The big dumpster in the back has the padlock hanging open, thankfully.
“Here, do you think you can hold all these while I get this open?” Ryan motions to his larger stack of boxes.
“Yeah, no problem.” Unless it gets on my shirt and then: problem.
Ryan deposits the pizza boxes on top of mine, and starts working the rusty padlock out of the metal loops.
I’m trying not to inhale too much of the “too many types of pizza in close proximity” smell that’s going on, but there’s no way of avoiding the receipt that is fluttering near my eyeballs. I’m nosy, so to kill time while Ryan works on the dumpster lid, I try and read the receipt upside down. I wonder how much Cleopatra dropped in order to look like the saving grace and earn my agreement to turn over the party to her.
“Huh,” I say, shifting under the weight of the boxes.
“Huh, what?” Ryan parrots back. One of the lids is already open, the lock lying on the ground. Ryan stoops to inspect the lock, and it looks like it’s been smashed. Hoodlums. This city is going to the dogs.
“Huh, Cleopatra even got these pizzas catered. She must be friends with the owner of that Hat Trick Entertainment, or something. Honestly, they were the best pizza I’ve had, so—”
Ryan appears around the side of the stack. “What? What do you mean?”
I try to point with my nose. “The receipt—it’s a catering slip from Hat Trick. Cleo must really have wanted us to know she went the full mile. It looks like she drew a heart on the receipt and everything.”
Ryan looks way more alarmed than I think is warranted. He snatches the receipt and stares at it. His eyes move from the top of the sheet to the heart drawn on it.
I don’t like the look on his face, and a chill chases down my spine. “What?”
“Do you feel okay?”
“Er . . . yeah? Should I not?”
“This is the same company that served us those spiked drinks.”
True. Oh man, I’m the worst police detective ever. I even go so far as to let my head fall forward into the pizza stack in defeat. Wait.
“Do you hear . . . beeping?” I ask, peering around. It sounds like a phone going off—maybe someone’s dropped theirs.
Ryan measures me with one look, pauses, then stares at the dumpster in horror. We both glance at the broken lock, and Ryan lunges forward, shutting both of the industrial lids with an immense clang before turning and charging straight into me. The last thing I feel before an intense wave of heat and the conclusive jolt of an explosion is Ryan pushing me backward, onto the pavement of the parking lot, leftover pizza and boxes flying into a sky filled with a plume of dark smoke. The last thing I see before it all goes to black is my other best friend lying facedown in the parking lot beside me, a pool of blood spreading between us.
CHAPTER 29
Matteo is pacing the small bay in the ER. Again.
“Matteo, you’ve got to stop; it’s making my head swim to watch you.”
He stops, runs his hands through his hair, appraises me in the hospital bed, then starts pacing again. At least this time he’s not muttering to himself—ah, nope. There’s the muttering. He’s saying something about how if he never gets a call from Good Samaritan Hospital ever again, it’ll be just fine with him.
Soft beeping from my heart monitor and oxygen sensor fills our space. “We’ve got to be reasonable about this. I’m okay—”
“You have a minor concussion—”
“Okay-ish then—”
“That you got when your roommate pushed you out of the way of an exploding dumpster; you had shrapnel from a pizza box,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “You’re not okay.”
I still have to fight back laughter. It’s so Ninja Turtles, it’s kinda awesome. A giggle escapes, and Matteo looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head. I shrug. “These painkillers are really good. I’m hardly scraped up. I’ll be fine.”
I hold up my one little Band-Aid on my hand. “It’s Ryan who has all the road rash on his face and that wicked cut in his head from the—do you call it shrapnel if it’s cardboard and pizza crust?”
“You are both damn lucky that Ryan had the sense to throw you out of the way. Are you ready to talk about what you remember? No one inside saw what happened, and Ryan’s memory is fuzzy. That whole building could have caught fire; everyone is lucky the lid of the dumpster took the brunt of the force. It looks like there were smaller packets of fuel inside the dumpster, specifically designed to ignite on landing—presumably on the building.”
