Can't Keep a Brunette Down (4 page)

"Yeah? Well, I was due in Detroit an hour ago." He opened a utility closet and pulled out the mop and bucket. "We don't have time to wait for some cleaning crew. I'll get the cleaner. You get to work. At least we can get rid of the rest of the blood before it starts to smell."

Gilda gaped. "We're not supposed to touch anything."

"Well, we can't just leave it like this." While he left to get cleaner, she glanced at the bare patches on the dojo floor to assess how many new mats they needed. She glanced back to the bench Mick kicked. Had she actually seen something fall?

She moved the bench aside, and there lay a man's ring embossed with a clenched fist on the front. The
goju-ryu
karate symbol that indicated the school's style of karate. Curious, she knelt on the floor to check the underside of the bench. A broken piece of masking tape still clung to the wood. The ring triggered a partial memory. She'd seen it before. Why would anyone hide it in the school, of all places?

She pulled out her cell phone and took a picture of both the ring and the tape. At a loss for what to do next, she picked it up with a piece of toilet paper and stuck it in her pocket. She'd keep the ring somewhere safe until she could take it to Fabio. Odd how, after all their careful searching, both the police and forensics crew missed it.

Something else still seemed out of place in the changing room. The scale was fine. The bench was moved slightly away from the now-dented wall. Something seemed amiss that only her subconscious picked up, and she just couldn't put her finger on it.

"I got the cleaner." Mick set a bottle near the bucket and mop. "Let me know how long it takes so I can adjust your paycheck."

"Oh no you don't." Gilda wheeled around. "I'm not staying. You can either do it yourself or stay and wait for the cleaning crew. I'm leaving."

"Whoa." He took a step back and held up both hands. "Whoa. You okay?"

She stared, her eyes welling with tears. "No, I'm not okay. I found Walter's body, faced the police alone, and now you expect me to stay and clean up the mess. Not this time, buster. I'm out of here. You stay. I'm done." She shoved past him on her way to the lobby and let the tears flow.

Mick caught her before she reached her handbag. "Wait. Gilda, I'm sorry."

She stopped, sure she'd heard wrong.

"You're right." He pulled her into his arms and held her close. His hug seemed awkward at first, but his warmth comforted her. "I ran out when I should've been here to make sure things were okay. Instead, I left to meet the instructors to ensure they wouldn't quit, or we'd have to close by Tuesday."

"Quit?" Breathless, she tilted her head and bumped his chin. If the instructors all quit, she'd be out of a job. "I know there was a murder, but why would everyone quit?"

He sighed. "You've been here long enough to know there are issues. Razi and Walter have never seen eye to eye, and since Razi's not a citizen yet, he's afraid the police will go after him. Xavier had that argument with Walter last week in front of the school, and Erik…" He hesitated. "Erik wanted to take over some of Walter's classes."

"Great. So I'm working with a band of possible murderers." She flared her nostrils more out of fear than anger, and she tried to pull away. "What did you have against Walter?"

He averted his gaze into the dojo but kept his arms around her. "Nothing."

Something. What had he told Thayer in the interview room? She shoved him away. "Seriously? Walter's dead. For all I know, you killed him."

Mick grimaced and walked around her desk. "Why would I want to kill him? Walter wanted me to help him start his own karate school, but I didn't think he was ready. He needed money up front as well as more interaction with the students, which is why I let him take over so many classes."

"That was months ago. I only remember because he threw my flower vase at your office door, and it smashed all over the lobby twenty minutes before classes started." She'd picked up every shard of glass so no one got cut and had cut her fingers in three places.

"Yeah, then Walter held a so-called secret meeting with the others to try and get them on his side." Mick dropped onto her comfy chair. "They came to me later and filled me in. I was mad but not mad enough to kill him. Not literally, anyway."

"Not then, anyway." She folded her arms across her waist as a shiver raced through her body. In his defense, Mick had bandaged her bleeding fingers that time. He'd even held a wet cloth to her hand to stop the bleeding and pushed a stray hair out of her mouth. Something so insignificant, yet so intimate at the same time—until his girlfriend, Chloe del Garda, walked in. "Yoshida was furious Walter dared to even question your decision."

