Can't Keep a Brunette Down (14 page)

"Gilda, how are you? I really hoped I'd see you on the long weekend. Did you find something fun to do? You didn't hang out with that boss of yours, did you? How are Marion and your friend Walter?" Her mom's rapid-fire questions sent Gilda physically reeling against the couch.

"I'm good. Mom, Walter's dead. I told you that the other day."

Stunned silence from her mom.

Gilda took advantage of the rare opportunity. "Do you know Gary del Garda?"

Still nothing.

"Mom? Are you there?"

A rush of breath came over the phone. "How do you know Gary del Garda?"

Gilda explained about running into him several times since Walter's death. "He seems to be looking out for me, which is actually creepy. I'm not sure I like the attention."

"Did he say why he's stalking you?"

"He's not stalking me. He's actually following Mick, for some reason. Business, I guess. I just seem to run into him while I'm coming and going," Gilda said. "You know him, right?"

"Yes, and he's a dangerous man. You keep your distance from him."

"Hey, Gilda. It's just me." The dangerous man in question ran up the front step and knocked on her door. "I've got your stuff."

"Have to go, Mom. I'll call you later." Gilda cringed at what her neighbors would think if they heard a known criminal yell at her door about having her stuff. She tucked the phone beneath the couch cushion. "Come in."

Gary gasped, out of breath as if he ran rather than drove the few blocks to Happy Harvey's and back. "What are you doing on the floor? You were on the couch when I left. Are you okay? Should I take you to the hospital?"

"Wow. You sound just like my mother." She faked a laugh. "I'm fine. I lost my balance trying to reach the phone. What did you bring?"

"A bag of ice." He crossed the room in two large steps with a large paper bag and set it on the coffee table. In one hand he clutched a couple of single roses from the plastic vase on Happy's front counter. "A bottle of wine, a couple apples, and frozen microwave lasagna. I thought you might be hungry. I'm actually a great cook, but I didn't think you'd want me messing around in your kitchen and sticking around for another hour or two."

She reached for the small bag of ice that had fallen on the floor. "That's really thoughtful. Thanks."

Gary took everything into the kitchen. Five minutes later, he returned with a fresh ice pack, the heated lasagna transferred to a plate with a side salad. He disappeared into the kitchen again and brought her a glass of white wine and the two roses in a small vase.

Gilda smiled, for real this time, and wiped away a tear. "I think you're the best butler I've ever had."

His face paled. "What did you call me?"

"A butler." She frowned. "What did you think I said?"

"Nothing. Eat, rest, and build up some strength. You have a funeral to go to tomorrow. Make sure you lock the door in case that spineless little rat wasn't finished with you."

"What do you mean, rat?" Gilda narrowed her eyes. "Figure of speech. Have a good night. I'll check on you tomorrow." He was gone before she could open her mouth to thank him.

There were a number of people she could call to find out more about Gary, including Marion. Unfortunately, she was overcome by the tears she'd fought off for the past half hour and was in no shape to speak to any of them. Gary, she figured, was the least of her concerns. He was after Mick, not her.

 

Gilda lay in bed the next morning and stared at the dingy ceiling. When she felt stronger and had more time, she'd have to paint every room in the house. For now, she needed to get up and moving, but she hurt in places she'd only read about in medical magazines while waiting in Doc's office. Walter's funeral was in five hours, at one, which was probably how long it would take her to get out of bed and force her weary body into clothes.

She rolled out of bed and thought about scrambled eggs for breakfast, but standing hurt too many parts of her body at once. Toast with peanut butter and jam was easy. If she ached this bad today, she could happily wait for tomorrow's recovery pain.

Last night she remained on the couch until nearly two, partly because she ached all over, and partly to make sure Gary didn't return. At least he was the least of her worries.

According to Erik, Walter was supposed to be Mick's replacement at the school. If Yoshida wanted to open more schools, why not let Walter run a new one? She and Mick had a good—well, interesting—thing going on in Sandstone Cove with the school. What were his plans for Mick?

When Gilda tried to rub a stiff muscle in her back, her hand cramped. "Oh crap! What was going through that man's head?"

