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Mexican Booty: A Lucy Ripken Mystery (The Lucy Ripken Mysteries Book 2)

Page 18

by J. J. Henderson


  "Let me see that," said Margaret, reaching for it. She took it, examined it closely. "Looks like—"

  "A piece of this!" Wyatt said triumphantly, throwing open a copy of the Desert Gallery catalogue and pointing at one of the photographs Lucy had taken in the gallery. "The Fertility Goddess Ixchell. Look at the way the fold in her garment goes right there," he said, pointing at the picture. "That's gotta be the same piece."

  "Well, could be," Maggie said, "but—"

  "No ‘could-bes’ about it. Our photo expert already verified that this is a fragment of that piece. And so we took it and had it dated by thermoluminesence," he said. "It is less than one year old. If things go the way I think they will, Madeleine Rooney's claim is dead in the water, and so's her credibility and her reputation. We're debating on whether or not to press charges. But either way, thanks to you I saved Brueton a million bucks, and I'm very popular around here as a result." He smiled. "Can I possibly buy you all a drink, if not dinner at Bouley?"

  It was four pm. The three women agreed to meet the insurance man at Bouley at eight-thirty for dinner on him. Why not? It was one of the best restaurants in town, none of them had ever been there, and he apparently knew somebody well enough to get a table on five hours’ notice. No mean feat. They headed downtown by cab, got snagged in a gridlock, and arrived home at five pm. The trucks were roaring like dinosaurs on Broome and Broadway, but for the moment, anyway, it was music to Lucy's ears as she led them up the stairs, stopping en route to pick up Claud the dog.

  Lucy reached the door, started to unlock it, and realized she'd forgotten to lock it when she'd left. "Damn," she said, pushing the door open. "One of these days I'm gonna be real sorry about being so casual about this—" she stopped as she entered the room, followed by Maggie and Rosa. Darren Davidson sat on the couch facing the door. His arms were folded across his chest, and he looked grim.

  "Hello, Lucy, Maggie. Rosa. Rosa, you're safe. Thank God." He leaped to his feet. "I don't know why you left, you don't have to explain anything, but I'm here to take you back home."

  "I can't go back with you, Darren," she said quietly, interrupting him. "I'm sorry, but—"

  "What are you talking about?" he said. "What did you tell her, Lucy? What have you done to her?"

  Rosa wouldn't look at him. "Play him the tape, Lucy. Just play him the stinking tape."

  Lucy turned on the tape recorder. They listened together, the four of them silent. At the end, Darren got up. "So what's the big deal? I got involved in a little art scam"

  Rosa spit out the words. "A little art scam! Those guys tried to kill me. They killed Maggie's brother—and those two men in Santa Fe. And you knew! Darren, you knew!"

  "What the fuck was I supposed to do? You've got your millions in the bank, and I've got a run-down house and twenty-five grand, Rosa. Easy for you to tell me what I should or shouldn't do. Easy for you to—Fuck this, you're coming with me," he snarled, and pulled out a pistol. He pointed it at Lucy. "You stupid bitch, if you hadn't come sniffing around none of this shit would have had to happen. Can't you see, Rosa, it's her fault." He moved over by Rosa, took her arm, and moved towards the door. "So let's just get the hell out of here and then we'll figure it out."

  Leaping through the doorway to tackle Darren to the ground came Harold Ipswich, a huge bunch of "forgive me Lucy" flowers scattering across the room ahead of him. A shot went off, shattered a window. The women screamed. The gun followed the flowers through the air across the room as Harold tangled with Darren on the floor in a thrashing flurry. Darren was younger but Harold had the benefit of martial arts training he'd picked up along the undercover highway. He had Darren armlocked, on his face, under control, in less than a minute.

  "My God," said Rosa, staring down in shock at Darren, mashed on the floor. "To think I—hey, thanks, you pig," she said to Darren. "Thanks for pulling that ugly stunt, and making it that much easier for me to walk away from you." With that, she burst into tears. Lucy grabbed her in a hug. Silently Darren glared up at them, his head on the floor under Harold’s knee.

  Lucy didn't want to call the cops, but Rosa insisted, and after a while two uniforms and a detective came puffing up the stairs. After hearing the story they took Darren away. Rosa was sad but angry, and a resilient girl. She insisted on going to Bouley that night. Only change in plans was they had to make room at the table for Harold, who drank seltzer all night.

  Lucy re-read the brief letter before sending it off.

  Dear Heidi:

  The article you assigned me has been transformed into a book, for which I have received a contract and an advance. As a result I will be unable to complete the assignment per our original agreement. Naturally I don't expect any kill fee whatsoever, and I will cover my incurred expenses. However, if you would like to discuss serialization rights, please feel free to call my agent, Dorothy LeMoyne, at the Figgs-Rider Agency. Meanwhile, I hope all is well. I'll send you an invite when the publication party date is set.

  Regards,

  Lucy Ripken

  This concludes book two in the Lucy Ripken Mysteries. You can find book three here!

 

 

 


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