One Hot Mess Part 24

"Two kids died just last summer." He looked through the winds.h.i.+eld. "We shut down the operation. But they keep springing up. Ammonia's easy to come by on the farm. They're just kids. Bored. Confused. Things happen. Even if it's not in L.A."

So he'd been warned off the case and he was going to comply. "Was it her husband? Do you think he was involved?"

He sighed, shook his head. "Truth is, I don't think he has the b.a.l.l.s for it."

"Someone else, then."

"There was no forced entry. No sign of a struggle."

"So it was someone she knew. You said she had a lot of friends in Edmond Park."

"Look elsewhere."

I watched him. "Because you don't want a black mark on your little piece of paradise?"

"I'm good at my job, Christina."

"And you don't want to lose it."

"I can do some good here. If you get the kids early enough, you can sometimes save them."

"And Kathy Baltimore doesn't matter."

For a moment I thought he'd defend himself, but he didn't. "Set up a timeline," he said.

"What?"

"Lay out the facts. Give yourself lots of s.p.a.ce. Use everything you know. How, when, where. Look for a pattern."

"You're not going to try to stop me?"

He chuckled. "s.h.i.+t, if Rivera can't stop you, I don't have a chance in h.e.l.l."

"You could try."

"If I did, would you-"

"No s.e.x," I said, then: "Maybe you're covering for Baltimore's husband."

He didn't respond.

"Are you?" I asked. "Is that-"

"I know a monster when I see one."

I narrowed my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"My old man..." He paused. "Mom was lucky to survive."

"He beat her."

"Whenever he was drunk. Which was usually." His throat constricted. He took a deep breath, seemed to clear his head. "And I... I kind of fell through the cracks. That's not going to happen to the kids in Edmond Park."

I nodded. I believed him. Maybe I was naive, but it seemed unlikely after all this time. "Well... it's been-"

"d.a.m.n entertaining," he said, and chuckled, mood seemingly restored by the time I exited the car.

20.

I believe my father may have been born during low tide of the gene pool.

-D, a self-made gangster BOUGHT POSTER BOARD at an office-supply store larger than most third-world countries, removed the seascapes from the wall of my office at home, and pinned up the overgrown paper instead. After that I taped up the pictures of the three victims and wrote their stats beneath their photos, per Tavis's suggestions. I wrote lesbian under Kathy's pic, alcoholic under Manny's, and Wiccan under Carmella's. Next I dragged my checkbook out of my purse, squinted at the microcalendar on the back, and noted the dates of their deaths.

They meant nothing to me. But I was in too far to quit now. I didn't even try to pretend otherwise. Instead, I picked up the phone.

"Senator." I was gripping the receiver like an undersize linebacker on his first catch.

"Christina." He sounded surprised to hear from me. "It is late. Nothing is wrong, I hope."

Yes, a s.h.i.+tload of things were wrong. I had recently acted like a hormonally charged nut-job, I was obsessed by a case that no one seemed to take seriously, and a man who hadn't had s.e.x for nearly half a year had looked at me with pity in his eyes. Pity!

"Did you get a chance to look over the list of names I sent you?"

"Christina..." He sounded exasperated and a little tired. People have been sounding like that since the day I learned to say "candy." "As I have told you, there is no need for you to go to this trouble. The deaths are a terrible tragedy. But I have discussed them with several experts in the field. They all agree that this is nothing but a coincidence."

Then why had he originally asked me to look into it? And why would he later insist that I stay out of it? The sneaky part of me that understood men like the senator suggested that he wanted me on the case while he officially stated that he wanted no such thing. Maybe to cover his a.s.s if his son became irate. Maybe for reasons even the sneaky part of me couldn't understand.

"Was the governor one of them?"

"What?"

"Did you ask the governor to make sure Kathy's death wasn't investigated further?"

There was a pause. "I would have little reason to do so."

"Is that a no?"

"Yes." His tone was a little frosty.

I mulled that over for a second. "And what about-"

"I've told you all I know," he said. Someone murmured something in the background. It sounded like a woman. "One minute," he murmured back at her. I imagined him carrying the phone into his office as his footsteps echoed on the hardwood. Salina Martinez had died on that hardwood, her face still as perfect as a porcelain doll's.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company," I said.

"An old friend."

For reasons unknown, an image of Thea Altove's stunning baby-doll face popped into my head. I wondered momentarily if I should try to be diplomatic. But I was uncomfortable breaking with tradition. "How old?" I asked.

He paused for a moment. "I have known Teddy for a long while."

I thought about that for a second. "Did he have some sort of unfortunate accident in his formative years?"

"I am not certain I understand what you-"

"His voice sounded pretty high," I explained.

If he found me amusing, he hid it admirably. "He brought his lovely daughter with him. Thea. I believe you may have met her at Caring Hands."

I scowled. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not psychic. So why had I envisioned Thea's s.h.i.+ning face?

"Haven't daughters of old friends gotten you in enough trouble already, Senator?" I asked. He had known Salinas father also.

"They wished to see my rancho." His voice was a little cool when he responded. "She is an excellent equestrienne."

I could imagine them together, perfectly dressed in their Western finery. Despite their age difference, they looked inexplicably right together. I shook the image out of my head. "About the names-"

"I shall be at home tomorrow evening if you feel the need to discuss matters further."

