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"April wouldnt take you with her?"
Maias face got even darker. "No. She would not. "
Her tone told me not to pursue that line of questioning.
"And Ronald Terrence is tight with Matthew Pena," I said.
She nodded. "Ron had words with me about this . . . vacation. He didnt threaten, but he let me infer that I might not be welcomed back. Hes called twice since I got here, mentioned that Matthew Pena has been in touch with him. "
"What did you tell Ron?"
"I havent returned his calls. "
This was so unlike Maia, I didnt know what to say.
She closed her fingers around her knees, took a breath.
"Forget all that," she said. "What I really came to tell you— Dwight Hayes called me this morning. The Techsan sale seems to be weighing on his conscience. He said youd spoken with him last night, encouraged him to call me. " She hesitated, steeling herself. "I guess I should thank you for that. "
I tried to stop thinking about Maias job—the junior partnership shed worked so many years to get. "Dwight give you anything good?"
"He was still pretty cagey, but he said in a couple of days we could expect AccuShield to announce theyd fixed Techsans software problem.
"A couple of days?"
"Dwight said theyd wait just long enough to make the announcement seem plausible. "
"Then theyve known what the problem was all along. "
Maia moistened her lips. "Another little secret Dwight let slip— Pena has made a very sweet little deal with his client, AccuShield. Apparently theyre a lot more impressed by Techsans security product than they let on. If Pena manages to turn Techsan around, get the betatesting back on track, get the investors lined up, AccuShield has promised to let him spin off the company as a separate IPO. "
"Meaning what?"
"Money, Tres. Lots of it. AccuShield would keep seventy percent of the stock. Pena gets thirty percent. And Dwight thought the IPO—with the proper backing—could be huge. "
"Huge like family size or economy pack?"
"Total valuation? Think billions, with a B. "
My hands went numb on the steering wheel. "A company Pena paid four million for.
Garretts company. "
Maia nodded. "Id say this is the careermaker deal for Mr. Pena. "
I pulled into the parking lot at Waterloo Records, stopped the truck. The neon cows were dancing above the Amys Ice Cream sign. Even in the daytime, in the middle of June, Christmas lights blinked in the palm trees.
I replayed every word Id said to Garrett the night before, about how he should sell his company. Now, despite the ranch, despite my best rationalizing, I felt like those words should be tattooed on my back with a hot needle. Billions.
I wondered if Ruby had known the real value of what she was signing away. I wondered if shed made some inside deal with Pena. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. It was easier to get mad at Ruby than at myself.
"Dwight wont go on record with this," I guessed.
"Even if he did," Maia said, "its nothing we could take to the police. Dwight had nothing to say about Jimmy Doeblers murder. Or Adrienne Selaks drowning. "
I told Maia about my morning phone call with Lopez, about the call Jimmy had made to homicide two months ago. I told her about the family research Jimmy had been starting.
Maia stared out the windshield. "The fact Lopez knew Jimmy, had talked to him recently, might be enough to taint his investigation. If I had to, I could use it. That and the fact he coerced you and Garrett into making initial statements without a lawyer. "
"Coerced?"
"Sure. You remember. You said Jimmy was asking about his mother. "
I started to tell her about Clara Doeblers suicide.
"I know," she interrupted. "You think the family history is important?"
Her tone told me it wasnt just a processofelimination question. She was testing, putting out a line. I wondered how she knew about Claras death.
"His cousin W. B. runs the family company," I said. "He wouldnt tell me anything, but I got the feeling there might be something about Jimmys death—something that makes the family nervous. "
Maia watched the neon cows. "Garrett and Jimmy had a long history—a lot of bad blood between them. Lopez will use that for motive. "
"I know. "
"We have to be sure Lopez doesnt have a point. "
I didnt like the silence between us—a heavy feeling, like the beginning of a landslide.
I didnt like the fact that neither of us felt confident enough to leap to Garretts defence.
"Jimmy has an aunt in town," I said. "On the phone, she seemed a little more pliable than W. B. We could go see her, try running the family angle. "
Maia studied the palm trees.
"We," she said, like she was testing the word, seeing how much weight it would hold.
I waited through a full rotation of the Sixth Street light, but Maia said nothing more. I figured Id gotten as much of a yes as I could hope for.
I put the truck in drive and headed north again, toward Hyde Park.
CHAPTER 17
Faye DoeblerIngrams house was a small folk Victorian on an unmarked residential half block, tucked behind a vegetarian restaurant and a lesbian gift shop. I drove past, Uturned, and parked across the street at the base of one of the citys moonlight towers.
The front porch was outlined with lacy white trim. The screen door was peach, the porch swing green. Her sidegabled roof had recently been sheeted in galvanized steel. Her yard was a quarteracre garden—every square foot cultivated with herbs and wildflowers, pathways made from broken flagstones. A good deal of money had gone into making the house look quaint and rustic. It didnt look like the kind of place where the resident was accustomed to being rocked by tragedy.