"At the time. Yet a month later, he wanted to hand Walter a school on a silver platter."

"What changed?" she asked.

He smirked. "You're not thinking of taking the case, are you, Sherlock? You're smart, and you already know the most about this place. You should be able to tell me whodunit, and then we can reopen for Tuesday classes with no problem."

Gilda cringed. He hadn't answered her question. "Everyone's leaving town for the weekend."

"Not anymore," he said. "Your buddy Thayer told us to all stick around for a few days while he questions us. Didn't he tell you the same thing?"

More proof the whole town knew Gilda Wright had no life. Her face overheated until she was sure she was redder than the sparring gloves he gave her for Christmas. "Thayer doesn't think I'm capable of anything that requires brainpower or physical prowess."

Mick chuckled. "Doesn't sound like he knows you very well. You could kick his butt with both hands tied behind your back. Is he still after you to get back together with him? Man, some detective. You would think after two years he'd take the hint."

"I got tired of him
not
knowing me very well," she said. "Most of the time, he treated me more like a criminal than an equal."

Mick toyed with Gilda's favorite slim, silver pen. A gift from her father—a twenty-seven-year member of the Newville police force—shortly before he died in the line of duty. The town had even named Wright Park in his honor. She didn't want him touching her pen and itched to snatch it from him but refrained. Later, she'd take it home.

Someone banged on the front door at the same time the phone rang. Both she and Mick jumped, not sure which way to turn.

When Mick reached for the phone, Gilda turned away. "I'll get the door."

"Yoshida Martial Arts." Mick answered the phone then lowered his voice. "What do you want? I told you you're not welcome here. I don't care if you have questions. Don't call here. No. I'll talk to you later." He hit
end
and slammed the phone onto the desk.

Gilda paused with her hand on the door lock. Her heart drummed so fast she grew dizzy. Mick had never kicked anyone out of the school that she knew of. Who, and why now? She'd have to check the caller ID on the phone later. Maybe getting rid of him was a good idea. Then she could snoop.

"You okay, lady?" A man in white asked from the other side of the door and flashed an identification card.

"I'm good." Her breaths came short and shallow. Walter's sudden death—murder—had made her afraid of every little noise in the building.

When Mick disappeared into his office, she showed the man in white the dojo and the changing room. "This is the worst of it. The police took the rest. Mick will let you out later."

He patted her arm. "Thanks. My boys and I will take care of everything. You go get some rest, and don't worry about a thing."

"Thank you." She leaned against a clean section of the wall and closed her eyes.

When she opened them, she finally realized what was different about the changing room. A rust-colored scroll listing the kanji of the Four Possessions of the Samurai usually hung at the far end of the room. HILT. Honor, Integrity, Loyalty, and Time.

The scroll was gone. Not fallen. Not moved. Gone.

Since she'd sort of noticed it was missing before the police started to remove items, that meant whoever killed Walter had taken the scroll as well.

Gilda debated telling Mick but chose to keep her revelation private for now and gathered her things to go home. She suddenly not only hated the smells of cleaner and copper but also the color red. She let out a sigh that betrayed the tears beneath it.

"Hey, Gilda, can you stay for a bit longer? I need to run out and…" Mick came out of his office and stopped when he saw her. "Oh, hell. Come here."

Mick draped his arms around her and gave her another hug. He smelled of something other than floor cleaner and blood. Something familiar and comforting she hadn't noticed earlier. Stale coffee from Café Beanz. "Go home, Sherlock. I'll let these guys out, then come in and check on things tomorrow. You go home and rest. It's been a long day. Don't worry."

"But I—"

"No, you were right. You've done more than enough. Thanks for all your help. I'll take care of things tonight." He ushered her out of the karate school, leaving her no opportunity to check caller ID, and locked the door behind her.

She stood alone on the sidewalk and fingered the tissue-wrapped ring in her pocket, with far more questions than answers. Her eyes burned with tears and fatigue. She'd bring the new evidence to Fabio in the morning when she could think more clearly.

