Clarets of Fire

by Christine E. Blum

  I nodded, albeit halfheartedly.

  “Let’s try with a Frisbee. Toss it just as far as the leash reaches, and then have her get it and bring it back to you.”

  Bardot sat at my feet staring at the orange disk and me. I swear that the corner of one eye had been pulled toward a squirrel that was running back into the woods with somebody’s sandwich. I wasn’t sure which one interested her more. The only thing that I knew for sure was that Bardot thought that Frisbee was a pedestrian sport better suited to border collies.

  “Here’s the deal, Bardot,” I whispered to her. “You pretend that you’re really interested in retrieving this toy when I toss it, bring it back to me, and turn and smile at Jack. Got it? You do that and I’ll let you sleep under the covers tonight.”

  I tossed the Frisbee.

  “Go get it, Bardot!” I said with feigned excitement.

  Nothing.

  “There it is, there’s your toy!”

  “One of the other dogs is going to take it!”

  Bardot lifted up her paw and examined a nail.

  “Fine, you’re being a brat.”

  Jack was laughing. “Halsey, you can’t run out of patience or you’ve lost the battle.”

  “She’s not a ‘jump in the air and grab a piece of round plastic’ kind of girl. She’s more of a ‘take me to a crime scene and let’s catch baddies’ motivated dog.”

  “Like mother, like daughter.” Jack came over to us and we all plopped down on the grass.

  “Yesterday got me excited to plan our wedding, how about you?”

  Jack perked up at hearing this. Given my fickle attitude to the entire institution, I suspect that he’s always prepared to hear the worst from me.

  “That’s great, babe. But maybe we should consider having it on a beach somewhere, maybe the Kona coast in Hawaii.”

  “A destination wedding? Wow, that came out of nowhere.”

  “Just a suggestion, and we’d already be there for our honeymoon.”

  I studied Jack. He wasn’t looking at me and he was tugging on the side of his beard. This was a telltale sign that he was worried about something.

  “Okay, buster, spill it. What’s really bothering you about having the wedding at the winery? I think that between the website I’m doing and the wonderful dog you just gave them that we come out sort of even with investment of our time.”

  “It’s not that, Halsey, and you know I love it up there.”

  “Then what? You getting cold feet, Jack?”

  “No! God no!”

  “Then tell me.”

  My cell phone rang and I saw that it was Sally calling. “Hi, honey, what’s up?”

  “You sound like you’re outside, where are you?”

  “Jack and I are at the CARA training area, running with Bardot.” I looked over and both Jack and Bardot were now stretched out on their backs soaking up some sun.

  “Well, you might want to get back here. I just ran into Isabella. I was driving past the strip mall on my way to my CPR class when I saw Augie get out of his car. A police cruiser pulled up behind him. Naturally, I turned onto the side street and got out to see what the fuss was about. All three of the men went into the burned-out entry to the pizza joint, and when they returned they had Rico in cuffs and drove away with him. Then Isabella came out and she was in hysterics.”

  “Oh no!”

  Both Jack and Bardot sat up.

  “What did she say? Did Augie explain why he arrested Rico?”

  “He was his usual evasive self. Said that they just had some questions for him.”

  “Crap, we’re heading out now. Meet you at your house, and you may want to assemble the Wine Club.”

  “Will do, and I have Isabella with me.”

  “I’ll start the truck,” Jack said, moving into action.

  “Wait one minute. You were going to tell me why you were having second thoughts about a Malibu vineyard wedding.”

  “It was nothing . . . I’m totally over it. We’d better scoot.”

  I doubt that it was nothing.

  * * *

  The girls were all assembled by the time we arrived. We met in Sally’s beautiful backyard haven around her pool and spa. If my backyard looked like the Tiki Taki Hotel, then Sally’s resembled a Costa Rican rain forest. Dream catchers hung from old tree limbs, water ran in the Koi pond at the back corner, and tribal masks and iron statues of stylized Africans gave the feel of being in an entirely other world.

  Sally’s husband Joe and her cousin Jimmy were watching football, and Jack jumped at the opportunity to join them. I couldn’t blame him.

  “I got here as fast as I could. What’s the latest? Has anyone talked to Augie?”

  I settled into the last remaining unoccupied patio chair and was handed a glass of chardonnay.

  “Nothing yet,” Peggy replied. “But it’s Sunday and he may have to wait for his boss to get into the station.”

  “Isabella, I’m so sorry. I know that you’ve already done this, but would you mind repeating for me exactly what happened?”

  “Sure, Halsey.” She was trying to pull herself together.

  “Rico and I were at the site making sure that there was nothing left to salvage. The insurance adjuster had been there on Saturday and I wanted to double-check everything before he issued his report. Just in case they decided to go light on the claim as Rico says it.”

  “Smart.”

  “Then Detective Augie called Rico and asked where he was. Rico told him and Augie said that he’d be right over.”

  “That’s about when I was driving by,” Sally told the group.

  “This is all so horrible, it makes me sick.” Aimee was both teary and huffy. “They can’t just go arresting people for no reason. Can they, Peggy?”

  “Of course not . . . what a load of rotten applesauce.”

