by K. J. Larsen
I freshened my Dr. Pepper Lip Gloss in the visor mirror. A curly grey wig, cane, a lilac-flowered polyester dress, and a mauve-colored pin hat with a fine netting that covered half my face and a pair of cat-rimmed glasses. I hardly recognized myself. Toothy Boy sure as hell wouldn’t.
I chased the cheater and his girlfriend last summer. He took her to his love boat at the marina. I caught them in bed, her platform shoes saluting the ceiling. It was a classic Kodak-moment, and I missed my shot. Steve was onto me after that. Toying, taunting. Flashing his blinding, toothy-white smile. He schmoozed his wife and she fired me. I bided my time and waited for her to call. PI Cat DeLuca always gets her cheater.
I readied my camera, lowered my window, and hurled a tennis ball at Steve Greger’s car. The car-alarm wailed, lights flashed. Steve appeared in a doorway and scuttled down the steps. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he forgot his shoes.
Another Kodak moment. Click.
An upstairs curtain moved and Legs hid behind it. Not well.
Click. She forgot her clothes.
Steve silenced the alarm. He walked around the car, checking for damage. His shoulders lost their tension. He probably decided a cat lit on his hood. And then he saw the old woman parked behind him. He glared at me and felt his hand along the bumper. Maybe he found a nick he hadn’t noticed before. Cuz he stiffened and marched over to Tino’s car.
He rapped on the glass and made circles with his index finger. I unrolled the window and squinted through the glare of his incredibly large white teeth.
“What?” I croaked.
“Ma’am, did you hit my car?”
I cupped my ear. “Did you say you hit my car?”
“You hit my car,” and added “you crazy old bat” under his breath.
“Fat?!!” I whipped out my cell. “I’m calling the police.”
“No!” He lunged for the phone. I stashed it in my bra.
“Pervert!” I croaked and slammed on my horn.
The last thing Steve Greger wanted was Brenda to know where he put in his overtime.
Too late, toothy boy.
I snatched my cane and hit him with it.
***
I parked the Buick farther down the street where it couldn’t be seen from Legs’ window. Peeling off the old lady digs, I slipped outside in the jeans I wore beneath the frumpy dress.
The building was a three-story triplex. The tenants in the basement apartment had kids. Their bikes were chained to the back porch, finger paintings taped to the windows. My mark was in the apartment above them. Clinging to the shadows, I made my way around the building and stopped below the window with a bluish flickering light from a TV. I’d found the bedroom.
I looked around for a way up. The rusted, creaky fire-escape would be as subtle as a three alarm fire. I focused on the tree. The oak was off center but climbing out on a branch would give me a decent shot. I hoisted a leg up. And then I saw the rope swing.
Gotta love a house with kids.
The swing was a single rope, knotted at the base to support a wooden, donut-shaped seat. I pushed up the seat and tied a knot two feet higher on the rope. Then I climbed onto the seat, got to my feet, and swung. Clumsy at first, testing my balance. Gaining height and momentum with each sweep of the rope. I could fly like a bird.
They were in bed. The Daily Show was on the television, but they were missing Jon Stewart’s good jokes. I swooped by again and again. While clinging to the rope with one hand, and extending a small digital camera in the other. A perfect shot with each sweep.
Hello. Click. Good-bye.
Legs saw me first. Click. She let out a little scream. When toothy-boy looked up, the angel of Karma was gone.
Legs was stiff and wide-eyed when I breezed past again. I waved my pinky. Say cheese.
She screamed. I was gone again.
On my final fly-by, Steve stood at the window, watching—with horror—his rich wife’s money fly away. Legs hovered behind him. He covered himself with her pink bikini panties. As if I hadn’t seen it all before. Trust me, a thong would have been enough.
Click.
“Gotcha,” I said.
***
Brenda’s kids were doing homework when I dropped by her house.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and handed over the 8x10 glossies.
