Obstruction of Justice (38 page)

"He must have scrambled back up and picked up most of the pieces while Collier was going down the mountain after Ray," Nina said. "It’s so ghastly, Paul!"

"That’s a good word for it. I would add awesome, in the original sense of the word."

"He did kill his father! That’s what he was confessing to the night Collier went after them!" Nina said. "What... what do you think we should do about this, Paul?"

"Do?" Paul said.

"Paul, listen. I looked up those names they called each other in a book on Greek mythology. You know, Phoebus was the god of the sun. Artemis was his twin sister, the goddess of the moon. The Romans called them Apollo and Diana."

"Hmm. But what about Kenny’s nickname? Heff something."

"Hephaestus," Nina said. "Also known as Vulcan. He was a brother of the twins. They were all children of Zeus. He made Zeus’ thunderbolt."

"Then he betrayed Zeus and made a thunderbolt to kill him," Paul said. "No wonder the gods..."

"What?"

"I’m not going to say it," Paul said. "It was just another set of murders, with perfectly logical motives, and solid police work solved it. Period."

Nina was silent. It seemed to her that she was floating in a great void, understanding nothing. She felt as though she had been practicing her trade in some other, greater court, blind and unknowing. They had interfered, and perhaps the gods watching were not pleased about it. She moved closer to Paul. "Let’s go down," she said.

Paul said, "One more thing." He pulled out the burned wire they had so carefully gathered, dropped it into a hollow in the rock, and ground it up with his foot. "I just wanted to know," he said.

Three hours later, at the bottom, Paul held the door of the van open for Nina, who had limped the last half of the way down and looked wiped out. They drove down Highway 89, back toward town, eating pretzels they had found in the glove compartment, talking little, Nina’s eyelids heavy in the passenger seat beside him. Passing the Y, they followed the highway a few miles farther to Pioneer Trail, where Paul turned left. At the streets with Indian names, they turned into the Tahoe Paradise neighborhood, and Paul drove down the steep driveway at 90 Kulow. The moon had come into its own, shining amid the stars as they got out, but the house was dark. Frantic barking came from within.

"Where’s Bob?" Paul said.

"At Matt’s for the night. I wasn’t sure when we’d get back. God, I’m so tired. The barking you hear is Hitchcock, the dog Matt took in. Bob wouldn’t move here without him."

"You aren’t going to invite me in?" Paul said. "I haven’t been inside since that day in court."

"If you hadn’t brought me here that day, I might never have had the house," Nina said. "Sure, come on in." They trudged wearily up the stairs onto the porch, Nina fumbling with the keys. Once inside, the big black dog rushed around and tried to knock them down. Paul took him outside, howling with joy, while Nina turned on the heat and the lamps in the living room and disappeared into the downstairs bathroom.

Back in the warm house, Paul wandered around, looking at the orange-and-red rug on the floor by the wood stove and the new sofa and chairs, Hitchcock at his heels. "Very nice," he said when she came back.

"I’m all tuckered out, Paul. I’m even going to skip dinner," Nina said, yawning.

"Let’s see the rest of it, then I’ll be on my way," Paul said. She showed him the kitchen with its glass bottles and new pottery dishes, Bob’s room, and then they went up the stairs, their legs like rubber after the climb. At the landing, Nina said, "My prize possession."

Inside the attic bedroom, occupying almost the whole space under the window, Paul saw something that made his eyes gleam, a high honey-colored four-poster pine bed, covered with a green-and-black Hudson Bay blanket. Hitchcock trotted right in, as he must do every night, and lay down on the rug beside the bed. "I couldn’t resist," Nina was saying. "It’s not what I thought I wanted at all, but I saw it at the store and I just had to have it. Has that ever happened to you, Paul?"

"Oh, yes," Paul said. "It’s happening now." He reached for her and brought her close.

"Don’t go, Paul."

"I’m here."

"Colleagues and friends?"

"Shh. No more talk, okay?"

And she must have agreed, because the whole night long, while the blue planet pursued its course through the dark unknown, and Tallac, crowned with stars, stood its perpetual watch, the only sounds from the bed were sounds to make even the gods jealous, sighs of dreams come true and cries of purest delight.