  I noticed that Isabella had a strange look on her face.

  “Did Augie give you both any reason for why he was taking Rico in?”

  “He may have said something about a safe.”

  “What about the safe, Isabella?”

  “I guess that the cops found one in an alley about six blocks away. It had been broken open.”

  “What in the sand dabs from Chez Jay’s does that have to do with Rico?” Sally shouted. Chez Jay’s was one of her favorite old restaurants on Ocean Avenue directly across from the Santa Monica Pier.

  “I don’t like this. I know this is going to be bad,” said Aimee, the harbinger of doom.

  “Please go on, Isabella.” I tried to be soothing.

  “Next to it they found a piece of metal. At first they didn’t know what it was, but they later figured out that it was part of a dough hook.” Isabella looked down to the ground in shame.

  “Again, so what?” Peggy crossed her arms in defiance.

  “It is the same kind of hook Rico uses. Used. That’s why they took Rico, to get his fingerprints. He’s the only one that works that big mixer machine. Me, I’m scared of it.”

  There it was, a hole so deep that you’d need a hundred-foot ladder to get out of.

  I had no doubt that they’d find a match between Rico’s prints and those on the hook.

  It was time to get the cops looking in another direction, and I had an address that might just be the distraction we need.

  “Ladies, I have a new mission for us.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday morning right at ten I waited for Liza Gilhooly outside her locked office door. I was starting to get the message that punctuality was not Liza’s strong suit. I walked around the back of the small office building, where I assumed that there were parking spaces available for the tenants.

  Moments later a Pepto-Bismol-pink Cadillac Eldorado pulled into the lot. I fully expected to hear “Freeway of Love” blaring from the car’s old speakers. Instead I saw Liza driving this boat with one hand, while deep in conversation on the phone she was holding in her other hand. I made a mental note to steer clear of
all fuchsia-colored vehicles that I spotted on the road.

  She remained on the phone long after she’d shut off the engine, and I wondered if I should go back around to the front. This Liza Gilhooly was certainly an odd one, even to me. She looked up and seemed to notice me for the first time and quickly ended the call.

  “Sorry, Halsey, I was talking to my brother and couldn’t get him to hang up. You know how siblings can be.” She gave out a trademark Liza laugh as she swung open the large and heavy pink door of her automobile.

  I could have sworn that she told me she was an only child. What an odd thing to lie about. And why?

  “Come on, honey . . . let’s go inside and I’ll put on some water for tea.”

  I took Liza through the schematic for her website and she had few changes or comments. In fact, I doubted if she was giving me more than fifty percent of her attention.

  “So the next step is for me to frame the technical aspects of the functionality and then start working on the look and feel. Is this the logo that you want me to use?” I held up one of her business cards.

  “No! I mean I’m having someone work on a new one. Can we just put in something generic for now, like a drawing of an office building?”

  “Sure, no problem,” I said, wondering why she’d had such a strong reaction. “I literally don’t need the artwork until just before we go live.”

  “Okay good. Listen, I’m going to be jammed for the next few weeks, so I’ll probably be out of touch. If you need something from me just send a text and I’ll try and get to it.”

  It was clear that, however nicely, I was getting the bum’s rush.

  She must have noticed what she was doing.

  “Thanks, honey. You do great work, Halsey. I’m excited about my website.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m pretty self-sufficient, and so I’ll just keep going on this until I need content from you. Don’t work too hard.”

  She gave me a warm smile, and I decided to head out the front this time.

  “One more thing, Liza. Have you thought any more about this Valentin guy who may own the strip mall? Any last names come to mind?”

  “Yes, I did think about it, Halsey.”

  My spirits lifted.

  “I realized that I got mixed up. Valentin was the name of an accountant I had years ago. I never knew the building owners’ names.”

  “Okay, it was worth a try.”

  “Toodles, toots.”

  She closed the front door, and I heard the lock turn in its cylinder. I counted at least two and possibly four lies that she’d told me today: Liza said she was talking to her brother, yet earlier she’d said she was an only child. I’m pretty sure that she was feigning her excitement for the website—she seemed bored and unfocused when I went over it with her. The bit about holding off on the logo was odd, and I’ve never heard of an accountant named Valentin.

  * * *

  As Sally merged onto the 105 Freeway that cuts a path from the west to the east of Southern California, I insisted that we go over our plan once again for safe measure. I was riding shotgun and Peggy, Aimee, and Marisol were in the backseat. We’d tried to get away without Marisol but that, of course, was a fool’s errand. When Sally pulled in my driveway to pick me up, Marisol slithered into the SUV faster than a buttered bullet.

  “Aimee, today you are our star spy. You’ll walk into Provident Commerce Group’s office and announce that you’re there for the job you saw posted on Monster.com. Mention word processing and light filing.”

  “I don’t know, Halsey.”

  “Come on, you’re perfect for the role. If anyone tries to give you flack, you start crying and say that ‘your babies won’t have Christmas again.’”

  “You don’t think that’s a little heavy-handed?” Sally was superstitious about using her favorite holiday in a scam.

