9 Hell on Wheels (6 page)

“Connections, my fat behind,” I told Steele. “You got this off of Westlaw. It says so right here.”

“Who cares where I got it,” snapped Steele. He swallowed hard as a stab of pain radiated across his face. “The point is, I can do research for you while I’m laid up. I can make calls too.”

“You’re as bad as my mother. She was all hopped up last night about this.” I put down the Westlaw printout. “Why is it you all want to be involved in the very things that put my ass in danger?” I took a deep breath. “All but Zee. I swear, she and Seth are the only sensible people I know.”

“Aren’t you even going to read that report?” Steele pointed at the papers now sitting on top of the expanding folder. “After all the trouble I went to, and me all banged up.” Turning down his swollen lips, he flashed me the most pathetic bruised face I’d ever seen on a grown man, like a GQ model still healing from plastic surgery gone wrong.

“Careful, Steele, or I’ll make your eyes a matched set.” I got up to leave before my threat became a reality. I’m not given to physical violence as a rule, but Steele was playing the sympathy card until it was a threadbare red flag being flashed at a bull.

“Just read the damn thing,” he pushed, obviously not afraid of my physical threat one bit. “That Tanaka’s a real piece of work.”

I grabbed the printout and stuffed it into my bag, then I pushed the expanding folder closer to him. “I’ll read it with Greg tonight, but now I have to go.”

While I was putting on my sweater, my cell phone rang. It was Greg. “Hi, honey,” I said as soon as I answered. Without waiting for a response, I tacked on, “I’m leaving Steele’s right this minute.”

“No rush,” Greg said from his end. “Rocky cancelled.”

“Oh, why?” A part of me was pleased because I was tired and wanted to go home, but in a different part of my body alarms were going off.

“If you’re near a TV, quick turn on channel 4.”

Without hesitation, I grabbed Steele’s remote and aimed it at the TV, turning it to channel 4’s local news. Behind the newscaster was a photo of Miranda Henderson. It was a lovely photo showing her bright eyes and smile, and it certainly didn’t give the impression that she was a killer. I increased the volume on the TV and put Greg on speaker.

“That’s Rocky’s wife,” I said to Steele.

I expected the news to be that Miranda had been apprehended as a suspect in Peter Tanaka’s murder, but that wasn’t the case. Rocky’s van had been found, and so had Miranda Henderson. Her body had been found inside Rocky’s van behind an abandoned warehouse in San Diego.

In shock, I plopped back down on the sofa.

“You watching?” asked Greg from the phone.

“Yes, honey. How awful.”

Steele had leaned forward in his chair to pay closer attention to the screen and to hear Greg. “Maybe she committed suicide,” he suggested.

“It’s a possibility,” added Greg.

When the news was over, I told Greg I was going straight home. He said he’d meet me there shortly.

I didn’t get up right away from Steele’s sofa. My legs felt rubbery and unable to support me.

“You okay, Grey?” Steele asked.

“Yeah, just in shock.”

“Take your time. It’s a lot to take in.” He took the remote from me and muted the sound. “I’m sorry about your friend. Very sorry.”

I could tell from Steele’s tone, slurred or not, that he meant it.

“In fact, why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m sure Greg won’t mind. I can heat up some of Cruz’s soup for us.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I glanced over at Steele. He was trying hard to be sensitive to the situation even while in his own physical pain. “But I do love her soup.”

“It’s the best,” he agreed, doing his best to normalize the leaden atmosphere created by the news.

We sat there a few more minutes before I finally got to my feet and picked up my bag. “You still interested in helping?”

His good eye lit up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. “Sure, especially now.”

“Find out what you can about cyanide. How easy is it to obtain and from where? How fast does it work? Stuff like that.”

“You don’t think Rocky’s wife killed herself, do you?”

“I don’t know about that, but I don’t think she killed Peter Tanaka.”

I thought about the young woman vomiting in the ladies’ room. How her hair had felt like strands of silk in my hands as I held it away from the toilet bowl. How young and vulnerable she’d looked when I’d helped clean up her face and patch her makeup after. How frightened she’d looked at the game on Sunday. Now she was maggot food.

