I whistled into the mouthpiece. I said “HELLO!” about six times, to no avail. I knew if I hung up, all I’d get was a busy signal when I tried calling back. Clump, clump, clump. I heard advancing footsteps on the hardwood floor. I yelled “HEY!” Clump, clump, clump. The footsteps receded. Another round of chopsticks was played. Shrieks from the girls. Chitchat between husband and wife. Camilla’s seductive laughter as she teased Jonah about something. Once more I cursed myself for never learning how to do the piercing whistle you make when you put two fingers between your teeth. I’d pay six hundred dollars if someone could teach me that. Think of the taxis you could summon, the waiters you could signal across a crowded room. Clump, clump, clump. Someone approached the phone, and I heard Jonah remark with annoyance, “Hey, who left this off? I’m expecting a call.”
I yelled “JONAH!” but not quickly enough to prevent his replacing the handset in the cradle. I redialed the number, but the line was busy. Camilla’d probably picked up another phone in haste, just to make certain I couldn’t get through. I waited a minute and tried again. Still busy. On my fourth attempt, I heard the phone ring, only to have Camilla pick up again. This time she didn’t even bother to say hello. I heard her breathe in my ear.
I said, “Camilla, if you don’t put Jonah on the phone, I’m going to get in my car and drive over there right this minute.”
She sang out, “Jonah? For you.”
Four seconds later he said, “Hello?”
“Hi, Jonah. It’s Kinsey. I just got home and picked up your message. What’s going on?”
“Listen, you’re going to love this. Bobbi Deems pulled your biker over last night when she saw he had a taillight out. Kid’s name is Carlin Duffy, and it turns out he’s driving with an expired Kentucky driver’s license and expired registration. Bobbi cited him for both and impounded the bike.”
“Where in Kentucky?”
” Louisville, she said. You want him, he’ll be in court in thirty days.”
“What about before then? Does he have a local address?”
“More or less. He claims he’s living in a maintenance shed at that nursery off the 101 at the Peterson exit. Apparently, he works there part-time in exchange for rent, a claim the owner confirms. Meanwhile, Bobbi ran a background check on this crud, who’s got a criminal history as long as your arm: arrests and convictions going back to 1980.”
“For what?”
“Mostly nickel-and-dime stuff. He never killed anyone.”
“I’m so relieved,” I said.
“Let’s see what we got here: wanton endangerment, criminal recklessness, theft, receiving stolen property, criminal mischief, trying to flee a halfway house where he was serving a ninety-day sentence for giving a false name to a police officer. The guy’s not too bright, but he’s consistent.”
“Any outstanding warrants?”
“Nada. For the moment, he’s clean.”
“Too bad. It’d have been nice to have him picked up so I could talk to him.”
“You’ll definitely want to do that. Here’s the best part. You ready? You want to know who his brother is? You’ll never guess.”
“I give up.”
“Benny Quintero.”
I could feel myself squint. “You’re kidding me.”
“It’s true.”
“How’d you figure that one out?”
“I didn’t. Bobbi did. Apparently, Benny’s name was listed as the owner on the bike registration, so Bobbi put Duffy through his paces. She’d forgotten the story, but she remembered Benny’s name. Duffy claims they’re half brothers. His mom was originally married to Benny’s dad, who died in World War Two. Ten years later, she moved to Kentucky, where she married Duffy’s dad. He was born the next year, fifteen-year age gap between the two boys. Carlin was thirteen when Benny came out to California and got himself killed. ”
“Is that why he’s here?”
“You’d have to ask him. I’m thinking it’s a good bet, unless you happen to believe in coincidence.”
“I don’t.”
“Nor do I.
“So where is he now?”
“Well, he can’t be far off if he’s hoofing it.”
“He could have stolen a car.”
“Always possible, I guess, though outside his area of expertise. Anyway, if you decide to go looking for him, take someone along. I don’t like the idea of your seeing him alone.”
“You want to go?”
