OUT ON A LIMB (12 page)

“And you’ve spoken to her recently?”

Miss Parchester held a finger to her lips as we heard the sound of shoes crunching on dried leaves. “Howie,” she whispered melodramatically. “He mustn’t see you.”

I flattened myself on the platform, my head resting on the brownie tin and my knees drawn up. I’d never felt quite so silly, hiding from someone not yet old enough to frequent a bar. But Howie could have me arrested and hauled to the jail, where further complications might arise.

“Everything all right, Miss Parchester?” he called.

She hesitated, then said, “I did hear some clomping about and voices in the direction of the bluff. I should think those dedicated members of the Green Party whom you had arrested yesterday are out on bond. They very well could be attempting to bring me fresh supplies. I wouldn’t tell you this if I weren’t concerned about you, Howie. If the site is infiltrated, you will be fired.”

I giggled, then clamped my hand over my mouth until Howie’s footsteps retreated. “It’s hard to picture Finnigan scaling the bluff with a bag of lemons clenched between his teeth.”

“You may be underestimating his degree of commitment,” Miss Parchester said with a reproachful frown. “His younger sister was living at Oakland Heights last year when there was a fire. She suffered serious medical problems.”

“Was Anthony Armstrong responsible? Didn’t he comply with all the building codes?”

She gazed at the valley below. “Yes, he did, but Finnigan has learned from a colleague in the geology department that this development is situated on a fault. In states such as California and Utah, where earthquakes are a factor, more stringent building specifications are mandated.”

I held my breath for a moment, waiting to see if the tree would begin to sway as the ground shook beneath us. “We’re on a fault?” I squeaked.

“Supposedly an inactive one, although it’s possible that even a minor shifting could have caused gas lines to rupture in proximity to a pilot light of a hot water heater or furnace. Finnigan suspects Anthony was aware of this and constructed the condominiums despite the remote possibility that there might be consequences.”

“Does Finnigan have proof of this?”

“No, he merely thinks evidence would have shown up on the topographical survey. Having never seen one myself, I have no opinion. He has many opinions, of course.”

I propped myself up on one elbow. “And his sister?”

Miss Parchester sighed again. “I gather from what he’s said that she is recovering but unable to resume her education. I’m not sure if he’s dedicated to the environment or to vengeance.”

“Oh, dear,” I said rather inadequately.

“You’d best be on your way. Howie may return soon.”

“I will, but let’s talk about Daphne for a minute. What precisely did you advise her to do?”

“Let’s continue this later, Claire. I do not want to be responsible for your arrest” She dropped the rope ladder. “And do look after Skyler, please.”

“You know about him?”

“I’m living in a tree, not iii a cave. Run along now. Howie’s likely to be testy when he comes back from the bluff, having found nothing but chipmunks.”

I reluctantly made my way down the ladder, watched as it was jerked up, and went to my car. The situation had become murkier, I had no idea what advice Miss Parchester had given Daphne. I could only hope that it had not been to take no prisoners.

As I sat, tossing around idle thoughts, Randy and Jillian came out of their condo. Both were visibly upset. I briefly debated the wisdom of interfering in a marital spat, then got out of my car and approached them.

“Claire Malloy,” I said. “I gave you a ride the other night, Randy.”

“Yeah, sure. Can I do something for you?”

“Such as?’ Jillian said, sneering at him. “You don’t need a ride right now, do you? You’re going to take the car and go to work. What time will you be home, Randy? Midnight again?”

“You know we need the money,” he said to her, then looked at me, mutely asking for moral support.

I saw the anger etched on Jillian’s face, the lines too deeply drawn to have come from the current argument. I instinctively stepped back, then said, “I could give Randy a ride if you need the car, Jillian.”

“Why would I need the car? Where is it I’d go?”

The door slammed behind her as she went into the condo. Randy and I looked at each other for a long moment. He must have realized I had more sympathy for Jillian than for him, but it was already clear that he was a less than perspicacious young man. I had no idea what he would say.

“Yeah, a ride,” he muttered. “I’d appreciate it. Jillian might need to go to the grocery store.”

I gestured for him to follow me back to my car. Once we’d pulled out of the parking lot, I asked him where he wanted to go.

