Blues at 11

by Rebecca Grace

  “What about your date?” Oliver pressed. “Were you with Singer? We’ll need to verify…”

  “No, not Brad. What if he doesn’t want his name given out?” I asked, making a face.

  “Maybe we need to find out what time she was killed,” Sam interrupted.

  Oliver’s attention jerked to Sam. “Let me handle this.”

  “She was with me,” Sam said, not the least bit intimidated.

  I didn’t know why Sam made that claim, but it got me off the hook for the moment so I said nothing.

  Oliver blew out a deep breath, playing a ping pong game with his eyes from me to Sam and back. I doubted he believed us.

  The questioning itself was easy, after I waited several hours. Burbank Police had no reason to suspect me of anything. I knew Torres and Callahan were probably watching. Was Hank around too?

  “Are you hungry?” Sam asked when we finally departed. “There are a couple of coffee shops around here.”

  There were some nice restaurants too, but I knew I wouldn’t taste anything. We ended up in a small café on the border between Glendale and Burbank. I toyed with my fruit salad while Sam dug into his cottage cheese.

  “Where were you all afternoon?” I asked.

  He’d disappeared for long stretches while I sat with Oliver. He waved his hand, lifting and lowering his eyebrows. “Snooping, of course. Listening in the background.”

  “Did you hear anything interesting?”

  “Paula Gardner is in a deep world of hurt. Seems she dropped by to see the late Ms. Arguello last night and they got into a heated argument. The thing about these older neighborhoods is that many people have lived here for years. They know each other and watch what goes on. Anyway, people saw Miss G. arrive at the house around seven in a marked TV car. The two women argued and she left. Neighbors saw Betty go to her office later, but no one saw her come out. Light stayed on until around eleven when there was another big fight. No one saw anything after that. They figured she went into the house, though no one could tell cause she has automatic timers that turn off at midnight.”

  “So Paula could have killed her?”

  “If she came back after the late news. Several people thought they heard gunshots, but no one is sure.”

  “Why would Paula or anyone want to kill Betty?”

  His eyebrows did their dance again. “Makes you think she knew something, huh?”

  My breath caught. What could she have known? “Did they question Carl?”

  “Did you suggest it?”

  “I mentioned he was the other person working on Rick’s finances. So now what? Where does that leave us?”

  “The damn books,” he said, putting down his glass of tea with a thud that made liquid slosh over the top. “What time does the wine shop close?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want me to call and check?”

  “Yep. The sooner we get in there, the better.”

  The line went immediately to voicemail. “Wells Fine Wines is closed for inventory. If you have a special order, please leave a message…”

  I clicked off and made a face. “Did Darryl say anything to you about inventory? The shop is closed.”

  He shook his head, scratching his chin. “Interesting. Maybe we should go look around.”

  “Jennifer still hasn’t given me a key.”

  “Hmph!” He flicked a hand of dismissal. “I can get in. That security system is for shit. This way we won’t have Mrs. Roberts interrupting or Darryl looking over our shoulders. Hell, it’s your shop, right?”

  “Yes.” Another thought occurred to me. “Maybe we can find the gun.”

  “Gun?”

  “It was missing from the box where I packed it. It was probably put into another box, but it might not hurt to take it back.”

  His grizzled face stiffened, and when he spoke, he was Mr. Cop. “You can’t pick up guns whenever you feel like it. You gotta have a permit.”

  “It’s registered to me. I can even shoot—sort of. Maybe I need another lesson.” I’d never been big on guns, but given the last few days, perhaps I should learn how to use it.

  His demeanor softened and he nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll take you to the range.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it across his half eaten plate. Neither one of us had finished our diet meals. “Let’s swing over to my house. I’ll pick up clothes and stay with you tonight.”

  His suggestion was as welcome as the thought of the gun. Spending another night sitting on my couch didn’t appeal to me, and I needed him to hear that threatening message on my phone.

