Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

fist. “You mean like calling him fatty and stuff?”
    I shrugged, waiting for more.
    “Like teasing him about not knowing how to swim? Oh, yeah, he really did get mad that time I introduced him around to all these girls at a party and said what a stud he was. I don’t think that’s it, though.”
    “You don’t think that’s what?”
    “Why he hates me. He knows I hate him, that’s all. He just knows. By instinct. The dude’s gonna fire me, you know that?”
    “I hope not. I know you need the work.”
    “I’m really going to miss Sadie.” His eyes were the soft, sincere ones of the very loaded.
    As he walked me to my car, I remembered I’d told him to go straight to the police after our brunch. Now I had second thoughts. “Ricky, why don’t you go home, have a half-hour nap, get up, drink some more coffee, and then call the police—don’t go over there—and tell them about the pearl.”
    He adjusted his baseball cap—nervously, I thought. “Think I’m drunk, huh?”
    “I’m just giving you good legal advice. You never want to walk into a police station with alcohol on your breath. Especially not with a semi-fantastic story to tell.” And then something that had been nagging at me came into consciousness. “That reminds me. The maid you remodeled the cottage for—”
    “Yolie. Great old gal.”
    “Was she ever there when you were?”
    “Sure. She used to serve us drinks. And sometimes snacks.”
    “Ricky, think hard. Was she there the night Katy gave you the pearl?”
    He frowned, marshaling resources. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure she was. Made us margaritas.”
    “Did she see Katy give you the pearl? Or could she have heard the two of you talking about it?”
    “I see what you’re getting at—can she verify my story?” I nodded.
    He stroked his cheek, as if checking to see whether he’d shaved. “I don’t know about that. It’s a thought, you know that? Yolie might have been there.”
    “I think I’ll drive out to see her this afternoon.”
    “She goes away on weekends. To see her family down south somewhere—Santa Maria, I think. She probably doesn’t even know Katy’s dead yet.”
    “Maybe I could call her. What’s her full name?”
    “I don’t know. Yolie’s short for Yolanda, I know that. Some Spanish name, I think.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I ever heard it.”
    “Does she get back on Sunday nights?”
    “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been around Sunday nights when she was there—even seen her come back. Gets in around seven, seven-thirty. Say, you want me to go?”
    “No, it’ll be better if I do it. You just go home and give the cops a buzz—after your nap.”
    I waited till he’d left and got out of my car—I needed a walk to clear my head.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
    I walked in Pacific Grove, along the shore, watching pelicans and gulls (western ones, of course), mostly just drinking in the sea air, thinking about the Sheffield Pearl.
    Much as I hated to admit it, I thought Esperanza’s nightmarish theory had a lot of merit. Sadie might have been killed for the pearl. She must have had it with her when she went to the roof, perhaps planning to show it to Julio.
    But maybe it wasn’t true. I’d made a promise to Esperanza, and it was time to try to keep it. Both Marty and Ricky seemed to be off the hook, but Esperanza was still my client. That was the way with
pro bono
work—it always took longer than the paying jobs and was usually more difficult. I walked for forty-five minutes, working off my coffee buzz, just as Ricky (I hoped) was sleeping off his champagne one.
    Then I consulted a phone book, made a call, and hung up when a man answered; a man with a familiar voice. Don was home.
    The listed address was the one for Sadie Swedlow, the love nest where she’d lured Marty’s husband and where she entertained her children on weekends. I was sure Marty looked at it that way—as a usurpation of her possessions, of her children as well as her husband.
    It was a modest house in Pacific Grove, a one-story frame house, old and charming, but perhaps a little small for a stepfamily of four. If she’d lived, she and Don would probably have moved soon.
    Don was tousled, wearing only a pair of khaki shorts I suspected he’d just pulled on. “Oh. Rebecca.”
    “I guess I woke you up. I’m sorry.”
    “Not at all. Not at all. Will you come in?” He didn’t move aside to permit me, but I’d come there to go in, and good manners weren’t going to