I picked up the note. The penmanship was awful.
We brought O’s car here so you wouldn’t need
to take Uber home. Go there. Don’t stay here!!!
Will be in touch soon.—W.
PS: We fed the cat and dog.
Note in hand, I went to the patio sliders and looked out. Sure enough, my car was now parked in the visitor parking cattycorner from my mother’s.
“Unbelievable,” I said out loud but to myself. I turned and walked back to the table. “Well, let’s get going back to my place like Willie ordered. Besides, I have to get ready for work. You two should be safe enough there today, providing you don’t go crazy and run off to play cops and robbers on your own.”
“Relax,” Mom said, “and take a load off. Besides, it’s Thursday, and you don’t work on Thursdays.”
I did a mental walk-back of the week. Mom was right; it was Thursday. Would this week ever end?
Lorraine brought me a cup of coffee. “Grandma and I have only been up about an hour.”
I took a sip of coffee. On a plate on the table was some cooked bacon. Several strips rested on a paper towel, shiny and wrinkled like retirees basted in sun block and laid out on a beach. I knew it would be turkey bacon, just as the meatloaf had been made with ground turkey. I grabbed a piece and shoved it into my mouth. The salty crunch was so satisfying, I nearly moaned.
“Would you like me to whip up some eggs for you, Odelia?” my niece asked as a second sliced disappeared into my mouth.
“No, thanks,” I told her. “I’d rather get home, and I want to talk to Greg.” I licked my fingers. “I should call him now.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Mom told me. “Your phone was going nuts in your bag this morning. It was Greg. I answered and assured him we were all fine. It sounded like he’d already gotten a report from Willie. Then I called Steele and told him you wouldn’t be in until Monday.”
I had been about to grab the last piece of bacon, but my hand skidded to a halt just short of the plate. “You what?” I turned to Mom.
“After talking to Greg,” she explained, “I hit Steele’s speed dial on your phone and told him you wouldn’t be in until Monday.” She shrugged and took a sip of her own coffee. “I don’t think he was surprised. He asked if we were keeping out of trouble, and I told him yes.”
“So you lied to my boss?” I turned fully in my chair and zeroed knit brows at her. “You didn’t tell him about us witnessing Titan’s murder?”
“No; why should I?” Slowly Mom got up from the table and picked up the bacon plate. At the last minute I rescued the remaining piece and bit it in half with misplaced frustration.
With Lorraine’s help, Mom started washing up the few breakfast dishes. Although she had a dishwasher, Mom insisted that handwashing dishes was more effective. “Steele doesn’t need to know everything we do,” she said as she added dish soap to the sink. “Besides, it’s not like we were dragged in by the police like the other night.”
I gulped my coffee down and handed the mug off to Lorraine so it could be washed. I was actually glad Mom had called Steele about my taking the rest of the week off. It had crossed my mind a few times, but it’s always tricky with Steele. It was better to have Mom act as my agent in such matters.
When the dishes were washed and dried, the three of us headed out the front door to my car. We’d almost reached the visitor parking when Mona D’Angelo whizzed up in a golf cart like the Wicked Witch of the West, providing the witch dressed in a pantsuit and rode a broom with four tires.
“So it’s true,” Mona said with smug satisfaction, “you did ignore the order from Seaside’s management that she was not to be anywhere on the grounds at any time.” With a long manicured nail, Mona clarified the “she” by pointing directly at Lorraine.
“It’s rude to point, Mona,” my mother pointed out.
Mona ignored her. “The guard told me this morning that she came to the property last night.”
“The guard?” I asked. “You mean your Uncle Milty?” Mona seemed surprised that we knew but quickly collected herself.
“As a matter of fact, he is my uncle,” she said, turning her attention now directly on me. “He told me this morning that your niece came onto the property last night with Grace, and he never saw her leave.” She narrowed her eyes at Mom. “I trust you did get the notice I had hand-delivered to you?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mom said, dismissing the question with a wave of her hand. “I got it.”
“And you willfully disobeyed it.” Mona’s voice was getting shrill, and she was getting excitable. I began to see how she just might get worked up enough to have killed Cydney Fox, a woman she thought might be a rival.
The face-off in the parking area was attracting a small group of onlookers. At first they hung back, but gradually they started coming forward a foot at a time, murmuring amongst themselves. I spotted Teri Thomson and Lucy among them. One roly-poly man in Bermuda shorts, with white socks and sandals and wearing a golf cap, gestured at Mona. “Leave Grace and her family alone, Mona. They’ve done nothing to you.” The others seemed to be in agreement.
“Yes,” a woman with a crackling voice called from the back. “They were just looking after Boaz. They were doing your job.” Again the mob rallied on Mom’s behalf.
Mona turned to the group of residents. “You don’t understand. Grace and her granddaughter broke the rules, which are there for your protection.”
“Our protection?” called out another man. “What a laugh. That poor woman was murdered right under your nose—and your incompetent uncle’s nose.”
“He’s a disgrace,” said Teri. “It’s a wonder we’re not all attacked with him on the job.” Her words brought about a chorus of agreement.
