“You mean heels,” Dinkie-Do said.
“I say what I mean, Blue Streak. Ain’t you never seen the Roller Derby Queen? She wears wheels, not heels. Uh-huh.”
“Hey, you two are supposed to be watching what’s going on, not jabbering.” Annoyed, I didn’t mean to take it out on them, but it was nearly three. We were working on beauty-sleep hours, and there was no hope of waking into a wrinkle-puffy-free morning. Anticipating my wilting face made me grouchy.
“Whooey. Drop us off,” Carlye announced. Hunter revved the motor into outer-space drive. “My baby can’t afford me getting hurt.”
Hunter ignored Carlye and skidded around two more sharp-right corners. “We’re close.” The engine roared.
“Oh my, Honey, big bumps land smooth in this ride.” Dinkie-Do’s voice was rushed.
“D’you smoke something funny and bump your head? She ain’t your Honey,” Carlye moaned. “You tryin’ to make me sound like Shazam, repeating myself?”
Umbrellas of color emerged above the treetops near my building. Shooting blazes highlighted the sky, and emergency sirens screamed behind us. A mob of onlookers had descended across the street and gazed toward my building and the blazing sky.
“Party’s getting started,” Carlye said. “I’m not dressed for this except for my lucky perfume.” She took a long whiff of her wrists and closed her eyes. “Very relaxing. You ought to get you some.”
I shook my head at her. Now wasn’t the time to discuss perfume.
“You best reorder, Honey.” Dinkie-Do pointed above at the exploding fireworks. Hunter raced to the back of my building. Windows shattered and crashed. Alarms wailed. Clouds of colored smoke billowed.
Shocked at the sight, I angled back at Carlye, who continued to talk as she pointed toward the dumpster, the ricocheting sparks, multiple explosions, and continuing fireworks. “That there sight is just beautiful.”
Hunter parked at the opposite end of the parking lot, and I opened the door and jumped down. Emergency sirens were getting close. The building wasn’t on fire. But the dumpster was.
“I thought my building had been bombed.” I wasn’t unhappy to see it erect, but I was surprised the glass was shattered.
“Explosions can shake the earth enough to shatter windows. Some of the fireworks could have backfired and acted like a bomb,” Hunter said. “Look for a remote operator. Display fireworks like this don’t just happen. Don’t blink—be aware of your surroundings.”
“Don’t blink,” I said. “Be aware of your surroundings,” I repeated robot-like. I had visions of Laurel getting shredded with bullets. My skin felt taut, like I was a lightning rod attracting danger.
“Let’s wait till law enforcement clears the area before you go all Lone-Ranger on us,” Hunter said.
I opened the door.
“Damn. Security cameras have been pulled down. I saw only wires. That must have triggered the building alarm.” Hunter grabbed for my arm. “Stay here till I give the all clear.”
“My life.” I slid out.
“That’s why I’m the lookout,” Carlye said.
Hunter pushed onlookers back, and he checked the back doors of the salon and the café. They were both locked. And then he checked the parking lot perimeter.
Dinkie-Do hopped out of the truck, slammed the door, and skated a few paces.
I leaned in and over the front seat to face Carlye. “Keep your phone on picture, pull out your spray. If you get out, stay upwind so EMS doesn’t get distracted with your scent. Stay clear of flying sparks.” I slammed the door and caught up to Dinkie-Do.
He gave me a shoulder-wiggle pause. “Honey. I’ll follow you anywhere, but you’ll be adding extensions to this beloved head if Dinkie-Do’s do gets melted.” He snapped a selfie and trailed slightly behind me toward our smoky, exploding dumpster.
Smoldering garbage was ghastly, but I’d learned curiosity overcame disgust, especially when someone might be in danger. My dancing feet quickly figured that while flames were frightening, dodging fireworks sparks was a lot like playing parking-lot Zumba.
