She turned back to the detectives. “That Saturday, February fourth. The day before we found Ricardo Cruz.”
“You sure?” Nicoletti looked skeptical.
“I biked here early that morning. It was propped up against the fence. I remember thinking it was weird that someone left their nice bike there without a lock or anything.”
“What time did you get here that Saturday?”
“Eight. You can check my time card.”
“Did you say anything about the bike to anyone?”
“No, I . . . I just assumed it belonged to Travis or maybe someone visiting Paul.”
“Paul have a lot of visitors?”
Jack shook her head. “No, I mean, I don’t know. I try not to get involved with all the . . .” Jack resettled her focus on Ramirez’s warm eyes. “I’m just here for the job.”
The two detectives shared a look. Ramirez spoke. “Just a couple more questions, Jack. About the bike. Are you sure the first day you saw it was Saturday? Not Friday?”
“I don’t work Fridays. If it was here then, I didn’t see it. But it would be seriously weird for a decent bike not to get stolen if it was outside for more than a few hours.”
“Can you think of a reason it would end up back here?”
Jack considered the question. It didn’t make sense.
“Maybe Paul knew who it belonged to and was holding it for them?” She shook her head. “But it’s been almost three weeks. Whoever it was would probably want to get it back right away.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Most bikes that get abandoned are total trash. We get them in the marina every once in a while. Flat tires, rusted-over chains, sometimes the seat is missing. This bike isn’t like that. Even the pannier—that storage bag. It looks brand-new.”
“That’s good, Jack. Thanks.” Ramirez smiled at her. “Do you have any idea where Paul might be now?”
The girl shook her head. “You think he was involved?”
Nicoletti was still looking at the green bike. “Keep your eye on the local news. We’ll inform the public when I get it all buttoned up.”
“When we get it buttoned up,” Ramirez said. “Jack, let’s go.”
Jack waited until they got back to the fence before she spoke up.
“Your partner’s a jerk,” she said.
Ramirez said nothing. The detective scanned the chain-link fence, as if there was some secret buried there. But it looked the same as always to Jack.
“You know, there is one place Paul could be.” Jack leaned way down over her bike lock and dialed in the combination slowly, one digit at a time. “He leases some land on the north bank of the slough. It’s part of the Rhoads ranch, technically.”
“What does he use it for?” Ramirez kept her eyes on the fence, her voice low.
“I’m not sure. It’s called Fruitful. My grandma—she’s the one who discovered it. We think it’s close to where Ricardo Cruz went into the water. Maybe. We’re still working on it.”
“That woman. She does not give up.”
Jack could have sworn she heard a hint of admiration in the detective’s exasperated voice. She pulled on her helmet. “Well, um, good luck.”
She was surprised to find the detective’s hand on her shoulder, stopping her from leaving.
“Jack, this isn’t a game. If you have information to share, or if you ever need help”—Ramirez fished a business card and a pen out of her pocket, scrawling as she spoke—“here’s my cell phone number. Call me anytime. Really.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
When Jack got home from the marina, she found her grandma at the table, talking on the landline. It was Lana’s work voice, but sweeter, as if she’d dipped her vocal cords in honey. And as far as Jack could tell, she was lying her butt off.
“Yes, it is a tragedy. But we hope your wonderful project might live on. In tribute to them.”
There was a brief pause.
“More people are involved now with the future of the estate. If you could please send a digital set through . . .”
Lana winked at Jack.
“Now? That’s wonderful.” Lana spelled out her email address and hung up the phone.
“Who was that?”
“The architectural firm that did the drawings for the Verdadera Libertad project, the ones Hal and Ricardo were planning to review the Friday Ricardo was killed. Apparently no one told them their clients are both dead. They were more than happy to help. And now we’ll get to see what all the fuss was about.”