A Widow in Paradise & Suburban Secrets

by Donna Birdsell

  “Why?” Grace said, completely forgetting that she and Nick were supposed to be an item.

  Skobelov laughed, but Grace caught Tina staring at her, an unidentifiable look in her eyes.

  Not for the first time, she wondered if Tina might not be as ditzy as she pretended to be.

  A few minutes later, Grace watched from the window as Skobelov’s long black Cadillac emerged from one of the oversized doors of the building’s four-thousand-square-foot garage. From her vantage point, she could see Benny the Brick Wall driving. She wondered if there was anyone guarding the desk in the lobby or if she was all alone in the building.

  Not a comforting thought.

  She ran into her bedroom and locked the door before picking up her phone and dialing Pete’s number.

  “Yeah.” Pete’s voice nearly made her sob with relief, and she realized just how insecure she’d been feeling without him around.

  “They’re gone.”

  “All of them?”

  “Nick, Skobelov and Tina. And a guy named Benny was driving them. I don’t know if there’s anyone else in the building.”

  “Good. Get your stuff together. It’s time to get you out of there. I’ll meet you out at the corner in ten minutes.”

  “Right.”

  She stuffed her cell phone in her purse, on the verge of tears. She didn’t know if it was because she was relieved to be leaving or sad that she wasn’t going to make pelmeni.

  Probably both. It felt good to cook for people who really appreciated it, even if they were felons.

  Monday, 12:26 p.m.

  Ch-ch-changes

  On her way out the door, Grace realized she hadn’t changed. She was still wearing Tina’s clothes.

  Well, it was too late now.

  She doubted Tina would miss them, but she still vowed to somehow get the clothes back to her.

  She wondered if Tina would get arrested along with Skobelov and felt a pang of regret for the younger woman, whose only mistake had been to give in to the lure of a tampon-factory penthouse and a Frederick’s of Hollywood credit card with no limit.

  Grace gave the place one last look and locked the door behind her, admiring the Michelangelo again as she waited for the elevator. Which didn’t come.

  She pushed the button again, but then noticed she needed a key to operate the elevator.

  Crap.

  An examination of the little vestibule revealed a door that led to a dim, concrete stairwell.

  Noise echoed eerily off the putty-colored cinder block walls, making her own breathing sound like a pit full of vipers. At ground level she peered through the narrow glass window, out into a deserted lobby.

  The heavy door groaned on its hinges as she emerged from the stairwell. She took shallow breaths, waiting for someone to pop up from behind the desk like an oversize jack-in-the-box with multiple piercings and a scary clown tattoo.

  But the place remained quiet as a…well, as a deserted tampon factory. She hustled to the door she and Nick had entered, past the camera mounted above the desk. The bright sunlight outside threw her. Though she knew it was only midday, it felt as if it should be dark. She’d been at Skobelov’s for less than twenty-four hours, but it had felt like a week.

  Resisting the urge to look behind her just in case someone was watching, she hung a right and walked calmly to the corner. A chilly wind made the ruffles on the Charo blouse dance, and she realized she’d forgotten her coat in the hall closet.

  A bright pink flier skittered up the sidewalk and pasted itself to her leg. She bent down and peeled it off her calf. A two-for-one special at Paco Taco.

  She crumpled it up and then realized she didn’t have any pockets, so she bent down and unzipped the duffel and stuffed it in.

  When she stood up, Pete’s Taurus was driving past.

  “Hey!”

  His car jerked to a stop and then backed up. He unrolled the passenger side window.

  Her stomach did a little flip.

  He leaned over on the seat and said, “Sorry. I didn’t realize that was you.”

  “You were looking right at me. Who did you think it was?”

  Two bright spots of color emerged on his cheeks. “Never mind.”

  She opened the car door and threw her bag into the backseat before sliding in beside him in the front.

  “You look…different,” he said. “Is that a tattoo?”

  “Tina gave me a makeover. What do you think?”

