Blues at 11

by Rebecca Grace

  Normally I might have, but my burglar alarm had been working well and I was feeling too groggy. “No, it’s fine. Maybe…”

  “Another time?” he asked, straightening the collar of my jacket.

  It was an intimate touch, and I could feel the heat of his fingers through the thin material even in my inebriated state. Suddenly, I was aware of our closeness and the warmth of his breath on my face.

  “Certainly. Thanks for an enjoyable evening.”

  He leaned close to me and kissed me gently on the lips. I swayed toward him and he kissed me again, before taking my shoulders and standing me upright. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He touched his lips to my forehead before he walked down the drive.

  I stumbled inside, kicking off my new sandals. What a weird but interesting evening. I could hardly wait to call Delia. Did the man consider me the killer? Why would that excite him? Or maybe he knew I wasn’t guilty, because he arranged it?

  I started upstairs, feeling like I was floating, though I didn’t know if it was from the liquor or him. A sudden thumping on the front door stopped me. My heart leaped into my throat. I didn’t know him well, but Miles didn’t strike me as the pounding type. It was nearly three . Who could it be? A media person with an interview request? Torres, arriving to arrest me? I made certain the alarm was on, tucked my cell into my hand and tiptoed to the door.

  Through the peep hole, I saw Brad’s angry face outlined in the exterior light. I opened the door with a sigh of relief. “Hi, what are you doing?”

  “I could ask the same of you. What the fuck were you doing kissing that son of a bitch?”

  Anger swelled inside me, tightening my hands into fists. “That’s none of your business.”

  He grabbed my arm and pushed me inside. “You are my business!”

  I yanked my arm out of his grasp and backed away. His breath reeked of alcohol and his blue eyes were bloodshot. He looked like hell. His hair spiked at weird angles, his loose tie was stained and the lapel of his jacket looked damp. “What are you talking about?”

  He staggered forward, cornering me against the wall. “You know. You have to know.”

  I’d never been around physical violence, but I could sense his anger was ready to explode into physical force. I attempted a smile and appealed to reason. “Brad, you’ve been drinking. I think you should go home and sober up.”

  He leaned closer to me, his words slurring. “You mus’ know that wha’s happening iss not an accident.”

  “What is happening?” I turned my face away as he tried to kiss me.

  He caught it in a hard grip and jerked it up to him. “We’re a team...”

  I pushed my hands against his chest, attempting to put distance between us. “Go home and we’ll talk later.”

  “We’ll talk now.” He leaned forward to kiss me, but I’d had enough. I tried to slap him, but despite being drunk, he moved quickly. He caught my arm and bent it behind my back, yanking me against the wall.

  My head bounced hard, sending a shower of stars dancing behind my eyes.

  “Damn you.” I curled the fingers of my free hand into a fist and punched his side, but he caught that wrist and folded it behind my back. Why hadn’t I taken self-defense classes recently? I tried to kick, but his body trapped me against the wall. One old lesson returned as he tried to kiss me again. I lifted my bare foot and came down hard on his toe. Too bad I wasn’t still wearing those stilettos.

  He howled and drew back, surprised. I pushed at him, elbowing him in the midsection and made it to the door and yanked it open. A hard wall blocked it—the bulky body of Senor Zapato. I started to scream, but he looked at me with a confused look.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I shook my head and waved behind me. Brad had his head down and was coming after me, but Senor Zapato hefted a right hand, and I heard a loud pop! Brad crumbled to the ground like a dropped sack of potatoes.

  My breath came in labored gasps and I bent over. What was the big man doing here? I lifted my eyes to see what he was going to do next, but he was kneeling beside Brad.

  “He’s okay. Knocked out.”

  I took another deep breath. “Thanks.”

  He nodded and hefted Brad over his bulky shoulder, like a longshoreman loading bags of bananas. “Esta boracho.”

  “Very drunk,” I agreed.

