Rebel Without A Clue

by Carolyn Scott

  "Dad? Really? For the bank robbery?"

  "Yes. But the case bothered him and for a while, before he quit and started the agency. He couldn't let it go."

  "Do you remember why?"

  She frowned. "No, it was all so long ago. Maybe he thought Lou was innocent."

  After meeting Lou I was pretty sure he was guilty of something. "I doubt that's it."

  "Maybe there were others involved but they were never caught." She shrugged. "Whatever it was, it bothered your father. But then he started the agency and I suppose he got too busy to worry about criminals from his old life. He concentrated more on white collar crime. Like Will does now, I believe."

  "Yeah. He does."

  I gave Mom a hug and promised to come round for dinner that night.

  "Cat? I hope you find the jewels. But be careful. If at any time you think you're in danger, I want you to go to Will or Carl."

  I think that was her way of saying she approved of me going behind Will's back to help Roberta.

  On the drive to Lou's apartment, I thought about what she had said. At least she'd solved the mystery of where I'd heard Lou Scarletti's name before. I doubt Dad had ever mentioned the case to me. I was the last person he'd have a conversation about work with. Make that any kind of conversation. I must have overheard him and Mom talking and something he'd said back then penetrated my sixteen-year-old brain because the Scarletti name had stuck.

  Twenty minutes later I was sitting around the corner from that same man's apartment in my Civic, warring with myself. The adventurous spirit in me wanted to go inside and get the job done. The chicken shit in me just wanted to sink down into the seat and drive back to Mom's and her cozy living room.

  Finally, after weighing up the pros and cons, I decided I had to do it. Giving in just wasn't my style. Besides, Lou was out for the day so I'd be fine. Roberta told me he always drove to his mother's on Wednesdays to do odd jobs around the house and bum a decent meal.

  With a loud exhalation of breath, I checked that I had everything I needed and headed to his apartment.

  I tried convincing myself along the way that I had to do this, for Roberta as well as myself, but the little devil on my shoulder sniggered and sang, "You're gonna get caught, nya nya nya nya nya nya."

  I had a sickening feeling it was right.

  Breaking into homes can be messy. Especially second-floor apartments. The boxy, boring brick building where Lou Scarletti lived housed four apartments, two on the bottom and two on the top. Lou lived in number four.

  Considering cops take a dim view of breaking and entering, I decided to get inside another way. Only I had no idea how.

  I buzzed and, as expected, no one answered. I tried the building's front door but it was locked so I sat on a bench seat in the small courtyard at the front and waited for someone to go in or come out. I felt a little exposed, and if Lou suddenly came home, I'd have to duck behind a shrub. Makeup and a change of clothes wouldn't be enough now. He knew me. A wig would have been better. Live and learn.

  Fifteen minutes later, a woman parked her car in one of the residents' spaces at the side of the building. She hauled out six shopping bags from the trunk, dropping her keys as she tried to close it with her elbow.

  I trotted over. "Let me help." I took the two heaviest bags.

  "Oh, how nice of you. Thanks," she said with a smile. She was fifty-something and wore blue-framed glasses, a knee-length navy skirt and a white blouse. Her short gray hair curled haphazardly over her forehead and ears and her makeup was non-existent. She had an open, friendly face. I like friendly. After The Grotto it was nice to deal with someone who didn't look like they wanted to kill me.

  I followed her to the front door and watched her unlock it, barely breathing.

  "Are you visiting someone?" she asked.

  "Lou, but he's not home. I called him on his cell and he told me to wait till he gets here." I took a gamble that the neighbor didn't know Lou visited his mother on Wednesdays. Since he hadn't lived there long and he didn't seem like the sociable sort, especially when the neighbors weren't poker-playing ex-cons, she probably wasn't familiar with his routine.

  "In that case you might as well come in." She pushed the door open and I followed her into the narrow carpeted foyer. "Are you a friend? Because you're not his girlfriend. I met her." She wrinkled her nose. "I have to say, I don't particularly like her. She's rude. Never says hello, always in a rush to leave." She stopped abruptly and chewed her lip. "Sorry. You probably know her."