The closer we got to the dumpster, the more I felt like we were trapped in a bad thriller. Careful to stay clear of flames to avoid explosion of the aerosol in my left hand, my right-hand Taser ready, I plunged forward. Dinkie-Do coughed hoarsely, but I didn’t let that distract me. I came upon a tree branch and instead of stepping over it, I stuffed my hairspray under my arm and picked up the branch. I called out to Dinkie-Do, “Aim your phone flashlight on the dumpster. Let’s look for a computer around the outside.”
I stopped. Three feet was as close as I was getting to explosives.
“Honey, from your berry lips to my hand.” Dinkie-Do scanned with his phone flashlight. He slowly rocked it back and forth ahead of us. The fireworks were beginning to pace down.
“Do that again.” I side-winded over to the right side of the dumpster, where the first fire engine had parked alongside a police car. I ignored the commotion. “Project the light onto the ground.” From my pocket, I flipped him my cell. “Keep flashing. I want this documented.” I didn’t remember seeing the blue tarp that now lay next to the dumpster. I bent, and with the toe of my boot prodded it slightly upward, and then I flicked the tarp toward the back of the dumpster. Oddly strewn stacks of newspapers showed. I toed the edge of the top papers and watched a few slide off. Something.
I gasped.
I threw off more papers. I worked speedily.
As the papers thinned, I focused on what I thought was an animal. Hands shaking, I aimed the Taser with my right hand and plucked off the remainder of the closest stack of newspapers with the stick. I squinted. Oddly colored strands of—human hair? It played against the shooting lights. I stepped in closer. Intense heat emanated from the still-blazing fireworks. I tossed the papers further from the dumpster, and my brain fired sparklers. The top of my head was buzzing down to my ears. Was I wrong? Had the overpopulated up-north bear population made it to the city?
I bent. “Shine the light. There’s something familiar about—” And there she was.
Jurisa Haddes.
I dropped the stick, slid Taser and spray inside my pockets. I checked her pulse and breath.
“Oh, Honey.” Dinkie-Do snapped pictures from a few feet to within inches. “Ghastly. She looks like she’s wearing ghoulish Halloween,” he paused thoughtfully then said, “Perfect makeup effects line.” He sent over-emphasized arm signals to the uniforms, who’d just parked their flashing vehicles and jumped out. Hands on holsters, they ran over with the firemen.
“Step away.” The serious fireman edged in from the rear and didn’t offer anything besides the order.
I obeyed and cocked my head toward Dinkie-Do. With a stiff bob of his head, a twist and a wiggle he aimed toward the truck with me. I hadn’t seen his eyes that wide since the leaky Plasti-gal incident.
We double-timed it as the fireman and his team hovered over Judge Haddes and handled her like a porcelain doll. In rhythm with the blaring crack of the fireworks, they checked her vitals, stuck an IV in her arm, slapped on a neck brace, surrounded her, picked her up, slid her onto a backboard and loaded her into the newly arrived ambulance. She was stiff enough to be dead. No sound, no movement, no signs of breath. I hadn’t heard a peep. I wondered if she’d ever peep again. A lump in my throat formed.
With the shock of Jurisa’s wilted body under the tarp and newspaper, I didn’t immediately notice the police officers flanking my shoulders. This wasn’t how perfume was supposed to capture men.
Chapter Seventy-Two
“Hooroo, officers. I need to speak with my client unless you’re hauling her away in the divvy van.” Sebastian’s fingertip strength jolted my right shoulder and infused me with newfound energy. His step-in-and-rescue maneuver reminded me to lose the Taser into the truck.
The officer on my left broke stride
and marched across the parking lot toward the truck, where another uniformed officer stood kissing-close to Carlye, who was outside it. That officer curled his finger in the come-over command to my attached officers, and they dumped me like a cold rinse.
Sebastian blocked my view of everything that wasn’t him. “Let’s file out of here before they decide to give you that divvy van ride.”
Before I could answer, Carlye reached us and pointed to the fireworks. “Why’d those firemen have to go and ruin those happy pops of color?”
“They’re illegal and a fire hazard. And, when they exploded, they shattered the salon windows.” I studied Carlye’s unscathed reaction to the whole situation including finding Judge Haddes. It occurred to me I shouldn’t be surprised.
