"Thank you, Jerry. I do care. I have another question. Did Claire ever say who your birth father was?"

"Well, I asked, of course, but she only said he was some boy in her cla.s.s. She told me she didn't even remember his name."

"Did you believe her? Seems to me the father of your child would be someone you'd never forget."

Jerry sighed. "Claire was a very private person. I had the feeling she had many secrets. I never pressed the issue."

I concealed my hands in my lap, crossed my fingers, and leaned forward. "Did she ever mention a lover to you?"

Jerry shoved the last of the burger in his mouth. "I think there was something going on, but she never talked to me about that part of her life. Still, she did seem unusually happy lately."

"One last thing, Jerry. Did she ever tell you anything about her quilts?"

"She offered me the one hanging in her living room."

"Secret Garden?"

"Yeah, I think that's the one. I don't really have a place in my apartment to hang something so fancy. I told her I'd take the quilt when I got a real job and a real house of my own."

"Did she say why she wanted you to have that particular one?"

"Yeah. Let me think." He closed his eyes. He opened them after a minute. "Claire said Secret Garden was 'our story,' whatever that meant." He dragged some more fries through the ketchup and dropped them in his mouth.

Things were beginning to make some sense. Claire's teen pregnancy was a secret the family wanted buried. Yet the beautiful images of living things sewn into the Secret Garden wall hanging suggested a joyful and peaceful place of repose-possibly about secretly reuniting with her son after all those years.

I thought about the father I never knew, the one who died in a train wreck before I was born. What if I found out he was alive? Would I try to find him? Searching would take a lot of courage. What if he didn't want to know me?

Those same doubts must have burdened Jerry before finding Claire. Yet theirs was a happy reunion. She wanted to know him and obviously wanted him in her life. How sad for Jerry that with her death he'd lost two sets of parents.

Jerry wiped the grease off his hands and mouth with a white paper napkin. He looked at me sadly, his voice cracking. "I don't guess anyone knew to contact me since I was such a big secret. Has there already been a funeral? Do you know where she's buried?"

"There hasn't been a funeral yet. They had to wait to complete the autopsy. I think the wake is this Thursday evening and the funeral is on Friday. I can find out the specifics from Claire's mother and call you, if you'd like."

"Yeah, thanks. Only please don't tell them about me just yet. I want to meet my grandparents, but I honestly don't know if this is the right time to approach them. What do you think?"

I thought Siobhan might welcome contact with her grandson after all these years, but after what Jerry had just told me, I wasn't so sure about Mr. Terry. "It's not my place to say anything, but there will come a time when they'll want to know about you. You might turn out to be a big comfort to each other."

I didn't know for sure if Jerry Bell was telling me the truth. My friend Lucy raised five sons, and she would've been able to figure out right away if he was lying. The only thing I had to go on was my gut reaction, and I felt sorry for this kid.

I thought about Quincy. If someone were to call her out of the blue and tell her about my death, she probably would've reacted the same way Jerry Bell did. Shock, horror, and grief. I pulled a piece of blank paper from my notepad and wrote down two names and phone numbers. "Here. This is the detective handling the case. This is my number. Please call if you can think of anything else, or you just want to talk."

On the drive back to the Valley, I realized Jerry might very well benefit financially from Claire's death as next of kin. If he knew the Secret Garden hung behind Claire's sofa, he must've been familiar with her house. He'd probably been there many times and maybe even knew about the quilts in her sewing room and the files in her office. Maybe he even had a key to her house. Also, he was a doctor. Doctors had access to all kinds of drugs. Oh G.o.d. Had I just been played? Was Jerry Bell the thief and murderer?

CHAPTER 16.

As bad as the drive to Dinah's was, the drive on the 405 north back to the Valley was worse at four-thirty. The half hour trip took three times longer because our elected officials would rather squander millions of dollars studying the traffic problem than actually doing something about it.

During the slow crawl toward the Sepulveda pa.s.s, I called Siobhan on my cell phone. I gave her the abbreviated version of my visit with G.o.dwin, the Blind Children's a.s.sociation, the missing baby quilt, and my encounter with the bag lady. Although I was tempted, I didn't tell her about Jerry Bell.

"Claire made a baby quilt? I've got to have that quilt, Martha. I must have that quilt." Siobhan sounded on the verge of hysteria.

"What is it?"

"I just now got a call from Detective Beavers with the autopsy results. Claire was four months pregnant." She started to cry. "I need to have the baby quilt."

