Rebel Without A Clue

by Carolyn Scott

  Maybe I could take some self-defense classes. Maybe Carl could teach me a thing or two. He used to box in his younger days. I wasn't sure about Will. I doubt he'd ever swung a punch in his life. Then again, he'd been a cop, so he must know something about defending himself.

  I found myself wondering what Dad would do. That made me think about what Mom said about his involvement in putting Scarletti away. What was it that Dad couldn't put to rest? Whatever it was, I felt sure that finding Roberta's jewelry would help me solve the twelve-year-old mystery.

  After lunch I sat back and thought about whom to question next. On top of my list was Mad Max and the other associates I'd seen Lou with at The Grotto, but after my confrontation with Grimes, I wasn't sure I had the energy for another icky situation. Maybe on Sunday in a very public place, like the café across the road from the police station.

  Avoiding all the scary people in Lou's life left only one other person. Lou's mother.

  I got the address off Roberta then dressed in a knee-length sleeveless linen dress and headed out. Although it was early afternoon, it felt like twilight with the dark clouds gathering overhead. It suited my mood.

  Mrs. Scarletti lived in a part of Renford where houses were solid but old and in need of TLC. That about summed up the residents too.

  I cruised slowly down her street and stopped outside her house. A leafy garden out front shaded a neat, green lawn, with a brick path leading to the door. The house was freshly painted and the stoop swept clean. Lou might have been an asshole but he'd been a good son if the garden was the result of his Wednesday visits.

  My knocks were eventually answered by a tiny woman dressed head to toe in black. She squinted up at me through thick glasses. "What do you want?"

  "Mrs. Scarletti?"

  "Of course I am and you know it. Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. Don't they teach you that in the police school? Huh?"

  "I'm, um, sorry. I'm not the police. My name is—"

  "Not the police? Then what do you want? Who are you?" She squinted some more and adjusted her glasses. "Oh!" Both hands flew to her gray cheeks. "Valerie! You must be Valerie. I know we haven't met yet, but I'd know you anywhere."

  "Mrs. Scarletti, I'm not—"

  "I know, dear, I know, you're not coping." She opened the door, put her arm around my waist and pulled me inside. The top of her head barely reached my shoulder but she had a grip that could cut off blood supply.

  She led me into the kitchen, feeling her way along the wall. She was almost blind. All the curtains were drawn and the lack of natural light added to the morbid atmosphere. "Why don't you open the curtains?" I said.

  "I'm in mourning." She had the voice of a pack-a-day smoker and the yellowed teeth to go with it. She pushed me into a chair at the solid wooden kitchen table and gave me a whiskery hug.

  "You poor dear," she said in her gravelly voice. "Poor, poor Valerie."

  God help me, I didn't correct her. I don't know what came over me, but I saw an opportunity laid out before me like a red carpet. I had to take it. I'd be a fool not to. "I'm so sorry about Lou," I said, because I didn't know how else to start.

  Mrs. Scarletti dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief and sat heavily in the chair opposite. "Thank you, dear. You're a sweet girl to be thinking of me at this time. After everything you've been through. After waiting for Lou for so long, then him finally leaving that bitch of a wife," she spat, "only to have this happen…"

  She and Valerie had a lot in common when it came to an opinion on Roberta. Then again, they had the same source of information.

  "Isn't there someone you can stay with for a while?" I asked. "A relative?"

  "My daughter's coming from overseas," she said. "As you know, my sister passed away last year, and her good for nothing children are useless, so it's just me."

  How depressing. I sort of wished Lou wasn't dead. Just for a second. Not even that long, really.

  It's a testimony to the complexity of humans. You have your mind made up about someone—in this case Lou and how much of a bastard he was—and then someone else turns that opinion on its head. It seemed no one acted the same around every single person. Lou behaved differently with his mother than he did with his wife and differently again when around his friends. I suppose I was just as guilty of being a chameleon. In fact, I prided myself on it. Jeez, I wasn't even being me around Mrs. Scarletti.

