The Claudia Hershey Mysteries - Box Set: Three Claudia Hershey Mysteries

by Laura Belgrave

  “See, to a casual computer user, the file might look like it’s gone,” said Booey, “but really it’s just invisible—the emperor without clothing.” He carried on about contiguous sequences of bytes, directory hierarchies, and file attributes. Claudia occasionally nodded, which Booey mistook for interest. “Of course, how effectively files can be recovered depends on how much the hard drive had been overwritten since the files were trashed, or if a security program had been used to truly delete files. Some of those programs are pretty sophisticated and they open up a whole new challenge.”

  Claudia nodded. Snooze.

  “But the good news is there are also programs specially made to recover deleted files, even if the hard drive has been overwritten multiple times. Now if—”

  “Yeah, yeah, Booey? That’s all great. Fascinating stuff.” She tried to defuse her impatience when she saw his mouth turn down at the corners. “I . . . this business about contiguous bytes, for instance—”

  “Sequences. Contiguous sequences of bytes,” he clarified.

  “Right. Anyway, that’s something, uh . . . especially interesting, but right now, Booey? I have too much on my plate to pay proper attention. How about if I let you alone and you just do your magic. You can tell me how you did it later.”

  “If I can do it.”

  “You’re Booey. Of course you can do it.”

  He blushed.

  Claudia turned to leave, then paused. “Say, Booey, have you ever heard the word ‘crinkum-crankum’?”

  “I’ve never heard anyone use it in an actual sentence.”

  “But you’ve heard it? You know what it means?”

  “Sure. It’s a noun. It means ‘full of twists and turns.’”

  “Huh. It wasn’t in my dictionary.”

  “It probably got squeezed out to make room for more contemporary words. See, there’s a whole process for updating dictionaries and—”

  “Thanks, Booey.” She’d mull it over later. Once again she turned to leave. Once again she paused. Was that a hole in his ear lobe? She asked him.

  He colored again. “Normally I wear a small earring,” he confided. “It’s nothing ostentatious—ostentatious is definitely not me—but even so, I thought an earring might be a little over the top for a police station. Know what I mean?”

  Claudia smiled. Yeah. She knew.

  * * *

  An hour dragged by, then another. While Booey hunched over Hemmer’s computers, Claudia met with Moody and Carella. She glossed over her Miami Beach misadventure, grateful that neither man probed for details. The chief likely would, but he hadn’t surfaced yet. Moody told her Suggs was out on a public relations mission, playing Officer Friendly to a bunch of eight-year-old kids at a day camp. They all smiled at the image, then got back to business. Claudia struggled not to yawn as she assigned new tasks and guzzled coffee.

  Later, she plowed through paperwork and made phone calls. She learned that the Cavalier was on its way back, pulled by a tow truck like a dead fish behind a trawler. Indian Run’s police department didn’t have a motor pool, so she made arrangements to rent a clunker for short-term use. Someone could run her over to pick it up later.

  Annoyed and dispirited over the inertia of the Hemmer case, Claudia wandered into the ladies room. Inspiration could occasionally strike in the least likely places. It didn’t, but a few minutes later when she emerged, something else did. Contrary to all expectation, Gloria Addison walked into the station. She sashayed toward the front desk, her hips rolling beneath a skirt so short that it looked like an extension of the tube top she wore. Her clothes were too tight to rustle with movement, and yet she was resonant with swishes, and jangles from bangles liberally draped from her wrists and ears. For the second time that morning Claudia came fully awake. So did the handful of officers writing reports. They smiled stupidly when Addison favored them with a hello, pretending that she hadn’t spotted Claudia in her peripheral vision.

  Claudia watched her play the game out, chatting up Sally, asking where she could find “that woman detective” who she’d heard had been trying to get in touch. When Sally pointed her out, Addison slowly perambulated in her direction, stoking fantasies for each man she passed.

  Claudia extended her hand. “Ms. Addison. I’m glad you stopped by.” The woman’s handshake was firm, but moist with a hint of nervousness. “You look recovered from last week’s trauma.”

