Broken Build: Silicon Valley Romantic Suspense

by Rachelle Ayala

  “How could I forget? Such foul language from such a pretty girl. What happened?”

  Dave palmed his head in frustration. “The police think my car was involved in the hit and run.”

  “I told you to report it stolen. Why didn’t you?” Her tone was accusing.

  “When will you be back? I need to talk in person. Please?”

  “Oh, darling, I’m back already.” Her voice softened. “It was only a five day cruise. I’m jetlagged, but I do have some information.”

  “You do? Tell me.”

  She yawned. “A little back rub does wonders for my loquacity. Be at your place in thirty minutes?”

  “Ah… yes. Slow down before turning into the driveway. There are a few obstacles behind the oleander hedge.”

  “Sure, darling. Nice and slow, just the way I like it. Ta, ta!”

  * * *

  The officers helped Jen out of the car and into the station. She hung her head. Reporters and bystanders whipped out their cell phones and snapped pictures. Her mug shot would be all over the internet. Forever. They brought her into the booking station, fingerprinted her with a digital scanner, and took saliva swabs from her mouth.

  Then they handed her a placard and put her in front of the camera. Everything was blurry, and her eyes refused to stay open. The photographer yelled at her for blinking and took several shots, each flash explosion assaulting her already sore eyes.

  She didn’t have any personal items. They hadn’t even allowed her to change from the sweatpants and oversized shirt she had slept in.

  “Anyone you wish to call? Your lawyer?” the officer who booked her asked.

  A female officer looked her over. “Send her to medical. Was she resisting arrest?”

  One of the attending officers said, “No, she was already beaten up when we got there. Let her lawyer deal with it.”

  Jen took the offered phone and she punched in Owen’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

  “I’m on my way,” he said. “Need anything?”

  “Yeah, my glasses and the Bible they gave me at church.”

  “Where are they?”

  She almost rubbed her eye but settled for her nose. “Dave’s house. And Owen?”

  “Yes?” He sounded tired.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “It’ll be okay, but do not answer any questions until I get there. Do not talk to anyone. No one, not your cell mate, not the friendly female officer who’s going to ask you about your wounds and act like your best friend. And definitely do not talk to Dave. He may be your codefendant. They’re taking his car for evidence.”

  A buzz drilled down her spine. Dave’s car? So he was involved after all. Would he try to pin it on her? A sodden grey blanket weighed down her shoulders. He had never lied to her nor made her think he cared about her. She was the pathetic one—to love a man who could never love her back.

  “Jen.” Owen’s voice punctured her thoughts of impending doom. “It’s the day before Thanksgiving. I’m trying for a speedy arraignment. Don’t want you to spend the long holiday weekend in jail. Do you have any relatives who can post bail? For a murder charge, it’s likely to be quite high.”

  Jen pinched the bridge of her nose. “No one. My father deserted me, and he doesn’t have any money.”

  “How about a coworker or a mentor? A friend from college?”

  “Well… I don’t know if she’d help. She was just fired from Shopahol on Monday.”

  “Who?”

  “Greta Debeers,” Jen said. “She was my mentor at State, and she hired me.”

  “She might be your only hope. It’s worth a try.”

  Chapter 21

  Dave flopped on the bed in the guest room. Jen’s presence permeated the entire room. Her scent, the way the sheets were ruffled, the long hairs on the pillow. Her voice murmured through his head, Dave, whatever happens, I love you.

  The Bible that Pastor Thomason gave her sat on the nightstand. He idly flipped through it. Hard to believe Sunday had only been a few days ago. What was going on? Why did he miss her so much? And did she know more about the kidnapping than she let on?

  The doorbell rang. Detective Mathews presented a warrant for the Camry. Dave handed over the keys and watched the tow truck driver pull it onto the truck bed. Claire’s Mercedes crept around the corner and idled at the entrance.

  She stepped out after the tow truck drove away and examined the front end of his SUV. “What is this? A junkyard?”

  Her eyes softened, and she touched his cheek tenderly. “Oh, my, and you’ve been fighting?”

  Dave kissed her on the cheek, careful to leave her flawless makeup undisturbed.

