“Find anything?” Win asked, hovering in my ear as we sat in the kitchen after getting back from my encounter with Bianca.
I clicked my laptop shut and sighed. “Not a thing. It’s a rental.” I was referring to the plate on the car Bianca had driven away in.
The good news? I now had Internet as of late this afternoon. The bad? It was leading me nowhere, even after Win had helped me hack into a site where I simply typed in the plate number and voila, access to whomever owned the car.
“And nothing other than Carlito’s Facebook and his bio from the University of Idaho?”
“Did you think we’d find he had a website advertising he’s a killer?”
“Don’t be daft. I was just hoping we’d find something more than the sunshine-filled poppy field of a life he seems to have led.”
“He’s only twenty-two, Win. Give him time to rack up his killer points. Then he can beef up his portfolio with pictures of crushed beer cans at his feet while he holds up his kill for the camera.”
But Win wasn’t paying attention to me. He was still stuck on the fact that while Carlito made sense, his vibe was all wrong. “I was so sure…”
My head bounced to Win’s words. “I was, too. He did avoid the question of family here, and his mother and father are from Idaho.”
Esperanza and Miguel Valasquez were indeed from Idaho. Carlito had several pictures of himself with his parents on his Facebook page.
“Also, the inhaler he had. Carlito said he found it in his car and it was a friend’s. I meant to mention, I saw someone leave the food truck court the day Tito was murdered. You know, through that hole in the fence behind all the trucks? I saw someone with an inhaler in their back pocket. I didn’t think much of it at the time because the kids are always using that as a shortcut to avoid having to walk all the way around from the gas station behind the food court.”
“How could you forget something so important? Surely that points to Carlito?”
“It just escaped me in the heat of the moment, I guess. I was so intent on looking inside the truck…”
“Spy 101, Stevie. I’ve taught you better. Everything is suspect when you’re in the middle of a crime scene.”
Repositioning myself on the donut, I sighed. “You’re right. I blew it.”
“Did you see Carlito after you got booted from snooping around the truck by Officer Nelson?”
“Nope. By then almost everyone had dispersed and the truck owners had closed up shop.”
“And you’re sure he was the one you saw so upset that day?”
I pointed to the newspaper again. “He looks like the same kid.”
Win’s sigh in my ear rasped. “That bothers me. There’s a reason he was so distraught, and I can’t believe it was over tacos.”
Looking out the window, I watched as the clouds began to move in. Maybe our spate of good weather was on the decline. “Well, if Tito is his father, I feel sorry for him.”
“Why?”
“Because that means Bianca’s his half-sister.”
“You were every bit a lady with Bianca today, Stevie.”
“I was every bit ready to face-plant her on the sidewalk.”
Win laughed. “I saw. You launched that donut like a grenade. But you didn’t come to blows. You’re to be commended.”
Tapping my finger on my cheek, I wondered, “Is Ebenezer Falls suddenly the place to live? Why is everyone from Idaho defecting here?”
“You don’t know whoever was in the car actually picked it up in Idaho. Car rental agencies have plates from all over.”
Groaning, I readjusted my donut. I felt like we were right back at square one again. “Point. Just seems too out of the norm to be coincidental. You know, I hate to think it, but maybe Bianca did kill Tito. She has some temper. Did you see how rigid and edgy she was today? Something’s up.”
“You should have pressed Carlito harder, Stevie. Maybe he just doesn’t want anyone to know Tito was his father because without question, it would turn him into a murder suspect.”
“Press harder with what? My jumper cables? C’mon, Win. You don’t really think he killed Tito, do you? Did you get that vibe at all?”
“I’ve gotten less from far worse.”
I stuck a fork into what was left of my reheated baked ziti, courtesy of Carmella, who was none too pleased with me at this point for up and disobeying her orders. “You’re just crabby because Liza’s sweet on a cute guy. Let them be. Let her be. She’s happy.”
“Happy schmappy. Psychopaths are incredibly good actors, in case you weren’t aware.”
I thought back to Adam Westfield, the warlock responsible for stealing my powers. “I’m very aware. I know psychopath, believe me. It’s neither here nor there now. What I really want to know is, why is Bianca so intent on keeping me out of the loop about her family? It seems everyone knows about Tito’s affair or affairs. So what does she gain by waving her finger at me? To actually come to the store and threaten me—that means something.”
“I’d agree.”
The doorbell rang, interrupting our conversation. I forgot about my butt and hopped up too quickly, sending a shooting pain down my left cheek and along the back of my thigh. I was holding off on the pain meds until bed. I needed my senses sharp if I was going to keep digging around the Internet.
Dragging myself out of the kitchen, I yelled, “Hold on! Injured butt walking!” Then I giggled to myself at how ironic it was that of all the things to bruise, I managed to bruise my butt.
