Crunch Time (37 page)

“There’s a good part?” I said faintly.

“My mom and dad get back from a church meeting? They surprise the guards. My dad blocks their car in our driveway. He calls the cops on his cell, then takes a crowbar out of his trunk and treks to the front door to threaten whoever’s in the house. So much for ‘Blessed are the peacemakers.’ ”

“Oh my gosh, Lolly—”

“Next thing I know, Humberto’s tooling over there, with me beside him. He’s giving my parents five K in cash, in exchange for them saying the guards were their friends who’d come to a party on the wrong night. No charges were brought. Arrests or no arrests, I was furious and told Humberto he had to give
me
money for new furniture and tell the guards to leave
me
alone. Otherwise, he could find himself a new”—she hooked her fingers to indicate quotation marks again—“ ‘girlfriend.’ ”

“Good Lord, Lolly.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “The guards backed off. Humberto gave me ten thousand dollars, do you believe that? I called Julian, told him I’d come into some cash, did he want part of his money back? He laughed and said he’d take repayment after I got my degree and a jobby-job. So I bought this spread and those two chairs”—she pointed across the room—“at the Aspen Meadow Secondhand Store. My bank account got fattened up, and Humberto and I got together.” She stopped, and I waited while she summoned the will to tell me the next bit, which I knew was coming. “Next thing I knew, Ernest McLeod had been shot and killed.”

She rubbed her eyes furiously to keep herself from becoming upset. When she finally began to weep, I figured it was better just to let her have her cry.

19

A
fter she’d cried her way through a roll of discount toilet paper, she calmed down. I asked, “Did you tell the cops all this?”

Her bloodshot eyes gave me that look again, like I was hopelessly dense. “No, Goldy. I did not tell the cops that while I was working as a whore, I conspired to steal a valuable necklace and then drugged three guys so that my coconspirator could break into the house where the necklace was. I didn’t even want to tell
you
. But then when you knocked and knocked and knocked on my door, I had this vision of Father Pete shaking his head and of Julian looking disappointed, and I couldn’t stand it. Your husband’s a cop, isn’t he? Can’t
you
tell him, and keep me out of it?”

I blinked. “I’ve already told him I was coming to see you.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“I don’t think Tom will arrest you for prostitution if you tell him all you’ve told me.”

She exhaled. “The cop who arrested me for DUI wasn’t exactly empathetic.”

“Nor would I expect him to be. But this is murder and is therefore different. Humberto had motive—Ernest had discovered and taken the necklace—and he probably had opportunity. Or he could have hired one of his guards to do it.”

“But how would he have found out about Ernest in the first place?”

“When Ernest was a cop, he had worked Norman Juarez’s case. Humberto or his people had put together that Ernest was investigating him. Humberto had even hired Yolanda to spy on Ernest. Maybe he had someone else watching Ernest, someone we didn’t know about.”

“Oh, Christ. Who?”

I shook my head. “You know I can’t talk about that. But here’s the big question: Did Ernest tell you where the necklace was? Because he didn’t give it to the Juarezes.”

“He didn’t?” She raked her blue-black hair behind her ears. “Holy crap. I
wondered
why Norman Juarez acted so angry last night. But no, after the break-in, I didn’t call Ernest. I was afraid if I called Ernest on my regular cell, Humberto and his guards might find his number on my ‘calls made’ list. Ernest had told me very specifically not to phone him. And I’ll tell you something else. The very day after Ernest took the necklace? Humberto began a huge redecorating campaign. He stripped the rooms to the bones and started over. They’re almost done, too, which is amazing.”

“Who’s doing all the painting and whatnot?”

“The guards. They installed new appliances, new draperies, new lights, you name it. But they weren’t allowed in the bedroom when I was there. The furniture was replaced; there are new pillows, new fabrics on everything. And all the materials were brought in by the guards.”

“Why would he do all that?”

“I have no idea.”

“And you don’t have a clue what Ernest did with the necklace?”

“None.”

Another dead end. No necklace, no gold, no gems, and no key as to who had killed Ernest.
Wait;
keys.
I asked, “Do you know if Humberto has access to the houses Donna Lamar rents out?”

Lolly rubbed her forehead. “You mean, Donna that rental agent who was at the party last night? All I know about her is that she has an office in the Captain’s Quarters.”

“I’m aware of that,” I said patiently. “But do you know if Humberto has access to her keys, or security codes, for her rentals?”

Lolly shook her head. “I only see Humberto when he wants to see me. But he owns the Captain’s Quarters, Goldy. And even though it’s not fully leased, Ernest said he followed Humberto very carefully and then broke into the building. He was sure the gold and gems weren’t anywhere in there.”

“But keys to the rentals that Donna handles?”