“Sure, I’d love it. Wait a second.” He put a hand across the mouthpiece. Camilla must have been hovering nearby, listening to every word, because she squelched the idea before he even had the chance to ask. He removed his hand from the mouthpiece, addressing me again. “I’m tied up tonight, but how’s Monday. Does that work?”
“Sounds ducky.”
“You’ll call me?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll see you then,” he said.
As soon as he clicked off, I grabbed my handbag and walked out the door. I wasn’t going to wait until Monday. How ridiculous. Duffy could be long gone; I couldn’t take the risk. I stopped for gas on the way out. The nursery was maybe ten minutes away, but the needle on my gas gauge was now pointing at E, and I wasn’t sure how much driving I’d have to do catching up with him.
It was twenty of nine when I finally pulled into the parking lot at the nursery. The sign out front indicated the place was open until 9 P.M. on weekends. The property must have occupied some ten to fifteen acres, the land sandwiched between the highway on one side and the side street into which I’d turned. The gardening center was immediately in front of me, a low white glass-and-frame building that accommodated numerous bedding, landscape, and house plants, seeds, gardening books, bulbs, herbs, pottery, and gifts, for “that special someone with a talent for growing.”
To the right, behind the chain-link enclosure, I could see an array of fountains and statuary for sale, ceramic, plastic, and redwood planters, along with big plastic bags of fertilizers, mulches, garden chemicals, and soil amendments. To the left, I could see a series of greenhouses, like opaque glass barracks, and, beyond them, row after row of trees, a shaggy forest of shadows stretching back toward the freeway.
Now that the sun was fully down, the lingering light had shifted to a charred black, permeated by the smell of sod. The area along the side street was well lighted, but the far reaches of the nursery were shrouded in darkness. I scrounged around in the backseat and found a medium-weight denim jacket that I hoped would offer warmth against the chill night air. I locked the car and went into the gardening center with its harsh fluorescent lights shining down on banks of seed packs and gaudy indoor blooms.
The girl at the counter wore a forest-green smock with the name Himes embroidered across the pocket. As I closed the door, she gave the air a surreptitious fanning. She was in her teens, with dry blond hair and heavy pancake makeup over bumpy cheeks and chin. The air smelled of a recently extinguished clove cigarette.
“Hi. I’m looking for Carlin. Is he here?”
“Who?”
“Carlin Duffy, the guy with the bike who’s living in the shed.”
“Oh, Duffy. He’s not here. The cops took his bike and locked it in the impound lot. He said it’s going to cost a bundle to get it out.”
“Bummer.”
“He was really pissed. What a bunch of pigs.”
“The worst. You two are friends?”
She shrugged. “My mom doesn’t like him. He’s a bum, she says, but I don’t see why it’s his fault if he’s new in town.”
“How long’s he been here?”
“Maybe five or six months. He came like right before Christmas, sometime right around in there. Mr. Himes caught this other guy, Marcel? Do you know him ”
“Uh-uh.”
“Marcel stole a bunch of these plants and sold ‘ern on the street? Mr. Himes fired his sorry butt as soon as he found out.”
“And Duffy got his job shortly afterward?”
“Well, yeah. Mr. Himes had no idea Marcel was cheating him until Duffy bought a dieffenbachia off him and brought it in,” she said. “I mean, Duffy’s smart. He figured it’s a scam right off. He only paid Marcel I guess a buck or two and there’s our tag, like for $1.99, pasted on the side.”
“What about Marcel? I bet he swore up and down he didn’t do it, right?”
“Right. What a dork. He acted all crushed and upset, like he’s completely innocent. Oh, sure. He said he’d sue, but I don’t see how he could.”
“His word against Duffy’s, and who’s going to believe him. Is Marcel black, perchance?”
She nodded. “You know how they are,” she said, rolling her eyes. For the first time, she assessed me. “How do you know Duffy?”
“Through his brother, Ben.”
“Duffy has a brother? Well, that’s weird,” she said. “He told me his family’s dead and gone.”
“His brother’s been dead for years.”