Blues at 11

by Rebecca Grace

  “We’re old friends.”

  He drew a deep breath. “I wasn’t giving him anything tonight. I want...”

  I knew what he wanted. Money. The room behind us was noisy and I shifted toward him. “Meet me at the end of Mira Loma pier Tuesday evening and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I work until six.”

  “Seven then. I want to hear the damn thing.”

  “Sure, it’s on my phone.” He tapped his pocket.

  “There better not be copies.”

  “No, and we can erase it after…” His smile was hesitant. He was still playing the adoring fan.

  “Damn right we will.” I turned and marched away.

  Outside the restaurant I handed my ticket to the valet. I had given him a twenty earlier to keep my car nearby. I climbed into it and turned south on the Pacific Coast Highway. Despite Hank’s coolness, the trip had been useful. Police now had a list of jewelry so they could search for it, and I knew Hank’s officers weren’t following me. So who was?

  Damn, I hadn’t checked my rearview mirror. Two cars were directly behind me, and another was on my left. Farther back, a car turned onto PCH. Had someone been waiting for me to leave?

  I slowed, allowing the car beside me to move ahead. The others behind me became frustrated with my pace and also passed. The car I’d seen pull into traffic remained in the mirror. That driver must have slowed because he was no closer to me than when I first saw him.

  Stepping on the gas pedal, I tried to put distance between us, but the car matched my speed. I remained in the right lane until we approached Sunset Boulevard. With only the suspicious car behind me, I yanked the steering wheel hard to make a sudden left across two lanes. I didn’t think it was legal to make a left turn against the turn light, but I did. I swung onto Sunset and watched as the other car made the same illegal turn.

  “What’s a good crime movie without a car chase,” I whispered and stepped on the gas. My heart thudded, but I kept my mind clear. This far west, Sunset was a winding ribbon through residential areas, rising and plunging through a series of canyons.

  I checked the mirror. Only one set of headlights shone behind me. If I was in my Mercedes I’d have more confidence, but I drove the rental Jaguar. Approaching a twisting stretch, I slowed, waiting for the car to pass. It hung back, remaining behind me. On the next hill, as I came down onto a straightaway, I gunned the car, zooming up the next hill. Steve McQueen at his Bullitt best.

  The persistent lights stayed on my tail.

  Fear clawed at me and my fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard they began to hurt. I whizzed around a sharp turn at a fast clip and the other car stayed with me. We climbed another hill, gaining speed and at the top I maneuvered through a quick set of turns, surprised at my own skill.

  I blew through a yellow light and he followed through the red. What the hell?

  Maybe it was time to lose him. I leaned over the wheel like Mario Andretti in an Indy 500. The car fishtailed and tires shrieked as I jerked left onto the next side street. The tail car made the same turn. Damn!

  I was taking a major chance since I had no idea where this street led. It climbed a canyon and narrowed to two lanes, flanked on either side by gravel strips. As I whipped around a turn, my wheels hit gravel and the car swerved. Trees and bushes filled my vision.

  “Oh, shit!”

  I fought to get the wheel under control and then I was back on pavement. This was crazy. I couldn’t even grab my cell and call for help. Another bad move and I’d go over the side and end up submerged in someone’s swimming pool.

  My lights flashed on a sign showing a hair pin turn coming. I gripped the wheel, bracing myself. Leaning into the turn as though my body controlled the car, I waited until it slid easily around the bend before pressing my foot on the gas pedal. I pushed forward enough so that the other car would have to do the same as it neared the curve. Behind me it spun crazily on the road, headlights wobbling.

  I held my breath, hoping…

  Then it came up the road, engine roaring. As it passed under a street light, I could make out its shape—a dark SUV, not a gray or green sedan.

  Buzzing around another turn, I spotted a dead-end sign straight ahead while the road itself swung down to the left. Twin sets of lights struck me at once, one coming from the dead end street, the other from the street on the left. Inspiration hit me and I flipped off my lights and proceeded up the dead end street. The car from that street turned down the hill while the other car drove straight in the direction of my pursuer.

