Clarets of Fire

by Christine E. Blum

  “I’ll just have one chicken taco,” Peggy said to the waiter.

  “You usually consume a plate of food as big as your head, Peggy. You feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine, just not much of an appetite.”

  I examined her demeanor. She was a tad pale and when I caught her eyes she looked downward. She was holding back from me.

  “Peggy, is there something about your health that you’re not telling me? When was the last time you saw your doctor?”

  “Last week . . . I waited forty-five minutes only to be put into an examining room to wait another thirty. Drives me batty.”

  “What did he say after you finally saw him?”

  “That I looked tired and he was going to have a nurse run some tests. He was out in less time than it takes me to tinkle.”

  “That’s frustrating. When are they supposed to call you with the results?”

  “Tuesday or Wednesday.”

  “That’s not too bad. You’ll let me know as soon as you hear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise?”

  She nodded.

  “Hey, maybe what we need is a couple of margaritas. It is Sunday after all.”

  Peggy shook her head.

  “The doc wants me off the sauce until he can determine what is going on.”

  “What a drag. And I’m sure that a little glass of wine or something would relax you and stop your worrying.”

  “As long as this is only a temporary teetotaling sabbatical, I’m okay with it.”

  The waiter brought our food. Peggy’s looked like a reasonable, light lunch for the health and weight conscious. Mine looked like a green speed bump used on a road that only allows semitrucks.

  “Anything else?” our server asked.

  “We’re probably going to need more chips and salsa, and refill on our waters.”

  Peggy looked at all my food and smiled. I cut out a large piece of tortilla, meat, and cheese and placed it on my tongue. It was so good that I had to close my eyes.

  “Should I let you savor your meal, or do you want to hear about Liza Gilhooly?”

  “I can do both. But you need to eat too.”

  “I am.”

  Peggy had barely touched her taco. She pulled an iPad out of her bag.

  “She’s quite a piece of work, this one.”

  Peggy pulled up a file on her tablet.

  “She’s had two bankruptcies, was sued for illegally trying to evict a tenant from a commercial property—which was eventually settled out of court—and has had tickets for moving violations as long as your arm.”

  “I’ve seen her drive so I’m not surprised.”

  I thought about the eviction suit, and it brought to mind again how the burned-down building gave the owners a chance to tie things up long enough for the old tenants to jump ship and go somewhere else.

  “Liza claimed to me that she only knew the owners of the strip mall by reputation and perhaps a casual meeting or two. I’ve already caught her in a couple of lies, so maybe she knows them better than she’s letting on.”

  “Sounds like it.” Peggy agreed. “Any chance that one of those hair samples could be hers?”

  “Hah! Her hair is processed more than Velveeta cheese. If it was her hair, I would have recognized it right away.”

  “What about that surfer kid? The one that had the auto parts shop?”

  “Now he’s a possibility, he’s a natural blond, and his hair is even lighter from being in the sun and saltwater all the time.”

  I looked down at my empty plate and didn’t know whether I should be proud or ashamed.

  “And of course Roberto had dark hair.”

  “Yes, he always had it slicked back, so I’m guessing that a strand could have been long. Speaking of which, I guess that Rico and Isabella got their insurance money already.”

  “I don’t think so.” Peggy studied my face. “I ran into her at the bank on Saturday and she was still complaining about more red tape and paperwork that the assessors were demanding.”

  “But Penelope said that they were going to buy a pizza oven for the winery. How can they do that if they’re crying poor? Those things can’t be cheap.”

  Peggy nodded. “Got to be at least ten grand even if they buy one used.”

  “Well, this is just great.”

  We’d begged off dessert and were presented with the check. I made a mental note to take a run to Whole Foods later for Jeni’s ice cream.

  “What’s great?” Peggy asked, taking a look at the bill.

  I quickly grabbed it from her. “This is my treat—you barely ate. What’s great, but actually stinks, is that we have a number of very credible suspects who could have caused that fire.”

