Thugs and Kisses (21 page)

I scrunched my brows at him again.

“No, little mama, I haven’t even touched on the bad stuff.” He tipped back his beer and drained the bottle, putting it empty on the coffee table when he was finished.

“I know this is going to go in one pretty ear and out the other, but I want you to stop looking into both the Oliver murder and this thing with your boss.”

My mouth dropped open. “Then why did you give me all this information if only to tell me to stop? That doesn’t make sense.”

He took my hand and held it. “I gave it to you so you could give it to the authorities. Maybe someone like that Newport Beach cop who hangs around here.”

I looked at him with surprise.

“Don’t look so shocked, little mama. I know all about the good detective Frye. I also know your whoopee-on-wheels boyfriend isn’t around as much these days. I’d give you some words of wisdom on that, but I wouldn’t be entirely objective.”

Feeling both astonished and annoyed, I just stared at him. He grinned at me.

“Anyway,” he continued, “these photos and what you heard in the parking lot will help Frye do his job.” Willie chuckled. “Not that I’m in the habit of helping the police, but right now I’m more interested in keeping you out of it.”

I pulled my hand away. “Is there a man in my life not interested in keeping me out of it?”

Ignoring my question, Willie continued. “Did you ever make further contact with Let Mother Do It?”

“No. I found nothing on them when I did a business search, and when I tried calling again, the number was disconnected.”

Willie seemed extremely relieved at the news and leaned back on the sofa. “Good.”

“Why? What’s the big deal about a cleaning company run by an old lady?”

Willie turned his head and stared at me a long time. “Let Mother Do It is a cleaning company, little mama, but not the kind you think.” He took a deep breath. “They specialize in vermin eradication—of the human variety.”

My addled brain was quickly connecting the dots, but my consciousness was erasing them as fast as it could, trying to shield me from the truth. “You mean—” I started to say, then stopped short, unable to get the words out.

Willie nodded and once again took my hand. “Let Mother Do It is a hit-man outfit, Odelia. You dug up hired killers, and they don’t like that.”

Even though I was already thinking about the possibility of a contract killer being involved, the news of my accomplishment brought on a fit of coughing, and the fit of coughing brought on gagging and vomiting. As I knelt on the floor of the guest bathroom, ridding my stomach of the beer and my earlier supper, Willie held my hair out of the way and caressed my forehead with a damp cloth.

Exhausted, I leaned my arm across the toilet seat and rested my head on it. Tears ran down my face. “I found that card at Steele’s place. What does that mean? Is he dead?”

“We don’t know if he’s dead. And from what you overheard yesterday, if it pertains to Steele, he might still be alive.”

“Steele’s old cleaning lady said someone at the office referred Mother to him, gave him the card. Someone at the office connected Steele with the people who … who … ” My voice trailed off.

“Generally, professional hit men don’t have business cards. But in this case, I’d say it was used to reel him in, to set the trap.”

Willie unrolled some toilet tissue and gave it to me so I could blow my nose. When I did, my head felt like it was going to explode.

“You still feel sick?”

I shook my head, which only increased the throbbing in my skull. He helped me up. After rinsing the cloth out, he wiped my face. I took the cloth from him and finished the job.

“Would you excuse me while I run upstairs and brush my teeth?”

“Go right ahead, little mama, take all the time you need.”

I started to go but a thought made me turn in the doorway. “You have more to tell me, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Then tell it to me now. No sense cleaning myself up twice.”

He put the lid down on the toilet and sat me on it. “My informants tell me that Let Mother Do It supplied the trigger man on the Donny Oliver murder.”

“What?” I raised my voice, then remembered the child sleeping nearby, though if my coughing and vomiting hadn’t wakened him, nothing would. “But I thought they were connected with Steele’s disappearance.”

“It seems they might be involved with both.”

“What?” I cried again, this time in an exaggerated whisper.

I raked my hands through my hair until both palms cupped my skull, then I squeezed gently, hoping I could squeeze out both the pain and the information being given to me.

“How could this be, Willie? Was Mother running a two-for-one special? Did someone rack up some frequent killer miles? What?”

“Go upstairs and clean up.” Willie once more raised me to my feet. “Then we’ll discuss it—that is, if you’re up to it.”

When I came back down, my face was washed, my teeth brushed, and I was wearing fresh jammies and a robe. I had also taken a couple of Extra Strength Tylenol.

In my hand was a printout of one of the photos of Donny that Willie had purchased. After cleaning up, I had stuck the flash drive into my computer to see who was with Donny at the motel. At first, I didn’t believe what I was seeing. Then I checked every single photo. Donny seemed to be having trysts with several women, but there was no doubt in my mind who the woman was in the photo in my hand. I knew then that the Tylenol would barely scratch the surface of my headache.

I found Willie in the kitchen making us some tea, but no Henry.

“Hope you don’t mind me making myself at home,” he said when he saw me, “but I thought you could use some tea. It will help you feel better.” He had removed his pirate’s shirt and sash and washed the makeup from his face. Standing in my kitchen in a tee shirt and jeans, he looked like the Willie I remembered.

“Thanks, that’ll be great. Where’s Henry?”

“On his way home. Enrique was waiting outside for us. I sent them both off.”

“You’re here with me without a bodyguard?”

“Little mama, it’s not me who needs the bodyguard.” He handed me my tea in a big white mug with kittens on it. His mug had a happy face. “Now drink up, and let’s see what we know.”

I held out the photo. “I know who this woman is,” I said to him, my face grim.

“You don’t seem too happy about that.”

“I’m not. I’m in a complete meltdown of shock.”

Willie studied the photo. “And?”

