“How did you figure out which architect it was?”
“Your mother, of all people. She sent the name to me earlier today, from the return address on a package sent to Mr. Rhoads.”
“Did Mom know you were going to lie to them?”
Lana waved it off. “She helped us. Let’s focus on that.”
*
Within minutes, Lana was pulling up the drawings on her laptop. She half expected to see Diana’s wellness ranch, or another version of it, women and horses communing on the rolling hills above the slough. But this project was another animal entirely.
Lana zoomed in on the first document, which listed disclosures and notes about the Verdadera Libertad project in a microscopic font. The two men were listed: Hal as the client, Ricardo as project manager. Lana didn’t recognize any other names on the lists of contractors. No Diana. No Martin. No Victor.
She scrolled through watercolor sketches of commercial kitchens, a cold storage facility, and a retail operations center, surrounded by a mosaic of five-acre square plots of farmland.
“They’re calling it an indigenous farm incubator,” Lana said. “Offering below-market leases to women and disadvantaged entrepreneurs.”
“Below market?” Jack asked.
Lana nodded. “It means they’ll charge less than what a farmer would ordinarily pay.”
“Verdadera Libertad,” Jack said. She picked up a drawing of two dark-skinned women stripping nopales of their thorns at a stainless-steel counter. “Like, liberating who can have a farm. That’s cool.”
“Hal and Ricardo certainly thought so,” Lana murmured. She scanned the drawings, recalling Lady Di’s opulent, exclusive wellness ranch. The two projects couldn’t have been more different.
“Do you think someone killed them to stop this project?” Jack asked.
“It’s possible,” Lana said. “They all want the land, that’s for sure. Victor wants it for conservation. Diana wants to build a spa. And Martin wants the money.”
“What about Paul?”
“He’s the odd man out. Paul doesn’t have a claim on the ranch like the others. There’s that scrap of land he’s leasing. But it can’t be worth much. Unless he has a secret out there he’s protecting.”
“Could it be something else?” Jack said.
“What do you mean?” Lana said.
“It just seems weird that Ricardo got killed first. I mean, if Diana wanted control of the ranch, she could kill her brother and her father and she’d have it. For Martin, it would be his sister and his father. And for Victor, maybe all three Rhoadses. Or just the kids, I don’t know. There’s got to be a way Ricardo is central to all of this. But I don’t see how.”
Lana looked up from the drawings, puzzled. “You’re right, Jack. Ricardo’s death started this whole thing. And we still don’t even know where he died.”
“Oh!” Jack checked the time on her phone. “I have an idea about that. Can we go for a quick drive? With your binoculars?”
When they got to Kirby Park, the Lexus bumped up over the train tracks, past the graffitied retaining walls and around the shattered beer bottles. Lana followed Jack out of the car, watching her step. She didn’t want to lose another good pair of heels to broken glass.
After sidestepping rusted beer cans and a dead snake, they walked onto the boardwalk flanking the south bank of the slough. Giant fronds of feather grass slapped their legs in the swirling wind, and mud and algae creeped up the outer edges of the wobbly, wood-slatted path.
They followed the boardwalk out to the water, and Jack raised the binoculars. They stood there for ten minutes. Twenty. The wind shot through Lana’s jacket, and she longed for her robe and her bed. “I appreciate the nature tour, Jack, but it’s getting late, and—”
“Look!” Jack handed the binoculars to Lana and pointed across the slough, toward the mass of mud and otters on the other side. “Left of the big rock.”
Lana squinted through the lenses and adjusted the focus. She could see the outline of something boxy, bright red.
“Is that . . .”
“My life jacket.” Jack sounded triumphant. She looked at her phone to confirm. “Right where those tourists found Ricardo. Exactly thirty-two hours after I dropped it in the creek where the kayak guy was.”
“I thought you did that to stay hidden.”
“It was a twofer.” Jack shrugged. “It’s not conclusive, I mean, I didn’t weigh it down, and there could be other spots that would let out to the mud flats in the same way. But still.”