Secondhand Stiff (25 page)

“You sure? It could be helpful,” Whitman prodded.

“She saw a man in a blue hoodie,” I answered. “He was holding a gun on Roberto Vasquez and arguing with him.”

“Don't worry, ladies,” Whitman told us. “The guy with the hoodie is dead. He shot Vasquez just as I got here. I took down the gunman.”

“Is Mr. Vasquez dead too?” I asked.

“I'm afraid so.”

Something was bothering me, a harsh itching in the back of my brain like poison ivy, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Mom's foot was tapping on mine, which wasn't helping my concentration. Thinking she was wobbling again, I tightened my grip to support her better. “My mother has been through a lot, Detective. I need to get her where she can sit down.”

“Of course.” Whitman backed out of the alley. “My car's back here. She can sit there until we sort this all out.”

Mom's foot continued to step on mine, but now with more urgency. She wasn't wobbling, she was trying to tell me something, just as my brain was also trying to send me a message. Something wasn't right.

“Where's your husband, Odelia?” Whitman asked. “Did he come with you?”

I'm not sure why, but my gut told me to lie. “No, he didn't.” Had Whitman not seen Greg in the front when he first arrived?

Mom continued to tap-dance on my foot as my brain multitasked, thinking about the puzzle pieces that weren't fitting while I worried about getting Mom to safety and comfortable. Mom was slightly taller than me and leaned her head down as if she was fading fast into a collapse.

“He was in the store,” she whispered in a voice barely louder than breathing. “I heard him.”

Then I knew what she was trying to say with her foot. She might have seen a hooded gunman, but she'd heard Whitman's voice. I quickly wound my memory back a few minutes, trying to isolate the voices arguing in the background while I'd been pulling Mom from the window. Then it hit me: the cops weren't here yet or Greg would have found me or at least called. And the gunshots were too far apart to have been a quick exchange.

Greg had to have heard the shots. I didn't know where he was but prayed he wouldn't wheel into the alley and get mixed up in this mess. What I hoped is that he was on his phone to Fehring, demanding to know where the cops were and letting her know things had taken a turn for the worse.

“I really need to get some medical help for my mother,” I told Whitman. “She's got a bad scrape on her leg.” On cue, Mom's injured leg started to buckle and she let out a little cry of pain.

“I'm a diabetic,” she said to Whitman. “It's important that I get bad injuries like this attended to immediately.”

As far as I knew, Mom wasn't a diabetic, but I played along. “Let me take her to urgent care. As soon as she's patched up, we'll come back and answer all the questions the police want.”

“That won't be necessary.” Whitman waved the gun back toward the parking lot. “I have a first-aid kit in my car. We can have her fixed up in a jiffy.”

“I don't know,” I said, looking down at Mom's leg. “She's probably going to need a tetanus shot.” I got a good grip on Mom and started for the street again.

“You're not going anywhere, ladies.”

Ignoring him, I kept us moving. Cradled next to me, Mom was shaking but moving forward like a good soldier. The building wasn't deep. If Whitman wasn't the gunman, he'd let us continue; if he was the killer, our lives could be measured in seconds.

“Stop or I'll shoot.” It was Whitman, letting me know for sure he wasn't wearing a white hat.

Mom and I turned slowly around but didn't move toward him. I wanted to tell him the police were on their way but was afraid it might expedite his plans for us. I only hoped Mom kept mum about it.

Again, he waved the gun toward the back. “Come on, you two. I haven't got all day.”

“What are you going to do with us?” Mom asked.

“You're my insurance. If I have you and run into trouble, you could be useful. Or I could just shoot you and leave you here. I haven't made up my mind yet.”

“You're the reason Ina and Linda McIntyre won't talk, aren't you?” I said. “They both know you were involved with the drugs and are afraid. It's kind of tough to get help when the police are the bad guys.”

“Ina's a good girl and smart. When she saw me handling the investigation, she knew to keep her mouth shut or other people close to her might die.” As he said the words, he raised his gun at us. “She seems particularly fond of that husband of yours.”

I wanted to vomit.
Please, Greg, do not come around that corner.

“It was you who went to Busy Boxes this morning and scraped off the mark on the unit up for auction, wasn't it?”

“You know entirely too much, Odelia, but not everything. The kid in the hoodie you saw is the same one dead on the floor in there.” He waved his gun at the building. “Young van den Akker.”

“So it was Paul who was working for you, not Eric. Was it Paul who bombed Buck's store?”

In answer, Whitman smiled the slick smile of a snake. “Fehring told me not to underestimate you, but I didn't believe her. Seems I should have.”

My eyes popped open. “Andrea Fehring is involved in this?”

