Less Than Frank Part 8

Dwelling on Matt and what happened to him was something I put aside for a while that day. At four I went back to school to take my final. When I came home from school I discovered that Sam Blankenship left a message on my answering machine. His message asked five or six more detailed questions about the investigation into Frank's death. In the background while he talked I could hear rattling sounds that might have been a potato chip bag. Apparently junior reporters on the newspaper still didn't make enough money to go out for lunch.

On the phone Sam sounded a little more seasoned now. I may have helped that seasoning process a little by insisting that he be the one to cover the story once we knew who'd killed Dennis. He'd been helpful and pleasant up to that point and I'd felt I owed him one. I couldn't take credit for much, though. Most of his growth probably came from just covering the stories he needed to cover in nine months. His byline climbed up the ladder a few rungs in that time so that by now he wasn't just covering three-alarm fires and suspicious deaths at nursing homes.

Listening to his message I decided that the reporter must not be any friendlier with Fernandez. The detective could have answered any of the questions Sam asked me, but he'd chosen to ask me about the details of Frank's death and what had happened in the two weeks since.

I called Tuesday morning to talk to Sam but only got his voice mail. Either some story broke that they needed him to cover or he still wasn't much of a morning person. Given that he was hardly older than Ben, that didn't surprise me much. We might play telephone tag for another day or two, given my schedule. After returning his call I put in a shift at the Coffee Corner and took my last final.

When I finished and went home, Ben drove up to the apartment and proceeded to unload his car as I got out of mine. It took quite a while to help him unload, and involved three trips up and down the stairs for each of us.

"Are you sure you need all this stuff over winter break?" I asked him as I huffed and puffed under a comforter piled on top of a laundry basket.

"Yeah, most of it. I can't go back into the dorm after today until the tenth of January when next semester starts. That means I had to pack up anything I wanted to use in the next month, and anything I was afraid might get stolen if somebody broke into the suite." That apparently encompa.s.sed virtually everything he owned. I felt thankful the microwave and refrigerator that he and Ted shared didn't get hauled to the apartment.

With what he brought home his bedroom soon looked like a war zone. It felt like his early high school years when I was always haranguing him to clean up his stuff. Given the lack of closet s.p.a.ce in the apartment and the unfinished nature of the bathroom at this point, I wasn't even going to bother to nag. As long as he kept most of it in his bedroom where he could close the door, I could live with the clutter for a month. It felt so good to have him home. I'd missed him even though he had spent a lot of weekends here with me.

After an hour or so of things moving around behind the closed bedroom door, Ben opened it and came out. He had changed into his usual baggy shorts and a hoodie and looked very comfortable. "Now that you're here does this mean I'm cooking supper for two?"

He looked a little sheepish. "Not tonight. There's a bunch of people going out to celebrate the end of the semester. I want to have a little bit more time with some of them before they take off for home."

"Okay. Maybe tomorrow night, then." Having a teenager had made me fairly flexible. With Ben, plans were always in flux until the last moment.

Ben grimaced. "Maybe Thursday? There's a movie opening tomorrow I promised a friend I'd see with her."

Hmm. This was a new development. I fairly burst keeping more questions to myself. The first mention of a female friend to see movies with wasn't the time to grill him on their relationship. If this mystery woman was more than a casual friend, I'd start hearing her name soon enough. That or see her number show up on the cell phone bill. I made a mental note to look more carefully when the bill came this month.

"Okay." I hugged him, marveling at the maturity and height my kid had gained. "Drive carefully, make everybody wear their seat belts-"

"And n.o.body smokes in the car and call you if I'm going to be later than one," he finished up. This wasn't a new litany of requests. So far he nearly always remembered them. I didn't have to add a caution about drinking because I knew Ben didn't drink. Lots of freshmen celebrated their independence that way, but we already had more than one conversation about alcohol since he'd come to California in June.

We'd had an ongoing series of conversations about drinking from middle school on up, and Ben's answer was always the same. He thought it was stupid, much to my delight. There's a lot to be thankful for in having a stubborn kid. It makes reasoning with them difficult from the time they learn to talk, but it also has its pluses in the teen years. Few of their peers can sway them into bad behavior if they aren't p.r.o.ne to it in the first place.

Ben left and I got back to decorating the tree. By the time my stomach started reminding me I was hungry I was alone in an apartment lit only by the glow of the tree lights I'd plugged in. It felt peaceful to sit there that way, not needing to study for a change or go into work. I decided to have a real treat and go over to my favorite place for fish tacos and actually stay there and eat at a table for a change. Normally I got carryout and ate it at home, but tonight I wanted to have some contact with other grown-ups.

