“I beg your pardon.” Kyle looked blank. Too blank. He held himself as still as the rabbit that scents danger.
“Mr. Amador,” Molly insisted. “Don’t you remember me?” She sounded a little hurt, and indeed I thought most men would remember her face, although not in its current state. “We met at lunch one day. With Tony—” Her eyes widened.
O’Malley moved swiftly, pushing Kyle back down when he rose to his feet. “Just sit still, Mr. Baldridge,” he said jovially. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” He turned to Molly. “Now, Missus—”
“Mrs. Fahey.” Molly frowned. “Did this man shoot my son? Why does he pretend he’s never met me?”
“Did you know your sister’s friends, when she was still living in Denver?” Eva hung up the phone and slipped a quiet question in.
Molly stiffened. “I don’t see what business that is of yours.’’
“Answer the question, please.” O’Malley sat on the edge of the table, his expression satisfied. Phil came back in, accompanied by the young uniformed officer, who moved to stand behind Kyle. The very air in the room seemed to change.
“Well—no.” Molly turned to O’Malley, impatient. “I barely saw her—we were estranged. I actually thought she didn’t really have any friends.”
“So you didn’t recognize Mr. Baldridge when you were having lunch with Naylor?” O’Malley had taken over the questioning.
“Mr. Amador? Isn’t that his name? It’s what Tony called him.” Molly’s eyebrows drew together. “I’d never seen him before then. He wasn’t very polite, actually. Tony called him over and looked delighted to see him, but Mr. Amador—whoever—” she turned a laser-like stare on Kyle. “He sort of mumbled for a minute and went away. Of course I remembered him because he didn’t look particularly Hispanic, in spite of his name.” She flushed, glancing at Eva.
“And it was Naylor who called him Amador?”
“Yes.” She stared at Kyle again.
“How long ago was this?”
“Just a few weeks ago. I was arranging with Tony for—” she caught herself.
“For a little immigrant help?”
Molly bridled. “Well, it’s always worked out in the past. The last young woman I got wanted to go to school and work toward residency. I arranged for her to take ESL classes and to enroll at the junior college.” She looked at Eva while she spoke. “I understood I was doing her a favor. And she did end up enrolling in school, and in fact left me to go full-time.” She was triumphant at this vindication of her patronage. “So I needed another one.”
“How much does it cost you up front?” O’Malley barked the question. “How much did you pay?”
“Really, am I under arrest here? I thought—”
“Just answer the question, and maybe we can all go home."
Molly pressed her lips together, but then answered. “I gave him five thousand,” she said defiantly. “That was for the paperwork, you see, and prepaying her first four months. And she did have a green card—I saw it.”
O’Malley glanced at Phil. “Forged,” he said.
Eva flipped through the papers she’d been given. “There was a portable offset press and a supply of rose-colored cardstock similar to what the INS uses, as well as a laminating machine, in Baldridge’s storage locker at his apartment house.”
Kyle let out a cry of outrage. “You—searched my place? My artifacts—”
“Relax. We didn’t break anything. Not that it will matter to you in the long run.” Phil spoke, his voice a deep, bear-like rumble.
“But you can’t—”
“We’ve had a search warrant since earlier today,” O’Malley said briskly. “One for you, too,” he nodded toward me, “but it looks like we won’t be needing it. Thanks, Missus.” He clapped Molly on the shoulder, ignoring her wince. “All we wanted was something linking him to Naylor’s sideline. Can you pin that date down better, when you saw him?”
“I suppose.” Molly looked bewildered again. “It’ll be on my calendar. You mean—this is the man who shot Byron?”
“Kyle Baldridge, we’re charging you in the assault on Byron Fahey.” O’Malley wasn’t paying attention to Molly anymore. He bent toward Kyle, as if he found him fascinating. “If the boy doesn’t recover, that’s a capital charge. In addition, we’re charging you with the murder of Tony Naylor, and probably with Maud Riegert’s as well. Do you want to press charges?” He looked at me.
“Not unless everything else evaporates. Sounds like you’ve got plenty.”
Molly’s hands curved into claws. “If he gets off—”
I pulled on her arm. “Don’t make any rash remarks here, Molly. Byron will be well enough to testify, I’m sure.”
Her expression changed. “Oh, my God. My son, on the witness stand? How humiliating! I’ll never be elected to the school board!”
