Ted drove us to the chicken place in his Escalade — a good thing too because Zelda had no business driving in her frame of mind. Although it was a 60-second drive, I enjoyed being driven in a luxury vehicle with heated seats, that didn't smell like last week's gym clothes. Even Zelda relaxed once she was out of the rain and inside a warm, comfy car.
The chicken place mostly did carry-out trade with a few cheap booths in a small dining room. Ted ordered two whole chickens fresh off the barbecue spit, with pita bread, garlic sauce, falafels, fries and tall cups of hot coffee.
For a few minutes, we ate in silence. Between the rain and the accident our bodies needed fuel and plenty of it. Ted watched me so intently that I figured I looked like a freak with my mop of hair plastered against my head, slowly frizzing up as it dried. My shoes, shirt and jacket were soaked and sticking to my skin. I gulped coffee but I still shivered throughout the meal.
Ted pushed his food away and smiled. "Okay. Let's acknowledge that we've all had a bad day and work together to solve the situation."
"I'll tell you what'll solve this situation..."
"Zelda, shut up."
She sneered at me. "Did you just tell me to shut up?"
"Let the man talk for a minute. You don't have to keep harping at him. He's already said he wants to solve the situation, so hear him out."
Zelda scowled but leaned back in her seat and gave Ted an expectant glare.
Ted winked at me and smiled at Zelda. "You have my card, so you know I have a transportation company. We also have our own shop, so I'd be happy to have one of my guys fix your car. We'd probably need it for a couple days though. If that leaves you without a vehicle, I can scare up a loaner, so you won't be left without transportation."
Zelda grunted. "And what's that going to cost me?"
"Nothing."
Zelda narrowed her eyes. "Nothing? What's the catch?"
"No catch."
Even I couldn't believe he was going to fix her car free of charge. I looked out the window at his Escalade. "And your car?"
"No damage. I have special reinforced bumpers, which are pretty much indestructible. I doubt we'll even have to touch up the paint."
I caught a bit of Zelda's skepticism because total strangers in L.A. just aren't that nice. "But why would you do that?"
He grinned at our disbelieving faces. "Why not?" He held out his arms. "Look, I did stop suddenly. I was on the phone getting some shitty news and Zelda's right — it was probably my fault."
Zelda softened but she kept the tough guy act going. "Finally, you admit it."
Ted turned to me. "I'd feel better if you let me take you to the hospital to get checked out though."
I shook my head. "No, I don't do hospitals. I'm fine. The seatbelt just cut off my air supply for a second."
Ted wasn't ready to give up. "I could get you in to see my doctor then? If I call him, he might be able to see you now. I could get you there in twenty minutes."
As much as I wanted to believe in Prince Charming, I couldn't accept that he'd be sitting across from me in a chicken shack offering to solve all my immediate problems. "I'm okay. Really, I am." I smiled at him and blushed under his intense gaze. "But thanks."
We finished our meal and waited while Ted called his office to arrange for Zelda's jeep to be towed to his shop. Then we drove back to the grocery store parking lot to wait for the driver. Once the jeep was hooked up, Zelda insisted that we follow the truck to Ted's shop to ensure she wasn't having her vehicle stolen.
Ted's business was on the north end of Pacific, above Glenoaks in northern Glendale. The shop stood on a corner lot and was much bigger than I imagined. Even in the rain, it had a spit-shined look about it.
Ted pulled into a sheltered parking garage where several SUVs, limos and other commercial vehicles were parked. He drove to the back wall and parked his Escalade in a parking slot reserved for him — that seemed to confirm it was his company.
When we got out of the car, Zelda craned her neck and scanned the garage. Where's my jeep?"
Ted pointed to the back of the building. "We have a separate shop for repairs back there. I can show you if you like."
"I like."
Ted took us through a door that led to his offices. We passed the dispatch booth, where a young, fit and animated woman issued orders through a headset to drivers out in the field. The equipment was impressive — a monitor on the wall showed a real time traffic map of the L.A. area, three monitors on her desktop showed available drivers, pending orders and arrivals, and departures. The woman smiled and nodded as we passed.
We walked down a short hallway, passed a rest room, an executive office then stepped into a small but well appointed waiting room. Leather club chairs, a wall mounted television, courtesy phone, coffee station and plenty of reading material gave it a welcoming feel. To the right of the coffee station was a door that Ted opened and motioned us through.
We stepped into the cleanest mechanic's garage I've ever seen. Zelda's jeep was already up on a lift and a mechanic stood under it, shining a light over the undercarriage.
Ted called to the mechanic. "How's it looking Frank?"
Frank ducked out from under the car and smiled. "So far, looks like we've only got body damage. We'll know more later." He ducked back under the vehicle and continued his inspection.
Ted raised his eyebrows at Zelda. "Satisfied?"
Zelda scanned the space. "So where's this loaner?"