  “If these guys did burn down their own building with no concern of who was inside, then we’re going to need something with lots of heartstring-pulling power to get through to them. You might want to add, Aimee, that you’ll look in trash bins the day after Christmas for discarded broken toys to make do.”

  “I’m going to puke.” Marisol looked disgusted.

  “There are motion sickness bags back there,” Sally quickly advised. “There’s a box of two dozen tucked just under the driver’s seat.”

  “I think that Marisol was speaking figuratively. We’re getting closer. May I continue?”

  “Of course, you can never go over the maneuvers for a mission too much.” Peggy was in CIA mode.

  “Okay, I’ll be waiting outside their office in the hallway, waiting to snap photos of them undetected if they decide to slip out a side door to make a hasty retreat.”

  “And thanks to Google Maps we know that this building has an underground garage. Sally and I will start filming license plates the minute we arrive and then wait to see which car or cars they get into. One way or another we’ll be able to identify them.”

  Marisol looked at Peggy with great admiration. In her twisted world she saw herself as the second in command to the high priestess of spydom.

  “What about me, what will I be doing?” Marisol posed this question to Peggy.

  In unison we all said, “Waiting in the car!”

  “We mean it, Marisol.” I glared at her.

  “Good luck with that,” she whispered.

  “If I have to tie you up I will.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I will too.”

  “Quiet you two, there’s the building. I’m going to drive around once so that we can get a good look at the entrances and exits. And get a feel for the place.”

  After we’d taken the Downey exit off the freeway, we wove our way to the unglamorous business district that was still within honking distance from the incessant noise of speeding traffic. The neighborhood looked iffy at best, and a part of me wanted to turn back and head to the safe bosom of Rose Avenue.

  “Okay, I got it, the garage spills out onto that side street. We can park on the main drag just below it, Sally, so if for whatever reason we need to follow them we’ll be in position.”

  “Got it, Peggy.”

  When the car was settled into its spot a silence fell over us. I felt a pang of guilt.

  “You know, guys, we—”

  The backseat door opened and before I could finish my thought, I saw Marisol scamper into the office building.

  * * *

  Aimee and I waved good-bye to Sally and Peggy and entered the building’s lobby. The address Marisol had gotten from Augie didn’t include a suite number, and if they were operating under a different business name in here, then we were pretty much out of luck. The building roster displayed some forty offices or so. My eyes went to the P’s and ran down the list until I saw the words PROVIDENT, SUITE 311.

  We decided to take the stairs more to try and steady our nerves than for any other reason. When we reached the landing of the third level, we stopped and took a breath.

  “You can still back out, Aimee, if you want to.”

  “And let down Rico and Isabella and all of you girls? Hell no . . . what’s the worst that can happen?”

  I wished she hadn’t asked that.

  “Okay, but remember that if you sense any trouble just punch the fire alarm app that I put on your phone. It’s so loud that they won’t know where it’s coming from. Then head for the door and I’ll be waiting. Okay?”

  “Okay, let’s nail these flunkers!”

  Wow, Aimee had channeled her “take no prisoners, dog with a bone” resolve.

  We went through the stair well door and into the hallway. It was pretty typical looking for seventies’ office décor. The carpet looked original as did the stains. Striped beige wallpaper had faded from the sun in the spots where tiny windows let in light. In those areas it looked like the walls were weeping. We walked along until we saw the doorplate of 311. There was no company name visible.

  We exchanged thumbs up, a
nd I slid around the corner and located the second door to the suite. A little spittle of bile came up and burned the back of my throat.

  I heard Aimee knock on the door and then immediately walk in.

  The sounds of muffled voices came from behind the side door almost immediately. I was pretty sure that they came from men, but I couldn’t make out anything that they were saying. Then came the wails of someone sobbing. Was Aimee acting? Or was she really in distress.

  “What’s happening?” I heard behind me, and I must have jumped three feet.

  The voice had come from someone pushing a janitorial caddy containing an industrial trash receptacle and slots for mops, brooms, cleaning supplies, and CAUTION WET FLOOR cones. All of these supplies camouflaged the person pushing the cart. Just then I could hear another round of sobbing and shouting.

  “That doesn’t sound good . . . hop in.”

  I peered around the caddy and sure enough there was Marisol dressed in a blue custodian smock and bandanna tied around her head.

  “What the hell? That’s trash; I’m not getting in there.” I took one sniff of the big plastic bin and stepped back.

  “Suit yourself. I’m going in.”

  Marisol thrust her weight onto the caddy and it lunged forward.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  “Wait! I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I whispered, grabbing both sides of the reinforced rubber trash bin to lower myself in.

  “Got to cover you up,” I heard Marisol say, and then felt a pile of garbage including the wet remains of a drinking cup splash over me.

  “I hate you.”

  “Shut up. We’re going in.”

  I felt the cart roll and heard a door open.

  “We didn’t call for the janitor. We’re working here!” It was a man’s voice spoken with an accent that I couldn’t quite place.

  “Up to you. I got to finish my shift early today on account of bunion surgery. At least it’s covered by workman’s comp. You don’t want me to clean, then you’ll be looking at this same mess all day tomorrow.”