“You’re all right,” he said with relief as he helped me on with my coat.
It felt good to be cared for. “Didn’t you believe me?” I had phoned him on the way home and told him I’d been in a traffic accident but was unharmed.
“I thought you didn’t want to worry me. You’re sure you’re up to this, Molly?”
“I’m sure.”
I was exhausted and achy, but I’d canceled too many dates and appointments in the past week. Tonight was the last time we’d see each other until the wedding, and I wanted the evening to be special.
On the way to his car we stopped to look at my Acura.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” he said when we were in his Honda. He buckled his seat belt. “How did you get the front and side damaged at the same time?”
I told him what had happened and saw his lips tighten, the way they had when I’d narrated my run-in with the redhead.
“You must have been terrified,” he said quietly.
“Pretty much.” In my mind I saw the SUV barreling toward me, pressing the Acura against the rails. I heard the screech of metal against metal. “I haven’t told my family, so don’t say anything.”
“You should probably bentch gomel,” Zack said, referring to the special prayer you say to thank God when you’ve survived a dangerous situation or journey. “It’s ridiculous how many lunatics there are on the road,” he added, with a surge of anger that shook his voice.
I could have left it at that. “I’m not sure it was road rage. Last night at the deli, Randy’s sponsor, Max, thought someone was watching me. When I turned around to see who it was, the person was walking out the door.”
“The person?”
He sounded calmer than I’d expected. “Max couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. He or she was wearing a hat.”
“And you think this person may have followed you to Pasadena today?”
I shrugged. “It sounds crazy when you say it, doesn’t it? That’s why I didn’t mention it to the cop. I don’t think he believed there was an SUV. I plan to tell Connors tomorrow, though.”
Zack nodded. “Good.”
“It could be road rage.”
He inserted the key into the ignition slot but didn’t turn it. “Suppose someone did follow you and try to run you off the road. Why would anyone do that?”
“I was thinking about Bramer, the director of Rachel’s Tent. Or Randy’s mother. Her name is Richardson now. I met her today.” I told Zack how I’d found her. “She has a dark green SUV. I didn’t notice the make, because the son’s car was parked in front of it, and I was watching him.”
Zack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “So she tried to kill you to keep her ex-husband from finding out she’s been living half an hour away all these years? I can’t see that as a motive, Molly. It’s not that big a deal. And if you found her, someone else could.”
“But no one else is looking. And maybe she’s not worried about her ex-husband. Maybe she doesn’t want Richardson to find out that she walked out on her first husband and two kids.”
“It’s more of a motive,” Zack agreed. “If the new husband doesn’t know about her past. But would she kill you for that?” He shrugged. “What about Bramer?”
I explained about Charlie and her new red thread and my theory. “Maybe Bramer is worried that I’ll discover the truth and make it public.”
“You could say the same about Horton. From what you said, Rachel’s Tent is very important to him.”
“His baby.” It was a valid point. “But Horton has a hundred businesses, Zack. Bramer has only Rachel’s Tent and his reputation.”
“Talk to Connors. Let him check it out.” Zack turned on the ignition.
“I found out Brian’s last name, by the way,” I said as we pulled away from the curb. “From San Diego? It’s Warfield. I Googled him last night and got a business address for a real estate company. But I have no way of knowing whether he’s the right Brian Warfield. And I still don’t know his connection to the redhead or how she had his phone.”
“Maybe they’re married, and she borrowed it that day you met her.”
“Why would she do that?”
Zack shrugged. “Because hers wasn’t working, and she was driving up to L.A.? Because she didn’t want to be traced? You said she was terrified that someone was following her.”
I thought about that on the way to the restaurant.
“You know what I can’t figure out?” I said when Zack was parking the car. “Even at thirty-six dollars each, Randy would have had to sell an awful lot of threads to afford the Porsche and everything else I saw in his apartment.”
He looked at me. “Meaning?”
“He was getting money from something else.”
“So we’re back to drugs?”
“Or something else. But I have no idea what.”
We didn’t talk about anything connected to Randy or Aggie during dinner, and I welcomed the respite. A number of people we’d invited to the wedding came over to wish us mazel tov, but for the most part we were left alone in a corner booth that gave us privacy and a sense of intimacy. The steak-for-two topped with caramelized onions was delicious, and my mood was mellow, enhanced by the soft glow of the candles and the chocolate torte I had for dessert and two glasses of champagne that flushed my face—or maybe it was the way Zack kept looking at me all night and the things we said.
But by ten-thirty, when we were standing in front of my apartment door, the Advil was wearing off and I craved a hot bath and sleep.
“It’s just as well,” Zack said. “I promised I’d help my parents with the seating arrangements.”
“The S word.” I yawned. “I can’t imagine not seeing you for seven days. Who made up this rule?”
“Not me.” He leaned in close enough to kiss me, close enough so that I could smell the musk of his aftershave and see flecks of gold in his gray-blue eyes. “We can still see each other tomorrow.”
“Until four-something tomorrow, right?” I felt like Cinderella at the ball. “Can you get away for lunch?”
“I have a noon meeting. How about breakfast?”