  ****

  We drove to his house and while he went inside to get clothes, I remained in my car. After my call to Darryl, I’d noticed three missed calls on my phone log. My cell had been turned off while I was talking to police. The log showed two calls from Delia’s cell and one from Miles Brookings.

  I checked voicemail, listening to Delia’s chirpy voice. “Hey, babe, call me. What’s the latest? Are you locked up yet?”

  “Ha, ha.” I forwarded to the next message. Miles baritone sent a shiver through me.

  “Kimberly, this is Miles Brookings. I’m not certain what you hoped to gain with those pictures, but needless to say, I would appreciate no further contact with you.”

  Pictures? What the hell was he talking about?

  My phone buzzed and I jumped, tossing up the instrument like a bouncing ball. I emitted a cry of delight when I saw Delia’s number.

  “Oh, Del, am I glad to hear from you!” My words tumbled out like spilling milk. “You wouldn’t believe what’s happened. Someone killed Betty.”

  “What?” She shouted so loud Sam probably heard her in the house.

  I gave her a brief rundown of my crazy day.

  “They don’t think you did it,” she said breathlessly.

  “I have an alibi. Remember? I had a date with Miles Brookings.”

  Another shout rang in my ear. “Yes! Did you do the nasty?”

  Just like Delia to ask that first. “We went to dinner, concluding with a simple kiss.”

  “Oooh…you were supposed to call me,” she grumbled.

  “I did. Your phone was off. Anyway, unless she was killed early this morning, I’m off the hook. Except I don’t know if he’ll admit he was with me. He left a nasty message saying he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. I have no idea what that’s about.”

  “I can hardly wait to get home. You’ll never figure this out on your own.”

  “Sam’s a big help. We’re on our way to the wine shop to look for the gun Rick gave me.”

  “Sam might be great, but we’ve always been a team.”

  “You’re right. You could probably talk that rat Toby out of his blackmail demand. Have you heard from him? He said he left messages for you.”

  “I ignored them. He can’t touch me. I have an alibi.”

  “I’m supposed to pay him tomorrow night, though I don’t know where I’m getting two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  “You might as well face it. You gotta pay him.”

  “Maybe I should run it by Sam. He said a tape could be doctored.”

  “Uh-uh. Even if the tape is inadmissible in court, he heard everything. He’s a witness. I wouldn’t tell Sam. He’ll go to the cops. I can get you the money. I’ll call my bank and arrange for you to pick it up.”

  Relief rushed through me like a tidal wave. “Del, you’re an angel. I don’t know when I can pay you back.”

  “What are friends for? Men come and go, but best friends are forever. You know, BFF.”

  “Kimberly!” Sam called from the door, waving wildly.

  “I have to go, hon. I’ll call you later.”

  We hung up and I hurried up the walk to Sam. His face was etched with anger and he gestured me inside with an impatient motion. He waved at the TV in the family room.

  “You mind explaining that?”

  I stared in horror at the set. A photo of me and Miles taken the ni
ght before at the restaurant filled the screen.

  “We’re not certain who took the picture or sent it to Gossipcolumn.com,” Peter intoned, “but it certainly raises new questions about the relationship between Kimberly delaGarza and Miles Brookings, especially given last night’s murder of Wells’ bookkeeper, Betty Arguello.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Sam was silent as we made the drive across town. I could feel his disapproval filling the car like a gathering rain cloud.

  “Anything else you want to tell me?” he finally asked. “Like about Miles Brookings?”

  “I told you I had a date last night. I ran into him at the ballgame the other night and he called me. Why did you tell Oliver you were with me?”

  Sam grimaced and turned to look out the window. “I thought you were with Hank. You looked uncomfortable when he asked the question. Did you tell police the truth?”

  I drew a deep breath. No wonder he volunteered an alibi. “I told them I’d need to check with the person before I mentioned his name. I guess the picture took care of that.”

  “Who took the picture?”

  “I have no idea, but Miles is furious. He left nasty voicemail on my phone.”

  “He’s the guy who threatened you?”

