Death, Taxes, and Cheap Sunglasses (A Tara Holloway Novel Book 8) (27 page)

As I circled back at the end of the block, an older model green Kia Sportage pulled into the driveway at Motley’s address. I watched as a blond woman climbed out, opened the back door, and wrangled two young children out of car seats. As the kids made their way to the front door, the woman stepped over to the mailbox and pulled out a stack of mail. She turned to head to the porch, failing to notice as an envelope fell from her hand to the ground. Waving her arm, she motioned the children inside, followed them in, and shut the door behind them.

I continued back toward the house, pulling over to the curb and eyeing the errant envelope. It was addressed to a Denise Newsom.

Performing a quick search on my phone, I confirmed that a twenty-eight-year-old woman named Denise Newsom lived at this address, along with a thirty-year-old man with the same last name. The marriage license records confirmed the two were husband and wife.

Why would Terrence Motley be living with this family?

Or
was
he?

It took me a minute or two to find a home phone listing for the Newsoms, but when I did I drove to a nearby strip mall and stepped into a mom-and-pop Indian restaurant, the smell of curry greeting me.

A round, middle-aged Indian woman in a yellow sari stepped out from behind the takeout counter with a stack of menus in her hand. “Just one?”

“Actually, I’m not here to eat.” I offered a cringe of regret. “I’m having car trouble and my cell phone battery is dead. May I use your phone to make a quick local call?”

I didn’t want to use my personal cell or work phone and risk anyone on the other end identifying me as law enforcement.

The Indian woman frowned, but gestured to a phone mounted on the wall behind the counter. “Make it quick. We are busy now.”

Busy?
There were only two people in the place. Then again, there were five paper bags lined up on the counter, waiting to be picked up. Looked like their primary business was takeout.

“Thanks.” I dialed the Newsoms’ number.

A female voice came over the line. “Hello?”

“Hi,” I said. “Could I speak to Terrence, please?”

“Who?” she replied, sounding confused.

“Terrence,” I repeated, adding “Motley” just in case he might go by the nickname Terry or maybe by his middle name.

“There’s nobody here by that name,” the woman said. “I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

“Sorry.” I hung up, thanked the Indian woman again, and perused the menu board behind the counter, placing a to-go order for the vegetable pulao. Fifteen minutes later, dinner in hand, I headed back out to my car.

As long as I was out, I figured I’d stop by Nick’s mother’s house to check on her and Daffodil. Nick’s mother looked worried, two deep lines etched between her brows. Daffodil, on the other hand, looked fat and happy. Especially fat.

“Wow,” I said. “She looks nothing like that skinny stray Nick brought home from the pound.”

“What can I say?” Bonnie said. “When I’m anxious, I cook. I was just sitting down to supper. Why don’t you stay and eat with me? I’d love the company.”

My pulao was waiting in the car, but how could I refuse Nick’s mother? Heck, I’d been lonely, too. Lately it had been just me and my cats at home. Kinda pathetic, huh? “I’d love to stay. Thanks.”

While Bonnie grabbed a second plate from the kitchen cabinet and a fork from the drawer, I poured myself a tall glass of the homemade peach sangria she kept in constant supply in her fridge. Glass in hand, I took a seat next to Bonnie at her kitchen table. A platter of fried chicken sat in front of us. I fished a leg off the pile, then helped myself to some mashed potatoes and green beans.

Neglecting her own meal, Bonnie pulled chicken meat off the bone for Daffy and hand-fed her the pieces. “Here you go, girl.”

Daffy took the bites, then gave Bonnie’s hand a long-tongued lick. Though I suspected the dog had been merely licking chicken juice off her hand, Bonnie said, “Aw, thanks for the kiss, girl.”

When Daffy had eaten her fill, she waddled over to her bed and plopped down, heaving a big sigh. Pigging out had evidently exhausted her.

“How’s work going?” Bonnie asked.

Though IRS policy prevented me from naming names, I told Bonnie as much as I could about my pending cases.

She shook her head. “There has to be a special place in hell for people who pretend to be collecting for the poor and keep the money for themselves.”

I felt the same way.

“You be careful at that hunting place,” she warned. “All those people with guns. That could get dangerous.”

