Not One Clue_ A Mystery Part 15

"I believe so."

"Was there anyone new in your life at that time?"

She shook her head. "People come and go all the time on location."

"Did you work with any new men?"

"Yes."

"Can you give me a list?"

She paused for a moment. "I don't think it's any of them."

"We're going to have to a.s.sume this isn't obvious."

Her frown was back in place. "I'll see what I can do."

"I'd like to take all the letters to our a.n.a.lyst."

"I can have the others sent to me."

He nodded. "In the meantime, I don't want you living here alone."

I blinked. "She's not alone," I said.

He turned toward me, jaw muscles already jumping as if itching for a fight. "I meant the two of you. I don't want you here alone."

"Oh?" I was calm. Like the eye of the proverbial storm. A tornado maybe, with the rest of the world swirling around me. "What do you have in mind, Rivera?"

He pulled a hard breath into his nostrils. "It would be best if you lived somewhere else for a while."

"So I should just shut down my practice and hike out to ..." I felt anger beginning to bubble up a little in my gut, but I just let it simmer. "Do you have somewhere specific in mind?"

His eyes were dark and low-browed. "You should get out of L.A. Schaumburg might be-"

"You think I should go crawling back to Chicago?"

"Don't be juvenile about this. I'm sure your parents would love to have you stay-"

"Before you continue, I want you to think of Harlequin," I interrupted, smiled, unclenched my fists. "Where will he live if I'm incarcerated for shooting an officer of the law?"

"Are you threatening threatening me?" me?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "Your family isn't that-"

"My brothers put bugs in my rice." I was coming to the boiling point.

"I didn't say they were-"

"Pete called it fried lice. Said it was an Asian delicacy." I was starting to snarl.

His frown deepened. "I'll ask them not to do that anymore."

I paused, trying to get adequate air. Turns out there wasn't enough to accommodate my lungs while thinking of living with my parents. Holly had kicked Pete out of the house again. Which meant he would be crashing with the folks. "You'll ask them-"

"I'll tell tell them not to." them not to."

"I'm not running back to Schaumburg like a-"

"That's because you're too f.u.c.king stubborn to realize-"

"Jeen can move in," Laney said.

We turned on her as if she'd just been diagnosed with mad cow disease.

"What?"

"What!"

"I think he'd be happy to look after us," Elaine said. "Besides, if the letter-writer found me here, what's to stop him from following us to Chicago?"

It took a moment for my brain to form intelligent thoughts, a little longer to articulate them. "I'm sure Solberg would be tickled pink," I said. "But I'm not going to-"

"It's not a bad idea," Rivera said.

I jerked toward him so fast I could hear my neck snap. "Do you hate me that much?"

"Only when you're acting like an adolescent-"

"I'm not an-"

"Then don't act like one. Would you rather be killed in your sleep or spend a couple weeks with Solberg?"

I stared at him.

"McMullen-"

"I'm thinking!" I snapped.

"Well ..." He chuckled, shook his head. "I'm thrilled to know you're still capable of such-"

"Hi."

We turned back toward Elaine. She had a cell phone pressed to her ear. I was already holding my breath.

"I miss you, too," she said, and smiled past the little receiver at me.

I could hear Solberg's whiny tone on the other end of the line. I would have snarled something but I felt too sick to my stomach, and I wasn't naive enough to blame the ice cream.

"I know," she said. "Just a couple more weeks." She paused, listened, then, "But how many seconds left?" she asked, then laughed. "Maybe you can recalculate later."

More whining. Another laugh on her part.

"Listen, Jeen, I have a favor to ask you."

Mumble, mumble, whine, grovel.

"I don't actually need need your liver." She glanced at me, grinning a little, knowing I was about to puke, and enjoying it immensely. "But I was wondering if you could come stay with us tonight." your liver." She glanced at me, grinning a little, knowing I was about to puke, and enjoying it immensely. "But I was wondering if you could come stay with us tonight."

There was stunned silence from the other end of the line. Maybe if I was really lucky he'd die of shock. So far as I knew, and I knew pretty far, Elaine and Solberg had never shared a mattress.

