“Another?” Benny asked.
“Nah,” Penny said. “Got an early morning.”
“At the post office?” I asked.
“Before that. Creston.”
“What’s up?” Lola asked.
“…exercise…gym,” she mumbled.
“Are you still on the Mediterranean diet?” I asked. I’d seen Penny gobble up sliders this week. Clearly a departure from seafood and vegetables.
“O’Dell, some things in life aren’t worth the trouble.”
Amen to that.
“I’m off the diet. I’m into exercise at the Y.”
“That’s fantastic, Penny.” Which reminded me, I needed to get back into my own workout program before I seriously considered a wedding dress. “Aerobics? Weight lifting?”
“Nah. Got a personal trainer,” she snickered.
Lola and I exchanged looks.
“I’m kickboxing. Spinning. Resistor training.”
“Resistance training?” Lola asked.
“Whatever. He’s cute.”
I waved off Penny’s attempt to pay for her drink, and she heaved herself off the stool. “Walter’s gonna need some hand-holding when he finds out about Gabriel. And the show closing.”
Lola sighed. “I’ll be on it first thing in the morning.”
About the same time the whole Carlos-Bella-Gabriel scenario would hit the Etonville gossip machine.
“Later, O’Dell.” Penny gave us a half salute and sauntered out the door.
Lola checked her watch. Ten forty-five. Felt like midnight to me. She pushed away her unfinished wine. “I need some sleep. Keep me posted?” She hugged me goodbye, pulled the collar of her coat up around her ears, and ventured into the night.
The dining room had emptied, the three remaining patrons at the bar paying their bill and gathering their belongings. Henry had closed the kitchen and Enrico and Gillian had departed half an hour ago. “Go home. I’ll close up,” I told Benny. He’d been picking up a lot of my hours lately.
“Thanks. Gotta take the princess to the doctor in the morning if her cold isn’t gone.” He tossed a bar rag into the sink. Benny looked worried and tired—he was a good dad.
“Hey, come in late tomorrow. I’ll cover for you.”
He nodded and left. The Windjammer was suddenly quiet. My cell buzzed. I jumped. A text from Bill: you up? at work? call me. I tapped Bill’s number.
“Hi,” I said in a rush when he answered. “What’s going on? What happened in Bernridge?”
“Carlos and Bella are safe. We debriefed them. The owners of Speedwell Auto Parts are in custody. Along with Gabriel Quincey. The Villariases are retaining a lawyer for him. Suki’s in Bernridge, wrapping things up.”
“And the Chicago hitman?”
“They’re being pretty tight-lipped about him and their connection to him.”
“Sounds like a good day’s work.”
“Thanks to you. That parlor trick Bella did got you thinking, which in turn led to Bernridge. You never did tell me how you knew about Speedwell—”
“Anybody confess to the murder?” There would be time later to confess to my unofficial detection.
“Not yet. Somebody will cave. Wouldn’t be surprised if we have a case of ‘no honor among thieves.’”
“Meaning?”
“According to a conversation Carlos claimed he overheard at the auto shop, the Speedwell people were going at it pretty badly. Seems there was some disagreement about how to handle him. And the flash drive.”
“It’s still in the theater.”
“I know. Carlos is stalling for the moment. Wants to reclaim it before he says anything else. Can’t blame him. His state witness protection experience was hellish. Living like a caged animal. Not like in the movies, according to Carlos. I guess the isolation and lack of financial support and being dumped in Colorado with no family or friends or identity got to them.”
Which prompted the move to New Jersey, where their son lived.
“Then the mob discovered their whereabouts,” Bill added.
“The flash drive is evidence in the murder case, right?”
“Possibly. It gave Carlos protection against the mob. And the state of Illinois cut him loose. He already testified for them. Sure, they’re gonna want that flash drive, but it’s Carlos’s property. His insurance.”
“And Gabriel? What did he plan to do with the flash drive?”