I squint, my head throbbing when I try to do anything except laugh about exploding pizza. “The lids? I think it was open when we got there? No, that doesn’t seem right. Wait. The lock was broken, I do remember that. Ryan slammed the lids shut before it blew up. I think it was just luck that we went out to throw away the boxes and shut the doors. Guess we’re lucky no one else was hurt.”
Matteo grumbles. “We’re damn lucky there were people there to call 911.” He starts pacing again. “We’ve told the media that it was a combustion explosion by improperly disposed-of spray paint. So at least we’re not public yet, but we need a plan.”
He stops pacing long enough to jerk the curtain open, look into the room where doctors and nurses bustle around, no one paying us any attention. Given that I’m just here until my IV saline drip finishes, I think we’re low men on the importance totem pole.
“But I’m already getting reports from the bomb squad. This wasn’t some can of spray paint you guys tossed in that combusted. Someone did this on purpose.”
I sigh. “The only thing I remember is that Ryan and I were talking about something. The price of the pizza, or . . . the receipt. It was odd for some reason.” My mind works like molasses, and it is hard to recall specifics. And then it gels, and I see it clearly. I sit upright in the bed, nearly pulling my IV out. “Oh! I remember! The receipt was from that catering company. Hat Trick.”
“The same one who catered Cleopatra’s party.”
“The same.”
One last detail emerges from the depths of my brain. “There was a heart colored on the receipt.”
It takes almost no time for Matteo to make the leap that I’ve been toying with. “You think the Queen of Hearts is involved with the caterer.”
I shrug. “It makes sense, right? Anyone connected with Muñez has a reason to want to see Lawrence get beaten up. Maybe it’s a good cover to get into the parties where he’d be . . .” I trail off. And then I laugh. I’m not sure if it’s the drugs or what, but it dawns on me. “Queen. Of Hearts.”
Matteo eyes me. “Yeah?”
“No, you don’t get it. Just think: Queen of Hearts. There’s only one queen I can think of who would benefit from Lawrence being hurt, and she brought the pizzas.”
“Cleopatra.”
“Just so.”
We both ponder this possibility for a moment, but Matteo nods, accepting my theory. “This is enough for us to take her into custody. She’s tied to the caterer; she’s tied to the other death, even if peripherally—it happened at her party. I’ll have her brought in immediately.” He pulls out his phone and dials the office, quickly describing our suspicions to Rideout. He clicks off and eyes me. “Not that I don’t agree she’d benefit from harming L, but . . . why would she do all this? I never thought she seemed the murderess type.”
I filter through everything that’s a loose end for me in the case: the Queen of Hearts, the masked man at the party whom L thinks he knew, the note from the Golden Arrow to “follow the White Rabbit,” the journal. Several of those things just fall together into a story line. So, if we throw out the ones that don’t jibe with that story line . . . I let my writer’s brain take over for a long moment, wandering down the paths of “what-ifs,” doubling back, taking quicksilver detours that are instantly dismissed until I arrive at a theory.
“It fits for Cleo to be the Queen . . . but what if the Queen is the Golden Arrow?”
“Are these the
pain meds talking?”
I throw my pillow at him. “Quiet. My brain is mushy, and I need to talk this out.”
Matteo mimes buttoning his lips and motions me to continue.
“Okay, we know the Queen is the person who has essentially taken over Muñez’s position in the community, and we have reason to believe that the Queen worked with Muñez directly. We also thought that the Golden Arrow may have been the Queen—except we caught Daniel, and he’s definitely not a drug dealer or master chemist, right?”
Matteo shakes his head but stays wisely silent.
