CHAPTER 36

I’VE WAITED TOO LONG TO ANSWER. EITHER THAT, or my expression isn’t reassuring enough because Jason bangs a fist on the table. Our coffee cups, dishes and everyone in the place jump. Me included.

Gordon says, Everything all right over there?

Yeah. Sorry.

He turns back to his customers, but I feel his mind probing into my head. Great. Now I have to make sure I don’t project anything I don’t want him to pick up on. This is private, Gordon.

He doesn’t shut down right away, but finally, after a moment of dead air, his attention is back on coffee and scones and I feel the conduit close.

“Jason,” I say sharply. “Getting pissed is not going to help.”

“Then what is? You don’t believe me. I can see it on your face. You’re going to let Gloria be blamed for this and I’m telling you, she didn’t do it. Laura did.”

I hold up a hand. “I didn’t say I don’t believe you. Gloria doesn’t have a motive for killing your dad. At least not a credible one.”

Relief softens his face and shoulders. “The love affair thing? It’s bullshit. Laura didn’t know anything about Dad and Gloria. She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have been so nice to her when Gloria came over to discuss business with Dad.”

“Well, she sure knew two days ago. Any idea how she found out?”

He shakes his head. “The only thing I can figure is that she must have started having Dad followed.”

“By a private detective? Why would she if she didn’t suspect an affair?”

He fiddles with his still untouched coffee cup. “Maybe she did suspect something. Not with Gloria . . . necessarily.”

I peer at him. “Your dad was seeing someone else besides Gloria?”

Jason’s eyes fill again. He looks down at the table. “I think he was seeing one of his lawyers, too.”

“What makes you think that?”

Again, he doesn’t look at me. “I walked in on him once. At the office. We were supposed to meet for lunch and I was early. He and this woman were kissing. They made some lame excuse that he was helping her get something out of her eye.” He grunts. “Yeah. Her eye. His hand was on her boob. How stupid do they think I am?”

“Did you tell your stepmom?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

His expression is suddenly cautious, hesitant and shadowed by guilt.

“You think you should have?”

“Maybe.” Again, he’s avoiding my eyes. “Truth is, I was happy to see it. I don’t like Laura. Never did. I thought if Dad was seeing someone else, it meant he and Laura were having problems.”

I dig in my purse and pull out a small notepad and pen. “What was the lawyer’s name?”

“Connie Crandall.”

“She works at your dad’s office?”

He nods.

I give Jason a sympathetic smile. “Were there any other women?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure but I can find out.”

Uh-oh. “What do you mean?”

Eagerness replaces the uncertainty of before. “If Laura did hire a private detective, there’s got to be a paper trail, right?”

Paper trail? He’s been watching too much television. Before I can comment, though, he’s already forging ahead.

“I’ll go through her desk. Look for a bill or a canceled check.”

I hold up a hand to stem his enthusiasm. “Uh-uh,” I say firmly. “No. I don’t want you to do anything. If your stepmom was involved in your dad’s death, she’s dangerous. Let me take care of it.”

“But how—?” A craftiness creeps into his expression. “I know. Laura and I have to go to the funeral home today. To make arrangements. I’ll leave Dad’s study door open and you can come inside. Laura’s office is off their bedroom upstairs. We’ll be gone at least two hours.”

“What about the staff?”

“Laura gave them the day off. Some of them have been with Dad and me for a long time. They were all pretty shook up by what happened.”

I can’t believe I’m actually considering his suggestion, but it does make sense. More sense than my trying to break into their house on my own or calling every private eye in the San Diego area to see if Laura is a customer. Something they may or may not tell me. Unless the price is right.

“Okay. What time are you leaving?”

“Two.”

“Here.” I dip a hand back into my purse and pull out a business card. I circle my cell number. “Take this. If your plans change or you come back sooner than four, call me. I’ll make sure I’m in and out by then.”

Jason takes the card, then gestures for my pen. I hand it over. He scribbles a set of numbers on a napkin. “The security code for the front gate.”

I slip the napkin into my pocket.

Jason is looking at my business card. “Bail enforcement. You’re a bounty hunter, too?” he says. “Very cool.”

Yeah. Bounty hunter turned private detective. Very cool.

CHAPTER 37

I LEAVE JASON AT THE COFFEEHOUSE. HE’S FINALLY started in on the scone, his demeanor calm, almost detached. Not normal for a kid who spent the last hour discussing who could have killed his father.

And yet, how should he be acting? He’s doing what I’d do in the same situation. Especially if I suspected my stepmother had engineered my dad’s death.

I’m hardly normal, though, am I? Probably not a good idea to compare what I’d do in any situation.

Maybe his detachment can be credited to shock. Jason has had a rough couple of days. It could also be something more sinister. I don’t want to believe it, but I know it’s possible that Jason had a hand in whatever happened to his dad. He stood to lose as much as his stepmother if his father was indeed in trouble with the law. If that’s true, going to the house this afternoon could be risky. Could even be a setup, a trap to make Gloria look guiltier. I can see the headline now: Gloria Estrella’s friend caught breaking into O’Sullivan home.

Well, nothing to do but take the chance. I have no other leads. Now the quest becomes to discover what kind of trouble his dad was in.

I know who might be able to help me.

The question is, after last night, am I ready?

Gordon throws me a parting invitation to come again when we can talk and then I’m back in my car, wondering if I have the courage to face my family and knowing I have no choice. Reluctantly, I crank over the engine and head for La Mesa.

SUNDAY MORNING USED TO BE SPECIAL IN THE Strong household. When I was a kid, we’d go to early Mass at St. John’s in Lemon Grove, pick up donuts at the parish hall after and head for home. Steve and I always managed to wolf down a donut or two on the way, even though we knew we were supposed to wait until after we had a “good” breakfast of pancakes or eggs or French toast. We’d sit in the backseat trying to be sneaky, giggling at how we were fooling our parents even though we knew the three feet separating us in the backseat was hardly distance enough to muffle the sound of the paper bag rustling or our greedy chomping on hot, jelly-filled donuts. Mom and Dad always let us get away with it. Never mentioned the jelly stains or powdered-sugar mustaches.

Steve went away to college. Mom, Dad and I still went to church, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun sitting in the backseat alone with that greasy bag. I waited until we got home and proper breakfast was consumed before nibbling on a plain cake donut.

Then Steve got killed.

We stopped going to church. We no longer ate donuts over the Sunday paper. It became another morning to get through, prelude to another day without Steve. Another day without warmth, without joy.

Over time, things returned to a kind of normalcy. Dad went back to his job, Mom went back to work, and I went back to school. There was a gaping hole in our lives, but to their credit, my parents rallied. For my benefit, I know. I’ll always be grateful to them for that.

Some things, however, were not as before. After the funeral, we never went back to St. John’s. The parish priest tried many times to coax my folks back, but the answer was always the same. Like Steve, God vanished from our lives. Utterly and completely.