A Grave Issue Page 18

  “Oh! The hickey! That was from you?” And I’d thought it was from Rosemarie.

  She turned an even deeper shade of red. “I didn’t mean to. I just got carried away.” She blew out a breath. “Look, I’m sorry I accused you of calling in that raid. Not many people know what’s happening on those properties and how they’re linked. You’re one of them. I guess I leapt to a conclusion.”

  “Yeah. Never assume,” I said, but I was starting to go through the mental list of who might have known to call in that raid and who would have wanted to. My list was at zero.

  She rolled her eyes. “My dad says that all the time. It makes an ass out of u and me.”

  “Dads aren’t all bad,” I said. This would be my first Fire Festival without Dad. I used to come back for it all the time. He was great at the booth, calling out at people like a carnival barker.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Sorry about yours.”

  She walked away. I turned to Jasmine. “What exactly were you going to do?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m glad we didn’t have to find out.”

  Uncle Joey walked back up. “What was that about?” he asked, dropping another box on the counter.

  I shook my head. “I’m not really sure.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Verbena Free Press

  FRIDAY, JULY 24

  Local Marijuana Grow Raided

  Four properties plus the apartment of a local landowner were raided by a federal drug task force from Norte Costa County. Despite the fact that the grower had all proper paperwork in place for Pluma Vista County, the task force had obtained a warrant. All the plants have been confiscated.

  A representative from the task force claimed that they had received an anonymous tip approximately one week before the raid giving details on the location and ownership of the properties.

  The day of the Fire Festival had finally arrived. I helped Uncle Joey get the last of our booth set up, bought two serrano sangrias—they’d grown on me—and carried them over to Jasmine’s booth. She was right. She was way in the back. It was hard to even see her booth. You had to go around a corner to find it.

  I handed her the drink. “So who did you piss off to get such a bad placement?”

  “I’m honestly not sure. Someone’s mad, though.” She took a sip of her drink, then tied a scarf around her head as we stood in line. “How do I look?”

  I smiled. “Like Rihanna when she was on Saturday Night Live.”

  She smiled back. “Nice!”

  “Yeah, nice,” a voice said behind us.

  We both turned. It was one of the men from Jasmine’s anger management class, the one that had seemed familiar. Where had I seen him? He took two more steps toward us. It was his walk. Where had I seen that gait before?

  It hit me like a hammer to the forehead. The shadow that had crept out from a doorway as we’d driven down the street. The legs that I’d seen on the security camera footage from the Civic Center parking lot.

  Jasmine stiffened. “Walter, what are you doing here?”

  “Just stopping by. Wanted to say hello.” He kicked at the ground for a second. “Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?”

  “Anything I have to say to you I’ll say in my office during our regularly scheduled meetings,” Jasmine said. Her voice was much too calm. Something was definitely wrong.

  I looked around. No one else was nearby. I wondered if I should make a run for it and get help.

  “I thought you might want to say thank you,” Walter said.

  “For what?” Jasmine asked.

  “You know. The chocolates. The lightbulbs. Dragging in your garbage cans. The money for the drinks you like so much.” He gestured at the cup in her hand.

  “That was you?” Jasmine asked.

  He took another step toward her. I took one back, but Jasmine didn’t. I hoped she had a better idea of what she was doing than she did during our face-off with Monique. Walter looked considerably more scary. “Of course it was me. Who did you think it was? You knew. I saw the way you looked at me in group. Giving me those special smiles. Then you pretend you don’t know me in public.” He shook his head. “It’s not right, Jasmine. A man deserves respect.”

  “Walter, I explained to you at our first meeting that I wouldn’t acknowledge you in public unless you spoke to me first. It’s for your privacy.” Jasmine sounded weary, as if she’d given the same explanation dozens of times. “No one is disrespecting you.”

  “Right.” He took another step toward us, and his hand came out from behind his back. He had a knife. “No one disrespects me and gets away with it.”

  I wanted to scream, but I think the only noise that came out was more like a squeak. Then I saw movement over Walter’s shoulder. Officer Haynes. I was about to say something, but she held her finger to her lips. She stepped quietly across the grass toward us.

  “Walter, you need to put that knife down and leave,” Jasmine said. I didn’t know if she’d seen Haynes yet. Her gaze seemed to stay on Walter’s face, not even wavering down to the knife.

  “Not until you say thank you.” The hand with the knife rose.

  Haynes leapt forward, grabbing Walter’s wrist. She twisted it. Walter screamed and the knife fell from his grasp. He whirled around. He had to be at least six inches taller than the officer and easily outweighed her by eighty pounds or so. He wrenched away and pulled his fist back. He was going to slam it right into her jaw. She was faster, though. As his fist pummeled toward her, she grabbed it, ducked beneath it, and twisted again. Within seconds, he was on the ground. It took her only a moment to handcuff him, then with her knee in his back, she touched the buttons on the radio strapped to her shoulder. “Officer requires assistance. Back corner. Therapy booth.”

  I let out a whoosh of breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  Jasmine stood like a statue, not moving.

  “Jaz, are you okay?” I tapped her shoulder. She didn’t move. “Jaz?”