Oddly, guns didn’t scare me nearly as much as knives. I supposed that was because I’d grown up around firearms and carried one myself.

When we were through with dinner, Bonnie served up two dishes of cherry cobbler and we took them onto her back patio. It was a pleasant evening, cool enough to be refreshing but not so frigid that we felt the need to go back inside. As we ate our cobbler, I gazed at the stars, wondering if Nick, wherever he was, saw these same stars right now.

Bonnie looked up, perhaps having the same thought. With her eyes still on the sky, she said, “I’m so glad Nick found you, Tara. I’ve never seen him happier than he’s been since you two got together.”

My heart squeezed. This was nice to hear. “Thanks, Bonnie.”

She turned to me. “You are just what that boy needed.”

Nick was just what I needed, too.

We sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes before I rose to go. Henry and Anne’s dinner was already late, and I needed to make a stop at the grocery store for the upcoming week’s provisions.

Bonnie walked me to the door, Daffodil trotting along behind us. We stopped on the porch and Bonnie gave me a warm hug. “Come see me again,” she said. “Soon as you can.”

“I will,” I promised. I knelt down and gave Daffy a kiss on the snout and a double-handed scratch behind the ears. “Be a good girl, ’kay?”

She woofed once as if in affirmation.
Woof!

*   *   *

I stopped by WalMart on my drive home and stocked up on my usual staples. Bananas. Fruity Pebbles. Cat treats. Frozen vegetables. Bread. Those bright orange slices of processed something-or-other pretending to be cheese.

As I passed the health and beauty section, I made a turn down the toothpaste aisle, my eyes scanning the shelves for whitening strips. When I found them, I compared the name brand to the store brand, mentally debated the pros and cons of the high-powered three-day strips versus the slower-acting but purportedly less irritating seven-day program, and went, of course, for the strips that would get the job done the quickest. No sense making things more difficult for myself, and efficiency was a virtue, after all. Or if it wasn’t, it should be.

When I arrived home, the first thing I did was scurry to the kitchen to feed the cats. Both of them were sitting expectantly in front of their bowls.

“Sorry, you two!” I called as I scooped a cup of kibble from their food bag in the pantry.

As I poured the food into Henry’s bowl, he took another swipe at the back of my hand, letting me know he was none too happy with my substandard service.

I snatched him off the floor and cradled him to my chest, holding him by the scruff of his neck, looking him in his angry eyes, and calling him my “poopie-poopie-poo!” He hated it when I did that.
Ha!
That would teach the furry little asshole to mess with me.

Henry struggled to get loose. Experience taught me I had precisely three seconds to release him before risking the loss of an eye.

Having evened the score, I set him in front of his bowl. “Down you go, my poopie-poopie-poo!”

He twitched his tail twice, the cat equivalent of giving me the finger, and set about noisily crunching his dinner.

As I poured the rest of the food into Anne’s bowl, she rubbed her face on my calf and purred, my sweet little suck-up. Unlike Henry, Annie loved being my poopie-poopie-poo.

After changing out of my work clothes and into my pj’s, I brushed, flossed, and applied a set of the whitening strips to my teeth, pushing firmly on them to cement them to the enamel.
There. That should do it.

While the strips worked their whitening, brightening magic, I lugged my hamper downstairs and started a load of laundry. Wandering into the living room, I clicked on the ten o’clock news, catching it in the middle of the weather report. Looked like we were in for more of the same the next few days. Mild temperatures. Sunshine. Pollen counts high enough to cover our cars in yellow powder and cause a rash of sinus infections. No doubt Ajay would be busy prescribing nasal sprays and antibiotics the next few days.

My eyelids began to sag, but I still had ten minutes to go on the strips. No matter. I’d just lie down on my couch and rest my eyes for a moment until the time was up.

Just a quick rest.

Just …

a short …

Zzzzzzzz.

I woke at three
A.M.
to Matt Damon on my television screen, running either from or after somebody. One of the
Bourne
movies. Annie was curled up next to me. Henry lay on his side atop the TV armoire, one paw thrust out in front of him, snoozing.

A dry, white crust had formed around my mouth.
Uh-oh. The whitening strips.
The strips that were supposed to be on my teeth for no more than thirty minutes.

