Perri O'Shaughnessy - Presumption Of Death

“Right. And again, who did Danny know? Same group of people.”

“It’s the same outcome,” Paul said. “Except then the Moneyman and the second arsonist are one and the same.”

“No matter what, somebody on Siesta Court is involved. Paul, I just realized something.”

“What?”

“If it’s Scenario One and Danny was the second arsonist and the Moneyman is a separate person, then-”

“Then?”

“The Moneyman could be anybody with access to money. A woman.” Nina pushed aside the laptop and opened her notebook. “That means the whole Siesta Court Bunch,” she said. “Eleven adults. And I think we need to include Elizabeth Gold, who is Debbie Puglia’s sister and who knew Danny too. That makes an even dozen.”

“Actually, didn’t we already establish a woman could be the arsonist? Wish was hit on the head with a stone. Anyone could do that. In my mind, Ben Cervantes is still the obvious one, just because he was closest to Danny. But if someone hired the arsonist, that someone could easily be a woman. Or even the disabled guy, George whatshisname.”

“George Hill. The guitar player at the party. So check the bank accounts on all of them,” Nina muttered. “How are we going to find out where they bank?”

“Check their mailboxes for a month?” Paul said. “It’s the time-honored way.”

“We don’t have a month. Not with Wish in custody and the prelim coming up. And that’s a felony too, Paul. And somebody’s going to notice in that neighborhood.”

“How about we ask them?”

“Just ask them? ‘Hi, there, have you or a loved one recently withdrawn six thousand bucks for any purpose? Like, oh, say, murder and arson?’ ”

“It’s another time-honored technique. It has the virtue of simplicity.”

“Just asking might lead to some action,” Nina said, biting her nail. “We’re throwing a rock into a pond, making unexpected ripples.”

“We’d have to come out from under cover.”

“Okay. We become a couple of rocks disturbing the calm.”

“You call that neighborhood calm?”

Nina said, “Okay. We’re throwing matches into an explosives warehouse. Seeing what blows. That doesn’t bother me anymore, Paul. I think there are some children out there in danger and my guess is that the children are the ones on Siesta Court. I know we have talked to Crockett, but if he hasn’t warned the parents-I think we should.”

“Shall we pay the neighbors a friendly visit?” Paul said. “Talk about money, tell them to guard their children? Spread chaos?”

“I don’t know what to do about the threat to the children.”

“I’ll call Crockett and see what he plans to do about warning them. Let’s pretend we’re responsible citizens.”

“Good idea.”

“It’s three-thirty already. We could go out there during the cocktail hour. Gossip Central will be the Puglias’ deck, where they had the party.” She picked up the phone. “I’ll call Debbie and confess all, and see if she and Sam will have us over for a drink.”

“It could be fun,” Paul said. “Not as much fun as I just had with you, but drunken, dangerous fun.”

“Welcome to Siesta Court,” Nina said.

D EBBIE PUGLIA MET THEM AT THE deck gate. “How do you do,” she said to Paul. “Hi, Nina. So. I can’t believe what you told me. Come sit down.”

In Nina’s memory, the party flickered, orange fire and black night, voices howling in the forest, bodies writhing together. Now, in this same landscape, a warm California evening descended, the sun changing from yellow to gold where it flashed low through the trees, substituting a peaceful emptiness. A pair of squirrels ran along the branches of the big oak that overhung the deck.

From where she sat in one of the plastic chairs at a small glass-topped patio table with Debbie and Paul, Nina could see Darryl and Tory Eubankses’ backyard on the left. A dog scratched on their back porch; the screen opened via an unseen hand and the dog went in. Clashing plates and children’s voices drifted out through the window screens. Dinner must be in progress over there.

Crockett had told Paul, ordered Paul, to say nothing about the possible threat to the children. He wanted to confirm it first somehow. But hearing the Eubanks kids’ laughter next door, Nina felt uneasy about that order.

Farther to the left, past the Eubankses’, she could see the corner of Ben’s house almost hidden in the brush and trees, and, past that, deeper in the woods, Britta and David Cowan’s manicured back patio, all traces of nature meticulously removed.

On her right the deck faced a blank stucco wall that abutted a house with a roof higher than the Puglias’. That would be the home of Ted and Megan Ballard. Debbie and Sam enjoyed no views in that direction anymore.

“What shall we drink?” Debbie said. “Paul?”

“What have you got on hand?” Paul said.

“Well, Corona, Dos Equis, Coors. Red or white wine. Vodka gimlet or collins or straight up. Jack Daniel’s. Rum and Coke. We have some good tequila. I make a mean margarita.” She smiled uncertainly at Paul, playing the hostess, worried about what the hell they were up to.

Paul smiled back, and Nina noticed how warm and reassuring his smile was, how easily he sat in the chair. “I haven’t had a margarita in a while. Nina?”

“Sounds terrific,” Nina said.

“I’ll be right out. Don’t go ’way.” Debbie disappeared through the kitchen door, and Paul leaned over and whispered, “Could this woman by any stretch of the imagination be our arsonist-murderer?”

Nina shushed him. She had heard steps coming up the stairs to the deck.

Britta’s flushed face appeared at the gate. In her low-slung jeans and tight top she looked taut and tightly packed. Paul sat up in his chair.

“We-hell,” she said. “So you were the spy, not Elizabeth. Debbie called Tory right away, and Tory told Darryl. I just passed Darryl in the street. I was curious. Thought I’d stop by. And who are you?”

Paul got up and introduced himself. Britta preened and smiled for him, before turning her furious green eyes on Nina. “I knew you couldn’t be with Ben,” she said. “Now, Paul I understand.” She reached up to touch his shoulder. “What the hell happened to your arms? They’re awfully red.”

“Poison oak.”

“Yuck.” Britta moved a chair up close and sat down beside Paul, giving him a long glance from the corner of her eye. A small twinkling red jewel in her navel caught a ray of sun.

Debbie came out with a tray and stopped cold. “What are you doing here?”

“Sammy wanted to make a plane reservation or something,” Britta said, winking at Paul and Nina. “He wants me to wait for him.”

“He’s not due home for half an hour.”

“Ooh, margaritas! So Paul and Nina are trying to prove Danny didn’t set the fires, right?”

“How’d you know that? Oh, never mind.” Debbie seemed to accept that Britta wouldn’t go away and set the tray down with its pitcher and enormous stemmed glasses. She poured them out the pale green slush and they all said no to a salty rim.

“Cheers,” Debbie said glumly, and they all drank. The margaritas were phenomenally good, refreshing and strong.

“Mighty fine drink,” Paul said.

“Deb’s the hostess with the mostest,” Britta said.

Nina hoped Britta was not referring to Sam, but the mean sparkle in her eyes said otherwise. She cleared her throat. “We appreciate your letting us talk with you, Debbie,” Nina said. “I do apologize for coming to your home on Saturday under false pretenses.”

“That’s all right. But I’m awfully confused. What do you want from Sam and me?”