Page 91 of Mother-Daughter Murder Night

Martin sipped his whiskey. “I guess so? They’re both horse fanatics. But to be honest, I don’t know much about their relationship. Di and I haven’t spent a lot of time together as adults. We split up the days down here to help Dad, and it felt like she was always leaving right before I came.”

“Weird how tragedy can bring family together. Not always in the ways you want.”

“Tragedy.” Martin gave her a lopsided smile. “I believe my sister assigned that moniker to an antique wagon wheel this morning.”

“My mother would probably agree with her.”

“How’s she doing? Still recovering from the fire?”

“I’m not sure I’d say that. She’s been obsessing over a bunch of old maps and documents she found at the land trust. It’s kind of nice to see her working on it.” Beth was surprised to hear herself say it out loud. But it was true.

“Has she found the smoking gun yet?”

“I don’t think so. When I left this morning, she was on the phone berating someone at the Farm Bureau about a fruit company’s business permit. But”—Beth reached into her bag—“I did find something that belongs to you.”

Beth scooted around to join Martin on his bench and handed him the manila envelope from the San Francisco architect.

“What’s this?” Martin asked.

“I don’t know,” Beth said. She took a sip of her beer, avoiding his glassy eyes. “It was stuck in the mail room at Bayshore Oaks. For your dad.”

Martin tore open the package. For a minute, he was engrossed, leafing through the papers. She snuck some glances, careful not to be obvious. Then Martin swept them back into the envelope.

“Dad never stopped dreaming,” he said. “Every couple years, he’d do something like this.” Martin patted the envelope on the table. “Come up with a whole new vision, new plans. My mother said his fantasies would be the death of her.”

Beth raised her Corona again. “To your father’s dreams,” she said.

Martin downed the rest of his whiskey and turned to the window, staring into the darkness of the marina.

“What about your dreams?” Beth asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“What are you going to do with the money from the sale?”

He frowned. “I’m not sure there’s going to be a sale. Di’s dragging her feet. I got us a solid offer, all cash, from a development group that wants to build a bunch of houses there. Could be good for the community, and it could really help my company get over this cash-flow hump. But the offer expires on Monday, and Di’s been refusing to discuss it. She’s been making noise about family legacies, some dream she has about building a horse spa. We’ll probably be holed up at the ranch all weekend battling it out.”

When he signaled to Scotty for yet another whiskey, Beth decided to make her exit.

Then the music changed, and Martin’s eyes lit up.

“Another one of Mom’s favorites,” he said.

Beth looked around. Scotty had dimmed the dining room, and Billy Idol was crooning about eyes without a face. She’d always thought the song was kind of creepy, but it clearly had sentimental value for Martin. He was wobbling to his feet, a wistful, lopsided smile on his face.

“What do you think it’s about?” she asked.

“Who cares?” Martin said. “Let’s dance.”

Martin extended a hand to Beth. She smiled but didn’t move. Then again, he looked kind of cute with his hand outstretched, his white button-down glowing in the dusky light. Beth let him pull her out into the no-man’s-land between the bar and the tables. She swayed back and forth an arm’s length from Martin, wary of who might be watching, maybe laughing, from the bar. But Scotty was in the back doing God knows what, and the regulars were all staring deep in their shot glasses like the meaning of life might be drowning down there. She closed her eyes and let the music take her away.

Chapter Forty-One

When Beth got home at ten, humming “White Wedding” under her breath, she found her mother and daughter on the sofa in the living room. Lana’s head was tipped back, mouth open, sending snores up to the ceiling. Jack was blinking at her phone. There was an empty pill counter and an open laptop on the driftwood side table.

Beth switched off the TV and put her hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Hi, honey,” Beth said.