A Real Basket Case (20 page)

“Don’t worry. If someone comes after me, Leon’s driver and bodyguard are armed.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Deb shifted in her seat to get a better look at the approaching man crunching across the icy parking lot. “I suppose we just wait for him to come to us?”

“That’s right.” When the bodyguard was close enough, Claire rolled down her window. “Hello. I’d like to talk to Leon again.”

The bodyguard leaned over and peered through the car window at Deb. “Who are you?”

Deb pulled out her wallet, extracted a card, and handed it to him. “Deb Burch, an old friend of Claire’s and a P.I. I’m helping with her investigation.”

He read the card. “Stay here.” He crunched back to the limousine.

Claire chewed her lip as she wondered what Leon’s reaction would be to Deb’s occupation.

The bodyguard handed the card through the back window of the limousine, said a few words, nodded, then returned. “Mr. Leon has asked you to join him in the restaurant.”

Claire exhaled in relief.

“You know the drill.”

Claire stepped out of the car and placed her hands on the hood.

With a raised eyebrow, Deb assumed the same position on the opposite side of the car.

The bodyguard frisked the two women, checked Claire’s purse, then said to Deb, “Where’s your purse?”

“I don’t carry one. Just my wallet.” She held it up and then stashed it back in her coat pocket.

“Walk on over to the restaurant.”

Claire and Deb preceded the bodyguard, stepping gingerly over frozen puddles on the asphalt. When they passed the limousine, the solemn driver nodded at Claire.

The bodyguard directed them through the restaurant’s back door. The tantalizing odors of fried chicken and wood-smoked pork surged through the open kitchen door. The guard pointed left into a small private dining room.

A couple of tables-for-two lined the far wall. In the middle stood a round table for six, covered with a plastic, red-checked tablecloth. Deb took a seat facing the door, and Claire sat next to her.

Trailing a cloud of cigarette smoke, Leon entered the room with an arm around the hostess. When the chubby, gray-haired woman whispered the punch line for some joke, Leon guffawed. He dismissed the hostess with a friendly pat on the rear and walked over to the table. “Mrs. Hanover, we meet again.” He held out his hand.

Claire shook it. “This is my friend, Deb Burch.”

Leon grinned, showing polished white teeth. “Nice to meetcha’, Miss Burch. It’s not every day I get to meet an Indian P.I.” He shot a look at his two men, who laughed obediently.

Leon studied Deb. “I can see you don’t like your back to the door, just like me, but this is my table, so I’ll have to ask you to move.” He pulled out a chair on the opposite side, with its back facing the door.

Deb stood and changed her seat.

Claire rose to do the same.

Leon waved his hand. “You can sit next to me, Mrs. Hanover.” He walked around the table and took Deb’s original seat.

The bodyguard and driver sat at one of the tables-for-two, where they had a good view of the door.

When the server brought water, Leon said, “The usual,” then turned to Claire. “What did you want to ask me?”

She waited for the server to leave. “First, do you know where Condoleza was this morning?”

Leon shook his head. “I ain’t that woman’s keeper.”

Claire decided to change the subject. “I followed your advice and have been investigating the women at the gym. Deb and I have some questions, and we thought of you. I mean, we thought maybe you could answer them. The questions, I mean.”

Leon smiled at her obvious edginess, then inclined his head, indicating she could proceed.

Claire glanced at Deb for support. “First, there’s Brenda, a tall brunette in her thirties.”

Leon nodded. “Cool bitch. Always smart-looking.”

“I know she owed Enrique thousands of dollars and was making weekly payments, but I don’t know the exact amount or if she had trouble coming up with the money.”

Leon leaned back and puffed on his cigarette. “You think she knocked off Enrique so she wouldn’t have to pay off the loan?”

Claire spread her hands wide. “Maybe.”

Leon shook his head. “Enrique didn’t have the cash to loan her. He couldn’t hold onto more than a couple hundred at a time. Always spending to impress the ladies.”

“Then why was he asking for payment?”

