Murder Crops Up (19 page)

“Bruno will check it out. He’s looking for any information he can find.” I hesitated, wondering how to bring up the quarrel Bridget had overheard between her and Rita. And then wondering why I thought it was my business to ask.

Tamiko mentioned it herself. “Mr. Morales has already spoken with me. He heard that I quarreled with Rita.” She shot me a glance. “You had heard this, too?”

“Not from Bruno.” It made me uneasy to receive her confidence, given that I had no official standing in the investigation. And despite what Drake believed, I had no desire to get involved. I could have been happy if Tamiko had never dropped in, but had gone straight to Bruno with her concerns.

“We quarreled because she wished to blackmail me.” Tamiko’s voice was expressionless. “I wonder now if she dealt with others through blackmail.”

“How could she blackmail you?” I blurted the question out, and then hastened to add, “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Tamiko went on talking in her deliberate way. “It was very simple. She noticed the address on the check I used to pay my garden rent. It is the same as that of one of her friends from high school. She knows—knew—the friend’s mother is a lesbian.” She glanced at me and then back down at her hands. “Rita said she would tell everyone of my—preferences—if I made any more trouble over the raspberries or the Roundup incident.”

“So Rita tried to force you to go along with what she wanted?”

“Yes.” Tamiko did not look up. “I am a teacher. And—I am not yet ready to have my private life revealed to the world.” She smiled a little. “Not that the world would pay much attention. But Rita’s way of doing such a thing would be ugly. It might have made a difference among my coworkers. I do not wish to go through that.”

“And you told her—”

“I told her that the job of garden coordinator didn’t give her the right to blackmail the gardeners. That made her angry, and then I got angry, too.” Tamiko looked up from her hands. “I don’t remember exactly what I said. But it was something bad, I know—along the lines of, ‘You will get yours.’ Ten minutes later she was dead.”

We were silent for a moment. I knew that Tamiko, who treated each seedling with the utmost care, was not the kind of woman to take a life. But anyone can be enraged, goaded, until they lash out and push, not meaning to kill, just giving way to their anger and fear.

I just couldn’t believe that it had happened that way—not with Tamiko. “So you think she might have been using those tactics on others besides you?”

Tamiko shrugged. “She and Lois were definitely engaged in a power struggle. Lois threatened to make a big issue out of Rita’s conflict of interest—her relationship with the contractor who wanted to build on the site. And Rita was threatening Lois with some statute about unlawful burial.”

It was like lifting the lid of the cookie jar and finding baby alligators. “I never knew this stuff was happening. It can’t be the same garden I’ve worked in for three years.”

“It is. The garden changes, just like everything else. It will change again now that Rita is gone.” Tamiko patted my arm. “You are an idealist, Liz. You do not see the struggle between the earthworm and the nematode. But it is there. Rita was not suitable as a leader for the garden. She could make nothing grow.”

“She had a stifling kind of a way with her, that’s for sure.” I felt dazed. “So you could be right. She could have been using the blackmail approach on other people.”

“Those in her personal life, too.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that. And you say you told all this to Bruno?”

“I told him what passed between Rita and me. But I have only just now begun to wonder about who else she might have tried to blackmail. If you think Detective Morales is interested in my unformed thoughts, I will let him know.” Tamiko got up. “Oh, by the way.”

“Yes?”

She fidgeted nervously with the zipper tab on her sweater, pulling it up and then back down. “I have been asked to be the new volunteer coordinator,” she said, glancing at me and then away. Her olive skin was warmed to dark rose by an embarrassed blush.

“That’s great. You’ll do a wonderful job.”

“Thank you, Liz.” She smiled suddenly, the mischief making her look years younger. “I will notice now when you don’t share in the work days. So see that you do.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I showed her out and went back to my bitter greens, but they failed to occupy me. Instead I went over what Tamiko had said, and it finally occurred to me to wonder just why she’d come by to say it. Her questions about the noonday businessman stroller had simply been a pretext for bending my ear about Rita’s blackmailing propensities.

Why me? That’s what I couldn’t figure out. What did Tamiko have to gain by telling me all of that? I could understand her feeling of being under suspicion, her need to justify herself.

I couldn’t help but wonder, though, why she chose me as her confidant. She could have gone to Bruno without my advice. In fact, I would have expected her to.

