Sunset Bridge (19 page)

“He and Kanira could have fought before all this happened, and he could have left for good,” Maggie said. “Or maybe he did come back, saw what had happened and was afraid he might be implicated.”

“Possible. That’s what the detective in charge assumes. But here’s the next thing. Mr. Dutta’s gun? Or I should say the revolver he was holding when they found him. A Smith & Wesson .38. It was stolen two months ago from a registered gun owner in Hialeah and reported at the time. Maybe it made its way here to Palmetto Grove and somehow Dutta
got hold of it, but it seems more likely that the gun never left Miami-Dade and somehow Dutta bought it not far from where it was stolen.”

“Impossible,” Rishi said.

“Unlikely,” Felo agreed. “One, nothing’s been turned up to link Dutta to anybody in Miami. As far as we know, he’s never been there and has no friends there. So how would a man like him know where to go to buy a gun on the street without getting himself killed for his trouble?”

“But he did get himself killed,” Maggie said. “Somehow.”

“But not during a gun buy. And let’s not forget he was seen knocking on the motel door that evening, and seen here in the afternoon when he left the children with you, Mrs. Kapur. That means there was very little time for him to buy a gun anywhere, here or there, before he went to that motel.”

“It’s still possible,” Maggie said, playing devil’s advocate. “Maybe somebody at the barbershop sold him one. Maybe he was worried about protection for his family.”

“Never,” Rishi said. “Harit was a pacifist. He hated guns. He would never own one, and certainly never use one. He hated violence. I tell you, he hated it!”

This time Janya covered her husband’s hand. “Let Felo go on, Rishi.”

“There are two more inconsistencies,” Felo said. “Small, but real. First, Mrs. Dutta had bruising on her wrists and a scratch on her cheek. Of course, as you know, the bodies weren’t discovered for almost a week…”

Maggie shook her head, hoping Felo wouldn’t go into detail. And of course he was too nice a guy for that. He just let the words hang in the air for a moment before he went on.

“It’s hard to tell, but the assumption is that she got them
during a struggle. However, there was no corresponding evidence Harit had participated. Of course, both the scratch and the bruises could have happened before her death, maybe by a day or so. It’s not possible to tell now. And she was the mother of young children, active, busy, so it’s not a stretch.”

“What else?” Janya asked.

“Two microscopic fibers were found in Mr. Dutta’s mouth.”

“Gagged?” Maggie asked.

“Certainly not when they found him. And when I say microscopic, please remember the length of time they were there, the state of the room, the placement of his head on the floor.”

“Is that all?” Rishi asked, glancing at Janya, who looked pale beneath the warm brown of her complexion.

“I am bothered by the fact that Mrs. Dutta was found lying in a comfortable position on the bed, as if there was never any attempt to escape.”

“She would have tried to get away from him if she saw he had a gun,” Maggie said. “So could someone have repositioned her after the murder?”

“Forensics didn’t come up with anything conclusive, but it’s possible.”

“She could have been trapped there,” Maggie said. “Told not to move, convinced it was the only way to save herself.”

“This is very hard,” Janya said, her voice husky with tears.

Felo leaned forward and took her hand for a moment, as naturally as if they had always been friends. “I’m done. But it’s your turn, yours and Rishi’s. What can you tell me that helps us put this together?”

“They were not happy,” Janya said. “Kanira was angry with Harit because he would not get a better job. She told me she
had something planned to better her life, but she didn’t tell me what.”

“Harit was my friend,” Rishi said. “And he knew his wife was unhappy.”

“He could not have missed it,” Janya said.

Rishi nodded gravely. “His book was important to him, but he told me he might have to put it aside for a while. He knew Kanira’s patience was at an end, and, worse, he knew her impatience was bad for their children. So he began cutting hair in the afternoons, during his writing time. It was something of a secret, because he was visiting clients at their homes—charging more, of course. He knew his boss at the barbershop wouldn’t look kindly on this, but he was desperate.”

“So there was more money recently,” Felo said.

“He told me the tips were good, and that it made a difference. He hoped to buy a better car, or at least get theirs fixed.”

“So things had improved?”

“He was trying to make them better.”

“Kanira was impatient and critical,” Janya said. “This is true. But when I was with her, she watched over the children, perhaps not with as much love as we would wish, but carefully. She would not leave them and go away. I feel this strongly. Had she decided to leave Harit, she would have taken them with her.”

“Perhaps she was going to send for them when she was settled with this other man?” Maggie asked.