  She pressed a number on her cell. “I’ll get all these cars fixed. Let’s see, front end damage, back end damage and busted ground-effects on the sports car.”

  She gave the address and disconnected.

  “Thanks,” Dave said. “I’m in a world of trouble.”

  “I can see.” She swept his hair back. “That cut over your brow looks nasty. Why didn’t you report the car stolen?”

  He scratched his chin. “I’ve a friend who borrows my car sometimes. I didn’t want to get him involved.”

  “I don’t think it was a ‘he’ who stole the car. Fix me a smoothie, pomegranate and acai berry, and I’ll tell you what I’ve uncovered.”

  Dave opened the front door. “Not sure I have all the ingredients. It’s been hectic.”

  “Seltzer water will do, with a spritz of lime.” She patted her immaculately sprayed hair and checked her lipstick in her compact mirror.

  Dave returned with the water, a slice of lime and a straw. “So who was it?”

  She took a sip, staining the straw with her coral-colored lipstick. “My neighbor Mrs. Bunney was walking her dog, when the dog got loose. She chased it down the street and saw a young woman look up and down the street before opening the door of your car. She knew it was yours because she’s quite a gossip at church. But—”

  “Wait! A young woman, what did she look like?”

  “Young and attractive, with long brown hair, lots of it. Sorry, Mrs. Bunney couldn’t be more descriptive. Anyway, I’ve already contacted Phil, and he’ll take her statement. I hope you won’t have to resort to using me for an alibi. It’s not like anything happened between us.”

  “Sure, we only shared a bottle of Brunello, and I gave you a massage.” Dave nuzzled the back of her neck and caressed her shoulders. “I know you enjoyed it.”

  “That’s a detail I hoped you’d forgotten.” She picked up his hand and rolled her thumb lightly over his palm. “I could use a reminder, if you know what I mean.”

  “What would I do without you?” He feathered his fingers down the side of her neck. Claire was a woman who required the lightest, most delicate touch and lots of patience.

  She unbuttoned his shirt and scratched a line down the front of his chest with her manicured nail extension. “Maybe this time...”

  Dave’s attention wandered, but how could he say ‘no’ to three million dollars? He kissed her neck and fumbled with her blouse. Her sultry, musky scent spelled sophistication and money, quite different from Jen’s open, sunshiny fragrance.

  Claire smoothed his hair. “You’re distracted.”

  He lifted his head. “I’m sorry. I need a favor from you. What do you know about posting bail?”

  “Wait, who are you bailing out?” Her sharp blue eyes pierced him.

  “The build engineer. They arrested her, but we need her for final software packaging. The backup engineer doesn’t know how to do it.”

  “Can’t you ask her to walk him through it? Surely, they allow visitors.” Claire smoothed her blouse.

  “I’m not sure she can explain it clearly without a laptop.”

  “What did I tell you about the hit-by-a-bus theory?” Claire’s voice tightened.

  “Sorry. I hope the judge will hear her today. I can’t let her spend the weekend in jail.”

&nbs
p; She pulled on her tailored jacket. “Very well. I’ll make a few calls.”

  He kissed her hair, and she pulled out a mirror to make sure he hadn’t misplaced a single highlighted strand, then pulled her car keys out of her purse.

  Dave hopped in the passenger seat of the Benz, and Claire tore down the winding road. He bit his fingernails. Could they get Jen bailed out in time? What if the judge went home early. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving.

  Jennifer Cruz wouldn’t even hurt a spider. She always scooped the little critters gently and put them outside. She was kind, a bit shy. No way could she run down a man in cold blood. There had to be an explanation.

  “You know, I’m worried about you.” Claire stepped on the gas to pass a moving van.

  Jocelyn’s best friend was quiet, with her nose in a book, whereas Jocelyn had been the center of attention with her quick wit and dry humor. Loyal Jennifer. She always stood up for Jocelyn.

  “Dave, are you even paying attention? Have you spoken to your lawyer? Could you be arrested?”

  “Huh? Oh. I need bail money. Do you think you could—”

  She gripped his thigh and squeezed. “Anything for you, dear heart.”