Now she was volunteer coordinator. Maybe she’d wanted the post all along.

I didn’t like these thoughts. I refused to let them link up in my head any longer. But I couldn’t altogether chase them away.

Chapter 22

I gave up working and stared out the window at the pink glow of sunset. Tamiko had given me too much food for thought; I was choking on the fiber. The possibility that Rita and Lois died natural deaths was growing more and more remote. I could more easily understand violence stalking a woman like Rita. But Lois, with her shrine and her ashes, seemed a totally unlikely victim. Unless someone had wanted something she had. Like the volunteer coordinator position.

The dusk had faded into full darkness when I roused from my thoughts enough to pay attention to Barker’s increasingly insistent nose nudges. I gave him food and water, and wondered where Amy was. It was nearly six. I didn’t like to think of her biking in the dark with only my bicycle’s feeble headlight.

I went to Drake’s to call Claudia. Every time I stuck my key in his door, a wave of missing him washed over me. I wanted to find him in his kitchen, the light glinting off his granny glasses, his hair wild with some enthusiasm or other. Instead his house was dark and empty. The air was chilly and felt damp. I turned up the heat to dry things out, and because the chill was too disturbing.

Claudia’s voice was absentminded when she answered.

“Hi, it’s me, Liz. Is Amy still there?”

“Oh, Liz. No, she’s not. She left an hour or more ago. I gave her some materials and made a couple of phone calls, and she’s going to do the rest.” Her voice sharpened. “She isn’t home yet?”

“No. But she probably just stopped downtown. She has some friends around here—maybe she met someone.”

“You must be using Drake’s phone. Too bad you don’t have your own, and Amy could let you know.”

“Well, call me an anachronism, but the world got along fine without telephones for billions and billions of years.”

In the face of my impatience, Claudia was silent for a moment. She finally spoke with uncharacteristic meekness. “Should I drive around and look for her?”

I was touched. “No, no. She’ll be back pretty soon. If anyone drives anywhere, it should be me.”

I felt apprehensive all the same. Surely Amy wouldn’t go anywhere near the garden alone, and in the dark. She was simply hanging around one of the coffee places downtown with some of her friends from summer.

I told Claudia I would keep her posted and hung up. Then I noticed the message light glinting on the answering machine.

The message was from Drake. “Liz, sorry I won’t be able to call tonight. Something’s come up. I’ll leave another message or call when I can.” Then came a quick jumble of words I couldn’t quite make out—he sounded weary in the extreme. But I thought he was saying, “I love you.”

His father, I guessed, wasn’t doing well.

I glared at the telephone. It was a loathsome monster, bringer of hideous news and dreadful uncertainty.

I wanted to sit next to it until it rang again and I heard Drake’s voice.

Instead, I locked the door with careful precision and started toward my house, wondering if I should get into Babe and cruise the cafés. I felt the weight of my inexperience as an in-lieu parent. Amy was old enough and smart enough to take care of herself in a benign place like Palo Alto. A place, I reminded myself, where two women had recently died in suspicious circumstances.

Gravel rattled in the driveway. Amy wheeled the bike past Drake’s house, trudging beside it, her head down. She didn’t see me till I spoke.

“Amy, are you all right? Did you fall?”

“Huh?” She lifted her head and stared at me. In the light from the kitchen window, I could see the stunned bewilderment on her face.

“What’s happened?” I ran down the steps and took the bike, propping it against the garage door. When I put my arm around her, she broke into sobs.

I hugged her, though I had to stand on tiptoe to do it— she tops me by a good four inches. “What is it? What happened? Are you hurt?”

Gulping, she shook her head. I guided her toward the house. For once I was without a handkerchief or bandanna in my pocket. But I had a drawer full of them inside.

Amy sat at the kitchen table. Her hands and cheeks were cold, so I put the kettle on and found her a hankie. She was trying to stop crying, but sobs kept bursting out in the most heartrending way.

I got out the chamomile tea and made a pot. We could both use some calming down.

The aroma of the tea steadied Amy. She cradled her cup and stared into it as she spoke.

