Page 89 of Mother-Daughter Murder Night

“Oh!” Jack checked the time on her phone. “I have an idea about that. Can we go for a quick drive? With your binoculars?”

When they got to Kirby Park, the Lexus bumped up over the train tracks, past the graffitied retaining walls and around the shattered beer bottles. Lana followed Jack out of the car, watching her step. She didn’t want to lose another good pair of heels to broken glass.

After sidestepping rusted beer cans and a dead snake, they walked onto the boardwalk flanking the south bank of the slough. Giant fronds of feather grass slapped their legs in the swirling wind, and mud and algae creeped up the outer edges of the wobbly, wood-slatted path.

They followed the boardwalk out to the water, and Jack raised the binoculars. They stood there for ten minutes. Twenty. The wind shot through Lana’s jacket, and she longed for her robe and her bed. “I appreciate the nature tour, Jack, but it’s getting late, and—”

“Look!” Jack handed the binoculars to Lana and pointed across the slough, toward the mass of mud and otters on the other side. “Left of the big rock.”

Lana squinted through the lenses and adjusted the focus. She could see the outline of something boxy, bright red.

“Is that . . .”

“My life jacket.” Jack sounded triumphant. She looked at her phone to confirm. “Right where those tourists found Ricardo. Exactly thirty-two hours after I dropped it in the creek where the kayak guy was.”

“I thought you did that to stay hidden.”

“It was a twofer.” Jack shrugged. “It’s not conclusive, I mean, I didn’t weigh it down, and there could be other spots that would let out to the mud flats in the same way. But still.”

“Nice work, Jack.” Lana kept her eyes sealed to the binoculars. “Now let’s get back in the car before my cheeks freeze off.”

They sat in front, watching the sun descend toward the water, waiting for Lana’s seat warmers to kick in. Jack took out her phone and started dialing.

“Who are you calling?”

“Detective Ramirez. She should hear about this.”

“Jack, that sheriff’s phone tree is where good information goes to die.”

“She gave me her cell number today. Said I should call anytime. Oh, shh—Hi, Detective Ramirez? It’s Jack Rubicon . . . Yeah . . . Good. Thanks. Listen, I’m out here at Kirby Park with my grandma? Remember how I told you we were . . .”

Lana watched her granddaughter in fascination.

“. . . yeah, well, I’m pretty sure the body was dropped at or near that land I told you about that my boss leases. On the Rhoads ranch. Not the land trust . . . What? . . . You should talk to my grandma about that. Hold on.”

Jack handed the phone to Lana.

“Hello?” Lana was still getting over the surprise of the detective taking Jack’s call.

“What can you tell me about this ranch?” Ramirez’s voice sounded serious, focused. Lana tried to match it.

“Hal Rhoads was the longtime owner. In his eighties. He was working with Ricardo Cruz on a project, a vision for the future of his ranch as a nonprofit farming incubator. Ricardo was supposed to visit Hal at his nursing home in Carmel the Friday he died, to bring him the first renderings of their project. I’m not sure if he made it. Have you determined Ricardo’s exact time of death?”

Ramirez ignored Lana’s question. “How do you know Mr. Cruz was visiting Mr. Rhoads that day?”

Lana hesitated. She wasn’t yet ready to tell the detective she had a corkboard full of notes and emails from the land trust.

“My . . . daughter told me,” Lana said. “Mr. Rhoads was her patient. He was looking forward to seeing Ricardo.” Shit. Now she was lying to a cop.

“Surely Mr. Rhoads would know if Mr. Cruz visited him?”

“Well, yes. But he died, just three days after Ricardo. I actually think it might be connected. That they were both killed because of their shared project.”

“There were no other murders that weekend in Monterey County.” Ramirez’s voice had shifted from curious to brusque, her interest flatlining.

“It’s a theory I’ve been working on,” Lana said quickly. “I didn’t want to waste your time until I had something concrete, but there’s a lot of evidence and—”

“Would your daughter know if Mr. Cruz visited the nursing facility that Friday?”