Fatal Luck

by Dorothy Howell

  “Cool,” Misty said. “I’ll tell Eric as soon as he gets back.”

  Janine’s screams echoed in my mind.

  “Just put a note on his desk, okay?” I said.

  She promised she would and we hung up.

  I continued down State Street, then pulled into the turning lane at Fleming Avenue and waited for the light to change.

  Honestly, I couldn’t imagine how knowing the age of the car that had run down Jerry would do much to solve the case. Nick already knew it was small and dark; knowing it was old couldn’t add anything to locating it.

  Still, I thought I should pass along the info. I called Nick. His voicemail picked. Hearing him speak always made my heart do a little flip-flop. I wondered at my true motive for sharing the info. I left a message asking him to call me.

  When I turned onto Fifth Street and into the Mid-America parking lot, I spotted Nick standing near the building. My heart did a bigger flip-flop.

  He looked handsome, dressed in a navy blue sport coat, a pale blue shirt, and a gray and blue stripped necktie. Nick looked handsome in anything.

  As I swung into a parking space, he walked over and opened my door.

  “Throwing a dinner party?” he asked, eyeing the cases of food in my backseat.

  “Just me and a few hundred of my closest friends,” I said, getting out of the car.

  “And my invitation?” he asked.

  “It’s in the mail,” I told him.

  Nick grinned. I loved Nick’s grin. I just stood there for what felt like an hour, staring at him. He didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to enjoy staring back.

  “So,” he finally said, breaking whatever crazy spell was between us. “You called?”

  “I did,” I said, and it took another few seconds for me to remember why. “I talked to Janine Ferris.”

  Nick’s gorgeous grin started to morph into his cop grimace, but I cut him off.

  “I went to see her about the Thanksgiving food donation,” I said, and gestured to my backseat as evidence.

  Really, that wasn’t the reason I’d gone but there was no point in sharing my suspicions about Eric with him. I had no proof, plus making a loan to a non-existent customer wasn’t something a homicide detective could do anything about. I had no proof that Patricia had run down Jerry, either. All I had was suspicion, and what good would that do Nick’s investigation?

  “Janine remembered something about the car that ran down Jerry,” I said. “The license plate started with the number four.”

  “So it was old,” he said, and I was sure I could see him calculating the approximate age of the vehicle, as I had done. “Did she remember any more of the plate number?”

  I shook my head. “That’s it.”

  Nick stewed on this for a minute, then frowned. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “She doesn’t like you.”

  Nick drew back a little. He wasn’t accustomed to a female who didn’t like him.

  “You like me, though. Right?” he asked. He grinned again. “And remember, it’s a crime to lie to a police officer.”

  Yes, I liked him. He liked me, too. We both knew it. But that wasn’t the issue between us.

  “I’ve always been truthful with you,” I said. “That’s more than I can say for you.”

  The playfulness left Nick’s face. I could see that my words had hurt him, and I didn’t like doing that. But he’d hurt me, too, by not coming clean about him and Katie Jo.

  Why wouldn’t he just tell me? Why was he keeping it a big secret? Especially when he knew how much it meant to me to know the truth? It was the one thing that was keeping us apart.

  Nick just looked at me, and for a few seconds I thought—I hoped—he would explain himself and finally put this whole issue behind us.

  But he didn’t.

  “Thanks for the information about the car,” he said, then walked away.

  * * *

  “You should break up with him,” Jillian said.

  I looked across the table at my best friend and knew she was right.

  “I know,” I said. “But—”

  We were sitting in a little café on Sixth Street where we’d met for dinner. Outside, it was dark but twinkle lights sparkled in the trees and shrubs that were planted at the edge of the sidewalk. This area of Santa Flores had been revitalized over the past couple of years, bringing in upscale shops and restaurants that gave the street a Tuscan vibe.

  “But nothing,” Jillian said. “You have to break up with Ronald. You’re involved with him for all the wrong reasons.”

  “I know,” I said again. “But he’s good looking, and all the holiday parties are coming up.”

  Jillian gave me a look that only a best friend can get away with and asked, “Can you honestly tell me you have any feelings for him? Does he mean anything to you? Do you even think about him during the day?”

  I realized that when I’d been upset about my dad’s affair and had wished for someone to talk to about it, I’d never thought about turning to Ronald. It didn’t make me feel so great about myself.

  “You’re right, you’re right,” I admitted.

  We were quiet for a few minutes while I finished my salad and Jillian ate the last of her sandwich.

  “This is really about Nick, isn’t it?” she said.

  I pushed my plate away, annoyed.

  “What’s the matter with him? Why won’t he just tell me the truth about what happened with Katie Jo?” I asked. “He knows how much this means to me.”

  “Are you sure you really want to know?” she asked.

  “Of course, I want to know. It’s driving me crazy not knowing.”

  “Consider this,” Jillian said. “If Nick confesses, if he tells you it wasn’t him, if he says he didn’t get Katie Jo pregnant, will you believe him?”

  “Oh,” I mumbled, stunned. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Well, think about it,” Jillian told me. “Nick knows how much is riding on this. He knows this issue is what’s keeping you two apart. He likes you, he wants to date you, he wants you to get over this whole thing. Where’s his incentive to tell you anything except what you want to hear?”