“He was working for me in another capacity. See, I run a little personal financing business on the side. The lady owed that money to me.” He pointed to his chest. “And she knew it.”

“Maybe she thought by killing him—”

“Don’t make no sense for her to kill Enrique. She’s owed me before and paid it off. Besides, she’s made a payment since Enrique was shot. Travis is collecting on that loan now.” Leon nudged Claire. “One of your favorite people, Mrs. Hanover.”

Claire smiled, relaxing a little. “I found out that another woman bought drugs—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Leon wagged his finger at her. “We don’t use that word. Products. My business is selling products to people who need ’em.”

“Right. Products.” Inwardly, Claire cringed. “The woman’s first name is Patti. She’s Hispanic and has a limp. I don’t know her last name.”

“I do.”

Claire waited, then realized Leon wasn’t going to offer the name. “At first, I assumed she owed Enrique money, like Brenda, but that doesn’t seem to be a strong enough motive now. Do you know if either Patti or Brenda had another reason to kill Enrique?”

Leon thought for a moment, but as he started to speak, the hostess returned with a helper. Both carried steaming trays laden with barbecued ribs, corn on the cob, biscuits, and coleslaw. Leon waited for the bustling women to place the food on the table, then waved at the platters. “Help yourself.”

He grabbed a rib and ripped off a huge bite. His lips curled in contentment. “Best ribs west of Louisiana. Go on, have some.”

Claire took a rib. “I thought you were on a diet, Leon.”

He laughed. “Sure am, but I can’t never resist these. I’ll skip dessert.”

Claire ate a bite of her rib and swiped at barbecue sauce dribbling down her chin. Her stomach grumbled, and she remembered she hadn’t eaten lunch. “These are delicious.”

“Tell your friends. I got a little investment in this place.” Leon took another bite then dropped the rib on his plate and wiped his mouth. “Now, to answer your question, I don’t know why either of those ladies would have a problem with Enrique. That’s what I like about those gym lady customers. No problems.”

“Who else at the gym bought ‘products’ from Enrique?” Deb asked.

“So the P.I.’s got a tongue.” Leon turned to Claire. “Seems you’re doing all the work.”

Deb winked at Claire. “I said pretty much the same thing. I told her she had a lot of chutzpah to see you the first time, and she should come work for me.”

Leon stabbed a thumb in Claire’s direction and laughed. “Yup, this lady’s got balls.”

Claire blushed.

“Back to my question,” Deb said.

Leon took a bite of biscuit and swiped flaky crumbs from his fingers. “I ain’t telling you who all my customers are, but I will tell you this. We checked ’em all out ourselves, and we’d sure be surprised if one of them shot Enrique. Now, a lovers’ spat, that’s different. You know, a woman scorned?”

Deb looked at Claire. “He’s got a point.”

“Did Patti have an affair with Enrique?” Claire asked.

Leon shook his head. “Enrique liked to boast about his ladies. He didn’t mention her.” He winked. “Last one he told me about was you. Said he thought you’d be next.”

Claire grimaced and rubbed her forehead.

A loud gasp at the doorway made her look up.

Condoleza stood with eyes blazing and a wavering finger pointed at Claire. “What’s
she
doing here?”

TWENTY-ONE:
FAILURE AND REDEMPTION

“The lady’s lunching with
me, Leza. Join us.” Leon smiled and waved toward the empty chair on his left.

Still pointing at Claire, Condoleza marched to the table. “She made me lose a customer.”

Claire hadn’t had time to recover from the shock of Condoleza’s appearance when this new surprise hit. “Jill fired you?”

“Mrs. Edstrom told me to leave and not come back.”

“I’m sorry, Condoleza. We didn’t say anything to Jill about you. I don’t know why she did that.”

Still standing, a red-faced Condoleza faced Leon. “She’s lying.”

Leon patted his mouth with his napkin. “No, she’s not.”

“What?” Condoleza stamped her foot. “You take her side over mine? I don’t believe this.”

Leon grabbed her wrist. “Sit, Leza. I’m not siding with her. I just know she ain’t any good at lying.”

