“I just got off the phone with Dev. I sent him a text thanking him for letting us know last night about Rocky, and he called me a few minutes ago.”
I stopped at another red light but this time paid attention to the traffic, which I’m sure the car in front of me appreciated. “Did he tell you anything we don’t already know?”
“Just that they think she died sometime Sunday afternoon from a gunshot to her temple, and probably not too long after she left the gym. The cops think Miranda probably killed herself because of whatever Peter told Rocky—that she poisoned Tanaka but whatever he disclosed to Rocky would have shined a spotlight on her as a suspect, so she took the easy way out.”
The easy way out. I hated that phrase. Yes, suicide did seem simpler than staying and facing whatever problems came your way, but there’s never anything easy about the permanency of death, especially for those left behind.
When the light turned green, the car in front of me started moving, and I followed it through the intersection. “If it wasn’t a suicide, who killed Miranda? And were they involved in Peter’s murder too?”
“Dev said the San Diego police will go over every inch of the van, but that it will take time. By the way, I told Dev that Mike’s story is that he was in a car accident, just in case he got asked about it.”
“And what did Dev say to that?”
“He laughed, then said okay.”
A small giggle escaped my lips, then I said what was on my mind. “Greg, do you really think Miranda killed Peter?”
“Hard to say.”
“But when would she have had time to slip something into his water?”
“It was actually a sports drink.”
“A what?”
“The poison was mixed with a sports drink—you know, something like Gatorade—probably to mask the taste.”
“Have you talked anymore with Rocky?”
“It was actually Lance who called me today,” answered Greg. “He said Rocky is absolutely torn up over Miranda.”
“No surprise there.”
“Rocky is staying with Lance for a few days. Besides, without his van, he can’t get around very well. Lance said Rocky’s not going into his shop for a few days.” Like Greg, Rocky was a small business owner. He operated a machine shop in Santa Ana.
“We should go see him,” I suggested. “Just to pay our respects. Any details yet about Miranda’s funeral?”
“None, and it probably won’t be for a while. Dev said it might take a bit of time for them to process Miranda’s body. Tomorrow I’ll check and see if Rocky’s up to having company.”
I was getting very close to home. With each block, a warm, fuzzy feeling crept through my body like hot chocolate on a cold day. “Honey,” I said into the phone as I made a right-hand turn, “I’ll be home in about ten minutes. Fire up that soup.”
Dinner was relaxing and casual. We ate soup and grilled cheese in front of the TV with Muffin and Wainwright sleeping nearby. Even without verbally agreeing to it, we didn’t discuss the two murders, choosing instead to laugh over a silly sitcom.
After dinner, I submerged myself in my whirlpool tub—a gift from Greg two Christmases ago. I’d dumped in some lavender bath stuff, cocooning myself in heavenly scented bubbles. The tub was in our guest bathroom. We’d had to remodel and enlarge the entire bath to get the large tub in, but it had been worth it. Even Greg used it from time to time, especially after a particularly hard game of basketball, but it was mostly a feminine retreat, like now. It was just me, my bubbles, a few scented candles, some soft classical music, and Muffin, who was curled up like a tight little gray bun in the sink, snoozing. I closed my eyes and let the warmth of the gently bubbling water and silkiness of the music relax me into a stupor.
My reverie was interrupted by the sound of our front doorbell, followed by the barking of Wainwright. It was his friendly bark, not his watchdog bark, so it had to be someone we knew. Still, it was after nine—late for someone to be dropping by without a good reason. My mind immediately jumped to Dev. Maybe something important had come up that had to be handled in person.
I was reluctantly hauling my behind out of the warmth and comfort of the tub when Greg opened the door and announced, “Sweetheart, Clark’s here.”
“Clark?” I grabbed a towel and started drying off. “Is Mom okay?”
“Yes, Grace is fine. Come on out when you can, but don’t rush. I think he’s going to stay the night.”
