Thugs and Kisses (25 page)

“In Riverside, late in the afternoon—I doubt it.” When I hesitated, she made a compelling argument. “Besides, Christine would never abandon Mary Beth for her gay lover.”

“Christine Cagney was
not
a lesbian.”

“How do you know?”

In the end, the agreed-upon plan was for me to stay on Tim Weber’s tail and for Sally to work her way to me through commuter traffic. We also agreed that I would text message her with changes in my direction, turns, roads, etc., so she could follow me—sort of a high-tech bread-crumb trail.

Up ahead, Tim was making another move. We were almost to the 15 Freeway interchange when he started moving over to make ready for the transition onto 15 south from 91. Once again, I followed. The 15 was moving steadily but not fast. As soon as we settled into a middle lane, I texted Sally the directions.

By moving into a middle lane, I took a guess that Tim was preparing to travel the 15 Freeway for several miles. He didn’t appear to be frantic or aware of my presence, he just moved with the traffic. I took the time to reflect on what might be ahead and was suddenly glad Sally was following my trail. At least someone knew where I was heading, in case I ended up another missing link along with Steele.

I stared ahead, watching the Mercedes for any sign of sudden change of direction and wondering where and to what I was being led. Was Tim rendezvousing with the people who had Steele? Or was there yet another twist in this tale of greed and betrayal?

It hit me that I was calmly driving into deep shit, as both Carl and Sally were worried about. Thinking about facing Let Mother Do It sent chills up and down my spine. Maybe I should call Dev. This area wasn’t his jurisdiction, but he certainly considered me part of his jurisdiction. What would he say if I told him about Let Mother Do It? Would he take me seriously? In spite of his early crankiness, I knew he would at least listen if I pressed him hard enough. But I couldn’t tell him about Willie. Felon or not, Willie was my friend and was helping me.

What to do. What to do. What to do.

I was driving my old, reliable Toyota into the jaws of possible death and destruction, but I couldn’t see how I could not. I clung to the hope that Steele was still alive, and I had to do whatever I could to find him, even if that meant following Tim Weber straight into Mother’s hands.

Suddenly, I wanted to talk to the two people I loved the most—my father and Greg. Dad or Greg, which was it to be? I called my father. After letting it ring a dozen times without an answer, I called Greg.

Boomer, his right-hand man, answered the phone. I asked to speak to Greg. It took a few minutes before Greg came on the line. When he did, it was about the same time Tim Weber decided to make a lane change, moving one lane over to the right. I waited a few seconds before doing the same.

“Greg, I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Where are you?”

Here goes nothing
, I thought, then plunged in feet first. “I’m on 15 heading south, following a friend of Steele’s who may have something to do with his disappearance.” I left out the part about contract killers.

“Tell me where you are
exactly
, Odelia.” His tone was even but stern.

“I’m on 15 south, almost to Lake Elsinore. I’m following an attorney named Tim Weber who is in a black Mercedes SUV.”

“I’m on my way.”

“No, Greg, it’s not necessary. Besides, it’s rush hour, and I have no idea where my destination is. I’m just playing follow the leader, and Sally’s a few miles behind me.” I terminated the call.

The cell phone immediately vibrated. It was Greg. I ignored it. If I was heading into a black pit of danger, I wasn’t dragging my beloved into it with me. It was bad enough that Sally was on her way.

Tim changed lanes again, and again I followed. There was only one car between us until another car changed lanes, making me two cars behind him. Then, out of nowhere, came a green motorcycle, just like the one I’d seen that day we’d visited Cindy. The motorcycle came up fast on my side and weaved in and out of traffic until it was ahead of Tim. Once there, the driver turned on his turn signal and made a right-hand turn arm gesture. Tim followed the motorcycle onto the exit ramp, and I turned on my blinker to do the same. One of the cars in front of me turned with us. The ramp was for Railroad Canyon Road. At the bottom of the ramp, all of us turned left. Railroad Canyon Road was small, and the intersection consisted only of freeway ramps and a traffic signal.
I texted the info to Sally.

I was thankful for the car in front of me. I was also thankful Sally and I had taken her vehicle the day we went to see Cindy, just in case the motorcycle up ahead was the same one we saw that day. It looked to me like the rider on the bike was escorting Tim somewhere. With the area so sparsely populated, they would notice me for sure, so I tried to stay back as much as possible.

We followed the winding road past a couple of small housing developments until the area seemed almost deserted. The land on either side of the road was green and dense with trees and shrubs. Every now and then a driveway would open up between trees on one side or the other, and I could glimpse a house or other building set back from the road. Occasionally, a vehicle passed coming from the other direction. It occurred to me that if things got ugly, I could be killed and buried here quite easily. I quickly copied Greg with my last message to Sally just in case.

We had only gone a couple of miles when the motorcycle suddenly turned right into a gravel drive with a high, unkempt hedge on either side. Tim followed it. The car between us kept going and so did I, taking note of landmarks so I could find the driveway again. I looked for a place to turn around and found a small intersection about a quarter of a mile down the road. After waiting for an oncoming car to pass, I made a U-turn, but instead of heading back, I pulled the car over into a small turnout and thought about my next move.

Next move—who was I kidding? I didn’t have a next move. I couldn’t very well drive my car up that driveway like I was delivering a neighborhood Welcome Wagon basket. I had no idea what was on the other side of those hedges. I didn’t even know if Steele was there or not. I texted Sally a cryptic message, hoping she understood from the gobbledygook that her destination was about two miles down the road, on the right, behind hedges.

