Hot Rocks (8 page)

sixteen

I used the same
routine on Sargent’s credentials as I had on Bannon’s while trying hard not to smile. Judging from Sargent’s expression, I may not have been successful. But it was so much fun jerking him around, I kept it up. Revenge is ever so sweet.

“You finished yet?” Sargent said, a bit of a snarl in his voice. “I don’t have all day for you to play games.”

“Maybe if you stood on your head, so I could get a better look. Your hair’s mighty slicked down in this picture—not the wild, just-got-out-of-bed style you’re wearing now.”

“Enough—”

“Easy, Major,” Bannon cut in. “She’s got a right to have some fun at our expense. We messed with her pretty good.” He shifted his attention to me. “Will you come with us? We’d like for you to work with one of our sketch artists. The sooner we get a picture on the street, the sooner we’ll have something to look for.”

“Oh, hell,” I said. “Stay where you are.” I rose and walked into my bedroom where I’d dropped my briefcase the previous night. When I returned to the living room, I held a sketch for each of them. “Here she is. Now, get out of here and find her.”

“How’d you—” Bannon stopped and grinned. “Damn, Major, she might be better than we thought. I’m not going to ask the hows and wherefores. I’ll just be thankful we have a lead.” He stood. “Thank you, Ms. Bowman. We’ll be on our way. If we get a hit, we’ll let you know.”

“Wait,” I said. “What about my pistol? When do I get it back?”

“No time soon,” Sargent said, smirking. “It’s a murder weapon. You might consider replacing it. Once things go into the evidence room, they often stay there.”

“He’s right,” Bannon said. “However, I’m betting you already have a replacement—maybe more than one.” He gave me a hard look. “Just make sure they’re registered and your permit is up to date.”

He headed toward the door. “C’mon, Major. Let’s get out of here. The city still expects us to find a killer.”

Sargent followed Bannon’s lead, but when he reached me, halted and stuck out his hand. “Like I said, ma’am, I might have come on too strong. I’d be honored if you’d forgive me with a handshake.”

Damn. What’s a girl to do when a guy she pegged for an asshole turns out to be a gentleman? Only one thing to do if you’re Texas born. I smiled and gave him a firm handshake. “Nice to know I’m off the hook.”

Bannon had stopped and now watched us. “Sorry to say this, but we didn’t mean to imply you’re off the hook. Your gun killed him, and you were present in the room. The lack of prints means you’re not the primary suspect anymore, but you remain a person of interest. We’re hoping you’ll remember something that helps solve the case. Keep thinking. Anything could come to mind. We’re not the enemy.”

Before I could come up with a fitting remark, the phone rang.

“You can get it,” Bannon said. “We’ll let ourselves out.”

As I headed toward the kitchen and my wall phone, I heard the door close.

“Hello,” I said, not recognizing the number on the caller ID.

“Hey, Lumpy. You had me worried when you didn’t answer your cell.”

“David? Is that you?”

“It’s been such a busy morning, I can’t be sure. But I know David stared at me from the mirror this morning. Of course, he was hard to recognize because of the happy look on his face. Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah. Almost back to normal. But it’s good of you to ask.” I reflected a microsecond. “What did you mean about happy look and my cell?”

“The first shall remain my secret, but a clue to tease your investigative genes is it has to do with last night. On the second, I called a couple of times, and you didn’t answer. Good thing you’re not unlisted, or I’d be knocking on your door.”

“You called … Oh, my cell must be in my purse. And I left it in the bedroom while I entertained two of Coral Lake’s finest.”

“The police? Why are they there?”

“They’re not. They just left. Kind of a strange visit.”

“How so? What’d they have to say?”

I paused, thinking through the visit. “They don’t think I killed Jacobs, but are keeping me on the persons of interest list. I guess it means I’m innocent unless they can find something to hang on me—and they’ll keep digging. Makes me feel better—I think.” I hesitated a split second and came back in a softer voice. “It was sweet of you to call. How long can I expect this personal medical follow-up?”

He chuckled. “Just standard practice, Ms. Bowman. Remember my Hippocratic oath. However, we could discuss it over dinner tonight. You had me so fascinated last night with your adventures I forgot to eat dessert.”