“He claims he wanted to bargain for his parents’ lives.”
That sounded sketchy to me. “What about the aconite? I got the names of waiters from La Famiglia. You’ll want to question them. See if anyone spiked the hitman’s punch.”
“Assuming he was at the Halloween party.”
“He was there. Photographic proof. Besides, I saw a Grim Reaper drinking a cup of the punch.”
“This whole thing is tricky. Hope to know more in a few hours.”
He sounded exhausted. Between Chicago, traveling, and getting bonked on his noggin, Bill had had a rough few days. “How’s your head?”
“I’ll live.”
“Any chance you’ll get home soon?” I asked softly.
“Soon.” He lowered his voice. “Keep the bed warm.”
“I’ll be waiting up,” I said in my sexy voice and clicked off.
I mopped the floor, wiped down the bar, and flicked off the lights. Time to head home.
Outside the Windjammer, I paused. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind a cloud cover. Didn’t bode well for tomorrow’s weather. A brisk wind swirled a few dead leaves hither and yon on the sidewalk. I buttoned my coat. I should have marched to my car, settled into its front seat, and barreled to Bill’s place. I could make a mug of hot tea, burrow into the comforter, and wait—impatiently—for him to arrive.
Something was niggling at the back of my mind. And rattling my radar. Bill was right—the pieces of this puzzle were complicated.
Carlos had the flash drive as insurance…supposedly, the Chicago mob wanted it badly enough to kill for it…before the hitman could execute the contract on Carlos, he died via aconite and a heart attack…the mob sent a second guy who must have hooked up with Speedwell Auto Parts and kidnapped the Villariases to get the flash drive…meanwhile Carlos’s son assaulted a police officer trying to find the flash drive on his own. Was he really trying to protect his parents, or did he have another motive… After all, he’d admitted to chasing me through town, leaving a threatening note on my windshield, and locking me in the coffin.
My head hurt from sorting through the facts of the case. I walked past the theater and stopped. I turned back. Illumination from the exit lights and an emergency light in the lobby threw shadows onto the sidewalk outside the entrance. There was also a line of light visible in the lobby from the bottom of the doors that led into the house. Someone was in the theater. Had to be Carlos. My money was on a break-in. He wouldn’t want witnesses to his hiding place. The evidence was too hot and dangerous.
My curiosity battled my desire for creature comforts. Still, I intended to keep a safe distance. I hopped in my MC and pulled onto Main Street. Around the corner, I scooted down the alley that ran behind the ELT and the Windjammer. A Subaru was parked at the theater’s loading dock. The Villariases’ automobile. I pulled into a slot adjacent to the Windjammer’s dumpster and slumped down in my seat. Carlos must have broken in the back door, stealth being of the utmost importance.
I felt safe enough in my MC, doors locked, cell phone charged. I could make a quick getaway if I needed to. With the engine off and no heat, the air inside my car had become decidedly nippy. I wrapped my arms around my midsection, tucked my nose inside my coat collar, and waited. It was eleven thirty.
My eyelids drooped, the day’s ordeals catching up with me. My cell pinged. It was Pauli: hey… kept searching databases
. john doe has Illinois govt. id. So my hunch about Mr. Chicago alias John Doe was correct. He probably worked for the Illinois state organized crime unit and was sent to Etonville to guard Carlos. I thanked my technical authority and dropped my cell onto the seat next to me.
Another five minutes passed. I leaned into the headrest and surrendered to exhaustion. My eyes closed. I had barely drifted off when a slam jerked me awake. Over the rim of the steering wheel, I saw shapes form on the dock. I sat up, alert and cautious. Then voices floated through the air. There were two people. Carlos and Bella. That made sense. They stood together, appearing to wait for something. Or someone.
