Home Free (20 page)

“There’s been some speculation that the team
uses steroids. Purely conjecture,” Jack explained, using his PC
tone. “So what if a bunch of the guys have really short fuses? It’s
stressful being a teenager, you know. And I for one think it’s rude
to imply that a kid who suddenly adds sixty pounds of lean muscle
in one semester needs anything other than determination and a
couple hours a week in the gym.”

“And the coach is involved? How come nobody
does anything?”

“Allegedly. We made it to Section Finals,
Alex,” Kevin explained. “That hasn’t happened since the
eighties.”

“Yeah, but to be fair, the CCC inquiry didn’t
turn up anything, with either the coach or the players,” Pauline
threw in.

“What’s Section Finals and CCC?”

Jack clarified. “Central California
Conference is the league Minter High plays in. We’re also a
Division I school in the Sac-Joaquin Section. Last year, the team
made it to the championship tournament of Sectionals. If they’d won
that, they would’ve gone on to the State championships.”

Just what every small town needs, I thought.
A bunch of muscle-bound teenaged rednecks. Then I had a
constructive thought, and I flipped over and sat up.

“Hey. Where would a person go to buy
steroids?”

I showered and did my makeup, then flipped my
head over and blow-dried my hair upside down to give it more body.
I fluffed it and sprayed it, and I figured it would last an hour,
two at the most. I sorted through the new thong underwear and found
a pink and purple flower print. Not that there was a prospect of
anybody seeing it, but hope springs eternal, I guess. I covered
them with a pair of Levi’s 501s and a red t-shirt that said
juicy
on the front. I didn’t know what that meant, but I
liked the gothic lettering and there was an excellent chance it
might offend Brian. I put on the red Converse sneakers, then
thought better of it and switched to the red flip-flops.

Jack wasn’t in the kitchen, and I went to
look out front for his truck. No truck. He’d been there, though,
because his newspaper and coffee cup were in the kitchen. I skimmed
the headlines and stopped at an article on page three of the Metro
section headed
Local Businessman Offers Reward
. According to
the article, insurance executive and political neophyte Brian
Jordan had offered a fifty-thousand dollar reward for information
leading to the arrest and conviction of the person or persons
involved in the body shop murder and arson.

Well, there you go. Probably he went to
Sherry’s hoping the prospect of fifty K would inspire her to
remember something useful about Lonnie and his associates. I
figured he’d decided to offer the reward as a way to look like he
was tough on crime in order to win over on-the-fence voters. And
possibly to impress upon the family-values people that he was the
kind of guy who would do anything for his family. Anything, as long
as it would swing a tight election in his favor, I thought
cynically. Then I felt bad. Brian was trying to help Kevin in his
own way. So what if it also helped himself? I tore the article out
of the paper and stuffed it in my back pocket, absently thinking
that insurance agents must make a lot more money than I
thought.

I went to make coffee and saw that Jack had
already brewed a pot. I poured a cup and rummaged in the pantry
closet for a pack of blueberry poptarts, then took it all into the
office. I turned on the computer and logged on to the internet to
check my email. I deleted three or four about bored housewives,
thinking that when I was a kid, bored housewives had Tupperware
parties rather than running internet porn sites. Ah, progress. The
senior center people had emailed saying the brochure wasn’t exactly
what they’d had in mind, and could I please make it a little more
sporty? I imagined the raisins playing beach volleyball and
surfing, and I gave an involuntary shudder. I wondered if
headlessness counted as sporty. And Brian had emailed to confirm
our noon appointment. I considered canceling, since the paper had
answered the question of why he’d been at Sherry’s, but I’d dressed
special and everything, so I didn’t.

I got to work, sportifying the brochure with
bolder colors and graphics, and was still left scratching my head
as to what to do with the photos. I lost track of time and only
stopped what I was doing when I heard a knock at the door. I peeked
out the window and saw Brian’s car parked in front. I couldn’t see
the license plate. I minimized the screen and went to the door.

“Brian, thanks for coming,” I said in my
cheeriest voice.