  “I’ll take care of him and have someone get his car. Buenas noches.” He walked down the driveway, Brad’s limp body flopping against his broad back.

  I closed the door and leaned back against it, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. What the hell was going on with Brad? But I knew. He’d been giving hints for a while and I’d ignored them.

  What would have happened if Senor Zapato had not been around? I’d gotten in several good licks, but could I have held him off? Why the hell was the Senor outside my door at three in the morning anyway? I wasn’t certain I wanted to know.

  With trembling fingers, I locked the door and set the alarm. Should I call police? No, Brad had been drunk and jealous. I saw no reason to get him into trouble. As I started up to my bedroom, I noticed the light blinking on my answering machine. Two messages. Maybe Delia had called. What time was it in South America? I could use her counsel, if not her sense of humor. I walked to the phone and tapped the message button.

  Toby’s voice came across the line. “Miss delaGarza, I’m tired of waiting. You promised me the money by this weekend. If I don’t get it, I’m taking my recording to police.”

  Before I could take another breath, a hoarse voice I didn’t recognize came across the line. ”You bitch! You’re heading for a fall. If you don’t stop making trouble, I’ll see that you get what your boyfriend got.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I barely slept that night, sitting on my horrible hard sofa, watching old movies. I tried calling Delia to no avail. I wanted to call Sam, but I feared he might insist on coming over, and I hated the thought of his driving from Glendale in the middle of the night. I might have driven to his house except I feared someone lurking outside. Police would probably think this was another trick if I called them.

  Was I in danger? That was the worst part. I didn’t know.

  At nine the next morning, my doorbell rang. I blinked awake, surprised to find I lived through the night. The bell sounded again, so I dragged my stiff body to a standing position.

  Who would visit so early? I hoped for Sam, but instead a delivery man with a huge bouquet of roses stood outside.

  Miles Brookings? It was the sort of thing he might do. The roses were a wild spray of colors, from vivid red to orange, pink and yellow. Wait until I told Delia! We’d always said that if a man sent flowers the next day, he was a keeper. And we hadn’t even slept together.

  With an expectant smile, I opened the card, thinking about how long to wait before I called to thank him. Maybe my luck was changing. My face froze as I read the card. Please forgive me, Brad.

  It pained me to throw away anything so beautiful, but I didn’t want the flowers. Forgive him? I never wanted to see him again. I carried the vase outside onto the lower patio. As I walked inside, my board came into view. It seemed to pulsate, accusing me of neglect. I needed to call Callahan about that threatening phone call. I decided to call Sam first.

  “You should have called as soon as you got it,” he said, showing no sign of his earlier anger.

  “At three in the morning?”

  “They called at three?”

  “I got home at three.” Anticipating his next question, I added, “I had a date.”

  “I don’t like that Brad guy. There’s something off about him...”

  Sam might not understand about Miles, so I fudged. “I’m never seeing him again. I’m spending the day on my detective work.”

  “Great. I got plenty to tell you. Did you get the shorthand for those ledgers so we can check names?”

  My nose wrinkled. He would go ballistic if I told him how I spent the previous day. How coul
d I get those initials decoded? Perhaps I needed to see Betty. Had Jennifer told her that I could fire her?

  “I have to run an errand in Burbank this morning, so why don’t I pick you up and we can have lunch and catch up? I’ll be there in two hours.” The trip to Glendale would take an hour, which would allow time for a stop at Betty’s office.

  The phone beeped to let me know I had another call coming in and I rang off with Sam. The sound of Brad’s throaty whisper sent a shiver through me.

  “I’m sorry; I made a total ass of myself. That will never happen again.”

  Twice he had shown me an angry, volatile side. I’d never been in that sort of relationship, and I wasn’t starting now. “Maybe we need to stop seeing each other.”

  “Because of Miles Brookings?” His voice rang with bitterness.

  I fought the impulse to reply with anger. No sense riling him up again. I kept my tone calm. “No, because things are tense right now.”

