You want to know where you stand, dummy, some internal voice answered.

  Then Naomi replied. “It does sound awful. Please come anyway.”

  Her plea cut straight into me. Plus, there was her sense of humor, her smile, her struggle to move on from a broken heart. All of it persuaded me to accept the invitation, made even more awkward by the fact that I was certain her brother was guilty of murder. Hopefully she’d let me comfort her, once the truth was out.

  “We’re going to Udupi Garden. I thought it would be good since it’s easy to eat vegan there.”

  My stomach grumbled. Their dosas are my favorite. “Perfect. See you there.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rico wasn’t on his bench. His stuff was there—a handcart crammed full with a sleeping bag and a lumpy stuff sack. I recognized the dingy blue stuffed poodle tied to the side. Plastic shopping bags bulged out between the wire rungs of the cart’s sides. Those sorts of bags were scarce since the city banned them years ago. Maybe Rico was a conservationist, reusing them so they didn’t end up in the ocean.

  I perched on the seat and read a Biblical commentary on my phone, glancing up regularly to scan the grassy slopes. Even on a weekday, the upper terraces of the green space housed a party. Sunbathers spilling out of the Castro to soak up rays in the bowl-shaped park protected from the wind. On a lower level, young children swarmed the playground, parents milling around and chatting while their offspring climbed and slid.

  Rico appeared, rounding the corner of the building that housed the older public restrooms—the ones avoided by young families because of the strong likelihood someone would be bathing in the sink or shooting up inside a stall. Sometimes Rico accepted food from me on Sunday nights at the BART Plaza, and I’d seen infected injection sites on his hands. From his languid rolling gait, Rico was high at the moment.

  “Hey, Rico. I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Hola, Madré. What’s happening?”

  “I’m worried about Phil. The police think he robbed The Carlos Club and murdered the manager.”

  “Nah. Phil wouldn’t hurt nobody. He’s gentle. Like Bambi.” Rico patted the head of his blue poodle. Did Rico mean the orphaned Disney deer, or had he named his toy after the animated animal? Either way, he was confirming my impression of Phil as harmless as long as you didn’t wake him abruptly.

  As he arranged the stuffed dog comfortably on the top of his cart, I pulled out my phone, set it to record audio, and inserted it into my pocket. Cesar would be mad at me either way, so I may as well capture Rico’s words.

  “I think Phil’s gentle too. But he was wearing shoes with the victim’s blood on them, and you told the police he found them in the trash on Wednesday morning.”

  “Wednesday?” He scratched his scalp through wooly black hair. “That was a long time back. Can’t be sure.”

  Was Cesar seriously using this guy to corroborate an alibi?

  “What day is it today, Rico?”

  “Today’s Friday, right?” He turned his face up to the warm sun. “I looooove Friday. TGIF.”

  Not even close, which probably explained why Rico rarely came to the plaza on Sundays to get food. He didn’t know what day it was.

  “Can you remember where you and Phil were when he found the shoes?”

  “Over there, somewhere.” He pointed northeast, in the general direction of David’s street, on the corner of which Phil had allegedly discovered the Scampers in a trashcan.

  “How did he find them?”

  “Going through the trash. People throw out good stuff over there. That’s where I found Bambi.” He patted the poodle.

  I couldn’t resist. “Why is your dog named after a deer?”

  He smacked his forehead like he couldn’t believe the idiocy of my question. “Come on, Madré. Look at those big, black doe eyes. Poor thing. Left alone in the trash.” He stroked the dog’s head, and his eyelids drooped.

  My chest tightened. “I’m glad he found a good home, Rico. You know what would help Phil? If you can tell me where he got the cash he was carrying?”

  “Don’t know.” Rico shrugged like a kid denying he’d taken candy while his hand was still in the jar.

  “Come on, Rico. Wherever it came from, it’s not worse than murder, right?”

  Rico’s eyes went big. “Murder?”