  Driving into the dead end street far enough to get out of view, I made a U-turn and turned off my car. My breath came in shallow gasps while I waited, hoping he would follow the tail lights of the other car. Seconds passed and then the lights of the SUV approached. What if he saw me? Even as I considered confronting him, the car swung by and turned left, going down the hill.

  A big whoosh of air escaped me and I squeezed my trembling fingers. I’d lost him.

  ****

  I didn’t feel safe until I double bolted the door in my hotel room and gave the place a quick search. I debated calling Brad to come stay with me, but I feared he might overreact to the chase or my invitation.

  Police needed to know, so I called Callahan.

  “Detective, this is Kimberly delaGarza. Someone’s following me.”

  “Really?” His voice dripped with skepticism.

  “I was at Geneva on PCH and a car followed me onto Sunset. I tried to get away, but it stayed with me.”

  “You don’t think it was a coincidence?”

  My words spilled out—like my speedy driving. “I made several illegal turns, went through a yellow light and it went through the red. I know you’re not following me...I mean, Hank told me...” Oops.

  “Hank? As in Chief Patterson?”

  “I ran into him. I told him I thought I was being followed...”

  “Do you think he’d give away how we’re conducting our investigation?”

  “You are following me?” A tiny sliver of relief surged through my veins.

  “Miss delaGarza, what do you want me to do? Follow you to see who is following you?”

  “Could you? I mean, what if it’s the killer?” I found myself repeating Brad’s theory, but as I spoke, I realized how silly it seemed. Hell, I sounded lame even to myself. I’d let myself get caught up in Brad’s fears, watching for non-existent pursuit cars. Gray sedans? Green cars? Dark SUVs?

  “Miss delaGarza, is someone overtly threatening you?”

  “Overtly?” I thought of the hate mail I’d received, but I didn’t know if it contained threats. I put the whole pile of letters through the shredder in the hotel business center without reading them. “I don’t know.”

  “This sounds like a coincidence.”

  “Do you think I’m making this up?”

  He paused. “I think you may be overwrought. Wells’ girlfriend says she thinks she’s in danger...”

  I gulped. “The Bimbo is being followed?”

  “That’s not what I said, and that’s not what I called her.”

  His casual tone was getting to me. “I’m not an overwrought teenybopper, and I’m not making this up. You know what? Forget I called.” I hung up.

  No way was I going to be placed in the same category as Barbie the Bimbo.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Monday, 1:00 p.m.

  “Say that again.” My voice was weak, my ears unbelieving.

  “You don’t have any spare cash, Kimberly. Your house, car, your mom’s house and car, bills, expenditures. Your money is tied up.” Carl Edwards, my accountant, licked thin lips as he slouched forward. “Investments.”

  “Like stocks? Can’t I sell them and get immediate cash?”

  “It will take a few days and you’ll lose money. Early withdrawal penalties, taxes.” He spread long fingers wide and lifted his narrow shoulders in a weak shrug.

  Carl resembled a human tumbleweed, skeletal and ready to bl
ow away—unless his scrawny frame got gobbled up first by his taupe leather executive chair. Thinning ash hair covered a white skull and his tawny eyes were almost devoid of color. His white shirt and beige sports coat draped like curtains on a lanky body that was probably the color of dirty chalk. I’d never liked him, but Rick assured me he was a genius with money. The corner office with its teak furniture in a Santa Monica high rise indicated that he made money somehow.

  “How much do I have?” I asked, fighting irritation.

  He tapped a manila folder on his desk with a yellow-nailed finger. “Right now you have approximately seven thousand in your cash account, but that won’t begin to cover your bills. If you don’t get another paycheck…” Another shrug.

  My throat turned parched as a desert and I could barely croak out words. “You’re saying I’m in the hole? I make more than a million dollars a year and I’m in the fucking hole? How can that be possible?”

