Bargain Hunting (30 page)

I had a rational fear of the parking lot, so I walked quickly inside the building. Margaret looked up, then made a note. It was 9:05.

“Messages?” I asked.

She passed me three pink slips. “May I help you, Mr. McGarrity?”

“I’m with her,” he said.

“So you might want to put on some Kevlar,” I joked as we walked to the elevator.

“She’s chipper in the morning,” Liam observed.

“That was actually a good morning,” I told him. “Oh, crap,” I groaned as I read the notes.

“What?” he asked.

“Three messages from three disinherited people. Not exactly how I wanted to start my morning.”

“I guess they aren’t calling to say thanks.”

“No, it’s more like being bitch-slapped over the phone. It’s my fault their father chose to exclude them.”

“Was it?”

I turned to glare at him as the elevator door opened. “I never even met the dead guy.”

I noticed that the room went completely silent as the interns and administrative assistants all turned and looked my way. Obviously they didn’t relish the idea of working alongside a moving target.

Ignoring their stares, I went to my office with Liam in tow. Becky was sitting at my desk.

“You just won me fifty bucks,” she said with a smile as she got out of my chair. “Thanks.”

“Fifty bucks for what?” I asked.

“Hi, Liam. Oh, we had a little office pool going on whether you’d show up for work or not.”

“Thank you for assuming correctly that I would perform my duties as expected.”

Becky’s smile broadened and she absently played with the amber pendant hanging around her neck. “Actually, I won because I said you’d be here, but you’d be late.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“How’s the hand?”

I glanced down at the curling edges of the bandage. “A nonevent. I’ve had worse paper cuts.”

She had on a flowing coral skirt and patterned blouse along with her chunky bracelets and chandelier earrings. “Glad it wasn’t worse.”

“You and me both. Want some coffee?”

“I’ve got to get back upstairs. Just wanted to check in with you.”

I gave her a hug. “Thanks, but I’m all good.”

Liam parked himself in one of the chairs opposite my desk. I went out to the kitchenette and rinsed my coffeepot, then filled it with water. As I passed through the bullpen area, I was still garnering stares. Hopefully that would end soon. I didn’t want to be treated like a star when, at best, I was an understudy.

I took the Lawson file out of my credenza and clipped the
three messages inside. I flipped to the bottom one and dialed the number. In less than ten seconds, I was sorry I had. I was being reamed by Virginia Lawson Reynolds, who was insisting her father had dementia and the will couldn’t possibly be valid. She blamed the whole thing on her greedy brother and easily manipulated mother and she promised to fight it with everything in her power.

For part of the one-sided conversation, I’d held the phone away from my ear while she was screaming at me. Liam seemed a little stunned and said as much when I ended the call.

“Are they all like that?”

“With seven million up for grabs, yeah. Pretty much.”

I got lucky with the second and third calls, reaching machines both times. I knew they’d call back, I just hoped they’d take their time doing it.

Tony appeared at my door. “Glad you’re here,” he said. “I’ve got good news.”

“That will be a nice change.”

“Garza wants Liam and me in his office in an hour. I think he’s going to drop all charges.”

You can be fearless or you can be smart.

“We have to tell
Tony,” I whispered as soon as I knew he was out of earshot.

“You think Garza’s going to invite the two of us to his office and then open fire? It’s the courthouse, Finley. Let’s see where this goes. Maybe Garza isn’t the SA from the list.”

“But if Tony knew, he could help.”

“We could also be putting him in danger. The best thing we can do for him is to keep him out of the loop. You don’t want anyone going after him, do you?”

“Of course not,” I answered. I rested my cheek against his chest and focused on the even rhythm of his heartbeat. “So what happens when we see Garza?”

“You’re not going,” he said. “You don’t have to be there. Tell Tony you’ve got a migraine or something. Anything.”

“You’re going in alone?”

“No, I’m going with Tony. You’re going home to Booker.”

I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. “Are you sure this is safe?”

He cradled my face in his hands. “I’m positive.

“Wait here until Tony and I leave. Then drive home. No stops.”

My nerves were on edge. Even though Tony was with Liam, I still had a nagging suspicion that something was all wrong about the whole situation. Maybe Booker could do something.

I arrived home and heard the reassuring sound of Perry Mason barking. Maybe a dog wasn’t the end of the world. I stuck my key in the lock and as soon as I opened the door, I saw Booker on the sofa with his gun pointed at me.

The dog stood at my feet looking up as if it was perfectly normal to be greeted by a large man with a large gun pointed at your head. I gave him a pet. “I’m taking a partial sick day,” I explained. Then I told him about Liam.

“Smart move,” Booker said.

“He could be walking right into a trap,” I argued.

“Garza wouldn’t dare do anything in public, and there are guards all over the building, so it may be the safest place for him.”

I felt slightly mollified. “Has the alarm company shown up yet?”

He shook his head. “But I know how José Garcia became José Lopez.”

“How?” I asked as I sat at the opposite end of the sofa.

“Ran his social. It wasn’t issued until José was seventeen. My guy at the NYPD said Lopez, then Garcia, was busted and looking at some serious drug time so he rolled on the Latin Bandits. The feds set him up in Miami with a new ID and a clean slate.”

“So he joined the sheriff’s office?” I asked, incredulous.

Booker smiled. “Seems his brush with the law took him to Jesus. From everything I could find, José turned into an altar boy once he got to Miami.”

“Then how did he end up being the point man ripping off drug dealers?”

“Turns out I wasn’t the first person to check on José. His file with the feds shows an inquiry by the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office eight years ago.”

“Not Garza?”

“I haven’t been able to find anything that leads back to Garza. Either he isn’t the right SA or he’s one very clever dude.”