Open-mouthed, Condoleza dropped into the chair next to Leon.

He draped an arm around her shoulders. “Calm down, and tell me the story.”

“After they left, Mrs. Edstrom said she knew the whole story, and I better tell my side. I told her I never said anything bad about her to Enrique. It wasn’t my fault he turned her down. That’s when she yelled
vete
!”

Leon raised an eyebrow at Claire.

Claire shook her head. “We didn’t say a word to Jill about Condoleza’s relationship with Enrique.”

Deb leaned forward. “Condoleza, you got real jumpy when we showed up at Mrs. Edstrom’s. She probably noticed, even though we tried to distract her. She fooled you. She made you think she knew something, and you incriminated yourself.”

A tear ran down Condoleza’s cheek. Chin quivering, she whispered, “I am not a fool.”

Leon handed her a paper napkin. “’Course not.”

Claire’s heart went out to the young woman, but Claire also sympathized with Jill. “I can understand why Jill would be mad. She was very hurt when Enrique refused her advances. Did she pay you for your work today?” Claire reached for her purse.

Condoleza blew her nose in the napkin and shook her head.

Leon stayed Claire’s hand and pulled a roll of bills out of his jacket pocket. He peeled off two hundreds and pressed them into Condoleza’s hand. “You’re better off without that Edstrom lady.”

He signaled his bodyguard. “Take Claire and her friend to their car while I calm Leza here.”

Claire rose to leave. “Again, I’m sorry, Condoleza. If I can do anything . . .”

Leon shook his head and pulled Condoleza to his side. “Your business is done here today.”

Back at the car, Deb gazed speculatively at the restaurant. “Leon’s awfully protective of Condoleza. I wonder . . .”

Claire unlocked the car doors. “Wonder what?”

“He’s the one who provided an alibi for Condoleza. Maybe that was to protect her, too. Or, if Enrique Romero hurt Condoleza somehow, maybe Leon or one of his goons knocked him off.”

“But why would they kill him in my bedroom?”

“Leon’s smart. By setting it up to look like Roger caught you two in the act, Enrique’s drug dealings aren’t relevant to the investigation, so the police stay out of Leon’s business.”

After sliding into her seat, Claire waited for Deb to do the same. “If Leon had Enrique killed, why is he being so helpful to me?”

“To stay informed. To keep track of what you and the police are doing. When he realizes you won’t give up and go away, he has Condoleza plant the death threat.”

“I see what you mean, but I feel like I’m going backward. Instead of narrowing the list of suspects, we’re widening it.”

Deb patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Anytime we find out more information, we’re making progress, even if we don’t know yet how it all fits together.”

Claire checked her watch. “Right now I’m worried more about Roger. It’s after three, and I still haven’t heard from him.”

“Back to your house, then. That’s the most likely place we’ll find him.”

Roger was severely depressed, and Ned telling him not to come back to work could push him over the edge of some cliff. But Claire didn’t voice her private fears, afraid Deb would think she was overreacting. Claire chewed on her lip as she drove home.

When they arrived, she cut the engine and leapt out of her car. Roger’s car wasn’t in the garage, but the security system was off. Maybe he’d gotten drunk and someone had brought him home. Despite’s Deb’s warning that she wanted to check out the house first, Claire ran inside. When she didn’t see Roger in the kitchen or living room, she ran upstairs and searched the bedrooms.

Breathless, she returned to the front hall, where Deb stood waiting. Claire couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice. “He’s not here.” A sob caught in her throat.

Deb hugged her. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

“You haven’t seen how depressed he’s been.” Tears welled out of Claire’s eyes. Ashamed of her lack of control, she walked to the kitchen to get a tissue.

Deb followed.

Claire blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

The front door flew open with a crash.

Roger stumbled in.

“Oh, God.” Relief washing over her, Claire ran to him and threw her arms around him. He reeked of cigarette smoke. “I’ve been so worried. Where have you been?”

“Had shom drinks at Cleat’s.”

