists pottering along in their rental cars braked and swerved to get out of her way. She parked outside the terminal in the no parking zone, slapped a DOCTOR ON EMERGENCY CALL sign on the dashboard, and jumped out. “I looove borrowing the docs’ cars,” she said. “Come on, Lexy.”

We ran into the terminal, dodged the check-in queues, and pelted to the security line that was snaking along so sluggishly, taking Visalia away. I prayed we weren’t too late.

But that’s prayers for you. After all we had gone through, we didn’t make it. We were indeed far too late to say goodbye.