“Who do you think killed Ricardo Cruz?”
“Diana Whitacre, Hal Rhoads’s daughter. I’m almost sure of it. She was having an affair with Ricardo Cruz, at the same time as he was secretly working with Hal on a project for the future of the ranch. A project Diana had no idea about. I think Ricardo sprang it on her, maybe even tried to blackmail her into supporting it. Diana’s not a woman who takes well to pressure. She whacked him with something heavy, a ranch tool maybe, and dumped him in the creek by your little farm. It wasn’t her first time. Look at this.”
She held up her phone, showing them the photo of the old newspaper Jack had found.
“She killed two guys she was sleeping with?” Paul said. “That’s cold.” Lana watched as Paul appeared to run through his list of past dalliances, wondering which of them might come back to attack him. He looked preoccupied. It must have been a long list.
“Lana?” Scotty said. “You got a voicemail. From your daughter.”
He handed over the phone, and she turned away from them. Beth’s voice leaked out into the empty dining room.
“Hey, Ma, listen, I got a call from Martin. He wants me to come to that dinner at the ranch. He’s concerned about you and Lady Di. I don’t entirely get what’s up, but it sounded like maybe you’re onto something, and Jack and I want to help. See you there, I guess.”
“Your daughter’s still seeing that douchebag?” Scotty said.
Lana squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel her throat constricting, the veins on her neck pressing inward. She’d miscalculated the import of this dinner. This must be Diana’s plan. To use Beth and Jack . . . She grabbed her phone off the table and started dialing as fast as she could.
Scotty didn’t notice. “Man, that guy with his Maserati and his ‘Well, if you don’t stock Macallan 25 I suppose I can live with Johnnie Walker Black’ and then he leaves this big honking tip like he’s doing me a favor—”
“She isn’t answering.” Lana stood up. “Paul.” Her voice was steel now, with a hairline crack breaking across it. “We have to go. Now.”
Paul was confused. “To the ranch?”
“It went straight to Beth’s voicemail,” Lana said. “There’s lousy reception on the ranch. Beth and Jack must already be up there.”
“So?”
“So they’re in trouble.”
“Should we tell the cops?”
Lana considered it. Not yet. “The only thing the cops care about right now is finding you.”
“And my role is what, exactly?”
Lana couldn’t tell him what she wanted him to do. There was no way Paul would go for it. She didn’t have the time to convince him or the energy to escalate her threats against his precious marijuana business. She decided to appeal to his vanity instead.
“We’re going to need some muscle,” Lana said. “In case things get heated.”
Paul flexed a bicep. “You want me to protect you?”
She looked him in the eye and held a perfectly straight face. “I couldn’t imagine anyone better.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
On the drive up to the ranch, Jack made her move.
“Mom, I’ve been thinking.”
“Uh-huh?”
“I want to buy a boat.” Jack held the marionberry pie tight in her lap to keep it from sliding. And to keep herself from backpedaling.
“What kind of boat?”
“A sailboat. So I can go out in the ocean on my own.”
The Camry bounced over a rut in the dirt road.
“Do you even know how to sail?”
“Scotty O’Dell said he’d teach me. I was going to wait to tell you about it until after Prima’s investigation was all over, but there’s this sweet twenty-two-footer for sale in San Luis Obispo and I’ve been saving up money and—”
Beth pulled the car to a sudden stop just before the gate to the Rhoads ranch. The cracked sign bearing the upside-down R swung in the breeze above them.
“Jack, I appreciate you sharing what’s on your mind. To be honest, there is nothing I would like more than to turn this car around, go get some burritos, and hear all about your dream to conquer the high seas. But we agreed to come here and help your Prima. So why don’t we try to get through this dinner, and then we can talk?”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
*
When Beth turned the final curve, she saw Martin and Diana waiting for them on the driveway. The sun was just starting to set, and warm orange light reflected off the west-facing windows, making the ranch house appear to glow. Beth got out of the car first. She waved at Martin and gave Lady Di a stilted half bow.
Martin smiled, but his eyes didn’t soften. He looked stressed. “Thank you for coming.”
“Happy to help,” Beth said. “Jack too.”
The girl emerged from the car with the pie box in her hands. Beth could see the caution in her daughter’s eyes, as if she hadn’t yet decided how she felt about the meal ahead. Or maybe she was still stewing about the boat.
Martin gave Jack a nod. “You made it just in time for sunset.”
“Jack, honey,” Beth said, “look.”
The four of them stood in a line facing the ocean, Diana and Martin on one side of the Camry, Beth and Jack on the other. Beth reached out and grabbed Jack’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze as they watched the sun flatten itself against the horizon. Jack squeezed back. For a moment, they all stood there, their eyes chasing the sun into the water.
Once the last flash of light winked out, the air turned chilly.
“Where’s my mother?” Beth asked, looking around.
“Something must have held her up,” Diana said. She didn’t look happy about it. “Martin, the food’s in my car . . .”
She clicked her remote at a green Jaguar parked by a dusty pickup in front of the greenhouses.
Beth and Jack followed Martin to help.
“Do you think Prima’s okay?” Jack bit her lip. Lana had been texting her all afternoon about Lady Di and the evidence they still needed to find. It had been exciting when it was just words on the phone. But up on the ranch, it felt different. Isolated. She could hear frogs waking up in the muddy creeks down below, the crickets twitching in the high grass. But there was no light, no movement except their own.
“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” Beth said. She looked down the road, squinting at the darkened fields and rolling hills beyond the gate. “A dinner party? Lana wouldn’t miss it.”
*
The parking lot of the yacht club was not so picturesque at sunset. The sun slammed into the ocean at an angle that blinded anyone who was sentimental enough to gaze west.
Paul and Lana were looking north, hunting for supplies in the decrepit boatyard on the far side of the yacht club.
Paul peeled a canvas cover off an upside-down rowboat and pulled out a cardboard box. He dumped it on the gravel beside Lana and began digging through it, tossing aside a sleeping bag and an armful of clothes before wading back in.
“Have you been . . . living under this boat?” Lana stepped between the islands of seagull poop.
“Just the last couple nights.” Paul’s voice was muffled, his head deep in the box.
“How long did you imagine you could evade the sheriffs here?”
He shrugged. “It’s worked so far.”
It was disgusting, but also brilliant. With the sheriffs watching everyone coming in and out of the marina, Paul had found the one place he wouldn’t be spotted. Even if it did come with the stench of eviscerated fish.
Lana watched with clinical detachment as Paul pulled off his sweat-stained T-shirt, revealing a shark tooth necklace and a blond, furry trail from his navel down to the top of his khaki pants. He put on a black sweatshirt, a leather vest, and a moth-bitten beanie.
“Do I look tough?” he asked.
Lana gave him a curt nod. She felt the slightest twinge of guilt for roping him into this.
“Do you have anything you could use as a weapon?”
He tunneled back into the box and emerged waving an American-flag-coated Maglite.
She stared at it. “The sheriffs are looking for that, you know. They think you used it to kill Ricardo. It could have helped you out a lot if you’d given it to them to test.”