"Two days in a row,” marveled Jorge. “Don't get me wrong, I'm always happy to see you two, but this is not like Se-ora Beth."
"She's making us eat salad all next week to make up for it,” Harriet said with smile. She ducked to avoid Aunt Beth's purse, which had been swung with mock fury.
"Come in,” Jorge said and put his arm around Harriet's shoulders. “You want a table or a booth?"
"A booth is fine,” she said and followed him as he led them to an unoccupied booth then went to the kitchen to fix their guacamole. He returned a few minutes later with the creamy green dip and a basket of warm tortilla chips.
"Do you remember the man you told us about, the one who was talking to Neelie? Have you seen him since?"
"Oh, sure.” He turned his head slightly to the right. “As a matter of fact, he's here now."
Harriet looked. She spotted the man, sitting by himself in the last booth in the row on the opposite side of the seating area.
"He's been sitting there for a couple of hours, drinking coffee and calling people on his phone. Judging by the look on his face, things aren't going well."
"I'll be right back,” Harriet said, and was up and out before Aunt Beth could protest.
She walked to the booth at the back where the man sat, cell phone pressed firmly to his ear. A dark-brown leather jacket covered the opposite seat. She waited at the end of the table until he realized she was there and abruptly punched the end button on his phone and laid it on the table. She waited, and when he didn't say anything, she did.
"May I speak to you for a moment?” she asked.
"It's a free country,” he mumbled.
Harriet looked pointedly at the jacket-covered banquette. The man sighed, straightened in his seat then used his foot to pull his jacket from the bench and into his hands. She slid into the seat.
"Did you know Neelie Obote?” she asked without preamble.
The man's jaw tightened. “What's it to you?"
"I know you spoke to her a few days ago, so don't even go there. The police questioned me earlier about her death. “
The man lowered his head into his hands and began to weep.
"She was my wife,” he said without looking up.
"What?” Harriet said it a little too loudly, and before she could stop herself.
"We hadn't been together lately, mind you, but she was my wife,” he repeated, and raised his head, looking like he'd aged ten years since she'd sat down.
"Maybe you better start at the beginning. Who are you, what was Neelie doing here and why did you follow her?"
The man sighed deeply, and Harriet wasn't sure he was going to answer.
"I'm Rodney. Rodney Miller.” He offered his hand across the table, and she took it.
"I'm Harriet Truman,” she said and waited.
He raised his eyebrows. “Like in Harry Truman?"
"Like in I have weird parents. We're distantly related to the Harry Truman but not in any way that matters."
"That's cold,” he said.
"Yeah, tell me about it."
Rodney leaned back in his seat.
"I don't know what Neelie was doing here. We'd been having troubles, and she'd been staying with her girlfriend Jasmine in East Bay."
As a former California resident, Harriet knew the place Rodney referred to was in San Francisco, and the east side could mean Oakland, Berkeley or one of several other communities.
"She's kind of a free spirit, you know what I'm saying? She was young to be married, and I'm older than her, but I thought if we were married, I could settle her down some. I was talking to her every day on her cell, trying to get her to come home so we could work on things.
"Then she just up and disappeared. She was gone for a month or better, took all my cash, too. Then she calls Jasmine and says she's in Foggy Point, Washington, and she needs money. Jasmine called me, and here I am."
"What about the baby?” Harriet asked.
"What about it?” Rodney said, a sly note creeping into his voice.
"Whose baby is it?"
"What business is it of yours?” he asked and leaned back. Clearly, he sensed he was in the driver's seat.
Harriet sighed deeply. She'd met people like him in boarding school. Not physically like him, of course, but with the same “what's in it for me” attitude.
"How much?” she asked.
"I'm offended,” he said in a mocking tone.
"How much is it going to cost me to cut to the chase?” She gave him a hard look she hoped conveyed that this was a one-time offer.
"A hundred,” he said and waited to see how his opening bid had been received.
"We're done,” Harriet said and started to rise.
"Look, I'm stuck here. I was going to get my money back from Neelie, and now she's gone. What am I supposed to do?"
"Fifty dollars, take it or leave it."
"Lessee it,” he said in an injured tone.
Harriet pulled three bills from her wallet but held them in her hand.
"She brought a baby here and said her sister in Uganda asked her to bring her daughter here to the baby's father,” she said. “Who does the baby really belong to? Is it yours?"
"No, it's not mine. Neelie can't take care of herself-I wouldn't give her a baby on top of everything else. And a sister?” Rodney leaned toward her. “I never met no sister. And that's the truth."
