Ladies' Circle of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 8)

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

“I need you to help me pick out an outfit and do a dry run to settle my nerves,” he said.

  “All right. Who’s the girl?”

  “You don’t know her.”

  “That’s cagey,” Lacy said.

  “I don’t know her. I met her online on one of those dating sights. It’s sort of humiliating,” he said.

  “Why? It’s not like our cup runneth over with available singles in this town. Sometimes you have to outsource. There’s no shame in that,” she said.

  “If you say so. Are you ready to leave your bunker?”

  “I suppose. Did we win?”

  “Barely,” he said. “And good thing because Jason wouldn’t forgive me if I let you get pegged and lost the game.”

  “I think Jason is realistic about my chances of survival, even with your help,” she said.

  “Jason’s not realistic about anything when it comes to you. And now you’re doing that goofy grin thing. I hope I’m not as gag-worthy as you guys are if I ever fall in love.”

  “Don’t say ‘if.’ Say ‘when.’ It’s going to happen for you. You’re too good of a guy to fall through the cracks,” she said.

  “Maybe you should write my dating profile,” he said.

  “I’d be happy to.” She emerged blinking into the fluorescent semi-brightness of the gym. The rest of the team was still there, chatting in a circle and swigging sports drinks.

  “Why does everyone get so sweaty and dehydrated in this game?” she asked.

  “Because they stick around to play it,” he said. “Are you ready to go? I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “I should say hi to our teammates,” she said.

  “Why?” he said.

  “To be polite,” she said.

  “No, really, why?” he said.

  “Just come on,” she said. She advanced across the court and approached the circle that Dan, Marcia, and Celia had created.

  “I didn’t think you were here tonight, although I guess they wouldn’t have let us play if you weren’t. I didn’t see you at all, though,” Marcia said.

  “I got tagged out early,” Lacy explained.

  “And you didn’t come back in for the next round?” Dan said.

  There was more than one round? Lacy looked to Travis for guidance. He nodded and mouthed, “Nine.”

  Nine rounds? No wonder everyone is so drenched, she thought. “I took it pretty hard when I got out,” Lacy said. “I needed some time to cool off. I’m so competitive at sportsing. I’ll work on that. Good game, though.”

  “It was a tough one, but we pulled it out,” Dan said.

  “When does Jason come back?” Celia asked. Lacy knew that was code for, We need our star player, stat!

  “He’ll be here for Monday’s game,” she said.

  “Not Thursday’s?” Celia said, clearly disappointed.

  “No, but I’ll be sure to bring my A-game,” Lacy said. Celia nodded, looking less than reassured. No one mentioned Bob or his ex-wife Deb, as Lacy had hoped they might. She was helpless to know how to bring it up casually. So, that guy who got crushed by his lift, let’s talk about him, didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

  “We should probably get going,” Travis said.

  “You’re riding with him?” Marcia asked. Her glance slid back and forth between Lacy and Travis. Was she searching for hints of romance? Did she not remember that Lacy was dating Jason? Could she not tell that Travis was six years younger and like a little brother?

  “I usually walk everywhere, but I’m sure Jason made him promise to take me home,” Lacy said, although why she felt the need to explain herself to a nosy stranger was beyond her.

  “You don’t have a car?” Dan said, and he was practically salivating. “You should come by the dealership. I could hook you up.”

  “Oh, Dan, not tonight,” Marcia said, laughing. She laid a possessive hand on Dan’s arm. Clearly the woman had problems if she viewed Lacy as a threat to her husband. Lacy wanted no part of that scenario, either Marcia’s jealousy or Dan’s salesmanship. But Dan had worked with Bob Hoskins, and Lacy needed an opening to talk to him about that.

  “Maybe I’ll do that,” she said.

  “Excellent,” Dan said. He didn’t rub his hands together in anticipatory glee, but Lacy could tell he wanted to.

