Rest in Pieces (23 page)

The next article was on Cyanotoxins, which were produced by blue–green algae. It seemed like a lot of work to grow, harvest and then refine it to be used as a poison but I wrote it down.

The next article was about poisoning using household items. I had already found hemlock could be deadly, but so were oleander, rhododendrons, azaleas, arsenic, cyanide, strychnine, methanol, some mushrooms, and toxic venom from reptiles. The last one made my shiver. I hate snakes and would probably die of fright before I’d be able to harvest the toxic venom, so I definitely couldn’t use that as a murder weapon.

It just seemed like all of these murder methods would be spotted in an autopsy.

Maybe these people hadn’t been murdered at all and really were just a random list of people who all happen to die of respiratory failure.

That was it.

Just to make sure I wasn’t being poisoned, I was no longer eating food that didn’t come from a drive–through window. No one was slipping hemlock into my salad. If food was going to kill me, I wanted to take the slow road to coronary artery disease one Big Mac value meal at a time. It was the American way—downright patriotic. If being on Molly’s list meant that I was going to die, I’d do it with a Big Mac in one hand and an American flag in the other.

My stomach rumbled. In the frenzy of finding gold and mucho moolah, I hadn’t eaten lunch.

I clicked on the Google search window to clear it and typed in all five of Molly’s aliases. Lots of people came up with those names, but none of them was Molly. Had they been names she’d picked at random? It seemed like it.

I glanced at the clock on the computer screen. I had fifteen minutes until Max had to be at soccer practice. That was exactly enough time to run through the Mickey D’s drive–through and still make practice.

“Buddy, it’s time to go.” I turned around to look at Max. “Why don’t you check out whatever books you want so we can get to practice.”

I clicked on the computer’s browser history and cleared it in case the FBI monitored library Internet usage. It could happen. Probably not, but a week ago I wouldn’t have thought my house could be bugged either.

Chapter 19

I dropped Max off at practice and decided to run home and grab the murder board and Molly’s medical files. Keeping them both at Trust Fund Baby’s house seemed like a better plan than having them at mine. What with the bugging and men showing up to bring me food, my little house had seen more action in the last two weeks then all of the rest of the time I’d lived there.

I grabbed the murder board and medical files and headed back to Trust Fund Baby’s house. We really needed a better name for it. From now on, it shall be named TFBH. I was halfway there before I remembered that I didn’t have a key or that handy–dandy phone app that unlocked everything. I couldn’t call Haley because my phone was bugged. Bugging people’s lives was very inconvenient. I wanted to shout it, but I was pretty sure the people listening didn’t care.

I glanced at the clock on the dash. I didn’t have time to stop by Haley’s house and make it back to the soccer fields in time to pick up Max. So I made a U–turn in the middle of Lakeside Boulevard and headed back to the soccer fields.

An old guy in a Cadillac Escalade flipped me off and laid on his horn. I pretended not to hear him and didn’t make eye contact. I’d found that it was pointless to get into a screaming match with seniors. They couldn’t hear me so all of the good one–liners I liked to bounce off them were lost. Nothing’s worse than a perfectly good comeback gone unheard.

Red and blue lights flashed in my rearview mirror.

Crapola.

I pulled over and the old guy in the Escalade slowed down, rolled down the window, and blew me a kiss. I really hated that old man.

I looked in my rearview as the cop pulled his black and white Chevy Tahoe in behind my car. Quickly, I gathered up the murder board, folded it as best I could and crammed it and the medical records in my leather work tote. I zipped it up tight and rolled down my window.

Ben leaned down. “Ma’am, you just committed an illegal U–turn.”

He flipped the cover open on an iPad looking thing. “I’m going to have to cite you for that. There’s a No U–Turn sign right there.”

He pointed to the white and black sign not two foot away from my front bumper. Where had that come from?

“Okay.” Had Ben hit his head and forgotten we’d been out on a date a little over a week ago and have been texting back and forth every single day. I guess he took his job way more seriously than I’d thought. “Would you believe I can’t read?”

Slowly his hand stopped typing and his gaze met mine. “You had no trouble reading my texts.”

“It comes and goes.” I smiled.

