Thugs and Kisses (18 page)

Victor nodded. “Cindy told me what happened. I’m very sorry, Sally.”

I chimed in. “With what Donny did to Sally and what he did to me at the prom, we both made the short list of suspects—lucky us. But the police don’t know about you.”

“But I didn’t kill Donny!” He looked first at me, then at Sally. “You were there,” he said to Sally. “When Donny came stumbling in, the two of us were talking about our kids, remember?”

“Yes, I do. And Odelia was dancing with her friend.”

I took a deep breath though my mouth, my nose being almost useless. “And Cindy was home with two of her daughters, and the police have checked out her story.”

I dug around in my bag and produced a pen and an old power bill in its envelope. On the back of the envelope, I wrote all three of our names and Cindy’s. “Okay,” I said, pen poised over the back of the envelope, “who else would have reason to kill Donny Oliver?”

“Try everyone,” snorted Sally.

“No, seriously, who would have wanted him dead? He was very popular in school. Most people liked him even if they thought him a jerk from time to time. Maybe it was someone from his work or the husband of some woman he was seeing on the side.”

“I don’t know,” Sally commented, “but I can’t help but think that it wasn’t an accident that Donny was killed at our reunion.”

Victor sat back down at the table, and the three of us put our heads together to think. It was Victor who spoke first. “How about Tommy Bledsoe?”

“Tommy Bledsoe was in Japan at the time,” Sally told him.

I nodded and sniffled. Reaching for a tissue, I found the little purse packet I keep in my bag empty. “Do you have some tissues, Victor?”

“Sure, Odelia.” He got up and retrieved a box from a small counter near the refrigerator. In his other hand, he held a remote control he had picked up near the tissue box. “Damn remote,” he said, indicating the item in his hand. “I was looking for this all last night. It goes to the TV in our bedroom.”

As he handed me the box of tissues, an idea struck me. “Remote control.”

“What?” asked Sally, turning to look at me.

“Remote control—that’s the answer, or at least a possibility.”

Victor held out the TV remote control to me. “You want the clicker?”

“No, I don’t want the clicker,” I said in frustration, with a nasally voice. I held up a finger indicating for them to hold on a minute.
I turned away and blew my nose twice. Finished, I got up and deposited the dirty tissue in a nearby trashcan.

“Remote control,” I stated again while I washed my hands. “A murder can be done by remote control. A murderer doesn’t necessarily have to be the one who pulls the trigger.” Looking at my two companions, I saw the light dawning on both of their faces.
I continued. “Someone not at the reunion could have hired someone to kill Donny.”

“Someone like Tommy Bledsoe,” Victor said. “He certainly has the money to do it.”

Sally leaned forward, elbows on the table, and held her head in her hands. “But if someone was hired to kill Donny, then we’re back to square one.”

Victor looked at her. “Why’s that?”

I returned to the table and took a drink of lemonade.

“Sally’s right, because if someone was hired to kill Donny, then anyone could have done the hiring, including Cindy or any one of the three of us.”

Just as Victor was about to say something more, the door leading to the garage opened and in walked Johnette carrying a few plastic bags of groceries. We had been so caught up in our talk of murder, we hadn’t heard her drive in.

“Odelia, Sally … what a wonderful surprise!”

The phone rang once, then twice, then a third time before I hung up.

“What are you doing?” I asked myself out loud as I paced from the kitchen to the living room and back again.

After Sally dropped me off at home and sped away to meet Jill for their anniversary celebration, I scoured the downstairs of my townhouse, looking and hoping for a note left behind by Greg, much as I searched for clues left behind by Cruz. I didn’t need much, just some sign that he’d call soon, drop by again, was sorry, loved me, hated me—anything that evidenced he’d been here when I left and was leaving the lines of communication open. I would have settled for a broken dish in the sink. I found nothing. That’s when I placed the call and hung up.

My cold was worse, and I felt a bit dizzy. That was when I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast except for a bite of cake, cups of coffee, and some lemonade. I was drowning in caffeine and sugar but hadn’t eaten anything substantial or healthy. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew I should eat, so after changing into some warm jammies, I located some split pea soup in the pantry and heated it up. I had managed to get a few spoonfuls down and was in the midst of shoveling another into my mouth when my phone rang. The display said it was Greg, and the surprise caused me to slosh green soup down the front of my clean pajamas.

I grabbed the phone and tried to calm myself down before hitting the answer button. It rang a second time. I took a breath as deep as my congestion would allow. “Hello.”

“You don’t sound so hot.”

“I’m afraid my cold is winning the fight.”

