Zelda half-snorted, half-snored on the sofa. She was down for the count, so I pulled off her sneakers and tucked in the afghan around her.
I grabbed George's keys off the coffee table because keys are the kind of thing that Boomer finds fascinating in moments of boredom. I carried the keys back to the butcher-block and decided we needed to copy them too. Jake's appearance in the parking garage had freaked me out but I was more concerned about the possibility of security footage. If the cops pounded on our door the next day, brandishing a search warrant and handcuffs I wanted to be sure we had a backup.
I glanced down at Boomer. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"
Boomer yapped and wagged his stub.
I made a half-assed attempt at going through the binder to see if our lawless adventure had been worth the trouble. But my eyelids were heavy and I put my head down on the countertop, then didn't wake up until morning.
Chapter Twenty-Three
We woke up late and busted our butts getting out the door. When we arrived at the diner we only had ten minutes to get the place set up for breakfast service. Regulars lined up outside the front door, peering through the window waving travel mugs.
Zelda set the tables with napkins and flatware. "Don't these people have homes?"
Coffee brewed while I filled cream pitchers, then placed them in a bus tray filled with ice. "They're desperate for their morning jolt."
Zelda finished the tables and went to the cash register. She squatted down to the cabinet beneath the register that housed the safe. Then ran her key card through the scanner and punched in a pin number. The safe door clicked open and she pulled out the cash drawer. Remaining in a squat she counted out the starting bank. "Yeah, well if they didn't want their morning fix so bad, I wouldn't have to sit on the floor and count the cash."
I ignored Zelda and stocked the bread, butter and jam for the toast station and started the carousal toaster. The machine groaned and whined and the heating coils radiated hot air into the room. The smell and sizzle of bacon and sausage in the kitchen made my stomach growl. But there wasn’t time to eat because Zelda yelled, "Incoming!"
Breakfast bled into lunch and when Debbie showed up to relieve us, Zelda cried, "Praise Jesus!"
We clocked out and were in the jeep before Debbie could ask for directions to the pie case. On the way home, we stopped at the little key place on Foothill to copy George's keys. The old guy at the counter said it would take a while, which gave us time to trot across the street to Denny's for French toast, bacon and eggs. The high sugar food revived us and kicked in a second wind. And for a few moments all seemed right with the world.
Boomer greeted us with a happy yap when we got out of the jeep. Zelda scooped him up. "Hey Booms, I wanted to have a little heart to heart about doggie vomit on the kitchen floor..."
I noticed the screen door was ajar and dread twisted in my gut. "Oh crap." But it was just a small package holding the door open. On top of the box was a certified letter too. I carried the box and letter into the house. Dropping my keys and bag on the entry table I carried the box and letter to the kitchen.
Zelda followed with Boomer yapping at her heels. "What's that?"
I pried open the box with a knife and pulled out a padlock, with a key in it. I read the note. "It's from Marge." Marge was the nice retired lady who lived next store to us. We shared a gate between our properties, which Boomer had recently discovered. Probably egged on by Marge's Doberman, Daisy. "Boomer's been going back and forth through her gate. Little bugger figured out how to rattle it open. So Marge bought this lock for the gate — she has a key and now we have a key."
"Boomer! Have you been having unauthorized field trips?"
Boomer wagged his stub at Zelda then drank some water.
"She also says that she signed for this certified letter." I waved it in the air.
Zelda frowned. "Certified letter? Is it from child services informing you that somebody finally wants to adopt you?"
I did a double take on the return address. "Lloyd Sessions?" I ripped the envelope open and with trembling hands unfolded the letter.
Zelda hovered. "What does it say?"
I nudged Zelda away. "Back off nosy Nancy." I read it then handed the letter to her. "My presence is requested at his office tomorrow."
Zelda read the letter, flipped it over as though there were further instructions on the back, then handed the letter back to me. "Looks like a form letter."
I frowned at the letter. "It does, doesn't it?" I pulled out my phone and dialed the number. "Hello? Yes, this is Scotti Fitzgerald, I received a certified letter...Oh, I see....Can you tell me why....Sure, I can be there at 9:30 tomorrow morning...Thank you." I ended the call.
"So?"
"It's a business matter which the receptionist was not at liberty to discuss. And Mr. Sessions has already left for the day."
Zelda grinned. "They're going to give you the money. What else could it be?"
I yawned and shivered. "If that’s true, I’ll buy you a lobster dinner tomorrow night." I tossed the letter on the butcher-block and went to the living room where the thermostat was. Then I turned up the thermostat and the blower kicked on pushing warm air into the room. "The bank officer called me today."
"So?" Zelda raised her eyebrows. I shook my head. Zelda slumped into the living room chair and sighed. "Maybe the bank turned you down because you're getting the money from George's estate."
"Fingers crossed." I hovered in front of the heater vent rubbing my hands. "Do you think Jake saw us? Yesterday?"
