Not One Clue_ A Mystery Part 7

"He's had a tough road. And how do you know-"

She raised a hand. "Just be careful. Okay?"

"I don't intend to get myself shot," I said, trying for levity. "I mean, how embarra.s.sing would that be?"

She glared at me. "Sometimes you're an idiot."

I gave her a hopeful expression for the "sometimes." "Things are looking up, then?"

"I'm serious, Mac. You just keep putting yourself out there. Looking for trouble."

"I do not."

"Really? What did Ramla want?"

I was pretty sure my earlier conversation with my neighbor wasn't something I should be ashamed of, but somehow I was. "What?"

"Ramla." Laney was adopting her combative mien. Generally, she's about as aggressive as a daisy. Other times she seems to think I need a mother. Which, by the by, I already have in spades. "What did she want?"

"Do you have spies out there or something?"

"Yes. I thought her sister was doing okay now."

A while back, I had told Laney about the Al-Sadr situation. She'd informed me that a friend of hers from the Middle East might be able to help. But before any plans were made, Aalia, Ramla's sister, had reported that all was well. Unlikely as that had seemed, there wasn't much I could do about it. "I guess she's not anymore."

Laney's brow puckered. I was glad to see it could happen. "Maybe you shouldn't get involved."

"Little Miss Fix It doesn't think I should get involved?"

"I'm serious, Mac. I have a bad feeling about this."

My stomach curled, but I forced a laugh. "Aalia's in Yemen. What could happen?"

"I don't know," she said. "But if it can I'm pretty sure it will."

7.

Men ... a sure cure for sanity.-Shirley Templeton On Wednesday I wore my favorite warm-weather ensemble: a cranberry sh.e.l.l that fit snug across my b.o.o.bage and tucked neatly into a high-waisted skirt that hugged my behind like a perverted banana peel. The flirty ruffle at the bottom added interest, and the wide black belt cinched my waist into a neat little sphere.

Perhaps because of my clothing choice, the day went fairly smoothly. At least in comparison to the norm. Still, by 7:50, when my last client whistled out the door, I felt like I'd been dipped in battery acid and hung out to dry. Nevertheless, I felt it necessary to speak with my receptionist.

Shirley was just pulling her purse out of a big drawer at the bottom of her desk when I stepped into her domain. Seven plants had come to live in the area since her arrival. I never knew where they came from or what they were called, but they glowed with green happiness. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure," she said, and pulled the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "What's up?"

I didn't want to broach the subject of her speaking with others about my clients, but the Board of Psychology can get a little testy about that sort of thing, and the truth is, I'd rather take a fork in the eye than face an uptight shrink with nothing better to do than looking into my affairs.

"You know my clients' files have to be kept confidential, right?"

She nodded once, looking serious.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, you're a fantastic-"

"It was me," she said, brow furrowed.

I stood there with my mouth open for a few seconds. No thoughts flew in. "What are you-"

"I worry about you, girl. You gotta be more careful. Your clients, they love you. I know they do, but they ain't exactly comin' here 'cuz they got all their ducks in lockstep, you know. I have to talk to someone."

I was trying to think. Perhaps that wasn't apparent by the look on my face. "So ... you've been talking to Laney?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, 'cuz I don't say this lightly, but ... maybe you should get a man."

I managed to shake my head. "What?"

She broadened her stance as if ready for a fight. "A man."

"For ..."

"I know, I know." She waved at me as she came around the corner of the desk. "I kind of implied they're worthless as a peashooter at a gunfight, but sometimes they come in handy. I mean, you drive out of here alone every night. Get here alone every morning. Pretty thing like you. What if someone's waiting?"

Why was everyone suddenly so concerned about my well-being? "What am I supposed to do? I can't just run out to the man store and pick up a sample." I thought about that for a second. The images were appealing. I'll take one in brown, one in white, and one in nothing at all I'll take one in brown, one in white, and one in nothing at all. "Can I?"

She snorted. "Honey, if you wanted you could just walk out there and whistle. There'd be a dozen guys at your feet before you got done puckering."

"Umm." I shook the lovely image out of my head. "Thank you, but about confidentiality-"

"If you don't want me talkin' to Laney, I won't. You're the boss, and I'm grateful for the job, but I think you need someone in your corner. And you know Laney and me ..." She shook her head once and tightened her jaw. "We got your back."

For some reason, the way she said it brought tears to my eyes. I cleared my throat. "Yes, well, as long as you don't talk about my clients to anyone else."

"You know I won't."

"Okay, then. I guess that's it. You probably want to get going."

It took her a moment to lose the pugilist stance. "No hurry."

"It's late."

"The next bus don't go through for another fifteen minutes."

"I made you miss your bus?"

"Don't worry about it, honey," she said. "Truth is, there ain't n.o.body makes me do much I don't wanna do these days. Besides, the 8:05 ain't near so busy as the earlier rides."