“You mean our cold.”

I smiled at his use of the word
our
. I took it as a good sign.

Before I could say anything, he asked, “You called?”

I hesitated, wondering how he knew, then remembered that his phone recorded missed calls. Putting the soup down, I tried to concentrate. “Yes, I did. I wanted to apologize for rushing off so rudely today. I really was very happy to see you and Wainwright.”

“But you were right, Odelia, I should have at least called before coming over.”

There was a period of silence. I wasn’t about to say
no, that’s okay,
because it wasn’t, but I wasn’t ready to ask him the details about his motive for the visit. I was worried that whatever reasons had prompted him to show up, he had changed his mind after hearing about my recent activities. But then I had made it clear what I was doing, so why should I hide it now? I had spelled it out, and Greg was far from illiterate. It was Greg who broke the ice on the topic.

“I’m sorry about Mike missing. That was quite a shock. Any leads?”

“Not really.”

I wondered if I should say more, wondered if Greg was really interested or just being polite by asking. Then I decided Steele’s disappearance was good neutral ground.

“Most people think he sabotaged a huge lawsuit and left the country, but that doesn’t sound like something he’d do, and I can’t think of a reason why he would do it in the first place.” I brought Greg up to speed on what I had found out so far and how the firm had asked me to look into it. I carefully edited out my S O S to Willie Porter.

“It seems odd that that cleaning company doesn’t remember him, especially when they supposedly were just there in the past couple of weeks. Mike Steele is hardly a forgettable guy.”

I laughed and followed up with a cough. “You’re right about that, but the woman I spoke to seemed a bit dotty. Maybe she just takes the calls and sends the cleaners out. I should call her again.”

Talking about it reminded me that I had wanted to look up Let Mother Do It to see if it was a registered company or fictitious business name. I would make sure I did it after my call with Greg.

There was another long pause on his end. “And how did your visit with the widow go?”

Talking about Steele’s disappearance was one thing, but Greg was actually asking me about Donny Oliver’s murder. Was this acceptance on his part or just morbid curiosity?

“Interesting, to say the least. Turns out Donny smacked his wife around pretty good recently, and she was getting ready to leave him.”

“Abuse could be a motive for murder.”

I thought about my afternoon and all the information and ideas newly crammed into my muddled brain.

“Greg, do you know anything about hit men?”

“What?”

“Hit men, contract killers—what do you know about them?”

He laughed. “Sweetheart, you may be exasperating at times, but you are never dull.”

Sweetheart, he called me sweetheart.
My heart fluttered.

“Why do you ask? Do you think that high-school chum of yours was whacked by the mob or something?”

“Actually, I hadn’t thought about the mob. I was thinking along the lines that an individual might have hired someone to bump off Donny. All of the usual suspects seem to have airtight alibis, including me. So if one of us did it, we would have had to do it through someone else. Killing by remote control, so to speak.”

“À la Robert Blake?”

“Exactly.”

“Interesting theory and plausible, but all I know about such things is what I’ve seen on TV. I wouldn’t have a clue how to go about finding a gun for hire.”

“And I’m thankful for that, Greg.”

He laughed again, this time longer. I took it as another good sign, grabbing for it like a thirsty man for a drop of water. There was another long pause.

“Odelia, I know this is going to fall on deaf ears, but please be careful.”

I took note that Greg had stopped laughing and his voice was now somber.

“If someone did hire a contract killer to take out Donny, that person could also hire someone to do the same to you.”

Holy crap.
I hadn’t thought of that, but Greg was right.

“I know you want to help your friends, Odelia, but please stay out of it. Let Dev and his pals handle the murder. If you
must
stick your nose into something, look for Mike Steele. It seems the less dangerous of the two evils.”

Then I had another thought, one that wasn’t going to make Greg happy. “But what if Steele is the victim of a contract killer? What then?”

This time the pause was so long I almost thought he’d quietly hung up on me. When I heard him clear his throat, I silently said thanks.

“How’s your dad, Odelia?”

It was a deft and effective change of subject, but at least we were talking again.

Following my chat with Greg, I went upstairs to my computer and fired it up. Using my office password for Lexis, it didn’t take me long to check out the name Let Mother Do It. I billed the search to the Missing Link matter. I found nothing filed in California under that name: not a corporation, a limited liability corporation, a partnership, a fictitious business name, nada. I expanded the search to cover all of the United States—again, nothing. Whatever Mother was doing, it wasn’t through proper channels. If it were, there would be a record of it somewhere in California. My guess was she didn’t file taxes on the money she made either and took the fees under the table. This seemed odd, especially since she alluded to having important clients. Those folks write off everything, and to do that they would need receipts, and receipts would flag a small business, at least eventually.