“Of course not.” Whitman laughed. “Fehring's totally by the book—one of those career cops who bleeds public service and believes in fighting evil for low wages. She told me you were smart and could be useful to our investigation if you didn't get in the way. I simply thought you were a harmless busybody.” He laughed again. “Busybody you are; harmless—not so much.”

I wanted to know more, and I wanted to stall him until the police arrived. “So you killed Tom Bruce and Redmond Stokes.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Tom got greedy,” Whitman explained. “He wasn't happy with his part. He had big plans—plans me and my partners had no interest in. We had to send a message in case others also had grand ideas of moving up. As for Linda, she's an old mule who follows orders. If she had any ideas of going big-time like Tom, his death put her back in harness. She's smart enough to understand she's better off in jail than crossing us. Ina understands that, too.”

“And did Red have big plans?”

“No. Red was one of the good guys, just like Ina's pal Buck. Once he learned what was going on and how his company was being used to facilitate things, he went to the police.” He grinned. “As it so happens, because of the location of Elite, he called the Long Beach PD, and I took his call.”

“Poor guy,” Mom piped up. “He stumbled right into the snake's nest, and you killed him.”

“I didn't kill Redmond Stokes. We contracted that job out.”

Feeling Mom's strength fading, I tightened my grip on her. “Red didn't know you were involved, but he'd figured out Kim was up to something.”

“Kim's an ambitious girl. Convincing Red to sell her half of Acme only made it easier. He totally trusted her until it was too late. Kim's doing damage control right now with Fehring. Hopefully that innocent, boyish face of hers will convince them Red was the drug contact.”

“What about Tiffany?” Mom asked. “Did Kim play her for a fool?”

“Tiffany's an innocent—a cute, young innocent who thinks she's a tough girl. She was also insurance to use against Buck in case the bomb didn't send a big enough message. She might still be useful.”

The filthy smirk on Whitman's face made me want to spit nails. I was so glad Tiffany was safe and out of their clutches. Whitman obviously did not know that yet.

The more he told us, the more I knew he wasn't going to let Mom and me go. Knowledge is usually power; in this case, it was a death sentence. Where were the damn police Fehring sent?

Whitman continued to stand near the back end of the narrow alley and motioned for us to move forward. Urging Mom along, we took a tenuous step in his direction. He must still be thinking about using us as hostages or he would have shot and left us in the alley by now. I had no doubt ultimately killing us was still on his mind, but stalling that action could buy us precious time.

“Come on, Mom,” I said, tightening my grip on her waist. “Let's do as he says.”

Mom nodded, keeping quiet and letting me handle the situation. Together we took a few more steps. Whitman backed up a little more as we got closer. Beside me Mom was stiff, catching her breath with each step. I looked down and saw that her leg was looking nasty.

We were near the window again, getting close to the end of the alley. Whitman took another step back, keeping close watch in case of any Hail Mary–play on our part. He cleared the shadowy alley, standing halfway in the gloomy daylight. Overhead, the clouds thickened and a light rain started. Ignoring the weather, Whitman waited for us to finish our slow walk.

And then he was on his back.

It happened so fast, I stood rooted to the ground, clutching my mother. Whitman moaned and stirred but did not get up.

“Get his gun, Odelia. Quick!” yelled a familiar voice—a voice that meant love and security. It shook me out of my stupor. I let go of Mom. She crumpled to the ground with a short cry as I ran to Whitman. The gun had fallen from his hand. He rolled to his side and tried to reach for it. I kicked the gun out of his reach. It skittered several yards across the blacktop with a raspy metal sound. Whitman's temple had a bloody gash. When he tried to get up, I kicked his head as I had the gun. He fell onto his back and didn't move.

I looked up from Whitman to Greg. He was near the end of the alley up close to the building, using it as cover as best he could. “You were right, Odelia,” he said, wheeling close. “That brick was better than nothing. And it's a good thing I have an accurate free-throw arm.”

I threw my arms around my husband and kissed him hard on the mouth, then dashed to Mom and got her to her feet. We'd moved forward just a few steps when we heard sirens. The cavalry had finally arrived.

twenty-six

It looked like the
off-and-on drizzle had finally moved on, leaving us with the first full sunny California weekend since Thanksgiving. A week had passed since the event at Otra Vez, and Greg and I had decided it was time to formally say goodbye to our beloved Seamus.

At first we were going to privately put him to rest, but with the events of the past few weeks and our thankfulness that we were all okay, we decided to make a party out of it. Greg fired up the grill and was cooking up steaks, chicken, and salmon. Mom and I had whipped up salads, veggies, and other side dishes. Cruz and her husband had arrived with her award-winning homemade tamales. Seth and Zee were back in town, and Zee contributed some of her best desserts.