  Addison shrugged. “That was then,” she said lazily. “This is now. I’m over it.”

  Right. Just another day on Mulberry Street.

  “Well, good,” said Claudia. “Glad to hear it. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No thanks. I heard you were looking for me. There’s been a burglary at Hemmer’s place? I stopped by to tell you that I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Let’s talk in my office,” said Claudia.

  “Right here is fine. I can’t stay long.” Addison’s eyes settled on Booey. She waved a pinkie, immediately turning him to stone. When she brought her hand down, she frowned at her fingernails. Fuchsia. “I have an appointment coming up.”

  “Manicure?”

  Addison’s eyes narrowed. “As a matter of fact, that’s right. I need to leave in five minutes.” She looked at Claudia’s hands. “I’d be happy to give you a referral. My manicurist does wonders with challenging nails.”

  Claudia resisted an impulse to shove her hands into her pockets. Instead, she said she’d be grateful for a name. With luck, Addison’s manicurist might be a gossip. The Hemmer case didn’t even have much of that at the moment. A second later, the idea morphed into another wild whim.

  “You know what?” she said to Addison. “Why don’t I go with you? Maybe they could squeeze me in, too.”

  “You mean now? Now now?”

  “Sure. You’re in a hurry. We can talk there.”

  “I . . . my manicurist is always swamped. I’m sure you’d be wasting your time. And there’s not much to talk about. I don’t know anything about a break-in.”

  Claudia held her hands up. “My daughter’s always after me to get my nails done. Let’s give it a shot. You’re on your way there, anyway, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good. Let me grab my purse. This could be fun.”

  “I need to make a call first.”

  “You can make it from your car. We’ll bring my cell phone.”

  “My . . . you’re going to ride with me? I thought you’d just follow.”

  “My car’s in the shop,” Claudia said gaily. “I’ve ordered a rental. Actually, maybe you can drop me at the rental place when we’re done.”

  She watched the effervescence bleed out of Addison’s demeanor, and wished there was a reason to shake hands again. She bet the woman’s palms were slick as Crisco.

  Chapter 15

  Addison drove an Alfa Spider with the top down. The Italian import could probably do a hundred miles an hour in under ten seconds, but Addison stayed within the speed limit, which was still plenty fast enough to blow Claudia’s hair into the shape of an untended hedge. The car wasn’t made for someone with her height or her wallet. She wondered how Addison afforded it.

  Finally, Addison pulled into an upscale plaza and parked in front of a salon graced with palm trees and a fountain. “We’re here,” she said flatly. She hustled inside before Claudia could unfold her legs from the car.

  The salon interior had a high ceiling and was decorated with chrome and expensive mirrors, making it appear larger than it looked from outside. You had to really like yourself to spend hours here, which Claudia imagined most customers did. The salon was more than about nails. It boasted every permutation of indulgence, from hair styling to facials to massage, but if there were signs displaying prices, she didn’t see them.

  Addison was already at the front counter, tapping her nails impatiently while an officious woman behind the desk studied an appointment schedule on her computer screen. She looked up blandly. “I’m sorry, Ms. Addison. I
don’t have you down for anything today.”

  “Well, look again,” Addison demanded.

  The woman feigned another careful study of her monitor, though it was angled at a way that even Claudia could see Addison’s name wasn’t on it.

  “I’m very sorry,” said the woman. “Perhaps I can schedule you for this afternoon? I’ve had a cancellation for three.”

  “No! I had an appointment for eleven. I made it days ago. I’m not leaving until I get my nails done. You people get a lot of my money. A lot of it. I should not have to tolerate this kind of screw-up.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “But nothing. I want my nails done now.” She cocked a thumb at Claudia. “I’ve brought a friend along for her nails, too. Is this the image you want to show prospective clients? That you can’t even keep appointments straight for long-standing customers?”