Zelda winced and made a face. "We would've heard something by now if he had, right?" She eyed the answering machine on the side table. "No messages. No cops. No broken down doors."
The knot in my stomach loosened a little. If we'd been caught on security footage, something would’ve happened by then. We'd dodged that bullet but there was always a chance another was on its way. "We should hide our extra copies. As a backup."
Zelda's head lolled toward me. "Where?"
I reached for the phone then dialed a number. "Some place no one would think to look."
Zelda scooted forward in her seat. "Where's that?"
"Hi Marge...I was wondering if you could drop by."
<<>>
Marge is close to six feet tall and loves walking shorts, golf shirts and Birkenstock sandals. Her salt and pepper hair has a touch of the crazies and always looks as though she just stepped out of wind tunnel. But her quick smile and curious, intelligent eyes make you feel at ease. We'd met her at a block party a couple of years before. She’d struck up a conversation with me about home invasions and it was from her that I learned about our communal gate. Until then I had no idea there was a gate under all that ivy. We agreed then to give each other access to the gate, in the event of an emergency. A casual "you watch my back and I'll watch yours" agreement. Since then, she’s attached herself to us as a kind of den mother and does things like buying padlocks and alerting us when there’s a problem in the neighborhood. She and her husband Irv, never had children, unless you count their Doberman Daisy, so she does tend to cluck over us a bit. We didn't mind, since neither of us ever had mothers who clucked over us — so it was a win-win relationship.
We sat at the butcher-block over cinnamon rolls and fresh coffee. In the center of the countertop I'd placed the manila envelope that contained our backup copies and keys but didn’t mention it.
Marge licked icing off her long fingers and eyed the envelope. "Scotti honey, these are the most yummy rolls. And I’ll tell you right now, I’m going to eat as many as you’ll let me."
I waved a hand at the plate of rolls, “Have at it, Marge. There’s more where those came from.”
Her gray eyes zeroed in on me. "Are you girls in some kind of trouble?"
I nodded and gave her a sad smile. "My ex boyfriend. He’s been watching the house, calling and hanging up, showing up at my work." I shrugged. "I’m kind of worried."
Marge took my hand
and her face filled with concern. "He’s scaring you huh? Did you call the police, honey?"
"Nothing they can do," Zelda said. "Because he hasn't done anything yet."
Marge shook her head and frowned. "Cops ain't worth a shit these days, are they?"
"That's for sure."
I nudged the envelope toward her. "I was hoping you'd hang on to this for me."
Marge picked up the envelope and turned it over in her hands. "What's in it? Pictures of him stalking you and such?"
I nodded. "Something like that."
Zelda leaned in. "In case anything happens."
Marge eyes went wide. I squeezed her hand for reassurance. "We don't think it'll come to that. He's more of a creep than a crazy. Just a little insurance is all." Marge said nothing. I reached for the envelope. "But if you're not comfortable doing it I wouldn't want you to. And I'd completely understand."
Marge shook her head and pulled the envelope out of my hands. "No honey, I'll do it for you. I'm not afraid of some little piss ant who picks on women." She winked and grinned. "Dealt with worse than that in my day."
Zelda giggled. "Marge are you saying that you're a badass?"
Marge took a sip of coffee and polished off her third roll. "Former marine, my dear. Before it was all women's rights and politically correct. I know my way around a weapon and a choke hold." She mimed snapping a neck and winked. "I’ll hang on to this and keep my eye out for any suspicious characters." She reached for her fourth roll. "And if you gals want to learn how to handle a firearm I’d be happy to take you to the shooting range anytime you like."
Marge left with the envelope tucked under her arm and a plastic container of cinnamon rolls for Irv. "Don't you worry, honey. Me and my buddy Magnum will keep an eye on things." She wiggled her eyebrows. "And I don't mean Tom Selleck, if you get my drift." As she walked out the door she said, "You keep that gate locked, you hear?"
We saluted. "Yes ma'am!"
Marge cackled and gave us a backhanded wave.
I closed the door and turned to Zelda. "Marge? An ex Marine?"
Zelda snorted. "I bet she could kick some serious ass if she wanted." She nudged me toward the kitchen. "Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s do it."
I dug my heels in. "Do what?"
"Plow through all that stuff? We were going to call those numbers and see what we could find out. Did you really forget?"
I stretched and yawned. "All I want is a hot shower and my jammies. The world can go to hell until tomorrow."
"Bullshit."
I frowned at her. "No bullshit."
"You’re stalling." She squinted at me. "Or do you have another date with Teddy boy?"
"No date with Ted. Yes, I am tired. In case you forgot I didn’t get much sleep last night. Unlike some people who slept on the couch. And I have to see Sessions tomorrow. I just want the damn night off, okay?"
"Fine. Then I’ll make the calls myself."
