The Cactus Club Killings (Joe Portugal) (26 page)

“Did he ever say anything to you about a
Euphorbia milii
with striped leaves?”

“Oh, dear. That’s the plant they found on his head, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“If he did, I don’t remember. But I must admit, sometimes when he went off about his plant collection, I tuned out. I think all married couples do that after a while. You get to know when its important to hear every word your spouse is saying and when it isn’t.”

A tear ran out from under the edge of her sunglasses. Her face crumpled. A couple more drops made their way down her cheeks. For the tiniest second the reaction seemed forced. These could be crocodile tears sliding down her face. Hope had done it, wiped Dick out for God knew what reason, after treacherously killing Brenda to deflect suspicion.

God, I was getting paranoid. Hope killing Dick? About as likely as me offing Gina.

I scooted over and awkwardly slipped an arm around her. She cried for just a minute, reached into her purse, and pulled out a tissue. “What were you asking me about again?”

“Its not important.”

“Of course it’s important, or you wouldn’t have asked it.
Oh, of course, about that plant. He might have mentioned such a thing, but, as I said, much of what he said about his plants went in one ear and out the other.”

“Do you mind if I take a look in the yard when we get back?”

“It will be dark.”

“Not if we leave now.”

“I’m not ready to go back yet. There won’t be anyone there. Lyle is dropping Magda off at eight. She’s going to spend the night.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I have a flashlight in the truck. I can use that.”

Neither of us said anything for a long time. The sun got bigger and redder and tinted the sparse clouds pink. Off to our right two sea gulls had an altercation about some scrap. They resolved it without my intervention. The salt air got cooler, the ocean smell more noticeable.

The two runners went by in the opposite direction, the only people I’d seen in a while. I looked around. Fifty yards away a young couple was shaking out their blanket. Twice that far, parents waited while their kid got in his last splashing of the day. And back on the path, near where our car was parked, someone sizable was watching us through a pair of binoculars.

“Stay right here,” I told Hope. She tried to get up, but I pushed down on her shoulder and she dropped back to the sand.

“Joe, what in heavens going—”

“Just stay there, okay?” I ran toward the figure. The sand sucked at my sneakers, making me bounce back and forth like one of the aliens from that fifties sci-fi movie
Invaders from Mars
.

I reached yelling distance. “Stay right there! I want to talk to you!” This clever action motivated the watcher to drop the
binoculars from his eyes, indulge in an exaggerated take, and head for his red Malibu.

By the time I reached the path, he was in the car. I kept coming, dodging an Accord to get across the road, and I actually got a hand on the rear fender before he spun the wheels and pulled out from under me. I chased him up Vista del Mar, because in the movies the hero can outrun a car. This wasn’t the movies. He disappeared around a bend.

I angled over onto the sidewalk, put my head down, and wheezed. Next I rubbed the stitch in my side. By the time I’d finished that activity, Hope had caught up with me.

“I told you to stay put,” I said, a bit unkindly.

“Was that man involved in Dicks murder?”

“I don’t know. He was at B rendas funeral, and I’ve caught him following me several times since.”

“Not a very good surveillance man, is he?”

“What?”

“Aren’t they supposed to stay hidden?”

“Jeez, Hope, I don’t know the rules for this kind of thing. I know he’s supposed to see me. Whether or not I’m supposed to see him isn’t on my instruction sheet.”

“Did you get the plate?”

“The plate? What plate is—Shit. What kind of moron am I? There I was with his license plate three feet from my face and I didn’t get it.”

When I got over being pissed at myself, I herded Hope back to the truck. As we drove back I found myself wondering if Austin and Vicki had been right. What proof did I have that the guy following me was a cop? He did sort of look like a character from a Martin Scorsese movie. Maybe the Mob was involved. They’d horned in on plant smuggling, and I was getting in their way. Soon I would sleep with the fishes.

W
HEN WE ARRIVED AT HOPE’S, LIGHTS BURNED IN THE LIV
ing room and someone moved about in the kitchen. “Looks like Magda let herself in.”

“Yes. We exchanged keys years ago, for vacation emergencies and such.”

I escorted her inside, swapped greetings with Magda, and took my flashlight out back. It took ten minutes to spot some red and green stripes at the periphery of the flashlight’s beam. Two leaves only, one half brown, the other relatively healthy. The plant itself was two feet tall, unbranched, in a rusted-out coffee can.

I went into the garage. The Buick awaited a restoration that would probably never come. I found a cardboard box, slipped the plant in, carried it into the house. “You mind if I take this with me?”

Magda gave me a funny look. Hope said, “That stick? Be my guest.”

“Thanks. Anything else I can do?”

She came over and gave me a little hug. “No, Joe. You’ve done enough. If I can just make it through the memorial service, I’ll be all right. You’ll be there?”

