Candy Apple Dead (24 page)

Orly dug around for the appropriate form, scribbled something on it, and shoved it at me. “There you go. That’s the best we can do.”

I glanced at the figure and heard myself gasp. “Nine hundred and fifty-three dollars? Are you
kidding
?”

He held up both hands to indicate that it wasn’t his fault. “Cars are expensive. You got a deductible, dontcha?”

“Yes, but nine hundred and fifty-three dollars?” My voice rose a little higher with each word, and Max lunged to his feet, obviously aware that I was upset.

For the first time, Orly seemed to become aware of him. He backed a little farther into the shop and clutched the door with one dirty hand. “You don’t like my figures, take your car somewhere else. No skin off my nose.”

“Right.” I crumpled the estimate and stuffed it into my pocket, crossed the parking lot, and slid into the car to comfort my new best friend. I cranked the Jetta to life and shifted into reverse. “Idiot,” I muttered under my breath.

Max growled softly. An agreeable sort of growl, and I found myself grinning as I sped out of the parking lot and back into traffic. It had been a while since anyone had championed me. For the moment, at least, I didn’t even care that my knight in shining armor drank out of the toilet.

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, I rounded the corner onto Prospector, and my spirits sank again. A familiar-looking Blazer with a broken headlight sat on the street in front of Divinity. The hulking shadow inside told me the truck hadn’t come alone.

Of all the things I didn’t need right then, a visit from Jawarski ranked right up there near the top. I thought about driving past, but I couldn’t get away without him seeing me. Swearing under my breath, I pulled into my parking spot and opened the door for Max just as Detective Jawarski rounded the corner. He was wearing jeans, a black polo shirt, and a pair of well-worn loafers. He looked almost human.

To my dismay, Max trotted toward him for a sniff.

Jawarski roughed up Max’s head a little, as if being sniffed by a vicious attack dog was an everyday occurrence. I wondered how much it would cost to reprogram a dog, since mine couldn’t even recognize a threat when he had his nose buried in the threat’s crotch.

“Whatever it is,” I said, “can it wait until morning? I’ve had a rough day.”

Jawarski stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept coming. “I took my car in for an estimate.”

“So I heard. If your quote is anything like mine, I might as well declare bankruptcy right now.”

“I thought you had insurance.”

“I do,” I said, suddenly exhausted. “It was a joke.”

He jerked his chin and pretended to smile. “I see. Well, it was a good one.”

“Yeah. Really cracked you up.” I held out my hand and gave my fingers an impatient wiggle. “Okay, so hand it over.”

“It’s with my insurance agent. I tried to give him your agent’s information, but I couldn’t read the name you gave me.”

“I don’t need a critique of my penmanship, Jawarski. Besides, it was perfectly legible.”

“To you, maybe.”

My muscles ached with weariness, and my patience began to fray. “My handwriting is fine. My agent’s name is Maggie Sherwood, and her office is over on Silver King. Is that all, Detective Jawarski?”

He looked at me strangely, but I was too tired to care why. “That’s all . . . unless you’re ready to tell me where your brother is hiding.”

“I have no idea. Believe me, I’ve looked.”

“Okay. Have you found proof to back up your theory that he’s innocent?”

See? This is why I dislike the man. It wasn’t even what he said as much as the way he said it. The snarky smile on his face made me determined to take Max in for a refresher course. “As a matter of fact, I’ve found out several things you should know.”

“Oh?”

“Oh. For instance, did you know that Chelsea Jenkins had some kind of weird obsession with Brandon? And that she’s having money trouble? She’s hanging on to her apartment by a thread, and when her payroll checks didn’t clear the bank, that meant big trouble for her.”

“Is that right?”

“And I don’t know what you said to Stella Farmer, but she came in here the other day and threatened me.”

He actually looked interested in that. “Exactly how did she threaten you?”

I tried to recall the actual words, but they lost something in the translation. He would have had to be here. “I don’t remember exactly, but Lucas Dumont—”

He held up one of his huge paws in a signal for me to stop. “You’ve been conducting your own investigation?”

“No, I’ve been talking to neighbors about the untimely death of a friend. And don’t tell me that’s against the law, because I know it’s not.”

He leaned against my car and crossed one foot over the other. “I shouldn’t need to tell you how important it is to make sure the investigative process isn’t tainted.”

I hated how comfortable he looked standing there while I was practically itching to get away from him. “Spare me the lecture, Detective. I told you, it’s been a long day.”

He turned down the wattage on his obnoxious smile. “You want to talk about it?”

“With you?” I shook my head, slipped my fingers through Max’s collar, and started toward the stairs. “Maybe another time. Right now, all I want to do is curl up in bed with a good book and something warm to drink.”

“Well, then, I won’t stop you.”

I could hear the scuff of his shoes on the pavement, so I assumed he was actually going to leave. Thank God. He was difficult enough to take on a good day.

“Abby?”

I’m not sure what surprised me most—the fact that he called after me again, or the fact that he used my first name. I turned back and found him watching me from beneath the street lamp. “I wouldn’t get too attached to the dog if I were you. Brandon’s next of kin showed up today to claim his personal effects.”

I didn’t know whether to feel relieved that they’d found Brandon’s family or disappointed at the thought of losing Max. I settled for something in between. “Really? Who?”

“A woman by the name of Charlene Mills. Brandon’s wife.”

I didn’t make a conscious decision to sit, but I knew my knees were folding, and I could feel the cold seeping through my jeans. “His
wife?
”

“Apparently so.” Jawarski came a few steps closer—close enough for me to see the concern in his eyes.

