09 To the Nines (18 page)

“I think he's dead,” I said.

“Who's dead?”

“Singh.”

I'd dropped the card on the floor. Lula picked it up and read it. “I don't get it,” she said.

“Just give me a second and I'll explain it to you.” I found my way to the bathroom and I stood there until I was sure I wasn't going to throw up. Lula was at the bathroom door, watching. I put a hand up. “I'm getting there,” I said. “I was just caught by surprise and it knocked the air out of me.” I left the bathroom, walked to the desk, and reread the card. The card was standard hotel stock. The flowers had been sent through the hotel.

I called the concierge and waited on hold while he traced the flowers down. He returned to tell me the order had been phoned in and placed on Carl Rosen's credit card. The hotel wasn't able to access the call origination number.

Lula was standing over Connie. “Do you think she's dead? She's not moving under the pillow.”

“Take the pillow off her.”

“Not me. I hate dead. If she's dead, I don't want to see.”

I walked over and took the pillow off Connie's face.

Connie opened an eye and looked up at me. “Did you bring Singh in?”

“No. I think Singh might be dead.”

“Dead or alive,” Connie said. “It's all the same to me.” She sat up in the bed. “I can't get any sleep in this hotel. People keep coming in and out delivering stuff. Did you see you got flowers?”

“About the flowers,” I said. And I told them about the carnation killer.

“Holy crap,” Lula said. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“I didn't know what to say. The whole thing is so bizarre. And the police wanted the details kept from the public while they tried to match the photos to a victim.”

“Hey, I can keep a secret. Look at me. My mouth is zipped,” Lula said.

“You can't keep a secret, ever,” I said. “You have no sense of secret.”

“That's so not true. I didn't tell you about Joe and Terry Gilman, did I?”

For a couple beats no one in the room said anything. We just stared at each other with our mouths open.

“I didn't say that,” Lula said.

I felt my eyebrows pull together. “What about Joe and Terry Gilman?”

“You keep doing that and you're going to need Botox,” Lula said.

“Are you talking about the jumping out the window incident?”

“No. I'm talking about the coming out of the motel, looking chummy incident.”

“When?”

“I guess it must have been about two weeks ago. It was a Saturday afternoon and I was going shopping at Quaker Bridge and you know how there are a couple motels on Route One that are mostly by the hour? Well, I saw them coming out of one of those skanky motels. It was the one with the blue trim and the wishing well in the front. I almost ran off the road.”

“You're sure it was Joe and Terry?”

“I bet they were doing police business,” Lula said. “That's why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd get that look that you got now. And you'd get all huffy and make a big thing for nothing.”

I used my fingertips to smooth away the frown line in my forehead. “I don't get huffy. Do I look huffy?”

“Fuckin' A,” Lula said.

At least she took my mind off the flower freak. It's always nice to have a choice of things to worry about.

“Open the box from Ranger,” I said to Lula. “I have to call Morelli and tell him about the flowers.”

Morelli answered on a sigh. “Yeah?”

I meant to start out with the facts about the flowers, but the wiring between my brain and my mouth got crossed and I started with Terry Gilman. “So,” I said to Morelli as my opening line, “have you seen Terry Gilman lately?”

“I saw her yesterday. Why?”

“You are such a jerk.”

There was a beat of silence where I figured Morelli was staring down at his shoe and counting his lucky stars he never married me. “That's what you called to tell me? I'm a jerk?”

“I called to tell you I just got a floral arrangement. Red roses and white carnations.” I read the card to him. “The flowers were ordered through the hotel and placed on Carl Rosens credit card. You might want to remind the Rosen family to cancel Carl's cards. It looks like the killer lifted Rosens MasterCard.”

“He's loving this,” Morelli said. “This is like a chess game. And he's winning. He's taking your pieces one by one.”

“This particular piece was with Susan Lu first thing this morning and hasn't been heard from since. I don't suppose you have Bart Cone in custody.”

“Not in custody, but he's being watched. He's not in Vegas. I'm almost sure of it.”

“What about the other Cones?”

“All three were in for questioning late yesterday afternoon. It's Saturday so they're not at work, but I'll make sure they're tracked down and accounted for.”

“I'm going back out to talk to Susan Lu,” I said to Morelli. “I'll call you if anything turns up.”