  Finally, she blinked. “Walter was my stalker,” she said. She shook her head. “I should have known. It’s totally consistent with his diagnosis. I should have seen all the signs of transference. Thank you, Carlotta.”

  I looked at Jasmine and back to the person I thought of as Officer Haynes, but apparently Jasmine thought of as Carlotta. “You know each other?”

  Jaz blushed a tiny bit. “We’ve met.”

  Carlotta turned to me. “We more than met. We went out then . . . some things got in the way, and she wouldn’t take my calls anymore.”

  I looked at Officer Haynes. We were a little off the beaten path that most of the cops walked during the festival. “Did you just happen to be here at just the right time to deal with this guy?”

  She blushed and turned to Jasmine. “Not exactly. Look. I wanted to figure out how I could get you to go out with me again so I was sort of maybe stalking you a little. You know, driving by your house and your office. Trying to get a sense of your schedule and what you like.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I thought Walter was the stalker.”

  “He was. So when I was sort of stalking Jasmine, I saw him doing all kinds of creepy things up on your porch and in your side yard. Nothing he’d done was technically illegal.” She pressed her knee a little harder into Walter’s back and he grunted. “But I knew you were in real trouble.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jasmine asked.

  “At first, I didn’t tell you because then I would have to admit that I’d found out you had a stalker when I was stalking you. Then I did decide to tell you, and I called you. Did you happen to notice the ten or twelve messages I left you that you didn’t answer?” Carlotta’s eyebrows went up.

  Jasmine blushed. “I didn’t even listen to them. I figured you were just asking me out again.”

  Carlotta shrugged. “There you go.”

  “But you kept an eye on her, didn’t you?” I said. It had always been Carlotta driving by in the squad car every
time we’d seen Walter, and those were only the times we know about.

  She shrugged. “Protect and serve.”

  Two other officers came running up, and Carlotta stood. “Take him in.” She pointed to the knife. “Book him for assault.”

  They cleared out, but Jasmine still hadn’t really moved. She stared at Carlotta. I took that as my cue and slipped out of the booth. I figured they had it from there, and Uncle Joey would be needing me at our booth.

  Everything was buzzing around the gazebo. The sun was starting to set, and the Delta breezes were starting to pick up, carrying the scent of the bananas Foster being served at the Cold Clutch Canyon Café booth. Uncle Joey had set up the ringtoss, and we had a fairly steady stream of kids wearing foam flame hats in red and orange and pink coming through, trying their luck, and pretty much all leaving with a little stuffed animal. Uncle Joey kept the line moving and retrieved the rings. I handed out rings and prizes. It was a good division of labor.

  Rafe sauntered up, notepad in hand. “A ringtoss?”

  I sighed. “I know. Not very original, but it’s tried and true. The kids like it.” I gestured at the line.

  “And what’s with the stuffed dogs? Everybody else’s stuff is pretty thematic. The bank is giving out tissues that look like money. The computer place is giving out those stress balls.” He paused to snap a picture of a particularly cute kid tossing a ring. The kid missed, but I handed him a little stuffed dog anyway. “Shouldn’t they be little skeletons or crows or something?”

  “Nobody wants their kids to have funeral-themed stuffed animals. It’s morbid.” I sipped at my second serrano sangria from the Tappiano’s booth.

  “Isn’t everything associated with funeral homes kind of morbid?” He stepped back and snapped a picture of me.

  I threw my still-bandaged hands in front of my singed and bruised face. “We’ve been over this. I’m not news,” I said. “Plus, I’m not exactly photo ready, what with the black eye and the lack of eyebrows.”

  “I beg to differ.” He grinned.

  Which was when Nate strode up. How did he always show up when Rafe was around? Maybe I had a stalker too. “Hi, Desiree. Need any help?” He gestured at the booth but did not say hello to Rafe. Rafe didn’t say hello to him either.

  “No thanks. I think we’ve got it covered.” I handed a set of rings to the next cherub and watched as she missed with each one. Then I handed her a little stuffed dog. She skipped away, happy.

  Rafe looked back and forth between us and then said, “I’ll be on my way, then.”

  Nate watched him go and then turned to me. “What is it with that guy?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s always hanging around you.” He kicked a little at the ground. “He’s always writing about you.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “If he is, what is it to you?”

  “It’s just . . .” His words trailed off.

  “Just what?” I pulled some more stuffed animals from the box under the table. We were going through them pretty fast. Maybe I should start only giving them to kids who actually managed to get a ring on a post. Nah, that seemed harsh. I’d rather shut down early than send a kid away without a prize.

  “Well, seeing you again has made me wonder . . .” Nate let his words drift off again.

  “Wonder what?” I asked, starting to feel impatient.

  “Well, we’re both home again, living in the same place and . . .” A blush was spreading across his cheeks.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Nate Johar, you shook hands with me.”

  He blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Hey, lady!” the next kid in line said.

  I shoved the rings at him. “Here.” Then I turned back to Nate. “The first time we saw each other again, when we said good-bye, you shook my hand.” I glared at him, hands on my hips. Unbelievable. After ten years, a guy shakes your hand, and he suddenly feels he has romantic claims on you? “I haven’t seen you once since we broke up freshman year.”

