The framing was complete, and the insulated walls were up. Before we could go inside, Stu Crowell met us coming out, his ever-present camera with him.
“Hi, there,” he said. “Did the big man leave town and you two snuck down here somehow?”
“Mayo gave us the hard hats himself,” I said.
“He must want something,” Stu said. “How about a tour?”
“No taping, right?” Emma said.
“Nope. I’m keeping track of the work for budget purposes.”
Stu led us through framed-in rooms on the new cement, and Emma seemed able to visualize what everything would look like. She guessed the square footage at around twenty-four hundred. I supposed Realtors could do that. As for me, it was all beams and pipes and wires. Emma wanted to walk through again on her own, so Stu and I waited in what would be the foyer—at least I could figure that much out.
“I was hoping to see you while we were here, Stu,” I said. “Have you had more than one interview with the police about what happened Monday?”
“Nope. I talked to a Sergeant Benson that day, but he only wanted to make sure he had my name and phone number in case he had more questions later. They did that with the whole crew.”
“Did everyone know why I was with Emma that day?”
“Not everyone, but a few people asked after they made the find. Why? What’s this about?”
I debated whether to tell him. Stu had impressed me as an honest, genuine man since day one. “Someone has been following me while I’ve been investigating the death of Emma’s mother.”
He looked at me, surprised. “Her mother’s death? I thought this was about—”
“It’s a long story. Can you recall specifically who asked you questions, aside from the police? Strangers in the crowd? Crew members? City employees?” Saying this made me realize how vast the suspect list might be.
“I don’t remember. Sorry.”
Damn. “Maybe there was someone who stood out to other production people, someone who seemed overly curious?”
“No one said anything to me,” he answered.
I sighed. “If you get a chance, could you ask around and see if anyone else noticed or talked to someone like that?”
Stu nodded. “I can do that. There was a lot of mumbling in that crowd behind the fence. But we’re used to people watching us, wanting to get on camera.”
I smiled. “Emma and I would be grateful for anything anyone remembers.”
“Sure. She’s special, that one. I’ve done plenty of these shows and helped a lot of nice people. People like Emma are why I keep coming back when Mayo calls. He may be there to take the credit when the e-mails roll and the ratings are out, but it’s the researchers, the directors, the film editors, the builders, the craftsmen, the decorators, the shoppers, the banks that give scholarships, the companies that—Hell, I could go on and on. Those are the real heroes.”
“Them and you,” I said. “Without you catching true emotion on tape, Reality Check wouldn’t be the hit it is.”
“I didn’t finish. Mayo’s an ass, but he’s a true show runner. You gotta have someone like him to put it all together. He does that well.”
I nodded. “You’re probably right. Thanks for reminding me you can’t judge a car by the sound of the horn.”
The call from DeShay came while I was in the grocery store trying my best to balance boxes of Cocoa Puffs with equal parts broccoli. It took everything I had not to blurt out the news that Jeff was back in town. Especially when DeShay’s first words were, “You hear from the man today?”
“Have you?” I was hoping to avoid an outright lie.
“Voice mail. Guess he’s busy.”
“I talked to him last night.” At least that much was true. “He seemed to hint that he’d be home soon.”
“That’s good. Listen, I got a lead on our pro, Diamond. I decided to try a shortcut first and it worked. Remember Christine O’Meara had that one arrest?”
“Yeah.” I realized where he was going with this. “Did she get picked up because she was with her friend Diamond?”
“You got it. Diamond had lots of names, but funny thing—her fingerprints never changed. Her real name was Fiona Mancuso. Had multiple arrests for solicitation.”
My stomach sank. “You’re speaking of her in the past tense. Is she dead?” I’d stopped my cart in front of the Pop-Tarts and realized a woman with a toddler was staring at me, her mouth open. I guess the words Is she dead? don’t go over well in the supermarket.
“She’s dead to HPD,” DeShay went on. “No arrests since 1998. I’m running a print check through DPS to see if she’s still around, and then I’ll check the NCIC database. Maybe she relocated and is still in business.”
