“Nope. And I don’t want to chance it again if I don’t have to.”
I blew out a big gust of air and looked at my watch. It was 2:30, and we’d have daylight for at least another three hours. “How about if I see if I can have a word with Ms. Rita in the meantime. By the time I’m done with that, nightfall will be ours.”
“All right.” Coop pulled the laptop toward him, laced his fingers together, and twisted them inside out in a stretch. His knuckles popped and I cringed. “I’ll see you in a little bit. I’m going to see what else I can find on stolen nuts. Good luck.”
It dawned on me I had no idea where Rita Lazar lived. “Hey, Coop, what’s Rita’s address?”
“Guess that would help.” His fingers flew over the keys. “Pig’s Eye Bingo has a record of all patrons who’ve signed up for a Pig’s Eye Club card. I cracked into that system after my first week.”
In less than three minutes, Coop had Rita’s address, MapQuested it, and scrawled directions on a piece of paper. As I started my pickup and backed out of the garage, I caught sight of Eddy’s old yellow jalopy. My heart twisted and my breath caught. Everything came down to the woman who was the world to me. “Don’t worry, Eddy,” I muttered under my breath as I sped down the alley, “everything’s gonna be okay.”
Rita lived in Tyrol Hills, a well-to-do neighborhood in Golden Valley. Houses were large, charming, and expensive, with peaked brown-shingle roofs and Swiss chalet windows. Wild ivy crept up white stone walls, the growth more brown than dark green now that the days had grown cooler. The sun shone through mostly bare tree branches, dappling the road in front of me. The streets were curvy and hilly, unlike the grid system of city blocks in Minneapolis.
I tried to follow Coop’s hastily written directions and passed the same street sign for the third time. After a few more erroneous but scenic turns, I spotted the correct house number and pulled to the curb. The three-story house was huge, castle-sized. Arched windows framed with dark walnut-colored wood looked like square, black eyes, intimidating and unfriendly. The yard was immaculate, the grass tenaciously hanging onto every last bit of summertime green, thanks to a rare mild fall in the northland. Expensive lawn ornaments were carefully arranged on its lush surface.
A shiny tan Audi sat in the driveway, and I hoped it belonged to Rita. I had little time to chase the woman down. From the appearance of her house and vehicle, she didn’t seem like the type to haunt a rundown, blue-collar gambling boat. Maybe that’s one way the rich got their kicks. Take a ride on the wild side, mix with the rabble.
I took a deep breath, stepped out of the truck, and cut across the lawn to the front door. The dense grass cushioned my steps. It had been mowed very recently, and I sucked in the earthy smell with a pang of end-of-warm-days-and-start-of-long-nights sadness.
The dark front door towered over me, all planks and black metal, coming to the same sort of peak that followed the style of the windows. The place was cold and medieval. It probably had a dark, moldy dungeon where visitors were regularly chained and beaten. Before I lost my nerve, I stabbed the doorbell and heard a melodious gonging within.
I was about to push the button again when the door swung open, revealing a short, small-boned woman dressed in a dark blue pantsuit and punishing pointed-toe high heels. Her black hair was swept up in a stylishly messy ’do that probably cost a month’s utilities at the Rabbit Hole. Her skin was bronzed, but it was hard to tell whether she worshipped the electric sun bed, had just returned from some exotic location, or if the color was her natural skin tone. The showstopper was a huge brown and black speckled mole on her chin sprouting pitch-black whiskers. The monstrosity had to be the size of Rhode Island. I wondered why someone with so much money hadn’t had the unsightly thing removed.
She regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. She said in a controlled voice used to giving orders, “If you’re here for the yard, the company’s already sent someone.”
“No, actually, I’m wondering if I could talk to Rita Lazar about the business she owns on Washington Avenue. My name is Shay O’Hanlon, and—” Uh oh. Fatal error. I hadn’t thought of a passable reason for questioning her. Hastily, I babbled on. “I work for the Minnesota Storage Facility Inspector’s Office, and we’re working on coordinating the inspection of your commercial property for proper insurance, licenses, and a rodent-free building—ah, pest control, actually.” As soon as rodent-free popped out of my mouth, I figured she’d see right through me and kick my butt right down the stately steps.
