Hell on Wheels

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “You keep staring like that, Grey,” Steele said without moving his head, “and you’ll have to stuff a couple of dollars into my briefs.” His words weren’t as slurred as they’d been the day before, but they still weren’t as crisp and clear as usual. He pulled up the light throw covering his legs until it reached just under his arms and hid the bruising from my sight.

  I put the expanding folder of documents down on the small round glass table next to the chaise. “Should you be out here without a shirt? It’s kind of chilly.”

  “I should go in. I’ve been out here quite a while already, but the sun felt so good earlier.” He moved his head to look at the ocean full on. “I’ve lived here almost ten years, and I never tire of the view or the sound of the sea.” The words came out of his mouth slow and deliberate, like he was testing each one first for pain. “Sometimes I come out here and sit when it’s raining. I’ll put a chair back by the window, under the overhang so I don’t get wet, and sit and listen to the waves and rain together.”

  In spite of the chill in the air, we were having a warm and fuzzy moment—something rare for us. As much as we care for and about each other, both our working relationship and personal friendship are based on a sort of antagonistic banter. Maybe almost getting beaten to death was making Steele reevaluate his life and relationships.

  “So,” he said, without turning to look at me, “did you get anything done today or were you and Jill too busy playing in my absence?” He glanced up at me. “I’ll bet you took a long lunch with Zee and sat on personal calls all day.”

  Then again, maybe the beating didn’t work magic.

  “We got everything done, Steele.” I tapped the thick folder on the table next to him. “Here you go.” I turned to leave. “Later.”

  “What’s your rush?” Swinging his legs off the chaise in a slow and deliberate movement, he grabbed a nearby sweatshirt and slipped it over his head.

  “Greg and I are meeting someone tonight.” I consulted my watch. “And you know how traffic can be this time of day.”

  Steel got to his feet but started to stagger. I dropped my tote bag to the ground and stepped in to help him, but he waved me off. “I’m fine. I just get a little woozy when I first stand.”

  “You need to see a doctor, Steele. I’m worried about that huge bruise.”

  “I have an appointment tomorrow. Besides, it’s just a couple of cracked ribs. Doc at urgent care said they’ll heal on their own if I take care of them.” He gave off a ragged laugh as he hobbled toward the door. “I’ll bet you thought if you ever saw me looking like this, it would have been you who’d inflicted the wounds.”

  “Not that I haven’t thought of it from time to time.”

  He laughed again, then grabbed his left side and went pale. I jumped to his side and helped him move indoors.

  “Actually, I always thought it would be one of the women you wined and dumped, or one of their husbands.” I paused. “It wasn’t, was it?”

  “I assure you, Grey, it wasn’t.” Once inside, I guided Steele to his recliner and helped him ease down into it. He took off his sunglasses and put them on the end table. He looked exhausted from the effort.

  Cruz came in from the kitchen and watched him settle in with a look of worry. “Would you like me to stay tonight, Mr. Steele? Because I can.”

  “No, Cruz, but thanks,” he told her. “I really appreciate you coming in extra this week. Tomorrow I have to see my doctor. Can you take me or should I call a car service?”

  “It’s not a problem,” she told him. “I’ll take you.” She grabbed her purse from the table and slipped into a light jacket. “I made you that albondigas soup you like so much. It’s in the refrigerator in plastic containers. Just microwave whatever you want when you’re ready to eat. And I cut up some fruit into very small pieces. It’s also in the fridge.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He turned on the TV and flew through the channels until he got to CNN.

  “I’ll head on out with you, Cruz,” I said, then stepped onto the terrace to grab the expanding folder and my purse.

  “Grey, can you stay a minute?” Steele requested when I returned. “I promise I won’t make you late for your appointment.”

  I hesitated, really wanting to get on the road, but he looked so pathetic. “Okay, but I can’t stay for long.”

  Cruz waved goodbye to us both and left.