“And it’s Johnette Morales, a friend from high school. Her husband was having an affair about a year or so ago with Donny’s wife.”

Willie gave a low whistle. “What tangled webs we weave.”

“When were these photos taken?”

“Just a month or two ago, I believe. Why?”

I told Willie about Cindy and Victor, and about what Johnette had told me at the reunion about her suspicion that Victor was having an affair.

“You think this was payback or revenge sex?” he asked.

“Seems so, doesn’t it?”

After pulling out a notepad and paper, I joined Willie at the kitchen table. Seamus, deciding Willie had been in the house way too long without his permission, came downstairs and sniffed him with great interest. Willie scratched the animal behind his ragged ear and was rewarded with a mild purr.

“He’s a lot friendlier this time around.”

“This time around, he’s not being held hostage in a sack.”

I wasn’t sure where to begin with my notes, so I simply drew a line down the middle of the page. On the left, I put Donny Oliver’s name; on the right, Steele’s name. Under Donny’s column, I listed the suspects I knew about: Cindy Oliver, Sally Kipman, Johnette Morales, Victor Morales, Tom Bledsoe, even me. Under Steele’s column, I listed Fran Evans, Tim Weber, Tom Bledsoe, and Karen Meek.

Willie pointed to Steele’s column. “You didn’t put yourself down.”

“Me? Why would I put my name down? I didn’t have motive to get rid of him.”

“From what I hear about this guy, everyone had motive to make him disappear, especially the ladies.” He grinned at me.

“Be that as it may, I didn’t get rid of my boss. Nor did I kill Donny.”

“Still, you and this Bledsoe guy are the two common denominators.”

I thought about that and wrote my name under Steele’s column and circled both it and Tommy’s name. “But,” I said, thinking about Let Mother Do It and the type of business it is, “the same person doesn’t have to be responsible for both. Two totally separate people could have hired them.”

“True, and according to my sources, Mother is doing quite a booming business these days.”

I looked at him with interest. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about Let Mother Do It, aren’t you?”

“Not sure. I’m worried that the more you know, the more likely you’ll run off and play hero. My goal is to keep you from these killers.”

“Killers? There’s more than one? I thought hired assassins worked alone. Although I’m having a hard time imagining the old woman on the phone chasing people down with a gun or kidnapping someone as fit as Steele.”

Willie looked at me, considering something for a moment. “Rumor, and it’s only rumor, is that Let Mother Do It is a band of women.”

“All women?”

He nodded. “That’s the word on the street. Supposedly, they came on the scene about four or five years ago, just a single job now and then, but then word got out about their effectiveness and reasonable rates.”

“Reasonable rates?” I was getting tired of parroting questions but couldn’t help myself. “What are they, the Costco of murder and mayhem? Do they sell hits in large economy sizes like jars of dill pickles?”

“Laugh all you want, but I hear they’re doing quite a business and operate with anywhere from ten to fifteen assassins. What’s more, their clients are not from the traditional criminal community.”

Taking a quick second, I thought about that newsflash. Let Mother Do It was bringing contract murder to the masses? What a concept.

“But if they are doing such a great business, why isn’t there more on the news? There should be bodies strewn hither and yon.”

Willie shrugged. “Not if the jobs are spread out geographically or if they’re made to look like an accident or a botched robbery.”

I held up a hand in the halt position. “Or a carjacking?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Tom Bledsoe’s wife was killed in a carjacking a few years ago. They never found the person who did it.” I underlined Tommy’s name twice.

With a headache that had been ratcheted down a notch by the Tylenol, I tried to wrap my brain around what I was being told. It boggled my mind and made me want to whimper on behalf of humanity. A band of hit men—make that hit
women
—catering to everyday people, giving new meaning to “cleaning house” and “pest control.”

“When I talked to Mother, she said they didn’t advertise but that their business was all from referrals. Of course, at the time, I thought she was talking about housecleaning.”

“They might actually be housekeepers, little mama.” Willie smiled and drank some tea. “Housecleaning may be a front—a legitimate business to cover the criminal activities. Drug dealers do that all the time. It helps launder money. The government gets suspicious when people are living well with no visible means of support. Even I have legitimate business concerns—not under William Proctor, of course.”

I raised an eyebrow at him before continuing. “But how do potential clients contact them for hits? Do they have a website? Advertise in the Penny Saver? Aren’t past clients worried about handing out referrals?” I put down my pen and held my still-aching head in both hands. “I mean, say I wanted to bump someone off. How would I go about contacting them?”

“Oh, no, you don’t, little mama.” Willie wagged a finger at me. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. You are not to try to contact these crazy people. You lucked out when all they did was change their phone number. Probably a throwaway cell anyway.”

Ignoring his warnings, I persisted. “But how do potential clients contact them?”

“You just never mind about that. Give this information to the police and walk away, preferably to Santa Fe or Madison or Hong Kong for a week or two or three until this blows over.”

A yawn attacked me, and I was helpless to stop it.

“You’re sick and exhausted, Odelia. Why don’t you head on up to bed.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m going to hang out down here on your sofa.”

“I have a guest room upstairs.”

“I’m not here to sleep, and I’m not staying to make sure no one breaks in.”

Willie reached under his shirt and pulled out a gun. He put it on the kitchen table.

“I’m staying to make sure you don’t break out. I know you, little mama. As soon as I leave tonight, sick or not, you’ll be out that door, stirring up trouble in the middle of the night.”

I twitched my nose and stared at the gun. “Is that necessary?”

He chuckled. “Probably not for you, but I’m still a wanted man, remember?”

I wondered briefly if I should tell Willie that Mother had my name and where I worked, then decided against it. It would only worry him more, and I was worried enough for the two of us.