  Dear heart? His skipped a beat and wrapped around Jen. She had loved Abby and Jocelyn. Could she really love him?

  * * *

  Jen ignored the drunk woman who picked her nose and the hooker with the tattered wig. She washed her hands at the sink. A video camera was trained over the entire holding cell right over the small toilet. No privacy in jail.

  The guard opened the heavy door with the reinforced window. “Your lawyer is here with a visitor.”

  Greta stepped into the cell and enfolded Jen into her matronly arms. “You poor thing. You poor, poor thing. How did you get in so much trouble?”

  Owen cleared his throat. “No comments, remember?”

  “Oh, sorry,” Greta said. “The prosecutor agreed for a preliminary hearing in half an hour. You’re lucky because the judge is leaving early this afternoon.”

  Jen tried to hold her tears back, but the little bit of motherly love doled out by Greta dissolved her to the equivalent of a soggy wad of toilet paper. Owen handed Jen her crutches for the journey to the courtroom.

  They put her in an enclosed room with several other people behind bulletproof glass. A single microphone was provided for the prisoner to converse with the judge. Greta and Owen sat at the table when it was her turn to speak to the judge.

  He read the long list of charges in a dry and monotone voice and asked Jen if she understood. She answered that she did and pled ‘not guilty.’

  Bail was set at one hundred thousand. Greta stepped forward and guaranteed she would watch over Jen. She was not considered a flight risk due to her lack of a passport and travel history.

  After picking up a bag of clothes she left at the office, she rode in Greta’s car to her high-rise condo overlooking downtown San José near San Pedro square.

  Jen took a long hot shower and put ointment on her healing cuts. She stared in the full-length mirror. What a mess. Her ankle still throbbed, and she had a huge bruise on her left hip where Snakehead had thrown her onto the coffee table leg. She touched her tender face and fingered her beauty mark. Dave knew and hated her, and she deserved it.

  Greta knocked on the bathroom door. “I’m going to order lunch. Will quiche and cantaloupe do?”

  “Yes, it’ll be fine.” Jen pulled on a pair of jeans and a white blouse and stepped out of the bathroom. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Greta patted her shoulder. “That’s what mentors are for. So, tell me, why are you involved with Dave Jewell? Didn’t I warn you about predatory males? That man is up to no good. Imagine framing you for a murder he obviously committed.”

  “I’m not involved with him.”

  Dave had turned away from her kiss and accused her of saying she loved him manipulatively. But he wouldn’t frame her, would he? And not in a million years could he have killed anyone. Jocelyn’s husband had been a sensitive man, happy-go-lucky, not anything like the morose Dave she knew. Her stomach ground like a set of millstones. She had done this to him.

  Greta brought her a glass of water. “You can tell me. What really happened? Has Jewell been taking advantage of you sexually?”

  Jen’s face heated, and she averted her gaze. “No. He’s helping me, that’s all.”

  “More like helping himself. I bet he tried to seduce you after he took you home, or did he force you? Or is he getting you to take the rap for him by sweet-talking you? If he tells you he loves you, it’s bullshit.”

  Jen stared at the wool Berber carpet. “He hasn’t said anything.”

  Although… how would it feel to hear those words from him, even knowing he didn’t mean it? On the cliff at Santa Cruz, he had kissed her so sweetly, lovingly, taking his time. Maybe he had been thinking of Jocelyn. A lump grew in Jen’s throat. She could never replace Jocelyn.

  Greta’s cell phone rang. She picked it up and waved to Jen. “It’s Mrs. Walker for you.”

  Jen placed the phone to her ear.

  “Jen, finally. Your phone is still out of service. Owen gave me this number.” Mrs. Walker’s cheerful voice brought a tiny smile to her face. “You are coming for Thanksgiving. Don’t tell me you have to work.”

  “I’d love to come. How’s Christy?”

  “I’ll put her on.”

  Jen waited for her sister.

  “Jen, did you see the internet? Oh, my gosh! Tammy’s texting me... What happened? Did you kill somebody? Do you have a new boyfriend?”

  Jen closed her eyes and gathered her breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow. My lawyer says I shouldn’t talk about anything. Of course I didn’t do it.”

