Perfect Sax (21 page)

A
fter Dexter departed, I sat in my rented SUV, engine idling, thinking too hard about everything. My usual bad habit. The In-N-Out Burger truck backed slowly out of the driveway of the Hutsons’ beautiful Craftsman-style home. I watched the guy navigate the turn into the street when I noticed Zenya Knight’s Range Rover coming into view. She pulled up across the street and found a parking space. That’s right. She was coming to pick up her son, Kirby, from Ryan Hutson’s party. I cut my engine and thought hard about what to do.

I’d confront her. I’d find out what I needed to know about Dexter. I flipped my rearview mirror down and looked at myself, taking stock. I was reduced to living by impulses lately. I said aloud, “Get a grip, Bean.”

If only I had been able to go back to my own home and take a shower, like I was used to doing after a long event, I’d cool down, rethink, take it slow. But going home had lost its power to comfort. In just one night’s time, that sanctuary was lost to me.

I watched Zenya through my windshield as she stepped down from her Range Rover, oblivious to me sitting in my parked car, and crossed the road to the Hutson house. She was beautiful as always, dressed this afternoon in tight tan
cropped jeans and a pink top. I detected some slight family resemblance between Dex and her that I hadn’t noticed before—the same big hazel eyes, the same fair coloring.

I needed to figure out what was going on between her brother and me. I could prolong my anxiety or I could talk to Zenya Knight. That meant I’d be stepping right over the line of good family-of-the-boyfriend relations and on into hell. I took a breath and reached for the door handle.

My cell phone rang and I wrestled it out from the depths of my bag.

“Hello.”

“Is this Madeline Bean?” The male voice mispronounced my name slightly. He said the last syllable like “lin” while I pronounce it “line.” I never correct people, though. Let them call me what they like.

“Who’s this?”

“My name is Brett Hurley. You don’t know me.”

I’d heard the name Brett recently. Where?

“Anyway, I got your cell-phone number from a police detective. I hope that’s okay.”

Brett Hurley. Sara Jackson’s troubled boyfriend. I remembered it all now.

“I’m glad you called,” I said. “I’m sorry about your loss. Do you think you’re up to talking about Sara?”

“Kind of. Yes. Do you think we could meet somewhere?”

On a normal day, I’d ask him to meet me at my office. But I wasn’t keen on being there at the house alone on a Saturday. My house had become the enemy. Besides, how could I ask Sara Jackson’s boyfriend to go to the site of her murder?

“I’m not sure. Where are you?”

“I’m just driving,” he said. “I can meet you anywhere.”

I thought it over as I watched Zenya walk to the front door of the Hutson home and then correct herself and follow the walkway to the side and around to the back, where the party
was just ending. The muted sounds of several jazz solos had ceased, as had the applause that had followed. Now all seemed quiet and guests began departing.

“I’m parked in Pasadena,” I said. I was out of ideas for meeting spots. “Why don’t you drive over here and we can talk.”

He hesitated a second or two, but then agreed and asked for the street address. He said he could be there in less than twenty minutes. It was as good a spot as anyplace for me. I was homeless. I couldn’t keep bringing folks over to Wesley’s little house. We both needed our space, and Wes had given up too much of his privacy out of friendship for me. I felt horrible about putting him out. If it meant I would take up working out of the trunk of a rental car, so be it.

By the time I had disconnected with Brett Hurley, Zenya was coming back out through the gate, accompanied by her twelve-year-old son, Kirby. He was a sturdy-looking boy who had not yet hit his growth phase, still about six inches shorter than his mom. Kirby’s cargo shorts were damp from his lark in the Jacuzzi, and he carried a large instrument case, his gait awkward as he swung the heavy case across the front lawn.

I stepped out of my SUV and called Zenya’s name. She shaded her eyes in the afternoon sunlight and saw me.

“Madeline? Hi! I was looking for you inside. Connie told me you left already. And Kirby just told me Dex was here, too. I’m sorry I missed him.” She walked across the grass and joined me on the wide sidewalk that edged the huge homes in this leafy neighborhood. Kirby trudged behind.

