Cinco de Mayhem (25 page)

F
lori and I stood over Don. His wrist had been cold, too cold to hope that CPR or EMTs might help. “You'll have to call the police,” I said to Flori, resigned that my phone would soon be found in the home of a dead guy. Bagged and tagged as evidence, and then I'd have to explain how it got there.

Flori reached into her tote bag. Instead of her phone, she brought out a headlamp. “First let's look around while we have the chance. Mr. Busco, God rest his soul, won't get any more dead.” Her light lit up Don and most of the driveway. A few houses away another dog barked, sharp and urgent. I tensed, fearful that any moment someone would spot us and call the police. I could imagine what they'd describe. Two people, dressed in black, hovering over a body.

Flori aimed her forehead and lamp up the driveway. “Look, are those deep tire marks in the gravel? See how they stop about a foot away? The way he's
lying, arms out, do you think someone could have hit him with a car?”

I shuddered. Poor Don. He'd tried to help Linda. He touted her innocence all along.

I forced myself to study Don and his surroundings. “But how?” I asked. “He's lying about even with his hot dog cart. If a car or truck hit him, wouldn't it have struck the cart too?” The cart appeared to be undamaged except for a few dings, likely from normal use.

Flori switched off her light and we stood in silence. Above, the sky was turning a steely gray. A new day that Don would never see. I felt a pang of sorrow.

“Maybe he wasn't standing right here,” Flori said quietly. “Maybe he was hit and thrown backward. That's why the tire marks stop up there and the cart's okay.”

I closed my eyes and imagined the scene, except it wasn't Don I saw. It was the red truck speeding toward me. I'd been on a narrow, curved street and wearing headphones. Manny would have deemed my death a hit and run. But to speed down a driveway, to strike a big man with enough force to kill him? That couldn't be called anything but murder.

W
hen I opened my eyes, Flori had disappeared. I whispered her name. A soft turkey call sounded, which I traced to Don's back door.

“Look, the door's been left unlocked,” Flori said. “You say your phone's inside? Why don't you run
and get it while I call the police. I'll call the non-emergency number to give you some time.” She handed me something soft. “Gloves. You didn't leave fingerprints before, did you?”

Brigitte and I had worn gloves, black latex. Georgio had insisted on that. I donned Flori's fuzzy knit gloves and reached for the doorknob, trying to talk down my fear. Don wasn't about to jump out and confront me. And the murderer was likely long gone. I heard Flori greeting the police station operator. She seemed to be establishing that they were related through some distant aunt and great-niece-twice-removed manner. Pretty soon the operator would give up on deciphering the genealogy and send police cars barreling our way. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

I knew my way down the hallway. This time I didn't linger or peek in other rooms. I went straight to Don's office and grabbed my phone, clutching it in a white-knuckle grip so it wouldn't get away from me again. I was about to hurry back when I noticed something odd with the room. Was it neater? Papers that once covered the desk in the random scatter of autumn leaves now stood in loose stacks. A clean spot on an otherwise dusty shelf suggested that Don's printer had been moved.

I counted myself lucky that Don—or his killer—hadn't found my phone.

T
he sun lit up the morning sky in pink streaks by the time the first patrol car arrived. More
followed, along with a grumpy Manny, his partner Bunny, and various dog walkers and gawking neighbors. Flori and I waited at the end of the driveway, as instructed by Manny.

“What are you doing here?” was the first thing my ex had asked, or rather, demanded. He'd stood close and I'd detected a whiff of perfume. Manny's date night must have gone well. No wonder he was grumpy to get pulled out of bed. Plus, Manny was never a morning guy. We did have that in common.

“Rita and I were out for a Sunday morning walk,” Flori said. “My headlamp lit him up. We called right away, and I had the nicest chat with my grand-niece-twice-removed who works your phones.”

Manny, of course, didn't buy Flori's story. He stomped off to supervise the crime scene and search the house.

The next man to show up didn't believe us either, but at least he was a lot nicer about it. Jake pulled in behind the silent ambulance. Flori had called him while we were waiting for the police to arrive.

“Do I even want to know what you two were doing?” Jake asked. I suspected that he'd hurried over. He lacked both his hat and his dog and was wearing jeans, a faded sweatshirt, and running shoes.

“No,” I said, staring at my shoes. I felt bad that I'd gotten so many people out of bed early on a Sunday morning. “You don't want to know. But we didn't do that.” I nodded toward the white sheet covering Don.

He smiled. “I didn't think you had. Someone sure did, though. Kill him, I mean, and here you ladies are, right in the midst of it . . . again.”

My head hurt. I needed caffeine, a nap, and a normal life. I didn't know what to say so I let Flori fill in the conversation with flirtatious small talk. She told Jake that he looked good, which was like telling the sun it was bright.