He nodded. His eyes strayed to my chest and
he grimaced. Juicy. “Well, I’ve been meaning to have a talk with
you about your coverage anyway, Alex, but it just slipped my mind
with everything else that’s been happening.” No doubt. Worrying
about my character was probably a full-time job.

I gave him a tour of the house, and he asked
questions along the way. How many square feet, how old was the
furnace, did I ever look into that security system like he told me?
I stifled a scream and answered like a dutiful sister. I took him
outside and showed him the pool.

“It’s not fenced,” he said, as if he had just
discovered penicillin.

Like every other back yard in Minter, mine
had a six-foot redwood fence running the perimeter, so I just
raised an eyebrow and waited for the explanation.

“The pool. It should have its own fence
around it.”

“I’ll mention it to Jack.” Not. I didn’t have
kids, and I wasn’t concerned with the well-being of retarded cats.
Lucifer seemed pool-safe to me.

“Well, that’ll increase your premium until
you get it taken care of.”

“Okey-dokey.”

We went inside and sat at the dining room
table, and Brian took out some forms and started filling in little
squares with numbers. Then he took out a calculator, began
figuring, and entered other numbers in other little squares. While
he wrote, I hummed The Star Spangled Banner. It was stuck in my
head from when I’d watched the baseball game the other night.

“So, I read about the reward you offered,” I
said.

“Uh-hunh.” He kept filling in squares.

“It’s nice of you to help Kevin. I didn’t get
any information from Sherry. Did you?” His expression never
changed. But the pen faltered slightly on a number and he hesitated
a split second before continuing.

“Who?”

What’d he mean, who? “Sherry Henderson. The
dead guy’s girlfriend. You didn’t talk to her?”

He kept writing. “I don’t know her. You
do?”

Now I was confused. Maybe Kevin had been
wrong about the license plate after all. I’d walk Brian out when,
or rather,
if
the insurance drudgery ever ended and
double-check.

“Yeah, from high school. I stopped by the
other day to see if she knew anything about Lonnie getting
killed.”

He jerked his head up. “Did she?”

I shrugged. “Hunh-uh. I’m going to talk to
her again, though.” I’d been thinking I should go over and give it
another shot. She had to know if Lonnie had any enemies, right?

Brian had gone back to the squares and was
nearly done with my estimate. I heard the phone ring, but didn’t
check it.

“Okay. Now, we also need to talk about life
insurance.” I thought, if I could die right now, I wouldn’t have to
have this conversation. There was no point in holding my breath
because Mr. Perfect probably knew CPR anyway. I imagined Danny in
his boxers, hoping for an aneurysm, but instead I started getting a
tad overheated. Still, it took my mind off Brian and the grinding
boredom of life insurance. I thought about Danny not in his boxers.
I started breathing a little heavy, and Brian looked at me funny,
so I went back to with boxers.

When he was done, I thanked him and told him
I’d look over the quote and let him know what I could afford. I
walked him to the car and glanced at the plates as he got in, then
for fun asked, “Muscle man?”

“Music man, Alex.”

Kevin was right. “Right. Melody. Clever.”

He set his briefcase on the passenger seat,
opened it and drew out a card. “I keep forgetting to give this to
you. Hope you can make it.” He drove away, obeying the speed limit.
Naturally.

I glanced at the card as I walked to the
house. An invitation to a campaign fundraiser. What fun. Back
inside the office, I stuffed the card in my purse and wondered why
Brian had said he didn’t know Sherry.

I checked my phone and saw I had another
missed call from a blocked caller. Just then it rang again, only
this time it displayed a number I didn’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Alex, it’s Brian. Listen, I didn’t think to
mention it before I left, but it’s really not a good idea for you
to be stopping by Sherry Henderson’s place.” I felt the blood drain
from my head. “She’s involved with some criminal activity, drugs
and the like, and it just wouldn’t look good for you to be
associating with that kind of person.” I didn’t think asking
questions about her dead boyfriend really qualified as
associating
.

“I didn’t think you knew her.”

“The name sounded vaguely familiar, so I
checked it out when I got in the car. Anyway, give those numbers a
look and let me know. Bye.” He clicked off and I sat there,
thinking
what the fuck?

