C
HAPTER
29
I spent a restless first night at home waking up several times to Arthur’s toenails clicking on the hardwood floor as he made occasional rounds through the dark house. At six in the morning, he jumped on my bed and began licking my face. I sighed, stumbled through the kitchen, punched in the alarm code on the keypad next to the back door, and let a desperate dog outside.
Then I filled up food bowls for both animals, put on a pot of coffee, and went back to my bedroom to get dressed. Rising so early wasn’t on my agenda, but I was facing a long day of organizing my house. Having to get out of bed to let the dog out gave me the push I needed.
After breakfast I went into the yard with the pooper scooper and almost immediately found what I was after. Arthur was a big dog. It seemed I was becoming an expert in cleaning up dog crap. Only a couple of days ago I hosed a messy pile off Birdie’s porch. Apparently the police were unable to find anyone on her street who witnessed anything. Birdie and Lucy didn’t have an active neighborhood watch like I did.
Wait a minute. Didn’t Sonia say the Eyes of Encino patrolled the streets after I was arrested? Maybe one of the Eyes saw the killer leave the package of dog doo on my front porch. Or maybe they saw the killer around my house the night I was in jail, the night of the break-in. Maybe one of the Eyes had information that could lead us to the killer and blow the case wide open. Much as I hated to, I needed to ask Sonia about the patrol.
I walked across the street to her house and up the cracked cement walkway, which was planted on both sides with pansies and marigolds in a hideous mix of dark purple and bright orange. Flakes of turquoise paint peeled off her front door like bad skin. I knocked.
Sonia wore a red silk bathrobe with twin gold dragons embroidered on the front. The robe, like Sonia, had seen better days. She usually wore her long hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, but now it draped over her shoulders and down her back in a thin brown curtain. I’d always pegged her as younger than me, but seeing up close the gray roots of her hair and the bags under her eyes, I realized she was well into her fifties.
She narrowed her eyes. “What a surprise, Martha. You’re not someone I ever expected to see.”
She was so right. Nevertheless, I put on a smile and took a deep breath. “Hi, Sonia. I’m here because I’m hoping you can help my investigation.”
“Investigation? What investigation?”
I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper and looked over my shoulder. “I can’t talk outside because I don’t want anyone else to hear. Can I come in?”
She took a cautious step aside, and when I walked into her living room, I smelled a pungent herbal tang in the air, something vaguely familiar, mixed with the fragrance of sandalwood incense in a smoky layer of air. Sonia directed me to a worn sofa and chairs draped with printed cotton cloth from India, which had also seen better days. A framed photo of people I thought I recognized hung prominently on one wall.
“Would you like some tea? I’ve just brewed a pot.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Sonia walked through a rattling curtain of purple beads as she entered her kitchen. I jumped up quickly and examined the photo on the wall. There was a very young Sonia snuggling up to—no way! He signed the picture
To my groovy little chick, Sonia. Luv forever, Mick
. That must have been a very long time ago because Sonia was no longer “groovy” and these days Mick looked positively wasted. Had Sonia really been one of Jagger’s girlfriends? Sonia’s brush with greatness, her proximity to fame—was that why she lived in a time warp, this shrine to the seventies?
Sonia walked back into the living room with two steaming mugs. “So, tell me why you’re here.”
I sat and took a sip. Mint and chamomile. Yuck. What I wouldn’t give for a strong cup of dark French roast with cream. I took another sip. “Delicious. Thanks.” Then I put the cup down and leaned forward. “I’ve been secretly working with the police.” Not exactly a lie—the secret part was real. Beavers didn’t know I was doing this.
Not convinced, she waved her hand. “The cops just busted you four nights ago. The whole neighborhood knows that.”
I thought fast. “The arrest was just for show. I actually spent the night in a nice hotel, not in jail. We wanted the secret operation to look like the police were after me so I could gain the confidence of the bad guys.” I could hardly believe how easily I could lie to this woman.
Sonia put her cup down, her eyes wide open. “Really?”