"I'd rather discuss matters now." Patience may be a virtue, but it's not mine. I'm still looking for mine.

"My apologies," he said. "But I will not be rude to my guests."

I squelched the question about whether he would screw his guests, and we hung up a moment later.

I felt grubby and tired and in need of a bath. But I had no bath. My current bath was in the next house, which reminded me of Ramla's tears.

I spent the rest of the evening looking into immigration policies but didn't learn much.

The next day sped by like a unicyclist on crack.

My first two appointments were newcomers to my clinic. Always nice to know there were fresh crazies hatching every day. Mr. Lepinski came next, though he didn't have an appointment and he didn't come alone.

"Ms. McMullen." He stepped through my door with his usual temerity, but there was happiness in his eyes. "I'd like you to meet someone."

Coming fully into the room, he motioned a woman in behind him. She was in her mid-thirties, plump, with hair reminiscent of an earlier decade. Her pants were a nondescript beige, as was her blouse. In fact, she was almost invisible. Until she smiled.

"This is Penny," said Mr. Lepinski, and his lips crept into a grin big enough to make his mustache twitch.

She reached out her hand. We shook. "Ms. McMullen..." She cleared her throat. Her eyes were as pale and blue as distant mountains. "I'm sorry to barge in like this."

"No problem," I said. All grown up. "It's nice to meet you."

They sat down side by side, not holding hands but looking like they kind of wanted to. Try as I might, I couldn't really remember feeling like that. Although I had a vague recollection of wanting to rip off men's clothes. And an even clearer recollection of wanting to rip out their hearts.

"I've been wanting to ..." She glanced at Lepinski. He was smiling full bore now. It looked strangely natural on his peaked face. "Well, I've been wanting to thank you."

"Thank me?" I settled back in my chair, trying to look intelligent, but it had been another long day.

"Well, yes. The truth is ... if you hadn't... if it weren't for you, Howard would have never left his wife. I mean..." She looked appalled by her own words. "Not that I'm a home wrecker or anything."

I had to admit, she didn't look like a home wrecker or anything. She looked kind of like wallpaper.

"But Sheila, she's ..." Her brow furrowed. I had an idea it might have been as angry as she could look. "It's not that she's a bad person..." She paused. Her mouth twitched. She switched her gaze to Lepinski. "Well... you know what... she kind of is," she murmured.

And I liked her immediately.

By the time they left, I was a little in love, but I refrained from giving Lepinski a high five. Instead, I told Penny, "I'm so glad you stopped by." I planned to say something equally acceptable to Lepinski, but instead I just waggled my eyebrows at him. He looked momentarily shocked, then grinned deliriously, ducked his head, and followed her outside.

It was the highlight of my day.

Knowing I would be seeing the senator that evening, I called Laney and asked to have lunch, but Solberg, forever selfish with her time, had already snagged that meal. So we determined to meet on the following day.

I arrived at the senators domicile at 7:04 p.m. He lives in Pacific Palisades, an upscale community on the Santa Monica Bay and a couple of castes above mine. I'm just below maggot. He might not be a cow, but his status as a mammal is pretty well locked in.

"Welcome, and please... come in," he said, and raised a gracious hand, apparently having forgiven me for implying he was out to sloop another friends daughter. Perhaps because he was out to sloop another friends daughter.

I was a little surprised he hadn't moved out of his posh digs after Salinas death, but who am I to question the way of the mammal? The house looked much as I remembered it. The vestibule was large, paved with marble, and open.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked, and led me through an arched doorway into the living room. It was vaulted. Persian rugs covered the pale hardwood. Half a football field from the stone fireplace, an ornate, antler-p.r.o.nged rack held headgear. A low-crowned cowboy hat for playing caballero. A Lakers cap, great for cheering Kobe at the free-throw line. And a captain's cap; yachting was just one of the senator's pa.s.sions.

I was out of my depth and sinking fast.

"There is a splendid red," he said. "A little ostentatious perhaps, but quite piquant."

I was incapable of deciphering wine gibberish, but I was pretty sure it involved alcohol, and even a maggot is smart enough to know that I had done enough drinking around the Riveras. In fact, I believe I had once imbibed enough to admit to Mrs. Rivera that I did indeed want to see her only son sweaty and naked.

"Maybe just a gla.s.s of water," I said, and hoped that wouldn't be a little strong for my const.i.tution.

He canted his head. "You must indeed have something rather serious to discuss."

"Three people have died," I reminded him. Maybe my tone was a little dramatic.

He nodded, looking both intelligent and sincere before turning toward the kitchen. If his const.i.tuency had seen that expression, I was pretty sure they would have voted him king high commander. But maybe that was his hope.

In a minute he was back, bearing a gla.s.s of ruby wine for himself and sparkling water for me. He indicated a grandiose leather couch that stood near the fireplace. I took it while he settled into its smaller comrade on the opposite side.

While I daintily sipped my water, he placed one ankle over his opposite knee. His pant leg draped perfectly, revealing a scant inch of dark, high-quality sock and polished leather shoes with a sa.s.sy ta.s.sel. His s.h.i.+rt was as wrinkle free as a cheerleaders chipper brow.

I felt a little crunchy.

"So despite everything, you continue to believe the two deaths were somehow connected," he said.