“And if she’s not?”
I’d maneuvered my cart over to a less trafficked area and stopped.
“Don’t get discouraged, Abby. Your boy DeShay has been on this all day. Last time she was brought in they also hauled in her pimp on drug charges, a guy named James Caldwell. We know he’s still around because he was recently released from prison. His next scheduled visit to his probation officer is Monday, and White and I plan to be there.”
“Would he know where to find Diamond after all this time?” I asked.
“Maybe not, but he might be able to give us a few names of friends, relatives, you know.”
“By the way, I know why someone tailed me so easily last week. Guess what I found stuck under my bumper?” I told him about the GPS device.
“Could be Kravitz had it put on your car.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said.
“White’s been dealing with the Crime Time jerks. He could ask one of them, but he took off today and tomorrow to spend time at the hospital, I guess I could call him, see if he wants to make a call.”
“Don’t bother him with this yet. The good news is, I found the stupid thing, so—Wait a minute. What about Emma? Could she have one on her rental car?”
He sighed. “She might. I’m on my way out of here. I’ll stop by the hotel and check her car. What’s she driving?”
I gave him the description.
“Are you home?” he asked. “I can pick up the device you found, turn it over to the tech people. We may be able to find out who bought it.”
“Actually, I’m not home. I-I’m shopping for a friend who’s not feeling well.” More skirting the truth. I hated this. “I could meet you in the hotel parking lot and give the thing to you—say, in about thirty minutes?”
“That’ll work.”
“Another question. Did you talk to Billings’s family? Ask if he came into any money around the time he changed his mind about his Crime Stoppers tip?”
“I did, as a matter of fact. If he had any extra cash, the ex didn’t know about it or she would have taken everything she could for back child support.”
“Hmm. Maybe he didn’t blackmail anyone, then. See you soon.” I hung up and hurriedly finished shopping.
When I pulled into the hotel lot a half hour later, I spotted the rented Caddy right away, but DeShay wasn’t there. I found him on the other end of the parking lot, and as I handed over the GPS device, he told me he’d spotted someone he thought he recognized—a local PI named Louie Titlson—sitting in a car with the window down, and smoking.
“I think Louie and I need to talk. Want to come?” DeShay said.
I smiled. “I would love nothing more.”
I climbed in the T-bird and we made the short trip. DeShay didn’t bother to find a parking spot. He just braked when we reached Tillson’s car. DeShay got out and rapped on the driver’s-side window, which was now rolled up.
Slowly the window came down, revealing a man with the perfect face for PI work. If I had to describe him to someone else, the only word I could think of would be ordinary.
“Hey, Peters. What’s going down?” Tillson said.
“Nothing, man. You working?” DeShay said.
“You wouldn’t be knock
ing on my window if I wasn’t. Who’s the lady?”
I was leaning against the T-bird and planned to keep my mouth shut, as DeShay had suggested on the drive across the lot.
“I’ll bet you’ve seen her before, isn’t that right?” DeShay said.
“Me? No way.” He laughed.
But all three of us knew this was a lie, and I wondered if Louie Tillson had followed me to that dry cleaner with Paul Kravitz in the passenger seat.
“Louie, I’ll pass on your bullshit,” DeShay said. “Why are you hanging around here? No, don’t bother answering. Emma Lopez, right? And if she finds out, she might have to resort to that nasty stalker law.”
“You know that ain’t gonna fly, Peters. Public streets are a PI’s domain.”
“But see, this isn’t a public street, man. This here is a private parking lot, and I don’t think you’ve rented a room at the hotel. Or am I wrong?”
Tillson’s face colored. “You running me off? Is that it?”
“Depends on who hired you and why you’re here.”
“You know I can’t tell you that,” Tillson said. “I’ll go park in the street if that’s what you want.”
“From what I saw on the drive here, you won’t find a metered spot unless you go about five blocks.”