I hated seeing it there. It made me feel weak and vulnerable. “He was
married?
”

“Yep. Judging from your reaction, I guess it’s safe to say he never mentioned that fact to you?”

“No, he never told me.”

“That’s not the worst of it, Abby. He was in business with a partner in Texas. When he ran out on his wife, he also embezzled close to a million dollars.” Jawarski’s voice gentled. “I’m sorry you have to find out about it this way. I just thought it might be easier . . . you know . . .”

He seemed as uncomfortable with the conversation as I was, and that’s saying something. I couldn’t keep looking at him. It was hard enough to hear the pity in his voice. I didn’t want to see it on his face, too. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, making a heroic attempt to sound normal. “We weren’t
that
close.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look.” I scrambled back to my feet and turned away. “It’s not that big a deal, okay? Thanks for letting me know, but it’s not like I’m heartbroken or anything. We were friends, that’s all.”

Somehow, I reached the top of the stairs and even managed to get my key into the lock. From the corner of my eye, I could see Jawarski watching from the shadows, but I let myself inside and shut the door without a backward glance.

Sitting alone in a darkened room sounded
pretty inviting, but I didn’t want Jawarski to think I was feeling sorry for myself—even though I was—so I turned on the lights and went into the kitchen for that warm drink. I poured milk and cocoa into a pan, dragged a container of toffee closer, and listened for the Dodge to drive away. When it finally did, I picked up the phone and dialed Karen’s number.

She picked up on the third ring. Her voice sounded muffled and a little out of breath, which probably meant I’d interrupted her in the middle of laundry or something. The woman never stops working.

“How is it,” I asked as soon as I heard her voice, “that you ended up with the
one
guy on the planet who isn’t a lying piece of dog poop?”

“I’m just lucky, I guess. What happened?”

“Turns out Brandon was married.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“And he never told you?”

“If he had, I wouldn’t be calling you to tell you about it now. I don’t think he told anybody. Apparently, he didn’t think it was important.” I filled Max’s dish with dry food and gave him fresh water, then carried the phone and the toffee into the living room. I curled into a corner of the couch and loosened the floodgates on self-pity. “Or maybe he just forgot. Yeah, I’ll bet that’s it. It just slipped his mind.”

“But why keep something like that a secret?”

“Think about it, Karen. Why would any man keep his wife a secret?”

“So he could have sex with other women?”

“That would be my guess.”

“And you think he wanted to have sex with you?”

I crunched on a piece of toffee and felt a slight flicker of satisfaction over the creamy, buttery flavor. Nothing soothes my jangled nerves any better. “Don’t sound so shocked,” I protested. “It could have happened.” Elizabeth’s image flashed through my head, and I gave in to the sharp stab of jealousy that followed. “I think he just wanted to have sex with everybody. Sergio should be grateful. You could have been next on the list. Instead, I was there the night he died, primed and ready for an evening of hot monkey sex, Brandon style.”

Karen caught back a laugh, but it was too late. I’d already heard it. That was all right. When I get angry, I become sarcastic. Or is it sardonic? Whatever, Karen understands me. Always has. That’s what family is for. “Are those the words he used?”

“It’s my own interpretation.”

“Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe he was planning a perfectly lovely, romantic evening.”

“Oh. Oh, sure. That’s different. Only—With me? Or with his wife or Elizabeth? Because that kind of matters, Karen.”

“Yeah, I know. Abby, I’m sorry.”

That made me feel marginally better. Nobody hands out sympathy when I really need it like my cousin. “You know what bugs me most? He knew about Roger. He knew how I felt about the affair. How
dare
he think I’d do that to some other woman?”

Covers rustled, and I heard a muffled whisper. Too late, I realized she wasn’t alone. She wasn’t folding laundry, either. “So are you hurt or pissed?” she asked.

“I’m both.” Max clicked back into the room, let out one of his depressed whines, and sank to the floor. I wasn’t sure which of us was in worse shape. “The worst part of it is, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Tell her to take a pill and get some sleep,” Sergio grumbled close to the phone. “We’re a little busy here.”

Usually, Sergio can make me smile when he jokes, but not tonight. Just now, the sound of his lightly accented English only saddened me. I ignored his suggestion. My own pity party was too satisfying. “You know what the worst part is? I can’t even confront Brandon and ask for an explanation.”

“You think he had one?”

“
Is
there such a thing for why you need to commit adultery?”

“Look, Abby,” Karen sounded impatient. Sergio must have been urging her to hurry . . . in some way. “The point is, you didn’t have sex with him—right? Or is there something you’re not telling me?”

“And speaking of sex . . .” Sergio grumbled.

Karen’s question shot holes in my righteous indignation, so I had to pump it up again. “No, I didn’t, but—”

“So technically nothing happened.”

“No, but . . .” I let my protest trail away and tried to figure out just what I was so angry about. Was I angry with Brandon for leaving out such a minor detail about himself, for his interest in Elizabeth, or was I angry with myself for making more of our relationship than he had? “Nothing happened,” I said, “but it might have. If he’d shown up that night, I just might have gone to bed with him.”

“And you’re having a crisis over that?”

Was she
not
paying attention? “I suppose you think I’m overreacting.”

“No . . .” she said in that tone that really means yes. I heard Sergio say something, and her muffled response that meant she’d covered the phone with her hand. “Look, Abby, this isn’t about the possibility that you might have had sex with Brandon if he’d actually gotten around to asking you. There’s something else chewing on you, so lighten up okay? Read something. Watch something mindless on TV. Have a couple of pieces of that toffee I know you’re eating, but then give yourself a break. Maybe you’ll figure out what’s really bothering you.”