I bopped into the reception area where Sergeant Sourpuss manned the front desk. He smiled when I sidled up to the counter. "Afternoon."
"Afternoon…" I read his name plate, "Sergeant Blane."
"Here for Detective Daniels?" he smiled again.
"Indeed I am."
He buzzed Daniels and told him he had a visitor then switched off. "He'll be right with you."
"Thank you."
The sergeant leaned his elbows on the counter and said, "You’re quite the topic of conversation around here."
I raised my eyebrows. "You don't say?"
He nodded. "Indeed. Plenty of speculation about whether you’ll make our humble house one of your regular stops."
I was relieved that it was my pie and not my activities that had gotten attention. "Speculation, huh? I can’t say that I’ve ever been speculated before." I nodded and leaned on the counter. "I think that could be arranged."
The Sarge got the same twinkly eyes that Daniels did when he knew pie was in his future. "Every day?"
"Maybe not every day — but a couple days a week we could swing. Say, Mondays and Wednesdays around three?" I slid my business card across the counter to him. "In case of a pie emergency, feel free to place a special order.”
The Sarge put the card in his breast pocket and patted it. "I'll be sure to keep this in a safe place." He lowered his voice. "I'll alert the troops to keep a look out for you then?"
"What, no pie?" Daniels griped, coming up from the rear.
I turned to him and shrugged. "Sorry, spur of the moment thing. Next time?"
He took my elbow and led me away from the counter. "And what's your spur of the moment need?"
I checked my watch. "How about I buy you dinner and we discuss needs?"
Daniels chewed his lip. "I just came on at two. Swing shift." His little blue eyes twinkled. "But how could I turn down dinner with a pixie as charming as you?" He turned back to the front desk. "Hey Sarge, I'm on dinner 'til six-thirty."
Blane nodded and tapped the keys on his keyboard. "10-4."
Daniels offered his arm and led me to the exit.
We took my car and drove to Caruso's in Sylmar. Great little Italian place with the best cannoli's and veal parm in town.
Daniels ordered his usual mammoth proportions, ate with gusto and good cheer, while I nibbled on an antipasto salad, and sipped club soda.
I love to watch people eat because everybody has their own routine. Daniels compartmentalized. He focused on one item at a time, eating it all and then moving on to the next item. He also saved his protein for last. With deserts, he went after the flourishes first — whipped cream, fruit topping, and garnishes.
He looked up from his plate and eyed my salad. "Not hungry?"
"Meh, had a big lunch." I pushed the plate aside. Elbows on the table, I leaned forward. "So…"
He held up a finger, finished his last bit of linguini and looked up. "You were saying?"
"I have new information on Ron Jansen's case."
He frowned as he went through his mental computer. "Oh, the dead vet?"
I nodded. "Yeah, he has a name — Ron Jansen."
Daniels nodded, but his eyes wandered the dining room for the waitress. He flapped his big arms at her to let her know he was ready for the dessert he'd ordered ahead of time.
I snapped my fingers. "Over here, Daniels."
He gave me his eyes. "Okay, Ron Jansen. Yeah, case closed." He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. “Call me crazy but didn’t we already have this conversation?”
I speared a piece of salami and dangled it in front of him. "You’ll need to re-open the case then."
He grabbed the fork out of my hand and ate the salami. "It's hard enough to re-open a real homicide, near impossible to re-open an accidental." His eyes kept darting around the dining room. “Where is my cannoli?”
I sighed. "Would you just pay attention for a minute? The waitress didn’t forget your cannoli, okay?"
He chuckled. "You're cute when you're pissed. Your face gets all rosy, and your eyes are like smoky sapphires." He raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet that gets the chauffeur’s engine gunning, huh?"
I smacked his arm. "Daniels, I'm trying to tell you that I have information that could move Ron's case from accidental to homicide."
The waitress brought cannoli and coffee for Daniels and prosciutto with melon and another club soda for me. Daniels stuck his finger into the pastry cream then tasted it. He nodded in approval at the cannoli then frowned at me. "I know I’ll regret this, but what kind of information?"
I bit my lip, thinking about how much I was willing to defy Joe. "How about you sit back, enjoy your cannoli and I tell you a story? You like stories, don't you?"
Daniels scrunched his face into a question mark, but nodded. He picked up his cannoli and bit into it.
"What if on a completely unrelated matter someone saw a guy acting suspiciously regarding Ron Jansen?”
Daniels polished off the first cannoli and started on the second one. “Suspicious how?”
I continued on as though Daniels hadn’t asked a question. “For example, let's say that this guy was under surveillance for cheating on his wife. And during the surveillance the investigators learned that the affair he was having was with Ron's wife Marika? And on top of that, he also questioned Ron's friends about his whereabouts? After which Ron was found dead. And a week after Ron's death this guy approached one of the investigators, and threatened the investigator to stay away in order to avoid physical harm."