  Sitting on the sofa next to his chair, where I’d been the day before, I slipped off my sweater and pulled the documents onto my lap. “I guess you want to go over some of these now.” I started pulling a couple of items out of the file.

  “No, I’ll look at those later.” He turned to me, his bruised left eye still looking pretty ugly but not quite as raw as the day before. Considering the injury to his ribs and his eye, I was guessing only Steele’s left side was exposed to his attackers, like he was on the ground on his right side when hit or leaning one side against something to protect it.

  “Tell me what’s going on with your friend Rocky.”

  “Rocky?” The question surprised me.

  “They mentioned something on the local news today about new developments but didn’t say much beyond a suspect being released.”

  “Rocky is who Greg and I are meeting tonight. He was released last night after they discovered Peter Tanaka wasn’t killed by the beating.”

  “What killed him?”

  “They told Rocky it was poison—something in his water bottle.”

  “Really?” Steele sat up straighter in his chair. “Do they know what kind?”

  “Maybe cyanide. They’re not completely sure yet.” I moved the heavy file from my lap onto the sofa beside me and turned to Steele. “Why the interest?”

  He shrugged. “Because I’m already bored out of my mind, and I find it interesting.” He gave me a lopsided smile, which considering his swollen mouth made him look like a happy gargoyle. “Has his wife shown up yet?”

  I shook my head. “No, but now she’s the main suspect. Her prints were found on the water bottle. I think Rocky wants me and Greg to poke around and try to figure out what’s going on. He’s sure his wife didn’t kill Peter.”

  Steele was quiet for a moment, then said, “So what can I do to help?”

  “You?” The surprise in my voice was almost a yelp. “Don’t you think you have your hands full right now just trying to get well and handle your law practice from home? And what about your car? Shouldn’t you be knee deep in insurance crap about that?”

  “Relax, Grey. I called the insurance company today, and since it will be a few days before I can drive, there’s no sense in my looking for another vehicle. And we’re not terribly busy at the office right now. You know that.” He swallowed, and I could see talking was hurting his mouth. But did it stop him? No.

  Steele took a drink from a water bottle he picked up from the end table. It was one of those squeeze types runners use. He squirted the water directly into his mouth, without touching his injured lips, and swallowed slowly. “There must be something I can do to help you and Greg. I can make calls, do some research. I need something to keep my mind occupied.”

  “How about—oh, let’s just suggest something silly here—the practice of law?”

  “Listen, Grey, before yesterday I worked out in the gym an hour and a half, sometimes two hours a day. It’s going to be a while before I can do much of anything like that again, but I can’t fill all my time with my job.”

  “Take up needlepoint,” I suggested.

  He stared at me. It was his cut-the-bullshit-and-quit-wasting-my-time stare. I saw it often at the office.

  “Listen, Steele, I don’t know what Rocky is going to want us to do—not really. We might have to help find his wife or look into her relationship with Peter. Or see what Peter was up to behind the scenes.”

  Instead of responding, Steele pulled out some papers that were under his iPad on the table. He handed them to me. After giving them a quick scan, I looked over at
Steele with surprise. “What’s this?”

  “That, Grey, is a criminal background report on Peter Tanaka. Your brother and the felonious Willie Proctor aren’t the only ones with connections.”

  Willie Proctor is a friend who mostly stays in the shadows. He’s on the run from the police because he scammed a lot of people out of their hard-earned cash years ago. He paid the money back eventually, but the charges are still hanging over his head. He also has a lot of underworld connections that Greg and I have found useful, even life-saving, on several occasions. My brother, Clark, a retired cop, works for him in his legal entities, or at least that’s the story we’re told. We don’t want to know more, for obvious reasons.

  “Connections, my fat behind,” I told Steele. “You got this off of Westlaw. It says so right here.”

  “Who cares where I got it,” snapped Steele. He swallowed hard as a stab of pain radiated across his face. “The point is, I can do research for you while I’m laid up. I can make calls too.”