  “You have a point,” I admitted.

  “Or,” Jillian went on. “What if Nick tells you he did it, he got Katie Jo pregnant, made her have that abortion, then dumped her and left town? How are you going to feel about him then? Are you going to be okay with everything, put it behind you, start dating him like everything is great between you? You’ll know the truth—but is that a truth you really want to know?”

  “Jeez,” I muttered and sat back in my chair.

  Jillian had made lots of good point. They were all true and all something important to think about—but none of them actually resolved this situation with Nick.

  “No matter what he says,” Jillian said, “will it really make things okay between you? Really make you happy?”

  I slumped in the chair. “All along I thought that if I knew the truth, I’d be okay. But now …”

  I looked across the table at Jillian. “I hate you.”

  She smiled, as only a best friend can. “I know.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

  I signaled the waitress and she brought our check. Jillian grabbed it.

  “This is on me,” she said, handing over her credit card, “since I ruined your life tonight.”

  The waitress left and I was about to ask Jillian about her weekend plans when she leaned forward and nodded toward the door.

  “Don’t you know her? I saw her in a photo on your Facebook page,” she said.

  I turned and saw Lourdes Hunter standing at the counter, talking to the hostess. She had on a maxi skirt with a slit up the side, boots, a cowl neck sweater and chunky jewelry. Her blonde hair was pulled into an elegant up-do. Lourdes looked fantastic, as she had the night I’d met her at Eric’s birthday celebration.

  I told Jillian her name and how I knew her.

/>   “Lourdes owns a shop down the block,” I said. “It’s called Elegant and Artful: Distinctive Décor for the Discriminating Decorator, or something like that.”

  “My mom shops there.” Jillian lowered her voice. “She says everything costs a fortune.”

  “I need to talk to her,” I said, and left the table.

  My car was packed full of canned goods that belonged to the Bonita office and since Lourdes was standing right there, I wanted to make arrangements with her to take the donation to her house tonight and let Eric figure out what to do with it.

  “Hi,” I said, as I approached her still waiting at the register.

  Lourdes spared me a cool glance and said, “Hello.”

  “I’m Dana Mackenzie,” I said. “I work at Mid-America’s Santa Flores branch.”

  “What?” Lourdes seemed distracted and slightly annoyed that I’d bothered her.

  “We met at Eric’s birthday celebration,” I said.

  “Oh. Oh, yes, of course.” Lourdes forced a smile. “Yes, I remember you now.”

  I wasn’t sure she really recalled meeting me that evening, but she was trying hard to pretend she did.

  Lourdes seemed to be trying hard to pretend at more than that.

  That night in the restaurant at Eric’s birthday celebration, we’d been seated at opposite ends of a long table so I hadn’t seen her up close. Now, I could see that she’d gone heavy on her makeup trying to conceal lines around her eyes and mouth. Her nose looked as if it were unnaturally straight and her lips were a little fuller than they should have been.

  Lourdes leaned over the counter and looked back into the kitchen, anxious for her take-out order, I guessed.

  “I was helping out in Eric’s branch this week and I collected the canned goods for the food drive,” I said. “It’s all in my car. Can I drop by your house and put them in your garage?”

  “What?” Lourdes whipped around. “No.”

  For someone who was so involved with her husband’s job, I was surprised and taken slightly aback.

  She saw my reaction and turned on a bright smile, as if she’d flipped a mental switch.

  “Of course you could. It would be no problem at all—usually.” Lourdes relaxed her stance and gave me a conspiratorial smile. “But our garage door is broken. I’ve been after Eric for a week now to get it fixed, but you know how men can be. He just hasn’t gotten around to it yet. Just take the donation to the office tomorrow. I’ll tell Eric to expect you.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said.

  I saw that Jillian was rising from our table so I went outside to wait. The air was cool, making for a crisp autumn evening.

  I wasn’t thrilled about having to go back to the Bonita branch tomorrow to drop off the canned goods, and the broken garage door excuse seemed a little too convenient. I wondered if something else was going on. Either way, there was nothing I could do about it.

  Jillian came outside. “Want to go shopping?”

  “No, I can’t tonight,” I said.

  I had to go see my dad.

  * * *

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  Dad looked surprised to see me—which I’m sure he was, given that I’d pulled across the driveway blocking in his truck just as he walked out of the house, then hopped out and confronted him.

  I’d waited down the street for him to come out, dreading the conversation, slightly sick to my stomach and wishing I hadn’t eaten that salad with Jillian earlier this evening.

  “Sure,” Dad said, following me to the other side of the house. The street light burned softly, but was bright enough that I could see his face, read his expression.

  I hadn’t told Mom anything that I’d discovered about Dad and Lorna Pettigrew. I wanted to learn the whole story myself, then decide how best to tell her.

  “What’s wrong with your mother?” Dad asked. “Cold sandwiches for dinner three nights in a row. What’s going on?”

  I’d rehearsed what I intended to say to Dad on the drive over. I’d tried to come up with the best approach, something that wouldn’t sound harsh and judgmental, hoping he would explain—or confess—everything. Now, seeing him, knowing Mom was in the house devastated that he was leaving again, I couldn’t hold back.

