I collapsed into a seat at the yellow Formica table. “All that stuff out there, you did that on purpose?”
“Oh, yeah, I did.” His grin melted. “Now first things first. You got a cell phone?”
I took it out of my pocket and placed it on the table. Bud picked it up, removed the battery, and threw it out an open window.
“Wait,” I cried.
“Cell phones can be traced, Little Sister.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he scolded. “Now how about ATM cards, credit cards, stuff like that?”
“Are you throwing them out the window too?”
“No, I’m gonna shred those.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“If I don’t, then sure as the world you’ll be tempted to use ’em.” He stretched an open hand out toward me and waited. “You asked for my help. Well, I’m givin’ it to you.”
I reluctantly gave him my wallet.
He set it on the kitchen counter. “Now let me have another look at that eye.” He examined me once more, then stood up. “You know what your daddy’d do if he was alive to see some piece of trash beat on you?”
“Dad would pretend he didn’t see it.”
He pointed at my neck and eye. “If your daddy saw that, he’d kill someone.”
“That’s why he’d pretend not to see it. So he wouldn’t have to kill someone.”
Shaking his head, Bud opened the fridge and removed something wrapped in white paper. “Put this on your face.”
“What is it?”
He tore into the white paper and pulled out a hunk of brown flesh. “Dead cow.”
I jerked back. “Don’t you have an ice pack?”
“I been beat up more times than you. I know what works.”
I took the steak and pressed it to my eye. Bud wiped his hands on his cutoffs. “Good girl. Now listen. Anybody tries somethin’ like this again, you go straight for his privates and twist ’em off. It ain’t proper fightin’, but it ain’t proper to be beatin’ on a girl neither so I figure anything goes.”
I laughed under the steak.
Bud took a seat at the table and reached for my free hand. For a moment I thought it was a tender gesture of reassurance, but then he spoke. “And if you do hit a fella, don’t go makin’ a fist round your thumb. It’s the surest way to get yourself in a world of hurt. You hit the fella hard, you’re gonna break that thumb.” I made a fist, careful not to do it around my thumb, and he smiled. “Good girl. Just like that.”
He dropped my hand and leaned back in his chair. “Now tell me about this here rat orgy you got yourself messed in with gangs and crooked cops and such.” He grinned. “Or better yet, tell me about how you plan on gettin’ out of it.”
I lifted the bottom of the steak so it was nowhere near my mouth. “I don’t know.” I thought for a moment. “I think this guy Leland Warner may be the one behind everything.”
Bud’s voice filled the room. “You’re in a mess with Leland Warner?”
“You know him?”
Bud paused, and when he next spoke, he’d recovered his easygoing tone. “I knew a guy, way back, who had a run-in with him.” He paused again. I waited for more details, but he seemed to deliberately move on. “And I’ve seen him at that Dust Bowl Days Festival they put on over in Lamont.”
I lowered the steak. “Is he a Dust Bowl survivor?”
“Keep that on your eye.” Bud pushed my hand back into place. “Nah. He always had money. Warner likes to pretend he’s an Okie, but he started out on top and he’ll finish there.”
“Why would anyone want to pretend to be an Okie? It’s a derogatory word. Nobody would want to pretend to be that.”
“I never minded bein’ called Okie. It’s the swear words that always come before it bothered me.” He lifted his eyebrow in an accusing way and leaned across the table. “And I ain’t never been ashamed of what I am a day in my life.”
I put down the steak. “I’m not ashamed of who I am.”
“I said keep that on your eye.” Bud reached over and lifted my hand with the steak. “But honestly, Little Sister, if you’re messed in with Leland Warner, you’d better run. He’s got a nasty reputation, and, frankly, a sweet little girl like you’s no match for a rich fella like that.”
I shook my head, careful not to get steak juice on myself. “That’s not an option.”
“You’re only sayin’ that ’cause you’ve only ever lived here and it’d be scary enough on a normal day to leave. And today is probably the scariest day of your life so you’re diggin’ in with what you know. It’s a mistake.”
“I’m not leaving.” My words were firm and left no opening for compromise. “I haven’t done anything wrong and I’m not going to be run off. Now, are you going to help me or not?”
Bud sighed. “What do you need?”
“A car the police can’t trace.”
He reluctantly grinned. “I may know a fella who specializes in cars like that, but then what?”
I opened my mouth, but realized I didn’t have an answer. “I need some time to figure things out. Everything’s happened so fast.”
“You go lie down and take a rest. I’ll make some calls about that car.” Bud reached over and took the steak out of my hand. “Old Pepper’s in the bedroom. He’ll keep you company.”
“Maybe just fifteen minutes.” I cleaned off my face, then started to leave. At the doorway leading to the rest of the house, I stopped and turned around. “Bud?”
He looked up from the table where he was rewrapping the steak. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
His face lit up with the famous Bud Hawkins smile that had charmed an army of women and separated countless fools from their money. “Forget it. We’re family.”
I found Pepper, an old beagle/terrier mutt, asleep on Bud’s bed. His black-and-white head lifted, sniffed in my direction, then he went back to sleep. I straightened out the quilt and checked my watch. It said two forty-five. Belly and Skinny were already looking for me.
