Blues at 11

by Rebecca Grace

  Sam grunted. “She can’t fire him. And that security system is for shit. I can get in anytime I want. We’ll go back when we won’t be interrupted.”

  ****

  “How well did you know Wells?”

  Sam’s question caught me off guard. We were back at my house, sitting outside on the lower patio sipping scotch. I sensed he had something on his mind as we drove home, but he remained silent, scribbling in his notebook.

  I studied his gaunt face, but his sharp eyes were unreadable. “We were together ten years. What did Darryl say?”

  “Did you know Wells had a serious gambling problem?”

  “Callahan mentioned that. I thought that was why the shop might be in trouble, but Betty said it was making a profit.”

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t personally in money trouble. The guy was visiting Vegas several times a month and had a bookie he regularly called.”

  “He was gambling the profits? Is that what Darryl said? I got the impression he didn’t want to speak in front of me. Was that why?”

  Sam downed the rest of his scotch and faced me squarely. “Wells didn’t go alone.”

  A chill ran through me despite the afternoon sun. I inhaled a quick breath through dry lips. “What do you mean?”

  His direct gaze unnerved me. “He took a friend. Or friends. All female.”

  Pain sliced through me and I dropped my head. I concentrated on breathing, slow and easy. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did. “Do police know?”

  “Probably.”

  “Doesn’t that help? It creates a case against the Bimbo. Why would I care?”

  “Maybe you just found out. And there’s still the matter of the money. Darryl mentioned Rick was in danger of losing the shop until six weeks ago. Then he came into a chunk of cash and paid up. Darryl thought he won the money.”

  “Why would Betty say the shop wasn’t in trouble?”

  “She might not know. The books probably don’t show it. All she saw was what came and went out through the store. Maybe he used the profits. Edwards would know since he was paying the bills.”

  “Couldn’t that strengthen Carl’s motive? What if Rick needed money so he didn’t lose the shop and found out Carl was stealing his money and mine? Maybe they got into a fight.”

  Sam didn’t reply. He walked into the office and poured himself another drink. Hank probably wouldn’t approve of the drinking, but Sam seldom had more than one.

  “What next?” I asked when he returned.

  “Let’s follow the money trail. Darryl said Wells was worried about losing the shop. Records indicate the mortgage was never late, nor was his business loan. That tells me he was borrowing on the sly, using the store as collateral, and someone was threatening to take the shop. Somehow he managed to make the payment. He could have won the money, but Edwards told you that Wells took your money the last week. That sounds like he either lost big again or borrowed money for the first payment and needed your dough to square the second debt.”

  “This is all over my head,” I admitted.

  “Did you get anything out of the Blackberry? Any names we hadn’t come across? We need to match names with the initials in the ledgers.”

  I frowned at the black device on my desk, sitting next to a charger. “It totally lost its charge and everything was wiped out. We need to get that Filofax. One thing I did notice was that his gun was not in the box where I put it. Do you suppose the police kept it? Or maybe it’s in another box?”

  Sam put down his glass without finishing the drink. He stroked his chin in a thoughtful manner. “Maybe. How are you feeling these days? Safer?”

  “With the new alarm system working and since we haven’t spotted any cars following us, I’m feeling better.” I felt physically safer, but I wasn’t certain about my emotional steadiness.

  “Good. I’m gonna grab a bus to Mira Loma PD and make my son take me to dinner. Those guys consider me a nosy old codger who barely remembers which way is up. Maybe I can learn a few things.”

  ****

  Once Sam was gone I went back to the board. The female names jumped out at me. Had Rick taken them to Las Vegas? He loved to have someone cheering him on at the gambling tables. He hated when I drifted away.

  Betty? No. I had trouble thinking that a roll of the dice might cost me a new handbag or shoes. Would the careful accountant allow him to spend like that?

  Bobbi the Bimbo? Maybe I needed to look more closely at the Brookings family. Real estate development? What if Rick promised Miles Brookings that corner where his store was located? Property near the beach was a valuable commodity. Jennifer and I were squabbling about the shop, but what if neither owned it? I made a note on my Action Steps page to research Pilgrim Development.

