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  He took a sip of his drink and frowned. “I was bummed out. Stayed at my apartment and played video games.” I made a note. It was something I might be able to check if it came to that. “Anyone join you or see you there?”

  “Nah. What’s with that day, anyway? So what if I didn’t want to watch Irene go up in smoke?”

  I nodded again. “Uh, have you ever heard of a psychiatrist named Richard Amis?” I watched his face, wondering what was going on behind those damn dark glasses.

  “Who the fuck is he?”

  That pretty much ended the conversation. Abernathy didn’t appear to have an alibi for Amis’ murder, and even if a forensic examination of his computer or Xbox showed activity during the time Amis was murdered, he’d be hard pressed to prove it was him. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I had coming in.

  On the way home I exited at Wilsonville and was well down Newberg Road when my hands-free chirped. “Cal, it’s Winona. How are you?”

  The sound of her voice lifted my spirits, and I pictured her dimples drilling down on either side of her mouth. “Still at the Center?” I was referring to the Hatfield Marine Science Center in Newport on the coast. I knew she was attending a meeting there.

  “Boring conference on toxic algae. Back tomorrow. What’s up with you?”

  I puffed a breath out in frustration. “A lot and nothing.” I told her about Candice’s harrowing escape and my weird confrontation with Blake Daniels.

  “What about his alibi?”

  “I just spoke with Gloria Bertolli. She backed him up.” I laughed. It came out bitter. “In other words, I don’t have shit.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  “No. She seemed well-rehearsed. I think I could break her down if I ever got her on the stand.” I exhaled a sigh. “Blake was my best bet. Now it feels like I’m back to square one.”

  “You can’t rule him out, Cal, and there are other suspects, too.”

  “True. I also talked to Aaron Abernathy today. Thanks to his stepmother’s death, I’ll never know if he was really with her the night Lori was killed, but I just learned he has no alibi for the afternoon Amis was killed.” I exhaled again. “But so what? He has no ties to Amis that I know of. And why would he kill Lori in the first place? It makes no sense.”

  “There’s the power couple, Eddie and Sylvia,” Winona offered.

  “Nothing new there. Sure, they could secretly covet Le Petit Truc, I guess, but I haven’t seen anything like that. They have ties to Amis through their investment firm, but they have solid alibis for both murders.” I paused for a moment, shaking my head. “Maybe I’m just chasing my tail. Maybe others are involved here, people I know nothing about who have motives I haven’t even thought of. Who the hell knows?”

  “That’s not it, Cal,” she snapped back. “You’re close, but you’re missing something. Go home and get a good night’s sleep. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling this is going to break soon.” Her voice got thick. “And, Cal, be careful, please.”

  That got my attention. Words like that from Winona always did. I assured her I’d watch my back and signed off. It started to mist, and in the dying afternoon light the swirling droplets lit up like jewels in my headlights. Sharp curve upon sharp curve loomed up in the road along the Willamette River, reminding me of the case I’d been pulled into. It had been a long, frustrating journey, and now I felt a palpable sense of anticipation.

  Chapter Fifty

  I let Archie off at the gate, and he galloped into the darkness barking at something. “Archie,” I called after him, “Get your butt back here right now.” I heard him circle around out in the field and then saw the white blaze of his chest as he approached. “Good boy,” I told him as pulled up and sat down in front of me. I patted him on the head. “No more running off chasing things, you understand?” Of course he did.

  When I got into the house, I put the Glock on the kitchen table instead of back in my bedroom closet where I normally stored it. I felt a little silly with that cannon sitting there, but I promised Winona I’d be careful, after all. After feeding Arch, I stood with the refrigerator door open, surveying the food desert I’d created by a lack of shopping. My cell buzzed just as I shut the door in disgust. It was Jim. He and Candice were meeting Eddie and Sylvia at the Brasserie for dinner, and he invited me to join them. “Perfect,” I told him.