The door to the scene shop opened again, and another figure emerged. Whoa. Walter! What was he doing there? My confusion level skyrocketed. Walter had every right to be in the theater. In fact, his presence explained how Carlos had gained entry. But who in their right mind would involve the anxiety-ridden, Xanax-popping director in something this sensitive? Had Carlos explained the witness protection program and mob boss evidence to Walter? Carlos was a shrewd man, deceptive when he needed to be, ingratiating when the moment called for it. Walter’s ego was susceptible to fawning. Aiding Carlos and Bella in a crucial, survival caper would be right up his alley. The three conferred, then they climbed into the car, Carlos behind the wheel, and slowly crunched gravel as they drove down the alley. I waited a minute, then tailed them, headlights off. In front of Coffee Heaven, Carlos stopped, Walter alighted, and the Villariases drove off. The taillights of the Subaru receded into the night as Walter unlocked his Jeep and got in. He hadn’t had time to shut the door before I whipped into a space next to him.
“Walter!” I called out.
He peered through the driver’s side window. “Who is it?” he asked, suspicious, slamming the door shut.
I knocked on the window. “Dodie.”
He flicked on the overhead lights, his face stubbly with a day-old beard, his hair askew as if he’d literally been yanking on it. He had a muffler wound around his neck. “What do you want?”
I rejected vinegar and applied a little sugar. “I’d like to talk to you. For a minute,” I said sweetly.
He glared at me.
“Please?”
“Why?”
I jumped into the fray. “It’s about Carlos and the flash drive.”
Obviously curious, Walter lowered the car window. “What flash drive?”
I was skating on thin ice. “The one he hid on the Dracula set,” I said firmly.
Walter scratched his head.
“That’s what he was doing in the theater, right? You let him in to find it, didn’t you?”
Walter harrumphed. “It’s very late and I’m tired. Bad enough that we had to cancel a show tonight. Of course, emergencies can’t be helped…”
Carlos was still dishing out that line of BS?
“…but getting out of bed…”
That explained his look.
“…to open the theater so an actor can retrieve his script…” Walter complained.
Aha. “Did he find his script?”
“I assume so. I was in the office when Carlos went backstage because Bella needed to Xerox some papers.”
And, alone, he took the opportunity to pick up the flash drive. Mission accomplished. “That was nice of you. Coming down here to open up.”
Walter looked skeptical. “I suppose.”
“You feel okay?” I asked.
He sniffed. “I’m getting a cold.” He tightened the scarf. “Anyway, why are you asking all these questions?”
I scrambled for an answer. “Part of the murder investigation.” Would he buy it?
“Playing detective again. Maybe you ought to forget about the restaurant business. You spend more time snooping into people’s business—” He sneezed.
Walter had a good point. “Try a hot toddy. My great-aunt Maureen swore by them. She usually came down with a cold every month. By the way, did Carlos say where he was going?”
“Home, if he had any sense. Which is where I intend to—”
“Did he say ‘home?’” I asked suddenly.
“Actually, he got a call from his sick friend. He had to go back there. If it’s any of your business,” Walter said sarcastically. “And what’s this about a flash drive?” He sneezed again.
“I was wrong. About the flash drive.”
Walter was shocked. “Never heard you admit that.”
“Yep. First time for everything.” I smiled. “Thanks. Have a good night.”
Walter pressed the ignition button. “At least the show can go on tomorrow.”
Obviously, word of Gabriel Quincey’s detention for assault hadn’t reached his ears yet. I played along. “Good.”
“I don’t blame them for leaving town when the show closes. Etonville is full of nutty people.”
Takes one to know one. “They’re leaving town?”
“Packing up, he said.”
21
Was Carlos revealing his next move? To Walter? With the flash drive in hand, he and Bella could disappear again, without Gabriel, whose future was now in question. Only a few of us were aware, at the moment, that Dracula would not reopen this weekend.
Walter’s Jeep backed out of his parking space and crawled down the street.