The atmosphere at the small mom-and-pop restaurant about two miles from the apartment was festive. It was warm inside and strung with Christmas garland, white lights and bright decorations. There was a sign behind the cash register that said they were taking orders for tamales for Christmas. That was a tradition I hadn't gotten into yet although I knew a lot of Californians even made their own. I wasn't about to do that for two people. From what I understood it was a ma.s.sive undertaking best suited to having a family's worth of women and a large kitchen.

I ordered a fish taco platter with black beans and rice and sat down at a table to wait for my food. I'd brought the newspaper to read, celebrating the luxury of not having to read stuff for cla.s.s. My back was to the door of the restaurant so between newspaper sections I could watch the work in the open kitchen. I like restaurants where you can see into the food prep area. It's the quickest way to judge the quality and cleanliness of a place. More than once since moving here I've wondered why Ventura County doesn't follow its neighbor LA County in having grade stickers in the windows of restaurants. I like that big blue "A" rea.s.suring me.

Still, this place, called Mi Familia, didn't give me any cause for worry. The spotless nature of their open kitchen, added to the fact they made the best fish tacos around, made it my favorite place to eat besides my own kitchen. As I watched the small staff as they bustled around the kitchen and in front, I heard the bell on the door ring, signaling another customer.

The dark-haired man who went up to the counter looked familiar. His jeans and windbreaker didn't help me recognize him, although I liked the view from the back. Then Luis behind the counter said, "Senor Ray, your order is almost ready," and it dawned on me who I was looking at. Ray Fernandez looked different somehow without a suit jacket. He seemed more relaxed, too.

I was still figuring out how much to say to him when he took the cup Luis handed him and turned to fill it at the soda machine. He did a mild double take when he saw me, and walked over to my table without filling his cup. "Hi. How's it going?"

All kinds of snappy answers raced through my mind, such as, It would be going just great if you could rea.s.sure me that Ben isn't a suspect in your murder investigation, but I rejected all of them. "Okay. Are you off duty?" The minute the question was out I wanted to take it back.

"Yeah, I am. Picking up a late dinner on the way home. You enjoying an after-dinner rest or waiting for food?"

He was smiling for a change, but the man looked tired. I debated silently for a minute and then followed an internal urging that had to be from the Lord because I sure wasn't bold enough to do it myself.

"Waiting for food. If I promise not to bring up the case on my own, do you want to join me? Personally I couldn't stand another night in that apartment alone for dinner."

The smile broadened, making the skin around his eyes crinkle in a way that made him look approachable in a way I've never seen Ray Fernandez look. "I might even bring the case up in general terms myself. I need somebody to bounce some stuff off of who isn't in the department or a lawyer." He called out something in Spanish to Luis, who nodded. Then Ray walked around the table to the chair next to me. "All right if I sit here?"

"Sure. Any of the three empty chairs are fine." I'd figured he would sit across from me, creating as much s.p.a.ce between us as possible, but that wasn't happening.

He must have seen my questioning look, because he laughed. "It's a cop thing. I can't sit with my back to that counter, or to the door, either. It has to be the seat closest to a wall, facing out so I can see the whole restaurant."

I'd never considered seat placement quite that way before, but seen from his perspective it made sense. "All right. Wherever you feel comfortable is fine by me."

My taco platter came soon after he settled in. "Please, go ahead and eat while it's hot. Don't wait for me and let it get cold," he urged.

I debated on what to do. Cold fish tacos weren't wonderful, but I felt a little odd eating in front of him. Still, it would only take a couple more minutes for his food to get here. While I waited, I decided to say grace over my food silently. Ray started to say something to me and then stopped himself short. When it became clear I had finished, he kept looking at me, those golden brown eyes looking mystified. "You really do that? Pray over your food in a restaurant?"

"Yep. I really do that. Hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable, but if it does I have to tell you that it's too bad because I won't stop doing it for your sake."

He gave a short laugh. "That's what I like about you, Gracie Lee. You're never afraid to say what's on your mind."

"That I'm not. So why don't you tell me whatever it is you want to bounce off somebody while I start on a fish taco?"

"Sure. First of all, I have to tell you that Ben is pretty much out of the running as a suspect. Now that I've talked to Matt Seavers, it's pretty clear that he was the person the Morgans saw talking to Frank Collins."

I sagged visibly with relief. This was a better early Christmas present than having Ben shave. "Thank you." My words were half addressed to Ray and half to G.o.d.

