“Now, look, Ms.-”
“And for the last time, my name is LaBoeuf, not La Beef!”
Oh, for God’s sake.
Minka charged in, Inspector Lee hot on her heels. I stood and braced myself for whatever else she was about to spew, but nothing could’ve prepared me for her vicious slap across my face.
“Ohhhh.” I fell back against the counter from the force of the blow.
“Wait a damn second!” Inspector Lee grabbed Minka from behind.
I leaned one elbow heavily on the counter, clutching my jaw, breathing deeply, staring sideways at the two of them as they grappled for power.
Had I thought the presence of a cop would keep Minka in line? Big mistake.
I looked beyond Minka at Inspector Lee. I could tell she’d been taken aback as well, but she still managed to subdue her. Physically, anyway.
“Killer!” Minka shrieked again.
“Shut up,” Lee shouted, then looked intently at me.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” I said, rubbing my cheek and jaw where her meaty hand had connected with my face. “But I could always change my mind.”
“Okay, you shut up, too,” Lee said, still struggling with the writhing maniac.
I tried to move my jaw back and forth. It didn’t feel broken, not that I knew what a broken jaw felt like. I just knew it hurt like hell.
Lee’s lips twitched, and not in amusement. She’d had enough of Minka’s squirming and one-handedly shoved her to the floor, then reached behind her back for handcuffs and snapped them onto Minka’s wrists. “Shut up and don’t move.”
Minka growled and squirmed on the floor like a pissed-off alligator. “You’re arresting me?” she cried. “She’s the murderer!”
“And you’re under arrest for assault,” Lee told her, clucking her tongue. “Right in front of a police officer. That’s just stupid.”
I figured it wasn’t a good time to give Inspector Lee a high five, but I was definitely impressed with her style.
The side of my face was starting to burn and I wanted to go home and sleep for a week.
Lee glared at me. “You want to start talking?”
“About what?” I tried to look innocent but probably only managed to look bruised.
She shook her head as she pulled her cell phone out and pushed a few keys. “I need backup,” she snarled into the phone. “Now.”
She flipped the phone shut. Apparently, she’d heard enough bullshit for one day.
Meanwhile, I could feel my cheek swelling.
After two uniformed officers took Minka off to jail, Inspector Lee asked me to follow her back to police headquarters for a little talk. And when I say she “asked” me to follow her, I was fairly certain she meant I could follow her to headquarters on my own or I could take a ride in the back of a squad car.
Minka’s assault must’ve slapped some sense into me because I was more than willing to tell the truth about being at Enrico’s. Lying about it had just gotten my face bashed in.
My cell phone rang and I grabbed it, hoping it was either Derek or Ian. I’d left more than a few voice mail messages for each of them.
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Mom.”
“I’m planning a barbecue next Saturday because Austin’s bringing Robin home for dinner. Isn’t that sweet? Savannah will be in town, too, and I left a message for Ian. I understand there’s a nice English fellow you’ve been seeing. You can bring him if you’d like.”
That nice English fellow who was ignoring my calls? Not a chance. And who had told my mother about him?
“I’m not sure Derek can make it, Mom,” I said.
“We’ll be barbecuing filets,” she said to tempt me further.
“Savannah’s eating a steak? I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”
My youngest sister was a fruitarian. I didn’t even bother trying to understand what that meant. The girl insisted she got all the protein she needed from coconut milk and raw nuts. If you asked me, she’d consumed one too many nuts.
“Oh, she’ll eat a mango or something,” Mom muttered; then she perked up again. “Dad has a new cabernet he wants you to try. You know he trusts your taste buds more than anyone’s.”
It was blatant flattery but it worked. “I’ll be there, Mom. But I’ll have to let you know about Derek.”
“Super dandy,” Mom said. “So, what are you up to, sweetie? How are your chakras?”
I turned right on Fillmore and waited for a break in traffic in order to make the left turn onto Oak. “Well, if you must know, my chakras and I are on our way to police headquarters.”
“What?” she cried in alarm. “Sweetie, that’s not funny.”
“Sorry, Mom. I’m just going down to answer some questions.”
“Oh my God.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m okay. Well, I think so, anyway. But see, first Abraham was murdered and now they’ve discovered Enrico Baldacchio’s body. So they want to talk to people.” I jammed my brakes at Geary as the light turned red. The action jarred my tender jaw and I groaned aloud.
Mom groaned, too. “Oh God, they’re arresting you.”
“Mom, no.”
“Oh God,” she said again. “I knew this would happen.”
“What do you mean?”
She moaned, then abruptly began to chant. “Nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho renge kyo-”
“Mom, stop. They won’t arrest me. I didn’t do anything. They don’t have any evidence.”
“Not yet,” she cried, and chanted even louder. “Nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho renge kyo.”
“Mom, they just want to talk to me because I knew both men.”
She was chanting so loudly now, I didn’t think she heard me. “Nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho renge kyo.”
For a Unitarian, the woman sure could belt out a Buddhist chant.
Dad had always talked about the time he and his buddy Norman ran out of money. Since they were hungry, they decided to chant for food. Twenty minutes later, Mom showed up with two bags of groceries. She believed in the power of the chant.
“Nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho-”
“I’ll call you when I get home, Mom,” I shouted, unsure whether she could hear me anymore. “Please don’t worry.”
I disconnected the call, but I was pretty sure Mom would keep chanting until either world peace was declared or I broke out of jail.
I sat on a folding chair in a small interrogation room in the police homicide division, located inside the Hall of Justice Building. Inspectors Lee and Jaglow had started the interview but had been called away, leaving me alone for the last hour and forty minutes. I knew they were trying to unnerve me by making me wait, and it was working. I was ready to confess all my sins. Fortunately, murder was not one of them. So far. I was hedging my bets where Minka was concerned.
I tapped my fingers on the table and stared at the strangely attractive taupe walls for the three hundredth time. As usual when I had time on my hands, my brain circled around Abraham’s murder. But instead of the usual visions of dead bodies, blood and books circling my brain, I kept going back to my last meeting with Abraham the night he died. He’d been so warm and jovial, so positively reflective, so excited for the future.
“We won’t be strangers anymore,” he’d promised. And “I plan to live in the present and enjoy every minute.”
I swiped away angry tears and repeated my vow to find the person who killed Abraham’s chances to enjoy his life. That person had destroyed my opportunity to rebuild my friendship with my teacher and deprived Annie of the father she might’ve known.
The door swung open and Derek Stone walked in. “Did you confess all?”
“I haven’t had the chance.”
“Good.” He looked around. “Nice room.”
“It is pleasant, isn’t it?”
“Ready to go?”
“I haven’t talked to the
police yet.”
“That won’t be necessary just now. They’ll call you later and arrange a time to stop by your place.”
“How do you know?”
“Inspector Jaglow told me.”
“He couldn’t tell me?”
“He’s busy.”
My eyes narrowed on him. “He had time to talk to you.”
“Of course.”
I sighed. “He could’ve said something.”
“He’s been occupied elsewhere. Somebody confessed to the murders.”
I gawked at him. “You’re kidding me. Who?”
He lifted his shoulders. “How the devil would I know? I listened to twelve hysterical messages from you, so I raced down here, only to be told that someone else had already confessed. Do you want to go or not?”
“Don’t get snippy with me,” I said, stalking toward the door. “I’ve had a bad day.”
“Whoa,” he said, gripping my shoulders to stop me. He stared at me for a long moment, then cautiously touched my cheek with his fingers. “What’d you run into, darling?”
“Very funny.” I felt tears welling up, so I went on the offensive. “Where have you been, anyway? And by the way, I do not leave hysterical messages.”
He wasn’t cowed. Instead, he tucked my arm through his and led me down the corridor to the main entrance of the Hall of Justice, just as the double glass doors swung open and my mother was led inside by two police officers. Her hands were held behind her back.
“No,” I cried, and rushed across the wide, linoleum-floored lobby. I hugged her and felt her trembling.
“Mother, what’re you doing here?” I tried to ignore the flash of déjà vu from that question, the exact same thing I’d asked her the night Abraham was murdered.
“Oh, sweetie, you’re safe,” Mom said, then focused in on my bruised jaw. “They beat you!” she cried, and burst into tears.
Derek walked with me the two long blocks to the parking structure and waited until I was in my car with the doors locked and the window opened.
I hadn’t said a word, too worried about my mother confessing to two murders in some cockeyed scheme to protect me. My need to find Abraham’s killer, now, today, had just accelerated into hyperspeed. I couldn’t let Mom spend the night in jail for something she didn’t do.
“You know my mother didn’t kill anyone,” I said.
“Well, yes.” He folded his arms across his chest. “She hardly strikes me as a cold-blooded killer.”
“Thank you.” I sighed. “She freaked out. I was on the phone with her, telling her I was going to the police station, and she lost it. I’m sure she just confessed to protect me. The problem is, I’m the one who needs to protect her.”
“Why must either of you protect the other?”
Oh, crap. I looked into his eyes. “I know you’re working with the police but I… I trust you.”
He nodded. “I appreciate that.”
“Okay, what I’m about to tell you is never to go any further. If I find out you told someone, I won’t rest until I’ve hunted you down and whacked you. I’ll beat you until you’re a bloody stump; then I’ll destroy your-”
“Got it,” he said, resting his hands on my window-sill. “Just get to the point.”
“Fine,” I said in a huff. “But you’ve been warned. My mother was at the Covington the night of Abraham’s death. She had a meeting with him but he never showed up. The police don’t know this. I ran into her on the stairs as I was going down to Abraham’s workroom in the basement. It shocked the hell out of me. She wouldn’t tell me why she was meeting with him. I’m afraid… I think they might’ve been having an affair.”
His lips twisted. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true; she was there.”
“Maybe she was, but I don’t believe she was having an affair. She’s not the type.”
“There’s a type?”
He shrugged. “A vibe, if you will.”
I looked askance. “Are you saying my mother couldn’t attract a man?”
He backed away from the car. “I refuse to have this discussion with a woman on the verge of hysteria.”
“You want to see hysteria? Where are you going? Come back. What do you mean, there’s a type?”