Across Main, the lights of the Municipal Building were burning brightly. Should I stop in the police station to see if Bill was finished for the day? He no doubt had a stack of paperwork to wade through. There was still a murder to solve… Or should I head home and, as he suggested, keep the bed warm? I yawned and opted for home.
As I headed down Main Street, a text came in from Pauli: digging on john doe…apb for him. Wait…what? Mr. Chicago worked for the Illinois organized crime unit, right? He had no criminal record, right? Why the all-points bulletin? I answered his text: when issued? My cell rang. I pulled over to the curb.
“Hi Pauli. You’re up late.”
“Yeah. Talking with Janice.”
“So the APB?”
“Yeah. Issued yesterday.”
Did Bill know anything about this? “Why?”
“Dunno. Doing deep search into Chicago organized—”
“—crime unit. Good work, Pauli.” Good but confusing work. “So we need to keep this between us.” I could almost hear him grinning.
“Natch. Gotta bounce.”
We clicked off. What did this latest piece of Pauli’s intel mean? Someone who was hired by law enforcement to protect an informant was wanted for some unlawful act. Mr. Chicago had been Carlos’s personal babysitter. Something had gone south? The nape of my neck prickled with misgivings, details about the case pushing one another out of the way like kids trying to claim first in line at a candy counter. I wracked my brain to remember tidbits about Mr. Chicago. He showed up immediately after the murder…said he was a plumbing parts salesman…apparently knew Carlos. Bill had said Chicago sent someone to keep an eye on Carlos. I assumed it was him. What if he wasn’t Carlos’s guardian angel but the opposite? There was no mention of a John Doe tonight at the Speedwell raid.
I swung my MC in a wide U-turn. Carlos had the flash drive and was heading home. To pack. I texted Bill: carlos in danger from his protector…on way to his house to warn him…send help. I jammed my foot on the accelerator and zipped to the outskirts of Etonville, exceeding the speed limit. At midnight, the streets were empty, its citizens tucked in for the night. A tiny nudge from the recesses of my mind advised me that I should wait to hear back from Bill. Yet the relief on Bella’s face tonight when we figured out where Carlos was being held, her final words that I might have “saved their lives,” pushed me onward. I had to let him know that Mr. Chicago was no friend.
Within five minutes, I was barreling down the road that led to the Hanratty homestead. I slowed as I approached the house. My heart thumped
loudly in my ears. Even in the dark, I could see two automobiles in the circular driveway. The Villariases’ Subaru and the dark sedan that had dropped Carlos off at Speedwell Auto Parts in Bernridge. Mr. Chicago’s car. I switched off my lights and coasted to the side of the road, twenty yards from the house.
My hands shook. I texted Bill again: sos…carlos in trouble…Hanratty place. get here. Bill had said Suki was in Bernridge earlier, wrapping up the raid. In case she’d returned, I left a voicemail message for her too. Then stuffed my keys and phone in my pockets, softly opened and closed the car door, and stole down the street, staying in the shadows that lined the road. I paused as I neared the front yard. From my vantage point, the house still looked haunted: exterior dilapidated, dim light escaping from the downstairs parlor windows. With the curtains pulled, it was impossible to see who was in the front room of the house.
I slipped to the perimeter of the property to avoid detection from anyone glancing out a window. The bare trees and a weathered, wooden bench were my only protection. I crept past the side of the house, the windows here also blocked by drapes, and found myself in the backyard. This was new territory. I looked around. The remains of Bella’s garden occupied most of the space, along with some outdated lawn furniture. The dark of the yard provided some safety, so I inched toward the small patch of cement that served as a back porch. Light shone from the kitchen windows. Maybe I could get close enough to see if Carlos and Bella—
A blast of white light turned the night into day and caught me smack in its center. Too late, I realized the Villariases had installed motion-activated security lighting. I dropped to my hands and knees, my fingernails digging into damp mud, the knees of my pants already wet. Put it in reverse! I told myself, backing up. Straight into a pair of legs.
Killing Time Page 24