  “I think the ‘Chiquita Banana’ girl wants her shirt back.”

  Chapter 17.5

  Monday, 12:28 p.m.

  Wet Dreams

  Pete had to fight to keep his eyes on the road.

  What was she wearing?

  He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t see her back there. What he’d seen was the stuff of his adolescent wet dreams—a cross between Carmen Miranda, Cheryl Ladd and a Times Square hooker who would do anything for fifteen bucks.

  The ruffly shirt was killing him.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Back to my place. We have to wait to hear from Nick.”

  “Isn’t he wired?”

  “Yeah, but he’s way out of range. Besides, he’s nowhere near Morton, and that’s who we’re interested in.”

  “Who’s Nick with?”

  Pete debated how much he should tell her.

  Just then his phone rang. Saved by the bell. Or rather, by the sound of Wild Cherry.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s Lou. Morton’s leaving the motel.”

  “Okay. Keep me posted. I’m going to drop Grace off at my place. Let me know when he gets to the club.”

  Pete felt a rush of adrenaline. This was it. The payoff was so close he could practically taste the celebratory champagne.

  As soon as he had Skobelov, Morton and the memory key in the same place at the same time, his case would be made. With Nick’s corroboration, the wiretap and bug recordings, along with some physical evidence, they’d get the Russian on numerous fraud and identity theft charges.

  Soon, all of this would be a memory.

  He looked at Grace in her ruffly shirt and thought about how some things would be much easier to remember than others.

  Of all the cases he’d worked, none had been as aggravating, or as interesting, as this one. And the “interesting” part was largely due to the woman sitting beside him.

  It was going to be tough saying goodbye to her. He reached over to touch her shoulder as she looked out the window, but snatched his hand back before he made contact.

  Jesus. When had he turned into such a schmuck? Maybe it was time to seriously consider retiring. When a man couldn’t let go of a case without an ache in his gut, something was seriously wrong.

  Chapter 18

  Monday, 12:42 p.m.

  Guy Talk

  Pete dropped Grace’s duffel inside his front door. “Here you go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “No way. I want to go with you.”

  Pete sighed. “You’re imagining you’re Nancy Drew again.”

  “Oh, come on. You can’t just leave me here.”

  “You’re right.” He fished her keys from his pants pocket and dropped them into her palm. “Go home. But don’t leave the country. I may need you later on.”

  “Pete—”

  “I’m going to the Cat’s Meow. If you show up there, how are you going to explain your presence to Skobelov? You didn’t have a car while you were at his apartment.”

  She hesitated. “Good point.”

  “If things end the way I think they will, it could get dangerous, Grace.” He touched her face. “You were a big help, but your part is over now.”

  She was worried about Tina, and Pete, too. And even a little bit about Nick. But she knew Pete was right. She was a mother, for God’s sake. She should go home. Call her kids. Take a nice hot bath.

  She nodded. “Okay. Will you call me when it’s over? Let me know how it went?”

  “Wo
n’t Nick do that?”

  “Aagh.” She growled with frustration. “For the last time, Nick is not my boyfriend.”

  But Pete was already smiling. “I know. He was wearing a wire, remember? I heard you send him packing.”

  He slid his fingers over her cheek into her hair, pulling her close. His lips covered hers. His kiss took her breath away. She closed her eyes, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  The kiss seemed to go on forever. Pete ran a hand down her side and settled it on her hip. She leaned against him, but before she could get comfortable, he pulled away.

  “I have to go.”

  “You’re leaving me here alone?”

  “I trust you. Just make sure the door is locked when you leave.”

  She nodded. “Be careful.”

  “I will. Go home.”

  “I will.”

  He gave her one last, quick kiss, and then he was gone.

  She stood there for a moment in Pete’s small foyer, letting her heart settle into a regular beat. It seemed as if she’d been on edge for so long, she wondered if her adrenaline levels would ever be normal again.

  She decided a drink of water might help slake the seemingly unquenchable thirst she’d had the whole weekend.