She stared at the envelope in her hand. “I guess I’ve always known. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
“Would you like me to stay?”
“My sister’s on her way.” She gave a sad smile. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”
***
I drove straight home and swung by the kitchen long enough to uncork a bottle of wine and snag a glass.
My hands had rope burns, and I was smudged with the kind of dirty, sticky goo trees give off. I drew a hot bubble bath. I dropped my clothes on the floor slid into the tub beneath the sweet smelling bubbles.
I turned on the jets and might have dozed off when a door slammed. A Cleo-sized screech pierced the air. I breathed again.
“Cat! Are you here?”
“No! Go away.”
Cleo laughed and poked her head in the bathroom. The woman has no boundaries.
“Whatcha doin?’”
“Seriously?”
Halah popped her head in. “Awesome bubbles!”
“Uh, naked here,” I said.
Cristina shoved the others aside. “What’s your order, girlfriend? The bartender is in.”
The pepper-spray princess smiled broadly. “It’s a party, Cat.”
I realized I would miss her. And if God had any compassion, this would be our last night together. Tomorrow the duo would point the nose of their Subaru west. And drive.
The thought made me giddy.
I spoke as soberly as I could through a full-on grin. “A cucumber mojito, bartender. Let’s get this farewell party started.”
“They’re not going anywhere,” Cleo said.
I threw her a look. “Don’t pop my bubbles.”
Cristina waved a floppy hand. “There is no way that Subaru makes it to California. We got here on black smoke and fumes.”
“Halah has school, for God sake. I’ll help you. Train? Plane? Buckshot?”
“You’re such a kidder,” Cleo laughed. “We’re a team.”
“No. We’re not,” I said doing a circling motion with my bubble-laden fingers.
“The four of us are hot on the trail of a killer, and no one leaves until Billy’s death is avenged.” Cleo waggled her hand in the air with meaning.
The three high-fived. I could’ve pushed past my bubbles and taken them all down.
Instead I said, “Cristina’s done too much already.”
I suspected her fibs put a bulls-eye on Billy’s chest. I was certain Cristina never intended to harm Billy. Yes, her actions were selfish and manipulative. But she wasn’t the one that pulled the trigger. If my suspicions were right, I hoped she’d never connect the dots. It would be a terrible truth to live with.
I shooed them away and watched my bubbles disappear down the drain.
I dressed in yoga sweats for my night run and slicked my hair back in a ponytail. A flash of gold on the dresser caught my eye. I scooped up the cigarette lighter to stash in my surveillance box. Then I padded to the living room where my cucumber mojito was waiting for me.
I took a sip and my eyes rolled back in my head. “This is the best mojito I’ve ever tasted.”
Cleo’s eyes didn’t blink from the game of Checkers she was playing with Halah. She said, “That’s a real compliment. God knows she’s tasted a lot.”
Cristina plunked beside me on the couch. “So what’s going on with you and Max?”
I gulped my drink. “What?”
“Are you blind? The guy is a serious hottie bom botty. If you’re not hitti
ng that, I’m going for him.”
She wet her lips and her eyes lowered to slits. Her tongue brushed across her teeth. She was going in for the kill.
“You should play nice,” I said. “Max is a great guy.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Your last affair in Bridgeport ended badly.” Things didn’t end so well for Billy either.
She shrugged. “Love and war. Don’t worry about Max. He’s a big boy. I am sure he can take care of himself.”
My hands were creeping up dangerously close to her neck. I slid them behind my back. “You still don’t get it. Mitchell was murdered. Tierney went to prison.”
“Yeah he did. And I felt really bad about that. I went to Confession and everything.”
“You spend a lot of time in that booth?”
She sniffed. “Max and I have chemistry. I’m calling him tonight.”
“Go for it. But I should warn you, Tino is Max’s best friend. You don’t want to screw him over like you screwed Kyle.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “Why should Tino care?”
I smiled back. “Because Tino is the guy I’ll get to kill you.”
