Dolled Up to Die (24 page)

“I’ve been doing some investigation into whether there could be a connection between Eddie’s and Celeste’s deaths.”

“That’s the other bad news. I have the car to pay for, and those bills I ran up on my credit card. My only income is this little pittance of Social Security, and what I can make with the dolls. So there’s no way I can afford a private investigator now, and I’ll have to let you go. Not that you haven’t been a great investigator!” Jo-Jo added hastily. “I just don’t have the money for a private investigator now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Sorry because she felt the whole two-deaths-and-a-break-in situation needed investigation. Sorry because now Belmont Investigations wouldn’t be getting what should have been a decent PI fee. Sorry because she’d be losing a PI connection to the crimes. As Uncle Joe had pointed out in the past, she couldn’t just go digging around in crimes like a redheaded gopher; there had to be a client.

“Unless I could pay you with a doll?” Jo-Jo added hopefully. “Or maybe two?”

Cate had never expected to get rich as a private investigator, but neither had she expected to work for dolls. Even life-sized ones. But then, she’d never expected to want to solve crimes and see justice done like she did now that she was a private investigator.

A century ago doctors sometimes worked for a chicken or eggs, maybe a cow if it was a really big disease. Maybe those times were coming back.

“I could probably use a doll or two,” Cate said. They’d look nice in the new house. Unless Octavia chose to dismantle them as she had the brown wig.

“Great! I’d love to do a red-haired girl for you. I’ve never
done a redhead! You come on out to the house, and we’ll talk about that, okay?”

“I’ll do that.”

“I’m thinking I’ll try to get a part-time job, so maybe I’ll have some money to pay you too.”

Given the economy and shortage of jobs, Cate suspected Jo-Jo might not find many doors open to her. But if anyone could do it, Jo-Jo probably could. Kim could take lessons in standing on her own from Jo-Jo.

“So, are you still my private investigator?” Jo-Jo asked.

“Assistant private investigator,” Cate reminded her.

“Whatever. Maude and Effie and I are looking forward to seeing you whenever you have time to come out. I’ll have some great doll ideas for you. And cookies.”

Robyn called and said the sandals to go with the bridesmaid dress had arrived, and Cate went over to pick them up. Mitch came for fajitas that evening. He and Uncle Joe spent most of the time at the table talking motorcycles, and after dinner they put the bike in the garage and examined it under the lights like scientists studying a UFO. Even Octavia, instead of spitting at the unfamiliar machine, crawled over it from front fender to rear taillight, as if it were some fascinating new cat gymnastics apparatus.

“Traitor,” Cate muttered at her.

No comment from Octavia. She just curled up on the motorcycle seat and purred.

By the time Mitch was ready to leave, he told Cate regretfully that it was too late to give her a ride tonight.

Be still, my disappointed heart
, she muttered inwardly, but aloud she murmured politely, “It is late.” Traitor Octavia
objected with an outraged yowl when Mitch gently removed her from the motorcycle seat.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

Next morning, Saturday, Cate spent time on the internet using Uncle Joe’s special PI databases to look for information about Travis Beauchamp. One part of his story checked out. There was an old pickup registered in his and Kim’s names at their old apartment address. There were also a couple of motorcycles registered to Travis.

Cate was trying to decide where to go from there when the office phone rang. She got only half her usual identification out before the female voice interrupted.

“Cate, I’m so glad I caught you!”

“Kim?”

“Something’s happened. I don’t know what to do!”

Which seemed to be Kim’s theme song.

“Isn’t Travis there to help you?”

Okay, snarky question. Cate was about to revise it and reluctantly offer her own help when Kim said, “Travis isn’t here! They arrested him.”

“For killing Celeste?”

Brief moment of silence, as if Kim was appalled that Cate could even suggest that. In a small voice she said, “I shouldn’t have called you, should I? You’ve already made up your mind about Travis.”

Yeah. Bad dude.

“What was he arrested for?”

“Something that happened up in Tigard. They had an arrest warrant from there. They put handcuffs on him and took him away! I didn’t even get a chance to talk to him.”

“Where are you?”

Kim named a motel Cate had never heard of over on the north side of town, not one of the nicer chains. “Travis has been staying here.”

“Okay, you should just go on home for now. Stay calm. Call your lawyer. If he can’t help you, he’ll refer you to someone who can.”

“I can’t even go home! I don’t have a car here. We came on Travis’s motorcycle to get his things. He hadn’t brought much with him, but we were going to take what he has back to my place.”

“Why?” Cate asked bluntly.