  Travis put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She said goodbye to the group and followed Travis out of the gym. “You’re awfully anxious to get out of here,” Lacy told him.

  “I have to work tonight,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You should have said something.”

  “It’s okay. I slept today, but I need to grab a shower and some supper before I go in,” he said.

  “Sure,” she said, hurrying now. She remembered from Jason’s days working patrol how exhausting it was to work the late shift. Poor Travis. She had been neglecting her friendship with him since she and Jason started dating. She should do something nice for him. Maybe in the morning she would take him breakfast. He still lived with his mom, and she saw that he ate well, but a meal at work was always a good thing.

  “I know what you’re doing, and I want you to stop!” The voice came out of nowhere, as did the finger in her face.

  “Whoa, Detective, take it easy,” Travis said. He stepped closer to Lacy, inserting himself between her and the big, angry man.

  Detective Arroyo was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. A towel was draped around his neck as if he had just worked out. He must have spotted them on his way out of the Y. He turned his rage toward Travis. “Easy yourself, Deputy, or I’ll knock your career back so far you’ll be coming out of your mother’s womb.”

  He would do it, too, Lacy knew. He was the vindictive type. “Travis has nothing to do with this,” she said. She put on a hand on his chest and gave him a push out of the line of fire.

  “He’d better not,” the detective said, but his wrath was directed back at her now. “And if you try to insinuate yourself in my investigation, you’ll find yourself in a cell. I mean it.”

  “Put me in a cell, and I’ll sue you for impinging on my first amendment rights as a member of the press,” she said. “I haven’t done one thing to step over the line as a reporter, and you know it. But while I have you here, let me ask you a question for the record: Do you find it suspicious that the lift control was by Bob Hoskins’ right hand when he was left-handed?”

  His finger was still in her face. It shook and turned purple with rage as he tried not to deck her. “Stay out of my investigation.”

  “So you admit there is an investigation,” she said.

  “There’s always an investigation when someone dies in unusual circumstances, but as soon as we inventory the cars on his lot, it’s going to be over. And you can put that on the record because I’m not going to be the one who looks like a moron when all of this is over,” he said. He spun and stormed away.

  “You have a way with men,” Travis said.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said.

  “Don’t sweat it. What are you up to?”

  “I thought it would be fun to get back to some writing. I’m covering a death for the paper,” she said.

  “And getting under the good detective’s skin in the process,” he said.

  “That’s an added bonus,” she said.

  “What does Jason think about this?”

  “Jason supports me in whatever I choose to do,” she said.

  “In other words, he doesn’t know,” Travis said.

  “And you can’t tell him,” she said.

  “As if I would want to get in the middle of that,” he said. He walked to his car and opened her door.

  “On second thought, I think I’ll walk,” she said.

  “I promised to take you home,” he said.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t, plus I need to cool off. That confrontation will keep me awake tonight if I don’t,” she said.

  He wavered.

  “Give in because you won’t win. B
e done with me. Go home and vegetate awhile before work. You have my blessing.” She waved her hand dismissively toward the car.

  “As you wish, your majesty,” he said. He closed the door, went to his side of the car, waved, and drove away.

  Lacy waited to make sure he was really gone before she turned and went in the opposite direction. There was something she needed to do, and no one would approve of it. Then maybe you shouldn’t do it, said a little voice that sounded a whole lot like Jason’s. She tuned it out and walked faster.

  Chapter 7

  Bob Hoskins’ repair shop had floodlights and razor wire. He must have been paranoid that people would break in. Lacy cursed his paranoia as she stood outside and tried to figure out how to break in.

  She could see her mother’s car. It was wedged between a blue Buick with front-end damage and a maroon Honda with a cracked windshield. All she needed to do was drive the car off the lot, and no one would be the wiser about her mother’s connection to Bob Hoskins. When Detective Arroyo ran the plates and inventoried the lot, her mother’s name would come up, which meant Lacy’s name would come up. Even if he didn’t pounce on that connection, he would prolong the process of releasing the car. It was better for everyone involved for Lacy to get the car out and remove any chance of her mother’s name being connected to Bob Hoskins.