  “You’re as bad as my mother. She was all hopped up last night about this.” I put down the Westlaw printout. “Why is it you all want to be involved in the very things that put my ass in danger?” I took a deep breath. “All but Zee. I swear, she and Seth are the only sensible people I know.”

  “Aren’t you even going to read that report?” Steele pointed at the papers now sitting on top of the expanding folder. “After all the trouble I went to, and me all banged up.” Turning down his swollen lips, he flashed me the most pathetic bruised face I’d ever seen on a grown man, like a GQ model still healing from plastic surgery gone wrong.

  “Careful, Steele, or I’ll make your eyes a matched set.” I got up to leave before my threat became a reality. I’m not given to physical violence as a rule, but Steele was playing the sympathy card until it was a threadbare red flag being flashed at a bull.

  “Just read the damn thing,” he pushed, obviously not afraid of my physical threat one bit. “That Tanaka’s a real piece of work.”

  I grabbed the printout and stuffed it into my bag, then I pushed the expanding folder closer to him. “I’ll read it with Greg tonight, but now I have to go.”

  While I was putting on my sweater, my cell phone rang. It was Greg. “Hi, honey,” I said as soon as I answered. Without waiting for a response, I tacked on, “I’m leaving Steele’s right this minute.”

  “No rush,” Greg said from his end. “Rocky cancelled.”

  “Oh, why?” A part of me was pleased because I was tired and wanted to go home, but in a different part of my body alarms were going off.

  “If you’re near a TV, quick turn on channel 4.”

  Without hesitation, I grabbed Steele’s remote and aimed it at the TV, turning it to channel 4’s local news. Behind the newscaster was a photo of Miranda Henderson. It was a lovely photo showing her bright eyes and smile, and it certainly didn’t give the impression that she was a killer. I increased the volume on the TV and put Greg on speaker.

  “That’s Rocky’s wife,” I said to Steele.

  I expected the news to be that Miranda had been apprehended as a suspect in Peter Tanaka’s murder, but that wasn’t the case. Rocky’s van had been found, and so had Miranda Henderson. Her body had been found inside Rocky’s van behind an abandoned warehouse in San Diego.

  In shock, I plopped back down on the sofa.

  “You watching?” asked Greg from the phone.

  “Yes, honey. How awful.”

  Steele had leaned forward in his chair to pay closer attention to the screen and to hear Greg. “Maybe she committed suicide,” he suggested.

  “It’s a possibility,” added Greg.

  When the news was over, I told Greg I was going straight home. He said he’d meet me there shortly.

  I didn’t get up right away from Steele’s sofa. My legs felt rubbery and unable to support me.

  “You okay, Grey?” Steele asked.

  “Yeah, just in shock.”

  “Take your time. It’s a lot to take in.” He took the remote from me and muted the sound. “I’m sorry about your friend. Very sorry.”

  I could tell from Steele’s tone, slurred or not, that he meant it.

  “In fact, why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m sure Greg won’t mind. I can heat up some of Cruz’s soup for us.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I glanced over at Steele. He was trying hard to be sensitive to the situation even while in his own physical pain. “But I do love her soup.”

  “It’s the best,” he agreed, doing his best to normalize the leaden atmosphere created by the news.

  We sat there a few more minutes before I finally got to my feet and picked up my bag. “You still interested in helping?”

  His good eye lit up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. “Sure, especially now.”

  “Find out what you can about cyanide. How easy is it to obtain and from where? How fast does it work? Stuff like that.”

  “You don’t think Rocky’s wife killed herself, do you?”

  “I don’t know about that, but I don’t think she killed Peter Tanaka.”

  I thought about the young woman vomiting in the ladies’ room. How her hair had felt like strands of silk in my hands as I held it away from the toilet bowl. How young and vulnerable she’d looked when I’d helped clean up her face and patch her makeup after. How frightened she’d looked at the game on Sunday. Now she was maggot food.

