"You mean aside from the fact that I've been investigating homicides for the last twenty-five years?" I rolled my eyes. He hunched a shoulder and counted off points on his fingers. "No trauma to the body — no wounds, no bullet holes, no cuts, no abrasions, no bruising. No evidence of a struggle at the scene. Empty med bottles found in his pockets. Wife confirmed the meds were his. He had TBI and PTSD and was on several meds, that if combined could cause respiratory failure. No snap. Just logic." He held up a hand to stop me before I could speak. "Yeah, an autopsy will be done, and then, it will officially be an accidental overdose."
I gaped. "Wife? Ron had a wife?" I looked at Zelda who was as stunned as I. "Who is she?"
Daniels nodded. "Yeah. Pretty woman. Guess after he got back from Iraq, he just wasn't the same guy she married. Seems they tried counseling and such, but finally, he just wandered away for good, and she stopped looking for him."
"She just let him live on the street?"
Daniels flapped a hand. "What's she supposed to do? Lock him in the garage?"
I dug in my bag for a notepad and pen. "What's her name? I want to talk to her."
Daniels sighed and raised an eyebrow. But he pulled his notebook from his pocket and flipped through pages until he found what he wanted. "Marika Jansen. Lives in Burbank."
Zelda squeezed my arm but I shook my head so she'd keep her mouth shut. I wasn't about to let Daniels know what we knew. I cleared my throat and looked up at him. "Got an address?"
Daniels' eyes scanned the lot as though someone might overhear. But we were the only ones stupid enough to be standing in the lot sweating our brains out. He swatted at a mosquito and jotted down the address. He tore out the sheet and handed it to me.
I snatched the piece of paper and jammed it into my bag. "Thanks. Daniels, you're a pal." Taking Zelda by the elbow I said. "Nice seeing you again. Enjoy the pie."
Daniels wagged a finger at me. "This is it, Scotti. You can't come back for more."
"I know."
"I did you a solid, right? So, we're even, right?"
"Absolutely."
He narrowed his eyes, wondering if he could believe me but then chuckled. "Okay then. And for Christ's sake, don't tell Davis."
I drew a finger across my lips to indicate they were sealed. Then I pulled a card out of my bag and handed it to him. "If you ever need pie, look us up. Our route schedule is on the website." I looked around and made a face. "I'll bet you haven't had a decent piece of pie since I worked at Manny's."
Daniels grinned at the card like it was a winning lotto ticket, then put it in a special compartment in his wallet. "I'll be seeing you then? For pie, I mean. Just pie. Right?"
We were already walking away. I threw him a backward wave. "Yup, just pie."
Chapter Thirteen
After Zelda pulled away from the curb and the station was in our rear view mirror, I screamed, "Beidemeyer's mistress was Ron's wife?"
Zelda shook her head and gnashed her teeth. "There's something wrong with us. We're magnets for this shit." She pulled into the left turn lane at Foothill. "I need something to calm my nerves."
"Where are you going?"
"That Italian place up in Sylmar, the one with the good cannoli." She eyed the clock on the dash board. "I think they're still open."
I pointed toward home. "Uh-uh, not tonight."
"I'm hungry," Zelda whined.
I shook my head. "You're always hungry. Besides, the fridge is packed with food. What's the matter, my cooking not good enough for you anymore?"
"Do we have any cannoli?"
I glared at her. "We've got pie, cookies, muffins, brownies, bread pudding, and chocolate cake. Not enough selection for you?"
She pouted but said, "Okay, okay." She turned left, then pulled a u-turn, and headed toward home. "What are we going to tell Joe?"
I made a face. "Why do we have to tell Joe anything?"
Zelda raised her brows. "Uh, let's see. The wife of our dead friend happens to be the chick we saw with Beidemeyer on Saturday night. You think maybe we've got a connection there? Or a conflict of interest? Or a vital piece of information?"
I waved a hand. "One thing doesn't have anything to do with the other."
Zelda took her eyes from the road and squinted at me. "Weren’t you the one going on and on about coincidences just the other day?"
I swept out my arms. "Nothing to do with Beidemeyer's impending divorce. And that's all Joe cares about."
"Scotti…"
"Scotti nothing! She didn't see us. She won't make any connection with Saturday night and this. We weren't in a jeep, we were in Joe's Lincoln. And we had on those Hawaiian shirts and ball caps. She won't recognize us."
Zelda sighed and stared straight ahead.
I glanced at her. "What?"
"So you're not going to talk to Beidemeyer about Ron? If he knew him? Ask him how he could screw over a war veteran by screwing his wife? And why he was talking to all of Ron's homies? Or if he did anything to help Ron to take his meds? None of that?" She glanced at me with suspicion in her eyes. "You just want to talk to this Marika chick and that's the end of it?"
I slouched in my seat. "Yeah, I just want to talk to the woman, okay? If you're not comfortable with it, I can talk to her myself.
Zelda snorted. "Yeah, right."
