For completeness, I had to add: Gerry entering David’s suite with a key stolen from a Lincoln Point homicide detective and finding the mirror on the floor.
It made sense, and if some variation of my play was true, I could hold onto my belief that Rosie told the truth when she said she never went into David’s room.
I was glad I hadn’t presented the mirror to Skip.
Had I just cleared Rosie?
I wished it were that easy.
“Can you have two BFFs?” Maddie asked me while we were saying good night.
“Of course. Do you have a new best friend in town besides Taylor?”
“Doug, in my class.”
“That’s nice. You’ve told me about him. He’s Dusty Doug in your mini soda fountain, right?”
She nodded. “He’s the one who lets me tell jokes and laughs at them.”
“Maybe I can meet him sometime.”
“Nuh-uh.”
Uh-oh. It was too soon in Maddie’s life for her to be keeping her family away from her friends. I took comfort in the fact that she’d told me his name. It occurred to me that Doug might be the reason Maddie wasn’t kicking her legs anymore when I left her behind.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, with a smile that was supposed to tell her I wasn’t bothered.
“Grandma, do you have a good picture of me and you?”
“I’m sure I do. What do you want it for?”
She patted a spot next to her clock. “Just to put on my table here. Mine are all on my old computer at home.”
“I’ll dig one out for you. That reminds me. Why did the witch need a computer? I’ve been dying to know.”
Maddie shook a sleepy head. “Nuh-uh, can’t tell you till we’re with Taylor and Mr. Baker. That was the deal.”
“Oh. Well, that might not happen, sweetheart.”
“Why not?”
“You can still have playdates with Taylor, but it might not include her grandfather and me.”
“Did you fight with Mr. Baker?”
“No. It’s just-”
“Complicated, right? That’s what my parents always say when their friends get divorced or something.”
“Right. It’s complicated.”
Usually, no matter how hot the day, nights in the Bay Area were cool. Without even trying to do anything productive, I took a glass of herbal ice tea to the coolest spot in the house-my atrium, one of the features of my Eichler home that I couldn’t live without. My house had needed a whole new roof last year, and Richard had suggested an upgrade while I was at it-a retractable atrium skylight. It seemed a luxury I didn’t need, but now I didn’t know why I’d waited so long to have it installed. When it was closed, the acrylic material cast beautiful patterns of light on the floor; when it was open the atrium was completely exposed to the cool outside air.
I pushed the button and watched the skylight slide back on its track.
I refused to let my recent atrium experience in the Duns Scotus color my pleasure. These were my trees, my plants. I could name every one of them-azalea, mums, cyclamen-and they harbored no danger.
It was the kind of night when Ken and I, unable to sleep, might come out here and chat about the upcoming week or share with each other our own reviews of books and movies. The ferns planted around the edge were a labor of love our first few months and still reminded me of a wonderful time in my life. The multitude of empty pots that I’d neglected to fill were only a mild reproach.
In recent years, Beverly came by often to relate her adventures as a civilian volunteer for the LPPD. She had funny stories about SUVs driving on the sidewalks to get around traffic or about the excuses people came up with for not wearing seat belts. “I’m on my way to get it fixed” was all too common, and “I’m allergic to vinyl” was one of my favorites.
I pictured Beverly on her porch on this warm, windless night, sharing stories with Nick. A smile came to my face. Beverly had contracted rheumatic fever as a child and lived day to day with a damaged heart. We’d had several scares when we thought we’d lost her and never predicted that she’d live longer than her brother, Ken. There was no one who deserved a loving companion more than she did.
Maddie was sleeping in the corner bedroom; that was enough company for me.
Or so I thought.
I heard the faintest knocking on my front door. I put down my glass and turned my better ear to the sound. Unmistakable shuffling noises reached my ear along with another soft tap, tap, tap. Someone was at my door at ten thirty. Not the latest I’d ever had company, but generally late night visitors were expected.
I got up and checked the peephole. Barry Cannon peered back at me from the other side.
My breath caught. Barry looked the most unkempt I’d ever seen him. If peephole lenses could be trusted, he had a miserable expression and a dark shadow on his face. He wore a stretched-out T-shirt with a sports logo on the front.
How did he know where I lived? I wasn’t listed in the phone book. I thought back and realized I’d probably put my address in the faculty section of Rosie’s updated yearbook.
I debated whether to open the door. I worried about Maddie, in dreamland one room away. Barry shuffled his feet and tapped again.
My ear was still close to the door and I jumped, though the knock was light.
I took a breath. No one who comes to kill you knocks so gently, I reasoned, or looks so downtrodden. Also, Barry was shorter than I was, and even though he was more muscular, I’d always thought that height gave one the edge.
I opened the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you so late, Mrs. Porter,” Barry said. “But remember you said you wanted to meet with me.”
So I had.
“Come in, Barry,” I said, ushering him into the atrium. As he passed by me in my foyer, I’d detected no smell of alcohol, which brought me great relief.
“I know this isn’t what you had in mind, but I need to talk to you,” he said.
I tried to hide my excitement at having a chance to interview Barry in a better environment than Miller’s Mortuary. I recalled his nasty mood at that time and took his presence in my home so late at night as a sign that he was ready to cooperate.
I wasn’t completely devoid of fear, however. What if he was a killer? Killing twice wouldn’t be a great leap. I wondered if I should slip my cell phone into my pocket and surreptitiously keep my index finger on the speed dial button for Skip. I also thought of saying something like, “I’m not alone, you know. My very tall, husky son is in the next room.” Or, to protect Maddie, I might say, “I’m utterly alone in the house.”
This was no way to start an interview.
“Can I get you a glass of tea? Or something else to drink?” I asked him.
Barry shook his head, running his hand across his forehead at the same time. When the light from the small lamp in the atrium hit just right, I could see beads of perspiration. “I’m good, thanks. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you today.”
Barry’s manner put me at ease. He seemed as dejected as Rosie when David let her down. “It wasn’t the right time to approach you, Barry. I’m really sorry for the loss of your good friend. But I have so many questions about his death and I need to have them answered.”
“I’m aware of that. And that Rosie is being accused of killing David. I know you became friends after graduation and I’m sure you want to clear her.”
“I want to discover the truth.” Wasn’t that always what prosecutors said in their opening trial remarks?
“Everyone in the gang is talking about how you’re going around investigating and I decided to come here myself and set everything straight. You know, you still have a lot of power over your students, Mrs. Porter. I guess we still need your approval.” Not everyone, I thought, calling Cheryl’s “you’re not my teacher anymore” outburst to mind. “I swear to you, I could never have killed David. He and I have been friends since we were kids.”