“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Rhoads had strokes. Three of them. His rehab, all his appointments, happened on-site at Bayshore Oaks. It was one of the reasons his daughter brought him to us. So she wouldn’t have to cart him to occupational therapists multiple times per week.”
“When he moved into Bayshore Oaks, he didn’t go off premises to appointments anymore?”
“Maybe once or twice for neurological exams. But nothing regular. Nothing I knew about. And besides, if Ricardo Cruz was coming to Bayshore Oaks most Wednesdays, I would have recognized him.”
“And you didn’t.”
Beth shook her head.
Lana considered what Beth was telling her. If Ricardo wasn’t taking Hal Rhoads to doctor appointments, what was he doing?
“Do you know of any doctors who practice down here in Elkhorn?” Lana asked.
“Practice what? Kayaking?”
“I’m wondering if maybe the appointments were for Ricardo, not Hal.”
“There’s a shrink with an office near the marina. A dental clinic, the kind you go to if you don’t have insurance. And a couple veterinarians who work with farm animals. But that’s it.”
Beth felt a buzz in her pocket. She pulled out her phone. “It’s Martin.”
Lana leaned forward eagerly. “Put it on speaker.”
Beth stared at her.
“Fine. I’ll give you some privacy. But ask him about his father’s doctors, okay?”
Lana lifted herself from the porch swing and turned to head back into the house. As she passed, she put a hand to Beth’s shoulder. Beth reached up and held it, just for a moment. Then she answered the phone.
“Did you find her?”
“Martin, hello. Yes. Thank you. She’s fine. She’s safe.”
“Thank God.” His voice slowed. “I was out all morning with Di at Dad’s lawyer’s office. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help. Where was she?”
“Oh, she just . . . lost track of time in the slough.” Beth wasn’t ready to give words to the fleeting terror of the morning.
But he must have heard a kernel of it in her voice. “It must be scary to have your child go missing. Unless you’re one of those tough guys like my dad. He’d probably say it builds character.”
“In that case, we’re building a whole lot of character around here these days.”
“What do you mean?”
Before she realized what she was saying, the whole story tumbled out. “Last week, my mom had to go to the hospital, and—”
“Did she have another collapse?”
“Sort of. She was up in Santa Cruz, hunting through papers at the land trust offices, when the building caught on fire. She had to escape through a window.” Beth had to admit it sounded pretty hard-core saying it out loud.
“That’s horrible! Did she break something in the fall?”
“No, it’s a one-story building. She just . . .” Beth swallowed, shoving down another memory of fear. “We got lucky. I think it was more shock than anything. And I don’t think anyone else got hurt.”
“Do you know how the fire started?”
“I don’t—I don’t know. She talked with the police on Monday, but I don’t think they had clear answers yet. I’m just glad she’s okay. That they both are.”
There was a pause, and Martin’s voice dropped lower. “Are you okay, Beth?”
She considered what he was asking, and what he might be offering. Friendship. Escape. A fast car and a cold beer. It was tempting, but she didn’t need any complications in her life right now. Ricardo Cruz had been dead almost three weeks, and the sheriffs still didn’t have anyone in custody. Which meant Lana had the capacity to get into more trouble.
“I’m fine. We’re good.” Beth tried to keep her voice light. “You’re still in Elkhorn?”
“For a few more days. Di and I have to review the offer I got to buy the ranch. Hopefully we can sign the papers this weekend so I can get back. Truth is, I should be in the city now. The company’s at a pivot point, our burn rate’s sky high, and I need to land another investor before . . . I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear this.”
“Sounds like you’re under a lot of pressure.” He hadn’t mentioned his father, but Beth wondered if the grief was still pressing down on him.
“Nothing a double-malt whiskey can’t cure. Di has a function she has to go to tomorrow with her husband. I’ll be at the yacht club at seven p.m., toasting my father. You should join me, if you can.”
“Tomorrow? Maybe—”
Beth heard a muffled crash from the back bedroom, followed by a hasty “I’m fine!” She said a quick goodbye, then hustled in to help Lana, who was wrestling with the fallen corkboard. A drink didn’t sound half-bad.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Everyone was on their best behavior during dinner. They ordered Jack’s favorite—clam chowder—and laid out mismatched plates and bowls, tearing open the crusty rolls to let the steam rise into their faces before dunking chunks of bread into the soup.
Jack told them about her unsuccessful campaign to retake the morning’s chemistry pop quiz and the kid who stuck Cheez Whiz down his pants in the cafeteria.
“But,” she added, “I did learn something interesting out on the slough this morning.”
Jack and Lana both looked at Beth. Beth took her time folding her paper napkin before responding, relishing a rare moment when the power in the room was tipped in her direction. When her napkin resembled a stubby swan, she spoke. “What is it, honey?”
“Well, I mean, it’s interesting to me. I don’t know if it’s important to the investigation or anything.”
Lana and Beth waited.
“So I wanted to follow some of those creeks? On Prima’s maps? I was thinking about the tides and where Ricardo’s body could have come from. I realized, for him to come down a creek for a day and end up in the mud flats, it would have to be a long one. One with enough twists and turns to get stuck in low tide and get going again in the high.”
Lana conjured up a rough image of one of the tidal charts, the water rising and falling every twelve hours. “I see what you mean.”
Jack pulled a binder out of her backpack and extracted a printed map covered in intricate marks and topographical lines. “All the creeks I know are short. But I’d noticed one on your land trust map that went up behind the mud flats. And a couple on the Rhoads ranch headed in that same direction.”
Lana leaned over. “Where’d you get this map?”
“I texted that grad student I told you about, the one studying ocean navigation. She had this whole database of contour maps of the creeks. This morning, I went out to see if any of them connect to each other.”
She looked up for a moment and across the table at Beth. “I know, I know. I should have told you.”
Beth stopped buttering a roll to gesture with the knife for Jack to keep talking.
“I found a linkup. It goes from all the way up here”—Jack wiped her hand and put one finger on the map—“to here.” Her finger wound from the far end of the mud flats up into the fields, across the land trust property line, and through the ranch, then let out at the public fishing dock. “It runs for at least three miles. You saw me just as I was coming out.”
Lana pulled the map to her. “Did you see anything unusual in the creek?”
“Like what?”
“Maybe something to indicate Ricardo had been there? A torn piece of fabric? Muddy boot prints?”
“A giant sign that said ‘Man Killed Here’?” Beth suggested.
Lana shot Beth a look. “Perhaps we should discuss this in the bedroom,” Lana said to Jack.
“I’ll be good,” Beth said.
Jack looked back and forth between her mother and grandmother. Were they teasing each other? Or was another war about to start? Was this what it was like to have two parents?