9 Hell on Wheels

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “Yeah,” said Dev. “Doesn’t look like she was much of a team player in that relationship.” Dev cleared his throat. “One more thing, Odelia. It has been determined that Rocky’s gunshot was self-inflicted, which is making more sense with everything that’s coming to light. The guy was losing his business, in debt up to his eyeballs, drinking too much, and then finds out his wife is messing around behind his back.”

  “Not to mention she’s a murder suspect, then is murdered herself.”

  “Yeah,” Dev said, “whether she was killed or put the bullet in her own brain, it was a recipe for disaster for sure.”

  “Has there been any progress on the murders?”

  “None, but Martinez is hard at work, I can assure you. I’ll keep you updated as much as possible.” He paused. “And don’t take this as encouragement, but thanks for the information. I’ll pass it along to Martinez.”

  “And I’ll bring Greg up to date on what you told me. I appreciate you keeping us in the loop as much as you can.”

  “How’s Steele doing?”

  “Much better. He’s still a pain in the ass, but everything considered, he’s on the mend.”

  “Good. And what about you? You sound like you’re in a car.”

  “Yes, Zee and I are heading to Beverly Hills today for some lunch and shopping.”

  “Good again,” Dev said, this time with a slightly upbeat tone. “That should keep you both out of trouble for a bit.”

  After ending the call, my eyes filled with tears. I reached into my tote and pulled out a tissue, dabbing my eyes carefully so I wouldn’t disturb my eye makeup.

  “You okay?” asked Zee.

  I nodded, then filled her in on Dev’s side of the conversation. “Greg and I had no idea about Rocky’s business,” I told her. “Our friend had been suffering, and we didn’t know it. Did we miss the signs?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Odelia. Maybe that was what he wanted to talk to Greg about.”

  “Maybe, but why hadn’t he said something sooner?”

  “Pride maybe. No one likes to admit they need help, especially like that. He might have been trying to fix the problem on his own first.”

  I blew my nose. “Had the incident in San Diego not occurred, Greg and I might have been able to help in some way. Greg’s a whiz in business, and we might have been able to help out financially as well. That still would not have changed Rocky’s marriage, but maybe it was Rocky’s failing business that had triggered Miranda’s unhappiness and plans to leave.”

  “It’s not your fault, sweetie.” Zee glanced over and gave me an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you give Greg a call and let him know, unless you’d rather wait until you can tell him tonight.”

  I wiped my nose again. “No, he should know this sooner than later.” Picking up my cell again, I called Greg and gave him the sad update.

  Sixteen

  Zee maneuvered her car through the streets from the freeway to the iconic shopping district of Beverly Hills as deftly as an alien flying its spaceship home. With a sagging spirit I watched out the window as the storefronts became more glitzy with each passing block. We have many of the same stores in Orange County, but shopping Beverly Hills and the famed Rodeo Drive had an energy all its own, even if you’re only window shopping. And window shopping was pretty much all that was going to happen today. None of these stores carried plus sizes, and some of the ultra-luxurious stores were locked and you were admitted only by appointment. But even if I had started out with the goal of conspicuous consumption, it was dampened now. I silently told myself to shape up. I was here to do a job for Simon Tobin and hoped putting that forward in my mind might keep me from whipping myself into a depressed frenzy over the Hendersons.

  One thing I will say about Beverly Hills is that it has plenty of parking. You can pay large amounts of money for valet parking at some of the private garages or use city parking, which was free for three hours. Zee pulled into a city garage just off of Rodeo. As she took the ticket from the automatic machine at the gate, she said, “I need to pick something up for Hannah at Juicy, but we’ll move the car closer to the restaurant when we’re done walking around.”

  I nodded, half listening, my mind occupied now with what I was going to do when I spotted the bogus Eudora Fox. Should I say something to her, letting her know I knew she was a fake? I could wait and hope she’d go to the ladies’ room, then follow her and pounce. Or should I even approach her and Mrs. Tobin at all? I had no plan going in outside of simply observing. I guess I had hoped that seeing this person might jar some ideas loose on how best to handle the situation. I hadn’t told Tobin yet about my findings—or, rather, Barbara’s findings. After I got a good look at this Eudora knock-off, I’d give him a buzz.