From Mona’s reaction, I’d guess she hadn’t realized the residents knew Milton was her uncle or that he was widely disliked.
“We heard that you’re trying to get Grace to move out,” said a chubby woman with curly red hair who was supported by a cane. She shook a finger at Mona. “You can’t do that, Mona. We won’t stand for it.”
“Grace is our friend. We want her to stay,” called out another woman. “And her granddaughter too. If you can throw them out, what’s to stop you from going after the rest of us over some little thing?”
“Little thing?” Mona protested, but before she could say more, the group moved forward in a small semicircle of geriatric angry villagers.
From somewhere in the back I thought I heard, “Hell no, Grace won’t go!” Soon the chant was picked up, and everyone was saying it in unison, over and over. I looked at my mother. She held a hand to her mouth as tears dripped down her face. If she ran for HOA president, she’d win in a landslide.
Seeing her defeat, Mona hissed at me, “This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.” Her face was beet red with humiliation and anger, and again I could see her easily wielding a golf club at someone. With one last look at the crowd, Mona climbed into her golf cart and beat a hasty retreat while the Seaside residents cheered.
“Well, that was something,” I said once we were in my car and headed to my house.
“It rocked, Grandma,” Lorraine said from the back seat. “I thought you said you weren’t liked.”
Next to me, Mom held a hankie to her mouth. Before leaving, she’d choked out a heartfelt word of thanks to her neighbors. The tears had stopped, but she was still overcome with emotion, something that didn’t happen often. “I had no idea,” she squeaked out.
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Buzz and Willie showed up at my house shortly after we got there. “The old people at Seaside almost staged a coup,” Lorraine told them with animation once they were inside. “You should have seen it! They’re really angry that Mona wants Grandma to leave.” I caught Buzz beaming at her while she told them what had happened.
“Good for you, Gra
ce,” Willie said as he patted my mother’s arm. “Seems like more than just Boaz and Art have your back.”
Mom gave him a weak smile. “Yes, but we still need to find them. They’re my main posse over there.”
While I gave Wainwright and Muffin extra pets and scratches, I said to the guys, “Thanks for taking care of the critters this morning. Did you stay here last night?”
“No,” Willie said with a smile, “but when we came to get your car in the wee hours, the look on Wainwright’s face told me he was expecting breakfast, even if it was still dark out.” He motioned toward the living room. “Let’s go sit down and talk.”
Once we were seated, Willie pulled something out of his pocket. It was a cell phone with World’s Best Grandpa emblazoned on the case. The face of the phone was shattered. “That’s Art’s phone,” Mom said with great concern from her seat on the recliner. “Where did you find it?”
“In the bushes near his front door,” Willie said. “It was dead, but we took it to a friend of ours. He was able to recharge it and bypass the passcode.”
Mom chuckled. “Some tough passcode. It’s 1-2-3-4 because Art can’t remember anything more complicated.”
“Did you learn anything from the phone?” I asked.
“A lot,” Willie said with a smile aimed at Mom. “I think it’s safe to say, Grace, that your posse is somewhere together.”
Mom sank deeper into the recliner with relief at hearing the news. “You mean Boaz and Art are together?” Lorraine sat on the arm of the recliner and put an arm across her grandmother’s shoulders.
“Quite possibly,” Buzz said, “but we’re not sure.”
“The last few calls made to this phone were from a burner phone,” Willie explained, “but there’s voicemail from a man asking Art to help him.”
“Did Art call him back?” I asked.
“Yes,” Willie confirmed. “We don’t know what they talked about, but the calls were made around eleven the night Grace and Lorraine found that body.”
“Wasn’t that the time that woman with the dog said she saw Art packing his car?” Buzz asked.
I nodded. “Yes, and it was shortly before Mom and Lorraine went through the window.”
Willie took a seat on the sofa next to the recliner. He leaned toward Mom, the phone held out. A recording of a man’s voice filled the room. The voicemail was urgent, and the caller identified himself to Art as Boaz. He told Art to call him back as soon as possible, that he and Ringo needed Art’s help. After imploring Art to not tell anyone he’d called, the call ended.
“Was that the voice of Boaz Shankleman?” Willie asked Mom.
She nodded. “It certainly was. I’d recognize it anywhere, even if he hadn’t said who he was.”
“But what does this mean?” I asked. “Obviously Shankleman asked Art for help and Art dashed off to give it, but why haven’t they called? Especially Art, who would know that people would be worried sick about him.”
“And who smashed Art’s phone?” Lorraine asked.
“There’s something else,” Willie said. We all turned our eyes on him, worried that it was bad news. “One of my associates heard back from his contact with the Armenian gang. They did take out Titan, but there’s no indication or buzz at all about them killing the Fox woman. The contact said their only target was Titan and his files.” Still holding the phone, Willie leaned back against the sofa. “But here’s where it gets interesting: the informant said that the reason Titan was targeted for execution was because the head of the gang got word that something was going to go down that would have the police crawling all over Titan West and Acid Storm.”
“With Titan West up to his neck in doing favors for the gang,” added Buzz, “that meant great exposure to the Armenians and their business. That’s why they took his records when they killed him.”