  Next I called Las Vegas. When Rick and I visited, we stayed at a luxury hotel off the Strip where an old reporter friend was in charge of publicity. Rick’s steady gambling always got us a free room.

  Fred Jenkins greeted me with a happy laugh, reminiscent of when we worked the late shift together at TV8. We traded gossip for a few minutes as I tried to come up with a way to turn our talk toward the reason I had called.

  “When are you coming to visit?” he asked, providing a perfect opening.

  “Soon. Right now if I try to leave the state, I’ll probably get a police escort back.”

  Fred chuckled. “I heard about your old boyfriend. Crazy shit, huh?”

  “Totally crazy, and…” Suddenly I couldn’t ask him what I wanted. I paused and cleared my throat. “We broke up, you know.”

  “I figured that when I saw him a couple of months ago. That woman he was with didn’t compare to you.”

  Shoving away a pang of jealous pain, I adopted a light voice. “He still stayed there? Running up big gambling tabs? That bothered me.”

  His quick laugh was harsh. “Bothered us too. We finally cut him off. Too many unpaid markers. I hear he got engaged to some rich chick?”

  “Bobbi Brookings. Her father is Miles Brookings.”

  He let out a whistle. “That guy’s buying up half the desert outside of town to build a big resort. No wonder Rick was marrying her. He could have his own gambling palace.”

  We hung up moments later and I digested what I’d learned. Had Rick gotten involved with Bobbi hoping to become part of the family business plan? Had he taken money from the Pilgrim and lost it? What about the woman who was with him in Las Vegas? I’d have to run the information by Sam.

  My cell phone beeped, making me jump. I felt safer, but sudden noises still startled me. The number was unfamiliar, but I answered. Maybe it was Delia.

  “Miss delaGarza?”

  Damn, I knew the voice. “Yes, Toby.”

  “I’m tired of waiting. If you can’t get my money by tomorrow, I’m going to the police.”

  “I thought we talked about other ideas.”

  He sighed. “I need the money.”

  Sam had said audio could be doctored, but I also knew Toby would be a credible witness. Torres would love Toby’s account of how I plotted Rick’s murder. Maybe it was time to tell Sam about this problem.

  “I need time to get cash.”

  He hesitated, his breathing growing heavy. “I’ll give you until Friday.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tuesday, 8:00 a.m.

  I intended to tell Sam about Toby the next time I saw him. He called to say he was spending the night with Hank, who would drop him off on the way to work. I got up early to prepare decaf coffee and chop fresh fruit for a salad. I even drove to a nearby bakery for low-fat muffins. I laid out a spread on the lower patio, but he barely gave it a second look.

  “Why are you keeping things from me?” he demanded, striding in like an unleashed tiger.

  My stomach knotted. Had he discovered the truth about Toby? “What?”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about the glass? The threat you made against that girl?”

  I blew out a breath of relief. “Did Hank tell
you?”

  “Why didn’t you?” He whirled on me, blue eyes blazing with fury.

  “It was a stupid joke and I didn’t want to get Hank in trouble.”

  He stopped pacing. “Why would he be in trouble?”

  “For coming to see me about it. It could have become evidence.”

  Sam sagged like a wilting rose bush. He flopped onto his normal chair, shaking his head. “We’re supposed to be partners,” he grumbled.

  How angry would he be about his partner hiding a blackmailer? Maybe I should break it to him after he calmed down. “I’m sorry.”

  “Here I am lecturing him about you being in danger because of the note and he tells me you wrote it. You threatened that girl?”

  Hank had not been totally honest. He hadn’t told him it was meant for Rick. He had not told Torres or Callahan either. Which meant… I found a smile stealing across my face. That meant he believed me. Hank wasn’t the sort to shirk his duty. If he thought I killed Rick, he wouldn’t protect me.

  I summoned my brightest smile to battle the fierce scowl that hardened Sam’s face. “It was a joke.”

