Blues at 11

by Rebecca Grace

  I made the phone call as he went into the kitchen. When he returned, he carried two glasses of wine. He handed me one.

  “I don’t think you’ve grasped what is at stake.”

  “Of course I have. My reputation—”

  “No!” His face grew taut and his blue eyes grew hard and sharp as icicles. “Your life. You could end up on death row or someone might want you dead for seein’ somethin’ and you don’t even know what it is.”

  ****

  Thursday, 11:00 a.m.

  Sam and I started out the next day with a simple plan. First, we needed a car since mine remained in the shop for body work. My insurance paid for a rental, so I ordered a black Volvo from a nearby agency. Next, we drove to Mira Loma Hospital to learn more about Lindy’s close call. Feeling guilty, I bought a bouquet and pink teddy bear in the hospital gift shop.

  She resembled a lost child, sitting up in bed and staring out the window. Her right arm was in a cast and the right side of her face was bandaged. Long scratches extended beyond the bandage. She turned at the click of my heels and tears filled her eyes. I walked over to hug her, and she gripped me and the bear like a ten-year-old.

  “I’m sorry about your car,” she sobbed.

  “It’ll be fine,” I assured her and introduced Sam who placed the flowers on the bedside table. It already held a huge bouquet—probably from the station.

  Sam didn’t waste a minute, going from grandfatherly to lead detective in the blink of an eye.

  “How did it happen?” he asked, pulling out his notebook.

  Lindy hugged the pink bear. “I was getting used to the steering but I kept overreacting. Suddenly this car came up beside me. Real close.”

  “Did you get a good look at it?”

  “Not really. Black or green, I think. Big.”

  “An SUV?” I volunteered.

  “Let her tell it,” Sam instructed, eyes remaining on the notebook.

  The untouched side of her face scrunched like a wrinkled pink ribbon. “It was an SUV. I couldn’t see any driver. I didn’t know if it was his fault or mine, but it was like he wanted to push me off the road. I swerved away.”

  “Had the car been following you?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t paying attention. It came up so quickly. I was worried he would hit the car. Kimberly, I’m so sorry.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

  I caught her hand and squeezed it, guilt mixing with my concern. “I am too.”

  “I’ll pay...” she began.

  “Don’t worry about the car, sweetie. That’s what insurance is for. But if there’s anything you need, let me know.”

  Her young face filled with gratitude as tears flooded her eyes. “Thank you.”

  As we walked out the door, I turned to Sam. “Someone went after her, didn’t they?”

  He shook his head. “No. They went after you. Let’s go over to your place. I know you said you have a security system, but let’s beef it up so you feel totally safe.”

  ****

  Several photographers lounged across the street from my townhouse as we turned onto my block. They didn’t react to the unknown Volvo, and by the time they realized our destination, I’d managed to turn into the driveway.

  The phone was ringing when we entered the house and I rushed upstairs to grab it.

  “Kimberly, where the hell have you been?” Brad demanded. “I’ve been calling you all night. I was worried. Reba said you disappeared after the service yesterday. I had no idea where you went.”

  “I went to visit a friend,” I said, not certain if I was pleased or perturbed that he was being so protective. I smiled at Sam who was walking around, studying the interior.

  “I’ve been calling your cell all night and all day,” Brad said.

  “I turned it off. Someone leaked my new number. Did you hear about Lindy?”

  “She’s fine. I was worried about you. Do you need me to come over?”

  The idea was tempting. I didn’t like the idea of being alone once I took Sam back to Glendale. My phone beeped. “Someone else is calling. It might be my mother. Call me later, okay?” I clicked off to the other line.

  “Kimmie!” Hank sounded as apprehensive as Brad. “Are you okay? I heard about the accident with your car.”

  Unlike the last call, his words sent a rush of warm pleasure surging through me. “I’m fine, Hank. I let someone borrow it.” Sam jerked toward me and I lowered my face, knowing I was blushing.

