by Kelly Rey
It was possible the heat was making me irritable.
"Tell us about that," Maizy said.
Miranda drained her coffee and set it aside with a resigned sigh. "Nick knew I'd used Gilbert Gleason as my lawyer after a car accident a year ago. He asked me to pretend I had another case then seduce Gilbert and file an ethics Complaint against him. I got the sense he wanted Gilbert gone, but he needed leverage to do it. I didn't know, and I didn't care. Nick paid me. Gilbert did what men do—"
"Not all men," I cut in.
Her smile was pitying. "And the next thing I knew," she went on, "Gilbert wasn't a lawyer anymore."
"And Nicky D was dead," Maizy said. She pushed herself upright to look at me, and I could tell we shared the same thought. Miranda was clearly too cheap to spring for a lousy fan.
Also, that Gilbert Gleason had had a gold-plated motive to kill Nicky D.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"I never trusted that doofus," Maizy said. "Who harasses women down on the road in the middle of the night, anyway?"
Eunice stashed the camera in her bag. It was practically smoking from her nonstop Hank slide show. "Who's Gilbert Gleason?"
Oh, now she wanted to participate. I rolled down my window and stuck my head out to dry my sweaty face. My bottom half was just as sweaty after an hour in Miranda's smartly decorated toaster oven, but sticking that out the window would have been a little too Animal House for me.
"He's a lawyer," I told her. "A real one."
"An ex one," Maizy corrected me. "Thanks to Miranda Law."
I pulled my head back inside. "Do you trust her?"
"No. But I believe her. It fits. It also gives him motive." She thought for a moment. "Plus he had easy backstage access, and it could easily have been him that I saw."
Great. So despite the bottomless well of motive for Nicky D's bandmates, our killer could be Gilbert Gleason. What next? I was afraid to ask.
"What next?" Eunice asked.
In my defense, she'd had less exposure to Maizy than I'd had.
"Next we extract a confession," Maizy said.
I shook my head. "No. No, no, no. We're not doing that."
"Why not?" Maizy asked. "We have motive and opportunity. And thirty minutes of recording time."
"But Gilbert Gleason drives a van," I said.
"You mean he also drives a van," Maizy said. "You said it yourself. The pickup could be in the shop."
"But it would have to have been in and out of the shop numerous times." I sounded sort of whiney because I really didn't want to extract a confession, from Gilbert Gleason or anyone else. "What makes you think we can make him confess?" I added.
"The US Army Intelligence and Interrogation Handbook," she said. "I read it cover to cover."
Of course she had.
"You certainly know how to prepare," Eunice told her.
"I don't know," I said. "It sounds dangerous."
"Life is dangerous," Maizy said. "But you keep breathing, right? How about this. If we don't get a confession, we'll perform a citizen's arrest and let the police sort it out."
Oh, much better plan.
I shook my head. "We're not doing that, either."
Maizy rolled her eyes. "Why not? He's not so big. The three of us can take him down. And I've got zip ties somewhere…" She rooted around in her backpack. "Here!" She held them up triumphantly.
"Those things are really strong," Eunice said. "I read that they can restrain a three-hundred-pound man." She eyed them thoughtfully. "Can I borrow a couple?"
"You're proactive. I like that." Maizy handed over two. "You might want to practice first. The first arrest is always the toughest."
How would she know? Besides, I had a feeling Eunice had a different use in mind for the zip ties, since she had a date coming up with Hank. She probably planned to zip tie him to a pipe so he couldn't leave.
"Say we arrest him," I said. "Then what? We can't fit him in this car to take him to the police station. We don't even know where the police station is."
"I've got nav," Eunice said helpfully.
"We could strap him to the roof like luggage," Maizy said. "Only we'll have to make sure to tie his head down, or he'll screw up our aerodynamics."
Yeah. Because Eunice's lumpy little Legume was nothing if not aerodynamic.
"I've got a better idea." I didn't, not really, but what I did have was my fallback position, which had never failed me before. "We can get Curt to help us. He'll be thrilled to put this whole thing behind us." And I'd be thrilled to get him off the stage and away from Virtual Waste and Susan Two's moisturized hands.