"It’s too late to call." I pointed to the living room clock. "It’s after six."
Zelda stared at the clock and I went to my bedroom. She knocked on my door for a while then gave up. I was tired and I did want to sleep, but I was also stalling. I’d told Zelda I was on board but the truth was I prayed that after my meeting with Sessions I wouldn’t have to be on board. And I went to sleep hoping that the Manstons had agreed to the loan and I wouldn’t have to investigate George’s murder.
Chapter Twenty-Four
We parked in the same lot that I’d parked in when I met Sessions the week before and walked the three blocks to his office. The sun was shining for a change and you could almost believe that spring had arrived. But I knew that spring hadn’t arrived and that Sessions’ news wouldn’t be good either. If it had been, he could’ve just picked up the phone and called — instead he sent a certified letter. The only reason to send a certified letter is to document proof. If Sessions had to prove something then chances were, it wasn't something in my favor.
A few doors down from Sessions' building, I noticed a spy shop and stopped. "How cool is this?"
Zelda glanced at the display, unimpressed. "So?"
I stopped and ogled the window display. "So? Are you kidding? Look at all this cool surveillance stuff. Look at these nanny cams." I pulled out my phone and snapped pictures of the display. "They even have them in teddy bears!"
Zelda frowned. "You’re stalling again."
I glanced at her. "If we’re going to be investigators we might need some of this stuff. Ever think of that?"
Zelda pointed to her watch. "You’ve got five minutes to get to the lawyer’s office. Ever think of that?"
I frowned, remembering Sessions’ scolding secretary, and turned away from the shop. I sighed. "I don’t want to go in there."
Zelda nudged me along. "Tough shit. You have to."
"Why? So he can give me more bad news?"
She pushed through the front door. "Stop being so negative. Maybe it’s good news."
I rolled my eyes. "Have we gotten any good news since George died?"
Zelda pushed the elevator call button. "There’s always a first time."
We took the elevator up to the fifth floor and stepped into the quiet hallway. It was like the funeral home where we went to pay our last respects to George. Depressing.
Zelda held the letter in her hand and checked the suite numbers against the envelope. "Here it is." She opened the door but I stood there, reluctant to go in. "Scotti, come on."
I sighed and followed Zelda into the office. Sessions’ secretary was no more gracious than she’d been before but at least she didn’t scold us for being late. She ushered us directly into Sessions’ office, waved a careless hand at the visitor chairs, and closed the door when she left.
Reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, Sessions sat behind his highly polished desk and glanced at a document sitting in front of him. "All right then," he said briskly. "We'll dispense with the formalities and cut to the chase as they say." He smiled and cleared his throat. "As executor of Mr. Manston's estate it's my duty to inform you that he left you an inheritance."
Zelda pumped a fist in the air. "I knew it!"
I looked at Sessions. "An inheritance? This isn't about the loan agreement with George?"
Sessions smiled as though he held a great secret. "That may be moot at this point, Ms. Fitzgerald. Mr. Manston left you a large sum of money — one hundred thousand dollars to be exact."
I know that my jaw didn’t actually hit the floor, but it felt that way. "A hundred thousand dollars?" I whispered.
Sessions nodded. "Naturally, there will be a formal reading of the will later, which you may attend if you wish but..."
I could feel the catch struggling to reveal itself. "But you thought the family would prefer I don't attend?"
“It might be for the best, Ms. Fitzgerald." He gestured toward the door. "My secretary will give you the forms which you'll need to fill out and have notarized. Afterwards, we'll proceed with the next steps."
I waited for more but that was it — Sessions had dispatched his duty and he was finished with me. I shook my head and smirked. "Right. Thank you."
Zelda made a face. "That's it? She doesn't get the check now?"
Sessions shook his head. "No, not now."
Zelda put her elbows on Sessions' fancy desk. "When?"
Sessions frowned at Zelda's elbows. "That depends on whether the other beneficiaries contest the will. Mr. Manston has a large estate and several heirs, it could be complicated." He turned his watery blue eyes to me. "We discussed this previously in the matter of the loan, Ms. Fitzgerald. Correct?"
I nodded and stood. "The lord giveth and the lord taketh away."
Zelda stared at me but I hooked my head toward the door and she got out of her chair.
Sessions peered at me over his reading glasses. "Come again?"
I led Zelda toward the door. "Thank you for letting me know."
"Remember the forms on your wa
y out. We'll be in touch, Ms. Fitzgerald."
"Sure you will," I muttered as I walked out of his office.
Sessions' secretary stood at her desk outside his office door and she handed me an envelope. The forms and instructions were inside, as well as a list of local notaries and an pre-addressed envelope that I could use to mail back the forms. I took the envelope and thanked the secretary then steered Zelda out of the office to the elevator.
Zelda stared at me. "See, I told you it was good. Why aren't you excited?"
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