  Carl had controlled my money since I’d signed my first anchor contract. Rick told me I needed someone to oversee my assets so I didn’t end up owing my life to Uncle Sam. He claimed his accountant could make us rich and provided glowing reports of the man’s abilities.

  Was this what Rick meant about going through our money situation? But Rick was gone, and I was faced with a bank account shrinking as fast as the emaciated figure across from me.

  “I want an explanation, Carl.”

  “I keep several liquid accounts for you. One covers fixed payments like your cars, houses, employees. You live on credit cards for personal expenses so I maintain two cash accounts to pay them, plus cover unexpected extras.” He steepled bony fingers with a pen between them, rolling it back and forth, skinny neck twisting his head from side to side as he explained. “Every time the first account accumulates more than twenty-five thousand dollars, I remove the excess and put it into the second account in case you need it later. If I see a good financial deal, I use that money for investments.”

  This sounded better. “Can I use that account to live on until I get a regular check again?”

  His thin face wrinkled like a prune. “No, you can’t. You see Rick and I…”

  I wanted to jerk the pen from his hands and fling it at him. Instead I waved my hand to stop him. “Rick has nothing to do with this.”

  “Of course he does. Have you forgotten? You opened that second account in both your names. He used it more than you ever did.”

  Fear inched under my skin, sending a prickling sensation through me. “You mean to tell me you put my money into a cash account every month, and he spends it?”

  “No, like I said, we’d invest it. Funds, stocks…”

  “Then sell the stocks and give me the fucking money! I don’t care if I pay penalties. I need it now!”

  Carl sagged like a collapsing skeleton. “He took it all out.”

  I felt like I’d been slapped. Hard. “What?”

  At least the prick had the decency to look away, face ashen. “The week before his death, he asked me to move it all into his account to pay debts on the shop.”

  “What do I have to do with his debts? Get the money back!”

  Regret filled his pale eyes as he turned back to face me. “I can’t. His sister has power of attorney and all his assets are frozen. ”

  “But it’s my money!”

  “I know, but it’s in his personal account.”

  “You never thought to ask me before you gave it to him?”

  “We consistently moved money back and forth. I understood that he had your permission. I send you statements each month. You’ve never disputed them.”

  While wild anger pinched my side, I didn’t protest. The statements sat unopened somewhere on my desk at home. Carl paid my bills and provided cash whenever I needed it. Nothing was ever late and if I made sudden purchases, I had unlimited credit cards.

  “We’ll sell stocks to cover the bills from the Four Seasons plus other expenses this month. You said you needed a lot of money right away. How much?”

  I hesitated, but there was no way around it. I fastened my gaze on the edge of the desk. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  “An investment? I can look into—”

  I jerked up and skewered him with my eyes. “It’s personal.”

  He began to blink rapidly, face growing more chalky if that was possible. “You and Rick live too close to the edge...”

  “Forget Rick! This is my money. What you’re saying is he stole it and you let him. That’s fraud.”

  It was as though a puppeteer had jerked up a skeleton figure straight in the chair. “Oh, no! You and Rick shared that account. It was a private agreement. As far as I’m concerned, both of you had legal rights to that money.”

  “I should sue your fucking ass.”

  He cleared his throat. “It isn’t like he tried to cheat you. Whenever he removed money he responded with shares in his shop. You own half of it.”

  “Does that mean I have profits coming?”

  “It’s barely solvent. You know how he is, I mean, was. He spent anything it ever made. And now…” He spread his hands wide, shaking his head.

  I knew how Rick loved to spend. I used credit cards, but Rick kept a wad of cash in a diamond encrusted money clip that I’d given to him for his birthday. He tipped lavishly and never skimped on anything. Had I helped finance that?

  “I never asked what he did with his money,” Carl continued. “I know he spent fifty thousand dollars on jewelry in the last two weeks. I just paid that bill.”

  “Fifty...” I shot to my feet and leaned forward across the desk as a horrible thought choked me. “If you tell me he spent my money on jewelry for that rich bimbo, I’ll pound you to smithereens.”

