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“Hey, I’m writing a book, remember?” Twilly called out to her as she turned her back on him. She heard his voice as she pushed her cart down the aisle.
She wanted to hide. She wanted to disappear.
“You’re a key player, Yuki. Sorry if you don’t like it, but you’re the star of my whole freakin’ show.”
Chapter 65
WE WERE GATHERED on the deck of Rose Cottage, outside of Point Reyes, feeling the blessed night breeze on our cheeks. Yuki flipped on the heater for the hot tub, while Claire tossed a giant salad and made burgers for the grill.
This impromptu getaway was Cindy’s idea. She had corralled us in a conference call only hours before, saying, “Since our first attempt at a Women’s Murder Club Annual Getaway Weekend was canceled due to someone answering a call to return to work, we should grab this opportunity to drop everything and go now.”
Cindy added that she’d booked the cottage and that she would drive.
There was no saying no to Cindy, and for once I was glad to turn the wheel over to her.
Yuki and Claire had both slept in the backseat during the drive, and I’d ridden shotgun with Martha in my lap, her ears flapping in the wind. I listened to Cindy talk over the car’s CD player, my mind floating blissfully as we neared the ocean.
Once we’d arrived at the rose-covered hobbit house with its two snug bedrooms plus picnic table and grill in the clearing at the edge of a forest, we’d slapped each other high fives and dropped our bags on our beds. Yuki had left her box of files in her room and come with Martha and me as we took a short run up a moonlit trail to the top of a wooded ridge and back again.
And now I was ready for a meal, a margarita, and a great night’s sleep. But when we got back to Rose Cottage, my cell phone was ringing. Claire groused, “That damned thing’s been ringin’ its buttons off, girlfriend. Either turn it off or give it to me and I’ll stomp it to death.”
I grinned at my best friend, pulled the phone from my handbag, saw the number on the caller ID.
It was Jacobi.
I stabbed the send button, said hello, and heard traffic noise mixed in with the wail of fire engine sirens.
I shouted, “Jacobi. Jacobi, what’s up?”
“Didn’t you get my messages?”
“No, I just caught this ring on the fly.”
The sirens in the background, the fact that Jacobi was calling at all, caused me to imagine a new fire and another couple of charred bodies killed by a psycho looking for kicks. I pressed my ear hard to the phone, strained to hear Jacobi over the street noise.
“I’m on Missouri Street,” he told me.
That was my street. What was he doing on my street? Had something happened to Joe?
“There’s been a fire, Boxer. Look, there’s no good way to say this. You have to come home right now.”
Chapter 66
JACOBI DISCONNECTED the phone call, leaving static in my ear and a god-awful gap between what he’d said and what he’d left out.
“There’s been a fire on Missouri Street,” I announced to the girls. “Jacobi told me to come home!”
Cindy gave me the keys and we piled into her car. I floored the accelerator and we bumped down the twisting roads of the backwoods of Olema and out to the highway. I called Joe as I drove, ringing his apartment and mine, and I rang his cell, pressed redial again and again, never getting an answer.
Where was he? Where was Joe?
I don’t ask God for much, but as we neared Potrero Hill, I was praying that Joe was safe. When we reached Missouri at Twentieth, I saw that my street was roped off. I parked in the first empty spot, gripped Martha’s leash, and dashed up the steep residential block, leaving the girls to follow behind.
I was winded when I caught sight of my house, saw that it was fenced in by fire rigs, patrol cars, and bystanders filling the narrow street. I frantically scoured the faces in the crowd, saw the two female students who lived on the second floor and the building manager, Sonya Marron, who lived on the ground floor.
Sonya reached through the crowd and gripped my arm, saying, “Thank God, thank God.” There were tears in her eyes.
“Was anyone hurt?”
