Aunt Martha pulled me into another hug next to her car outside the drop-in center. “Give me a call when it’s safe for Tyrone to turn himself in.”
I wanted to protest, but a cruiser chose that moment to round the corner, not to mention the two familiar-looking guys standing outside the convenience store on the corner eyeballing us. What is wrong with me? I’m a federal agent and my aunt is harboring a fugitive. We’re talking serious jail time if she’s caught.
“By the way,” Aunt Martha said, sliding behind the wheel, “you’ll find Tasha at Gladys’s. Last night at the gala, I overheard her volunteer to fill in for one of their Saturday morning bridge players who’s sick.”
I grabbed the car door before she could pull it closed, but then the cruiser slowed to a crawl, the officer inside rubbernecking in our direction. I firmly closed the door. “Thanks, Aunt Martha. I’ll be in touch.”
She drove off as I locked up the center. The cruiser disappeared around the corner with her. The curious guys hanging out at the corner store, who I now recognized as the pair of plainclothes cops from outside Ty’s place, climbed into their car and pulled in behind me as I passed.
They must’ve alerted Detective Irwin to my visit, and he probably figured following me was their best shot at finding the kid. Too bad they had no clue Aunt Martha was my ace in the hole. Of course, if the detective had been interested in sharing information, I’d be calling him to share Randy’s tip.
Instead, I phoned my supervisor to request surveillance on Ted while I rounded up Tasha.
“The guys aren’t going to be happy about being pulled in on a Saturday. You got enough on these two to get arrest warrants?” Benton questioned.
“I could get Ted on assault, no problem, but I suspect Tasha will roll on him for the murder charge, if I can get to her first. I just want to make sure he doesn’t run.”
“Okay, I’ll put a couple of guys on him. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.” Next, I called Tanner, who was always game to get the bad guys no matter the day of the week, and asked him to meet me at Gladys’s for the interview.
“I’m afraid I’ll be at least forty minutes. We had an operation this morning, and we’re still mopping up.”
“That’s okay. I can’t see Tasha giving me any trouble in front of her mother.” I filled him in on Ted’s and Tasha’s run-ins with Randy and their connection to Capone.
“So you think Ted killed Capone?”
“He’s a hothead if the number he did on Randy’s face is anything to go by. And he’s got to be in cahoots with Tasha, or why would he have bothered with Randy?”
“Okay, I’ll meet you at Gladys’s as soon as I can.”
The cops followed me to Gladys’s circle and parked at the opening when I pulled to the curb in front of her house. I resisted the temptation to sashay back to them and give them a rundown on the how-tos of Covert Surveillance 101. Except they probably couldn’t care less whether I spotted them or not.
Gladys, not her housekeeper, opened the door. “Oh, Serena, it’s you.” She poked her head out the door and glanced up and down the street. “We’re waiting on our fourth for bridge, and I thought you’d be her.”
“Sorry to disappoint. May I come in?”
She teetered on the threshold a moment as if she might say no, then stepped back and motioned me in. “I trust you’re satisfied now that my son-in-law wasn’t behind the theft. If I’d known you were going to investigate my family, I wouldn’t have agreed with your grandmother to involve you. After the way the police went after her when your grandfather was killed, I would’ve thought you’d be more sensitive.”
My pulse kicked up a few dozen notches. So Nana really had been a suspect? The official report had mentioned them questioning her, but not the investigators’ apparent dissatisfaction with her answers. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you,” I heard myself saying. I bit my lip, knowing it would happen anyway. “Sometimes the truth can be something we don’t want to hear.”
Her eyes flared. “What are you saying?”
“I need to speak with Tasha,” I said, suddenly wishing I’d waited until she was at her own house. “I understand she’s here.”
Nana and Tasha joined us in the foyer, Nana looking expectant, Tasha looking worried.
I kissed Nana’s cheek and wished her good morning.
“I think I want you to drop the investigation,” Gladys blurted. “I don’t care about pressing charges anyway. I’d just hoped you might locate the painting.”
“I understand,” I said sympathetically, “but I still need to speak with Tasha.”
“Why? I just said—”
Tasha laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m happy to talk to her.” She motioned toward the room where the Dali had hung. “Shall we go in here?”
