Thicker Than Blood

by Penny Rudolph

  Goldie’s eyes filled with fright.

  “Give me the card and go on back,” Rachel said in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t ask you to do this.”

  The black woman stared after the helicopter. “I’m no quitter.” Her trembling fingers were clumsy, but on the fourth try, the card nudged the door free.

  Rachel breathed her relief. “No alarm.”

  Goldie was less sanguine. “Don’t just stand there with your feet all over the floor, get inside.”

  Patches of light from various windows mottled the linoleum. “What if the burglar alarm is a silent one that just dials the cops?” Rachel whispered.

  Goldie hissed in the dark: “Now you think of that?”

  They moved through the front office to the shop, where the ghostly glow from a skylight gave the row of cars a crouching, sinister look. Rachel pulled a mini Maglite from her pocket, but in her rush stumbled over something. The resulting loud clank spooked both of them again.

  Regaining her balance, she moved on down the line of dented fenders, bumpers, hoods. Next to the last on the left was a dark Cadillac. “Yes!” she whispered loudly, motioning to Goldie.

  The Caddy’s back bumper was crowding the wall, making it impossible to see the license plate, but the right front fender was missing. The Maglite’s narrow beam halted on the rearview mirror. The misspelled message was there: Objects In Mirror Are Close Than They Appear.

  “This is it.” The passenger door creaked as she opened it. The overhead light flashed on.

  “What do you think you’re going to find?” Goldie was at her elbow.

  “Don’t know.” Rachel ran her hand over the dash. The glove compartment was locked. “Shit.”

  “Since you already made me an accomplice, you might as well let me take a look.”

  Rachel stood aside while Goldie reached under the seat for the lever, slid the seat back and ran her hands along the floor. “It’s a filthy mess under here,” she said, bringing out, one at a time, a crushed tissue box, a comb, three quarters, and a small slip of paper.

  “What’s that?”

  “Says Texaco on it. Looks like one of them receipts you get when you pay for your gas in person with a credit card.” Goldie handed it to Rachel.

  “I thought all gas stations were set up so you pay at the pump.”

  “I guess some aren’t,” Goldie said.

  “Then it’ll have a date and a name.” Rachel shone the light on it. “Damn. The part with the name is torn off and the signature looks like it was written by a baboon.”

  “Nothing else under there but lots of dust,” Goldie grumbled.

  Back out on the sidewalk, they walked steadily to the corner, then broke into a run. “If they’re putting on a new fender, what do you think they did with the old one?” Rachel gasped, her knee reducing her gait to a hobble.

  “I not only don’t know, I don’t want to know,” Goldie grunted.

  They were still out of breath when they reached the parking garage. Giggling like schoolgirls, they threw themselves onto the bench in front.

  “Good thing we both have jobs,” Rachel said, clutching at her knee.

  “Might have trouble making it in a life of crime,” Goldie tittered with glee. “But by Jehovah, we did it, didn’t we!”

  Drawing from her pocket the slip of paper Goldie had found, Rachel examined it with the Maglite. “The date is the day Jason was killed,” she said, all trace of humor gone from her voice. “It’s from a Texaco station in Riverside and there’s a ticket number. Somewhere, there’s also a full copy of this bill. With the name.”

  Slowly, Goldie nodded. “And I’ll bet whoever signed it killed Jason.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Two mornings later, Rachel woke up in a fretful mood. Why hadn’t she heard from Hank? Well, it was only a few days since.… Yes, but.…

  And what the hell had happened to that Caddy?

  When most of the cars had parked, the warm, yeasty smell of Dunkin’ Donuts lured her down the street from the garage. Sliding onto a stool in the corner behind the register, she ordered two glazed and a large coffee. By the time the cup arrived, one doughnut was history. Rachel was wiping the crumbs of the second from her mouth when a pair of male voices rose above the usual buzz of break-time snackers.

  “Gimme a man to deal with any day.”

  “At least men understand why you can’t pick a fender off a tree and slap it on a car in fifteen minutes. Andy’s already hot enough, after those tools got swiped.”