  The granite features refused to yield. “I don’t like that sort of joke. I’m sure her family didn’t either.”

  I stopped being apologetic. “Her family may have gotten Rick killed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you know that the Brookings family is buying property outside Las Vegas? Maybe that’s why Rick got involved with her. Maybe he found out something about their dealings, that they’re crooked. Maybe they’re involved with mobsters, like El Patron. You know Vegas—”

  He waved an impatient hand to cut me off. “You need to stop with these wild theories. This is going to be something simple.”

  “How do you know?”

  He tapped the side of his head. “Intuition. What about your friend, Delia? Did you get hold of her?”

  “No, why?”

  “Apparently he owed her husband money. His company holds the mortgage on the shop.”

  The comment surprised me. “Who told you that?”

  “It’s in the case file. It was in the statement from his accountant.”

  “They let you look at the case file?”

  For the first time since he arrived, a sparkle lit his eyes. “Nah. I was shooting the breeze with Callahan and he got called away. The file was sitting there, so…” He shrugged, his face creasing in a wide smile.

  “Did you come up with anything else?”

  Sam leaned forward, rubbing his hands together, a motion I’d learned to interpret as enthusiasm. “We knew he was in money trouble. The guy apparently couldn’t hold onto a cent. As soon as he made anything, he spent it or bet it.”

  “Or as soon as I made it.” I didn’t attempt to hide my bitterness.

  “That wasn’t in the statement Edwards gave. He didn’t tell them the guy was stealing. He said Wells borrowed from you and repaid it through stock in the shop.”

  “That makes sense. Carl could be charged with fraud for what he was doing.”

  “He told police the two of you shared an account and you were both lavish spenders. Neither paid attention to what you spent. Is that true?”

  There was no escaping his damning gaze and I felt uncomfortable making the admission. “I don’t lose thousands gambling.” The results of my spending were visible in my closet and my safe.

  “Gambling losses didn’t show up in Edwards’ statement, but Wells had lots of people he was paying back, like Lindsay and Brookings, plus a couple of other names I didn’t recognize.” He pulled out a little stub of paper and checked it. “Phillips, someone named B. D., and Blankenship. Any of those ring a bell?”

  I shook my head and turned to the board. “B. D.? Benito Domingez.” I jerked my finger at it. “The mob guy from the funeral. Maybe he’s Rick’s bookie.”

  Sam joined me at the board and studied the list. “I doubt he would have his accountant paying off a bookie. This was a payment he made every so often.”

  “Why would he owe so much money if he was taking my cash? Were these personal loans?”

  “Apparently. According to Edwards’ statement, he was constantly behind. When there was a lean month, he’d take out a new loan. When he made a profit he’d pay back old debts and spend whatever was left. Edwards didn’t say a word about gambling. It was Darryl who spilled that can of worms.”

  I should have told him about Toby right then. But he hadn’t liked the glass joke. He certainly wouldn’t appreciate my conversation about killing Rick.

  Sam picked up a marker and tapped on the board. “We need to visit Edwards.”

  Much as I longed to confront him, I wasn’t sure he would tell me anything. “Do you think he’ll be honest in front of me? He didn’t tell police the truth.”

  A bony finger pointed in my direction. “Good point. I’ll go alone. I can stop on my way across town. Surprise visits are easier.”

  “Don’t you want breakfast first?” I pointed toward the table where the white table cloth flickered in the morning breeze.

  “Sure. Let me tell you what else I found out.” Sam was beaming. He enjoyed his moments of subterfuge and he went on to disclose the investigation was at a dead end. Fingerprints at the shop were no help since they could belong to delivery people or customers. Carl’s statement did not provide a hint of financial problems that would make anyone a murder suspect. Darryl’s comments about gambling mentioned a bookie, but he had no name and most of the losses had come in Las Vegas.

  “Is the Bimbo frightened?” I asked.

  “She’s afraid of you. She thinks you’re out to get her. Have you called her? Hung up on her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Someone did, the week before he died.”