  I could tell from Steele’s posture that he wasn’t so sure. “I’ve always heard that poison is a woman’s weapon.”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “But it’s also a premeditated weapon. I just can’t see Miranda Henderson planting poison in a water bottle, then sitting there with a cold heart to watch it do its job.”

  Eight

  I was heading home, my mind only half on my driving. The other half was thinking of Rocky—first accused of murder, then his wife accused of murder, and now losing her. I thought about Miranda and wanted to know more about what had happened to her and why. Where had she gone after leaving Balboa Park? Had she met up with someone? Was she heading to Mexico to disappear? Or was her death just a random, senseless killing? Maybe it was suicide.

  Behind me someone blasted their horn. I snapped out of my stupor to find the red light I had been waiting for was now green. I moved forward, quickly going through the intersection before the car in my rearview mirror rammed me through it.

  I was halfway home when I got a call from Zee. Using my hands-free feature, I answered it. “Hi.”

  “When were you going to tell me about the murder?” Zee launched without even a hello.

  “Which one?” I asked calmly, even though I was anything but calm inside.

  “Let’s start with the murder of the quadriplegic in San Diego. Weren’t you and Greg down there this weekend for that tournament?”

  “Yes, and we saw the whole thing.”

  “You saw it? The body or the murder?”

  “Both.”

  “And when were you going to tell me about this?” Before I could answer, Zee continued with her rant. “I was at my mother’s all weekend helping her prepare and serve a church luncheon, and I got home late last night. I didn’t see the news until tonight.”

  “I was planning on telling you over lunch today, Zee, but with Steele’s accident and all, that didn’t happen.”

  “You could have told me when you called earlier today.” From her tone, I knew Zee was standing with one hand on a wide hip, her mouth a thin line of disapproval.

  “It didn’t seem like a telephone kind of discussion.”

  “You’re not involved with this, are you?”

  There it was: the bonus question I knew she’d been dying to ask.

  “Like I said, Greg and I saw what happened. We were questioned by the San Diego police, along with the other spectators, then released.”

  “But aren’t the Hendersons friends of yours?” She paused long enough to take a breath. Before I could answer, she a
dded, “That poor woman. Do you think she killed the man at the tournament?”

  “I’m not sure, Zee. I’d like to think she didn’t, but the police seem to have proof that she did.”

  “You sound exhausted, Odelia. Are you in your car?”

  “Yes. I’m on my way home from dropping off stuff at Steele’s, and I am very tired, mentally and physically. Nice flowers, by the way.”

  “Oh, good. I was hoping they’d get there today. How is Mike?”

  “Doing okay. Bored stiff already, but he won’t be able to go back to work until probably next week.”

  “Thank God. He could have been killed.”

  She didn’t know the half of it, and I couldn’t tell her. Zee was my best friend. I told her almost everything. This secret business was killing me for sure.

  “Yes, he could have,” was all I said.

  “Odelia, you go straight home, take a long hot bath in that fancy tub of yours, and go to bed early. That’s an order.”

  I loved it when Zee got all ninja-mom on me. Well, most of the time I loved it. Tonight was one of those times.

  “That’s the plan, Stan.”

  She laughed. “I mean it. Shut off your phone and take care of yourself tonight.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The next call came from Greg. “You almost home?” he asked.

  “Just about. Traffic is horrible tonight.”

  “You want leftover Chinese? I can fix you a plate and have it hot when you walk through the door.”

  “That sounds great, honey, but I think I’d rather just have some tomato soup, if you don’t mind.”

  “Want a grilled cheese with that?”

  I smiled. Greg not only loved grilled cheese sandwiches but made creative ones. “Sure, but nothing fancy tonight. I think my stomach is a bit on the fritz.”

  “You got it, sweetheart.”

  “Zee just called. She saw the news about Rocky and Miranda. She ordered me to take a long hot bath and go to bed early, and I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do. How about you?”