He licked his fingers then signaled the waitress to bring another cannoli. "So, what? You and Zelda tailed this guy for Enders and all this other stuff fell in your lap? You like this 'guy' for killing Jansen? Because unlike everybody else, you think your buddy was murdered?"
I nodded. "Uh-huh."
The waitress brought the cannoli and placed it on the table. Daniels thanked her and ordered six more to go. "Does this guy have a name?"
I angled in my seat and stretched my legs across the bench. "That's the thing. I can't tell you his name."
Daniels stopped, cannoli mid-way to his mouth. "You just told me everything else, but the name you withhold?” He wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “How am I supposed to look into this guy then, ESP? Or did you plan to send me an anonymous tip written in pasted letters that you cut out of magazines?”
I squinted at him. “I’m serious, Daniels.”
He scoffed. “A serious pain in the ass.” He shrugged. “No name, no can do. Even if I wanted to, and I’m pretty sure I don’t."
I frowned. "Can't you poke around the wife's background? It should be easy enough to find out she was having an affair and with whom."
Daniels finished his cannoli and burped into a napkin. He leaned back and draped an arm over the back of the booth. "And what might the probable cause be for that?" He cocked an eyebrow. “Scotti says so?”
"You could say it was an anonymous tip." He gave me a thumbs down. "Or that Ron’s sister asked you to look into it? As a courtesy to her, you're checking a few things." I dug into my bag. "I can get her on the phone, if you want to talk to her." I nodded and pointed at him. "In fact, you should talk to her again. She told me things that I bet she didn't tell you.” I found my phone and scrolled through it for Donna's number. “She was so upset the first time, she probably didn't think to mention them."
Daniels held up his hands. "Hold the phone."
I stopped scrolling and looked up. "What?"
No twinkling eyes, no soft smirk, just that serious cop face he had sometimes.
"I’m not convinced."
I set the phone down on the table. "Okay, how can I convince you then?"
"Some actual details would be nice." He burped again. “Like for instance, this clown’s name?”
I lowered my voice. "Nobody can know it came from me. You understand? You can't even tell Davis or Fuller — or whoever your partner is these days." He took in a disapproving breath. "I'm se
rious, Daniels."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine."
Without giving him Beidemeyer’s name, I told him everything else. From the initial surveillance to the confrontation at the farmer's market.
Daniels smirked. "He really gave you the, 'I've killed men with my bare hands,' line? What a putz." He slurped down the rest of his coffee and studied me for a minute. "I’ll poke around a little more. But if it don’t pan out, that’s it. You read me?"
"Thanks. I owe you one, Daniels."
"Actually, it's two."
"Right you are."
I paid the dinner tab and drove Daniels back to the station house. "So, you'll call Donna?"
"Yes Scotti, I'll call Donna. And I'll talk to the widow's neighbors. And if something pans out you’ll be the first to know.” He opened the car door and moved his enormous bulk out of the seat. The car springs sighed with relief. “Though, why I do these things for you, I don't know."
"Sure you do, I make the best pies in town." I winked.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Much as I dreaded facing Zelda, I went home. I was ready to make up and apologize. There was a good chance she’d reject me, but I had to try anyway. And I’m just not good at holding grudges.
But except for the food truck sleeping by the back wall, the parking pad was empty. I felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. I didn’t want to go another round with Zelda, but I couldn’t stand the riff between us.
Boomer raced around the living room when I walked into the house. The lights and A/C were off, and there wasn’t even a fan running for the little guy. I scooped him up and held him close. “Hey Booms.” He was so happy to see me, he trembled and whimpered between welcome home licks. I held him until he calmed down, then gave him a can of his favorite dog food. Once he cooled off and had a full belly, he slept feet up in his bed, running in his doggie dreams.
I went to the fridge for a club soda and caught sight of the keys and envelope on the butcher-block. The keys were for the food truck and the envelope had my name written on the front in Zelda's loopy cursive. The note simply said she had an emergency and would be gone for a few days. She neither addressed me in the note nor signed her name to it. "And the feud continues."
I sat at the butcher-block and drank my club soda. The house was so quiet that every creak or sigh made me jumpy. Refusing to let Zelda get me down, I marched outside to the food truck. I unlocked the driver’s door and looked inside. I hadn't driven the damn thing since we first got it. For good reason — I sucked at navigating the big green monster, especially when backing up and switching lanes. But I could do it if I had to. The next day's route was nearby in North Hollywood, so I could drive surface streets and avoid the freeway. Which was good because I'd piss off fewer drivers that way. I locked the cab and walked to the rear of the truck and climbed in.
I checked stock, made a list and restocked. When I finished, I climbed out of the back and locked the door. Leaning against the bumper I sighed. I didn't know how long Zelda would punish me, but I did know that it would be a long and shitty week. I pushed off the back bumper for the house and noticed the gate was open. "What the hell?"
