The Marquesa's Necklace (Oak Grove Mysteries Book 1) (2 page)

He seemed to be uncomfortable with the invitation. Damn it, someone must have told him about my history with the law. I decided to blow it off. “Your choice, I’ll be right back.”

For a morale booster, I dressed in my best fitting jeans, tailored blouse, and my red pumps with a four inch heel. When I came back into the front room, he was looking at the screen of my laptop. I hid my grin—it was open to a scholarly treatise on the role of women in Edwardian England. Boring stuff. My browser history was full of similar sites, as Detective Thomason had discovered the previous year.

I grabbed my purse and, out of habit, my car keys off their hook. I hesitated, and tossed them into my purse. “Ready, Officer?” I asked in my sweetest voice. I didn’t wait for his answer, but brushed by him and waited on the landing. Once he started down the stairs, I locked my front door and carefully followed him. The stairs were narrow, and walking down them in those heels was not an easy task.

The short trip to the station was made in silence. I had a million questions I wanted to ask, but figured I would have to wait to get my answers. Who would steal George? He wasn’t worth much. Teenagers wouldn’t be caught dead in him. And why wreck him? Shit. I hoped no one got hurt, even if they did steal my car.

Officer Felton left me in the barely-furnished lobby. It was a place you don’t want to stay in too long—several hard plastic chairs, a beat-up fake wood end table and a few old magazines scattered about. It smelled like stale cigarettes, and appeared not to have been cleaned for weeks. I perched on the edge of a chair and put my hands between my knees to keep from touching anything. Thankfully, it was only moments until Detective Thomason appeared. I gave him the once over—brown hair still cut short—check. Glasses hiding those dark brown eyes—check. His shirt rumpled and in need of an iron—check. No wedding band in his finger—check. Yep, nothing had changed.

As I stood, his eyes wandered from my face down to my shoes. The corners of his lips curled upward, but I wouldn’t say that he smiled. A smile would have looked odd on his normally grim face.

“If you would come with me, please?” he said.

He even put the please in there, unlike our previous encounters. Of course, those times, I had been either in booking or in one of the interrogation chambers. I know, I know, they’re interview rooms. Whatever. I followed him through a maze of desks and hallways and into a small but comfortable office, my heels clicking on the tile floor. I’d never noticed before what a nice behind he had. I wondered if it was just the pants he was wearing, or if I’d just not looked before, having other things on my mind. Like calling a lawyer.

“Have a seat, please,” he said, indicating an armless office chair—at least its seat was padded. He sat on the other side of a desk covered with an assortment of files and paperwork, and picked up a file from the top of the stack.

“Harmony,” he said tentatively.

“Detective Thomason,” He might be trying to be friendly, but I still hadn’t forgiven him for arresting me.

He cleared his throat, and set the file back on his desk. “Did you let anyone borrow your car today?” he asked.

“No, my keys are right here.” I started digging through the contents of my purse.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, after I pulled out my checkbook, a packet of pink tissues, and a paperback with an almost-naked man on the front cover and piled them on the corner of his desk. His mouth twitched. “Have you made any new enemies recently, Miss Duprie?” I guess he got my message about the terms of our relationship.

“Besides a certain insufferable cop?” Even in the artificial fluorescent light, I saw the red rising in his cheeks. I could almost hear him counting to ten as I pretended to consider the question. “I think Larry, the florist, is ticked off that I’m not receiving flowers anymore. And Bart at the grocery store yelled at me last week when I went through the ten items or less line with fourteen items. But what does that have to do with someone stealing and wrecking my car?”

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and exhaled. “Bear with me a moment. Did you go anywhere today?”

I couldn’t figure out where this line of questioning was going, but I answered anyway. “No, I woke up with a killer headache, realized it was going to rain, and decided to stay home and work.”

“And when was the last time you saw your car?”

“This morning. I planned to go to the library, but it started to storm as I was leaving. Why?”

He swiveled his chair so he was facing away from me. I fidgeted in my suddenly uncomfortable seat and waited. He turned back around and leaned forward with his forearms on his desk. “Your headache may have saved your life. We’ve asked for help from the state police to verify our theory, but our preliminary investigation and accounts from a few eyewitnesses indicate your car exploded.” Sitting back and rubbing his forehead, he added. “A tall man in a brown suit was seen in the vicinity.”

I sputtered. “What do you mean my car exploded?”

“In a fireball. Burnt to a crisp. If you had been in the vehicle, you’d be dead.”

Chapter Three

I knocked a stack of paper off his desk as I attempted to retrieve the package of tissues, but they’d managed to disappear in the few minutes we had been talking. Detective Thomason must have figured out what I was searching for, took pity on me, and handed me a box from his drawer. I blew my nose loudly, scrunched the tissue into a ball, and aimed for the wastepaper basket. Surprisingly, I made the shot.

“Someone blew up my car?” I scrambled to pick up the scattered papers and return them to their prior home.

He nodded. “Apparently. Since you kept the car in good mechanical shape even if it looked like a piece of junk, that’s the only explanation we can come up with. Of course, the State Police will go over what remains of it and tell us what they find. We don’t have the knowledge or resources to do that on our own.”

“And you suspect this man in a brown suit did it?”

“We have one bystander who saw a man fitting that description near your car just before it blew up. By the time she got off the phone with 911, he’d disappeared. No one else remembers seeing him. Doesn’t give us much to go on.”

I grabbed another tissue before I asked my next question, afraid of the answer. “Was anyone in the car?”

The slight smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, Miss Duprie, we didn’t find any bodies in the wreckage.”

I let out the breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. “Good.” I blew my nose before I took another deep breath. “Is that scumbag Jake still in prison?” I wanted to describe him with harsher words, but decided against it.