After Gilda left the school, she stumbled across the street to Happy Harvey's Hangover Hut. A glorified, tiki-infested liquor and convenience store, Happy's wasn't the place to go if you had a hangover. More like if you were in desperate search of one. Happy—no one ever called him Harvey that she'd known—was a seventy-year-old man who had become disillusioned with retirement. He'd been friends with her parents for forever and was still one of Gilda's good friends.

Right now she needed a friend more than she needed a bottle, and blowing out a long breath, she pulled on the door. Locked. She peered through the glass before she noticed the sign on the door. "Closed for staff meeting."

Disappointed Happy wasn't around, she wandered the few blocks home, her thoughts as disheveled as her hair. Once she arrived home, she locked the door as shock set back in, and she lost control of her emotions.

Not that she was Walter's biggest fan, but her imagination led her into some frightening scenarios. She spent most of the night staring at the ceiling and pacing, her thoughts following her around the living room to haunt her. Had one of her coworkers, or even her boss, murdered another person? Another karate instructor? More to the point: What was Mick Williams hiding?

 

Saturday morning brought calm and grief but also tweaked her baser nosy side. She sat and stared at the ring from the changing room for nearly half an hour before making a list of things she needed to do today. Within the hour, she'd already forgotten them all and abandoned the list on the table to pace the room again.

When the doorbell rang at eight, her heart stuttered and her breath stuck in her aching throat. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror behind the door. Frightening. Her eyes were puffy from crying all night, her skin was pale and blotchy, and her hair clung to her face from sweat and tears. She opened the door.

"You okay, Gilda?" Xavier Wyndham, second-degree black belt and one of the school's senior instructors, stood on her front step with a cup of coffee in each hand. A former professional bodybuilder and fitness instructor, he would turn fifty next month. Gravity and a lack of serious training had softened him. "I hear you found Walter's body yesterday. That must have been rough. I wanted to check on you sooner, but Thayer corralled us all into itty bitty rooms at the station for half the night."

Even Gilda's voice, gravelly and low, was in rough shape. "Better than I look and sound."

"Glad to hear it. I brought you coffee. Extra sugar and cream to combat shock and fatigue." The sun shone off Xavier's balding head when he handed her the cup with a white mark on the black lid.

"You didn't have to do that. Thanks." She was dressed for her morning run but definitely not ready. Along with the penchant for drinking coffee, she'd picked up a few good habits working at the school. Her karate skills had sharpened considerably after she started running and had lost a few ice cream pounds. Caffeine and sugar might help hold the scary thoughts at bay and, at the very least, they would improve her run time.

"I wanted to bring donuts, but I'm cutting weight for that big tournament next month." Xavier patted his paunch and looked sheepish. "I want to compete in an easier weight category. The guys I usually fight are monsters."

"Me too." Gilda managed a tired smile. "Trying to lose a couple pounds, I mean. For me though, not for a tournament. Running helps."

"I hate running unless it's after an ice cream truck. Hard to believe someone would kill Walter. He was such a nice guy." He sat on the top step. "Pretty violent way to go. Whoever killed him would either have to be pretty strong or find an easy way to incapacitate him, like poison or a knock to the head. Personally, I think I'd prefer something more subtle, like poison or a heart attack. What about you?"

She raised her eyebrows. Why would he talk that way? Had he poisoned her coffee? Dumb thought. Walter's death had suddenly made her suspicious of everyone. Xavier always brought her coffee. He and Mick were the only two instructors who gave her a second glance, let alone brought her coffee or treats, especially when they needed her to do a little extra work for them. Walter had brought her fresh tea herbs from his garden. She blinked back a fresh batch of tears and gagged, suddenly unable to swallow.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Sorry. I couldn't sleep." Let alone think of how she wanted to die.

She thought about inviting him inside but instead joined him on the porch and sat on the top step. The sun seeped into her pores and warmed her flesh. Inside, she quivered, still able to picture Walter lying dead on the mats when she closed her eyes.

Xavier sat next to her and patted her shoulder. "You did all the right things, kiddo."