“I was just biking home after going to Mrs. Kaplan’s house.” Amy gulped back a sob. “She—was very nice and got me stuff about college. Anyway, I was going down University Avenue so I could see if I knew anybody. And while I was at a stoplight that man came by.”

“What man? Tom Dancey?”

Amy nodded. “He didn’t seem mad at all—thanked me for letting the police know, said he felt better after talking to Mr. Morales. Then he apologized for this morning. He—he seemed very down, and when the light turned green he walked across with me. And he—he started talking about how I must know I couldn’t kill anything, how bad it would be to kill my”—she glanced at her stomach with fearful fascination—"my baby. How it deserved to live just like I did. I—I wanted to get away, but he was very quiet and reasonable and I just couldn’t ride away. See, that stepsister or whatever she was had an abortion, and he’s really torn up about it, and he has this mission now to save babies.” She looked at me, her eyes welling with tears. “And it’s no good, Aunt Liz. I don’t want this baby, but I can’t get rid of it, like—like a weed or something.”

I stared back at her. “So, what are you saying here?”

“I don’t know.” The words were a wail. “I don’t know what to do. I thought I did, but now it’s all changed. I mean, before, I didn’t really think about it as a real baby, a real person in there. What if it was me? What if Mom had gotten rid of me?”

“Instead of marrying Andy, you mean?” I was too dazed to realize I’d let a family skeleton out of the closet until Amy pounced on my words.

“I thought so,” she said triumphantly. “I asked Mom, one time, why my birthday was only seven months after their wedding date, and she said I was premature. But I could tell, the way she looked. I knew they had to get married because of me.”

“Well, they did get married. Your mom didn’t have to raise you alone and provide for you alone,” I pointed out, trying to lend some balance to the situation. “And she and Andy definitely did the deed. You didn’t, really.”

“I was just as stupid as if I did,” Amy muttered. “Going to a party with dumb guys like that, just to get drunk. I was asking for it.”

Since I pretty much agreed with her, I fumbled for something to say. “You weren’t the only one in that hot tub. That boy behaved very badly indeed. Everybody makes mistakes, honey. Yours wasn’t such a big one.”

“But it resulted in a big problem.” Amy looked at her stomach again. “I certainly don’t want to keep the baby. Every time I saw it I would think of that cretin who got me into this.” Her voice dripped scorn. “But someone else might want it. I guess I’ll have to have it and give it away."

“Lots of people want to adopt.” I sipped my tea, preparing myself for what I knew would come.

“Aunt Liz,” Amy said pleadingly. “Can I stay here? I’ll go to school. I’ll behave. But I just can’t be pregnant and go back home. They—they might make me marry that moron.” Her eyes filled again with tears. “Mom—she would be so—disappointed,” she wailed. “She told me and told me—”

The thought of Renee confronted with the shame of her only child boggled the mind. “But, Amy. If you’re going to have the baby, you’ll have to tell them you’re pregnant. And do you really think Renee would let you spend the whole school year here? I mean, they are your parents.”

“Oh, God.” Amy jumped up, looking around in a hunted fashion. “I’ve got to think. I just can’t seem to think!”

“Why don’t you rest in my room? I’ll make some dinner.

She gave me a quick hug. “I’m so sorry. This is just a total bummer!” Then she disappeared into my bedroom and closed the door.

I stared around the living room of my little cottage in dismay. Amy’s traces were everywhere—her carpetbag spilling out clothes in the corner, her makeup case and hair dryer on the piecrust table, her radio on the floor by the couch, along with several of the sofa cushions. She had put the sleeper part of the couch back that morning, at least. But I wondered if we could both stand to live in such closer quarters for months on end. I value my privacy, and Amy, though sweet, is not particularly retiring.

I put a big pot of water on for pasta. And then I went back across the yard to Drake’s house. Luckily Bridget was home.

“It’s me, Liz.”

“Liz. Where are you calling from? Oh, you must be at Drake’s. Is he back?” Bridget sounded cheerful. I could hear clattering in the background and knew she was cooking dinner with the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, as I’d seen it so often before.

“No, he’s not back. But Amy’s having—a bit of a crisis. She’s been listening to the antiabortion side and now she thinks she wants to have the baby and give it up for adoption. Would you have time to stop by this evening and talk to her? She’s so confused, and I don’t feel capable of handling this.”