After someone had fetched Ellen, Claire said, “I’m sorry I keep calling you at the store. Were you with a client?”
“Was I ever, and I’m so glad you rescued me. The woman insisted on one of my color analyses, and when I told her she was winter, she huffed and said she always assumed she was spring.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in those.”
“The four seasons thing is such a crock, but once I came up with a match, I couldn’t back down. I convinced her that skin color changes with age and she needs to update her wardrobe. When I heard you were on the phone, I asked Susan to take over, in exchange for half the commission.”
“Sorry I’m costing you money.”
“You know I work here more for the discounts than the commissions,” Ellen said. “You’re the one who could make real money if you got serious about your business. With some targeted marketing, you could rake in enough basket orders to keep you employed full-time.”
“I never intended it to be full-time. I wouldn’t enjoy it if I had to rush. I like creating the baskets, but I hate the business part, the handling the money and the paperwork. Thank God Roger helped me set that all up.” Sharing that work with him had actually been fun.
“He may not be around to do that anymore, and you may need the income. I called earlier because Dave told me Roger was staying with him. Does that mean you two are splitting up?” She sounded almost hopeful.
Claire cringed. “Oh, God, I hope not. I’m trying to convince Roger to come home, so we can talk. But he won’t listen.”
“Men. They’re all the same. I say good riddance to the lot of them.”
When will Ellen get over her divorce? “I want to work this out with Roger, but all he’s concerned about is his job.”
“See? What did I tell you?”
Frustrated, Claire blew out a breath. “You don’t understand. Ned Peters, the president of Roger’s company, is upset. He thinks the bad publicity will scare off investors. If the choice comes down to them or Roger, Roger will get the boot.”
“Cripes. I didn’t know things were that bad at his company.”
“It’s all my fault.” Claire blinked back tears. “Roger has a right to be worried and mad at me. That’s why I’m desperate to prove I still love him.”
“How’re you going to do that?”
“By finding some lead to give the police. By convincing Roger’s boss that Roger’s innocent.”
“Find some lead? How?”
Claire told Ellen of her meetings with Leon and Travis.
“Those are dangerous people you’re dealing with. Are you crazy?”
She felt darn close to insane, with the emotional roller coaster she’d been on the last few days. “Call me motivated. If I save Roger from losing his job and going to prison, he’ll understand I want to save our marriage too.”
“He damn well better understand the risks you’re taking for him. Before all this, the biggest risk you ever took was starting your business, and you won’t even go all out on that. What makes you think you know what you’re doing here?”
Claire resented Ellen’s implication that she was a bumbling fool. “I’m not going into this blind. Deb Burch gave me some advice. You remember her? My P.I. friend in Denver?”
“Why isn’t she the one talking to these people?”
“She’s in L.A. and won’t return until the end of the week. I can’t wait. I have to take something to Detective Wilson before then. He’s convinced Roger’s guilty.”
Ellen spoke deliberately, as if carefully choosing her words. “Claire, I know you care for Roger, but did you ever consider that your feelings could be clouding your judgment? The police are experts at this stuff, and you’re an amateur. They just might be right.”
“I can’t accept that.” Claire said it with firm conviction.
“I know you don’t want to. I’m saying this as a friend. I hope you won’t take it the wrong way, but you need to consider the possibility, for your own good.”
“I appreciate you trying to help, but I’ve got to keep pushing. I need hope. And so does Roger.” Claire fought back tears. “If he keeps on thinking he has no chance of being cleared, I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“But what you’ve found out so far is no help.”
Claire swallowed. “I know.”
“Your opinion that these drug-dealing goons have motive is not enough. It’s your word against theirs. They’ll deny they ever met you.”
Claire stood and paced, searching for an idea. “I need something tangible, some piece of physical evidence.”
“The police already have the gun. What else is there?”
“I don’t know.” Then it hit her. Travis had said Condoleza liked to go dancing Wednesday nights. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Maybe no one would be in the apartment. Could she? Did she dare?
“Ellen . . .” No, I won’t say anything. Ellen would just try to talk her out of it, or even inform the police to keep Claire out of danger.
“What?”
“Nothing. I need to go. I have some thinking to do.”
“Keep in touch. I’m worried about you.”
As soon as Claire hung up, the phone rang. Assuming it was Ellen, she picked it up. “You forget something, Ellen?”
A familiar deep, gravelly voice said, “Hello, Mrs. Hanover.”
Leon! Claire’s hand gripped the chair beside her. How had he gotten her number? She glanced at the phone directory on her desk. Dummy! The same way the reporters had. The same way he could have learned her address and sent a henchman to polish off Enrique. “Hello.”
“Now don’t you go hanging up on me, or I might need to make a personal visit. I know where you live.”
The phone felt hot. Then Claire realized her hands had gone cold and clammy. “I understand.”
“I’ll get to the point. Travis told me an interesting story about a lady visitor he had this afternoon.”
Claire gulped. “Did you tell him who I was?”
“Didn’t see the need to.”
Thank God.
Leon’s voice turned stern. “I thought I told you he didn’t do it.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I also told you I don’t allow no one to mess with my business.”
