Quilting Mystery: Knot In My Backyard Part 16

Beavers took a deep breath. "So that's why you're really here. You're trying to find the homeless witnesses I told you about, aren't you?"

"I resent that! Can't I just be doing a simple good deed?"

"Not when you're here with Levy and all his biker friends. Did you think I wouldn't realize you're meddling in police business again?"

Well, that's snarky!

I was all huffy until I remembered Uncle Isaac also called me a "meddler," only in Yiddish. He called me a kuchleffel. He also suggested I didn't trust Beavers to do his job.

Didn't I? The thing was, I did trust Beavers. Since Aiken wasn't ready for us to share our information with the police, I counted on Beavers to understand what I could only hint at.

I couldn't come right out and tell Beavers about Martin's affair with Diane Davis because of my promise to the Beaumont groundskeeper. Beavers would want to know where the information came from, and I'd have to tell him. I needed to point Beavers toward a possible criminal conspiracy between Beaumont and the corps, a conspiracy that might have resulted in Dax Martin's murder. If Beavers followed the trail, he might get to the affair on his own.

"What if the homeless witnesses could identify the killer? What if the killer then reveals something not kosher involving the baseball stadium, which connects to Dax Martin and the Beaumont School and even the headmaster and the Army Corps of Engineers?"

Beavers waved a sweeping hand around the wildlife reserve. "Let me give you some friendly advice, Martha. Get out of this c.r.a.p hole and go home. Your fun is over for the day."

My patience ran out and I was on my last nerve ending, but I bit my tongue. I wasn't ready to be dismissed. "I know I'm right, Arlo. Lawanda Price and Barbara Hardisty from the corps are up to their ears in this. Why won't you at least consider what I'm telling you?"

"You and I've been down this road before. I know you're smart, and I know you have this weird knack for educated guesses, which turn out to be right. Unless you and your new boyfriend over there have some real information, I'm outta here."

That does it! Now I'm officially p.i.s.sed off.

"Listen, you self-righteous prig. You couldn't be more wrong about me. Not that I care anymore, which I don't. Yossi Levy is not my boyfriend! But you know what? He'd like to be. You're not the only fish in the sea. Maybe I'll consider climbing on the back of his bike and sliding into his b.i.t.c.h seat!"

It started in the corner of his mouth. Small at first, because I knew he was trying to control it. Then it crept into his eyes and burst out of his nose.

Arlo Beavers was laughing! "'b.i.t.c.h seat'?"

Fury nearly blinded me as I followed everyone else out of the reserve. With his long legs, Beavers easily climbed past me, chuckling on the path to the road above. I don't remember walking back up. I was so mad. Tears of humiliation blurred my vision; and I could have slogged through an entire stinking landfill, for all I knew or cared.

The television reporter waited for us at the top of the access road. "Hi, I'm Heather Park from ABC news." She asked Beavers's name, then shoved a microphone in his face and turned to the camera.

"We're here at the Sepulveda Basin Wildlife Reserve in Encino, talking to Detective Arlo Beavers, of the LAPD. Detective Beavers, what can you tell us about the gang activity today?"

Beavers still had a smile on his face. "There was no gang activity here today."

Heather Park leaned forward aggressively. "Well, then, why was the riot squad here? The people of Los Angeles deserve to know what's going on in their own backyard."

Beavers leveled a look at her, refusing to rise to the bait. "I'm glad you asked. We responded to an urgent call for help and sent a dozen officers here to handle a report of violent gang activity. The call turned out to be a false report, which will end up costing the taxpayers thousands of dollars."

"Was this another incidence of 'swatting'?" She referred to a recent spate of prank calls to 911 resulting in the deployment of SWAT teams to locations where no crime was being committed.

"Filing a false report is a crime. We're now focused on finding the person responsible." Beavers flicked his eyes in my direction.

So he did listen to me! Beavers would check out what I told him about the Army Corps of Engineers. I felt hugely relieved and a little less angry.

Crusher's truck backed up out of the reserve and turned onto the road with a loud rumble. The interviewer raised her voice to be heard over the noise. "What did go on down there today, Detective?"

Beavers pointed to where I waited for Lucy and Birdie. "This lady can answer the rest of your questions." Then he strode toward his silver Camry.

The interviewer approached and asked my name. "We're talking to a Marsha Rose."

"Martha. It's Martha Rose."

She ignored me. "Marsha, can you tell me what went on down there today?"

I mentioned the West San Fernando Valley Quilt Guild and my Encino neighborhood. "Even though there's a heat wave right now, we're concerned about what the homeless people will do in the winter when the weather turns cold and rainy. We gave away over fifty quilts and blankets today. We also distributed toiletries and hygiene products donated by concerned neighbors."

The dull expression in her eyes said this wasn't the kind of story she had hoped for. "Such a good deed to do on a Sunday morning. Thank you, Marsha. Now back to the studios."