“I’m seeing another man.” I told him about my date with Isaac. “You’re sure you don’t want to come in?” Suddenly I wasn’t so tired.
“I should let you sleep. We’ll figure out something for tomorrow.”
Inside my apartment, I locked the door and slid the dead bolt. The packages UPS had delivered were on the living room sofa, where I’d left them. I picked them up and was about to take them to the guest room when the doorbell rang.
Zack, I thought. I dropped the packages and opened the door and saw Ron slouching in the doorway. My ex-husband is tall and blond and handsome—an Adonis, according to his parents. They probably told him that often enough so that he believes it, which I think accounts for his assumption that the world revolves around him and that he can do no wrong.
“So are you going to let me in, babe?”
I never particularly liked being called “babe” when we were married and had told him so. I like it less now.
“It’s kind of late, Ron. I’ve had a rough day.”
“I won’t stay long. I was in the neighborhood and saw Zack leave. I wanted to drop off the response card.”
That’s why there are mailboxes. I stepped out of the way and let him into the apartment we had shared for fourteen months, some of them happy. I’m sure he was thinking the same thing as he glanced around.
“Everything looks pretty much the same,” he said. “We had good times here, didn’t we, babe?”
“Ron—”
“I didn’t fill this out yet.” He removed an envelope from a pocket of his black leather jacket. “I figured I’d let you do it.” He extended the card toward me.
I shook my head. “It’s your decision, Ron. I can understand that you might feel uncomfortable. But if you want to come, we’re happy to have you.”
“What about you, Molly? Wh
at do you want?” He put the card back in his pocket. “Remember in The Graduate, when Katharine Ross is about to tie the knot, and Dustin Hoffman yells, ‘Elaine! Elaine!’ And she leaves Mr. Perfect at the altar and runs out of the church with Dustin Hoffman. Dustin stopped her from making the biggest mistake of her life, Molly.”
His speech sounded a little slurred, and I wondered if he’d had a few drinks. “You’re not the Dustin Hoffman character, Ron. I’m not Elaine.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “You don’t want to be a rabbi’s wife, Molly.”
“It comes with the package, Ron. I want to marry Zack. I am marrying Zack.” I moved his hand away. “I think you should go home.”
“I’ve changed, you know. I realize I blew it big-time. I hurt you badly, and I’m very sorry about that. You don’t know how sorry.”
I nodded. I was sure he meant what he was saying. He’d said it often in the past, and had meant it then, too, every time. But as Bubbie G says, you can’t put sorry in your pocket.
“The point is, Molly, I’m not that guy anymore. I could make it work this time.”
“I’m sure you will, Ron. You’ll find someone special and make her very happy,” I said, though I wasn’t sure at all.
He moved closer, until his face was inches from mine. “Are you saying you never think about me, Molly? Don’t you miss what we had?”
I could have told him that my memories were mostly sad and painful, that what we had was probably an illusion from the start, that I had fallen for his looks and his quick humor and a zest for life that had temporarily filled the void left by Aggie’s murder. I don’t know what Ron had fallen for. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been enough to hold his interest.
“I’m moving on, Ron. You should, too.” I walked to the door and opened it. “Let me know what you decide about the wedding.”
He nodded slowly and followed me to the door. “Hey, I’m moving on, babe. I moved on long ago.” He put his hand on the doorknob and smiled. “I was just kidding around, Molly. You knew that, right?”
“Right.” For the first time in years I felt sorry for him.
“I’m glad you’re happy. I really am.” Before I could protest, he leaned over and kissed my cheek. “So if I come to the wedding, can I bring a date?”
With Ron, it’s always about appearances, although in this instance I couldn’t blame him. “Let me know her name and I’ll have a place card for her.”
After he left, I took two Advil tablets and checked my answering machine. My mother had called, and Edie. I had shut off my cell phone so that Zack and I wouldn’t be interrupted during dinner. I turned it on now and learned that Charlie had left a message.
“You can call me till eleven,” she’d said.
It was five after eleven now, but I placed the call. “Her name is Iris,” Charlie told me. “The woman at Rachel’s Tent who left suddenly? I phoned a friend who I met at the agency, and she remembered. It was really bugging me.”
“Would your friend be willing to talk to me?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. She doesn’t like to talk about her past, and—”
“And what?” I prompted.
“She never said, but I think she had a bad experience while she was at Rachel’s Tent. Not with the agency. She loved the agency. We all did.” Charlie sounded eager to get that point across. “Anyway, I’ll ask her and get back to you.”
Drugs? I wondered.
Still thinking about Charlie’s friend, I sat at my desk and wrote notes about what I’d accomplished today. I had found Randy’s mother. I had learned about his scam. I wondered if one of those discoveries was connected to the SUV that had tried to run me off the road tonight. Or maybe it was road rage, or something else.
I went online and tried to find a Diana Warfield in San Diego, but there was no listing. I wasn’t surprised. People who disguise themselves to attend funerals and are terrified that someone is following them have unlisted phone numbers. And maybe Diana’s last name wasn’t Warfield.
The clippings were on my desk. I looked at them again and focused on the one with the crime digest.
