I pressed Street’s doorbell button early in the afternoon. The condo rattled with the bass of loud rock ’n roll. No one answered. I knocked hard, but again there was no response. Street had given me a key that I had never used. Until now.
The blast of music hit me like a punch in the chest when I opened the door. Off-key vocals competed with the recording.
They were in the living room. Street was in her bathrobe, standing on the couch, twisting like Chubby Checker. Her head was back. Her eyes were closed. She mouthed the lyrics and shook her head. Her hair was a blur. Jennifer was doing an a-go-go dance on the glass cocktail table. She, too, had her eyes closed. Her long brown hair shimmied. She was screaming along with the lyrics, “Ooh, yeah, yeah!”
It must have been a minute before they saw me up on the Jennair cooking island in the kitchen. I was on my back, arms and legs in the air, trying not to smirk. Shaking and shuddering like a Holy Roller. I heard a howl and turned my head just in time to see Street leaping onto my body. She landed in a swan-dive position and we jerked and shook together like bacon in a frying pan. When the song was over Street slid off onto the floor. Jennifer collapsed on the couch in giggles.
When the next song started, Street grabbed Jennifer and they waltzed around the floor. Their timing to the music was horrible. But their camaraderie was exquisite.
The CD ended and they fell back onto the couch, arms around each other.
“Oh, God!” Jennifer yelled, her words choked with giggles. “I’ve never had this much fun in my life!”
“The drugs are working,” I said.
“Yes,” Street screamed through her laughter.
Jennifer looked at me, then Street.
“Owen says we all self-medicate,” Street shouted.
“Owen uses Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.” She turned to Jennifer. “You and I just used Pearl Jam and a pound of Sara Lee chocolate cake!” They both shrieked.
After they calmed I pointed to my watch. “Chauffeur time.”
Jennifer turned to Street on the couch and shrugged. She reluctantly got up and rummaged around the living room collecting her shoes and other items she’d brought with her. When it came time to leave she hugged Street for a long moment. “You are so...” Jennifer said, searching for words. “I’ve never met anyone like you before. I had so much fun.”
“Me, too,” Street said. “You come anytime. Don’t wait for this guy to drop you off, you hear?”
I kissed Street as we were leaving. “Thanks,” I said.
“Thank you.” Street pulled me back inside the door. Jennifer was out putting her things in my Jeep. “Jennifer thinks you might be wondering about her. Like maybe you don’t believe everything she’s told you? Well, I just want to say that I think she’s sincere. She’s a good kid, Owen. Trust her.”
I nodded.
“And by the way,” Street said. “Diamond called me last night about that body. So when I’m through collecting samples I’ll be at my lab all day.”
I said goodbye and went out to the Jeep. Jennifer was smiling. “What’s so funny?” I said as I pulled out of Street’s drive.
“I’m amused at how rarely adults are right. But you were right. I like Street. She’s great.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I think so, too.”
“She likes all the same music I do, the same food, the same movies. She remembers what it’s like to be a kid.”
I nodded.
“You’d never guess that she has a Ph.D. in Entomology from Berkeley,” Jennifer said.
“Not until you look at her books.”
“So what exactly is her job?”
“She’s a bug consultant. The Forest Service hires her to do bark beetle counts every year to keep track of the infestation level in the basin’s forests. And she also consults with law enforcement agencies on suspicious deaths.”
“You mean that she can tell something about how people died by looking at insects?”
“Right. Forensic entomology.”
“Like what?” Jennifer said. “What can Street learn from bugs?”
“Are you squeamish?”
“I guess that means you’re going to tell me something gross,” Jennifer said. “Go ahead, I can take it.”
“There are certain insects associated with dead bodies. By studying them, she can often establish time of death.”
“What kind of insects?”
“I don’t know a lot about the specifics,” I said. “I know there are a variety of bugs that show up. But the main ones are flies which lay their eggs on the body. When the eggs hatch, the maggots use the body for food. So mostly Street looks for maggots.”
“She finds maggots on dead bodies?!” Jennifer sounded aghast.
“In.”
“In dead bodies?!” Jennifer smacked her hand down on her thigh. “Oh, my God, that is so gross!”
“I asked if you were squeamish.”