  Technically, she wasn’t breaking the law, or so she told herself. It wasn’t stealing if you were removing your own property. And could it be termed breaking and entering if the owner of the property was dead? All she was doing was retrieving what rightfully belonged to her mother.

  Then why are you sneaking in after hours when it’s dark? Why don’t you come back when it’s daylight and the lot is open? Jason’s insistent little warning whispered in her mind again.

  “Shh, I’m thinking,” she said, and jumped at the sound of her own voice.

  When she dropped off the car with her mother, she saw Bob hang the keys just inside the door. There were a lot of key holders, and one of them had been marked, “GATE” in bold letters. Lacy remembered because she had thought it funny that he would so clearly mark the key to his security gate. She also had a vague memory of duct tape covering the lock on the door between the shop and the yard. She would be able to open the door, grab her mother’s keys, unlock the gate, drive out, and lock the gate behind her. No harm, no foul. All she had to do was get over the fence, and she would be home free.

  There was no razor wire over the gate, but it was tall and she had never scaled a fence before. That didn’t mean she couldn’t, though. How hard could it be? In movies, people being chased did it all the time.

  She shook the fence, testing its durability. It felt sturdy enough to hold her weight. With one last furtive sweep of the area, she grabbed hold and began to climb.

  Two feet up, her right foot began to protest. It was bent at a funny angle to fit in the holes of the fence, the metal shoved hard into her arch.

  After another foot, she got a Charlie horse that almost sent her plummeting. She tightened her grip on the fence and loosened her foot, shaking it to restore feeling and ease the cramp. As soon as the pain went away in the right one, her left one started to cramp. She switched legs and shook that one vigorously, the fence rattling noisily in the process.

  The pain eased and she went still as she made her inspection of the area. Had anyone watched her shake like a wet dog? No, all was clear and she resumed climbing.

  She reached the top and faced a new problem. How did one get over? In theory, it had seemed like an easy thing to reach the apex and swing over, but the gate wasn’t sturdy enough to support her weight while she stood upright and moved her legs over. She would have to slide, shimmy, and hope she didn’t plop onto the cement below. This was where physical conditioning and good hand-eye coordination would have come in handy. Unfortunately for Lacy, she had neither of those things. All she had was a strong desire not to die. She clutched and rolled, awkwardly passing from one side to the other. Who needed razor wire when the top of the fence poked relentlessly into her tender flesh?

  When all of her finally reached the other side, she encountered a new problem: she was facing the wrong way. Somehow during the transition she had turned herself around so she was no longer hugging the fence. She had a clear view of the lot, but the metal mesh dug into her back and she couldn’t move. For a moment, she panicked. But then she quickly talked herself back to calm.

  “This isn’t a problem. All I have to do is let go with one hand, swing around, and catch the fence. Easy-peasy.” Still, it took another minute to convince herself to let go of the security of the fence. At last she unclenched her right hand and used her foot to push off, giving herself the momentum to swing forward.

  But instead of swinging hard to the left, she jerked to a sudden stop, and then everything happened at once. She immediately comprehended that her pants were caught on the fence. Instinct took over and she gave a rough jerk to tear them free. The quick motion worked to dislodge her from her entanglement, but it also released her from the safety of the fence. Her arms windmilled, trying to catch anything to break her fall, but she was facing the wrong way. With nothing to grab onto, she plummeted through the air, arms swinging in aimless circles.

  The ground rushed up to meet her, and she hit it hard. Many years of falling had taught her a few things, so her head was protected. Her arms and legs took the brunt of the impact, and she rolled slightly to absorb the shock.