  “I still think there’s something weird goin’ on with that Caddy.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass. That’s their problem. But what are they doin’ putting a woman in charge of it? She sashays in acting like the Queen of England. And he chews us up and spits us out at her feet.”

  Rachel stared at the two men. One had a small potbelly and a serious need for a shave; the other had the pained look of someone who needed some Tums. Both wore short-sleeve blue work shirts.

  “You talking about that DeVille the water agency sent over for a new fender?” she asked, keeping her face blank.

  The big man stared at her with watery pale-blue eyes. “What if we are?”

  “It’s my job to keep track of where all the cars are. We’ve been wondering when that one would be ready.”

  “You’re behind times,” the darker man piped up. “It’s already picked up. This morning.”

  Rachel dropped her napkin and stooped to retrieve it. “We were told it wouldn’t be ready till next week. You know who picked it up?”

  Both men shrugged.

  “It sure would help me a lot to know who picked up the car. I spend all my time tracking down the jerks who make personal use of the fleet cars. You know how it is.”

  The younger man laid a five on the counter. “Some woman.”

  “White hair,” said potbelly. “A little long in the tooth, if you know what I mean, but used to be a looker. You could tell that.”

  Rachel’s napkin skittered from her lap again.

  The younger man plucked it from the floor and handed it to her. “Check with Andy, he probably knows.”

  “Thanks.”

  As she paid the cashier, Rachel could hear Potbelly grunting, “I sure as hell hope the old dingbat is in a shitload of trouble.”

  333

  “Well? What do you think?” Rachel asked Goldie as she turned onto the Foothill Freeway toward Riverside.

  “If this Charlotte rushed the fender job and picked up the car herself, we got a real live suspect.”

  They found the Texaco station just off the freeway in Riverside. The small whitewashed building was decked with pots of petunias in macramé hangers.

  Inside, the woman standing behind the counter was well over six feet with bright auburn hair. She was dressed as impeccably as a Saks mannequin, right down to two broad gold bands on her wrist. “Mornin’, ladies. What can we do for you?” The deep, rich voice delivered the words as if they were a line in a play.

  Rachel held out the torn receipt. “The name is missing from this and we were wondering if you might have the original.”

  The woman studied the slip of paper. “That’s weeks old, hon. The original is sent to the credit card company.” She drawled the words in a campy rendition of a Southern accent.

  Goldie peered over Rachel’s shoulder. “Don’t you have to keep a copy?”

  “Well, of course, the bookkeeper takes care of that. I’m sure he has just reams of these things.”

  “Could we possibly talk to your bookkeeper?” Rachel asked.

  “Well, now I suppose you could. But he’s a very jittery type. Trust me on this, he does not take to being bothered. Gets him rattled, and then he can’t find any papers at all.”

  “You on the stage?” Goldie asked. “I think I saw you somewhere.”

  The woman beamed. “Why I sure am, honey, I sure enough am. I sing, I dance. They call me Princess. As of right now, I’m at Tiny’s. Maybe you heard of
it? North Hollywood?”

  Goldie was nodding. “Of course. We go there all the time. Maybe we could get together a party and come some night soon. How long you going to be there?”

  “At least a month, honey.” The woman was straightening her already perfect clothing. “We would love to see you.”

  “How many people does that place hold? We might just rent out the whole place.”

  “Oh, my, wouldn’t that be nice. I do believe it seats at least eighty.”

  “That might not be quite big enough,” Goldie said. “You ever do special shows?”

  “We certainly do.” The woman patted the back of her auburn hair. “Especially if the price is right.”

  “What’s your agent’s phone number?” Rachel kept her face a perfect blank.

  Retrieving a gold mesh handbag from behind the counter, the redhead handed her a card.

  “That receipt,” Rachel purred. “It’s real important. How can we get a copy?”

  “Let me think a minute.” The woman tilted her head and touched her cheek, then walked with a swaying gait brought on by four-inch platform heels to the far end of the counter. She looked at a list of numbers taped to the wall, then picked up the phone and began to dial.

