Chapter Thirty Barb
Chapter Thirty
Barb
I race out of the canals, thoughts spiraling as I try to piece together what’s happening.
Tessa isn’t safe. Although I can’t help her, it doesn’t mean I’m helpless.
My hands tremble as I dig through my purse for his card.
After I pull it out, I drop it on the walkway, fumbling as I bend to retrieve it.
I punch the wrong numbers, delete, and start over.
When I’m back on Pacific, I take three deep breaths, then dial again, managing to get the numbers in the right order.
“He killed her,” I say as Officer Gonzales picks up. A truck drives by, the rattle of its wheels swallowing my words.
“I’m sorry, who’s this?”
“It’s Barb Geller.”
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Geller?”
“Gabe Irons killed my daughter. Now he’s going to kill his wife. You need to do something.”
“Mrs. Geller, I know this is difficult for you, but we spoke to Dr. Irons and his wife. There’s nothing to—”
“You’re wrong. I have proof.” I tell him about Regina’s tax return, the affair, how Gabe Irons was up to something at his clinic, something he killed his embryologist to keep secret, something he killed Regina to keep secret too.
As I explain all this to him, I hear him asking someone whether they’ve followed up with a witness on a case in which he’s actually doing police work.
“I’m going to need you to focus here, Officer Gonzales.” I can feel him cower through the phone. I forgot this sensation, taking command, ordering an arrogant young man to listen.
Officer Gonzales sighs into the phone, heavy, elongated. “Look, why don’t I send someone to your hotel to get your daughter’s iPad, her computer. We’ll take it from there, contact the numbers on it, talk to Dr. Irons. If there’s anything suspicious, we’ll uncover it.”
“Tessa’s in danger. You can’t let someone else die.”
The line goes quiet, and I know I’ve offended him. I don’t care. Maybe he didn’t let Regina die, but he’s letting her die a false death.
“I’ll have someone swing by the Irons’ house to make sure everything’s okay. Will that make you feel better?”
What would make me feel better is if he actually cared about the lives of the women in his precinct. I don’t say this. He’s made it my issue. Although I’m not invisible to him, he isn’t seeing me clearly.
I hang up. There’s nothing left to say. I’m never going to get justice for Regina. Not unless something happens to Tessa too.
I spin on my heels back toward her house.
What was I thinking, leaving her there? I hurry down the ramp into the canals.
I won’t be able to forgive myself if anything happens to her.
When I turn onto Linnie, her next-door neighbor is waiting.
Her face is so sour, it must hurt to hold the expression.
She’s not a big woman, but she knows how to use her stature to impose and threaten.
“Leave her alone,” she snarls.
“She’s in danger,” I insist.
She places her hands on her hips, occupying even more space. “I’m very good at calling the cops.”
Beyond her, Dan Huntsman stands on the walkway, his pretty wife behind him, glancing over his shoulder. The painter peers from behind her easel. The man always dressed in shorts lifts up his Yorkies, holding them against his chest like I might attack. I’m not welcome here.
Reluctantly, I start to leave, glancing over my shoulder at the neighbor, who maintains her position, hands fixed on hips, not budging until I’m gone.
My car’s still at the beach, so I get an Uber to take me back to Playa del Rey.
From the parking lot, I stare at tower 50, trying to locate the spot where Marley waited for us.
It’s sunny now, and the beach is covered in umbrellas and tarps, too many bodies.
In the time since we met Marley here, I’ve become a threat to Jasper, when all I’ve ever done is try to protect him. Them. I’m failing Tessa now too.
After an interminable drive back to my hotel, the cool air of the lobby stings when I walk inside and head toward the elevators. I want to collapse on my bed. As I step onto the elevator, someone calls, “Barbara.” No one calls me Barbara. No one except my book club.
A hand catches the elevator doors before they close.
When they reopen, I see her. Linda. My best friend.
Before either one of us can speak, Linda envelops me in a hug.
We embrace as the ground beneath us rises.
When the doors open on my floor, she lets go.
I look right at her and say, “Let’s go home. ”