“I think not. She would have been afraid Harit would not let her have them.” She hesitated, then shook her head. “And I believe, as sad as this may sound, that she knew if Harit did make a success of his writing, if his book sold well, the marriage might be worth something to her.” Tears filled her eyes
and she blinked them away, looking down at the floor. “She never said this, but she might have thought it. I just know she would not, for many reasons, have abandoned the children.” She looked up at last. “One more thing. Where would Kanira have met a man to run away with? She usually had her children with her. And like me, she would never talk to strange men in parks or stores, especially not with her children at her side. It is just impossible to believe.”

“What can be done?” Rishi asked. “There must be justice.”

Maggie looked at Felo and found he was looking back at her.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Felo said, getting to his feet. “But I
will
tell you
this
. I won’t drop it. Not yet. I’ll see what more I can learn, okay?”

Everyone else stood, and the Kapurs walked them to the door. And then Maggie and Felo were alone outside.

“You’re really going to keep at this?” she asked. “Even if it pisses off the guy in charge of the case?”

“I know how to make things happen without pissing him off.”

“And I never did.”

“Not your strong point,” Felo agreed. “What about you? Are you going to see what you can do from here?”

“I’ll try hard not to antagonize anybody,” she said.

“Good. We can work on the case together.”

They reached his car, and she leaned against it, her arms folded. She supposed the message was clear. Their morning was finished, and it was time for him to go back, even though he still had to get a few things from inside.

“I’m surprised you’re so helpful,” she said. “You really have
nothing invested in whether the Duttas were caught up in a lethal love triangle or something more insidious.”

“I’m always helpful,” he said.

“That so?”

“It’s not something you’d notice, Mags. You never want help.”

He headed back to the house to get whatever he wasn’t planning to leave behind. She wanted badly to think of a good comeback, but what could she say when she’d just been told the truth?

T
racy was now fourteen weeks pregnant. She found it hard to believe the baby inside her weighed only an ounce when she already felt like an elephant. So, okay, for most of her life her entire self-image had revolved around fat cells, how many, where they landed and how to obliterate them. Early last summer she’d been disgusted to learn she had gained a dress size, so she’d participated in the rec center weight-loss program to regain the slender, toned body she had once been so proud of.

Now? Worries about her weight had flown out the window. Her appetite was back, she was eating everything in sight, and she really didn’t care how much weight she gained. She felt good again, energetic and strong, and nothing would change the fact that before long the whole world would clearly see the truth. She was now cycling through her wardrobe looking for all the pants with drawstring waists and every top that fell loosely past her hips. She’d bought larger bras and marveled at the way she filled them out. She was pregnant! Whether
she was a size three or a blissful plus size waddling through the maternity section, who cared? There was a baby growing inside her, and she, Tracy Deloche, was nurturing it with every bite.

“So you can tell me all that with a straight face?” Wanda asked as she packed up the fifth raspberry chiffon pie from her display case for Tracy to take back to the center. “That you need these pies for that baby of yours? The way some women need, oh, spinach or calf’s liver?”

“Not exactly
need
. But you have no idea how nice it is to think about food again without my stomach jumping on the old Knott’s Berry Farm Silver Bullet and taking all those curves upside down and sideways.”

“And you promise you’re not going to eat all these pies alone?”

Tracy didn’t quite tell Wanda the truth, that though four of the five pies were indeed going to a rec center staff luncheon to celebrate the retirement of one of their maintenance men, one was going home to be savored and enjoyed alone during the upcoming weekend.

“I am not going to eat all these pies by myself,” she said, throwing Wanda’s words back at her, since, technically, they were true.

“And if I come over to your place…say, tomorrow night, I won’t find any pie remains in your fridge?”

“You know, in case you don’t recognize my visit here this morning for what it is, it’s a goodwill gesture, an all-is-forgiven notification to the woman who told Marsh Egan I’m pregnant with his baby.”

Wanda waved that away. “You forgave me for that a couple of weeks ago. And it was your own fault for trying to keep it away from Mr. Marshall Egan in the first place. You’re lucky
he didn’t figure it out before you even bought the pregnancy kit.”

“Whatever.”

“You talk to him lately?”

Tracy didn’t answer. Marsh had told her to call when she was ready, but two and a half weeks had passed, and she hadn’t yet picked up the telephone. She’d waved to him once at the rec center after he picked up Bay from swim team practice, but before he could close the distance, she’d headed for the ladies’ room. Even Marsh wasn’t going to tackle her there. By the time she finally decided the coast must be clear, it had been.

Which had been something of a disappointment.

“I guess that means no, you haven’t talked,” Wanda said. “When are you going to call the man? When the kid needs braces?”

