A Real Basket Case (10 page)

Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “Ellen should mind her own business.”

“She was just trying to help me. I’m kind of desperate.”

The waitress arrived with the drinks.

Brenda picked up hers and took a long sip. She looked at Claire over the top of the glass, as if debating whether to trust her or not.

Claire tried to form her face in the right expression—slightly pleading. Actually, she
was
pleading.
Don’t figure out I’m lying, please.

Brenda put down her drink. “The new source is a guy named Travis. He’s usually at the auto shop across the street from noon to one. He’s young and has long hair and a mustache. You’ll find him in the waiting area.”

“How do I approach him?”

“Tell him you’re a friend of Enrique’s and need his advice about carpet. That’s the signal. He’ll take you out back, to his car. That’s where he conducts his business.”

Oh, God, not another car
. “What do you know about him? Can I trust him?”

Brenda brushed a crumb off the table. “I just met him. We conduct our transactions and that’s it. He’s not as friendly as Enrique and didn’t seem to be a friend of his, either.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He said he felt glad to pick up Enrique’s customers. The way he said it, kind of cold and impersonal, makes me think Travis could care less that Enrique was killed.”

Mulling over Brenda’s revelation, Claire sipped her drink. She realized she didn’t know if the money in her purse was enough if she was forced to buy some cocaine. She and Deb had discussed prices, but they could be steeper in Colorado Springs than the
high-volume markets of Los Angeles and Denver that Deb was
familiar with. “Does Travis charge the same as Enrique?”

“How much do you want to buy?”

Claire’s face flushed. She couldn’t remember what Deb had told her about amounts.
Damn these pre-menopausal memory lapses. Why didn’t I write that stuff down?
“An ounce, I guess.”

“You mean a gram?” Brenda leaned back and crossed her arms across her chest.

“Yes, that’s it.” Disconcerted by Brenda’s stare, Claire picked up the salt shaker again. She twirled it furiously while she looked at the table, across the bar, anywhere but straight at Brenda.

Brenda reached over, snatched the salt shaker, and slammed it on the table. “You don’t have the vaguest idea. What are you really up to? Why are you asking all these questions about Travis?”

Busted
. Claire had no recourse but to throw herself on Brenda’s mercy and tell the truth. “I’m sorry, Brenda. I’m not trying to hurt you in any way. I just wasn’t sure I could trust you.”

Face glowering, Brenda stood to leave.

Claire grabbed her arm. “Please, hear me out. I need your help.”

Brenda hesitated, shook Claire’s hand off her arm, then slowly resumed her seat. She folded her arms across her chest again. “I’m listening.”

Claire sat up straight. “I’m trying to save my husband . . . and my marriage. Roger’s innocent, but the police think they have a solid case and aren’t looking for anyone else. I think Travis may have had reason to kill Enrique.”

“But you acted like you didn’t know who Travis was.”

“I lied.” With a sheepish grin, Claire shrugged. “I know he was a rival of Enrique’s. Maybe he wanted to eliminate the competition. I have to talk to him, but I need to find out what he’s like first. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“If you go to the police about Travis, what’s to prevent you from exposing me?”

“I’d never do that. Besides Ellen and Jill, you were the only one
who befriended me in class. That means a lot to me. I couldn’t
repay your kindness with betrayal.” Claire peered at Brenda. “Do you believe me?”

Brenda studied her then leaned back. “I believe you. You’re a terrible liar, Claire. It’s written all over your face when you do, but your face is clear now.”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. “What else can you tell me about Travis?”

“I can tell you everything I know, including how to buy coke from him, since that’s your pretense for seeing him, I presume.”

ELEVEN:
THE RIVAL

Claire watched Brenda walk
across the street to the auto shop. While she finished her juice, Claire mentally rehearsed the questions she would ask Travis. After Brenda had returned to her car, Claire slipped on a pair of sunglasses, tied a scarf around her hair, and checked her reflection in a pocket mirror. She hoped Travis had been too sleepy to get a good look at her in Enrique and Condoleza’s apartment.

She walked across the street, telling herself that if she stuck as close to the truth as possible, she might not give herself away. She stopped for a moment with her hand on the cold glass of the door to the auto shop, then pushed her way in. The jangle of the entrance bell made her jump.

The check-in room was lined with sample tires and posters of various essential engine parts she knew nothing about. The pungent odors of fresh rubber, engine oil, and burned coffee assaulted her nose. When she located the door to the waiting room, she marched straight for it, both to prevent a question from the counter clerk and to keep herself from backing out.

A soap opera blared from the TV, totally ignored by the room’s
two occupants. An elderly man sat in a chair, sipping a cup of
coffee and reading a book. Travis lounged in another chair in the corner. He was flipping through a magazine with a monster truck
on the cover. Claire recognized the face behind the droopy
mustache. He wore more clothing this time—loose cargo jeans, camouflage T-shirt, and Enrique’s leather jacket. He looked up and waited expectantly.

Claire squared her shoulders and approached him. “Are you Travis? I need some advice about a carpet.”

He nodded and stood, slapping the magazine down on the chair beside him. “Let’s step outside.” He walked out without looking back and led the way to the employee parking lot behind the shop.

Claire hesitated, but she had no choice other than to leave the relative safety of the auto shop. The lot was blocked from the view of most pedestrians by the shop itself, an adjoining bar, now closed, and two large dumpsters along one side. She felt closed in and exposed at the same time.

Travis stopped beside a dirty white Mustang and faced her. “I’ve seen you somewhere.”

A cold stab of fear knifed down Claire’s spine. Using all her willpower, she kept her expression passive. “I go to the gym across the street a lot.”

“I don’t.”

Claire tried a nonchalant-like shrug. “I’ve got a common face. People tell me I look like someone else all the time.” That was true.