“I can do my job without any help from you, Peters.”
“Sure. That’s right.” DeShay turned to me. “Abby, you got your phone handy?”
I pulled it from my pocket. “Right here.”
“Take a picture of my friend Louie, would you?”
I flipped open the phone, hit the camera button and pressed capture before Louie could blink. I didn’t even get his ear in the shot, but I nodded, saved the worthless photo and closed my phone with a satisfied smile.
“Thank you,” DeShay said. “Now here’s the deal, Louie. You tell me why you’re here—not who hired you, ’cause I know you got your ethical standards to uphold—and maybe I won’t show this picture to hotel security and tell them they’ve got a pest on their property. If I do that, I’m thinking they’ll throw your ass out of here every time you show up.”
“She’s an investment, a reluctant one, they say,” Louie replied. “They want her protected, want to see where she goes and with who.”
“And what about my friend Abby? Are they protecting her, too?”
“Nah. They’re just interested in what she’s up to. I don’t know if anyone’s even on her anymore.”
DeShay walked over to the T-bird for the GPS device. He then brought it back to Louie and held it out. “This belong to you?”
“What the hell is that?” Tillson asked.
“Don’t play dumb, Louie.”
Tillson squinted and then said, “A GPS monitor?”
“If I look under Ms. Lopez’s rental, am I going to find one like it?”
“You think I need GPS to tail someone, Peters? What do you figure me for, some kind of amateur?”
DeShay laughed. “And do you figure me for some kind of stupid? Tell me you’ve never used one of these things.”
“Okay, I’ve used them, but not one like that, and not on this case. Go ahead. Check her car if you don’t believe me.”
And that was exactly what DeShay did. He found nothing.
Before we parted ways with Louie Tillson, DeShay pointed at the phone still in my hand. “If I find out you’ve lied to me about anything, I’ll make sure you lose your nice fat paycheck from those TV assholes by getting you kicked out of this lot.”
“What the hell would I lie about, Peters?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”
I thanked DeShay, left the GPS device with him and drove on to Jeff’s apartment. He and Doris helped me carry the groceries inside. Putting away the food was like Christmas for Doris. Every box of cereal, every vegetable, every piece of fruit was like a prize. Then I showed her the other best Texas drink: caffeine-free, sugar-free Dr Pepper. I thought it would be an easier sell than something with the word Coke printed on it. Then I realized I didn’t even know if Doris could spell. Gosh, Jeff and I had a whole new learning curve ahead.
The Dr Pepper was a hit, and we shared a late dinner of deli rotisserie chicken, potato salad and fruit. Doris seemed to savor every bite and had better table manners than me. She even offered a halting, “May I leave the table?” when she was finished eating. Dr Pepper in hand, she went straight to Jeffs ancient recliner and used the remote to turn the DVD player back on. Once Jeff and I tossed the paper plates and loaded the dishwasher with glasses and silverware, we could hear Doris snoring loudly.
“Been a long day for her.” Jeff pulled me close.
I tossed the sponge I’d wiped the card table with into the sink and wrapped my arms around him. “Long day for you, too. DeShay was asking about you.”
“I called him about five minutes before you got here. I had to tell him I was back, Abby. I couldn’t lie to him.”
“I know the feeling, but I wish you would have done that earlier. I was dancing all around the topic of Jeff Kline. Or should I say Jeffy Kline?”
He smiled down at me. “When Doris was little, she couldn’t say Jeffrey—that’s what my Mom always called me. I became Jeffy.”
“You’re taking on a big challenge, but I’m glad you brought her here.”
“Nothing else felt right. But my place is too small. I’ll have to find a bigger apartment, get her bedroom furniture and—”
I put a finger to his lips. “Kate put a contract on a house today, and she’ll be moving out. We can stay at my house while you hunt for apartments and find Doris a good caregiver. At least then everyone will have a bed to sleep in.”
“Abby, I can’t ask you—”
“You don’t have to ask. Now do something better with your mouth than talk. She’s asleep and we need to make good use of our time.”