<<>>
Ted insisted on having one of his guys drive the loaner — a two-year-old 4Runner that looked brand new — to our house while he followed with us in his Escalade. Maybe he wanted to make sure we weren't a couple of homeless chicks scamming him. But maybe he was a nice guy who wanted to make sure we got home safely. It had been a hell of a day for all of us.
Ted gave Zelda the keys for the loaner and assured her she'd have the jeep back shortly.
I stood at the open door and watched as he pulled out and disappeared into the rainy night
"I know what he's up to," Zelda said.
I closed the door and turned to her. "Who says he's up to anything except being an exceptionally nice man?"
"What his game is."
I raised my eyebrows. "His game? You hit the guy, he fixes your car at no charge, gives you a loaner, and he's got a game?
"He wants to date you."
I scoffed. "Pretty expensive way to get a date. Besides a guy who looks like that doesn't have to fix cars for free to get a woman." I headed for my bedroom, determined to bring an end to the crappiest day on record. "That's a laugh."
Zelda shadowed me. "You never notice when guys are hitting on you."
I went into my bedroom and peeled off my wet clothes. In the mirror, I saw the big ugly bruise that ran diagonally across my chest — courtesy of the seatbelt.
Zelda frowned from the doorway. "That looks bad. Maybe you should’ve gone to the doctor's."
I frowned at the purple slash across my chest and grabbed my bathrobe. "Could have been worse." Zelda stepped aside so I could get through. At the bathroom door, I glanced back at her. "Do you really think he was hitting on me?"
Chapter Six
It was our turn to work Saturday night and I was glad that it was slow because I ached from head to toe from the accident. Not bad enough to go to the doctor but bad enough to whine and complain.
The diner was mellower at night. The sound system didn't blare Cuban salsa but murmured Miles Davis jazz. Manny wasn't there and neither was his bluster. Instead of the usual daytime eat 'n' runs, the customers stayed for a while and enjoyed their food. The crowd was a good mix of cops, coffee drinkers, laptop writers, couples and the socially homeless who had nowhere else to go.
We lounged at the counter, drinking coffee, grooving on the jazz, and marrying ketchup bottles. I wiped the top of a ketchup bottle with a clean bar towel and moved on to the next. "I can't wait for this night to be over."
Zelda balanced ketchup bottles o
n top of each other and watched the ketchup in one bottle slowly trickle into the other. "Uh-huh."
I whacked Zelda on the head with my checkbook. "Why do you always get the easy part of this job?"
Zelda finished her balancing act with the ketchup bottles, took out her notebook, and made a note. "Because I'm the mechanical genius of this dynamic duo, Batman."
After we finished the ketchup bottles, I made a big deal of getting up and limping to the coffee station. Zelda ignored my whimpering as I wiped down the counter and checked stock. "Okay mechanical genius, we need coffee filters, tea bags and lemons. You can handle all that, right?"
Zelda slammed her notebook shut and jammed it into her pocket. "You can't play the sympathy card forever."
"I think the card is good for a little while longer — after all, I wasn't the one driving."
She glared at me and huffed but had no come back.
"For once quit complaining and go get the stuff. If we finish the side work now, we can bolt as soon as we close."
Zelda sighed and got up. "The things I do for you."
The front door whooshed open and I turned, hoping for a last minute big tipper. But it was just Daniels and Davis shuffling to their regular booth in the back. I grabbed coffee mugs and the coffee pot and headed over. "You got stuck with the night shift too?" I asked pouring the coffees.
Davis grunted and Daniels poured half a pitcher of cream into his coffee. "I'm in the mood for something sweet."
"Sounds like you need apple pie a la mode with chocolate ice cream."
Daniels slurped his coffee, then added sugar. "Yes, that's exactly right, Scotti my dear. That's precisely what I need. And bring a brownie for Davis while you're at it."
Davis looked up from her coffee. "I don't want a brownie."
"Sure you do," Daniels said.
"No, I don't," Davis snapped.
"They're home-made, uber-delicious and baked by the tender hands of the young lady standing before you. How can you say no to that?"
"I don't want one." She looked at me. "No brownie, thank you."
"Okay then, one apple pie a la mode coming up." I scooted away and left them bickering at the table.
Zelda trudged out to the dining room, with coffee filters, tea bags, and lemons balanced on a cutting board. She put the board down on the counter with a thud. "Now can I sit down?"
I pulled Daniels' apple pie out of the microwave and scooped a big glob of chocolate ice cream on top of it. "Oh, I have customers. Can you start cutting lemon wedges?"
Zelda scanned the dining room and spotted the cops. "Customers? You mean Daniels and Davis? They'd sit there all night yammering whether you brought them anything or not."
I danced past Zelda. "Yeah, but tonight they want to eat so get to it girl."
I didn't look back but I felt Zelda scowling at me.
I set the pie in front of Daniels with a flourish. "Ta-da!"
Daniels' eyes gleamed and he rubbed his hands together like Midas looking at his bank statement. "Over the teeth and through the gums, look out stomach here it comes!"
