Liar, Liar

by K. J. Larsen

  He went. I slipped on black jeans and a soft tiger print sweater and matching peep toe wedges. I was pouring myself a cup of coffee when he returned.

  “Love the shoes!” he said.

  He eyed my coffee and I hugged my cup closer. I figured he’d had enough.

  “I’m Eric. You were smart to order our premium platinum package.”

  “I didn’t. My brother did.”

  “Oh?” Eric’s eyes sparked interest. “I just love a man in uniform.”

  I laughed. “Rocco’s straight as an arrow and too much of a slob to be gay.”

  “Unfortunately that’s just a stereotype. I’ve had boyfriends who were pigs. Like my purpose in life was picking up after them.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, honey. Like we have nothing better to do.”

  I poured him a cup of coffee.

  Eric twisted a kitchen chair around and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. “Most people make the mistake of compromising on our added safety features because they’re so pricey.”

  I massaged my temples. “How pricey?”

  “When you think of it,” he soothed, “what’s money compared to your personal safety? Will we be billing your brother today?”

  “No. I’ll take care of it.” Infidelity is a booming business.

  I tromped to the bedroom for a check and muttered under my breath. To think Rocco wanted me to be a dispatcher.

  ***

  With my premium platinum alarm system fully installed I asked Eric to drop me off at Tino’s Deli.

  “Sure,” he said.

  I grabbed my house keys and a voice squawked behind me.

  “I got your ride, girlfriend.”

  Eric screamed.

  I whirled around with a groan. I’d recognize that grating voice anywhere.

  Cleo waved her Flaming Flamingo fingertips from the doorway. Her soft dark curls were gathered in a clump on top of her head and big silver bangles jangled from her wrists and ears. The last time I spoke to Cleo she was going to kill her husband and I was going into an exploding building.

  “Your door was unlocked,” she said. “Not smart.”

  “Not again,” I said.

  I turned to my home security guy and he groaned

  Eric ran out the front door to his van. Cleo waved and I set the lock behind him.

  Cleo threw herself on the couch. Her short lavender sundress showed off a lot of leg and a double whammy from a generous boob goddess. She leaned against the sofa cushions and grinned.

  “Boyfriend?”

  I threw her a look. The guy was a screamer and a pee-er. “That was my home security guy.”

  Cleo scoffed. “Home security my ass. He left the door unlocked.”

  “Try the doorbell,” I said pointedly. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m in deep shit, Cat. I need your help.”

  “You didn’t kill your husband, did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Did you run over your sister?”

  Cleo snorted. “She’s such a drama queen. You shoulda heard her holler when I pumped buckshot in his cheating ass. Not that it was easy, that man can run.”

  “You shot your husband?”

  “It was self-defense.”

  “The man was running away. I don’t think that qualifies for self-defense.”

  “Believe me. That wasn’t the side I was aiming for.”

  I cradled the sides of my head. A Cleo size headache was coming on. “Are the cops looking for you?”

  “My husband cooked the books at work. He knows if he calls the cops I’ll sing like a bird.”

  “You’re not going to shoot him again, are you?”

  “That coward ran,” she spat. “He can’t even take it like a man.” She covered her face with her hands and the shrill left her voice like all the helium gone from a balloon. “The bastard cleaned me out. I’m bare bones broke. I can’t pay my bills.”

  “We’ll try to get your money back, Cleo, but it’ll take some time.”

  “I hope his butt hurts like hell.”

  Cleo shadowed me to the kitchen. I threw a couple aspirin in my mouth, chased them down with water, and turned to face her.

  “Forget the cheater and your ho sister. Sell your weapons. Get a job. Find what you love to do and do it.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Her face broke a smile. “I want to be a detective like you. I want to partner up.”

  “No!” I squawked like Cleo.

  “I’ll work off my bill.”

  “Consider it paid in full.”

  Cleo’s face puckered. She blinked her big brown eyes hard. She worked up something that might have been tears.

  “I can’t pay my rent,” she sniffed. “I need this job, Cat. I got the talent. I’m smart. I’m good with guns.”