I flailed my arms. "I just want to talk to her about Ron, so I can understand what happened. I'm not looking to make this a murder. Besides, they'll have a funeral. I want to go. I want to take the guys, if they want to go too. I want closure. What's wrong with that?" I looked hard at her. "Don't you want that too? To say goodbye to Ron? To put this behind you?"
Zelda threw back her head and laughed. "Damn, you're good. You really are. That was an Academy Award winning performance. And without any prep at all. Straight off the cuff! You're in the wrong business my friend."
I cranked down the window and let the rushing air cool my face. "Shut up."
"Oh, and speaking of shutting up — what's going with you and Teddy boy?"
I frowned at her. "He hates it when you call him that."
She pointed a finger at me. "Why did you guys just clam up as soon as I got there?"
I shrugged and shook my head. "He said he wanted to talk, then when you rolled up, he said it could keep."
Zelda grinned and smacked the steering wheel. "Ah."
"Channeling Mr. Miyagi now, are we?"
"Nope," she couldn't have wiped the grin off her face with a snow plow.
I threw up my hands and said, "Whatever."
Zelda smacked my arm with the back of her hand. "God, you're dense. You don't get it, do you? You seriously can't guess what he wanted to talk to you about?" She snorted. "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."
She turned left onto Fernglen and we started around the park. I stuck my head out the window looking for the guys but didn't see any of them. Where were they? Recon, Mike had said. What did that mean? And who was the Jody person that Mike grumbled about?
"Are you going to sit in the car all night?"
I looked up and realized we were parked in front of the house. "No, I was just thinking."
Zelda climbed out of the jeep and went into the house.
I got out of the jeep and went to the food truck. With all the commotion of the day, neither of us had checked supplies or restocked. I unlocked the door and climbed into the back.
I pulled the clipboard that held my checklist from the wall, and went through the motions of mindless work. Within the hour, the truck was restocked and ready for our route the next morning.
I locked the truck and stood outside in the cool air for a while. Zelda was right, we'd have to tell Joe something. But until I spoke to Marika Jansen, I wouldn't know how the two situations were connected — if at all.
Ron was a sweet guy, but he was also a mess. His brain had been scrambled and his soul shattered by a war that was dirty and cruel. I couldn't imagine what that would do to a person. His wife
's extracurricular activities hadn't caused Ron's downward spiral. That had started long before in a place foreign and hostile. The whole situation could truly be a coincidence.
Except that I didn't believe in coincidences. And the ones surrounding Carl Beidemeyer were stacking up fast. And I didn't believe that Ron overdosed on meds that he flatly refused to take. I couldn't think of anything that would've convinced him to take drugs that terrified him. He'd had a home and wife but chose to live on the streets alone and vulnerable rather than take his meds. I doubted a conversation, no matter how convincing, could've made him do a total about face on the topic.
I gazed up at the starry sky and made a wish that I wasn't about to screw up everything in my life, then went inside.
Zelda looked up from the television. "Truck ready to go?"
I stared at the half-eaten cherry pie on the coffee table, then plopped down on the sofa next to her.
"You still haven't figured it out?"
Too hot and tired to figure out Zelda code, I gave her a blank stare.
"What Ted wanted to talk about?"
I rubbed my itchy eyes. "If you know something, then tell me because if you ask me that one more time, I'm going to go all Zelda on your ass."
She reared back her head. "All Zelda on my ass? Isn't that like incest?"
I shook my fists in the air. "Zee."
"He's working up his nerve." She clapped me on the back. "To propose, you idiot! He's going ask you to marry him."
A shiver convulsed my body from top to bottom. "No!"
Zelda nodded. "Oh yeah he is. But the shit with Ron stopped him. That's why he backed off." She raised her brows. "To let you get it out of your system. Which I'd highly recommend."
I rolled my eyes and fell back against the cushions. "Yes, Mommy."
Zelda did a happy dance with her hands. "So you've got a couple weeks. But it's coming, baby. Get ready."
Chapter Fourteen
Six in the morning comes early, and no matter how much coffee I drank, I couldn't clear the fog from my head. But we pulled on our shorts, Sweet as Pie tee shirts and Nike's, then hit the road.
We caught the breakfast crowd in North Hollywood, the coffee breakers in Burbank and the lunch crowd in Universal City, then headed for home around two. On a lark, we detoured to the Foothill station house and hit the horn. It was right about the time our boys in blue would be craving an afternoon snack, so maybe they’d prefer home-baked goodies instead of crap burgers from the joint across the street.
Daniels must've smelled us coming because he was front and center when I slid back the order window. "Scotti! What a pleasant surprise." He peered into the truck. "Whatcha got back there?"
"Hey Daniels, I figured you'd be out of pie by now." But my eyes traveled to the man standing next to him. Like Daniels, he wore a wrinkled, ill-fitting suit and the traditional scowl of an LAPD detective. But what threw me was I recognized him — Beidemeyer's dinner companion from a few days before. "Hey, I'm Scotti."