“I know, but I didn’t think you were going to tell me something like that!” Jennifer was silent for a minute. She stared out the side window as I drove. “Do all dead bodies have maggots in them?”
“I think so. I suppose that if you get a body into a sealed environment right after death, then flies wouldn’t be able to lay their eggs on them and the body wouldn’t end up with maggots.”
“I think I’m growing up too fast.”
“It happens,” I said.
We drove a mile before Jennifer spoke again. “What does Street do with the maggots?”
“She collects them and takes them to her lab. It’s in a warehouse off Kingsbury Grade. Not too far from my office. She kills some of the maggots because their size reveals how long they’ve been growing which can indicate how long since the person died. But first she needs to know what kind of maggots they are which can be nearly impossible to tell by looking at them. So she takes the rest of the maggots and raises them to adult flies so that she can determine the species.”
“Is that where all flies come from? Maggots in dead bodies?”
“From what I gather, that’s where most come from. Of course, most dead bodies that flies find are not people, but animals.”
“I remember a dead squirrel I found once...” Jennifer’s voice trailed off. She shivered. “It kind of gives you a new perspective on those flies that land on your food.”
“Kind of does,” I agreed.
“Maybe we should change the subject,” she said.
“Sure.”
We rode in silence. Eventually, Jennifer spoke.
“I’ve been thinking about what Street said about studying insects.”
“What was that?”
“Before we went to bed we talked about the difference between meaning and purpose. She said that in watching insects she’s learned that even if you can’t find meaning you can still find a purpose.”
“The unexamined life is not worth living.”
“God,” Jennifer said, “how did I get to be almost fifteen years old without anyone ever talking to me about such ideas?”
She stumped me there.
“Do you think you’ll marry her?”
I turned toward Jennifer. “You got a question, feel free to ask it right up front.”
“I’m sorry. That was intrusive.”
I didn’t respond.
“I just think,” Jennifer said, “that if you ever wanted to marry her, you wouldn’t want to wait. She’s... I don’t know, it seems like lots of men would be interested in her.”
“Don’t I know it.” We were silent again. At the far end of South Lake Tahoe I turned left and headed out toward the airport. “I asked her a couple years ago. She said maybe someday. That’s all the further she would go.”
“Oh,” Jennifer said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
We turned left into the airport and went down into the parking lot. Inside, we walked to the windows. A white Gulfstream with a blue p
instripe was coming in over the runway. Its nose was high as the main wheels touched. Blue smoke puffed as tires met tarmac. The nose lowered. The jet quickly braked and pulled off onto the taxiway. A door opened and steps descended. The first person out was a woman in her forties, trim in a gray business suit. She turned and helped two older women down the stairs. The three of them walked to the terminal.
Jennifer and I met them at the door. I could tell which one was Gramma Salazar. She acted the role of the Matriarch.
“Jennifer, honey, how are you?” she enthused as she hugged her granddaughter. Her voice had a smile in it. But her eyes were stern and focused on me. “And this man here is...”
“Gramma and Helga.” Jennifer said to the two older women. Then she turned to the other woman. “Mrs. Heinz. I want you all to meet Owen McKenna. He’s helping me.”
“I’m honored, Mr. McKenna,” the matriarch said.
“My pleasure, Mrs. Salazar,” I said.
“Your help, sir, is of what variety?”
“Gramma,” Jennifer said, “we’ve had some problems since you left. I’ll tell you all about it in the car.”
The women stepped back and conferred in a quick conference. I heard the younger of the three speak in hushed tones, “You’re sure everything’s okay? You want me to wait around?”
“No, no, we’ll be fine,” Gramma Salazar said. “You go home, now. You’ll just make it in time to catch Jacob coming home from the board meeting.”
Mrs. Heinz went back outside, turned and waved once before she climbed into the jet.
Jennifer and I escorted the two older women out to my Jeep. I carried their bags. I detected distaste in Gramma Salazar when she saw my vehicle. When I opened the rear door for her she wrinkled her nose.
“It smells like dog in this car.”
“Oh Gramma! Owen has the greatest dog! He’s a Great Dane named Spot. A harlequin with all the spots, get it?”
“Jennifer, haven’t I told you to use a formal salutation with men?”
“Yes, Gramma, but...”
“Jennifer, you know I have my reasons.”