Wrapped in my favorite thick robe, I padded down the hall and into the living room. Clark immediately stood up from the sofa and wrapped his strong arms around me, hugging me close. He gave me a kiss on my cheek. “You smell great, sis.”
“Thanks, but what a surprise.”
“A nice one, I hope.”
“Of course. It’s just that Mom didn’t mention anything about you visiting.”
“She doesn’t know I’m here.” He sat back down, and I joined him.
Greg rolled in with a tray across his lap. He handed a mug of coffee to Clark and a mug of hot chocolate to me. “Be right back with my own cocoa. It’s brewing right now.”
“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble,” Clark said, taking a big whiff of his coffee. “Smells wonderful.”
“Steele gave us one of those Keurig coffee makers last Christmas,” I explained to Clark. “Greg still thinks it’s a shiny new toy.”
“I love the thing,” said Greg with enthusiasm as he wheeled back in with his own mug. “I wish we’d gotten one a long time ago.” He gave Wainwright a gentle command and the dog stopped slobbering over our guest and went to his bed in the corner.
Clark took a drink of his coffee and smiled appreciatively. “Speaking of Steele, Dev told me he was in a car accident this weekend. How’s he doing?”
Greg and I looked at each other with surprise, then I answered, “Steele’s pretty banged up, but he’ll be fine. When did you talk to Dev?”
“Tonight. We met for dinner.” Clark looked over at Greg. “He was just finishing up talking to you when I got to the restaurant.”
“I’m surprised,” Greg said, “that Dev didn’t tell me he was meeting you.”
“Yeah,” I added. “What’s with all the cloak and dagger stuff?”
Clark laughed. “There’s no cloak and dagger stuff going on. Sometimes I fly into LA for just a day or two on business, and sometimes Dev and I see each other when I’m in town. Other times I scoot by to see you and Mom. Depends on my time.”
“So you’re just here for today?” I felt my mouth turn downward. We see Clark off and on, but not nearly as much as we’d like.
“I was going to fly out tonight,” he told us, “but decided to stay over and fly out in the morning. I always pack a carryon just in case. I hope you don’t mind me crashing here. I didn’t want to bother Mom.”
“You’re always welcome,” Greg told him. “But never worry about disturbing Grace. She’s a regular night owl.”
I took a drink of my cocoa and eyed my older half brother over the rim. “He’s not worried about Mom,” I said, flashing a wink at my husband. “He doesn’t want Mom to know he’s here.”
Clark gave off a sigh. He looked good. He used to have a gut but he’d trimmed down considerably since leaving police work for a job in the private sector. His hair was thinner and now totally gray, but his physique was pretty tight for a guy in his mid-sixties.
“Mom has been hounding me to spend more time here, but I’ve been pretty busy.” He took a drink of his coffee. “If I go over there she’ll expect me to stay longer, and I have to be on a plane out tomorrow. I have plans tomorrow night that I can’t cancel. I’m only staying tonight to talk to you two.”
I grew alarmed. Clark may look good, but maybe he had a health problem. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, sis.” He slipped an arm around my shoulders and drew me close. “But I sure appreciate the concern.”
“If you’re worried about Grace, don’t be,” said Greg. “She seems
to be thriving out here. She pals around with my parents and several of the folks at her retirement community, as well as spends time with us.”
“No, it’s not that, though I do agree moving to Cali has been great for Mom. She even looks younger.” He smiled. “By the way, I finally sold the house in Massachusetts. The sale closed last month. I’m now officially a resident of Arizona. I even bought myself a nice place in one of those fancy fifty-five-plus communities with a golf course.”
“That’s great,” I told him, happy that he was happy. “Arizona isn’t here, but at least it’s closer to us.”
“Yeah, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” His voice turned serious on a dime. “Over dinner, Dev told me about the murders of that guy in the wheelchair and the woman suspected of doing it. He said the woman and her husband are good friends of yours.”
“That’s true,” answered Greg. “We’ve known Rocky and Miranda for several years.”
