Blue Molly (Danny Logan Mystery #5) (16 page)

Unlike in my sidearm, I don’t keep a round in the chamber of the shotgun—another lesson learned in the Middle East. Which meant that I was going to have to rack it in order to chamber a round before it would fire. Of course, the good news is that the sound of racking a shotgun is not only unmistakable, it’s guaranteed to strike terror into the heart of any bad guy with half a brain. The trick is to do it at just the right moment. Too early, and you’ll scare him off. Too late and, well, you don’t want to be too late. The element of surprise is everything—flank the bad guy and then rack the shotgun. Pull it off right, and the fight’s over before it starts. You rarely have to fire.

I kept to the edges of the walls and crept stealthily out of the bedroom into the living room, being careful not to do something brilliant like kick a lamp over and make a noise that would alert whoever was out there. Once out of the bedroom, I was out of sight from the patio, and I hurried toward the sliding glass patio door. Carefully, I pushed aside the sheer and looked outside. Then I pushed it a little farther and looked again. The patio was empty.

“He’s gone!” I called out to Toni. “Don’t call.” I was not in the mood to stay up another two hours and try to convince a skeptical SPD officer that I thought I saw someone standing on my patio. Through the sheer blinds.

Toni joined me in the living room, carrying her sidearm. “You sure?”

I nodded. “That he’s gone? Yeah. Have a look.”

She did, and then she unlocked the door and slid it open.

We stepped outside and scanned the direction from which the intruder must have approached. Our unit was on the corner, and it wasn’t hard to hop up on the retaining wall and then step right over our balcony rail. I looked over the edge of the patio. All was quiet now, but there were many ways a person could have escaped.

“You sure someone was here?”

I double-checked the patio, but I knew what I’d seen. “Yep.”

Toni nodded. “Okay. Should we check the front?” she asked.

“Yeah. He’s probably long gone, but let’s throw some clothes on and have a look.”

A minute later, we went outside. We spent twenty minutes checking out the building and the parking lot with flashlights, our weapons ready. As expected, we saw nothing.

“He was quick,” Toni said. “And quiet.”

“Yep. If it was Laskin, maybe that’s why they call him the Ghost.”

She gave a little shudder. “That’s a pleasant thought.”

I nodded. We looked around for a few more minutes, then walked back upstairs, me getting madder by the minute. Toni could tell.

“What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter? He’s crossed a line, out there on our patio. There’s no way I’m going to sit around and let that son of a bitch pick the time and place he comes after us. Fuck that. Starting tomorrow, it’s time for offense.”

I walked into the office at 8:45 a.m. carrying a bouquet of flowers for Toni. My offensive campaign against Pavel Laskin was going to have to wait because it was Valentine’s Day, and today was set to be a big day. I wanted to make an impression. Truth is, I’d actually been planning this day for two weeks. I’d made reservations at Daniel’s Broiler for the night, a classy restaurant on the south shore of Lake Union. I’d ordered the flowers. I bought two cards—a sexy, funny one plus a romantic one. I was ready. Then, right after I got out of the shower, at a quarter after seven, the flower shop called and said that one of their drivers quit because he’d been reading the paper and had seen that the city wanted to raise the minimum wage. If everyone else was getting fifteen dollars an hour now, he wanted it, too. The subsequent disagreement led to a parting of ways. The shop said they’d do their best to get the bouquet delivered late this afternoon.
Great.

However, the florist said if I wanted, I could just swing by and pick the bouquet up myself. That way, I’d know for sure that it would get there on time. And they’d actually credit me back the delivery charge. What a deal. So I made a b.s. excuse and told Toni if she'd drive herself, she didn't need to be in until nine. Luckily, she bought it and I took off by myself, fighting morning commuter traffic all the way over to Lake City, waited in line with a bunch of guys who’d also selected the “deliver it yourself” option, then fought traffic the other way all the way back to the office.

Doc heard me enter and walked into the lobby to see who it was. “Hey, those are nice, dude.”

“Thanks. You remember to take care of Pri? If not, I’ve got a nice little florist shop I can recommend to you.”

He nodded. “That’s okay. I had mine delivered.”

I looked at him for a second. “Course you did.”

“So where you gonna put ’em?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I’d just set ’em on her desk.”

