No Place Like Home - A Camilla Randall Mystery (The Camilla Randall Mysteries) (19 page)

Marvin sounded fairly convincing.

The woman asked what the dog's name was.

"Toto," Marvin said, without missing a beat. Odd. Doria didn't remember telling him the dog's name. "Doesn't he look like Toto in the
Wizard of Oz
?"

"Not even a little bit," the woman said. "I've seen sewer rats cuter than that thing. Listen, this is a crime scene. We don't have the manpower to police it night and day, but the Feds are going to be here any time now, so you want to do us a favor and not get yourself arrested? It's gonna be paperwork for us and not much fun for you. Okay?"

"Absolutely," Marvin said. "I'm out of here. That's my truck over there."

Doria heard the three of them crunch away.

Then the start of a car engine. And a truck's.

Marvin was abandoning her. He'd even taken Toto. And the FBI were on their way.

End of the line.

She was going to have to turn herself in.

Time to get ready for her close-up. She tried to button her suit jacket to hide the blood on the blouse and trousers, found a hairbrush in the purse to yank through her hair, then pulled out the compact. At that point, she nearly lost it. The creature in the mirror looked ten years older than the person who went in for the damned tummy tuck four days ago. And her gray roots made her look as if she had a bald spot where her hair was parted.

No wonder Lucky and Bucky thought she was senile.

With Betsy's make-up and some back-combing, she tried to do something to make herself look less like an Alzheimer's patient on walkabout. Unfortunately, it mostly made her look like a superannuated hooker.

But it would have to do. The FBI probably wouldn't care.

I managed to make it to my store in about fifteen minutes, moving along at a good New York walking pace, steering around the befuddled tourists and retail workers making their slow way along the sidewalk.

But when I rounded the corner, I could see I was too late. The flooring people were already at work. The front door stood wide open.

I wanted to scream. All the furniture had been pulled from the house and piled haphazardly in the little courtyard. Some of it was covered in tarps, but many pieces sat in the open exposed to the drizzly Morro Bay fog.

Everything I owned—pulled from the house like so much garbage. I had absolutely no idea where they might have put my mail. Or even where to start looking.

I tried Silas's phone again. He didn't pick up.

I had a vague recollection of leaving the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. It could still be there. I walked into the house where men were busy pulling up the tired green carpeting. That, I wouldn't miss so much. I approached a man in coveralls who looked as if he might be in charge.

"I need to get into the kitchen. My mail is in there."

"We're about to pull up the linoleum, so you'd better get it quick."

I pushed past the workers and madly started opening the drawers in the kitchen. All my silverware and kitchen things were still in place, but the counters seemed to have been cleared. I'd have to find a way to get the silver out before the horrible people moved in, but I didn't have time now. The man in coveralls was already giving me the "I don't have all day" look.

No mail. Nothing. I probably had taken it to the living room to read it. Had I put it on a table? The couch? My mind went blank as my head roared.

"Did you see a stack of mail? Anything on the counter?"

The man shrugged and gave me a disdainful look. "We were told to move everything out. When you order a rush job like this, you should have your house ready. It's all there on our website."

I tried to tell him I wasn't the one who ordered the flooring and this whole thing was a big, ugly case of bullying by the sociopathic rich who had no empathy and no concern for the consequences of their actions on society as a whole. But after I did some sputtering at his blank, uncomprehending face, I gave up. It was like talking to a tree.

"You put everything outside? You didn't throw anything away? Papers? Envelopes?"

The man nodded. "'Course I can't tell you what the painters did. They had to clean up before we could start."

Those painters. They could have thrown my mail in the garbage out of spite. They sure didn't like Ronzo.

Ronzo. Maybe he could help. He might remember seeing my mail. He seemed to pay attention to that sort of thing, like that note about the concert last night.

He'd put his phone number in mine last night. I dialed. But he didn't pick up.

Okay, I had to start somewhere. Lifting one of the tarps from the pile of furniture, I unearthed my dresser and began going through the drawers one by one, feeling more and more panicked.

I heard somebody come up behind me. It didn't sound like a workman.

"Time to pay up, bitch. Don't think I can't defend myself. I don't care how many mobsters you're screwing."

I turned and saw Brianna, looking as if she'd had a very, very bad night.

Doria heard a car approaching. And coming to a stop.

A moment later, she heard the crunch of footsteps.

This was it. She had to face whatever music was about to play. She knew it wouldn't be sweet.

She heard a bark.

In bustled little Toto, with Marvin close behind.

"I thought you'd left me." Doria sniffled like a child. She felt ridiculous.

Marvin grinned and tossed her what looked like a wool seaman's cap and a large plaid jacket.

"Put those on. I don't know if they're watching this place, but if they are, I'd rather be caught helping a homeless drunk get to the shelter than harboring a wanted felon. Do you understand?"

She did understand. She was going to impersonate Lucky. Or more likely Bucky, from the masculine look of the jacket. And Marvin, bless his odd little heart, was going to get her the hell out of Dodge before the Marshal showed up.

She put on the clothes and Marvin helped her in the cab of the truck. He said he'd be right back after he got what he needed from the pool house.

The little structure was on the other side of the property, several hundred yards away, which is why it had survived, but she wished he'd come back to do his searching later. She wanted to look through the place herself, when she felt a little better.

Luckily, the Oxy was kicking in and she wasn't in such terrible pain, but she needed a real bathroom and running water—right away. The blood had dried into a sticky brown glue, cementing her pants suit to her bandages.

