I caught the worry in his voice. “Maybe there’s a temporary shortage or something.”
“Maybe,” he said unconvincingly. “False advertising and good sales don’t always mix. It smacks of bad business. It doesn’t take much to lose customer loyalty. One scandal can bring a company to their knees.”
“That would be really bad.” I looked around and found Zach beside the tow-truck. Another officer approached him, held out a clear bag, and Zach dropped in what appeared to be a piece of paper.
“Don’t tell anyone, but I got a look at that note,” Solo said. “It was in the panel truck—”
“Taped to the dashboard, right? I saw it. What did it say?”
“Sunday at dawn. That’s the time of your accident. Creepy, huh?”
“Totally creepy,” I said. “Pretty thin, though, but it could spell intent.”
“Intent?” Solo asked.
“Meaning Doris and Cokey Bill planned to run me off the road.”
“You think?” he asked.
“I think.”
“But why would they come back later on this morning? Wouldn’t they worry you could identify them, or at least identify the panel truck?”
“Good point,” I said. “Maybe the note had nothing to do with me.”
“You’re sure this panel truck is the same one that ran you off the road?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Then the note must be about you,” he said.
“Or it could be about the fish delivery. Perhaps there were two deliveries scheduled for this morning, one at dawn, and one a little while ago.”
“Sure, why not?” he said. “After they dropped off the first load of fish, they left the laboratory and entered the freeway the wrong-way and ran you off the road. Considering their age and health, they probably never got more than a quick look at FoY’s van, or your face. So they wouldn’t worry about being identified.”
“True, they didn’t act like they knew me. Not that I could tell at least,” I admitted, and then gave him a puzzled look at a sudden thought. “Uh-oh, I see a flaw in our theory.”
“Sing away.”
“Before Zach opened the back doors, the asphalt was wet but clean, no fish or guts. Solo, there were no signs of an earlier fish delivery at daybreak, only the one when I showed up.”
“Well done, mawn. You’re right. Only now, we’ve hit a speed bump. If there was no earlier delivery, then the note and running you off the road must have been on purpose. Then, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, they came back here for their usual fish delivery, drawing all suspicion off themselves.”
“You make it sound like they were hired to kill me,” I said.
“Blame the evidence,” he said. “But why would someone want you dead?”
“Well, I guess if dead,” I said, thinking, “I couldn’t defend myself, couldn’t deny having something to do with Otto’s murder.”
“Ah yes, the perfect scapegoat. The big question is who hired the Oley’s?”
Two jigsaw pieces from my conversation with them teamed up. “I remember Cokey Bill saying, ‘We did as we was—were—told.’ Then he demanded their extra cash. At the time I thought he was referring to the fish delivery, but now—”
“You think Leland hired them?” he said. “They do deliver fish for him. It’d be easy enough to ask them to do another job as well.”
“Are you saying Leland wants me dead? That’s insane.”
“Well, he might have killed Otto and just wants you blamed for it.”
“You can’t really think that,” I said. “Solo, you know Leland. He’s good people.”
“In moments of insanity, good people do bad things.”
“Not this time. Leland practically ordered me to dump the trash from the fundraiser last night. He said he wanted it done before I went to Suicide Trestle. But I got rear-ended and was running late to meet you, so I blew it off until this morning. No way did he know that, though.”
Solo chewed on that. “Why did he want the trash dumped at the laboratory in the first place, why not at his house or FoY?”
“It was too much for residential pick-up. You know how picky they are. And the Dumpsters at FoY have been non-stop full since the plumbing overhaul began.”
“Oh yeah, the new low-flow toilets. They’re awful. Nothing worse than having to flush more than once,” he said.
Zach came up and announced it was finally time to leave. Together, we three walked to the squad car. Solo started to open the rear passenger door, but I stopped him. “Go ahead and sit up front. You’ll be more comfortable.”
Solo thanked me in Samoan. “Tulou.” He slid into the front seat, then closed the door.
Zach smoothed a stray hair from my face. “You worry me, Rylie. You need someone to take care of you.”