“What? We had dessert before dinner. Or was that another doctor I shared an ice cream appetizer with?”

“Touché,” he said. “But let’s do it in the correct order tonight.”

“You’re on. But you’ll have to come by and pick me up like a proper escort. No more meeting at a neutral site.”

“Sounds perfect to me. See you at seven.”

We hung up, leaving me thinking, wow, the day was getting better and better. First, the cops tell me I’m no longer the prime suspect, then the man of my dreams pursues me. I should stop by Publix and pick up a lottery ticket. I felt sure I’d hit big.

Then reality returned, and I remembered I had to rush. Had to have fresh nails for David, and appointments were hard to come by. I grabbed my purse and ran out the door.

seventeen

At two o’clock, after
changing into my canvassing clothes, I headed for the mall with high hopes. I wasn’t dressed as fancy as the previous day—I only had so many expensive outfits—but I felt professional. A white knit top showing a modest amount of skin, brown slacks, and a pair of flats to match. The slacks were among my favorites and showed it. Soft and comfortable, I wore them more often than any others in my closet. I knew I’d have to retire them soon—shrinkage, I called it. Truth was I’d put on a few pounds since buying them after hitting Florida. They were tight around the hips. The outfit came from Penney’s, my favorite department store. Not only did it seem that everything was always on sale, but its corporate headquarters was in Plano, just north of Dallas. Made me feel at home even though I was thirteen hundred miles away.

As I drove, I admired my nails in their new blood-red color. Wicked, the manicurist called it, and
wicked
I felt. I was no longer the prime suspect in the murder, dinner with David filled me with anticipation, and I had wicked new nails. I was on a roll. With the wonderful day I was having, surely someone would have news about Maria Garcia. No way was I going to let her get away with setting me up for a frame—even if it was a lousy effort. And there was the matter of her check for the thousand-dollar advance that someone—I suspected one of her friends—had lifted from my purse.

I parked in front of the Starbucks, exited the car, and started at the last store in the strip. By the time I worked my way to Madam Bergeron’s Dress Salon, my enthusiasm had entered a droopy phase. No one had seen Ms. Garcia. They knew no more than the previous day.

I stopped at the entrance, checked my nails to boost my confidence, fixed a smile on my face, then pushed the door open.

“
Bon jour
,
ma cherie
, I am so glad you
arrivé
,” Madam Ber-geron said, charging at me. “I have
les news merveilleux
.
Vitement
, come with me.”

Ah, my earlier optimism had panned out. My phony-accent friend had what I needed. She spun and strutted through the dressing room into her office as she had on my previous visit. I followed, not saying a word. It was obvious she was savoring the moment, and I didn’t want to do anything that might cause a memory lapse.

She settled behind her small desk, and I took the straight-backed chair. After a deep breath—for dramatic effect, I figured—she said, “Sarah remembers the woman you’re looking for.”

“Sarah is your floor clerk?” I wanted to be sure whom she meant.

“
Oui
. She tends the customers.”

“And?” I lifted my eyebrows to let her know she could continue.

A knowing smile. “After we closed last night, I sat her down and explained that I expected full cooperation.” Madam Bergeron’s French accent was on vacation again. “She pretended to think, then asked if the information was worth anything. I laughed at her and told her it was worth her job. When I spoke to her before, I had a feeling she might know more than she said. So I was not surprised when she remembered the lady in your picture.” She leaned back and crossed her arms, a satisfied look on her face.

I guessed she waited for congratulations, so I gave them. My adrenaline flow was so intense, my next words came out in a rush. “Who is she? Where can I find her?”

She leaned forward and held out her hands in a helpless gesture. “
Alors.
That was not what she knew. She says the woman came into the shop last Monday afternoon about four o’clock. She checked the dresses near the front, but Sarah believes the woman was more interested in staring through the window than in the merchandise. Sarah offered to assist her, but the woman said she was browsing. Because of her strange behavior, and we had no other customers, Sarah kept an eye on her. After several minutes, the lady left.” Madam Bergeron stopped talking.

“Does she know where she went? What kind of car she drove? Anything that can help me find her?”

“
Non.
The phone rang, and Sarah went to answer it. By the time she looked through the window again, your
poulet
had vanished.”