“I'd feel better if you just stayed in your hotel room until your plane. Let the Vegas police talk to Susan Lu.”

“I'll be fine. Ranger had a care package dropped off for me. And I've got Lula and Connie to watch my back.”

“Oh shit,” Morelli said.

“This is like Christmas,” Lula said, opening the box from Ranger. “I love getting presents. Look at this. Pepper spray. One for each of us. And handcuffs. Not the cheap-ass kind, either. These are good-quality cuffs. And leg shackles. And a thirty-eight Smith and Wesson snubby revolver. Guess that would be yours since I shoot a Glock. And here's a box of rounds for your thirty-eight.” Lula pawed through the packing. “Hey, there's no Glock. Where's my gun?” She dumped the box upside down and a note and a stun gun fell out.

I took the note and left the stun gun for Lula.

Call if you need help. I'll come to your room at six to take you to the airport Erik. His phone number was printed at the bottom of the note.

Lula was reading over my shoulder. “Who's Erik?”

“Ranger said he was sending hardware to replace what we lost in luggage. It looks like Erik comes with the hardware.”

I loaded the .38 and slipped it into my purse. I stuffed the personal-size pepper spray canister into my jeans pocket, I stuck the cuffs half in and half out of the back of my pants, and then I shrugged into a lightweight zipper-front sweatshirt that was going to make me sweat, but it covered the cuffs. I called to ask that the car be brought around from valet parking.

“I'm going, too,” Connie said. “Give me five minutes to jump in the shower.”

A half hour later the three of us left the room for the lobby. Lula on one side of me, Connie on the other. Connie had made a phone call to a local bondsman and had arranged for a second arms delivery. As a result, Connie and Lula now wore two guns apiece. They each had a gun at the small of their back and they each had one in their purse. My fear of getting shot by the carnation killer was considerably less than my fear that I'd get shot by Connie or Lula.

“You know what I think?” Lula said in the elevator. “I think we're an accident waiting to happen.”

I could ask Erik to ride along with us, but I'd had some past experience with Ranger's men and there was no guarantee that Erik would be any less scary than the carnation killer. “Just keep your eyes open. We'll be fine.”

Connie didn't say anything. Connie had some Mafia skeletons in her closet and Connie took soldiering seriously.

It was after noon when we pulled into Susan Lu's driveway. Lula, Connie, and I got out and went to Lu's front door.

Susan Lu was about five feet, four inches with a flat dish face and glossy straight black hair. She looked older than Singh. I placed her somewhere between forty and forty-five.

She was surprised to find us on her porch and immediately bristled. Probably we looked like door-to-door missionaries, so I understood the bristle. I looked over her shoulder at a small curly white dog scratching at a baby gate that confined him to the kitchen. Boo.

I identified myself, introduced Lula and Connie, and I asked if we could come in. Lu said no and we went in anyway. Lu was a lightweight.

I already knew Singh wasn't in the house. The car still wasn't in the driveway. And besides, I was pretty sure he was dead. Still, I asked anyway.

“Is Samuel Singh here?” I asked Susan Lu.

“He isn't,” Lu said. “He went out first thing this morning for a pack of cigarettes for me and he hasn't returned. He should have been back hours ago. And he isn't answering his cell phone. Men are such shits. Listen, I'd like to chat, but I have to get ready for work and I'm not feeling all that social without my goddamn cigarettes.”

The dog was barking now. Yap yap yap. And every time it yapped its little front paws would come off the ground.

“Is that Samuel's dog?”

“Yeah, I don't know what's wrong with it. Usually the little turd just mopes in the corner. I've never seen it trying to get out like this.”

Lula took a step back and nervously shifted foot to foot. God only knows what she had in her purse. Suckling pig, two dozen hamburgers, a twenty-pound turkey.

“Sammy brought the dog with him just to piss off some awful old woman and her daughter. He was boarding with them and he said the old woman was something out of a horror movie. He wanted to take a picture of himself with the dog and send it back to them, but he hasn't gotten around to it. After he gets his picture the dog's going to the pound. Nasty beast.”

I gave Susan Lu my card. “Tell Samuel to call me when he comes in.”

“Sure.”

Lula, Connie, and I left Lu, got into the car, and I backed out of the driveway. I drove around the block and parked three doors down from Lu, behind a van so we could watch the house.