An ATM robbery, a police shooting, a body found in a grave, a drug bust, a gang shooting, a domestic violence arrest. Different types of crimes that had taken place in different parts of the city. Something in the digest had been important enough to make Randy hold on to it. I had thought that it was the drug bust that had resulted in a third strike for the offender, but maybe not.
I turned on my computer and went online. Then I accessed the L.A. Times archives and typed in variations of key words related to each of the crimes mentioned in the digest.
An hour later I went to bed, tired but no wiser.
thirty-eight
Wednesday, February 25. 10:45 A.M. 5900 block of Green Valley Circle. A Los Angeles man told police that he got a hotel room for his daughter whom he had just met three months earlier. The woman told the man that she had left her pager in the car and wanted the keys to go out and get it. Three hours went by and the woman still hadn’t returned. The man, 55, reported that the woman took his 2003 Cadillac Escalade without his permission. (Culver City)
“OF ALL THE POLICE STATIONS IN ALL THE TOWNS IN ALL the world, she walks into mine,” Connors said.
“Enjoy.” I tossed a box of Krispy Kremes on his desk.
Connors glanced at the box. “Is this a bribe?”
“Half a bribe, and it’s not even from me. My landlord bought them for our coffee date this morning and insisted I take the rest.” Isaac doesn’t keep kosher, but he makes sure to buy kosher goodies when he invites me to his place.
“Two-timing the rabbi a week before the wedding?” Connors smiled.
“If you recall, my landlord is seventy-eight, although he is kind of cute. Do you have a few minutes, Andy?”
“Few is the operative word. I have a court appearance at one, which is why I’m wearing a suit, and the D.A. wants to meet with me before that. I’m going to get coffee to go with the doughnuts. Want some?”
I’d had two cups with Isaac, so I declined. While Connors was gone I pulled over a chair and eyed the labels on the spines of the “blue books” on his desk. One of them said ROLAND CREELEY.
Connors returned and settled himself in his chair. “I take it this has to do with Randy Creeley.” He selected a doughnut from the box and took a bite.
“I’m not sure.” I told him about the incident with the SUV, watched his expression turn grave. “I’d like to think it was road rage, Andy. It doesn’t thrill me to know that someone is after me. But it’s a little coincidental, don’t you think?”
“I think you’re lucky to be alive,” he said quietly. “What were you doing in Pasadena?”
“Checking out some people Randy sent letters to. Trina gave me a list.”
Connors eyed me over the rim of his cup. “You didn’t mention a list when you were here Monday.”
“I figured I’d check things out first.” Not quite the truth, but not a lie, either. “In case it turned out to be nothing, I didn’t want you to waste your time.”
“Thoughtful of you,” he said, his tone droll. “So what did you find out?”
“Randy was running a scam at Rachel’s Tent.” I explained about the red threads. “Bramer must have been nervous when he found out Randy was planning to send letters to everyone he’d scammed. Suppose he wanted to shut Randy up, permanently?”
“What makes you think Bramer knew Randy’s intentions?”
“There was a check next to Bramer’s name on Randy’s list. Everyone else I talked to whose name was checked had received a letter. Plus Randy made two phone calls to Rachel’s Tent on the morning of the day he died.”
Connors chewed on the doughnut and took a few sips of coffee. “It’s interesting, Molly, but we don’t know what was in the letter, or why Randy called Bramer that morning. We don’t even know who Randy called.”
“A lot of the clients might have sued the agency if they found ou
t they’d been scammed, Andy. Bramer could have lost his job.”
“What about the woman who told you Randy confessed about the fake thread? Is she planning to sue?”
“No, but she feels indebted to Rachel’s Tent. She says the agency saved her life.” I hoped Charlie’s friend was willing to talk to me. I was curious to find out about her “bad experience” at Rachel’s Tent.
“My guess is that most of the clients would feel the same way,” Connors said. “They’d be angry with Creeley, not Bramer. Also, for all Bramer knew, Randy had already mailed his letters, so killing him would be pointless.”
“How would Randy have the names and addresses of all the people who bought or received threads from the agency?”
“He had the address of the woman in Pasadena.”
“Because she stayed in touch with him. Randy told a friend he wanted to make amends for something he’d done, but if he did, he’d be making someone else financially and legally liable.”
“Which friend?”
“I can’t tell you.” I’d given Max my word. And Connors had Randy’s phone. He could track Max down just as I had. “Who else would Randy phone at Rachel’s Tent if not Bramer?”
Connors wiped his mouth. “So what do you want from me?”
“Can you find out what kind of car Bramer drives?”
“You think Bramer was driving the SUV?”
“It’s one possibility.”
“So is road rage. You honked at the driver a couple of times, Molly. You braked on and off. Drivers have gone ballistic over less.”
“I asked Bramer a lot of questions about Randy. They made him uncomfortable. I also talked about Randy to one of the therapists and to Horton. I’m sure Horton must have told Bramer, and the therapist may have, too.”
“So Bramer spent the day following you around?”
“The other night, I thought someone was following me.” I told him about the person in the deli. “I didn’t think anyone was following me yesterday, but that doesn’t mean someone wasn’t.” I nodded in the direction of the “blue book.” “I see you haven’t closed Randy’s case.”
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