“Nah,” he said. “Don’t do that. You need to set ’em out here on the reception desk. That way, she’ll see ’em right when she walks in. Make a good impression.”

“Hmm. Good idea.” I walked over to the desk and set the bouquet down, then maneuvered it so that the card showed. I stepped back to admire my work, just like Toni’d be doing soon when she stepped through the front door. I’m not one of those guys who goes in for the big, showy bouquets. I think the elegant arrangements, an artful mix of lilies and daisies—something along those lines, anyway—says a lot. I don’t think you need a huge vase of two dozen roses to get the point across. My bouquet looked nice—I was sure Toni’d like it.

“Looks good,” Doc said. “This way, she’ll think you had them delivered.”

“Yeah!” I said, cheerily.

The door opened behind me, and I stepped to the side, thinking it was Toni. When I turned, though, all I saw was an enormous bundle of pink and yellow roses walking through the front door. There were so many flowers, I couldn’t see the face of the delivery person providing the propulsion. It looked like we were being invaded by a rosebush with legs. Four or five bushes, actually. I did see an arm wrapped around the roses to sort of bundle them up and protect them just before they stepped through the doorway.

Once inside, the delivery girl lowered the bouquet so that she could see over the top. “Hi! I have a delivery for a Ms. Antoinette Blair.”

“You damn sure do,” Doc muttered.

“Antoinette Blair?” I said, mind racing, wondering who they were from (for just a second), then starting to consider the ramifications.

“Yeah. Is this the right place?”

“Uh . . . yeah,” I said, nodding slowly.

“Good. Can I set ’em down somewhere? They’re kind of heavy.”

“Oh—sorry. Just set ’em on the desk there.”

“I don’t know,” Doc said. “You think it’ll hold the weight?”

I gave him a quick, nasty glance and saw him grinning at the little drama occurring right before his eyes.

The delivery girl spun the arrangement around so that the card was at the back. “There!” she said happily, standing back and looking at the display. “Wow. Somebody must be really special.”

I nodded slowly. “So it would appear.”

She admired the bouquet for a second more, then she gave her hands a little clap. “Well, got a lot more stops. Happy Valentine’s Day, gentlemen.” She turned, and as she was walked out the door, Kenny walked in.

“Holy hell!” he said when he entered, seeing the barrage of pink and yellow flowers.

“You noticed,” Doc said, deadpan.

“Hell yeah! Can’t miss those.” He smiled. “Well done, boss. That’s bigger than the bouquet I sent Meghan, and I thought that one was huge.”

“Isn’t it nice?” Doc said, still smiling like an idiot. I stared at him. Clearly, I was going to have to have a word with my larger friend.

“Yeah, they’re—”

I raised my hand. “Enough.”

Kenny looked at Doc, then at me, then back. “What’s going on?”

“See those flowers?” Doc said.

Kenny shrugged. “Of course. They’re awesome.”

Doc nodded. “Exactly. See the other bouquet beside ’em?”

Kenny looked puzzled for a second, then peered around the enormous vase. “Oh, yeah!” he said. “I didn’t notice ’em there alongside that other bunch.” He nodded. “They’re cute.”

Doc pointed to my bouquet, then he pointed to me and nodded. Next, he pointed to the big bouquet and then to me again, making an X with his index finger and shaking his head.

Kenny stared at him, momentarily confused. Then, his eyes opened wide. “No shit?”

Doc nodded, fighting to keep a straight face.

Kenny turned back to the bouquet. “Then who the hell . . .” and the answer hit him. “Her ‘husband’?”

Doc nodded.

“Maybe we should check the card,” Kenny said. “Just to be sure.” He walked over to the bouquet.

“Wait!” I said. I hadn’t thought of this (hadn’t had time to, actually), but now that the issue was on the table, so to speak, I was suddenly struck by questions of propriety. I mean, if Maroni and I were competing suitors, then it would definitely
not
be cool to read the card. It would have been intruding in Toni’s private thing. On the other hand, if Maroni was a stalker, then that meant he was basically just another case—a potential bad guy. He deserved no privacy points, and Toni would certainly understand the need for us to examine the evidence, as it were.

Still, I was uncertain.

“Well?” Kenny asked, waiting for my answer.

“I’m thinking,” I said.

