“It’s not that.” I was in full blab mode, words began shooting out of my mouth. “Someone attacked me last night. I went to the docks to check out Brant’s boat. A guy chased me, grabbed me, and pulled me into an alley. I thought he was going to kill me. I got away from him and hid under the docks until he left. When I got to my car, the tires had been slashed. I had to go to Waffle World smelling like chum and wait for a tow truck.”
Craig looked horrified. “Emily, did you call the police?”
“And say what? Officer, I was trespassing on this guy’s boat because I think he killed his boss, and I was attacked by a man I couldn’t identify because he was dressed like Johnny Cash, only with a ski mask. No one is going to listen to me.”
Craig sighed. “I know one policeman who’d listen to you. You should call Rick.” He took a deep breath. “Emmie, I’m no dream squasher.”
“But.”
“No buts. There are no buts here. I live my life but-free. I was saying, I’m no dream squasher. I like how this crusade has added a little zip to your step. You’ve uncovered some interesting things. I don’t know where your case is going, but it’s a lot of fun to watch. However, I think when a man drags you into an alley, it’s getting a little too dangerous.”
Now how clever was that? Switching a “but” with a “however.” Craig was a grammar ninja.
“Honestly, I was thinking the same way last night. I’m getting close to something. I don’t really know what, but something. I’ll go to the police as soon as I figure it out. Right now, it’s all just gut feelings.”
“And stolen merchandise. You know you’re going to give the police this jump drive eventually, and you’ll have to tell them everything. So why not now? Go to Officer Rick with this. It’s a good way to explain the kiss, come clean, and maybe help his career. I don’t think it’s over just yet. You could put things on the right track with him. It makes for a happy ending.”
“I don’t think he’s interested in a happy ending, at least not with me. The jump drive though, that should make his day. When I’m done, I’ll make sure he gets it.”
I really didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I was there to hone my Cinderella skills. “Should I go back to scrubbing the stage?”
“Offering to finish housework instead of continuing with a meaningful but troubling conversation. Dennis does the same thing. I take it you taught him that?”
“I’m sure I picked it up from him. I’m not a natural scrubber.”
“Well, it looks like you were doing a good job to me.” He handed me my brush. “We’re almost done. Next week, want to help me with a little painting? I was thinking of doing something with the table tops. Maybe you’ll have another clue for me to analyze. I like being your personal CSI consultant.”
“Sounds good. No pizza though.”
“I’m thinking sandwiches, maybe something in a nice egg salad. It would be messy, but it wouldn’t actually hurt anyone if you had to throw it in self-defense.” He started to chuckle. “They’d just have egg on their face.” He looked at me. “Oh Emmie. That was funny.”
Yeah. Real funny.
We spent a couple of more hours cleaning. I hate to brag, but after the scrubbing and polishing, the stage looked pretty good. Rasputin was going to appreciate my efforts if he noticed floors.
“You’re not walking home tonight. I’m giving you a ride.”
I started to protest. I was going to remind Craig that I only lived a few short blocks away, and everything was going to be fine, but I realized just how ridiculous it would sound, with a fisherman ninja looking for me.
Craig parked in front of my house. “Talk to Rick tomorrow after your class. You’ll feel better.”
“I think I’m skipping class tomorrow. I have a few things I want to check out.”
“More plans?”
“I don’t know if you’d call them plans. I want to talk to Brant again. I want to know more about his deal in all of this.”
“Let’s see. Not only are you endangering your life, but you’re also endangering your grade point average. Dennis will love this.”
“You don’t have to tell him everything.”
But I knew he was going to.
That was all I needed: Dennis phone-freakage first thing in the morning. There was no doubt I’d get a phone call.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dennis did call the next morning. Several times. I decided that, just because he was calling with a lecture, didn’t mean I had to answer the phone and listen to it. It was a pain to keep checking caller ID though. God forbid I miss a chance to whisper foul nothings in a pervert’s ear.
As I left the house, I was pretty pleased with myself. I’d beaten Dennis at his own game, at least temporarily. I was about halfway across the street when I heard an engine rev, just like in a seventies cop show. Tires squealed, and a car came barreling down at me going at what I guessed was a hundred miles an hour. I stood for a moment, frozen, staring at the grill of the car. For a lightning flash of a second, I thought I should memorize the license plate but realized that, if I took the time to do that, I’d probably be dead. I dived out of the way as the car screeched by me, accelerated down the street, and careened around the corner. There was gravel in my chin and cheeks, my palms were scraped and starting to bleed, my knees felt wet, and my good jeans were ripped. Exactly what I deserved for being fool enough to pay seventy-five dollars for a pair of jeans.
I sat on the pavement. I knew where the car was going; the entrance to the freeway was on the next block. I thought about calling the police, but I wasn’t sure about the make of the car. The truth was I wasn’t good at that kinda stuff. My car expertise was limited to Echo’s, Volkswagen bugs, and classic Mustangs.
