Blues at 11

by Rebecca Grace

  “Can you walk?” he asked. “Let’s look at your car.”

  I took a step, wincing as my bare foot hit a patch of rocks.

  “I can carry you,” he offered.

  “I’m fine.”

  He put his arm around me and supported me as we walked back toward the cars, not releasing me until we were beside the Volvo. As I shifted to move away something hard near his chest rubbed against my side. He had a damn gun under that suit! I recoiled, but he moved away, leaning over to poke his head under my rear bumper.

  “You say the brakes went out?”

  “They went to the floor as I came down the hill. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it to the bottom.”

  “You shoulda tried your emergency brake,” he said, head emerging. His smile was wide, genuine, brown eyes soft and paternal.

  “That was what I did.”

  “Smart girl,” he said with an approving nod as he smacked his hands together to clean off the dust. “Did you call someone?”

  “No.”

  “I saw you on the phone when I came around the corner. I thought you were calling for help. Do you need a ride down the hill? I can have someone tow your car to a garage. I got a friend who can tell you what’s wrong.”

  “Thanks.” I retrieved my purse and followed him to the limo.

  He opened the back door for me, but I shook my head. “Can I ride in front with you?”

  “Sure.” He moved to the front door and opened it.

  I slid into the luxurious car and breathed a sigh of relief, until I realized no one knew where I was. Noting a car phone as he slid in from the other side, I fingered it. I hadn’t seen a car phone in ages. Did it work?

  “Do you mind if I make a call? My cell phone broke.”

  “Go ahead.” He handed it to me and I dialed Sam.

  He answered on the first ring. “What the hell happened?”

  “I dropped my phone and broke it. The offer for lunch sounds good. Do you know where Geneva is on the Pacific Coast Highway? I’ll pay cab fare.”

  “I’m gonna have to take a rain check. My doctor just called and wants me to come in, so Hank insists on taking me today.”

  My stomach plunged like a falling elevator. Had something happened? He was looking so alert, so alive. Could our argument have triggered another attack? “Are you all right?”

  His rich laugh soothed me. “Fit as a fucking fiddle. I’ll call you later.”

  I hung up and realized I had not told him where I was or about my companion. If Senor Shoe wanted to kill me with his meaty hands and dump my body off a cliff, no one would know.

  “Should I drop you at Geneva?” he asked.

  Given my thoughts, I jumped at the sound of his soft voice. “Sure.”

  Geneva was nearby and it would take time to get my car checked. I eyed Senor Zapato across the interior of the car. Could I trust him?

  “Were you going to call someone to get my car?”

  He picked up the phone and conducted the call in rapid Spanish. He told the man where the car was and to take it to his garage to check.

  “He’ll find out what’s wrong,” he said when he hung up. “I’ll drop you at the restaurant and finish my errands. I can drive you to the shop when it’s ready or take you home.”

  His smile was so benign I wondered why I’d been afraid. He was acting more like an older brother than a tough guy.

  “Why do they call you Senor Zapato?”

  He gave me his gap-toothed grin and lifted his foot off the gas. “I used to kick a lot.”

  “Kick?”

  His smile faded into a grim look and he shook his head. “A pretty lady like you don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t kick no more. My sister takes care of the house for La Senora and I drive El Patron and run errands.”

  Errands, huh? If the old man still took bets, Senor Shoe probably picked them up and applied a little heavy footed pressure to those who didn’t pay on time. Whatever his real job, he might be helpful.

  “How long have you worked for Mr. Dominguez?”

  “Twenty years. He’s a good man.” He pounded the left side of his chest. “Un corazon muy grande.”

  “I’ve heard he had mob ties.”

  The man’s smile never lessened. “He grows wine now. Big vineyards up around Santa Barbara.”

  I’d been thinking bookie or customer. “That was how he knew Rick.”

  “Rick?”

  “Wells Fine Wines?”

  His thick, black hair danced as he nodded. “Ah, Senor Wells. He set up wine tasting parties for El Patron. Someone killed him, huh?”

  How much could he tell me about the old man’s connection to Rick? Before I could phrase a question, he continued.