The man's slate-gray eyes barely registered my presence. "Hey." He looked past me at the menu board. "Pie, huh?"
I raised my eyebrows at Daniels.
"Scotti Fitzgerald, Drew Fuller."
Fuller looked at me, "You got anything chocolate?"
I swept out my arm. "Brownies, chocolate chip muffins, chocolate cream pie."
He nodded. "Okay."
"Okay, which one?"
Fuller slapped a ten on the ledge and said, "All of them,"
I looked at Daniels and chuckled. I put together Fuller's order and handed it to him. "Would you like an iced mocha to go with that?"
Fuller nodded, exposing the bald spot at the crown of his head. "Sure."
Daniels licked his lips, and his eyes went wide when he saw Fuller's order. "I'll have what he's having."
Fuller walked away and my eyes followed him. "Who's he, your new partner?"
Daniels already had half the brownie in his mouth. "Yah. 'Til Em gets back." He rolled his eyes. "She's been out for over a week."
I wrapped up the rest of his order. "That's too bad. Tell her I hope she feels better."
Daniels gathered his food and drink. "Will do. You coming back tomorrow?"
I laughed and shook my head. "Already planning for tomorrow?"
He shrugged. "It's been a long time since I've had such sweet morsels." The crowd behind him grumbled about certain people hogging up the order window. "Yeah, yeah," he said and stepped aside.
The uniforms and other D's swarmed in to get a chance at the goodies. And they kept coming until we sold out everything. I hoped I had enough in the pantry at home to restock for the next day.
When the last man standing, Sergeant Sourpuss, got his order, Daniels stepped back to the window. "Hey Scotti."
"Hey Daniels, you back for seconds already?"
"Sure, what do you got?"
"Blueberry muffins and lemon pie."
Daniels nodded. "Sounds good." He watched as I packed up his order. "You talk to the widow yet?"
I frowned and lowered my voice. "No, I just talked to you last night. I haven't had a chance."
Daniels nodded. "You go easy though, okay?"
I handed him his order. "I'm not going to run her over with my truck."
He gave me a twenty and told me to keep the change, then stared at me.
I threw up my hands. "What? I'm just going to talk to her." I looked over his shoulder at the small throng of cops loitering in front of the building, chatting and eating their pastries. Fuller stood off by himself — eating while he stared straight ahead. "Bet he's fun to work with."
Daniels glanced over his shoulder. "He's okay. Doesn't talk much. Ex military. Not real chatty."
"How'd you end up here, anyway? What happened in Pasadena?"
Daniels shook his head. "Tell you what, you take me out for a beer some night and maybe I'll tell you."
I kept my eyes on Fuller but he seemed oblivious to my gaze. "That bad, huh?"
"You going to make this a regular stop?" He bit into a blueberry muffin and groaned so loud I blushed. "You could clean up. Nothing in this neighborhood worth a shit as far as food is concerned."
"We could probably hit you on the way home a couple times a week. We'll see." I looked back to Daniels and smiled. "If you're nice to me."
Daniels backed away from the truck. "Let's play it by ear."
I waved at the cops, slid the window closed and climbed into the front cab with Zelda. "Let's hit it. I want to talk to Marika before it gets too late."
Zelda pulled away from the curb and pointed the truck toward home. "That guy with Daniels is he who I think he is?"
"Yup."
Zelda drove for a while in silence. "Shit, coincidences."
"Yup."
<<>>
We'd already been to Marika Jansen's house once and asking Daniels for her address was unnecessary. But he'd have suspected something if I hadn't. The house was less charming in the afternoon sun than it'd seemed in the moonlight. Smaller too. But the geraniums and asparagus ferns still stood cheerfully in their pots, refusing to flag in the relentless heat.
We'd stopped at home for showers and a change of clothes, but five minutes later, we were sweating and dripping anyway. Standing on Marika Jansen's porch, holding a vase of lilies was eerily similar to another time I'd stood on a porch and waited to offer condolences. I prayed that this time things would be different.
Marika answered the door with a puzzled expression. "Yes?" She was a beautiful woman — big doe eyes, a mahogany mane that cascaded to her shoulders in ringlets, lithe and trim. In an earlier life, she and Ron would've made a handsome couple.
I held out the flowers. "Hi, I'm Scotti Fitzgerald and this is Zelda Carter. We were friends of Ron's."
Marika accepted the flowers gracefully and smiled, exposing straight, white teeth. "Thank you." A tear pooled in her eye, poised to fall. "Ron would’ve liked these."
"We're very sorry about Ron."
Marika nodded and wiped the tear. "I appreciate that." She cocked her head and her eyes became curious. "Do I know you?"
My stomach flip-flopped and I shook my head. "No, I'm sure I'd have remembered."
She had that look that people get when they're trying to place you. "I thought I'd met all of Ron's friends…"
M.urder R.eady to E.at (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 2) Page 8