“Anything that links José to Santos?” I asked.

He took a notepad out of his back pocket. “I can’t find anything that puts them together before the drug busts here in Palm Beach County.”

“Would Jimmy Santos have recognized him as a Latin Bandit?”

Booker shook his square-topped head. “They aren’t like those White Pride assholes. Each gang in each city has its own hierarchy. They don’t have annual conventions. Besides, Lopez/Garcia hasn’t been active for more than twenty years. And, if the Latin Bandits here found out, they’d have killed the guy on sight years ago.”

“I’m going to change,” I said. “We can call for Chinese.”

I put on a pair of skinny jeans and a flowy top I’d found on sale at Bealls Outlet. After slipping on some ballerina flats, I rejoined Booker. “There has to be something,” I told him. “What if we went to see Ina Lopez? She might know something.”

“Liam wants you here.”

“Liam doesn’t always get what he wants,” I countered. “Fine. You stay here, I’ll go alone.”

He laughed. “No wonder Liam likes you.”

I wanted to ask him to define “like” but I couldn’t think of a way that didn’t drip with desperation. “Let’s go. No Chinese, we can hit a drive-through on the way. My treat.”

We ate as Booker drove to Ina’s house via the directions I’d gotten off MapQuest.

Liam called. “Where are you?” he demanded without preamble.

“Booker and I are taking a field trip.” I explained the purpose of our outing. “How did it go with Garza?”

“He’s dropping the charges. I have to hang around here for some paperwork and go before the judge to make it official.”

“I’ll give you a call after we talk to Ina.”

“Can’t you just go home?” he asked, exasperated.

“I have Booker with me. He’s invincible.”

“Yeah? Well tell him he’s a dead man when I see him.”

I intentionally didn’t bother covering the mouthpiece. “Liam says thank you very much for taking me to see Ina.”

“You’re killing me, Finley,” Liam said.

I smiled. “Just roll with it.”

I hung up and then pointed to an upcoming turn. “Make this right. Hers should be the second house on the left.”

As we turned the corner, I noted the professionally manicured lawns and the sizes of the homes. Still, Ina Lopez’s house stood out because it had been customized with ramps leading from the driveway to the front door. There was a
blue van parked in front with a metal grate attachment for a wheelchair.

Booker parked behind the van. “I’ll go in with you,” he said. Well, it was more like a directive than a statement.

As we exited the vehicle, I heard the hum of lawn mowers and could smell freshly cut grass carried on the gentle breeze. We walked up the ramp, Booker just behind me and to the right. I pressed the doorbell.

A woman I guessed was somewhere in her late fifties, wearing scrubs, answered the door.

“Mrs. Lopez?” I asked.

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. Her hair was gray and pulled into a tight bun at the crown of her head. “I’ll get her,” she added, then stepped away from the partially opened door.

A pretty woman with exotically dark features and a cautious smile came to the door. “I’m Ina Lopez.”

“I’m Finley Tanner,” I said, offering her one of my cards. “And this is my assistant, Mr. Booker.” Hope she bought that one. My assistant was dressed in camo slacks and a tight black T-shirt. He looked more like an army recruitment poster than any assistant.

“I’m sorry,” Ina said with a slight Spanish accent. “Do I know you?”

She was dressed in shorts and a top and her long black hair fell nearly to her waist. “No. We’re here about José.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What about José?”

“May we come in?” I asked.

She hesitated a minute, then swung the door wide.

We stepped into what should have been a living room but had been transformed into a hospital room. Along the far wall was a hospital bed. There was a frail-looking woman lying there connected to a breathing machine that made a whooshing sound at regular intervals. There were other machines as well, but I didn’t know what they were for. The caregiver was seated next to the bed reading a book while the elderly woman slept. At least I hoped she was sleeping.

The house smelled of rubbing alcohol and antibacterial soap.

“Let’s go into the kitchen, I don’t want to disturb my mother.”

Booker and I followed her down a wide hallway. The ceilings had to be at least fourteen feet high, and other than the wheelchair folded and parked near the knee wall separating the two rooms, it was a stunning home.

Ina showed us to the table in the kitchen across from the center island. The kitchen was well appointed—Sub-Zero fridge, state-of-the-art six-burner stove with a modern hood. The walls were white with red accent pieces everywhere. Two bar stools were askew and there were crumbs on the breakfast bar, indicating that at least two children lived in the home.

“What is it you want?” Ina asked.

“We want to find out who killed José. The man originally accused—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “The charges were dropped this morning. It was on the news at noon.”

“Right,” I said. Now I had to think of a way to ask her about José without calling him a criminal. Even though they were divorced, I noticed several framed family photographs in the
dining room. Many of them featured José, so even in divorce, he was still a part of her life and I didn’t want to spook her.

“Are we keeping you from . . .” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the makeshift hospital room.

“My mother,” she supplied. “She has Alzheimer’s disease. End stage.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said in earnest.

Ina shifted in her seat. “It has been a difficult six years. She declined very quickly. The doctors say it won’t be much longer.”

“At least she gets to spend her last days with you and your family,” I said.

“Maybe,” she said with sadness in her voice. “Without José’s help, I’m not sure I can afford to keep her here with me.”

“José’s help?” I prodded.

“From his second job. He loved my mother very much and has made sure she’s gotten the best care even though she has no insurance.”

“What was his second job?” I asked.

“He loaded containers for shipment. It was hard work and not always steady, but every penny he made he gave to me for Mama’s care.”

“What was the name of the company he worked for?”

“Southern Allied Cartage,” she said. “Out at the Port of Palm Beach.”

SA was whizzing through my head and it was everything I could do not to react. “So José was good to you?”