  “Angel, I need to talk to someone in customer service. Merchant customer service.… Hello, honey, this is Colleen at Ivy’s Texaco. Riverside C-A. We have a silly little problem here and I wonder if you could help.… Well, you see, the boss has a little something on the side, if you know what I mean, and he gives her free gas.… Ummm, some of us hold out for diamonds and furs.… Apparently his wife caught him, so she knows who this little gal is. The boss tears the name off his sweetie’s charge slips, so wifey won’t see that she’s still around. Problem is, he tore the name off two of those little slips, and we need to get in touch with the person who signed the second slip, but we don’t know who it is.… Oh, honey, I do hate to put you to so much trouble.… Yes, I have the receipt number right here: 5417680. That’s right. Ivy’s Texaco.” She gave Rachel and Goldie a dazzling smile.

  “Well, I don’t know. Could be I could find the time, but I cost a tiny bit more than a tank of gas.… Merchant number 2879320.… Well, yes, the ticket is a couple weeks old. We are runnin’ just a tad behind. You can’t read it?”

  Colleen glanced at the two women. “The first name is maybe Carlotta? And the last name begins with E-M or E-R.…”

  Rachel took a deep breath and nodded.

  “I guess that would be it, sweetie,” Colleen said. “You be sure and call me now, you hear?” She hung up. “Most problems can be solved with wee little dab of deception.”

  Goldie burst into appreciative applause and Rachel thanked Colleen for her help.

  The moment they were out the door, Goldie let out a whistle. “She should charge admission to that station!”

  “You were pretty good yourself.”

  “Company I keep is making me a liar as well as a burglar.”

  “Obviously the signature was Charlotte Emerson’s,” Rachel said as they got into the car.

  “Whe-ew. I hope to tell you. We got something to work on now. Pull into that Dairy Queen up there. We have earned us a sundae.”

  Goldie went to the walk-up window and came back with two little tubs of ice cream. “I hope hot fudge is okay because that’s all they got.”

  A spoonful halfway to her mouth, Rachel began to laugh. “How did you know she was an actress?”

  Goldie was scraping her remaining ice cream into a neat mound. “I take it they don’t have drag queens near that farm where you grew up?”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “Hands, honey, hands. Lots of big, tall women out there, but they don’t have hands as big as hams.”

  Halfway home, freeway traffic began to bog down. Rachel tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as a dirt-buggy passed them on the right.

  “Aren’t we forgetting that this Charlotte person had every right to be driving that car and putting gas in it?” Goldie asked.

  “There was blood on that fender.”

  “You sure you could tell blood from catsup, or chocolate ice cream, for that matter?”

  “Jason’s tie tack was snagged under the hood.” A motorcycle buzzed past on the shoulder and cut in, forcing Rachel to hit the brakes.

  “Must be thousands of tie thingamabobs that look alike, right here in LA.”

  Rachel pulled out to pass the now dawdling motorcyclist. “Not like that one. You saw it. Or you saw the cuff link that matches it. We know that was Jason’s. Or maybe you think someone else kept cuff links in Jason’s bathroom.”

  “You downright certain in your head they matched? That Charlotte took it before you had a chance to put the two side by side. That don’t smell quite right either.”

  “I hardly think she knows I have the matching tie tack. That was coincidence.”

  Goldie was unconvinced. “Maybe that was coincidence, and maybe they match.”

  Rachel took her eyes off the road long enough to flick a look at her friend. “Of course they match.”

  “Be nice to know for sure.”

  “Okay, so maybe we can get hold of that damn cuff link.” A truck lumbered by, rocking the car and leaving the air reeking of diesel.

  “We get caught again, she won’t believe your story about a ring. We’ll be up to our earlobes in deep, bad-smelling stuff.” Goldie tilted her head and peered at Rachel. “I just thought of something real outlandish. It’s you that connects all these weird happenings.”

  “Good God! Are you saying you think I had something to do with this?”

  “Don’t get your underwear in a bundle, honey. Course not. Not that you know about anyway. I’m just trying to string all this stuff together. But it keeps jumping around. You’re the only part that stays put. What was it you said when we first found the envelope in that bathroom?”