  Guilt over not telling her the truth began to weigh as heavily as the black clouds outside. Thunder murmured in the distance and light rain fell silently on the trim lawn.

  "My car leaks," I said. "So I can't stay." It wasn't a lie. The seal on the driver's side door had disintegrated. "Before I go, can I ask you something?"

  "Of course, dear. What is it?"

  "Did Lou ever give you a wooden box, inlaid with mother of pearl? It was filled with jewelry."

  "No it's not." She heaved herself up and waddled out of the kitchen.

  Oh-kay. What the hell did she mean? She had the box but no jewels? No, don't do this to me.

  She returned a moment later carrying a small box. "That's it!" I leaped out of my chair and took it. I turned it over and studied the inlay. It was definitely the box Roberta had described, right down to the pattern. It was locked.

  Mrs. Scarletti handed me a key dangling from a chain. I inserted the key and turned, hardly breathing, hoping she was wrong and the jewels would sparkle back at me. I lifted the lid and…

  Fuck. No jewels.

  I sat back down, deflated, and tossed the box on the table.

  "Sorry, dear," said Mrs. Scarletti, peering inside. "So this key doesn't mean anything to you?"

  "Key?"

  "And a piece of paper with some numbers written in Lou's hand." She handed the paper and key to me.

  Unfolded, the paper was only about two inches by three, with a jagged bottom and right edge as if it had been torn off the top corner of a notepad. Only four digits were written on the paper.

  8510

  "What does it say?" Mrs. Scarletti asked, squinting at the paper. "I haven't got my reading glasses."

  "It's just a little love message in our secret code," I said. "Something personal. Mind if I take the box, key and paper?"

  She smiled sadly and patted my shoulder. "Of course, dear, he would have wanted you to have it."

  Like hell, but I wasn't going to miss this opportunity. I might feel guilty but I wasn't stupid.

  Chapter 7

  The clouds finally unloaded five minutes into my journey home. I could barely see the road through the sheets of rain and I definitely couldn't make out more than one car ahead. I slowed to a crawl and hunched over the steering wheel, trying to ignore the water streaming in through the leaky door.

  Fortunately the downpour didn't last long. When the rain eased, I noticed a dark-colored sedan sitting on my ass. If I stopped suddenly, my rear bumper would take a hit, so I sped up to put some distance between us. Guess I wasn't the only one having trouble seeing through the rain.

  When I checked my mirror again, the black sedan was still behind.

  I squinted into my mirrors but it was no use. The plates and driver's face were obscured by the rain.

  I turned off the highway and traveled the scenic route home. The sedan followed.

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled a warning. I was about to call the police like I had when Lou followed me, but just a few streets from home, it peeled off and disappeared.

  Creeped out, I hustled into my apartment, trying to look inconspicuous. But how inconspicuous can a damp woman carrying a box and glancing over her shoulder every two seconds look?

  Once inside, I relaxed. I stripped off and put on an oversized shirt, leaving my legs bare. I curled up on the couch with the jewelry box and ran my hands over the beautiful piece of craftsmanship.

  I'd decided not to call Roberta until I'd figured out what the code meant and what lock the small key fit into. I didn't want to appear unprofessional i
n front of my client. I also wanted to figure out who the hell had been following me before I involved her.

  It must have been someone after the box. Someone who knew I had it. Which meant someone had followed me to Mrs. Scarletti's. I'd been watched the whole time.

  I hugged the box close to my chest. Who could it have been? Roberta knew my movements because I'd told her, so she was a possibility. But why would she follow me when she'd employed me? It didn't make sense.

  Maybe Valerie, or Grimes. Valerie knew about the box and jewelry but Grimes didn't. He could just be following me for the sport.

  Or maybe someone else was suspicious about me snooping around. Maybe the murderer had got wind of me questioning Lou's loved ones. His associates sprang to mind. Any one of them could have followed me and seen me carry the box out of Mrs. Scarletti's house. I wouldn't put it past Mad Max or his buddies to have heard about the jewelry and want a cut. They might have even killed Lou for it…

  I tucked my legs under me and hugged my knees with one arm, still clutching the box with my free hand. The experience had definitely put a sour note on my discovery. I didn't feel like celebrating anymore.

