Malicious Mischief (A Rylie Keyes Mystery) (Entangled Select) (18 page)

Solo took one look at the conflict I knew was on my face. “Go on. Go. We’ll figure out the rest of the mystery later. Go.”

I released a moaning laugh. “I’ll be back in an hour. Thanks for all your help, Farley,” I said and left.

~Behind every damsel in distress is a fire-breathing dragon~

Drivers stared at me as I ran down the sidewalk to the nearby Mexican restaurant where Talon and I had arranged to meet. Not a surprise as I was not only running in heels, straightening my hair and suit as I went, but also absorbing the sudden upturn in my investigation. More than ever, I was convinced Otto Weiner had been Alric Mueller, and with this development, new life was breathed into Gilad’s motive for murder. Welcome back, Operation: Gilad Kupper.

A fire engine passed and stopped at the signal up ahead, and I recognized the firefighter in the passenger seat. There, for the third time today, was my first crush in junior high, Curtis Hobbs, now all grown up with meaty muscles and oodles of chestnut waves. Weird, how I hadn’t laid eyes on this guy in years, but in the course of one day, since his arrival at the accident scene and fire this morning, I’d bumped into him all over the place.

A strange look came to his face as he leaned out the open window to watch me, an indefinable worry that reminded me of my own over Talon. I wondered if Curtis thought me pursued by an unseen attacker. I waved and smiled, doing my best to appear all right.

I had to say something as I came nearer. I couldn’t just run past, smiling and waving like an idiot. “Guess what?” I said to Curtis, slowing. “My mouth
has
gotten wider.”

He waited a few seconds. “Cool,” he said just like that, seemingly unfazed by my long-overdue comeback to his criticism during our kiss in middle school, though his eyes were still serious, a little pensive.

I had the feeling he wanted to ask me something. Maybe why I was running or why I allowed ancient history to bother me.

“Did the Bintliff note work?” he asked out of the blue. “Did Lipschitz go easy on you?”

In a leap that I would later find both shocking and amazing, we were face to face, with my hands clutching the fire engine’s window frame and my feet teetering on the huge front wheel. “What did you say?” I asked him once, then asked him again, more insistent, demanding.

Curtis grinned, and turning, he slapped the firefighter behind the wheel on the shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you she was something? Did you see that move? Like a gazelle.”

The guy nodded, lifting his fingers off the wheel to give me a tiny wave. I didn’t wave back for fear of losing my tenuous hold and falling on my ass like a bonehead.

“What gives?” I asked Curtis. “What do you know about the Bintliff note?”

Curtis smiled. “Only that I sent it to Lipschitz.”

I stared at him, my mouth open.

Then he bent and gave me a quick peck on the lips. “You can thank me later,” he said. “We have six buckets of extra crispy getting cold. I’ll call you. I’ve got your number.”

How I managed to climb down, I didn’t know. I stood on the sidewalk as they drove off. I took a step backward then another. Then something hard at my shoulder made me turn.

“Hello,” Talon said, his tone impassive, but his eyes easy to read, displeased.

I returned his greeting, and then we walked in silence to the restaurant. I kept in step with him, wondering how long until Curtis called me. My fingers itched to call him now, and I knew a couple people who would have his number. Considering, I slanted a look at Talon, only to see his lingering displeasure. I decided to call Curtis later.

The restaurant was dim, like a north-facing cave. As the hostess led us to our booth, I got the jitters. It was at the rear, and very private, but it was cool under the air conditioner and the leather seats soft as velvet. I ordered tacos, handed the waitress my menu, and sipping my ice tea, I studied Talon’s profile as he asked about the today’s special: red & green enchiladas.

“I’m sorry I was late,” I said after the waitress left.

“I should have picked you up. Next time I’ll insist.” His frown deepened. “I don’t like being angry. It’s out of character for me.”

“Don’t be mad,” I said. “I’m usually on time—well, more often than not.”

He smiled slowly, leaving me to feel I had missed something. “The man—that is, the firefighter you were talking to.” His voice was pleasant, but there was a hard edge to his azure eyes. “Who is he?”

I took another sip of ice tea, watching him over the rim of my glass, baffled by the contrast of voice and expression. “Curtis Hobbs,” I said. “We went to junior high together.”

“Aye,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I had no right to ask.”

“Yet you did.”

