Slipping past two saw horses supporting a silver fender, Keely stepped over a battery with corroded terminals. An inverted leather limousine seat stood on end, propped against the wall.
Crouching, Keely slipped underneath and peered out from her place of concealment.
A man stood directly in her line of vision, an automobile tire slung over a beefy arm. With a loud grunt, he heaved the rubber ring at a stake set in the middle of a graveled yard. Keely’s gaze followed the tire’s flight—she had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking in horror.
The stake had a human face. Max’s face.
Chapter 23
The tire glanced off Max’s shoulder. His head snapped back with the impact.
The man who’d thrown it howled in disappointment. “No points! The bastard moved!”
Another husky goon took his place, swinging a tire as casually as if it were a gym bag. “If he moved, it’s your fault—you tied him up.”
Keely couldn’t believe her eyes. Franklin’s thugs had tied Max to a wooden stake like an early Christian martyr. His face and shirt looked as if he’d been rolling in the dirt. Lips drawn back in a grimace, he faced his tormentors, his teeth gleaming an unnatural white against the grime on his face.
From her vantage point, Keely could see three other men. Two were poking under the raised hood of a silver stretch limo. To Keely’s left, a third hosed down a massive dark blue automobile with a powerful spray of water. The workers occasionally paused to watch the cruel sport taking place in the middle of the yard.
If Jackson carried out his part of the bargain, Keely’s Mustang should be parked at the entrance near the car wash area. Her main problem would be crossing the yard without being spotted. Although common sense dictated that her best hope of surviving unscathed was to get to her car phone, she couldn’t abandon Max.
The guy holding the hose gave the nozzle a turn and the gush of water slowed to a trickle. “Going to the can,” he called to the men working on the limo. “Back in a mo with some brewskis!”
One down, four to go. Keely crouched beneath the inverted seat, her mind racing. She needed a distraction to get the other men out of the yard long enough to rescue Max.
Another tire skimmed over Max’s head.
The toughs were sweating. “Had enough?” one called to Max, wiping his brow.
“You bozos have missed me every time. Maybe you should buy some video games. Get rid of that aggression harmlessly and develop a little hand-eye coordination at the same time!”
Hearing the angry energy in Max’s answering shout, Keely felt a rush of relief.
The bullyboy poised to throw laughed unpleasantly. “You wanna see a demonstration of hand-eye coordination? I’ll show you how a quick tap with a wrench can break a knuckle.”
Because of the dirt on Max’s face, Keely couldn’t tell whether he’d turned pale at the suggestion, but her stomach lurched.
Keely surveyed the yard again, her frantic gaze focusing on the telephone inside the open door of the building opposite her position. Squeezing out of her hiding place, Keely retraced her path of flight and regained the safety of the parts shed.
According to the greasy sheet nailed to the wall, the service yard was extension six. Keely dialed, struggling to quiet her ragged breathing as the phone rang.
A gruff voice answered. “Nelson here.”
“This is—” Keely paused to visualize the name plate on the receptionist’s desk. She raised the pitch of her voice. “It’s Tammy! Some crazy woman set fire to the ladies room and Mr. Franklin needs your help!” She threw in an hysterical squeal for good measure before hanging up.
Keely sprinted back. Gulping air into her burning lungs, she ducked into her hiding place just in time to see the last man lumbering out of the yard.
Max, still tied to the stake, worked frantically to free his hands.
As Keely hurried forward, he glanced up and his jaw sagged in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
She was already yanking at the knots which bound him to the post. “Saving you.”
“I don’t know where Franklin’s plug-uglies went, but—”
“They’ll be back,” Keely finished. “Stop wiggling, you’re making these tighter!”
Realizing her efforts were in vain, she darted over to the garage where the two men had been working. Luck was with her: a razor sharp utility knife lay on an unopened box of air filters. Handling the knife with care, she sliced through the ropes.
Grimacing, Max massaged his wrists. “I think I’ve got third degree rope burn.”
Keely grabbed his arm as he staggered forward. “Keep going! I haven’t got time to kiss it and make it better!”
