“You, with the vodka shipment, I need those three cases parked right over there.” His voice sounded hoarse. He picked up a glass of something amber and tilted his head back until he had downed the last drop. It wasn’t even noon yet, but Skip appeared to be starting the party early, in front of two law enforcement officers, no less.
Terri walked over from the jukebox while pocketing her phone. As Skip stepped back to speak to the vodka delivery guy, she leaned closer to me. “Just spoke to Miss Lucille, Tripuka’s landlord, and she’s distraught that her ‘sweet Vince’ is being held for questioning for an unspecified crime. She has her weekly bridge party in an hour. Said we could drop by before then, if we can make it. Otherwise, she’s not sure how long she’ll be once she starts yapping with her friends.”
I nodded. “You’re stacking these one right after the other. You sure you weren’t an admin in a prior life?”
“Actually, I was. Did temp work, but was an executive assistant for a few years before I got the break I’d been dreaming about since I was twelve.”
“From an admin to a cop. I can see the correlation of roles…kind of.” I offered a brief smile.
She pressed her lips together and paused for a second. I shifted my eyes over to Skip, who was now ushering in another delivery guy. Terri continued. “Being a cop was my second career, but, frankly, my first real adult choice. It gave me a purpose to my life, and it allowed me to display my Type A personality without getting catty looks from the other girls.”
Other girls. Was she a stripper?
“I won’t make you guess. I was a cheerleader for the Patriots.”
“So that explains the Miss America looks.”
“Thank you? Not really sure that’s a compliment. I’ve had people tell me I was pretty my entire life, so, really, it doesn’t mean much. I don’t know, it’s probably why I gravitated to the cheerleading, dancing squads in school. And without thinking about it much, I thought the ultimate gig was being a cheerleader at the highest level. Well, it didn’t take me long to figure out a few things: the pay stinks, the players and anyone who can walk and talk hit on me constantly—”
“I thought that was against NFL rules?”
“So is taking steroids, but it still happens.”
“Good point.”
“I think they looked at us as the forbidden fruit.”
I gave a good-natured roll of my eyes. “Anyway, a few things happened, and I realized there was more to life than showing off Bert and Ernie and wondering how high I could kick my leg.”
I covered my mouth, trying to stop the burst of laughter I felt coming on. It wasn’t the time or place. But still…Bert and Ernie? Oh, that was good.
“You ladies got five minutes before my team of folks get to the bar to clean the whole place. It will be loud, chaotic, and there will probably be more than one broken glass. Shoot,” he said, his palms flat on the table where Terri and I sat. He had tats on every finger, as well as a picture of a hula dancer on his forearm. Every time his muscle twitched, she twerked.
I tried not to stare.
“This shouldn’t take long, really. Just need to clarify the conversation you overheard between your employee, Emma Katic, and Vince Tripuka.”
He nodded, his eyes glaring straight ahead, and then he blew out a breath and wiped his eyes. “It’s not every day that someone you know is killed. Not just dying in a car accident or something completely random, but murdered. I’ve been trying to not think about it, but it hit me pretty hard. Hit everyone here pretty hard.”
His voice became raspier. Holding up a finger, he stepped over to the bar and leaned across to grab a bottle, the contents of which he poured into his glass. He quickly drank half the liquid, then wiped his mouth clean.
I glanced at Terri then said to him, “Drinking may not solve your problems.”
“I’m not a lush. I sing in a band, and my voice is fucked. My pops told me I can’t drink enough whiskey if I want to clear up an overworked voice box. In fact, if I were to drink anything for Emma, I’d have one of those fruity lemon martinis. She was a hell of a lady…just fell on hard times lately.”
He looked down at the table.
“Can you share more?”
He nodded. “Anything to catch the motherfucker who did this.” He took in a couple of breaths, hissing like a snake with a nasal problem. “She’s had a few issues with drugs in her life. She has two kids and always seemed to struggle to keep it together. Her old man didn’t help. She was in an abusive relationship. She didn’t tell us, but we saw marks all over her. It was pretty obvious. There were times when they would fight right here in the bar.”
“Do you have his name?”
“Sure. Darryl Reese. But no need to look him up. He’s in prison. They fought just before he turned himself in, and they hauled his slimy ass to jail. I think it was some type of drug distribution charge.”
“When was this?” Terri asked.
“About three, maybe four weeks ago. It was kind of strange. She was actually upset that he was going to jail. But most of us who work with her were thinking it was a good thing for her. A damn good thing. But…” He shook his head and stroked his spiked goatee.
“But what?”
“It just got worse for her. I guess she was barely hanging on, you know, to her sobriety and all.”
“How bad did it get, from what you could see?”
Another Darth Vader exhale. “I don’t like dissing on the deceased, especially someone with a good heart like Emma.”
“But…?”
“She had a few outbursts, even in front of customers. Lenny can’t take that kind of shit. No one who owns a business can. And then one night, he caught her stealing some cash out of the register. He had no choice. He let her go right there on the spot.”
“Wait, so she wasn’t working when she was killed two nights ago?”
“Lenny canned her about a week ago.”