  “I don’t know why they’d kill him. He was everyone’s buddy at the parties.”

  “He and Paula were close...” It was a test, a hunch.

  His brown face swung toward me, startled but troubled. “Who said that?”

  The concerned reaction confirmed my theory. “I’ve heard rumors…”

  His hair flew from side to side as he shook his head. “Uh-uh. She’s married.”

  “I don’t think that mattered to Rick.”

  He said nothing at first, wide mouth tightening. Finally, he lifted a massive shoulder in a shrug. “Who can blame her with that husband?”

  “Wait, her husband is Ken Gardner, the actor.”

  “Si. A mean one. Muy loco.” He tapped the side of his head.

  Damn, I was a lousy detective. Ken Gardner was on my list from the service. Another connection I hadn’t made because I hadn’t seen him with Paula. Wait a minute! Gardner had been in trouble with police because of his temper. Did that add up to something? Maybe he gave Rick a smack to the head for screwing his wife. I needed to continue this conversation.

  “May I buy you lunch?” I asked. “Since you’re helping with my car, it’s the least I can do.” Entering Geneva with this man as an escort might be helpful if that rat Toby was working.

  His dark skin colored at my invitation. “I can’t. El Senor expects me back soon.”

  Oh, well. The visit to the Dominguez house had paid off. It eliminated one suspect, but opened the door for two others. Paula and her husband were moving higher on my board when I got home. I might even put them in red!

  He dropped me at Geneva and I walked into the bar. I didn’t see Toby. Felipe, the regular bartender, was pouring liquor into an ice-filled glass. I claimed a seat near the windows.

  Felipe, a slim man with a thin mustache that might have been the envy of Ronald Colman, came over immediately. “Is Delia joining you?”

  “She’s in South America, but I’ll take a martini. I need one after the morning I’ve had.”

  While he mixed the drink, I pulled a notebook from my purse and wrote down everything I remembered about Paula and Ken Gardner. I was considering any ties to Rick when Felipe brought my drink.

  I took a quick sip and smiled as the icy liquor zoomed down my throat. “Perfect. Toby’s are good, but they’ll never compare to yours.”

  “You won’t be getting any more of Toby’s. He’s not workin’ here no more.”

  My heart did a quick summersault. Was I off the hook? “What happened?”

  “He quit the other night. No notice, nothing. He didn’t show up. He called later to say he’d hit the jackpot and didn’t need to work. Stupid kids.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Wednesday, 10:00 a.m.

  I stepped into the glacial chambers of Hall and Merrysmith, the offices of Rick’s lawyers, and began shaking. This damn place was like an igloo. The walls were white, the shelves alabaster, and the thick carpets were creamy vanilla. Adrienne followed me and put her hand on my bare arm. Could she feel the goosebumps? I should have worn something other than a pale lime sleeveless silk sheath.

  In a cream-colored suit with a flash of a gray scarf at her throat, and her platinum hair swept back into a chignon, her petite figure resembled a small white
bird. Perhaps an Arctic bird of some sort.

  We’d been summoned for the reading of Rick’s will, though I had known that whatever he might leave me would never make up for what he stole.

  “You okay, hon?” she asked.

  I could feel the tension in her touch. She was still angry with me, just like Oliver. He had been furious about my talk with Paula. He left a caustic message on voicemail about her “Exclusive” report, especially my comment that I might offer a reward. “I won’t be left out of the loop this way.”

  Her fingers gripped my arm and while I wanted to push them away, at least they were warm. “You’re doing fine, hon. Just keep staying cool. And keep quiet about the money situation,” Adrienne cautioned in a low tone, grasping my arm. “No one needs to know he defrauded you.”

  I nodded. “Mum’s the word.”

  A pencil-thin secretary with a pinched face led us to the inner chamber.

  If the outer office was an igloo, walking into the office of J.B. Merrysmith was like being forced into a snowstorm. Five pairs of frosty eyes zeroed in on us. Like the exterior, this room was all white. The leather chairs were white and any upholstery was pale gray.

