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

you’d help me? I mean—” I wasn’t quite sure how to put delicately the fact that I wanted to search his house “—I thought we might look for it together.”
    Slowly intelligence began to seep into his expression, momentarily replacing the grief and pain. “Rebecca, how much is that thing worth?”
    “To tell you the truth, I don’t know.”
    “A lot?”
    “Honestly, I have no idea.”
    “Did Esperanza really find it on the beach?”
    It was no good. His mind had worked its way up through the mire of his loss.
    I wasn’t going to get away with a story about a sweet kid we had to help. “No. I’ll be honest with you, Don. There’s a possibility someone killed Sadie for it.”
    He stood up, jaw tensed. “Let’s look.”
    We tossed the house, starting with Sadie’s underwear drawer and jewelry box, working our way through her file cabinet, the toilet tank, the ice trays, the frozen food packages, the sugar bowl, everything we could think of. We searched Sadie’s car as well, and even a fake rock in which she and Don hid their door keys.
    We didn’t find the pearl—which made me feel jumpy on Esperanza’s account—but the exertion was good for both of us, I think. Don had more color when I left, and seemed to have recovered some of his energy.
    I left thinking I’d never spent so much time with Don, never really known what he was like. I liked him enormously. Anyone missing his girlfriend so desperately had to be a person of strong feelings. And all along I’d thought he was just another cold-blooded businessman.
    Marty was the warm one, I’d thought, because of her love of the ocean. That seemed out of character now that I knew the ice-cube Marty. But I knew it wasn’t, really. It was the doorway to her good side, the one she didn’t seem to know about herself. It would be easy to find it, I thought. If she could just work her way up the Darwinian ladder—transfer her affections from fish to reptiles—it wouldn’t be that much of a step up to birds and then on to mammals—rodents first, say, and then on up to the lower primates. From orangutans she could go to gorillas, and next thing you know, she might even get interested in bald-bodied apes.
    I was about a block from my hotel and engrossed in this silliness—I often get giddy when I drive—when I noticed Libby trudging along the street with a backpack, loaded down and forlorn.
    I waved and honked, but instead of breaking into a delighted grin, she covered her mouth with her hand, terror plain on her guileless features. Confused, she forgot to watch her step and stumbled on a raised piece of sidewalk.
    I pulled to the curb, jumped out, and helped her get up. “What is it, honey?”
    “I fell down.”
    “I don’t mean that. You looked like you were afraid of me.”
    “I’m not afraid of you.” She sounded mad now, had gone into a classic pout. She started to walk on.
    I said, “Why don’t you let me give you a lift?”
    “No, thanks. I’ll be okay.”
    “Where are you going?”
    She looked confused.
    “Libby? Is something wrong?”
    “No!” She fell into my arms, mouth working as she tried not to cry.
    I stroked her hair and assured her it would be okay, the words sounding stupid and dishonest even to me. Sure it would be okay—in about twenty years if she could find a good shrink. Things in this kid’s life had gone seriously wrong, and I wasn’t going to be able to kiss them away.
    Libby let go of me and bent down for her backpack. “I have to go now.”
    “Are you going to Esperanza’s?”
    She shook her head.
    “Amber’s?”
    “Uh-uh.”
    “Your dad’s?” But surely not. It was too far to walk.
    “I’m just taking a walk.” She spoke defiantly, but a nervous toss of the head gave her away.
    I thought I understood the backpack, even knew why she just happened to be so close to my hotel. Like Dr. Freud, I don’t believe in coincidences. With Sadie gone, Libby needed someone to talk to—maybe unconsciously, but she was looking for me, I thought. Sure. Much the way Julio was probably hanging by the phone waiting for my call.
    “Libby,” I said, “are you running away?”
    She nodded gravely, almost hanging her head, the way kids do when they fear dire punishment.
    “I don’t blame you,” I said.
    Her head snapped up, her face unbelieving. “You don’t?”
    “I’d probably do the same thing in your shoes. Come on. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
    “I’m not allowed to.”
    “I thought