That was because all the commuters who worried about their continued survival were padlocking their doors as we spoke. "I thought you had a car."

"I do," she said, and didn't bother to expound.

"Then why aren't you driving it?"

"The boy needed it."

"Dion?" It was a wild guess. Shirley had had a b.u.t.t-load of kids. Oddly enough, she still loved babies. If I had popped seven kids out of an orifice the size of a walnut I'm pretty sure I wouldn't love anything.

"Dion? You kidding? He'd only get in trouble with a set of wheels. But Vin, he got himself a job at Target. The graveyard shift. Ain't no buses running at three in the morning."

"So how far do you have to walk?"

"Not far." Turning, she straightened the Ansel Adams that adorned the wall above the tiny table that held two water gla.s.ses.

"How far's that?"

She looked at me, att.i.tude personified. "Why you wanna know? Do I look like I'm getting too skinny to you?"

I gave her att.i.tude back. "I was going to ask about anorexia. How far?"

"I ain't counted the blocks."

I snorted. "I'm giving you a ride."

"No you ain't," she said, and suddenly her eyes looked all shiny and funny. "You're gonna get your scrawny b.u.t.t to bed so you can help the next Micky that comes along."

I stared at her. "Are you crying?"

"You kiddin' me?" she asked, and swiped away the moisture from her cheek with the back of her hand. "I don't even have tear ducts no more."

"Then I think it's raining on your face."

She sniffled a laugh and while she was distracted I shuffled her out the door. To this day, I'm still surprised I won that argument.

By 8:30 I had dropped her off outside her apartment building. It was a three-story complex in a decent part of Eagle Rock. I made sure she was inside before I headed for the market. My usual store was Von's but Laney liked me better when I shopped organically at Trader Joe's. I considered just getting a Trader Joe's bag to make it look as if I'm conscientious, but then Laney would be disappointed that I didn't use the cloth bags she had given me.

In the end, I parked in Joe's lot, shut off the Saturn, and stepped outside.

It happened so fast, I barely had time to think. One minute I was walking toward the store and the next I was grabbed from behind. I tried to scream but a hand cut off my breath. I shifted my eyes, throat already closing up, trying to see my a.s.sailant. Something was poking me in the side.

"You here alone?"

It took me a moment to understand what he was saying over the hammering of my heart. I nodded before I thought better of it.

"You carrying Mace?"

I managed to shake my head, though my spray was within reach, dangling from my key chain. If I could just reach it, I'd have a chance, I thought, but suddenly the hand slipped away.

"Well, why the h.e.l.l not?"

I spun around at the sound of Rivera's voice. He stood not three feet away, glaring at me.

I slammed my palms against his chest with all the rage my pent-up fear allowed. He staggered backward, almost fell, then caught himself just in time for me to sputter into his face, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Me? Christ, woman, you're cruising around town like you don't have a brain in your-"

"You've been following me?" I was either starting to shriek or a car alarm had gone off in my head.

"I told you ..." He held up his index finger. "Look around before you leave your office building." His middle finger rose. "Get in your car quick." By the time his ring finger popped up I was just about ready to lop it off with nail clippers. "Check your rearview mirror, your side-view-"

"You've been following me ever since the office." I'd gone from shriek to growl.

"I bet you didn't even check your trunk."

"My trunk?" trunk?" From growl to rumble. From growl to rumble.

"d.a.m.nit, McMullen! We've gone over this. You know how easy it is to jimmy a car lock? Some b.a.s.t.a.r.d could get in there before you leave your office. Your backseats fold down. He could climb over your seat and put a gun to your head. Next time I see you taking idiotic chances I'm going to hide in your trunk and-"

"I swear to G.o.d, Rivera," I said, stepping toward him. "If you hide in my trunk they won't find your dead body till Christmas."

"Listen," he said, and grabbed my arms, but someone had just exited Joe's.

"Hey!" He was already approaching. I turned my head. He weighed about a thousand pounds, was big, bald, and scary as h.e.l.l. "What's going on here?"

"LAPD," Rivera said, and dropping my arms, pulled a badge from some unknown orifice. "Lieutenant Rivera. Everything's fine."

"Neighborhood Watch," rumbled the stranger. "Aaron Berkhouse. And I don't give a s.h.i.t if you're the pope. He bothering you, miss?"

Miss? I considered batting my lashes at him, but decided to just go for Rivera's jugular instead. "He grabbed my arms," I said. My voice was as soft as whipped b.u.t.ter.

"You know this guy?" Berkhouse asked.

I bit my lip. "Kind of."

"You grab her arms?" Aaron rumbled.

"Listen, Berkhouse-"

"Did you grab her arms?" he asked, and stepped a little closer.

I thought, but I wasn't sure, that Rivera cursed under his breath. "Yes, I did."

"Apologize."

I looked at Rivera, crushed a smile, and tried to refrain from doing the "You better watch your a.s.s" dance.