  Whoever it was, I decided Roberta was better off not knowing the details of the box's contents until I'd figured out who was following me. No need to worry her unnecessarily. More to the point, no need to let her think I couldn't get the job done on my own.

  I opened up the box and picked out the little brass key then the piece of paper. I turned the paper over, held it up to the light, and turned it over again. I discovered two things. It was a plain piece of paper and it had never had anything else written on it.

  Good start, Einstein. Now what the hell do the numbers mean?

  A locker number? A safe code? A code representing letters? A date? There were so many possibilities.

  8510

  I stared at the paper until my eyes drooped and I fell asleep.

  "Show me," the naked, oiled man murmured.

  "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." I giggled.

  The gorgeous, faceless man laughed and lit a cigarette. It glowed between his fingers, burned up then turned into a pile of ash at his feet that grew and grew.

  "Show me," he said, suddenly lunging. He grabbed my throat and squeezed.

  I fought to breathe but I could only inhale smoke. It filled my nostrils, my head. It stung my eyes and I looked to the man for help but he was running away. He turned and laughed and I noticed he wasn't gorgeous anymore. His hair was white and his skin orange. Barry Grimes.

  I awoke trying to scream but it stuck in my burning throat.

  I couldn't see. I couldn't breathe.

  Panic slammed into me but I managed to make out one thing: my apartment was on fire.

  Fuck!

  I leapt off the couch and ran through the smoke toward the door. I felt across the side table until my hand closed around my car keys and handbag.

  Out in the hall, I yelled as loudly as my raw throat could manage. "Fire! Fire! Get out!"

  I banged on doors and hustled old Mrs. Krenski down the stairwell. Jimmy Jones, the unemployed couch potato from number six upstairs, surprised me by turning out to be a capable guy in a crisis. Between us we rounded up all the frightened cats, dogs and hamsters and reunited them with their elderly owners on the street.

  By then, the fire department had arrived and doused the flames in my apartment. Thank Christ it hadn't spread elsewhere and everyone was able to return unscathed, although shaken, to their homes.

  Even me. I surveyed my ruined apartment. Fire had destroyed the bedroom but the rest of it suffered only smoke and water damage.

  "You can't stay here until it's cleaned up," the fire chief said.

  No shit, Sherlock. I nodded weakly. I might be fighting furious on the inside but on the outside I felt numb. My home was ruined. One minute I was asleep having erotic dreams and the next my apartment was a charred mess. Sure, it wasn't a palace, but it was mine and I was attached to it. And to the things in it.

  "Your closet and everything in it are gone." The fire chief indicated the blackened door. Beyond hung burnt rags and melted shoes.

  "My autographs!" Oh no, please, not those. I pushed aside the debris on the floor with my toe, searching for my most valuable possession.

  The only thing I'd gained out of my time in Hollywood, apart from independence and massive debt, was an autograph book filled with personal messages from stars I'd worked with. I'd wanted to hand it down to my grandchildren one day, so they could see that their old Nanna had once been almost famous.

  Losing the book was far worse than losing the Jimmy Choos.

  "You are insured aren't you?" the chief said.

  "Not against emotional loss."

  He clicked his tongue. Clearly he didn't think autographs qualified as requiring sympathy. "Where were you when the fire started?"

  "Asleep on the couch."

  "So you didn't hear anything suspicious?"

  That got my attention. "Like what?"

  "Someone breaking in."

  I stared open-mouthed at him. "Someone broke in while I was asleep and set my apartment on fire!" I hugged myself and realized I was still only dressed in my oversized shirt. No wonder all the firemen kept looking at my legs. Lucky I'd shaved them the night before.

  "They probably climbed through the bedroom window and slipped in an accelerant-soaked rag. The curtains went up first."

  I shook my head, over and over. "Let me get this straight. Someone lit this fire deliberately? But why?"