  “The timing’s always been bad,” he protested. “We were never here at the same time.”

  “That’s your excuse? Bad timing? What about the handshake?” The wine might have been loosening my tongue a bit. Or numbing it with the serrano peppers. I was fairly certain I wasn’t slurring, but only just.

  “I don’t understand.” He honestly looked confused.

  “If you wanted this to be something, a handshake wasn’t the way to go.” I remember how deflated I’d felt as he walked away.

  “What should I have done?”

  “Forget it.” I lifted the section of the booth that would let me out. “Uncle Joey, I’m going to walk around for a bit.”

  He waved to me. “Have fun, and be careful with that sangria. It’s stronger than you think.”

  I marched away, Nate at my heels. “Wait. Desiree, what should I have done?”

  I whirled on him, my head spinning a little. It was possible that Uncle Joey was right and the sangria was a little stronger than I’d realized. “You should have kissed me, you idiot.”

  With that, he stepped forward, grabbed me by the waist, pulled me to him, and planted a long, slow, deep kiss right on my lips. I heard applause around us and at least one wolf whistle. He released me and said, “Like that?”

  I tried to catch my breath. “Something like that.”

  “Can we go someplace to talk?” he asked.

  I looked around. The square was packed with people. “There are some benches by the Civic Center. Let’s go sit there.”

  We walked together to the next block and turned to sit on some benches tucked back into the shade of some wisteria. The second we sat, he was kissing me again. In the distance, the high school marching band began playing “Light My Fire.”

  I put my hands against his chest and pushed him back. “I thought we were going to talk.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I thought that was a euphemism. You know, kind of like how we were going to study when we were in high school.”

  “Very funny.” I punched his shoulder lightly then winced because it hurt my hands.

  “Fine,” he said. “What do you want to talk about?”

  A movement caught my eye as someone went into the Civic Center. It was Rosemarie, carrying a bundle beneath her arm. What was she doing in the Civic Center? There was nothing going on in there tonight. In fact, it should have been locked up. Maybe she still had the key from the reception she’d held there.

  A few seconds later, Monique walked up and went in the same door. I sat up straight. “That’s not good,” I said.

  “What?” Nate asked.

  “Rosemarie and Monique together in the Civic Center.” A horrible thought dawned on me. Maybe I’d been wrong about Professor Moonbeam. He’d said he was innocent, but Jasmine was right. Everyone said that. What if he really wasn’t though? If I had figured out that Alan and Monique were having an affair, couldn’t someone else have figured it out too? What if that someone was his wife? His wife who had had an affair with him when he was married to someone else, who would know the signs, who might have seen that big old love bite on his chest and figured out where he’d been when he wasn’t bailing her out of jail for getting in a fistfight at an old lady’s funeral. His wife who had been working hard at getting into his computer and who might then have figured out his connection to the marijuana trade and might have called in a raid. The consensus was that it had to have been someone who was pissed off to call in a raid on a legal grow. Who would be more pissed off about the situation that a wife who was being cheated on physically and financially?

  What had Luke said at the very beginning? That it was almost always the spouse? But then afterward he’d said she was too grief stricken. Then I remembered what Olive had said to me about Maddie Ledbetter. Sometimes grief and guilt look an awful lot alike. Maybe all this time Rosemarie had been struggling with her guilt and not her grief at all. No wonder she didn’t want anyone to c
ome stay with her. She couldn’t tell anyone what she’d done. She’s the one who must have tried to kill Monique with a car bomb too. Moonbeam had no reason to do that. Rosemarie did, though.

  I stood, wobbling a little on my feet. I was in no shape to go chasing around looking for help. “I don’t have time to explain. Go get someone. Luke or Carlotta or, well, anybody. Tell them to come fast, or there might be another murder in Verbena.”

  “What are you going to do?” Nate asked.

  “I’ll call for help.” I pulled out my phone.

  “Promise?” he asked.

  I nodded, and he took off at a run.

  I dialed Luke’s cell phone number as best I could with my bandaged hands. It went straight to voice mail. Next I tried Jasmine. Maybe she was still with Officer Haynes. Voice mail again. The damn band. They must be playing so loud that no one could hear their phones ring.

  Then I heard the scream. There wasn’t time to wait for help. I ran to the door of the Civic Center and slammed through. The air-conditioned chill hit my skin and I shivered. The lights in the hallway were off, leaving everything shadowed and dark. Which way had they gone? I listened and heard a noise from the main hall. I rushed through the door.

  Monique was cowering in the corner. Rosemarie had a bundle in one hand and a lighter in the other. I could smell the gasoline from the doorway.

  “Look out!” Monique yelled. “She’s going to set us on fire!”

  Rosemarie turned and glared at me. “What is it with you? You’re always in the way. Get over there next to Monique.”

  I walked slowly to where Monique stood. “What are you going to do?”

  “It’s going to look like an accident. A spark from one of the fire dancers or a candle left to burn too long or an errant firework or the rewiring wasn’t done right. I’ll make sure the curtains catch and then poof! Monique will be gone.” She was breathing hard. Her eyes looked wild.