by Cindy Sample
Liz swung her head to the left and right. “Perhaps we should leave if there are unsavory elements hanging around this office.”
Marty’s chair squeaked as he leapt out of it.
“Oh, no, not at all. In fact, it might have been an act”—Marty lowered his voice as he lowered himself back into his chair—“of passion.”
“The man was having problems with a girlfriend, or an ex?” I asked.
Marty smiled, or maybe it was a smirk. “Exes. Plural. Gregg was quite a player. In all respects.”
“Do tell,” Liz cooed.
“Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but the guy liked his guilty pleasures. Women, drugs, gambling. Tahoe’s quite the party scene. For a few,” he amended, realizing his comment wasn’t aiding his sales pitch at all.
“Could one of his exes have killed him?” I asked.
“He broke up with one gal, Cherie, a dealer at Harrah’s, a few months ago. He claimed she kept calling him, wanting to get back together.”
“Was she a stalker type?” Liz asked.
Marty shrugged. “What female isn’t?” When he noticed our matching glares, he explained, “I mean, given that scenario. From what I recall, Gregg just up and dumped her after he hooked up with someone else.”
“Was he still dating the new girl?”
Marty peered over his shoulder, although I wasn’t sure why since we were the only people in the office.
“Gregg and the office manager were, um, cooking for a while, then he broke up with her a couple of weeks ago.”
“The guy certainly had commitment issues,” I said.
“I’ll say. The atmosphere in here was darn hostile until—”
I finished his sentence for him. “Until he was killed.”
Marty’s face reddened to match his polo shirt. “Yeah.”
“No one else was in the office when the attack occurred?”
“Kimberly, the manager, and I were at an offsite meeting. Gregg was supposed to join us but, he was, um, obviously delayed.” Marty was interrupted by the cacophony of a horn clamoring insistently.
“What is that?” I asked him.
“Just someone’s car alarm. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Liz awkwardly eased out of her chair and grabbed her purse.
“Where are you going?” I asked her. “You don’t need to worry about that racket.”
She turned and motioned for me to follow. “Yes, I do. That’s my car alarm.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was amazing how quickly Liz could move when motivated. And Marty and I were right behind her. Through the plate-glass front office windows, I noticed a few people congregating, although for some reason they all remained at a distance from where we’d parked the Jag.
Liz flung the timeshare office door open, then stopped in her tracks. Marty wobbled and threw his arms out, but he managed to avoid crashing into her. Since I was only inches behind him, my nose bumped into his fleshy neck.
I stepped to the side, gently assessing my nose for injuries. The blaring of the car horn was injurious enough to my poor ears. What was going on?
Uh oh. Liz and I had forgotten a cardinal rule when visiting Lake Tahoe or any mountainous area in California.
Do not leave food unattended in your car. Even a candy wrapper has been known to grab the attention of the active black bear community in Tahoe. As for the remains of Liz’s pasta lunch, they were long gone, as evidenced by the pleased look on the bear’s face.
The bear sprawled in the front of Liz’s powder blue convertible, oblivious to the noise surrounding him as he rested one huge hairy arm on her steering wheel, his other paw dripping marinara sauce all over my friend’s car.
Liz was not going to be happy about red sauce dribbled all over her ivory carpet.
“Bloody hell,” she shrieked as she moved toward her car. I grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked her. “Don’t you see the large furry critter occupying your car?”
“Yes, and I am royally ticked off. Now how are we going to get him out of there?”
We? I hoped she was using the royal “we” because I didn’t have a clue how to chase a bear out of a vehicle. I didn’t think yelling “shoo” would have the same effect it did on my cat. I reached into my purse and dialed 911.
“What can I help you with?” the operator asked me.
“We have a situation,” I said. “There’s a bear in our car.”
“Excuse me, I don’t think I heard you clearly. Did you say there’s a bear in your vicinity?”
“Yep. In our car. And he doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave.”
“Oh, dear. Give me your location and I’ll get someone over there immediately.”
The minute I hung up, my cell rang. The bear turned his enormous head in our direction. I squeaked out a hello to the caller, trying to decide whether locking eyes with the bear was a wise move or not. Liz didn’t want him in her car, but I wasn’t certain we wanted him out of the car either.
“Where’s that report you promised me?” Adriana said in an annoyed tone of voice.
“Sorry,” I said. “I needed to make an unexpected trip to Tahoe and I’m in a bit of a pickle here.”
“I knew I should have found another agency. This is inexcusable.”
I heaved a sigh, still keeping my eye on our furry intruder. “A bear got into my car,” I informed her, hoping my comment would elicit some sympathy.
“Honestly, Laurel, couldn’t you come up with something more plausible?”
Click. The call ended.
I shoved the phone into my purse, then heard it beep. I yanked it out again.
“Where are you?” asked Gran. “Aren’t you coming to get me?”
Shoot. I’d forgotten about my grandmother cooling her heels at the local police department. “Shortly. We’re waiting for the police to come here.”
“Why? What’s going on now?”
“A bear decided to grab a snack in Liz’s car.”
“What? Have you been drinking?”