  “No. That was someone else.” Maybe I should let him hear the voicemail message before we got to the house. It might relieve the tension. At the next light I dialed my home voicemail and waited until I heard the frightening, hoarse voice before handing the phone to Sam.

  “This doesn’t sound good,” he said when he finished. “Did you tell the police?”

  “I wanted you to hear it first. I was afraid Callahan would think I was trying to take suspicion off me.”

  “You’re right. I’m sure you know actors or TV people who could make the call, and it happened to come when you were gone? ” He shook his head. “Too damn coincidental. We should call Hank.”

  “You think he’ll believe me?”

  Sam pounded a fist on his thigh. “I’ll make him believe you. Who coulda left it?”

  “Maybe Carl? He’s furious that we’re doing an audit. It doesn’t sound like him, but maybe he had someone do it. He knows actors too. This guy sounds agitated, so agitated it borders on phony. Do you think we’re on to something? Do you think it’s related?”

  “At this point everything’s related.”

  I trusted Sam’s hunches. “This morning you said you had things to tell me.”

  He pulled his notebook from his pocket and flipped through pages. “I checked on Ken Gardner. Wells owed him money.”

  “Couldn’t that be a motive?”

  “He has an alibi. He was in Vegas that weekend.”

  “He could have hired someone. Why was he in Vegas? Maybe he wanted an alibi…”

  Sam held up his hand and tapped his head with his forefinger. “Think, Kimberly. Be logical.”

  “That’s logical to me. Or maybe…” My breath caught and I whirled toward him. “What if…Betty told Ken that Paula was having an affair with Rick? Ken kills Rick and Paula finds out Betty is to blame and kills Betty. Or maybe Paula killed Rick and Betty?”

  His gentle laugh rumbled through the car. “Well, you’re thinking at least. That certainly does open up some interesting premises.”

  Something else flew into my mind. “Paula blamed me this morning. She said I set her up. Couldn’t that mean something?”

  “Sure as hell could. Even your invitation from Brookings last night might mean something.”

  “What?” That switch in direction was a surprise.

  He reached over and tapped my arm. “Think about it. Did you know where you were going last night? Who knew where you were and took the picture? Who released it? Do you know?”

  “But he’s angry about it. He left a message blaming me. I wish I was as smart as all these people seem to think. Everyone accuses me of setting them up.”

  “Maybe it’s the other way around,” he said, stroking his chin. “Maybe he set you up. Maybe now that’s he’s rid of Betty and whatever she knew, he doesn’t want you asking questions. Did you ever think of that?”

  Huh? Had Miles taken me out to see what I knew? Was even his claim he thought I killed Rick a way to twist things around? I recalled his feelings toward Rick and his assertion that the marriage wouldn’t take place. How did he plan to stop it? Was his Canadian alibi a set up? Like El Patron, there was probably someone, somewhere in his employment like Senor Shoe.

  ****

  Sam surprised me with the ease he displayed getting into the store. A few flicks with a screwdriver and the door swung open. I knew the alarm code and switched it off. Unlike the last time, the store carried an aura of abandonment. Dust had formed on some of the bins and wine bottles. Open boxes filled the aisles and each shelf was tagged with names and numbers.

  Who had ordered the inventory? Jennifer? Without consulting me? Maybe I’d throw a fit to remind her who was half boss. Still, the information could be valuable if Rick was involved in money laundering. Perhaps it would uncover any unaccounted inventory.

  “What are we looking for?” Sam asked.

  “I need to find that datebook and the gun.” I spotted the three boxes still in the corner of the tasting room. “They should be in one of those boxes.”

  “Let me look. Why don’t you check the office and see if you can find a client list. Or look for billing statements. I saw a copier in his office the other day. Fire it up and make copies of invoices or orders. Between that and the datebook, we might be able to figure out the initials.”

  The office was as dreary and dusty as the store. I turned on the copier and opened the lower file drawer on his desk and began looking through files. Old bills and invoices were in order and I took one of each from the folders and carried them to the copier. Time seemed to stretch on before I heard footsteps.

