A Secondhand Murder (9 page)

“
I thought you told me not to worry about the murder thing.”

I skewered her with what I wanted to believe was a scathing look, but the tequila had already taken the edge off my usually razor-sharp regard. “What I haven't told you is Valerie Sanders and I go way back.”

“
Yeah, I know that.”

“
What! You know what?”

She caught the waiter's eye, a feat difficult to accomplish now that more patrons had entered for dinner, and pointed to her glass.

“
Valerie and I only chatted briefly at the shop, but she told me a bit about the two of you. She said she knew you from Connecticut and that she wouldn't have brought her clothes to us if she had known you were one of the owners. I guess using your maiden name fooled her. Good thing for us, too. She really didn't like you, did she?”

“
Well, no, but—”

“
Does Frida know?”

The waiter placed another drink in front of her and asked if we wanted to order.

I pointed my finger at the kitchen. “Go away.”

He did.

“
See, now that's probably why Valerie didn't like you. You're so rude.”

“
What did she say about me?”

I never did find out because just then an explosion rocked the restaurant, blowing out several plate glass windows in the front. People screamed and ducked under their tables. Others ran for the back. Waiters dropped their trays and rushed toward the back of the room. Cooks streamed from the kitchen into the dining room. People just entering hit the floor, covering their heads. Some of them crawled away from the noise toward the bar area, which was on the left and to the back. Shouts, cries, and moans filled the room. The manager rushed into the main part of the restaurant, trying to assure patrons that everything was fine. Luckily, the window seats had all been empty, so the flying glass only cut a few people.

“
Everyone be calm,” the manager said. “It looks like one of the cars in the parking lot caught fire and exploded. That's what blew out the windows. I called nine-one-one.”

It was all over in a few seconds. I too had dropped to the floor and crawled under our booth, where all I could see was people's feet running back and forth. I had to know what was happening. I peeked from under the tablecloth and raised my head a little so that I could look out the windows. Sure enough, something was burning out there. What was once a car was now only a mass of twisted and seared metal, flames shooting from the wreckage. Despite its mangled state, something about the former vehicle looked familiar to me.

I heard sirens and saw the blue lights of emergency vehicles on the road. I stood up and glanced across the table to where Madeleine had been, but she was gone. I looked under the table. Not there. I peered around the room and found her hanging onto the waiter at the end of the bar.

How did she get over there?

I watched her plant a kiss on his cheek then walk back to our table.

“
He rescued me. He was standing at the end of our row of booths, and he could have run the other way, but he tore over here, picked me up and carried me toward the bar, farther away from the windows. Now that's what I call service.”

I stood up and glared across the room at our waiter. “What about my safety?” I yelled. “What about me?” I pounded my chest, stuck out my chin in a belligerent manner and then slumped back down onto the bench. It was good to get that off my chest even though he probably couldn't hear me.

“
You told him to go away. Remember?”

EMTs arrived and checked over the patrons who had been hit by flying glass. Luckily, they had all been seated far enough from the windows that their wounds were superficial. A few people were still hysterical from the shock, so emergency personnel examined and calmed them as well. Meanwhile, fire trucks surrounded the vehicle and were extinguishing the flames.

“
Some excitement, huh?” said Madeleine's waiter, who was refreshing the drink she had spilled thanks to his Tarzan act.

I clasped my empty glass with a grip almost tight enough to break the little green-glass cactus stem as I watched the fire fighters spray fire retardant on the smoking vehicle. To be precise, they were spraying the hood of
my
car. My sexy red Miata convertible. The only one I'd seen in these parts. The one that always got me attention when I drove into a parking lot. The one that was paid for. The car I just had washed and waxed for $150 at SudsUp, where the guy applying the coat of wax told me he lusted after my car. My car. Not me. Gone. What happened? An accident? Or …

By the time Frida arrived at our booth, I'd propped my chin on the edge of my Margarita glass for added support. “Your car is a total loss,” she said.

“
Right.” I raised my head. Frida's blurry face came into view. I licked a bit of salt off the edge of my glass. “Maybe another drink?”

Madeline chimed in on this one. “You've had enough. I told Paco not to serve you any more Margaritas.”

Frida looked puzzled. “Who's Paco?”

“
My, I mean,
our
waiter,” Madeleine said.

“
She's right. I've had enough and he's her waiter, not mine. I could hardly get a tortilla chip out of the guy.”

“
She seems to be taking the car thing awfully well,” said Frida, turning to Madeline. “Well, if you overlook the drinking.”

“
Tell me. Tell me …” I grabbed Frida's arm.

“
Tell you what?”

“
I forget.” I propped my head on my elbows and looked across the table at her. “Oh, yeah, tell me how that happened to my car.”

“
We don't know yet, but we think somebody put an incendiary device under your hood.”

“
They killed my car on purpose? The perp committed car murder?”

“
What's an ‘incendiary whatever'?” Madeleine asked, while sending a flirtatious finger wave over to Paco, who was standing near the kitchen door. He smiled and waggled his fingers in reply.

“
A bomb. Someone put a bomb under my sweet little car and Boom! Well, you heard it. Blammy. In a million charcoaled pieces.”

“
Lucky you weren't in it.” Frida's words poured over me like cold water. I was suddenly sober.

“
I want to go home.” I rose on shaky legs. I could have been crisped in that explosion. “Wait. First I have to go to the bathroom and throw up.”

Frida drove me home in her cruiser. We left Madeleine sitting at the bar, waiting for Paco to get off work.

“
That's twice now. Someone's trying to kill me.”

