Murder Under the Italian Moon (22 page)

"Whoa, from jail to Cinecitta?" I was lost on how this fit in with the case.

"Is he telling you about the proposal we received from Italy?" Carolyn asked.

I turned to talk to her and saw Larry going into J.B.'s. He must have sensed my eyes on him—he turned and smiled at the three of us, winked at me and disappeared behind the stained-glass door.

"Okay, boys and girls." Carolyn spoke to no one in particular. "Time to hit the road. You two can chat on the phone. Chop, chop, let's go." She acted like Kyle's fairy godmother, and in a way she was. "Hey, Lella, did the kid show you his new bracelet?"

What was she was talking about?

"Carolyn, come on." Kyle didn't sound too happy. He lifted his right leg, pulled up the pant leg, and I saw this square thing attached to his ankle. It looked like a cell phone case mounted onto a wrist band.

"Oh my God, does it hurt? Is it heavy?"

"No, Mom, it's not heavy. Don't know why Carolyn had to tell you about it." He scowled.

"Big deal. She would have found out either way. Let's go."

Nothing she said could put a damper on my happiness. I hugged Kyle again. He sat in the driver's seat of the Ford Taurus. I stood on the sidewalk, watching the car drive away until I couldn't see it anymore.

Walking into the dim light of J.B.'s place played tricks on my eyesight. I saw dancing shadows where there were none. I tried not to limp. Bonnie motioned me over. Today she wore the brown version of her standard outfit and sat at the same table, on the same chair where she sat the first time, as did Larry and J.B. Maybe our chairs had invisible nametags, because the seat left empty was the same one I had occupied the last time. Larry and Bonnie had their martini drinks and, to my surprise, a glass of water with lemon waited for me.

"Bonnie, I'm so sorry—" I started.

She looked up and stopped me with her hand. "Forget it. Better that way. If you had been in court we'd be still there talking to the annoying Italian reporter."

"Kyle thought she was delightful."

"A week in jail would do that to a youngster," J.B. piped up. It sounded funnier than it was. "We took a vote, and we are all having the same food we had before."

"Fine by me." I swore I felt a collective sigh of relief circle the table. Was I such a royal pain?

"With a little luck, I'll never have to look at this stuff again." Bonnie pointed to a large yellow folder with thick black writing on it.

"What is it?" I was the clueless one, as usual.

"Evidence, copies of everything they have. In case we went to court. Ain't going to happen." Bonnie hummed the last words. "That flighty bitch is about to get caught."

"The police found Ruby?"

"Not yet." Larry shook his head.

I wanted to keep the conversation going. "What kind of evidence?"

Frost shrouded the table.

I looked at their eyes. They looked back. Larry put his hand over mine.

"Okay, what's going on?"

"It's from the safety deposit box. Ruby is still looking for that key. She doesn't know you turned it over to the authorities." That was the longest statement I had heard J.B. make. I noticed his arm was draped over Bonnie's chair. Maybe that was why he sounded so happy.

"It would be a good idea if you spent the night somewhere else," Bonnie advised me. "She's bound to try to get that key."

"Good, I would love to have a chat with her. I don't intend to spend my life in hiding until Ruby gets caught."

"I doubt you'll have to wait. Ruby needs the key now."

"Now? What makes you think that?" I'm not sure why I asked that specific question. The three of them exchanged glances. Bonnie opened the folder and spilled the contents on the table. "This." She pushed a see-through plastic envelope toward me. Everything seemed to be sealed in clear plastic. I picked up the bag and pulled out what looked like a mock passport. United States of America. I glanced at Bonnie.

"Go ahead, open it. It's a copy."

I opened it and Ruby's photo smiled at me. A much younger Ruby. Her last name was still Alexander. How old was this passport? I meant to look at the issue date when her birthdate caught my eyes. "Because of the wrong birthdate?"

"What?" It sounded like a chorus.

"It says December twenty-ninth, 1948. She was born in 1952."

Bonnie rummaged among the plastic-looking documents. "Easy to figure out. Here is her birth certificate. Let's see. Yes, it says 1948." She looked at me as if looking for confirmation.

"She kept her birth certificate in a security box?" I took it from Bonnie. How bizarre. "Why would she lie about her age?"