  "It's okay. We don't like her either. We preferred his wife, Roberta, but hey, you can't tell family what to do with their love life."

  "Oh, you're related?"

  "Cousin."

  She peered over her glasses at me. "You don't look like Lou."

  "I'm only half-Italian. I take after my father's side, fair-skinned, blue-eyed Irish Catholics." It wasn't a complete lie. My father had been blond before he lost all his hair.

  She brightened. "Well, since you're family, I suppose I could let you into his apartment." She started up the stairs. "You might as well wait inside. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

  I couldn't believe my dumb luck. "You have a key?"

  She nodded. "I didn't want to say anything in case you were going to rob him, but you don't look like a thief."

  Some people are too gullible to be trusted. I made a mental note to take back my spare key from old Mrs. Krenski next door.

  "I'm Sylvia, by the way," I said.

  She introduced herself as Angela. I carried the bags into her kitchen and started to unpack them. Angela removed a single key hanging from one of the hooks lined up beside the microwave and handed it to me.

  I thanked her and she made me promise to tell Lou he was welcome to drop in any time, especially if he brought more of his "nice family" around.

  Moments later, I closed Lou's front door behind me. I leaned against it and blew out a huge sigh. Butterflies flapped around in my stomach like they used to in my acting days. But I'd never acted in front of the camera as brilliantly as I did just now. Move over Nicole Kidman, the Oscar goes to Cat Sinclair for her starring role in I can't believe I just lied my way into someone's home. Dad would have another stroke if he was watching me. Cops (even ex ones) take a dim view of that sort of thing.

  I slipped the key into my jeans pocket and tiptoed around the apartment. It was a similar floor plan to my place—one bedroom, tiny bathroom, living room, kitchenette with breakfast bar. No space for a dining table, just a coffee table, TV and a lumpy brown velour couch. Brown velour pretty much summed up Lou's décor. Very masculine and blech. Not a hint of Valerie, his girlfriend. Not for the first time, I wondered why they didn't live together. It would be logical since he spent a lot of his time at her place and he didn't have much money after being locked up for over a decade.

  I taped the bugging device to the underside of the coffee table because it was the most central place, and started searching for the jewelry box. From what Roberta had told me, I was looking for a rectangular, dark wood box with mother-of-pearl inlaid in a geometric pattern on the lid.

  Lucky for me, there aren't many hiding places in an apartment the size of a shoebox. I checked the cupboards and drawers, under the bed, in the freezer, and the toilet cistern. Nothing. No jewelry box, no jewelry. Just a collection of dust bunnies, a laptop computer bag and a gun.

  I gave the dust and the gun a wide berth and lifted the bag out of the closet. Maybe the computer had some information stored on the hard drive I could use, like the number to a safety deposit box. I started to unzip the bag when I heard a noise at the front door.

  My heart lurched. Lou was back early! FUCK.

  I returned the bag and stepped into the dark closet and closed the door. I hid among the clothes, mostly black shirts and pants, and tried not to breathe in Lou's distinctive body odor. Not so hard considering I could only manage shallow gasps in my fear.

  I screwed up my eyes and prayed to all the gods I could th
ink of that he'd leave straight away and didn't want to change clothes.

  My heart thumped so loudly in my chest I almost didn't hear the footsteps outside the closet until the door slid open. A flashlight beam scanned the closet floor. I sank into the corner.

  What the…? Why was Lou using a flashlight in his own closet? Sure, the back was so dark you'd think it was night, but if it were my closet, I could be blindfolded and still put my finger on anything. Or I'd use the light switch.

  Clear thoughts gave way to a fresh rise of panic as the beam inched closer to my hiding place. I wanted to swipe away the beads of sweat across my top lip but I didn't dare move a muscle. Movement might draw the robber's attention—I was pretty sure it wasn't Lou now—to the pair of women's sneakers among the men's loafers.

  The beam settled on the toe of my sneaker and stopped. So did my heart.