I could tell from Steele’s posture that he wasn’t so sure. “I’ve always heard that poison is a woman’s weapon.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But it’s also a premeditated weapon. I just can’t see Miranda Henderson planting poison in a water bottle, then sitting there with a cold heart to watch it do its job.”

Eight

I was heading home,
my mind only half on my driving. The other half was thinking of Rocky—first accused of murder, then his wife accused of murder, and now losing her. I thought about Miranda and wanted to know more about what had happened to her and why. Where had she gone after leaving Balboa Park? Had she met up with someone? Was she heading to Mexico to disappear? Or was her death just a random, senseless killing? Maybe it was suicide.

Behind me someone blasted their horn. I snapped out of my stupor to find the red light I had been waiting for was now green. I moved forward, quickly going through the intersection before the car in my rearview mirror rammed me through it.

I was halfway home when I got a call from Zee. Using my hands-free feature, I answered it. “Hi.”

“When were you going to tell me about the murder?” Zee launched without even a hello.

“Which one?” I asked calmly, even though I was anything but calm inside.

“Let’s start with the murder of the quadriplegic in San Diego. Weren’t you and Greg down there this weekend for that tournament?”

“Yes, and we saw the whole thing.”

“You saw it? The body or the murder?”

“Both.”

“And when were you going to tell me about this?” Before I could answer, Zee continued with her rant. “I was at my mother’s all weekend helping her prepare and serve a church luncheon, and I got home late last night. I didn’t see the news until tonight.”

“I was planning on telling you over lunch today, Zee, but with Steele’s accident and all, that didn’t happen.”

“You could have told me when you called earlier today.” From her tone, I knew Zee was standing with one hand on a wide hip, her mouth a thin line of disapproval.

“It didn’t seem like a telephone kind of discussion.”

“You’re not involved with this, are you?”

There it was: the bonus question I knew she’d been dying to ask.

“Like I said, Greg and I saw what happened. We were questioned by the San Diego police, along with the other spectators, then released.”

“But aren’t the Hendersons friends of yours?” She paused long enough to take a breath. Before I could answer, she added, “That poor woman. Do you think she killed the man at the tournament?”

“I’m not sure, Zee. I’d like to think she didn’t, but the police seem to have proof that she did.”

“You sound exhausted, Odelia. Are you in your car?”

“Yes. I’m on my way home from dropping off stuff at Steele’s, and I am very tired, mentally and physically. Nice flowers, by the way.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping they’d get there today. How is Mike?”

“Doing okay. Bored stiff already, but he won’t be able to go back to work until probably next week.”

“Thank God. He could have been killed.”

She didn’t know the half of it, and I couldn’t tell her. Zee was my best friend. I told her almost everything. This secret business was killing me for sure.

“Yes, he could have,” was all I said.

“Odelia, you go straight home, take a long hot bath in that fancy tub of yours, and go to bed early. That’s an order.”

I loved it when Zee got all ninja-mom on me. Well, most of the time I loved it. Tonight was one of those times.

“That’s the plan, Stan.”

She laughed. “I mean it. Shut off your phone and take care of yourself tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The next call came from Greg. “You almost home?” he asked.

“Just about. Traffic is horrible tonight.”

“You want leftover Chinese? I can fix you a plate and have it hot when you walk through the door.”

“That sounds great, honey, but I think I’d rather just have some tomato soup, if you don’t mind.”

“Want a grilled cheese with that?”

I smiled. Greg not only loved grilled cheese sandwiches but made creative ones. “Sure, but nothing fancy tonight. I think my stomach is a bit on the fritz.”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

“Zee just called. She saw the news about Rocky and Miranda. She ordered me to take a long hot bath and go to bed early, and I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do. How about you?”

“I just got off the phone with Dev. I sent him a text thanking him for letting us know last night about Rocky, and he called me a few minutes ago.”

I stopped at another red light but this time paid attention to the traffic, which I’m sure the car in front of me appreciated. “Did he tell you anything we don’t already know?”

“Just that they think she died sometime Sunday afternoon from a gunshot to her temple, and probably not too long after she left the gym. The cops think Miranda probably killed herself because of whatever Peter told Rocky—that she poisoned Tanaka but whatever he disclosed to Rocky would have shined a spotlight on her as a suspect, so she took the easy way out.”

