Chapter 28
L
ibby cruised down Miles Street looking for Esmeralda's address. The last time she'd been here, she reflected, the town had pretty much been Irish and Italian. Now judging from the signs it looked as if it was mostly Latino.
If she had time Libby decided maybe she could stop at a few of the bodegas on the way back and see if they had anything interesting in the way of food. She loved doing stuff like that because you never knew what you were going to find. Like some genuine queso blanco. That would be nice. There was a Sonoran chicken recipe she'd been dying to try, but she needed the cheese to make it work.
As she drove by the houses, she couldn't help reflecting that they looked as if they'd all been cloned. She'd hate to have to come home drunk. They were all four-story brick affairs with concrete stairs with black iron railings affixed to them. Maybe the builder's brother-in-law had owned a brick factory, Libby reflected as she looked for Four Hundred and Thirteen.
According to Bernie, Avalon had been built as a company town to house the workers from the pharmaceutical plant. But then the plant had left for the South and the town had stayed.
Libby glanced at her watch. It was a little after three and she had to be back at the store in an hour and a half to start work on the dinner party she was catering for Mrs. Burns. That left her not very much time to do what she was going to, especially not if she wanted to do a little food shopping as well.
This was probably going to be a waste anyway, she decided as she scrutinized the numbers on the houses. Most of the people would probably be at work, but when she'd said that her father had pointed out that most investigative work was a waste of time.
You just asked questions, he'd told her and hoped that eventually you got answers that led to something else. Most of the time you didn't. Which was all very nice and everything. Her dad could afford to be philosophical. He wasn't running a business like she was.
Finally Libby spotted the number she was looking for and parked the van almost in front of it. At least there wasn't a parking problem here she thought as she unstuck her blouse from her back. Then she reached into her backpack and brought out a sugar cookie. And this time, thank heavens, she wasn't going into a tunnel.
She didn't know if she could do something like that again. Walking through that passageway had been the totally scariest thing she'd done in a long time. As she ate her cookie, Libby studied the house Esmeralda lived in. The place looked like all the others. The only thing that distinguished it was that someone had chained a dirt bike to the stairs.
Come to think of it, what happened to her bike? It had disappeared from the hallway when she'd been in eighth grade. Probably Bernie had taken it and lost it like she'd lost her charm bracelet, Libby thought as she grabbed her stack of
A Taste of Heaven
menus and her bag of sample muffins.
The faster she got this done, the faster she could get back to what she really needed to do which was wash the sand out of the basil so she could start making pesto for the dinner. She slowly mounted the outside stairs. There was so much humidity in the air it felt soupy. Then she opened the outside door, and stepped into the vestibule.
According to the names on the buzzers, Esmeralda lived on the top floor in apartment one. There were six flats altogether. If this were a movie, Libby reflected, right about now she would be jimmying the door open, going upstairs to Esmeralda's apartment, picking that lock too, and going inside. As it was, she started ringing bells. No one was home. Or if they were they weren't answering. So much for Bernie's brilliant idea.
She turned and weighed her options as she started down the stairs. Go to the van? Try the buildings on either side? Definitely the buildings she decided after a moment. Canvassing them would only take another ten minutes, at the most. Then she could honestly tell her dad and Bernie she'd done as much as she could.
She'd just finished ringing the bells to the building on the left and had started walking towards the building on the right when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Libby spun around.
A youngish girl, complete with multiple piercings and spiked, dyed coal-black hair was staring at her.
“If you're looking for Laci, she's not home,” she said.
“I'm not looking for Laci,” Libby told her.
“You're not her aunt?”
“I'm not even her relative.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Distributing flyers for my restaurant.”
“Really?” The girl took the gum she'd been chewing out of her mouth and dropped it in the street. “Then how come you didn't leave any just now?”
Good question,
Libby thought. Now if she could just think of a good answer.
“Are you the social worker?” the girl asked.
“Do I look like a social worker to you?”
The girl looked her up and down. “Yeah, you do. Especially the shoes.”
“Well, I'm not.” She hated to admit it but maybe Bernie was right about her getting rid of her sandals Libby thought as she opened up her bag of muffins. Perhaps it was time she started wearing heels. “Here. Have one.”
“What kind are they?” the girl asked warily.
“All kinds. Blueberry. Chocolate chip.”
“I like Dunkin' Donuts blueberry muffins.”
“Mine are better. Really,” Libby told her.
The girl hesitated. Finally she said, “I'll try the chocolate chip.”
“Here.” Libby handed her one.
“So what are you really doing here?” the girl asked after she'd taken a bite.
Libby sighed. She was so bad at this stuff. Which was why she usually told the truth. It was easier.
“I'm trying to find out something about a woman.”
“Who?”
“No one you know.”
“How do you know who I know?”
The girl was right. “Okay it's Esmeralda Quinn.”
The girl took another bite of her muffin. “Sure I know her. She's always complaining that Laci plays her music too loud and getting her into trouble. I mean she was bad before, but now with that weirdo guy she was seeing back again, man she's impossible. I mean according to her, Laci should just curl up and die. Who goes to bed at eight-thirty at night? She acts as if she's two hundred years old.”