“Yes, I did. I had some fool idea you two were involved. It’s not an excuse, an explanation. Now you’ve every right to be angry with me.”

I shook my head. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Indeed, the heart knows before we do.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, shrugging. “The heart needs love, so it makes mistakes.”

“That must be upsetting.”

“Upsetting,” I said. “I loved Curtis Hobbs once, with a twelve-year-old heart. It made a mistake. And with Zach—” I turned toward Talon, but when our eyes met and I saw the sharpness return, I switched subjects. “Tell me about the sister city exchange program.”

He studied his water glass. “I’m here to learn your investigative ways, show you ours.”

“What Scottish city is it?”

He blinked, blinked again. “You wouldn’t know it. It’s barely more than a village.”

There was something there, something evasive and wary mixed in with his gentle dismissal. “Are you—are you hiding something?”

“I don’t think I like where this is going, Rylie.”

“Me, either,” I said, shaking my head. “I was just hoping you were a spy.”

A smile crept across his face. “Who do you wish me to spy on?”

I didn’t have to think. “Lipschitz,” I said through my bubbling laugher. “People who hate butterflies should always be on someone’s watch list.”

“Beautiful creatures, butterflies,” he said, not laughing. Then he leaned over and touched his lips to mine. “As are you. You’re truly lovely.”

Flustered, flattered, I blurted out, “Gilad Kupper killed Otto Weiner.”

“Did he now? You better fill me in,” he said.

I told him everything while we ate our meal, how Otto Weiner was a Nazi, how Gilad must have tried to subdue him with the plastic bag, only to have him fall over the rail to his death. I explained Leland’s deception in order to flush out Otto, going over things he already knew like the poker game and how Booth won the watch.

His arm rested on the seatback, his fingers playing with the tips of my hair. He listened, treating me like a colleague, nodding, asking for more details, clarifications. And in his eyes, those exquisite eyes, I saw validation, something I had not realized until now I badly needed.

“The way I see it,” I went on, “White’s Jewelry must be part of some kind of underground network that helps Nazi war criminals find safe havens. And Otto was using the Kupper family’s twenty thousand dollar watch to finance his escape.”

“’Tis possible, if not likely,” he said. “The owner of White’s Jewelry has been suspected of sympathizing with Neo-Nazis for awhile, but we have nothing certain. The man is also law abiding, with a family, and a dog.”

“Let me guess, a white dog,” I said.

He nodded.

“Otto wanted Booth to take the watch to them,” I went on, “but instead he took it to his jeweler friend.”

“Ah, that’ll be the reason for the theft charges Otto threatened to file against Booth.”

“He wanted the watch back,” I said. “Maybe that’s why he came to the bonfire, to try to convince Booth to hand it over. But why didn’t he just take the watch to White’s himself?”

“It’s unlikely they wanted any link to him in the event of his capture. Though a touch roundabout, and as Otto learned, uncertain, Booth selling the watch to White’s created distance.”

A thought struck me. “Could you ask the coroner to x-ray Otto’s hand?”

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Bone damage,” I said. “Otto said his scar was from a bullet wound.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“I think that’s where a Death Head skull tattoo had been—until he burned it off.”

“You’re quite good at this, Rylie, quite natural.”

Then he smiled, easy and warm in itself, but the respect it held meant so much. Rendered speechless, I managed to smile back, a simple smile that I knew could never match the happiness inside me.

We were still grinning at each other when the waitress cleared our plates, and the moment was lost. I couldn’t look over at him again, not just yet, not when the depth of those blue eyes made me question what I’d always wanted from a man: stability, faithfulness. And above all, a vow of permanence.

But I could gaze at his hands, his lean fingers on his water glass that drove me to wonder the feel of them against my skin. I reminded myself that that pleasure would be temporary and took another sip of ice tea. “You know I originally thought Gilad had killed Otto over Elsa Utterback.”

“What changed?” he asked.

“I found out he knew Elsa and Otto hadn’t had an affair.” And then I told him about Gilad’s anger with her at the marathon, about his two-timing tryst with Sunny, and Booth goading him with the rash.

“What was that, the name Gilad call Booth’s rash?” he asked.

“Urtic something.”

“Urticaria?” he asked.

I nodded. “Gilad was afraid it was contagious. He lost all color at seeing it.”