“And why he was so paranoid when we got there,” I said, piecing everything together. “He was behind locked doors gathering everything up, especially his laptop, so he could go on the run with insurance against the bad guys.”
“So somehow he must have known the gang was coming for him,” Mom said. “And he must have warned Boaz and the others to get out of Dodge too.”
“Exactly,” confirmed Willie. “Something was going to rain down on Acid Storm, which in turn would expose Titan’s shady business dealings.”
“Um…,” began Lorraine. We all turned to her to find her white as school paste. “If we had been in Titan’s office when they came for him, we probably would have been killed too. Right?”
“It’s called collateral damage, honey,” Mom said without any sugarcoating.
“Mom!” I snapped, but it was too late.
Lorraine’s eyes rolled back in her head as she started to slide off the arm of the recliner, but Buzz, who had been leaning against the wall by Wainwright’s bed, hopped forward and caught her in his strong arms before she hit the hardwood floor with a thud. He laid her gently on the floor and started patting her cheeks. I ran to the kitchen to fetch some water and a wet dishtowel while Mom and Willie hovered above her. Even Wainwright joined in by giving Lorraine some slobbery kisses.
Once she came to, Lorraine leaned against the side of the recliner and sipped her water. Buzz sat next to her, holding the damp towel against her neck and making sure she remained stable. After a few minutes, Willie said, “Maybe we should talk about this later.”
“No,” said Lorraine. “I’ll be fine, and I want to hear this.” Her color was returning slowly. I wondered if Willie had mentioned any of this to Greg and Clark. My guess was no because if he had, both my cell phone and Lorraine’s would be lit up like Christmas trees.
“Okay, to recap,” Willie began, “someone, who knows who, alerted the Armenians that something was about to go down involving Titan West and Acid Storm that would cause the police to look into everything having to do with them.” Willie had retaken his seat on the sofa but now was back on his feet again, nervous energy almost sparking off of him. “Someone also alerted Titan that the Armenians were about to come after him.”
“Maybe it was the same person?” suggested Mom.
“True, but why?” asked Willie as he paced. “In alerting the gang about a possible police investigation, the person who did it had to know that such an action would put a target on Titan’s back. Gangs don’t leave loose ends for cops to find and follow. Whoever notified the Armenians wanted Titan out of the way and possibly the band members too. In essence, he bought a hit on Titan that he didn’t have to pay for.”
“It could be that Titan alerted the band members about the gang,” Mom suggested.
“Yes,” Willie agreed. “If Titan found out, he might have put them on alert, which is why they got out of town. After all, he had a lot of history with these guys and had no reason to see them killed.”
“That we know of,” Buzz noted from his spot on the floor next to Lorraine.
“Except that Shankleman fired Titan. After the Fourth of July, he was no longer booking gigs for them,” I said. “Shankleman gave the job to Cydney Fox.”
“The Fox woman is the monkey wrench in this theory,” Mom stated. “I could see Boaz taking off once he learned some gang might be after him, but what would Fox have to do with that?” Mom looked at me. “And didn’t you say the way she was killed felt personal?”
I nodded, happy that I’d had a few hours of sleep before my brain had to go through these mental calisthenics. “In spite of having the motive of Fox taking away his business with Acid Storm, I don’t think Titan killed her. He seemed genuinely surprised by her death.” I paused. “And what about the timing?” I asked. “It seems off. Shankleman has been gone a couple of weeks, but it looks like Titan and the other band members just found out about the threats recently. Very recently.”
“Good point,” Willie said. He stopped pacing and faced us.
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sp; “Maybe the gang stuff was a decoy,” came a small voice. All eyes turned to Lorraine as she took a sip of water. “We’re looking at this as if Cydney Fox was”—she began, then swallowed hard before continuing—“collateral damage. What if her murder was the focus and the gang thing something to blame it on? You know, a cover-up for the real crime. Maybe the murderer wanted it to look like she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That’s a good twist, honey,” Mom told her. “Like one of those murder mysteries on TV.”
“If that’s the case,” I said, trying to put all the moving parts together to make a single working engine, “then whoever wanted to kill Cydney Fox had to know about Titan’s connection to the Armenians.” I put my head in my hands and willed all the pieces to line up nice and orderly, like people waiting for the latest cell phone.
“Maybe the murderer knew them all,” Willie suggested, “and this was his way of taking them all out without getting his hands too dirty. He’d do the Fox woman, and the gang would clean up the band and its manager.” Willie turned to me. “Didn’t you say they pissed off a lot of people back when they were high on the charts?”
“Yes, when the scandal with Kurt Spencer-Hall hit and the band broke up, there were a lot of lawsuits thrown at them from all kinds of places—venues, record companies, music promoters, you name it. The band went bankrupt, I believe. They broke up and lost everything. But wouldn’t that be a long time to hold a grudge like that? I mean, the cases would have been settled by now.”
“What about the sex scandal part?” Mom said. “Maybe there’s some crazy victim or victim’s father still ready to swing a golf club at members of the band. Maybe news of the band being back together stirred up old buckets of hate, and someone acted on it.”
Rhythm & Clues Page 20