I lingered so I could avoid the side work. "You want anything else?"
"Keep the coffee coming," Davis murmured.
Zelda appeared with the coffee pot and topped off their mugs. “So, what's happening?”
Daniels mumbled around a mouthful of pie a la mode.
Davis said, "Nothing."
Zelda put the coffee pot on the table and plopped down next to Daniels. "Okay, let me be blunt — what's the story with George?"
Daniels jammed himself into the corner of the booth to accommodate Zelda. "Hey, help yourself, have a seat." He held out the fork to her. "Would you like a bite of pie?"
"Yeah," I said. "We've been waiting for you guys to come in and give us the scoop. What happened to George and why aren't you going to investigate?"
Daniels put down his fork and dabbed his lips with a paper napkin. "Investigate what? It was an accident."
Zelda pounced on that. "So, it's officially an accident?" She raised her eyebrow at me.
Davis shook her head and glared at Daniels. "Nobody said that. Nobody said what is and isn't official."
Zelda nodded. "That's right. And it's what you're not saying that's bugging me…us."
Daniels pushed his pie away and belched. "Ladies, ladies you're killing my sugar buzz with all this bickering." He looked around the table waiting for a chuckle but there were no takers. He shrugged at his partner and said, "Yes, it's officially an accident."
"But I thought you had to have an autopsy to know that," Zelda said like any good mystery fan who knows her police protocol. "From what I hear L.A. County takes forever with their autopsies. Then again since George was a rich guy maybe he jumped to the front of the line." She looked at Daniels expectantly.
"So you're on the speed dial of the M.E., now?" Daniels said. "Wow, who knew?" He rolled his eyes at his partner. "I guess anybody who watches Judge Joanie knows the whole system like the back of their hand, right?"
Zelda didn't miss a beat. "For your information, I don't watch Judge Joanie, but I can read. And I'm smart enough to know that they have to do lab tests. You can't say it's an accident 'til after all that stuff is done, right?"
Davis helped herself to more coffee. "He was pronounced at the hospital by the E.R. doc but it's doubtful the M.E. will determine a different cause of death. He died of respiratory arrest due to blocked airways. We already know what he ate and that it probably caused the allergic reaction that killed him."
We looked with anticipation at Davis and waited.
"Stop staring at me," Davis said. "What's your problem?"
"Well," Zelda said, "what did he eat?"
Daniels polished off the rest of the pie and wiped his mouth. "A brownie." He balled up his paper napkin and chuckled. "Death by brownie, what a way to go." He hooked his head at Davis. "That's why she didn't want one. Superstitious girl."
A wave of nausea hit me and I jumped out of my seat like it was radioactive. "That can't be."
They looked at me like I speaking Spanish at a Chinese convention.
The room spun, my heart pounded in my ears, and I struggled to catch my breath. I rushed outside and gulped in the cold air. The rain soaked through my cotton shirt but I couldn't move. Nausea rolled over me. I hadn't had a panic attack since I was a kid but this one made up for lost time. Bending at the waist, I forced myself to take slow deep breaths. If I could slow my pounding heart, the nausea would stop and it would be over.
Zelda crouched next to me. Eyes big and worried. "Scotti? What's wrong with you? What happened?"
I panted. "Panic attack."
Zelda patted my back, which didn't help. "Why? Did it finally hit you that George is dead? I know it's hard to take in but getting all freaked out isn't going to change anything."
"No, it's not that." I started to cry. "I think I killed George."
Chapter Seven
Monday morning I fidgeted in my seat at the loan officer's desk. Feeling a lot less certain of my options than I'd been when I walked into the bank. Mr. Avayan, my loan officer perused the documents with knitted eyebrows and jockeyed between the papers and his computer keyboard. The sounds he made weren't encouraging and I wondered if he'd forgotten I was sitting in front of him.
Finally, he looked up and feigned a smile. "All right then, Mrs. Fitzgerald."
"It's Miss Fitzgerald. I'm not married."
"Of course," he said. "Miss Fitzgerald." He looked away and stacked the documents, butted them into a neat pile and cleared his throat. "Okay then. Yes. We have what we need." He stood, reached across the desk, and put out his hand. "Thank you."
I stood and shook his hand. "So, that's it?"
"Yes."
"When will I know if I'm getting the loan?"
Avayan's eye wandered to visitor chairs where other bank customers waited anxiously. He looked back to me. "Within thirty days."
I cringed. "Thirty days?" I only had
five weeks to get the money. And the added threat of another buyer made me more anxious. "Really? Is there any way to speed things up?"
Avayan fiddled with the knot in his tie.
"Do you think I'll get the loan?"
His eyes slid away from mine again. The universal sign for, not a chance in Hell.
"But I have sixty thousand dollars here. In this bank. Plus I have an IRA and the restaurant is collateral." My voice hit that pitch that only dogs like but I wasn't going to let him blow me off without a fight.
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