“Nope, I’ll call my father for that. Orthodontist to the stars, remember? He might even give me a discount. His only grandchild, after all, even if the most I’ve gotten from Dr. Dad since my divorce is a Christmas card with an engraved signature and a funny picture of Santa wearing orthodontic headgear.”

“I gather you’re not flying back to the bosom of your family to have this baby.”

Tracy almost shuddered. Denise Deloche, her mother, had been aghast to learn she was going to be a grandmother, and Tracy’s father hadn’t returned the obligatory phone call she’d made to inform him. She had never doubted she and the baby were on their own, but now she had final confirmation.

Of course, there was Marsh…

“You can’t duck and cover for the rest of this pregnancy,” Wanda said. “You ask me, you’re not being fair.”

“Then I won’t ask. Now, tell me all about
you
. Maybe I can find something to criticize with the same enthusiasm.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but nothing to tell.”

“No movie star sightings?”

“Haven’t heard a word.” Wanda finished a knot in the string surrounding the final boxed-up pie. “I tell myself it’s not those pies I sent off with Derek Forbes, but I wonder.”

“He loved them, Wanda. He told you he did when he was sampling. You’ve got to understand, at this stage of a film, everybody’s jetting all over taking care of this and that. He’s probably not even in town.”

“No? Ken tells me there’s a party at the Statler house tonight, where he’s living. They’ve got special police patrols just to keep out the riffraff, never mind it’s a gated community.”

“Did you ask Phillip Callander what’s going on?”

“He’s off somewhere scouting seafood suppliers for the new Dancing Shrimp. Somebody else must be catering.”

“Well, Forbes is missing a good bet. Whatever they’re serving, it won’t be as good as what you’d bake.”

The doorbell tinkled, and Tracy turned to find Marsh coming toward her. She didn’t blink, and she didn’t run, although of the two, the latter was her favorite option. Her stomach started to roll, however. Confrontation ahead, and nowhere to go but right toward it.

“Have a sudden craving for pie?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage.

“Sympathy pains. Now that I’m all over my morning sickness.”

“Well, have at it.” She lifted the stack of boxes and angled her body away from Marsh so she could circle him.

“You’ll put these on the rec center account?” she asked Wanda, who was on her way to answer the telephone.

“I’ll give ’em to you for free if you two will just stay right here and have your fight so I can watch, once I’m off the phone.”

“Sorry…” Tracy nodded goodbye to Marsh and started toward the door.

He followed close behind. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t help with those?”

“The kind who reads minds.”

“You’d rather stumble and fall, and end up with pie all over the sidewalk?”

“Sounds pretty good to me, considering the alternative.” But she stopped, resigned and let him take three of the boxes.

He opened the door so she could precede him. “My car’s just down the block,” she said.

“I’m parked behind you.”

So he had come in looking for a fight? She supposed she couldn’t blame him. If he’d left this up to her, the cricket ringtone on his iPhone, the one reserved just for her, would never have chirped again.

They walked in silence. Only when the pies were safely wedged into her backseat did Marsh begin.

“I thought you were going to call.”

“Actually it went more like this,” she said. “You told me you would wait until I called. I never said I planned to follow through.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, I guess you just assumed since that’s what you wanted, that’s what I’d do.”

“More like I assumed that since we’re both grown-ups, you’d call once you calmed down and we would work things out.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he held out his hand like a traffic cop. “I’m sorry, Trace. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to tell me you were pregnant once you were ready and went digging for the truth myself. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I knew, but really? Wanda was right. I hadn’t done much to show you your needs were important, too. I just wanted a chance to make that up to you, to do something other than drag you through the swamps for a change.”

“At least when you were dragging me through the swamps it was genuine. What part of the new stuff was, and how am I supposed to know?”

“I didn’t do one thing I didn’t want to. I’m happy being with you anywhere. I just never realized everything we did was all about me.”

“I like all the outdoors stuff. I just like a little variety and glamour along with it.”

“I know that now.”

She could feel her spine unkinking, one vertebra at a time. She had dreaded this discussion. She’d imagined it in her mind, over and over again, and somehow it always ended with Marsh telling her he was sorry they were in this boat together, but he planned to row it his way, thanks, and she’d better jump on board fast or she’d be swimming alone.

“It’s not about that, anyway,” she said, trying to retrieve some of her righteous indignation. “You weren’t honest with me.”

“And
you
weren’t honest with
me,
okay? Or you wouldn’t have pretended you had a virus for weeks and weeks, instead of just telling me the test was positive.”