  Stunning in an orange caftan, Bettie James looked harried but happy, the way she always did when her restaurant was crowded. I hugged my friend, and she said, “My new sous chef’s running the kitchen tonight for the first time. I’m a little nervous.”

  “He has a good teacher,” I told her. “Don’t worry.”

  Jim waved from a corner table, and I joined him and Candice. We exchanged greetings and I said, “Gloria Bertolli told me she was with Daniels at the time of both murders.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” Candice said. “You don’t believe her, do you?”

  “No. She seemed evasive and rehearsed.”

  “Can you challenge her story?” Jim asked.

  “We’ll take a closer look at her. Maybe we can put her someplace else on those two days. She’ll make a lousy witness, in any case.”

  “What about the Rufino woman?” Jim asked.

  “We still think she’s in Portland, and we’ve intensified our efforts to find her,” I said. Jim winced and Candice shifted in her seat at the less than encouraging news. “It looks promising,” I added. That wasn’t strictly true, but I felt like I had to give them something.

  We sat through an awkward silence. Candice looked at Jim and patted him on the forearm. “Your hospitality’s been great, but I’m moving back to my condo. I’m not afraid of that creep, Daniels.”

  I figured that was coming and wasn’t all that adverse to it. I’d put Daniels on notice about Candice, and, besides, she wasn’t really a threat to him because he knew what she knew from the text messages on her phone. Jim was adamant that she stay at Truc, but he gave in fairly quickly. There was no arguing with Candice, and he knew it.

  The Mannings entered the restaurant a few moments later. Jim waved to them, and as they approached I kicked myself for not warning him and Candice to keep the latest information confidential. Surely they know the drill by now? I told myself. Sylvia’s hair was down and her low wattage smile up a few notches, and Eddie’s diamond stud winked above a trim, black turtleneck sweater. Sylvia took a seat next to Jim, hugged his arm, then said to the table, “So glad you could join us. We were in the mood for some of Bettie’s delicious food.” Right on cue, Bettie appeared with the menus, and we ordered—what else?—two bottles of Jim’s reserve pinot to get us started.

  After the wine was poured and we ordered our meals, the conversation turned to the weather. The remnant of a typhoon that ravaged the south Pacific had been sucked into the jet stream and was moving toward Oregon and Washington. “They’re calling it a monster storm,” Sylvia said.

  Eddie laughed and looked at Jim. “Remember that storm, what, four years ago now?”

  Jim grinned and nodded. “I’ve never seen such big waves.”

  Eddie said to the rest of us, “We have a place in Pacific City, and every time there’s a winter storm we’re there.” His look turned wistful. “The Pacific’s beautiful when it’s angry.”

  Jim leaned in. “There’s a spot out on Cape Kiwanda where you can see the wave action up front and personal. The ground shakes under you when they break. It’s magnificent.”

  Sylvia puffed a breath. “Oh, the Cape’s magnificent alright, but dangerous. People die out there all the time.” The thought of seeing big surf like that thrilled me. It was a part of the Oregon scene I hadn’t experienced, and I made a vow to fix that.

  Our food arrived, and Eddie began expounding on Tilikum Capital Management’s aggressive new growth plans. “We’re adding new revenue streams all the time
,” he explained. “It’s an exciting time for us.”

  “We just opened an office in Manhattan,” Sylvia chimed in. “We’re going after the European market.”

  The European market? I thought but didn’t say. Should have known. Cheap debt is just another global business. I glanced at Jim. He had a look of pride on his face, pride for the success of his niece and her husband, but as far as I knew he was blissfully unaware of how they actually made their money. I didn’t like their business model one bit, but I wasn’t about to prick his bubble. Blood is thicker than business practices, right?

  Eddie swung his eyes around to Jim. “How’s the wine business?”

  Jim stroked his beard and frowned into his wineglass. “Not so good. We’re, ah, losing a lot of customers as the word gets out about my indictment.” He glanced at Candice, who went on to describe the situation, including the loss of three major wholesalers, in more detail. Jim looked at me and forced a smile. “But we’re making great progress on my defense.”