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Perri O’Shaughnessy’s
Nina Reilly legal thriller

BREACH OF PROMISE

Now available at a bookstore near you.

Nina Reilly opened the window in her office in the Starlake building on Highway 50. Warm air smelling of toast and dry grass drifted in to mingle with the brittle cool of air conditioning. Outside, every shade of rust and gold shimmered in a hot October wind that rustled the papers on her desk. In the distance, bright colored sails waved like flags of the world against the blue backdrop of Lake Tahoe. She could sense a shift in the weather. The sultry air held a tang in it, like the end of something sweet, lemons in sugary tea.

Leaning through the opening to catch a ray of sunshine, Nina watched as a man and a woman in spotless white athletic shoes, plaid shirts tied around their waists, dropped hands so that the woman could stoop and gather some carrot-colored leaves from the littered road. She held her little pieces of autumn like a bouquet, dancing a quick step or two in front of the man on the sidewalk. The man continued walking, apparently unwilling to play the game. Giving up, she resumed her place beside him, dropping her leaves one by one to the ground like Gretel leaving a trail of crumbs.

"That’s no way to keep this place energy efficient," Sandy said, standing in the doorway to Nina’s office, hands on her womanly hips. Today she wore a fringed blouse and a shiny silver concha belt that jingled when she moved, khaki pants and cowboy boots, which made her look like an over-the-hill rodeo rider. Sandy enjoyed dressing for the office but she would never look the part of a legal secretary.

Two years earlier, she had worked as a file clerk at Jeffrey Riesner’s law firm, a couple of miles west on Highway 50. In spite of Riesner’s belligerent dissatisfaction with her work, her character, her looks and her air of superiority, Nina had hired her when she had begun her solo practice in South Lake Tahoe. It had been one of her more astute moves.

Sandy knew everyone in town, and had a strength of purpose that co-opted or crushed everything in its path. A lawyer starting up a practice in a new place needed to get clued in fast, and Sandy had brought in the vital first clients, invisibly organized the office and installed herself as Nina’s keeper. Nina knew law. Sandy knew business. Everyone’s business.

"What a day," said Nina. "Not that you’d guess it in here."

"High eighties?" Sandy said. "One of the last warm ones this year. Too nice to be inside."

"That’s right. Let’s blow this joint. It’s four-fifteen and I can’t think anymore."

"Not yet. You have a call on line two." Sandy jiggled her eyebrows significantly.

"Who is it?"

"Lindy Markov’s secretary."

"Do I know Lindy Markov?"

"If you don’t, you should. She wants to invite you to a party Mrs. Markov is giving this weekend."

"What kind of party?"

"She does a lot of charity work and hosts a lot of community get togethers. This particular shindig is a birthday party for her husband Mike Markov."

Nina closed the window, turning back to her desk. "Tell her I’m busy, Sandy. Give her my regrets."

But Sandy, a Washoe Native American whose people had hundreds of years of practice at stubborn resistance, gave no sign that she had heard. "Lindy and Mike Markov are the biggest employer in Reno. They live up here near Emerald Bay. This is a golden opportunity."

"Why? I’m too broke to be an asset to any worthy causes."

Sandy spoke again, her deep voice measured, reminding Nina of Henry Kissinger in his glory years, pushing governments around. "And that’s exactly what you should be thinking about. We’re in business here. And we need more money coming in. You’ve been tapping into your personal account to pay the office rent, haven’t you?"

What could she say? The omnipotent Sandy knew all.

"Maybe they need a lawyer," Sandy said.

"I don’t like going to things like that alone," Nina said.

"Paul’s coming up this weekend. He called while you were in court this afternoon."

"He’s back from Washington? I thought he was going to be gone longer. Anyway, what’s that got to do with..."

Sandy shrugged. "I happened to mention the party. He’s up for it."

"I see," said Nina.

"He’ll pick you up on Friday at six. Don’t be late."

"And if I still say no?"

Sandy heaved a fulsome sigh, her belt jingling slightly with the strain. "Then I’ll have to go for you. Someone has to network around here. If you want to pay the rent and the Whitaker bill and Lexis, the new computer, my raise..."

"Which raise would this be?"

"I’ll be needing a slight raise if I’m going to have to party for you."

"Okay, Sandy. You win. Which line is she on?"

