Read Online Jonathan Kellerman_Petra Connor 02 by Twisted - Free Book Online Page B

comprised the tract. Built for returning GI’s, the houses ranged from decrepit to sparkling.
    Effort had been made to keep up the Ramirez home: the two-pace lawn was sunken and brown but trimmed, and impatiens in uneven beds struggled with the early, spring heat. A baby stroller sat on the wooden porch, along with a plaster pedestal spray-painted gold that served no apparent purpose.
    Bonnie wasn’t home and her mother was caring for Rocky. The toddler slept in a crib set up in the nine-by-nine living room. The floors were wood and the ceilings were low. The house smelled of good food and Pine Sol and just the merest whiff of dirty diaper.
    Anna Ramirez was a short, broad woman with hair dyed red, puffy cheeks, and flabby arms. The cheeks were so bountiful they pushed her eyes up and turned them to slits. It gave her a suspicious look, even though she took pains to be cordial. Her voice and speech inflections were that same Boyle Heights singsong.
    She invited them to sit and brought out cans of soda and a bowl of pretzels and told them Bonnie’s dad was a Vietnam vet who’d survived the war only to die in a heavy equipment accident while excavating the foundation for a downtown office building. Removing his photo from the wall, she brandished it like a religious article. Nice-looking guy in full-dress uniform. But bad skin—unfortunate legacy for Bonnie.
    Petra said, “Any idea when Bonnie’s returning?”
    Anna Ramirez shook her head and frowned. “You just missed her. She comes and goes. She was out last night, slept till ten, left.”
    â€œOut late?”
    â€œAlways.”
    Rocky stirred in his crib.
    Petra said, “I don’t want to wake him.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” said Anna. “He sleeps good.” She glanced at the pretzel bowl in Petra’s lap and Petra ate one.
    â€œCan I get you something else to eat, Officer?”
    â€œNo, thanks, ma’am. Do you know why we’re here?”
    â€œThat shooting in Hollywood. Bonnie told me about it.”
    â€œWhat’d she say?”
    â€œThat it happened out in the parking lot. She heard the shots but didn’t see anything. She said she talked to a lady cop. That was you?”
    Petra nodded.
    Anna Ramirez looked over at Isaac. Studied him. “You look like my nephew Bobby.”
    Isaac smiled weakly.
    Petra said, “One of the kids who was shot was a girl we still haven’t been able to identify.”
    â€œNo parents asking about her?”
    â€œNo one’s come forth, ma’am.”
    â€œThat’s sad.”
    Little Rocky peeped. Shifted. Bellowed. Anna Ramirez went over and removed him from the crib. Poor kid was flushed and dyspeptic-looking. Swaddled in too many blankets for the heat.
    Anna sat back down and lay her grandson across her commodious lap. Rocky burped, frowned, went back to sleep. Circular dumpling of a face, curly black hair. Very cute. Petra noticed that his nails were trimmed and the blankets were spotless.
    She said, “He’s beautiful.”
    Anna Ramirez sighed. “Very active. So . . . this girl . . .”
    â€œI was wondering if Bonnie knew her,” said Petra. Realizing she’d used the singular since entering the house. Should she include Isaac? He was sitting there, upright and stiff, looking like someone waiting for a job interview.
    â€œYou didn’t ask Bonnie if she knew her?”
    â€œI did and she said no. I’m just following up.”
    Anna Ramirez frowned. “You don’t believe her.”
    â€œIt’s not that—”
    â€œIt’s okay. Sometimes I don’t believe her.”
    Petra hoped her smile was empathetic.
    Anna said, “Her brothers all finished school, two of them are in J.C., but Bonnie never liked school. Down deep, she’s a good girl . . .” She glanced down at Rocky. “This was kind of a— So now I’m being Mama again, so okay, it’s okay.