"Yeah, we could do that," Maizy said doubtfully. "But what if Gilbert goes underground?"
"To him that means crossing the street," I said. Bad enough we had to go back to the Whispering Pines Mobile Park. I wasn't about to go back inside the Norman Bates trailer. Curt could have that pleasure. I'd happily be the wheelman who waited outside the whole time, preferably in a roomy vehicle with air conditioning. Speaking of which. "You ought to get an SUV or something from Honest Aaron," I told her. "You know, for easy transport." And strategic delay.
"Good idea," she said. "A guy strapped to the roof might draw attention. Okay. Here's what we do. You." Looking at me. "Brief Uncle Curt on the plan. You." To Eunice. "Do you think you can pretend to be a lawyer again?"
"Of course," Eunice said. "I've been studying Cochran's Law Lexicon. I've memorized all kinds of new words."
"Why do we need a lawyer?" I asked.
"Someone has to bluff us through an arrest if it becomes necessary," Maizy said. "You don't think I actually know how to do this, do you?"
Well, yes, I had. There was no end to the things I assumed Maizy could do. It was a little disappointing to discover I'd been wrong.
"What about you?" I asked her.
"I'll go see Honest Aaron," she said. "I'm going to splurge and pay the disposal fee just in case this goes sideways. After that I'm scheduled for my first self-defense lesson from Bryn. She's going to teach me the spinning elbow."
"Sounds painful," I said.
"For you, maybe," she said. "I'm a natural. Expect me at your place at eleven. Gilbert Gleason's bound to be home at midnight."
"I'll bring snacks," Eunice said.
Oh, good. Back to the Pine Barrens at midnight. I was getting bored with all that sleep, anyway.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
"Nicky D set him up," I said. "He's the reason Gilbert Gleason got disbarred, and probably why his wife dumped him. That's why we think Gilbert Gleason is the killer and why Maizy wants to talk to him." Yes, talk. Much better than extract a confession under threat of zip-ties. I helped myself to one of Eunice's lemon drop cookies. She'd just arrived at ten thirty, after spending her evening baking, which had been a better use of time than the Cops marathon I'd watched, hoping to pick up some tips. I didn't have time for the US Army Intelligence and Interrogation Handbook.
Curt nodded. "That would make Miranda Law a—"
"Yes!" I yelled triumphantly. "But she doesn't look it," I added.
"Maybe she's into the barter system," he said.
Eunice stopped thumbing through the cardboard sleeve of Hank photos she'd had printed up at the local drugstore before coming over. "That sounds quite practical. Maybe she needed money for rent or a car payment."
Curt's dimples winked at me. He sat in my recliner, cradling Ashley in his lap. The little fink. When I held her, she suffered the immediate onset of narcolepsy. In his hands she was wide awake, staring up at him with big adoring eyes, tail swishing languidly back and forth. I could hear her purring from five feet away, where I sat cross-legged on the floor, close to the coffee table and the cookies, which I was snarfing at an alarming rate thanks to a whopping case of nerves.
"Your rent is due in a couple of weeks," he said. "Want to barter?"
I almost choked on my lemon drop cookie.
Ashley shot me a look of utter disdain familiar to cat owners the wor
ld over. If she walked upright and had opposable thumbs, he wouldn't have to ask her twice.
"So my brilliant niece comes up with this plan," Curt said. "And you see nothing wrong with it?"
"I wouldn't say that," I told him. I saw all sorts of things wrong with it. Life was imperfect. But it was easier just to go along. And no, I would not jump off a bridge if everyone else did it.
"Did it occur to either one of you to just call the police?" he asked.
It was a good question. One I preferred not to answer. "We called you," I said. "Maizy likes to spend time with her favorite uncle."
"Isn't that nice," Eunice said.
"It wasn't always that way," I told her. "They used to argue all the time."
"What on earth for?" she asked. "Maizy's delightful."
"It was just a phase," I said. "Curt outgrew it."
He rolled his eyes. "Did it occur to you that if you're wrong about this guy, he could file all kinds of charges against you? Against us?"
