When the four of us were all settled at the table, we filled Willie in on what we knew about everything that had happened. When we were done, Willie announced, “Titan West was trouble—or rather, he was in a lot of trouble. But I don’t think you’re surprised by that, considering he was gunned down.”
The three of us stopped eating and stared at him, waiting for more. Lorraine asked, “How do you know that?”
I was wondering what to say to her when Mom said, “Willie does a lot of security work, Lorraine, like your father. He’s got all kinds of connections.” I saw Willie and Mom exchange glances. She winked at him. He winked back. Now that Mom knew the truth about him, she was obviously enjoying all the cloak and dagger.
“That I do,” Willie said. “My sources tell me that he was laundering money through his booking agency for a guy he met years ago when he needed to borrow money. The word on the street is the guy who took him out is not only a loan shark but a drug dealer who uses his debtors to launder money, even long after they pay off their debt.”
“Titan didn’t look like he was strapped for cash,” I said, remembering the nice building and car.
“He may not have been now,” Willie told me, “but once these guys get their hooks into you, they don’t let go.”
“So the police know this?” asked Lorraine.
“I doubt it,” he answered dryly. He took a sip of his beer.
“Then we need to tell them,” Lorraine insisted.
“No, we don’t, Lorraine,” he told her. “The police will discover it on their own once they dig into Titan’s books and dealings. But even then it may not lead them directly to the guy who took him out, especially if they took the laptop and box of documents when they killed him. This has nothing to do with you, and the more distance you put between yourselves and this matter, the better.” He turned to me. “Did you get a good look at the gunmen?”
“Just the driver of the car,” I said. “He was young, with brown skin, but I don’t think he was Latino or black—maybe Middle Eastern or something like that. His hair was thick and black. That’s about it.”
Willie nodded. “The people Titan was mixed up with are Armenian, based out of Glendale, so that fits.”
Mom had been quietly downing her soup. As the food hit her system, the color was slowly returning to her lined cheeks and the spark to her eyes. Ah, the powers of chicken noodle soup. “Do you think maybe it was this Armenian gang who killed Cydney Fox?” Mom asked as she finished and pushed her bowl away from her. “Maybe Boaz found out about them and took off before they got to him. That poor Fox woman might have gotten in the way.”
“Could be,” agreed Willie. “That Shankleman fellow could have gotten wind of the problem and took off before he got caught in the crossfire.” Willie looked at me. “Didn’t you say that Oxman was about to run?”
I nodded and played with the puddle of soup left in my bowl with my spoon. “Yes, it looked like he was heading out, and fast.”
As I said the last word, I glanced at Mom. Our eyes locked briefly. I’m sure she was thinking of Oxman’s slashed tires too. She looked down into her soup, pale again. She’d only wanted to slow Oxman down for the police, not make him a sitting duck for killers.
“And Titan also asked if we were sent to kill him,” I continued. “I’m now assuming he meant this gang kingpin and not Shankleman, as we originally thought.”
“Humph,” Mom snorted. “Boaz would never kill anyone, and he’s certainly not a drug guy.” Color returned to her cheeks.
“Grace is right,” Willie agreed. “My contacts came up clean on him and on the Fox woman. Oxman came up clean, too, except for a few old arrests for being drunk and disorderly, but that’s about it.” Willie took a drag from his beer. “It looks like the trouble was all on Titan, and when the others found out, they took off rather than get caught standing too close to him.”
Lorraine stared at Willie. “How could you have checked that out when we just told you all this?”
I wanted to tell Lorraine that Willie had magic powers, so just go with it, but before I could, Willie told her with a patient smile, “Your father and Greg told me everything when I saw them earlier, not just about Titan West being killed. I had my people check into everyone.” Muffin hopped up into Willie’s lap and settled in for a nap. He stroked her gently. Wainwright was on his bed having his own nap.