The peaty tang of scotch assaulted Claire’s nose. She pulled back and looked at Roger’s bloodshot and unfocused eyes. “You went there after talking to Ned?”

“Yesh.” Roger spread his hands apart. “I’m kaput. Finished. All washed up.”

Defeat thudded in the pit of Claire’s stomach. She reached up to smooth Roger’s ruffled hair, aching with the need to comfort him. “Why’d you go to the office? You promised you’d wait.”

“He told me to. Can’t say no to the bossh.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Roger looked irritated. “I
did
call you, right after Ned called me. You didn’t answer.”

“That must have been when I was in aerobics class. Why didn’t you leave a message or call after you got to the office? I told your secretary to have you call me.”

“No time. Ned was waiting. I left a message later, though.”

“That message scared me.” Claire glanced behind her.

Deb stood in the kitchen doorway, sympathy showing in her eyes.

Claire faced Roger again. “Deb and I found out a few things that could help prove—”

“Too late. Too late.” Roger waved his hand as if swatting at a pesky fly. The movement threw him off balance. He stepped forward, stumbling against Claire.

“You need to sleep this off. Let’s get you upstairs.” She led Roger to the staircase. With one arm around him and the other bracing against the rail, she guided him up the steps, into the master bedroom, and onto the bed.

By the time she removed his shoes, he was snoring.

She covered him with an afghan. In repose, the lines in his face faded, reminding her of his younger self, the one she couldn’t keep her hands off of. She smiled as she remembered when they had first locked eyes at a fraternity party at the University of Colorado. She, the shy freshman, planning to major in French and fine arts, fell hard for the outgoing business major in his last year, whose wind-tousled hair smelled of the freshly mown grass of the rugby field.

Amazingly, he fell for her, too.

She caressed his cheek. She’d seen Roger eyeing his middle-aged paunch in the mirror with a dissatisfied frown. But he didn’t see his backside, which was firm and dimpled and made her gut clench. She whispered, “Honey, you still turn me on,” kissed him gently on the forehead, then backed out of the room.

She leaned against the wall and sniffed back tears. She’d failed him. Utterly. Because of her, he’d lost his job, and his self-esteem along with it. And soon he might lose his freedom. With shoulders slumped in defeat, she walked downstairs and into the kitchen.

Deb looked up from her PDA. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes. I’m relieved he made it home in one piece, but . . .” The lump in her throat was too large to continue. Claire sat on a stool, leaned her elbows on the counter, and held her throbbing head. She took a moment to compose herself, then looked at Deb. “I’ve failed him.”

“The fat lady hasn’t sung yet. Don’t give up.” Deb poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Claire. “Here. I made us some coffee.”

Claire rubbed her forehead and took a sip. “All my sleuthing was for nothing.”

“There’s still hope. If we can prove Roger’s innocence, maybe his boss can be convinced to take him back.”

“I doubt Ned wants us to be associated with the firm anymore.
We’re too scandalous.” Bitter resentment lashed Claire. At the
injustice of Roger’s situation and, especially, the futility of her own actions. “Damn, I feel so powerless.”

“Maybe you’re pushing yourself too hard.” Deb’s brow furrowed.

Maybe it was time to let the professionals take over, Claire thought. It wouldn’t be hard for Detective Wilson and Deb to do a better job than she had so far.

The doorbell rang.

Detective Wilson stood on the stoop, along with another man. The short, scruffy-haired guy didn’t look like a cop, not even a plainclothes cop trying to look like an easy mark. Wilson waved his hand at the man. “This taxi driver is looking to get paid.”

Confused, Claire stared at Wilson. “You rode here in a taxi and want me to pay?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Apparently, he dropped off someone else. Said a bartender from Cleat’s called him.”

“Oh, Roger. He probably used up his cash at the bar. I’ll get my purse.” Claire paid the driver and led Wilson to the kitchen.

He took a stool. “I came by to discuss the results of my investigations. Also, I’ve arranged for the patrol officer in your area to drive by as often as he can. So, have you been sitting tight here since we talked?”