"Oh, no," Eunice said. "We have reasonable cause to believe Mr. Gleason committed a felony, i.e., the commission of murder. We have grounds to make a citizen's arrest if we don't get him to confess. In that case the grounds are, well, ipso facto."
I blinked. "Hey, that was really good."
She beamed at me.
"Still," Curt said, "I don't think it's a good idea. In fact, I'm pretty sure it isn't."
"What are you saying?" I asked him. "You're not coming with us?"
"Change of plans," he said. "When she gets here, we're going to call the police and tell them all about Gilbert Gleason. That way there's no chance of this thing going wrong."
"I'm okay with that," Eunice said. "Then I could watch QVC at midnight."
I was okay with it, too. The black silk nightie was folded neatly in my dresser drawer, waiting for a stroke of courage. All I had to do was get rid of Eunice and Maizy, and then I could launch Campaign Shock and Ho-hum.
I let my attention drift to the ancient Partridge Family rerun on the TV. The Partridges were performing at some sort of outdoor fair in front of a wholesome-looking crowd. Not a tube of moisturizer in sight.
Which got me thinking.
"It's a shame you wasted your time with Virtual Waste," I told Curt, "but now you can quit. Want me to get Mike on the phone for you?"
His smile nearly peeled off my shirt. "Way ahead of you. I played my last gig at the Golden Grotto. They found a new drummer."
That was the best news I'd heard since we're calling the police. It was turning out to be a pretty good night all the way around.
"I think it's great that you play an instrument," Eunice said. "I'm not musically inclined at all. I have no sense of rhythm. I can't even get the Clapper to work right."
Curt glanced at his watch. "Maizy should be here any minute, right?"
"She said eleven." I glanced at the clock. It was nearly that already. I'd been half hoping that Maizy hadn't been able to contact Honest Aaron, or had lost her supply of zip ties, or had just found something better to do at midnight, like hitting a Herbie Hairston Blue Light Special. I hadn't heard from her since we'd dropped her off at the riverfront, somewhere near Honest Aaron's evil lair. But then I hadn't expected to since she'd said she had a lesson with Bryn. I got that she wanted to add ninja warrior to her skill set, but I was starting to wish Maizy would learn to be a slacker once in a while.
Fifteen minutes later, she still hadn't shown up. Which was so unlike Maizy that I felt a knot beginning to form in the pit of my stomach. I finished off the last lemon drop cookie, which suddenly tasted like cardboard. Curt glanced at his watch once or twice then up at the wall clock, his jaw muscles tightening. Eunice had put aside the photos to flip through an old Star magazine, but she kept slipping me surreptitious glances.
"She's late," Curt said.
"She's only a few minutes late," I said. "Maybe she ran out of gas." But I didn't think so. That also wasn't like her. That was like me. On her own Maizy had enough skills to survive nuclear winter.
Curt thumbed Maizy's number on his cell phone. I heard ringing on the other end before it went to voice mail. That wasn't like her, either.
He dropped the phone into his pocket without leaving a message. "I don't like this. You don't think she went to Gleason's alone, do you?"
I shook my head. "I doubt it. She'd have no reason to do that." Not after Gilbert Gleason's roadside representation of Crazy Town.
"Maybe her lesson started late," Eunice said. "Remember she was going to see her friend Brenda?"
"Bryn," I said. Hadn't her lesson been in the afternoon? Maybe they'd gone out to dinner afterward and lost track of time.
It was eleven fifteen. No one lost track of that much time. An ugly loop started playing in my head: Maizy being run off the road on her way home, maybe straight into a lake, maybe knocked unconscious, maybe…
No. I forced myself to stop thinking like that. Maizy could drive better than the average NASCAR driver.
A nasty little voice whispered It's already happened once.
No. I couldn't go there. She was probably still with Bryn. She was safe with Bryn.
Curt got up to stand at the window. "Think we should go to that mobile park anyway, just in case?"
I looked at the rigid set of his shoulders and could see he'd rocketed right past concern to apprehension. Which propelled me straight to terrified. "We should give her another few minutes," I said. "She might've accidentally left her phone at home." That was weak when we both knew Maizy's cell phone was practically welded to her hand.