“I’m a little confused on the timetable,” I said, taking a momentary glance at Terri. “I was under the impression that Vince and Emma got into it the day or night she was killed.”
“Sorry, but that’s not what I told the detectives. I told them that Vince and Emma had a disagreement a couple of weeks back. Maybe they got weeks and days mixed up.”
I could see Terri’s jaw muscles flex. Another Meyers and Longfellow screw-up. I knew she would chew their asses later.
“Okay, this Vince-Emma fight was two weeks ago. What happened?” I asked.
“Vince showed up for his normal delivery. It was early afternoon on a Tuesday. It was actually pretty busy. We had deliveries, a few early customers, and a couple of contractors in here doing some work on the plumbing in the bathrooms. I was trying to juggle everything since Lenny is a late arriver, so I asked Emma if she could check the manifest to ensure we were getting everything they were delivering. Lenny’s a real stickler for that kind of shit. Hates to get ripped off.”
I nodded.
“Apparently, Vince got a little ticked when Emma started asking questions about his delivery. And given her situation, she was on edge, and I think she bit his head off. I heard her screaming at him from where I was inside the bathroom.”
“Then what happened?” Terri said.
“I ran out into the bar area, and just as I turned the corner, I saw Emma all up in his face. He didn’t push her back or anything, but he said something like, “Bitch, you better back your junk up, or I’m gonna split your head like a watermelon.”
“How did Emma take that?”
Skip’s eyes got wide. “She went apeshit, that’s what she did. I jumped in just as she tried to hurl a bottle of beer at the guy. I think it scared the shit out of him.”
“Did calmer heads prevail after that?”
“I yelled at Vince to leave and then spent the next thirty minutes calming Emma down. She was a mess. But if you’ve ever seen her with her kids, you know she’s got something right here.” He thumped his chest with his f
ist and then wheezed out a sigh. “It’s just so damn sad to see someone fall apart. And then to get murdered. Man…hopefully she’s at peace now.”
He crossed himself.
As we walked out the door, Terri turned to me and said, “It’s amazing how removing the middle men—Meyers and Longfellow—in the description of the fight alters my perspective of things. Vince might have a temper, but…”
“But it doesn’t seem to be a predictable behavior of a killer who was obviously very methodical in how he carried it out and got rid of the body with no one noticing.”
Neither of us said a word on the drive across town to where Vince Tripuka lived.
***
I paused at the edge of the pebbled sidewalk, my eyes drawn to the detached garage positioned behind the house, a pair of massive cedars on either side. Like the house, the three-car garage was painted in soft blue, but I could see some brown starting to show. It needed a new paint job. The main garage doors were also wooden, which told me the house was likely thirty years old, if not older. On the right side, opposite the house, a staircase led to a door. That was Tripuka’s place. I wondered what secrets his apartment might hold.
“Any word from Meyers and Longfellow on the status of the warrant?” I kept my gaze on the garage and studied its position to the home, about fifty feet away.
Terri pulled out her phone, then huffed out a breath as she raised the phone to the mostly blue sky. “Dammit, what do these guys do every day? Sometimes I think they’re screwing around just to make me look bad.”
I couldn’t argue the point, not from what I’d seen so far.
She banged out a text and punched send. I had a feeling her language was rather direct. I heard a ding come from my phone, and I checked for text messages. Nick was acknowledging receipt of the note I’d sent him and Gretchen—that we needed more focus on Emma’s whereabouts over the last week since she was fired at Lenny’s Pub, what she was doing, whom she was with.
I rang the doorbell and immediately heard a barking dog. Turning to look over my shoulder, I could see that the neighborhood was quiet and well kept. Every property was a good half acre, with manicured lawns and beds of shrubs and flowers that looked like they’d been put together by a high-end designer. Lots of trees dotted each plot, concealing a few of the homes better than others. Miss Lucille’s blue house with white shutters and trim was probably one of the more understated homes in the community.
The door opened, and a yelping black and brown dog ran headfirst into my leg. I tried moving out of the way, but then I realized he was trying to bite my shins, ankles, even my shoes.
A woman appeared around the door and clapped her hands. “Stop it, Harry.”
The Yorkshire terrier—at least that was my guess—growled as he dove at my ankles.
She clapped again. “Stop it, you little shit.”
Terri and I exchanged a quick grin as Miss Lucille bent down and picked up Harry. She didn’t have far to go. She was no taller than my shoulders, and that was with her two-inch heels. She wore a dress that looked like it might have fit about twenty pounds ago. But she had a grandmotherly look—short, permed hair, pearl earrings, and a matching pearl necklace. The lines in her face seemed to indicate she smiled a lot.
“He’s such a naughty dog, but he’s so much worse with strangers. Please come in and take a seat in the living room. I’ll go feed Harry, which should calm him down a bit.”
As she walked away, I noticed she had a little hitch in her step, as if someone might have put a penny in her shoe.
I picked up a musty smell as we found our way into the living room. Then, just as quickly, I passed through an invisible cloud of peaches, as if someone had used one of those sprays.
With a cadre of dog toys in one chair and a paperback in the other chair, Terri and I approached the couch with a purple and pink flowered print.
