Chapter Thirty-Four

I barely slept that night, sitting on my horrible hard sofa, watching old movies. I tried calling Delia to no avail. I wanted to call Sam, but I feared he might insist on coming over, and I hated the thought of his driving from Glendale in the middle of the night. I might have driven to his house except I feared someone lurking outside. Police would probably think this was another trick if I called them.

Was I in danger? That was the worst part. I didn’t know.

At nine the next morning, my doorbell rang. I blinked awake, surprised to find I lived through the night. The bell sounded again, so I dragged my stiff body to a standing position.

Who would visit so early? I hoped for Sam, but instead a delivery man with a huge bouquet of roses stood outside.

Miles Brookings? It was the sort of thing he might do. The roses were a wild spray of colors, from vivid red to orange, pink and yellow. Wait until I told Delia! We’d always said that if a man sent flowers the next day, he was a keeper. And we hadn’t even slept together.

With an expectant smile, I opened the card, thinking about how long to wait before I called to thank him. Maybe my luck was changing. My face froze as I read the card. Please forgive me, Brad.

It pained me to throw away anything so beautiful, but I didn’t want the flowers. Forgive him? I never wanted to see him again. I carried the vase outside onto the lower patio. As I walked inside, my board came into view. It seemed to pulsate, accusing me of neglect. I needed to call Callahan about that threatening phone call. I decided to call Sam first.

“You should have called as soon as you got it,” he said, showing no sign of his earlier anger.

“At three in the morning?”

“They called at three?”

“I got home at three.” Anticipating his next question, I added, “I had a date.”

“I don’t like that Brad guy. There’s something off about him...”

Sam might not understand about Miles, so I fudged. “I’m never seeing him again. I’m spending the day on my detective work.”

“Great. I got plenty to tell you. Did you get the shorthand for those ledgers so we can check names?”

My nose wrinkled. He would go ballistic if I told him how I spent the previous day. How could I get those initials decoded? Perhaps I needed to see Betty. Had Jennifer told her that I could fire her?

“I have to run an errand in Burbank this morning, so why don’t I pick you up and we can have lunch and catch up? I’ll be there in two hours.” The trip to Glendale would take an hour, which would allow time for a stop at Betty’s office.

The phone beeped to let me know I had another call coming in and I rang off with Sam. The sound of Brad’s throaty whisper sent a shiver through me.

“I’m sorry; I made a total ass of myself. That will never happen again.”

Twice he had shown me an angry, volatile side. I’d never been in that sort of relationship, and I wasn’t starting now. “Maybe we need to stop seeing each other.”

“Because of Miles Brookings?” His voice rang with bitterness.

I fought the impulse to reply with anger. No sense riling him up again. I kept my tone calm. “No, because things are tense right now.”

“When can I see you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want to be there for you. I’ll behave, I promise,” he pleaded. “I went crazy, seeing you with that jerk. What do you see in him? Money?”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“You had a cozy dinner, let him kiss you.” Accusation crept into his rising voice. “If I forced myself on you, would you would have reacted the same? Maybe I should have tried that.”

This was getting us nowhere. “Enough, Brad! You tried last night. Let’s drop things, okay?”

“Please give me another chance. I can talk to the cops and tell them to back off, or hire a PI. Whatever you want…” His plaintive voice had the opposite effect of what he wanted. No way would I allow myself to be indebted to him.

“It won’t work, Brad.”

“We belong together. I knew it from the first. I won’t let him steal you.” His voice had turned hard and frightening.

“I don’t belong to anyone. Goodbye, and please don’t call again.”

“You can’t do this. I’ll make you sorry. Real sorry.” The line went dead.

Great! I had an anonymous guy making threats on voicemail, a blackmailer wanting money, and now Brad was going to make me sorry.

Better deal with the blackmailer.

“Give me my money,” Toby said the instant I identified myself.

“What about—”

“I want the money,” he shouted. “You’ve stalled long enough. I’ll be at the Mira Loma pier tomorrow night at seven. Bring the money or else. You and your friend owe me.”

His final comment startled me. “Delia? Have you talked to her?”

“I’ve left several messages.”

“She’s out of the country and her phone doesn’t always work.” It was strange that she hadn’t mentioned them, but perhaps she hadn’t gotten them.

“Tomorrow night or I’m going to the police.” The phone clicked off.

I sank to a seat with a sigh. How was I supposed to get two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Had Carl sold my stocks as I asked? Maybe he would provide me with an advance? I punched in his number.

“I need some cash,” I said.

“You’ll have to wait.”

“I can’t.” I hated the desperate sound of my voice.

The bitterness in his reply was worse. “Your attorney informed me you’re demanding an audit. What kinda shit is that? Rick ordered me to use the money. I wasn’t cheating anyone.”

Adrienne and I talked about the audit, but why had she pushed forward so soon? Was she worried about not getting paid?

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” I said.

“Your money is tied up until this is over. I won’t be accused of trying to steal. You and Jennifer are trying to ruin me, but you’re both gonna be sorry.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Did you call last night and leave a threat?”

The line went dead.

Great! Another guy on my case. Maybe I should borrow Senor Zapato for a few days. Toby wouldn’t dare go to the cops if Senor Z hulked nearby, and a visit from him might calm down Brad and Carl.

Speaking of which, what was the Senor doing outside my house in the middle of the night?

****

Friday, 10:30 a.m.

Betty didn’t answer my call, but I drove to Burbank anyway. The message on her voicemail assured callers she was in all week. She probably didn’t want to take my call.

The door to her office stood slightly ajar, and I rapped lightly. The interior was dim, which surprised me. It had been light with morning sun the last time I visited. I knocked again.

“Betty?”

I pushed the door open to peek inside and gasped. The room was in shambles. Papers littered the floor and the green banker’s light from her desk lay in pieces on the floor.

What was going on? And what was that funky smell?

Except I knew. I’d been to enough accident scenes and murders to recognize that horrifying stench. The smell of death.

A narrow ribbon of burgundy ended in a dried pool at the side of her desk. I leaned down and saw only a hand holding a thin chain. The wrist had a thin gold and diamond bracelet. I stumbled backward, leaning against the doorknob as I struggled to keep from vomiting.

I hurled myself outside and collapsed to my knees on the grass.