Instead, she said, “I’m Rita Lazar.” Her narrow dark eyes peered at me through the frown on her otherwise smooth face. I pegged her for late forties, maybe older if she’d had a face lift, which was a distinct possibility since her eyes were slightly pulled at the corners, giving her a cat-like appearance.
She slowly extended a dainty hand with French-manicured nails. Her grip was cold and exactly what I imagined uncooked lutefisk would feel like. I released it quickly.
Rita took a step back, the clatter of her heels loud on the polished stone floor. “Come in, then,” she said, her tone both regal and disdainful, as if she were allowing a contaminated serf into her august palace. I crossed the threshold, and Rita swung the door shut behind me.
I hurried to keep up as she strode across a foyer larger than my apartment and through a room that out-sized Eddy’s two-car garage. The room was devoid of furniture and lined with empty, built-in walnut bookshelves. Nice library for a book lover, but too dark for my tastes. I wondered if she was redecorating or perhaps moving in or out.
Rita kept trucking, heels clacking like mini explosions, through to another room that adjoined the library. This room was as bare as the first. Indentations on an expensive Oriental rug looked like they may have come from a heavy table resting atop it.
I followed her into a nook that actually appeared lived in. Sunlight cast dusty beams through spotless floor-to-ceiling windows. A round table with four chairs was tucked in one corner. A wine-colored leather couch faced a gigantic flat-screen TV, and a recliner with a built-in vibration mechanism sat next to it. My stressed out muscles gave me an urge to give that hummer a try, but I figured Rita wouldn’t be very happy to have a stranger playing with her gizmos.
Two paintings hung on the wall facing the window. I did a double take when I saw them. One was a black and white silhouette of the Minneapolis skyline, and the other was a rendering of the same skyline in full color, ablaze in a gorgeous sunset. “Nice paintings.”
Rita waved a hand toward the couch, and I took a seat. “Yes, they’re original Rodriguez. She’s an up-and-coming local artist.” Rita eyed my faded jeans, Nikes worn-down-at-the-heel, and maroon U of M sweatshirt with its frayed cuffs. “I doubt they’re anything you’d be interested in.”
Nice woman. She’d probably have a stroke if she knew that I not only considered Alexandra Rodriguez a good friend, but she had painted the interior of the Rabbit Hole, and we had a number of her pieces on display. I couldn’t wait till I had a chance to tell Alex where some of her work was hanging.
Rita perched on a chair next to the table. “I hope you don’t mind if I smoke.” On the tabletop, a dinner-plate sized ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts.
I shrugged. I wasn’t about to say anything combative to a woman from whom I needed answers.
Rita fired up and sucked in a lungful. She propped her elbow on the edge of the table, held the cigarette daintily between two fingers, and squinted at me through the smoke. “So what can I do for you?”
Showtime. “Ms. Lazar, we wanted to follow-up on some information that our office came across in the last couple of days.” I kicked myself. At the very least, I should have thought to bring a clipboard or something that would make me come off even mildly official.
“And what information would that be?” she asked dryly, eyes flicking up to study the glowing end of her cigarette.
I was mesmerized by the quivering mole on her chin and had to force my gaze
away, back to her squinty eyes. “We have information your facility accepted a load of California nuts, but your licenses don’t allow for storage of foodstuffs.”
Her manicured eyebrows arched delicately, and Rita took another long puff. She sucked so deeply and held the smoke in so long that I wondered if she was used to puffing a whole lot more than cigarettes. “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak with my husband about that.” As she spoke each word, fumes puffed out of her mouth.
So Rita was married. Ms. Rita was all I’d heard since Rocky had uttered her name. “Actually, what we’re hoping to accomplish today is to secure permission to complete an inspection of the building, and then we can go ahead and issue a license for food storage.” I surprised myself by coming up with such a realistic-sounding crock of shit.
Rita snorted, and then cleared her throat, like a baseball player getting ready to lob a snot ball. I barely contained a cringe. “The nuts aren’t there anymore.”