  “They’re saying they found the murder weapon. Your boyfriend’s car was impounded. Jen, what’s going on? Pop’s going to be so mad.”

  “Pop? He’s probably drunk as a skunk in some juke joint. Why would he care?”

  “He texted me. He said to stop using ‘Jen Jones’ as your name. It’s too close to his.”

  Jen clenched her fists at the surge of anger rising in her chest. “Is that all he has to say at a time like this?”

  Her father had taken the moniker Len Jones for his zydeco band. He hadn’t cared to give her his last name until after her mother died. Too bad for him.

  “Oh, sorry. I gotta go,” Christy chirped. “Sammy’s texting me. He’s out of the hospital. Bye.”

  “So, are you set to come?” Mrs. Walker’s voice came on the line.

  “Can I bring a friend? A woman friend?” Jen didn’t want to admit that part of the condition for her bail was supervision from Greta, not to mention Greta had provided her bond from her personal funds.

  “Sure, she’s welcome too. How about you show up between one-thirty and two? It’ll give you a chance to sleep in. If you want to help, you’re welcome to arrive earlier.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Jen said. “I’ll see how I feel tomorrow. Right now, I need a long nap.”

  Not much she could do without her glasses. With her 20/1000 vision, she might as well be sitting in the middle of a fuzzy cloud.

  * * *

  Dave pulled the rental car out of the parking lot and called Owen. Claire had promised to meet him at the courthouse for Jen’s bail. “Were you able to get an arraignment this afternoon?”

  “Where were you? I went to your house and all the cars were gone. You didn’t answer your door. Jen’s glasses are still at your place, and she wants the Bible.”

  Dave gripped the steering wheel tighter. Who was Owen to start haranguing him? He rushed for a left turn light, barely making it. “I’m on my way to the courthouse. How is Jen?”

  “She’s out on bail. Greta Debeers has buddies in the district attorney’s office. They held the hearing already.”

  Dave straightened up in his seat. “What? Where’s Jen now?”

  “Greta raised the bond and took Jen to her home.”

  What the
hell? He couldn’t let Greta dig her claws into Jen. Who knew what insidious thoughts Greta would put in Jen’s mind, especially with the sexual harassment charges? “Where does Greta live?”

  “I can’t tell you unless Greta agrees,” Owen replied. “Meet me at your place, and I’ll fetch her glasses. She’s blind right now.”

  Dave stepped on the brake and skidded through an intersection. His car fishtailed as he made a U-turn. “Okay, on my way.”

  Stupid Owen. Did he not think he couldn’t find Greta’s address? He called Lisa and within minutes, the address was texted to his phone.

  He slowed and turned into his driveway. Owen stood next to his car, safely parked in front of the closed garage door.

  “Why did you allow Greta to bail her out?” He grabbed Owen and shoved him against his car.

  “Calm down. Do you think your lawyer would advise you to bail out a woman who might have used your vehicle to commit a crime?”

  “She didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know her. She was the nanny who took care of Abby. She was a kind and loving girl, Jocelyn’s most loyal friend. She couldn’t stand to see anyone hurt, and she’s too squeamish to run anyone over.” He opened the door. “I don’t care what everyone’s saying on the internet. I don’t care about Mrs. Bunney’s eyewitness account. She didn’t do it. She cared too much about the build to take a detour. She would have taken a cab if her boyfriend had refused to drive her back to work.”

  “Wait…” Owen grabbed the lapel of his jacket. “Who’s Mrs. Bunney? The D.A.’s supposed to let me know of any discoveries.”

  “Claire went to pick her up to meet us at the courthouse.”

  “Who’s Claire? Give me her cell.”

  Dave scribbled the number on a piece of paper, and Owen snatched it from him.

  “What did Mrs. Bunney see?” Owen entered the number into his phone.

  “She saw an attractive young woman with long brown hair drive away with my Camry.”

  Beads of sweat popped on Owen’s forehead. “I guess Jen will have to wait for her glasses. I have to get to the courthouse.”

  “No worries, I’ll take the glasses to her.”

  “No, you’re supposed to stay away from her.”