We'd even invited Heide and Buck, but understandably Heide van den Akker wasn't in much of a partying mood. Criminal or not, Paul was her son, and he was dead. He had been recruited by Kim Pawlak while working with Buck. When Paul tried to convince Buck it was a good setup, Buck fired him. That's when Paul took his revenge—not only on Buck's store with his ugly reviews as Bob Y but on the resale business as a whole. When he wasn't working the truck with his mother and brother, Paul was working for Whitman and his associates doing odd jobs and spying.

The good news was that Roberto Vasquez hadn't been killed, only seriously wounded by Paul. He'd recently been released from the hospital and was quickly mending. He hadn't been involved with the drugs but had been approached. As payback for turning down the scheme, Whitman had nailed his nephew Guillermo for being an illegal. He and Paul were at Otra Vez that Friday to use freeing the cousin as leverage to pull Roberto into the drug trafficking. That was the deal Mom had overheard them arguing about—Roberto's nephew in return for helping with the drugs. When the arguing escalated, Roberto pulled a gun he kept behind the counter, but Paul shot first. Thinking the storeowner was dead, Whitman had killed Paul, planning to pass it off as a shooting in the line of duty, but in reality getting rid of a liability and giving him a fall guy. Had Mom and I not been there, he might have gotten away with it. Steele is currently calling in some favors with an immigration attorney he knows to see if he can get Guillermo freed.

I carried a salad bowl to our kitchen table, which had been set up as an extra buffet. As I set it down, I heard Tiffany laughing. It was light and carefree, as a nineteen-year-old's laugh should be. I looked out the patio door to see her with her head close to Ina's, sharing something fun. Muffin was curled up in Ina's lap. In light of everything, the judge had decided not to charge Ina with a felony but released her with only a five-hundred-dollar fine. Both young women seemed to be weathering the horrible situation with the resiliency of youth. Buck hadn't come, choosing instead to stay with Heide and give her comfort.

Sally Kipman and Jill Bernelli stood with their arms wrapped lovingly around each other, talking with my in-laws. Sally looked up, caught my eye, and winked. They were doing a great job of mentoring Tiffany, and I knew they would remain close to the girl. Tiffany had moved from Kim's and was staying with Ina for the time being.

With Whitman behind bars, Ina's tongue had loosened and she told the police how Whitman had come to the store and threatened them when Tom started talking about wanting a bigger piece of the action. Tom, not ever having been that smart, had gotten blustery back at Whitman. It was then Ina decided to leave Tom once and for all and get out of town. The money she'd taken from their accounts had been stashed in a motel room she'd rented near the airport and where she intended to hide out until her plane for France left. She'd gone to Elite the day of the auction to say goodbye to Buck and to let him know that Leon Whitman was calling the shots on the smuggling scheme. Buck only knew about Kim's part, just as Ina did not realize Kim was involved. Whitman had planted the idea with Ina and Tom that Red was the connection at Acme. Had Buck and Ina been able to connect their individual information, they would have sorted it out on their own, but that would have only put them in more danger.

Kim Pawlak, Leon Whitman, and Linda McIntyre remain in jail. Kim and Whitman are charged with murdering Tom Bruce and Redmond Stokes, and Whitman also with the murder of Paul van den Akker. Linda has been charged as an accessory and for drug smuggling. According to Detective Fehring, the police would be unraveling the drug trafficking scheme, including rounding up all the players, for a long time.

“Sis, you okay?” It was Clark. He'd returned to town just the day before. I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a hug. He returned it and held tight.

“Yeah, I'm fine, just happy everything turned out okay.”

“If I'd known what you and Mom were into, I'd have sent a battalion in.”

“To help us?”

“Hell no. To kidnap you until it was over.” He hugged me tighter. “But except for the memorial to your cat, Mom's blog was all hearts and flowers and sightseeing. Not a peep about trouble after the post about finding Tom's body. I should have realized all that fun stuff was a sign of trouble brewing behind the scenes.”

I glanced out the patio door again to see Mom sitting like a reigning queen, Bill Baxter by her side. We'd been wrong about Bill. He was just a lonely old man with too much time on his hands. Mom was holding court, telling everyone how she freed herself by jumping out a window. To hear her talk, it was two stories up and shots were being fired at her at the time.

“Mom says she's moving here,” Clark said. “That true?”

“Yes, I think so.” I looked up at my older half brother. “You'd think with everything that has happened, she'd run back to New Hampshire as fast as her spindly legs could carry her, but no.”

Clark laughed. “Not now. Not when she's gotten a taste of excitement and bonded with her favorite daughter.”

“I'm her
only
daughter.”

“Ah, yes, but still her favorite.” He turned serious. “I'm really happy you and Mom seem to have settled your differences. She can be a real pain in the ass, but she loves you and would die for you.”

“I know.” I glanced out the door again. “Really. I know that now.”

