Death Loves a Messy Desk (31 page)

He frowned on cue and said, “So these guys might know who you are? And that’s why they tried to run you over? Not sure . . .”

“I’m a witness, Nick.”

“Oh.”

The boy plunked himself down on the steps and stared at us. This was probably better than anything on his Play-Station.

“And,” I said, “one more strange connection. The murder victim was found in the trunk of a blue Impala.”

“Okay.”

“Barb Douglas was seen in the passenger side of a blue sedan, possibly an Impala, parked outside her apartment on several occasions. Seemed like a friendly relationship. I’m just passing on what her landlord said. Someone should talk to him about all of this.”

Smarty said, “Yes. Detective Tierney will follow up on that. But there are lots of blue Impalas out there. The media mentioned the body in the trunk. They didn’t give a name or anything, so why would this Barb panic?”

Everyone blinked at that.

I said, “I told you that somebody called her just before she tore out of Quovadicon.”

Smarty said, “We’ll just have to find out who that was.”

Well, that was a relief. Someone official would try to find out what the hell was going on. I would be off the hook.

Nick chose that moment to be solicitous. “Do you want to go in and sit down, Charlie?”

The boy’s eyes widened yet again.

“No,” I said, “I want to go home and I want to make sure I get there without being killed by a truck.”

Just as Nick the Stick got a lascivious look in his eye, Smarty said, “We’ll see you get home safe, miss. I’ll take you in the patrol car, and my partner can drive your car.”

I blurted, “I hate police cars. I’m not going in one ever again. Never.”

The not-so-bright cop said, “Hey that reminds me, weren’t you the one they found with that dead body? Didn’t I see you get put in a squad car?”

The boy looked at me in a totally different way now.

I said, “It was an ambulance. I was injured, too. So don’t try to pin that on me.”

He brightened. Probably tickled that anyone could think he could pin something on them.

Smarty held up his hand. “It’s for your own safety, miss.”

Nick stuck out his chiseled chin. “This lady is a really good friend of mine. I can take her home. No problemo.”

I refrained from using the word
fool
when I responded, but only barely. “Uno problemo. You are also driving a police car, Nick.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I know there are two syllables in
never
, but try.”

Smarty barely suppressed a smirk. “In the meantime, miss, while we’re working out the travel arrangements, anyone you want us to call to stay with you tonight?”

Smarter and smarter.

I tried Margaret. No answer. Well, she was probably on a date. She’d have her cell phone turned off. By now, Sally would be conked out after a long day.

So that left Jack.

“Yes. My friend Jack Reilly.” This time he wasn’t getting off the hook. I whipped out my cell phone.

“Is this someone you know well and trust, miss?”

“Of course. He’s been my friend since we were kids and he’s also my landlord. He lives downstairs. He’ll do anything for me. Anything.”

Nick scowled.

“I’ll call him now. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I muttered.

“Shock,” Smarty said. “Anyone would find it hard to think clearly after that traumatic experience.”

Jack is number 1 on my speed dial.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice.

“Sorry,” I said. “I must have the wrong number.”

I didn’t bother to add,
I must have pressed the wrong something-or-other because I’ve just narrowly escaped an attempt on my life.
She didn’t bother to say,
Don’t worry about it
, before she hung up.

I pressed 1 again. The same woman answered. I said, “Oh.”

Before she hung up, she snapped, “Try to have a little consideration.”

Something had obviously gone awry with my new cell phone. Had I programmed the numbers incorrectly? Was I losing my grip? On the third attempt, I dialed Jack’s number from memory. By now, I recognized the voice.

“I do
not
have the wrong number,” I said firmly.

The exasperation was clear in her voice. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Exactly who were you looking for?”

“Jack Reilly. And please don’t tell me that this isn’t Jack’s number, because it is.”

“You want to speak to Jack? Why didn’t you say so?”

I refrained from saying,
Because he usually answers, and I don’t have to tell him that I’m calling to speak to him.

“He’s not available,” she said.

“What do you mean? Has something happened to him?”

“He’s busy. He can’t come to the phone right now.”

“Well, please tell him it’s Charlotte and I’ve had a . . .” I hesitated because I wasn’t sure how to describe what I’d just had. “Tell him it’s an emergency.”

Her sigh conveyed the absolute burden this put on her. “I can’t interrupt his meeting.”

“Let him decide whether it’s important enough to interrupt his meeting,” I said.

“Whatever,” she muttered. “Hang on.”

I hung on for at least three minutes while trying to avoid Nick’s eye. I heard her voice come back on the line. “Sorry. Jack said he’d try to find time to talk to you tomorrow afternoon.”