Unfortunately, no. I explained the situation and told Gran we’d come get her as soon as the bear, and anything he left behind, were removed from the convertible. I hoped the bear didn’t have plans to nosh on Liz’s steering wheel for dessert.
Or any of the bystanders for that matter.
“Okay, I’ll wait here for you,” Gran said. “Good luck getting Yogi Bear out of the car.”
Liz and I stared at the bear that was now leafing through her glove compartment, possibly in search of dessert. An explosion of colorful dots rained down on the car. Yogi had discovered Liz’s emergency M&M stash.
Suddenly the alarm stopped clamoring. The silence seemed to startle the bear. He stood, all six-plus feet of him, then climbed out of the convertible, his shaggy head turning left and right as if assessing the best getaway. Then he loped toward the back of the shopping center in the direction of an open area I remembered was filled with tall pines backing onto a small nature preserve.
Tires squealed as a squad car spun a hard right into the shopping center entrance. The officer in the passenger seat jumped out and yelled at us.
“Where’s the bear?” he asked.
I pointed in the direction the bear had fled. “He went thataway.” The animal was barely visible now as he disappeared into the thick forest.
The officer smacked his hand on the roof of the car and yelled to the driver, “Follow that bear.”
Liz circled her Jag assessing the damage. I joined her, wincing when I noted several deep scratches on the leather seats. One of the bear’s claws left an indelible mark across the entire width of the leather dashboard. Smears of marinara sauce dotted the seats and the carpet.
Liz leaned against the trunk, her Ray-Ban sunglasses teetering on top of her golden curls. Marty approached us, his face pale.
“Never seen anything quite like that,” he said. “You know you shouldn’t leave—”
We interrupted him with a chorus of “we know.”
He peered into the car. “Coulda been a lot worse.”
True. He could’ve eaten one of us.
A black Mercedes SUV pulled into the vacant space next to the convertible. The driver’s door opened and a shapely bare leg displayed itself, followed by a tall blonde. I recognized Kimberly, the manager of Timeshare Help, from our previous meeting. “What’s going on?” she asked Marty. Then she noticed Liz and me.
“You,” she exclaimed, removing her dark glasses and pointing in my direction. “You came in last week with that crazy old lady who threatened Gregg. What are you doing back here? Annoying the rest of my staff?”
Marty beamed at his boss. “These two women are considering purchasing some timeshare weeks from us.”
She narrowed her eyes at us. “Yeah, sure they are.” Her attention shifted to Liz’s convertible. “What happened to your car?”
“A bear found our doggie bag,” Liz said sadly as she used a tissue to wipe some pasta remnants from the doorframe. “And I have a feeling my trade-in value just plummeted.”
“There, there,” said Marty. “Why don’t we go back inside? I’m sure purchasing a timeshare unit will take your mind off the damage to your car.”
The three women standing next to Marty, including his boss, all glared at him. Marty was either one awesome salesman or a complete dunce. I couldn’t decide which.
“I think these women have enough to deal with right now.” Kimberly placed a hand on Marty’s back and shoved him forward. As soon as they entered the office she slammed the door shut and posted a “closed” sign on the door.
Liz placed her hands on her hips and gave the timeshare office a very unladylike one-finger wave.
“Now what do we do?” she asked.
My phone pinged and I read the message from my grandmother. Still waiting!!!
“Let’s go pick up our favorite murder suspect.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We departed South Lake Tahoe with one very unhappy granny tucked into the convertible’s tiny rear seat. For the next sixty minutes, Gran grumbled about the stale coffee at the police station, our tardiness picking her up and the cramped open-air seating. I still say it wasn’t my fault her wig flew off after I negotiated a ninety-degree curve over the summit. We watched it soar over the guardrail, tumbling down into the Tahoe Valley one thousand feet below.
I sure hoped we didn’t get ticketed for littering.
Liz remained silent through much of the trip, most likely mulling over her future automotive repairs. The odds of me ever owning a Jaguar convertible were zero, so I enjoyed our airy and scenic ride back to Placerville.
Since we arrived after five, I easily found a parking spot a half block from the agency. I handed the keys over to Liz, who set off for the District Attorney’s Office to find her husband and show him the damage. Gran and I entered the agency and found it filled to capacity with almost every member of my family.
Jenna sat at my desk, reading something on her laptop, while the two eight-year-olds hovered over her shoulders, their rapt attention to the screen making me curious. And suspicious.
Gran muttered something about working the kinks out of her cramped legs. She hobbled across the carpet toward the restroom. I walked over to the kids, wondering what the three of them were looking at.
“What are you doing?” I asked Jenna. Her injured ankle rested on a small box she was using as a footstool.
“I’m investigating.” She pointed to her laptop screen. “Tom recommended I look up some recent robberies or related crimes. He thought it might help me find the guy who destroyed my car.”
“And what are you two up to?” I asked the eight-year-olds.
“We’re helping Jenna,” replied Kristy. “She said Ben and me can be her interns.”
Great. The agency now had more interns than detectives.
I noticed Gran exit the restroom and enter Tom’s office to chat with my husband and stepfather. Tom’s head shot up and he looked in my direction.