The easy way out
. I hated that phrase. Yes, suicide did seem simpler than staying and facing whatever problems came your way, but there’s never anything easy about the permanency of death, especially for those left behind.

When the light turned green, the car in front of me started moving, and I followed it through the intersection. “If it wasn’t a suicide, who killed Miranda? And were they involved in Peter’s murder too?”

“Dev said the San Diego police will go over every inch of the van, but that it will take time. By the way, I told Dev that Mike’s story is that he was in a car accident, just in case he got asked about it.”

“And what did Dev say to that?”

“He laughed, then said okay.”

A small giggle escaped my lips, then I said what was on my mind. “Greg, do you really think Miranda killed Peter?”

“Hard to say.”

“But when would she have had time to slip something into his water?”

“It was actually a sports drink.”

“A what?”

“The poison was mixed with a sports drink—you know, something like Gatorade—probably to mask the taste.”

“Have you talked anymore with Rocky?”

“It was actually Lance who called me today,” answered Greg. “He said Rocky is absolutely torn up over Miranda.”

“No surprise there.”

“Rocky is staying with Lance for a few days. Besides, without his van, he can’t get around very well. Lance said Rocky’s not going into his shop for a few days.” Like Greg, Rocky was a small business owner. He operated a machine shop in Santa Ana.

“We should go see him,” I suggested. “Just to pay our respects. Any details yet about Miranda’s funeral?”

“None, and it probably won’t be for a while. Dev said it might take a bit of time for them to process Miranda’s body. Tomorrow I’ll check and see if Rocky’s up to having company.”

I was getting very close to home. With each block, a warm, fuzzy feeling crept through my body like hot chocolate on a cold day. “Honey,” I said into the phone as I made a right-hand turn, “I’ll be home in about ten minutes. Fire up that soup.”

Dinner was relaxing and casual. We ate soup and grilled cheese in front of the TV with Muffin and Wainwright sleeping nearby. Even without verbally agreeing to it, we didn’t discuss the two murders, choosing instead to laugh over a silly sitcom.

After dinner, I submerged myself in my whirlpool tub—a gift from Greg two Christmases ago. I’d dumped in some lavender bath stuff, cocooning myself in heavenly scented bubbles. The tub was in our guest bathroom. We’d had to remodel and enlarge the entire bath to get the large tub in, but it had been worth it. Even Greg used it from time to time, especially after a particularly hard game of basketball, but it was mostly a feminine retreat, like now. It was just me, my bubbles, a few scented candles, some soft classical music, and Muffin, who was curled up like a tight little gray bun in the sink, snoozing. I closed my eyes and let the warmth of the gently bubbling water and silkiness of the music relax me into a stupor.

My reverie was interrupted by the sound of our front doorbell, followed by the barking of Wainwright. It was his friendly bark, not his watchdog bark, so it had to be someone we knew. Still, it was after nine—late for someone to be dropping by without a good reason. My mind immediately jumped to Dev. Maybe something important had come up that had to be handled in person.

I was reluctantly hauling my behind out of the warmth and comfort of the tub when Greg opened the door and announced, “Sweetheart, Clark’s here.”

“Clark?” I grabbed a towel and started drying off. “Is Mom okay?”

“Yes, Grace is fine. Come on out when you can, but don’t rush. I think he’s going to stay the night.”

Wrapped in my favorite thick robe, I padded down the hall and into the living room. Clark immediately stood up from the sofa and wrapped his strong arms around me, hugging me close. He gave me a kiss on my cheek. “You smell great, sis.”

“Thanks, but what a surprise.”

“A nice one, I hope.”

“Of course. It’s just that Mom didn’t mention anything about you visiting.”

“She doesn’t know I’m here.” He sat back down, and I joined him.

Greg rolled in with a tray across his lap. He handed a mug of coffee to Clark and a mug of hot chocolate to me. “Be right back with my own cocoa. It’s brewing right now.”

“I hope you didn’t go to any trouble,” Clark said, taking a big whiff of his coffee. “Smells wonderful.”

“Steele gave us one of those Keurig coffee makers last Christmas,” I explained to Clark. “Greg still thinks it’s a shiny new toy.”