I snapped the phone shut.

“Something wrong, miss?”

I pulled myself together. “No. Nothing. I guess my friend is still in his meeting. It’s for the bike race to raise funds for WAG’D, that’s a dog rescue group.”

“Don’t worry about it, Charlie. I’ll follow you home if you want to take your own car. Make sure you’re all right.”

I sort of imagined Nick’s brain to be like the inside of a Victoria’s Secret catalog, with all the bra models whispering
Oh, Nick, baby
after running their tongues over their already glossy lips. I shuddered. I never wanted to be part of that nightmare vision.

Smarty raised a thick eyebrow. “I know that group, miss. They do great work. Where’s the meeting?”

I blinked. “I don’t know.”

Smarty said, “Tell you what. I’ll drive you home. My partner will follow with Sergeant Monahan in case this truck shows up.”

Although I often fear for the future of the Woodbridge police, this young officer and Detective Tierney gave me faith. At least they were smart. Pepper was probably smarter than both of them put together and multiplied by four, but for some reason she’d started lying about missing women.

“Thank you,” I said.

He nodded gravely. “I want to be sure that everything’s under control.”

I was pretty sure he meant Nick.

Back in my apartment, Nick leaned against the doorjamb in what he probably thought was a macho pose. The world’s greatest lover was scared of Truffle and Sweet Marie. They didn’t care for him, either. Probably remembered his last visit.

“How is Pepper getting along?” I said. Before he could answer, I added, “Does she mind you working nights? Must be hard on her.”

Smarty was looking around my apartment with interest. “Detective Tierney said he’d put a car on you. He wants to talk to you later. Okay?”

I nodded.

The dogs sniffed him and decided he was okay. Mostly they wanted to cuddle with me. That suited me just fine. I wasn’t crazy about having the three cops in the house, especially as they kept looking around. The not-so-bright one actually opened the fridge. I felt too tired to suggest that my appliances were off-limits for casual pointless snooping.

“You eat out a lot, eh?” he said.

Smarty shot him a dirty look, saving me the trouble. “Check the backyard,” he said. “Might be someone out there. You want to make sure it’s secure.”

“The backyard?” his partner said.

“Yup.”

“But we’re on the second floor.”

“Just do it. It’s on you if someone climbs up here and . . .”

I didn’t like the sound of that. Maybe that’s why I jumped when I heard people on the staircase. Jack was a vision in his Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts, as usual, immune to the weather. I felt my throat constrict. With Jack home, life would return to normal. I wanted to fling myself into his arms and say,
Make these cops leave. Keep the evil trucks away. Walk the dogs. Bring me ice cream.
Of course, when I looked past his shoulder, I spotted Blair. She managed to look cool and impossibly beautiful with her snug Lycra gear and that enviable mane of blond hair. At least Jack still reserved his Lycra duds for races and not street wear, and his hairstyle was the familiar spiky bed head that I loved. Blair laid a proprietary hand on Jack’s Hawaiian shoulder and cooed, “Hi, Charlotte, looks like everything’s under control here. We’re
so
glad you’re all right. Let’s give Charlotte her privacy, Jack. She has lots of protectors.”

“That Blair creature clung to him like six feet of Virginia Creeper,” I whined to Margaret when she finally answered. She sounded tousled, if that’s possible over the phone.

“Get over it, Charlotte. It’s midnight and tomorrow’s a workday and I’m so not in the mood.”

Where was the sympathy? The warmth and understanding you’d expect from a friend?

“And what is this ‘we’ all about?” I whined. “She said
we
, almost like she and Jack were a couple. As if.”

“What is your problem? You never let your relationship with Jack proceed past the good-buddy stage. You know he wants to get married and have children. So if that’s what he wants, let him go. Why should it bother you?”

I fought back my feelings of outrage and countered. “Why do you always answer a question with a question?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m upset. I’m upset about everything. I’m upset that a woman is missing and may be dead. I’m upset that another woman is dead and I was hit by a stapler and practically framed for her murder. I’m upset that I was chased by a killer truck.”

“You were chased by a killer truck?”

“There you go again, answering a question with a question.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re not sounding like yourself, Charlotte. You seem . . . unhinged.”

“You’d be unhinged, too, if you thought you were going to end up in the trunk of your car in the same area where that man’s body was found. Not that the police made any connection between that murder and the missing woman until tonight.”

I waited for a response. I thought I heard Margaret muttering. “Killer truck. Trunk. Murder. Missing woman.” That kind of thing.

“Can you talk into the phone? I can hardly hear you,” I said peevishly.