  “I’m not hiring. I already have a partner.”

  “Your dog?”

  “She’s vicious.”

  “You haven’t seen my buckshot.”

  I sighed.

  Cleo looked around and smacked her lips. “Maybe I could move in until I get a job.”

  A wave of panic crashed over me. “Don’t you have family?”

  “No.”

  “Take mine.”

  “My mom’s siding with my sister. She was always her favorite. I just got you, Cat.”

  “We just met, Cleo. You’re a client.”

  Her lip puckered.

  I buckled. “Can you type?”

  “Partner!” she squeeled.

  “This is a temporary arrangement. Just until you get on your feet.”

  “Whoo-hoo!”

  “Don’t even think about moving in. I’m writing you an advance for your rent.”

  “I’m a detective,” Cleo danced around the room.

  “No, you’re not a detective. You’re here to ASSIST me. No shooting allowed.”

  “Right,” she winked.

  “You can start next week,” I said and slung my bag over my shoulder. “Drop me at Tino’s.”

  ***

  Since Jack blamed me for the demise of Dorothy he hadn’t returned my car. He was holding the Silver Bullet hostage. My plan was to schmooze Jack with lunch delivered to his shop so he’d bring my car back. I’ve seen Tino’s putenesca bring grown men to their knees.

  I sailed into the deli and Tino shook his fists. “Sweet Caterina, almost blown to bloody pieces. Good you should come to me.” He lowered his voice. “I will get you out of town safe.”

  I hugged him. “Thanks, Tino, but I’m not leaving town. I’m here because Jack won’t give me my car back. That and Rocco ate Inga’s sausages.”

  “What? You want his legs broken?”

  “I’ll just buy more sausages.”

  “Not Rocco. Jack.”

  “Tempting but I’ll try schmoozing him first. A good mechanic is hard to find.”

  “OK. We save his legs for now.”

  “I want you to deliver lunch to Jack and his crew. Knock yourself out. And send a note. ‘Sorry about Dorothy.’”

  “Does Jack’s wife know about this Dorothy?” Tino leaned close and his eyes gleamed. “Do you have pictures?”

  I laughed. “Can you do it tomorrow?”

  “The legs I could do today.”

  “It’ll wait ‘til tomorrow. Thanks, Tino. You’re a good friend.”

  He grunted. “If you won’t leave town you need protection.”

  “Rocco had the security company at my house all morning. It’s a fortress. What I need is a car. I need a ride to Hertz.”

  “You need a body guard. I’ll make a call.”

  I hugged him. “I’ll be fine.”

  Tino pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. “Take my Buick. It’s parked in back.”

  “I can’t…”

  He pressed the keys in my hand. “It has some extra safety features.”

  Thank
s to Tino I had wheels and was back in the game. I zoomed across town to Eddie’s house and parked down the street with my sights on the gate. Eddie probably wouldn’t be home. He’d be out doing whatever it is gangsters do. With any luck he took the beefy door guy with him. I set my stun gun on max and tucked it in my belt.

  Across the street the front gate began to glide to the left on the track. A frosty pink Lincoln drove out and rolled to a stop at the street. The third Mrs. Harr applied lipstick in the back seat. She leaned forward and said something to the beefy guy behind the wheel. He smiled and merged with the traffic.

  I smiled bigger, shot out of the Buick, and barely skidded through the gate before it clinked shut behind me. I looked around. No one was on the grounds. Two economy cars were parked in the rear. I was alone with the hired help.

  I dodged around the corner of the house pressing my back against the ivy. The balcony above me had a cozy table for two and a shot of the moon on clear nights. It overlooked the fountains and likely led to the master bedroom. I craned my neck and peered through a window that looked into a formal dining room. A young blonde in a starchy French maid uniform polished a small mountain of silver. With any luck she’d stay downstairs. I tested my weight on the trellis, hailed a couple Marys, and hiked up the ivy by hoisting one foot up and then another. I didn’t look down or breathe until my legs kicked over the iron railing. I am the Pants on Fire Detective Agency and this is what I do. I pick locks and scale balconies. I’m a professional stalker.

