One Red Cent (Miranda Vaughn Mysteries)

by Ellie Ashe

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” Burton said, setting the frame back down on the desk. “When was this taken?”

  “About five years ago. Family vacation in Paris,” I said.

  It was one of my favorite photos. Evan and I were having coffee in a cafe in Paris, waiting for my mom to finish shopping. My dad had snapped the photo while we were in mid-laugh and every time I looked at the image, I could hear my little brother’s infectious laugh and remembered that trip to visit my father’s family.

  I tossed a pair of ballet flats into my bag. The heels would be coming off as soon as they served their purpose. Whatever that was. Then I transferred the folded subpoena, which was looking a little worse for wear, into the bag. I’d gotten in the habit of keeping it with me at all times, just in case I ran into Eddie Lucas.

  “Are you ready to go?” I asked.

  “Just waiting on you,” Burton said, holding the door open for me. “Your dad’s French, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you speak French?”

  My father was born in Paris and lived there until he met my mother, who was attending university there, and then he followed her back to California. He was also a linguistics professor.

  “Oui, bien sûr je parle français.”

  Burton’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed and his lips parted. As I passed by him, I heard the quick release of his breath. My skin tingled as I realized that the words that flowed naturally from my lips had an unexpected reaction—Burton liked hearing me speak French. A lot.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It was nice to have some power over him, even though it was a small amount. But using that power might result in consequences. Ones that I wasn’t sure I was willing to tackle. Yet.

  After I settled into the buttery soft leather passenger seat of Burton’s car, he handed me a folder. He’d returned to being all-business. I opened the folder and scanned the pages eagerly, my curiosity about our plans making me fidgety.

  “Is this what we’re doing tonight?”

  “Well, it’s related to this case,” he said, easing the car out of the parking lot and onto the street. “You remember Sugar?”

  I grinned. It was hard to forget Sugar Lee—a former client of Rob’s who we all adored. “I thought she was out of the business. She’s not facing charges again is she?”

  Sugar, a short and stout woman, always maintained that her multiple arrests for solicitation were misunderstandings. She just preferred men with money to spend on her, and those men often hung out on the same corners where she would pass by. But after her last “last chance” from the judge, she had promised to go legit. Rob had raised an eyebrow when she had told us that she was getting a masseuse license, but she hadn’t been arrested in at least two years, so we’d all assumed that she had finally gotten on the straight and narrow.

  “No, not quite. It’s a personal injury case. A car accident.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Sore neck and her face is slightly puffy where the airbag hit her. The other driver ran a red light and is accepting liability for the crash,” Burton said, navigating the tail end of rush hour traffic. “The problem is that Sugar says a man was driving the car that hit her. But a woman is claiming that she was the only person in the car.”

  “If it’s clear the other driver ran the light, why does she care? The other party is at fault, so Sugar won’t be out any money,” I said.

  “The police reports are conflicting, so it’s starting to look like the claim may not get settled right away,” Burton said.

  “So why do you need me to help you?”

  We turned down a boulevard crammed with commuters and inched our way south. “The police don’t believe Sugar. Probably because they know her, and her credibility isn’t of the highest caliber.”

  “Sure, makes sense. But why would she lie about something like that?”

  “She wouldn’t. But the other driver was a young, blonde woman who works at the state Capitol. For some reason, they tend to give her story more weight,” Burton said. “I told Sugar I’d do what I could to verify her account.”

  “How?” I read the accident reports and looked at the pictures in the file. In the middle of the intersection sat a red, four-door economy sedan with its front end shortened into an accordion by Sugar’s hulking black SUV. The photos were taken just before the last bit of daylight faded away. The streetlights were already on.

  “The cops say Sugar couldn’t have seen two people in the car—it was too dark, the accident happened too fast, and she wasn’t at the right angle to see someone get out of the other car. I need you to tell me what you can see when you get out of a similar SUV,” Burton said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Sort of like an accident re-enactment.”

  “A preliminary investigation to determine if that is going to be a necessary expense,” Burton said. “I don’t want to waste her money on this.”

  “Is Sugar going to meet us there?”

  Burton frowned. “No. She was detained after the accident. Seems there was an old warrant in the system. Rob was trying to get it cleared today, but last I checked, she was still downtown at the jail.”

  “Oh, poor Sugar,” I said, knowing the conditions at our local jail.

  “I saw her this morning. She’s fine. She said she’s catching up with some old friends,” he said.

  I flipped the page and saw Sugar’s mug shot. “Holy hell! I thought she was out of the business.”

  Sugar was wearing a smile worthy of a Hollywood headshot and a French maid’s uniform that indicated news of her retirement may have been premature.

  “She says she’s out of the game,” Burton said.

  “Then what is this?” I took the photo out and held it up. “I’ve never had a massage from a French maid.”

  Burton gave a shrug. “She said she earns more with her housekeeping business than as a masseuse.”

  I sighed. No wonder the police were skeptical of Sugar’s story. “Okay, fine. So all you need me to do is get out of an SUV and tell you what I can see?”

  Burton nodded and eased the luxury sports sedan onto a less-trafficked street. “Pretty much. Think you can handle that?”