  “Liza Gilhooly,” Peggy started the list.

  “The strip mall owners, if we can nail them down and get their names. Then there’s the theory that Brandon and Roberto may have worked together to claim insurance money and Roberto couldn’t get out in time.”

  “And sadly,” Peggy added, “the Brunos aren’t looking so innocent either. Unless they have a valid source of money to pay for that oven.”

  “Don’t forget the police finding the safe that once held opioid drugs. Though circumstantial, that dough hook from Rico’s was found with it in the alley. With Rico’s fingerprints on it.”

  Peggy reached in her pocket and pulled out the baggie with the piece of orange plastic.

  “I have a feeling that this is the key to unlocking the entire case,” she said, and I nodded.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning was spent combing the Internet for matches to the object that Bardot had found in the attic. I’d decided to work off of theories, so I started first with the elements used in making pizza.

  I looked at pizza dough cutters and while some had colorful plastic handles, I didn’t come across one that resembled the orange evidence piece. I moved on to serving supplies with even less luck. Lastly, I delved into the components of commercial mixers, electric cheese graters, dough presses, and ovens but had no “eureka” moment. When that fell flat, I moved on to lighters and fire starters. I found some items that looked close but nothing that looked like an exact match.

  Finally, and in hopes of tying Brandon to the fire, I went to my local Pep Boys auto supply of the “Manny, Moe, and Jack” fame. Started in 1921 by four navy buddies for just eight hundred dollars.

  The place was as daunting to me as Ulta Beauty would be to Jack. After bombing out in four departments and exhausting as many salesclerks, someone suggested that this might be some sort of tool used in packaging. That meant taking a trip to Home Depot, another mega store and another possible wild goose chase. As I got into the car my cell phone pinged and I saw that it was Sally.

  “Hi! You are a bright shining light in an otherwise rotten morning.”

  “That bad, huh, girlfriend?”

  “If you don’t know where you’re going any road will take you there, Sally. And I feel like I’ve covered most of them.”

  “Oh dear. I have some news, and I’m just leaving Venice beach. You want to meet up back on Rose?”

  “You know what? I’m near the beach too and I’ve just decided that I’ve followed my last empty road for today. Want to meet for lunch somewhere?”

  “If the creek don’t rise, sure would! How about Cha Cha Chicken on Ocean?”

  “Perfect, see you there in twenty?”

  “Not if I see you first.”

  Sally and her expressions.

  * * *

  I felt only a modicum of guilt for blowing off another hour roaming around Home Depot “hangry” (hungry making me angry). Plus, I had something important to ask Sally that for some reason I kept putting off.

  Cha Cha Chicken is basically a colorful take-out stand, with its corrugated metal sides painted in Caribbean yellows, blues, reds, greens, and blacks. I could sense the Bob Marley vibes even before I stepped onto the patio. One of the things that I love about this pla
ce is that it’s tucked just far enough away from the Santa Monica Pier to be off the radar of throngs of tourists. I spotted Sally perched atop a bar stool, her long, caramel legs draped around one stool leg.

  “I already put in my order, so go get yours, girlfriend, and I recommend the mango-guava water.”

  With the sun shining down on her, I half expected a Rasta man with a steel drum to walk by and say, “Welcome to Jamaica, mon.” In deference to yesterday’s Bacchanalian repast I opted for a lighter fare of roasted chicken in spiced Jamaican jerk sauce and a cup of black bean soup.

  “Everything smells delicious, but I can’t believe that I can even think about food after the gorging fiesta I had with Peggy yesterday.”

  “She pigged out?”

  “Hardly. I’m the one with the curly tail.”

  I wondered if Sally knew more about Peggy’s health than she was letting on. A number was called and Sally went up to get her food. She stood talking to the person behind the trailer counter, and a moment later she was handed another plate that must have been mine.