Her eyes went blink blink. “You’re hilarious.”
***
Halah put on a Chicago Symphony CD that Cleo had bought her, and played along with her violin. Inga and Cleo’s black Tibetan Terrier fought over a big rubber Kong toy. They twisted and tangled and turned into the standing lamp cord until it crashed across the floor. Chasing the dogs outside, I grabbed the broom.
Cleo was making cheesy crab appetizers and cutting up raw veggies while Cristina served up drinks. Another round of cucumber mojitos and a virgin mojito for her daughter.
“Keep the drinks coming,” Cleo said. “This mojito is like drinking a salad. I’m getting a healthy serving of vegetables right here.”
Cristina said, “I left a message on Max’s phone. I told him to call me.”
“Do you have time for a run?” I said.
Her face lit. “Always.”
I glanced at Cleo. She worked her eyes back and forth, searching for any excuse. My assistant spends more energy than anyone I know avoiding exercise.
Whipping an apron around her waist, she said, “You three go without me. I promised Halah I’d show her how to make the world’s best brownies.”
No one rivals Cleo’s brownies.
“Brownies? Awesome.” Halah clearly missed Cleo’s memo.
Inga danced at my feet, leash in her mouth.
“What about Beau?” I asked. He was asleep on the couch with the rubber Kong.
Cleo shrugged. “Beau’s out for the count. Digging up your flower beds wore him out.”
I found an old iPod and gave it to Cristina to use. I snagged my Samsung Galaxy, set up a playlist, and stuffed the leash in my pocket.
“Stay close, Inga,” I said, and she led the way.
It was a quiet night and traffic was light. It felt good to pound the pavement with my sneakers. We started off at a slow jog, down the alley and headed for the school track.
Deep in our own thoughts, we missed the long, stretched car that creeped up behind us. The lights were snuffed and the engine, if it purred, jammed with the music in my ear. We were blindsided. Two men captured us from the rear, pinning our arms and dragging us to the curb. I fought my attacker but he was two hundred fifty pounds of cement. The driver pulled the limo to the curb and opened the back door. I screamed for Inga. She jumped in the backseat and plopped onto Kyle Tierney’s lap.
Kyle, the traitor beagle, and the guy with the big gun stuffed in his belt sat on one seat. Cristina and I took the other. Cement guy rode shotgun.
I was too flippin’ mad to speak. I wrestled my pockets for a taser or an AK-47. I found a leash to choke them with, Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker, and a gold cigarette lighter. I set the recorder, smeared my lips, and dropped the lighter and Smacker on the seat beside me.
“Kyle.” Cristina almost choked on the word.
Tierney pressed a button and spoke to the driver. “You guys got a sandwich up there?”
The driver lowered the partition and tossed back a Ken-Tones bag. Tierney fed the hamburger to Inga.
“Your beagle likes me.”
“She likes anybody with food. She’s a well known food whore,” I said.
Cristina crossed a leg and smoothed her hair. “I just got back,” she said all sultry. “I was going to call you.”
“Seriously? You’re going with that line?” I said.
Tierney blew a deep sigh. “I was good to you. Why’d you play me like that?”
Cristina did that blink blink and a pouty thing with her mouth. “I know I was stupid, Kyle. I wish I could take it all back.”
“You gonna take back four years in a box?” His voice tightened. “I’ve been countin’ the days to return the favor.”
“Whoa,” I said. “You don’t have a shovel in the trunk, do you?”
He shrugged. “She owes me. I’m here to collect.”
Cristina wrung my arm in a death grip. “Do something.”
“To be fair,” I said reasonably, “Cristina didn’t pull the trigger.”
“She’s as responsible for Mitchell’s death as I am.”
“How does that work?”
He glanced sideways at Cristina. Her cheeks colored, and she looked at her hands. “We had a business deal. But Cristina wanted it all. The switch was her idea.”
Cristina opened her mouth to deny it and changed her mind.