  “I found the gun,” Sam said, standing in the door, brandishing the small weapon.“Not bad. A .38. Got any ammo?”

  “It would be in the box. Did you find the datebook?”

  He tossed the leather bound book to me. “Is this what you were looking for?”

  I caught it and breathed a sigh of relief at accomplishing something for a change “I’m going to finish the last few pages and shut this down, okay?”

  “Sounds good. Let’s go get a steak dinner. I need real meat.”

  “It’s a date, old man,” I joked.

  He disappeared and I went back to copying. A folder toward the back caught my attention. It was marked personal. I pulled it out and was about to open it when I heard a noise from the other room. It sounded like tumbling boxes.

  “Did you drop something?” I called.

  “Hey!” he said and I heard more tumbling.

  “Sam, what are you doing?” I walked into the dim room.

  Sam lay on the floor, an open box beside him.

  “What happened?” I asked as I approached. Blood spurted from his forehead and I shrieked. Movement came from the corner of my eye and I started to turn, but something hard caught me on the side of the head. Stunned, I tumbled to the hard brick floor.

  Time seemed to stand still until I blinked my eyes open. I was only groggy for an instant. Then I heard footsteps and the door slam. I staggered to my feet, called 9-1-1 and leaned over Sam, hands shaking. I wasn’t certain how to check for a pulse, but he seemed to be breathing. Blood no longer spurted, but it ran down the side of his head. I darted to the bathroom and grabbed a pile of paper towels, wetting several.

  I wiped the cut and saw it wasn’t very big, but Sam still hadn’t wakened. I sat on the floor holding Sam’s head, waiting. My knowledge of emergency medicine was nil and I thought about what Delia had said. I truly was helpless. Finally, in the distance I heard a siren and moments later the ambulance screeched to a halt outside.

  Once Sam was loaded and they told me he was going to be okay, I went back inside to close up. I grabbed the folder with my copied material, the folder marked per
sonal, and the datebook. As I turned to leave, I remembered the gun. I looked around, but saw no sign of it. What had Sam done with it?

  ****

  Hank had an anxious look on his face as he hurried down the hospital hall toward me.

  “They’re stitching up Sam,” I said, trying to smile. I hadn’t been hit hard, but Sam had a long gash across his forehead. “I gave a statement to your officers.”

  I was becoming an old hand at this questioning shit. At least this time I was victim instead of suspect.

  Hank shook his head, a motion so violent his short hair danced. “That’s it, Kimberly. Amateur hour is over! What were you doing there so late anyway?”

  I explained about trying to get the information on Rick’s client list. “That’s why I was at Betty’s earlier.”

  The look on his face told me he’d already known that.

  “We don’t know this had anything to do with Rick’s death,” I said. “No one knew we were there.”

  He held up both his hands to stop me from saying anything else. “I’ll check the police report later. You should go home.”

  Even if I wasn’t worried about Sam, I didn’t want to leave. “I’ll stay here until he’s released.”

  “They’re keeping him overnight.”

  “I don’t mind staying.” A well lit hospital was preferable to my lonely house. These chairs were as comfortable as my sofa.

  Hank’s look was skeptical, but he didn’t protest.

  “I’ll get coffee.” I stood and took a step, but the floor swam and I staggered back, hitting the plastic chair and sending it thumping against the wall.

  Hank caught my arm, his firm grip steadying me. “Whoa. You okay?”

  “I haven’t eaten all day… Sam and I were going to dinner after we finished…”

  He released my arm, but kept a close watch on me as I began to walk. “Let’s go to the cafeteria. I could use a sandwich myself.”

  The hospital dining room reminded me of a school cafeteria, plastic chairs and long tables. We took a spot in the corner though the large room was deserted. He carried my tray where he’d placed a plastic-wrapped roast beef sandwich and a cup of vegetable soup.

  “I’m sorry…” I began as we took seats across from each other.