Naked Frame Part 17

Calvin was under the hood of the GTO, installing a radiator hose, when he heard someone open the side door of his garage. "It's about time." He had been waiting all day for his money.

"Really? You've been expecting me?"

Calvin stood up and turned around. Three young Hispanic-looking men stared at him. Were they gang members or just some kids looking for trouble? "Who are you?"

"My name is Larry. This is my brother, Darryl. And this is my other brother, Darryl." He laughed. The Darryls didn't crack a smile.

"Oh, I get it. The Bob Newhart Show."

"No, Man. Not the Bob Newhart Show. Just the plain Newhart Show. The one where he lived in that Vermont Inn. You're not much of a connoisseur of cla.s.sic TV, are you, Dude?"

Larry was clearly an American. He spoke English intelligently, and apparently grew up watching the TV Land Network. But the two Darryls didn't appear to know what the h.e.l.l he was saying. "What can I do for you?"

"Wow, Man. You've got some fine automobiles in here. I love this GTO." The three men walked around it, checking out the interior, the chrome, and the engine. One of the Darryls rubbed his hand across the smooth, shiny front fender.

"Please don't touch," said Calvin. "Do you have a car that needs work?"

"No," said Larry. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, if you don't have work for me, why are you here?"

"Because I'm thinking about buying a '69 Triumph Spitfire."

"I don't work on foreign cars."

"Why not? Are you prejudiced or something?"

"Prejudiced?"

"Yeah. You hate what you don't understand, Man."

"I don't hate people from other countries. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah. For example, my two step-brothers here. I'm American. But they're Mexican. You hate them, don't you?"

"Of course not."

"I don't believe you, Man."

"Look, when you have an American car for me to work on, come by and I'll add you to my waiting list."

"Oh, I see. I'm not good enough for your regular list. You'd put me on your stupid waiting list."

"Everybody goes on the waiting list."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"Okay, I've had enough talk. I've got to get back to work." Calvin began tightening the screw on the hose clamp.

"Okay, Man. I get it. No hard feelings."

One of the Darryls took a set of gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on. He picked up a large screwdriver from the workbench and walked up behind Calvin.

Larry said, "So, have a good night, Sir."

Calvin ignored him, hoping they would leave. He never saw the long, sharp screwdriver Darryl was holding above his back. And he had no chance to react when Darryl thrust it downward with both hands, into Calvin's back, through his heart, and out the front of his chest. As he fell forward, his forehead slammed into the edge of the exposed carburetor.

"I really wanted this car." Larry looked at Calvin's lifeless body lying across the front of the car, blood dripping down the radiator and onto the concrete floor. "But not anymore."

CHAPTER 27 - Tuesday, 7:57 p.m.

Gabby studied Rebecca, as they sat in his car eating McDonald's ice cream sundaes and sipping coffee. She looked so vulnerable. He loved it when she let her guard down. To him, she was still the cute, innocent teenage girl he grew up with.

Was that why he had such a strong urge to kiss her cold, wet, ice cream lips? Or was it because of her topless act at Cafe Nue? Or the excitement of the danger they were in. Whatever the reason, he would resist. Gabby knew they could never be more than friends. And he was okay with that. He was just happy to have his best friend back in his life.

Rebecca's phone rang. She put it on speaker.

"Megan, are you okay?"

"No."

Her voice sounded weak and hoa.r.s.e, as though she had been crying.

"What's the matter, Honey?"

"We went to Melvin's apartment and some man showed up and started yelling at him. And I think he hit him too. I was in the bathroom."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No. I climbed out the bathroom window. But I don't know what happened to Melvin. Tell Gabby I'm sorry. I hope his uncle is okay."

"I'm sure he's fine. Maybe a little roughed up. Don't worry." She glanced at Gabby.

Gabby was very worried. He wished he hadn't put his uncle's life in jeopardy.

"Where are you right now?"

"I don't know exactly. I'm outside some coffee shop."

"Okay. I'm going to buy you an airline ticket to Dallas. Do you have enough money for a taxi to JFK?"

"Yes."