“Yes, though I’ll probably be late. I have an audition.”

“That’s fine, dear. Do what you have to do.”

“I could cancel if you want. I could—”

“Joe.”

“Yes?”

“You have to make a living. Go to your audition. Dick would want it that way.”

When I got home I put the euphorbia in the greenhouse and went into the kitchen to scramble a couple of eggs. I’d just cracked them into the bowl when the phone rang. I rushed to pick it up. “Hi!”

“Joe Portugal?”

“Yes?”

“This is Willy Schoeppe.”

“Oh.”

“You seem disappointed.”

“Sorry. I was expecting someone else. What can I do for you this evening?”

“I am calling to tell you that you can eliminate the plant smugglers as the possible murderers of our mutual friend.”

“How did you come up with that conclusion?”

“I have been in contact with them.”

“You have? All of them? You’ve been in contact with all the plant smugglers in the entire world?”

“You seem upset, young man.”

“I’m sorry. I get like this when I haven’t had my dinner. Please, tell me everything.” I dropped down onto the floor with my back against the back of the couch.

“I have been on the telephone all day. I finally tracked down my brother, Hermann, in Nairobi. He, in turn, contacted his colleagues. They are very upset.”

“What do they have to be upset about?”

“That suspicion has been pointed at them. They assured my brother they had nothing to do with Brenda’s murder.”

“And you believe them.”

“Yes.”

“You are a more trusting soul than I, Mr. Schoeppe.”

“Consider the circumstances. These people do not wish to have attention brought to themselves. A murder would certainly do so.”

“What about that guy who got macheted? I suppose they had nothing to do with that too.”

“I have told you that incident did not occur.”

“I see. Thanks for the information. It’ll help me concentrate my efforts somewhere more fruitful.”

“You are certainly welcome.”

“Maybe we can get together again before you leave.”

“It is doubtful. I am scheduled to fly back to Germany tomorrow evening. And I have a very busy schedule until then.”

“I see. Have a safe trip, then.”

“Thank you. Good-bye.”

I sat there propped up against the couch, with the telephone in my lap, wondering what was wrong with what Willy Schoeppe had just told me. The phone went off again. I answered halfway through the first ring.

“What were you, sitting on the phone?” Gina said. “Waiting for a call from your new girlfriend?”

“Huh? You mean Amanda?”

“Of course I mean Amanda.”

“‘Girlfriend’ is a bit of an exaggeration. Though I did get lucky last night.”

“Congratulations.”

“But in the morning she didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“I take back the congratulations.”

“So how’d it go for you last night?”

“I got lucky too.”

“You did? But you said you were getting too old for recreational sex.”

“I also said two dates in a row took it out of the recreational category.”

“Oh.”

“Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Something wrong?”

“No.”

“There is. Tell Gina.”

“I guess it’s that you have somebody now. While my somebody flew off back to Wisconsin this afternoon.”

“Sorry. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call him and tell him that was the end of it.”

“You would do that for me?”

A pause. “It sounded good when I said it.”

“Okay, fine, lets drop it, okay? What did you do all day?”

“I brought the spreadsheet up to date. I’m beginning to think I should have used a database instead; I could’ve indexed everything much—”

I cleared my throat.

“What? Oh, sorry. And I went back through some more of the archives. Brenda hardly popped up at all, and when she did it was some technical discussion about spine sizes or something. And I went to the gym. I haven’t gone all week and I felt like a slug. And I did some grocery shopping and went to the Gap and sat in the park and read.”

I filled her in on my exploits. She said, “I’m not sure I trust this Schoeppe guy. His story sounds a little too pat.”

“I’m not sure I do either. Maybe I should sic Casillas on him.”

“What do you have on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“I have an audition, then Dicks memorial. You coming?”

“I haven’t been invited.”

“Everyone thinks you’re my girlfriend. No one will be upset if you come. And I know you can’t stay away. Your woman’s natural curiosity is whetted.”

“That’s about the most sexist remark I’ve ever heard you make.”

“And it wasn’t very, was it? Aren’t I a peach?”

“Yeah, a real peach. Joe? Are we okay?”

“Why shouldn’t we be okay?”

“You sounded really out of sorts when we started talking.”

“Maybe I was. I’m going through some stuff. Suddenly in touch with my mortality. Needing to perpetuate my genes. That sort of thing.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m okay. Let me give you directions to Dicks service.”

“In case my woman’s natural curiosity gets the best of me?”

“You got it.”

After we hung up I went in the kitchen and stared at my eggs. The two yolks stared back. I covered them with Saran Wrap and stuck them in the fridge. I could eat them in the morning. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my mother was holding forth on the proper storage of eggs. I was setting myself up for botulism, she said. Well, Mom, I thought, if I keel over at Dick’s service we’ll know for sure.