Thugs and Kisses (23 page)

I set my jaw and looked straight at Carl. “I honestly don’t think Steele is missing because he was tampering with the documents. I think he’s missing because he discovered what was going on.”

“You mean kidnapped? By Fran Evans?”

I shrugged. “And maybe not just kidnapped.”

Carl’s mouth fell open, then he shut it like a trap. “Odelia, enough is enough. We have to go to the police.”

“No, Carl, please. If Steele is still alive, police involvement might spook whoever has him, and he might end up dead.”

“I don’t know, Odelia. This is way out of our hands and your league. This is a helluva lot more involved than just asking a few questions. Let’s just call the police and at least get Fran pulled in for questioning.”

He had no idea how far this truly was out of my league, and I felt it better that he didn’t. I’d worked with Carl a long time. I knew that if the words
professional killers
popped out of my mouth, he’d be on the phone to the police in less time than it takes me to scarf down a Thin Mint. Not to mention he might find a way to legally kidnap me for my own safety.

The mental cotton candy machine spun faster and faster, turning gray matter into pink, sticky fluff. I had to convince Carl to let me continue with the investigation on my own.

“Make you a deal, Carl?”

I was making things up as I went, hoping something worthwhile and convincing dribbled from my mouth as I talked. Who was I kidding? This wasn’t a game show. This was Steele’s life, maybe even my life, on the line, but my gut told me it wasn’t time for the police to go barging in, at least not until we knew who all the players were. There was still the unknown woman in the car. There was still the location of Steele. There was still the question of how far Let Mother Do It was paid to go. And there was still the matter of Donny Oliver and, now, Carolyn Poppin.

Carl stared at me with expectation. He was a litigation attorney; negotiations were part of his stock in trade. Whatever I said next had to be convincing or my case was blown. I started by clearing my throat.

“Make you a deal,” I said again. “Give me a couple of days. Like I said, I have some leads. I might be able to find out if Steele is alive and where he’s located. That way, we can lead the police there instead of having them trample around blindly. If Steele’s not alive, what will it matter?”

“I don’t know, Odelia. Alive or not, checking into this may put you in serious danger, something I’m very worried about. I can’t risk your life like that.”

I sighed. “I’m going to do it anyway, Carl. I’d rather do it with your cooperation.”

“And what about Fran and this Weber guy?”

Funny how things turn around. Now it wasn’t him telling me what we were going to do, but me telling him. I rather liked it.

“Keep an eye on Fran, but don’t let on you know about her meeting with Walker. A day or two won’t matter.” Then I remembered something. “Do you know what kind of car Fran drives?”

Curiosity crossed Carl’s face. “Yes, as a matter of fact. She drives a new Lexus, a white one. Why?”

“You’re sure it’s not a Honda?”

Carl chuckled in spite of the gravity of the situation. “Fran Evans drive a Honda? That’s rich. Why?” he asked again.

“Just one of the leads I’m working.”

Carl got serious again. “Two days, Odelia. That’s all you have—today and tomorrow. At five o’clock tomorrow, if you don’t have answers, you and I will call the police together. In the meantime, I’d like to keep this photo.”

“But Carl, that’s not two days, that’s only a day and a half. Since it’s already Thursday, why not give me the weekend, too?”

He pulled down his glasses and glared at me over the top of them.

Granted, I’m not the brightest bulb on the tree, but I know when to fold in the presence of power over my employment.

“Okay, five tomorrow it is.”

Carl opened my door, but before he left he turned to me. “By the way, how did you get this photo?”

I hesitated. I certainly couldn’t tell him about Willie.

“Let’s just say I have friends in low places.”

Right on schedule, Sally met me at one o’clock at Jerry’s Famous Deli. Over lunch, I filled her in on all the details I’d learned from Willie, not just the highlights I had given her earlier, including the fact that Let Mother Do It may be involved in both Donny’s murder and Steele’s disappearing act—and now, possibly, the shooting of Carolyn Poppin. What started out to be two separate mysteries were now converging into one single investigation with side attractions. I also gave her a rundown on my talk with Victor.

Sally slathered dark mustard on her pastrami on rye. Her puffy eyes and somber speech demonstrated her concern over the escalation of the problems at hand, but her healthy appetite didn’t seem diminished one whit. In addition to her sandwich, she had ordered fries, a salad, and a milk shake, and had even contemplated a wedge of pie. I looked it all over while I worked my way through a large bowl of matzo ball soup, which was going down like a warm hug.

“What can I say,” said Sally, noting my inventory of her side of the table, “I eat when under stress.”

“Usually me too, but somehow it all ends up looking different on me.”

Sally gave me a small smile and poured a pond of ketchup next to her fries. “And they’re all women, these killers?”