  After a few seconds of stunned disbelief, she took stock of her condition. Everything hurt, but not badly. Nothing was broken. She opened her eyes and inspected her arms. They were covered in road rash from landing on soft gravel and hard cement, but they weren’t as shredded as they could have been.

  Gingerly, she sat up and inspected her legs. Her knees were a little bloody, but nothing she couldn’t manage.

  She leaned in for a closer inspection and froze. Why were her knees bloody? Because they were exposed. But why were they exposed?

  Her baleful gaze swung to the fence. The tattered remains of her pants hung there like a cicada’s discarded shell. They were beyond repair, but she didn’t need pants to drive a car. All she had to do was tear them down, get her mother’s car, and go home. No one would ever know about this.

  Tremulously, she tottered to her feet and reached for the pants. Just as her fingers brushed the hem, a spotlight illuminated her in its beam. A warning siren gave a brief WHOOP and a man spoke.

  “Ma’am, step away from the fence.” He stepped out of his car, and even with the glaring spotlight blinding her, Lacy knew he was a cop.

  This is not going to end well for me, Lacy thought as she took a step away from her pants and put up her hands.

  He moved forward and pushed open the gate, which Lacy now realized wasn’t locked. “Ma’am, what are you doing?” he asked. In the darkness, Lacy couldn’t tell who it was. She knew some of the deputies, but not all. This one was older. The face was familiar, but she couldn’t remember his name. His flashlight beam landed on her face. “Hey, don’t I know you?”

  “No,” Lacy said.

  “You’re Cantor’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

  “Uh…” Her mind was blank. How was she going to get out of this without Jason finding out?

  “You are. I remember you now. What are you doing here? And where are your pants?”

  “It’s kind of a long story,” she said. “One I tell better while wearing clothes. Do you mind?” She motioned to her pants.

  He tore them down and inspected them. “I don’t think these are going to do you much good.” He sounded amused as he tossed the pants toward her.

  She tried to catch them, missed, and bent to pick them up. He was right; she realized when she made her own inspection. The pants had ripped almost in half from top to bottom. Only the seams at the ankles still held together. She dangled them in front of her, for all the good they did. Her kneecaps were now modestly concealed, but her hindquarters were still flapping in
the breeze.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I was coming to get my mom’s car,” she said.

  “Now?” he asked, incredulous.

  “He said it would be ready today,” she said, stamping her foot in frustration. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so humiliated. In her life, a lot of embarrassing things had happened, but she was usually wearing pants. This was like a bad dream, one from which she couldn’t wake.

  “Ma’am, are you aware that the owner of this shop is dead?”

  “Please stop calling me ma’am. It’s Lacy, and yes, I’m aware. Look, I’m really sorry. I can see this was a miscalculation on my part. Can I please go?”

  His smile slipped. “If it were up to me, yes, but Detective Arroyo gave us specific instructions to pick up anyone we find here. It’s almost like he knew this was going to happen.”

  “Please, I can’t go to the station like this,” she pled. Her voice wobbled.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said, and he sounded sincere. “We like to take care of our own, but Detective Arroyo has a way of finding things out. If he knew I let you go, he’d have my job.”

  She nodded, defeated. It wasn’t fair of her to ask him to cover for her.

  “I won’t cuff you,” he said.

  “Oh, goody,” she said, although she was thankful for the small favor. He held open the back door of his cruiser. Lacy ducked inside. The backs of her thighs stuck on the leather and made a loud ripping noise when she tried to slide across. She was almost positive she saw the deputy’s shoulders shake with repressed laughter as he got behind the wheel and closed the door. She turned her head out the window and tried to tamp down the rolling tides of mortification.

  She would never get over this, never. It was bad enough that she was being hauled in to the sheriff’s office without pants, but it was her boyfriend’s place of work. Did these things happen to other women? Did they ever accidentally show up at their boyfriends’ offices in a t-shirt and underwear? Lacy hoped so. She would hate to think she was the only one.

  “Is there any way we could not tell Jason about this?” she asked.