  People were staring. The woman studied her monitor once more. “You know, although I really don’t have anyone available for nails right now, I do have openings for a pedicure. Two, in fact. I can get both of you done instantly and of course, yours would be on the house. A gesture for your inconvenience.”

  The woman wasn’t even done talking when Addison began to shake her head, but she stopped abruptly. A smile played at her lips. She looked at Claudia, then back at the woman. “That would be acceptable.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Claudia. No way was she putting her feet in some stranger’s hands. “I don’t think—”

  “It won’t take any longer than if you got your nails done,” said Addison.

  “Some other time.”

  “Why? You’re here now. You wanted to come. Feet, nails . . . what’s the difference?”

  “Well, then!” said the desk woman, happy to serve as Addison’s ally if it would deflect a scene, “I insist you try us. In fact, because we had a mix-up—and I am so very sorry about that—we’ll give you an introductory special of thirty percent off our aromatherapy pedicure. It’s a very good deal.”

  She beamed and Addison smirked, and Claudia recognized she was stuck. If she wanted to learn anything from Addison or about her, then she had no choice but to go toe to toe with the younger woman. At thirty percent off.

  * * *

  It took fifty minutes, each of which Claudia would remember long after the polish on her toenails wore off. Before they even got started she had to forfeit her slacks and knee-highs for a silvery gown, but couldn’t abandon her jacket because it concealed her revolver. She felt ridiculous with her lanky legs and long feet poking out from beneath the gown, and air conditioning aside, she was hot. The combination gave her new incentive to wipe the sneer off Addison’s face.

  They sat side by side in plush chairs, their feet in whirlpool foot spas filled with seaweed water and something sweet smelling. Their pedicurists were Asian women, who smiled and nodded and asked in broken English if they’d like coffee, spring water or wine. Claudia said she’d take the water. Addison accepted a glass of Chablis.

  “They’re Vietnamese,” Addison confided when the women went off to fetch their drinks. “The Vietnamese, the Taiwanese . . . they have a lock on the manicure business. They adore the work and they’re suited for it.”

  Claudia bit back a response, because although Addison’s bigotry came as no surprise, the flagrancy of it reinforced her impression that the woman’s bag of tricks didn’t include intelligence. That could be useful.

  “You work?” she asked.

  “Not at the moment. Is that important.”

  Claudia smiled. “Not at the moment.”

  Their pedicurists had returned. They handed the drinks to Claudia and Addison, along with expensive cocktail napkins embossed with the salon name. Claudia thanked them. Addison said nothing, immediately too busy with her wine to acknowledge their existence. She drained her glass and demanded another. When her pedicurist returned with it, she took one more swallow then relaxed into her chair. She waved both women off, explaining to Claudia that their feet had to soak for a while.

  “But of course, you knew that,” she said.

  “Every salon is different.”

  “Right. So look, Detective. What is it you really want? You’re not here because you have all the time in the world or because you want to be my new best friend. We have nothing in common.”

  “Seems to me we have Hemmer in common.”

  “He’s dead. We should be grateful. You should be grateful.”

  “How’d you know Bonolo had a knife strapped to his ankle?”

  “What?” Addison didn’t see the question coming. She took a pull on her wine. “I thought you wanted to talk about some supposed burglary.”

  “I’ll get to it. The knife?”

  “Oh, please. I was stuck to him like glue. Remember? It would’ve been hard not to know.”

  “You’re clairvoyant?”

  Addison rolled her eyes dramatically. “Honestly, I really don’t follow you.”

  “Then I’ll make it easier. Your mouths were taped. How’d you know about the knife? He couldn’t have told you.”

  “I . . . well, Bill signaled to me.”

  “Ah. Body language.”

  “That’s right.” She thought. “And I could see the bulge under his pant leg.”

  “The knife didn’t make a bulge. I would’ve seen that myself if it did.”

  “Oh, really? It sure looked like there were some things you didn’t see at all.”