I was stunned. Jerry said Claire had been unusually happy. Was her pregnancy the reason? "Of course. As soon as I finish cleaning the quilt, I'll bring it right over to you, but we have to tell Detective Beavers you have it. Right now everyone thinks it's still missing."

Could Claire's pregnancy have been the motive for her murder? Did someone want to make her child go away? Did the baby's father, her lover, get rid of them both? Did Jerry Bell want to eliminate any compet.i.tion for a possible inheritance?

Siobhan's wave of grief pa.s.sed. "How did you find out about the baby quilt in the first place?"

"We were able to hack into Claire's computer this morning. We found a copy of the list the thief took along with photos of all her quilts."

Siobhan sighed. "Yes, of course. I received the fax you sent of the list. That reminds me. The detective thought the thief also stole Claire's computer."

My heart raced as I realized I'd forgotten to warn her not to tell Beavers I had the computer. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him not to worry, that you'd taken it home with you."

Oh no! "What did he say?"

"Not much. He seemed a little vexed."

This was very bad news. The quilts were going back tomorrow, and I wasn't any nearer to cracking the code. I planned to search Claire's other doc.u.ments tonight for more clues, but I knew Beavers would be coming after the computer soon.

Then I broached a painful subject. "Siobhan, do you want me to notify the guild members of the wake and the funeral so they can come and pay their respects? I can e-mail a notice to the membership tonight."

Her voice cracked. "That's very thoughtful of you." She gave me the details and then dissolved into tears again.

"I'll get the message out right away."

I called Jerry Bell's number and left the information on his answering machine. My next call was to Lucy. I gave her the same info about Claire's wake and funeral. "Could you send an e-mail to the members this evening?"

"Sure thing. What happened with your visit to G.o.dwin?"

I told her about the missing baby quilt, my meeting with Jerry Bell, and my conversation with Siobhan.

"Get out! Claire was pregnant and also had a secret son?"

Just then a geezer in a Dodgers baseball cap driving a brand new Beamer convertible roadster cut in front of me. I stepped on the brakes, leaned on the horn, and yelled, "Moron!"

"What was that?"

"Some old jerk just cut me off. He's giving me the one-finger salute. So mature."

Lucy laughed. "Tell me more about Jerry Bell."

"On one hand, he seems genuinely grief stricken. He cried in front of me, poor kid. On the other hand, he probably knew about her quilts and where to find her files. He's got easy access to drugs, which could also make him a suspect. Frankly, I don't know what to think. I wish you'd been there. You know boys much better than I do and you're so good at sussing out the truth."

"Wish I'd been there, too. Are you going to tell Mrs. Terry?"

"I think that's up to Jerry, and he's not ready. By the way, Siobhan told Detective Beavers I've got Claire's computer."

"Uh-oh. What are you going to do?"

"I suspect he'll be over soon demanding I hand over the computer. It's a good thing you thought of making a copy of the photos."

"I copied all of the files, Martha."

"All the files-as in all the doc.u.ments on her computer?"

"Yup."

"How?"

"I have a ten-gig flash drive. Easier to just dump all the doc.u.ments at once than go cherry picking. I figured we'd sort through them later. The flash drive is still in my purse."

"Lucy, you really are a genius."

"I know." She laughed. "Gotta go make dinner for Ray."

I pulled into my driveway sometime after six. I was relieved not to see a silver Camry parked nearby, but I was also sure Beavers would show up sometime soon. When I stepped inside, b.u.mper ran up to me and rubbed against my ankles. I scratched him behind the ears. "Hey, handsome. How's my main squeeze?"

I headed straight toward the laundry room and activated the washing machine, turning the handle to the rinse and spin cycle. I'd put the quilt in to soak about five hours ago, and in another ten minutes I'd find out if all the stains were gone.

I walked back into the kitchen. The light blinked on my phone. I checked the messages. The first one was from Quincy. "Hi, Mom. Haven't heard from you in days. Are you okay? Still b.u.mmed about your Civil War quilt? Give me a call and let me cheer you up with some interesting news. Love you." I smiled, wondering what her news was going to be this time. New boyfriend? Promotion at work?

There was a time when I seriously worried whether Quincy would ever get over my divorce from Aaron. She was furious with him for breaking up the family and causing us to give up our home in Brentwood and move to Encino-a social step down in Quincy's opinion. She resented giving up her friends in private school for the dubious advantages of our local public schools.

She also struggled to adapt to my becoming a working mother. In the past I'd always been at home to greet her at the end of her school day. After moving to Encino, Quincy fended for herself until I came home from my job at UCLA. All her familiar support systems vanished with the dissolution of our marriage. Who wouldn't be p.i.s.sed?