Kyle was led away, with O’Malley and Phil in attendance. Eva paused beside us. “Don’t worry,” she said, smiling. "These things can take awhile to come to trial. And I’ll vote for you in November!”
“So, we can leave?”
Eva nodded. “I told the hospital someone would drive Mrs. Fahey over there. Do you want to?”
“Sure. It’s as easy as that? Everything’s settled?”
“Lots of work ahead, but not for you.” She patted my shoulder. “Thanks for your help, Liz. You shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in it, of course.”
“I felt I had to. I heard O’Malley tell you to back off, and I figured someone wanted me to take the fall.”
“I know. I thought that, too.” Her gaze fell. “An internal investigation was going on, but only a few cops knew about it—and O’Malley was one. When he got orders to slack off, he had to appear to slack off. The investigation was completed late this afternoon. I can’t tell you about the results—although they might end up in the paper—but some people rather high up have been found guilty of impropriety at the least, in both the INS and police services. Evidently Naylor hadn’t been making the proper payoffs, and had threatened to do some whistle-blowing if he was pressed for the money.”
She shrugged, glancing at Molly, who had clearly checked out of our conversation and was gnawing nervously at her knuckle. “Anyway, we moved as soon as we could to get the search warrants and things. But by the time we were ready to pick up Baldridge, he’d slipped away. I was coming to tell you to be careful, but it was too late.”
“So, can I go back to California?”
“Probably.” Eva nodded. “Come in Monday to wrap up the paperwork. If they need you to testify, whenever that is— she glanced at the school board candidate— "they can fly you back.”
“Cool.” I took Molly’s arm. “Come on. Let me behind the wheel of that monster you drive.”
My sister’s face was wan. “What if Byron—”
“He’s too ornery to die,” I predicted, pulling her out the door.
Chapter 30
Biff was asleep on the cranked-up hospital bed; he was pale, and his breathing sounded labored. A patchwork of bandages covered his shoulder and torso. Among them was a very nasty-looking plastic tube which the nurse last night had told me was a drain. In the pale daylight that came through the vertical blinds, he looked surprisingly attenuated.
Amy stood beside me. She’d been complaining all the way up in the elevator about visiting a jerk like Biff, but once in the room, seeing the evidence of his danger, she turned thoughtful.
“Maybe we should just leave the book,” I said, low-voiced. “Looks like he’s racked.”
“I’m surprised Aunt Molly isn’t here.” Amy laid down the book we’d brought on the bedside table. “He looks, like, below the absolute lowest.” She clutched my arm. “I mean—it’s not like I like him or anything, but he is going to get well, isn’t he? Not be, like, on screen-saver forever or anything?”
“Molly said the doctor said complete recovery after the wound heals. Maybe some limited motion for a while—”
“Oh, shit.” Biff opened his eyes. “You mean I can’t lift? Damn—”
Amy actually patted his arm. “Probably just for a while, Biff-boy. You’ll be whirling the dumbbells in no time.”
He looked up at her, and a touch of his old arrogance surfaced. “Had to come to my sickbed, did you, Amy? Gonna figure out a way to take my mind off my pain?”
I expected her to turn around making gagging noises, but she surprised me by smiling tolerantly. “You’re in no condition to chase anyone around the room, sonny.”
“Yeah. Right.” He closed his eyes again. I hadn’t noticed before, with his eyebrows lowered so far over his eyes, that they were a nice shade of blue-green.
“We brought you a book,” Amy said, thumping it on the bed beside him. Biff flinched. “Sorry.” She patted his arm again, and shot me a look. “Aunt Liz picked it out.” Amy had wanted to give him
Backlash
, which she was currently reading for a social studies class, and which she thought he really needed.
“Sort of for younger kids, but I thought it would be easy to read.” Now I was sorry I’d selected
Redwall
, by Brian Jacques. I’d read it out loud to Bridget’s kids one night, and gone on reading when they’d gone to bed. Admittedly, Bridget’s oldest is nine, but I figured a recuperating Biff would regress from his current emotional age of about fourteen to right around Corky’s age.
Biff examined it. “Looks good.” He sent me a shy glance. “Mom was wishing she had something to read aloud to me. I always liked that when I was sick.”
“Well, great.” I had something to say, but didn’t really want to say it in front of Amy. “Can we—do anything for you? Get you anything?”
“My water pitcher is empty,” Biff said hesitantly.
“Would you?” I handed the pitcher to Amy.
“Sure.” She started for the bathroom.