  We tucked in and I let the fruity, spicy flavors linger on my tongue.

  “I wonder what kind of wine would go best with a meal like this,” Sally mused.

  “Hmm, if we’re not having Red Stripe beer I’m guessing a crisp white, but it needs to stand up to the intense flavors of the food.” As I said this I pictured myself lounging at a café table on a terrace overlooking a cornflower blue lagoon.

  “So with a rich, grape flavor and zesty texture.” Sally nodded.

  “Would you listen to us, do we not sound like total wine snobs?” I laughed.

  “These plantains are like manna from heaven. Try one.”

  I speared one from Sally’s plate, thereby relieving her of the burden of falling short of joining the clean plate league.

  “You said you had news?”

  “Yes, I think that you’ll find this interesting, Halsey. I went to the fire station this morning to pick up some sand bags for the upcoming storm and then stopped off at the beach to fill them. The church always floods, and I wanted to make sure that they’re prepared. While I was in the process of scooping sand, I saw the same sweet paramedics that I’d just talked to pull up. I guess at this time of year, and due to budget cuts, there are no lifeguards on duty early in the morning. I watched them unload some gear and then heard one of them say, ‘Guy who called it in says the victim’s name is Brandon Dawson. That’s twice this month we’ve had to save the kid. He should give up trying to learn to surf.’ Can you believe that?”

  “It must have been a different Brandon. Isabella told me that all ours does day in and day out is surf.” I took a sip of mango-guava water and swilled it in my mouth.

  “I thought you might say that, so I followed the paramedics to the shore to offer my nursing services. The kid had certainly been beaten up first by a wave and then by the rocks underneath, but they soon had him sitting up and breathing in oxygen. While everyone was busy, I took out my phone and snapped a photo. I’ve never seen the kid before, but is this the fellow you met, Halsey?”

  Sally showed me her phone screen and there, looking like a half-drowned mutt, sat the Brandon I knew. Right down to the tattoos on his hands.

  “That’s him alright, but I’m scratching my head about the fact that the kid can’t surf. Penelope even said that Malcolm’s cousin Andrew would go out with him whenever he was on the Westside. Does that mean that Andrew isn’t a surfer either? And if so, why lie about it?” And what were they doing together each time if they were not out in the ocean?”

  “I’m afraid that this news only serves to muddy the waters more. This case is as difficult as trying to find a lost ball in high weeds.”

  I had to laugh at another of Sally’s crazy expressions. Bless her heart, as she would say.

  “Sally, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “So you said on the phone. Anything!”

  “As you know, Jack and I have set the date for our wedding. He’s decided to ask his friend Mark from the DEA to be his best man, and I would be thrilled if you’d be my maid of honor.”

  “Shut the front door, honey. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Come give me a hug.”

  Sally’s is not quite as cocoon warm as Peggy’s fleeced bosom, but she throws in the rocking thing to make up for it. We spent a good couple of minutes shutting out the world.

  “Sally, is there something wrong with Peggy? Health-wise?”

  “You sensed something, didn’t you?”

  I nodded and my stomach sank.

  “She found a lump on her breast, but thankfully she went in right away and they did a biopsy. We’re waiting for the results. She confided in me but didn’t want anyone else to know in case it was nothing.”

  “God, poor dear. Do you think that it will be nothing?”

  “It’s hard to say; this was very early detection, which in itself is a blessing. But the statistics are against her, all of us actually. I don’t mean to alarm you, especially since you are about to get married, but one out of eight women have a risk of being diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. Now if it’s caught early it is very treatable, and most women go on to live long, healthy lives.”

  “I suppose that’s good news.”

  “Before you start getting your bloomers in a twist worrying about Peggy, this is commonly a slow-moving cancer in women in their late eighties, and she’d go from natural causes before the cancer would become an issue. Still the major key, as I told all my patients when I was a nurse, is early detection.”

  “That’s a depressing thought. Do they sell wine here?”

