Mother-Daughter Murder Night(15)

“Someone killed him?” Jack said. “How do you know?”

Now Lana looked at Jack, trying to beg the girl with her eyes to be quiet. But Lana had never been any good at begging. And Jack kept talking.

“I mean, if he drowned, how do you know someone killed him? Like, wouldn’t it look the same?”

Lana sank down in the chair next to Jack. It was a good question. And a terrible question. As if Jack were trying to check her work. Everyone’s eyes were on the girl now.

“There’s more than one way to kill someone,” Nicoletti said.

“So he wasn’t drowned?” Jack said. “How did he—”

“You go out on the water a lot, Jack?” Ramirez’s voice cut in, but it didn’t sound harsh. She sounded curious. Warm. Jack turned gratefully toward her.

“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “It’s my job, guiding kayak tours. And I like to go out most mornings before school. On my paddleboard.” She waved to the ten-foot board by the door, its leash dangling, a lonely dog waiting for someone to take it out for a walk.

“Do you ever go out with anyone else? A friend, maybe?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Lana said.

“No, it’s okay.” Jack gave Ramirez a tiny smile. “I don’t. I haven’t. None of my friends from school are into it.”

“And the people you work with at the Kayak Shack? Jorge Savila? Travis Whalen? Paul Hanley?”

Jack cursed herself for blushing. “Paul’s the boss. He’s older than my mom. And Travis and Jorge are in college. I wouldn’t say we’re friends.”

Nicoletti leered. “More than friends?”

This time, Jack kept her mouth shut. She pulled her hands into her sweatshirt sleeves, picking at the cuffs under the table.

When Jack had counted to fifteen, Detective Ramirez spoke again, leaving her partner’s question hanging in the air like a bad smell. “You’re younger than everyone there, right? Tiny, they call you?”

Jack nodded cautiously.

“Well, Tiny, here’s our problem.” Ramirez’s voice was smooth. “A young man paid for a tour Saturday night with you. You say he wasn’t there. Mr. Willis says maybe he was. Regardless, we all agree that you didn’t run that tour by the book.”

“I—”

Ramirez raised a hand and started ticking points on her purple fingernails. “You were responsible for their safety, but you let them drink. You let them get in the water. That’s against the rules, right?”

If there was a way to nod miserably, Jack pulled it off.

Ramirez nodded back.

“And then, the next day, Ricardo Cruz is found in one of your life jackets, dead, floating in your slough.”

“But—”

“Maybe you saw something. A weapon. Or a fight. Maybe you let Ricardo get in the water and his kayak flipped and he slammed his head. Whatever happened, let me give you some advice. Things will go much better for you if you tell us. Now. Because from where we sit, you’re a scared kid who made a mistake, and you’re trying to cover it up.”

Lana saw Jack’s eye twitch. She couldn’t let this continue.

“I saw something,” Lana said. She pulled herself up straight, drawing her robe tight around her.

“Ma’am?” Ramirez looked confused. So did Jack.

“But it wasn’t Saturday night,” Lana continued. “It was Saturday morning. Early. Two a.m. A person with a wheelbarrow. On the far side of the slough.”

“You were out on a hike at two in the morning?”

“No. I was here. Out the back window. No one’s supposed to be on the slough at night. But someone was there. Suspicious.” Lana remembered his jerky movements, his furious gaze.

Nicoletti leaned forward. “You spend a lot of time looking out the window?”

“Well, I—”

“Lady, you probably saw a farmer dumping something he couldn’t be bothered to take to the recycling plant. There’s all kinds of junk in the slough. Ricardo Cruz died at least a mile north of here, two maybe. I doubt you can see that far out your window.”

“No. Ricardo Cruz was found two miles north of here. Do you have evidence that proves he was killed there?”

The man leaned back and fixed Lana with a cruel gaze. “I don’t discuss evidence in open cases with grandmothers.”

“Saturday. Two a.m. Write it down.”

“Ma’am—”

“If you’re going to harass my granddaughter based on the claims of one tourist on a kayak cruise, you can at least follow up on the information I’m providing you.”

Lana locked eyes with Nicoletti, fixing him with an imperious stare. She sat up very straight, puffing her chest out in her blue-and-gold robe in her best imitation of an irate peacock.

Internally, she debated whether to start talking again, to insist the man she’d seen was suspicious and that the detectives should give her the respect she deserved. But she decided silence was a more powerful weapon. It was already doing its job. The energy in the room felt scattered, no longer driving toward a climax. Ramirez’s pen scratched against her notebook. Jack’s leg bounced under the table. Nicoletti looked from Lana to Jack and back again, his eyes hard.