  He gulped, blanching—if he could grow whiter—and reached for the phone, fumbling it and dropping it on the desk. “Don’t threaten me. I’ll tell the police. They already think you…” he stopped and I could feel the mood in the office shift. Color returned to Carl’s sunken cheeks and he replaced the phone.

  “You’re threatening to sue me for fraud, but do you realize what this means?” He lifted the folder and rapped it sharply on the desk. “If police discover you think he ripped you off, it provides a perfect motive for killing him.”

  His final words were issued in a hoarse tone, and for an instant I saw delight creep into those amber eyes. Oh, shit.

  It was my turn to clear my throat, seeking to wipe the slate clean. “So now what?”

  His smile reminded me of a grinning skull. “No one needs to know your financial arrangement with Rick. That was between the two of you.” His bland tone made his words more sinister. “My advice is to let me go through your finances and see how much money we have once current bills are paid. If I were you, I’d go home and return the rental car. You can’t afford this lifestyle until you return to work.”

  I knew he was right, but I refused to agree with him, so I rose. “Let me know what you figure out. I’ll call later.”

  I left Carl’s office furious with him and Rick. What had the Weasel been doing with my money? How had he expected to pay me back? Did he think I was never going to discover his theft? Or was he hoping his new girlfriend might help?

  Fuck Rick, who was going to help me? How was I supposed to come up with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for Toby?

  ****

  Tuesday, 2:00 p.m.

  Returning home should have been such a joyous occasion. Beyond the windows, the ocean sparkled in the sunlight, but my mood was as gloomy as a foggy June morning.

  “Kimberly?” Lindy’s voice floated down from above.

  “I’m here.” I dropped my purse on the kitchen counter.

  She came to the edge of the stairs to peer down from the top landing. “I didn’t expect you until later. I’m packing my things.”

  I started to sit on the hard sofa, but rejected the pain. Maybe I could sell the ridiculous thing for a good price on eBay and replace it with something chea
p and cushy. I walked upstairs where Lindy was frantically changing out of a jogging suit. Unless I was wrong, it was mine.

  Anger roared through me. “Have you been wearing my stuff?”

  Her pale face turned bright red. “I ran out of clothes and this is the only thing that fit.”

  “How would you know that if you didn’t try on my stuff?”

  She winced. “I didn’t. I…I looked in your closet…well, maybe I tried on a jacket, but it was too big.”

  Too big? Just because the woman was a stick! “Versace gowns and all you tried on was a jacket?”

  Her eyes shot toward the closet as though it might tell me the truth. “I couldn’t touch them. They’re so…fancy...” She sounded so frightened I believed her.

  As I looked at her anxious face, her comments hit home. Yes, she was close to my height, but her shoulders and waist were smaller.

  “Don’t worry about it, Lindy. Keep the jogging outfit. It looks better on you.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn it anyway. “I have some bags in my car. Can you help bring them in?”

  “No problem!” She did her nodding thing before hopping down the stairs.

  I began shoving through hangers in my closet, seeking evidence that she’d tried on other things. While the elegant designer gowns might intimidate, the designer suits provided a huge temptation. Perhaps she’d been afraid to remove the plastic cleaning bags.

  A sudden thought hit me. Spotting an Anne Klein suit that I hadn’t worn for a while, I pulled it out. My mother didn’t like the navy color and it was tight. I selected a pale champagne silk shell and a scarf I’d never liked, plus a pair of black Bally pumps that I considered frumpy.

  That completed, I went downstairs and checked the refrigerator. It was stocked with fresh fruit and yogurt. I took out grapes, rinsed them and went back to the sofa, munching and plotting while Lindy made three trips upstairs with my bags.

  “I’m sorry about this...” She waved her hand at the jogging suit after completing her task.

  “Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “What are you doing this evening? Working?”

  “I’m off tonight.” She glanced around as though searching for something. Maybe she was making certain she didn’t leave anything or had replaced everything she’d touched.