“I remember.” Trembling, Claire wondered if Leon planned to harm her. Or Roger.
Leon exhaled in what was almost a sigh. “I admire your loyalty to your husband, Mrs. Hanover, but you gotta stop this now. Don’t talk to Travis or Condoleza again.”
Claire sank into her chair. “Yes, sir.” Why did she say “sir”? She felt like an idiot.
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
After he’d hung up, Claire stared at the phone. He hadn’t said what he would do to her if she disobeyed him, but she sure didn’t want to find out. She wiped her damp hands on her jeans. Her fledgling plan to search Condoleza’s apartment the next night seemed like a bad idea.
But wait a minute.
Claire stood again and paced the kitchen. Leon had said not to talk to Travis or Condoleza. She wouldn’t do that. So, technically, she would keep her promise. And if she succeeded in getting in and out of their apartment, Leon would never know. If she failed to find a way in, he would never know that either. If she got caught—
She shuddered. I won’t get caught. She realized she’d already made her decision.
Claire pictured her previous visit to Enrique’s apartment. She remembered hearing a deadbolt slide open before Condoleza cracked the door. Claire walked to her computer and accessed a website about how things worked that she had bookmarked for Judy’s high school homework. Lock picking was a topic, along with a warning that breaking into private property was both illegal and unethical.
When she read about the tools required, she raced upstairs into the kids’ bathroom. She rummaged through a couple of drawers until she found the dental pick Judy had used to replace medicated strips when her wisdom teeth were removed and one socket r
efused to heal. Clutching the pick, Claire entered the garage next and grabbed Roger’s smallest flathead screwdriver.
After printing the directions for picking a pin-and-tumbler lock, she grabbed her keys and coat, ran out on the deck, and dead-bolted the kitchen door behind her. As winds from the approaching storm whipped her hair, she inserted the tools into the keyhole and turned the screwdriver. Biting her tongue, she worked the pick, feeling and listening for each pin to drop.
The first try took twenty frustrating minutes. Her frozen ears felt like they would fall off, and she crammed her stiff fingers under her armpits to warm them. But each attempt went faster until, on her seventh, she opened the door in three minutes. Exhausted and numb with cold, she trudged inside to warm up some soup. Then she planned to tackle the front door.
TWELVE:
DECISION TIME
After another restless night in Judy’s bed, tossing covers off and on as she alternated between hot and cold flashes, Claire made up her mind. She’d talk to Roger sometime this afternoon. But first she’d attend her Wednesday-morning exercise class. Facing the silent censorship of her classmates had become a personal challenge.
She made it through the class with Jill’s support. She wished she’d had Ellen’s too, but Ellen had had to switch her regular Thursday workday to Wednesday that week. After showering, Claire waited while Jill applied her makeup. Claire was looking forward to their lunch, a pure social occasion after all her tense confrontations with potential suspects.
“All done,” Jill announced. “You still want to go out to lunch in this weather?”
The snow squall that had threatened the night before had blown in fast, spitting a couple of inches of snow on the ground before settling into a steady dusting of tiny flakes. But a light snowstorm wasn’t going to stop Claire. “I deserve this lunch. If you want, I’ll drive and bring you back here to get your car.”
“Thanks. Even with snow tires, I’m still not confident on slippery roads. Let’s go eat sushi at Jun. I love their lobster rolls.”
While Claire negotiated streets swirling with Colorado’s famous champagne powder, she half-listened to Jill bemoaning the lack of good Japanese restaurants in town—except Jun, of course. Upscale real estate agents brought their California clients there to show them Colorado Springs wasn’t all white bread.
Once inside the restaurant, the waitress asked if they wanted the last unoccupied tatami table, where patrons sat on cushions on the raised floor with their feet dangling in a pit under the table.
Jill wrinkled her nose. “I’m too old to sit on the floor.”
Claire had been looking forward to it, but demurred. She also let Jill choose which types of sushi they would share and order some hot sake.
As they waited for their food, Jill said, “What’s going on with the murder investigation?”
“The police haven’t done much.” Claire summarized what she had accomplished and her conversation with Ellen, pausing when the waitress served the sake.
Jill’s eyes had grown wide during the summation. “Jeez, Claire, I have to agree with Ellen. You’re getting into dangerous stuff. You should let the police handle it.”
“I can’t just sit still and let them convict Roger of a crime he didn’t commit.”
“But you’re making things worse, getting these drug guys mad at you.” Jill’s brows furrowed, giving her a troubled look. “You really need to stop.”
Claire didn’t feel like arguing with her friend. “I’ll consider it, but right now we’ve got sake to drink.” She poured the hot wine into their cups and took a long sip of the steamy, pungent brew.
Jill stared at Claire for a moment, as if appraising her, then raised her sake cup in salute. “I admire your spunk, though. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Claire raised her cup to accept the compliment then grew serious. “You don’t realize what you’re capable of until something like this comes along and tests you.”
A cloud passed over Jill’s face. She leaned forward and peered at Claire. “Are you handling this okay?”
Claire nodded, but felt her throat catch. “I think so.”
