“Same info we have,” Dev confirmed. He started to take a bite of his club sandwich but stopped. “Shirley’s place was ransacked after her death. Obviously, someone is looking for something. Might be that cash.” Dev turned to me. “You didn’t monkey around at her place, did you?”
I huffed in irritation. “Of course not.”
“Just checking. Seems you beat us to Roslyn’s place. How about Alfred’s?”
“I’m guessing you met Roslyn’s landlords?”
“Yep. And Alfred’s neighbor.”
“We learned nothing, just that Scott Johnson was hanging around Roslyn a lot and helped her clear out.”
Even through his sunglasses, I could feel Dev’s intimidating stare.
“Honest,” I told him with emphasis, “that’s all we learned.”
My mind wandered back to the half-million dollars. “A half- million dollars is a lot of money to sit on. Makes me wonder if that’s what funded Rambling Rose’s startup.”
“Could be,” Dev said, “but didn’t Clarice say she helped Pearson with that?”
“Yes, but who knows if we can believe her.”
“We questioned the assistant, that Amber Straight,” Dev informed us. “She claims she doesn’t have a clue where Clarice is and hasn’t heard from her since right after Pearson was murdered. Aaron Gunn said the same thing. Both claim Clarice is mostly a silent partner in the biz and only came in on occasion.”
Amber was lying to the police and Aaron Gunn probably was, too. It made me wonder why they were protecting Clarice. Was it just loyalty to a boss and partner? Or maybe they were all protecting each other; if one fell, they’d all fall.
Dev looked at me. Even though he was wearing dark glasses, I could tell he was trying to read my mind. “Did you learn anything of value snooping around Rambling Rose today?”
“I learned about Aaron Gunn, but I seem to be the last to board that train.”
“Well,” Dev continued, obviously pleased he knew something we didn’t, “seems Marvin and Aaron Gunn aren’t the only siblings connecting Rambling Rose with Billie’s Holiday.”
Clark and I stopped eating and gave him our full attention.
“Amber Straight’s brother works at the club. His name is Brad Straight.” He paused, giving us time to recognize the name. When both Clark and I offered up a shrug, he continued. “You know him as Betty Rumble.”
Clark was the first to find his tongue. “That little twit is Amber’s brother?”
“I knew there was something familiar about her,” I said to my plate. When it didn’t respond, I looked up at the men to explain. “I thought her face looked familiar. It was the cheekbones—those high cheekbones. They both have them, and the coloring.”
“They’re from Arizona,” Dev explained. “They moved here together after their mother died about three years ago.”
My head snapped toward Clark. “Maybe you were right to follow Betty after the service. You said he was acting funny.”
Dev shook his head. “No, Betty’s story checked out. His dog really was having a litter during the service.”
Humph, back to square one.
The three of us retreated into silence, each chewing and digesting our individual thoughts along with our food.
“Like Nunez,” Clark said, breaking the quiet with more information. He held his ahi burger with one hand while he spoke. “Willie found nothing interesting on Clarice under the last name of either Thomas or Hollowell. Nothing bad or dangerous or a reason for her to be in hiding.” Clark divided his attention between me, Dev, and his food.
Dev shrugged. “After what happened to her husband and the filthy bastard he was, maybe she simply decided to live quietly. John Hollowell was connected to some nasty characters, and it got him killed. Maybe she’s making sure she doesn’t catch their attention.”
That sounded plausible to me. I waited for Dev to say something more about Clarice. When he didn’t, I nudged him. “Have you been able to question Clarice yet?”
“No,” Dev replied. “She’s making herself scarce. I was hoping to find her at the service but, as you know, she never showed.”
“You think she knows yet about Alfred Nunez being murdered?”
Dev bunched his big shoulders. “Hard to say. If she does, it wasn’t through us. In fact, we found nothing at Nunez’s apartment linking him to any of those people. The only evidence is that photo, so I’m not sure how Clarice would find out. I’m pretty sure his family hasn’t made any public announcement.”