"Honey?" she said.

I heard a croaking noise from the other end of the line. Some frogs turn into princes. Some frogs will forever remain frogs.

"You don't have to-"

Even through the phone, I heard him slam his door.

"Honey, I need you to pack some clothes. Get a toothbrush. Stay a few days."

But his car was already starting. He owned a Porsche. A cobalt blue Turbo Cabriolet. Laney didn't particularly care for it because it got about a half an inch to the gallon. But I had driven it once and determined without delay that I'd trade thirty-seven Solbergs and his mansion in La Canada for that car.

There was silence for a moment, then, "Oh, okay, then. Love you, too," she said, and hung up.

We stared at her.

"I take it he's coming?" Rivera said.

"You'd better open the door or he'll drive straight into the living room to save time," I warned.

"He loves me," Laney said, and laughed when I threw up a little bit in my mouth.

13.

As a rule I'm against capital punishment. But I know a few boys who could benefit from a little public flogging.-Linda Griffin, Chrissy's new neighbor, and single mother of a teenage daughter The next couple of days went by with relatively few catastrophes. Over the weekend I picked up my mermaid princess gown from the tailor, took Harley to the dog park, and placed my vote on what flavor frosting Laney's five-tier wedding cake should have.

Monday rolled around, and although I hadn't yet been attacked by either an abusive Yemeni or a whack job letter-writer, I still felt jittery.

Temporarily losing my mind, I opted to go for a run. Not because I wanted to. Not because it was safe to, but because exercise sometimes helps me relax. Of course, high doses of calories will generally put me into a lovely catatonic state, but I had left all of my would-be calories at the grocery store when Ramla called. So I did my three miles of perdition, showered, then locked myself in the bedroom lest Solberg groggily stumbled into the wrong room. After that I got dressed and rushed off to work.

When I say "rushed," I mean that I drove twenty miles per hour in head-pounding traffic since the 2 was reminiscent of Macy's parking lot. I actually think I saw some guy serving lemonade from the back of his pickup truck.

Eventually I arrived at the office. Shirley was manning the desk.

"Whoa," she said as I rushed in the door. It was two minutes before my first client was scheduled to arrive.

I teetered to a halt on wedge cork heels.

"What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you look like you slept hanging upside down last night."

"I didn't."

"What happened?"

I considered telling her the whole story, but I had a client due to tell me his/her problems in approximately ninety seconds. It probably wouldn't be good if I was crying about my own. "Just a little trouble in the neighborhood."

She stared at me. "Umm-huh," she said finally. "Anyhow, you rushed off without breakfast again, didn't you?"

"I appreciate-"

"Didn't you?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. Reaching into her bottom drawer, she pulled out a white bag and handed it to me. I peeked inside. A breakfast burrito smiled up at me.

"Get in there now," she said, and shooed me away. "Hurry up."

"But don't I have-"

"I don't care what you have," she said. "n.o.body can't do no good on an empty stomach. I'll keep your first appointment busy until you give me a buzz on the phone."

I tried to argue, really I did, but in a moment I was alone with the burrito and then it just seemed rude not to eat it.

I'd like to say I felt guilty for my caloric transgressions, but really I felt much better afterward, almost ready to meet my first client of the day.

Mr. Howard Lepinski is a mousy little man with a mustache and a thousand neuroses. He is also one of my greatest successes, someone who had gone from being a patently unhappy man who constantly obsessed about every minute detail of his life to a relatively happy man who only occasionally worried about every minute detail of his life. It had taken a good deal of harsh reality, a divorce, and a new relationship with a woman who didn't criticize his every breath to reach that pinnacle of sterling sanity.

"How was your weekend?" I asked as he took a seat on my couch.

He wobbled his scrawny neck, a mannerism indicative of his newfound relaxation. When I'd first begun seeing him he'd been as stiff as a kayak paddle.

"So-so. The stocks are still in the pits, my accounts are down by eighteen percent thanks to this danged recession, and I think I'm allergic to raspberry compote," he said, itching madly at a tiny rash on his arm.

"Raspberry compote?" I said.