  “Oh, look,” said Zee with hushed excitement as we walked up Rodeo Drive. “Isn’t that Heidi Klum?”

  I shook off the fog inside my head and turned to look at the tall, leggy blond she was referring to a few feet up ahead to our left. It sure looked like the German bombshell. “I think so,” I answered without much excitement.

  Zee turned to me once we passed the woman and confirmed our suspicions. “Are you worried about lunch? Or are you still feeling guilty about Rocky and Miranda?”

  “Both,” I admitted. “But mostly I’m concerned about lunch right now. I’m wondering if coming here today was a mistake.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have no idea what I’m going to do besides have a nice meal at someone else’s expense and watch the two of them, hoping they don’t think I’m a stalker.”

  That was the truth, but only part of it. The other part was concern about Zee. When I’d told Greg about Zee coming with me today, he’d been less than enthusiastic.

  “I like the idea of you not going alone, sweetheart,” he’d told me over breakfast this morning, “but if something about this turns out to be more than you bargained for, Zee could get caught in the middle. And it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Through no fault of mine,” I’d quickly added in protest.

  “Maybe not, but it tends to happen.”

  I looked over at my dearest friend, who had stopped in her tracks to ooh and ahh over shoes in a store window. Even though Zee had been subjected to dead bodies and even violence over the years through association with me, she still insisted on tagging along once in a while. But this was just surveillance and lunch—nothing else. I shook the worry off and joined her to drool over the spectacular footwear in the window, all of which were too high for me to wear and too expensive for me to buy, and which reminded me of the cache of high-end items found in Miranda’s car.

  After shopping, we moved the car several blocks away to the public parking closest to Bouchon, which was on Canon Drive near Wilshire Boulevard. The parking was underground and automated like all the others. I’d never eaten at this restaurant, but Zee had and led the way up the elevators to the restaurant’s lobby, which was on the second floor of the building. By the time the doors to the elevator opened, I’d managed to shove the Hendersons aside and aim my focus on the task at hand.

  “Remind me,” Zee said as we approached the maître d’, “to go to their bakery before we leave. It’s on the first floor. Seth loves their bacon cheddar scones and chocolate croissants and would kill me if I didn’t bring something home. I just hope they’re not sold out.”

  As we were led to our table, I scanned the dining room. It was decorated simply but with elegance and was a good size but not huge. Every table and booth appeared to be visible except those on the balcony, but it was too chilly today for most people to be seated outside, especially two elderly ladies. People were already seated, and I tried not to gawk as I surveyed the diners. Most of the people seated were in pairs, but most were business people. Then I spotted them. They were in a booth against the far wall with food already in front of them. When the waiter tried to steer us in another direction, I gently asked for a different table—an empty one I spotted closer t
o my targets, thinking it didn’t matter how close we got since neither of them knew us.

  Wrong!

  As soon as Zee and I took our seats and were handed our menus, I glanced over at Fanny Albright Tobin and her companion. A gasp, thick and heavy, rose in my throat, threatening to spill onto the table. I squelched it as best I could in an attempt to not garner attention.

  “You okay?” Zee asked.

  I nodded and took a big drink from the water glass the waiter had just put in front of me, nearly drinking it down in one long gulp. “Just something caught in my throat,” I squeaked when I was finished with the water.

  I looked over at Fanny Tobin’s table again. I had to be mistaken. The cold hand clutching my gut and squeezing the life from me told me I wasn’t. The hair was different—longer; a softer, lighter color; and better styled—and she was wearing makeup, but it was her. It couldn’t be, I told myself, trying to convince my eyes they were mistaken. But it was. And if I had any doubt, it was dispelled when she turned her head my way and saw me, giving a short double-take. Her face morphed from surprise to curiosity to amusement as her smallish eyes settled on me, clinging to my face and suffocating me like plastic wrap. She smiled, showing even, gleaming white teeth. Dollars to donuts she’d had an expensive whitening job and possibly some cap work done on them since the last time we’d met.