I stepped inside ahead of her as she gently dissuaded her mom from joining us. Nana glared at me over their heads. So much for my solving this case earning me a place in her good books.
There was no door on the room, so Tasha waited at the doorway until Nana and Gladys left the foyer, before turning my way. “How may I help you?”
“Randy told me everything.”
“I see.” She sat on the sofa and clasped her hands in her lap. “Thank goodness Mom doesn’t want to press charges.” She shook her head. “It was Ted’s idea. I heard Mom talking about getting the painting appraised, and I knew what she was up to. I knew she’d sell it so she could help her beloved Peter out of yet another one of his financial pits. Everything is Pete this and Pete that. I swear, half the time I’m invisible. And at the rate she was going, she’d have sold herself out of house and home to help Pete, and where would that leave me? With a cheating husband who burns through money faster than he makes it?”
“Your husband isn’t cheating on you.”
“What? How would you know?”
“Oh yeah? So how do you explain the late-night phone calls? The secret rendezvouses? He had a woman bring a paternity suit against him for goodness’ sake.”
“Since nothing came of the suit, I assume testing proved her wrong. As for the rest, there is an explanation,” I said firmly, wishing I were at liberty to divulge it.
Tasha burst into tears and buried her face in her hands. “Ted is no better. He’s a hothead. I told him Randy wouldn’t say anything, but no . . . he had to make sure. As if beating the poor guy is going to make him want to keep quiet. I knew it was a mistake, but Ted’s so . . . so . . . obsessed with the idea of being someone. You know what I mean?”
“I think I do, yes.” I waited, hoping she’d keep talking. I was itching to ask questions, but since I planned to arrest her, I’d need to read her her rights first.
She swiped at her damp cheeks. “Is Randy going to press charges against him? I mean, I know he has every right to, but then everything else might come out in the papers and I don’t want to put Mom through the embarrassment.”
“A man is dead. That can’t be swept under the rug.”
Her face blanched. “I . . . I don’t understand.”
I unzipped my purse and pulled out my Miranda Warning card. “The victim was the man Randy referred you to.”
“But”—her gaze dropped to the card—“what . . . what’s that?”
“I need to read you your rights before I ask you any questions.”
“But Mom doesn’t want you to arrest me. Mom!” she screamed as I read the card.
Gladys rushed in with Nana on her heels.
“Tell her you won’t press charges. Please,” Tasha pleaded. “I admit I switched the Dali. And I’m sorry. I was just so jealous. You’re always doing things for Pete and . . .” Her explanation petered out in a fashion befitting a drama queen.
Gladys stroked Tasha’s hair from her face. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she cooed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel left out.” Gladys turned to me, her voice cooling considerably. “I’m sorry we’ve put you to so much trouble. I won’t press charges.”
“I understand that, Mrs. Hoffemeier,” I said, feeling Nana’s heated glare scorch the side of my face. “However, Tasha has been implicated in a larger investigation.”
“What’s this about?” Nana demanded. “You were asked to find the missing Dali, not dig up trouble for the sake of trouble.”
“I didn’t hurt that man, I swear,” Tasha blurted.
“Of course you didn’t,” her mother said.
“How did you know he died sitting in a chair?” I asked.
“She would’ve read it in the newspaper like the rest of us,” Nana interjected.
“It wasn’t reported,” I said, not taking my gaze off Tasha.
She squirmed.
Her mother looked taken aback. “What is she talking about?”
Tasha shook her head. “It was Ted. He went crazy. It was all his idea. When he heard about Serena talking to Randy, he insisted on beating him up to make sure he kept his mouth shut about referring us to Capone. Then when he heard Serena was looking at Capone, he was so afraid the old man would snitch on us that he said we had to silence him. Of course I said no, we should just come clean.” Tasha squeezed her mother’s hands. “I knew you would forgive me.”
“Of course,” Gladys confirmed. “I had no idea how you felt.” Gladys turned to me. “Can’t you see she was lashing out because she didn’t feel loved?”
I crossed my arms, sickened by Tasha’s display. “I don’t feel loved by my grandmother, but you don’t see me stealing the art off her walls.”
Gladys’s eyes widened.
