Thrilled To Death (6 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Apodaca

BOOK: Thrilled To Death
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He nodded slowly. “I have to, Sam.”
“I know.” I had a job to do too. I hoped he was going to understand that.
Grandpa shook his head, his shoulders slumping and appearing thinner beneath his shirt. “I didn't know about Nikki.”
I put my hand on his arm, understanding now that he believed that he was responsible for Shane and what he did to all magicians, including hurting Nikki through an affair. “It's not your fault.”
He took a breath, controlling his anger with a little glint of amusement. “I'll bet Rosy hired you to find out which magician's act Shane plans to spoil Saturday.”
I nodded. “Rosy and Nikki. She just got into town.” “Then she's worried. So I guess we both have work to do.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Be very careful, Sammy.”
I squeezed his arm. “Where are you going?”
“Home. I'm going to get started trying to figure out this mess. Maybe talk to a few people I trust in the Triple M.”
Relieved, I said, “Okay, but don't come back here. Promise me.”
“I won't for now.” He turned and went to his Jeep.
I had to be content with that.
I got into my car, locked the doors, and debated calling Gabe while watching Grandpa drive off. It was after one, I was starved, and I had to pick up Joel from school in a little over an hour and a half.
Or should I forget eating and go right back to the office to talk to Gabe?
My phone rang before I could decide. I pulled it out of my purse and didn't recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Shaw, it's Detective Vance. We need to talk.”
Vance. Hmm. “We do?” I stared at Shane's motor home. Was he in there watching me? “You didn't seem to feel we needed to talk before publicly embarrassing my grandfather in front of all his gossipy friends and dragging him down to the police station.”
“He didn't seem embarrassed to me, and I didn't drag him. I asked him to go to the station.” I heard him take a breath, then he added. “It's my job, Shaw.”
“Yeah, yeah. So where do you want to meet? Or am I being summoned to the police station? Are handcuffs in my future?” I did a mental head-smack as soon as I mentioned handcuffs.
Silence.
“Vance?”
“You're a piece of work. How about Cocoa's? Is that far enough away from the police station for you? If you really want handcuffs, we could go to my house.”
This time I dropped my forehead to the steering wheel.
Stupid!
I deserved that for my idiotic handcuff comment. Lifting my head, I tried for a calm, cooperative voice. “Cocoa's will be fine. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I'll be waiting for you.” He hung up.
With or without handcuffs, I wondered as I stashed my cell phone and started the car.
 