  Walking through the French doors into Eddie and Michelle Harr’s bedroom was a little like stepping into a Laura Ashley catalogue. A dreamy canopy bed, lots of soft prints, and a stuffed Teddy propped on a pillow. The bear would be from the third Mrs. Harr’s very recent childhood. It was a little creepy to picture Eddie there.

  I didn’t find what I was looking for so I poked my head in the hallway. No French maids with feather dusters. The room across the hall was a guest room. Little guest soaps, shampoos, and pretty new toothbrushes in the bathroom. Not finding it here. I slipped into the room next door and got a whiff of Old Spice and Cuban cigars. Oh yeah. I was in Eddie’s study.

  I zipped through drawers, flipped a Rolodex to R for Ross, rummaged through a closet, poked around the bathroom, and cracked the lock on an old trunk. I found a couple guns, chocolates, a cheesy Hustler magazine, and some little blue pills. I stuffed the chocolates in my pockets but I didn’t find what I came for. I was two steps from the door when Eddie’s voice bellowed from the stairs.

  “Where the hell is Michelle?”

  A jolt slammed my gut. I dived under the desk scuttling around a round file I’d missed earlier. Inside the basket was what I came for. It was my camera smashed to bits.

  This French maid had a Spanish accent. And her voice was older than the polisher. “Mrs. Harr is having lunch with a friend.”

  “Hmmph,” he snarled. What a control freak.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “Find Barney. There’s a black car parked across the street. Tell him to check it out.”

  Holy shit. I fumbled for the tazer.

  “Barney drove Mrs. Harr to the luncheon.”

  “What?” Eddie roared. “Where’s my wife’s driver?”

  “Sick, sir.”

  “He’ll come in or he’s fired.”

  From under the desk I watched Eddie’s shiny shoes stomp into the room. The maid’s sensible Oxfords shuffled behind him, a blond Pomeranian hot on her tail. The dog’s ears shot up. He smelled me or maybe it was the chocolate, but he crouched on his haunches and yapped bloody hell.

  Eddie plopped down at the desk. I fixed the stun gun on his knees.

  “What the hell is wrong with that mutt?”

  The telephone rang on Eddie’s desk.

  “He sees something, sir,” the maid said.

  “He’ll see the barrel of my shotgun if you don’t get him out of here.”

  The maid scooped the dog up in her arms. “You can play outside, Frodo,” she sniffed and they disappeared down the hall.

  Eddie answered the phone. “Eddie Harr… It’s about time you called me back. Spare me the excuses. We have a problem…A dame was snooping around the warehouse yesterday taking pictures. What the hell is that about?…I took care of this mess a week ago…You assured me she was working alone…Talk to Charlie and handle this. What d’ya think I’m paying you for?”

  Click.

  Eddie kicked back his chair and schlepped off to the bathroom. I heard a zip and pssssss and before the shake I was onto the balcony and over the side. I hit the ground running. The Pomeranian was waiting. He yapped at my heels until I scaled the wall and vanished in a poof of burning rubber.

  I swallowed my heart back in my chest, sank my teeth in a piece of chocolate, and cut across town to North Chicago. Thanks to Eddie and his Rolodex, it was time to stalk Charlie the Ratman. I rolled down my windows and jammed to Coldplay. When my booty vibrated I plucked my cell phone from my back pocket and took the call.

  “Pants on Fire Detective Agency,” I said. “We expose liars and cheats.”

  “Ms. DeLuca. This is Special Agent Harding from the FBI.”

  “Larry,” I said. “Hi. How are you?”

  His voice got stiffer. “I just had an interesting conversation with Captain Maxfield about an imaginary arms shipment and the lawsuit Eddie Harr may well file against the city.”

  “It wasn’t my imagination, Larry. Eddie removed the evidence before we got there.”

  “Mr. Harr is a respected member of this community. You don’t realize how confused you are as a result of your concussion.”

  “And you don’t realize what a crook Eddie Harr is.”