Just as I finished my message to Sally, my phone vibrated. It was Greg again. This time I answered.

“Hi, I’m in a pickle.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” I could hear him, but there was a lot of static.

“I would prefer no shit,
sweetheart
.”

“Where are you?” he asked again.

I gave him directions, but the static was louder. He responded, but I could hardly hear him. A second later, the call dropped. The reception must be bad out here. I tried calling him back, but the call kept failing. Finally, I sent him a quick text, hoping that might go through better than an actual call.
Call Dev
was all it said. Almost immediately, my phone vibrated again. This time it was Dev. I looked at my phone’s display. According to it, my message to Greg about calling Dev hadn’t even gone through yet. The man must have ESP.

“Dev, that you?” The connection was a bit better but still not good.

“Stay put,” he ordered.

“But—” was all I said before the call failed.

Staying put sounded like a grand idea—best I’d had all day, even if it wasn’t
my
actual idea. But where could I stay put? I couldn’t remain out in the open just a few hundred yards from where Tim turned in, and I wasn’t about to leave without knowing if Steele was there. Maybe I could find a place to park that wasn’t so noticeable. I put the car in gear and drove back the way I had come.

Just past the hidden drive, I spied a run-down shack set back a few yards from the road. It wasn’t much more than a large lean-to, really—one of those small, wooden structures farmers set up to sell their fresh-picked vegetables to passing motorists. This one looked like it hadn’t been used in years. The wood was weathered to various shades of gray, and the roof was half caved-in, with the rest hanging precariously. The ground in front was populated with scrub grass, weeds, and rough gravel.

No one was coming from the other direction. I checked to see if anyone was behind me, but there was not another car in sight. I pulled in and nosed my car around to the back, hoping there was enough clearance to hide it there. There was, but just barely. I turned off the engine and sat there, wondering how long it would take for the cavalry to show up.

I tried calling Sally, but the call kept failing. I tried calling both Greg and Dev, but again the calls failed. The sun was tucking itself in for the night, and soon it would be dark. From what I could see, Railroad Canyon Road didn’t have a streetlight to its name.

After a short potty break between the shack and my car, I decided that staying put was not my strong suit, rationalizing that a lot could happen while I was sitting, twiddling my thumbs in a dark car. If this is where Let Mother Do It had Steele stashed, then Tim’s arrival would sound the alarm, especially after our chat back in his office.

Sorry, Dev
, I thought,
staying put is not an option
.

After giving my nose a good blow, I tucked the cell phone into my pants pocket, locked my tote bag in the trunk, and took a swig of water from the bottle I keep in the car. As a last act, I closed my eyes and said a short prayer that there wouldn’t be any guard dogs across the way.

Poking my head out from behind the lean-to, I saw a pickup truck coming from the direction of the freeway. I pulled my head back and waited for it to pass before venturing out of my hiding spot and dashing across the road. Once on the other side, I disappeared into the protection of the high hedges where Tim and the green motorcycle had turned.

I was wearing the same outfit I’d worn to visit Cindy and was thankful I hadn’t worn a skirt and heels. Still, as I made my way through the brush, my nubby hand-knit sweater wasn’t doing so hot. I kept getting caught on branches like a human Velcro strip and had to keep stopping to pull myself free as I tiptoed from tree to shrub to bush to get closer to the house at the end of the long driveway.

There didn’t appear to be any dogs on the premises, but I spotted Tim’s SUV parked near the front of the house. Toward the back were two other vehicles—a white minivan and a dark green SUV. Next to them was the green motorcycle. The house itself was an old two-story home in need of new paint and some TLC. At the end of the driveway stood a large unattached garage and two smaller buildings—tool or gardening sheds maybe. In spite of sitting back from the road, all the drapes appeared closed. Lights were on in several rooms.

As I crept closer to the house, I kept my ears tuned for sounds of conversation and activity, but I heard nothing. Cooking smells drifted to me on the evening breeze. It was a hearty, beefy aroma like a stew or pot roast. It smelled yummy and made my mouth water. Once at the house, I pressed my body against its side and inched my way quietly toward the back where there was brighter light. I stopped under a window that was partially open. From here, the cooking smells were stronger and I could hear water running, making me think I might be under a kitchen window situated over a sink. I could hear voices, too, but not clearly over the splashing of the water. Soon the water stopped, and I strained to make out the conversation.

I heard Tim Weber’s voice above the others—more high pitched than normal, like he was tense and anxious. He was arguing—almost pleading—trying to win a case before a jury not made up of his peers. The other voices weren’t as clear or maybe not as stressed. After listening for another couple of minutes, I determined that the other voices were women, maybe two or three of them. One of the women seemed to be taking the lead. Her voice was a bit deeper than the others, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that it might belong to the older woman I spoke to on the phone. It was very likely that this was Mother herself.

I needed to get closer to hear what they were saying, and I needed to find out where they had stashed Steele. If Steele was dead, I didn’t think Tim Weber would be here in such an agitated state.

I edged closer to the end of the house, where I noticed another window open to the brisk evening air. Looking out past the house, there was just enough light for me to see that beyond the house the property dropped, not abruptly but down a small, steep hill. I was closer now to the garage and the two outbuildings and wondered if Steele was locked up in one of them. I looked all three over for traces of light from under a door crack but saw nothing. I went back to listening and tried to keep my knees from knocking.