Oh no. Did I just say what I think I just said?
“What utter nonsense,” Nana said.
My face heated, and I didn’t dare chance a sideways glance in Nana’s direction. What was it about Tasha that pushed all my buttons? She was a spoiled brat.
But yeah, I knew how it felt to be ignored. Maybe even loathed. I stuffed away that thought to examine later, or maybe not, and focused on why I was here. “So you’re telling me Ted killed Capone?” I asked, my pen poised over my notepad.
Tasha swallowed hard. “Injected him with insulin. Said it couldn’t be detected. I know I should’ve said something right away. Does that make me an accessory? I didn’t see him do it. I just assumed it must’ve been him after the way he went on and on and even went after you.”
Whoa, back up the bus. “When did Ted come after me?” I’d assumed all the special attention given to me lately was courtesy of Dmitri’s goons, or Pete’s.
“He said he almost ran you over.”
“Who is Ted?” Gladys and Nana demanded in unison.
“He works in the pawnshop where Lucas sold her jewelry to pay for his drugs,” I barked, then clapped my mouth shut at the slip.
Gladys’s face darkened five shades, and she looked as if she might burst an artery. “You took up with a man from a pawnshop?” she asked Tasha, the part about Lucas and drugs apparently going whoosh, right over her head.
My jaw slacked. Now I knew where her daughter got her messed-up priorities.
The ringing doorbell spared Tasha from answering.
“That’ll be Betty. We’re supposed to play bridge,” Gladys said.
Okay, this was crazy. I’d completely lost control of this interrogation. “I’m afraid Tasha needs to come with me.”
“Is that really necessary?” Nana asked impatiently.
“Yes.” I snapped cuffs on Tasha, and Gladys’s face paled to a ghastly gray. “I’m sorry this didn’t work out the way either of us hoped.”
Nana sniffed. “You always were such a contrary child.”
Talk about not working out the way I’d hoped. I took Tasha out the side door to spare Gladys the embarrassment of passing her guest with her daughter in handcuffs. Technically, I was supposed to have a second agent along to sit with Tasha in my backseat, but I didn’t want to stick around longer than necessary, and I was pretty sure Tasha wouldn’t give me any trouble.
As we stepped outside, my cell phone chimed the theme song for Murder, She Wrote—a sound I hadn’t heard for a few days. Then the mother of the sticky-fingered girl who found Aunt Martha’s phone in the bush clued in to why her daughter was suddenly so self-entertaining and made the girl return it.
I helped Tasha into the passenger seat and buckled her in, before glancing at the text.
Please come quickly. Got car trouble. I’m in the back parking lot at CCVac.
Ugh, what else was new? She should’ve traded that old clunker in years ago. Except . . . What on earth is she doing at the old vacuum cleaner factory? I paused outside the car, debating what to do. She probably figured the deserted industrial area was the safest place to hide out until the heat died down. A gray-haired, white senior with a black teen hanging out at the mall or Forest Park would attract unwanted attention. And she had to know Mom wouldn’t stand for a fugitive in the house, so she couldn’t call Dad about the car, let alone roadside assistance. Unless . . .
What if car trouble was code for trouble with Ty?
The cops in the car at the corner sat up and took notice of my hovering outside my car.
Terrific. I’d have to lose them before I saw to Aunt Martha. I climbed in my car, my mind racing. With any luck, the trip to the marshal’s office would convince the cops that tailing me was a waste of time. But what if Aunt Martha wasn’t just being her usual dramatic self and needed me now? It would take me half an hour, minimum, to get Tasha squared away.
I took a deep breath. Okay, this isn’t a ticking clock that can’t tell me if it’s a bomb. I can just call her already. “I’ll just be a minute,” I said to Tasha and dialed Aunt Martha’s number.
The call went immediately to voice mail.
I texted her back. Can you give me 45 minutes? I reversed out of the driveway and tipped an imaginary hat to the pair of cops at the corner as I passed.
Aunt Martha’s response—No. I need you now—came in as I was about to notify dispatch I was transporting a suspect.
I hit Redial, but my call went to voice mail again. At the stop sign, I fired back another text. Why aren’t you answering your phone? I wavered at the corner. This sounded more serious than car trouble. Did she not want Ty to overhear her on the phone? Or someone else?