She was hooked. Now to reel her in carefully. “Can I count on your keeping a secret? I mean, you absolutely cannot tell
anybody
.”
“I’m good. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
Yeah, like that could ever happen. Yentas are like Google and Wikipedia in human form. Just give them a click and they’ll tell you much more than you ever wanted to know.
“I knew I could count on you. You’re the guiding force behind our little community. You know everything that goes on, and now I need your expertise.”
She looked at me for a few seconds. “I gotta say, Martha, I always thought you didn’t like me. Even when I rescued your cat, you never thanked me.”
Sonia’s private world seemed to be all about the past. I’d never seen a man at her house, nor much of anyone else, come to think of it. I supposed Sonia was lonely. Maybe that was why she was such a gossip, inserting herself into other people’s lives as a way of getting attention and feeling important. I was ashamed of the contempt I’d shown her. She probably rescued Bumper with good intentions. Who knows what would’ve happened to him if the killer found him in the house. “You’re right, Sonia. I never thanked you, and I’m sorry. You did Bumper and me a huge favor. It was really very kind of you.”
Sonia’s face softened, and she smiled. “Well, apology accepted.”
I smiled back. “Sonia, I need to focus on one thing in particular. Did you see anyone or anything unusual at my house Tuesday or Wednesday night?”
“The cops came by and asked everyone on the street the same question. I told them I hadn’t seen anything. Neither did anyone else, so far as I know.”
“You told me yesterday the Eyes have been patrolling the streets ever since my fake arrest.”
“Right. Ron Wilson arranged shifts for all the guys.”
I only knew Ron vaguely. He lived on the next street and hung out with a bunch of other geezers, some of them original owners of the midcentury homes in our tract. Those old vets loved reliving their glory days and playing soldier on our quiet suburban streets at night.
“Were they out Tuesday and Wednesday nights?”
“They were.”
Yes!
“I’m wondering if any of them saw any unusual activity around my house. Someone at the door? A strange car parked outside?”
“We can check with Ron. He keeps a log.”
“Really? He keeps records?” My voice was two notes short of a squeal. This could be the break I’d hoped for. “Can you give me his phone number?”
“I’ll do better than that.” She picked up the phone. “Hi, Ron. This is Sonia. I’m bringing my neighbor Martha Rose by to talk about all the stuff from last week. No, she’s been out of jail for a few days. Anyways, that was all just a big show to throw off the real bad guys. She’s working with the cops right now in some secret investigation, and I’m helping her.”
See what I mean? Wikipedia.
She ended her call. “Just give me a minute to get dressed.”
While Sonia was in her bedroom, I wandered around looking at her dusty knickknacks. Rainbow-colored dream catchers, really old copies of
Mother Jones,
new copies of
People
magazine, and a purple yoga mat rolled up in the corner. Hello! What was this? A bong? I sniffed the mouthpiece. Yup. Exactly what I thought I smelled.
Just then Sonia walked back into the living room wearing black flowing pants, a white peasant shirt, and sandals. She pulled her long hair into a clip at the back of her neck, revealing turquoise studs in her ears. This neighborhood yenta living right across the street from me was at one time the loose-haired girlfriend of Mick Jagger. Who knew?
She looked at the bong in my hands. “It’s not what you think.” She gave a wry smile. “I’m legal. I use weed for medicinal purposes.” Made sense. Medical marijuana dispensaries were now legal in California. I had considered using weed for my fibromyalgia pain, but so far I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask my doctor to write a prescription.
Of course, marijuana dispensary staff physicians wrote hundreds of prescriptions a day. Anyone could walk in the front door without a scheduled appointment and get a prescription for about a hundred bucks. Ten minutes for the script, another few minutes to buy the weed and a bong.
Fifteen minutes later Sonia and I sat in the Wilsons’ living room looking at a hefty old guy with white hair cut military style. The floor plan of Ron’s house was the same as mine. The built-in bookcases and slightly crooked finish molding around the windows and doors told me Ron was a do-it-yourselfer.
