“Why don’t you bring him over so I can apologize?” I said to Liz.

“Funny. I’ll be right back.”

She walked toward them. Zanella’s expression changed, and I could see his dislike for Liz form on his face as she got closer. Made me want to hit him again.

I watched their conversation. Zanella was animated, gesturing in my direction, as he wiped the blood from his mouth. Klimes and Liz were passive, each nodding occasionally.

I shifted my weight, trying to get comfortable with my hands behind my back. My right hand throbbed, and I was pretty sure I’d cut it on his teeth. I didn’t care. He’d asked for it, and he knew what he was doing. I should have kept my cool, but I’d been doing that for two days now. Zanella had proven to be the antidote for my anger.

Liz and Klimes walked back to me.

“He’s pissed, but he’s not gonna charge you,” she said. “He could, but Klimes talked him out of it.”

“Don’t make no sense, really,” Klimes said with a shrug. “He said some things he shouldn’t have, and you hit him, which you definitely shouldn’t have. But he doesn’t wanna have to explain to everyone how you dropped him.”

“I’d be happy to tell people,” I said.

“I’ll bet,” Klimes said, smiling. “Hey, Zanella’s okay. Just wound a little tight and doesn’t trust too many folks. Seeing too many dead people will do that to a guy. Specially a pretty girl like was in your place. But now we’re dealing with this and you and he are gonna have to be around each other.”

“No problem for me,” I said.

Klimes chuckled and motioned for me to stand up. I did and he unlocked the cuffs.

“Make no mistake, though, Noah,” he said, hooking the cuffs onto his belt loop. “Touch him again, and I’ll shoot you.” He aimed his index finger at me. “Got it?”

I examined my hand. Just scraped, no cuts. “Got it.”

Klimes waddled away.

“You’re lucky he’s a good guy,” Liz said. “Anybody else probably would’ve taken you inside and beat the shit out of you.”

Klimes and Zanella walked around the other side of the house, Zanella throwing one last look over his shoulder at me.

“He nearly crushed me on the patio,” I said.

“Big, strong guy.”

“I’ll say.”

The people who had come outside for the altercation were filtering back into the house. My house. The one with the dead girl in it.

“I’m guessing I won’t get to stay the night here,” I said.

“Macho and smart,” Liz said. “What a catch.”

In the past, she would have been chewing me out for what I’d done. Not that I didn’t deserve it. But now, she was cutting me some slack, probably knowing that the punch I’d thrown wasn’t just for Zanella.

FIFTEEN

Liz and I walked up the boardwalk, away from the chaos that had enveloped my house. We were surrounded by bikers, skateboarders, and runners, but I felt more at home among them than I did with the cops and techs in my living room.

“First things first,” she said. “You aren’t a suspect. Obviously, I was with you thenight before last and was at your place until eight yesterday morning. They’ve confirmed you were on the plane and the visit to the prison. Zanella may be acting like an asshole, but they’ve cleared you.”

I figured Zanella couldn’t help acting the way he did. You are what you are.

A shirtless guy on rollerblades, bouncing to his iPod, sliced between us, the aroma of coconut oil swirling off him as he flew by.

A dull pounding was working my temples, a headache on the way. “Was she killed here?”

“Klimes said it doesn’t look like it. Whoever did it brought her here already dead.”

That explained the blood on the patio, but it didn’t explain why. I thought of Darcy standing on the boardwalk, pressuring me to go see Simington. Tough and feisty.

“Any sign of a struggle?” I asked.

“They’re checking.”

I let out a long, slow sigh. A lot had gone on in the last twelve hours, and I didn’t like any of it.

“Obviously, I won’t be involved,” Liz said. “Because of me and you. I called John. He’ll keep an eye on it, stay in touch with Klimes and see where it goes.”

Two middle-school-aged girls shrieked as two boys chased them up the sand, spraying them with water pistols.

“They brought her to my house for a reason,” I said as the kids ran behind us.

Liz nodded. “I thought the same thing. Sending a message.”

“A loud one. Darcy only came to see me about one thing. Means it has to be about Simington. Which is what I told Klimes and Zanella.”

“So a dead Darcy is someone’s way of telling you to stay out of it and away from him.” “Oops.”

We did a U-turn and headed back toward the house. The dark clouds were still threatening but had failed to deliver a single drop of precipitation.

“How was San Quentin?” she asked. “Did you meet him?”

“Yeah. Simington’s a swell guy.” I waved a hand in the air, dismissing any of our conjecture that Darcy or Simington had been a fraud. “He’s my father, Liz. No doubt.”

She looked at me, her eyes heavy with concern. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I don’t either.”

“What was he like?”

“Looks like me. He wouldn’t fight with me. Seemed to know how I was gonna feel about him. I was too numb to take in anything else, really.” I paused. “And he had my name tattooed on his wrist.”

She didn’t say anything, waited for me to continue.

“He also gave me a name.”

“A name?”

“Landon Keene,” I said. “He said to start with that and see if I found anything.”

“Name doesn’t sound familiar,” she said. “I’ll run it and see if it pops.”

“I honestly don’t think he wants off death row,” I said. “He didn’t talk specifically about killing anyone, but he seemed at ease with what he’d done and where he is now.”

She nodded. We kept walking.

“I met a cop who doesn’t want him off, either,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow in question. I told her about Kenney and what Miranda had told me.

She didn’t seem surprised. “If he thinks Simington killed his nephew, it’s a wonder he didn’t just kill Simington himself.”

“Yep.”

“So that makes two then,” Liz said. “Two what?”

The breeze off the water ruffled through her hair. She pushed it away from her face.

“Two people who don’t want Russell Simington leaving San Quentin,” she said. “That cop and whoever killed Darcy Gill.”

SIXTEEN

We’d arrived at my place just as Carter came barreling down the boardwalk on an old beach cruiser. He hit the brakes and skidded to a halt next to the wall.

He looked at the house, then me. “They find the meth lab?”

“Yeah. The jig is up.”

Liz rolled her eyes. Carter smiled at her. They tolerated each other because of me. Being in the middle of them wasn’t always easy, but I was learning to manage it a little better than in the past.

“I’ll leave you two to … do whatever you do,” Liz said. She put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

“What the hell is all this?” Carter asked after she walked away.

“Remember the girl who came to see me?”

“Yeah.”

“Dead. Inside.”

He looked at me for a moment like he was trying to figure out if I was kidding. When he realized I wasn’t, he said, “You didn’t do it, did you?”

“Uh, no.”

“Where were you?”

I hesitated. “San Francisco.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Went to meet the guy she said was my father.” “He lives up there?”

I took a deep breath. Telling Carter the whole truth would be a welcome relief; I could have used his help carrying this burden. I should’ve told him right away.

“He’s a resident of San Quentin,” I said.

“You serious?”

“Unfortunately. He’s on death row.”

He dropped his bike to the sidewalk and sat down on the wall next to me. “Oh, man.”

I told him about my trip, and the end to any uncertainty that I was related to Russell Simington. I told him who Darcy was and why she’d come to see me. Something entered his expression halfway through my explanation, and I was pretty sure it was hurt. I was too chicken to address it.