  “Good.” His voice filled with relief. “I mean, not good, because I understand the driver’s in the hospital. When I saw the report indicating your car, I thought…well, as long as you’re okay. How did you get home? I’ve been trying to call Dad, but I can’t find him.”

  “I rented another car and your dad’s fine. He’s right here.”

  “At your house? What the hell is he doing there?” Relief flipped to annoyance as quickly as turning on a light switch.

  “He’s helping me...”

  “No! How did he get there? Did you go get him?”

  I knew I was only going to anger him more, but I saw no reason to avoid the truth. “The rental company brought the car to his house.”

  “Don’t tell me. You stayed with him last night?”

  My phone had converted into a block of ice. “I didn’t want to come home after what happened to Lindy.”

  Sam approached me and wiggled his fingers. “Let me talk to him.”

  I handed the phone to Sam, making a face. “He’s not happy.”

  “Fuck him,” he said, taking the phone. “She needed a place to stay, son. Someone’s been following her. Yeah, well, go to hell. She needs help.”

  He paused, and I could hear Hank’s loud voice though I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Sam chuckled. “Yeah? Well, fuck you. I’m looking over her security system. If you want me to leave, you can pick me up, but I’m not agreeing I’ll go.” He clicked off the phone and laughed as he handed it to me. “He’s pissed. He may come over.”

  “Now what?” The gloomy room felt cold, and I walked over to open the drapes and let in the afternoon sun. Light flooded the room and Sam let out a whistle as the magnificence of the Pacific Ocean filled the view.

  “What does a place like this go for?” he asked, voice filling with awe.

  Suddenly I felt self-conscious, thinking of his tidy little bungalow in Glendale. He’d spent years saving lives and probably sacrificed to buy that home. I’d spent my life giving details of Hollywood gossip and had this handed to me.

  “I have no idea. My accountant says it’s a good investment, but I’m no longer certain about his advice since he and Rick were playing fast and loose with my money.”

  “Could he have played with Rick’s money too? Could he be a suspect?”

  The possibility smacked me like getting hit by a football in the head. What if Carl lost Rick’s money too? What if Rick threatened to reveal it to authorities? Why hadn’t I considered that? “He sure as hell could be.”

  Sam rubbed his hands together. “Okay, Kimmie, I’m gonna get busy. You take your notebook and start making lists. Forget thinking in terms of enemies. Make one list with the guy’s friends and relatives, one with business associates like that accountant fella and one with people around him—neighbors, anyone. Hell, write down everyone you remember from that service yesterday.”

  I watched him stride around the room with determination, jotting things in his notebook. Despite Hank’s anger, I liked providing Sam with a purpose. Leaving him to work, I retreated to my office with my notebook. I dug out colored pens from my desk—blue for friends and relatives, green for business associates and employees, purple for people at the service, and hot pink for mere acquaintances. The list hadn’t gotten very long before a pounding on the front door interrupted me. It didn’t take a genius to know who it was.

  “Let me deal with him,” Sam said, hopping down the stairs.

  Hank barged in, blue eyes blazing. “This is the craziest thing I’v
e ever heard!” He looked from me to Sam. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Helping her out. Someone has to.”

  Hank’s gaze swiveled to me, face hard, voice accusing. “This was your idea, wasn’t it? You need someone to do your dirty work. I bet he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart.”

  We hadn’t talked about a financial arrangement, though Sam knew I couldn’t afford a PI, so how could I pay him?

  Sam cleared his throat. “I volunteered. I’m capable of providing assistance so why the hell shouldn’t I?”

  “Because it’s in my jurisdiction! How is that going to look?”

  “I’m advising her on a security system,” Sam replied with an unconcerned shrug.

  “It looks like I’m playing favorites…” Hank walked away, shaking his head.

  I didn’t like coming between the pair, but Sam was smiling. The old cop was enjoying the confrontation.

  “Families help others all the time. Look, son, I need to finish going over this system. Maybe you can give me ideas for what she needs, since you know the area. If you don’t want to help, then go about your business and come back for me later.” He stomped upstairs.