As I sat up, I ripped the strip from my upper teeth.
Zing!
Holy crap! The sensation felt like my teeth were being electrocuted.

“Ow-ow-ow!” My nerves felt exposed and raw. I knew it would hurt to rip off the bottom one, but I couldn’t very well leave it on any longer. I grabbed the edge of the strip and ripped that one off, too. “Ow-ow-ow!”

Alicia’s sleepy voice came from upstairs. “You okay down there?”

“I fell asleep with whitening strips on my teeth!”

She appeared on the stairs a moment later, disheveled from sleep. “If I’d known you had them on, I would’ve woken you when I got home.”

I picked up the strips and took them into the kitchen to throw them away. The two of us walked back upstairs together.

“My parents are driving in tomorrow for the weekend,” I told her.

“No problem,” she said. “I’ll go stay with Daniel. His place is closer to the office anyway.”

She was in the final stretch of tax season, thank goodness. I missed spending time with my best friend.

She stopped in the door to my guest room. “You doing okay?”

“Other than feeling like I’m biting down on a live wire?”

“Yeah,” she said.

I knew what she was asking. She was asking how I was holding up with Nick working undercover within arm’s reach of El Cuchillo. The answer? “I’m terrified, Alicia. His most recent text said ‘See you soon,’ but I don’t know if he meant that literally or if he was just sending a vague message in case anyone got hold of his phone. I have no idea when he’ll be back or … or even if he’ll ever be back. It’s like my life is on hold.”

She stepped over and gave me a hug. “If he’s not back by the time tax season is over, you and I are going to take a vacation. We’ll go stay at a B and B in Granbury and shop on the square and eat at that cute little teahouse you like.”

“That sounds perfect.”

With one last hug, she released me and we parted ways to go into our bedrooms. My teeth throbbed, and my gums felt as if all of the skin had been scraped off with a wire brush. I went to the bathroom for an aspirin. I found a bottle in my medicine cabinet. They’d expired two months ago, but with any luck were still potent enough to dull the screaming pain in my mouth.

I popped two onto my tongue, filled a glass with water, and put it to my lips.

Aaaaagh!

The cool water coursing over my teeth caused fresh agony. I spat the water into the sink, the two aspirin going with it.
Damn.
I’d done a lot of stupid things in my life, but this really took the cake.
Ugh, cake.
Just the thought of it in my mouth made me cringe. I’d never eat or drink again.

I flopped down on my bed and grabbed my pillow with two clenched fists, trying to channel the pain. A minute later, Anne jumped up onto the bed, stepped over to sniff my scaly lips, then jerked her head back as if disgusted. My lips probably looked as dry and disgusting as Quent Kuykendahl’s.

She settled in the curve of my hip and went back to sleep. I closed my eyes and tried to do the same.

chapter twenty-eight

S
ay Cheese!

When I woke the next morning, my teeth still felt sensitive. I glanced at them in the mirror. They might hurt like hell, but they sure were white and shiny. Especially in contrast to my raw, red gums.

I showered, dressed, and went downstairs. Alicia had left the coffeepot on for me, but there was no way I’d attempt to drink a hot beverage. Heck, I wasn’t sure I could drink any beverage at all. Maybe I should stop by the medical clinic and see if Ajay could hook me up to an IV filled with orange juice or espresso.

Just as I plopped my butt into my office chair at work that morning, my cell phone rang again.
Anthony.
I took the call. “Good morning, sunshine.”

He wasted no time, getting right down to business. “The Fowlers will go up to forty grand. Final offer. You’d be a fool not to take it, Tara.”

They’d doubled their offer after I’d ignored their lowball bid yesterday. I wondered how much they’d come up if I turned them down again? I realized the case wasn’t a sure thing, but forty grand wasn’t even in the ballpark. I wanted at least seventy-five.

“No, thanks,” I said.

“So you’re a fool then?” Anthony snapped.

“The fooliest.”

“That’s not even a word.”

“I’ll settle at one hundred and twenty-five thousand,” I said, building in some room for negotiation.

“This is the part where I issue a derisive scoffing sound,” Anthony said, following his words with the forewarned derisive scoff. “And now is the part where I say ‘we’ll see you in court’ and hang up, leaving you feeling worried and anxious and second-guessing yourself.”