When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the amazing smell. The air was salty and meaty and made saliva pour into my mouth. I heard sizzling and the scraping of metal on metal.
I rolled over onto my back and groaned. I was stiff and sore all over. Pepper was long gone, probably lured away by the promise of food falling on the kitchen floor, so I stretched out my arms and legs as far as I could. My neck felt worse, but the eye was better.
I looked at my watch and bolted upright. It said three forty-five.
In the kitchen Bud divided scrambled eggs onto two plates while Pepper waited expectantly at his feet. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I said.
“Figured you needed to be sleepin’.” He placed a well-done steak on one of the plates, then set it down on the table next to my wallet. “Now I figure you need to be eatin’.”
I was seconds away from saliva actually flowing out the sides of my mouth, but I didn’t sit down. “But what if the police discover we’re related? They could be here any minute.”
“Nah.” Bud sat down with his own plate and twisted the top off a bottle of beer. “It’ll be tomorrow at least before they put us together.” He used his foot to kick the empty chair from the table. “Come on.”
I reluctantly sat down. I opened my wallet to find all of my ATM and credit cards missing. At least he’d spared my driver’s license.
“And take some of these.” Bud pushed a bottle of Tylenol across the table.
I swallowed three with help from a glass of milk.
“Now eat up,” he said.
I cut into the meat and took several bites. I think it was the best thing I ever tasted in my life. I was sopping up the leftover juices with eggs when the realization hit me. “Bud! This wasn’t the steak I had on my eye?”
“Sure it is.”
“That’s gross.”
He laughed and took a swig of his beer. “So how about you start from the startin’-off point of your
mess?”
I quickly told him everything that had happened. “Obviously I can’t go to the police. Someone at the crime scene last night must have tampered with the evidence and believes I recorded it. Until I know who’s involved and how deep it goes, I won’t know who to trust.”
“And you think Warner’s pullin’ the strings?”
“He’s the only one in this mess with enough money and influence to bribe cops.”
Bud nodded. “Warner might be coverin’ up for his son-in-law. Maybe Sinclair met up with Boyle, killed him, and stole the money he was carryin’.”
“Why would Warner protect Sinclair from the police, but not the Eastside Crew?”
“Don’t know. You’re missin’ out on most of the puzzle pieces. Like, what’s this Sonoran Fancy the gang fella mentioned?”
I shrugged. “Whatever it is, Jason’s men stole it and then Val hauled it on the truck and sold it. And it sounded like they’d done it before.”
“They got lots of funny names for different kinds of weed. Sonoran Fancy sure sounds like one of ’em, and the Mexican cartels got lots of marijuana growin’ up in the mountains around here.” Bud shook his head. “But you rob one of those outfits, you don’t come back a second or third time.”
“Congratulations. You actually found a way this could be worse.” I rolled my eyes. “A drug cartel, that’s just what I need.”
“Don’t worry. Could be anythin’ really. Electronics, tobacco, alcohol.”
The last item on Bud’s list gave me an idea. “Up until two weeks ago Sinclair worked at the Dewey Ridge Winery. He was in a perfect position to help Jason and his gang steal wine. And the murdered man was his assistant.”
“Could be why he’s not workin’ there no more if folks were suspicious.” Bud got up and took his plate to the sink. “So what’s your next move?”
“I need some proof the police are involved. Then I’ll go to the authorities.”
“How you gettin’ proof?”
“I don’t know. I’d give anything to have Jason and Sinclair’s conversation on tape.” I paused. Was it really that simple? “What if I talk to Sinclair again, but this time record our conversation?”
“How you gonna do that?”
“At work sometimes we do hidden-camera exposés.” I got up and joined Bud at the kitchen sink. “A couple months ago the engineers rigged up a tiny camera in a brooch for a sweeps piece. I’ll wear it and he won’t know he’s being recorded.”
“Folks don’t like speakin’ about their illegal-type shenanigans—especially when murder’s in the stew.”
“Sinclair talked to me earlier because he thought I was a blackmailer. All I have to do is tell him I want to sell the tape and then record what he says.”
“How you gettin’ your hands on this brooch? How you wrestlin’ Sinclair down? Rich folks like that aren’t in the phone book.” He reached down and patted Pepper. “You’re much better off runnin’.”
“I’m not running.” I looked around. “Where’s your phone?”
Bud tensed. “Who you callin’?”
“My friend Marcie, at the station. She can bring me the brooch.”
“Friends have a way of disownin’ you when the law shows up.”
“She already helped me once. It’s worth a try, anyway.”
Bud shrugged his shoulders. “Phone’s in the livin’ room, but you better let me make the call. Don’t want somebody recognizin’ your voice and raisin’ the alarm.”
We went to the living room, where I dialed the number and then handed Bud the phone. I heard Callum’s voice answer in the usual way, and Bud asked for Marcie Walker. While we waited, I couldn’t help looking at the framed photos on the walls. One set in particular caught my eye because they surrounded a strange ax mounted nearby.
“What’s that thing?” I asked.