“Unlike most people, I can run and complain at the same time,” Max huffed, quickening his pace.
They were abreast of the car wash area when the first man, carrying a six pack, sauntered back into the yard.
He stopped in his tracks. “Hey! How did you get loose?”
He started forward, cutting off their escape route, and Max raised his fists, taking up an aggressive stance. Unfortunately, in his present condition, he didn’t look as if he could outbox a ballerina.
Keely glanced around in frantic despair. A few feet away, the hose lay on the ground with a trickle of water still issuing from its mouth.
Snatching up the line, Keely twisted the nozzle until a jet of water gushed forth, catching the approaching man square in the face. The pressure was unexpectedly strong and she found herself unable to control the hose which writhed free of her clutching hands. It continued to thrash on the ground like a wounded snake, indiscriminately drenching Max, Keely, and the mechanic who was on his knees coughing up the water he’d inhaled.
A blast of spray nearly knocked Keely down. Reeling, she felt an arm go around her waist and drag her out of range. Looking up, she saw Max’s face, a little cleaner now, as he steadied her. The soaking seemed to have revived her companion.
“My car!” Keely gasped. “Thataway!”
Supporting each other, they stumbled along the asphalt, shoes squishing and the clothing plastered to their bodies weighing down every step. Keely gave a shout of pure joy when she spotted her Mustang parked just outside the fence which separated the service area from the office parking lot.
Jackson had come through! Heaping blessings on the man’s unworthy head, Keely darted around to the driver’s side. The keys were in the ignition. Max fell in through the passenger door as the car lurched into motion. Pulling into the street, Keely glanced into the rear view mirror and saw Damien, followed by his muscle men, spill from the office like ants from a threatened ant hill.
Keely stomped on the accelerator. The limousine headquarters was located at the end of a dead-end street and she was unable to draw a deep breath until they were safely caught up in free flowing traffic.
Two cars back, Jackson watched the Mustang accelerate and grinned. He didn’t regret helping the O’Brien broad escape. Just another way of tweaking the dragon’s tail. He’d done it twice now and was still without a scratch.
Quite a rush, almost as heady as a snort of nose candy. One more good yank and he would be on Easy Street. Jackson chuckled at his own cleverness. The secret is to make certain the beast’s distracted while you slip in behind. So far, O’Brien was proving to be ideal dragon bait. Best of all for Jackson’s future plans, she was still in one piece.
Remembering the baffled, murderous rage on Damien’s face, in incongruous contrast to the overpoweringly sweet perfume wafting from the man’s shirt, Jackson laughed. How could a guy fail to play his cards right when life kept dealing him one full house after another?
Chapter 24
Keely glanced over at her passenger. Sodden, covered with dirt and grease, Max grinned back at her.
She said breathlessly, “You look like road kill, but at least you’re still in one piece.”
“You, on the other hand, look like an angel. Imagine what those hoods would
have done if they were serious about hurting me.” Max massaged his shoulder. “I feel like I’ve just been run over by an eighteen wheeler.” In an obvious bid for sympathy, he added pathetically, “Loaded with pig iron.”
“Overkill, Max.” Keely brushed wet hair off her face. Drops of water trickled down her back. “I’ve never heard of a soggy angel.”
“Maybe God weatherproofs celestial beings.” Max flashed her an appealing grin. “Thanks from the bottom of my heart. I’d show my appreciation in a more concrete way, but…” He gestured at his soiled clothing.
A blush heated Keely’s face and she busied herself in checking the rear view mirror for signs of pursuit. At the same time, Max leaned over to pre-empt the mirror, tilting it to inspect a fresh bruise on his jaw. Their reflected gazes collided in the glass and Keely looked away first.
Max leaned back with a stifled groan, oblivious to the damage done to her car’s cream colored upholstery. “Well, we learned Ron Franklin’s quite touchy on the subject of extortion.”
