Part 20 (2/2)
Carl grinned. ”Dude!”
I pulled out the Dresden Plate quilt from my tote bag and laid out my sewing supplies on the broad arm of my favorite green chenille chair. Soon Birdie came back in the room with smaller slices of cake for Lucy and me and cups of coffee.
I tightened the quilt in the hoop and threaded my one-inch needle with glazed cotton thread. I knotted one end, took a st.i.tch, and popped the knot through the top fabric, hiding it in the batting inside. With a thimble on the hand that was on top of the quilt, I pushed the needle, guiding it with the fingertips of the hand that was underneath the quilt. In a slow and steady up-and-down, the point of the needle bit through the weave until I'd loaded the shaft with several st.i.tches. Then I pulled the thread through all three layers and repeated the process. In this way, I began st.i.tching a circle inside the center of the plate.
Carl swallowed the last of his gla.s.s of milk. ”Tell us about last night.”
”Pastor Sandoval called me yesterday, and I finally talked to the witnesses last night before they left Los Angeles.”
Lucy stopped sewing. ”What did you turn up?”
”Nothing that would help, I'm afraid. Their description of the killer was too vague and could have been a hundred people, including Ed. They did have a few specifics. Tall, slim, baseball cap, light hair, and a funny voice.”
Birdie looked at me over her gla.s.ses and nodded. ”You're right, dear. The description does sound like your neighbor Ed, except for the part about the voice. Do you know what she meant by that?”
”I'm not sure.”
Lucy said, ”So, after all our efforts, the interview was a dead end?”
I ended off my thread and cut a new piece off the spool. ”Not entirely. I remembered something the groundskeeper Miguel said about Martin having a fight with one of the fathers of his ballplayers. Miguel described the man as always wearing a baseball cap and speaking with a stutter. Graciela could have been referring to that when she mentioned a 'funny voice.' We need to check him out.”
Birdie looked befuddled. ”Why in the world would a father want to beat a coach to death?”
Carl snorted. ”You've never been to a Little League game, have you?”
I continued. ”I also found a photo of Jefferson Davis online last night. He's slender and has light hair. I just need to find out how tall he is and listen to his voice.”
”How do you propose to do that?” asked Lucy.
Birdie stood. ”I know!” She returned with a newspaper. ”Look here. I read in today's obituary page there's going to be a memorial service for Dax Martin at the baseball stadium on Thursday. Maybe Jefferson Davis will make a speech and you can listen to his voice.”
I took the paper. ”Can I keep this?”
”Of course. Just leave me the crossword and jumble. Now tell me, what does Arlo think about all this?”
”He doesn't exactly know I located the witnesses and talked to them. He won't like it when he finds out. Imagine how furious he'll be when he discovers I also let them leave town without giving him a chance to interview them.”
”I think you need to call him, dear.”
”Last time we spoke, I told Arlo about the bigger picture with the Beaumont School and the Army Corps of Engineers. He agreed Ed didn't look guilty. I don't want Arlo to change his mind back again because he's mad at me.”
Lucy asked, ”Does Arlo know you were threatened by the United States Army?”
”Yes. He said if I thought I was in danger, I should go stay with you and Ray.”
She looked stunned. ”That's all he said?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
”Well, you know you can always stay with us.” What Lucy didn't say was if Beavers still cared about me, he would have been more proactive about keeping me safe. The fact he pa.s.sed me off on my friends seemed to indicate Beavers and I were done. Her eyes told me she was p.i.s.sed off and disappointed.
If she only knew!
The recent ups and downs of romance in my life were new territory for me. I wanted to talk to my friends in the worst way about it. I wanted to talk about how devastated I was Beavers had already moved on to someone else and how he had proven I was right not to trust him-or any man for that matter.
I also wanted to get some advice about how to handle the situation with Crusher. Obviously, pus.h.i.+ng him toward my neighbor Sonia wasn't working. Unlike Beavers, Crusher was actively protecting me, but he also indicated he wanted more than friends.h.i.+p. I needed to pour out my confusion and ask Lucy and Birdie to help me figure out what to do.
However, I couldn't have a conversation in front of Carl, so I kept silent. I'd have to deal on my own for a while longer. At least that was territory I knew.
Because of the August heat, Birdie served a cold gazpacho for lunch made with fresh veggies from her garden. She also served thick slices of warm homemade bread with b.u.t.ter melting on top. She positively beamed each time she refilled Carl's bowl. By the end of the meal, the pot stood empty and the whole loaf had vanished. All that work!
At two, Carl's cell phone rang. The handsome young biker/computer scientist in the black leather vest had been winding b.a.l.l.s of royal blue yarn for Birdie's next knitting project. He stood and walked away from us. ”Yeah? Okay. Right. Now? Right.”
He walked over to me. ”Dana just called. She finally got hold of a directory for the Beaumont School.”
”Is Barbara Hardisty a parent?”
CHAPTER 33.
The law offices of Aiken, Teeters & Proulx were on the fifth floor of a high-rise in Woodland Hills, near the Marriott hotel. The waiting room was paneled in dark mahogany, with splashes of colorful abstract art on the walls. A Remington bronze bronco and rider stood encased atop a locked gla.s.s pedestal in a place of honor near the reception desk.
Carl and I sat in two luxury leather chairs on one side of a gla.s.s coffee table covered with an a.s.sortment of magazines, a fresh flower arrangement with proteas, and a wire sculpture of a Harley-Davidson. A large Turkish carpet covered the dark hardwood floors.
Dana didn't keep us waiting long. ”Hi, come with me.” She smiled, tucking her long, dark hair behind her ear with her left hand. Her engagement diamond sparkled on her finger.
We followed her down the hall to a door with a brushed-nickel nameplate: DANA FREMONT, PARALEGAL. Her small office boasted one window overlooking the parking lot of the Westfield Plaza shopping mall. Carl and I sat in two plain office chairs while Dana took a seat at a desk full of papers, files, and a large computer monitor.
”How's Ed doing?” I asked.
”He won't be arraigned until tomorrow. If the judge agrees to release him, bail won't be a problem, but the DA is going to argue for remand.”
That was distressing news. If Ed was denied bail, no telling how long he'd have to stay in jail before he went to trial. With a backlog of cases in the LA legal system, Ed might not see the light of day for months. Possibly more than a year.
We needed to find answers fast.
Dana handed me a large booklet with the Beaumont School logo on the glossy maroon-and-gold cover. ”Go ahead. Take a look.”
I quickly turned to H and found not one, but two Hardisty children: Jason and Emily. Their parents were listed as Lowell and Barbara Hardisty. Bingo! There it was, the connection we were looking for between the Army Corps of Engineers and the Joshua Beaumont School. Whatever illegal stuff went on, Barbara Hardisty was right in the thick of it. She occupied the perfect position to clear the path for the stadium to be built.
The Hardistys lived in Sherman Oaks, near Laurel Canyon-a good neighborhood, but not a millionaire's enclave. Yet she drove a luxury car and spent nearly one hundred thousand dollars a year in tuition at the Beaumont School for her two children. Her lifestyle couldn't have come from her salary with the engineer corps. Did it come from bribes? From her husband? I had to find out more about Lowell Hardisty.
<script>