  The pedicurists moved into view and pulled their hands into synthetic gloves. The woman attending Claudia tapped her ankle. “Done with soak. Let feet dry now.” She eased Claudia’s feet from the spa one at a time, gently patted them with a white towel, applied a lotion that smelled faintly of almond, then tucked them into blue foam slippers. “There. I come back soon. You want more water?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Addison’s pedicurist had done the same, though of course she was instructed to fetch another glass of wine. “Sorry, Madame,” the woman said. “Two glass is limit. Salon rule. You want water?”

  “No, I don’t want water! I . . . forget it.” She waved the woman away and muttered something about never bringing her business to the salon again. “You know, this feels almost like harassment,” she said to Claudia.

  “They’re just doing their jobs.”

  “I don’t mean them,” she snapped. “I mean you. I voluntarily came into the station because I’d heard you were looking for me. Now all you want to do is talk about Hemmer. Hemmer this, and Hemmer that. You have some kind of agenda here?”

  Claudia smiled. “We can talk about the burglary. If that’s what it was.”

  Addison twisted to look at her. “What are you talking about? What does ‘if’ mean?”

  “All I want to know is whether you’ve seen anything unusual, or heard anything through the neighborhood grapevine. We’re asking everyone the same thing.”

  “That’s not how I hear it. It sounds to me like ‘everyone’ really means just the people Hemmer held a gun to.”

  “You’re being paranoid. If you’d bothered to check with other neighbors, then you’d already know we’re knocking on just about every door.” Lies, lies, and more lies. But Addison backed off.

  “I’m not into gossip,” she said. “Whatever happened, I can’t help. I hope you’re enjoying the pedicure, but you didn’t have to buddy up to me to pry that out of me.”

  They lapsed into silence. Addison fidgeted with her empty wine glass and sighed elaborately. Claudia felt another powerful wave of fatigue sweep over her. She tried to concentrate on the salon’s piped-in music. Finally, the pedicurists returned.

  “Feet dry now,” Claudia’s attendant announced. “Feet soft for next step.” She put on fresh gloves and held up a pumice stone and yet another tube of cream. “You too tense. Lean back. Relax.” Claudia complied. “Good. I work on feet.” She examined the bottoms of Claudia’s feet and muttered. “Feet much rough. You too much in shoes, I think. But no matter.
For you, I go gentle. Enjoy.”

  A cartoon image of a trapdoor opening beneath her flashed invitingly through Claudia’s mind. She could handle the bootmaker’s observations about her feet. And all right; true enough that she felt an absurd ping of pleasure when Tom Dixon zeroed in on them. This, though, this was something else, and anyway, what was the woman doing down there, because damn, it hurt. She stiffened and glanced down, but her pedicurist merely issued another instruction to relax.

  Addison snickered. “No pain, no gain.”

  Claudia didn’t flinch, but she angled around to face Addison.

  “You’re into pain, are you?”

  “Not as much as I’m into gain. They go together.”

  “I take it you’ve had practice.”

  Addison laughed huskily. “Honey, every woman better practice. You might carry a gun, but it’s still a man’s world. I’ve learned how to move around in it and the pain is nothing compared to the gain.”

  “Is that a strategy or a philosophy?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  Claudia smiled inwardly, because there it was, the opening for which she’d been enduring the pedicure.

  “No pain, no gain,” she mused. “No wonder you gravitated to Bill Bonolo. I should’ve guessed as much.”

  “What?!”

  “Joined at the hip. I can’t believe I missed it.”

  “Are you insane? Me and—”

  “All this time it was right in front of me. I missed the significance.”

  Addison’s eyes blazed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’s feeding you this crap?”

  “Tell me—I mean, okay; I get the ‘pain and gain’ thing—but tell me, Bonolo is the best you can do? What’s he do? Keep you in liquor? Buy you fancy clothes?”

  “This is outrageous! It’s outrageous and you’re outrageous, and I don’t have to put up with another word.”

  The pedicurists had stopped working to listen. Claudia ignored them and she ignored the tingling in her feet, her eyes locked on Addison.