  I contained a sigh, trying not to reveal my exasperation that he didn’t remember what I’d said two minutes earlier. “The police arrested Phil for murder, because of the bloody shoes and the cash.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Right.” Rico rubbed his dirty palm over his face. “Okay. I’ll spill. But don’t tell nobody, okay? Phil’s a good kid.”

  I met Rico’s eyes, which he must have taken as an assent.

  “You know the Goodwill at Nineteenth?”

  I nodded.

  “People drop stuff off there when they’re closed. Junk, but also nice loot they don’t want. And Phil’s good with electronics, so he picks through the donations, fixes broken things. Sometimes he scores big, and everybody knows he’s the hookup. Last week, he sold three old laptops, an old-school record player, other things too, I guess he was carrying a lot of cash around from his business.”

  This was the big secret? Hard to believe he could make hundreds of dollars that way. Then again, there was an enormous economic gulf between people buying million-dollar condos and those camping on their sidewalk. Phil’s business bridged that gulf. Rich folks’ trash was transient folks’ treasure. It probably wasn’t even illegal if he was going through bags left outside a locked storefront. Had Phil told Cesar this, or was he afraid to admit his scam?

  I stood up and extended my hand. “You did your pal a big favor, explaining about his income. Don’t worry. He won’t get in trouble for his electronics business.”

  “Good, good. I don’t want to be a rat.” Rico slumped on his bench, ready for a nap in the sun.

  “Have a good day, Rico.”

  He lifted his fingers from his belly in a farewell wave. I dropped by the family-friendly bathroom to wash my hands, knowing Rico’s were covered in sores. I’d pick up a tube of antibiotic ointment for him at the drugstore later.

  Then I sent the sound file to Cesar, with a text. Your shoe timeline is wrong, and Phil didn’t rob the bar. He’s innocent.

  He didn’t reply all afternoon. Probably preferred not to hear me gloat.

  Back in my office, I immersed myself in Biblical commentaries and tried to psych myself up for a dinner with the woman of my dreams and her brother who had dumped bloody shoes a block from his apartment after murdering my friend.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hours later, I stood at the intersection of Twentieth and Valencia, waiting for the pedestrian signal to cross. A trio I recognized appeared catty corner from me, racing into the street to make it to the opposite side before the countdown hand reached one.

  Naomi was out front, David and Christina lagging behind, moving slowly because of her fussy shoes.

  Tires squealed.

  I rotated my head, searching for the source of the sound. A dark sedan sped into the intersection. It headed straight for David and Christina.

  “Move,” I shouted.

  They hadn’t needed my instructions. David spun her, putting himself between his girlfriend and the car while shoving her forward. She ran three steps, then fell. He dragged her up and pulled her clear of the car’s tire just in time.

  I dashed across the street against the signal and reached Naomi at the same time David and Christina did. The car tore off, leaving the scent of burning rubber in its wake. I squinted to read the license plate, but a dark film covered it. I couldn’t make out a single digit. Neither could I identify the make and model of the car. Since I never got a license, I pay little attention.

  The four of us stood together, staring after the vehicle. I assumed their hearts were pounding as heavily as mine. Others on the street examined David and Christina as they passed, assuring themselves the pair was unscathed before they continued on their way.

  “We were about to be yet another pedestrian hit-and-run.” Christina laughed, reedy and humorless.

  I met Naomi’s eye. The incident hadn’t seemed like a random almost-accident. The car had come from the same direction as they had and pulled out right as David and Christina entered the intersection, and it had deliberately obscured its tag.

  “Phew.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I need a drink,” he added, a little too lighthearted.

  I raked my eyes over him, then Christina. “You’re bleeding.” She’d scraped her knee, above the top of her black stiletto boots.

  David crouched in front of her, drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and pressed it to the wound. She winced and giggled simultaneously.

  My mind raced as quickly as the dark car had sped off. Was someone trying to kill David? Why? My mother’s cop shows supplied me with a multitude of motives—Had he borrowed money from a crime lord to finance his cocktail bar? Had he stolen Christina from a notorious gangster? What if she was the target? The possibilities were ridiculously sordid for a nice Jewish guy from suburban New Jersey.