“Why don’t you find some ice for it somewhere?” She started to protest, glanced at me, and then shrugged.
“Sure thing, Aunt Liz.”
Biff lay back on his bed, eyes still closed. I took a step closer. “Listen, Biff, I’m glad you’re awake, because I wanted to thank you for tackling Kyle last night. I’m sure you kept him from shooting me. I’m just sorry he shot you."
“He didn’t really mean to, I think.” Biff surprised me, wrinkling up his forehead in thought. “I went over it this morning with Officer Gutierrez. She’s actually pretty cool.” He licked his lips and glanced at me. “Actually, I pretty much acted like a jerk. I was just looking for something all the time to keep myself amped.” He sounded wondering. “I mean, like, I almost died! I mean, people were always telling me I was looking for trouble, and then—bam! I found it.” He glanced at me again. “Mom said you kept me from bleeding to death. Thanks. I—I owe you.”
“No you don’t. We canceled each other out.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
Molly bustled in, followed by Amy, who carried a brimming pitcher of ice chips. “Now, my boy needs his rest,” Molly said, edging me aside and lovingly smoothing the sheet that covered Biff's stomach.
“Look, Mom. They brought us a book to read.” Biff turned to his mother.
Molly looked at the book, then at me. “This looks—interesting, Liz.”
“I liked it.” I watched Amy set the pitcher down. “We should go. Don’t want to tire the patient. I might not see you again, Biff, so I hope you get well quickly.”
Molly turned quickly. “You’re leaving that soon?”
“In a day or two. I’m going to talk to Mom and Dad this afternoon, and then tomorrow or the next day I’ll be pulling out.”
Molly started to speak, glanced at Amy, and bit her lip. “Maybe I’ll stop by Morn and Dad’s later, too.”
“Okay. See you.” I waved at Biff, and he waved
Redwall
back.
* * * *
Mom answered the door. Her color was better than I’d seen it, and she looked pretty steady on her legs. “Lizzie.” She smiled at me. “Molly just got here. She said Biff is doing so much better this afternoon. He might get out of the hospital by Wednesday.” She stepped aside for me to enter. “And at least, the police finally got the man who killed your husband. And Conchita came back this morning, she said—just visiting her sister.” She guided me into the kitchen. “Come have a cup of coffee. Molly brought a tea cake.”
Dad sat at the kitchen table, a big slice of tea cake in front of him. He nodded at me, but didn’t look pleased. "That policeman was by,” he said, setting his coffee cup down with a solid clunk. “Said I can’t get my gun back because I didn’t report it stolen, and my permit’s expired.”
“I’m glad,” Mom said, sitting across from Dad and sipping from her cup. Molly sat between them, and I sat across from her. For a little while we were a microcosm of a happy family, even if we all knew it wouldn’t last. “I don’t want that nasty thing around here. If someone wants to break in, let them. We don’t have anything worth stealing anyway.”
“You need a good dog,” Molly said, with a sly smile at me. “To bark and scare the burglars away.”
Mom seemed divided as to which was worse, a dog or a gun. Dad paid more attention to his tea cake than to the conversation.
I was feeling liberated. One more stop at the police station on Monday, and then I was free to leave.
So I made a cup of tea with the flow-through tea bags which had probably been in the cupboard since before I left, and took some cake myself. I looked at Mom and Dad, arguing now over whether it was going to rain next week, and felt ashamed of my eagerness to be gone. I had lived a loner’s life too long, and family closeness felt too smothering. Besides, the internecine squabbling in my family would drive me mad before long.
“So,” Molly said, guessing some of what was in my mind. “You’re leaving soon?”
Mom and Dad stopped arguing and looked at me. I looked down at the murky surface of my tea.
“Yeah. I gather it may be a while before Kyle even comes to trial, and if they need me then, they’ll fly me out.” I glanced quickly at Mom, and then away. "The writers’ workshop I teach starts a week from Tuesday, and I have other responsibilities, too.”
We were silent for a moment. Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. “So it’s all over now,” she said softly.
‘‘I guess so."
Dad shook his head. “It’ll never be over.” He eyed me narrowly. “Her husband may be dead, but he’s not forgotten.”
That was perceptive of him—I was surprised.
“You should marry again,” Mom announced. “You’re not too old to have children.”
Molly choked on her sip of coffee. “For heaven’s sake, Mom. Let her breathe for a while before you start throwing men at her head.”