A wizened little Asian woman came into the living room and greeted us with a slight accent. Then she turned to Ron. “I go to the store now. Be back soon.”
“Don’t spend all my money.” He smiled.
She looked at us, rolled her eyes, and went out the door.
“Been married over fifty years. Best little woman in the world. What can I do you for?”
I jumped right in. “Did the police ever come by your house to ask about Tuesday or Wednesday night of this last week?”
“No, nobody came by our street.”
“I understand you arranged for patrols, though, and you keep a log. Do you know if anyone saw anything unusual around my house those two nights?”
“What’s your address again?”
I gave him my address. Ron frowned and closed his eyes. “I think I remember something.”
My heart started pounding as he reached over to a small table next to his chair and pulled out a spiral notebook with a worn blue cover. He moved his rather large girth in his black leather recliner and handed me the book . “Me and the boys sign in each shift and write down everything that looks out of the ordinary. Nobody’s ever asked to see the log before. What’s this about, anyway?”
“I’m in the middle of an investigation. I can’t talk about it. It’s strictly a need-to-know kind of deal.”
Ron nodded and winked. “I was in the army. Korea and Nam. I know what you’re sayin’.”
I smiled. “I’m glad I can count on you.”
I turned the pages until I found Tuesday night. Ron signed in at nine.
Neighbor Martha Rose arrested. Confessed to harboring a terrorist cell in her basement.
Eyes of Encino patrol activated.
Objective: hunt down terrorists.
Result: none found.
Oh brother. They believed the basement thing? According to the log, each man was relieved after two hours and a new man signed on, but apparently nobody saw anything useful. Just a possum crossing the street and crawling under someone’s house at two in the morning.
Darn
. The killer was able to break in to my house and trash it without being detected. Some patrol. I turned to the entries for Wednesday night hoping for better luck and very nearly jumped out of my skin when I read:
Zero thirty hours: Tall, slender woman leaving front porch of Rose house. Obviously not the homeowner.
Wait just a minute. What was obvious? Because she was tall or because she was slender?
No lights on inside. Glasses. Fifty something. Subaru sedan. Plate # 3ARB997.
I wrote down the information. “This is exactly what I was hoping to find. Great work, Ron. Thanks so much.”
Ron winked and gave me a thumbs-up.
As we walked back to our street, Sonia smiled hopefully. “We could go back to my house and have more tea, or maybe go to your house. Do you realize I’ve never been inside your place?”
Poor Sonia. I was as gentle as I could be. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to develop this very important lead you’ve just given me. I’m afraid I don’t have time. You’ve been a tremendous help and I’m going to make sure the police know about you.” I made a mental note to send her some flowers. Purple and red ones.
Back home I closed the door behind me and called the florist. Then I called Detective Beavers. I explained about the Eyes of Encino. “You wouldn’t have known about them because the guy who runs it lives on another street. They didn’t see anything on Tuesday night, the night of the break-in, but one of the guys actually saw someone at my house Wednesday night. He said she was a tall woman, which doesn’t make sense. The description doesn’t match the composite drawing of the quilt thief, and besides, all of the suspects are men.”
“I’ll have to talk to the guy who saw her. He might have been mistaken about the gender. In the dark, a tall slender man might be mistaken for a woman.”
I immediately thought of Alexander Godwin. Would the elegant Doctor Godwin lower himself to place dog crap on people’s porches? Hard to believe.
“This isn’t much to go on. Did the guy notice anything else?”
“I’ve saved the best for last. He actually got a license number.” I gave him the license number and make of the car.
“Great. Hold on a minute. Didn’t you promise to stop poking around just twelve hours ago?”
“It’s Arthur’s fault.”
“Huh?”
“While I was cleaning up after him, I remembered about our neighborhood patrol and wondered if they could have seen who put the dog poop on my porch on Wednesday night or who broke in the night before. Anyway, aren’t you supposed to bring me my computer today?”
“I’ll try. Depends on where these plates lead me.”
“Well, I’ll be home all day long getting my house back in order.”
“How’s Arthur doing?”