Cursing, I went to the gate and examined it. Nothing appeared to be broken. The exterior panel was intact, the key mechanism untampered. Nothing had blocked or obstructed the gate, the wheels or the tracking. I huffed, hit the button and waited while the gate chugged closed. Then I took my key and locked it from the inside — tugging and shaking it to ensure the lock was engaged.
Though it was early evening and not yet dark, the deepening shadows around my house and yard provided plenty of cover. I sensed someone was watching me from them and looked around furtively. "Hello? Is anyone here?"
"Hello? Scotti?"
I jumped at the responding voice. "Who's there?"
Hinges creaked and metal rattled. "It's Marge, Scotti." My next door neighbor. We share a communal gate and look out for each other.
I let out a sigh and peered into the gloom. "Where are you?"
Marge stepped around the food truck and smiled. "Right here, honey." Her lanky silhouette instantly recognizable even in the dim light. She walked toward me. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah." I hooked my head toward the gate. "I guess I left the gate open. For a minute I thought maybe somebody broke in, but I probably just forgot. I'm fine."
We walked toward each other until we met in the middle. Marge studied me with sharp bird-like eyes. "You sound a little spooked." She put her hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong?"
I shook my head. "Zelda's out of town for a few days, and I got this crank call the other night. Just overreacted when I noticed the gate was open.”
Marge nodded. "Yeah, gets lonesome fast when you're used to always having someone around doesn’t it?" She jerked a thumb toward her yard. "I can lend you Daisy for a couple of days." Marge had a Doberman who was fiercely protective of me and Boomer, her best friend. “She’ll run off anything that moves and scare the pants off them in the process.”
I patted her hand. "No thanks. I'm fine. If I get too lonely, I'll ask Ted to stay over until Zelda gets back."
Marge nodded. "That might be wise. Louise down the block told me we had a couple of break-ins on Hillhaven." She chuckled. "Or I could lend you Miss Luger?" Marge was a former Marine sergeant who had a vast collection of hand guns. “She shoots first and asks questions later.” She slapped her thigh. “And no dog poop to clean up neither.”
I laughed. "Thanks but I'd probably just shoot myself in the foot." I gave her arm a squeeze. "I'm fine. No need to worry.” I looked toward the house. “In fact, I'm going out in a few minutes, so I should get ready."
Marge nodded then strode toward the communal gate. "I'll keep an eye on the place while you're gone. Night." She disappeared behind the food truck, and I heard the gate rattle, creak and close. “Don’t stay out too late.”
Casting a final look at the gate I turned and went inside. Boomer was awake and alternately yawning and licking his paws. I called Donna and asked if I could drop by. I had nothing to tell her, but I didn’t want to sit in my empty house, stare at walls and creep myself out either.
Donna welcomed the idea of a visit, and I wondered if she was going a little bats sitting in an empty house like me. Before leaving, I checked and double-checked all the windows and doors. If somebody was screwing with me, then they ‘d have to work a little harder to invade my space.
<<>>
When I pulled up to Donna's modest two bedroom stucco, she was sitting on the porch steps smoking a cigarette. She waved and stubbed out her smoke. I came up the walk with Boomer under my arm. "Hi. Hope you don't mind, my dog gets separation anxiety.”
Donna smiled at Boomer who wriggled in my arms. "Well, isn't he the cutest little thing. Hey boy."
I set Boomer down and he ran to Donna, sniffing and wagging his stub as he sat on the stoop next to Donna. "You must be a dog person. He really likes you."
Donna laughed when Boomer jumped in her lap and licked her face. "Yeah, we had dogs when we were kids. I should go down to the shelter and adopt one. It's been a while since I had something this sweet and snuggly." She moved Boomer off her lap and set him down on the steps between us. "What's his name?"
"Boomer."
She slapped her thigh and let out a belly laugh. “Don’t that beat all?”
I laughed and snorted. "Little dog but big attitude, right?"
Donna offered me coffee, but caffeine was the last thing I needed. "Okay then," her ebony eyes searched mine, "What do you have to tell me?"
I sighed. "Not much. But I talked to Detective Daniels, and he agreed to look into things. He may call and want to talk to you again."
Donna nodded. "That's fine. I'll tell him anything he wants to know."
I patted her back. "I wish I had better news than that. But at least it's something."
Donna took my hand and squeezed it. "Something is always better than nothing. I appreciate that you care so much. Y
ou're good people, Scotti."
I smiled while I felt guilty about withholding what I knew about Beidemeyer and Marika. But knowing about the affair would only enrage Donna and cause her pain. At least, that's what I told myself.
"You're good people too, Donna." We sat side by side looking up at the stars and enjoying the cool evening breeze. "Have you thought of anything else that might be connected to Ron's death?"
Donna shook her head. "Not a thing." She turned to me. "It's just a feeling." She pushed a fist into her solar plexus. "Right here. You know what I'm saying?"
M.urder R.eady to E.at (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 2) Page 18