Ray smiled again. "I knew you'd be glad to hear that. What you won't be glad to hear is that I want to hold Seavers for questioning. I gather from Mrs. Morgan that you and your church friends are sure he had nothing to do with this murder."

"You're right there. I haven't met the kid yet, but from the things Dot has said, it's hard to imagine he's a murderer."

"Maybe so, for you. I've seen a lot stranger killers, I can tell you. And the bottom line is there's something wrong with his story."

"Maybe so, but does that add up to murder?"

Ray shrugged, the light fading from his eyes. "For a change, I'm not sure. When you finish eating I want to walk you through everything that happened that morning and see if it gives me a different perspective."

"I'll be happy to do that." I was willing to do anything that might make him rethink Candace's friend as a murder suspect. Luis came bearing Ray's hot plate and we both settled down to eating in silence. While this was far from a date, it felt decidedly odd to be eating dinner in Ray's company. I was silently praying again, but this time it was for something very concrete: I prayed that I wouldn't make a fool of myself picking up drippy fish tacos in front of somebody who seemed to value my opinion. It was a small thing but if we're to trust G.o.d in everything, I figured He could handle one drippy fish taco.

Chapter Thirteen.

We were both fast eaters, so dinner was a memory in a short time. Then Fernandez surprised me even more. "Have you ever tried the flan here? Luis's wife makes it from her mom's recipe and it's great. How about I buy us dessert?"

Could we actually have something in common, even if it was a simple thing like a love of good desserts? I'd never considered that before but it was intriguing. "Sure. I've got nowhere else to go and you seem to want to talk some more."

He laughed again, a rich deep sound I could get used to hearing. When had the pod people visited the Ventura County sheriff station and replaced one detective? "I consider myself hard to read. I'm trained to have a poker face. Why am I that obvious to you?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you make me uncomfortable and I am usually trying not to tick you off."

His face fell. "Aw, seriously? I was hoping it was because you were fascinated by my good looks."

Was he flirting with me? Even if he wasn't, this was a light and candid side of Ray I hadn't seen before. I liked it but I had no idea what brought it on. "Well that, too, but I'm afraid it's mostly because you make me feel like I'm back in high school and about to get detention."

He shrugged. "I do have that effect sometimes. With some people, like that reporter from the Star, it doesn't bother me. I guess it's just the breaks of the game with this job. You want coffee to go with that flan?"

"Make it decaf and you've got a deal." He went up to the counter and a few minutes later came back with our coffee and dessert. I was glad to see that he had two plates on the tray. It would have felt way too much like a date if he'd brought back one plate and two spoons. I wasn't about to go that far with my friendly neighborhood detective yet. Perhaps there could come a day when I'd consider dating again, but this wasn't the day.

"You're right about the flan. It's great," I told him after two bites. Why did he have to be right so often on so many things? "So what is it about Matt that makes you uncomfortable or uneasy?"

Fernandez gave a short bark of laughter. "Now see, that's the thing. He doesn't make me uneasy. That's what I don't get."

"I'll have to admit you lost me. If Matt doesn't worry you, why are you thinking of arresting him?"

Ray steepled his hands, fingers and thumbs forming a triangle while he framed thoughts as well. If this guy wasn't a homicide detective he'd make a great college lecturer. "Normally I don't believe anybody. Or almost anybody. That's because most people lie to me."

"And you expect them to," I put in. Maybe that was a little bold, but it was implied in what he said.

"Yes, I do. A lot of people feel they have good reason to lie in answer to the questions I ask during an investigation. Some have the best reason of all...if they told the truth I'd arrest them on the spot."

The light was beginning to dawn on me. "But Matt worries you because he seems to be telling the truth?"

"Yeah, I think so. There's something a little off about his story and I can't figure out exactly what that is. But for the most part I think he's telling me the truth and I don't understand it."

"Why? What would you expect him to lie about?"

"Lots of things. We found his prints on the murder weapon, but not where I expect to find a murderer's print. That doesn't completely rule him out, because there's nothing usable on the trigger of the gun. Seavers's prints are on the barrel, and he volunteered right away how they got there."

I took a sip of coffee while it was still hot enough to enjoy. "Which is how, if you can tell me?"

"Matt claims he and Collins got into a sparring match, verbal at first, and then physical, over the way Collins treated Lucy."

"Candace's roommate who is also Matt's girlfriend," I put in. "And that would explain the sc.r.a.ped knuckles he had as well, so he didn't try to lie his way out of that, either."

"No, and he could have. Working in construction like he does, Matt could have given me half a dozen reasons why his hands looked that way."