The smile reached his eyes this time. “Yes. We checked that out right away, as soon as we were able to identify that it was your car.”

“So your only lead is this mysterious man in a brown suit.” The image of the man in the library flashed in my thoughts for a moment. I brushed it away. He wasn’t real, after all, according to my friends. “That description could fit hundreds of men—hell, even you, Detective, if you have a brown suit.” I smiled so he would understand I wasn’t serious.

He grinned back at me. “I have an air-tight alibi. I was in the Captain’s office getting reamed over late paperwork.” He got up. “I’ll walk you to the front desk to get a copy of the report so you can file it with your insurance company, and then I’ll take you home if that’s all right.”

I wondered why he didn’t have one of the officers give me a ride. “I’d like to talk to you off the record,” he said.

I nodded my hesitant approval as I stood. With my heels, our eyes were almost level, and he stared for a long moment into mine. “Believe it or not, Harmony, I was glad when the jury cleared you, especially after finding out what a manipulative son-of-a-gun Jake Hennessey is.”

It was as much of an apology as I would ever get from him. It didn’t even bother me that he called me by my first name. In Silence, I followed him to the front desk. The officer there barely glanced up before handing me the blue copy of a form done in triplicate. I folded it in quarters and stuck it in my purse. The lost keys jangled as I threw the strap on my shoulder.

“Are you still taking the self-defense class?” Detective Thomason asked, with an urgent expression in his voice. The man knew far too much about me.

“Every Monday night.”

“Good. Don’t give it up, okay?”

He wasn’t telling me something. “Why?”

He avoided meeting my eyes, and pulled a set of keys from his pants pocket. “My car is out front.”

His car turned out to be a nicely restored red Mustang fastback, mid 1960’s. “I like the car,” I said, climbing in.

“Thanks. Buckle up, please.”

“What size engine?” I’ve learned just enough about cars to sound like I know more than I really do.

“V-8.” He adjusted the rearview mirror. “She’s not a Cobra, but she’s plenty fast for me.” He fell silent as he pulled out of the parking spot and into traffic. I realized he didn’t need directions to take me home. It was a strange feeling. Clearly, he’d investigated me thoroughly after arresting me.

A couple of blocks from the station, he started talking again. “If the state lab confirms this was a bomb, you might want to make other living arrangements,” he said. “Go stay with a friend or relative. At least until we figure out who did this. The best we can do is increase patrols in your neighborhood—we can’t offer constant protection.”

The reality of what he was saying got through to me. “Whoever did this may try again?” I squeaked.

“Officially, I can’t say that.” Glancing in his mirror, he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “But at a minimum, I suggest you change your daily routine. Go to the library at different times. Switch the bar you and your friends hang out at instead of always going to the Pink Flamingo. And always check who’s at your door before you open it. Hang on.” He twisted the steering wheel sharply to the right making the turn at the last second. The tires squealed but the car took the corner without a problem. His lips tight, he studied the rearview mirror again. “I guess I was being paranoid. I thought we were being followed.”

I don’t know if I was more stunned by the fact that he knew my schedule or that he had just pulled a risky maneuver, endangering his obviously much-loved car, in order to protect me. Or maybe I found the idea he was worried about me overwhelming, but I couldn’t come up with a snappy comeback. When he suggested checking out the apartment before I went in, I was so shaken up I let him. I didn’t even insist he get a warrant as I had for his previous visits.

Before he left, he handed me his card. “Call me if you think of anything that might help with the investigation,” he said.

“You’ll call me when you hear from the lab?” I asked.

“Of course.” As I went to shut the door behind him, I heard him add “Don’t forget to lock the door, Harmony.”

I have to admit, after a supper of fettuccine alfredo accompanied by a glass or two of a nice Sauvignon Blanc, my logical brain started operating again. Why would anyone put a bomb in my car—or under it, or whatever they do to blow up a vehicle? Maybe the gas line had leaked, or something as equally innocent. It was just bad timing for whoever “borrowed” it. I poured one more glass, and drank a toast to George—my faithful companion for many years. I’d give myself a few days to mourn him before I went car shopping.

The city bus line runs a block from the apartment, so it wasn’t a big sacrifice to resort to mass transit. Keeping Detective Thomason’s advice in mind, I left an hour later than I usually would to go to the library. When I got there, I set up shop in a different section than normal.

My new research topic was the adventures of Gertrude Bell, the English traveler, in the late 1800’s, so I spent my time browsing the travel section. I half-expected to run into my mystery man each time I went around a corner, but didn’t catch a glimpse of him. At least not until I returned to my new office space. He sat in my chair in his brown blazer and slacks, waiting for me. When he saw me, he flashed a quick smile, stood, and walked away. I discarded the notion of following him and lifted the lid of my laptop, discovering a single sheet of paper on the keyboard.

“I’ve got your back,” read the first line and the second “Don’t tell anyone.” I watched the ink slowly disappear and I was left holding a blank page. That’s when it hit me.

Chapter Four

The bus ride home seemed longer than the morning’s trip as I studied each person getting on for a potential threat. Was the little gray-haired lady with the oversize purse and shopping bag packing a handgun? Did the teenage boy wearing a long black coat keep ninja stars in his pockets? And the woman in her mid-twenties holding a little girl’s hand? Was the child was just a prop, borrowed for the afternoon, solely to throw off suspicion? In reality, was the woman a super spy waiting for a chance to drug me and cart me off to her remote hideaway?

Or not. Buying a new car became a priority. I toyed with the idea of a Harley. I envisioned it—me, dressed out in a black cat suit, wearing black boots with five-inch heels, striding into the biker bar across town. But it’s awfully hard to haul a laptop and scanner around on one of those things, let alone bring home the groceries. Maybe I would settle for a screaming red Corvette or Ferrari. My funds manager would think I’d gone off my rocker.