Not One Clue: A Mystery Read online

“Think Don Cheadle face, Matthew McConaughey body.”

  “Wow,” she said, then, “Did I tell you I might be doing a movie with McConaughey?”

  The fork dropped from my hand as the image of McConaughey jumped into my psyche. And voilà … suddenly I remembered what was better than chocolate. We’d been McConaughey fans ever since he’d played David Wooderson in Dazed and Confused. In fact, Laney and I had spent an inordinate amount of time sitting in the dark watching everything from bad sitcoms to award-winning feature films. It had eventually made her a star. It had only made me pale.

  “A movie with Matthew McConaughey! Are you serious?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, and stabbed a mushroom. “I just wanted to see your reaction. So when did Micky call?”

  “I didn’t say … what makes you think it was Micky?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer immediately. She was busy masticating. A sesame seed can take her half an hour. It could be morning before she finished up with the mushroom.

  “How do you even know Micky?” I asked.

  “When did he call?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t Micky,” I said, and she laughed.

  “You’ve got fourteen black clients. Three of them are under the child-bearing age. One is a grandfather, and nine are women. I don’t know a lot of women with McConaughey’s pecs.”

  “You’ve been talking to Shirley.”

  “Someone’s got to keep you from getting yourself killed. And seriously, Mac, I don’t think it’s ever going to be you. What were you thinking, galloping out there at midnight?”

  Galloping? “Have you been talking to Rivera, too?”

  “Should I?”

  “No!”

  She grinned. “Then tell me what’s going on.”

  I succumbed. Not that I wouldn’t have anyway. But the idea of her and Rivera comparing notes made it easier to capitulate. Of course I swore her to secrecy first.

  Fifteen minutes later I had consumed enough noodles to feed Cambodia. Laney’s meal could have fit in my molar.

  “So you think this Jackson guy was high?”

  “I think so. He had just been shot and he acted as if he was floating on cloud nine. Crooning about rosewood and retribution.”

  “Retribution.”

  “It sounds better than revenge, doesn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s all so sad,” I said, and sighed. “From what Micky’s said in the past he’s got everything—brains, education, money. He looks like a forty-year-old Jimmy Trivette.”

  “From Walker, Texas Ranger?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You have a Texas Ranger swearing revenge?”

  “I have a nutcase seeking retribution.”

  “Why don’t I feel better?” I shrugged.

  “I think you’re a natural pessimist.”

  She gave me a look. “What makes him a nutcase?”

  “According to Micky, it’s mostly stuff he’s done to past girlfriends.”

  “Physical stuff?”

  “That, too,” I said, scraping the last bit of sauce from my plate. “But probably more emotional. Psychological. Micky’s been checking into Jackson’s past. There’s a girl named Becca. Says he’d make her call him ‘Sir’ and cook his meals in the nude.”

  “That’s unusual?”

  I jerked my gaze to her. Her expression was absolutely serious, but her eyes were too bright.

  “You’re so not funny,” I said.

  She laughed, apparently disagreeing. “So Micky’s grandmother didn’t know about Jamel?”

  “I don’t think so. As of Micky’s last appointment he hadn’t told her yet. He’d just gotten the test results back and needed some time to think things through.”

  “So how did she know to show up at Jackson’s house?”

  I shrugged and fished the last noodle out of the box. I needed it about as much as a bullet to the brainpan. “Micky said she can be spooky. Maybe she uses the same voodoo witch you do.”

  “Shirley? Would Shirley have told her?”

  The noodle drooped from my fingers mere millimeters from my gaping maw. “She wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s my receptionist. It’s her job to keep things confidential.”

  “What’s your job?”

  “You blackmailed me into divulging all that information about Jackson.”

  She didn’t comment on her threat to contact Rivera. “I guess it would have been worse if no one showed up for Jamel.”

  “I was there.”

  “And what would you have done with him?”

  I shrugged. One of my past boyfriends had told me I had the maternal instincts of a snail. “I would have worked something out.”

  “You and François?”

  “François happens to be a very sensitive guy.”

  She didn’t respond to that other than to roll her eyes. Maybe because François runs on batteries and lives in a drawer beside my bed. Laney rose to her feet and started clearing dishes.

  “I take it Rivera wasn’t happy about the situation, either.”

  I watched her work. “The François situation or the Micky situation?”

  “He knows about François?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Probably?”

  “I don’t even know how you know.”

  She grinned as she put the dishes in the sink. “What was the good lieutenant’s major concern regarding the Micky situation?”

  “Probably that he couldn’t tell me what to do.”

  She turned, putting her ridiculously well-toned derriere against the counter. “Have you considered that maybe he worries about you?”

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “Mac, a guy was shot. A woman was stoned. Not to mention armed. And Micky’s been accused of rape on more than one occasion. Maybe he’s not as innocent as he seems.”

  “He’s had a tough road. And how do you know—”

  She raised a hand. “Just be careful. Okay?”

  “I don’t intend to get myself shot,” I said, trying for levity. “I mean, how embarrassing would that be?”

  She glared at me. “Sometimes you’re an idiot.”

  I gave her a hopeful expression for the “sometimes.” “Things are looking up, then?”