  A gust of icy wind barreled down the street.

  “Ooh. It’s freezing out here.” Christina shivered, probably as much from shock as a chill. “Let’s go inside.”

  “Go ahead and put our name on the list.” Naomi slid me another glance to let me know she wanted to speak to me alone.

  David took Christina’s elbow and led her through the restaurant door.

  As soon as it closed behind them, Naomi spoke. “We have to call the police. That was no accident.”

  “We should call, although I doubt they’ll ever find that car.”

  She shuddered.

  “Go on in. I’ll ring the station.” I wanted to talk to Cesar without an audience and tell him someone was trying to kill David. Did that mean Naomi’s brother was innocent after all? Even if he’d dumped his bloody shoes in the trash near his apartment? It made no sense.

  “Thanks.” She took a step toward the door, then twisted backward to face me. “Do you think someone wants to kill David, so he takes the fall for the murder?”

  “Maybe.” This wasn’t the time to relish the way our thoughts mirrored each other’s.

  Behind her tortoiseshell frames her brown eyes darkened, and she nodded before disappearing into the restaurant.

  Cesar answered on the first ring.

  “Did you get my messages from earlier?”

  “I’m taking them into consideration,” he said.

  I described the near miss car accident. The second I finished my story, he was ready with an answer. “Probably a coincidence. Those near misses happen all the time. We had more than eight hundred pedestrian accidents in the city last year, and for every one of those, there were easily five barely avoided.”

  “It looked deliberate, Cesar. Like the car was following them.”

  He paused for a long moment. “Does it strike you as off that it happened in your sight?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, coming from Cohen’s apartment, they’d walked blocks before reaching that intersection. But the moment they entered your view, a car swooped out.”

  “You’re saying they staged it to convince me David is innocent?” Through the restaurant window, I watched David grin goofily at Christina. It seemed unlikely he would even risk her getting a skinned knee.

  “It’s a possibility,” Cesar said.

  “No way.” My spine tensed, and outrage gripped me. He wanted to sour me on Naomi, out of jealousy or some dark misanthropic urge. Being a detective had eaten away at his humanity. “You’re leaping to wild conclusions, arresting and accusing innocent people left and right. Why don’t you do your job and figure out who killed my friend?”

  “Believe me, Alma. I’m doing my job. And you need to stay the hell out of it before you get hurt.”

  “Right. Like I was almost poisoned by medicinal tea?”

  “In hindsight, I might have overreacted because, you know..." He cleared his throat. “It’s you.”

  My cheeks heated, and my anger ebbed. He wasn’t some misanthrope ruined by his dark profession; he was just worried about me.

  I caught sight of Naomi in the restaurant. She watched me, eyebrows raised, then lifted the menu and pointed at it. Time to order.

  A man exited the restaurant and the aroma of spices hit me with a blast of warm air. Garlic, ginger and garam masala. My stomach growled.

  “Hey, listen, I’ve got to go.”

  “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Silently, I held the phone to my ear trying to decipher his tone. Bitterness, or just a jaded man long ago tired of putting up with my antics.

  “Thanks. Take it easy.”

  “I’ll try.” And the line went dead.

  As I entered the restaurant, I replayed the almost-accident in my mind. I simply couldn’t believe David had staged it. But if he wasn’t the murderer, and neither was Phil, who did that leave? Back to square one in every murder investigation—the spouse. Could Lynn have fooled me? I shivered, hating the thought that someone I knew could secretly be a killer.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I entered the restaurant. At David’s side, Christina glowed youthfully. Aside from her pink cheeks, she seemed to have recovered from nearly becoming roadkill.

  She was at least five years younger than him, perhaps twenty-three to his twenty-eight. She glanced around at others in the restaurant, observing, as if she wasn’t sure of the etiquette. Odd, since the Indian place wasn’t particularly upscale. She watched a man put his napkin on his lap, then noticed David’s was there too and copied the gesture.

