Free Deceived by James Scott Bell Page A

against the current. Resistant.
    “Good thing he came along when he did,” Moss said.
    “Yes, it was,” Liz said.
    “Now you were saying that as you were falling, you grabbed your husband’s shirt?” Moss had a little notebook to jot things down in.
    “That’s right,” Liz said. She didn’t need to try to sound tired. She was. But she gave it an extra sigh anyway. She wanted to get home, be alone, regroup. Think things through. She had plans to make.
    “And what, you went backward and your husband went over you?”
    “Something like that.”
    Moss scribbled. “If you can just tell me, to the best of your recollection, how he fell.”
    “Why is this necessary?” Liz said. “He fell and died. Isn’t that enough?”
    “It’s just so I can give a full report,” Moss said.
    “Can we finish this right now and be done with it?”
    “Would you rather do this at your house?”
    Liz shook her head. “Here is all I remember. I grabbed Arty by the shirt as he was reaching out for me. Then I felt myself go backward. Arty went right over me. Then I remember falling. And I hit my head, and I think I blacked out for a minute.”
    Moss nodded, wrote.
    “When I came to, I saw Arty there, and he wasn’t moving. I guess I knew he was dead, but I didn’t want to give up. So I got back up the hill and started for the entrance.”
    Moss stopped. “You didn’t have a cell phone with you?”
    Cell phone. She’d forgotten all about it.
    “No, no . . .” Liz said. “Please, can I go home now?”
    “You left your cell phone at home, or in the car?”
    Liz rubbed the sides of her head. “I don’t remember. We just didn’t have it. We were hiking.”
    “Of course.”
    “I want to go now.”
    “Yes,” Moss said. “There really shouldn’t be any need for you to relive this further. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Towne.”
    The detective patted Liz’s arm. Liz forced a smile and nodded. She walked slowly to her car. She felt like Moss was watching her as she did. Two eyes boring into her back. Or was it just the feeling that something was behind her? Trouble, gaining.
    Keep moving.
    7:38 p.m.
    El Toro was a great little hole-in-the-wall Mexican place in Chats-worth. Mac had many a meal here with Arty. It was the most honest Mexican food in the valley, they agreed. Maybe the city, which was saying something.
    He and Rocky got a table near the window looking out at Topanga Canyon Boulevard. That was another honest thing about the place. No pretenses on the view. You came for the food and watched the cars go by.
    A waitress asked if they wanted something to drink, and Rocky looked at Mac as if asking permission.
    “Have whatever you want,” he said.
    “I’ll have a Corona and a shot of Cuervo,” Rocky said.
    Mac ordered a Coke.
    The place was about three-quarters full. Traditional Mexican music played in the background, and the smell of hot tortilla chips mingled with the thick scent of steaming carnitas sizzling on a serving pan at the table next to them.
    It was a smell Mac associated with friendship. He could see the family resemblance in Rocky. She had Arty-like lines in the face. Except for the scars.
    He thought then that he deserved those scars more than she did.
    “Arty says you’re a singer,” he said.
    “That was nice of him,” Rocky said. “Maybe when somebody actually pays me to sing, I will think so.” She’d find out on Monday if that would happen. Under Geena’s watchful eye, she’d called the Mashed Potato Lounge, and they said she could come in then. The thought of it made her stomach clench.
    “He says you’re great,” Mac said.
    “Diana Krall is a great singer,” she said. “Keely Smith is a great singer.”
    “Keely who?”
    Rocky sat up, the way someone does when a subject they love is the topic of conversation. “Keely Smith was married to Louis Prima. Big in the fifties and sixties. Did a lot of great songs with him. She was gone for a while but made a comeback. I