“Okay,” Mom said, placing both hands on the table, “so let’s say that the boys in the band found out about the trouble Titan was in and decided to take off. Cydney Fox went to Shankleman’s to see him. Maybe she had a key. Maybe they were seeing each other or something like that, and she ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That sounds feasible,” Lorraine agreed.
Mom sighed and reached for her tea. “Too bad we never reached Tuttle. I’d like to know if he took off too.”
“Tuttle?” Willie asked.
“That’s the third member of Acid Storm,” I told him. “The young guy. We tried calling his number but just got voicemail.”
I got up from the table. “Would anyone like more soup? There’s some left.”
“I would,” Lorraine said, holding out her bowl like Dickens’s Oliver. Mom shook her head. I turned the flame on under the saucepan while I retrieved Lorraine’s bowl. While the soup reheated I ran information around in my head. Something wasn’t clicking. I stirred the soup, watching the fat noodles and sliced carrots swirl in the remaining broth. When it was heated, I poured what was left in the pan into Lorraine’s bowl, splattering some on the counter in the process. I stared down at the drops of broth scattered on my kitchen counter as a lightbulb went off in my tired brain.
“I don’t think Cydney Fox was killed by the Armenian gang,” I said as I placed the bowl back in front of Lorraine. The three of them turned to me, waiting for an explanation for my theory. Instead, I cleared my bowl and my mother’s from the table and placed them in the sink, giving myself time to gather my thoughts into a tidy explanation.
“And?” Mom asked with her usual impatience.
I turned, leaned against the counter, and faced them. “I don’t think she was killed by the gang,” I repeated. “I think she was killed by someone else. Her murder seemed more personal. Titan’s was business.”
Three sets of eyes stared at me, waiting for me to make my case. “Why is that?” Willie asked, encouraging me to lay out my reasons.
“Detective Fehring told me that the Fox woman had been killed by several vicious blows to the head.” I looked at Lorraine, wondering if maybe the conversation would be too much for her.
Blood drained from Lorraine’s face at the memory. “It looked that way, yes,” she confirmed. “Blood was everywhere, even on the walls.” She pushed her second helping of soup away and slumped in her chair like a rag doll.
“Okay,” I said, “vicious blows to someone’s skull seems like a very personal thing to me. If she was killed by someone who had snuck in to take out Shankleman, wouldn’t she have been killed cleanly, like with a gun fitted with a silencer, as Titan had been?”
“Excellent point, little mama,” Willie said, giving me a wide grin. “You go to the head of the class.”
Mom was holding her mug of tea between her hands. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “If your theory is right, then there are two murderers? One for Fox and one for Titan?”
“Yes.” I went to the table and reached for Mom’s mug. “Do you want a refill, Mom?”
“Just some more hot water,” she said, handing me her mug.
I turned on the hot water kettle that sat on the stove. It was still warm from making Mom’s tea earlier, so it wouldn’t take long to bring to another boil. “So if the Armenian gang took out Titan, who killed Cydney Fox?” I turned to look at everyone, hoping someone had some ideas. They all looked as blank as walls.
“Bu
t what about Art?” Mom asked, her voice shaking with new fear. “You don’t think he was killed like Fox, do you? You know, collateral damage?” She seemed about to cry.
The kettle started chirping, getting ready to whistle. I took it off the stove, poured fresh hot water into Mom’s mug, and took it back to the table, joining everyone again.
“Mom, I really don’t know what happened to Art,” I told her kindly, “but I sure hope he was nowhere near that place that night. The thing is, usually, but not all the time, when someone bludgeons another to death in that manner, it’s an emotional thing. Either the murderer was angry at Fox or they wanted to kill Shankleman and got angry because he wasn’t home and took out their frustration on that poor woman.”
“What about the idea that Shankleman killed Fox?” Willie asked.
Mom nearly flew out of her chair in a rage at the idea. “Boaz would never do such a thing! He’s not violent at all.”
“Grace,” Willie said in a soothing, practical voice, “even the calmest of people can become irrational and dangerous at times.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Lorraine watching my mother, a puzzled look on her face. “Grandma,” Lorraine finally said, “are you and this Boaz guy a thing?”