She hurried away.

"It's Martha. Martha Rose." Then I untied my shoes and placed them on the side of the road.

Lucy walked over. "Birdie's not riding back with us."

"Why not?"

She pointed over to where the Harleys were parked. Birdie giggled while Carl carefully adjusted a black helmet over her long white braid.

CHAPTER 27.

As soon as I got home, I looked for the message light on my phone, hoping to hear from Simon Aiken, but n.o.body had called. I really needed to tell him what I overheard in the park between Lawanda Price and Barbara Hardisty.

In all the enthusiasm about helping the homeless, I'd forgotten about Charlissa's Weight Watchers meeting this morning. One week had pa.s.sed since I joined, and I was due for a weigh-in. I'd either have to find another meeting tomorrow or skip this week. I sighed. After my encounter with Beavers, I really didn't care much about anything.

I scrubbed my feet with rubbing alcohol before stepping into the shower. My walking shoes sat forever abandoned on the side of Burbank Boulevard, near the access road to the wildlife reserve. I only wore them three times, and all three times nasty things had soiled them. It was a sign: Clearly, a walking career wasn't in the cards for me. I'd have to figure out something else to do for exercise. Maybe when this was all over, I'd ask Ed about Yoga.

Hot water and shampoo suds rolled down my body as I let myself cry. I didn't think I had any more tears left, but there they were, mixing with lilac-scented soap and Pantene. How could Beavers ever think I could be sleeping with another man? Then when I threatened to actually do it, why did he suddenly laugh? I refused to think about it.

I stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. The homeless Latino man revealed Javier and Graciela were staying with someone at the Heart of Zion Church in Van Nuys. Even though the time was after two on a Sunday afternoon, I wanted to see if the church would still be open. Maybe I'd find Javier and Graciela, or at least someone who knew where they were. I quickly got dressed.

Lucy and Birdie were waiting for me at Ed's house, where everyone went for ribs and beer. To take his mind off his troubles, Ed offered to feed us when we got back from our mission at the wildlife reserve. Since I didn't eat pork, Ed was also barbe-quing some chicken. I briefly wondered if Crusher would opt for the chicken too. After all, he said his bandana was a religious head covering.

I hated to miss out on the party, but we had no time to waste; the witnesses could be on the move. If I didn't go to the church right away, I might lose my only opportunity to talk to them. I looked up the church address on Google and hurried down the street to Ed's.

I looked around for Aiken, but he wasn't there. Ed stood over a smoking barbeque in the backyard while people sipped drinks and laughed. Birdie listened intently to Carl, and Crusher stared at me like a trapped animal while Sonia chattered at him. For a fleeting moment, he reminded me of a big, lost teddy bear-I wanted to give him a hug.

Lucy walked toward me, holding a can of diet soda. "Hi, hon. Feel any better?" She knew seeing Beavers again rattled me.

"I'm so over him."

She looked at me sideways. "No, you're not."

"I don't want to talk about it. At least not here."

I walked over to the dining table and picked up a chicken breast and wrapped it in a paper napkin to eat in the car. I also grabbed a frosty can of diet cola. "Listen, Lucy, I can't stay. I got a lead on the witnesses and have to go over to this church in Van Nuys. I came to see if you wanted to come with me."

"Sure. Let's get Birdie."

Carl hunkered toward Birdie with an animated expression. ". . . and we only missed running into the sucker by an inch. Man, that was a good ride."

Birdie smiled at him. "You were so brave, dear. I'm sure the driver will never forget such a close call."

Carl beamed.

I gave them a little wave of greeting. "Sorry to interrupt, Birdie. Lucy and I are going to run an errand and want to know if you'll come with us."

"All right, as long as I don't have to walk. My knees are shot from standing all morning. Where are we going?"

"To church."

We drove in Lucy's vintage black Caddy. Lucy's husband, Ray, was a successful auto mechanic, who had a string of shops and a wide collection of loyal customers. He loved to restore old cars, and this one purred like a panther in love. I sat in the creamy leather backseat and read directions out loud between hungry bites of savory chicken.

The storefront church was situated in a strip mall on Vanowen Street, surrounded by three-story apartment buildings with FOR RENT signs in Spanish. Next to the church sat a convenience store, a panadera, and a liquor store.

Although the overwhelming majority of Latinos were Catholic, various Protestant denominations had made inroads in Latin America. Consequently, many immigrants brought their Protestant traditions with them and small, independent Christian churches emerged in the Latino community of Los Angeles.

We parked on the street and walked toward the sign saying IGLESIA CORAZN DE SIN. Music flowed from within-singing accompanied by the sound of guitars, drums, and a trumpet. I looked at my friends. "I didn't expect there'd be an actual service going on."