He peered at her. “You ain’t done business with me before?”

“No, and I’m kind of nervous about it.” Here she’d worried about lying, but she hadn’t told a lie yet.

Travis opened the passenger door of the car. “Get in.”

Claire drew back. “I just want to talk.”

His eyes narrowed. He glanced around suspiciously. “You a cop? Ya got to answer, or it’s entrapment.”

“I’m not a cop. It’s just, you see, I knew Enrique at the gym, but I don’t know you.”

“You want some blow or not?”

“I don’t need any today.” She twisted her hands together, feeling the knuckles crack under the tension. “I’m new at this, and I want to find out some things before I buy.”

Travis closed the door and leaned against the car, thumbs in his jeans pockets, hips thrust out. “Whadda you want to know?”

Claire recognized the stance, full of testosterone and youthful arrogance. Just like her son, Michael, in his youth, when he thought
he was invincible. Suddenly, with a surge of relief, she knew how to deal with this young man. “Enrique obviously had more experience with this than you do. How do I know you’ll be discreet?”

Travis reacted as if she doubted his manliness, precisely what she wanted. He shoved himself off the car and paced in front of her.

“Lady, I’ve been dealing as long as Enrique. He came into the business late. I grew up in it. I shuffled pot when I was fifteen.” He stabbed a thumb at his chest. “I’ve stayed outta the cops’ hands for five years.”

“If you’re so good, how come Enrique got our business? We gym ladies have a lot of money to spend.”

Travis bristled and spat out his next words. “You ladies ain’t such a big deal. Last month I moved as much product as Enrique did, and I didn’t need you rich bitches to do it. Enrique just had an in, is all. His job as a fitness consultant.” Travis waggled his fingers at the job title, as if to say “la dee da.”

He stabbed a finger at Claire’s face and sneered suggestively. “Now Enrique’s gone, the boss sees he don’t need no gym gigolo to service you ladies. I’m doing jus’ fine.”

He settled against the car and waved his arm around the barren parking lot. “My office here’s more private than Enrique’s juice bar ever was. Satisfied?”

“Maybe.” Anxious to leave before her nervousness made her blow her cover, she decided to brave one more question. She needed to clarify Condoleza’s relationship with Travis. “Enrique mentioned a Condoleza to me. I got the impression she was his girlfriend. Do you know her? How is she?”

Travis leapt off the car and grabbed her arm, squeezing hard. “Why would he tell you that?” He shoved his snarling face in front of hers.

The combination of his sour breath and pungent aftershave almost overpowered Claire. She stifled a gag, leaned back, and squirmed, trying to free her throbbing arm. “You’re hurting me.”

“Answer the question.” Travis stared at her, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. Then realization dawned on his face. “You were one of his special ladies, right?”

He grabbed her other arm and yanked her close, slamming his body against hers. “Enrique was nothing compared to me. Even Condoleza says so.” He ground his growing erection against her pelvis.

Claire’s mind raced. She had to play this right. She gulped and smiled. “I can feel it.”

Travis threw back his head and laughed, a laugh full of bravado and male pride.

Claire stepped back. “But I’m too old for you. You’d wear me out.” She shook her arms and raised an eyebrow at Travis in an unspoken request to release her.

He let go of her and held up his hands, palms out. “I might at that.”

Heart pounding, she resisted the urge to rub her aching arms where Travis had clutched her. She knew she would find bruises on them later. She wondered if this hotheaded young man had bruised Condoleza, too. “Were you seeing Condoleza at the same time as Enrique?”

A sly grin played on Travis’s lips.

“Did Enrique ever find out?”

“Nah. He could be dense sometimes.”

Time to stroke the lion’s mane. Maybe something would slip out with the bragging. “I’m glad to hear Condoleza is being taken care of. I worried about what would happen to her. You know, one woman to another.”

Travis snorted. “She worried, too, about you ladies. But not the same way. Condoleza got jealous, man, even though she cheated on him. She wouldn’t care about this woman-to-woman stuff.”

“I still felt for her, knowing how Enrique treated her.” That was a guess.

“Yeah, well, I treat her right. I know how to squire a lady.”

Claire tilted her head, coyly she hoped. “You take her out sometimes?”

“She likes to dance, ’specially Wednesday nights at Rum Bay when the Soul Tones are playing.” He shuffled a short dance step then leaned against his car again, arms folded across his chest. “So we doing some business today?”

Claire smiled. “Not today. But I’ll return in a few days when I run out.” She held out her hand.

“I’m your man.” Travis shook her hand firmly, then held on. “You sure we never met before?”

“I’m sure.” A trickle of nervous sweat ran down the back of her neck.

Travis released her hand and refolded his arms.

Claire turned her back on him and walked toward the front of the auto shop, feeling his gaze on her until she rounded the corner. Careful to keep her steps slow and steady, she maintained the same pace until she reached her car in the gym parking lot.

Not until she’d slid into the driver’s seat and locked the door did she breathe a sigh of relief. She glanced west at Pikes Peak, the city’s geographic icon and weather predictor. Billowing storm clouds piled up against the huge mountain’s summit and spread gray fingers out across the sky—a harbinger of an approaching snowstorm. Buffeted by her own emotional tempest, Claire sensed that like the weather, for her, the worst was yet to come.

___

When Claire returned home, twelve messages awaited her on the
an
swering machine. For a moment, she considered getting an
unlisted number. She checked the messages. She deleted those from her neighbors and that nosy Bradshaw reporter. When she heard Detective Wilson’s voice, she held her breath. But he said the only prints they’d found on the basement door were hers and Roger’s. She released the breath with a muttered curse.

The last message was from Ellen. She wanted to know how Claire was holding up. Needing to hear a friendly voice, Claire picked up the phone and punched in the number for Stein Mart.

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?”