“Huh?” my mother said, turning wide owl eyes on Lorraine in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”
Lorraine might be on to something—something that never occurred to me in spite of all of Mom’s defensive behavior on Shankleman’s behalf. “Mom,” I said, “Lorraine’s asking if you and Boaz Shankleman are seeing each other. You know, are you dating?”
“Or maybe,” Lorraine said with a smug smile to her grandmother, “you have a crush on him. Are you an Acid Storm groupie?” She giggled.
Okay. Lorraine obviously didn’t know her grandmother like I did. Asking Mom if she and Shankleman were seeing each other was one thing. Asking Grace Littlejohn if she was a rock groupie was quite another, and the remark garnered the response I expected at the end of a long, tiring day: a meltdown, right at my kitchen table.
“A groupie?” Mom asked in a terse, strained voice, not taking her fiery eyes off of Lorraine. “Is that what you think of your grandmother?” Her look was withering, and it was working on Lorraine. She shrunk in her chair like a small child who’d been caught coloring on the walls. Willie had leaned back in his chair. His arms were crossed and his lips tight as he fought the urge to laugh. To him, this was good TV.
“Mom, calm down.” I put a hand on her arm, hoping to ease the tension. “Lorraine was just wondering about your constant defense of Boaz, that’s all. I was wondering about it myself. Even when Titan suggested something about him, you got all huffy.”
Mom dragged her eyes off of Lorraine and fixed them on me. The outrage was gone, replaced by sadness. “Boaz was the very first friend I made when I got to Seaside,” she told us. “A lot of those old folks, especially the old biddies who rule the place like high school divas, have never cared for me and are always running to Mona with gossip.”
I sat up straight in my chair. “But why?”
“Don’t look so surprised, Odelia,” Mom said. “We both know I’m not exactly Miss Congeniality. But Boaz and I hit it off from the start. We met at the AA meeting they hold there. Since then, he’s always had my back. Because of him I was finally able to make some good friends and settle in there.” Her voice cracked a little, like a fine fissure in a china cup. “He and Art—both of them—have been my friends from the beginning, and now they’re both missing.” A strangled sob escaped from her lips. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, getting slowly to her feet, “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.”
Willie, Lorraine, and I stood up with her. I held Mom’s arm in support. Lorraine came to Mom’s side. “I’m so sorry, Grandma,” she said to Mom in a small voice, giving her a short hug. “Let me help you.” I let loose of Mom’s arm as Lorraine took it. Without protest, Mom let Lorraine guide her down the hallway to the guest room. Usually my mother is full of piss and vinegar. Tonight, watching her shuffle down the hall with help from Lorraine, I noticed how small and vulnerable she really was, with or without a switchblade.
Willie and I sat back down and remained silent for a few moments. He drank his beer while I thought about Mom’s revelation at Seaside. I’d known it had been rough when she first moved in there. Mom didn’t make friends easily because of her prickly nature and rough edges, but I had no idea how tough it had been. If I had, I would have intervened. But that’s probably why she didn’t tell me. Mom liked to fight her own battles.
I got up and started to clear the table. “Would you like another beer, Willie?”
“No, thanks, I’m good.” He was peeling the label off the bottle. I smiled. Greg did the same thing when he was thinking. “We need to find Boaz and Art, at least for Grace’s sake,” he announced.
I nodded my agreement. “Honestly, I don’t care who killed Cydney Fox or Titan West, as long as it wasn’t Shankleman, again for Mom’s sake.” I paused, thinking about sweet Art Franklin. “I’m worried too that Art was collateral damage. Maybe Fox’s killer crossed his path and took him out.”
“There’s no body, though,” he pointed out. “The killer wouldn’t have killed Art, then dragged his body off. If he got in the way, as I imagine Fox did, he’d have been left where he dropped.”
“I still think we’re looking at two different killers.”
