Trudy, Madly, Deeply (Working Stiffs Mystery Series) (21 page)

“He’s a real go-getter. Always has been.”

He certainly seemed to be, just not in the way that typically made a mother proud.

I held up the photo over Bruno’s slobbery protests at every muscle I moved. “He looks like an angel here.”

Ignoring Bruno, Mrs. Divine’s gaze softened. “He always was a good boy. With a few minor exceptions. Of course, boys will be boys.”

She obviously didn’t know much, including the company her
good boy
had been keeping.

On the next shelf there was a picture of a man in his forties with two teenagers. The boys looked like they could be brothers. “This is a great picture. When was it taken?”

“That was a fishing trip back when Jack was a senior in high school. Those boys were inseparable back then—all three of them.” She handed me a steaming cup, then turned to the dog. “Bruno, please. Sit,” she said as if she were negotiating with a toddler.

“What’s his name again—the boy with Jack?” I asked while Bruno ignored her and clawed at the door.

Mrs. Divine knit her brows. “If you were a friend of Jack’s you’d know Wesley.”

If she moved an inch toward those French doors to sic Bruno on me, I was dropping my Darjeeling on her Indian rug and running to the Jag for my second aerobic workout of the day.

“I was a year ahead of him and didn’t spend a lot of time with Wesley.” I could probably pass for thirty on a good day, and she was squinting at me without glasses. Something less than 20/20 wouldn’t hurt my cause. “I don’t think he was in our journalism class. What was his last name?”

“Straitham.”

Bingo.
“That’s right. Wesley Straitham.”

“Hmmmm … I don’t recall Jack taking journalism in high school.”

“Really? I do because I sat right behind him,” I said with an innocent shrug. I needed to change the subject and fast. “Is this your husband?”

Frowning at the barking Rottweiler, Mrs. Divine nodded.

“Nice picture.”
Please don’t sic your dog on me.

She gave him a hand signal. “Bruno, down!”

The Rottweiler finally sat, strings of drool hanging from his jowls as he gave me the death stare, daring me to make one false move.

I could handle a little drool, especially when the jaws it hung from weren’t wrapped around my ankle.

“Good boy!” She turned to me. “We’re working on obedience training.”

Not hard enough.

I forced a smile and took a sip of bitter tea.

Mrs. Divine took a seat on the love seat opposite me and set her cup on the coffee table between us. “Won’t you sit down?”

“I really can’t stay.” I added my cup to the table. “I just wanted to stop and say hello.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier. I’ll call him on his cell,” she said, pushing away from the love seat. “Then, you two—”

“Please don’t.” Really. As I edged my way to the front door, Bruno growled like someone was absconding with his dinner. “I’m heading south for the ferry, so I’ll look him up later this afternoon.”

She shrugged. “Okay, but—”

“It would be great to get together with Wesley, too. Do you know if he’s still living in the area?”

Mrs. Divine pursed her lips. “You have been out of touch. Wesley’s in jail.”

Chapter Eighteen

From the background check I’d run, Jackson Divine seemed squeaky clean on paper. Stir in the facts that he had changed his name, worked where he could prey on the affections of elderly women, hung out at a knife fight that placed him in the vicinity of a murder, and had a best buddy serving eight months in the county jail for selling anabolic steroids to high school kids, and Jake seemed considerably less than divine.

When I returned to my desk, I ran a records check on Wesley Straitham. The former high school athlete turned steroids dealer had been a houseguest of the county since June. He’d also had prior possession charges that had landed him in jail for several days at a time. None of which overlapped with any date of death for anyone on my victims list.

I leaned back in my chair and reviewed all the notes I’d scribbled for the last two hours. I had five suspicious deaths, four with strong family connections to the senior center where a matchmaking Virginia Straitham and Jake Divine had a personal and professional connection, and both had a personal relationship with Wesley Straitham, who had drug connections.

Since the biggest threat I could pose to anyone was to yell
‘Liar, liar, pants on fire!’
I needed a big cop with a big gun.

My favorite cop had already told me that he was otherwise engaged tonight, but he had to come home sometime. Fortunately, my grandfather’s den made the perfect stakeout location for Steve’s driveway.