  In the kitchen, red lights glowed all over the receivers on the table, and Grace knew from watching Lou that they were recording whatever was going on in Skobelov’s living room and on Nick’s wire.

  She grabbed a glass from the cabinet beside the sink and ran some tap water in it. While she was drinking, the receiver for Nick’s wire let out a startling squawk.

  Grace dropped the glass into the sink with a thunk.

  Nick must have just come back within range of the receiver.

  She heard his voice over the receiver. “Grace has them. They’re in her purse. I saw them.”

  “When did you see Grace?” said another voice. A defensive voice, with neat, clipped diction.

  Tom.

  Could Tom be the guy Skobelov had sent Nick to pick up?

  She knew Tom was acquainted with Nick, but with Skobelov? Why? How?

  She hurried over to the receiver, straining to hear the conversation that was interrupted by fits of static.

  “…no big deal. We met at a club.”

  “Wasn’t that a coincidence?” Tom said, a note of suspicion in his voice.

  “Listen, man. I’m trying to help you. Skobelov isn’t happy with you.”

  “You’re sure Grace has the papers?” Tom said.

  “She did Friday night.”

  There was a long silence. Then Tom said, “Did you hook up with my wife?”

  “Wouldn’t that be your ex-wife?” Nick said. “And why shouldn’t I hook up with her? She’s hot.”

  Grace couldn’t help but smile. What she wouldn’t give to see Tom’s face at that moment.

  “You goddamned sh—”

  “Relax, man,” Nick said. “I just wanted to talk to her about a business proposition.”

  “A business proposition? What the hell?” Now Tom was getting out of control. “If you’ve dragged my wife into something—”

  “Hey. Let’s not talk about this right now, okay?”

  “Bullshit. We are going to talk about it.”

  “I’d advise against it,” Nick said.

  “I don’t care what you’d advise against, you a-hole.”

  “A-hole?” Nick sounded amused. “Okay, then, Tom Becker. Let’s talk about it.” Nick spoke slowly and clearly. “If you don’t deliver the shipment of Viagra you promised Skobelov, you better kiss your ass goodbye.”

  Silence, and then Tom’s voice, quiet and tired. “Christ. How did I ever get into this?”

  The Viagra wasn’t for Tom, Grace realized. It was for Skobelov.

  And she suspected it wasn’t for his personal use. She wondered exactly how much Viagra those papers were meant to release.

  Hadn’t Pete said that Skobelov was involved in all kinds of things? Things like Internet drug sales, maybe?

  How had Tom gotten into that?

  Goddamned Marlene. She’d bet on it. Marlene and her insatiable desire for designer clothes and five-star vacations. And Tom was just stupid enough to do it for her, too.

  “Listen,” she heard Nick say. “We’ll swing by Skobelov’s. Grace is there. You’ll get the papers, show them to Viktor, tell him you’ll have the stuff by Monday, and that’s that. No big deal.”

  “Grace is at Skobelov’s?” Tom had gone from defeated to incredulous.

  It was amazing how much emotion you could hear in somebody’s voice. She’d never realized how much before. Then again, she’d never listened to conversations over a body wire before.

  And that’s when she realized that the whole conversation Tom and Nick just had—the one where they discussed her forging papers and Tom’s involvement in procuring Viagra—had been recorded.

  Was still being recorded. Right there, in Pete’s kitchen.

  She dove for her phone and dialed Tom’s cell number. It rang once, twice, three times—a ring she couldn’t hear over Nick’s wire—until finally someone answered.

  “Hello?”

  Shit. Marlene.

  “Hello? Hello!”

  Grace closed her eyes and counted to three. “Marlene, it’s Grace.”

  “Oh. Grace. Tom isn’t here.”

  “I know. I need to get a message to him. It’s urgent—”

  “Urgent. I see.” Marlene sighed. “Grace, aren’t you tired of all the theatrics?” Marlene spoke slowly and calmly, as if she were dealing with an escaped mental patient.