  All eyes at the table turned to me. “Well, we’re building an alternate theory for the crime. We—”

  Jim cut in. “We just found out that son of a bitch Blake Daniels was having an affair with Lori after she moved out. And he’s using some lying woman in Newberg as an alibi for the night she was murdered.”

  Before I could say a word, Sylvia cut in, her eyes widening in surprise, “My God, Jim. Are you implying that Blake Daniels might have killed Lori? I know there’s bad blood between you two, but why—?”

  “We don’t have a lot of answers yet,” I said, shooting Jim the most withering look I could summon. “As a matter of fact, the whole thing’s speculative, and none of this can leave the table.”

  Eddie looked at me. “Bravo, Cal. Sounds like you’ve made some real progress. You must have some good people working on this.”

  I glanced at Candice, who lowered her eyes and smiled, and then at Jim. “I use a top-notch PI firm in Portland. They—”

  Jim, who had missed my warning look, butted in again. “There’s a witness in Portland who can identify—”

  I laughed and put a hand up to cut him off. “That’s confidential, Jim. I can’t go into that.”

  That ended the shoptalk, and the conversation during the rest of the meal revolved around wine, the monster storm, and the prospects for an early opening of the ski season. As we were leaving the Brasserie, Eddie hung back a little and said to me in a lowered tone, “Look, Cal. Jim’s telling Syl and me that he doesn’t want any help on his legal fees. You know, the guy’s got a mountain of pride. Maybe you could quietly split off the PI invoices and let me handle them. That might help.”

  I nodded. “That’s damn nice of you, Eddie. I’ll do that.” I stood there and watched while he caught up with Sylvia and took her hand. Yep, I decided, blood is thicker than business practices.

  ***

  Busting Blake Daniels’ alibi for the night of Lori Kavanaugh’s murder was ridiculously simple. The next morning I checked the website for the Radiant Glow tanning salon in Wilsonville to confirm they were open for business the night of October third, and they were. It was a small operation, so I figured my gambit was worth a shot. I called the salon, and when a male voice answered, I said, “I was in your salon back in October, on the third, in the evening. I, uh, misplaced my wallet that night, and I’m afraid I was rude to the person on duty.”

  “I see,” the male attendant said, sounding cautious.

  “Well, I found my wallet.” I laughed. “It had fallen down between the seats in my car. I want to apologize and offer a small reward to the attendant for putting up with me. Can you look up who was on duty that night? That was the third of October,” I repeated.

  The pause was long enough that I worried he’d hung up. “Uh, just a moment,” he finally said, “I’ll check.” Some really bad, fingernails-on-the-blackboard pop music came on for what seemed an ice age, and then he returned. “Uh, Gloria was working that night. Sorry, but I’m not allowed to give you her last name.”

  “That’s okay,” I said brightly. “There’s only one Gloria working there, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. She’ll be in this afternoon if you want to stop by.”

  I called Nando next. “Blake Daniels is an amateur,” I told him. “He must have cobbled that story up with Gloria Bertolli in a big hurry.”

  “Good investigative work, Calvin,” my friend said when I finished explaining what I’d done. “What about the other date, the day the psychiatrist was killed? Chances are, she also lied about that, too.”

  “True, but that’s not as crucial since her credibility as a witness is blown to hell. What we need now is a way to smoke Daniels out, get him to do something stupid, something that will incriminate him.”

  “Yes,” Nando agreed. “This man is not the bright light in the harbor.”

  We kicked some ideas around but didn’t come up with anything that seemed promising. We agreed to think about it and get back together. At that point, Nando said, “We have a lead on where Isabel and her friends may be living.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. A source has told us they are now squatting in a house on Holman in inner Northeast. We are going to check it out as soon as Miguel and two others arrive.”

  “That’s great, Nando. Listen, if she’s there, call me and sit tight. Don’t spook her. I’ll be there within an hour.”