Toto seemed glad to see her and climbed onto her lap. She slumped down in the truck seat and tried to pretend to be Bucky.

She had no idea what Marvin might have left with Harry that was so important.

Something about Marvin seemed phony. He appeared to be kind, and she needed him right now, but she wasn't going to trust him any farther than she could throw him. Which wouldn't be very far. His body was slightly built, but looked like solid muscle.

He came back a few minutes later, carrying something in a re-usable grocery sack. He grinned as he got into the truck cab.

"So you found what you were looking for?"

"Yup."

Nothing annoyed Doria more than people who announce they have a secret and then fail to reveal it.

"Can I know what it was? What could be worth that kind of risk? You could have got in some serious trouble if the FBI had showed up."

Marvin handed Doria the sack. Inside was a small handbag. Crocodile, from the look of it. Rather elegant.

"You carry a woman's handbag?"

Marvin was odd enough she could imagine he might.

"Not me!" He looked shocked. "It belongs to a lady friend. She took it to Harry's last party and drank too much and left it behind, so I told her I'd get it for her. It's super valuable, she tells me. A Birkin, like yours."

Doria pulled the bag out of the sack. It did look like the one she'd left behind at Betsy's. Except the interior wasn't real leather. And the hardware was obviously cheap metal. She hoped Marvin's friend hadn't paid more than fifty bucks for it.

She saw a twenty dollar bill folded inside, some make-up and a business card case. She clicked it closed, not wanting to seem too snoopy. It gave a tinny snap—not like the real thing. Marvin had taken a dreadful risk for twenty bucks and a knock-off bag.

"You're a good friend," she said. No point in telling him this woman had put him through all that for a fake. "I'm not sure I'd risk arrest by the Feds, even for a Birkin bag."

He didn't respond and started the engine, taking them down the private drive and out on to Edna Valley Road toward the coast.

They drove in silence for several minutes.

Doria began to feel a little apprehensive. All she really knew about Marvin was that he was good at lying to the police and a very bad judge of handbags.

"You seem to be driving us all the way to Pismo Beach. I thought you said you were our neighbor."

"I am. Our houses aren't that far away as the crow flies, but we use different access roads. I'm on the other side of the creek."

"How do you know Harry, anyway?"

"We, um, did some business together."

That "um" did not bode well.

Marvin wasn't telling her the whole truth. That's the one thing she knew for sure.

"Where's Jason?" I whirled around, looking out the alley toward the street, terrified Brianna hadn't come on her own.

"Gone. He dumped me. Told me to move out. And it's your fault."

"I'm so sorry. But it may be for the best, you know."

I turned so Brianna could see my black eye. "Since he hit me, I'm pretty sure he was hitting you, too. Or he would have, sooner or later. Abusers are like that."

An angry, lovesick girl added another level of complication I didn't need, but if I could calm her down, Brianna could actually be a help. It was after ten and customers would be expecting to get in to the shop. The store was probably a bit of a mess from the scuffle yesterday, but I'd rather have the customers see a messy store than be turned away.

If I was going to buy the place, I needed to think of the customers. My customers.

I walked toward the back door of the store and reached in my purse for the keys.

"If you want your job back, Brianna, you can have it. No hard feelings. And I promise you'll get your back pay plus bank fees. I need somebody to open for me today. I'll pay you double time. How about that?"

Brianna walked behind me, strangely silent. I heard her rummaging in the dumpsters to the side of the door as I pulled out my keys.

"I wouldn't work for you again if it was the last job on earth. You and your cheapskate faggot boss and your Mafia boyfriend."

The girl spat out the words as she brandished a broken bottle at me. It had jagged edges—one of the wine bottles I'd thrown the other night. I recognized the label.

"I can defend myself," Brianna said, increasing her hostile tone. "Jason showed me how. I know what's right. You're going to give me my money."

Apparently the girl was planning a repeat of yesterday's attempt to use violence to get blood from a stone.

"Please, Brianna. I had nothing to do with that check bouncing, and Ronzo, he's not really…"

I started to tell her Ronzo was simply a glib guy from Newark, but I stopped myself. Maybe it would be better if Brianna thought I had dangerous gunman on speed dial.

Brianna's eyes narrowed to slits and she stepped closer to me, clutching the bottle neck and aiming the broken points at my chest. I didn't suppose a thing like that could have killed me, but it certainly would do damage. I stepped away, my back against the door now.

"You pretend to be so high and mighty, but you're really some mobster's girlfriend. Jason was going to come here today and teach you a lesson, but I can do that just fine on my own."

This wasn't looking good. I didn't know whether to wish for Ronzo to show up with his magic ballpoint pen, or to wish I'd never met the man, since he had escalated a problem with a bounced check to this by injecting the threat of lethal violence.

"Listen, Brianna, I'll call Silas and tell him you need your money right now, okay?"

I dropped the keys back into the purse and reached for my phone. All I had to do was hit the button for 911…

But Brianna grabbed the phone with her other hand.

And brandished the bottle, only inches from my neck.

"No way. You'll just call the cops."

Maybe she was smarter than I'd given her credit for.

"Okay, let's be calm here," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I know you're feeling bad. A break-up can feel like the end of the world. I've been there." I tried to sound sympathetic. "Are you sure he really wants to break up? Maybe he's simply having a bad day."