had earned her a blue ribbon at the Del Mar Fair.
“I heard Bartholomew was killed in some field.”
Jeanne’s mouth tightened. “Well, he was alive when we saw him in Gerry Maloof’s. Frank hasn’t bought a single new thing for himself in years, and I made him go with me to get some pants. He has to introduce the secretary of interior, for crying out loud. He’s so hard to fit, with his long inseam.”
Grace didn’t want to hear about Frank’s long inseam, or any other part of Frank’s body, either. The small, homely beats of a relationship reminded her too much of Mac and what she might never have.
“And that’s where you ran into Bartholomew.”
Jeanne stippled in the red and the unicorn glowed. “It’s a fine, fine store. They were having a sale on these lovely linen pants.”
“What was Bartholomew like?”
“I’m not exactly an impartial witness here, Grace.”
“Your impression.”
Jeanne moved the needle, drew another line on the pale skin. “Fiery. Passionate. Threatening to sue.”
“On what grounds?”
“You need grounds?” The needle made a small metallic whirring sound. “No government oversight. Accidental gene transfer to new crops. Disastrous, life-threatening killer bad stuff we don’t even know about yet, and somewhere, a monarch butterfly is keeling over dead in the food chain. The usual. And if that doesn’t work, he vows to shut down the conference by force, if necessary.”
“By force. He used those words.”
Jeanne nodded. She swabbed the skin with a fresh pad and the sharp odor of astringent cut the air. She dropped the pad into the trash.
“What was Frank’s reaction?”
“Subdued. He’s maxed out, Grace. Has meetings from early in the morning until late at night. Probably knows your uncle better than you do.”
“Then he needs to be careful.”
Jeanne tightened her arms against her body, as if trying to warm herself. “Frank can only tell me a fraction of what’s going on, but everything he says, Grace, scares the hell out of me. You have no idea how many times a day bad guys threaten to maim or blow up or poison somebody.”
“Uh. Yeah, actually, Jeanne, I do.”
“I’m talking about Palm Springs, Grace. Crumbly, aging, jauntyfaced Palm Springs. Every time they slap a face-lift on that old girl, the plaster crumbles. She’s still got the moves, but it’s motor memory. She’s harmless. And an ag convention dealing with world hunger. That sounds safe, doesn’t it? Except lots of countries ban GM crops. Frank says he thinks the protests have tapped some big nerve.”
“Mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.”
“Exactly. I loved that movie, too. Liked it less when I saw it in the middle of men’s sportswear waving its fist at my Frank. Oh, and get this. Then Bartholomew whips out this throwaway camera and takes a picture of me.”
Grace shifted in her chair. The fan feathered cold air along her arms.
“He did the same thing the day he crashed my lecture. Got right up in my face and snapped a shot.”
Jeanne looked at her. The cracks along her mouth seemed to have deepened in the weeks since Katie’s kidnapping. “Why?”
“I have no idea.”
“What are you supposed to do there?”
“You mean, today? It’s one thing to go to Palm Springs and tell a bunch of FBI agents the gist of my lecture. That’s my only intersect with the vic and maybe they can find something in there. It’s another getting dragged into the middle of a murder investigation, and that’s exactly what Uncle Pete’s doing. He booked a room for me. I’m there for the count.”
“Except that’s not your only intersect with the vic.”
Grace looked her.
Jeanne glanced at Grace over her glasses and hunted through bottles, picked one up, held it to the light.
“Bartholomew didn’t call out Frank’s name. Or mine, either. He asked for you.”
A dark green liquid sloshed inside, as if it were a vial of alien blood. She twisted the cap off and inserted the needle.
“Look. I didn’t like that guy any more than you do, Grace. And my reasons were a lot better.”
“Yeah, but he had the nerve to send for me when he was dying.”
“There you go. Good reason to stay away. Why get involved if it’s not about you?”
“I guess what I’d like to know,” Grace tried to keep her voice light and failed, “is whether it’s okay not to go. Not to do some things. Even if we’re asked. Even though we’re called.”
“What’s the cost?”
Outside, someone went by on Rollerblades, the cracks in the sidewalk making the rollers clack. It sounded like steel balls in a garbage disposal.
“Maybe nothing.”
Jeanne shook her head as if Grace were a very slow pupil. Grace held her gaze defiantly.
“Go in peace, my girl. Live.”
Grace looked away. “I’ve worked hard to hang on to this anger, Jeanne.”
“Be a shame to give that up.”
“Uncle Pete hurt my family.”
“And you’re trying to come to terms with the guilt you feel about lying to Katie and Mac by doing what again, exactly?”
Grace checked her watch and slipped her bag over her shoulder. “I have to go.”
Helix cocked his head, looked from Grace to Jeanne, whined, his tone urgent, mournful.
“Shit.” Grace sat down. “A recipe for living, please. In English. Make it snappy.”
“All I’m suggesting is that maybe by pushing into whatever snarledup mess is waiting for you in Palm Springs, you’ll find a way through the stuff that matters.”
“Let me guess, it involves sacrifice, right?” She held out her hands, palms up. “Slit my wrists right now and be done with it.”
“Actually, the real question, Grace, is what are you not willing to sacrifice.”
On the wall were posters of body art. Grace’s gaze settled on a skull filled with flowers.
“I’m going to lose her, Jeanne. I’m going to lose my daughter.”
“I think you’re underestimating the power of forgiveness.”
“Hers? Or Mac’s?”
“Try yours.”
It was a strong, sweet sucker punch and it took a moment to recover.
“Can’t see myself trying that, Jeanne. Not anytime soon.” She got up. Helix thumped his tail once and put his head between his paws. “I’ll be in Palm Springs.”
Grace was almost at the door when Jeanne spoke. “I need you to do something.”
Grace turned. Jeanne pulled on her lip. She wasn’t looking at Grace, and then she did, and her eyes were filled with anxiety and defiance. “It wasn’t just any field.”
Grace waited.
“Where Bartholomew was killed. He picked Frank’s field to die in. My Frank. He got my Frank involved.”
“As a suspect?” Grace felt as if she had slipped down a rabbit hole.
Jeanne