Not sure what to say to that, I simply nodded. I so loved sailing by the seat of my britches. “We understand the product is no longer there, but we could make the license retroactive, and then you’d be legal for that and any other shipments of nuts in the future. We’d also like to inspect the nuts, unless of course they’ve been shipped out of the state. Do you have any additional shipments coming in?” I was doing so well, I was on the brink of believing myself.
Rita scowled, as much as her botoxed features would allow. “I don’t think there’ll be any additional shipments. My husband and I are planning to move back to Portugal, where I’m originally from.” She must have come from Portugal some time ago since I couldn’t detect an accent. That also explained the reason for the empty rooms. “In fact,” she added, “we’re planning on leaving a week from now. So, if you don’t have any other questions, I have to continue packing.”
I thought folks in this neighborhood would have packers and movers taking care of such menial tasks. She stood, and I followed suit. “I do have one last question, Mrs. Lazar. Where did the nuts ship from your site?”
Rita stood still, and I watched her left eyelid twitch. “I don’t know,” she said, and her eye twitched again, and she touched a finger to it. “You’ll have to ask Luther.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” I made a play of checking the time. “Where can I find him? It’s running late, and I’d like to get this squared away as soon as possible.”
“He should be at the Washington Avenue warehouse. We have a couple of other storage facilities, but I think that’s where he’s working today.” Her eyes narrowed on me again. “You know, I don’t think you showed me any credentials earlier.”
Oh, shit. Trying to think fast, like the con artist I wasn’t, I patted my waist and managed a weak, “It seems I forgot my ID card in the car. If you’d like to step outside with me, I can show it to you.” Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t.
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea.” With that, Rita turned and steamed out of the room with me hot on her tail, her still-burning cigarette forgotten in the ashtray. She charged into the foyer, and as she was about to open the fourteen-ton front entry, the deep, echoing gong of the doorbell sounded. She pulled the heavy door open, and three kids stood on her stoop, freshly scrubbed and looking as nervous as I felt.
A chubby boy with a red crew cut and smattering of freckles across his nose stepped forward and said, “Hola. We’re part of the Burnside Middle School Spanish Club, and we’re trying to raise money for a trip to Mexico in the spring and we’ve got …” The kid droned on. I took the opportunity to slip around the group while they had Rita’s attention.
As I hot-footed it to the truck, Rita shouted, interrupting the redhead who was still working on one of the longest sentences I’d ever heard. “Hey, you! Shag, Shaw, O’Hanly … whatever, I want your ID—”
Luckily Rita was trapped by the kids, who weren’t budging off her front steps. They must have really wanted to go to Mexico. I hopped into the truck and quickly backed down the street and into a neighbor’s drive, and turned my truck around. I mashed the pedal to the floor and beat hell out of there.
I drove the speed limit home, not wanting to take the chance on getting pulled over. I thought about what Rita had told me, or maybe, more importantly, what she hadn’t told me. That eye twitch thing was a dead giveaway that she was lying through her teeth. She knew damn well where the almonds were. What did it all mean?
Rocky told us about Rita and Kinky’s confrontation, and I definitely saw a ruthless streak in that evil woman that I wouldn’t want to tangle with. Could she be capable of murder? If she knew where the nuts were, that meant they really didn’t disappear. Kinky thought the nuts were missing. But Rita had them. Vincent and Pudge obviously thought Kinky was in on the disappearance. I wondered if they knew about Rita. Hell, maybe Kinky was in cahoots with Rita and her husband. But what were Rita and hubby going to do with the nuts? Ransom? Maybe they were going to ransom the nuts to Kinky. But that would mean that Kinky wasn’t involved with Rita and Luther after all. Jesus. The possibilities made my head spin.
Weariness from one too many shots of adrenaline was beginning to take its toll. I turned down the alley and pulled up to the garage behind the café. I pressed the button on the remote, and the old garage door rumbled up. The engine ticked softly as I climbed out of the pickup and banged the broom handle on the wall to get Coop to open up. I was about to push the wall-mounted garage remote to close the rolling door when a figure silhouetted itself against the deepening twilight outside. Detective Bordeaux. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I froze, a deer in the high-beams once again.
