Not One Clue_ A Mystery Part 4

He cursed again. He was getting more inventive. Which, in my own warped brain, made me think he probably was hiding something. Still, maybe it's not my fault that I'm warped. Maybe it's the fact that I've dated approximately seventy-eight guys, most of whom were certified whackos.

"Listen, Rivera. It's not as if we swore to be exclusive or-"

"She said you told her all you wanted was a man who wouldn't wear your underwear."

I closed my mouth, closed my eyes, momentarily wished I had been born mute. Because, actually, I had told Rosita Rivera just that. In fact, I had said a whole lot of embarra.s.sing things. A long time had pa.s.sed since then, but some evenings are more memorable than others.

I rubbed my eyes but didn't entirely give up on my line of questioning. Better to sound jealous than nuts. "She told you that last night?"

"You think I wouldn't have mentioned it sooner if I had heard it before?"

Good point. Valid point. "Listen, I'm sorry. I'm just-"

"An idiot?"

I nodded a little. It was entirely possible, but I wasn't about to admit as much out loud. He already knew I had been discussing underwear with his mother. How much ammo did the man need?

"Do you want want to be dead? Is that it?" he asked. to be dead? Is that it?" he asked.

"A client called," I said. "He was-"

"Michael Goldenstone."

"Micky. Yes. He asked me to meet him in Glendale."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge that sort of information about my client."

"Are you f.u.c.king serious?"

Kind of. "Suffice it to say, the situation was defused and-"

"By tackling a woman with a gun!"

Oh. So he had heard that. Kind of heroic, really. He should be proud. He didn't sound proud. He sounded p.i.s.sed enough to pee tacks.

"No one got hurt."

"Besides the guy in the ER."

"Which happened before I arrived," I reminded him. It was something of a feather in my hat, I thought. Generally, when people get shot, I'm Johnny-on-the-spot. Things were looking up.

"So you thought it a grand idea to trot on over so you could get in on the action."

I refrained from telling him that I didn't really trot trot, either. Maturity, thy name is Christina. "How is Jackson doing?"

"He'll live."

"That's good."

"Is it?" His voice was kind of growly.

"What?"

"He's a rich f.u.c.king drug dealer who holds a grudge. There's no reason to believe he won't blame you."

"He's rich?"

"Funny, I thought you'd focus on the part about blaming you."

"I was getting around to that."

I heard him sigh. It sounded like the conversation was kind of making him old. I decided to change the subject before he needed an oxygen tank.

"How about Micky?" I asked. "How's he?"

"I heard he's a pain in the a.s.s."

"Sometimes he becomes fractious when he's feeling guilty about his past," I said.

"Are you being televised or is there another reason you're talking like a d.a.m.ned robot?"

I made a face. "Sometimes he gets nasty when he's scared."

"Why should he be scared? He said the gun was the other guy's. He said he acted in self-defense."

"And I suppose the legal system is just going to take his word for it."

"What do you know about this, McMullen?"

"I have no reason to believe he had a gun or would have chosen to use it on Jackson even if he did."

"So you believe his story."

"Doesn't it seem unlikely that he would have intentionally shot him, then called the paramedics, if he meant to kill him?"

"I believe you were the one who mentioned guilt. Maybe he makes a habit of doing s.h.i.t, then feeling bad about it later."

I held my breath. Moms were sneaky. Men could be even sneakier. But men who were cops ... they were the true experts. "What do you mean?"

"He's been accused of rape. Did you know that?"

I hoped to h.e.l.l he didn't know about Jamel's mother. If Kaneasha's family knew the truth about the circ.u.mstances, Micky wouldn't have a chance of obtaining custody. "A woman named Sheila Branigan, I believe."

"But you hopped on over to Glendale to save him anyway."

"What is it with you and weird verbs today?"

"Did you ever consider your own life might be in danger?"

"Did you know that Sheila Branigan also accused three other black men of rape? All of whom had solid alibis?"

"Maybe you're not aware that most women don't cry rape just for the fun of it."