“Here’s the thing.” Next to me, Clark shifted a bit. “I know I’m talking to two brick walls here when I tell you two to stay out of it.”
Clark removed his arm from my shoulders and put his coffee mug on the table in front of the sofa. Then he leaned forward, his arms resting on his legs, hands clasped between his knees, like a father about to have a serious heart-to-heart with a couple of wayward teenagers.
“But whatever you do,” he continued, “I don’t want Mom involved in it. I don’t want her going around playing detective like she did last time.” Clark looked straight at me when he said the words.
“Hey,” I said in protest. “I didn’t put that cockamamie idea in her head. She gets those ideas all on her own, believe me.”
“And she almost got herself killed, didn’t she?” Clark shot back. “As much as I’ve wanted to shoot her myself a few times, I’m still kind of fond of the old girl.”
“She’s my mother, too, you know.” I twitched my nose in annoyance. “We’re on the same page here, Clark, both with wanting to shoot her and keep her safe.”
We all paused to take a deep breath and a sip of hot beverages.
I put my mug on the coffee table next to Clark’s and turned to face him fully. “Mom has already mentioned getting involved, and we’ve said no. We’re pretending we’re not going to do anything.”
Clark fixed me with a laser stare. “But you are, aren’t you? The two of you are going to look into it?”
“They’re friends of ours, Clark,” Greg said with conviction. “We’re going to do whatever we can to help Rocky.”
“Then figure out a way to keep Mom out of it,” Clark insisted. “You two are both smart cookies. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” He looked at Greg. “How about your parents? Can’t they take her someplace for a few days? We can even pay for it.”
“Sorry,” Greg answered. “My parents are out of town. They’re visiting my sister. Besides, last time Grace tried to get my mother involved.”
“Well, think of something.” Clark picked up his mug again and took a drink.
I raised my hand like a kid in school. “I have a great idea,” I said with enthusiasm. “You can take Mom back to Arizona with you.”
“That would work,” agreed Greg. “You can bring her back when you come for Thanksgiving in two weeks.”
Clark put his mug back down with a sound thud. “No.”
“Why not?” I asked. “I’ll bet Mom would be thrilled at the idea of a surprise trip. She just complained to us that she’s a bit bored. She’s never been to Arizona that I know of. You can show her your new house. She can even help you decorate it. It’s a win-win.” I was really going for the hard sell.
“I told you I have plans tomorrow night. And don’t forget work.”
“It’s not like Grace needs a sitter,” Greg said with a grin. “And if you’re seeing a lady friend, you can always go back to her place.”
Clark stood up and nearly stepped on Muffin, who’d wandered in from the bathroom. The tiny cat scooted out of the way in the nick of time. “What part of no don’t you people understand?”
“Well,” I said, sending out my final volley, “if you don’t take Mom, then I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to keep her nose out of this nasty business.”
Clark stretched his arms high above him, reaching for the ceiling, then behind him. He twisted his neck, and it gave off loud crackles and pops. Greg and I eyed each other out of the corners of our eyes and waited it out.
Done with his calisthenics, Clark pulled his phone out of his pocket and jabbed at the screen. “Hey, Mom,” he said when the call was answered. “You up for a surprise road trip?”
Nine
Mom was thrilled to go to Arizona with Clark. Almost as soon as Clark finished his arrangements with her, she put in a call to our home phone. Without letting her know Clark was there, I let her gush on about the trip.
“I’m just worried about a couple of things,” she told me.
“Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll look after your place and water your plants.”
“It’s not that, but what about the murder investigation? I won’t be able to help you.”
I rolled my eyes. Clark was right to be concerned, and I felt less guilty about forcing him into taking her to Arizona. “Like Greg and I told you at dinner last night, we’re not getting involved. The police are pretty sure Miranda killed Peter, and now that Miranda is dead, it’s kind of a closed case.” I paused. “You did see the news tonight about Miranda, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. Very tragic.”