I dragged myself up the stairs and went inside to clean up. Picking out rocks embedded in my face? Not fun. My knees were bleeding and throbbing, my palms were stinging, and my face hurt. I wanted to call Rick. I really didn’t know what he would do or say, but something inside me knew it would make me feel better. We’d only gone out a few times and I couldn’t really explain it, but I felt connected to him. Just a short while ago, Dennis was the person I felt closest too; now my first thoughts turned to the good-kissing History Hottie, whom I had known only a short time. As I reached for the phone, a call rang through. I checked my caller ID. One of my regulars. I didn’t pick up. I just couldn’t be Peyton today. She’d gotten me in enough trouble. It was probably best I didn’t talk to anyone, Rick included.
I patched myself up with bandages on my knees and Bactined my face and palms, and I made my way downtown in my clown pants—so I wouldn‘t pick blue string from my wounds.
My first stop was Charmed. I was hoping I’d find Brant there. I could corner him and find a subtle way to confront him. I needed to find out exactly what he knew about Jim’s extra-curricular activities. After all, Peyton was one of Jim’s playmates; I had a vested interest. Plus, I might get a nugget proving he was or wasn’t the murderer.
The tinkle of bells announced my arrival. Rachel-Ann popped her head up from behind the register. “Hey!”
She was pretty happy to see me, considering she didn’t even know my name.
“Are you back to do our interview?” She had a big Joker smile plastered across her face. It was actually a little chilling.
“Actually, no. I’d give you a little advance warning before we sat down for that. I was hoping I could catch Brant here.”
She cocked her head like a confused Cocker Spaniel. “Why do you want to see him?”
Don’t worry, honey. I’m not looking to waste away in Margaritaville.
“I was hoping to talk to him about a few things I need to research for the paper. He said he’d help me.”
“He’s at his office today.” She was practically singing.
“Things must be looking up.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “You wouldn’t believe it. The other day, Brant left and I was in the back and I heard the bell ring
. I called out to let whoever came in know that I was in the back and would be out in a minute. By the time I got out here, there was just an envelope full of money by the register. And I don‘t mean a little envelope. It was a great big envelope.”
“Really?”
A big pile of money suddenly appeared right after Brant walked out the door? Could it be the cash he took off Jim’s corpse? I didn’t need to be Nancy Drew to figure that out.
“Can you believe it?” she whispered. “I can keep this place in business. It won’t stop the other stuff that’s going on, but Brant is trying to find a bigger place for all of us, and the kids are warming up to him.”
“Wow. Things are really looking up for you.”
She nodded. “It’ll help me invest a little more in this place. So the interview you were talking about would really come in handy.”
I picked up a card with the store’s number on it. “I’ll call you and we can set something up.”
“I was thinking of getting this woman who reads cards to come in on Saturdays. I could set up a little table in the back. It’s kinda fun and might draw some costumers.”
“I think that’s a great idea.” I picked up a lemon-scented candle and put it on the counter for her to ring up.
She covered her mouth, giggled, and then whispered. “Two hundred thousand! Can you believe it?”
That had to be the money that Sonny had given Jim. Maybe the murderer was making sure the money was going to a good cause. That might take Damon off my list—he’d keep the cash. As for Sonny, he probably wouldn’t appreciate it too much, but I doubt he’d take money from a widow. There had to be some sort of mob rule about that.
I watched as she wrapped up my candle. “That’s a nice chunk of change. Do you have any idea who might’ve left it for you?”
She thought for a moment. “Jim always used to say he had friends in high places. One of them must be looking out for me.”
“Seems like you have a guardian angel.”
She grabbed my hand. “Emma, it looks like you need one too. Your face is all torn up. You might want to have that looked at. I’d be concerned about scarring if I were you.”
First she called me Emma, and then she implied that perhaps there was a Scarface in my future.
She handed me my shopping bag. “Please do call me. I could use a little press.”
I paid for my purchase and waved as I walked out the door. “I definitely will.”
Don’t worry Rachel-Ann; when the world discovers your boyfriend offed your husband and gave you two hundred thou in mob money, you’re going to get plenty of press.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dennis glanced up from his paper. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Glad you’re here. We need to talk.”
Craig called out from the kitchen. “Something told me we were going to see you this morning.”
He put half a grapefruit in front of me, leaned down to kiss my cheek, and then shrieked in my ear. “Emmie! Your face! Dear God, what happened to your beautiful face?”
I should’ve known there’d be a scene.
Dennis put down the paper and moved closer to me, inspecting my face. “Mauled by grizzlies on your way over?”
“It’s not bad. It’s just a little red, with a couple of scratches.” Good thing he couldn’t see my knees. They were way worse than my face.
I could feel Dennis’s eyes screwing into my skin. “So tell me what happened, Frankenface.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an order. Frankly, I didn’t feel like telling him. This might be one of those things Dennis didn’t need to know. From the look on his face, he knew too much already. That was one of the annoying things with couples. When you told one, you told the other. It was one of those unspoken rules of couplehood. I think it should be spoken. I think when it comes to putting all your cards on the table, you should be notified, preferably in writing. Finding out that your soul-baring secret was the convo-du-jour over salad wasn’t as cool as it might sound. Of course, Craig had probably just filled Dennis in on the whole man-in-black thing. We were close enough to share life-threatening situations, but I didn’t feel comfortable revealing anything too embarrassing.