  My first instinct was to grab Zee and run from the restaurant, bypassing the toothy maître d’, the trip to the bakery—hell, even the elevator. Maybe we could pull off a Butch and Sundance move and jump from the balcony to save time. My second instinct told my first one to hold the phone; it wanted to know what in the hell was going on and wasn’t about to leave without an answer. The two instincts went to war in my brain, with the second calling the first a chicken—and the first one clucking in response.

  “Would you like to hear today’s specials?”

  Startled, I looked up to find our waiter standing next to the table. “Could you give us a few more minutes?” I asked him, my voice wavering in its indecision.

  Before he left, Zee said to him, “Would you please bring us both iced tea to start.” He gave her a professional smile and went off to get our drinks.

  “Odelia, are you sure you’re okay?” Zee asked me, looking concerned. Her back was to the Tobin table, which was about two to three yards away. I looked at Zee, keeping one eye focused just beyond her shoulder.

  “Maybe we should go,” I suggested.

  “We just got here.” Before the words were out of her mouth, she remembered I was on a mission. Leaning toward me, she whispered, “Is she not here?”

  “Oh,” I whispered back, “she’s here, and so is her friend.” I closed my eyes, wishing I could click my heels and take both of us back to Orange County like we’d never left—or at least send Zee back. Maybe I didn’t need ruby slippers; maybe I needed a transporter. I could shove Zee into it and beam her back to her cozy home in Newport Beach, leaving me to deal with this situation on my own. But I didn’t have either. What I had was the mother of one of my bosses, who was in more danger than first thought, and my best friend, who may end up in the line of fire. Again.

  Do something, I told myself. Anything but pee your pants will do.

  My left eye joined my right eye in staring back at Eudora Fox, better known to law enforcement as Elaine Powers, and better known to me as Mother—the head of a women-only group of professional assassins. The woman hanging out with Simon’s mother had made whacking people for money a cottage industry. Like my pal Willie, Mother was adept at slipping through the fingers of the law, and she popped up in the oddest places. My lips formed a weak smile, but my eyelids blinked like a faulty neon sign in disbelief.

  The waiter returned bearing goblets of iced tea. He placed them in front of us, breaking my shock and jarring my brain out of a frozen stupor. I looked over at Zee and said in my best forced casual voice, “You ready to order?”

  After the waiter described the specials and we made our selections, Zee whispered, “You know the person Fanny Tobin is with, don’t you?”

  In response, I nodded but said nothing. I took a sip from my iced tea and did a quick computation of possibilities. Was Mother here because Fanny Tobin was in need of her unconventional services, or was she here because Fanny was the target and Mother needed to get close before doing the deed? Either was a good possibility, but Simon had said Eudora Fox wanted Fanny to invest in her business. That could be a cover. Or perhaps Mother was looking for venture capital. Maybe she was expanding her hit-woman services by opening chain locations; I’d love to see that prospectus.

  “Yes, Zee, I do,” I answered, saying no more. The last thing I needed was for Zee to know that the woman sitting a few yards behind her was Mother. With Mother having shown up a few times in my life in the past few years, Zee knew who she was, even if she’d never had the displeasure of a face-to-face meeting, as I had, and Mother knew way too much about Zee by her association with me.

  The waiter appeared again, this time with a small, slender loaf of fresh baked bread, which he placed directly on the table with a small crock of butter. The warm, comforting scent of the bread washed over me like a hug but wasn’t enough to soothe my agitated mind.

  “You must try this bread,” Zee gushed. “It’s heavenly.” As she tore off a chunk, my focus returned to Mother, who was now communicating to me with her eyes. She wanted to make contact—that much was obvious. It was even more obvious when she excused herself from her table and with a slight nod of her head indicated for me to follow.