"No need for you to talk to her." She turned to leave. "I’ll confirm that you’re on the list."

"You already told her I was going?"

"I thought you might. After you had time to think about it."

"Wait. Where is this party?"

"On the lake," said Sandy. "They’re chartering the Dixie Queen. Taking off from the Ski Run Marina."

Paul picked Nina up early that Friday, treating her to a hug that bordered on the obscene. "Three weeks," he said. "God, how I’ve missed squeezing your cute little bum." While the words were light, she felt his scrutiny. Three weeks was just long enough for them both to feel the distance.

A good eight inches over her five feet four, blond, and forty, with two licks of gray around his temples and two marriages behind him, Paul seemed to have been in her life forever. An ex-homicide detective, he had his own business as an investigator in Carmel. They worked together sometimes. They also slept together sometimes. They were a lousy fit and grated on each other, sometimes. But every once in awhile, when they connected, they went deep down to a place that kept them coming back to each other.

As they drove to the marina, Paul quizzed her about her activities in the past few weeks. Nina talked about the house she and Bob had recently bought. "We’re making it homey," she said. "It’s just that none of us knows exactly what that means. I stockpile paper in every corner. Hitchcock has taken up residence in the ski closet and spreads kibble all over the kitchen floor. Bob rides his skateboard through the downstairs." When she turned the questions on Paul, he was un-characteristically close-mouthed. He couldn’t tell her much about the Washington D.C. job, he claimed. And what was there to say about staying in a hotel?

Paul wasn’t teasing her. She sensed his preoccupation and wondered about it. Meanwhile, she could think of many things that might happen with him in a hotel and she spent at least part of the ride to the boat holding that thought, just enjoying his proximity and his big, comforting presence.

At the parking lot for the marina, not too far from Nina’s office, Paul pulled his Dodge Ram van in tight beside a creamy white Jaguar.

"This is something," Nina said, stepping down into a parking lot crammed full of gleaming metal. "Oh, boy. Look over there by the dock. It’s like a convention for chauffeurs. Maybe we should have rented a limo."

"You look terrific in that slinky blue stuff," Paul said, coming up beside her. He put a hand on her leg, squeezing gently to punctuate his point. "And if it makes you more comfortable, hell, I’ll be your chauffeur. Can’t do much about my chariot, but I’ve got a baseball cap in there somewhere. Anything to make you look less like you’re about to jump out of your skin."

She shimmied a little, adjusting her pantyhose. "You’re right, I’m nervous. I guess I’m just getting into the spirit of things, starting out with my foot in my mouth by insulting your car."

"You’ve talked with people before. I’m sure I’ve seen you do that. What are you so worried about?"

"I’m intimidated," she said honestly. "The Markovs are very wealthy. Their business is supposedly huge. They sell health aids of some kind. Mrs. Markov also raises money by the bucketful for the schools and recreation programs here."

Paul took her hand, and they walked toward the dock where a white sternwheeler trimmed in blue, rocked gently in the water. From the front of the boat, where Nina and Paul boarded, two black pipes tipped in gold shaped like medieval crowns framed a view of the rest of the boat. Silver lights of irregular lengths dangled like icicles from two of the three decks, and at the back an enormous paddlewheel, blades painted red, dripped water. On the bottom level, a wide swath of windows revealed a crowd of partyers already moving en masse to a tune Nina could not make out, bobbing between bunches of red helium balloons. The low bumping of bass traveled through the water to rumble up under their feet on the dock.

"Ever been on one of these before?" Paul asked her as they stepped onto the ramp that led to the lower deck of the boat.

"Once. I took a tour from Zephyr Cove with Bob when we first came here. He was only eleven. Very impressed by the glass bottom, even though there’s not all that much to see under the lake, just sand and the occasional beer bottle."

"Did you say something about these people wanting to hire you?" he asked as they made their way to the exquisitely decorated party deck. "Because if they do, it looks like your ship has come in."

"I have no idea why we’re here. It’s one of Sandy’s plots. Le
_t
’s just enjoy ourselves."

They paused before going inside, taking a long look across the lake, toward the teals and peaches just beginning to tinge the sky and water. "When I see the lake like this, so beautiful, I think about the Washoe people camping on these shores," Nina said. "It wasn’t so long ago, only a hundred years or so."