Craig was making with the apologies. “I was worried about you, and I knew he’d want to know that you were in danger.”
I sat down. “It’s okay. I get the couple thing. No, I wasn’t mauled by bears. I fell.”
Dennis corrected me “Are you sure someone didn’t try to kill you again?”
“Not in the daylight. Come on Dennis, I’d be able to see the shooter.”
“So this whole ninja private eye thing is working for you?”
“It’s working great.”
“Really? Because I think getting attacked on a dock might be a sign you should go to the police and tell them what you’ve been up too.”
“Oh right, Dennis, I’m going to the police and tell them that, after I stole someone’s flash drive and raided a houseboat, someone attacked me. I’m sure they are going to take anything I say seriously, right after they throw me in a cell.”
“Or a looney bin.”
Craig tried to soothe the situation. “He doesn’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. Okay, I get how this all got started. You talked to him, you met him, he got murdered. It was shocking, upsetting, and you wanted to know what happened, even though he was a demonic individual who threatened you with sexual servitude. So you went to the funeral. Because I know the insanity that is Emily, I even understand how you got wrapped up in things and stole his widow’s guest book. But that’s it. The rest of this is just crazy. If you have suspicions, go to the police with what you know and get out of this. It’s too dangerous. Emily, do I have to say this? Someone tried to kill you.”
“I’m sure it was just to scare me…”
“Did it?”
“Well, yeah,” There was no way I was going to tell him about the car thing now. “But I got over it.”
“Which is why you assaulted Danny with take-out pizza last night.”
“Dennis, Ras is very accepting of your lifestyle; you should be accepting of his. His name is Rasputin now.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that you pelted him with garlic knots.”
“All this means is that the killer knows I’m on his tail. When I write my story…”
“Emily, this whole plan, right from the beginning, has been nothing but crazy. You’re not going to get a story that a newspaper is going to publish out of this. Maybe you could write something about how to get yourself committed in two weeks, but that’s it.”
I was astounded. I knew Dennis was many things, but a dream killer wasn’t one of them. “Will too.”
That’s right. When in trouble, I resort to the defense most frequently used by seven-year-olds.
I was hoping Craig would come to my aid. No such luck. He’d already bailed on me. He was in the kitchen prepping for the day.
Dennis groaned. “Look, you’re not Nancy Drew. She’s fiction. All you have are hunches and suspicions.”
The back of my ears were burning and the Franken part of my face was starting to throb, so I was pretty sure the rest of it was getting red. “That’s not true. I have more than hunches and suspicions. I have a belly full of clues. In fact, it’s so full I have no room for grapefruit.” I stood up and patted my tummy. “Nothing but clues in here.”
And then I lied. It’s not that I’ve never lied to Dennis. But before, it’s just he’s known when I was fibbing. “I have to get to class now.”
Dennis eyed me suspiciously. “Is it history?”
I nodded.
“Talk to Rick after class,” he ordered and went back to his paper.
I was halfway down the street, working out my mad at as fast a pace as my knees could manage, when I heard someone call my name.
Montgomery Davis was heading towards me. Once he had my attention, he picked up the pace. “Emily, I’m glad I caught you. I tried calling the
paper, but getting through on the main switchboard is impossible.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Davis, I should’ve given you my direct number.” Would the lying ever cease?
“I’m going boating this weekend, and I was wondering if the little interview we did would run in the Sunday section. I’ll have to tell my assistant to get several copies.”
Was it possible I’d had searched the wrong boat? Of course Montgomery Davis had nothing to gain from Jim’s death, and I had found those pictures on Damon/Brant’s boat. Still, I’d like to get a look at his boat. But the St. Pete Yacht Club would have tighter security than a funeral home or the marina by Red Fish.
“They cut the story. Something bigger came up, but it should be running soon. When it does, I can give you call. In fact, I’ll get a few extra copies sent to you, okay?”
“I’d love that.” He reached inside his pocket and gave me his card before taking a closer look at me. “Are you okay? You looked a little banged up.”
That was it. I wanted to cry. “Do I really look that bad?”
He chuckled. “Not at all, honey. What happened?”
“I just took a tumble in the street.”
“Be a little more careful, sweetheart. I don’t want anything to happen to that yellow aura of yours. When the article comes out, you let me know, okay?”
“I will, Mr. Davis.”
I started to head for home. My face was so horrible people who hardly knew me thought I was Frankenface.
Walking home was a joke. I almost did a back flip every time a car passed and had memorized four license plates just in case their owners tried to make me a hood ornament.
For a few minutes, I thought about going to class, but my Frankenface made it seem like a bad idea. I didn’t want Rick to see me looking like a character from the late-night creature feature. I decided to take a few phone calls and earn a little money before I did anything else. What Dennis had said was starting to sink in. Someone had tried to kill me. Twice. I could work on the “third-time's-a-charm” principle, but I wasn’t sure who the charm would be working for: me or the killer. Maybe it was best that I tell Rick and let a professional take over.
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 22