He tipped his chin in a bashful expression that only added to his good looks. “I doubt that. I didn't have time to shave or have coffee, but thank you, Flori, all the same. You ladies are looking fine, as always.” He smiled and for a moment I fantasized about another breakfast date. His smile, however, quickly morphed into his lawyer face. “Please tell me that Linda was in no way involved in whatever you were doing.”

I exchanged a look with Flori. I would have pleaded the fifth.

Flori said, “Not directly. Of course, you know that we suspected Don of trying to run over Rita, and he threatened us. Or so we thought.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “So, you came here before daylight to do what?”

I expected Flori to issue an evasive or flirtatious change of subject. Instead, my elderly friend dropped the whole truth. “We were looking for Rita's cell phone. She dropped it in Don's house when she broke in yesterday. Using professional door-entering equipment, mind you. Rita wouldn't actually break anything. And she took along a friend for backup. No need to worry.”

Jake was rubbing his temple and saying, “Don't tell me this.”

My faced burned. “Hypothetically broke in, she means, with a hypothetical lock-pick from a . . . er . . . lock enthusiast.”

“No, no,” Flori corrected. “For real she broke in. Rita and her colleague—who we can't name—found a hidden stash of cash. An important clue, which she left where she found it.” Over Jake's groan, she said, “And there's more. Our associate, Addie, snapped a fine photograph of Don meeting with Gerald Jenkins Senior at a bar last night. Jenkins is the one the police should be looking at.”

I chimed in, eager to shift attention away from me and my crimes. “Addie will have more details, but it looked like Don and Jenkins were arguing.”

Jake held up a silencing finger and then used it to rub his brow. “Okay. Unofficial legal advice: don't repeat what you just said. You can tell the police about the argument. Show them the picture and ask Addie to explain. But, please, let them find that cash on their own. Whatever you do, do
not
tell them you were breaking and entering and trespassing and any other illegal activities that I should not hear about if I am ever called as a witness.” He held my gaze. Then he lowered those gorgeous steel-blue eyes and leaned in close to my ear. “I still want that soufflé dinner you promised me, and it won't happen if you're in jail or my perpetual client. Lawyerly ethics and all.”

Jake left a few minutes later. He had appointments with coffee and then an early practice with his club basketball league.

Flori and I watched him stride to his car and drive away.

“I suppose I should apologize,” Flori said.

I was busy worrying in general and regretting the missed dinner date in particular. “For what?” I asked absentmindedly.

“You were right. Jake Strong is a man sensitive and confident enough to love a Cinco de Mayo soufflé,” Flori said with an appreciative chuckle. “Now, if you add in my chocoflan, that hot lawyer will be butter in your hands, Rita.”

F
lori and I waited around for a long half hour before we could give brief statements to Bunny.

“And you were out simply walking?” Bunny said, disbelief obvious. “Before sunrise? Dressed in black, in a neighborhood where neither of you live?”

“Gets the blood flowing,” Flori said.

Bunny scowled. Manny reinforced her skepticism.

He leaned against the corner of Don's house a few feet away. “Meddling, that's what those two were up to.”

My ex had clearly gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. I might have felt sorry for him if he wasn't being so petulant. Besides, I had myself to feel sorry for. I sure wasn't having a great morning, although I had only myself to blame. If only I hadn't dropped my phone. Or broken in to begin with. I felt that guilt was written across my face. Guilty of blaming a murdered man. Guilty of breaking and rebreaking into his house. Still, I didn't believe that Don was entirely innocent.

I told Bunny about Gerald Jenkins Senior meet
ing with Don last night. “Jenkins nearly dies from poisoning. Then he gets out of the hospital and—still looking sick—goes to meet Don at a bar straightaway? And they argue? It's suspicious, don't you think? Our friend sent us a photo.”

Flori, after a few false starts with her cell phone, brought up the photo and handed the phone to Bunny.

Bunny tilted her head. “Is that a margarita and someone's knee?”

I feared she was missing the blurriest but most important part of the photo. “No, there, those two shapes. They're men arguing.”

Bunny returned Flori's phone. “We'll ask Mr. Jenkins about his activities, but there's nothing illegal about visiting a bar.”

“Yeah, Rita,” Manny said petulantly. The long nights he spent at his favorite bars had sparked arguments during our marriage, especially after I'd spent long days with our infant daughter. I didn't have the energy to argue with him. Luckily, his attention was back on the news van. Milan Lujan stepped out in a sky blue dress, looking freshly powdered and ready for action. Manny straightened his jacket.

Bunny puffed air out her bottom lip. “Why don't you two come in and give formal statements later? Maybe you'll hear more about Mr. Busco's and Mr. Jenkins's activities. Or something else relevant will come to mind, like what you were actually doing here.”

“Will do,” I said in my peppiest cheerleader voice, ignoring Bunny's jibe. I grabbed Flori by the arm. “Time to go.”

We were nearly to my car when I heard a man's voice. “Milan, it's your anonymous informant.
Hey!
You two by the Subaru, wait up. Milan wants to interview you!”