  J.B. was an overweight man in his sixties with a thick shock of hair too black to be real. In a black suit with a patterned yellow tie and white shirt, he resembled a penguin. Jennifer sat across from him in a pale suit that resembled a frozen peach margarita. I didn’t know the thin, bloodless-looking man beside her. Carl slouched in a third chair, in an ill-fitting, rumpled beige suit. His brown tie looked so tight it appeared ready to cut off circulation.

  I drew back at the sight of the fifth visitor. Bobbi the Bimbo, in a neon pink dress, summoned comparisons to a strawberry Popsicle. She huddled in a plush chair, looking like a doll in a child’s seat. What was she doing here?

  J.B. Merrysmith conducted introductions, but I was only aware of the final person in the room. The tall, distinguished man with thick silver hair and eyes as clear as ice cubes studied me as he walked forward, putting away his cell phone. He wore a gray wool suit that fit him so well it might have been poured over him. Miles Standish Brookings. The Pilgrim.

  He nodded, displaying none of the warmth he exhibited at the Mira Loma Police Station. Had he discovered I was the culprit who left that sliver of glass in Rick’s car? He turned to Adrienne and tipped his head. “Ms. Underhill.”

  “Mr. Brookings,” she replied in a cool voice. How did she know him?

  He settled into a seat beside Bobbi as the introductions concluded.

  “Let’s begin,” Merrysmith said, picking up a sheaf of papers.

  Carl fidgeted in his chair. Sam’s description of his conversation with the jerk only increased my animosity. According to Sam, the louse saw no conflict in taking my money and replacing it with shares of the store.

  Merrysmith droned on and my gaze wandered. Brookings was watching me. Rather his gray gaze had settled on my legs. I shifted slightly and the gaze never wavered. Well, well… Our eyes met and his eye twitched. Was that a wink?

  The sound of my name caught my attention and I jerked into full alert.

  “That gives her half ownership of the shop,” Adrienne said.

  “We’ll go through the details later.”

  “That’s outrageous.” Jennifer’s voice was high and anxious as she whipped toward Bobbi. “Didn’t he tell you that he wanted that changed?”

  The girl lifted a thin shoulder. “He never said anything about the store...”

  Jennifer flashed me a glacial look. “I’m disputing anything that I feel is incorrect.”

  “So you’ve said,” Merrysmith said, flipping a page. He began reading off bequests of personal items, which went to Jennifer or Carl. By the time he reached the house I had tuned out. I didn’t expect anything other than the shop. How solvent was it? Could it help my money crisis?

  A sudden gasp caught my attention as Jennifer hopped to her feet, shouting. “The house goes to Carl? That doesn’t make sense.”

  Carl didn’t appear surprised. Why would Rick leave it to him? Did Rick owe him money? Shouldn’t this make Carl a major suspect?

  Jennifer’s attorney calmed her as Merrysmith continued. The content of Rick’s savings account was left to her, but she cried out when she heard the total: $1,900. It was probably my money, but I said nothing.

  “I don’t understand,” Jennifer said. “He told me he made a great deal at the wine shop. She whirled toward Carl. “What about stocks and bonds?”

  He looked down at his scuffed brown shoes. “He sold them last month to pay off debts.”

  Jennifer swiveled toward me. “He said he had joint ventures with you. You took his money when you found out he was getting married, didn’t you?”

  I started to reply, but Adrienne grabbed my wrist and squeezed to keep me from speaking.

  “Actually, it was the other way around.” Miles Brookings’ calm voice drew our attention, and we turned toward him like a tennis audience. He proffered a smile, but his blue-gray eyes were cool. “Are we nearly finished?”

  Why had he and Bobbi come? Nothing in the will mentioned her.

  Merrysmith nodded. “There is only the matter of his life insurance.”

  “We can deal with that when everyone’s gone,” Jennifer said through a tight smile.

  The attorney’s eyes shifted to me. “Except Miss delaGarza. She’s primary beneficiary.”

  Another loud gulp erupted from Jennifer. She appealed to Bobbi. “You said he told you he was changing that.”