“Mrs. Salazar,” I broke in. “I specifically asked Jennifer to call me Owen.”
“Mr. McKenna, you would have me believe that there is a reason for my granddaughter to be on an informal basis with a man your age?”
I gestured toward the car door. “Why don’t we get in the car and I can explain on the ride home.”
The two women got in the back seat. Helga had still not said a word. Once we were on the road I spoke up before Gramma Salazar had a chance to start her interrogation.
“Mrs. Salazar, I’m a private investigator.”
“Fraulein Jennie!” she exclaimed. “I told you...”
I didn’t let her interrupt. “Jennifer wanted to hire me. I declined on the grounds that she is a minor. However, I think she may be in danger and in your caretaker’s absence I felt it appropriate to be available until you came home.”
“Has Samuel gone off again? Oh, my heavens. I just spoke to him on the phone a couple of days ago. He was calling from the beach to say he’d be home the next day. Anyway, Mr. McKenna, I hope you haven’t bought all this nonsense that Jennifer thinks about poor little Melissa, may she rest in peace.”
I could see Jennifer squirming in her seat. “Mrs. Salazar,” I said, “before you pass judgement, let me explain the events of the last few days.”
I told her of my involvement from start to finish. Jennifer interjected where I missed a point or got something out of sequence.
When we were through, Gramma Salazar sat in pregnant silence. “I understand,” she said, “that Jennifer is frightened of the dark. And I think it very unfortunate that our caretaker has such bad timing with his absences. I’m assuming he’ll be back shortly if not already. As for this other notion...” I saw her arm moving in my rear-view mirror. A wave of dismissal. “You and I will talk later, Mr. McKenna.”
When we pulled into the Salazar drive and past the caretaker’s house, Gramma Salazar spoke. “Sam’s car is still gone. So he’s really testing us this time.”
“When did Samuel start working for you?” I asked.
“Almost nine years ago. I remember clearly because he came to our house right after dear Melissa’s death.”
“What does he look like?”
“Oh, he’s one of those young outdoor types. He always reminded me, sorry for saying this, of a perfect candidate for Hitler’s SS. He’s short, but he’s blond, and strong as can be. Whenever he’s not working he’s off doing one of those crazy sports.”
I pulled up in front of the Salazar mansion. I jumped out and opened Gramma Salazar’s door. “How did you find Sam? Did you get a referral?”
“No. We were in such shock after Melissa’s accident. And our previous caretaker had died earlier that spring. We hadn’t yet replaced him. So when Samuel came and applied for work and he seemed so self-assured and responsible, I just thought I’d try him without going through all the checking. I’ve always been glad, too. In spite of his lapses Samuel is the best we’ve had. He was especially helpful right after we lost Melissa. So attentive to little Jennifer.” Gramma Salazar glanced at Jennifer as she said it. Jennifer was helping Helga with the bags.
We walked toward the house. “What are Sam’s sports?”
“He does them all, it seems to me. But one favorite is para-gliding or whatever they call it when they fly around on those funny-shaped parachutes. And climbing. Especially climbing.”
“Mountains around here?”
“All of them. He really likes rock climbing. You know, where they go up impossibly steep cliffs.”
I held open the front door for the woman. Jennifer and Helga were already inside.
“Does he go by any other name?” I asked.
“No, of course not.”
“You make the checks out to Samuel Sommers?”
“No, I’ve always paid him cash. Just like he requested in the beginning. He doesn’t like banks.” She looked at me sternly. “Don’t tell me you’re going to fuss about withholding taxes for domestic help. I’ll have you run out of town.”
“No, no. Not at all.”
“Good. Then you and I will get along fine.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Helga?” Gramma Salazar called out. “Would you please look after Jennifer while Mr. McKenna and I talk? We’ll be in the drawing room. She turned to me. “This way, Mr. McKenna.”
I followed Gramma Salazar through the entry and the main hall. I was thinking about Samuel Sommers, their caretaker of nine years, the man who Diamond Martinez said doesn’t officially exist. He didn’t like banks where he’d need proof of his real name. He appeared right after Melissa died. He was particularly attentive to Jennifer. He had blond hair and was a rock climber. I didn’t know if it meant anything. But the description fit what Ellie Ibsen had told me about the climber who found Melissa’s body.
TEN