“And how about that Bill guy? You think he'll end up being our stepfather?”

I shook my head and grinned. “No. Something tells me Mom will tire of him quickly. He's too needy for her. She's already told me she wants to keep her options open.”

Clark laughed. “Jesus, but she's a pistol.”

The front door opened, and Wainwright charged for it. I handed my brother a bottle of wine and asked him to go around and replenish people's glasses while I greeted the new guest. This time it was Dev Frye. He was alone. I gave him a warm hug. “I'm so glad you're here. On the phone you sounded doubtful. Where's Beverly?”

“Odelia, Bev and I broke up.” He said it with the same bluntness reserved for interrogations. I know because he's had to interrogate me on more than one occasion. “Our trouble started around Halloween and finally collapsed just before Thanksgiving.”

I took a step back and studied his face. He looked tired, like he needed a two-day nap. “I'm so very sorry, Dev. What happened? I thought you two were happy.”

He shook his head like a dejected old bull. “Bev didn't want me to return to the job after my heart attack. She hated my being a cop. That was the beginning. Then she got a great job offer in Seattle and asked me to retire and go with her. For the past few weeks I've actually been weighing that option.”

“That's why you haven't been yourself lately.” I took his beefy hands between mine. “So you decided to stay, and that ended it?”

“Yep.” His head bobbed in confirmation. “I didn't want to leave my daughter and her family. I didn't want to start over and make new friends. And I love being a cop. It's who I am. It's all I know.” He squeezed my hands. “I owe both you and Greg an apology for that night. I was really out of line with that BS about Willie.”

“Not at all, Dev.” I gave him another quick hug. “I'm so sorry about Bev but so glad you're staying.”

“I have to stay. I have to keep you and Greg in line. Andrea can't do it all by herself.”

I laughed and started directing Dev through the house to the back. “Speaking of Andrea”—I pointed to where the detective stood—“She's right there, talking with Clark. Go be amongst your own kind.”

Dev's eyes moved from Andrea to my mother. “I hear Grace is staying on in Cali.”

“You heard right.”

“Good thing, then, that I'm staying put. Now there's three of you snoops to keep track of.” He bent, kissed my cheek, and took off in the direction of Andrea and Clark.

It was almost time to eat when Zee came into the kitchen. She gave me a long, warm hug. Gawd, how I miss her when she and Seth travel.

She ended the hug and said in a soft voice, “Greg says it's time, Odelia.”

I nodded, picked up a plain box from the edge of the kitchen counter, and followed Zee outside.

Greg handed the grill tongs off to Seth and joined me in front of the bougainvillea. He put his hand on the small of my back. From it I absorbed warmth and strength. Everyone stood. Greg called Wainwright to his side. Ina brought Muffin over and put her in Greg's lap.

“We have a lot to celebrate today,” Greg began, “and are so happy you, our family and our friends, both new and old, are here with us today. Ina is free.” He nodded to his cousin. “Grace is coming to live here.” We both smiled at Mom. She was standing in front of the crowd, staring at the box and dabbing at tears with one of her linen hankies. Clark was beside her, one of his strong arms tucking her close.

“We are also gathered here today,” Greg continued, “to say goodbye to Seamus, a beloved and faithful companion. I remember when Odelia and I first started dating. Wainwright wanted to be friends with Seamus, and the cranky old cat wanted none of it. You've never seen such fussing, hissing, and scratching. And that was from Odelia.”

Everyone laughed, even those who were crying. I whacked my husband's shoulder with my elbow and everyone laughed again.

“But in time,” he continued, “we became a family. Seamus and Wainwright became good friends and even welcomed Muffin when she came on board. Odelia and I have been blessed with loving families, loyal friends, and the best four-legged companions anyone could hope for. But today we lay one of our fur kids to rest, thankful that for a while he was a wonderful part of our lives.” Finished, Greg turned to me.

I had something prepared to say about how Seamus came to live with me all those years ago, but I couldn't make it through the words. I clutched the box to my breast and felt hot tears run down my face. Greg's wonderful words would have to serve as Seamus's only eulogy.

I opened the box, knelt in front of the bougainvillea, and scattered the cat's ashes around the base of the plant he had loved so much.

I swallowed and sniffed. From over my shoulder a white cloth appeared. It was one of Mom's linen handkerchiefs, one of the ones we had bought her. She had stepped forward and was offering it to me—an olive branch of peace and shared grief. I took it and wiped my eyes and stared at the base of the bush where soon the gray ashes would mingle with the ground moisture to be absorbed into the earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But nothing would ever dilute my memory of the cat who came to me dyed green and in need of help and stayed to steal my heart.

I touched the damp ground under the bush. “Goodbye, dear friend. Thank you.”

the end