I leaned back and took my own deep breath, realizing I’d hardly breathed at all during the telling. “So, all we really know is she was here last Monday afternoon?” Yeah, disappointment probably showed in my voice.

“
Oui.
She was here. She went away. But, since she was here once, she may come again,
n’est-ce pas
?”

I agreed, but without much conviction. My guess was she ducked into the dress shop until I left the area. After I departed, she did her disappearing act. Nothing to go on there. But I wanted to walk away with something. “Is Sarah convinced the woman she saw is the woman in the picture?”

“
Oui.”

“And you think she’s on the level with you?”

“Ms. Bowman, I
know
she needs this job. She has a six-month-old baby, no man, and no family in the area. Lying to me would be stupid, and she is not stupid. Slow, maybe, but not stupid. She wouldn’t dare lie to me.”

I went quiet for a moment, seeking another question to ask. None came to mind, only continued disappointment. After thanking Madam Bergeron, I walked to the front of the shop and thanked Sarah. When we shook hands, I palmed her a ten-spot. I’m a sucker for babies and mothers who struggle to raise them. Or maybe I just had a guilty conscience. I doubted Madam Bergeron paid her much more than minimum wage.

The rest of my trek through the mall was less enlightening. No one had seen my woman. Of course, Starbucks had a third set of teenagers working. I went through my quest from the top, only to learn they knew nothing.

Maybe my homeless news vender would have something for me. One last stop, then I’d go home to get ready for David. That thought brought a smile to my face. I might be striking out as an investigator, but I rode high as a woman.

I walked out to Military Trail and stopped at the corner, waiting for the little sign to flash WALK … WALK … WALK. The homeless guy was either ignoring me or hadn’t seen me yet. I assumed the latter since there was money on the line. No one hawking newspapers at fifty cents a throw would ignore the possibility of a hundred bucks—especially with no work involved. The light changed. I lifted my left foot to step off the curb when a flash of white filled my peripheral vision.

Instinct took over, and I launched myself backward as a white car screamed by in a hard right turn. It passed through the space I’d occupied a microsecond earlier. This took place in that slow motion we hear about and see in movies and on TV. As my head turned to track the white sedan, my backside found the sidewalk in a skid followed by my head slapping the concrete hard. Familiar stars and fireworks replaced the vehicle before blackness took over.

eighteen

Light seeped through my
eyelids as I opened to a squint. The day seemed incredibly bright, but I could make out several people hovering over me. Everyone wore a concerned expression—you know, the look you see at a funeral. Since the lump on my head—yeah, same head, same lump—hurt like someone was using it to crack Brazil nuts, I assumed I wasn’t dead. I read somewhere there is no pain after death. I decided to conduct a test. “What happened?” Okay, not very original, but the question was uppermost in my mind.

“A car almost ran over you,” a bald man with a paunch said. “You came close to stepping in front of him when he was turning. It doesn’t look like he hit you though. You made some backwards leap. I never seen anything quite like it. Bet you would have gotten a ten in the Olympics.”

Memory flooded through the mist of pain. “No. That’s not right. Uh, I don’t think it’s right. Didn’t the car run up on the sidewalk?”

“That’s what I saw,” a lady in her thirties wearing shorts and a T-shirt said.

“I didn’t see it that way,” the bald man said. “Why would he do that? Plain silly, I say. You can bust a tire doing that. Not to mention denting a wheel. And those things are expensive.”

The woman shot him a glare that said he didn’t have a clue, then returned her concerned look to me. “Maybe we should call 9-1-1. You might need an ambulance.” She fumbled in her purse.

I assumed she was going for a phone so I sat up—too fast, my head said. “No ambulance. I’m okay … I just need a moment to get my bearings. Here.” I held my hand out to the man. “Help me up. I’m fine.”

He took me by the elbow and forearm and, with his support, I gained my feet. I wobbled a bit, but gradually, the world around me slowed its rotations, then stabilized as faces came into better focus.

“You sure you’re okay?” the lady said. “You ought to have someone check your head.”

“I’m fine … honest. Happens to me all the time. I keep a lump on the back of my head to use as a cushion. See?” I rubbed the bump then held out my hand. “No blood. I always say no blood, no foul.”