  I gave a very unladylike snort. “And how does this relate to me wearing something sexy?”

  Burton looked over with a sly grin and winked. “Thought we could grab a bite to eat after this.”

  My pulse pounded and my stomach flipped over. Damn, the man had some nerve.

  On the other hand, I wasn’t one to turn down a meal and the scenery would be good, I thought, eyeing him—tight black t-shirt stretched to its limits across a lean but muscled chest.

  “Any place but Nom,” I said.

  Burton laughed and turned off the car. “I have a friend who is going to meet me here with a couple of similar vehicles.”

  “Nice friends.” I looked out the passenger side window at the neighborhood. It was on the border of the gentrification, but still on the wrong side of that line. The streetlights were blinking on in the dusky light. The traffic was lighter here because it was away from the wide, four-lane boulevard that led to the freeway. A few people walked along the sidewalk away from the bus stop.

  “He works at a car lot and has a coworker who is going to help us out,” he said, then pointed at two cars parked across the street. “There they are.”

  I looked at the traffic, which while not as congested, wasn’t such that we could set up a fake accident in the middle of the intersection without causing problems.

  “How is this going to work?” I asked.

  Before Burton could answer, a cop car pulled up even with the car. Burton rolled his window down and I saw the cop do the same.

  “Hey, Curtis, how ya doing?” Burton asked with a smile.

  “It’s all good, Burton. Oh, hey, Sarah,” Officer Curtis McKay said, leaning forward when he saw me in the passenger seat.

  “Hey, lawman. What’s up?” I asked. The
young officer’s face turned a shade of pink that I could see even from in the early twilight. I knew it was wrong, but I did so love flirting with Curtis. Between his tendency to blush and his unremitting crush on me, it was a helluva ego boost. And he was a nice guy. For a cop.

  “I wouldn’t be doing this for anyone but you guys, you know,” he said, giving me a shy grin, then pulled the cop car forward, blocking one of the lanes of the intersection with his lights flashing.

  We got out of Burton’s car and walked toward the intersection. Burton’s strides were confident, but I was navigating the uneven pavement on four-inch heels with platforms. Burton slowed and offered his arm, which I took gratefully, and then I tried like hell to ignore the feel of his hard muscles and warm skin.

  With traffic blocked, Burton quickly gave directions to everyone about where the cars would be placed. Curtis stood in the middle of the intersection in an orange safety vest and put out a couple of cones with flashing lights on them.

  “You’ve got ten minutes, Burton—no more,” he said.

  “You’ve got it, man,” Burton said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I appreciate this.”

  Burton turned to me, winked and gave a barely perceptible nod toward Curtis. “We both appreciate it—right, Sarah?”

  I gave Curtis my brightest smile.

  “You’re the best, Curtis,” I said, then turned back to Burton and gave him the stink-eye. Now I knew why he wanted me to wear something sexy.

  I climbed behind the wheel of the SUV, holding my dress so I didn’t flash the blushing young officer. Burton’s friend drove the small sedan to where the red car had sat smashed. According to the accident report, the smaller car had been traveling at a moderate rate of speed when it ran the red light and hit the slow-moving SUV. The sedan had spun through the intersection, coming to rest on the opposite corner from where Sugar’s SUV stopped.

  “Can you see the driver?” Burton asked.

  The SUV was at an angle as well, but from the driver’s seat, the car was out of view unless I craned my neck and leaned forward. Then I could see the car through one of the side windows in the backseat and cargo area.

  “Sort of.”

  Burton frowned. “Sugar said she saw the man and the girl when she got out. Let’s try that.”

  I gave him a skeptical look, but opened the driver’s door and stepped out. Now two-tons of black metal and dark tinted windows blocked my view of the car entirely.

  “No, can’t see a thing,” I said. “Maybe if I walked around.”

  Burton shook his head. “She didn’t walk around to see him. She said she stepped out of the vehicle, saw the man get out of the car, and when she walked around the back, he was gone.”

  “You guys, I don’t know how much longer I can divert traffic,” Curtis said. “Someone may call in to see why there’s a traffic disturbance.”

  “Sure, man. I think we got what we needed. Thanks,” Burton said, then turned back to me. “Mind driving this to the curb?”

  “Okay,” I said, and started to climb back into the driver’s seat. As I did, a flash of light caught my eye from the other side of the cab—a headlight bouncing off the grill of the sedan, which still sat in the intersection. “Wait!”

  “What?” Burton asked.

  “From here, I can see the car in the rear view mirror. I have a perfect view of it. Have the driver get out.”

  Burton shouted direction to the other car’s driver, and I watched him open the door and get out, illuminated by the yellow glow of the street lamp. I grinned, relieved that Sugar wasn’t lying to us—at least about this. I mean, who knew what she was actually doing to make a living, but I did believe that she saw the man get out of the car.

  Burton leaned in close to me and looked through the cab of the SUV so he could see what I saw from my angle. He was close enough that I could detect a hint of cologne and feel the heat radiating off his skin. Even without direct contact, it was enough to make me shiver, even though the temperature was still in the 90s. I moved slightly away, so he could see what I saw. And because I was trying really hard to stay mad at him for duping me into flirting with Curtis.