“That’s what my source says. Though we still need to find out who hired them.”

“Outside of the murder-for-hire common thread, do you really think that Donny and Mrs. Poppin are related to the disappearance of your boss?”

“I’m not sure. Steele had nothing in common with Donny. He didn’t even know either of the Olivers, as far as I can tell.” I thought about my neatly drawn columns on the notepad and found it hard to swallow for a minute. “The only thing Donny and Steele seem to have in common is Tommy Bledsoe.” I took another spoonful of soup and forced it down. “And me.”

Sally shot her focus up from her food and met my eyes. I didn’t know if I had suddenly leapt to the top of her private suspect list or if it was a look of sympathy. Either way, the look lasted only an instant. Still, it was uncomfortable.

She picked up her sandwich, and just before she bit into it, said, “A band of hit women, huh? No matter what you think about their business, you have to give them a gold star for resourcefulness.”

The last time the meeting between Tim Weber and the mystery woman took place, it was in the short-term parking area of the garage. Sally and I decided it would be best to do surveillance from two cars parked at different angles a few stalls apart. That way, no matter where the meeting took place, at least one of us might have a good shot at seeing and hearing something. We also both made sure our cell phones were fired up, and I was suddenly thrilled that I had listened to Greg and upgraded recently to a new one. It was very small and came with a camera and text messaging.

I moved my old Toyota from the tenant area to the short-term parking area by 2:20, parking it almost next to where the meeting took place last time. Sally was already parked in the guest area, and I told her to stay put since she was just a few parking spaces away. The way our cars were situated, we could see the remaining empty stalls from several angles without being too close.

I slunk down in the front seat of my Toyota, peeping over the bottom edge of the window. I had both of the back windows half open so I could hear better, but I left the driver’s door window closed to give the car the appearance of being locked up. It was far from a comfortable position. Soon, a dark green PT Cruiser pulled in through the gate and nosed around for available parking. It turned into a space that was behind me and head-to-head with Sally’s Jeep. Since Sally wasn’t known to Tim, she got to sit upright. She played her radio and appeared to be paging through a newspaper, waiting for someone.

Before the PT Cruiser even turned off its motor, I received a text message on my vibrating cell phone:
???

The driver got out. It was a man in his twenties.
No
, I texted back.

A few minutes later, as my back was protesting its pretzel position, I spotted Tim Weber coming into the garage. He paused and looked around, no doubt seeking his rendezvous partner. He hung back, loitering near the elevator. I texted Sally:
Elev
.

I C
, came the return reply.

Tim Weber hung around, hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot. Every few seconds he’d glance at his watch. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or just impatient thinking about all the billable time he was wasting. A few minutes later, a dark gray Honda pulled into the garage and parked next to the PT Cruiser. This time I could see that it was an Accord, one of the hybrid models. Whoever drove it was at least energy conscious. The parking spot was perfect as I could watch from either my rear-view mirror or side mirror and could sit a bit more comfortably. Sally was parked facing it, one car over.

Bingo
, I texted.

As soon as the Honda was parked, Tim sauntered over to it, taking his time, as if he had secret meetings in parking garages every day. He looked first left, then right, and even settled his glance on Sally for a fleeting moment before opening the car door and climbing in.

My cell phone vibrated again, but this time there was a photo being sent. Using her own cell phone’s camera, Sally had managed to get a snapshot of the woman in the car. I studied the photo on the phone screen with surprise. It was Karen Meek.

I texted Sally back:
!!!
Then followed it with another longer message:
U folo her I him
.

K
, was her response.

Karen and Tim sat in her car talking, for what seemed like a very long time. At least to my scrunched-up body it seemed like an eternity. I could hear voices drifting across to where I sat in my car, but couldn’t make out any words. I texted Sally:
?

Mad
, came the reply. Another fuzzy photo soon followed, this one showing Karen gesturing with her hands, her face screwed in emotion. The photo caught just the side of Tim’s face. He wasn’t looking at Karen and certainly didn’t appear to be smiling.

Shortly thereafter, Tim got out of Karen’s car. Like before, he held the door open and spoke to her. This time I could hear.

“I told you I’d take care of it.” His voice was almost a raised growl. After that, he slammed the door and stalked out of the garage.

Karen Meek sat in her car a few minutes before turning on the engine and pulling out of the parking spot. As she headed for the parking attendant, I received a call from Sally.

“I’ll follow her,” she said. Another nearby engine turned over, and I watched as Sally pulled out to follow Karen.

“Were you able to overhear anything?” I asked her. “All I heard was Tim saying he’d take care of something.”

“I heard something about Monday and Walker. Mean anything to you?”

“Walker is the CEO of our candy client, the one whose documents are screwy.”