She gave me a funny look, shook her head, and walked away. With her movement, the small crowd dispersed. Their faces said they’d come to the same conclusion—I was nuts and didn’t deserve sympathy. Or maybe they were disappointed by the lack of serious injury.

I glanced down the street and was not surprised to see a dozen or more white sedans racing away, but none I could identify as my assailant. What did I expect—he would park and wait to see if I was okay? No way. He’d be long gone by now. I shook my head, trying to clear it. The world was still a bit dizzy. Did I step out like the man thought? Did the car jump the curb like the woman saw? Whichever, it didn’t matter now. The car and driver were well out of the area. Time to get back to normal.

I remembered why I’d been ready to step onto Military Trail and looked toward the median. The stack of newspapers was there, but no sign of the homeless guy. I could hope he saw what happened and rushed to get help. Or, as I suspected to be closer to the truth, he saw it and ran in the opposite direction, not wanting to be involved. In any case, my head hurt too much to care. I needed aspirin, the more the better.

I started into the strip mall toward my car, walking gingerly. As far as I could tell, nothing was broken, but things just didn’t seem right. I chalked it up to the bump on the lump.

There was a low wolf whistle behind me followed by, “Red’s always been my favorite color. Too bad they’re ripped like that.”

I took three more steps, listening as someone closed on me. When I thought he was within range, I spun, my hands up, ready to defend myself.

He jumped back. “Whoa, missy. I’m on your side. Remember?”

“Why are you following me?” I asked, recognizing my homeless recruit. “Where’ve you been?”

“Right here. I seen that car knock you down and rushed over. You was so busy playing Wonder Woman to the crowd you didn’t see me behind you. But that’s not the important thing right now. Do you know you’re mooning the public? Now mind you, I enjoy looking at a well-shaped tush, but—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Feel your rear end … or maybe I could do it for you.”

“Don’t you—” I reached behind me where I should have had pants, but felt skin, two bare cheeks. Minimum exploration told me my pants had split and my panties were shredded. Both my hands rushed to my butt as I backed away from him. “You, you get away from me. You … you.” I went speechless. What could I say? I was at the intersection of two of the most heavily traveled streets in Boca Raton, with my ass hanging out, my car a block away, and a bum ogling parts I considered most private.

“Here, missy. You don’t have to thank me.”

While my predicament blinded me with embarrassment, he had peeled off his top shirt—he wore several—and was now holding it out in my direction.

My first reaction was revulsion. There were stains I didn’t wish to identify, but that passed in a hurry. I grabbed the shirt and wrapped it around my waist, tying the sleeves in front. “Thanks. Uh, sorry I jumped on you.”

“Oh, that’s all right. Man in my position don’t get to see a sight like that very often—not near as often as I’d like. I mean, you look good from the front, but from the back—”

“Enough. I said thank you. I’ll bring your shirt back tomorrow.” I turned to walk away.

“Don’t bother. I got others. Ain’t you going to ask about your mystery lady?”

“Huh? Do you know something new?” He had my full attention, no matter how much breeze caressed me where it shouldn’t.

“Same as you—soon as you get your wits back. You’re just not putting it together yet. Maybe because of the way you’re … uh …
un
dressed.”

“Please. No games. I have a splitting headache.” Then a vision of the near miss jumped up. “You mean that white car?”

“Yep. Think about it.”

I squinted in concentration, rolling my memory tape. In the video, I saw my foot lift to step off the curb, then a white sedan bore down on me. A Toyota, definitely a Toyota, expensive model. My eyes lifted from the front-end emblem to the windshield. A woman, brunette, familiar features. “You think it was Garcia driving that car?”

He had a
gotcha
look on his face. “You don’t stay alive on the street by guessing. You can’t afford to be wrong. But I did see a white Toyota Avalon with dark side windows. I could make out that the driver was a woman. And I saw that same car make a beeline toward you. Now, you got any other enemies that want you taken out?”

He paused while I gnawed on what he said. “You’re thinking about it,” he said. “That’s good. Keep it up, and I figure you’ll come to the same conclusion. So I’ll just get back to work unless you want to buy me dinner.” He stepped into the street, mumbling loud enough for me to hear, “Love them red panties. My favorite color on a woman. Mighty nice ass, too. Been a long time …”