"I'm a licensed psychologist, Rivera. I'm well aware of the lasting effects of rape, but Sheila's accusations were entirely fabricated."

"You got something for this Micky guy?"

I raised my brows at the tangy sound of jealousy in his voice. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t or anything, but jealousy is not necessarily frowned upon in Chrissyland. "He's a client, Rivera. We have a professional relationship. You've heard of that, haven't you? It's a situation where two people treat each other with mutual-"

"Lavonn says he raped her sister."

The air escaped my lungs like helium from an overfilled balloon. "What?"

"She's not denying that the kid's his, but she says he's a product of rape."

I kept my voice calm. "Does she have any proof?"

"The boy's eight years old. Unlikely to be proof after this much time."

I felt myself relax a little.

"Unless his shrink would step forward with evidence."

"Micky's made some mistakes," I admitted. "But he has nothing but good intentions where his son is concerned."

"Lompoc is full of men with good intentions."

"I guess it's a good thing he found me, then. To help him nurture those intentions."

"Is that your job, McMullen? To save the fallen angels of the world?" Rivera had made his share of mistakes. For better or worse, his father, an ex-senator with more charm than morals, had been able to sweep most of them under the rug.

"Some are too far gone," I said.

"Good to know you're aware of that."

"Micky's not one of them."

"Did he rape Lavonn's sister?"

"Did you see Lavonn's eyes?" I asked.

"You're avoiding the issue."

"That's my job. Did you see her?"

"I heard reports."

"Did they say she was stoned?"

"Tox hasn't gotten back to us yet."

It was my turn to snort. "I'm willing to bet Jackson was just as far gone."

"That give your boy the right to shoot him?"

"My client client has the right to defend himself ... and his son ... even in L.A." has the right to defend himself ... and his son ... even in L.A."

"Spoken like a gun-toting Midwesterner."

"You don't have to be an a.s.s, Rivera, just because you're jealous."

There was a momentary pause. Maybe it was even thoughtful. "Is that what I am?"

"Sounds like it."

"And what would you say if I told you I was really talking to Rachel last night after I hung up with you?"

Anger zipped through me. Immediately hot. "Is that s.k.a.n.k circus back in town?"

There was a moment of silence, then he chuckled, soft and low, sending the sound skimming over my nerve endings like fingers on sensitized skin.

"Mama says you should come over for margaritas," he said, and hung up.

5.

In my family, being an overachiever means drinking your weight in the alcoholic beverage of your choice.-Chrissy McMullen, whose brothers had actually achieved that feat on more than one occasion "Hey, girl." Shirley glanced up as I walked into the reception area of L.A. Counseling, then did a double take and popped to her feet. She was freaky graceful for a woman her size. Shirley Templeton is a big woman. Big hands, big shoulders, big belly. Huge Huge heart. "I didn't think there was no trains in your part of town." heart. "I didn't think there was no trains in your part of town."

"I wasn't hit by a train," I said, carefully removing my sungla.s.ses as I lowered myself into a chair near her desk. It had been hotter than jambalaya on Interstate 2 that morning and the Saturn's air-conditioning hadn't quite been up to the task of keeping my brain from shriveling like overcooked bacon. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall behind me.

"Well, what in G.o.d's good name happened to you, then?"

"Oh ..." I may have limped a little as I made my way toward my office. Maybe I had even added a pathetic little mew of pain as I'd entered the building. Let it never be said that Christina McMullen is above soliciting sympathy. Shirley's usually comes in the form of sugar. Need I say more? "There was a little altercation." Lavonn might have been a scrawny little crackhead, but she could pack a wallop when cornered.

"Who was she?"

I opened my eyes and turned to look at my receptionist. There are times when she can be almost as spooky as Laney. Maybe that's why she had slipped so seamlessly into Elaine's position behind the front desk.

"What makes you think it was a woman?"

"'Cuz I ain't heard 'bout no fatalities in your part of town and if there was a man involved, I got a feeling there woulda been a funeral."