He started typing again and said without looking at me, “I heard the strangest thing today. Like seven people told me that you kissed Daman Rodriguez a couple of nights ago. I seem to remember you telling me that we couldn’t get together that night because you were too tired.”

When he said it like that, it sounded really bad. Honestly, it never occurred to me to tell him. Daman and I weren’t dating and certainly didn’t have a thing going. “He showed up at my house with pizza and he kissed me. That was it.”

He continued typing. Apparently U–turn tickets required a
War and Peace
length novel.

“So you’re angry because a man I barely know showed up at my house with pizza, invited himself to dinner, and then kissed me? Why?” If Daman had brought cake I might have slept with him. To be fair, I’d have slept with Ben if he’d brought cake provided that it wasn’t gluten free, carb–free or sugar free. Did that make me a carb slut?

“Again, you might have mentioned it.” He kept typing.

I was beginning to think that he was fake typing just to intimidate me. Well, the joke was on him. He could type until his fingers fell off. I wasn’t afraid.

“The thought never occurred to me. I didn’t mention it because honestly, I’d forgotten about it.” I glanced down to make sure my pants weren’t on fire from all of this lying.

“So you’re not dating Rodriguez?” This time he looked at me.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Then again, I occasionally miss social cues and misread men who bring me food. So far two men had showed up on my doorstep with dinner, and I was pretty sure one of them had bugged my house. Was there a nonchalant way of asking if Ben had bugged my house?

“How do you feel about Chinese food?” He smiled down at me. Did this mean he wasn’t going to give me a ticket?

“I’m in favor of it. Generally, I like anything that involves egg rolls and fried rice.” I returned his smile. If he was bringing over Chinese, it better have carbs. Was there such a thing as carb free Chinese food? Inwardly I cringed. God, I hope not.

“Six o’clock your place.” He leaned closer. “I’ll bring extra egg rolls and double fried rice.”

“Wait, tonight is your aunt’s Monday night séance. She requires me to be there. It’s in my lease.” And I was running low on Peanut M&Ms.

“I’ll call her and get you out of it. She’ll give you the night off. I’m her favorite nephew.” He leaned even closer. “Now would be an excellent time to kiss me.”

“So romantic. What with the cars whizzing by and all that exhaust.” I moved a hair’s breath from his mouth. “What did you have in mind?”

He cupped my chin and pulled me into him. His lips were demanding and I’d forgotten that he knew how to kiss. Oh man, he’d had a lot of practice.

He pulled away. “You taste like McDonald’s fries.”

“Guilty.” I glanced at his ticket–writing iPad thingy. “About the fries.”

“I miss those.” He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

“Come over to the dark side, we have French fries.” I used my exorcist voice. I’m willing to admit that it was more creepy than cute.

“I’ll give it some serious thought.” He straightened. “I’ll see you in a hour or so.”

He walked back to his car. There were so many lights flashing, it was like a mobile disco wagon.

Every time I turned around, there was a handsome man plying me with food. It was nice and I’m not complaining about the free food part, but I still wondered why. Not until I’d started investigating Molly’s murder had these guys shown up. Me and my newfound conspiracy theory brain were wondering what’s the deal. Not that two handsome men being interested in me was a problem, but the timing was a little odd.

Six minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot by the soccer fields and saw Max talking to Daman.

Crapola.

Daman was wearing shorts, a soccer jersey, and cleats. He was cute, damn it. I should feel guilty about dating two men, but I didn’t. Men did this to us all the time, right? I was dating both of them for womankind—it was our turn to poly–date.

Max and Daman seemed to be deep in conversation and the only two people left at the soccer fields. The light was fading and here I was late to pick up my little boy. I’m a terrible mother and should be prosecuted for…lateness?

I pulled right up to the pair, who were standing under a stadium light in the parking lot. “Buddy, sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay.” Max nodded to Daman. “D–Rod came to practice and helped us work out.”

Max was brimming with excitement. Daman might be a drug lord, but he’d made my son happy today.

Daman turned his dazzling smile on me. He walked right up to my door and placed his hands on the open window. “I went by your office today to see if you wanted to have lunch, but they told me that you called in sick for the first time ever. I was worried.”