“In my neighborhood, fireworks arise on regular occasions. Like when someone wins some scratch in the lottery.”
“Four words.” I held up four fingers. “Not at my salon.”
Sebastian tapped his boot. “You Sheilas can discuss fairy floss later.”
“Who you calling a fairy?” Carlye demanded.
“Never mind him.” Sebastian’s Australian slang was nothing but trouble. I pointed her attention toward the truck. “Sebastian will take me home. Go with Hunter, who is where?”
“With the firemen.” Sebastian pointed to the dumpster.
“Ah, dumpster dive.” I wanted to stick around for it, but I was fearful officers would realize I was still available for bond condition: search-without-warrant-and-arrest bait.
“Where did Dexter disappear to?” I asked.
“Redirected to the hospital to figure out the real story of what happened to Haddes before there is any kind of lockdown on information,” Sebastian said. We scooted into his vehicle.
“Going home, Judge?” Grayson’s voice boomed through Sebastian’s window. “Very interesting that you, our key suspect, found our person of interest.”
I leaned forward. “See that’s where telephone tag gets it wrong,” I said. “I’m not the key suspect. I’m the wrongly accused.”
“Yeah, well you found Haddes.” Grayson mumbled into his radio—something I couldn’t understand.
“Like the Wise Men,” I said. “We followed the lights in the sky.” I placed my hand over Sebastian’s and stopped him from driving away. I chin pointed to the scene in front of us.
An officer paraded out from behind the dumpster holding a black metal box. His hands were gloved. Fredericks ran over to meet him, pulled open a large evidence bag, scribbled something on it, and dropped the box inside. The officer sealed the bag, walked to his patrol car and locked it inside his trunk.
Fredericks, gloves removed, ambled toward us. “A remote-control box was found about ten feet behind the dumpster. Controlled the fireworks. You know anything about that?” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his trusty notepad.
“I barely know how to use my phone. It’s five. I’m tired. I’m free. I’m leaving.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
In the morning, the officers guarding Jurisa’s hospital room didn’t want to let me see her, but we compromised. I got 15 minutes with her and not alone.
Badge 67 was on me like a clarifier and wasn’t leaving till rinse-time. Jurisa’s husband was asleep on the lounge chair next to the bed. He opened one eye, lifted a wave and resumed snoring. He looked more wiped out than she did.
An IV line fed into her arm, and another monitor with a bouncing thread gave the appearance of stable breathing. Okay, it verified Judge Haddes had body heat; there were times I’d wondered.
I leaned over the bed rail to study her. A few scratches on her right temple with a hint of bruising, her lips were swollen, dry, cracked, bloodstained—scabby.
“Jurisa?” Finger poke. “Jurisa? It’s Nicoletta. Do you need anything?” I dragged a chair to the edge of her bed, sat, and peered at my contorted reflection in the metal bed frame.
The officer perched himself against the wall.
“Jurisa?”
This time Jurisa’s eyes fluttered. Her forehead creased. She clawed the sheets.
“I have questions—if you’re up to answering.” I rested my arms on her bed. “I’m convinced what happened to you, Laurel, Noel, Pete Dune, and Judge Donnettelli are related.”
I saw real fear in her eyes. Was she scared of me or someone else? A loud annoyed whine escaped her. It was the first time I’d seen a human emotion from her, which meant I could get to her. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
Jurisa jetted a cold dark glare.
I kept my voice steady. “If you’re not proactive, whoever did this could try again. You have nothing to lose by helping me.”
Her voice low, it cracked as she spoke. “I’m now a suspect.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t kill him.” Her voice was a pebbly whisper.
“I have ankle jewelry. You’re being protected and aren’t under arrest.” Who was she kidding? She might as well claim she didn’t use hair color.
Her hands dropped to her chest. “Water. Please, my water?”
I helped her sit up, placed the Styrofoam cup from the bed stand into her frail fingers, and waited.
She released the cup back to me.
When she lay back, I asked, “What do you recall?”
“They knew me.” She shook her head. “Two men in masks. I didn’t know them.”
“Did they use your name?”