Inhale. Exhale. “Do I?”
He seemed to weigh his words. “I think I’m seeing my future.”
This blindsided me. Giddy romantic thoughts spun in my head as a diesel engine approached. A whistle sounded. I thought it contained more come-on than greeting. I looked over as Fire Engine #16 rumbled by again, only this time from the laboratory parking lot.
“Hey, Rylie, what’s crack-a-lackin’?” said a male voice. Curtis Hobbs was again riding shotgun, but now his big puss was hanging out the window. “Has your mouth gotten any wider?”
I am often reminded that I haven’t always chosen winners when it comes to men.
“Why did he say that?” Zach asked, leaning in.
I ran my tongue over my lips. “No idea.”
With our faces near enough to tangle breath, we shyly grinned at each other. He brushed his lips to mine, drawing a thumb along my cheek. This took me back to his comfort when we were kids and I’d tumbled down a ravine in the woods. He had soothed away my tears then, as he had countless times. There had always been Zach to count on. Always.
I peered into his soft gray eyes, the shade of clouds whispering with rain. When his mouth found mine again, my lips parted. A lingering pause came before he joined me, discovering—reassuring. Nothing sounded but the subtle moan in my throat.
Then as sudden as it began, he pulled back, his narrowed gaze fixed on my chin. He blinked, but didn’t meet my eyes. “I better get you home,” he said and opened the car door.
We inched through construction and arrive at the Overlake area uphill from Lake Sammamish. I spent the time in a daze, my mind teeming over Otto’s murder and Zach’s kiss.
From the backseat, I studied his profile. The tension was still there, over me, over his life. Strong in my heart was the feeling that he needed more time to get over the convenience store shooting, the guilt, the sadness, and the fear of flashbacks. I confess this didn’t sit well with me. I tried to tell myself that knowing the truth about how I felt might help him heal, but I found even I didn’t believe that. Almost certainly, it would only confuse the issue. So I was feeling a bit down when I made up my mind to be patient, to wait a little longer to be honest with him.
Zach bulleted the squad car down my steep driveway, the sharp hairpin turn forcing him to bump over the edge of a flowerbed crammed with foxgloves in order to park. I looked to the spot near our garage where Granddad usually parked his ancient Jetta. Empty. I mentioned this to Solo.
“Remember?” he said. “He’s going to a craft show in Portland this afternoon.”
Granddad had taken up glass blowing after retirement to earn extra money. “Slipped my mind, I guess.”
Solo had his door open. “I’ll check to see if Leland is at home. I’m headed that way.” Solo lived down the hill, on Granddad’s old sailboat tied up to our rickety dock alongside Leland’s new dock and beachside home. “I won’t be long.”
“Good idea,” Zach said.
As I climbed from the squad car, I heard an angry outburst from my neighbor’s garage. Lilith and Paul Desmont’s striking house was downhill by the lake, but their garage/office was uphill beside our tiny house, adjacent to our shared d
riveway. Lilith was a romance author who penned stories about women battling demons and falling in love bondage style. Paul was a self-made real estate millionaire who flipped houses until the economic downturn.
I spotted Paul standing by his over-the-garage office window. Seeing him, this gentle man who was a caring father to his daughter Mackenzie, always triggered a childish longing. It seemed to me, rather enviously, that Mackenzie Desmont was a very lucky girl. Paul returned my wave, an ever-present tissue ready to wipe tears from his sun sensitive eyes in his hand. As always, he wore a pair of sunglasses.
More curses spewed from the garage. I veered toward it, noticing as I went a familiar fisherman casting a line below on the lake. I opened the side garage door and stepped inside, the many bright lights making me blink.
“Stay back,” Lilith screamed, spraying the air with spit. “Or I’ll kill you.”
She had the facade of a middle-age hippie in her tie-dyed caftan, flowing red hair, and dangling earrings. At five-eight in stocking feet, she was imposing. And as a habit, she tucked a flower behind her ear. This morning’s choice: Shasta daisy.
“Who’s in there?” Zach shouted.