I couldn’t tell who was at the door due to the stained glass distorting shapes, and I guess I should have stopped to think how odd it was for someone to show up at our doorstep this late in the day. It was almost seven, but thanks to growing up with a small-town mentality and totally forgetting I’d been faked out once before, I didn’t think twice before opening the door.
And there stood Carlito Valasquez.
With a sledgehammer in his hand.
You know, if this were any other day, I might be able to handle being wrong about Carlito and his killin’, and be grateful to have figured out who was responsible.
But daggone it, today my butt hurt and everything was just plain crappy—even if we had found Tito’s murderer.
So what does one do when confronted with a cold-blooded killer holding a sledgehammer?
One runs.
Fast.
Or in my case, hobble/limp/stumble-run toward the kitchen in my ridiculously impractical bear slippers to get an equally impractical weapon to fight back.
As I skidded into the kitchen, my eyes searching for the knives in the woodblock we’d bought from some fancy chef site online, I heard Carlito yell for me.
“Miss Cartwright? Are you okay?” His footsteps followed his question, thumping ever closer.
“Am I okay?” I shrieked, grabbing the knife and holding it to my chest. “Are you crazy? I will not be taken out in my own house! Hear me? I’ve been to this rodeo and I’m prepared to defend myself! I warn you, Carlito—I’m skilled with a knife! I’ll slice you up like a lobster on a hibachi chef’s grill! Drop the sledgehammer and I’ll let you live long enough to tell the tale!”
I backed up against the fridge, eyeballing my phone on the table. If I wasn’t so beat up, I might be able to make a dash for it (because I’m sure 9-1-1 would be thrilled to hear from me twice in one day). But Carlito was young and probably much quicker than I am.
And then he came around the corner.
With the sledgehammer.
I held up the knife, and I openly acknowledge I looked like a madwoman, if my reflection in the window was any indication. My hair was sticking up from the donut I’d had around my neck earlier, rubbing against it and leaving it full of static, my wide eyes were wild and hyper-aware, and my neck was a mottled mess of black and blue.
I’d taken my shoes off when I got home and put on my big fuzzy bear slippers—because I’d heard they were all the rage with newb spies and made outrunning a killer a total breeze.
A mistake in hindsight, I guess. But I didn’t care. No way was he taking me down. So when he made a move toward me and dropped the sledgehammer, I swung the knife in the air like it was a light saber and I had the Force.
My pulse raced with adrenaline and my hands shook. This would not happen again. I was going to have the upper hand this round of How Can We Kill Stevie, if it was the last thing I did.
“Don’t you come any closer, you hear me? I’ll cut you to ribbons if you—”
“Stevie?” Win said in my ear.
“Hmm?” I murmured, my breathing uneven.
“He dropped the sledgehammer. I think he comes in peace. Ease up there, Stevie-San.”
I looked at the sledgehammer on the floor. Oh.
“Miss Cartwright? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I found the sledgehammer on the steps and I didn’t want anyone to trip on it and get hurt.” Carlito stepped forward, regret mingled with hesitation in his eyes.
My heart rate slowed in increments before I let out a sigh of relief. “So you’re not here to kill me. What a relief.” I set the knife on the table and winced.
“Kill you? I’m really confused, Miss Cartwright. Are you sure you’re okay? I heard about your brush with that food truck fish guy. Did he hit your head?”
I chuckled in irony. “No, but you’d think he did after the way I just behaved. It’s just that—”
“Oh, I get it,” he said on a nod, then smiled that lovely smile that didn’t resemble a single Bustamante’s, not even Tito’s. Though, he sure looked like his mother. “Liza told me what happened last month, and about the guy who killed her grandmother. I should have thought the sledgehammer through more thoroughly. Sorry.”
I let my shoulders relax and chuckled nervously. “It’s okay, Carlito. Liza’s right. I’m just edgy now is all. That whole mess is still a bit of a fresh wound. So what brings you here? What can I do for you?”
“I’m not even sure what you call this—would it be ghost help? I mean, what should I do if I want to talk to someone who died?”
I motioned him to sit down at the table and took my seat with the donut once more, my ears perked. “I’m technically called a medium. I communicate with the dead. So yes, I’m the person to come to. Are you looking to communicate with someone who died?”
His dark eyes held a faraway look. “I think so. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t even know if I believe in this stuff. My mom’s all over it—total believer. Watched the Ghost Whisperer like it was her religion, but me? I’m not sure, no offense intended. But Liza says you’re really good at what you do. She said it might all be fake, but people always seem to leave your shop happy.”
Well, most people. I held my breath. Dare I go any further? “Who do you want to communicate with, Carlito?”
His deep brown eyes grew guarded when he leaned in toward me. “Can you keep a secret? This isn’t even something I’ve told Liza about. I’ve been hanging around Ebenezer falls for days, trying to decide what to do. I can’t…I mean, I don’t want anyone to know until I know for sure.”
“Until you know what for sure?”
“If Tito Bustamante is my biological father.”
“Boom,” Win whispered in my ear.