“If he told Donna he wanted some keys, he’d probably get them, especially if they were to empty rentals. Still, if Ernest was stuck to Humberto’s ass, don’t you think he would have seen Humberto going into one of the rentals, and found the gold and gems hidden there?”

“I don’t know.”

When Lolly saw my disappointed look, she said, “I’m sorry. But I can’t ask Humberto anything, or he’ll think I had something to do with the stolen necklace.”

I thought of Yolanda’s rental burning down right after Humberto had said he wanted her to spy on Ernest. I did not want to burden Lolly with any more, though. “Don’t apologize, Lolly. I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, coming over here and talking to you about Ernest.” I hesitated before getting up to leave.

“What?” she said.

“Well,” I said hopefully, “my husband always asks if there’s anything out of place. Anything at all, he always says. Anything besides the redecorating that’s aroused your curiosity?”

She wrinkled her forehead. “Humberto is getting a delivery later this week. Friday, he told me. But he wouldn’t say what, only that it needs to be ‘installed’—his word—and I can’t come over that day.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, he keeps a pretty tight hold on his wallet.”

“I thought you said he’d been generous to you and your parents.”

“I don’t mean it metaphorically, Goldy. I mean when he’s dressed, he keeps a really tight hold on his
actual wallet
. He’s always checking to make sure he has it. One time when he was asleep, I went through it. All I found for my trouble was a couple hundred bucks plus three or four receipts. BFD.”

“Three or four receipts for what?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t look at them that closely.”

I had no idea what these might be, but even the slenderest of clues could offer something. “Does Humberto have a photocopier?” When she nodded, I said, “Could you copy the receipts for me?
Don’t
steal them. I’m coming to Humberto’s tonight, for dinner.”

“I know.”

“Will you be there?”

When she nodded again, I said, “Got any of that temazepam left?”

“I have one left. Oh, Christ, Goldy, don’t tell me you want me to drug somebody.”

“Are you and Humberto getting together this afternoon?”

She let her head drop back. “Yes. He says if we make love first, he has a better siesta. And before you ask, yes, we usually have a drink first.”

“So, you open up the pill and sprinkle a little bit in each of your drinks. Okay? Then you pretend to drink some of yours while he drinks his. When he’s asleep, you get the stuff out of his wallet, copy it, fold it up, and save it for me, just until tonight. Then you have a tiny bit of your drink and lie down next to Humberto, until you fall asleep—”

“Know what?” Lolly interrupted me. “I already saw
Romeo and Juliet
. As I recall? That dual-poisoning thing didn’t turn out so well.”

“This will have a happy ending,” I insisted. “He’ll wake up, and then he’ll wake you up, and even if he gets suspicious and sends the drinks off to be analyzed, you’re in the clear. Listen,” I said earnestly, “I need to see what Humberto’s keeping in his wallet, Lolly. Maybe it’ll lead somewhere.”

She sighed. “Please don’t tell Tom about my part in all this, okay?”

“I’m not even going to tell Tom what
I’m
doing. Hide the photocopy well, and don’t swallow much of that drink.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She led me to the door. “Don’t worry, I’m in the fix I’m in because of booze. I’ve learned my lesson.”

I
n the van, I checked my watch. It wasn’t even ten o’clock, but my stomach was rumbling. The Aspen Meadow Pastry Shop had survived the downturn, and I thought a buttermilk doughnut and a cup of brewed coffee would do the trick.

I still hadn’t heard back from Hermie Mikulski. Then again, I hadn’t been expecting her to be checking her voice mail. On the way to my doughnut, I decided to leave her another urgent message.

“Hermie Mikulski,” she answered briskly. Her gravelly, serious voice startled me.

“This is Goldy Schulz.” I coughed to hide my surprise. “Sorry.” I maneuvered the van into a spot on Main Street not walled off with plowed snow. “My husband, the sheriff’s department, e-everyone,” I stammered, “we’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been very busy, what with trying to keep this town safe for animals. Plus, my son’s nose is very bruised and swollen. He can only have soup, and I have to make it for him.”

“So, you’re at your house? May I bring some homemade soup over to you and Brad?” I remembered the mushroom soup that I was planning on taking to the Bertrams’ house. I could go home and make a double batch—

“No, thank you.” Her voice scraped my ears, and I cringed. “I am perfectly capable of making soup.”

“I understand.” I tried to make my voice soothing, when in truth I was desperate to ask,
Where the hell have you been?
“Actually, Hermie, I’m calling because you said you were a client of Ernest McLeod’s, and he was my friend—”

“Huh,” she interrupted. “I left a message at the sheriff’s department, saying Ernest McLeod was killed because he was in the process of helping me close down a puppy mill, which I am absolutely positive is hidden somewhere on the grounds of a legitimate breeding operation.”

“
When
did you call the sheriff’s department?”

She paused. “I reached your husband’s voice mail this morning.”

“Did you tell him where this mill was?”