  Had wolves raised the poor girl on the Canadian tundra?

  I waved at Naomi. Everyone at the table stood.

  With the imminent danger of the black sedan behind us, I took time to notice Naomi’s appearance. She wore a simple black knit dress cinched with a black-and-white beaded belt. It showed off her curvy figure to perfection.

  In contrast, Christina’s outfit was ridiculous. Those impractical high-heeled boots, a short skirt and flouncy blouse with matching necklace and earrings, and a clutch on the table next to her plate. She was thoroughly over-dressed and over-accessorized for a casual dinner in the Mission. If my pal Suzannah were here, she'd say every item Christina wore vied for the lead, and nothing wanted to play the supporting part.

  She extended her hand. “Nice to see you again, Alma. Thanks for your help out there.”

  If pointing out she was bleeding counted as help, she must not receive a lot of basic human kindness. A possibility that made her etiquette spying and over-the-top outfit take on new meaning.

  “I’m glad you’re both okay.” I shook her hand, then David’s.

  “And thanks for being a friend to my sister right now, too.”

  I glanced at Naomi, and color appeared high on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose.

  The sight sent tingles down my spine. “I’m always glad to make a new friend.”

  She leaned in to hug me and kissed my cheek, whispering. “Thanks for coming. Later, tell me what the detective said.”

  I nodded, and we took our seats.

  The restaurant was loud with conversation and clinking dishes. I leaned across the table toward the couple, not bothering to look at the menu. I always ordered the same dosa, a rice pancake smeared with cooked spinach and filled with spiced potatoes. “So, how did you two meet?”

  “I started volunteering at the SPCA a few months ago.” David sipped from a pilsner glass that contained a golden-colored beer. “It’s down the street from the startup where I work, and I really like animals.”

  Do grown men actually say this, or only guys who want you to think they didn’t murder your friend? I tried to imagine the words coming out of Cesar’s mouth and had to pinch my nose to contain a snort.

  “It’s nice to get out of the office for some fresh air and to take a dog on a walk.”

  Christina’s hand moved under the table, presumably to pat his thigh, or possibly to double check on the exact placement of his napkin. “And I’ve been working there for a year. I want to be a vet, so I’m getting in experience while I finish my prereqs.”

  “Christina has a degree in PR, but she hated her corporate job.” David gazed at her with mooneyes.

  She smiled at him. “Just like David.”

  Naomi made a gagging sound in the back of her throat, but they didn’t seem to notice.

  Christina tore her gaze off David. “So we began walking dogs together when we could, and we clicked.”

  “When you're married, you aren’t supposed to click with other people.” Naomi punctuated her jab with a long sip from a glass of wine.

  Damn, the least she could have done was order me one, too.

  “Hell, Naomi, we haven’t even been here five minutes. You could at least try to be friendly?”

  He had a point, but I admired her directness. Straight to the point was my kind of woman.

  Naomi crossed her arms. “Like you tried to work things out with your wife?”

  “I did try. We tried for years. Counseling just made it more clear we’re incompatible. And that’s not Christina’s fault.”

  Naomi stalled, mouth open. She must not have known David and Melissa had been in couple’s therapy. Perhaps she didn’t know her brother as well as she thought she did.

  “You should have considered that before you knocked your wife up with David, Jr.” After she lobbed that bomb, she crossed her arms.

  Christina’s face turned the deep red of shame, not mere embarrassment.

  Naomi lowered her gaze. If I was reading her right, she was ashamed, too.

  David stood up, the legs of his chair scraping the floor loudly enough to turn heads. “Excuse me. Restroom.” He bit out the words through clenched teeth.

  Naomi’s dark brows tilted into a vee over her glasses.

  Christina took a dainty sip of water and leveled Naomi an even stare. “I don’t blame you for disliking me.”

  “I don’t dislike you.” She sighed. “I just want you to get out of my brother’s life so he can fix what he broke and take responsibility for his children.”

 

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