  But my brain didn't. Instead of freezing with fear, it hurtled so far ahead, I'd already imagined my funeral. Forcing myself to focus, I tried to think of ways to get out of the closet and Lou's apartment with my health intact. The most feasible was to kick the flashlight out of the robber's hand and make a run for it while he was distracted.

  On second thought, that wasn't very fool proof. I was five foot three for Christ sakes! What if he wasn't knocked off balance? What if he tackled me, held me down and…? Gulp.

  The flashlight inched along my shoe and up my leg. Okay, I had no other option. I screwed up my fists and prepared to get physical.

  A knock at the front door saved the robber from the humiliation of being defeated in combat by a pint-sized female. The flashlight went out. For a moment, nothing happened. Then there was another knock and I heard the front door open. I'd forgotten to lock it. No wonder every Tom, Dick and robber was letting themselves in.

  "Yoohoo, Sylvia!" Angela. Jeez, didn't she have anything better to do?

  Maybe if I stayed hidden she'd go away.

  But she must know I hadn't left the apartment since the door was unlocked. Besides, the robber knew where I was hiding. He'd seen my shoes. If Angela left, I'd be at his mercy.

  I was considering my options when the robber leapt into the closet next to me. We were separated by a black dinner jacket and a sports coat. I couldn't see his face but from his boots, it was definitely a man. With big feet.

  "I won't tell if you won't," he whispered.

  My breath caught. Oh, Christ. As I saw it, I had only one avenue of escape. Past him.

  I let out my breath slowly. "If you let me go, I'll get us both out of this," I said.

  A hand pushed the jackets to the side and I could just make out a scar over one eye in the dim light.

  Scarface.

  "What are you doing here?" I blurted out in my relief.

  "I could ask you the same question."

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. "Lou asked me round for a…you know."

  "Nice try, Sweetheart, but you're not a hooker or a stripper or his girlfriend."

  Humph. I could look like a hooker if I wanted to. "How do you know?"

  "I just do."

  "Sylvia? Are you in here?" Angela's voice sounded closer, just outside the bedroom.

  I swore softly and pushed past the jackets and Scarface. My rear brushed against him and I paused mid-step as heat shot through me, warming places that hadn't been warmed in a while.

  He caught my arm. "Do we have a deal?" he whispered. He was so close his breath brushed my forehead.

  "Deal."

  He let go and I stepped into the bedroom. I headed for the living room, yawned and stretched. "Oh hi, I was sound asleep."

  "Oh, I'm sorry to wake you," Angela said, "I was just wondering if you wanted to wait at my place. I've just put a pot of coffee on."

  "Sounds good to me." I followed her out, closed the front door and pretended to lock it but actually left it unlocked so Scarface could leave. He'd better thank me for getting him out of there.

  Not that I expected to see him again. Not that I wanted to.

  Angela seemed lonely so I was happy to relieve her of some coffee and tell her about my loud, fun-loving, over-the-top Irish/Italian family. She said she'd love a family like that. Actually, so would I, they sounded pretty cool.

  Half an hour later, I drove home. I assumed Scarface had snuck out while I was telling Angela about my mean boss.

  I had a couple of hours before I was due for dinner at Mom's so I decided to have a miraculous recovery and head into work. Now that I'd successfully planted the transmitter, I needed the receiver so I could listen in to Lou's conversations.

  When I arrived, Gina caught me on the sidewalk. We air kissed each other and I told her I'd been off sick that morning, nudge nudge, wink wink. I didn't want to go into the whole Roberta thing, so I glossed over the reasons and Gina never asked.

  She seemed to be bursting to tell me something. "She's here." Her head jerked towards Knight Investigations' office.

  "Who?"

  "Taaarnya. And she's in diva mode."

  I groaned. "I haven't seen her in a while. How's Will taking her sudden reappearance?"

  "Well," she flapped her hands and leaned in conspiratorially. Gina loves to gossip. I think she'd wither like a fern in the desert if she had no one to talk about. "Carl came into the shop a few minutes ago because he said he couldn't stand the arguing."

  "Arguing?" Maybe Will had wised up to Tanya's prima donna ways. "What about?"

  "He's not giving her enough attention."

