“That is a gracious offer. I accept.”
He followed us, hobbling, into the house where I poured glasses of cold ice water.
We sat around the granite kitchen island while Red explained that Cecil had something of his that he was hoping Vikki might have found.
I narrowed my eyes. “It wouldn’t be a lottery ticket, would it?”
His answer was swift and innocent. “A watch. It was my father’s and Cecil had borrowed it. I was hoping maybe his daughter had found it in his belongings.”
“Do you know anything about a lottery ticket?” I asked him.
“I know he had plans to win big, but then again, don’t we all? I mean, you don’t buy a ticket hoping you’ll lose, right? Can’t wait to see who this latest winner is. He sure is taking his sweet time coming forward.”
I was still suspicious of Red Cigala, despite his genuine demeanor. I mean, it was odd that he’d waited so long outside Vikki’s house. Why didn’t he just leave a note or something when he found out she wasn’t home? Yeah, my radar was still active on this one. “Why do you say, ‘he’?” I asked him.
“Pardon me?”
“You said ‘He sure is taking his sweet time.’ Why ‘he’? What makes you think it isn’t a she?”
He shook his head. “I don’t. It could be a lady. Just a figure of speech.”
I nodded. Okay. Maybe.
He gulped down the last of his water and stood. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time, and I think I need to go soak in a tub.”
Roz cringed. “Again, I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Mrs. Marr, do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” Red asked. “I’d like to leave Ms. Cleveland a note. I didn’t have anything in the car or I would have left one on her door.”
Well, that answered that question. I scanned the counters and found a note pad and several pens. He scribbled and pushed the pad back to me. “I left her my phone number in case she finds my watch. I can stop by anytime to pick it up. I’ll let myself out.” He winced and then hobbled away.
“He’s so nice,” Peggy said after Red was gone. “And you thought he was a killer.”
“I never said I thought he was a killer. I said I thought he was tailing me.”
“You thought he was a time traveling murderer,” she countered.
“No, I didn’t,” I said through clenched teeth, hoping she’d remember that Roz wasn’t supposed to know about my short bout with lunacy.
“She already told me about the time traveling homeless man,” Roz said. “What was all of that business just now about the lottery ticket? What kind of trouble are you getting into?”
“Nothing. Not a thing,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. “Hey!” I said, changing the subject, “What are you two doing here so soon? I thought you had your self-defense class.”
“They canceled classes,” Roz said. “Power outage.”
“Oh!” Peggy said. “We left the sandwiches and lemonade in my van! I’ll go get them.”
Even though warm from being left outside, the meal really hit the spot. We chatted for a few minutes before they had to head out. Peggy wanted to fix my hair but she couldn’t return until seven that night. I gladly accepted the offer.
As they were making their way to the front door, I thought I spied Moyle staring at us through the sliding glass door off the deck.
I shooed them away and when I returned, he was gone. Out on the deck, I peered all over Vikki’s yard, and I even walked around the house. Man. Either he was the fastest, creepiest guy in the world, or I was on my way to crazy town. I decided to make a list of tasks to complete in order to keep my mind off the possibility that I might be losing my mind.
Chapter Fifteen
Halfway through making the to-do list, my phone jingled. Howard was calling on a video chat. I answered, excited to see my sweetie’s handsome face.
“Hello, stud,” I said in a deep and husky voice. “Wanna come over to my corral?”
Howard’s handsome face stared blankly at me.
“Howard?” I asked. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I can hear you.” He hesitated. “And I can see you. Uh... your hair is looking... different from the picture you sent.”
“Do I have hat head?”
“You could call it that.”
“A duck buzzed me and I fell in the lake. Then I didn’t have a blow dryer. I looked like Ronald McDonald for a while there, so Peggy gave me a hat. She’s coming back tonight to fix it.”
“So just another day in Rustic Woods, then.”
“Yup.”
“I can only talk for a couple of minutes, but Colt and I are at Mariah’s right now. She has a condo with two guest rooms. That hotel is terrible and the beds—”
“You want my permission to move to Mariah’s condo?”
“I can sweeten the deal by telling you she set up a meeting for us with another potentially lucrative client.”
“You didn’t need to sweeten the deal. I love you for asking in the first place.”
Colt shouted from the background and Howard turned away for a moment. “Hey,” he said, looking back at me, “hang on just a minute. I’m putting the phone down. Be right back.”
My display went dark for a second, then without warning, Mariah Hahn’s smiling face appeared in front of me. “Hi Barb,” she said with a way-too-cheery attitude. Her long auburn hair was pulled back into a flouncy, bouncy ponytail. Her skin glowed and her smile twinkled from the bright whiteness of her perfectly straight teeth.
And there I was with scary hair.
For a shred of a second, I considered hanging up. She sparkled like a lively, twenty-something Pilates instructor on a vitamin-water high, while I looked like sweaty Albert Einstein with a hangover. “Uh, hi.”
“Howard will be back in a sec, but I just wanted to say how gorgeous your girls are. Howard was showing me pictures and telling me about all of their accomplishments. They’re just amazing. You must be so proud.”