What now?
The trio walked out of the office with Tom in the lead. My six-foot-three husband wrapped his arms around me and asked, “What’s this about a close and personal encounter with a bear?”
“No big deal,” I said. “We weren’t in any danger. Liz’s car is the only thing that suffered any damage.”
“How did it happen?” asked my stepfather.
I looked down at the floor and muttered, “Liz put her lunch leftovers in the backseat. And we left the top down.”
“Mom,” Ben informed me with a solemn look on his face, “you never leave food in the car when you’re up in the mountains. Not even a breath mint. Don’t you know that?”
“I certainly do.” I plopped a kiss on his forehead. “Now why don’t you and Kristy go play a game while the adults talk?”
The kids pulled out their iPads and were soon settled in chairs, engaged in one of their favorite video games while the adults moved back into Tom’s office.
Once seated, Gran gave us an update on her situation. “They didn’t book me so I guess everything is copacetic.”
“Not necessarily,” Bradford chimed in. “Did they give you an idea why they hauled you into their office? There must be some additional evidence pointing in your direction. Although obviously not enough to arrest you.”
“Ali told me they didn’t have any suspects other than Gran,” I said.
Gran grinned. “Yeah, then your wife here asked Detective Reynolds why they’ve been sitting on their butts for the last five days when they should be out looking for the real murderer.”
“I said no such thing.” Although for some reason Detective Ali Reynolds always brought out the worst in me. Nothing I needed to share with my husband, her former partner. And former lover as well? Something I’d always wondered about but never dared to ask.
“Agitating an investigating detective serves no purpose.” Tom pointed his pen at me and then at Gran. “Both of you. Please keep your cool.”
Gran nodded. “Otherwise I may end up in the cooler for good. And I’m just too old and weak to survive being locked up.”
Bradford snorted at his mother-in-law’s description of herself.
“There must be some new evidence that pointed in your direction,” Tom said to Gran.
She shifted in her seat. “Guess we had a bit of a miscommunication when we initially chatted.”
“Clarify,” Bradford barked at her.
“That Reynolds woman called both Iris and Herb yesterday. They might have mentioned the two of them stopped at the art gallery in that shopping center to look at some photos while I went on ahead to the timeshare office the day of the murder.”
“Gran, why didn’t you tell me that?” I squawked.
She shrugged. “Didn’t think it was important. I waited in the reception area for a bit. No one came out so I decided to check out the office and see if someone was there. Then Iris and Herb walked in. That’s it. No biggie.”
Tom, Bradford and I shook our heads. That was indeed a biggie. Especially since Gran failed to disclose it.
“Anything else you’d like to share?” Tom asked Gran.
“Nope. Nada. I’m good,” she said.
“So did you and Liz learn anything at the timeshare office that was of any help?” Tom asked.
“Vacation ownership, as they prefer to call it now, is a complete rip-off,” I said. “And I now know more about the timeshare resale market than I needed or wanted to know. We did find out from one salesman that the victim had broken up with two different women in the past four months. One of the women is the manager.”
“That mean gal who shooed us out of the office the first day?” asked Gran. “I pick her for the killer. She’s a cold-hearted b—”
“We saw her today,” I said. “Kimberly drove up right after the bear made his getaway. She wasn’t at all happy about Marty talking to us, even though he informed her w
e were potential purchasers. She practically dragged him into the office, then hung out the closed sign. That seems suspicious to me.”
“I would think Ali would have questioned those women already,” Tom said, “but I’ll give her another call. See what I can find out.”
“Yeah, tell her to get her head out of her…” Gran muttered.
“I might phrase it slightly different,” Tom replied, “but I’m on it.” He glanced out his office window to the main office, where the noise level of our progeny had increased by several decibels.
“Are you taking the kids home?” he asked hopefully.
“Soon. I just need to—” My phone beeped and I glanced at it. Adriana calling again. “Finish my report for my other client. The paying one,” I informed my grandmother.
She chuckled. “How about a few dozen cookies to cover your fee?”
Her offer wouldn’t help our bottom line nor my waistline, but her payment would certainly put a smile on my face.
I told the kids to pack up their things. Then I returned Adriana’s call. With luck, she might be too busy to answer.
“Where’s my report?” she yelled in my ear.
“I’ll have it to you by the end of the day. Sorry about the delay. There were circumstances that were out of my control.”
“Fine. Just tell me this. Did you catch Gino with another woman?”
I hesitated for a moment, but decided not to count Gino chatting me up at the bar. “No,” I answered. “We tailed him to a bar down in Sacramento. The only people he met with were some scary-looking biker guys.”
“Are you sure you followed my fiancé? Why would he meet with biker types?”
“Now that is a very good question,” I said. “Especially since they handed him a parcel. Do you want me to continue to follow him?”
“I guess. It seems so odd, although I suppose it’s better than him fooling around with another woman. We’re getting together tonight. Let me find out his schedule for this week and I’ll get back to you.”
As long as she didn’t also pay me in cookies, it was fine with me. Tom should be happy about a client who paid me by the hour to follow her fiancé.