“Comes from when I was smoke jumpin’ up in Alaska.”
I looked closer at the black-and-white photos of young men in old Forest Service uniforms. “You jumped out of planes and fought forest fires?”
“For a spell. I’ve done lots of stuff, for a spell.”
Marcie’s voice came through the phone line and Bud passed me the handset.
“Marcie Walker,” she repeated.
I hesitated, then decided to take the plunge. “It’s Lilly. I need your help.”
“You need a lot more than my help,” she yelled, but quickly dropped her voice to a whisper. “According to the police, you’re going to need a good lawyer.”
“They’ve been there?”
“They’re here now. Callum had to cancel the five. They’re saying it’s going to tank us for sweeps.”
“Never mind sweeps. What did the police say?”
“You held back the tape from last night to shield the killer. They want to arrest you as an accessory to murder …or maybe as a blackmailer. They can’t seem to decide which.” She gasped. “And Callum says Trent fired you.”
“That must have gone over big. Are the other shooters having a party?”
“No. Everybody is upset. Rod was even rude to a policeman.”
“Rod?”
“Ah-huh, and Callum just sent David in to watch the police search your locker in case they try and plant evidence.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Rod’s being rude and David’s watching my back?”
“Ah-huh, and Callum says Trent’s a creep for firing you and we need to be circling the wagons—or something like that.”
“I owe Callum an apology. Trent sent those men to my house, and now he’s the one who told the police I’m holding back the tape.”
“I don’t know about any of that, but I think you need to turn yourself in.”
“I want to, but I have to get proof first.” I paused. “That’s why I need you to bring me the little brooch camera we rigged up for the massage-parlor exposé. I can use it to prove I’m innocent.”
“Lilly, I …”
“Please. I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
Marcie didn’t make a sound. The newsroom hummed in the background.
“Okay,” she finally said. “But this is a huge favor. If I ever need a kidney, you’re first in line.”
I let go of the breath I was holding and laughed. “Thank you. You can have both of them.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at my—” I started, but Bud grabbed the phone out of my hand and covered the mouthpiece.
“The first rule of bein’ on the run is don’t tell folks where you’re holed up. Meet her someplace.”
I quickly took the phone back, but kept the mouthpiece covered. “Where?”
“As far away from here as possible,” he said. “Someplace on the south side of town.”
I thought for a moment, then put the phone back to my ear. “Can you meet at the corn maze? It’s deserted this time of year and it’s easy to find.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you at the entrance, but I’m going to need some time. I have to find the brooch without looking suspicious. How about an hour?”
“Sounds good.” I suddenly remembered the Sonoran Fancy. “Wait. There’s one more thing. Can you find out if the Dewey Ridge Winery was robbed in the last few months? The murdered man worked there.”
“I’ll ask Callum to check. I’m doing a package on the murder so he won’t think it’s odd.”
“Thank you.” I paused. “Marcie, you’re really coming through for me.”
She hesitated, then said warmly, “That’s what friends are for.”
I hung up and turned to Bud, who was putting on a dirty, gray sweatshirt and flip-flops. “We’re set,” I said.
“I heard.” He reached for an old can of peanuts sitting on top of his battered TV and removed a pair of keys. “You better freshen up while I get the car.”
“It isn’t here?”
“No. I park my baby around the corner at a neighbor’s garage. Easier to get away if trouble comes knockin’.”
I wanted to a
sk what kind of trouble he meant, but instead said, “Do you have a phone book?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I need to make contact with Sinclair to set up the meeting.”
His face relaxed. “Just so you don’t tell nobody where you are.”
“Okay.” I rubbed my head and accidentally touched my sore eye. “I don’t suppose we could stop at a drugstore? I need to get some makeup to cover up these bruises.”
“There’s some in the medicine cabinet.”
I did a double take. “You have makeup?”
He laughed. “Think you’re the only one who ever got a shiner?”
TEN
Tom Sinclair had no listing in the phone book or with information. I called every possible number for the Drillers, even the concession stand, but got a series of recordings telling me to call back in the spring.
Bud returned and found me staring at the open phone book.
“Don’t say I told you so,” I said.
“Not my style.”
“No, I guess it’s not.” I returned his smile and felt a little of my tension ease. “And I haven’t given up yet.”
“What’re you thinkin’?”
“I’ve met a lot of people covering stories over the years. If I can think of someone who has a connection to Warner or his business, it might give me a lead I can follow to Sinclair.”
“Anybody who’d know Warner would know not to mouth off about it. Fellas like that stomp down hard to get things their way.”
“You’re right.” Bud had given me an idea and I eagerly reached for the phone. “They do. Especially when TV reporters try to do stories about them.”
I quickly dialed information. Within seconds the operator had a listing for Leanore Drucker. I called and spoke with her husband. He said she was volunteering that day at the Kern County Museum.
“Thanks,” I told him, and hung up.
Bud must have sensed something was coming because he raised his eyebrows.
“What do you think about making a stop?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Dumb.”
“But it’s on our way to the maze. If there are cops around, we can keep going.”
A Bad Day’s Work Page 11