“Because the house is huge, and there didn’t seem any point in his paying for a motel when I have all that space. It’s not what you’re thinking! Not something . . . personal between us. Just a matter of convenience.”

Yeah. Right. Very convenient for Travis and whatever slimy scheme he had in mind.

“Anyway, that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that he’s in jail. The officer did say he’d be transferred up to Tigard, but I don’t know when.”

“The police were there waiting at the motel for him?” Cate asked.

“I don’t know how they knew he was here in Eugene, but we saw a police car at the motel office as soon as we rode in. Travis started to make a U-turn and leave, but the police car backed up and blocked the way.”

Didn’t the fact that Travis had been going to cut and run from the police tell her something?

“Everything’s falling apart, Cate! I don’t know what to do. LeAnne called this morning. She’s quitting at Lodge Hill. She’s leaving Wednesday!”

“She isn’t giving you any notice?”

“She says they need someone at this place down in California right now, and she isn’t going to risk losing out on the job.”

Cate wasn’t surprised that LeAnne was bailing. Who knew what was going to happen with Lodge Hill now? Although it did seem unfair to Kim that LeAnne was doing it without sufficient notice. Another thought: Robyn. What would LeAnne’s departure do to Thursday’s rehearsal dinner and Friday’s wedding?

“Okay. Calm down. I’ll come to the motel and get you.”

A minute of silence. Cate thought Kim might be about to melt into a puddle right there in the motel, but unexpectedly she took a deep breath, as if she were making a determined effort to pull herself together.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t any of your concern, is it? I can call a taxi to get home. I’ll come back in the Mustang. Maybe they’ll let me in to get Travis’s things. I can bring Rolf with me to drive the motorcycle back to my place. I grabbed the key when they arrested Travis.”

“Is his motorcycle the kind with handlebars that stick up really high?”

“What difference does that make?”

“It’s part of my investigation. I think they’re called ape hangers.”

“Yes, the handlebars are that ape hanger style.” Kim gave an unexpected giggle. “Travis got mad at me because I found that funny.”

The term had struck Cate as funny when she first heard it too, but at the moment she wasn’t exactly in a humorous mood.

“Does Travis know I found your mother’s body at the Mystic Mirage?”

“I didn’t tell him. Well, not exactly, anyway. But I suppose he could have figured it out from something I said.”

Maybe Kim couldn’t recognize a blessing in disguise, but Cate could. The authorities might not yet have Travis Beauchamp fingered for Celeste’s and Eddie the Ex’s deaths, but being in jail got him out of the way at least temporarily. Hopefully long enough so Cate could dig up the evidence to nail him for murder. She felt a little safer already.

“Just wait there. I’ll be by in a few minutes, and we’ll figure out what to do.”

Cate located the motel address with her cell phone. She didn’t have to tell Uncle Joe what she was doing. He and Rebecca were making the rounds of yard sales this morning. Rebecca wanted to buy an old treadle sewing machine for the old-fashioned décor she had planned for the bedroom when Cate moved out.

The motel wasn’t rock-bottom sleazy, but a sign, with two letters missing, offered weekly and monthly rates. A baby stroller lacking a wheel stood outside one door. The motorcycle was parked at an askew angle among a handful of nondescript vehicles in the parking lot. Kim, looking puppy-lost—although still a gorgeous puppy—sat with her chin in her hands on the curb nearby. As soon as she spotted Cate’s Honda, she ran and jumped in as if it were the last lifeboat off a sinking
Titanic
.

 21 

Without asking Kim’s opinion, Cate headed to the closest Dutch Brothers espresso stand. She ordered two hot lattes, handed one to Kim, and pulled the Honda into a parking spot out on the street.

“Okay, now tell me everything.”

“I’ve already told you,” Kim protested.

“Tell me again.”

Travis had come to the house for breakfast. Apparently falling into her old, do-what-Travis-says mode, Kim had made pancakes and eggs for him. He said he was worried about her being there alone and asked if there was some out-of-the-way space in the house where he could stay to make sure she was safe.

What came to Cate’s mind was that old cliché about letting the fox in the henhouse to guard the chickens. Travis had slithered his way into the driver’s seat of the Mustang quickly enough; here he was trying to dig in even deeper. All on the basis of being “worried” about Kim.

“And you have no idea why the police arrested him?”

“Something about a burglary in Tigard.”

“A recent burglary, or one from back before Travis went to Guatemala?”

“A recent one.”

Cate didn’t point out that this hardly looked like the actions of a changed man, but Kim’s averted eyes suggested she knew what Cate was thinking.