  “I’m serious, Mac. You just keep putting yourself out there. Looking for trouble.”

  “I do not.”

  “Really? What did Ramla want?”

  I was pretty sure my earlier conversation with my neighbor wasn’t something I should be ashamed of, but somehow I was. “What?”

  “Ramla.” Laney was adopting her combative mien. Generally, she’s about as aggressive as a daisy. Other times she seems to think I need a mother. Which, by the by, I already have in spades. “What did she want?”

  “Do you have spies out there or something?”

  “Yes. I thought her sister was doing okay now.”

  A while back, I had told Laney about the Al-Sadr situation. She’d informed me that a friend of hers from the Middle East might be able to help. But before any plans were made, Aalia, Ramla’s sister, had reported that all was well. Unlikely as that had seemed, there wasn’t much I could do about it. “I guess she’s not anymore.”

  Laney’s brow puckered. I was glad to see it could happen. “Maybe you shouldn’t get involved.”

  “Little Miss Fix It doesn’t think I should get involved?”

  “I’m serious, Mac. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  My stomach curled, but I forced a laugh. “Aalia’s in Yemen. What could happen?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But if it can I’m pretty sure it will.”

  7

  Men … a sure cure for sanity.

  —Shirley Templeton

  On Wednesday I wore my favorite warm-weather ensemble: a cranberry shell that fit snug across my boobage and tucked neatly into a high-waisted skirt that hugged my behind like a perverted banana pee
l. The flirty ruffle at the bottom added interest, and the wide black belt cinched my waist into a neat little sphere.

  Perhaps because of my clothing choice, the day went fairly smoothly. At least in comparison to the norm. Still, by 7:50, when my last client whistled out the door, I felt like I’d been dipped in battery acid and hung out to dry. Nevertheless, I felt it necessary to speak with my receptionist.

  Shirley was just pulling her purse out of a big drawer at the bottom of her desk when I stepped into her domain. Seven plants had come to live in the area since her arrival. I never knew where they came from or what they were called, but they glowed with green happiness. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure,” she said, and pulled the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “What’s up?”

  I didn’t want to broach the subject of her speaking with others about my clients, but the Board of Psychology can get a little testy about that sort of thing, and the truth is, I’d rather take a fork in the eye than face an uptight shrink with nothing better to do than looking into my affairs.

  “You know my clients’ files have to be kept confidential, right?”

  She nodded once, looking serious.

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re a fantastic—”

  “It was me,” she said, brow furrowed.

  I stood there with my mouth open for a few seconds. No thoughts flew in. “What are you—”

  “I worry about you, girl. You gotta be more careful. Your clients, they love you. I know they do, but they ain’t exactly comin’ here ’cuz they got all their ducks in lockstep, you know. I have to talk to someone.”

  I was trying to think. Perhaps that wasn’t apparent by the look on my face. “So … you’ve been talking to Laney?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, ’cuz I don’t say this lightly, but … maybe you should get a man.”

  I managed to shake my head. “What?”

  She broadened her stance as if ready for a fight. “A man.”

  “For …”

  “I know, I know.” She waved at me as she came around the corner of the desk. “I kind of implied they’re worthless as a peashooter at a gunfight, but sometimes they come in handy. I mean, you drive out of here alone every night. Get here alone every morning. Pretty thing like you. What if someone’s waiting?”

  Why was everyone suddenly so concerned about my well-being? “What am I supposed to do? I can’t just run out to the man store and pick up a sample.” I thought about that for a second. The images were appealing. I’ll take one in brown, one in white, and one in nothing at all. “Can I?”

  She snorted. “Honey, if you wanted you could just walk out there and whistle. There’d be a dozen guys at your feet before you got done puckering.”

  “Umm.” I shook the lovely image out of my head. “Thank you, but about confidentiality—”

  “If you don’t want me talkin’ to Laney, I won’t. You’re the boss, and I’m grateful for the job, but I think you need someone in your corner. And you know Laney and me …” She shook her head once and tightened her jaw. “We got your back.”

  For some reason, the way she said it brought tears to my eyes. I cleared my throat. “Yes, well, as long as you don’t talk about my clients to anyone else.”

  “You know I won’t.”

  “Okay, then. I guess that’s it. You probably want to get going.”

  It took her a moment to lose the pugilist stance. “No hurry.”

  “It’s late.”

  “The next bus don’t go through for another fifteen minutes.”

  “I made you miss your bus?”

  “Don’t worry about it, honey,” she said. “Truth is, there ain’t nobody makes me do much I don’t wanna do these days. Besides, the 8:05 ain’t near so busy as the earlier rides.”

  That was because all the commuters who worried about their continued survival were padlocking their doors as we spoke. “I thought you had a car.”

  “I do,” she said, and didn’t bother to expound.

  “Then why aren’t you driving it?”

  “The boy needed it.”

  “Dion?” It was a wild guess. Shirley had had a butt-load of kids. Oddly enough, she still loved babies. If I had popped seven kids out of an orifice the size of a walnut I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t love anything.