Sorry. Have the ringer off.
But she got the text alert? This was starting to feel fishier than the ticking clock.
I don’t feel well. Might need to go to the hospital.
Wow, okay, major red flag. Aunt Martha loathed going to the doctor. This had to be code for “I can’t talk, but you need to get your buns over here.”
Only . . . it was the why she couldn’t talk that had me antsy. Especially when I needed to unload Tasha. I couldn’t exactly ask the cops now trailing behind me to take over the transport. It’d probably make them so suspicious they’d keep following me with Tasha in tow. And it’d take just as long to call in another agent or marshal to pick her up as to take her myself. I made a quick turn and then another. The factory was five, six minutes away, tops. I could drive by first, and if the situation looked dicey, I’d pull back. If it was nothing, the pit stop wouldn’t matter. If it was something, I’d be glad I went. But first I needed to lose Starsky and Hutch trailing behind me.
Of course, backup would be good. Just not them. I veered into a mini-mart lot and stopped behind a delivery truck. As the green sedan sailed by, my thumb hovered over Tanner’s name in my contact list.
No, it was one thing to put my job on the line by failing to turn Ty in. I couldn’t ask Tanner to take the same risk. Nate?
He’d be game to help. But . . . the thought of him finding out I knowingly let Aunt Martha harbor a fugitive didn’t sit so well. I bypassed his name and kept scrolling through my contact list. Malgucci. Of course. Helping a fugitive wouldn’t compromise his morals one iota. Especially a fugitive Aunt Martha was fond of.
I clicked on his name and pressed Call, then scouted the street for the green sedan and turned back toward the factory.
“Why are those men after you?” Tasha asked.
“Who knows?” I said. She’d been surprisingly quiet while I did my disappearing act. From the way she was chewing on her lip, she was probably relieved by the delay.
“Carmen here,” he answered on the second ring.
I quickly brought him up to speed on what was going on and the potential trouble I thought Aunt Martha might be in, beyond “car trouble.”
“On my way,” he said without questioning me.
I smiled. He was the third cousin, twice removed on his mother’s side, to one of the most notorious crime bosses in the country, and purported to have his fingers in the business. Although Aunt Martha claimed he just enjoyed flaunting the persona. Either way, it was handy to have him on speed dial.
“We need to make a quick stop before we go to the marshal’s office,” I said to Tasha.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.
“Tell the truth and be as cooperative as possible, and I imagine the prosecutor could be persuaded to be lenient.” Considering we had no physical evidence, as far as I knew, tying Ted to the murder scene, it was far from a done deal that even her testimony would clinch that conviction.
My phone rang. Tanner. I tapped it on.
“Where are you? I’m outside the Hoffemeier place, and your car’s not here.”
Right. I’d forgotten he said he’d meet me there when he got done. “Uh, I’m taking Tasha to the marshal’s office.” In a roundabout way. “I’ll meet you back at headquarters. I asked Benton to put surveillance on Ted. Could you look into it? See where he’s at?”
“Sure. See you in a bit.”
I swiped a sweaty palm down my slacks. Omitting mention of the pit stop I was making en route wasn’t really lying. Was it? My heart twinged.
Or maybe my conscience.
It’s not like I don’t plan to encourage Tyrone to turn himself in. I just don’t think he’s guilty, and if I can prove it before he goes in, it’ll save him a lot of undeserved grief.
I slowed as I neared the industrial park that housed the now-defunct Cleaner Carpets Vacuum factory. I squinted at the rooftops, down the side alleys. My chest tightened. “You see a car anywhere?” I asked Tasha. “It’s powder-blue.”
As we coasted past the next building, she jutted her chin toward the lot behind it. “There. At the back.”
The car was parked facing away from the road, overlooking a steep hill littered with garbage of every description. Aunt Martha was in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, but there was no sign of Tyrone.
I drove a little farther to scout the area. Seeing no signs of anyone lurking nearby, I turned and slowly crossed the parking lot.
Aunt Martha’s head whipped around, and the panic in her gaze sent my heart slamming into my ribs.
“It’s a trap!”