“Touchy? He’s a madman!” Keely dug under the front seat for a packet of cleansing wipes which she handed to Max. “Jackson told me he hired on at Prestige Limousines after he left the Postwaites. I also discovered you have an evil doppelganger named Damien who’s the head of the Sterling Ring.”
After hearing Keely’s story of her encounter with Ron’s son, Max clapped his hands. “So I’ve got a double? Damien must be the guy Jessica saw scoping out her shop. He was also probably the one dancing with our fat friend’s wife from the Brew & Cue. Gifford will have to believe us now.”
But Gayla Gifford wasn’t available and no one at the police station seemed enthused over the idea of questioning a prominent businessman on the say-so of two dubious looking characters. Max finally managed to talk the sergeant on duty into sending a patrol car escort with them to Prestige Limousines.
Once there, however, they were informed by the receptionist that Ron Franklin hadn’t been in all day (he was visiting his mother) and Damien was out of town looking into the purchase of a used limousine. The patrolmen were welcome to look around the service yard. Prestige Limousines had nothing to hide.
The window in the bathroom where Keely had made her escape was locked, with no evidence of her impromptu exit. Both the goons and the stake had vanished. The tires used in their vile game of intimidation were neatly stacked inside the parts shed.
The man Keely had soaked with the hose was now clad in a dry coverall and engaged in buffing the sleek sides of a stretch limo while the other mechanics changed the oil of an executive motor coach. All three men appeared absorbed in their work and strangely incurious about the law’s invasion. Under direct questioning, they stared blankly at Keely and Max before mumbling that they’d never seen either of them before.
Max’s Bronco no longer sat in the parking lot and his suggestion that the bruisers had driven the vehicle away in an attempt to disprove his story had the policemen exchanging significant looks behind his grimy back.
Frustrated, Max held out his hands and shook his abraded wrists under their noses. “You’re as observant as a pair of love birds! Don’t you recognize rope burns when you see them?”
Police patience came to an end immediately after this outburst and Max and Keely were politely, but firmly, ordered off the premises. A sullen Max sat hunched in the passenger seat of Keely’s Mustang, staring gloomily through the windshield, as she negotiated the afternoon traffic.
“You’ve got to get Jessica to tell Gifford she’s been threatened,” he muttered, drumming his fingers on the dash. “Today’s fiasco didn’t exactly strengthen our credibility.”
“I tried calling Jess last night, but she’s not answering her phone. I wouldn’t count too much on her cooperation.” Keely gestured at Max’s hands. “Please, try not to touch anything else. It looks like a greased pig’s been rolling in my front seat.”
“I suppose those idiotic cops would have taken me seriously if I had clean hands?”
“Max, you look like you haven’t bathed in this decade and I look like I just finished running an obstacle course.” Keely scowled at her disheveled reflection in the mirror. “Face it, we didn’t stand a chance.”
Max grunted. “Yeah. It was Franklin’s word against ours and all of his employees are prepared to lie for him.”
Keely toed the accelerator as the car took a corner. “We should have known he’d be prepared for our return. Ron Franklin’s got a reputation as a shrewd businessman. Several competitors tried to get a toehold in Lake Hope, but they all failed.”
“Failed? How did they fail?”
Surprised at the sharpness of Max’s tone, Keely hesitated. “Let’s see. One lost an entire fleet in a garage fire and the other, Quality Rides, had such a high accident rate due to brake failures, etcetera, people just didn’t use them any longer.”
“I suspect intimidation and vandalism, not better prices and service, are responsible for Franklin’s success,” Max asserted grimly. “If his son is the shadowy figure behind the extortion racket, he’s just following in Daddy’s footsteps.”
“I’m positive Damien’s the man I saw talking to Flo in the hallway.” Keely parked in the lot of Max’s apartment building. Climbing out, she tried unsuccessfully to smooth the wrinkles from her slacks. “He resembles you in a superficial fashion, but his eyes are as cold and brown as pennies.”
“Pennies?” Max snorted. “That doesn’t sound dangerous.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘Pennies on a dead man’s eyes?’ Damien’s eyes were dead—there’s no real person living behind that flat stare.” Keely shuddered reminiscently.