"I’m sure they’d love the hash we’ve made of the natural landscape." Paul gestured toward the casino lights. They had begun to gleam in the fading light, under the evening glow of the towering mountains.

"From far away," said Nina, "I think it’s pretty."

A striking woman walked toward them, smiling. Several inches taller than Nina, Lindy Markov gave the impression of even greater height. Willowy, with warm coppery hair, she had expressive brown eyes over a prominent nose and jaw line. A golden, collar-style Egyptian necklace adorned her neckline, dressing up the rust-colored dress she wore over a body as muscular and wiry as an exercise guru’s. She might be anywhere over forty. She had reached that certain ageless age.

"Hello, Nina Reilly. I’ve heard so much about you. I recognize you from the paper of course. Sarah de Beers told me you did good work for her family. Thanks for coming to join in the surprise for Mike."

"How are you going to surprise him? I mean, this boat..."

"Oh, he doesn’t know I filled it up with friends. He just thought we were taking a dinner cruise to celebrate his birthday." She looked around. "He’s going to love this. He loves surprises," she said. But the apprehensive expression on her face canceled out her words. Nina thought, uh oh. Something is not right.

"I hope everybody gets here on time. Mike’s due at seven." She looked anxiously toward the door as another couple arrived, relaxing as she turned her attention back to Paul. "Mr. Van Wagoner." She shook his hand, holding it for a moment before letting go. "So you’re a private investigator." Her eyes probed him in the dim light. "Do you dance?"

"Naturally."

She flashed a bright smile. Nina, who knew a stressed-out lady when she saw her, read worry verging on panic in it. "Save one for me." She turned away to look at the door again. More guests, not Mike Markov. She excused herself to meet the next crop.

Nina couldn’t imagine how they could stuff more people inside. The decks were full of people, dancing, drinking and snacking. The usual casual tour boat had been transformed—waiters in black suits dipped and posed with silver trays full of hot treats for the guests, tables with white cloths and real silver had been set up in the midsection of the center deck for a massive buffet dinner.

What must be hundreds of people murmured and milled through the scene, dreamlike in the dusk. Once her eyes adjusted, Nina said hello to a number of them: Judge Milne, who was rumored to be considering retirement, Bill Galway, the new mayor of South Lake Tahoe and a few former clients. She stayed with the group where the judge was holding forth and Paul wandered off. Seven o’clock came and went, and the waiters made sure no glass ever emptied. But Mike didn’t come, and the boat sat at the dock as the lake and sky flickered with the fire of sunset.

By the time Mike Markov finally appeared, everyone, including Nina, had had too much to drink. A lookout gave an advance warning, and a hush fell over the boat.

Nina saw him come aboard. Looking like a man with a lot on his mind, he walked right into Lindy’s waiting arms. A stocky man with dark skin who was several inches shorter than Lindy, he embraced her quickly, his rolled-up sleeves revealing muscular forearms. "I’m sorry I’m so late," he said. "I was afraid the boat would be long gone." He looked around, puzzled. "Where is everybody?" he asked.

"Surprise!" the crowd shouted. The waiters popped another round of champagne. People poured out of the woodwork to pat him on the back.

For a moment, shock poised like the shadow of Lizzie Borden’s ax over his features. Nina had time to think, God, he’s having a heart attack...

He shuddered. In that first second he looked only at Lindy, suppressing some unreadable emotion. Then, like magic, as he turned to his guests, a cloak of good humor dropped into place. He began to stroll through the crowd accepting genuinely warm congratulations, shaking hands as he greeted each person.

"My God, Mikey. Fifty-five. Whoever thought we’d get there?"

"You look damn good for such an old fella!" This said by a bald man leaning heavily on a walker, who had to be teetering toward ninety.

"Great excuse to have a helluva good time, eh, Mike? Like old times."

Lindy trailed behind for a bit, then caught up with him, taking her place by his side. Nina stayed behind as hands thumped him on the back and the good wishes floated on the air.

The engine started up. The paddlewheel at the stern began to churn up water, and a mournful low blast from the horn cut through the sounds of revelry, of wind, of evening birds and insects chirping away on land.

Just as the paddle started up, and the big boat began to move smoothly away from the dock, Nina saw the final guest arrive.