“Did you ask Marvin Gunn if he knew him?”
“Yes, we did.” Dev’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “We do know how to do our job, Odelia.”
Across the table, Clark drowned a short laugh with a large drink of tea.
“After the shooting,” Dev continued, “the police questioned Gunn extensively, I can assure you. He claimed he knew nothing about any Alfred Nunez. He just reiterated what he told us at the club—that he knew Shirley and through Shirley, Clarice. He also claims he knew nothing about the shooting.”
I screwed up my face at Dev, conveying my doubts. “Do you believe him?”
“My gut tells me he’s telling the truth about the drive-by. Not sure about anything else. Frankly, the timing of the shooting was too soon after we left the club to have been Gunn.”
“What about the photo?” I pressed, even though I knew it might make Dev mad. “Didn’t he point out his brother?”
“Yes, he did. That’s how we found out about Aaron Gunn. But Marvin claims he has no idea who his brother hangs out with, though he did know that Aaron knew both Shirley and Clarice. He didn’t mention the Rambling Rose connection, however.”
Everybody seemed to have half-answers to every question. I found it annoying.
I turned to Clark. “And what about Scott Johnson?”
“I’m saving that for last.”
“It’s that juicy?”
“It’s that disturbing.”
I pulled down my sunglasses and stared at my brother.
Clark ignored my stare and continued. “The Gunn twins grew up here in Southern California, someplace called Costa Mesa.”
“That’s the city just north of Newport Beach,” Dev informed him.
“According to Willie, Marvin is quite the successful businessman. Over the years, he’s invested in all kinds of property and start-up companies. Some failed, but most didn’t.” Clark paused briefly, double-checking his memory. “That club is not his main meal ticket. In fact, it’s mostly a hobby and the hub from which he runs his little empire. I think Willie said he’s divorced, no kids.”
“And Aaron?” I asked.
“We didn’t ask for info about him, but Willie looked into him once he discovered Marvin had a twin. Seems Aaron does not have his brother’s Midas touch. He’s had a lot of different careers and gotten into financial trouble from time to time. Although the report didn’t say so, I’m guessing brother Marvin has saved his ass on occasion.” He took a drink of his tea. “Oh yeah, and like Shirley, Aaron likes to get into drag, but there’s nothing to suggest he lived as a woman like she did.”
I took a bite or two of my Asian chicken salad as I sorted everything I’d just heard. I was on information overload but still curious about a lot of things. “So,” I asked Clark. “You ready to tell us about Scott Johnson?”
Clark took a big bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. To my right, Dev seemed perfectly happy munching on his own food until Clark was ready to gab again. I was wiggling in my seat in anticipation, which made it difficult to eat.
“Your instincts about Johnson were right, sis,” Clark finally began. “He’s a serious piece of work.” Dev put down his sandwich and gave Clark his full attention. “Using different identities over the years, including Scott Joyce, he’s suspected of the kidnapping, sexual assault, and murder of at least three college girls in the Northwest, possibly more.”
With a loud clatter, my fork fell from my hand and bounced off my
plate, then the table, before finally coming to a sloppy landing on the ground. “Oh my gawd, Roslyn!”
“Yeah, Roslyn,” Dev said with deliberation. “Seems she left one threat only to land in the hands of another. Anything else on this Johnson guy?”
“That’s about it.”
Dev wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose from the table. “Excuse me, folks, but I gotta make a call.”
“Where’s he going?” I asked Clark.
“Well, if I were him, I’d be calling the station to put out a BOLO on Johnson and Roslyn.”
“You mean like on TV when the police put out the news to other cops that they’re searching for someone?”
“Yep.”
I barely did more than pick at my food. “We have to find her, Clark.”
“No, Odelia. Let Dev handle this. That’s why I invited him. This Johnson guy is serious business, and the police know how to approach situations like these. You don’t.”
“Do you think he killed Shirley?”
“Difficult to say. If he did, it wasn’t for the same reason he killed those other women. If he knew Shirley at all, he had to know she was really a man.”