Despite a less than stellar first day on my diet, my stomach was growling, and I had a few hours to kill, so I tucked my note pad into my tote and headed for my car with a choice to make. I could go home to the possible fate of having to make polite dinner table conversation with my biology teacher, or I could go to Duke’s to glean the latest gossip and get a free meal.

Some decisions aren’t that tough.

Five minutes later, I walked in on the big mouth bass serenading a young Japanese tourist with the last tinny chorus of
Don’t Worry, Be Happy
. The giggly girl wanted me to take a picture of her with the plastic fish. I didn’t mind obliging. It felt like the most normal thing I’d done all day.

Hector, Duke’s night cook for the last eleven years, was behind the grill. “Hey, sweet thing,” he said, lifting his silver streaked goatee in a chin salute.

Since Hector Avocato was happily married with six granddaughters and I welcomed the distraction of some harmless flirtation, I didn’t tell him where he could stick his
sweet thing
.

I plopped down on a barstool near the grill. “How’s life, Hector?”

“Life is beau-ti-ful,” he said, emphasizing every syllable. “Just like you,
mi querida
.”

I blew out a breath, feeling like every ounce of frustration of the last week and a half had burrowed into my aching shoulder muscles. “You’re very good for my ego.”

He winked. “I know how to treat my women.”

Most of his women were under the age of ten.

I stared at the burger patties sizzling on the grill and thought about the grams of fat in each greasy one.

Damn, I hated that I cared.

He flipped one of the patties. “You hungry?”

“I’ll make myself a salad in a minute.” As soon as I mustered up enough energy to move.

The silver bell over the door jingled, and I peered through the cutout window, half-hoping I’d see Steve. Instead, I met the gaze of Kyle Cardinale.

He arched his eyebrows in surprise and then gave me a little two fingered wave—not exactly an invitation to join him for a cup of coffee, but I’d been flying without a net most of the day. Why stop now?

I grabbed a couple of mugs and carried a carafe to where he sat alone at the counter. “Coffee?”

He nodded. “What are you doing here? Moonlighting?”

“I help Duke out from time to time.” And have most of my meals here when my mother was in town.

While I filled our cups, I admired how his black henley showcased the broad shoulders his white lab coat had been hiding. Very fine shoulders.

“What?” he asked with a quizzical smile.

“I haven’t seen you out of uniform before.”

“Hope I’m not disappointing you.” He winked—the second man who had playfully winked at me tonight.

I was fairly certain that Kyle didn’t have six granddaughters, and nothing about the way he’d been looking at me since the day we’d met felt like harmless flirtation. Maybe it was time to lift my ban on Italians.

I rested my elbows on the counter, locking gazes with him. “Trust me, I’m not disappointed.”

I’d just lobbed the ball into his court, an easy set up line to gauge his interest.

Instead of keeping the volley going, Kyle’s gaze went to the wall clock above the big mouth bass, then he shot me an awkward smile as he reached for a menu. “I guess I should decide what I want.”

Yeah, that would be a good idea. Clearly it wasn’t me.

“So,” I said after I shifted my libido back into neutral. “What can I get for you?”

“Two turkey hoagies with the works. Better hold the onions. Chips instead of fries, to go.”

“Two? They’re pretty big.”

Nodding, he broke eye contact. “Yeah.”

Oh. He had ordered for two.

I had to say something to cut through the wall of tension between us. “Going out on the boat?”

“It’s a nice night. Good wind from the Northwest.”

Not a bad evasive answer. He skillfully omitted any mention of his sailing partner for the evening, but it told me everything I needed to know. “Enjoy. I’ll get your order to the kitchen.”

I picked up my coffee mug, tacked Kyle’s order to the aluminum wheel, and scampered past Hector like a rabbit beating a retreat to the nearest hole.

“What happened?” Hector asked. “I thought the doctor was a … special friend.”

“Well, you were wrong.” Because all my special friends appeared to have other plans with their special friends.

I grabbed a carving knife from the wall rack and blew off some steam on a head of lettuce.

“Ay-yi-yi! Remind me to not piss you off tonight.”

It was too late for that.

“You know what? Screw this.” I added the chopped lettuce to the plastic bag filled with prepared salad in the refrigerator and pointed my knife at the grill. “Will you throw another burger down for a patty melt? And I’d like extra cheese with that.”