“So, we have to assume the GA at the parties is an imposter.” I tap my head, willing my sluggish brain to work. Why. Why go to all the trouble of having an imposter GA, other than to make it look like you had celebrity friends? Especially when the Golden Arrow at the party wanted to hurt Lawrence. But there’s the thread between Cleo and the parties, and the Golden Arrow imposter. “Maybe all of this has been about Lawrence.” It’s crazy, but in my drug-addled state, it’s what makes the most sense. I put it all together for Matteo with the snap of my fingers. “The Queen of Hearts could be a team. The imposter is whomever L knew from his past. For whatever reason, he tipped his hand and L realized he knew him, went off and tried to find him . . . and bam, Lawrence in the hospital. The Queen is scared that Lawrence can ID him or”—I trail off for a moment, shuddering—“has ID’d him, and that’s what got him stabbed. Lawrence is the key—one of the Queens is a part of his past. We’ve been barking up the wrong tree—the Queen isn’t connected to this case through Muñez; she or they are connected through Casey.” I snap my fingers. “In fact, right before the explosion, the fountain on the float reminded me of a sketch I saw on the pages from the journal. I’m positive now; the other person we’re looking for worked for Casey Senior. Not Muñez.”
“Who designed the fountain?” Matteo’s frown is deepening. He believes me and he’s worried.
My face is grim. “It’s a champagne fountain.”
“The caterer,” we say at the same time.
“But why is a caterer after you and Ryan?”
While he’s stopped looking at me like I’m in la-la land, Matteo doesn’t look fully convinced.
Okay. Farther down this rabbit hole we go. “What if the reason the Queen is targeting Ryan and me is because Lawrence is alive? And they figure he’s told us something—find that friend, and we find our would-be killer and Cleopatra’s partner.”
“It’s so crazy it almost makes sense to me,” Matteo says. He opens his notebook and starts scribbling. After a long stretch, he looks up. “One thing doesn’t make sense. Why would the Queen—or one of them—pretend to be the Golden Arrow then? Why bring the GA in at all?”
I hesitate. “I guess because Lawrence, Ryan, and I probably couldn’t resist attending a party where we might meet him? We’ve all been in the news. Maybe it seemed a good bait tactic.”
Matteo nods. “And a good way to get to wear a cape and a mask without people asking questions. The problem is, we’ve scoured Muñez’s contacts. We can’t find this person.”
“But Cleo can.”
Matteo nods grimly. “We need to talk to Lawrence. See if he can think of anyone connected to Cleo who would stoop to murder, and who fits the profile of this mysterious person from his past. At least until we have Cleo in custody. Rideout is on his way over there right now, but no telling how long it will take to apprehend her.”
I nod, hesitantly. “It’s not like L made much sense the first time, but it’s worth a try . . .” I start to think about what Lawrence said before, and yet another piece slides into place. Goose bumps rise on my arms. “Lawrence said something else, Matteo. He said ‘After Arrow.’ What if we’re not the only ones in trouble? What if Lawrence essentially gave us a hit list, and the Golden Arrow is on that list too?”
“Daniel will be released tomorrow . . . we can’t hold him any longer. His alibi checks out; we don’t have DNA evidence, anything.”
“But he had the journal.”
Matteo slowly shakes his head. “We confirmed his bag is left in the open at the gym five days a week. Literally anyone could have put it in there and tipped off police.”
“Brother-in-law?”
Matteo shakes his head. “Everything checks out.”
Great. Now we possibly have a police leak, a person who framed my friends, and a real vigilante out there who might be in trouble. How are we going to find the real Slim Shady in this game of imposters? This pain medication may help with invention of ideas, but it sure doesn’t help with fact recollection. And yet everything is just falling into place, and in my gut, I know I’m right. Cleo. The GA imposter, the caterer, and the would-be murderer.
Matteo’s jaw works, and he resumes pacing the small space. He is forced to stop moments later when a nurse enters, checks my chart and blood pressure, then deems me ready to discharge. I’m given a sheaf of papers, my shoes, and told I can leave when I feel able.
Matteo helps me into my shoes, then stands me up before pulling out his phone. “Since we’re still not clear about why you or Ryan—or possibly the Golden Arrow—would also be targets, we’re going to put all of you under security surveillance immediately. And we’ve got to find an ID for Hat Trick’s owner.”
“Good luck with security. In about a week’s time, Ryan and I are going to be hosting a party with thousands of attendees . . .” I cut off, my brain working again. “Wait. The party. Cleopatra offered to host the party.” I thought she was genuine, but really, she was playing an angle.