  The agent sighed deeply. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you. I can stop by your house later or meet you for coffee.”

  “What things?”

  “First of all when you were in my office you didn’t mention your connection to a reporter who was killed in her apartment last week.”

  “What does that have to do with a gas leak?”

  “Captain Maxfield tells me you have in your possession a laptop that belonged to the victim. Is that true?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “The FBI is interested in Ms. Polansky’s computer as part of an on-going investigation. I can swing by for the laptop today and get it back to you next week.”

  “Do you have a warrant?”

  “I didn’t think that would be necessary.”

  “But you’re admitting the explosion wasn’t a gas leak.”

  “Not at all. Now about that laptop—”

  “Get a warrant.”

  Click.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The first thing I did when I got to the hospital was go to the gift shop. I thought it might be a good idea to buy a little something for Tommy since the last time I saw him he was getting blown up with Dorothy.

  Once I started buying, I couldn’t quit. I had magazines, balloons, flowers, dime novels, and the entire candy rack piled on the counter before I spotted a five-foot stuffed teddy bear suspended from the ceiling.

  “How much for Yogi?” I asked the woman behind the counter.

  She had that sympathetic look of someone who’s seen her share of freaked out hospital visitors. But the gleam in her eye suggested that I was one for tonight’s dinner conversation. Somewhere between the Clark bars and the Butterfingers, I realized how totally freaked I really was. Buying out the gift shop was my try at holding back a whole shit load of self-recrimination. Why couldn’t I let anything go? Why did I always have to keep pressing every point? Every lead? Every …? Because it wasn’t just me that got put in danger. The living proof of that was a red haired, freckle faced rookie cheese-head in a hospital bed two floors up. Oh yeah. I bought the bear.

  Gift shop lady ordered a gurney to haul the first load of soft fuzzy things and calories to Tommy’s room. I poked
my head around Yogi’s polyester fluff and looked in at Tommy. He was wrapped in burn-dressings. His burns were on parts of his torso and legs.

  Tommy certainly had his angels. The bulk of the explosion had initially shot up and out and there were enough cops on the ground to yank him away before Dorothy became the Fourth of July Wonder.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey, back at’cha,” said Tommy. “You know the gorilla isn’t necessary.”

  “It’s not a gorilla. It’s a bear.”

  “OK.” Tommy’s eyes had a morphine sheen. “Hey! Guess what? I’ve been promoted! Injury in the line of duty!”

  I groaned. “This is my fault.”

  “Oh come on. This is so not your fault.”

  “They were out for me, Tommy. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t tried to drive Dorothy.”

  “Dorothy?”

  “Long story.”

  “Hey listen. I’m a cop. You know what that means. We put ourselves in the line of danger, not cuz we’re so into the danger part, but cuz we have this thing about ‘to serve and protect.’ Remember? We serve. We protect. It’s right there on the side of the squad car.”

  “Serve and protect. Right.”

  “Come on, Cat. You come from a long line of cops. It’s in your DNA. You know how we’re hard-wired. We do what we do because we believe that the bad guys have gotta be stopped. Bad guys hurt people. We put ourselves on the line to stop them. Because somebody’s got to do it.”

  “I get it,” I said.

  “Oh, I know you do.” He was beginning to yawn and I could see the morphine had clicked into overdrive.

  I decided I wasn’t going to remark on that statement. Tommy yawned again. “Isn’t that why you do what you do? To serve and protect?”

  “You know Tommy,” I said. “You ain’t so bad for a cheese head.”

  “Serve and protect,” Tommy’s head lobbed to the side. He was out for the count.

  ***

  A low voice breathed in my ear. “Wake up, DeLucky.”

  “Uh, uh.”

  I didn’t want to. I was lost in a delicious dream. I saved a blue woman from a shark and I was sailing with a hot guy in a little red boat, rocking with the waves. Rocking, rocking. I wriggled deeper into the chair. I liked the way this dream was going.

  A hand stroked my cheek. I cracked an eye. Cobalt blues smiled back.