"So you want to arrest him for telling the truth because it sounds funny to you?"

Ray shrugged. "My reasons sound dumb when you put it that way. He may be truthful but there's something Matt's leaving out or glossing over. If he didn't kill Collins then he's the last person to see him alive besides the killer. Matt claims he fought with Collins but that when he left, the guy was alive, basically in one piece and on the pavement near his own truck."

"And that certainly wasn't where I found him."

"Exactly. Added to the fact that Matt has no driver's license, it doesn't add up to the whole truth."

I shook my head. "You lost me again. How does that figure into the equation?"

"He had to get to the construction site at the Morgans' somehow. Either somebody drove him there or he's driving without a license. In the first case he could be an accessory to murder if whoever drove him there killed Collins. If he drove himself I've got something to hold him on for a while until I figure out what else is bugging me."

"Couldn't it be more innocent than that? Does the kid have any family who would drive him places?"

"Not that I've found so far. His mom is out of the picture, has been for years. His dad is an alcoholic who lost his license years ago on repeat DWIs, so if either of them is driving a car it's a big problem."

"How does Matt get around for work if he doesn't drive? I know the bus service in this end of the county isn't all that great." I'd tried to use it myself at times to save the outrageous cost of gas, but it turned out to be more ha.s.sle than it was worth.

"I still have to check that out. Once he's on the job with Leopold it's not a problem because he never works alone. Somebody else is always there supervising and drives the truck."

"This is all getting pretty circular for me. No matter what you've got on Matt, it doesn't sound like you have enough to arrest him."

"Not for murder. But he's hiding something and until I figure out what it is, I can't trust everything he says."

"So where does that leave you? There's not enough evidence to charge him with anything, but you still have that nagging feeling-dare I say intuition-that something is wrong."

"Exactly. Although I wouldn't call it intuition." Of course he wouldn't. That was why I'd used the word in the first place. "Tomorrow I'm going to talk to Lucy Perez and Candace Morgan again. Maybe something I've missed there will put me back on the track."

"Does that mean you'll need Dot and Lucy's guardian there again?"

He nodded. "And you will have a hard time believing this, but after tonight I'm going to ask you to go with Dot for this."

Fernandez was right; I did have a hard time believing that. "To what do I owe this sudden confidence?"

Ray shrugged. "It's been helpful to talk about this with somebody outside my usual contacts. No matter what I've said about you before, you're perceptive, Gracie Lee. If you just sit back and listen to all of this going on, you might hear something in a different way."

Wow. Ray's admission made me wish for a tape recorder, because I might not hear something like that from him again. I wanted to mark the moment for posterity. "Definitely, I'll go with Dot when you need her. Maybe this will clear Matt for you."

"And maybe it won't." Ray's eyes held sadness as he said that. It made me think of him as much more human and compa.s.sionate than I'd considered before. He didn't always like what his job made him do. I felt like reaching out and patting his hand or something, but then I came to my senses. This man had been close to arresting Ben less than forty-eight hours ago. Giving him sympathy felt like fraternizing with the enemy. Granted he changed that enemy status a little bit with this dinner and conversation, but still...

"For most of the people I know I'd say you should go home and pray on it, but we both know you're not a praying man. Yet."

He c.o.c.ked his head back a bit and looked at me speculatively. "Does that 'yet' mean that you think I will be some day?"

"Hope springs eternal. And I've already learned that with G.o.d, nothing is impossible."

Ray shook his head. "Gracie Lee, if anybody, including G.o.d, can make a praying man out of me, I want to see it."

"Then we're both on the same page for a change, because I wouldn't mind seeing it, either." This felt like a good place to break off the dinner and conversation. He couldn't tell me much more about the case or Matt tonight, and I wasn't going to convince him of my views, either. And if we stopped here I might not say anything to get myself into trouble. "Ray, I had a great time having dinner with you."

"Surprisingly, I can say the same thing. When you're not sticking your nose where it doesn't belong you're a good listener."

"Thanks, I think." It sounded like the most backhanded compliment I'd gotten in a long time. "And definitely thanks for the dessert."

"My pleasure." I got up from the table and he followed. "Let me walk you out to your car. I'd hate to think I let you go out there alone in the dark. It goes against my better judgment."

"Why? Is it actually that dangerous in the strip malls of Ventura County?"

"No, but when I leave you alone too long, you find bodies and I've got all I can handle right now." His grin told me that Ray and I were back on our familiar footing before we'd ever left Mi Familia to go out into the crisp night air.