“So this guy looks like me, huh? Maybe the Mayor’s mother wasn’t talking through her little veiled hat when she accused me of bopping her with that candlestick!” Max’s blue eyes glittered. “Everyone’s been mistaking me for Franklin’s bad boy, including, I’ll bet, that overtanked hulk at the Brew & Cue. Don’t forget, the leader of the brass band was convinced I was the guy who hired him. A resemblance to Damien might explain why Gunter got excited when I showed up at his cake shop.”
“Gunter doesn’t need an excuse to throw a creative tantrum, but Damien might be doing some collecting for his extortion racket in person.” Keely remembered something else. “One of Franklin’s thugs looked familiar and I just remembered why. He was the security guard at the Westhaven wedding—the guard who disappeared along with the gifts!”
While Max degreased and showered, Keely curled up on his couch and scribbled notes. When he emerged from the bedroom, she said triumphantly, “It all fits!”
Max glanced down at his charcoal shaded slacks and dark blue shirt. “Then you don’t think the shirt’s too baggy—”
His sly grin told her he was back to his ebullient self. “You know I’m not talking about your clothes! I mean the facts about Damien and Flo fit together.”
Max perched on the arm of the couch. “Amplify.”
“Flo profiled quite a few wedding service providers. She met Damien on a visit to Prestige Limos. They were drawn together: a man burning to make his mark and a woman filled with poisonous hate. Somehow, Damien convinced Flo to help him humiliate a few pampered society brides. My guess is she didn’t know about the bigger picture, the extortion racket, until it was too late.”
“Go on.” Max slipped off the arm of the couch, landing next to Keely with a soft thud. “Tell me more.”
As a souvenir of today’s excursion, Max possessed a purplish bruise on his jaw to match the one on his forehead. His hair, still damp from the shower, curled in a dark, glossy cap. Keely was acutely conscious of her own tumble-dried appearance.
She referred to the tablet clutched in her hands. “During the confusion caused by the band’s entrance, Flo somehow came into possession of Rose’s necklace. Maybe the catch was loose and it fell off. Being familiar with the timetable for the robbery, Flo hurried out to turn the diamonds over to Damien. Passing the risk on to him, so to
speak.”
“Then you came strolling along.” Max’s fingers walked down Keely’s arm and drew a “x” on the back of her hand. “You caught them huddled together in the hallway.”
“Uh, that’s right.” The tablet seemed to have developed a tremor and Keely steadied her hands with an effort. “Damien took off, but when Flo saw the light glowing on my camera, she knew that to keep from ever being linked to him, she needed to destroy the, er, videotape.” Keely stumbled over the last word. The scent of Max’s Polo played havoc with her powers of concentration.
“When you refused to be intimidated into turning over the tape, they decided to take it.” Max rubbed his jaw gingerly as he outlined the scenario. “While in the studio, they argue, Damien picks up the tripod and pow!—he’s got a corpse on his hands.”
He frowned. “So far we’ve got nothing to tie Damien to the crimes except a tape we haven’t viewed. Unless your camera work was exceptional, the police may not be able to prove the man talking to Flo is Damien and not me.” He shook his head. “They thought of everything. Damien even wore clothes similar to mine.”
“At a distance, he wouldn’t draw a second glance. Even your employees would think he was you.” Keely remembered something else. “I got an up close and personal look at Damien today. He’s got a birthmark on the side of his neck.”
“Then I’ll have to trust that you’re a good enough videographer to have captured that detail.”
Trust. That word again. Keely looked down to find Max’s hand covering hers. The pressure was light, testing her response. She felt the skin of her face and throat flush and freed her hand with deliberate casualness to smooth back her hair.
After her divorce, Keely had taken her physical desires and stuffed them into a padlocked inner sanctum. By his proximity, Max resurrected feelings she’d thought sealed away.
He studied her as if contemplating a luscious dessert. “May I?”
Wedding Chimes, Assorted Crimes Page 24