She cursed herself for not listening to Mick with each step on her way to the shower. After trying to wash off the previous night and failing miserably, she'd nearly finished covering the bruises on her face with foundation before the doorbell rang. She shuffled to the door.

Erik stood on the doorstep, his hair rumpled, and his expression cold. "What happened after I left last night?"

No hello. No cup of coffee to bribe her for information. Gilda had half a mind to slam the door in his face. The other half reminded her he could knock the door down with a single punch.

She joined him outside in the sunshine. The warmth comforted her weary body and battered face. No sign of Gary. "We trained until we dropped."

Well, it was mostly true, but he still didn't look convinced. "What about after?"

"Mick sent us home while he talked to Yoshida," she said, limping to the porch swing. "I came home and took an Epsom salt bath before my body completely seized up." And cried so much that her head still ached.

He studied her. "And to put ice on your face. Who did all the damage?"

"Yoshida."

"Oh, crap. I'm glad I left, then. He would've killed me. Why would he take after you?"

She shrugged. "I guess he doesn't like nosy people."

Erik snorted and rubbed his face with both hands. "He must have heard about you playing detective. You got any coffee?"

"No, I just got up." A mourning dove cooed on the roof across the street. "Where'd you go after you left the school last night?"

"I forgot you're part supersleuth."

"Is that why you came to talk to me?" The words tumbled out of her mouth before she thought about the implications.

He opened his mouth, probably to chastise her, then looked away to her garden. "I know what you're thinking."

The back of Gilda's neck prickled. "Oh good. Could you tell me? Because I have no idea what to think."

"You think I'm a murderer," he said.

"Why would I think you're a murderer?"

"All I wanted was the chance to run my own school. I think I could do a decent job."

Gilda's neck prickled again. "So why didn't you?"

Erik's face reddened, and he looked away, his blond hair tousled by the breeze. "Mick said I was too immature and wasn't worthy, even though I had some of the money, the location, and a couple instructors. Walter was one of them, only he backed out and said I'd only screw things up. Guess I sure proved him right last night, didn't I?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Walter backed out? Why?"

"He wouldn't tell me. At first, I suspected Mick talked him out of it. I went ballistic. I even threatened him. That's when I started talking to Xavier."

"You and Xavier were going to be partners?"

He snorted. "Hell no. That guy's weird. He kept harping on the whole politics of karate and how he'd never be a big enough fish to get the respect Yoshida does. He also kept talking about poisons and changing allegiances. In the end, I figured he'd be more trouble than he's worth."

"So what're you going to do now?" she asked.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. You don't need to be dragged into all this crap. I just thought if anyone had answers to what was going on, it was you. You're the one everybody talks to."

She wanted to blurt "I'm already dragged into things, so spit it out," but she bit her puffy lower lip to keep the words inside. If she spoke now, he might leave and never tell her anything.

He shuffled his feet then sighed. "I really don't know who killed Walter or why. It wasn't me. I have an alibi."

"You do?" She was surprised he'd even feel the need to offer one.

"I was with Chloe."

"Mick's girlfriend?" Her eyes grew wide.

"We met up and had a couple of drinks. She told me she and Mick were having problems, and she needed someone, if you know what I mean."

More fuel to stoke Mick's fire. "Walter was killed around midday, after noon class."

"Yup, I know. I got fired Friday morning, then went for a liquid lunch. Chloe was already there when I walked in. Something about her dad and a gambling debt Mick would be upset about when he found out. Once we started talking, I told her I needed money to start my own school and move on."

Gilda sucked in a sharp breath. "How much money would it take? For curiosity's sake."

"More than enough to go to a loan shark or his daughter for." Erik stood. "I'm sure none of this surprises you. You've probably heard worse lately."

She really wanted to hear more, sure the conversation had swung back toward Gary del Garda. "Yeah, I've heard enough to make my hair go straight."

"Enough to make you give up the notion of catching a murderer, I hope." His smile faded. "You don't want to be next."

Was that a threat or a warning? Maybe Erik was part of the reason Gary was suddenly becoming buddy-buddy with her. Mick owed Gary money. If Gary had loaned Erik money, perhaps getting close to Gilda was one way to keep an eye on both his investments. Her gaze followed Erik out of the yard and across the street to his silver sports car with a scrape on the rear fender.