Maia opened the passengers side door, bringing in the scents of the neighbourhood—cut grass and garden herbs.
"Tu es pres?" she asked.
"Just like old times. "
Even a hint of her smile gave me more pleasure than I wanted to admit.
Maia led the way. The white cotton straps of her dress made an X across her shoulder blades. Her hair had grown longer than Id realized. Gathered in a white scrunchietie, her glossy chocolate brown ponytail didnt look so much girlish as formidable—like the mane of a Tang warrior.
The garden was hazy with the smells of catmint, thyme, and sage. We climbed the front steps, ducked under a trellis of grapevines.
The lady of the house opened her screen door before we reached it. "May I help you?"
She was a slight woman in her sixties—stick arms, a pleasantly wrinkled face surrounded by enormous permed hair the bright colour of new pennies. Her jeans and blouse were covered with a gardeners apron, but she wore full makeup and silver jewellery. She looked like a friendly earth gnome whod just been to the beauty parlour.
Maia said, "Mrs. DoeblerIngram?"
"Just Ms. Ingram," the woman replied gently. "Yes?"
She held a spade, a clod of mud stuck to the point.
I said, "We spoke on the phone. Im Tres Navarre. This is Maia Lee, a friend. "
Faye Ingrams eyes got smaller, more wary. "I dont . . . you mean about Jimmys death?"
"Yes, maam," I said. "Thereve been some developments since we spoke, Ms.
Ingram. We thought youd want to be prepared if the police contact you. May we come in?"
She wavered, but refusal wasnt really an option, the way Id phrased it. She let us in.
The house had the same wildly cultivated look as the front garden, clumps of floralpattern sofas, sprigs of end tables blooming with houseplants, tall pedestals topped with artwork, even one of Jimmys large ceramic pieces. The smell of freshbaked cinnamon bread wafted from the kitchen. Somewhere in the back rooms, Dylans Blood on the Tracks was playing. Faye Ingram may have looked nothing like her nephew, but being in her house, I could believe they were related.
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Yet something struck me as out of character—something that told of fear. There was a blinking sensor by the door, discreet wires running up the sides of the windows, a keypad next to the light switch. Laidback Ms. Ingram had one of the finest security systems money could buy.
She led us through a hallway, out into the backyard.
The sun was filtering through the branches of an enormous oak tree. On the sidewalk, a circle of five sun tea jars glowed like some weird, translucent Stonehenge. Lining the fence were tomato and
pepper cages, mansized sunflowers slouched in their last weeks of life—leaves curled brown and seed faces blasted from heat and the work of birds.
We sat in patio chairs under the oak.
"So," Ms. Ingram said uneasily. "You have something to tell me?"
"We wanted to ask about Claras suicide," I said.
If I was expecting a strong reaction, I didnt get it. Ms. Ingrams smile stayed polite, colourless, wavering no more than her hairdo. "Im sorry. I dont understand what this has to do with Jimmy. "
"In the weeks before he got murdered," I said, "Jimmy was researching his mothers past. I know he called you and W. B. and several other relatives. He also called the police, asking for the files on Claras death. I know Claras relationship with the Doebler clan was . . . rocky. It may have nothing to do with Jimmys death. It just strikes me—"
Ms. Ingrams eyes were watery, unfocused, courteous. I suddenly felt guilty, as if I were forcing something unpleasant into a fragile container.
"It unsettles us," Maia said. "The way Clara died, the place. Jimmy dying in the same spot, the same way. "
Faye Ingram laced her fingers together, set them like a little igloo on the mint green patio table. "The police tell me they are close to an arrest. "
"They are," I agreed. "And once they have a convincing possibility, they wont look elsewhere unless they have their arms twisted. The rest of the Doebler family isnt likely to twist, are they?"
"Your brother—he is the one they will arrest. Yes?"
"Yes. "
"And would it surprise you greatly if I refused to help you?"
"No. "
Ms. Ingram read my eyes, then looked toward her garden—the giant, ruined heads of sunflowers. Ms. Ingram nodded, as if shed made a decision.
"Excuse me a moment," she murmured.
She rose, almost trancelike, and wandered inside.
Maia and I looked at each other.
I shook my head doubtfully, by no means sure Faye Ingram would be coming back without the police.
Inside the house, a Bob Dylan track played through. Faye Ingram reappeared. She carried a brown leather binder the size of an Oxford English Dictionary volume. Two sweaty glasses of tea sat on top.
"My manners need polishing," she apologized. "Except for the herb society, I dont entertain many guests. "
We thanked her for the tea.
Ms. Ingrams smile started to reform as she ran her fingers over the old brown binder, smearing the rings of condensation.
I finally realized why her face seemed familiar. She looked like the picture Jimmy had kept on his mantel—her sister Clara. The resemblance wasnt much—a faraway look in the eyes, frailness in the smile, features too delicate to maintain much emotion.