  I took a long pull from my iced tea. After about ten seconds I said to Zee, “I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

  Something in her eyes told me she wasn’t believing me. She turned in her seat to glance back at Fanny’s table. Seeing the older woman alone, she put two and two together. “Should I go with you?”

  I shook my head and gave her a fake smile. “Nah, I’ve got this. Piece o’ cake.”

  What I really wanted to do was to tell Zee who I was following, instruct her to wait ten minutes, and, if I didn’t return, to call the police—oh, and to tell Greg my last thoughts were of him.

  Seventeen

  When arriving at the restaurant, the elevators spill open onto a narrow marble hallway. A short distance to the right are the restrooms, which I’d noticed when we’d arrived. From there you enter an elaborate but small waiting area with a reservation desk. Beyond that is the hostess desk and the main dining room. I found Mother waiting for me past the reservation desk area just inside the narrow hallway leading to the elevator. Seeing me, she waved for me to follow her and disappeared into the women’s restroom. I swallowed and headed in that direction.

  “Odelia Grey,” Mother said, turning my name into a statement of mixed amusement and disbelief. “Is your showing up here a coincidence?”

  I bent to look under the stall doors.

  “Don’t worry,” Mother said. “I already checked.”

  I straightened, half wishing I had spotted a pair of pumps under one of the doors, but since there wasn’t any I had no choice but to move forward with my mission.

  “You look good, Mother,” I said. “Or should I say Elaine? Or would you prefer Eudora?” Letting her know I knew her current alias was a bold move on my part, but it quickly established that this wasn’t a coincidence.

  Usually quick of mind and mouth, she didn’t answer but instead studied me up and down while her mind chewed on the situation.

  “Is that suit a St. John knit?” I asked to fill the silence. “Quite a step up since the first time I saw you. On that memorable occasion, I believe you were wearing an old sweatshirt with something about bingo on the front. This is a good look for you. Your hair is nice too.”

  “And the last time you saw me we were both in our birthday suits.” She gave me a small smile. “Since we’re becoming such good friends, Odelia, why don’t you call me Elaine.”

  “Well.” I paused to take a s
hort breath. “Well, Elaine. I’m not here for you specifically, but to look after Mrs. Tobin. I had no idea you were Eudora Fox or pretending to be Eudora Fox until I saw you when we came in.” I paused again, then quickly added, “Did you know the real Eudora Fox? Seems she died last year in Wyoming. Was she one of your targets or a client?”

  “Neither,” Elaine answered. “She was a distant cousin. A crazy old bag with thirteen cats.” After checking to make sure it was dry, she leaned against the vanity and crossed her arms. “So what’s your connection to Fanny?”

  “I work for her son, Simon Tobin.”

  “You don’t work with that pain-in-the-ass Mike Steele any longer?”

  “Oh, I still work for him,” I assured her, “but both of us are now employed by Templin and Tobin. Simon asked me to check out his mother’s new companion. He had concerns.”

  Elaine gave a tight-mouthed chuckle. “He should be concerned. She’s a self-absorbed nut job with loads of money—easy pickings for someone like me.”

  “So she’s not a client or a target of your hit business?” I ventured.

  “Neither. She’s a mark.”

  “So you’re into fraud and larceny now?”

  Again Elaine chuckled. She turned toward the mirror and started fussing with her hair. “A good business is a diverse business.” She opened her purse and my heart stopped, but instead of the gun I feared she was toting, Elaine pulled out a tube of lipstick and started touching up her lips. “I’d think,” she said, touching a smear at the corner of her mouth with a fingertip, “considering your friendship with William Proctor, that you’d be a bit more tolerant of financial crimes.”

  “I’ve never condoned Willie’s embezzlement of that money,” I told her. “He knows that.”

  She popped the lipstick back into her designer bag and looked at me with expectation. “So where do we go from here, Odelia?”

  I squared my shoulders. “Leave Fanny Tobin alone.”

  Elaine raised one nicely shaped eyebrow at me.

  “Please,” I tacked on.