21
The following morning, Kate and I ate breakfast on the back porch. She’d made a bagel run and as promised brought home cinnamon raisin as well as the two-ton, whole grain, generously seeded kind she prefers. Kate wasn’t in when I got home the night before, so at least I didn’t have to lie about being at Jeffs place. In fact, both of us avoided the subject of the previous night altogether, instead focusing on the house she’d fallen in love with and how she hoped they’d take her cash offer.
“Who wouldn’t?” I said.
“I’m afraid the owner will change his mind or something,” Kate said.
“The house is empty, Kate. Why would he change his mind?”
She grinned. “If I don’t have something to worry about, life seems so empty.” But despite the joke, she and I both knew who the pessimist in the family was.
She said, “The armoire and the bedroom set I let Aunt Caroline keep when I moved in with Terry will soon have a new home.”
“I picture her being completely shocked that you would take back furniture you’d given her.”
“She knows they’re mine, Abby.”
“Hey, I’m preparing you, okay?”
She looked out at the cloudless sky. “Buying all new furniture would be cleansing, wouldn’t it? A brand-new start?”
“You don’t want to ask her for your stuff back, do you?”
Kate smiled. “Not really.”
“Coward,” I said.
I heard the doorbell ring through the open porch door, and Webster started barking—seemed he was already getting protective of my place. Kate and I went inside the house, and while I went to the foyer to see who was there, Kate took our plates and coffee cups to the kitchen.
DeShay’s smiling face appeared on the security monitor when I turned it on. I opened the door and let him in. He wore a navy sports jacket and striped tie.
“You coming from church or are you working?” I asked.
Before he could answer, Kate joined us. “Hi, DeShay. Bet you’re missing Jeff almost as much as Abby.”
“Hey, Kate. You are looking particularly gorgeous this morning.”
He avoided the Jeff question, as I had yesterday.
“You’re between girlfriends again, I take it?” she said.
“You think I’m hitting on you?” He looked at me. “Abby, she thinks I’m hitting on her.”
We all laughed. DeShay does like the ladies.
“What’s up?” I asked.
He’d brought a manila folder with him and opened it. “Check this out.”
It was a mug shot of a woman with blond hair, smeared makeup and lifeless eyes.
“This is the woman I told you about. Fiona Mancuso, aka Diamond Monroe, aka Loretta Mancuso—I won’t bore you with all the other names she’s used. This has to be Christine O’Meara’s friend.”
“I’m sure Rhoda could tell us for sure, except I doubt the motorcycle shop is open on Sunday,” I said.
Kate was staring at the mug shot, and I could tell she’d switched to therapist mode. “I hate seeing someone that young look so empty.”
“If it helps, she hasn’t been arrested in nine years.” DeShay looked at me. “I checked the databases and there’s nothing recent. She’s never had a driver’s license using any of the aliases we know about. Either she died or she went down the straight and narrow into oblivion.”
“What about her social security number?” I asked.
“You don’t exactly need one of those when you turn tricks for a living. No number was ever recorded on any of her arrest reports.”
“Great. All we’ve got is a pimp to help us. And why should he do that?” I asked.
“If he knows anything, he’ll cooperate. Not hard to dig up a reason to send a lifelong criminal back to jail.”
“Ah,” I said, nodding. “What about Emma? If this was her mother’s friend, maybe she saw her at least once. There were parties at the house before the last baby was born.”
“Can’t hurt to show her the mug shot, I guess,” DeShay said.
“I’ll give her a call right now,” I said.
I learned Emma, Shannon and Luke were headed for Mass, and she said she’d stop by when the service was over. DeShay had no problem with this arrangement, as there were bagels and cream cheese to enjoy. I put on a fresh pot of coffee and had just poured three mugs when the doorbell rang. I checked my watch and was thinking they went to the shortest Mass they could find, but the monitor showed Clinton Roark’s smiling face.
Shoot from the Lip Page 19