  "That's for the police to work out. They'll need a contact address for you. Anyone you can stay with for a while?"

  "My mother." I gave him the address then he left with his crew.

  When they'd gone, I stood in the middle of my bedroom and cried. I felt better after a few minutes. Roberta's box sat on the floor next to the couch where I'd dropped it. I picked it up and packed a few toiletries then left.

  I drove to my mother's on autopilot. It was only eleven o'clock. Mom was often up till the wee hours chatting on the Internet.

  When I arrived, I sat in my car for a long time, not wanting to get out. I felt safe in my car. I could move quickly if I had to. I'd be a sitting duck inside Mom's.

  Even worse, so would she. Anyone with half a brain and a phone book could link me to her.

  I shivered. I'd never been hated before. It was a new experience and not a good one.

  Who would want to kill me? Whoever it was, I wasn't going to make it easy for them by staying at Mom's.

  I drove away from the curb and headed to Gina's. I'd call Mom in the morning and tell her what had happened—the edited version.

  So, if I was worried about Mom, why was I going to Gina's?

  It wasn't as easy to link me to Gina. Sure, if someone knew we were friends, but who out of Lou's associates would know that?

  I parked in front of her building and looked up at her second-floor window. Light backlit the filmy curtains, flapping in the breeze of the open window. Someone moved into my line of sight. From the silhouette, I knew it wasn't Gina. It wasn't even a woman.

  Strange. She hadn't mentioned she was expecting company, and we tell each other everything when it comes to men. There was only one reason she wouldn't tell me.

  Will.

  I squinted up at the window but he moved away. It could have been Will. Tall, broad across the shoulders and chest. I kept watching but I couldn't see much. I waited around but no one left the building and eventually the light in her apartment went out.

  Greaaaaat. Gina and Will were definitely a couple. If that wasn't bad enough, I had nowhere to stay. I could sleep in my car but not outside Gina's. I didn't want Will finding me in the morning camped out in my car like a loser.

  I sighed and turned the key in the ignition. The huge bunch brushed against my knee. Apart from my own keys, I still had Mom's keys, Mrs. Krenski's, and the office key which I'd forgotten to—

  The office key! The office
had a couch. An old, lumpy couch, but a couch was better than the front seat of the Civic. Plus it had a bathroom and a kitchen. I could stay the night, get up at first light, shower and have coffee then head to Mom's for breakfast. Will wouldn't be in that early and it was Sunday so Carl had the day off. No one need know I spent the night there.

  Twenty minutes later, I lay down on the couch under the picnic blanket I keep in the trunk of my car and tried to push all thoughts of the day from hell out of my head. It was easy. I was exhausted. Who'd have thought I could handle only so much drama?

  Click. Click.

  My eyes flew open but I didn't move. I didn't dare.

  The front door creaked and someone entered, paused, then shut the door behind them.

  I lay still on the couch, the blanket pulled up to my chin, too scared to breathe. I'd been followed to the office after all.

  Fuck.

  I waited for the fire but nothing happened. Thank Christ, because Will would kill me if his office burned down because of me.

  Footsteps drew closer. In the darkness, I could just make out the shape of a man. A tall man. Hopefully he hadn't spotted the lump on the couch.

  As I saw it, I had two options. Wait for him to move past and then run like hell outside and into the car, or confront him.

  The first option was tempting but risky if he had a gun. The second option was even less appealing, for the same reason.

  I'd have to use the element of surprise.

  When he moved beside the couch, I leapt off and tackled him at leg height. He went down, landing heavily on the floor with an oomph. I sat on top of him and frisked him. No gun.

  Before I could question him, he flipped me over with a deft wrestling move, trapping me beneath his body. That's when I realized he was a giant. Massive. Stronger than The Rock.

  I struggled but he pinned my arms to the floor.

  "Who—?" He didn't finish the question. I kicked out, hitting him in the shin. He swore and the pressure on my arms eased. I slipped my hand free and swung a punch. It connected with his head and he lurched to one side, giving me some space. I brought my knee up to get him in the groin but missed and got his hip instead.