BM03 - Crazy Little Thing Called Dead (11 page)

“I think he’s going to the race officials. That was my second piece of advice anyway.”

“What was so confidential about that?” I asked.

“I didn’t want you implicated if he told me he was doing something illegal. If you didn’t hear it, then you aren’t responsible for doing anything about it.”

“Right. Good idea.” I followed Jim back to the stands feeling a squishiness in my stomach that had started at the mention of a French woman and gotten worse from there. I climbed the endless stairs and sidled past the fans to our seats. There was no talking over the noise of the engines, not that I had anything to say.

The race was uneventful, not that I would have noticed much. My mind was fixated on one thing: A man that I would consider pretty much fearless—you had to be to race cars—was afraid for his life because of a French woman who might or might not be Margaret, and could possibly be Michèle. Not that Michèle had done anything but cry all over the place, but still. Everywhere I looked—too many coincidences. It unnerved me.

“Come on, Bree,” Jim said when the race was over. “I’m taking you home.”

“Wait, did my driver win?”

“He came in second. Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”
If you don’t count the fact that something is not adding up
.

***

“Do you think it’s a coincidence,” I asked Jim on the way home. “A guy shows up dead at Planet Hair, and now Grant is being threatened?”

“I don’t see what they could have in common.” He had his eyes on the road. “Am I missing something?”

“That’s a lot of violence to suddenly show up in one place.” I was pretending to watch the road in front of us, but I out of the corner of my eye I was gauging his reaction.

“It didn’t show up in the same place. Grant was nowhere near South Royalton when he was threatened.” There was no tension in his face, he just looked tired.

“But he’s
from
South Royalton.” I was turned in my seat, focused on him, but he wouldn’t look my way. I wasn’t getting any love here.

“Coincidence,” he said.

“Have you heard any more about the murder?” I asked. “Any clues?”

“Anything I hear, I’ll tell the police. If they want you to know they can tell you.”

“Really, you won’t tell me anything?”

“I don’t know anything to tell you, Bree. Can we talk about something else?” Tiny lines appeared next to his eyes. “I like not to be at work for a while. How are your dogs?”

It made for a long trip home, me wanting to ask questions about the murder, Jim not wanting to answer. I gave up and took a nap.

“Why don’t you come to my place?” Jim asked as we drove into Royalton. “I’ve got beer.”

“Yeah, why not?” There were very good reasons why not, but if I saw the pants in the closet after I’d been invited in Tom could use that to get a search warrant.

“Want to stay for dinner? I can fire up the grill.” He was more relaxed now.

“What are you making?” My stomach was growling, and I would have eaten just about anything, but it seemed polite to ask.

“Steak. Grilled with mushrooms and peppers.” He smiled as he turned up his road. “Ice cream.”

I could never resist ice cream.

“Sounds good. Yeah, I’ll stay.” I felt a little shame-faced. Here Jim was making dinner for me, and here I was spying on him. I didn’t even think finding out he was a murderer would make me feel better. There are some things you just don’t want to know about your ex.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a sec.” He stepped out onto the back deck.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” I called after him.

“Help yourself.”

I went down the hall, past the closet of the offending pants and shut myself in the bathroom. I stood there, leaned against the door and breathed. I was having trouble justifying searching Jim’s closets when he could catch me at it. But that was the point, I’d been invited in. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.

I went straight to the closet and opened the door. I rifled through the jackets where I remembered the suit pants hanging, and there they were. Now Steve could get a search warrant.

“What are you doing?”

I jumped and turned to find Jim standing behind me. “Oh, uh, I thought maybe we could eat outside, but it’s cool. I was borrowing a jacket.” I flipped past the Burberry—unsuitable for an informal occasion—and pulled out a fleece. “This should fit me.”

Yeah, right. I was wearing a fleece dress. But I shoved up the sleeves and smiled at him.

“No seriously Bree. What are you doing in my closet?”

“I told you what I was doing in your closet. Borrowing a fleece.” I performed a flourish with both hands sweeping the length of the sweater like I was on Let’s Make a Deal or something.