“A burglary Travis claimed he didn’t do?”

“I told you, I didn’t get a chance to talk to him!” Kim flared. “But he kept telling the officers they’d made a big mistake, that he didn’t have anything to do with any burglary.”

Reluctantly Cate said, “I suppose that could be true.”

Kim gave a big sigh and poked at the whipped cream on her latte. “I suppose it could. I’d like to believe him.” A fierce jab at the whipped cream. “But I guess I don’t. I’m also thinking that he wanted to stay at the house because he doesn’t have any money, not because he had any big concern about me. Travis is still . . . Travis.”

Except that now Travis might also be a killer.

“But I don’t feel I can just abandon him. I mean, burglary is, well,
awful,
but I still don’t think he killed anyone.” She glanced at Cate and added, “Even if you do.”

“So, what do you plan to do?”

“Maybe they’ll let me in to see him, and I can figure out something then.” Kim gave Cate another sideways glance. “Will you come with me?”

Visiting a scumbag ex-husband in jail was well down on Cate’s list of Things I’ve Always Wanted to Do.
Do I have to, Lord?
she wailed silently.

The Lord, as was often the case, let her conscience provide the answer.
You couldn’t abandon a deaf cat when she lost her owner. Can you abandon a confused friend when she needs you?

“Okay, we’ll go see Travis,” Cate said. “But we’re not taking him any hacksaw blades so he can saw his way out.”

“Well, that wasn’t fair,” Kim grumbled as they drove away from the big brick jail, where both county and city inmates were held.

They hadn’t been inside long. Making a jail visit had turned out to be more complicated than just showing up and asking to see someone. The inmate had to fill out a form before he could receive visitors, and the form could be submitted only Monday through Friday. Kim wouldn’t be getting in to see Travis anytime this weekend. Cate didn’t say so, but she was relieved.

They also didn’t know any more about when Travis would be transferred to Tigard. Kim couldn’t call him, but he would be allowed access to a phone if he wanted to call her. She had also been assured that there wasn’t a one-phone-call limit.

Cate took Kim back to the Ice Cube. She offered to stay with her, but Kim, even though her own attitude toward Travis had frosted around the edges, still seemed a bit miffed by Cate’s attitude toward him. Cate went on home, and Mitch called right after lunch. He said he’d be over in a few minutes to take her for that first ride on the bike.

“Okay.” Cate felt as resigned as Susan Linderman had sounded about being questioned. A dark and inescapable fate. “What do I wear?”

“Jeans and a heavy jacket. I have the helmet for you. Weather report says there may be scattered showers, but nothing to worry about. You’re going to love bike riding, once you get a taste of it. Maybe you’ll want to get a bike of your own.”

Right. Maybe she could also learn to love turnips, spiders, and things that go bump in the night. But invest in a Purple Rocket of her own? Sure. The same day she tried bungee jumping. Without a bungee.

“Okay,” she said. “See you in a few minutes.”

Mitch arrived. He helped Cate strap on the helmet with zigzagged rainbows, which had a clear plate across the face. Mitch mounted the big bike gracefully. Cate managed to catch her foot on the backrest as she climbed on, twist her knee, and clunk her helmet on a handlebar. Boings echoed inside her head, and only Mitch’s quick grab kept her from splatting on the pavement.

It was not, she thought gloomily, a good omen for her first ever motorcycle ride.

Feet still planted on the pavement, Mitch turned his helmeted head to ask if there was anywhere in particular she’d like to go. Cate suggested Jo-Jo’s place. She may as well accomplish something useful on this jaunt.

She quickly learned several things about bike riding. Some were good: she did not have to wrap her arms around Mitch’s body to keep from flying off into space. She could brace herself against the sturdy backrest and grab handholds right next to the passenger’s seat. She felt reasonably secure, and the seat was surprisingly comfortable. She had a feeling of being more closely attuned to her surroundings, a part of them in a way that riding in a car couldn’t offer. They breezed through interesting pockets of warmer air here and there. She smelled the tang of a pine tree as they rode under it. A small boy stared at them with awe, as if they were riding a magic bolt of lightning. Cate waved at him.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Mitch asked over his shoulder. “Be honest now.”

“It’s better than, oh, falling out a fifth-story window.” Actually, quite a bit better, she added grudgingly to herself.