“I’m fine.” I glanced at Max who was too busy loading his soccer bag into the van to pay much attention to the adults around him. I hadn’t exactly told him that I’d called in sick. I didn’t want him getting the idea that he could blow off school. “It was more of a mental health day.”

Oh, and I also found your diamonds, but I can’t tell you how or where.

I had no idea how to work that into the conversation.

He opened my door. “I brought something for you.”

I guessed that I was supposed to follow him. I slid out of the van. He waited for me and then put his hand on the small of my back and led me to the trunk of his car. I know it was bad, but for a split second I wondered if he was going to throw me into the trunk.

He leaned in close to my ear. “Is your phone in the car?”

I nodded. Surely if he tried to knock me out and load me in the trunk, I could get away. I glanced down at his muscular legs. Instead of trying to outrun him, I’d kick him in the balls and then make a run for it.

Here’s the thing though, I really liked him. And I was having dinner tonight with another guy that I really liked. I don’t get it. After months of no dates—or worse—weird dates who lived with their mothers, suddenly two nice guys want to spend time with me. Something was definitely going on.

Daman clicked his key fob and the trunk lid glided up. My next car was totally going to have one of those trunk opening thingies.

He reached in the front pocket of a black gym bag. Holy shit, was he going for a gun? I braced myself to bring my knee up and hammer him a good one when his hand came out of the pocket with—a small gold cylinder.

It looked like…

”Lipstick?” I tried to picture him wearing something in a bubble–gum pink, but my mind was having a problem putting that picture together.

“Stop picturing me as a cross dresser.” The dimples were back.

I know it was wrong, but I didn’t feel as threatened as I should. His lashes were so long that they were tangled. It took all I had not to reach up and untangle them.

“It looks like lipstick, but it’s a signal jammer.” He twisted the bottom. “Turn it like this and it will jam any signal for two hundred feet so whoever bugged your house only gets static. You can’t use it all of the time or whoever is listening will figure it out, and they’ll know I gave it to you.”

How would they know that he gave it to me? That was strange…the knowing that he gave it to me.

“Just so we’re on the same page, are you a drug lord?” Mentally, I slapped my forehead, I was so determined to get murdered.

He shook his head and laughed. “That’s what you’ve heard, huh?”

He did a three–sixty scan of the area. Was he looking for witnesses?

I backed up. This was bad. “Is this where you throw me in the trunk and take me to your private torture chamber?”

“Really?” He looked down at me. In the fading light I could see the hurt in his eyes. “You think I’m a monster.”

I’m guessing that a
Fifty Shades of Grey
joke about the torture chamber wouldn’t go over so well right now. Maybe he hadn’t read it or seen the movie.

He bit his top lip.

“That’s just it. I don’t. I’ve been told by several sources that you’re this badass drug lord, only you don’t seem like one.” I hunched my shoulders. “Or look like one.”

“How many drug lords do you know?” He looked relieved.

“Including you?” I was serious. “One.”

“And what does a drug lord look like?” Tentatively, he touched my arm.

“Danny Trejo.” That guy had the drug lord look down.

Daman’s chest shook with laughter. “I’m going to tell him that you said that.”

“You know Danny Trejo? That’s awesome.” I knew someone who knew a famous person. That was almost like knowing a famous person. Once, at City Hall, Willie Nelson gave up his seat for me when we both went to vote and had to wait. It was still warm from his butt. That was my total brush was fame.

He scanned the parking lot. “If I show you something, you have to keep it a secret. You can’t tell anyone, not even your friends Haley and Monica.”

“Okay. I can keep a secret.” Sometimes. I hadn’t told him about finding his diamonds so I could keep a secret.

He unzipped the main pocket of the black bag and pulled something gold out and set it on the black felt lined trunk next to the bag. He pulled out his iPhone and turned on the flashlight feature.

I knew my eyes were the size of York Peppermint Patties. My heart lodged in my throat. “You’re DEA?”

Chapter 20

“I’m undercover and my life depends on no one knowing that I’m DEA.” Daman reached for the badge and tucked it back in the main pocket of the black gym bag.