Once he left, she stood, groaning from the ache in her muscles. She needed coffee, breakfast, and to tell Thayer about the scrape on Erik's car. She also needed to skip her run for the day since she was already in pain and would never be able to pull off her sweaty shorts to shower later anyway. A day off would do her good.

Who else in Sandstone Cove knew Walter met his wife when she was a schoolgirl? The thought struck Gilda on her halfhearted walk to the coffee shop. If any of the karate school's parents found out, they wouldn't bother with theatrics. They'd run straight for their lawyer. No second chances. They'd label him a pedophile with no chance of redemption.

No one at the café questioned the bruises when she ordered a large coffee and a cinnamon bun the size of her face. They all knew where she worked and how hard she trained. Bruises after a visit from Yoshida were expected. She ambled home with her head bowed enough to discourage anyone from talking to her.

With the front door locked to keep out the world, she sat in the backyard garden and tried to focus on the flowers and birds. She managed to eat half the cinnamon bun, despite the ache in her jaw, and sat back to sip her coffee. At least her jaw was still in one piece, and she didn't need to use a straw for either. Pureed cinnamon bun didn't sound as desirable as a soft, warm one did.

Once more, her thoughts turned to Walter and his grisly demise. He'd loved cinnamon buns too, but Jade would never let him eat them. White flour and sugar were taboo.

Certain a walking meditation would help, she finished the bun, cradled her coffee in both hands, and shuffled barefoot through the garden. Each blade of grass caressed her bare feet. Each flower reached out. Each sunbeam warmed her hair. The fragrant air…

Who was she kidding? Nothing about walking through the little garden with a hot paper cup in her hands and anxiety in her stomach was even remotely peaceful. Not today.

Unable to carry on without her mind traveling toward deep, dark thoughts, Gilda wandered inside and lit a candle. She turned on a relaxation CD and sat on a cushion. One by one, the images from the training session left her mind, and her shoulders and neck loosened.

She pushed all thoughts out of her head and focused on the candle. Peace. Blissful, mindless peace. As she slowed her breathing, the muscles in her shoulders softened. Zen. She released a long breath that took a third of her stress with it into the atmosphere. At least until someone oblivious to her hard-sought tranquility banged on the front door. She flinched and let out a groan.

"Gilda, honey, you in there?" Marion. Crap. Gilda had forgotten to call her after training last night. "Are you okay? Mick told me you got hurt last night. Open the door. I've got arnica and fruit."

Marion was crafty and would peer in every window and jiggle all the door handles. Sooner or later, she'd figure out Gilda was home and find the spare key. Gilda was best off to open the door now and find out what Marion wanted or she'd never get any peace.

"Coming." She blew out the candle as the tension reclaimed her upper body.

Marion stood on the front porch, an enormous basket covered in red cellophane and tied with a floppy blue bow in both hands. Her eyes widened. "Oh wow. Looks like that was a pretty intense workshop last night. That'll teach you. We all told you not to go."

"But you're not about to say I told you so, right?"

"Show's how well you know me." She snorted. "I told you so. That's quite the fat lip. Did Erik do that to you?"

"Erik?" Gilda asked. "Why would you say that?"

Marion gave her a one-armed hug. "Come on—everyone at the school knows he's a hot-head. Anyway, I bumped into Sensei Mick earlier who, by the way, looks almost as bad as you, if that's possible. He said I should leave you alone today."

"Which is exactly why you're here."

"He doesn't know me very well, does he?" She handed Gilda the crackling basket. "I know this isn't much. A few of the parents pitched in and thought it might cheer you up. I volunteered to deliver it so I could stop by and have a good excuse to be late for work."

"That's thoughtful. Thanks." She glanced at the full basket of assorted fruits and boxes of chocolates then handed it back. "I think Walter's family might need the warm, fuzzy thoughts more than me."

"Oh no, this one's for you. See, it's got lots of fruit and chocolate. All your favorites." Marion pushed it back. "Besides, I already stopped at the Levy house to drop off a basket, but no one was home. I guess they're either at the funeral home or shopping for black clothes."