“The police are pretty sure she killed herself.” I noticed the two men hanging on every word of my side of the conversation, wondering if I could put Mom off the scent enough to ship her off to Arizona. “So there’s really nothing we can do.” I paused, but not long enough for her to give it much thought. “So we’ll see you and Clark back here for Thanksgiving, right?”
“Of course. I promised Renee I’d bake a couple of pies for dinner.”
“Love you, Mom,” I said, trying to close the conversation.
“Love you, too, but I need to quit jabbering and start packing.” She tittered with the excitement of an early bird spotting a worm. “Just think, tomorrow I’ll be blogging about Arizona!”
The next morning, after a hearty home-cooked breakfast, we sent Clark off to gather up Mom and her luggage and head to the airport. If she asked, he was going to tell her he had spent the night in Oxnard. He shook hands with Greg and gave me a hug and a kiss. We watched him go down the walk toward his rental car, his overnight bag in his hand. Almost at the curb, he turned and called to us, “Why do I feel like I’ve been bamboozled?”
“Love you too,” I called back with a smile and a wave.
After Clark left, Greg asked me, “You going into the office today, sweetheart?”
“I should, with Steele out.”
I usually only work a couple days a week, but I knew Steele would be hot and heavy with emails and projects this week since he’d be out. I picked up my phone and checked my work email. Sure enough, there were several emails from him, sent at various times in the night and this morning. Either he needed to take fewer naps during the day or a sleeping pill at night. I opened the email from him that was not work-related and laughed.
“What is it?” Greg was gathering up his stuff to go to work and stopped.
“Steele. He’s as bad as my mother. Yesterday he begged to get involved in the murders with either online research or by making calls.”
“Maybe we should have Clark take him to Arizona, too.”
I laughed at the thought. Poor Clark. “I ended up giving Steele an assignment,” I told Greg. “I asked him to research cyanide poisoning. He did, and it looks like he wrote a term paper on it.”
Greg didn’t laugh as I expected. He was listening to a message on his own phone with a dark and concerned face.
“Something wrong at work, honey?”
He shook his head. “It’s from Rocky and came
in very late last night. We must have slept through it. Listen to this.”
He put the phone on speaker and replayed the message. From the phone came a man’s voice. He sounded groggy and tired. It also sounded like he was sobbing. “I can’t. I can’t do this. Sorry.”
Panic rose in me. “Is that Rocky?”
Greg showed me the display. It was Rocky’s number. Immediately he hit the callback feature. After several rings, voice mail kicked in, and Rocky’s usually strong voice told us to leave a message. Greg told him to call us.
Next Greg called Lance, but that call also went to voice mail. Again, Greg left a message to return the call.
“I’m going over to Lance’s,” Greg announced. He called his office and told Chris Fowler, his right-hand man, that he’d be late but didn’t know how late.
“I’m going with you,” I told him and placed my own call to T&T, telling Jill I’d be in later.
Lance lived in Costa Mesa, almost on the border of Newport Beach. When I was single I had owned a townhome not more than a mile away, so I knew the neighborhood well. Greg and I took separate vehicles. Once everything checked out, we’d be heading in separate directions. My office was east of Lance’s house, and Greg’s shop was north. At the last minute Greg left Wainwright, who usually went with him to work, at home.
Lance, a divorced man, lived in a trim ranch-style home painted the color of terra cotta. It was located on a quiet street just a couple of blocks east of Twenty-Second Street in Newport Beach where it borders with Costa Mesa. We pulled up in front of the place but found no cars in the driveway. A closed metal gate extended from one side of the house to the wall bordering the neighboring property. Through the gate we saw no sign of any vehicle.
We made our way up the walk. The front door had several steps leading up to it, so I took those alone and rang the bell.
“There’s a ramp in the back,” Greg told me. “Lance had it installed for when Rocky visited.”
We waited about twenty seconds, then I rang the bell again—this time twice. Still nothing. I pulled out a notepad and pen from my purse. “Greg, I think we should leave a note that we were here.”
9 Hell on Wheels Page 7