He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me for a minute and stood stone faced.

“All right.” I pulled the pants from the closet. “Where’d these come from? They look just like the jacket Albin Shvakova was wearing.”

“Albin Shvakova? What are you talking about?”

“You know. The dead guy at Planet Hair.”

Jim threw his head back and laughed until there were tears in his eyes. “My God,” he said, choking back the laughter, “you thought I killed the guy? That’s a good one, even for you. Wait until I tell my partners. This will be good for a dinner or two out.”

“How do you explain the pants, then?” My cheeks were hot and I’d rather be just about anywhere but here, still I wouldn’t let it go.

“You don’t remember?” Jim looked at me, eyebrows up. “Halloween, two years ago. The Halloween dance on the Green? I went as a hobo.”

The truth dawned on me and I felt ridiculous. I’d seen him there; in fact we’d danced together. The bottoms of the pant legs had ended mid-ankle and he’d kept them up with frayed rope. The pants were part of his costume. I stood there, mortified, with no idea what to do next.
How the hell do I get myself out of here?

“Come on,” Jim threw his arm around my shoulders, “let’s go eat. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. You have some nerve, I’ll give you that.”

He led me down the hall and out onto the porch. “You really should stop letting your imagination get the better of you,” he said. “It’s going to get you in trouble. But jeez,” he swiped at his eyes with his free hand. “That’s hilarious.”

***

We sat on the deck swing and watched the river. Jim’s arm was around my shoulder and I hoping he wasn’t going to ask me to sleep with him. I was trying to figure out how to ask him to take me home already, without seeming rude. But no matter how I phrased it in my head, it sounded bad. Jim pulled me in close and dropped a kiss on the spot where my shoulder met my neck and I jumped up and moved away.

“Could you take me home now? I’ve got barn chores.” I tried to sound contrite, but I don’t think I quite got there. More panicked than apologetic.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was just so comfortable sitting here with you.” He stood up. “I’ll take you home.”

We were just stepping out the door when the black Escalade pulled up in the door yard. I was kind of surprised; I didn’t know Hambecker knew where Jim lived. We walked out and met him as he angled out of his truck.

“There you are,” Hambecker said to me. “I was wondering where you got to. Maverick needs you down at the barracks.”

“What’s he need Bree for?” Jim kicked right in to confrontational lawyer mode.

“I don’t mind,” I said. “You can drop me there instead of taking me all the way home.”

“You shouldn’t speak to the police without a lawyer present,” Jim said. “That’s the first thing I teach my clients. I’ll go in with you.” He put a protective arm across my shoulder, and I could almost see Hambecker mentally rolling his eyes.

I slid out from under the arm. “Are you headed to the barracks?” I asked Hambecker.

“Yeah. You want to catch a ride?” Hambecker looked relieved.

“Perfect,” I said. “That’ll save Jim a trip.” I gave Jim a quick hug to mollify him, backing away almost before he could hug me back. “Thanks for taking me to the races. Don’t look like that, it’s Tom. He’s not going to arrest me.”

I got in the SUV and we pulled out, leaving Jim standing in his door yard looking a little like someone had stolen his thunder.

“Listen to this,” I said. “Remember Grant Fraser from the other night?”

Hambecker nodded his assent.

“A French woman threatened to have him killed if he doesn’t throw the race next weekend.” I rolled down the window and let the cool air flow over me.

“Is he going to do it?” He rolled the window back up with the controls in his door. “I’ve got the air conditioner on.”

“I don’t know. Jim wouldn’t let me hear that part of the conversation. I had to go out and wander the parking lot.” I cracked the window an inch.

Hambecker sighed, turned off the a/c and rolled all four windows down. “Is that better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I meant to give him a polite smile, but I couldn’t control my mouth and ended grinning.

“Jim’s right though. It’s better if you don’t know. If you weren’t present you can’t be implicated if there’s an inquiry.” He smiled and glanced over at me. “He was protecting you.”

Huh. What do you know?