He was right, of course. There was nothing to say to that.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Trace, what’s the real problem? We both want this baby. We
have enough in common to keep us happily occupied. We’re great in bed together. You love my son, even though he’s not always the most lovable kid on the block. I’m a fine cook, and you love to eat. I don’t make a bundle, but I do make enough to keep us happily solvent. I’m a passably good dad, and you’ll be a terrific mom. What’s the big deal here?”

She dissected his words, looking for something other than all their shared virtues and interests. There wasn’t a wisp of emotion interlaced among them.

“So what are you saying?” she asked, probing for more and hoping she’d been wrong. “Where is this leading?”

“Let me rub your back when the baby’s feeling ornery and paint your toenails when you can’t reach them anymore.”

“I can pay people to do that. They have professionals who do it better.” She waited.

“Move in with me—with us. Let me take care of you and be part of all this.”

She didn’t feel deflated, because her expectations had been low. But she did feel a jab of disappointment. Expectations low, hope just a tad too high. Move in with Marsh and let him watch the fun from a safe emotional distance.

“I can take care of myself,” she said. “I think I’ve proved that. I’ve got some financial problems, sure, but I’ll find a way out of them or sell Happiness Key if I’m forced to. Physically I’m fit, and my job’s guaranteed after my maternity leave’s over. Gladys is talking about instituting a real day care now that the nursery renovations are all done. The baby can be right at the center with me. And I’ve got great neighbors, as you know.”

“And what about me?”

“Once he’s weaned—”

“He? You know this is a boy?”

“No, it’s too early. That happens at the next ultrasound, if I decide I want to know. I just think it’s a boy, that’s all.”

“Weaned?”

“I’m going to breast-feed. It’s better. But once he’s on a bottle or solid food, you can have him for longer periods. I won’t keep him away from you. We can work out joint custody if you want.”

“You’ve obviously thought a lot about this.”

“And why wouldn’t I? This was a huge surprise for me, and for you, too. But all those
hormones
don’t keep my brain from processing information, Marsh. Neither of us asked for this, but that doesn’t mean we can’t turn it into a good thing. Things are different now, and we just have to go with that, right?”

He looked perplexed; then even that disappeared and there was no emotion on his face at all. “So I gather my offer’s been turned down.”

“What offer was that? The toenails? The back rub?”

“Moving into my house.”

For just a moment she hesitated and tried to imagine it. Living with Marsh, seeing him morning and night. Helping raise his son, then their son—or daughter. Looking like a family. Acting like a family.

Never really becoming one.

They had drifted together after one bad marriage apiece. She knew she didn’t want more of the same, and now Marsh wasn’t even offering that much. Move in with him. Pretend they were together. Look happy for the sake of the kids.

“I’ll pass,” she said. “I’ll be fine where I am, but I won’t shut you out of the pregnancy again. This
is
your baby, you’re right. You deserve to be informed and involved.”

“Informed and involved.” He nodded, as if the words were foreign to him.

“Look, why don’t you come to the ultrasound, if you want to be part of things? My next appointment’s in three weeks. I’ll text you the date and time.”

He was silent for so long that she thought she’d offended him by asking, but at last he nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Great. And now I’ve got to get back before the pies melt. So we’re good? All settled?”

“Just as comfortable as an old sneaker.”

She wanted to shake him, but she smiled brightly. “I’ll let you know if anything exciting happens in the meantime.”

“You do that.”

He was still standing there when she drove away. No longer smiling or even hungry, she wondered if Marsh was silently celebrating his good luck at dodging the moving-in-together bullet, or simply thinking about the next thing on his long list for the day now that he had crossed off “Talk to Tracy about our kid.” Whichever it was, she hoped he developed a good case of heartburn to go with it.

Wanda wouldn’t have abandoned Maggie and left her to finish pies and handle customers by herself that afternoon if just anybody had asked for her help. But the man asking was the new household manager, calling on behalf of Derek Forbes, and he’d frantically informed Wanda that when Forbes discovered that the menu for tonight’s party didn’t include Wanda’s pies, he had nearly lost his job.

Wanda had graciously offered to send over what she had on hand, but Zippy—and Wanda was sure no sane mother had named this man Zippy—begged her to come to the lavish Statler mansion herself and make the pies right there. Mr.
Forbes had mentioned how much he’d like that to happen. Mr. Forbes had said he might come down and help.

Wanda had been hooked immediately. By Derek’s enthusiasm for her pies. By the promise of cooking in the perfect kitchen where in May she had deposited pies for a party and sworn that, in heaven, she would have that exact setup. By the possible assistance of Fabulous Forbes himself. Heck, she would bake pies in a third-floor walk-up smack on the border of two warring drug lords if Derek Forbes was going to be there to help.