“You can’t have them,” I sputtered. “None of them even like Justin Bieber.” I wasn’t proud of my outburst. It emerged uncontrollably from the dark side of myself. The dark green side.
Her smile vanished and her face went blank. “Okay... yeah, I’ll just get Howard.”
When Howard returned, I asked him to please apologize for my remark. “Tell her I was having a seizure or something.”
We ended the call, agreeing to at least text once again during the day or evening.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you more.”
After my talk with Howard, I called the girls, checked the business voicemail, then called a few air conditioning companies hoping to find someone to install the capacitor. I grew easily frustrated after they all said the best they could do was to put me on their waiting list for the following week.
My short to-do list was done. I spied Cecil’s manuscript on the couch and was just ready to pick it up for a read when Vikki called. She apologized for not returning my call sooner. I filled her in on the backpack incident with Rosetta, Isbel’s visit, Red Cigala looking for his father’s watch, and Moyle’s claim that Cecil might have won the lottery.
She didn’t seem too concerned about the backpack, chalking it up to Rosetta’s emotions.
“She was very flustered,” I agreed. “She even left her cell phone here.”
“I have an emergency contact for her somewhere, but I don’t remember where I put it. I think the number was for her cousin.”
“She’s probably in Brazil by now.”
“True,” she said. “As for Cecil, I’m not surprised he bought tickets. That’s typical for him. Another get-rich scheme. But I don’t know—it’s a stretch to believe that he won and that someone
killed him to claim the winnings. He was hit by a bus. There were witnesses that saw it happen.”
“The winner of that big jackpot hasn’t come forward yet. You never know. And I’m telling you, Isbel was adamant that he had something she wants.” The other end of the line went silent.
Detecting that she was unhappy that I had stuck my nose into her private business, I decided to change the subject.
“How are things going in New York?”
“Eh.”
Probably still too private. If I wasn’t careful, she’d kick me out of her house. “Is there anything you want me to do around here for you?”
“Tomorrow is trash day. Could you take the can down to the curb for me?”
“No problem. Anything else?”
“Sure,” she said. “Can I hire you to find this supposed lottery ticket?”
I did not see that one coming.
We talked for another hour.
Vikki confided that she was in dire creative and financial trouble. She’d signed a three-book deal with Carter Hoskens Publishers, and as Guy had said, the first book sold millions, largely because of the movie deal. But the movie had been tabled.
She’d made some money when the movie deal was signed, but she wouldn’t get the rest until the movie was actually made. Plus she was suffering from a severe case of writer’s block. Her publisher was suing her for breach of contract because she’d only produced a couple of Chapters when the entire book had been due over a year ago.
Even worse, they were using the media to smear her name and reputation. She was terrified that she’d never be able to publish again. If she was ever inspired again, that was. “Do you think you could work with this Moyle guy and find that ticket?”
“Sure, I suppose.” I admit to hesitating. She had just filed for bankruptcy. My chances of being paid were probably zero.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I can pay you.”
I agreed to take on the job. I mean, she was letting me stay at her house. I supposed that was payment enough. And the mystery of the missing ticket nagged at me.
“Um, Vikki,” I said at the end of our conversation, “Would you be interested in telling your side of the story? I have a friend with Channel Ten who would really like to interview you.”
She seemed to like the idea, but said she’d think about it.
Maybe I’d get Guy that gig after all.
I got off the phone a little giddy. I’d just brought in my own job for Baron and Marr Investigations. All on my own.
I texted Guy to tell him an interview might be in his future.
Chapter Sixteen
Not twenty minutes after I hung up with Vikki, Peggy and Roz arrived with a bottle of wine and matching quilted tote bags.
“Time to fix some hair,” Peggy said.
“I know what Peggy’s tote is for,” I said, “but what’s in yours?” I pointed to the bag that pulled heavily on Roz’s shoulder. “Do you have a boulder in that thing?”
Roz dropped her bag on the sofa, unzipped it, and pulled out a handgun the size of Texas. “Meet Thelma. Two-and-half pounds of protection, my friend. If trouble comes looking for you while I’m around, we’ve got it handled.”
The gun was a shocker. Roz didn’t do guns. Of course two weeks earlier I would have said that Roz didn’t do chokeholds or nutbusters either, but she’d already proved me wrong there. “They’re teaching you how to use guns in your class?” I asked.
“No,” she answered. “This was my idea.”
“And I liked it so much, I got my own,” Peggy said, revealing her own massive killing machine. She smiled proudly. “I called her Louise. She’s really heavy.”
“Are those loaded?” Trust me, that’s the first thing you ask two women wielding guns who unabashedly admit to no training.
“We don’t have ammo,” Roz said. “We just have them to scare people away.”
Peggy grinned. “And I’ve watched some YouTube videos on how to use them like billy clubs.” She showed me a couple of her moves which, if I were to guess, didn’t resemble the moves in the YouTube videos. But I had to admit, her convoluted moves alone would probably scare off potential bad guys. She was scaring me.