  “Dion? You kidding? He’d only get in trouble with a set of wheels. But Vin, he got himself a job at Target. The graveyard shift. Ain’t no buses running at three in the morning.”

  “So how far do you have to walk?”

  “Not far.” Turning, she straightened the Ansel Adams that adorned the wall above the tiny table that held two water glasses.

  “How far’s that?”

  She looked at me, attitude personified. “Why you wanna know? Do I look like I’m getting too skinny to you?”

  I gave her attitude back. “I was going to ask about anorexia. How far?”

  “I ain’t counted the blocks.”

  I snorted. “I’m giving you a ride.”

  “No you ain’t,” she said, and suddenly her eyes looked all shiny and funny. “You’re gonna get your scrawny butt to bed so you can help the next Micky that comes along.”

  I stared at her. “Are you crying?”

  “You kiddin’ me?” she asked, and swiped away the moisture from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I don’t even have tear ducts no more.”

  “Then I think it’s raining on your face.”

  She sniffled a laugh and while she was distracted I shuffled her out the door. To this day, I’m still surprised I won that argument.

  By 8:30 I had dropped her off outside her apartment building. It was a three-story complex in a decent part of Eagle Rock. I made sure she was inside before I headed for the market. My usual store was Von’s but Laney liked me better when I shopped organically at Trader Joe’s. I considered just getting a Trader Joe’s bag to make it look as if I’m conscientious, but then Laney would be disappointed that I didn’t use the cloth bags she had given me.

  In the end, I parked in Joe’s lot, shut off the Saturn, and stepped outside.

  It happened so fast, I barely had time to think. One minute I was walking toward the store and the next I was grabbed from behind. I tried to scream but a hand cut off my breath. I shifted my eyes, throat already closing up, trying to see my assailant. Something was poking me in the side.

  “You here alone?”

  It took me a moment to understand what he was saying over the hammering of my heart. I nodded before I thought better of it.

  “You carrying Mace?”

  I managed to shake my head, though my spray was within reach, dangling from my key chain. If I could just reach it, I’d have a chance, I thought, but suddenly the hand slipped away.

  “Well, why the hell not?”

  I spun around at the sound of Rivera’s voice. He stood not three feet away, glaring at me.

  I slammed my palms against his chest with all the rage my pent-up fear allowed. He staggered backward, almost fell, then caught himself just in time for me to sputter into his face, “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Me? Christ, woman, you’re cruising around town like you don’t have a brain in your—”

  “You’ve been following me?” I was either starting to shriek or a car alarm had gone off in my head.

  “I told you …” He held up his index finger. “Look around before you leave your office building.” His middle finger rose. “Get in your car quick.” By the time his ring finger popped up I was just about ready to lop it off with nail clippers. “Check your rearview mirror, your side-view—”

  “You’ve been following me ever since the office.” I’d gone from shriek to growl.

  “I bet you didn’t even check your trunk.”

  “My trunk?” From growl to rumble.

  “Damnit, McMullen! We’ve gone over this. You know how easy it is to jimmy a car lock? Some bastard could get in there before you leave your office.
Your backseats fold down. He could climb over your seat and put a gun to your head. Next time I see you taking idiotic chances I’m going to hide in your trunk and—”

  “I swear to God, Rivera,” I said, stepping toward him. “If you hide in my trunk they won’t find your dead body till Christmas.”

  “Listen,” he said, and grabbed my arms, but someone had just exited Joe’s.

  “Hey!” He was already approaching. I turned my head. He weighed about a thousand pounds, was big, bald, and scary as hell. “What’s going on here?”

  “LAPD,” Rivera said, and dropping my arms, pulled a badge from some unknown orifice. “Lieutenant Rivera. Everything’s fine.”

  “Neighborhood Watch,” rumbled the stranger. “Aaron Berkhouse. And I don’t give a shit if you’re the pope. He bothering you, miss?”

  Miss? I considered batting my lashes at him, but decided to just go for Rivera’s jugular instead. “He grabbed my arms,” I said. My voice was as soft as whipped butter.

  “You know this guy?” Berkhouse asked.

  I bit my lip. “Kind of.”

  “You grab her arms?” Aaron rumbled.

  “Listen, Berkhouse—”

  “Did you grab her arms?” he asked, and stepped a little closer.

  I thought, but I wasn’t sure, that Rivera cursed under his breath. “Yes, I did.”

  “Apologize.”

  I looked at Rivera, crushed a smile, and tried to refrain from doing the “You better watch your ass” dance.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, but the words were hard to understand coming through his teeth.

  “For what?” I asked, and added a lovely blink to my performance. So far it was one of my best.

  “For grabbing your arms.”

  The big guy nodded. “That good for you, miss?”

  “I suppose so,” I said. “I don’t think he meant any harm.” I tried another blink. I didn’t want to overdo it. There’s a fine line between appearing helpless and myopic. “He’s just so forceful sometimes.”

  Berkhouse scowled, then pulled a card from his back pocket and handed it over. “You give me a call if he bothers you again.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Berkhouse.”

  He turned and ambled away with a lot of lateral movement. I watched.

  “You happy now?” Rivera asked.

  I turned toward him. “I can honestly say that was the pinnacle of my day so far.”