“If you need anything, or someone to talk to—”
The waitress arrived with a huge platter brimming with sushi rolls stuffed with Oriental vegetables, salmon skin, smoked eel, and lobster.
After the waitress had left, Jill picked up a lobster roll between two chopsticks and waved it at Claire. “I’m here for you, is all I wanted to say.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Jill washed down the lobster with sake and pinched a vegetable roll. “What’s your next step?”
“Huh?” The question caught Claire unaware. She couldn’t divulge her plan to break into Condoleza’s apartment, but she had no other cover story to tell. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Jill’s lips curled. “You just don’t want to tell me. Your face is an open book.”
Claire felt her face redden. She had to change the topic fast. “Enough about me. Tell me what Paul thought of that ‘Hot Anniversary Night’ basket you ordered from me.”
Jill swallowed. “It didn’t have the desired effect.”
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry. Not even the massage oil? Ylang ylang is supposed to be a very sensual scent.”
Jill shook her head.
“So things haven’t improved between you two?”
“No, they haven’t.” She pointed a chopstick at Claire. “What do you mean by improved? Did Ellen say something to you? She did, didn’t she? I’ll kill her.”
Claire scrambled to recover. She had promised Ellen she wouldn’t tell Jill she knew anything. “I assumed—”
“No.” Jill’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t assume, just from a basket order, that my marriage was falling apart. Ellen must have told you.”
Claire realized she had blown it. “Don’t be mad. Ellen cares about you, and so do I. She only told me that you asked about a divorce lawyer because she was trying to convince me to see one, too.”
“Damn. Now I’ve lost my appetite.” Jill threw down her chopsticks. “That’s the problem, my appetite. Paul says I’m getting too fat. He says I disgust him.”
“Oh, Jill. So that’s why you’re taking the exercise class?”
“It’s not doing any good, though. You know me.” Jill stared at her full plate then looked up. A tear rolled down her plump cheek. “I love to eat.”
Claire tried to think of a soothing reply, but all she could come up with was, “I’m sorry.”
Jill glanced at the chalkboard listing the daily specials. “Too bad there’s no such thing as chocolate sushi. I could use some now.”
Claire smiled politely at Jill’s joke, but frankly, chocolate was the last thing her friend needed. “What can I do?”
“Be a friend. Tell me I look nice, like you did yesterday. It felt so good to hear something positive after all the negative comments I got from Paul and Enrique.”
“Enrique?”
Jill looked embarrassed and fumbled in her purse for a tissue. “Boy, that slipped right out, didn’t it?” She wiped the tear from her cheek and blew her nose.
Claire waited in silence.
When Jill had composed herself, she grinned sheepishly at Claire. “Enrique was quite a ladies’ man, wasn’t he? You’ve experienced that firsthand.”
With a rueful wince, Claire nodded.
“With the problems Paul and I had been having, you know, with him being disgusted with me and all . . .” She leaned toward Claire and whispered, “We haven’t made love in a long time.”
Jill leaned back. “I had heard about Enrique and thought maybe he and I . . .” She shrugged. “I needed someone to hold me and tell me I’m still desirable.”
“So did you and Enrique . . . ?” Claire couldn’t finish the question.
“He didn’t say it directly, just kept putting me off, but I could tell. He was as disgusted with me as Paul.”
Clai
re grimaced. “Ouch.”
“He kept suggesting I talk to the gym’s dietician.” Jill made a sour face.
“Double ouch. So that’s why you said those nasty things about him.”
“He was an asshole.” A smile played at the corner of Jill’s mouth as she picked up her chopsticks again. “Can’t say as I miss him.”
___
An hour later, Claire stood on the front stoop of Dave Kessler’s brick-fronted townhouse. It was situated in a prime development facing the Kissing Camels formation in the Garden of the Gods Park. She glanced up at the towering red sandstone rocks that the Ute Indians believed had been a magical place and whispered, “Wish me luck.” She needed more than a rabbit’s foot, maybe a whole bunny. Girding herself, she brushed snow off her shoulders and rang the doorbell.
Roger opened the door. He looked as if he hadn’t showered that morning. He wore gray sweatpants and an old stretched-out Colorado Rockies T-shirt. His feet were bare, and his cheeks were unshaven.
When he made a move to close the door, Claire braced her hand against it. With a firmness that surprised her, she said, “We need to talk. Face-to-face. Let me in.” She pushed against the door.
Without a word, Roger turned aside to let her brush past him and walk down the hall into Dave’s living room. The furnishings declared this was a man’s place—all leather, burnished metal, and glass, with no softening feminine touches. It even smelled masculine, with its essence of grilled meat, gym socks, and stale beer. The young lady lawyer had lost interest in Dave a few months after his divorce from Ellen. Now he lived alone.
What a waste. Claire looked around but saw no sign of Ellen’s ex-husband. “Where’s Dave?”
“At work.”
“Good.” Claire took off her coat and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. Her fluttering heart and dry mouth gave her an extra reminder that the next few minutes would be crucial. She sat on the squeaky leather sofa and patted the matching chair next to her. “Sit.”
Roger cast about as if looking for an escape route, then slumped into the chair with a sigh.
A Real Basket Case Page 12