  “You’re cheating on her,” I said. “What do you expect?”

  Dad went white. His eyes bulged.

  “She knows,” I said. “She knows about the money you took out of your savings account. She knows you’ve been lying to her every night. She knows you haven’t been going to Leo’s house to work on his car.”

  He just stared at me.

  Tears welled in my eyes. “I know, too. I know where you’ve been going. I know her name, where she lives. I know everything about her. I saw you there, Dad. I saw you go into her house.”

  “I have to talk to your mother.”

  Dad tried to slip around me, but I blocked him.

  “She’s already upset,” I told him. “I don’t want you making it worse.”

  “My God,” Dad moaned. “She thinks that? She really things I’m cheating on her?”

  “Aren’t you?” I asked.

  “No! No, of course not. I love your mother,” he said. “Listen, this is all a mistake. Leo knows this woman. Her name is Lorna something. Her husband divorced her a year ago. She got a settlement. She bought a new house. She wanted new closets. Those big closet systems. Leo was going to install it for her, but his elbow is acting up. I told him I’d do it. She’s paying me a small fortune.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell Mom?” I demanded. “Why did you lie to her?”

  “So I could surprise her with a cruise,” Dad said. “Our anniversary. I wanted to do something special for her this year. I took the money out of our savings to put down the deposit. Look. I’ve got it right here.”

  Dad pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, flipped through it and held out a slip of paper. It was a receipt from a travel agency.

  “So, you’re not …?” I gulped hard. “You didn’t ...?”

  “No, baby, I’m not cheating on your mother,” he said.

  Dad put his arms around me and pulled me close.

  I burst out crying.

  Chapter 11

  “I saw Janine yesterday,” I said, as I sat down in the chair beside Manny’s desk.

  Around us, the office was quiet. I’d purposely waited until Inez left for lunch to talk with Manny.

  “She’s a real mess,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Who can blame her?”

  “I picked up the Thanksgiving food donation Janine arranged. I need a longer lunch hour so I can drop it off with Eric,” I said.

  Manny nodded. “Sure. No problem.”

  One of the things I liked most about Manny was that he was agreeable when it came to things like that. I decided to push my luck a little further.

  “And I’m going to check on the appraisal reports, too” I said.

  “Inez has been pacing the floor waiting for those things, driving us all crazy.”

  “Crazier than usual,” I added.

  Manny chuckled. “Sure. Take a longer lunch if you can get your hands on them.”

  With a somewhat leisurely afternoon ahead of me, I got my handbag from my desk and left the office. In my car, I headed north on Fleming Avenue anxious to drop off the canned goods at the Bonita branch.

  My suspicion that Eric had made at least one fraudulent loan bothered me more and more. I was going to have to say something, I decided as I turned onto State Street. After I delivered the food donations and felt certain I’d never have to work in Eric’s branch again—whether Janine returned or Mid-America hired her replacement—I would say something to Manny.

  Nobody liked a snitch, but I knew I’d be doing the right thing by ratting out Eric. Call it my attempt at justice—and Eric’s bad mojo.

  Of course, I still didn’t see how it tied to Jerry’s death—and maybe it didn’t. Maybe my suspicion about Patricia had been right.
Jerry’s insurance money would go a long way toward supporting three teenagers.

  I swung into the strip mall and drove into the alley behind the building. Instead of parking in a space, I pulled up alongside the rear entrance to the Mid-America office. I called Misty on my cell phone and asked her to unlock the door for me. A few minutes later, it was opened by Eric.

  “Janine managed quite a contribution,” I said, getting out of the car. “I talked to Lourdes last night and she—”

  “You saw Lourdes?” he asked. There was an edge to his voice, as if I’d gone behind his back.

  “I ran into her at the café down the street from her shop,” I explained. “I wanted to bring the food by your house but she said your garage door was broken.”

  “Of course,” Eric said, and looked relieved—about what I wasn’t sure.

  Misty came outside and the three of us stacked the cases of canned goods in the stockroom.

  “Eric? You have a phone call,” Gloria called from the office.

  He waved and left. I did the same.

  I didn’t get into my car, though. Instead, I called Marsha. She answered right away and said that she was in Jerry’s office. I told her I was out back. We hung up and a minute later the rear door of the insurance company opened. Marsha stepped outside.

  “I put all the appraisal reports in there,” she said, passing me a large manila envelope. “Oh, and here’s this.”

  She dug in the pocket of her jeans and came up with a wad of bills rolled up and secured with a rubber band.

  “Still no idea where it came from?” I asked.

  “None,” Marsha said.

  “I’ll give it to Patricia,” I promised.

  “I found her address and phone number. It’s in the envelope with the appraisals,” Marsha said.

  I wasn’t looking forward to visiting Patricia. Hopefully she—or her daughter—wouldn’t run me down in their driveway when they saw me get out of my car.

  Marsha went back inside and I got into my Honda. I tucked the wad of cash inside my cosmetic bag. I didn’t like walking around with so much money, especially when it didn’t belong to me, and I was anxious to get rid of it.