  “When can I see you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I want to be there for you. I’ll behave, I promise,” he pleaded. “I went crazy, seeing you with that jerk. What do you see in him? Money?”

  “It’s nothing like that.”

  “You had a cozy dinner, let him kiss you.” Accusation crept into his rising voice. “If I forced myself on you, would you would have reacted the same? Maybe I should have tried that.”

  This was getting us nowhere. “Enough, Brad! You tried last night. Let’s drop things, okay?”

  “Please give me another chance. I can talk to the cops and tell them to back off, or hire a PI. Whatever you want…” His plaintive voice had the opposite effect of what he wanted. No way would I allow myself to be indebted to him.

  “It won’t work, Brad.”

  “We belong together. I knew it from the first. I won’t let him steal you.” His voice had turned hard and frightening.

  “I don’t belong to anyone. Goodbye, and please don’t call again.”

  “You can’t do this. I’ll make you sorry. Real sorry.” The line went dead.

  Great! I had an anonymous guy making threats on voicemail, a blackmailer wanting money, and now Brad was going to make me sorry.

  Better deal with the blackmailer.

  “Give me my money,” Toby said the instant I identified myself.

  “What about—”

  “I want the money,” he shouted. “You’ve stalled long enough. I’ll be at the Mira Loma pier tomorrow night at seven. Bring the money or else. You and your friend owe me.”

  His final comment startled me. “Delia? Have you talked to her?”

  “I’ve left several messages.”

  “She’s out of the country and her phone doesn’t always work.” It was strange that she hadn’t mentioned them, but perhaps she hadn’t gotten them.

  “Tomorrow night or I’m going to the police.” The phone clicked off.

  I sank to a seat with a sigh. How was I supposed to get two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Had Carl sold my stocks as I asked? Maybe he would provide me with an advance? I punched in his number.

  “I need some cash,” I said.

  “You’ll have to wait.”

  “I can’t.” I hated the desperate sound of my voice.

  The bitterness in his reply was worse. “Your attorney informed me you’re demanding an audit. What kinda shit is that? Rick ordered me to use the money. I wasn’t cheating anyone.”

  Adrienne and I talked about the audit, but why had she pushed forward so soon? Was she worried about not getting paid?

  “There’s been a misunderstanding,” I said.

  “Your money is tied up until this is over. I won’t be accused of trying to steal. You and Jennifer are trying to ruin me, but you’re both gonna be sorry.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Did you call last night and leave a threat?”

  The line went dead.

  Great! Another guy on my case. Maybe I should borrow Senor Zapato for a few days. Toby wouldn’t dare go to the cops if Senor Z hulked nearby, and a visit from him might calm down Brad and Carl.

  Speaking of which, what was the Senor doing outside my house in the middle of the night?

  ****

  Friday, 10:30 a.m.

  Betty didn’t answer my call, but I drove to Burbank anyway. The message on her voicemail assured callers she was in all week. She probably didn’t want to take my call.

  The door to her office stood slightly ajar, and I rapped lightly. The interior was dim, which surprised me. It had been light with morning sun the last time I visited. I knocked again.

  “Betty?”

  I pushed the door open to peek inside and gasped. The room was in shambles. Papers littered the floor and the green banker’s light from her desk lay in pieces on the floor.

  What was going on? And what was that funky smell?

  Except I knew. I’d been to enough accident scenes and murders to recognize that horrifying stench. The smell of death.

  A narrow ribbon of burgundy ended in a dried pool at the side of her desk. I leaned down and saw only a hand holding a thin chain. The wrist had a thin gold and diamond bracelet. I stumbled backward, leaning against the doorknob as I struggled to keep from vomiting.

  I hurled myself outside and collapsed to my knees on the grass.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I’d never been so happy to see anyone as I was to see Sam enter the interrogation room where I waited to give my statement at the Burbank Police Station.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, since all I told him when I called was where I was.