Birdie lowered her voice as we neared the door. "So many little churches are like families. They spend all day Sunday together. They wors.h.i.+p in the morning, and then they eat lunch together and have fellows.h.i.+p in the afternoon. Some of them have evening services or Bible studies to top off the day."

"I'm impressed with such commitment."

"It's a tight little community, dear. So tight, they may not be willing to hand over your witnesses. You'll have to be careful how you approach them."

The windows and gla.s.s door of the storefront were covered with beige privacy drapes. Lucy pulled open the door and we immediately stepped into a small white room, with around fifty dark-haired men, women, and children sitting in folding chairs facing a six-inch raised platform at the end. Two tall oscillating fans swept the crowded room, working hard against the heat.

The wall behind the platform featured a hand-painted mural. Christ stood on a hill in a light blue robe with a spiky yellow halo behind his head. His arms were raised in blessing over a crowd of people and animals. Parked discreetly behind the Savior, on a side road, was a red truck with SANDOVAL CONSTRUCTION lettered on the side. Maybe Mr. Sandoval donated the money for the mural.

A middle-aged man, with nut-colored skin, sweated in an electric-blue suit and stood behind the lectern at the side of the platform. He sang and clapped along with his flock to the music of four musicians. Happy voices sang in Spanish, and I caught the words "Dis," "gracias," and "bendicin" ("G.o.d," "thanks," and "blessing"). Three men who sat in the back row quietly stood and gave us their seats.

When the singing ended, the pastor gestured to the back of the room and boomed out, "Bienvenidos. You are welcome in the name of the Lord."

All heads turned and one hundred eyes focused on the three Anglo ladies sitting and smiling self-consciously. Birdie waved her hand. "Thank you so much. We feel most welcome."

Everyone clapped as the pastor gestured for us to stand. I regretted I hadn't thought to wear something dressier than just my clean jeans. Then again, I hadn't expected to walk into a religious celebration.

As we stood to be acknowledged, I leaned over to Birdie and whispered, "What exactly is going on?"

"Anglo visitors are uncommon, dear, especially in such a small Spanish church. I think they just want us to feel at home." Her eyes teased. "Smile big, or they may try to convert you."

We sat and the singing continued for the next ten minutes. Little children craned their necks to get a good look at us. I scanned the room. Were any of the couples the one we were looking for? Finally the singing ended and the pastor began to speak in Spanish. I understood about 30 percent of the words, but I couldn't string them together into anything meaningful.

Lucy leaned her bright orange head of hair in my direction and whispered, "What's he saying?"

I shrugged. "I don't really understand. Something about Jesus."

Lucy just looked at me. "Duh."

Were Javier and Graciela in this group? When I ruled out those mothers with children, a dozen couples still remained. Which one were they?

The service ended at around four and the pastor made his way to the back of the room to shake the hands of his flock as they left the storefront. I imagined they were all going home to prepare dinner.

Finally he turned to us with a smile and big question marks in his eyes. His English was only slightly accented. "I am Pastor Luis Sandoval."

Oh. That explains the red truck.

"Did you ladies enjoy the service?"

I spoke up. "We certainly did."

"Even though you don't speak Espanish?" His voice was unmistakably wary.

"We very much enjoyed the music," answered Birdie.

He looked at me; a sharp intelligence sparked his eyes. "You aren't dressed for church. Ladies of your generation normally wear their good clothes to church. My guess is you didn't expect to encounter people actually wors.h.i.+pping. When you did, you decided to stay, anyway, because you really came here seeking information of some kind. How am I doing?"

Lucy and Birdie looked at me as I took a tiny step forward. This man was astute. "You're right so far, Pastor."

"How can I help you, seora?"

I didn't waste time. "Six days ago, I discovered the body of a man who was murdered, not too far from my house. One of my neighbors is being blamed, even though he is innocent. The police have already questioned him once and they may arrest him soon. I want to prove he couldn't have done it."

"How does that involve my church?"

"A homeless couple was camping nearby on the riverbank. I found out their names are Javier and Graciela Acevedo."

Luis Sandoval's eyes went dark. I was in the right place.

"Somebody told me the couple is staying with someone from this church until they can find a ride out to Mountain View. I need to speak to them before they go. If the Acevedos saw the killer, they can tell the police it wasn't my friend. They might even be able to identify the real killer."

"If these people do exist, seora, their lives would be in danger. They wouldn't be safe talking to the police. Even if they could be protected from the killer, once they were exposed, they couldn't be protected from immigration. If they were deported back to their country, they'd be executed. They're political refugees."

"I've got a lawyer who could help them for free. What if this lawyer could get someone in the US Attorney's Office to grant them political asylum? If the Acevedos were given refugee status, they wouldn't have to return to their country."

"That would be a wonderful thing. Such a thing would guarantee their safety in a very important way. In that case, seora, they most certainly would be able to tell the police what they saw. They might be able to identify the killer."

"So they did see the killing?"

He said nothing.