  I leaned back in my swivel chair, looked at Arch, and pumped a fist. “Winona was right, Big Boy. Things are moving.”

  Chapter Fifty-one

  A monster storm may have been brewing out in the Pacific, but that afternoon was a perfect late fall day. Hawks patrolled the azure skies above the valley, which stretched out in what was now the muted, tattered coat it would wear until spring. The birds flocked at my feeders. They seemed particularly active, a sign, perhaps, that they sensed the looming change in the weather. I finally got around to raking what was left of the fallen apples in the side yard and ferried another load of oak to the porch, all the while waiting for Nando’s call.

  He finally called around three. “People are definitely squatting in this house,” he told me, “but no one is home. I have left Miguel to watch. Stay tuned, my friend.”

  Archie lobbied me for a good hour before I finally put on my jogging shoes and took him for a run with my cell phone in tow. The rest of that day dragged by, with Nando calling twice more just to check in. Finally around midnight, just as I fell asleep, he called again to tell me two men and a woman arrived, and that he got a good enough look at the woman to confirm she was Isabel Rufino. “Excellent,” I told him. “Let’s move in early tomorrow. They’ll be more trusting in daylight. I’ll be there at eight sharp.”

  I slept fitfully that night and was up at six. I just finished a double cap when my cell chirped. “We have a complication,” Nando said. “Isabel and one of the men left by car this morning, early. We followed and, ah, detained them.”

  “Detained them?”

  “Don’t ask, Calvin. They are not in a position to complain to the police, I assure you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At my office in Lents. She is quite the little spitfire, this woman. She is telling me she won’t talk to anyone about anything.”

  “Tell her I am not the police, that I’m trying to find the man who killed Luis Delgado. Tell her I think she ran from Dundee because she is afraid of this man. If we found her, he can, too.”

  After an exchange of barely audible, rapid-fire Spanish, Nando said, “She says she does not know this man.”

  “Did she see him? Ask her if she saw him.”

  Another blur of Spanish. “She says she was in a car with Delgado when he met a man. The man was furious that she was there.” More Spanish. “Delgado became afraid but took the job the man offered. Delgado told her that if anything happened to him, she should run.
”

  “Can she describe this man? Was he tall, skinny, fat, what?”

  More Spanish, followed by Isabel’s laughter. “She said he is an ugly gringo. He has big silver rings in his ears. That is all she remembers.”

  I was speechless for a few moments. “My God,” I said more to myself than Nando. “Listen, I think I know who this is. I’m going to text you a photograph to show her. Give me a few minutes.”

  I punched off and called Jim, who answered in a groggy voice. “Aaron? Yeah, I have some pictures of him with Lori. Why?”

  “I need a picture of him right away. The best head shot you’ve got. Make sure his gauges are showing.”

  The line went quiet for a moment. “Aaron? Christ, almighty. Have you found that witness, Cal?”

  “Just text the photo as quickly as you can.”

  Five minutes later I forwarded a fairly good shot of Abernathy to Nando, who called back moments later. “It is him, Calvin. She has no doubts.”

  “Okay. Get them some coffee, breakfast, make them feel at home. I’ll be there in an hour. I want to talk her into coming forward. We need this on the record.”

  I wasn’t sure how the day would stack up, so I dropped Archie off at Gertie’s. An early riser, she was up, of course. Clouds were forming to the south, and the trees began swaying in a stiffening breeze. It was a Sunday, so I made good time into Portland and found a parking spot across the street from Nando’s office.

  Nando was right. Isabel Rufino was a spitfire, and she looked even further removed from the image of the innocent young woman I’d found in the house in Dundee, an event that seemed an age ago.

  She smiled faintly when she saw me, recognition flickering in her eyes. “I am sorry about the beating,” she said through Nando’s translation. “We mistook you for someone else. Forgive me.”

  I shrugged off the apology and explained what I wanted. She said, “I have given you the identity of this man, and now you can catch him. You do not need me.”