“Yes. They knew a lot about the court.” Her eyes looked swollen.
“What did they want to know from you?” I asked.
“Insider details.”
“About what?”
“New filings, case files, clerk’s office. It’s a blur.”
“Did you get the idea they might be upset lawyers?”
“Lawyers? No. They knew the kind of detailed information trained court clerks learn.”
“Our clerks?” I stiffened.
Jurisa shook her head. Her frail body almost looked like she was seizing. “Our court personnel staff wouldn’t, couldn’t do this.”
I hoped that was true, and it was likely the first thing I’d agreed with Jurisa on in a long time. But she had motive to kill Donnettelli over a lover’s spat or a scheme involving the asbestos cases.
“The men wanted me to cooperate, but I couldn’t help them.” Jurisa closed her eyes tightly and her balled hands shook. “They didn’t believe me.”
“Cooperate how?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I believed her.
She opened her eyes and studied my face. I remained emotionless despite my churning innards.
“They assumed I knew everything about Warren—whatever he was into. They assumed he’d let me in, that I’d participate since I hadn’t ratted anyone out. I wouldn’t do something wrong.” She paused. “I’m shocked I’m alive.”
Her skeletal underweight face lied very well. I wanted to scream: Cheating on your husband is wrong, and you are lying which is wrong. So, you could be involved, did know something, and if so someone has motive to get rid of you or send a serious warning to be quiet. I didn’t have time to fight and felt the pressure of Badge 67’s presence. “What do you recall last?”
“They forced me down, held me, and injected me. I woke up here.” An uncharacteristic tear blossomed. She didn’t acknowledge it.
I wasn’t sure she noticed it. I went in for the final spritz. “They didn’t kill you because they’re still counting on you to help.” I said, “Someone thinks you know something or have something important as a result of your relationship with Donnettelli.” I left it at that. She could interpret what I meant by relationship. She wasn’t a dumb woman.
Slight jitters morphed into a tremble through her arms and shoulders. “Help with what?” She was so fragile she looked like a child playing hospital. “Have or know what?” She said it m
ore like a challenge than like she didn’t know the answer.
I was game to play. I smoothed her blankets over her, sat, and focused solely on her expression before I uttered a proposal. Okay, maybe it was a challenge. “Check out Donnettelli’s reassignment of cases without notice, request, or cause.”
Her face froze.
“Unless you knew,” I added. That sparked her eyes into widening. I just couldn’t decide if I’d witnessed surprise from the mere thought, or shock that I’d figured it out.
“Why don’t you just go to prison?” That seemed to take all her energy, and she turned her face away, and closed her eyes. But then added, “Or, simply leave. You can afford to hide anywhere in the world.”
Had she been the one sending me warnings? How would she know whether or not I could afford anything?
Badge 67 thrust a beefy wrist between Jurisa’s crinkled face and mine. With a wide pointer finger, he clicked a fingernail against the face of his wristwatch.
I stood and said goodbye to Jurisa’s protectors.
On my way out, my phone vibrated in my back pocket. Down the hospital a few steps outside officer view, I read a text from Trisha. “Noel in today for haircut. Stressed. It’s urgent. He must speak with you.”
I love it when a suspect wants to talk.
Chapter Seventy-Four
By the time I reached my station, Dinkie-Do and Carlye were busy combing and cutting, and Noel sat with his arms wrapped around his backpack and his feet propped up on my station counter.
Dinkie-Do pointed at me with one very mobile hip. “Honey, you’re in need of a Dinkie-Do special.”
“Gee, thanks.” It was true, but the announcement was like an unruly white hair corking up.
“Yeah, she can’t help it. Fireworks and bodies popping up in the middle of the starry night.” Carlye wagged her head. “All these creepy calamities forced me to leave my Shazam at home.”
As expected, Trisha marched toward me with resolve and the appointment book clasped to her chest. “Judge, Hunter posted a man outside, who is checking everyone for appointments and not letting in anyone without one. He’s interfering with walk-ins, he is.” Her brogue got thicker. “He comes in and inspects room-to-room about once an hour.” She looked alarmed.
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