Coffee & Crime (4 page)

Davis huffed and her face turned pink as Daniels explained. But he put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Relax, Em. It's not a secret. Besides, she's going to tell them anyway." He smiled like a big wet clown. "Am I right, partner?"

Davis looked away and scowled at her shoes again.

But Daniels wanted to convince his partner further. "It's a no-situation as far as we're concerned. The guy ate the wrong thing and he died. Sad, tragic, but not a matter of national security. Hell, it's not even police business
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a rich widow with a story." He raised an eyebrow at Zelda for emphasis. "That’s all."

"Just shut up, Marty." Davis tugged on his sleeve to get him moving. "We’ve got better things to do than shoot the shit with civilians."

Daniels smiled and shrugged at us, then allowed his tiny partner to drag him to the sedan in the drive.

Zelda pivoted back to them. "Hey wait! You're not going to investigate?" The cops ignored her and kept walking. "Well, nice seeing you too."

"See you guys later," I called out. "I made fresh apple cobbler today. In case you're interested."

Daniels stopped mid-stride, turned back to me. "Bless you, my child. Will you be there tonight to serve it to me?"

I laughed. "Hell, no
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but Debbie will get you a slab."

Zelda picked up the flowers and nudged me with her shoulder. "Quit encouraging him. Let's do this."

I allowed Zelda to prod me along. "What's your problem?"

"My problem? What's with you and all the dessert talk to the cops?"

"Rule number one, always talk nice to the cops. And rule number two, dessert makes them like you."

Zelda glanced over her shoulder. "Why are they watching us?"

I glanced back and saw them huddled at the car.

Out the side of her mouth Zelda asked, "Are they talking about us?"

"We're not breaking any laws. Just bringing flowers to George's family. Paying our respects like Daniels said."

But the way they watched us made me nervous too. Why was bringing flowers to a bereaved family an unusual act? And why did I feel guilty and a little scared?

My head spun with the sudden shift of circumstances. I wanted to put the flowers on the doorstep, ring the bell, and bolt. But I couldn't because I owed George the respect of expressing my condolences to his family.

Despite my nerves. Despite Daniels and Davis. Despite the little voice in my head. Despite the damn rain, my muddy shoes, and soggy hair, I rang the bell. My life would never be the same again. And I knew it like I knew my own name.

I pushed my wet, frizzy hair off my face, took a deep breath and put on my best smile as the door opened. But it wasn’t a maid or a personal assistant who answered the door. It was an attractive blonde in her mid-forties who regarded us with curiosity. Maggie Manston – I recognized her from a picture George had in his office. She had that perfect peachy complexion that most women would kill for but find in a bottle instead. Her sapphire warm up suit set off her intense blue eyes, which sized us up as a nuisance.

"May I help you?"

I felt like an idiot with a giant vase of flowers in my hands and grinning like a delivery girl on her first day. I held out the flowers to her.

Maggie called over her shoulder to someone in the house. "Mia, the caterers are here." She turned back to us and said, "Mia will be right with you."

Before she turned away I said, "No, I'm sorry. We're not the caterers."

Maggie frowned. "Oh? Then who are you?"

My outstretched arms trembled from holding out the heavy vase but Maggie seemed oblivious to the offering. "I'm Scotti Fitzgerald and this is Zelda Carter. We're so sorry to hear about George..."

A tall brunette in a maid's uniform appeared, whisked the vase out of my hands and disappeared back into the house with them.

"Yes?" Maggie prodded me.

"We were friends of George's. We just found out today what happened and wanted to offer our condolences."

Maggie nodded. "Well, thank you." She started to close the door.

Zelda took a step forward. "Will there be a service?"

Maggie paused and pursed her lips. "Yes, there will be a viewing next week at Brooks & Sons."

She had no interest in prolonging the conversation so I said, "Well, again, very sorry for your loss. Perhaps, we'll see you at the viewing."

Maggie nodded, murmured another thank you and closed the door.

We stood staring at the oak plank door and listening to the plunk of raindrops on the porch roof. "That didn't go well," I finally said.

"You think?" Zelda turned and stomped to the jeep.

I trailed after her, past the point of caring about the rain, muddy shoes and frizzy hair. "Why are you so pissed?"

Zelda climbed into the jeep and slammed the door shut.

I got in on my side and looked at her. I searched the car for something to blot my soaked hair and found a couple of napkins in the glove box. "What's your problem?"

Zelda punched the dashboard. "What a bitch!"

I shrugged and tried to unsnarl the snags in my hair with my fingers. "I wouldn't say she was rude but she wasn't friendly either."

Zelda gaped. "You don't think that was rude? She thought we were the caterers."

I gave up on my hair and wiped the rain off my cheeks with the back of my hand.

"We are dressed like waitresses."

"She didn't even invite us in."

I buckled my seatbelt and flipped on the heater. "Why would she? We're total strangers and her husband just died. I wouldn't have let us in either."

Zelda scowled and waved a dismissive hand at me. She backed down the driveway slowly, watching the traffic on Orange Grove in the rearview mirror. "We didn't get to mention your agreement with George."

"Thank God," I said quietly.

Zelda raised her eyebrows. "Thank God?"

I held my hands in front of the heating vent. "I can't bring that up."

Zelda slammed on the brakes and threw the jeep in park. "What?"

"I can't ask her for the money. It's not her problem. She just lost her husband. Probably why she was so weird with us." I shook my head. "I'm not going to her with my hand out."

"How is it a hand out?" Zelda asked. "You had an agreement with George, now that should pass on to his heirs." She glanced at me. "And why are you defending that woman? She totally disrespected us. She didn't ask how we knew George or anything." She smirked. "I'll bet she told the maid to toss the flowers in the trash too." She made a face. "Why aren't you pissed off, is the question."