  The girl’s face was devoid of color except for two bright red dots high on her cheeks. They looked painted on. “That’s what he said.”

  “I’m certain that’s what he said. But I doubt he meant it.” Brookings put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

  With head down, she got to her feet and Brookings thanked Merrysmith, who walked with them to the door.

  “Bet that was a rude awakening to her,” Carl said with a bitter laugh, watching Bobbi shuffle out the door.

  “Why was she here?” Adrienne asked.

  “Bet her father brought her. He wants her to think Rick was a rat.”

  Adrienne shot him a fierce look. If her voice had been a knife, it could have cut Carl in half. “He did all right by you.”

  His thin lips twitched. “We’d been best friends since college.”

  I’d never witnessed much closeness. The spindly man in the rumpled suit was not the sort Rick sought for his social circle. But who was I to argue? I’d missed that Rick wasn’t as close to me as I thought. Had he given Carl and Bobbi the same false messages?

  As Merrysmith returned, Jennifer turned to me. “The police are going to find out the truth.”

  “I hope they do,” I replied.

  “I want his books back. You had no right to take them.”

  Adrienne cleared her throat. “On the contrary. Kimberly is half owner. She has every right to them and to have them audited.” Her icy words were aimed at Jennifer, but her cold eyes were on Carl.

  “I want a key and his client list,” I said.

  Her face was a mask of frustration, and Carl’s pale eyes regarded me with stony bitterness. Jennifer might hate me for what she wasn’t getting from Rick, but different vibrations emanated from Carl. He hated me too. How far would he take that hate?

  ****

  To my surprise, Brookings remained in the outer vestibule, speaking on a cell phone when we exited Merrysmith’s office. I saw no sign of Bobbi.

  Adrienne’s earlier frostiness thawed as she smiled and squeezed my fingers. “Kimberly, hon, you’re in the wine business.”

  I blinked, not certain whether that pleased or panicked me. “I don’t know anything about running a business.”

  She patted my arm. “We’re going to find a business manager, someone who isn’t a thief. Don’t worry about his sister’s claim about the insurance. I’ll handle that and Carl too.”

  It hit me—my
money problems were nearing an end. There was the insurance policy and I could sell my interest in the shop. No wonder Adrienne was smiling.

  “I’ll call you later,” she said, turning toward the door.

  At that moment, Brookings put down his phone and approached us.

  Adrienne stepped in front, whether to protect me from him or him from me, I wasn’t sure. “Miles, we didn’t get a chance to properly say hello, but it’s good to see you.”

  He grasped her hand with a polite smile. “Always a pleasure.”

  When he turned to me, his smile widened. “Miss delaGarza, I’m pleased to see you again.”

  I nodded, not sure what to say. His handshake was firm, and he held my hand longer than necessary. When I looked in his gray eyes, the glint was enough to melt the frost I’d been feeling for the past hour.

  Adrienne was talking about someone they knew, but he didn’t appear to be paying attention. Our eyes kept meeting in a secret greeting. He scrutinized me in a way I knew well. Something was happening here, but Adrienne twittered on, oblivious to undercurrents.

  Finally, she turned. “Do you have time for lunch, Kimberly?”

  Apparently the conversation had progressed while I ogled the tall man. I could sense when a woman wanted to be left alone and even if I wanted to stay, I couldn’t. Sam was downstairs.

  “I have a friend waiting.”

  Brookings held out a business card to me. “I have your card, but that number no longer works. Please call. I have some business I’d like to discuss.”

  The look in his eyes as his fingers slid over mine to give me the card screamed he had more on his mind than business.

  “Certainly.” I walked away, adding a swish to my swing. When I glanced back through the glass doors of the igloo-office, he still watched. My temperature went from frigid to fiery.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Do you know where you’re going?” I asked Sam as he drove east along Wilshire Boulevard. My car remained in the shop, and now the rental was there too, getting brake work done. I was going through cars faster than a demolition derby contestant. Sam had reclaimed his vintage blue Cadillac from storage after getting a clean bill of health from his doctor the previous day.