Willie was quiet while he contemplated my theory again. “I tend to agree with you, Odelia. If it were the Armenians, they would have just shot her. Not to say drug gangs don’t beat people to death, but not people who are simply in the way.”
He put the bottle down on the table and started going through the Marigold printout. When we were telling Willie about our busy day, Mom had taken it out of her purse, where she’d stashed it while we were on the road. “I think I’m going to pay this Simon Tuttle a visit tonight, as well as see if I can dig anything up on him that’s not on this.” He got up. “You ladies okay here without me for a few hours?”
“What do you think?” I asked with sarcasm.
Willie winked at me. “I was sent to watch over you, but I think I’d be of more help following up on this stuff.”
I winked back. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
I had just shuttled dinner dishes to the sink when Willie’s phone vibrated softly. He pulled it out and read the display. “You expecting anyone?” he asked me.
“At this hour?” A glance at the clock on the microwave told me it was after ten.
“My guy outside said a middle-aged Asian guy is heading up your walk.” Just then our doorbell rang and Wainwright charged the door, barking.
Of course Willie would have brought a bodyguard. He always traveled with one. When I first met him years ago, his constant companion was Enrique, a handsome and smart young Mexican. But I knew that since then, Enrique had gotten his master’s degree in International Finance and was working for Willie in an executive capacity. He was also married now, with a young family.
Willie indicated for me to see who was at the door while he slipped into the kitchen area, out of sight but within earshot.
“Wainwright, down,” I said to our dog, grabbing him by the collar while I looked out the door’s peephole. It was indeed a middle-
aged Asian man, small and trim, with gray streaked hair and a familiar face, angular and wearing thick-framed glasses. I turned toward the kitchen and saw Willie peeking out from around the small divider wall. “It’s okay,” I told him in a loud whisper. “I know him.”
Mom and Lorraine came into view from the hallway. Mom was in her nightgown and robe, but Lorraine was still dressed. “Who’s at the door at this time of night, Odelia?” Mom asked.
“It’s Kevin from Seaside,” I told her.
“Oh no, something’s happened to Art,” she said, slightly staggering. L
orraine put a supportive arm around her.
“We don’t know that, Mom,” I said to her as I unlocked the door. “And I doubt they’d send someone here to tell you.”
“Evening,” Kevin Wong said apologetically as soon as I opened the door. Kevin was one of the guards at Seaside. He usually manned the front gate for the second shift.
“Kevin, what are you doing here?” I asked. “Is something wrong at Seaside?”
He sighed deeply and shifted from foot to foot in discomfort. “Is Grace here? I was told to come here to look for her.”
“What’s the matter, Kevin?” Mom asked, stepping forward as she clutched her robe tighter together. Willie was out in the open now but still remained near the back door.
“Please come in, Kevin,” I said, opening the door wider.
He hesitated, looking down at Wainwright, who was now quietly standing guard.
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “Wainwright won’t bother you.” I pulled Wainwright away from the door and told him to go lay down. As soon as I let loose his collar, he trotted back to his comfy bed.
But Kevin Wong still didn’t step inside, and I didn’t think it was because of the dog. His eyes were cast down as he continued his two-step on the landing. I thought about Milton and how he behaved the same way in front of Mona. Kevin wasn’t in his Seaside guard uniform. He wore light khakis and a blue knit shirt. Reaching into a back pocket, he pulled out a business-size envelope and held it out in Mom’s direction. “I’m sorry, Grace, but Mona said I had to deliver this to you tonight on my way home.” I could see that the envelope bore the logo for Seaside Retirement Community.
Mom didn’t make any move to take the envelope from Kevin. Instead, she said to me, “Would you see what in the hell that woman wants now?”
As soon as I took the envelope, Kevin apologize again and made to leave, like the missive contained a bomb. “Wait a minute, Kevin,” I said to him. “I want to ask you something. It won’t take long.”
I could tell he didn’t want to linger, so I got right down to it. “I saw Milton this morning, and he said he was the guard on duty last night and the night before; is that true?”
Rhythm & Clues Page 14