Libby could feel her heart start beating faster.
“What weirdo guy?”
“I don't know. He had a funny name.”
“Jura?”
“Yeah.” The girl grinned. “Or something like that.”
“Does he stay over?”
“Yeah. Is he going to get in trouble, if he did?”
“No,” Libby asked. “Why?”
“Too bad. I'd like him to. The guy is a jerk. My mom says people like that get what they deserve anyway, but then she believes in alien abductions too. Can I have another muffin?” the girl asked.
“You can have the bag,” Libby told her.
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Bernie had just finished waiting on a customer when her cell rang. “So was I right or was I right?” she said to Libby after she'd finished talking.
“Okay. Okay,” her sister told her.
“Admit it. I won,” Bernie replied.
“You are beyond competitive,” Libby shot back.
“Like you're not,” Bernie was on the verge of telling her when Jo Ann Quinn marched into the store. “Libby, I gotta go,” she told her sister and hung up.
As Jo Ann approached the counter Bernie reflected that she looked slightly hung over from Bree's party last night.
“Hi,” Jo Ann said. “I thought I'd take you up on your offer and try your takeout. What do you recommend?”
“The ginger chicken,” Bernie said promptly. She could probably eat it every day of the week.
“I'll take a pound.” Then she pointed to the string bean salad. “Also half a pound of that if you don't mind.”
Bernie reached for one of the take-out boxes as Jo Ann leaned in towards the counter.
“About last night,” she said.
“Yes?” Bernie replied as she slipped on her disposable vinyl gloves and looked around for the scoop. Where had Amber put the dratted thing?
“I had a few too many margaritas.”
“Don't we all at some time or another,” Bernie said.
“When I drink I talk too much.”
Bernie measured out the ginger chicken. “So do I.”
“I never should have said what I did about Esmeralda, especially to you.”
Bernie folded the flaps together and started on the string beans.
“You didn't say anything.”
Jo Ann bit her lip. “I shouldn't have talked to you at all. If I'd known what you were doing, I wouldn't have.”
“Why not?”
“For the same reason you wouldn't talk about your sister to me if our positions were reversed. I just thought I ought to tell you.”
Man, does she have a guilty conscience, or does she have a guilty conscience,
Bernie thought after Jo Ann had left.
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Sean looked at Libby while she readjusted the fan. At nine o'clock at night it was still seventy degrees outsideâway too warm for him. “Did you get the girl's name?” he asked her.
Libby hunched her shoulders up which Sean knew meant no. He hated that gesture. It was like wearing a kick me sign.
“I should have, shouldn't I?” she told him.
He started to say,
damned right you should have,
but changed it to, “It doesn't matter anyway.”
Which wasn't exactly true. It did matter. When you wrote up a report having a name to put in it was a necessary thingâin fact, it was the first requirementâbut he had to remember he was dealing with civilians. Anyway if he said that to Libby she'd just go all soppy on him and he'd have to spend twenty minutes picking her up and dusting her off.
How he'd raised a daughter as thin-skinned as Libby was a mystery to him. Look at her the wrong way and she turned to mush. But she was better than she used to be, he reminded himself. At least now she didn't begin to sob every time you told her she'd done something wrong.
“I'm sorry,” Libby repeated. “I justâ”
Sean cut her off. “It's fine. Let's go over what we do know.”
Libby's shoulder's came down a notch.
“You start,” Sean told her.
“Well, we know that Esmeralda was sleeping with Jura before Leeza came along.”
Sean nodded approvingly.
“And we know that Leeza took her place,” Bernie said as she came in and handed her father a Cosmopolitan.
Sean took a sip. He'd rather have a beer but, hey, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth as it were.
“And we know that Esmeralda got a raise when Leeza died.” Libby added.
“And we pretty much know from what the girl Libby talked to said that Jura's back in Esmeralda's bed again,” Bernie said.
“Maybe he's just sleeping there,” Sean suggested.
Bernie rolled her eyes. “Yeah. No doubt because Esmeralda's apartment is so nice that he prefers staying there than in his, what, million-dollar home? Of course he went back to herâshe's there.”
“It's true. Men always go back to the familiar when they can,” Sean conceded.
“Conservation of effort,” Bernie said.
“Isn't that a law of physics?”
Bernie laughed while Sean tapped his fingers on the armrest of his wheelchair. “In any case I think it's safe to say that for Esmeralda nothing but good comes out of Leeza's death.”
Bernie twirled a lock of hair around her finger.
“And everything bad comes out of Leeza being alive.”
“Sounds like a strong motive to me,” Sean said.
“Me, too,” Libby agreed.
“I wonder if she's involved in that caviar scam?” Bernie mused. “It would be interesting to find out.”
“But doing that would be hurting Jura, wouldn't it?” Libby exclaimed.
“Exactly,” Bernie said. “How does the song go? You always hurt the one you love.”
Sean took another sip of his drink, even though it was a little sweet for his taste. “I've changed my mind. I'm beginning to like Esmeralda for Leeza's murder. I'm beginning to like her a lot.”