I needed to call Mikey, I figured. I dialed
and waited and watched a stray dog pee on the tree in front. No
gray Escort today. Lucifer stalked towards the dog, haughty and
pissed off, and the dog gave a little yelp and ran away.

“Salazar.”

“Mikey, it’s Alex, do you have a minute?”
People who work at home sometimes forget that other people have to
work on a real schedule. I tried to be considerate, but I often
didn’t think. Today I did.

“For you, always.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I plunged
on. “The car definitely belongs to my brother, so I guess we’re
back to square one.”

“Shit. I really wanted expensive car guy to
be the shooter.”

“Me, too.” I told him about my conversation
with Brian, and about him claiming not to know Sherry and then
calling back to tell me I shouldn’t be
associating
with
her.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think that whatever his business is with
Sherry, he’s not eager for you to find out about it. Stay away from
Sherry’s house, and don’t be alone with your brother. People can be
dangerous when it comes to protecting their secrets.”

I snorted. “My brother’s a wienie. He’s far
too obsessed with his image to have business with Sherry.” I
wondered if he was banging her and didn’t want me to find out he
wasn’t the perfect family man the voters and my parents thought he
was. I had to admit, it was difficult to imagine Brian with a
hard-on for someone like Sherry. The only women he’d ever dated had
been like Melody, perfectly coiffed, tailored, conservative and
inescapably dull. Trying to picture Brian and Sherry together in a
carnal way was disturbing in more ways than one, so I shook my head
to get the image out. More likely, he was selling insurance
door-to-door or trying to secure the drug community’s support in
the upcoming election and was telling the truth when he said he
didn’t know her. “Besides,” I went on, “he might bore me to death,
but other than that, Brian isn’t dangerous. I’m just going to go to
Sherry’s again in the morning and ask her what the deal is with my
brother.”

“Alex, you need to believe me and stay away
from him. And Sherry. You have no idea what people,
especially
ones obsessed with their image, are capable of.
That’s a good thing, but it’s also a dangerous thing.”

I thought about Derek, and I guessed I had an
okay idea of what people are capable of.

“Trust me, you have no clue.”

I hung up before he could read my next
thought, which sounded a lot like fuck you, you cocky jackass. I
looked out the window and noticed the gray Escort parked across the
street. I hadn’t seen anyone arrive, and I was getting darn
curious. I remembered Debbie’s near-drowned cat. Maybe I should
cool it on the curiosity, I thought.

I saw Angela riding up on her red ten-speed
bicycle, so I went to let her in. I checked the mailbox next to the
front door while I waited for her to wheel the bike across the
yard. Three envelopes addressed to occupant, and another unsealed
plain white envelope. Instinct compelled me to look around
furtively, but there was nothing to see except the cat, who was
lying in a shallow divot he’d dug under the azalea. Everyone else
in my neighborhood went somewhere to earn a living during the day,
except for the would-be chemists who stayed locked inside their
drug den, away from the prying eyes of law enforcement and nosy
neighbors. I pulled the paper out of the envelope and read the
sparkly single-word message. SOON. Soon what? I wondered.

Angela was standing on the porch with her
bike, giving me a funny look.

“Someone’s been leaving me notes. Two of them
have been in the mailbox, but yesterday there was one on the
fridge. The only people who were over here swore it wasn’t them.” I
didn’t come out and admit it, but I was beginning to get a little
freaked out.

She nodded. “Your front door wasn’t locked
when I came over yesterday. When nobody answered the bell, I was
going to use the key, but I checked the knob first and it opened.
Anyone could have left you a note.” She gave me a serious look.
“You should keep your doors locked, you know. There’s fucking loons
out there.”

If she was trying to make me less freaked
out, she was doing a really poor job of it. I glared at her and let
her in the house.

I stayed home the rest of the day, not
because I was taking any advice from the likes of Mikey Salazar,
but because I had things to do anyway. The raisins were still
stumping me, so I turned them over to Angela again, with
instructions to keep their heads on and make them sporty. I worked
on invoices, thinking maybe a little income wouldn’t hurt. I lost
track of time until my stomach started growling. I remembered that
I’d spent the lunch hour with Brian and had never gotten around to
eating.