“I love the thing,” said Greg with enthusiasm as he wheeled back in with his own mug. “I wish we’d gotten one a long time ago.” He gave Wainwright a gentle command and the dog stopped slobbering over our guest and went to his bed in the corner.

Clark took a drink of his coffee and smiled appreciatively. “Speaking of Steele, Dev told me he was in a car accident this weekend. How’s he doing?”

Greg and I looked at each other with surprise, then I answered, “Steele’s pretty banged up, but he’ll be fine. When did you talk to Dev?”

“Tonight. We met for dinner.” Clark looked over at Greg. “He was just finishing up talking to you when I got to the restaurant.”

“I’m surprised,” Greg said, “that Dev didn’t tell me he was meeting you.”

“Yeah,” I added. “What’s with all the cloak and dagger stuff?”

Clark laughed. “There’s no cloak and dagger stuff going on. Sometimes I fly into LA for just a day or two on business, and sometimes Dev and I see each other when I’m in town. Other times I scoot by to see you and Mom. Depends on my time.”

“So you’re just here for today?” I felt my mouth turn downward. We see Clark off and on, but not nearly as much as we’d like.

“I was going to fly out tonight,” he told us, “but decided to stay over and fly out in the morning. I always pack a carryon just in case. I hope you don’t mind me crashing here. I didn’t want to bother Mom.”

“You’re always welcome,” Greg told him. “But never worry about disturbing Grace. She’s a regular night owl.”

I took a drink of my cocoa and eyed my older half brother over the rim. “He’s not worried about Mom,” I said, flashing a wink at my husband. “He doesn’t want Mom to know he’s here.”

Clark gave off a sigh. He looked good. He used to have a gut but he’d trimmed down considerably since leaving police work for a job in the private sector. His hair was thinner and now totally gray, but his physique was pretty tight for a guy in his mid-sixties.

“Mom has been hounding me to spend more time here, but I’ve been pretty busy.” He took a drink of his coffee. “If I go over there she’ll expect me to stay longer, and I have to be on a plane out tomorrow. I have plans tomorrow night that I can’t cancel. I’m only staying tonight to talk to you two.”

I grew alarmed. Clark may look good, but maybe he had a health problem. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, sis.” He slipped an arm around my shoulders and drew me close. “But I sure appreciate the concern.”

“If you’re worried about Grace, don’t be,” said Greg. “She seems to be thriving out here. She pals around with my parents and several of the folks at her retirement community, as well as spends time with us.”

“No, it’s not that, though I do agree moving to Cali has been great for Mom. She even looks younger.” He smiled. “By the way, I finally sold the house in Massachusetts. The sale closed last month. I’m now officially a resident of Arizona. I even bought myself a nice place in one of those fancy fifty-five-plus communities with a golf course.”

“That’s great,” I told him, happy that he was happy. “Arizona isn’t here, but at least it’s closer to us.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” His voice turned serious on a dime. “Over dinner, Dev told me about the murders of that guy in the wheelchair and the woman suspected of doing it. He said the woman and her husband are good friends of yours.”

“That’s true,” answered Greg. “We’ve known Rocky and Miranda for several years.”

“Here’s the thing.” Next to me, Clark shifted a bit. “I know I’m talking to two brick walls here when I tell you two to stay out of it.”

Clark removed his arm from my shoulders and put his coffee mug on the table in front of the sofa. Then he leaned forward, his arms resting on his legs, hands clasped between his knees, like a father about to have a serious heart-to-heart with a couple of wayward teenagers.

“But whatever
you
do,” he continued, “I don’t want Mom involved in it. I don’t want her going around playing detective like she did last time.” Clark looked straight at me when he said the words.

“Hey,” I said in protest. “I didn’t put that cockamamie idea in her head. She gets those ideas all on her own, believe me.”

“And she almost got herself killed, didn’t she?” Clark shot back. “As much as I’ve wanted to shoot her myself a few times, I’m still kind of fond of the old girl.”

“She’s my mother, too, you know.” I twitched my nose in annoyance. “We’re on the same page here, Clark, both with wanting to shoot her and keep her safe.”

We all paused to take a deep breath and a sip of hot beverages.

I put my mug on the coffee table next to Clark’s and turned to face him fully. “Mom has already mentioned getting involved, and we’ve said no. We’re pretending we’re not going to do anything.”