“
There was something before the car?” Frida turned her head toward me, a look of concern on her face.

I relayed Alex's comment about how Valerie and I looked alike.

“
Your PI thinks you were the target?” Frida seemed to take his idea seriously. “I never thought about that possibility. When were you going to share this with me?”

She turned the corner and started to pull over to the curb in front of my house.

“
No, no. Go! Go!” I tried to jerk the wheel out of her hands and turn the car back into the middle of the lane.

“
Let go of the wheel. What are you doing?”

I would have stayed at the restaurant and watched Madeleine and Paco feed each other chips and salsa if I'd known Jerry would be sitting on my front steps. There it was, the answer to my demolished car and the nagging doubt about the killer missing his intended target.

I jumped out of the car, grabbed him by the shirtfront, jerked him to his feet and began to shake him. “You creep. You sent a cheap hit man to do me in and when he bungled the job, you hired someone to blow me up in my car. Well, he got the car, but I'm still alive.” I balled my hand up into a fist and prepared to hit him.

Frida grabbed my arm. “Whoa. Who is this?”

“
My husband and the guy who tried to kill me. Twice! Arrest him.”

O
kay. Maybe I was wrong about Jerry. Maybe he didn't hire anyone to do me in. Maybe he did the work himself, but I had my doubts. Jerry might have been inspired to simplify his life by getting me out of it, but he didn't have the cojones to get his hands dirty.

I could tell that Frida was reluctant to arrest him. She didn't draw her gun and her handcuffs remained on her belt.

“
So this is Jerry, your husband who lives in Connecticut, right? And you suspect him of long-distance attempted murder?”

I looked down into Jerry's cola-colored eyes. We were the same height when barefoot, but, you know me, I like my stilettos. From my birds-eye perspective, Jerry's expensive haircut didn't hide a growing bald spot. I still held onto his shirt. He struggled against my hands, trying to pry them off his lapels.

“
Look, Evie, I have no idea what you're talking about, but if someone's been trying to kill you, I need to know what's going on. I'm worried. I tried to reach you several times today to let you know I'd be in the area.”

I stuck my face closer to his and narrowed my eyes. His eyes did a little dance around their sockets, a sure sign he was keeping something from me.

“
See. He admits it. He was here. If he didn't plant the bomb himself, he had someone else do it.” I grabbed more firmly onto the fabric.

“
Evie, honey, this is a four hundred dollar shirt. Could you back off a little?”

“
The car bomb was vintage Jerry, you idiot. You hired a real boob to do your work for you.”

“
Calm down. Why would I want to kill you?”

“
Because I won't sign the divorce papers?” That couldn't be the reason. Jerry wasn't the type to worry about such legal status designations as married, separated, or divorced.

Frida stood listening to our exchange, her hip cocked to one side, her right hand on the butt of her gun.

“
I don't get it,” Frida said. “Why won't you just divorce him? From what I've heard at our get-togethers, you certainly don't love him and you moved all the way down here to get away from him. He cheats on you almost daily, gambles away huge chunks of money at the horse races and associates with known felons. I think the magic's gone. Why not just sign on the dotted line?”

Jerry looked shocked. “She said all that about me?”

“
And more, but I've got to get back to the office to file my report on the bombing and fire.” Frida continued to look at me with curiosity while I twisted Jerry's shirt tighter in my hand.

“
Once I get on my feet financially, I'll cut the jerk loose. Until then, I owe him money. He fronted me for the consignment shop.”

“
I'd forgive the loan, but …” Now he attempted to wriggle free of my hold by grabbing my hand in his and prying at my fingers.

I held tight. “We signed a legal agreement for the money. I owe you the original amount with interest, and I intend to pay.”

“
I've got to run,” said Frida, “but here's a thought. You don't have to be married to pay back the money. You're not making sense, Eve.”

By now, Jerry and I were engaged in a tug of war with his shirt. I let go suddenly and he stumbled backwards, catching himself only a second before his butt hit my steps.

“
Fine. Here's the thing,” I said. “I'm on his health insurance policy. I can't afford to pay for my own insurance until I make a go of the store. I need you, Jerry.”

“
That's the nicest thing you've said to me in months.” He smoothed his shirt, pulled the front down and tucked the bottom into his pants.

“
I'm not trying to be nice. It's just the way things are. I don't want to need you, but I do.”

Frida flapped her arms against her sides. “Well, there you are. That makes sense. When it appears the business is definitely a go, you get your divorce. What could be easier?” She turned to leave.

“
Yeah, but I need the papers signed
now
. My girlfriend's pregnant. That's why I was trying to reach you. I need to marry her.”

“
Oh, don't be a drama queen. Lots of people wait until after the baby's born to tie the knot. In a couple of months the shop should be in the black. You can wait until then.” I paused. I didn't really believe that Jerry was behind the car bombing or Valerie's death. In all fairness, I was the drama queen, but right now I saw both fear and desperation on his face.

“
What's up? This can't have anything to do with uh—”

“
Monica.”

“
Monica's pregnancy. I don't see you as the kind of man who could be pushed into a shotgun marriage. You're just trying to get my sympathy.”

Frida had turned toward her car, but she hesitated. “So you
do
have reason to want Eve out of your life?”

“
Yes, but not one good enough to kill her.”

“
What would be enough to kill for?” Certainly not the arrival of a stork. I suspected something else was going on with Jerry. He kept looking up and down the street, his feet restless on the sidewalk, as if he might need to put them to work suddenly and sprint out of there. He shook his head.