Home for the Haunting(72)

After some thought, I had decided that the ideal person to drag to San Quentin with me was my old buddy Zach. Zach was several years younger than I, but there were times I felt a lifetime older. He was enthusiastic and fun, and usually up for odd things. He also tended to flirt with me, which is something my ego could use right about now. After dessert last night, Graham had asked me if I wanted to come to his place. But with Caleb and my sister at home, it felt awkward to leave. Besides, I had work the next day. Besides . . . I just wasn’t sure. Unfortunately, Graham gave up too easily, leaving me dissatisfied but unable to put my finger on exactly why.

I didn’t want to entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, I was calling Zach because I suspected that it would elicit a strong response from Graham if he knew. But he wouldn’t know, right? So surely that wasn’t the reason.

I called.

“Mel! I haven’t heard from you in ages. How are the ghosts?”

“Oh, great, thanks. How’s the life of crime?”

“Very funny. I’ve been on the straight and narrow for some time now, as you know. I’ve been a very, very good boy. So good it’s boring, as a matter of fact.”

“How about going to San Quentin?”

“I just told you, I’m a solid citizen these days.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you check in. I’m going during visiting hours and wondered if you’d go with me.”

“San Quentin, as in the notorious state penitentiary?”

“Yep. So, pick you up noonish?”

“You’re not going to tell me why you want to visit prison?”

“It’s kind of a long story. I’ll tell you on the way. And you really don’t have to come if you have something more useful to do. Like making money, building your career, that kind of thing. I was just thinking about you, and I thought . . .”

“You needed someone to watch your back, and you’re scared to go alone, and you thought I might be familiar with the penal code. I get it. Do I at least get lunch out of the deal?”

I laughed. “Sure.”

“Just to be clear: No prison food.”

“Agreed. I was thinking Larkspur Landing.” It always seemed odd to me that San Quentin hulked on the shore of the bay, right next to quaint, prosperous Larkspur Landing, which boasted a ferry terminal with commuter boats going to and from San Francisco. It was a strange study in contrasts.

We agreed to meet at eleven. That gave me a few hours to check on my current jobs and to pass by an old distillery in China Beach that some restaurateurs wanted to transform into a brewery/pub. We did a walk-through, and I took measurements and photographs so I could work up a written proposal. It would be a great project if we could land it. I enjoyed doing residential jobs, but it was good for the company’s reputation to renovate public spaces from time to time. They often served as a source of client referrals.

A few hours later, I picked up Zach in front of the Palace of Fine Arts. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and he surprised me, as always, with his good looks. He was tall with golden-brown hair, and must have been working out, because he had filled out since I first met him. Today he was dressed in jeans, boots, a sweater topped with a tweed jacket, and a hand-knitted scarf around his neck. He looked a bit like he was ready to tour Scotland.

“So tell me, Zach, what do you know about the drug trade in San Francisco?” I said as I drove onto the ramp that approached the Golden Gate Bridge.

“What, no ‘Hello, Zach. It’s been so long. How are you’?”

I gave him a look and then parroted in a flat voice: “Hello, Zach. It’s been so long. How are you?”

“Ah, Mel, I do adore your social skills. Never mind. So, why would you think I would know anything about the drug trade?”

“You once told me you knew everyone in town.”

“When did I say that? That’s an asinine thing to say.”

“I guess you were trying to convince me of how cool you are. Or maybe you were trying to throw me off the track of the fact that you were involved in a murder cover-up and attempted jewelry heist.”

“Hey! I was in no way involved in that murder, and you know it.” He paused. “Okay, you’re probably right. That’s probably why I said that.”

“And you knew the Mafia-run girlie place, remember that?”

“Okay . . . Would it be too much to ask why you’re interested in the local drug trade?”

I gave him an abbreviated version of what had happened, who we were visiting in San Quentin, and why.

“Hey, how come you didn’t ask me to help on your volunteer project?”

“Would you have?”