“Well, you should know that just before I walked through the door, I saw Toni pulling into the parking lot. I figure you’ve got about ten, maybe twenty seconds before she steps through the door. If you want to know in advance what the card says, now’s your chance.” He looked at the card, without touching it. “Look here,” he added. “It’s not even sealed.”

Finally, I decided. I shook my head. “Leave it alone.”

He smiled and then nodded. “Okay. But can I make a suggestion?”

I shrugged. “Sure.” Whatever it was, I didn’t have to follow it.

“Why don’t you just swap the cards?”

That did it for Doc. He busted out laughing again just as the front door opened and Toni emerged.

She must have thought we were idiots. I stood there, a little red-faced. Kenny and Doc tried to compose themselves. She looked from one of us to the next. “What?” she said. Then her eyes were drawn to the roses. She took a step toward them, smiling. She kind of bit her lower lip a little, then she turned and gave me a shiver-down-my-spine sexy look that honestly made it hard to stand. Then she turned and walked into her office and closed the door.

Kenny and Doc watched her the whole way. When her door closed, the fools both went into spasms.

* * * *

“None of you are going to want to hear this,” I said, a half hour later in the conference room. “But based on recent events, we’re going to the buddy system for the time being, effective right away.”

We’ve only had to use the buddy system once before and, based on that, I expected a little kickback now, at least some moaning and groaning. Instead, it was quiet. I turned to Doc. “You okay with that?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” His voice held no hesitation. This alone told me he recognized the seriousness of the situation. He pointed to Kenny. “Little dude here is going to have to come stay with me and Pri.”

I looked at Kenny, fully expecting him to complain. He didn’t—he simply nodded.

“Has there been a development I’ve missed?” Richard asked. Richard Taylor's a tall, white-haired seventy-something-year-old with bright blue eyes and a quick smile. After serving twenty-eight years on the Seattle PD and rising to the rank of lieutenant, he retired in 1988 and started Taylor Investigations. Twenty years later, he was slowing down a little, having fun doing guest lectures at the University of Washington where, in the fall of 2007, he’d met a couple of enthusiastic criminal justice students—Toni and me. A few months later, Richard and I made a deal, and he sold me his company. A couple months after that, we changed the name to Logan Private Investigations. Although he’s not technically an employee (he works his own hours now and receives no salary), Richard still loves the detective business. He’s been involved in nearly every major case we’ve worked. If he’s in town, he shows up nearly every day, and he rarely fails to make a meeting. We get the benefit of his nearly fifty years of law enforcement wisdom in exchange for simply providing him an office and a desk. He’s happy; we’re happy.

I nodded. “Yes. Two words: Pavel Laskin. First, Laskin’s still the number-one suspect in the Markovic murder, even though Inez says he has an alibi. Second, when we bumped into him last week, he basically said we’d meet again. Then last night at the park, he was giving us a serious dose of stinkeye. He’s probably getting tired of seeing us hanging around his operation. And Miguel figures that he’s going to get more and more pissed about it and, sooner or later, he’s going to lash out at what he figures to be the source. Then, to top it off, last night I woke up to find someone was on our balcony at our apartment. We went outside, but they’d already left.”

“No shit?” Doc said.

I nodded.

“Well, I guess that would do it, then,” Richard said. “I don’t believe Laskin has any reason to even know who I am, but then again, it doesn’t pay to underestimate people like him. I’m sure I can get Bobby R. to come stay with us for a few days.” He smiled. “He’ll think it’s a vacation. Besides, I’ve been meaning to paint the den anyway, and Bobby’s a good painter, given proper amounts of beer.” Bobby Rutherford is Richard’s old partner from his SPD days. “What about the clients? Are they in danger, too?”

I nodded. “It’s possible. Toni and I are going to talk to Mike and Sylvia right after our meeting here.” I looked around. “Everybody okay, then?”

No one objected, so I said, “Good. So be it. Hopefully, it’ll all be over soon.”

“How long, do you think?” Toni asked.

“Good question. Probably until Laskin makes a move on us, or until SPD makes another move on him. Something’s going to give.”

* * * *

“He was at your apartment last night?” Mike said, eyes wide open. “On your balcony?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure.
Someone
was. But I could only see the size of the person through the sheers, not the features. Whoever it was, he was big. But I can’t be sure it was Laskin.”