  “Damn. She did see him,” Burton said. He pulled out a camera and framed a couple shots. Then he helped me into the SUV and closed the door behind me, giving me a smile and a wink.

  I followed Curtis’s commands as he held off traffic so I could cross the intersection then parked in a red zone. I gave the keys to the SUV to one of the two guys from the car lot, who gave Burton a wave before taking off, presumably to return the vehicle before anyone there noticed it was missing. The red car was right behind him.

  Curtis was shaking Burton’s hand as I walked up, and I saw him blush again as I approached.

  “Thanks for your help, Curtis,” I said, taking his hand. “Hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

  “Oh, uh, I don’t mind doing it for you guys,” he said, stammering slightly. “How have you been, Sarah?”

  “Pretty good. How about you?”

  “Oh, you know, the same—“ A burst of sound from the radio on his belt interrupted us. “Excuse me.”

  He moved away to answer the radio, then looked back, a flash of disappointment crossing his face.

  “Gotta go. Hope to see you soon,” Curtis said, moving quickly back to his car.

  He added a blast of the siren to get through the intersection, and sped off.

  “Well, that was a productive evening,” Burton said, opening the passenger door of his car for me.

  “It’s not over yet,” I said with a smile. “Someone owes me dinner.”

  His lips curled up, and his eyes crinkled. “I know. Any place but Nom.”

  I settled into the seat as Burton walked around to the driver’s side. So maybe he wasn’t hinting at a date when he told me to wear something sexy. I was at least going to get a good meal out of it. And I was ordering dessert. And wine. Maybe that would get the taste of bitter disappointment out of my mouth.

  Burton started the car and signaled to merge into traffic, which was now flowing through the intersection.

  “Where would you like to eat?” he asked.

  “I think I’m in the mood for something expensive. How about Bernino’s?”

  He shot me a stern look. “Your help was valuable, but I don’t know if it’s worth a thirty-five-dollar plate of pasta.”

  “You used me as eye candy to get Curtis to help out. Eye candy is expensive. Plus, without me, you’d never have known that Sugar was looking at the other car in the rear-view mirror,” I said. “And Bernino’s pasta is worth it. Have you had their seafood risotto?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of Leo’s taco truck. I’ll even spring for dessert at Awful Dan’s Waffle Van. I know you like that place.”

  Burton merged into a gap between cars, and I gasped as I saw the familiar license plate on the car in front of us.

  “Oh my God!”

  “Fine, girl! God, you’re so stubborn,” he said with an exasperated sigh.

  “No, not that. I mean, yes, you’re taking me to Bernino’s. But that’s Eddie!” I waved excitedly at the taillights in front of us.

  “Where?” Burton looked around.

  “Right there. In front of us! In the green car!”

  Finally, I had everything I needed to get Eddie served. I had the subpoena in my purse and Burton at my side. No way was he getting away this time.

  5

  If Eddie Lucas was ever going to learn how to lay low, he’d first have to give up his cherished lime green and black-striped muscle car. It couldn’t have stood out more—even at night, even on a semi-crowded, four-lane boulevard. Burton had no trouble keeping the car in view.

  “You spoke with Eddie early in the investigation, right?” I asked, sitting up straight in the passenger seat to keep Eddie’s obnoxious car in view. “What did he say to you?”

  I’d read Burton’s notes from the interview, but I wanted to hear his impressions. Notes can only
convey words. Burton could read more than that from the tone of a person’s voice, or how they held themselves. Like how at that moment, I was perched on the edge of my seat, as if I’d have to jump out and chase Eddie on foot.

  At that thought, I reached into my large tote-bag of a purse and took out the flats. Eddie wasn’t going to escape because of my choice in footwear this time.

  “He kept it short, said he didn’t want to get involved because of his pending insurance claim. He said he’d tell me just what he told the police investigator—he didn’t know anything.”

  Burton’s tone told me he didn’t believe that.

  “You couldn’t prove otherwise?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  The curt answer said a lot, too. Burton didn’t like being wrong. Or being lied to.

  “He’s not on the prosecutor’s witness list,” I said.

  “Guess they don’t think they need his testimony to convict Leo,” Burton said.

  That was probably true. Between Leo’s own statement and the state’s arson expert, it did look like a pretty strong case. But I just couldn’t believe that Leo would burn down his restaurant. And I wanted to believe that if Leo were lying, I’d have picked up on his deception.

  “Eddie’s married,” I said, slipping on the more comfortable ballet flats and putting the heels in my bag. Then I took out the subpoena and set it in the center console in front of the gear shift.

  “Yes. Been married to Carla for twenty-two years. Three kids. House in the suburbs.”

  “But he’s having an affair with Rita, who owns the lingerie shop,” I said.

  Burton glanced my way, and I saw the surprise cross his face. I tried to keep the satisfied smile off my face, but it was hard. I didn’t get the chance to beat Burton at his own game too often.

  “How do you know this?”

  “Miranda and I saw him meet up with Rita at her shop. He left in her car. And now she’s moving Red Silk Ribbon into the building where Leo’s restaurant had been,” I said.