  "That's because he's busy."

  Gina shrugged. "That's what he told her. Then they went into his office and Carl came here for some fresh air."

  And to pass on the information. Carl was just as bad as Gina. Whoever said gossiping is purely a female sport never met Carl.

  A customer wandered into Gina's shop so I left her and opened the door to Knight Investigations. Before I stepped inside, a red Camaro pulled out from the curb a few doors up. My heart leapt into my throat. I squinted into the sun but couldn’t make out the plates.

  I hurried inside and slammed the door shut. I scanned the street again through the window but there was no sign of the Camaro. I breathed in deeply and let it out slowly. Calmness and common sense returned.

  It couldn’t have been Lou. He didn't know where I worked. I’d left The Grotto too quickly for him to have followed me home, and even if he found out where I lived by checking my license plates, he hadn’t followed me from there to Mom’s or to the office. I’d have noticed a red Camaro. After the previous evening's entertainment, I was on high alert.

  Carl came out of his office and raised one eyebrow. "Miraculous recovery?"

  "It's amazing what prescription drugs can do these days."

  "Cat?" Will said from where he stood, framed by his office doorway. "I thought I heard your voice. Aren't you sick?"

  "Feeling a lot better." I headed up the corridor. "Actually, I feel like cleaning out the storeroom, so I'll just be in there if anyone needs me."

  He looked at me like I was nuts. I suppose it must seem that way. Not only had I gone to work after calling in sick but I was volunteering to do something even he hadn't asked me to do. The storeroom was a black hole that sucked in paraphernalia and never spat it out again.

  "Glad you're feeling better," he added.

  His door opened wider and Tanya appeared next to him, hand on hip. "I'll have a coffee. Black, no sugar."

  I blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

  "Tanya," Will cut her a warning glance, "Cat doesn't—"

  "And not that awful instant stuff," she said. "I want the real thing from the coffee shop across the road." She crossed her arms and tipped her head back, thrusting out her pointy little chin.

  The cow was begging for an argument. I had no idea why, especially in front of Will, but hey, I never back down from a bitch fight. Anyone who's ever seen me claw my way through the crowds during a shoe sale knows that.

  But Will got in first. "Tanya, Cat isn't at your beck and call." />
  One to Will.

  Tanya's smug smile turned to a pout. "Darling, I'd get it myself but my feet are killing me." No wonder—the toes of her shoes were so sharp, a little kick could put a hole through someone's shin.

  Will sighed and ran a hand through his hair, dragging it down and around his neck. Who could blame him for being stressed with Tanya nearby? I always felt like screaming when she was in the office.

  I felt sorry for Will—twice in two days!—so I decided to help him out and put her in her place. "Fetching coffee might have been your job when you worked here, Tanya," I pronounced it the way she hates, "but it's not mine." I disappeared into the storeroom and shut the door on her shocked gasp. Her shrill complaints to Will filtered through the wall.

  And I thought I had an attitude problem. She took nagging to new heights.

  Will's response was too low to hear but it calmed Tanya down and the office fell silent for a while. I hunted through the mess for a receiver, found it and dropped it in my handbag. I also borrowed a lock pick and an itty bitty camcorder because it looked so cute. Then I started cleaning up since I had to keep my cover. I sat on the floor and sorted through the nearest box of equipment.

  A few moments later, I heard the front door to the office open and close then Will entered the storeroom.

  I looked up from untangling some wires. "She's gone?"

  He nodded. "Sorry about that. She's a bit fragile today. Her agent dumped her."

  "Does she want her old job back?" Before Roberta came along, I might have wanted him to say yes so I had an excuse to quit. But since then, things were different. I waited for his answer without breathing.

  "She wanted us to get back together."

  Whoa, backup. "You broke up?"

  "A few weeks ago. I thought you knew." He picked up a file and studied it before putting it down again.

  "I'm not psychic, Will. You have to actually talk to me if you want me to know stuff."

  There was a long silence in which he didn't look at me. His eyes stayed downcast, hidden by his shaggy hair. I couldn't tell if he was thinking or looking for something on the floor.