“If I had known where the puppy mill was at that point, I would have told him. How stupid do you think I am?”

At that point?
What did she mean? Not wanting to scare her into hanging up on me, I said, “Actually, I think you’re very smart, Hermie. That’s why I called you. You’ve been staying away from home—”

“I had been getting threatening phone calls,” she said. “You know, ‘Mind your own business, you eight-fingered hag,’ that kind of thing. I was scared.”

I paused. “But why are you at your house now?”

She didn’t say anything for a minute. Had she heard about Marla’s puppy being sick? I wondered. At length she said, “I came home to get some clothes this morning. Along with all the other messages on my machine, there was an anonymous one giving me a number to phone if I wanted the location of the puppy mill. I called and got directions. The tipster said I shouldn’t go right away, that I should wait until around ten. So I’m going out there as soon as I’m dressed. And no one is going to talk me out of it! The tipster also told me the puppy mill owner had a gun. The police don’t care and won’t protect me or the dogs. So I’m taking my own firearm.”

“Hermie,” I said desperately, “please don’t—”

“If you wish to join me, be at the Aspen Meadow Lake parking lot in fifteen minutes.”

“Hermie, this is not safe for you. This is a very bad—” But she had hung up.

I was less than five minutes from the lake. I called Tom, left a message on his voice mail saying I was meeting Hermie at the lake, that someone had told her the location of the secret mill on the grounds of a legitimate breeding enterprise. I asked him to please, please come, because Hermie was bringing a gun, which I’d already told her was a terrible idea. I sighed and hung up.

What should I do?
I wondered. I pulled the van out of the parking space and raced up Main Street.

I was almost to the lake when I heard the
vroom-vroom
sound that had so upset Yolanda and Ferdinanda. I braked hard. Luckily, no one was behind me. On my right, on the snowy sidewalk, Harriet, the lovely, tall woman who had been Kris Nielsen’s date at Rorry’s party, had just opened the passenger-side door to a white Maserati. Kris’s Maserati. I squinted. She wore jeans, a black turtleneck, and a leather jacket.

Where was she going? The Maserati pulled out in front of me, which gave me a chance to look hard on my right. The only thing directly on my right was the two-story building that had held Mountain Rents. A red and white
FOR LEASE
sign hung in the upstairs window. Below, on the main floor, was Frank’s Fix-It.

Maybe she was going in to drop something off? I shook my head as the Maserati moved up Main Street. You could leave a broken article with the potheads at Frank’s Fix-It and it would be there for years, gathering dust and spiders as it deteriorated, and when you came back to claim it, they’d say they hadn’t been able to repair it, after all.

I shook my head as the Mas made it through on a green light, while I got stopped by a red.

A few moments later, the van was chugging toward the lake. At the ramp that led to Upper Cottonwood Creek Road, I turned left, so I could get to the parking lot in time to meet Hermie Mikulski. Hermie Mikulski drove a large beige van that was like mine, only newer. When she pulled into the parking lot, I jumped out of my vehicle and waved to her.

Her window powered down and I hurried over. Hermie’s pale, wide face was heavily made up, but the foundation and powder did not conceal the dark circles under her eyes. Her short gray hair, curled in complex whorls, had not been brushed. She wore a purple silk dress, a string of large pearls with matching earrings that pulled down her large lobes, and a purple boiled wool coat embroidered with green crewelwork. She looked like she was going to a meeting of my mother’s New Jersey bridge club.

The remaining fingers of Hermie’s left hand gripped the steering wheel. On the passenger seat lay a gleaming .22. This was not something you’d see at a bridge club meeting.

“Hermie,” I said, my voice full of concern, “I just think it is a very, very bad idea for you to go out to this place, much less take a weapon. I’ve called the sheriff’s department and asked my husband to meet us—”

“I don’t have time to wait for him. He’ll have to get a warrant and by then the breeder may have cleared out his mill kennels and hidden the evidence. Those puppies could die.”

“But if you’d just talk to him first—”

“Look, Goldy,” she said brusquely, “you don’t have to come with me. I invited you and I can disinvite you.”

Damn it. When Tom was in a meeting or en route to a scene, he rarely checked his voice mail. “Where are you going, anyway?”

Her powdered face broke into a wide smile. “Out by the Aspen Meadow Wildlife Preserve. My tipster told me how to get in the back way. You see, this man, the breeder, claims to have a legitimate operation. I’ve seen it. It’s a spanking-new red-painted barn that you can view from the dirt road that leads to his house. That’s what Animal Control sees when they come out. But according to the tipster, the mill operator has several sheds where he actually breeds puppies in the most deplorable conditions. Oh, that son of a bitch! I’m sure Ernest found the sheds, and then he was killed. But now my tipster has marked the precise way to get there!” She patted binoculars and a digital camera on the seat beside her. “I’m going to get the evidence I need.”