Vance and I sat across from one another at a four-top booth. The lunch crowd had thinned out. Once we ordered, Vance looked at me. “Is the cut on the back of your right hand the reason you have blood on your skirt?”
Detectives. It was hard to get anything past them. His gold-flecked brown eyes didn't miss much. And I had seen him do a once-over when I walked in. I had taken him in too, noting how good he looked in his light gray suit that appeared to be custom made for his athletic shoulders. He looked much more relaxed than he had this morning, which probably meant he was up to something. Vance and I were not above using our chemistry, for lack of a better word, to get what we wanted from each other. To answer his question, I said, “Yes.”
“How did you scratch your hand?”
I sipped some Diet Coke and answered, “On a door.”
Vance grinned, revealing his deep dimples. “Nice and vague. Looks as if Pulizzi is teaching you a few things.”
The waitress brought our lunches. I had Cobb salad with extra blue cheese dressing. Vance had a turkey and avocado sandwich with tomatoes and cottage cheese on the side. I wondered how my thighs were going to look as I dumped all the blue cheese dressing over my salad. I should exercise. Or something. I picked up my fork, then said, “Why so suspicious over a cut?”
He lifted up his sandwich. “I get paid to be suspicious.” Then he took a bite.
We could do this all day. I speared a nice chunk of egg and lettuce drowned in blue cheese dressing and tried to think of what I needed to know.
And what I had to trade.
I wanted to see where Vance was on this case first. “Are you actively working the Shane Masters case?”
He set down his sandwich. “I am now.”
I blinked. “Meaning?”
“This morning I set it aside for actual murder cases, but the city council got wind of Shane's trouble. The idea of a famous magician who is going to be on TV this weekend being threatened, and a hit man in town, makes them nervous.”
“Ah.” He was getting political pressure. Interesting. And how could I use that to my advantage? “Just how do you investigate something like this?”
“I ask questions.” He took another bite and set down his sandwich.
“Of me? What would I know?” I loved avocado and speared a huge chuck, added some salt and pepper, then ate it.
“You always know more than you tell me. And I think it's time to call a truce. Work together.”
Wow, Vance must be getting a hell of a lot of political pressure. “Really? So that means you'll tell me everything? Like the fact that the hit man said something about a magician sending him after Shane's dog bit him?”
Vance sighed. “Pulizzi?”
I knew he was implying that Gabe had tapped his sources and gotten that information. Proudly, I said, “Nope. Me. I found out.”
“From?”
I shook my head and worked on eating my salad. I wasn't going to give anything to Vance without getting something in return. And I was debating what to tell him. I doubted anyone that knew about Shane and Grandpa's history would tell Vance. But Vance wasn't stupid, so he had to know that there was a connection between them. One that would either drive Grandpa to hire a hit man or drive Shane to accuse him of hiring a hit man.
“Tell me why a magician would want to kill Shane Masters.”
I sipped some more Diet Coke, then said, “And you'll tell me what?”
His face hardened. “How much trouble your grandfather is in, for one thing.”
I could work with that for now. I didn't actually know the right questions to ask Vance anyway. Besides, he was asking for general information. “Shane is what is called a spoiler magician.”
“Like that masked magician from a few years ago? The one who showed how illusions were done on TV?”
I nodded. “But Shane takes it one step further. He targets a magician who is gaining national fame and exposes much of his or her act. He shows how the illusions are done. Sales often fall off, and that magician loses the valuable momentum that was his one-time shot at making it big.” I dug for more egg and avocado with my fork and thought about what I was telling Vance. Would he connect it back to Grandpa?
“So the magician he targets would be upset?”
I found some egg and looked up. “Yes, but most magicians hate what Shane does. Magic is a trade and an art. Magicians have kept the secrets of magic for centuries. To become really good, most magicians have to love the craft, to really have the passion to practice and learn and imagine.. . . It's incredible how hard the really good magicians work. And these guys, these spoilers, they are selling out in the biggest way.”
Vance sat back in the booth. “You sound pissed, Shaw.” I nodded. “I've been around magic all my life. I know what it takes to be that good.”
He regarded me for a few seconds, then asked, “Did you ever want to be that good?”
I dropped my gaze and shook my head. “No. Like I said, I know what it takes, and I don't have that passion for magic. Not like I do for romance novels, my dating service, my boys, and now doing some PI work.” He knew I was going to train with Gabe. He didn't much like it because Vance thought of me as an amateur. Which I was. At least with Gabe, he had solid police training and experience.
Quietly, Vance said, “And Pulizzi?”
I looked up at him. “What?”
He met my gaze dead on. “The list of things you have passion for.”
“That wasn't my point. I was talking about what it takes to be a damn good magician.” His question made me mad. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I always got the feeling that Vance didn't believe Gabe and I had the real thing. And maybe that's just a tad too close to my own doubts.
He picked up the last of his sandwich. “So you're saying that any magician might hate Shane enough to try and kill him.”
“Not Grandpa.” I was still mad.
Vance pushed his plate away and picked up his iced tea. “And yet Barney is the one that Shane accused of hiring the hit man. So why do you think he did that?”
I knew exactly why he did that. But I wasn't going to share the reason with Vance. Shane was blackmailing Grandpa, and Vance might use that as another reason Grandpa would try to kill him. “Why don't you tell me how much trouble Grandpa is in. And what you need to clear him.”
Vance flashed a small, dimpleless smile. “Okay, we have the e-mails that could look like threats and verification that he was getting his friends to send the same e-mails. Near as we can tell so far, none of those friends are magicians. Why is that, do you suppose?”
I stated the obvious reason. “If I were a magician, I would not want to call Shane's attention to myself.”
Vance nodded. “Because then he might decide to do his reveal-all show on your act.”
“You're a fast learner.” And smart. Vance was being really smart. I didn't think he knew much about magic or magicians, so he decided to pick my brain to learn. He knew Grandpa wasn't cooperating with him, so I was the second-best thing. I started to ask him if he believed Grandpa had hired a hit man when I thought of an even better question. “Do you believe there was an actual hit man?” I was trying to learn to work with real facts.
He watched me for a minute. “The scene supports it. We found the gun with a silencer and some other things.”
He had told me that already. And the dog bite. “What doesn't support a hit man?”
“A pro would have known about the dogs.”
I pushed my salad plate away and considered that. “A professional hit man would have spied on Shane first?”
Vance nodded.
I was confused. “So did someone try to kill Shane Masters?” Shane seemed to think so.
“I'm just following the facts, Shaw. One of those dogs bit someone, that much was evident from the blood. And someone used some tools to get into the motor home.”
Someone
had
tried to kill Shane. “So maybe the hit man wasn't a pro? Or for some reason, he was a pro but skipped his usual surveillance?”
Vance rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Look, here's the truth. People are stupid. They go to a bar and try to hire someone to kill for them. And the people they solicit are usually just as dumb, in which case they lie and brag and tell the idiot what hard-ass killers they are. Or they turn out to be cops setting up the idiots. Hit men do not advertise in the back of
Magicians Are Us Magazine.
”
I had to smile at that. “I don't think that's a real magazine.”
“That's what I like about you, Shaw. You're quick.”
I began to see his problem. “This hit man could be any yokel from anyplace.”
“And if he actually grew a brain, he's gone.”
I could see that Vance was frustrated. He was getting political pressure about a crime that didn't make sense. And Grandpa and I had Shane breathing down our necks to solve the same crime. What did I tell Vance? I needed to talk to Gabe and see what he thought. I wanted to help Vance, and he might be able to help us, but I needed some guidance.
I needed Gabe.
Exactly as he had said I would. And he had told me that he already had a full plate. I looked up at Vance. “You don't really think that Grandpa hired the hit man, do you?”
Once more, he assumed the blank-with-a-hard-edge cop expression. “He needs to cooperate and tell me where he was Monday night.”
Silently, I agreed. “I'm sure he will.”
Vance kept the hard expression. “There's a stronger connection between Shane and your grandfather than either of them are admitting. If I were you, I'd keep that in mind.”
“A warning?” I wasn't sure.

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