His eyes went to the knife. “Maybe this isn’t the time to mention it, but I thought you were on a diet.”

“Fine! Skip the extra cheese.”

“
Mi querida
, that’s not what you want.”

“You’re right. I want that extra cheese.”

He gently took the knife from my hand. “You need to get out of the kitchen and do something else for at least an hour.”

“Come on, Hector. I’m hungry.”

“Since you were just waving a knife around like you’re looking for a fight, I’d say you’re also ticked off.” He pointed the blade at me. “Never eat when you’re sad, mad, or glad. That’s what I always used to tell my clients when I worked at the health club.”

Great. All I needed was another person to help me count my calories.

“That’s how I met Sandy.” He beamed with pride. “She’s maintained her weight for twenty-eight years.”

Impressive but depressing. Lately, I didn’t seem capable of staying the same weight for twenty-eight hours.

“So, believe me when I tell you—no sad, mad, or glad.”

Right. That about covered all my waking hours so I’d be taking off these thirty pounds in no time.

Hector set the knife in the sink. “Go take a walk to work off some of this …”

“Pissiness?”

“You said it, not me. It’s a beau-ti-ful evening. Go to the marina and come back when you don’t need to hurt my lettuce.”

And look like I’m stalking another doctor? “No marina.”

He pointed at the back door. “Go somewhere else then. Get your body moving. When you come back, if you still want a patty melt, I’ll make you a patty melt.”

“You’re a good guy, Hector. Although right now, you’re really annoying.”

“That’s my specialty. Annoying my women.”

* * *

An hour later, the top of my right big toe had a blister from where my sandal had rubbed it raw, and I had at least ten painful blocks ahead of me to get back to Duke’s—all downhill. I’d left my tote and cell phone in my kitchen locker, so calling Donna or Rox to beg a ride wasn’t an option.

I limped my way toward Broward Park, a tree-lined green space in the residential neighborhood that used to house mill workers and their families but in recent years had given way to pricey bay view condos. The park featured a jungle gym and slide for the kids and, fortunately for me, wooden benches for the adults too tired to stand and watch them. It was after seven so the dogs in the park outnumbered the kids. I was in no mood to get chummy with any of Bruno’s cousins, so I sat my sorry ass down on a bench under the canopy of a massive Douglas fir, took off my sandals, and inspected the damage.

After a few minutes of the sun on my face, a warm breeze fluttering through my hair, and the sound of children’s laughter in my ears, I no longer cared that one of the boats I saw sailing on Merritt Bay was Dr. Cardinale enjoying his evening away from the hospital with someone other than me.

Maybe the reinstatement of my ban on Italians was just as well. I already had a pesky matter of five murders on my mind, and my mother didn’t seem to be leaving town anytime soon. I really didn’t need to pile on the additional aggravation of dating someone prettier than me.

I breathed in the scent of burgers barbequing in the picnic area and my stomach growled in response. I was ten blocks away from a salad with fat free dressing or a grilled chicken breast sandwich with no mayo. Just ten blocks and one stupid blister that impaired my sustained effort at tranquility, not to mention my ability to walk without cursing in the vicinity of small children.

Rubbing my big toe, I stared at the street and watched an old Camaro rumble by.

Damn! That was Little Dog’s car. I could have hitched a ride to Duke’s.

Since George was an assistant peewee football coach with Steve, that signaled the end of practice. I fastened my sandals to be ready to stick my thumb out at the next Duke’s regular who drove by.

I didn’t have to wait long. In the distance I saw Steve’s F150 gleaming like gun metal under the slowly setting sun. I stepped to the curb, and a nanosecond later I could see that Steve had a blonde next to him in the passenger seat.

“Great.” I started walking. With any luck he was gazing into Heather’s baby blues and didn’t notice me.

Five seconds later, Steve pulled up to the curb, pacing me. “Need a lift?” he asked.

I painted a smile on my face and kept moving. “No, thanks.”

“Are you sure? You’re walking funny.”

“Really, I’m fine.” And might have felt even better if Heather’s son, Robby, hadn’t been craning his neck at me from the crew cab like they had slowed to watch a train wreck.