When John returned fifteen minutes later it was with only two containers of coffee. He handed one to me.
“Thanks. Didn’t you get any for Nicholas?”
The slightest hint of a smile twitched the corner of his lips. “I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be here.”
I took a welcome swallow. The coffee was hot enough, without burning my throat, and he’d put the right amount of Sweet’N Low and half-and-half into it. It was my favorite flavor: Vanilla Nut. Caffeine an’ Stuff was on the container, but when I tasted it I would have known where it came from. In my coffee-craving opinion, that café brewed the best Vanilla Nut.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, John asked, “Anybody come out while I was gone?”
“No.” Fortified with the coffee, I asked, “Why did you think Nicholas would have left?”
John watched two birds twittering at each other on a low branch of my willow tree. He didn’t look at me as he said, “Because he doesn’t know you as well as I do, that you’ll take a bullet for someone you love.”
I knew he was making a subtle reference to Eileen and Ingram. I didn’t respond to that because Eileen’s involvement with the dead man was the last thing we should be discussing right now. Surely John had realized that if I broke into Ingram’s house, it had to have been for Eileen’s sake. He couldn’t ask me and I couldn’t tell him what I knew, or admit what I had done. Even though he wasn’t part of the Ingram murder investigation, as a member of the LAPD who’d sworn to uphold the law, he was obligated not to withhold pertinent information. What John didn’t know didn’t have to be revealed; he was allowed to keep his theories to himself. By our shared silence, we were protecting his daughter. Come to think of it, we were protecting me, too, from a charge of breaking and entering. With that subject out of bounds, it didn’t leave much for us to talk about, so we drank our coffees and watched cars go by. Neighbors left for work, or took their children to school. Several noticed the police car. It was impossible to miss. Several sent curious looks in my direction. I smiled, trying to give the impression that it was the most natural thing in the world to have a police car outside my house, and for me to be on the front steps with a tall man and a cat carrier.
The woman next door, who had lived in her house even longer than I’d lived in mine, called out “Hi” and waved at us as she hurried to her car. We waved back.
“I’ve seen her somewhere before,” John said.
“Julie Coombs. You met her and her husband at Mack’s funeral. She works at a talent agency and he’s in computers.”
“Oh, yeah.” I could tell from his inflection that he did remember her. John had a remarkable facility for recalling names and faces.
A few minutes later a familiar ivory-colored Range Rover came up the street and parked behind John’s Lincoln.
“That’s Liddy,” I said, getting up. John stood, too, but remained in place as I hurried down to the street to greet her with a hug.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I said. “But why are you here?”
“Nicholas called to tell me police were doing their cop thing in your house. He said you needed me.”
“I do.”
Liddy waved at John. “Where is your Sicilian stallion? Did Big John chase him off?”
“We had a fight,” I said.
“A bad one?”
“Very bad.”
“So, he stalked off in a snit, but he didn’t want you to be alone. I like him.”
John greeted Liddy with a quick squeeze of her hand. “Glad to see you. Do you know what’s going on?”
“Nicholas phoned her.” Something occurred to me. “John, if he contacted Liddy he might have phoned Eileen, too. You’d better get hold of her and tell her not to come here. Tell her I need her to go to our shop and handle the business until I call her later.”
“Good idea.” John pulled his cell phone out of his jacket, pressed a number on his speed dial, and walked down to the street for privacy.
“The forensics techs found my fingerprint at the back of Ingram’s house, where I broke in.”
Liddy’s eyes widened. “How? You were wearing gloves.”
“Latex. I cut myself on a piece of broken glass that sliced through one of the fingertips. I didn’t think I’d left a print, but I must have. It was enough for a match to the prints they had of me from before.”
Liddy nodded, remembering that I’d been suspected of murder a few months ago. At that time I’d volunteered to give the police my prints to prove that I’d never touched anything belonging to the victim. Eventually, I’d been cleared, but they had my prints in their system.
I saw John close his phone. He came back to join us at the front door.
“Your friend didn’t call Eileen,” he said. “So I didn’t tell her what’s going on here. I just said you were giving Hugh Weaver and me some additional information about people who’d been at the gala, and that you’d asked me to give her the message about going to your shop.”
Liddy opened her tote bag. “I brought us a deck of cards and a pad to keep score. How ’bout some three-handed gin while we’re stuck out here on the doorstep?”
For the first time in several days, I saw John smile. I guessed what he was thinking: that it reminded him of the “old days” when Liddy and Bill, and John and Shannon, and Mack and I played gin on Saturday nights.
Three hours and twelve hands of gin later-I owed Liddy six dollars and John owed her eight-Detective Hatch and his Merry Pillagers finally emerged from my house.
With a cardboard box full of DVDs and VHS tapes.
“Those are my favorite old movies,” I told Hatch. “After you’ve had your film festival, I want them back.”
“If they’re really what you say, they’ll be returned.”
In a low voice, Liddy said, “At least they’re not carting off huge garbage bags full of stuff, like I see on the cop shows.”
“That’s because Della’s house wasn’t the scene of the crime,” John said.
“We’re going to search your vehicle,” Hatch announced.
“I’ll get the keys,” I said.
“No need.” Hatch held up the keys to my Jeep. “They were on your dresser.” He tossed the ring to one of the uniformed officers. “We’re taking this to the LAPD garage to look it over there. You’ll get it back in a day or two.”
That further indignity infuriated me, but I couldn’t prevent it. “I know the mileage and how much gas is in the tank,” I said, “so no joyriding. And keep my radio on the setting where I have it.”
They ignored me and headed toward the driveway, where I’d parked. I hadn’t put the Jeep into the garage last night because Nicholas was there, and we’d started kissing.
The thought of Nicholas made me remember that I hadn’t made my bed this morning, after he and I… And Nicholas had left a wet towel on the bathroom floor after he showered. Hatch must think I’m a slob.
It suddenly struck me as funny that I’d worry about such a ridiculous thing, under the circumstances. I started to laugh.
John picked up Emma’s carrier. “You’re taking this well.”
“I was a cop’s wife,” I said. “We’re tough.”
Then I opened my front door, stepped into my house, and began to cry.