“Zenya. I wonder if I could talk to you for a minute.”

“Sure. Of course.” She turned to her son and gave him permission to go back into the party. She said to leave his saxophone case with her. Kirby looked put out in that way teens have when their parents continue to make boneheaded
decisions that end up ruining a kid’s perfectly good life. But he was happy enough to go back and join his friends. Other parents were arriving and departing with their boys as Zenya turned back to me.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about your brother.”

“Dex?” She looked so happy. “You two falling in love?”

When I didn’t light up in that expected girlfriend way, she quickly apologized. “Oh, wow. Did I say the wrong thing? Madeline, I was just kidding. I’m sorry.”

“Dex is a great guy,” I said carefully. “It’s me. I’m having ‘issues.’ ” Then I laughed at myself, so absurd was this conversation.

“What sort of issues?” Zenya asked, concerned.

“Trust, mainly. I was recently involved with a man I thought I could trust. But then it turned out I couldn’t. Or I shouldn’t have. Anyway, I’m just telling you this so you understand. I need a lot of real, pure, uncomplicated honesty right now.”

“And Dex isn’t someone you can rely on for that,” she finished, thinking about it.

“There have been a lot of very strange things going on in my life,” I explained, trying not to sound like a witch who was condemning this woman’s brother’s integrity to her face. But of course, that was exactly what I was doing.

“I know. The girl who was killed at your house. I have been worried about that.”

“You have?”

“I want Dexter to find someone to care about, Maddie. He needs the right sort of woman to set his life back on track. He’s been lost, I think. For a long time, really. And I was so happy to hear he liked you. I thought the two of you could be so good together. But when I heard about what happened the other night at your house, that girl who worked for you, I began
to think again. Maybe Dex needs someone who is a little less…”

So it goes. Here was me, worried that Dex was less than reputable. Here was Zenya, worried the same thing about me. There was Dex, scared his sister had done something horrible. Go figure.

“I had nothing to do with that poor girl,” I said, “except that she did work for me. And she had borrowed my car and was returning it. The police haven’t discovered why she died. But I am trying to find out myself.”

“What can you do?”

“I don’t know, Zenya. But I am worried about Dex, too. I can’t help but think he might be mixed up in some funny things.”

“Dex? Oh, no.”

“Okay. Here I go.” I took a breath and rushed on with it all. “You mentioned there had been an art theft at your house.”

She looked up at me, a hardness settling in around her hazel eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m worried Dex was involved in it in some way.” At last, I’d spoken the truth out loud to another person. I had heard Dexter’s story. Now I had to know Zenya’s. “Look, I’m sure you don’t want to dredge that mess back up, but I have this very bad feeling. After all, Dex was taking care of your house at the time. I keep asking myself, Why wasn’t there an alarm? Why didn’t it go off?”

“Oh, Madeline. You have to believe me. None of that was Dex’s fault at all.”

“I need to be reassured here, Zenya. Please tell me about it.”

“It was a combination of things that just got fouled up. The alarm had been acting up a lot. For a month, it just kept
triggering by itself and we’d had several false alarms. The police hate that, of course. They had sent us a warning notice saying they wouldn’t respond to our address any longer if we didn’t take care of our false-alarm problem. One more and we’d be shut off.

“Bill tried to troubleshoot it, but the alarm company did nothing to help. We couldn’t risk another crossed wire setting the alarm off. That’s why Bill insisted we have Dex stay at the house.”

“I see.”

“We were leaving for Maui, but Bill wasn’t comfortable relying on that faulty alarm system. We told Dex not to even set it, in case another rash of false alarms were to occur. Listening to this now with hindsight, knowing we had a theft, the whole thing seems stupid, I know. But we told all this to the police at the time and they checked the records of those past false alarms with the Westec people, and they checked our notice from the local police station warning us against any further false alarms—”

“Oh.”

“Maddie.” She looked hurt. “How can you be suspicious of Dexter? Why are you digging up all this garbage?”

“I think it was the down payment for his house. Dex told me.”

Zenya looked exasperated. “What’s wrong with that? He would never have settled down. I was helping him.”