“Don’t you think it’s odd that Grant was threatened by a woman with a French accent, and the woman who wants me to find her boyfriend also has a French accent?” I rested my arm on the door and let the wind play over my hand.

“Why ask you to find her boyfriend? You’re not a private investigator.” He rubbed a hand over his head.

“No. Apparently half the town told her I’m nosy enough for the job, so she picked me.” I hadn’t thought about it much at the time, but now it kinda hurt. I’m not nosy, just curious.

“Did you agree?” He turned up my road and we bounced over the ruts the town hadn’t graded yet. My road was always the last to be repaired.

“What? That I’m nosy? Not really, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Left a bunch of money on my desk. And now Grant’s been threatened by a French woman as well,” I said.

“It is an interesting coincidence. What was the name of the woman who hired you?” Hambecker turned into my drive and cut the engine.

“Michèle Ledroit. Grant thought the woman who threatened him was Margaret.”

“Margaret LeDonne.” Hambecker said under his breath.

“Who?” I asked.

“Margaret LeDonne. She’s a consigliore for a family in New York City. Normally a consigliore remains on the right side of the law, but she’s known to run rackets of her own. I doubt she has anything to do with you or Grant. She doesn’t usually go after small fish.” He was watching my face, gauging my level of comprehension, I thought.

I considered taking offense at being called a small fish for about ten seconds, then I let it go. I wouldn’t exactly call myself a big fish.

Chapter Eight

“You don’t think Michèle Ledroit and Margaret LeDonne are the same person?” I could hear my dogs barking inside the house, so I opened the SUV door, wanting to go let them out.

“I highly doubt it. And whoever threatened Grant, I don’t think it was Margaret LeDonne. There are a million Margarets in the world. If Grant remembered the name right in the first place. Some people aren’t good with details.”

“I’ve got to let the dogs out before one of them goes through a window,” I said.

Hambecker got out of the car and followed me to the door. “Regardless of who is making the threats I don’t want you taking any chances. Don’t assume anyone is harmless, and don’t turn your back.” He took my jaw gently and looked me in the eye. “It’s important, Bree, you need to pay attention.”

The attraction I felt for him was magnified at close quarters. His touch on my face was warm and distracting. I wanted more, much, much more, and I was imagining what the more might be.

“Bree?” His eyes were close. I could see flecks of gold mixed in with the green and brown.

“I know, pay attention.” I opened the door and let the dogs surge between us.

***

The next morning I sat in the empty office working on the dead guy piece with oatmeal and hot Earl Grey on my on my desk. Tea isn’t usually my beverage of choice but even I need a break from coffee now and then. The oatmeal could have been my nod to healthy living, except that I loaded it with chocolate chips so it was kind of like eating warm cookies. I was just testing the temperature of the tea when the phone rang.

“Royalton Star,” I said in my best business voice. No reason to let my lack of business acumen chase even more clients away. Rasping came over the line.

“Hello?” I said.

“You need to leave it alone.” He was a cross between Darth Vader and Batman.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you.” This was kind of interesting; I’d never had a crank caller before.

“Leave it alone. You know what I mean.” Again with the Batman voice.

I resisted the urge to laugh. “No. I don’t know what you mean. Are you sure you have the correct number?”

“Leave it alone.” There was some Darth Vader breathing and he hung up.

I looked at the receiver. “That had to be the most bizarre phone call ever.” I put the phone in its cradle and drank some tea.

Not long after I heard steps on the stairs. I looked at the time; it was too early for it to be Meg or Deirdre. And it wasn’t. Michèle Ledroit walked in the door looking as if she’d just walked out of a Paris salon.

“I haven’t heard from you,” she said. “I thought by now you would have found Victor.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I haven’t had time to really search for Victor. I’m researching a murder.”

She burst into tears and I wanted to smack my forehead.

“I can give you a reward.” She sniffed and dropped a stack of money on my desk.

The top bill was a Franklin and I wondered if they were all the same. The barely functional tires on my truck came to mind. I was pretty sure that stack of money would get me four new tires and a spare.
Focus, Bree
.

“I can’t accept that,” I said. “I may never find Victor Puccini.”