She could tell by the look on his face that at least the last statement was true. He didn't know about the sister.
"How can I get in touch with this Jasmine?"
"I wish I knew. Jasmine's phone don't work, and no one's seen her in a while, but that's Jasmine for you. That's why I didn't like Neelie staying with her."
"So, you were just looking out for Neelie's welfare. Is that your story?"
"That's the truth,” he said and snatched the bills from Harriet's hand.
"If you think of anything else, call me,” she said and pulled a business card for her long-arm studio out of her pocket and handed it to him.
"You got your money's worth. You want to talk more…” He rubbed his thumb across his first two fingers in the universal sign for money.
Harriet turned without another word and returned to the booth, where Aunt Beth had nearly polished off the guacamole. Before she could say anything, Jorge brought a fresh bowl of dip and swept away the spent one.
"You're making your aunt nervous,” he said and laughed, then lowered his voice, a fellow conspirator now. “Did you learn anything good?"
"He fed me a line about being Neelie's husband, and how he was looking for her to keep her out of trouble. I'm not sure I believe anything he said, except that he seemed surprised by the baby and sister. I don't think he knew about either one. That's telling, if he's really her husband."
"Or if he knew her at all,” Aunt Beth added.
"Maybe he's her pimp,” Jorge offered.
"He doesn't seem flashy enough,” Harriet said. “Of course, my knowledge of pimps is limited to Hollywood portrayals."
They all looked at Rodney now.
"He doesn't look like husband material,” Jorge countered.
"Not for a normal person, but when people are running a complicated con they often have at least one partner.” Harriet said.
"That I can believe, but you'd think he'd have cleared out when she died."
"He said he wants to recover the money he claims she took from him,” Harriet said. “If he's smart, he'll use the money I gave him and take the next bus out of Foggy Point."
"He's not that kind of smart,” Jorge said. “You can see it in his eyes. If there's money and any chance he can get it, he's going for it."
"That's another reason we need to keep that baby out of everyone's reach until this sorts itself out,” Beth said. “I don't know how, but she figures into this."
"You ladies want to try my new special tacos?” Jorge asked. “They're marinated pork with a special hot sauce. Just for you, I'll put a green salad on the side instead of beans and rice."
"Perfect,” Aunt Beth said with a smile.
Jorge headed to the kitchen without waiting for Harriet's response. She sighed. Aunt Beth wasn't her mother, but she was more like a mother than her actual parent. She wondered if all mothers attempted to control their daughter's weight as openly as Aunt Beth did hers.
Harriet wasn't what anyone would call thin, but she wasn't exactly fat, either. She'd gotten heavier after Steve died, but that weight had come off since she'd returned to Foggy Point.
"Did your detective say anything about why they were investigating Neelie's death?” Aunt Beth asked, jarring her back to reality.
"No, he didn't, why? Did yours?"
"She gave me a generic line about investigating the death because Neelie wasn't from here, and therefore, they didn't know if she'd been in a doctor's care, and anytime an otherwise healthy person dies, they investigate."
"And you didn't believe her."
"I'm with you. I think that girl was diabetic. She should have had one of those testing gadgets, and she probably had needle marks or, if not that, then medication at least."
"They wouldn't be assigning two detectives for anything less than murder,” Harriet said, ending the discussion.
Jorge brought their meals, and they ate in silence.
"We need to confirm that,” Harriet said after a while. “Doesn't Connie's daughter-in-law work at the hospital?"
"Yes, she does, although I'm not sure how much she'll be able to tell us even if she does know. You know how they regulate everything medical these days. I'll call Connie when we're done eating, and see if the gossip wheel has been turning.” Beth didn't like talking on her cell phone in public places.
"Maybe we should drive by on our way home. We could check her quilt block progress while we're there."
"I doubt she's gotten much done if she still has Carla and the babies there, but we should check on them, in any case."
They finished their taco dinners and placed generous tips under their plates to counter Jorge's ongoing unwillingness to accept money from Harriet and, by association, anyone she was dining with.
"You ladies come back again,” he said from his post by the front door. “And don't forget to tell me what's going on. You never know when an old man can help."
They assured them he would be the first to know any breaking news. Jorge pulled a white paper bag from under the counter that held the cash register.
"Since you look like ladies on a mission, I took the liberty of preparing some flan to go. I put an ice pack in the sack, so it should be good until the end of your adventure.” He winked at Harriet. They both knew Aunt Beth would never have agreed to dessert no matter how long they had stayed at the restaurant.