  I pressed my lips together and looked away. Oh, hell…

  “Kimberly?”

  “I called her once. Maybe twice. To talk...”

  He clucked his tongue in disgust, gray head shaking in disapproval. “They’re going through her phone records. That’s going to show up.”

  I felt like the chastised teen caught smoking in the girls’ restroom. The childish idea went back to my college days. If a guy dumped us for someone else, Delia and I would call the new girlfriend, make nasty remarks and hang up. It was a vicious game, but we were young.

  “No wonder the cops don’t take threats against you seriously.”

  “Someone chased Lindy. They were following me,” I insisted.

  “I haven’t spotted anyone while we’re driving around.”

  I could hear skepticism in his voice. “Maybe they stopped after hurting Lindy, or they don’t know what my rental looks like. As for hang-ups, I get them all the time.”

  Sam pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going to see Edwards. How long has he been working for you and Rick?”

  “Eight or nine years. Carl and Rick were friends from college. Rick believed that Carl would make us rich, but it looks like he was a crook.”

  “If I were you, I’d get the account audited and hire a new accountant.”

  “Should I do anything while you’re gone?” I looked down at my chipped fingernails. I knew what I wanted to do. “Maybe I’ll take a quick break and get a manicure.”

  He whirled on me, eyes blazing again. “Fine. Take the damn day off. Go shopping, do lunch. Catch a movie! This is only your fucking life at stake.”

  Why could he and Hank make me feel like such a failure? I held up my hands. “Okay, okay, I’ll chop off my nails.”

  As I picked up the remnants of breakfast after he left, my cell phone beeped.

  Reba’s voice was a pleasant surprise. “How are you?”

  “Wonderful.” I knew she could decipher my sarcasm. “How’s the looney bin?”

  “Gwen moved into your office. She brought in her maid to clean it. Do you want me to pack your stuff and bring it by? I hate to see anything get damaged. You have some nice jackets in the closet.”

  I fume
d at the thought of Gwen touching my clothes. “Do you mind?”

  “No. Lindy can help. She’s become your biggest defender since she got back.”

  “We sort of bonded.” An afternoon of martinis could do that.

  Reba cleared her throat. “I hate to ask you this, but...”

  My stomach tensed. I knew what was coming. “I won’t do an interview.”

  “Kimberly, it could help. Brad volunteered to do it.”

  I hadn’t seen Brad since the evening he nearly kissed me, though we talked every day. He hadn’t mentioned an interview.

  “I know Alan wishes he’d stood up for you,” Reba continued. “Vincent used this as an excuse to get his girlfriend a shot at anchoring.”

  “Girlfriend!”

  Reba’s exasperation floated across the line. “They’re suddenly an item.”

  A quick rush of anger heated my face. “All the talk about me being a prima donna, and she’s fucking her way up the ladder?”

  “I’m sorry. Consider the interview, okay? Ask Oliver.”

  Angry with Vincent and Alan, and with silent apologies to Reba, I called my agent as soon as we hung up. “If Oliver approves, I’ll do an interview with anyone but TV8. I’ll even talk to Paula.”

  Evan Flynn, the man with a cash register for a heart that rang fifteen percent, cleared his throat. “Kimberly, you could be burning your bridges with TV8.”

  “You and your pal Gwen already did that,” I said and hung up.

  The cell rang immediately and I picked it up, prepared to fire Evan. The crackling dismayed me until I heard a voice.

  “Hey, baby, what’s up?”

  “Delia,” I screeched. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You sound happy to hear from me.” Her laugh sent my spirits spiraling upward.

  Static crackled and I grasped the phone as though that might hold on to her. “Where are you? I called Walter’s hotel and they said he was gone and you’d never been there.”

  Her voice was like a cool glass of water on a hot day. “I’m visiting friends. I refused to go on his stupid, primitive jungle trip. Can you imagine camping out with no indoor facilities? Does a bear shit in the woods? Sure. Me? Never! Wouldn’t you think the man would know me by now? I may dump him and take all his money when he gets back.”