I leaned out the door. “It’s Lilith Desmont.”
“Back off!” Lilith yelled. “I want to spill blood.”
“Why is she yelling?” Zach called.
“Don’t know, but she’s hitting a punching bag,” I said.
“She’s at it again?” he said. “Tell her to go easy. She broke a finger at Christmas, a thumb last summer, and a knuckle a while back,” he said and slid behind the wheel.
I slanted Lilith a look. “Geez, maybe you need some calcium.”
“You just wait,” she snapped. “My critics will blog about me on the web tomorrow. Readers love to find fault. They adore ripping a poor writer to shreds.”
“Your readers love you,” I said.
“Tell that to Wicked Spirit. She wrote on Dragon.com that my latest book wasn’t even good enough to slobber out a demon’s mouth.”
I had read that book. It was pretty much what I would expect a demon to slobber. “That’s horrible.”
“Well, I showed her,” Lilith said. “A friend at Dragon removed the review. Insult one of my books, I think not.”
My gaze strayed as she laid into the punching bag again. I spied a nearby rack of domination clothing. I would not let myself smile at the wrist restraints, whips, leather jumpsuits, and masks. Where Paul Desmont usually kept his vast array of pricey golf equipment, the racks were oddly empty.
I started to ask why when Lilith shrieked and cradled her quickly swelling wrist. I remembered the fisherman on the lake. Probably there to see a nearly naked Lilith prance around her all-glass house, a regular thing for her, or Solo had once told me, blushing profusely.
“There’s a fisherman near your dock,” I told her.
“Really?” She brightened and rushed outside to the railing. “Ahoy there, have you caught me a trout yet?” There came a minute of sultry chatter between them before Lilith threw me a blushing look of her own. “I guess you can tell. He’s smitten with me. Most men are.”
“Nice,” I said, holding back a grin. “Well, I need to change clothes. I had a little accident.”
“At Suicide Trestle? Oh, don’t look so surprised. It isn’t like you had a date.”
She had a point. “No, the accident was after, in the van.”
“Did a senior get hurt?”
“No one got hurt—exactly.”
“Oh God, you killed them? You braked too fast and smashed their brittle skulls.”
I blew out a breath. “I didn’t kill anyone. Two old people ran me off the road. I made some bees mad. Solo catapulted off his Vespa. There was this strange episode with fire. His Vespa blew up. And bam, Otto Weiner’s lifeless hand popped out.”
She gasped, fumbling with the daisy at her ear. “How’d Otto die? Was it his heart?”
“Suffocation, I think.”
Her uneasy expression changed to shock. “How awful.”
“I didn’t know you knew him.”
“I didn’t, really. We met at a fundraiser a while back. So he suffocated…how?”
“Someone taped a plastic bag over his head,” I said. “Did Otto have heart problems?”
“I think he mentioned heart business once. Everyone dies of heart failure, you know. Physiologically speaking. Writers know these things. And?”
“And what?” I asked.
“Did you kill him?”
“Of course not!”
“If someone peed on my car seats, I’d kill them.” She pointed to the Mercedes Coupe in the garage. “They’re of the finest leather. Then again, the van’s seats are probably Naugahyde. Oh my, I cannot believe you’re going to muff dive in prison over pee-stained Naugahyde.” She scratched her chin, thinking. “Hmm, there’s a book in there somewhere. Lesbian love stories are so hot right now.”
“Geez, this isn’t complicated. I didn’t kill Otto—or those two other seniors.”
Lilith’s eyes popped wide. “Three dead seniors? Rylie, we need to talk. Sure, you normally bore me to tears, but there is a dark side to you I’d love to explore.”
Kill me now.
“We’ll start tonight,” she said, patting my arm. “At Leland’s birthday party. Did you get something nice to wear, dear?”
Silence.
“A dress or suit?” she asked. “Tell me you bought something to spruce yourself up.”
“I found a dress at Ross, but a woman in a burka grabbed it from me.”
“And where may I ask is she going to wear a dress? Sure, she might sneak out and club, but if caught, she’ll face a firing squad of her brothers. You should’ve fought her for it.”