With the realization who was standing in the doorway, it dawned on my muzzy brain that Coop had to have heard my pounding. Was he in the process of opening the trap door? Thank the freaking heavens the entrance sat toward the back of the garage, in the deepest of shadows. Oh shit. The light from above would spill down into the darkness.
Rapidly I moved toward the good detective and said in a loud voice, praying Coop would hear, “Detect—uh, JT!” Play up to her, Shay. Do this.
My feet didn’t slow when I came abreast of her—I strolled right past her out into the night. JT turned around, away from the open garage door and took a step to follow me. Either she hadn’t seen anything that piqued her interest, or she was playing a very good game. I swung around the corner out of sight of the garage door. She followed like an obedient pooch and I resisted the urge to pat her on the head.
“So,” I turned on her and said breathlessly, “what are you doing lurking in my alley?” The best defense was always a weak offense.
My alley-lurker bit garnered a half-smile, then the cranky expression on JT’s face the day before returned with a vengeance. Not surprising in light of my strange actions. I wondered if her voice would come out smooth as butter or harsh and accusatory.
She said, “I was in chatting with Kate. She said you’d been gone most of the day, and that you’re acting kind of weird, but she didn’t really explain what that meant. But she indicated something wasn’t quite right. I decided to wander around a bit and make sure everything’s okay.”
Kate was dead meat, just as soon as I could get rid of JT. “Kate’s a bit high-strung. Everything’s fine.” I waved a hand at JT, hoped I sounded sincere. She was burning up what precious time Coop and I had to figure out what to do next. Desperation gripped my neck in a chokehold, and I shuddered.
JT saw me shiver and stepped closer, stopping less than an arm’s length away. She was so close I could smell laundry soap on her clothes. Silent electricity popped inside me, and I wondered if she felt it as well. Loose strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail waved in the slight breeze. Her stern demeanor faded away, replaced with what looked like obvious concern. The dim light accentuated her cheekbones. She was a very beautiful woman when she wasn’t scowling.
“What’s going on, Shay?” JT asked softly. “What can I do to help?”
I rea
lly, really wanted her question to be an honest offer of assistance, but my paranoid state of mind prevented me from taking her words at face value. She gave me the impression she’d be very good at using every trick in her cop psychology book to her benefit. But then again, maybe I was being a touch rash. She sure sounded sincere. Oh hell. I hated it when people I tried to blow off started being nice to me. Or at least pretended to be nice to me. It was sorely tempting once again to dump the entire, sorry affair into her lap. However, Vincent’s warning bounced around my brain like an irritating song I couldn’t get rid of—call the cops and it would be lights out for Eddy.
“JT, nothing’s wrong, okay? I—” At that moment Coop walked around the corner and stopped short of running into JT. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped. So I did the only thing I could think of to buy him some time to get away.
I grabbed JT and pulled her toward me, hard enough I felt the whoosh of her breath as her body slammed into mine. I mashed my lips on hers, surprised when she didn’t immediately shove me away. The element of surprise must have been in my favor. She stood frozen, arched slightly away from me, but I kept my mouth attached to hers. I peered desperately over her shoulder praying Coop had disappeared. He was still there, the expression on his face a mix of amazement and horror. I tried to pull JT tighter to me when she grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head back, exposing my throat, effectively ending the most interesting and awkward kiss I’d ever had.
JT remained pressed against me, her breath warm against my neck. Good thing she wasn’t a vampire, or I’d have been dinner. “Well.” She whispered, paused, then repeated, “Well.”
I smiled weakly, wondering if the roots of the hair tangled in her fist were going to tear out of my scalp. The woman certainly had power over me in more ways than one. Did cops fraternize with people who may be involved in nefarious activity? I’d started this, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t exploit the situation. Was JT playing me, trying to strip my defenses so I’d confess my sins? Really—what did she know? She knew I was Coop’s friend. That was it. That in and of itself wasn’t a crime. She couldn’t haul me in for that. Could she?
Bingo Barge Murder Page 8