Curt stayed at the window, hands on hips, watching for Maizy.
Eunice's worried eyes met mine.
I picked up her photos, trying to keep my hands from shaking. I barely saw each one as I flipped through them. Max's Garage. The vintage Corvette with Hank and his customer at its hood. Hank at the rolling tool chest. Hank wiping his hands on a rag. Hank standing just outside the garage bay talking to the owner of the Corvette, a well-muscled guy in a black T-shirt just a little shorter than Hank but just as brawny. His hair was short and thick. He was standing at a three-quarter angle to the camera so that his face wasn't visible.
Wait.
My breath caught in my throat. I scrambled to my feet and took the photo into the kitchen where the light was brighter.
We'd assumed that Hank's customer was a man, based on the jeans and the work boots and, well, unintentional sexism. But the person in the picture wasn't a man. It was Bryn.
"What is it?" Curt asked over my shoulder.
"I'm not sure," I said. I handed him the photo. "What do you see?"
"Is this a joke?" He glanced at it. "One of Hank's customers, right?"
I shook my head. "Look again."
He did. "It's Bryn from the Pinelands." He looked up, uncomprehending.
"Jamie?" Eunice stood in the doorway. "What's wrong?"
"When you were taking these pictures," I said, "were there any other customers besides the one with the Corvette?"
"Just her," she said. "Why?"
Dread settled onto my chest like an anvil. "We thought we were watching two guys, didn't we? We were sure it was two guys."
"I guess so," Eunice said. "But we only saw their legs. They didn't come outside until you and Maizy had gone to get the car." She glanced from Curt to me. "Is that important?"
My legs felt weak. "Maizy saw Nicky D's killer go backstage," I said. "She said he was a guy, in jeans and work boots and a dark hoodie." I pointed with a trembling finger at the photo. "There's only one thing missing, and Bryn would easily be mistaken for a man in that lighting. Even by Maizy."
Bryn had claimed to be busy tossing someone out of the bar between sets when Nicky D had been killed, but no one had mentioned any sort of fight that night, and like Maizy always said, everyone lied to us. It would have been easy for Bryn to slip backstage. No one would question her; they'd probably pay her no attention at all. Why would they? She belonged there. She'd even helped
them pack up their equipment the next day. And she'd kept herself close to us under the guise of helping when she'd likely just been monitoring how close to the truth we were getting the whole time. Hadn't she mentioned something to Curt about collecting cars? Maybe cars included pickup trucks. Bryn had to be the driver of the pickup that had chased us around South Jersey! Of course!
I fell back against the counter, trying to remember every interaction we'd had with Bryn. Her unexpected appearance at the Golden Grotto. The night she'd sneaked up on me in the parking lot. The time she'd ridden by on her Harley just in time to save us from Gilbert Gleason. Just on her way home, she'd claimed.
But then she'd turned around and ridden off the way she'd come, instead of continuing on toward home. And we hadn't even noticed.
Because everyone lied to us.
Plus…
"Jamie." Curt's voice was like a razor, slicing through my terror. "Maizy was supposed to see Bryn this afternoon?"
I laid a hand on my chest to make sure my heart was still beating. "More than that," I said in a near whisper. "I think Bryn's sister Brianne dated Nicky D." I stared at him. "Brianne committed suicide when he dumped her."
"Motive," Curt said grimly.
I nodded again. "And she knows Maizy and I are trying to find the killer."
Eunice pressed her fist to her mouth. "Oh, no."
Curt brushed past me to grab the phone.
"Are you calling the police?" I asked.
He didn't answer. "Tommy. Have you seen Bryn tonight?" He listened for a few seconds. "Can you give me her number? It's important." He made that gotta-write-something hand gesture, and I shoved a pen and piece of paper at him. "Thanks," he said when he'd scribbled down the number. "Hey, any idea where she lives? In case I can't get her on the phone?" He forced a hollow chuckle. "No, nothing like that. Strictly business."
Eunice had moved to stand next to me. Her hand on my shoulder was oddly comforting given my state of utter panic.
"Thanks, Tom." Curt hung up and turned, clutching the paper. "Staying or coming with?"