“Well, supposedly, Walker is making some decision by Monday.” She paused. “Also something getting out of hand … not what they planned … no turning back.” Another pause. “I couldn’t hear the exact words clearly, but it sounded like Tim was going to meet someone to pay them and end it … ‘get it over with’ is how he put it.” In the background, I heard the parking attendant tell Sally how much she owed.

“Odd thing is,” I told her, “Karen Meek has nothing whatsoever to do with our client, or shouldn’t have. She was one of the last people I expected to see in that car today.”

“But she’s Steele’s ex.”

“Yes, but she’s not involved with our firm’s work.” It was my turn to pause. “But she is engaged to Tommy.” I stopped to think about it. “You know, Tommy seems to be the only one who might have motives in both cases. Steele is standing in his way with regard to Family Bond, and maybe he’s worried about Karen changing her mind. And he might still be holding a grudge against Donny.”

“True, but what about Mrs. Poppin? Even if Cindy was the real target, why would Tommy have her killed? And what does he have to do with this Weber guy? There doesn’t even appear to be a connection between them, except that they both know Karen.”

“And again,” I replied, “what does Karen have to do with Silhouette and Goldberg-Rawlings taking over their legal work?” Although my cold was getting better, my head was starting to ache once more, this time with cerebral overload.

“Keep in touch,” I told Sally. “I’m going to try to shake Tim and see what falls from the tree.”

We told each other to be careful and ended the call. I rolled up my back windows, locked my car, and started for the building. My plan was to try and have another meeting with Tim today. I didn’t exactly know what about, but I wanted to see him and gauge his behavior. Then I planned on sticking to him somehow, someway, like glue.

As soon as I entered the foyer of the office building, I spotted my prey. He was coming out of the bank located in the lower level and heading for the elevators. I picked up my pace to meet him there, but not so fast as to look like I was stalking him.

“Hi, Tim,” I said to him nonchalantly, as if I just noticed him this minute.

Lost in thought, it took him a second to place me. “Oh, hi, Odelia.” He plastered what looked like a forced smile on his face, then changed it to a look of worry. “Any news on Mike? Anything at all?”

“No news on him, but some odd things have come up.” That plainly got his attention.

The elevator came and we both got on it, along with two other people, one of who pushed a button for a few floors below Woobie. I turned to Tim. “You know, I’ve been meaning to call you. There are a few more questions I’d like to ask you, when you have the time.”

“About those odd things you mentioned?”

“Yes. What time is good for you?”

He checked his watch when the other people got off the elevator. “Now’s good, if it’s okay with you.”

I laughed. “My place or yours?” We arrived at Woobie’s floor, and I held the door open, waiting for his answer.

“Do you mind coming up to my office? I have a call coming in soon.”

I let the door shut without my getting off. “Of course not. Whatever is most convenient. I appreciate you taking the time for this.”

“No problem. Anything to help Mike.”

Right
, I thought,
anything my big fat …

“Excuse me?”

Stirred from my private thoughts, I looked up at Tim, puzzled.

“Excuse me,” he repeated. “I didn’t catch what you said, you were mumbling.”

“Oh nothing, just thinking out loud, trying to remember everything I wanted to ask you.” I smiled at him and mentally kicked myself.

The elevator sides were mirrored, and I watched him in the reflection. He stared up at the floor numbers as each one between the two firms was passed, his Adam’s apple rising and falling as he swallowed several times. I didn’t know if it was me making him nervous or his conversation with Karen Meek, or maybe both. Either way, he looked emotionally stretched. I hoped it was me causing his discomfort. It was kind of fun making an attorney nervous for a change. Usually, it’s the other way around.

When we reached the floor housing Goldberg-Rawlings, Tim nodded hello to their receptionist, but before he could direct me back to his temporary office I asked to use the ladies’ room. Tim told me just to go on back to his office when I was done.

The ladies’ room was identical to the one on Woobie’s floor. There were three regular stalls and one handicapped stall. I noted that two of the stalls were occupied as I slipped into the one closest to the sink area. Shortly after, the women in the other stalls made their way to the sink to wash their hands. I was lost in my own thoughts about how to approach Tim when I thought I heard his name over the splash of water. I held my breath.

“Which Tim’s this?” I heard one woman ask. Her voice was youthful. “Tim Rice or Tim Weber?”

“Tim Weber,” the other woman replied in a slightly deeper voice. Then there was a pause.

Worried they might think, and rightfully so, that I was eavesdropping, I fiddled with the toilet paper and shuffled my feet, acting like I was just minding my own business as I went about my business. Then I prayed they would continue. They did.

“Tim Weber,” the second woman repeated. Her voice was lower but by now the water was off. “Judy in the LA office called me this morning. Tim’s wife kicked him out.”