Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery) (3 page)

Chapter 2

I read the accompanying story twice before any of it actually sank in. Even then, the words had a peculiar unreal cast to them. That a man could be drinking beer and laughing one day, and lying dead with bullet through his head the next—that was something I was having a difficult time getting a fix on.

     
It happens – I knew that. The pages of
The San Francisco Chronicle
attest to the fact daily. But the names are generally not names I recognize, the faces not those whose smiles have touched my own. And that, somehow, changed everything.

The newspaper account, though nearly two columns long, offered maddeningly little in the way of useful information. Eddie’s body had been found Sunday afternoon by a backpacker in the woods near the south fork of Silver Creek. Preliminary evidence indicated he’d been shot at close range sometime Saturday. There was no sign of a struggle. His car was found later, parked alongside the road about a half mile away. The remainder of the article was given over to highlights of Eddie’s career and testimonials from former friends and colleagues.

My mind played the scene through time after time as I tried to make the words real, to give them the weight that would help me understand. But none of it fit.

Silver Creek runs down from the Sierras in two branches which join about ten miles west of town. The north fork offers spectacular views, picnic areas and, in summer, good swimming. The south fork is smaller, and the terrain around it much more rugged. Eddie’s body had been found near the spillway, a couple of miles from the main highway.

Although I’d not been there for years, I knew the area well, having spent more Saturday nights than I cared to remember drinking and necking along the same lonely stretch of unimproved county road. I couldn’t imagine what Eddie had been doing out there. It isn’t a place many people find attractive.

I scanned the article once more, looking for answers that simply weren’t there, then I stood and dumped my now lukewarm coffee into the sink. My appetite, as well as my thirst for world news, had deserted me.

I picked up the phone to call Jannine, then thought better of it. She was probably neck deep in condolences already, and the last thing I wanted to do was intrude on her sorrow. But I couldn’t simply send a little sympathy note either. I tossed the possibilities around in my head while I showered and finally came up with the idea of stopping by, briefly, with a meal or two. That was the only thing I could remember clearly from the period following my mother’s death—the scores of friends and neighbors who passed through, leaving in their wake, baskets and pots and Tupperware casseroles filled with nourishment for body and soul. Theirs had all been home-baked, of course, while I would have to rely on the local deli. My skills in the kitchen are pretty much limited to boiling water and opening packages, and I sometimes have trouble with the latter.

I had an appointment at the bank that morning to go over my father’s finances, but I could drop by Jannine’s on my way home. Maybe, by then, I’d have figured out how you comfort someone when there isn’t any comfort to be had.

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Mr. Meeder at the bank was very nice, but also painstakingly slow. Although I’d arrived at ten, as scheduled, it was past noon when we finished, or, more accurately, when I’d had about as much as I could take. I hadn’t been able to find the safe deposit key, so the box would have to be drilled out The rest of the paperwork could wait as well.

I stopped by the deli and loaded up on lasagna, roasted chicken, and an assortment of salads, then threw in a couple of bottles of good wine, figuring Jannine might need that more than food. With the kids in mind, I made another stop at the bakery, and then headed for her place.

It was Nona Greely, Jannine’s mother, who opened the door. Her eyes widened instantly. “Kali O’Brien. Gracious me, is that really you?”

I assured her it was, though by then she was hugging me so hard I guessed she’d figured it out on her own. Nona is short and chunky, with an enormous bosom, so that hugging her is something like cuddling a favorite stuffed animal. When I went away to college, her hugs were one of the things I missed most.

“I read about Eddie in the paper this morning,” I told her. “I came to see if there’s anything I can do.”

Her face, which had lit with a smile when she recognized me, darkened again. “Such a terrible, terrible tragedy. How could something like this happen?”

She didn’t expect an answer, and I couldn’t have begun to give her one. Instead, we held on to each other for a moment longer, muted by visions of lives so suddenly, and unalterably, changed.

"How’s Jannine doing?” I asked finally.

“Better than I would be in her shoes. But you know Jannine, solid as they come.” Nona stood aside and gave me a weak smile. “Why don’t you come on in. She’s down at the station, but she ought to be back any minute.”

“The station?”

Nona ushered me into the kitchen where she was in process of making sandwiches. “The police wanted to get her statement.
 
That's what they said anyway, although they talked to her long enough yesterday. I can’t imagine what more they need.”

“Probably an affidavit signed in triplicate on official stationary or some such thing,” I told her, setting my packages on the counter. “You know how bureaucracy works.”