Talon ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “Rylie, if Gilad knew enough to call urticaria by name, I suspect he also knew it wasn’t contagious. Where was this rash again?”

I didn’t know what to make of this shift. “On his forearm and wrist, the left one.”

“And Booth wore Otto’s watch on which arm, left or right?”

“Left.” I almost gaped at him in horror. “You think Gilad’s shock was over the watch, over realizing he’d been living with the man he’d hunted all this life?”

Talon didn’t say anything. He sat beside me, his eyes narrowed, staring ahead.

“And since it looks like at the time of Otto’s murder, Gilad didn’t know he was Nazi,” I said. “Gilad had no motive to kill him.”

“It would seem.”

“It would seem,” I repeated, and then at a sudden confirming thought. “I also missed when Farley mentioned Gilad had medical journals, one on rashes in particular. I missed both clues, dammit.”

“Farley McCray? The laddie who told Leland about Otto’s hidden watch?” he said, still not looking at me. “I should think the quarter million dollar reward for Alric Mueller would buy a bit of time for a chemist bent on putting right an anti frailty drug.”

“Oh God, everything I do makes Leland look guiltier.” I balled my hands on my thighs.

He covered my hand with his, held it—securely, resolutely—as though he feared without him, I would fall apart. “I’m sorry, Rylie.”

For all the comfort his touch gave me, I realized it also made me weak. I doubted I could ever stop my heart searching for someone to take care of me if I didn’t somehow find the strength to do it myself.

I tugged free, hesitating only as our fingertips slipped apart. “I’ll be fine.” But since my hand felt suddenly cold, I grasped the other in my lap. “I’ll be okay.”

Still, he didn’t face me.

“Talon, I refuse to give up,” I said.

“You mustn’t,” he said. “All the same, perhaps stop rushing so much.”

“Until I have my grandfather’s blessing, I have no choice but to rush.” I slid across the seat and stood. “I will solve Otto’s murder, and I will do it before noon tomorrow.”

He didn’t get up to say good-bye, only lifted his chin to look at me—
finally
. “It will go easier for Leland if he turns himself in.”

I swallowed an oath. “You’re going to arrest him?”

“I must. The evidence—I have to.”

I looked down at my feet. “Check, please,” I said to the passing waitress, handing her my credit card. “Poor Leland.”

Talon shifted his gaze. “He needs you.”

I took that to mean Leland, but there was an odd tension around his mouth. It moved up to his eyes.

“Don’t worry about Leland. I’ll find him,” I said. “I’ll tell him to turn himself in.”

“First rule in investigating: never assume.” He rose from the booth, turned me toward the door. There, a man stood, squinting against the dim light and looking around. It was Zach.

I hurried to him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Solo told me where to find you.” He led me outside, where he took what sounded like a careful breath. “I have to tell you something. And I have to tell you now before I change my mind. I’ve finally realized a way to make the guilt go away. I only wish I’d realized sooner. I’ve found who makes everything better. I’ve found where I’m needed.”

“Mackenzie needs you. You need her. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” I grabbed his hand. “I wish you happiness, both of you.”

His laugh was quick and easy. “There’s nothing serious between Mackenzie and me.”

It made no difference, I decided. He was my best friend. He would be for life. “But I thought—” I began. “It’s just that I saw you together, earlier, on Northeast 24
th
near FoY.”

“I was driving her home, and she was upset about something her mother had said. I was comforting her,” he said. “Rylie, I’m entering the seminary.”

I hesitated a moment. Then: “As in becoming a—”

“Priest,” he finished, his gray eyes twinkling.

This announcement was so unexpected, so abrupt that I was taken aback, and more than a little bewildered. How could I respond? What could I say? I knew nothing of religion, nothing of its power, of its push or pull on people. But I could imagine, despite my shock and ignorance, how positive this change would be for him. The budding joy in his eyes told me so. Gone was the hurt, the anguish, but still the guilt lingered on the fringe. Guilt was like grief, I suspected, something we never get over, just get on.

I found him watching me, and I hesitated again before saying, “I’m happy for you, Zach.”

I had paled, I supposed, and he saw it. “I know it’s sudden, but it’s the right thing to do. It’s the right thing for me,” he said. “But first I’m going to get help for my PTSD.”

“That’s a good decision.” I was still too stunned to say more.