  Hank remained, glaring at me, his face a dull shade of red. “Crazy idiot! He’s enjoying this.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Maybe he needs something more in his life.” I thought of the neat house that yawned with emptiness. My mother’s home was cluttered with toys in case anyone needed a babysitter, cloth remnants from her sewing club and piles of books for her reading group. She kept a pot of coffee warm and cookies laid out for anyone who might stop in and she made regular bus trips with friends to Las Vegas.

  “You had to do this, didn’t you?” Hank accused.

  “He might have health problems, but he’s not an invalid. He likes having a purpose. Hank, my life is at stake here. Did you know that Torres and Callahan didn’t talk to Lindy? I told you I was being followed. Have you had them check that?”

  He turned away and ran his hand through his hair. “That’s my fault. I wasn’t certain…”

  Anger pierced me, but I fought it down. “Someone followed me that night I left Geneva. They chased me up Sunset Boulevard.”

  His head jerked toward me, and alarm leaped into his eyes. “You never told me that. Why the hell didn’t you call Torres or Callahan?”

  I folded my arms, trying not to sound haughty. “I called Callahan. He said it was a coincidence. I don’t want to tell tales out of school here, but your crack detectives are for shit! Your dad was much more thorough when we talked last night.”

  “Was Oliver Nichols present?” His voice dripped sarcasm.

  “Fuck you and fuck them! They don’t want to talk to me until they can read me my rights and slap on the cuffs. Can’t you see what’s happening here?”

  Hank walked away, shaking his head. When he spoke, frustration replaced his earlier sarcasm. “I’ll deal with them.” His unyielding face told me he hadn’t totally forgiven me, but he knew I was right. Hank seldom backed down. Tension crackled between us. Finally, after one final, fierce glare, he marched to the door.

  “I’ll pick you up in an hour, Dad,” he shouted up the stairs.

  “Fuck you, I’ll call you when I’m ready to go.”

  The minute Hank slammed the door, Sam appeared at the top of the stairs and hopped down toward me. “Sometimes I worry I raised that boy to be a real asshole,” he said with a chuckle.

  He followed me into the office and wandered around the room, looking at my wall of framed awards and pictures with famous people, including three presidents. He fingered one of the Emmy trophies and lingered at the wet bar with its selection of liquor bottles.

  “Pour me a drink,” he said, lifting one of Rick’s expensive scotch selections. “Let’s sit on your fancy deck upstairs and talk.”

  I wasn’t certain he should be drinking, but who was I to ask? I poured two glasses, handed one to him and followed him upstairs. The afternoon sun bathed the deck, but a cool ocean breeze kept us from being uncomfortable.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  Closing my eyes, I let the gentle air rush over me. The scent of the ocean filled my nostrils. Sitting in the sun normally soothed me, but nothing had been ordinary for the past week. Sam’s presence helped. So did the scotch that burned a path down to my stomach.

  “Yes. I’m sorry about Hank.”

  “He’s too uptight. He figured this job would be a stepping stone to a position in a big department, but he’s no desk jockey. He prefers working cases. Police chief means politics, pleasin’ the fucking bureaucrats.”

  “He’s worried about you.”

  “Thanks, Kimmie, but you’re the one who needs concern. I’m beginning to see what you’re up against. Torres and Callahan are working to nail your ass. I’ve seen it happen. Even good cops can head in the wrong direction. They get blind to facts. But it could get you hurt.”

  I shivered and not from the ocean breeze. Sitting up to face him directly, I launched a topic I’d been trying to avoid. “Do you think I’ll be safe once I get the alarm system fixed?”

  “Probably. Whoever hurt that girl wasn’t out to kill you. The crash wasn’t serious. If he wanted you dead, he would’ve finished the job. He wanted to scare you.”

  “He succeeded.”

  His blue eyes flashed. “Enough to take the rap for what he did? Enough to let those cops drive you into the ground?”

  “Hell, no. That makes me want to fight back.”