The three of them laughed.

"Lella, why do women lie about their age?" Bonnie chided. "Why are you taking this so personally? It's only four years."

What was I going to say? Because I spent the last four weeks torturing myself over the chart of a dead woman? Unbelievable! I had no one to blame but myself. I cleared my throat, searching for something to say. "What's so special about the passport?"

"It's about to expire." It was the first time Larry spoke about the security box contents, and his voice sounded—peculiar. Somewhere, in the archives of my mind, a deceit flag went up. I looked at the passport again and Larry was right; it was set to expire on March twenty-fifth, 2006. Saturday. Damn. "You think she needs to get her passport before it expires? Why?" My question waited out there, for anyone and no one in particular to answer.

"To get out of the country. Isn't that obvious?" J.B. said to me.

"I'm missing something. I've known Ruby for a long time. She never spoke of friends or relatives outside the United States. Come to think of it, she never spoke of friends or relatives
in
the United States, unless you count lovers."

"Bingo," Bonnie said.

We sat quietly for a while, drinks untouched. I couldn't figure out what they knew that I didn't. "How is she going to get out of the country? Swimming?"

J.B. laughed softly. I waited.

"She had tens of thousands of dollars cash, in small bills. Here's the receipt."

"That doesn't get you far." Larry glanced at Bonnie.

Maybe there was a magic password mentally exchanged, permission to wreck my soul. The attitude at the table changed. We huddled around, touching, talking, looking at every piece of copied evidence. Bonnie was familiar with all of this. She explained to me, in no particular hurry, what each item meant, piece by piece.

"She kept some sort of journal. There are time gaps, and the longest one corresponds with the car accident on Ortega." Bonnie may have remembered my husband lost his life in that accident because she paused, shoved papers around and sipped her martini. "See this? I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I bet it's an offshore account, and the money feeding into it doesn't come from a business or investment. It comes from individuals."

"You mean like donations? Secret admirers?"

"Secret admirers." J.B. laughed out loud. "You funny, girl!" He poked my arm lightly.

"Try blackmail." Larry looked at me. "Ever met any of her lovers?"

I shook my head to fight off mental pictures of Nick's smile. Ruby and I were best friends. She spoke freely of her promiscuity and the married status of some of her lovers, but she never mentioned names. And I had never found this unusual, so which of us was the strangest? "Do you have names? Do you know for sure?" I turned to Bonnie.

"Nah, she posted dates, initials and amounts. Although some initials do correspond with names of prominent married citizens in several newspaper articles she kept and from her own fashion reports. Sleek bitch, indeed."

Out of curiosity, I moved the short pile of copied article clips in front of me to look at the dates. Was she doing this after I met her? How could I be so stupid? My table companions watched me finger through the sheets of paper. I felt like a peeping Tom. I pushed the stack away, and one page slid off. I recognized Nick's smile before anything else. The earth stopped spinning, and blood rushed to my head.
Ortega Highway Settlement
was the headline. Oh my God! The article went on to describe the accident: The car was westbound on Ortega Highway when the Honda CRX skidded and plunged over the embankment. Eighty-seven accidents had been reported on that stretch of Ortega Highway—two were fatal. I wanted to stop reading, needed to stop reading. But I couldn't. The CHP called the accident site, about fourteen miles east of Interstate 5, "Ricochet Alley." Ms. Alexander, the passenger, was slightly injured. Her companion, Nicholas York, lost his life. Ms. Alexander sued Caltrans. The lawsuit was settled out of court. Marko Forrester was the Irvine-based lawyer representing—Ruby Alexander.

My hands shook. The others looked at the papers, then up at my face.

"Lella, you okay?"

I glanced at Larry and nodded. "Can I take all this home with me and look it over? I'll return it promptly, I promised."

"You didn't know about the lawsuit?" Bonnie sounded puzzled. "Did you notice the name of her lawyer?"

"No, no, had no idea. But I would like very much to have a copy of everything if I can't have
your
copy." Did Kyle know about it? He did say Nick was driving Ruby's car.
Her companion.
What else was going on under my nose that I didn't know? I reached for the plastic-covered evidence on the table and started to go through it again item by item, but now I was rushing as if my life depended on it. Beads of perspiration clustered on the back of my neck, and my body quivered like my hands. Nothing looked familiar—names, faces, places, Ruby's other life. My anxiety bordered on paranoia.