  “I believe that it’s BYOB, honey. Let’s not get upset about something before it happens . . . we’re still waiting on the biopsy results.”

  “I understand, but it’s just, well, sickness is not my strong suit, especially in people I really, really love.”

  “Whatever happens, we’ll handle it, Halsey. All of us Wine Club girls are invincible, you know that.”

  Sally rubbed my back for assurance. I sure hoped that she was right.

  * * *

  When I pulled back into my driveway, I saw that there was Marisol plunked on my front steps. Oddly I thought that maybe her lunacy would help lighten my mood.

  “You’ve been gone long . . . what’d you do, drink too much at lunch and have to sleep it off in your car before driving home?”

  It might have been working. Just hearing her cackling voice was making me smile. The sun was directly in her face causing it to blur to an oval halo, so I couldn’t really make out her features. I noticed that she had a large baggie filled with something resting on her lap.

  “Don’t tell me you went back to the mall during the day and scraped up more evidence. I told you how dangerous that would be. You couldn’t be that stupid.”

  The moment that last set of words escaped my mouth I regretted it.

  “Nope, but I scraped something else instead.”

  When I reached her my body blocked the sun, and I could see that Marisol had a growing, swelling black eye that looked like it wanted to take over her head. I looked down and saw that the bag she’d been holding was filled with ice and was resting on a bloodied knee.

  “Oh geez, what happened? Who did this to you? Want me to call Augie?”

  “Nobody did nothing, so don’t call Augie. I was walking and I fell.”

  “Can you stand? I want to get you inside and have a better look at your injuries.”

  She made an attempt to put weight on her legs and fell right back down. She had tears in her eyes.

  “Nope, okay we’re going to Emergency.”

  When Marisol didn’t argue, I knew that this was bad. She must weigh all of one hundred pounds soaking wet, so I was able to lift her up and help her hobble toward the driveway. I opened the back door and eased her onto the seat of my car. Bardot barked from the backyard and I responded, “I’ll be back in a bit honey.”

  I started the
engine and before backing out called Aimee. I put my phone in the dock so that I could talk on speaker and drive safely.

  “Hi, honey, are we having an impromptu Wine Club?” Aimee asked, picking up my call. “I know it’s only Monday but—”

  “Does Tom have a shift today?” I asked, cutting her off.

  “Yes, Halsey, he left about twenty minutes ago. Why?”

  “I’m bringing Marisol in. She says she fell walking, but her injuries seem too serious for that. Can you call him and let him know that we’re coming?”

  “Oh dear lord, of course.”

  Tom, Aimee’s boyfriend, is an ER doctor at St. John’s hospital in Santa Monica. Everyone there is great, but it always helps to have someone you know on duty. A sudden wave of emergencies could mean waiting for hours and hours to be treated.

  “Do you have any of Marisol’s daughters’ phone numbers you can call and let them know?”

  “I’ll take care of it so you just worry about getting Marisol in Tom’s hands. Oh dear, this is terrible.”

  I ended the call and sped up Twentieth Street to the hospital. Unfortunately, I knew the route well. Sally was taken there after she was shot a few years back, I spent some time in its ward recovering from a concussion, and last year Peggy’s beau Charlie was taken to St. John’s following a small plane accident.

  That served as a reminder of Peggy’s pending diagnosis, and I started to worry all over again. It seemed as though my world was imploding.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sure enough, there’d been an accident with a city bus and an SUV, and the waiting room was packed. I scanned the area for any sign of Tom. When I didn’t immediately see him, I grabbed one of the last remaining vacant wheelchairs and pushed it back to my car. I’d left it with the valet in the loading area of the Emergency Room.

  “Can you help me get her out and onto the chair? She can’t put weight on her leg,” I told him.

  “Sure.”

  The valet set the brake on the wheelchair and peered into my backseat. His automatic movements told me that he’d done this once or twice before.