“You think Singh's gonna show up?” Lula wanted to know.

“Nope.”

“Me, neither.”

“You parking here so you can keep an eye on Lu?”

“Yep.”

“You're waiting for her to leave and then you're gonna snatch the dog, aren't you?”

“Yep.”

Connie was in the backseat, probably reviewing in her mind which of the local bondsmen she'd use to bail us out after we were arrested for breaking and entering.

After fifteen minutes of no air-conditioning, the car started to bake under the desert sun. Lula immediately fell asleep in the heat. She was head back, mouth open. And she was snoring. Loud.

“Holy mother,” Connie said, “I've never heard anyone snore like this. It's like being locked in a car with a jet engine.”

I gave Lula a shove. “Wake up. You're snoring.”

“The hell I am,” Lula said. “I don't snore.” And she went back to snoring.

“I can't take it,” Connie said. “I've got to get out of the car.”

I joined her and we walked down the street. We were wearing baseball hats and dark glasses but no sunblock and I could feel the sun scorching the exposed skin on my arm.

“Let me run through this,” Connie said. “Lillian Paressi, Howie at McDonalds, Carl Rosen, and possibly Samuel Singh are all tied to the same serial killer. And now he's targeted you.”

“I don't know about Howie, Carl, or Samuel, but Lillian Paressi received red roses and white carnations and a note just before she was killed.”

“Like the flowers and notes you've been getting.”

“Yeah. So I'm guessing he likes to taunt his victims. Likes to get them afraid before he strikes. Some kind of game for him.”

“Are you sure it's a him?”

“I'm not sure of anything. In the beginning I suspected Bart Cone, but the police are keeping a close watch on him. If Cone's still in Trenton and Singh turns up dead, that eliminates Cone from the suspect list.”

When we got back to the car, Lula was still snoring and there were two dogs patiently sitting on the curb by the passenger side door.

“I don't know what's more creepy,” Connie said. “You getting stalked by a killer or Lula walking around with a purse filled with pork chops. I'm feeling like I'm in Stephen King land.”

It was two o'clock so I called Califonte and asked if Singh was there. Califonte said no, sorry. I gave Califonte my cell number and asked him to call me if Singh showed up.

Connie and I got back into the car and put our fingers in our ears. After five minutes my shirt was soaked and sweat was running down the side of my face. This was the glorious life of a bounty hunter.

“Tell me again why we're sitting here, melting,” Connie said.

“The dog.”

“I need a better reason.”

“There's something about that dog that gives me an estrogen attack. He's small and helpless looking. And those little button eyes! The eyes are so trusting. And he's going to the pound. How awful is that? I can't let that happen.”

“So you have to save the dog.”

“He's counting on me.”

“Stephanie to the rescue,” Connie said.

“I could call you a cab,” I said. “And you could go back to the hotel.”

“No way. I'd have to sit around the pool and get a tan and have half-naked waiters bring me cold drinks. Where's the fun in that when I could be sitting here listening to Lula?”

Susan Lu left the house a little after two. She walked to a bus stop on the far corner. After five minutes a bus appeared and Lu got on.

“Thank God,” Connie said. “I'm at the end of the line with the snoring and the sweating.”

I gave Lula a shove. “Wake up. Susan Lu left the house. We can get the dog now.”

Lula squinted at me. “I feel like my eyes are fried. I'm not as young as I used to be. I can't do this all-night shit anymore. And this place is hotter than snot. How can anyone live here?”

I cranked the car over and pulled into Lu's driveway. Lula, Connie, and I got out and walked around to the back kitchen door.

“Door's locked,” Lula said. “Too bad you have this thing about busting in.”

“This is for a good cause,” I said. “I suppose we could force the door if we did it really carefully.”

“Hunh,” Lula said. She swung her purse into the window beside the door and shattered the window. “Oops,” Lula said. “Guess I accidentally broke a window.” Then she reached in and opened the door.

“Gripes,” Connie said. “Could you make more noise? Maybe there's someone left in the neighborhood who didn't hear that.”

I tiptoed over the glass shards, scooped up Boo, and handed him to Lula. I quickly walked through the rest of the house. I took Singh's laptop, but found nothing else of interest. I wiped Lula's prints off the doorknob and we left.