  “Damn straight! This guy out there don’t know the old Kimmie. That’s the gal I remember, the gal Hank loved so much.”

  Sam’s comment was like a punch in the gut. Or maybe it was the scotch hitting home. Had Hank loved me? He never said it. He never tried to hold on to me when I dropped him for Rick. Tears threatened and I picked up our empty glasses and got to my feet. I didn’t want to think about the wasted years.

  “Tell me what I need to do next,” I said, fighting the constriction in my throat.

  “We need his records. As part-owner of the wine shop you should be able to get them. If he was taking your money, could be there’s a reason. Hell, we oughta make up a big board.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I used to keep a board where I’d write everything down. Then I could sit and study it. After a while, things would fall into place. Make a note—get a big board.”

  “I have a dry erase board in my office. Let’s go down and see what else we need.”

  As I led Sam down the stairs, my step carried a spring that I hadn’t felt since the day I learned of Rick’s death. I had purpose again. I was going to figure this out. The Queen had found herself a General. She was marshaling her forces to go to war!

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Who killed Rick Wells?

  I studied the dry erase board Sam and I had nailed to the wall of my office before Hank returned to pick up his father. It listed time, location, and method of Rick’s murder. Below it Sam delineated columns for suspects and motives. He assigned me to post the list I started and begin assigning possible motives to each name. His instructions were to allow my imagination to run wild.

  Digging out a fresh supply of colored dry erase pens, I began with my favorite possible culprit: Bobbi the Bimbo. Under motive I wrote with a fiendish smile, “Rick decided to come back to me and she went ballistic.” A nice thought, but was that stick figure strong enough to swing a bat with much force? I recalled her heaving the heavy ceramic vase at me. “Sure as hell could,” I muttered.

  What about a motive for her father, the silver-haired Pilgrim? He helped me at the police station, but why had he been there? I put a question mark under motive. I’d come back to him.

  Next came the golden Pixie. I’d seen that woman in a sleeveless dress. She had the defined muscle tone of someone who could swing a mean bat. But why? Another question mark.

  I began to copy down Jennifer’s name and stopped. No motive. Unless there was somethin
g I didn’t know. Hey, she was trying to pin it on me. Did that mean anything? I finished her name and assigned another question mark. I did the same with her husband, Ian.

  In big letters and with much glee, I wrote down Carl. Motive was easy. “Stolen money?”

  I hesitated before transcribing the next names from my list. Delia and Walter. How could they be suspects? A pang of guilt pinched me. They might not even know about Rick. I’d left messages on her cell, but maybe I should try Walter’s office. Maybe they had a number where he could be reached. Grabbing my notebook, I made a note to call his office. I liked the idea of action steps. So would Sam.

  Moving back to suspects, I entered the sales clerk, Darryl. While Rick employed a series of clerks who drifted in and out, Darryl had been a constant presence. He worked as a movie extra and kept hoping for the big show biz break. At times he exasperated Rick with tardiness and sick calls. Maybe he was on drugs. Maybe he’d been stealing. All good motives.

  Per Sam’s instructions I listed people from the memorial service, like the old man from Geneva. Peter called him El Patron, a mob figure. Was he a customer? Did Rick owe him money?

  I made another note on my new Action Steps page: check mob guy. That was probably too obvious, but it was someone besides me I could point out to police. “Mob Guy” with a question mark went on my board.

  Other people who were at the service didn’t make sense as suspects so I didn’t list them. There was the curly haired woman whose name I couldn’t recall, much less assign a motive. Ken Gardner, an actor, was one of Rick’s customers. Vincent and Evan? I would like to assign motives but they had played golf with Rick. Joe Flaherty was a football player who threw big champagne parties; Doreen Graham was a socialite who liked Rick’s ability to find rare wines. I didn’t recognize anyone else. Rick’s records might help with this list.

  Another entry on the Action Steps page: get Rick’s books.

  My phone rang and I checked the number before answering. Mira Loma Police.