“Please, please have a seat,” Miss Lucille said as she entered the living room from the kitchen at the back of the home, carrying a tray with a pitcher and three glasses. “I’ve pulled together some lemonade.”
She put down the tray and noticed we were still standing. “Sit, please. Can’t have a proper conversation while standing up.”
I sat down, and I swore I saw a plume of dog hair hovering around me. I sank so low into the cushions my feet arched into the air. I moved to the edge of the couch.
Terri started talking even as she struggled to pull herself out of the cushion wedge. “Miss Lucille, we know you have your bridge party to get to, so we don’t want to take up much of your time.”
Terri’s voice already carried an impatient tone, but I didn’t think Miss Lucille noticed.
“That’s fine. I called Marion and told her I might be a few minutes late.” She lowered her center of gravity and used both hands to pick up a heavy crystal pitcher, then poured out three glasses of lemonade.
“You have a beautiful set of crystal.” I knew she’d appreciate the compliment.
A smile split her face, revealing a set of teeth that looked like they’d been sawed off. “Thank you. My dearly departed husband…his mother gave this to us.”
She took a sip of her lemonade. “Of course, that didn’t happen until they read her will after she died.” She attempted another smile, but her cheeks didn’t move. “That woman lived to a hundred and four,” she said, shaking her head. “Made my life hell right up to the day she finally kicked the bucket.”
I heard the pitter-patter of paws on tile, and I saw Harry meander across the kitchen floor and then slowly plod over to the chair. Looking more like a human who had just consumed an overindulgent Thanksgiving dinner, he glanced up at Miss Lucille. It didn’t appear he had the energy to jump, so Miss Lucille picked up the dog, and he quickly found his resting spot in her lap.
“I suppose you want to first know why I allowed a convicted felon to live in my garage apartment.”
Terri and I sat there, slowly nodding.
“I knew Vince had been in prison. He was very honest with me about his past. But really there are two reasons I gave my consent. While my husband—Arthur was his name—was an orthodontist, he and his fellow deacons at church had worked with a number of young men at halfway homes, helping them reacclimate to the real world. Get them jobs, balance a checkbook.” She stroked Harry’s back as if he were a prized trophy.
They definitely had more patience with the system than I did. “Very nice of your husband. Did he meet Vince when he got out of prison?”
Miss Lucille waved a hand, and I saw some bling. “Arthur’s been gone for almost two years now.” She looked toward the mantle, where I saw a framed black-and-white picture of a young couple—I assumed it was Miss Lucille and Arthur—sitting next to what appeared to be an urn.
Her lips drew into a straight line, and her eyes pooled with tears. She reached over and pulled a tissue out of a box and lightly dabbed at her eyes.
My phone dinged, and I rebuked myself for forgetting to turn on the mute button. I took a quick glance. It was Brad; my heart skipped a beat.
Hey beautiful. Hope you’re kicking ass without me. Just thinking about ya. I’ll call you later.
I took in a deep breath, momentarily distracted by Brad’s warm thoughts. Damn, he was sweet.
I sipped my lemonade to cool off a bit and wait for Miss Lucille to gather herself. She continued petting her dog, whose lazy eyes told me he had the good life.
“Harry here lost his significant other about the time that Arthur passed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, Hermione was run over by some teenage hooligan racing through the neighborhood in his souped-up Mustang,” she said emphatically.
I nodded, telling myself I shouldn’t bother mentioning that Harry Potter and Hermione never ended up together in the J.K. Rowling series.
Her story reminded me of someone, although the guy I knew was twice as old, had a helmet of curly hair, and drove a Camaro. He was also the biggest cheeseball I’d ever encou
ntered. But I also couldn’t forget that he had saved my life over the summer. Archie Woods.
I set my glass on the tray. “You said there were two reasons why you allowed Vince to live in your garage apartment?”
“I guess I thought it was clear. I needed the money, and he was the first one to respond to my ad on Craigslist. Arthur’s insurance policy only left me with so much, and his stingy mother didn’t give us a dime, outside of the crystal and a book full of family recipes. That woman couldn’t cook worth a damn. I threw it away the moment I received it from the probate lawyer.”
Terri moved another inch closer to the edge of the sofa. “We’d like to get your feedback on two nights ago.”
Miss Lucille’s brow furrowed with concern. “I’m really worried about Vince. Can you tell me what he’s accused of doing?”
“We can’t share details. I hope you understand,” I said, still hoping she’d view us as allies.
“I suppose,” she said, her eyes drifting to Harry for a second.
Terri didn’t give her much time to think about it. “Two nights ago. Can you tell us your routine? Were you at home? What time did you go to bed?”
“Two nights ago. I always watch the news, then I open the door and let Harry do his business in the backyard one more time.”
“And you did that two nights ago?”
She put a finger to her chin, which had a vertical crease up the middle. “Now that I think about it, two nights ago I actually let Harry out twice. Once before my show started and then again afterward.”
“What show is that?” I asked, to get an idea of the time.
“Scandal. It’s about as believable as aliens landing on earth, but I love me some scandal. I didn’t want Harry interrupting my show.”
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2) Page 31