And there it was, his picture. I stopped, closed my eyes.
Breathe, just breathe.
Was I mixing reality with dreams? Nick, looking out at me, laughing, finger pointed. The Nick of the dream.
Mocking me?
The photo was unusually large, the size of computer paper. But he didn't smile for me. He was laughing and pointing at the person who took his photo.

A few hundred yards away from J.B.'s place, Larry stopped the car. I knew what would come next. Should he take the 5 South or the 55 east?

"I want to go home."

He didn't argue. The stroke of his hand on my knee felt different, more tender than sexual. "Something happened in there. I know it. Care to talk about it?"

I shook my head. I didn't trust myself not to break down.

"I figured it has to do with Ruby and—Nick." He said "Nick" in a hurry, devoid of emotions. Was he going to play cop? He started the car and headed toward the 5. "Aren't you even a little curious about that lawyer, Marko Forrester?" I knew he was changing the subject to get my mind off my worries.

"I assume he's related to Aunt Millie?" His good intentions worked, if only a little.

"He must be. I don't believe in coincidences. None of this will matter as soon as Ruby is apprehended. Bonnie had all that paperwork in case she had to go to court with Kyle."

"I owe a big thanks to you and Bonnie. Kyle looked so good, like jail never happened."

"Could help him if he ever plays a convict," Larry said.
Cute.

We entered the freeway. It was still afternoon, yet the lights were lit on the big green directional signs that leapt at us, one by one against the cloudy sky.

"He was in her bedroom."

"The house that burned?" He understood
.

"No, that was Tom's house. She met Tom after the crash."

Larry kept his eyes on the road, squeezed my knee lightly.

"They had sex. I could tell by his hair." I had to pause and breathe. "He was getting dressed in front of her bedroom window when she took his photo." I waited for Larry's "so sorry." He surprised me with his silence.

"I have no idea when it happened, and he looked too much at home for that to be a one-time fluke."

"How long did she live in that house?"

We were having this civilized conversation about my cheating husband and my double-timing best-friend slut, and we didn't mention their names, like an unspoken alliance.

"She was already renting the place in Laguna when I met her, and she lived there until she married Tom. It used to be a garage that was part of an estate. A little remodeling changed it into a cute cottage. The entire estate sold two years ago to some French celebrity, a shoe designer or something. Soon the old buildings got torn down to make room for new ones, and I'm guessing they're still fighting with the city or the Coastal Commission, because nothing has been built." We approached the spot of the morning accident, except now we traveled in the opposite direction.

"Wonder if that young lady in the truck gave birth?" I was grateful Larry once again changed the subject.

I didn't ask him to come in; I needed to be alone, to hide my pain from the ones I loved. He left, and the minute I got upstairs I collapsed on my bed, hugging myself in a fetal position waiting for the flow of tears to run its course. The phone rang.
Not now.
It stopped, then the shrill sound started again. Maybe it was Kyle. "Hello."

"Lella?" Bonnie, and she sounded like the Bonnie down at the marina, the day the cops searched my house.

"Yes?"

"Lella, you left in a state of despair. I know it sounds like nonsense, but we both know I'm right. Talk to me, not as your son's lawyer, as a woman, as a friend if you can. What did you see in the file? What did you learn today that you didn't know before? Open up, it will ease your pain and may give us more insight into Ruby's mind. The way the woman thinks, the way she behaves. The police have experts trained to do just that, study people's lifestyles. Like you said, Ruby didn't have many friends. She had you. Lella, you are the link. It may not occur to you right now because you are distraught. Take your time, think about it. Make notes if necessary, even the slightest detail may be the info we need to help us find her."

Bonnie had a distorted view of what a woman to woman or friend to friend talk should be like, and I had no intention of explaining it to her. I had my own list of things to do regarding Ruby. There was one question she could answer for me: "Bonnie, do you have any idea how long Ruby had been friends with Marko Forrester before—you know—the Ortega car crash?" I couldn't get myself to mention Nick's name.