“What about Alfred or the drive-by? Do you think he did that?”
“Hard to say about Nunez, though Dev told me on the phone the police think it was a hit. But I do know that generally guys like Johnson are loners. That shooting on Saturday was carried out by two people—the driver and the shooter. The shooter looked Latino to me, but I could be wrong. And like Gunn, I don’t think Johnson had enough time after leaving the club to arrange a hit.”
I held my forehead in my left palm. “Oh joy, that means someone else is mad at me.”
“Probably Shirley’s real killer.”
“Gee, thanks. As if I couldn’t figure that out on my own.”
I glanced at my watch. We’d have to leave soon to make my two o’clock with Clarice.
Dev returned to the table. In his hand was his cell phone. He slipped it into a pants pocket and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. “Sorry to eat and run, folks, but I’ve got to get back to the office.” He started to pull out his wallet.
“No, Dev,” Clark said. “I have this.”
Dev nodded his thanks.
I breathed a sigh of relief. We could slip out shortly after Dev left. He’d be none the wiser, and I’d still be on time.
I looked up at the big detective. “You guys on the hunt now for Scott Johnson?”
“And Roslyn Stevens. Hopefully she’s still alive. It will depend on Johnson’s MO. Creeps like him are generally very methodical in how they handle their victims.”
I wanted to retch at the thought Roslyn might not be alive and wished we’d been able to grab Johnson at the club on Saturday. Maybe if I hadn’t been so bold, he wouldn’t have spooked before Dev could get to him.
Dev looked at Clark. “You have any idea which specific jurisdictions those other murders occurred in?”
“No, but I’ll find out and let you know as soon as possible.”
“Great. It would save us the time to hunt it up. I’d like to give those cops a call. See if they can give us any information that might help us track Johnson.”
Dev slipped into his suit jacket, then looked down at me. “What are your plans today? I hope they don’t include looking for Roslyn Stevens.”
I shook my head, wondering if Dev and Clark had some telepathic connection that came with their calling. “No. I—,” I began, then stopped. I couldn’t tell him I was meeting Clarice or Dev would be all over it, me, and her. I didn’t look at Clark, worried he’d say something or that Dev would pick up on my vibes. “I have an appointment,” I said as simply as I could and left it at that. I knew Dev would draw his own conclusions, but right now I wasn’t going to help him—not until I had my own time with Clarice. Then she was all his.
Dev took off his sunglasses and bore his eyes into my face. “I’d rather you go home. You’ve already come close to getting killed once in the past few days. Let’s not press our luck.”
“Don’t worry, Dev. Clark will be with me.”
“Greg put Odelia under house arrest,” Clark explained.
Dev grunted. “If she’s under house arrest, then why isn’t she home, where she belongs? At least until this blows over.”
“She’s not allowed to go anywhere without Greg or me,” Clark told him. “If she goes to her office, Steele will take over the watch. She’s not to go anywhere or do anything on her own.”
“It’s a start,” Dev agreed. “Just stick to her like glue.”
I slapped my hand on the table firmly but not so hard I rattled the dishes. “Would you two stop talking about me like I’m not here? It’s really aggravating.”
As soon as Dev left the restaurant, Clark powered up his cell phone. Excusing himself, he walked a few feet away to the end of the terrace where there were no other guests. He returned a few minutes later.
“Willie said for you to behave and listen to me and Greg, especially me.” He said it with a straight face from behind his shades, looking far too much like a casually dressed secret service agent guarding the president. All he needed was an earpiece.
“When did you and Willie become speed-dial buddies?”
Clark shrugged and took his seat. “I was on the call with Greg after the shooting. We decided I’d be the point man since Greg’s so busy at the shop right now. No sense having the calls go to him, then to me, when I’m the one following you around.”
My nose twitched of its own accord. I’d always found sitting on the patio of the Terrace a relaxing way to spend time; not so today. “So what did Willie say?”