“The Farberville Fitness Center, if it’s not too inconvenient I work the desk, run loads of towels, clean the showers, put fresh rolls of toilet paper in the stalls. Jillian seems to think I lounge in the hot tub with sorority girls.”

“She seems to think she’s stuck at home with a baby,” I said dryly.

“So what am I supposed to do? We don’t have to worry about rent, but we have other expenses. Jillian just doesn’t understand that the pissant stipend I receive as a graduate assistant won’t cover groceries, doctor’s visits, medicine, utilities, gas, cable—”

“I get the point.”

“We were doing okay until Connor came along,” he said, ignoring me. “Jillian’s parents helped with her tuition, and she had a job at the library. I was being considered for an internship with a software company that would have guaranteed me a job after graduation. So, out of the blue, she gets pregnant.”

“I presume you were in some way involved in that, Randy.”

“She said she was on the pill. We’d agreed to wait until I had a good job and she’d finished her degree.”

I braked at a stoplight. “So you’re punishing her?”

“No, I’m taking a Ml load, teaching two undergraduate classes, and putting in thirty hours a week at the fitness center. She’s changing diapers and watching soap operas all day. She doesn’t read, cook, or even take Connor out in his stroller. I’ve given up trying to have any conversations with her.”

This was not a situation in which I wanted to become involved. I had a good idea where it would go, but I doubted a lecture from me would deflect the sad resolution. As we neared the fitness center, I said, “Did you happen to hear anything the night of the murder? There’s an unconfirmed story that someone saw the girl drive out of your parking lot.”

“That was me. Connor had colic, and I was walking around, jiggling him and praying he’d go to sleep, when I glanced out the window. Things are pretty quiet after midnight, so it was unusual to see someone running across the lot. She jumped in a car and drove off.”

“Did you notice the color or model of the car?” I asked as I stopped in front of the center.

“No, I just heard the car door slam and the engine,” he said. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll have to hope Jillian will have calmed down enough to pick me up after my shift. Guess I’ll find out when the time comes.” He shrugged, then got out of the car and entered the building.

I watched the stream of impeccably clothed men and women, most of them in their twenties and thirties, as they went inside to grunt, grimace, and otherwise regenerate themselves on a daily basis. Adrienne Armstrong would have fit in perfectly, and it seemed likely that she had as recently as the morning after she’d discovered her husband’s corpse.

My dress was inappropriate, but I decided to give it a shot. I pulled a few oak leaves out of my hair, then conscientiously locked my car (as if it might be the prime target in a metallic sea of Mercedes, Porsches, Jaguars, and SUVs large enough to haul soccer goalposts, twenty screaming children, and the odd umpire or two) and went inside.

Even these paragons of physical vitality sweated, I realized as I wrinkled my nose. The carpet looked as if some of them had come directly from the polo field. I wandered down a hall, keeping an eye out for Randy, and ducked around a corner when I heard his voice. The only door opened onto an expanse of six tennis courts, all occupied by players dressed in white and making primitive noises as they slammed their rackets against pastel-colored balls. Adrienne Armstrong was not among them.

I retreated, then paused to listen for Randy’s voice from what I presumed was a reception area. As I may have mentioned in the past, I go to extremes to avoid even the mildest glint of perspiration. Life’s too challenging to inflict intentional discomfort. I therefore did not frequent athletic clubs, and would have been equally as familiar with the facilities of, shall we say, the Kremlin or a Klingon battleship.

I peered around the corner at the main hallway. Two women dressed in designer exercise attire came by, both carrying monogrammed bags and chatting about a fundraiser. I smiled as best I could, causing no more than one well-drawn eyebrow to rise, then waited until they were out the front door before proceeding into the labyrinth, where I might encounter dragons, ogres, and aerobics instructors.

Eventually I went into what proved to be the ladies’ locker room. Half a dozen women were in various stages of putting on or peeling off Spandex shorts, socks, pricy athletic shoes, and halters.

One of them, a peppy thing with wide brown eyes, looked up at me from a bench. “First time?” she asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” I said. “Is this where Adrienne Armstrong comes?”

