Page 18 of Mother-Daughter Murder Night

Lana waved it off. “They can’t build a whole case around one tourist who thinks maybe he saw Ricardo Cruz.”

“But if they’re as lazy as you say, they might try.” Beth could feel the fear rising in her throat.

“I know this is stressful, Beth.” But it didn’t look like Lana felt worried. If anything, Lana looked excited, her eyes glittering in a way Beth hadn’t seen since before the cancer. “But we can fix it. They’re sheep. They go where they’re told, so all we have to do is point them in a new direction.”

Beth shook her head. “You don’t know the sheriffs around here. They’ll make something up, try to stick it on her. They see someone like Jack, a girl with brown skin and no daddy, and they assume the worst.”

Lana sniffed at the wine. “Please,” she said. “Not everything is about racism or discrimination. This is just good old-fashioned incompetence.”

Beth frowned at her mother. Lana hadn’t been there when other parents asked too loudly about Jack’s heritage, or when Beth pushed Jack around in a stroller and heard strangers’ coos turn cold when they saw the baby with the dark skin. In the Salinas Valley, people came in two colors, and everything was organized to put one on top of the other.

“I can see you’re concerned,” Lana said. “But I’m going to help. Don’t worry.”

“You’ll find a good lawyer?” For a moment, Beth hoped Lana might do something useful. Her own network of nurses and single moms wasn’t exactly a great source of legal contacts.

“I can make a call. But Jack isn’t going to need that.” Lana waved her hand loftily, as if a lawyer were an option for lesser people to consider. “All we need to do is explain it was impossible for Jack to have done it. Like she said. She wasn’t anywhere near there Saturday night. Jack, is there anyone who could have—”

“Ma. Stop.” Beth felt a sudden need to be outside in the fresh air, where she could think. She took a deep breath and faced her mother. “You can find a lawyer. But that’s it.”

Before Lana could respond, Beth turned away from her and stretched an arm out to Jack. “I’m going for a walk, to hunt for rocks. You want to join me?” Beth tried to soften her voice, but her frustration was still trickling out.

Apparently, Jack could hear it too. “Thanks. But I’m good.”

“We’re going to get help, Jack. We’ll figure this out.” Beth walked to the back door and stood there, trying to believe her own words. “I promise.”

* * *

Lana sat at the table with what was left of the wine, staring blankly out the window. The slough was dark, a thick blanket of clouds spread low over the water. She flashed again to the man she’d seen moving down the hillside in the dark, the harsh shadows of his face. Whoever it was, he wasn’t out there now.

This place was supposed to be calm. Boring. A slice of nothingness where Lana could rest and receive care. Instead, she was getting tangled up, slapped down, treated like she was a joke. Like she didn’t matter.

“Do you think I’m going to get arrested?” Jack’s voice floated over from the couch, low and sudden.

“What? No. No way.” Lana was surprised by the determination in her own voice. “We won’t let them.”

Jack stared back at her. She looked small, anxious.

“But somebody killed that man,” she said. “Do you think . . . do you think it’s dangerous for me to go out there now?”

“On the slough? That’s for you and your mom to figure out.” Lana took a swallow of cabernet. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t want you to, you know?”

“Yeah. It’s scary. But it’s also life, right? Chances are it’s just a weird place for some person to die.”

Lana looked around the dingy room. She heard the egrets croaking on the water. Just a weird place for some person to die. Not if she could help it.

Chapter Ten

Beth woke up early Tuesday morning, her mind still buzzing. She slipped out the back door and over to the pile of treasures she’d collected. She started organizing them mechanically: pale green sea glass, yellowed sandstone, russet clay, lining them up in a sinuous curve along the side of the house. As she placed the rocks, she sorted through her thoughts. There was no way she’d trust Lana to talk their way out of this without a professional by their side. Beth had dealt with the courts only once, when she was eighteen and petitioning for full custody of Jack. That time, it had been a sure thing—Manny didn’t even show up. But it was still terrifying.

Lana was right about one thing: the evidence against Jack was slim. If the sheriffs did their job, they should find out quickly that Jack had nothing to do with this. By the time the rocks formed a large, messy spiral, Beth was resolved. They needed a lawyer who could hold the detectives’ feet to the fire. If her mother could find one, great. If not, she’d figure it out.

The front doors of the nursing home were blocked by an ambulance. It sat quiet, engine cold, doors shut, as if someone had scrubbed the emergency from the vehicle. Beth stepped around it and braced for the blast of recycled air that hit as the glass doors swished open. The entrance to Bayshore Oaks bore an unfortunate resemblance to a grocery store: the reverse rubber kiss of the doors separating, the sense that something might spoil if it stayed there too long.

Beth swiped her badge and went down the hall to the nursing station. She slowed to watch the EMTs wheeling a gurney toward her. She couldn’t tell what room they’d come from. Was it Sal Castillo in 8B? He was over a hundred and woke up every morning a little smaller, more winded. Or Sylvie Mendelson, who’d fractured her hip and gotten a nasty infection from the surgery? Beth approached Rosa, the night nurse, who was doing paperwork behind the desk.

“Who?” she asked, gesturing down the hall.

Rosa looked up, her brown eyes worn from a long night. “Mr. Rhoads,” she said. “He took a nap yesterday afternoon. Never woke up.”