“Not quite.” Claire glanced at Deb, who grinned.

Wilson frowned. “I thought I told you not to do anything stupid.”

Deb pushed a mug of coffee across the counter at Wilson. “She didn’t. Don’t get your shorts in a bind.”

Wilson glowered at Deb. “And you were supposed to protect her.”

She thrust her hand on her hip and stared back. “I’m doing okay, so far. Listen to what she has to say.”

Before Wilson could extend the argument, Claire told him about the encounters she and Deb had with Jill and Leon.

After a skeptical glance, Wilson fished out his pocket notebook and began writing. When Claire finished her story, he put down his pen. “I guess, short of locking you up, there’s no way to keep you from sticking your nose in a hot oven. I have to admit, what you found out is helpful, but your visits with Leon make me real nervous.”

Deb mimed a sweet face. “It was my idea.”

“Listen.” Wilson pointed a finger at Deb. “The only reason I’m putting up with you is that a colleague of mine in the Denver P.D. vouches for you. You need to keep Mrs. Hanover out of trouble, not lead her into it.”

“Sorry.” Deb looked contrite. “I won’t do it again.”

Wilson peered at Claire. “Promise me you won’t talk to Leon again.”

“I promise.” Relieved, Claire had no qualms about making the promise. “What did you find out about the women at the gym?”

Wilson flipped a few pages and read from his notes. “Karla has an alibi. She went shopping with a friend the morning Romero
was shot, and the friend vouched for her. Plus, she had credit
receipts with time and date.

“I also talked to Patti. She doesn’t have a solid alibi, but she doesn’t have a good motive either.” Wilson raised his head. “I tend to agree with your friend, Leon. This case has always looked like a crime of passion to me, making your husband the prime suspect.”

When Claire opened her mouth to speak, Wilson held up his hand. “I’m open to other possibilities. Back to Patti. She denied having an affair with Romero, and I found no evidence that she did.”

“What about her Hispanic accent?”

“Her limp is more important.” Wilson stared at Claire. “Think back to when you heard someone running down the stairs after Romero was shot. Was the cadence uneven, like someone favored one leg?”

Claire closed her eyes to focus. She shut out the memory of Enrique’s blood-soaked body, and tuned her mind to what she’d heard. The steps had been even and . . . “Light.”

“What?”

Claire opened her eyes. “The steps were even and light, steps a woman would make.”

“Did the person hit every step?”

“I don’t remember. Why is that important?”

“A fleeing man would be more likely to skip steps than a woman would, especially a small one.”

“C’mon, Claire, I’m going to run down the stairs,” Deb said. “Maybe that’ll help you remember. Go listen from the bedroom.”

Deb led them into the hall then glanced up. “Hope you don’t mind disturbing your husband’s rest.”

Claire walked to the stairs. “He’s dead to the world.” She flinched.
“Ouch. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Deb followed Claire to the top of the stairs, waited for Claire to get ready, then ran down.

Claire met Wilson and Deb at the bottom. “The steps I heard
that day were light, like Deb’s. There were lots of them, too, as
though the person hit every step. That’s another clue the killer wasn’t Roger.”

Deb looked at Wilson. “Of the female suspects we’ve checked out so far, we’ve narrowed it down to—”

“Condoleza Martinez, Jill Edstrom, and Ellen Kessler.” Wilson paced the hall. “Which of these women knew where your husband worked?”

“Jill and Ellen did, for sure,” Claire replied. “I don’t think Condoleza knew, but Jill could’ve told her, or Ellen could’ve told Enrique, who passed it on to Condoleza.”

“Leon vouched for Condoleza,” Wilson said. “He had a liaison with her while his men kept Travis occupied.”

“He’s probably protecting her.” Deb leaned against the banister. “And his two goons will say whatever he tells them to.”

Wilson nodded. “Makes sense, but I’m inclined to give Leon the benefit of the doubt.” He flipped forward in his notebook. “And you said Mrs. Edstrom confirmed she and Mrs. Kessler ate brunch, not lunch, at the Broadmoor that day.”