I shook my head. “But what if Dexter arranged to have those etchings stolen. He loves you, Zenya. What if he was doing it for you? When the insurance money came, you might have given him a little gift back.”

“Maddie, what’s going on here? This doesn’t sound like you at all. Is it all the stress about that young lady who died? I can understand how her death must have upset you.”

I shook my head, yet wondered if she was right.

“You have no need to worry about this,” Zenya said, her soft voice back to its normal reassuring tone. “We lost our art. We can’t get it back. And that’s what insurance is for. As for the money we received from the insurance company, we could have sold our art pieces and received the same amount of money or more! There was just no reason for any of us, including Dex, to steal anything.”

I couldn’t think of an answer to that. How freaking obsessed must I have sounded? I simply said, “I’m beginning to fall for Dex, Zenya.”

She finally smiled. “Look, I love my brother. And I think he has very strong feelings for you. I know I’m the last person on earth to give romantic advice, but if this thing is going to work out between the two of you, you can’t let yourself get so worked up over things that are ancient history. Dex isn’t squeaky-clean. I’m sure he has enough things in his glorious past to concern any new girlfriend.
But our etchings?
Come on now.” She smiled again. “There is nothing there. Leave it alone. That’s my advice.”

I probably should have. But I had one more question. “Connie Hutson told me her husband never really wanted to bid on the Selmer sax at the Woodburn auction. She said Bill had arranged that little charade with Dave in advance. Were you aware of that?”

“That’s not possible.” Zenya, always the most agreeable person on any committee, flushed. I don’t think she’d ever raised her voice in her life, but she looked like she was getting closer to it every second. I had the most amazing effect on people. “Maddie, what on earth is going on with you?”

“With me? I am asking myself every day what’s going on with your family. I want to believe you. I want to believe Dex. But there is too much here that doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, good luck to you, then,” she said, in a tone that
could only be described as curt. Maybe this was the first time she’d been pushed to it, but she did “curt” pretty damn well for a beginner. “I hope you make it all work out, no matter what other people might get hurt.”

“I can’t help that,” I said softly.

Zenya, her lovely golden hair pulled back in a clip, folded her arms under her chest and looked at me with disappointment. “I had a different impression of you, Maddie. You, with your super career and your great sense of style and your friends. You seemed to have everything. You’re so independent. So strong. So in control. Bill always warns me not to meddle in matchmaking, but even he saw how cool it could be to get you and Dex together. He’s the one who suggested I send Dex out to find you last Saturday night.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Please don’t be mad at us because we tried to set the two of you up. I thought you could be good for Dex the way Bill is good for me. Sure, Bill kind of runs things in our household, but you know what? There needs to be a leader and a follower. And what’s wrong with that?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t agree. I think both people have to do both those things for a real relationship to work.”

“Maybe you should leave things alone, Maddie. All those questions you feel you need answers to. Will any of this make a difference? Really?”

“It’s a question of trust, Zenya.”

“Yes. I get it. But in love, doesn’t trust always call on us to make a leap of faith?”

Kirby appeared again, rejoining us at the sidewalk under the huge California live-oak trees, having grabbed another slice of birthday cake. Despite the crumbs on the corner of his mouth, you could tell by his expression he was so ready to leave now.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go,” Zenya said, smiling at me tentatively.
“I want us to be friends, Madeline. Dexter means that much to me. I hope you can find it in your heart to give him a chance.”

Kirby picked up his heavy sax case and walked across the street to his mom’s car. As he was loading it into the backseat of the Range Rover, I noticed a young man was standing a few feet away from me on the sidewalk. Probably one of the departing party guests.

I was suddenly overwhelmed by what Zenya had said. Was it ever possible to get enough proof that a man was trustworthy? Had my past relationship problems pushed me so far I had begun terrorizing admirers, looking for skeletons in every closet like a crazy woman?

“Are you Madeline?” He said it like Mad-a-lin.

It was Brett Hurley. I turned and looked at him more carefully. He was so thin and pale he was either seriously ill or in a rock band. His long black hair was swept straight back and he wore a pointy little beard.