Fortunately, Quincy made friends easily and soon she'd created a new support system with the other brainy kids in school. With each of Aaron's successive marriages (two more), Quincy grew increasingly bitter. She became a biting critic of both her father and me. In her eyes, we'd each failed her on a fundamental level.

Attending college back East gave Quincy a new perspective. After her first year, her anger cooled into a grudging acceptance. By the end of four years, she was once again my friend and admirer and staunch ally. My baby all grown up.

I played the next message. "Ms. Rose-Martha, this is Dixie Barcelona from the Blind Children's a.s.sociation. I hope you don't mind, but I got your phone number off your check."

What could Dixie be calling about?

"As I was leaving this afternoon, I ran into Hilda in front of the building. Hilda is a homeless woman who regularly patrols this part of Ventura Boulevard with her shopping cart.

"Anyway, she bragged about how she sold a little yellow blanket she found in the Dumpster behind our building for sixty dollars. From her description, I was sure the blanket she found was Claire's quilt.

"At any rate, I'm beside myself with worry. I can't believe the thief just threw Claire's pretty little quilt in a Dumpster. Hilda also described the woman who bought the quilt. It sounded a lot like you, and I'm hoping against hope that it was. This is a terrible mess. Please call right away."

I dialed the number she gave.

"Oh, Martha, I'm so glad you called. Please tell me you were the one who bought the quilt from Hilda."

"Relax, Dixie. The quilt is safe with me. I'm washing it now because apparently Hilda was using Claire's quilt as a towel."

"Oh, thank goodness. Do you think you can fix it?"

I laughed. "The quilt wasn't broken, just dirty and smelly. Everything's intact-no rips or cuts. I'm sure with a little effort I can restore it."

b.u.mper meowed, and I put the phone on speaker so I could talk to Dixie and still have both hands free to feed the cat. I shook some kibble in a bowl.

"I can drive right over and pick up the quilt."

I filled his water bowl with fresh water. "Oh, the quilt's still in the washing machine." I picked up the slotted scooper and mined the sand in the litter box, filling one of the old plastic produce sacks I saved for just that purpose.

"Well, I could drive over tomorrow and save you the trouble of returning the quilt to the Terrys."

"Not a problem. I'll be returning all of Claire's quilts to the Terrys tomorrow."

There was a pause and then Dixie blew out her breath. "Okay then. I really owe you one."

The washing machine wound down and shuddered to a stop at the end of the spin dry cycle. I retrieved the quilt and examined it closely. The soaking had done the job; all the dirt was gone.

I didn't put the quilt in the clothes dryer because heat damages the fibers. Instead, I spread it on a towel and draped the two layers over a drying rack, a contraption made out of wooden bars that unfolded like an accordion. Then I disguised the quilt by placing a lightweight tablecloth over it, folding the rack back up, and shoving the whole thing inside the s.p.a.ce between the wall and the clothes dryer. No one would suspect the quilt was hiding underneath.

I returned to the kitchen and called Quincy next, speaker still on so I could talk while fixing myself something to eat. "Hi, honey. What's the news?"

"Dad's getting remarried."

Now, for most women, being single while their ex remarries could be bitter news. Watching him make a new life for himself could make the ex-wife feel lonely-not to mention insanely jealous.

In a small number of cases, women are completely over their exes and such news wouldn't even raise an eyebrow. I personally hadn't met any of those more evolved women. I landed somewhere in the middle of hostility and indifference. However, I felt a perverse sense of vindication at the thought of Aaron messing up another marriage. Right now he was 0 for 3.

Was Quincy concerned about having yet another stepmother as a rival for her father's affections? I opened the peanut b.u.t.ter jar and spread a huge glob on a slice of challah. "How do you feel about this? Do you know her?"

Quincy surprised me when she laughed. "I met her for the first time at dinner last night. They were in Boston for some kind of conference. She's another psychiatrist. All they did was try to top each other. Each one of them jockeyed to have the last word. They've got the same disease."

"What disease is that?"

"Alpha dog syndrome, or in her case, alpha b.i.t.c.h."

I chuckled and dipped my knife into the jar of raspberry preserves. Maybe Aaron had finally met his match. "Are you going to be okay with it?"

Quincy laughed again. "I give them less than a year." Bless her cynical little soul.

The next call I made was to my uncle Isaac, who was the closest thing to a father I ever had. I usually checked on him twice a week. Uncle Isaac was in his eighties but still had a zest for life. "Hi, Uncle, what's up?"