He waved as he continued to back away. “Drive carefully, darling. Put some ice on that cheek.”
Chapter 15
No matter how self-sufficient and worldly a girl is, sometimes she just needs to talk to her dad.
I paid the parking ransom and drove out of the Bryant and Sixth Street garage, then punched the speed dial number for my parents’ home. Dad picked up on the first ring, which told me he’d been expecting a phone call since he usually let the answering machine pick up.
I told him everything I knew. As usual, he refused to give in to fear or negativity.
“Mom’s going to be fine, Brooks,” he assured me. “She took a refresher course in Vedanta last week.”
“Ah, Vedanta,” I said, vaguely familiar with the ancient Indian philosophy that taught one to live life according to higher ideals in order to achieve inner bliss. “Why was I worried?”
“Exactly,” he said, pleased that I appreciated the significance of Vedanta. “Still, I’d better get my butt down there.”
That was the first note of stress I’d heard in his voice.
“I’ll meet you there,” I offered as I pulled into my building’s parking garage, shifted to Park and turned off the engine. Homicide headquarters was nothing if not convenient to my place. I’d made it home in less than five minutes.
“No, no, you’ve been through enough. I’ll call Carl and his pack of lawyers. They’ll take care of everything.”
“Dad, you know Mom’s innocent, right?”
He actually chuckled. “Of course she’s innocent. Your mother wouldn’t knowingly hurt a flea. It would skew her karma and jeopardize her samsara for lifetimes to come.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” I glanced around the cold, dark, deserted underground parking lot and made a mental note to insist on better lighting at the next homeowners’ meeting.
“So, I’d better get cracking here,” Dad said.
“Okay, but, Dad, I’m afraid Mom confessed because she’s trying to protect me.”
“Really? What did you do?”
“Nothing, I swear! But could you please tell Mom it’s not necessary?”
“What’s not necessary?” There was a pause; then he said, “I’m going to need to write this down, aren’t I?”
I could picture him scratching the side of his head as he searched for a pad and pencil. I sighed. “Never mind, Dad. Just please call me as soon as you know anything, okay?”
“You bet your boots, honey. Peace, out.”
“Uh, yeah, bye.” My parents were nothing if not semicurrent with their lingo.
I limped to the elevator, unsure what Dad could do to get Mom out of jail after she’d come forward and confessed to killing Abraham. Short of confessing to the murder himself.
“Oh no, he wouldn’t.” It felt as if a tendril of ice were sliding down my spine, and I pushed that thought firmly out of my mind.
As I slammed the elevator gate shut and pushed the button for the sixth floor, different scenarios ran through my head of my mother being grilled by two determined homicide inspectors.
I could just imagine her giving them some half-baked reason for killing two men in cold blood. Then she’d flash them her Sunny Bunny Face and invite them to next Saturday’s barbecue.
Now that I thought about it, the inspectors probably needed more of my sympathy than Mom did.
Dad was right. Mom would be fine, while I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The police really wouldn’t keep her in a jail cell, would they?
As soon as I got inside and took off my shoes, I was going to call Inspector Lee.
The elevator trembled to a halt. I shoved the gate back and walked down the hall to my place, grateful for the skyligh
ts and wall sconces that kept the long hallway light and welcoming instead of dark and gloomy.
I was anxious to shut myself away and do what I always did when my world was going crazy-bury myself in work.
I turned the corner and staggered to a halt. My front door was ajar.
A thousand nerve endings pulsated, stabbing my skin like so many needles. I tried to replay the day in my head. Had I really been so distracted when I left this morning that I’d-no. I never would’ve left my door open.
Someone had been inside my home. They might still be there.
Every rule in the book told me not to go inside. And after a few seconds of debate, I complied. I ran to Suzie and Vinnie’s place down the hall and around the corner. I hammered on their door, praying they were home.
“What the fagoo?” Suzie said as she opened the door. “Brooklyn! Whassup? Whoa, you look freaked. Come on in.”
“No. I need to know if you saw someone go into my place today. Did someone-oh God. I think someone broke into my place.”
“No fucking way,” she said. Looking over her shoulder, she shouted, “Vinnie, stay in the house. Lock the door behind me.”
Suzie grabbed my arm, said, “Come on,” and pulled me all the way to my front door. “Shit, somebody punched the lock straight through.”
“How?”
“You don’t wanna know,” she said grimly. “You ready?”
Damn, this girl was tough. I guess that was a prerequisite if you worked with chain saws all day.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“ ’Kay, we’re going in.”
I nodded firmly. “Let’s roll.”
She used her foot to push the door open and we walked inside. Or tried to, anyway.
I groaned. “No, no, no.”
“Shit, man. This place is a mess.”
That was putting it mildly. My studio was a shambles. Tools and brushes were scattered every which way on the worktables and the floor. Paper was torn and thrown everywhere. Piles of marbled endpapers and rolls of cloth and leather used for making new book covers were tossed across the room. Hundreds of spools of thread that had been neatly sorted by color and size into narrow shelves on the walls above the wide sideboard that ran the length of the room were now skewed every which way all over the floor.
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