“We’re canceling that party,” Matteo says dismissively, as if it’s a done deal.
“Don’t you dare,” I toss back. A slow smile spreads across my face.
“What? No, absolutely not. Whatever it is, no.”
“Let’s check in on Ryan, and then we need to go upstairs and talk to L.”
“Why are you smiling?” Matteo’s suspicious side is showing now, as it should.
“Because, my dear, I have a plan.”
Ryan’s face is wrapped in gauze, and he looks rather like a mummy. Bonus points being that he’ll not need much of a Halloween costume, I guess?
Matteo’s eyes graze Ryan’s bandages before settling on Lawrence. “Are you sure you want to use your best friend as bait?”
“Only one of them. The other one will be helping you.”
Matteo is not taking too kindly to my plan. Why is he failing to grasp the brilliance despite the risk? “The Queen is after L,” I state.
“I know.” We’ve just been through this, so Matteo is understandably gruff.
We turn to regard L. He’s been in and out of consciousness, but we haven’t set off any alarms, so the doctor is allowing our visit. Or maybe she feels bad that three of the four of us are wearing hospital ID badges and bandages. A gorgeous arrangement of flowers sits on his windowsill, and I wander over to take a look—I’m trying to learn to appreciate flowers now, since Matteo is so into them, and these look particularly expensive. I go ahead and own my nosiness and look for a card, finally locating one that simply says, “W.” My heart warms.
All the more reason to get L’s attacker off the street. “So . . . if we say that L is going to be at his party, there’s a chance the Queen will make a move.”
Matteo rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that the arrest of Cleopatra is going to tip off the other teammate—if that’s truly what’s going on.”
I hold up a finger. “Not if we convince Cleopatra to help us.”
Ryan snorts. “Like that would ever happen, MG—”
“Actually, it might—” I start to argue, but a small sound comes from the doorway, and we turn as one to regard the very person we’re discussing lurking in the doorway.
We freeze. Well, the rest of us do, but Matteo springs into action, hands flying to his waist, where I assume he has a pair of handcuffs.
Cleo holds up her hands. “Look, I know this is unorthodox. I’m prepared to turn myself in, but if
you’ll permit me a moment, I came to offer a bargain in return.”
“We can talk about it at the station,” Matteo growls, advancing on her.
She stands her ground, and I just cannot get the earnestness of her tone out of my head. She allows herself to be handcuffed without argument.
“Matteo,” I ask, “would it hurt to hear her out?”
“Yes,” Ryan and Matteo answer together.
“My offer only stands if you hear me out here and now,” Cleo replies. “Otherwise, you can just wait until my trial to find out what I know. And believe me, you want to know.”
We all exchange glances, and finally Matteo allows her into the room, closing the door behind her. “You have five minutes.”
Cleo nods. “I came here to find you specifically, after I heard about the explosion.” She turns to me, and again I think I see tears in her eyes. “Too many people have been hurt. I know who set that explosion; I can’t prove it, but I’ll tell you what I know.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to accuse her, but we all seem to decide to hear her out.
She looks around, gaze finally landing on L, and the rest of her resolve crumples. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was just supposed to gain followers, sell more tickets, rise to the top of the scene. Finally get the attention I deserve. He convinced me that Louis’s death was an accident—”
“He who?” Matteo asks, and my stomach jumps.
“My benefactor, for a lack of a better term,” she answers on a sigh. She looks completely defeated. “He approached me a few months ago and offered to sponsor my career. He was a fancy events guy; I figured he was the real deal.”
That stops us all cold. Benefactor?
She continues. “I thought it was amazing. Someone to buy me costumes, fund my rise to the top, throw me elaborate parties. I wanted so badly to get ahead, to be famous, that I really didn’t question why this person appeared, I just took the opportunity I thought I was due.” She swallows, and again I fear tears are about to slide down her cheeks. “But. I should have questioned, because I’ve come to the conclusion that this . . . person . . . wasn’t interested in me for me, but for who I associated with. I wasn’t anything to him but a pawn.”
The Queen Con (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 2) Page 30