Following my line of thought, I searched Lexis for Melinda’s Maid Service. Bingo! There it was—a fictitious business name filed properly in the Orange County Clerk’s Office evidencing that Melinda’s Maid Service was an assumed business name for Melinda Thompson.

It was just before nine on a Saturday night, but still I made the call. The phone at Let Mother Do It rang at least a dozen times before I gave up. Not even an answering machine had picked up.

I gave up, too, on my investigation, at least for the night. Giving in to my growing discomfort, I changed into a clean nightshirt, took a big shot of NyQuil, and headed to bed. Seamus was already in his spot on the bed, snoozing as only a cat can.

I was dreaming about serving lemonade to Robert Blake—a Robert Blake with white hair, not black—when I was startled by the phone next to my bed. I don’t know if it was on the second or third ring when I picked it up, but when I did, I was talking to Zee.

“How are you doing today?”

“Not bad.” I checked the clock—it was close to nine thirty in the morning. “Except for a bathroom break early this morning,
I slept twelve hours.”

“Good. I hope you’re going to stay in bed today. If not, at least stay put at home. You need your rest.”

“Yes, mother.” The sarcastic comment made me think of the elusive Let Mother Do It. Zee was a bubbling brook of minutia. In that remarkable skull of hers, she retained everything she ever read, saw, or heard, or at least it seemed like it to me. “Zee, have you ever heard of a company called Let Mother Do It? It would be a cleaning company or personal services company, something like that.”

“Hmm, doesn’t sound familiar. Where are they located?”

“Not sure, but their phone is an Orange County exchange.”

“Problem is, with all the cell phones now and transferable numbers, that doesn’t always give a correct location.”

“True. I believe they did some cleaning work for Steele and he’s in Laguna Beach, so I’m thinking they might actually be in Orange County.”

“Knowing you, you’ve already searched on Lexis.” Zee once worked in law. In fact, we had met at Woobie years ago.

“Yes, last night, and nothing showed up anywhere in California—or the rest of the country, for that matter.”

“Sorry, but if I recall something, I’ll give you a call. You
are
going to be home today, right?”

It wasn’t a question as much as a direct order. “That’s the plan, Stan.”

“Good, stick to the plan.” There was a pause, and then she got to the real reason she had called. “Did you hear from Greg?”

“Funny you should ask.”

“Not funny at all. He and Seth and some other guys got together yesterday morning for some basketball. Seth said Greg looked so hang-dog he should’ve been put down.”

“Did Seth tell him to come over?” I was getting my dander up over the fact that the visit might not have been Greg’s idea.

“Not exactly. According to Seth, Greg was asking him every five minutes whether or not he should call you. Finally, my hubby told him what he told you a week ago—crap or get off the pot.”

I laughed, which brought on a fit of coughing. Once I got my breath back, I filled in my best friend on both Greg’s visit and the call last night.

After my talk with Zee, I settled back under the covers for a bit more snoozing. Seamus was at his usual post at the foot of the bed. I was just about out when the phone rang again. This time it was Dev.

“Just seeing how you’re doing.”

“My cold is worse, but I’m hanging in there. Thanks for asking.” I adjusted the pillows and sat up. “Any more news on Steele?”

“No, but no one is really looking for him except for you and your firm.”

Dev hesitated, and I knew he was going to tell me something I didn’t want to hear.

“Odelia, the missing person report is still in effect, and if there is a sighting, it will be reported. But as long as there is no evidence of foul play or criminal activity, the police are not going to actively look for him. Adults disappear every day, mostly because they want to disappear.”

“But Dev, what if
I
think there’s been foul play?”

“You do?” I could tell from the tone of his voice that his interest was sparked. “Why’s that, Odelia? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“I checked his personal papers at the office, and his passport is still there.”

“But he could have flown domestic and still stashed the car in the international terminal lot.”

“True, but honestly, Dev, something has happened to him. I just know it. Steele isn’t the type to just walk away from his life—ask anyone.” I thought about the papers in his car. The firm was either keeping that quiet or they didn’t have proof of anything being illegal. “And he’s not the type to get involved in dealings so shady he’d have to run.”

On the other end of the phone, Dev let loose a big sigh. “Odelia, most of the people who walk away from their lives don’t fit a specific type except for being under extreme stress, emotionally or financially. But if there was a specific type, I’d say Mike Steele fits it perfectly.”