  “Marlene, listen to me. If Tom calls, you have to tell him—”

  “I’m sorry, Grace. I don’t have to tell him anything. I’m not your messenger girl, and I refuse to let you drag me into the middle of your problems.”

  Wha-a-at? Grace’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me, but you created my problems when you decided to coat yourself in jelly and roll around on my good Ralph Lauren sheets.”

  Marlene sighed again. “Must we point fingers, Grace? Do we have to rehash that scene over and over?”

  “I’m not reha—”

  “I can’t believe you’re so petty.”

  “So petty? Are you kidding me?” Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. “Listen, Marlene. If Tom calls you, just tell him to call me on my cell phone as soon as possible.”

  “Right. I’ll tell him it’s urgent.”

  “You little—” A very bad word came to Grace’s lips, but before she could release it into the cellular universe, Marlene had already hung up.

  Grace squeezed the phone, imagining it was Marlene’s wrinkled little neck.

  Think, think.

  She wished she had Nick’s cell phone number, but she didn’t.

  She could call Pete, but then what? She would have to tell him that Tom was working with Skobolev—that is, if he didn’t already know.

  “…want to get her involved,” Tom said.

  What?

  Grace turned up the volume on the receiver.

  “I mean, she’s the mother of my children,” Tom went on. “I never should have asked her to sign those papers.”

  “Hey,” said Nick. “Why not? She’s got a God-given talent. Why not have her use it?”

  “That’s what you were going to do, wasn’t it?”

  “Listen,” Nick said. “I was just gonna capitalize on an opportunity. What’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong is that Grace is a good person. I didn’t tell you that stuff about her so you could recruit her for some scheme. I just…I just wanted you to think I was, you know, cool. That I understood all this underworld crap because I had a wife who’d done time for forgery.” Tom sighed. “If I’d have known you would try to use her…”

  “Like you did?” Nick said.

  “I really have been a shit.” Tom’s breathing came heavy. “I pretty much forced her into signing those papers. I used my kids’ security as a carrot. I’m such an asshole.�
��

  Imagine that. Tom wasn’t as big a prick as she’d thought.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying.

  “So, what? You don’t want to go get Grace?” Nick said. “See if she has the papers?”

  “No. Just take me to Skobelov.”

  Monday, 12:52 p.m.

  In the Grinder

  No, no, no.

  She couldn’t let it happen. She’d seen Skobelov. She knew what he was like.

  He was like a shark.

  She shivered.

  She had to get to Tom. Tell him to get out of the ocean. Stay away from the shark.

  As soon as Pete arrested Skobelov, Tom would be out of danger.

  Wait. Not true.

  She looked at the receiver on the table. Everything Tom and Nick had just said had been recorded on the machine. Tom was in this way too deep to get out of it unscathed. There was no way to erase what he’d said. It was burned onto a CD.

  She could take the disk, but she had no idea what else was on it or what might need to be recorded later. It could mean the difference between Skobelov getting what he deserved or getting away with everything.

  She couldn’t take that chance. She wouldn’t endanger Pete’s investigation.

  But she could at least save Tom from getting his ass kicked by the Russian. As for her own ass, there was no doubt it would be in the grinder as soon as Pete heard those recordings.

  She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, hoping she could make it to the Cat’s Meow before they did.

  Chapter 18.5

  Monday, 12:52 p.m.

  Tunnel Vision

  Lou had already arrived at the Cat’s Meow by the time Pete got there. He pulled into a spot near the end of the parking lot, next to Lou’s Chrysler sedan, and took a deep breath.

  This was it. This was it.

  The Russian and Morton together under one roof, negotiating a price for thirty thousand names and social security numbers.

  But where in the hell was Balboa and his body wire? Without proof that this meeting had gone down, the event would be as believable as Bigfoot meeting the Loch Ness Monster. No matter how many witnesses there were, it was only a myth until hard proof could be offered up.