  “I said maybe Jason was killed because he found out they were making street drugs in the water quality lab.” Rachel tapped the steering wheel. “But we both thought the stuff in that envelope was some kind of drug.”

  “And your guy Lonnie was a drug user. You don’t think he had any connection with Jason, but how about that lab?”

  “Not that I know of. Except he used to make deliveries over there.”

  Goldie’s brown eyes grew thoughtful. “Deliveries of what?”

  “Packages that came in by helicopter.”

  “Ever look inside one of those packages?”

  “Of course not. Why should I?” Rachel stared at Goldie, who suggested that most drivers prefer to watch the road. They rode in silence for a time.

  “Did I tell you the cops couldn’t find the wreckage from that plane?” Rachel asked.

  “Out there in the boonies? They get the Academy rejects. They probably need a compass to find their own butts.”

  “Maybe. But I think that planeload would be worth a couple mil on the street. Seems likely they were smuggling it in from Mexico. That kind of money could turn a whole sheriff’s department blind.”

  Goldie thought for a moment. “I agree it sure looks like drugs, and quacks like drugs. But this damn vitamin keeps turning up, and it’s not a drug.”

  “How much do you know about the drug scene?”

  Goldie gave a guffaw. “I’ve heard plenty about coke and crack. Weed is the only thing I’ve ever done.”

  “So we wouldn’t exactly be the first to hear if there was some new drug on the street. How many people heard of acid or angel before they got popular?”

  “So?”

  “What if the selenium is involved in making some designer drug like Ecstasy or China White?”

  “Selenium?”

  “Who would have thought they could use Sudafed, for God’s sake?”

  Goldie’s smooth, dark face furrowed into a frown. “Don’t seem real likely, if this selenium stuff is serious poison.”

  “All drugs are poison,” Rachel said. “Maybe it’s a terrific high.”r />
  “For what? Thirty seconds and then you’re snuffed? Not too good for repeat business.”

  “But if the amount is small enough.…”

  “Right. Then it’s just good, clean fun. Get yourself a dose of vitamins along with your fix?”

  “If you’ve got a lab—or free use of one—must be kind of tempting to brew up a little pot of gold,” Rachel pointed out.

  “You’d need connections on both ends, like where do you get the starters?”

  “Maybe you just order what you need from a chemical supplier.”

  Goldie chortled. “Hello. I’d like to place an order for fourteen kilos of opium. What for? Oh, I’m just stirring up a little batch of H.”

  “Okay. Narcotics might be a little tricky. Amphetamines would be easier.”

  “Right.” Goldie made a droll face. “Piece of cake. Or maybe a brownie.”

  “Suppose you could easily get everything you need. When you’re done, you probably don’t want to take it out on the street yourself. Not if you’re a nice, clean, college-educated Gen-X chemist.”

  “No problem,” Goldie said. “You just go down to the nearest high school with a few fifty-dollar bills. In two minutes the dealers would be lining up. Might take a little longer to work your way back along the chain to the wholesaler.”

  Rachel thumped the steering wheel. “Maybe that plane load was the raw materials.”

  Goldie studied Rachel’s profile for a moment. “Maybe you need to start being real extra careful. Whoever is calling the shots on this is not Mother Hubbard. No ma’am. This smells like real dirty business.”

  “We’ve got to get into that lab and look around.”

  “What’s this we, white woman?”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  When the helicopter took off the next afternoon, Rachel braced herself against the downdraft, looked at the package in her hands, and knew what she was going to do.

  Grumbling inwardly about the smog and humidity, she put the package on the dresser in her bedroom, shucked her jeans and tee shirt, and wriggled into a pair of stockings that in the dampness kept sticking to her legs.

  She took an electric blue miniskirt from her closet and topped it with a white knit shirt. She hadn’t worn the shirt in years because the V-neck plunged almost to her knees, but now she nodded approvingly at her image in the mirror and reached for the big round earrings she hadn’t worn lately either.