“I asked him about Scott Johnson—if he knew the names or locations of the cops investigating those Northwest murders. He said he’d look into it and call Dev directly to save time.”
I picked at my salad, taking a couple more half-hearted bites before pushing my plate away.
“Wait a minute.” Clark held his iced tea glass halfway to his mouth. “You have a problem with Willie calling me but none with Willie calling Dev Frye? You’d think it would be the opposite. After all, Dev is still a law-and-order boy.”
Clark did have a point, but I had an explanation. “Willie and Dev have been in contact before regarding stuff. I mean, it’s not like they exchange Christmas cards or anything, but there is some history there.”
“By stuff, am I to assume you mean your colorful predicaments?”
Again my nose twitched like the Easter Bunny’s. “Assume anything you want. It’s a free country.”
Clark frowned at me, his mouth set into a nearly perfect straight line. “It’s a good thing you have all of us watching your ass.”
“Speaking of which, why didn’t you squeal to Dev about my meeting Clarice after lunch?”
He leaned forward and studied me. Even with both of us wearing sunglasses, I could feel his look piercing my brain. “Why didn’t you?”
“You know damn well why. Dev would have made a beeline to Rambling Rose. Once he has his paws on her, I’ll never get the chance to speak to her about Alfred Nunez, or about anything else.”
Our check came, and Clark insisted on taking care of it. “Who knows how long I’ll be mooching off you and Greg, seeing how this is going. Although I may have to return to Phoenix for a follow-up interview.”
“The job looks good?”
“Better than good. I think I’ll enjoy working in the private sector for a change.”
“Is that why you didn’t tell Dev, because your loyalties have changed?”
I watched Clark weigh his answer, telling me he was also wondering about shifting loyalties. Once a cop, always a cop maybe, but something was battling within my big brother. Not a war, but definitely a conflict.
“Not at all, Odelia. I didn’t tell Dev about Clarice because I didn’t want to waste his time. He needs to be looking for killers.” Clark pushed his glasses down the bridge of his nose and peered at me o
ver the top of the frames. “You see, I still have a cop’s gut, and my gut is telling me she’ll be a no-show.”
“And if she’s not?”
“We’ll question her and I’ll do my best to convince her to go to the police, even if we have to hog-tie her and drive her there ourselves.”
The front door to Rambling Rose was locked, and the place looked deserted. Taped to the front door was a pink Rambling Rose envelope addressed to Odelia Grey.
Standing in the heat on the stoop in front of Rambling Rose, my gut lurched, telling me Clark’s gut was on the money. All the way to the shop I had the sinking feeling he would be right.
I glanced back at Clark. He stood just behind me, reading the envelope over my shoulder. “You going to read that?” he asked. “Or are you afraid it’ll bite?”
In answer, I yanked the envelope off the door and tore open the sealed flap. Inside was a note on matching Rambling Rose stationery: How gullible do you think I am? Shirley never made booking errors.—C
Crap.
Slipping a fingernail just under the edge of my wig, I scratched behind my left ear. I hate wigs. They’re hot and itchy, especially in June. Although it could be worse. It could be August, and a wig that’s hot in June would be unbearable in August.
The inside of Billie’s Holiday looked a lot different than it had on Saturday. The change in atmosphere was mostly due to lighting. Monday night the lights were dimmed, but not dark as I imagined they would be during a show. It was just dark enough to show off the neon lights of the signs above the bar—signs that weren’t turned on Saturday morning—and the subdued stage lighting, but light enough for folks to read their bingo cards. On the stage, a table with an electronic bingo-ball mixer had been positioned. Behind it was a lit board with all the bingo numbers displayed.
My escorts for the evening were Sally Kipman and Mike Steele.
Last night, when I had announced my intentions for today, the visit to Rambling Rose was met with concern and hemming and hawing from my three keepers. Oh, who am I kidding? My plan to return to Billie’s Holiday had been greeted with a full-blown volcano on the part of my husband.
Twice as Dead Page 16