I’d expected a flurry of neighbors and friends, but the house was oddly quiet. If it hadn’t been for the shrill whoops and screeches of the TV cartoon I’d heard on my way in, I’d have thought we were the only people there. “I brought some stuff for dinners. It was the only halfway helpful thing I could think to do. Shall I just stick it in the fridge?”

“Why, honey, how thoughtful. Yes, just stick it in there anywhere you can find room.”

A family refrigerator, I discovered, is not at all like a single woman’s. It was so chock-full of milk cartons and plastic-wrapped bits and pieces I couldn’t recognize that it was a struggle to find room for more. When I’d shifted and shoved enough to close the door, I stopped for a moment to admire the drawings which papered the front. Most of them were Lily’s. Big formless sweeps of purple and red crayon, her name printed at the bottom in Jan nine’s neat hand, along with the date. In the very center was one obviously drawn by an older child—a sketch of a man I took to be Eddie, standing in a field of flowers, the words, “I love you Daddy” scrawled across the top. I could feel the knot in my stomach twist up and grow tighter.

“How are the kids taking it?”

“Lily doesn’t understand, of course. I’m not sure Laurel does either, she’s only four. But the two older ones are pretty shaken.”

Nodding silently, I sank down into one of the yellow rail-back chairs. The years fell away, and I was suddenly back in Nona’s big, pleasantly old-fashioned kitchen where I’d spent so much time wrestling with my own loss. They’d been my lifeline then, she and Jannine. Sixteen years, and it seemed like only yesterday.

"How did it happen, exactly? The paper didn’t have much information.”

Nona had her back to me, spreading mayonnaise on slabs of bread. “I’m not sure I know much more myself. Jannine called me yesterday about five to say

Her words were cut short by the sudden, sharp slap of the back screen door. Jannine dropped her purse in the corner, and then, without saying a word, slumped wearily into the chair next to mine. She looked half-dead herself, worn and frayed around the edges like a cast-aside rag doll.

“Kali brought us some dinner,” Nona said, in an overly cheerful tone.

Jannine looked up at me and smiled, but only for a moment Then she rested her elbows on the table and stared woodenly off into space.

“How’d it go, honey?”

Jannine shrugged.

I reached over and covered her hands with my own. “I’m so sorry,” I told her. The words sounded hollow, but Jannine nodded numbly.

Then her eyes filled with tears, and her mouth began to tremble. She took short little breaths as though she were gasping for air. “It was awful,” she said, pressing her fists hard against her mouth. “Eddie’s dead and they don’t even care. They kept asking me all these dumb, picky questions, over and over. I’d answer, and they say it back to me like it was the stupidest thing they’d ever heard.” Her voice wavered and she swallowed hard. The tears spilled over and streamed down her cheeks. “It’s almost like they don’t believe me. Like they think I killed him.”

I gave her a quick, reassuring hug. “That’s just their way.” I’d dealt with enough cops to know that the brusque manner pretty much came with the uniform, but it didn’t always reflect what went on underneath. “They want to make sure they’ve got it all exactly right,” I told her. “Details are important.”

“Maybe,” Jannine said, but she didn’t look convinced.

“Do they have any leads yet?”

“Besides me, you mean?” She gave a brittle laugh and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I don’t know, they didn’t tell me much. ‘We’ll be in touch’ seemed to be about the extent of it. I’m sorry, Kali, but I’ve got a splitting headache. I’ve got to go lie down.” She smiled once more, fleetingly. “Thanks for coming by, and for bringing food. It was real nice of you.”

“Go on and rest, I’ll stop by again tomorrow.”

Jannine pushed back her chair and stood unsteadily. “Are the kids okay?”

Nona nodded. “I’m making them lunch right now.” Jannine paused by the kitchen door as though she might say something more, but then turned and left without another word.

“Dear God in heaven,” Nona whispered, her voice hoarse and trembley. She stood motionless for a moment, staring at the empty doorway, then she took a deep, labored breath and resumed her sandwich-making. “Would you like some lunch?” she asked me over her shoulder. “Or a cup of coffee? It won’t take long to make a pot.”

I shook my head. “In fact, why don’t you let me finish with the lunches. I'll bet you could use some rest yourself.”

“Thanks, honey, but I need to keep busy.”

“At least let me help then.” I got out glasses and started to pour milk.

Nona turned abruptly and faced me. “You really want to help?”

“Of course.”

“Then see if you can find out what’s going on.”

I must have looked puzzled.

“With the police, I mean.”

It took a moment before I understood what she was asking. “You think they might actually believe Jannine killed Eddie?”

Her face closed up tight. It was a look I knew well. “You can’t be serious,” I said.

“I know them, Kali. Once they think they’ve found the killer, they won’t look any further.”