Daisy’s face clouded. “He’s a little under the weather today,” she said, leading Joanna to the booth where Eleanor was already seated. “He’s at home with his dad.”
“I’m sorry to miss him,” Joanna said.
Daisy nodded. “Thank you,” she said.
Joanna slid into the booth.
“At least you’re here,” Eleanor said. “I thought you were going to stand me up, too. George is working on his baby. Packing. Everything has to be in just the right place. I swear, sometimes I think he loves that RV of his more than he loves me. He wants to be under way at the crack of dawn Sunday morning.”
George’s “baby” was a hulking Newell motor home that they had bought used and would be traveling in on their jaunts back and forth between their two homes, one in Arizona and the other in Minnesota. Joanna was disappointed to learn that George wouldn’t be there for lunch. She had wanted to talk to her stepfather about the situation concerning Inez Fletcher’s possible autopsy and the poor woman’s two feuding offspring.
“He had a great time at the party last night,” Eleanor added. “Where’s Butch? He’s late, too. Still cleaning up after the bachelor party?”
“No,” Joanna said. “The cleanup is pretty much done. His publisher scheduled a surprise conference call for sometime today. He didn’t know if he’d be able to make it or not.”
Eleanor clicked her tongue. “Men,” she said disapprovingly. “You can’t live with ’em and you can’t live without ’em.” But Joanna noticed Eleanor smiled when she said the words. From Joanna’s perspective, it seemed as though the last year or so, since George had retired, her mother seemed truly happy for the first time in her life.
Now, peering across the top of her menu at Joanna’s face, Eleanor’s smile was suddenly replaced by a frown. “You look upset,” she said. “Don’t be. The two of us are perfectly capable of having lunch on our own.”
It was Joanna’s turn to smile. “It’s not that,” she said. “I just came from the Board of Supervisors meeting. Peggy Whitehead would like to have my head on a platter. Marliss was there. I’m sure you’ll be able to read all about it in one of her upcoming columns.”
The fact that Marliss Shackleford and her mother continued to be good friends was something that had bugged Joanna for years.
“The two of you are a lot alike,” Eleanor said now. “Both of you are ambitious. Both of you are determined to make a mark in your hometown. Both of you have nontraditional jobs. I’ve never understood why you couldn’t be friends, the same way you and Marianne Maculyea are friends.”
Because Marianne doesn’t come after me with knives drawn, Joanna thought as Daisy came to take their order. The daily special was two shredded beef tacos and a cheese enchilada. Joanna and Eleanor both ordered that.
“So how’s the best man this morning?” Eleanor asked, changing the subject.
Eleanor had been more than disapproving when she had first heard Joanna would be standing up with Frank Montoya, but when it came to planning the details, Eleanor was also the one who had tracked down a suitable outfit-a gray silk ankle-length skirt topped by a matching boxy jacket studded with rhinestone buttons. The material was a close match to Frank’s tux, and Joanna was relieved that she wouldn’t have to walk down the aisle in a tuxedo.
“Fine,” Joanna said.
“And you’re going to Helene’s this afternoon?” Eleanor asked.
“For a cut.” Joanna nodded. “Right after lunch. It’s the only time Helen could work me in.” Helen Barco had added an e to her name in hopes of lending Helene’s Salon of Hair and Beauty a little class. But Helen was still Helen.
“You might ask her if she could put a bit of a color rinse on your hair,” Eleanor suggested. “You may not have noticed, but you have some gray showing these days.”
As soon as she said the words, Joanna knew her real mother was back. This sounded more like the Eleanor Joanna had known and loved all her life.
“Sure, Mom,” she said. “I’ll see what can be done.”
Even as Joanna said the words, she knew she would do no such thing. Yes, relations between Joanna Brady and Eleanor Lathrop Winfield had changed some. Things had improved but not that much. If Eleanor didn’t like the fringe of gray that was showing up on her daughter’s otherwise red head, too bad.
I’ll wear that gray proudly, she thought ruefully to herself. Like a red and gray badge of courage.
I could have called ahead, but I didn’t. Mason Waters deserved more than a phone call. Tracking him down in person to give him the information he dreaded was the right thing to do. At least, it was the right thing for me to do.
I was relieved when I drove up the cul-de-sac and saw both the Kenworth and Mason Waters’s Honda parked out front. That meant he was home. I found him out in his carport. Armed with a DustBuster vacuum, he was cleaning the front floorboards of the little maroon sedan.
When I walked up beside the car, he straightened up, looked at me, and said, “This is going to be bad news.”
I nodded.
His eyes filled with tears. “You’d better come inside,” he said, quickly brushing them away.
I followed Mason into his house. By the time he lowered himself into the recliner, he seemed to be under control. “Tell me,” he said.
So I did, explaining that the woman he had known as Marina Aguirre was actually Marcella Andrade. I didn’t spare any of the details. Eventually they’d end up being media fodder. I thought he was better off hearing them from me in the privacy of his own living room. He listened to it all, sitting in stark silence with his big hands folded in his lap. When I finished, he shook his head.
“How do you know it’s her?” he asked. “How can you be sure Marina and this Marcella are one and the same?”
“Marcella was found through dental records. But she was wearing a Timex watch at the time of her death-a Timex watch, an engagement ring, and a toe ring. I believe you bought the engagement ring for her.”
He nodded. “From Fred Meyer Jewelers, here in the mall.”
I reminded myself to check with the jeweler. They might be able to identify the stone as the one Mason had purchased.
“And you think this is all about the money?” Waters said. “Some drug dealer’s money. But I never saw her using drugs, and if Marina had the kind of money you say she had, why was she busting her butt working at Denny’s? That makes no sense.”
“My guess would be that she was trying to keep a low profile and trying to distance herself from her former associates. Can you remember anything at all unusual in the days before she disappeared?” I asked. “Did she seem worried or on edge?”
Waters shook his head. “No more than usual,” he said. “She always seemed to be looking over her shoulder, but that was because of her ex-boyfriend. What about him? I know she was scared of him. Terrified, even. One way or another, I’ll bet he’s behind what happened.”
Even though I had explained that Marco and Marcella Andrade were husband and wife and that Marco was already dead by the time Marina disappeared, Waters still clung stubbornly to the lies Marina Aguirre had told him. In a way, what he was doing was every bit as understandable as Warden Willison not wanting to consider that one of his people might be behind the security breach that had concealed Marco Andrade’s killer.
“As I said, Marco couldn’t have done it, because he was already dead,” I told him. “But I have reason to believe that the two of them had maintained some kind of contact while she was involved with you.”
Mason Waters shook his head. “No,” he said. “She didn’t.”
I could have told him about Marcella’s note to Marco, the one saying she wanted a divorce. But at that point Mason’s mind was made up, and I didn’t try changing it.
“So what’s going to happen to her now?” he asked woodenly. “To her body, I mean.”