Mother-Daughter Murder Night(64)

“No contract, no deal.” It was one of her mantras. “Thank you, André. This is exactly what I needed.”

“Not at all. You’ve given me the pleasure of being the one person who has actually talked to you in months. Everyone will be jealous.” He paused. “It’s less fun here without you. Chat is nice, but I miss watching you carve up apartment buildings.”

“You miss getting my business.”

“Well, that too. But, darling, there’s this maddening little show on right now in West Hollywood where all the men’s roles are played by pigs and everyone is talking about it. Are you coming back soon?”

Lana felt a sharp pang of longing for her old life, the intoxicating drumbeat of commerce, clinking glasses with friends and enemies alike. She missed restaurants that seated you based on how much power you wielded in the city. She missed valet parking. But she wondered how much of her old world would be open to her if she came back now, with sunken eyes and stitches. There was a reason she hadn’t told anyone but Gloria about the cancer. Powerhouses like André avoided weakness like it was contagious. Before she got sick, Lana had too.

She looked around the cocoon she’d made of her daughter’s back bedroom in Elkhorn. Chipped furniture. Papers everywhere. Not a place she’d chosen, but a place where she could be herself, a fragile, incomplete self: Lana-with-cancer. In two days, on Thursday, she’d take the tests that would tell her when she could go back to being Lana, full stop. It could be soon. It could be never. She couldn’t let go of the hope that the tumors would shrink and she could go back home, become dazzling and diamond-hard once again, and put all of this behind her.

Until then she had new ways to occupy her time.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back, André.” Out the window, Lana could see the slough waking up for the evening, terns and harbor seals slipping into the water to hunt for dinner. “Something up here has piqued my interest.”

“A hundred acres of opportunity? A silver fox? Knowing you, it’s probably both.”

Lana smiled. “I’ll tell you all about it when I’m back, André. Omakase. My treat.”

“Darling, I can’t wait. And bring him with you.”





Chapter Thirty-Two




When Lana stumbled into the kitchen at nine thirty the next morning, the landline was ringing.

“Mrs. Rubicon?”

Lana was too tired to correct her.

“I’m calling from the office at North Monterey County High School.”

“Yes?” Lana yawned.

“Is Jacqueline out of school today for an illness? We don’t have a note on file that she would be absent.”

“What? Hold on.” Lana looked over at the sofa bed. Jack’s pillow was stacked on top of her folded comforter, like usual. Through the window she saw Beth’s car in the driveway. Lana tried to stretch the phone cord far enough to knock on Beth’s bedroom door but couldn’t reach. “We’ll have to call you back.”

“This will be marked down as unexcused.”

“I said we’ll call you back!” Lana snapped at the phone, which flipped to a dial tone before she could finish.

“Beth?” Lana gingerly opened the door to her daughter’s room.

“Uhn.” Beth’s face was squashed into her pillow, her body swallowed by a mound of blankets. “Day off. Lemme sleep.”

“Beth. The school just called.” Lana tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “Jack isn’t there. She isn’t here either.”

Beth shot up into a sitting position. “What? How long has she been gone?”

“I don’t know. The phone woke me up.”

“Is her backpack on the table?”

“What?” Lana turned and looked behind her. There were some books and papers on the table, but no backpack. She shook her head.

“Back door,” Beth ordered, pulling on a pair of jeans.

The two women went outside and surveyed the scene behind the kitchen. Jack’s bike was there, leaning up against the house, along with a jacket and her neon helmet. But no Jack.

Beth peered around the corner. “Her paddleboard. It isn’t here.”

Lana breathed out. “That’s good. She probably just lost track of time in the slough.”

“No. We have a deal. She sets her backpack on the table if she’s paddling out early. And she has to get to school on time. No excuses, no tardy slips. Otherwise she loses paddle privileges. She’d never risk that.”

Lana could hear the worry creeping into her daughter’s voice. She peered down at the slough, scanning the gray water. The slough was flat and glassy, crowded with boats and people. Two long hulls of women rowing crew. Three men, barrel-chested, piloting single kayaks upriver. The only paddleboard Lana saw held a paunchy older man, wet suit stripped to his waist, impervious to cold or macho or both. She stared hard at him, willing the stringy hair on his chest to somehow magically transform into a red life vest on a teenage girl.

Beth reappeared beside Lana. “She isn’t answering her phone.”

“Maybe she left a note?”

“That’s not how we do things. Where could she—” Beth reached down and extricated a stone from the edge of her rock labyrinth, squeezing it in her hand.