“Wasn’t that the most awful thing! I could have cried when I heard about it on the news. My husband, Bradley, said it was all the fault of that group of crackpots who want to prevent progress in Farberville. This community is growing, and people have to live somewhere, don’t they?”

“Indeed they do,” I said, sitting down beside her. “Have you seen Adrienne since this happened?”

The woman shook her head. “She missed our Tae Bo class this morning. She’s usually the first one on the floor, and I don’t think any of us could stop staring at her usual spot over in the corner. Bradley had his secretary send flowers to her house, but I’m thinking I ought to go by and see how she’s holding up. Such an awful thing!” She finished lacing up her shoes and slipped terrycloth bands on her wrist. “Are you a friend?”

“Not a close one. How often does she work out?”

“She just puts all the rest of us to shame. She comes for the Tae Bo class every morning, then does the weight machines for an hour. To be honest, my muscles are screaming so bad that it’s all I can do to make it to the whirlpool to soak. Some evenings, if she doesn’t have a function, she’ll come back to run laps in the gym or play racquetball. I don’t know how she does it at her age.”

“Which is?” I inquired.

“She has to be at least twenty-five, but she’s got the tightest butt out here. Just ask Bradley, who was thoughtful enough to share that with me while we were vacationing in Aruba over Christmas. Like I wanted to hear that!”

“Did Anthony come here, too?”

She pulled her hair into a ponytail and secured it with a matching terrycloth band. “Yeah, but not so much anymore. He used to play tennis a couple of evenings a week, but then he started canceling dates at the last minute. Too strenuous at his age, I guess.” She stuffed her purse and bag into a locker. “Kimberlee’s my personal trainer, and she doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Will I see you again out here?”

“Probably not,” I said. “I just dropped by because I’m worried about Adrienne. Such an awful thing, you know.”

“Do I ever!” she said, clutching my hand for a brief moment. “Everybody feels so bad, especially the staff. Adrienne spends more time out here than most of them. She has her charity work, of course, and volunteers at an elementary school, tutoring little minority children. I wish I had as much time as she does, but Bradley’s just now getting his firm on its feet and I work at the reception desk three days a week. Do you have an accountant?”

“Yes, but I’ll keep Bradley in mind if the situation changes.”

I gave her a weak smile, then left the locker room and made it to my car without encountering Randy Scarpo. I’d hoped I might run into Adrienne Armstrong, but in that I had no idea what to say to her, it was just as well. Any mention of Daphne would be awkward.

Hoping that Sally could hold down the fort for a while longer, I resolved to find Joey. There were a few challenging aspects: no last name, no residence, no current employment, no clue to his whereabouts. Then again, Farberville did not have a limitless number of garages.

I decided to start with the garages I’d driven by over the years, and then, if necessary, consult the yellow pages for the more remote ones. Sally might be driving off whatever hapless customers came into the Book Depot, but they would return. And until I helped Daphne, I had custody of her baby.

Asking innocent questions of those who worked in garages proved more frustrating than I’d anticipated— when I could find anyone who would listen. The hierarchy was impossible to determine when all the men wore grease-stained jumpsuits and refused to stop making deafening noises with various pneumatic tools. Although they seemed comfortable standing under vehicles on racks or sliding beneath same held aloft by flimsy jacks, I did not. I’d mouthed my query at six or seven places before a guy jerked his thumb and shouted for me to go into the office.

The older woman seated behind a desk piled high with papers and folders looked up as I closed the door behind me. She had a helmet of bleached hair and serious purple eye shadow, but her smile was amicable.

“Help you, honey?” she said. “Car trouble?”

I sat down across from her. “I’m looking for a mechanic named Joey.”

“Nobody named Joey here, but Mort ought to be finishing up that valve job before long and he can take a look. He’s been working here for eight years, and before that he was over Cannelletti’s shop out towards Farmington. Real dependable, Mort is, and damn smart at pinpointing the problem. No complaints all the time he’s been here.”

“It’s not about my car, although I’m sure it could use some attention from someone as skilled as Mort. This Joey is in his mid-twenties, and he was working in a garage until about six months ago, when he was sent to jail for assault. He was released a few weeks ago.”