  I grabbed his thin hand like a lifeline as my words spilled. “Betty’s dead. At least I think it’s her. I never saw the body. I saw her wrist, and I think that was her bracelet. I smelled and saw blood, so I called police. Sure enough, there’s a dead woman in there, shot maybe. I wanted to leave so they brought me here.”

  His gaunt face wrinkled in concern as he stood over me, hands on narrow hips. “What were you doing there?”

  “Trying to find the codes for those ledgers.”

  His head shook in disbelief. “You shoulda picked me up first. As angry as you’ve been with that woman...” he stopped. “Damn! Do you know how this is going to look?”

  I gulped as what he said hit home. “No!”

  “You better call Nichols before you talk to these people. I mean, like now!”

  I reached for my phone, but my hand shook so badly I fumbled it. Nimbly, he caught it and followed my instructions to put in the call before handing me the phone.

  “You’re where?” Oliver shouted.

  “Burbank Police Station. Someone…killed Rick’s bookkeeper. I found her body.”

  “Don’t say a damn word. I’m on my way.”

  I hung up as Sam got off his phone. He gestured toward the door with his head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Let’s go outside for a second. I need a drink of water.”

  In the hall he directed me to a plastic chair while he walked to a row of vending machines. I was no longer feeling as shaky, but I was pleased he was nearby.

  “Tell me everything,” he said when he returned with two cold bottles of water. “From beginning to end.”

  Sips of water kept my parched throat wet as I stumbled through the gruesome discovery, much as I’d told the story to the officers who first arrived on the scene.

  Sam eyed me warily. “Whatever you do, don’t tell them about your suspicion she was sleeping with Wells.”

  “Isn’t that withholding information?”

  “You don’t know she slept with him. Maybe she wanted to make you jealous. Your only reason for being there was because you needed help with those books. Understand?”

  I nodded. That was the truth. For once, I didn’t have to fudge.

  As I finished my talk with Sam, Paula came striding down the hall. Wonderful, the press had arrived. I s
tarted to protest I couldn’t talk, but realized she had a police officer beside her, along with Richard Williams—the Oliver Nichols of the north Valley.

  Her angry eyes zeroed in on me like I was a target. “You set me up,” she said, but her attorney gripped her arm and whisked her through a door next to where I’d waited for Sam.

  As I turned away, I spotted Oliver coming through the main door.

  “Tell me what’s goin’ on, darlin’,” he demanded. I introduced him to Sam, but his attention stayed focused on me. “I want details before they question you. We have time since they’ll wait until Mira Loma cops arrive.”

  Oh, hell. My shaking grew so violent, I splashed water on me. “They’re coming to question me?”

  “Burbank PD will conduct the interview, but I can guarantee Callahan and Torres will be listening. Remember that if anyone brings up details of the Mira Loma case, don’t answer. You stick to this morning and that girl. Watch me for your cues. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I don’t want any freelancing.”

  He was treating me like a child, but I didn’t argue. At his urging, I described my reason for seeing Betty and how I discovered her and called police. Then he threw me for a loop. “Where were you last night?”

  “Last night? Why does that matter?”

  “From what I heard on the radio, they haven’t established a time of death yet.”

  I drew a deep breath. At least I had not been home alone. “I had a date.”

  “With who?” Oliver asked. “Will he vouch for you?”

  Damn, would Miles mind being mentioned? Could that bring him into this? How would that look?

  “I got home around three this morning,” I continued, not answering his question. “And then Brad Singer came by, but he wasn’t there very long.” Brad could attest to what time I got home, if he wasn’t too angry.

  “What about earlier yesterday?” Oliver asked.

  I wet my lips, feeling like the kid who got caught playing hooky. I couldn’t look at Sam as I admitted the folly of my afternoon. “I got my hair done at Andre’s Salon, a manicure at Nanci’s Nail Nook and spent the rest of the afternoon at Genie’s Rodeo Fashions. They’ll vouch for me.”