But she found some aspects of motorcycle riding close to terrifying. Never had she felt more insignificant and vulnerable than when an eighteen-wheeler roared by. The huge tires rolling only a few feet from her face made her head spin
dizzily. Those tires also shot out road water like wet missiles. She came close to full panic when another truck driver didn’t see them and stopped barely inches behind them at a stop sign, the big truck looming over them like a panting monster. And when she looked down and saw the road zipping along bare inches under her feet, it almost seemed to be pulling her down into it.

She was relieved when Mitch eased the bike into Jo-Jo’s driveway. Maude instantly announced their presence. Jo-Jo’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but Cate went to the door. No response to her knock.

“I guess I should have called first,” she said when she walked back to Mitch and the bike. “Maybe she hasn’t moved back out here yet.”

“That’s okay. We’re in no hurry.” Mitch held out a palm. “It’s starting to sprinkle anyway. We can wait in the barn, and maybe it’ll pass over.”

He drove the motorcycle under a shed-type overhang on the barn and got a rag out of a saddlebag to wipe a few sprinkles off the seat and glossy purple finish. Cate wandered over to scratch Maude behind her big white ears.

After twenty minutes, Jo-Jo hadn’t arrived, and the rain was falling harder.

“I guess we’d better go,” Mitch said. “It doesn’t look as if it’s letting up.”

Not only not letting up, the rain was falling in a downpour now, gleefully repudiating that optimistic weather report.

“This is the sprinkle you mentioned?” Cate asked.

If Mitch heard her, she couldn’t hear his response over the hammer of rain on her helmet. A couple miles farther on, with Cate thinking these helmet faceplates really should come with windshield wipers, he pulled into a little country store. Cate followed him inside, mostly to get out of the
rain. He bought a carton of big garbage bags. She watched, puzzled, as he pulled one out and used a pocket knife to cut a hole on each side and a larger hole at the top. He handed the black bag to her.

“There. Instant rain gear.”

Cate had never been a stickler for fashion, but she had always worn items that could actually qualify as clothing. “You want me to wear a garbage bag?”

He was already busy cutting on the second bag. “Suit yourself. I’m going to.”

Cate, looking at the rain outside, felt dampness already seeping through her jacket, and grimly slid her head and arms through the openings. Mitch put his on. When they went outside, he looked big and bulky and masculine. In a window of the store, Cate saw her own reflection. She looked like an overweight witch with a bad sense of fashion. Mitch easily hiked his garbage bag up to swing his leg over the bike. Cate managed not to twist, dislocate, or break anything.

They rode through onslaughts of rainwater from above, rainwater splashed sideways by passing cars, more rainwater bouncing up from below.

Finally, back at the house, Mitch steadied the bike while Cate dismounted. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m home safely.” She unfastened the helmet and slid it off her squashed hair. “I guess I should be grateful for that.”

“I’m sorry. This isn’t how I intended your first ride to be. I guess I should have waited when they said it was going to sprinkle. But I was just so eager to take you for a ride.” Behind the face plate, Mitch’s eyes looked dark and anxious.

Yes, Mitch had undoubtedly had good intentions. But what was that old saying? The road to destruction is paved with good intentions. A very wet road, in this case.

Mitch swiped a finger across her wet eyebrows. Unexpectedly
he grinned. “The garbage bag is quite becoming. Black is definitely your color.”

Cate wanted to be grumpy. In spite of the garbage bag, cold rainwater dribbled down her back. Her jeans, where they’d stuck out from under the bag, clung to her legs like wet paint. She was cold as a plastic-covered Popsicle. Of all the drawbacks to being a biker babe, this was not one she had anticipated.

Yet, with Mitch grinning at her so hopefully, she couldn’t help the beginning of a smile of her own. The bike ride was a new and memorable adventure. No rut in her life with Mitch in it. And it tended to put life’s problems in perspective. Who could be too serious about life while wearing a garbage bag?

“Does this make me a full-fledged biker babe?”

“Definitely the queen of the biker babes.” He brushed back a strand of wet hair plastered to her face. “I’m hoping you’ll give the Purple Rocket and me another chance.”

“I’ll think about it.” She paused, and the smile got a little more genuine. “Yeah, I probably will.”

“And won’t this make a great story to tell our grandkids someday?”

Our grandkids.

It had a nice ring to it. She wasn’t jumping on it with joy, but she did manage to say, “Do you want to come in and warm up for a while?”

“Thanks, no. I’m going to head on home and get the bike put away. I’ll meet you at church tomorrow?”

Cate nodded. He lifted the faceplate on his helmet, leaned over, and gave her a kiss that felt warm and wonderful even with rainwater dribbling down her face.

Yeah, life could be good even in a garbage bag.