“Okay,” I said, “the guns are really cool, but why don’t you put them away for right now. I’ll uncork the wine.”
While Peggy styled my hair with the blow dryer, we sipped on vino around the kitchen island and chatted. It felt very déja-vu-ish, except this time Roz wouldn’t let up until I explained more about the odd man Moyle and my reason for grilling Red about a lottery ticket. So I told them about my Moyle encounter including Moyle’s theory that Vikki’s father had been murdered.
“And now,” I said, ending my tale, “I am on the case to investigate the possibility that Cecil had been in possession of the six-hundred-million dollar winning lotto ticket when he died.”
“And she wants you to work with this crackpot homeless guy to find it?” Roz asked.
“He knew Cecil,” I explained. “And he seems harmless enough, only now he’s disappeared on me. I’ll go to the homeless shelter tomorrow. Maybe I’ll find him there.”
Roz scowled. “And here I thought you were going to get into trouble snooping into Mr. Chang’s murder. There’s no hope for you.”
Ironically, my phone chirped with a text notification. I picked it up while Peggy continued to tug at my hair. The message was from Guy.
“Since, I’m confessing all,” I said as Peggy flipped off the dryer, “I might as well tell you that Guy and I have a mutual understanding. I help him get an interview with Vikki and he keeps me up to date on the Chang murder investigation.”
“I knew you couldn’t keep your nose out of it,” Roz said, folding her arms. Then she leaned over the counter and her eyes widened. “What’s the latest?”
Aha. Roz had been bitten by the danger bug.
Peggy handed me the mirror. I smiled, pleased that I looked human again. I set the mirror back down and reported Guy’s news. “Police are following a lead that Mr. Chang’s murderer might have been a former restaurant employee.”
With the clock tolling way past bedtime, Peggy and Roz left for home. Peggy left me the blow dryer this time along with a helpful hint: use a round brush. Round brush. Got it.
Locking the door when they left, I decided a good security sweep was in order. I double-checked other locks on doors and windows around the house. Feeling safe and sound, I sat on the couch and dialed Howard for a goodnight talk.
“Hey, did you sign that client Mariah referred to you?” I asked.
“Not yet, but we think they’re going to bite. We have another meeting with them tomorrow.”
“Well, guess what? I found us another job.”
“Who?”
“Vikki. She wants me to find the winning lottery ticket. We think her father had it when he died.”
A moment of silence was followed by the unmistakable sound of Howard breathing deeply into the other end of the phone. “Barb?” he asked finally. “What’s going on there?”
Gee, he really did sound like Ricky when Lucy got into trouble.
“It’s kind of a long story,” I said, “but don’t worry, Roz and Peggy have guns without bullets and Roz knows how to kick a man where it hurts. She brought Red Cigala, the cigar shop owner, screaming to his knees.”
That phone conversation went on a bit longer. Just a bit. But all in all, I think it was a good talk and my objective was met. He said he’d wrap up his job as fast as he could, even if it meant leaving Colt behind to tie up the loose ends.
I stretched out on the couch and read a little Dead Man Stalking. Sam was chased by a one-eyed Chinese woman, a Swedish man with a limp, shooting conjoined twins, and the entire government of Tajikistan. He was on the verge
of having his memory wiped by an evil scientist when my eyes flickered shut. The book was exciting, but Vikki’s comfy couch was like an extra-strength sleeping pill.
I awoke with a start in the early morning to the sound of cupboards clanging in the kitchen. I bolted upright, my heart pounding, but my head still foggy from sleep. I could see from the couch straight into the kitchen.
Even though his back was to me, the afro spoke for itself. Moyle was back.
But how? I’d locked all of the doors.
Chapter Seventeen
“How did you get in?” I shouted, glancing accusingly at Puddles, who snored loudly at my feet.
Moyle spun around and smiled. “You’re awake. Good. I’m looking for the bowls. This cereal looks tasty.” He held up a box of Double Honey Apple and Cinnamon Bran Squares. “Cereal is much different in twenty-five twenty-five.”
Puddles stretched, yawned, then went to the sliding glass door to be let out. “Enough of the time traveler from the future crap,” I said. “How did you get in?” I watched my dog piddling outside, unable to believe that the king of yappers hadn’t made a peep at the sound of an intruder.
Moyle set the box down and grew more serious. “I’ve upset you.”
“You think?”
“I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”
“I locked all of the doors and checked all of the windows.”
“You missed the basement door.”
Mental head thunk. I didn’t think to check the basement for a door. Ours didn’t have one.
I crossed my arms. “So you didn’t time travel your way in here?”
“I thought you didn’t want to hear any of that crap.”
Puddles returned, and I let him in before stomping to the kitchen. I opened the bowl cupboard door and shoved a ceramic bowl at Moyle. “Don’t they serve breakfast at the homeless shelter?”
Dead Man Stalking (Barbara Marr Murder Mystery Series Book 5) Page 8