Maybe I should've felt indignant and pissy but I was willing to give Maggie Manston the benefit of the doubt. How friendly would I be if my husband had died and two strangers showed up at my door with flowers? I would've been friendlier than Maggie, but not by much. What interested me more was why Daniels was so sure Maggie would repeat to us what she'd told them.

The sky cracked open and the rain pummeled the jeep, the streets and everything else in its path. "Let's go home. I'm freezing, I'm tired and I'm starving."

Zelda put the jeep into reverse, shot out onto Orange Grove, and pulled a u-turn. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. Partly because I was exhausted but mostly because I couldn't bear to watch Zelda drive in the rain.

The whoosh of the water under the wheels and the constant thud of the wipers lulled me into a twilight state where I was neither asleep nor awake. The place that I did my best thinking. George was gone but I still had options. I could go to George's lawyer who'd drafted the contract — ask for his help. Maybe he'd approach the family on my behalf. Surely George's family would want to honor his wishes.

If that didn't turn out as expected, I could ask for a loan from my bank. I had sixty thousand dollars in my money market account and a few thousand in an IRA. That made me a good candidate for a loan, I thought. The diner would be collateral. I had a business plan and an agreement with Manny. Why wouldn't they loan me the money? I didn't approach them before because of George's offer. I hadn't needed to but things had changed.

Though I was sad about George, the shock had worn off and my thinking returned to normal. Everything would turn out all right. Despite Zelda's sour mood, we'd be fine. Everything would be fine.

And then Zelda slammed on the brakes and everything went black.

I don't know how long I was out but when I opened my eyes I saw a handsome, dark-haired man peering at me through the car window. He knocked repeatedly and asked if I was okay. My surroundings came into focus and I hurt. My chest ached and the seat harness was tight against my body. The rain pummeled the jeep. Zelda jabbered and shook my shoulder. And the handsome man continued staring at me through the window.

I cranked down the window.

His bright green eyes were filled with concern. "Are you okay?" His voice was deep and smooth and went perfectly with his strong jaw, straight nose, and full lips. "Are you?"

I had to look away from him to get my bearings and saw that we were pulled over at Lowell. I squinted through the windshield, the jeep's hood looked wrong. "What happened?"

"You've been in an accident," he said. "We need to take you to the hospital."

I jolted up in my seat and the harness cut into my chest, making me groan. "No hospitals!" I released the seatbelt and gently rubbed my collarbone. "I'm okay."

He creased a brow. "But you're hurt. You’re obviously hurt."

Zelda glared at him through the open window. "She's not going anywhere with you." She leaned over and examined me with her eyes. "Are you okay? Really?"

Unbuckling the seatbelt had relieved most of my pain. I moved my arms and legs, turned my head left and right. Everything still worked. "Yeah, I think so. What happened?"

Zelda pointed to the man at my window. "This guy hit the brakes and made me slam into him."

I squinted through the windshield at the hood and I realized it was crumpled - I wondered what the front bumper looked like. Idling in front of us with its flashers blinking was a black Escalade. No damage as far as I could tell. I connected the dots. "Oh..."

Showing amazing patience while standing in the pouring rain, the man passed a business card to me through the open window. "This is my contact info. We should exchange information and call our insurance companies."

I read the card. "Ted Jordan. Eagle One Transportation Services?" I looked at him. "You're a chauffeur?" He didn't look like a chauffer. He looked like an actor out of central casting on his way to becoming a movie star.

Zelda snatched the card out of my hand and put it in her pocket. "Yeah, you better believe I'm contacting your insurance company."

The whoop of a police siren and blue lights signaled the arrival of the cops. I sighed. We weren't going to get home anytime soon.

The cops determined that the jeep didn't require towing and that I didn't need a hospital. They directed us to a grocery store parking lot a few hundred yards up the street because we were causing a back up of the traffic coming off the freeway.

If there'd been any witnesses, they'd left the scene without volunteering information
—
so the accident was Zelda's word against Ted's. The cops were grumpy and didn't want to hear it. They determined both parties were at fault, then told us where, when and how we could get a copy of the accident report. They then got into their cruiser and went off to find the next accident of which there were probably plenty.

Still showing incredible patience, Ted Jordan offered to buy us dinner at the chicken place across the street. Zelda assured him that dinner was not going to get him off the hook but she accepted his invitation anyway. I wanted to go home, get out of my wet clothes and take a hot shower - Zelda wanted to settle the situation without involving the insurance companies. Zelda won.

Ted drove us to the chicken place in his Escalade
—
a good thing too because Zelda had no business driving in her frame of mind. Although it was a 60-second drive, I enjoyed being driven in a luxury vehicle with heated seats, that didn't smell like last week's gym clothes. Even Zelda relaxed once she was out of the rain and inside a warm, comfy car.

The chicken place mostly did carry-out trade with a few cheap booths in a small dining room. Ted ordered two whole chickens fresh off the barbecue spit, with pita bread, garlic sauce, falafels, fries and tall cups of hot coffee.

For a few minutes, we ate in silence. Between the rain and the accident our bodies needed fuel and plenty of it. Ted watched me so intently that I figured I looked like a freak with my mop of hair plastered against my head, slowly frizzing up as it dried. My shoes, shirt and jacket were soaked and sticking to my skin. I gulped coffee but I still shivered throughout the meal.

Ted pushed his food away and smiled. "Okay. Let's acknowledge that we've all had a bad day and work together to solve the situation."

"I'll tell you what'll solve this situation..."

"Zelda, shut up."