“I’ll try harder next time,” I said, eying her injured hands. “Those bruises look painful.”
She shrugged. “I have pain meds. What’s that fishy smell?”
I checked Zach’s jacket over my backside. “It’s fish oil for Leland’s vitamins.”
“Those vitamins exhaust me. It must be all that oil. Fat takes more energy to digest, you know. I’ve heard others complain.”
“Really? Who?”
She shrugged again. “Oh dear, I do hope Leland is happy with his birthday party tonight.”
“It’s nice of you to throw it for him.”
“But I must. I mean, if things go south for you, then your grandfather will sell Leland your property. Leland will then build Nava her dream house—”
“Mansion,” I said absently.
“Right you are. It is going to be huge, I mean huge! And only yards from my house. So I must make every effort to become the best of friends. And with Nava and him getting back together—”
“Are they?”
“Oh yes, very soon I suspect. He’s decided to do things her way.” She said it with such raunchiness—despite her frown—I had to smile.
“Her way, how? What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s nothing. Salacious stuff, that’s all.” She looked at me with troubled, almost loving pity. “Too much for your virginal ears.”
“Wait a second—”
“Do you know the parable of ten virgins?” she rushed on. “Never mind, you probably don’t read much. The point is you need to stay alert. Your time will come.”
I just stared at her.
“Now what was I saying?” she asked through a puzzled frown. “Oh yes, Leland’s party. Well, I simply had to host it. Not to mention the points I’ll make with your grandfather for being neighborly.” She gave me a sugary wink. “After all, everyone knows Leland has a lot of money tied up in his anti-frailty drug. So if things turn south for him, my offer to beat his price for your property stands. You’ll remind your grandfather of that, won’t you, dear?”
I paused a moment to absorb her heartlessness, trying not to cry out, “Hell no, you can’t have our home.” I knew I was being grumpy, but our humble abode—craftsman, olive green, dark brown trim, and
super modest in size—had been built by my great-grandfather, Hamilton “Handsome Ham” Keyes, and I loved it. Four generations of Keyes had lived inside those crooked walls. Sure, our home was rundown, but it would kill my Granddad to lose it.
Zach climbed from the squad car. “Rylie, hurry up, Lipschitz is waiting.”
“Probably choking the chicken,” I said louder than I intended.
“No doubt,” he said.
I laughed, my ears burning. “Zach must have sonar hearing,” I told Lilith.
She grabbed my wrist. “Does he really have demon powers?”
“Wish he did,” I said. “Then he’d know who killed Otto Weiner.”
“Do you think he knows?”
I shook my head. “Pretty bad demon, uh?”
She nodded. “I expect more of my demons. Then again, maybe I should check him out. I’m sort of a demon divining rod.”
I wondered if insanity was contagious. “I need to change clothes.”
“Oh, look.” She pointed a finger southward. “Mount Rainier has escaped the clouds.”
I turned to the volcano peek-a-booing through the trees in the distance.
“It feels close enough to touch,” she said wistfully, then beetled her brows. “Why don’t you cut down your trees? They ruin your view.”
“But they keep our house from sliding downhill to the lake,” I said.
She shrugged. “That’s the distress of living on a hillside. As you know, I have the finest beachside view on the lake. It’s worth billions.”
“Billions, huh?” I said a bit sarcastically, even though a Mt. Rainier view was kind of prized in Washington.
“Do not mock me, Rylie. Sure, the real estate people might say a million, or even two million, but in my heart, I know our view is priceless. After all, we have no obstructions, not a single one,” she added, her voice haughty.
Zach came up behind me. “We’ve got three dead seniors, no answers, and a detective eager to proposition you for God knows what. I know we’re partially late because of me, but if we make him wait much longer, he’ll throw you in jail just for kicks.”
“Zachy,” Lilith said, playing with a button on his shirt. “For research purposes, would you let me study your demon staff?”
Malicious Mischief (A Rylie Keyes Mystery) (Entangled Select) Page 5