“You’re talking about Marilyn’s earrings,” I said, wanting to be clear for the gold lighter.
Tierney sighed with what appeared to be genuine regret. “The kid was scared. His hand shook, and I caught the switch. We struggled. The gun went off.”
“If it was an accident, why not tell the cops?”
“Cristina saw what happened. If she made a statement, the charge would’ve been reduced.”
“Why didn’t you?” I said jabbing her in ribs.
“Owww.”
“Cuz she didn’t give a shit. She took the money and earrings and ran.”
“Back-up,” I said. “What money?”
“I advanced her ten grand against her share of the sale. And then there was the ten grand for the ticket.”
That’s another juicy tidbit she neglected to mention.
Cristina sniffed. “You try driving to California. It takes a lot of gas.”
“I prefer the cash. And the earrings,” Tierney said. “I’ll collect one way or another.”
I said, “I get it. Cristina screwed you over. You wanted to get back at her. Is that why you killed Billy?”
“This again?”
“Billy was looking for your safe. He wanted to rip you off.”
Kyle fed Inga more sandwich. “Lots of people try to rip me off. It’s life. I deal with it.”
Cristina said, “I didn’t take your stupid earrings. I saw you wrestle them away from Alan.”
His voice was chipped ice. “Liar.”
“I think Cristina’s telling the truth.” For once, I thought to myself. “She came back to Chicago to steal them one more time.”
Tierney growled. “Diamonds don’t disappear into thin air.”
Cristina’s voice sounded small. “I need more time to come up with the money.”
“You had four years, babe. Your clock just ran out.”
“Whoa,” I said. “My clock’s still ticking.”
I chewed my lip and wracked my brain. Where were the bloody earrings?
I had to believe they were both telling the truth. Neither snagged the earrings that night. It’s like they disappeared in thin air.
And then the crime scene photograph flashed in my head. The blood. The body on the floor. The discard
ed earrings. Like scattered pieces to a puzzle. The answer came to me then in one sweet moment, devoid of hoopla.
A giggle welled in my throat, and I swallowed it. A goofy grin spread over my face. It wasn’t an attractive say-cheese smile. It was a Donny Osmond beamer.
“Before you go all bad-ass, I think we can work something out,” I said.
“You’re oddly cheery,” Kyle said. “Keep talking.”
“You don’t have the earrings.” I cut my thumb in Cristina’s direction. “She doesn’t have the earrings.”
“She’s a damn liar.”
“Granted. But this time she’s telling the truth.”
My cheesy grin got bigger.
“Why are you doing that with your mouth,” Cristina said.
“I know where Marilyn’s earrings are.”
“You’re bluffing,” Tierney said.
“I’m a hotshot detective,” I snapped. “And a damn good one.”
“Okay. Where are they?”
I tried to lose the grin, but it was a stickler. “If I told you that, you wouldn’t need me now, would you?”
“Okay. But Cristina stays with me. She’s my insurance policy.”
“Cristina’s a pain in the ass,” I admitted. “And as tempting as your offer sounds, she comes with me. She’s got a kid. Halah doesn’t deserve to lose her mama just because she’s a dumb ass.”
Cristina blink blinked. “That was sweet.”
“The earrings,” Kyle said. “When will you have them?”
“Gimme a week.”
“You got forty-eight hours. Then I’m coming for the both of you.”
“You don’t scare me,” I lied.
I jerked the door open. Cristina shoved me aside, trampled over me, and dived out the door.
I lugged the beagle off Tierney’s lap, and he followed me out the door. Inga tooted. It smelled like rotten sausages.
“You’re embarrassing,” I told her.
“You think the dog’s embarrassing?”
I followed his gaze to Cristina, butt-tuckin’ it full speed down the street.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I used to date her.”
***
The Tierney encounter took the good bye out of Cristina’s farewell party.
I choked the words out. “You’ll have to stay a few days until we get this thing sorted out.”