"Good. Go back to the airport and I will text you with your flight information. You can pick up your ticket at the counter."

"Oh, thank you so much, Rebecca. I feel like such a fool."

"It's going to be okay. But if you have enough money, you might want to buy a hat or windbreaker, or anything that will make you look different."

"You think the killer will come after me?"

"Probably. So be careful."

"Okay. Thank you."

Gabby knew what Rebecca was about to ask. "Yeah, I'll buy the ticket."

"I'll pay you back."

"I know."

Gabby purchased the ticket on his smartphone and sent a text message to Megan with her flight information. "There's something that's been bugging me."

"What?"

"Calvin. We went by his garage this morning at around eleven o'clock. And Carly never made it home last night. So, why didn't Calvin say anything about it? When you asked to talk to her about cosmetics, he said she wasn't home. Shouldn't he have been worried about the fact that his wife had never come home last night? Or, was that something that she sometimes did?"

"No. As far as I know, she always went home. It would usually be after midnight. But she went home."

"So, why did he act like everything was fine? Why did he casually say she wasn't home. He should have been saying that he didn't know where the h.e.l.l she was. Or at least appear to be worried about her. How do you explain his behavior?"

"I just chalked it up to him not caring what happened to her. Maybe he thought she fell asleep at the hotel after s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her last john."

"Is it possible that Calvin murdered Carly?"

"No, I don't think-"

"-what if somebody offered him enough money to buy that car he was drooling over, for example? You know-the one in the brochure."

"Who would pay him money to kill his own wife?" She thought for a moment. "Joey."

"That's what I'm thinking."

"But it looked as though Carly had been killed by some type of electrical device."

"Right. And Calvin has all kinds of electrical testers and gadgets in his shop."

"Like a battery charger or something?"

"Yeah. We should go back there."

"Wait." Rebecca reached into her pocket, pulled out a twenty dollar bill, and clicked on the dome light. "I copied a phone number from Joey's desk and wrote it on this bill. It had the letters CC next to it. I wonder if it could be Calvin Cinaway's number?"

"Try it."

Rebecca called the number. It went to voice mail: You have reached Calvin's Auto Shop. Our hours are eight to six. Please leave a message. Rebecca hung up. "I think we're on to something. Let's get over there."

Gabby pulled out of the McDonald's parking lot, and drove them to the spot where they had parked that morning-around the corner from Calvin's house. "Any chance the police could be there waiting for us?"

"There's always a chance. I'll bet n.o.body's even discovered Big Bill's body yet. But I'm sure they're investigating Carly's death by now. And if Carly was carrying my business card in her purse-"

"-the police will be wanting to talk to you."

"By tomorrow, it's going to be much harder to get around this city anonymously. We've got to figured out who killed who, and we've got to do it tonight."

They stepped out of the car and took the sidewalk around to Calvin's garage. The doors were closed, but the lights were on. The only car in Calvin's driveway was his Buick. There were no cars in front of his house.

Rebecca pointed, and led the way to the side door, which faced the side of the house. She knocked.

They listened for a response. But the only thing they could hear inside was the giant fan.

"Maybe he didn't hear," said Gabby.

Rebecca knocked louder.

Still no response.

She opened the door. "Mr. Cinaway?"

At first, Gabby thought Calvin had fallen fell asleep under the hood of the car-until he saw the screwdriver handle. "Oh, s.h.i.t." He hoped it was a stubby screwdriver. Their blades are only a couple of inches long-made for tight s.p.a.ces. But stubby screwdrivers had stubby handles. This handle was six inches long. Then he spotted the pool of blood under the car.

They rushed over for a closer look.

Rebecca leaned in under the hood for a side view. "It went all the way through his body. We've got to get out of here."

On the way out, Rebecca used the tail of her blouse to wipe her fingerprints off the doork.n.o.b.

CHAPTER 28 - Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.

The last stop of Mandibul's security rounds was the lab. He poked his head into Phillipa's office. "Feeling h.o.r.n.y tonight?"

Phillipa stood up from her desk. "Come in, Honey. I need to talk to you."