Hex on the Ex (28 page)

“Are you right- or left-handed?” Carla said.

“I’m right-handed,” I said. Oliver cleared his throat.

Her brow furrowed. “Let’s go over your movements from the time you left the stadium Tuesday night until your conversation with Mr. Huber the following morning.”

“You already took a statement from Liz. Is this necessary?” Oliver said.

“Dr. Cooper’s statement only covered Wednesday morning until she met her plumber at her home. I want an extended account of her hours before and after,” Carla said.

Oliver gave me a nod, holding my eyes long enough to convey
Go ahead with discretion
. I pondered a moment and then launched into details about Tuesday night, editing out the romp with Nick in my backyard, and then continuing through Wednesday morning. I ended with my breakfast at Aroma and Forrest’s call.

Carla scribbled notes on her pad then turned over the plastic envelope and slid it across the table at me. “Do you recognize this?”

The clear envelope encased a framed copy of Jarret’s and my wedding picture with the glass shattered into a web of cracks.

Once again, I glanced at Oliver. On his nod, I answered, “It’s my wedding picture.”

“And?”

Checking with Oliver was monotonous, but we got a
rhythm going. If he looked at me I would answer; if he didn’t look, I didn’t talk. This time he looked.

“The glass on the frame is broken. What else do you want me to say? I haven’t looked at my wedding pictures for a long time. It was another life, Carla.”

“Smashed. You can see the glass on the frame had been smashed.” Carla frowned. “I mean, if I walked in my ex’s bedroom and saw the woman who ended my marriage sprawled naked on his bed with my wedding photo there on the nightstand next to her? Who wouldn’t be furious enough, in the heat of the moment, to destroy the woman and the photo?” She squinted at me. “It’s almost like they had sex right in front of you—for spite. Laycee stole your husband, ruined your marriage, and then came back for more. Is that why you killed her?”

Heat flushed through my body. I inhaled, exhaled slowly, then with all the dignity I could gather said, “I didn’t kill Laycee.”

“Move on, Detective,” Oliver said.

Carla stood the frame in the center of the table. “This was beneath the bed where the victim was found. How did it get there?”

Oliver touched my hand, stopping me from answering, then said to Carla, “You wouldn’t be showing us this if her fingerprints were on the glass or the frame. How would Liz know who moved it? She already stated she didn’t go into the bedroom that morning.”

“I’d like Liz to answer anyway,” Carla said calmly.

“She already addressed your question,” Oliver said. “Move on.”

The ensuing series of questions and answers bounced
like a three-way Ping-Pong game. Carla asked me, I looked at Oliver, and he either nodded permission or answered for me.

“When was the last time you were in Jarret’s bedroom?” Carla said.

“I honestly don’t remember,” I said. “Years ago.”

“Why did your marriage end?”

“Their divorce decree stated the reason,” Oliver said. “Irreconcilable differences.”

Bravo to Ollie for doing his homework.

“Did your differences involve your husband’s infidelity?” she said.

“Don’t answer, Liz.” Oliver leaned across the table. “I have some questions for you, Detective. Do you have evidence that places my client in the bedroom with the victim? Fingerprints? Hair samples? No? Do you have any questions for Liz about your other suspects?”

Carla set her elbow on the table, watching him with her chin resting on her palm.

Oliver pushed his chair back. “Then I think we’re done for today. I’m hungry. If I don’t eat, my blood sugar will drop and I’ll get cranky. We’re free to leave, right?”

“Yes,” Carla said in a clipped tone.

“Good.” He opened the door for me and said, “Liz, I need a few minutes alone with Detective Pratt. Wait for me downstairs, will ya?”

As I exited, I tugged at his sleeve and led him into the hall with me. In a whisper, I said, “What about Kyle and the information I gave you on the symbol? Carla needs to—”

“Hear it from me. The less you say, the better,” he said. “I’ll meet you outside.”

I handed him the DVD of Billy’s movie then left without argument. Freedom was a short elevator ride away.

Instead of waiting in the lobby, I paced the small concrete plaza out front, letting fresh air soothe the remnants of my nerves. I dialed Nick, then remembered Isabella’s message and my heart clunked into my stomach. I hung up before the first ring.

Oliver blew out of the station door in a whirl—loosening his tie, taking off his suit coat, and pulling out his keys. He cocked his head for me to follow, and we walked at a brisk pace to the curb.

As soon as we settled into his car I said, “What do you think? How did we do?”

“Pratt’s got nothin’. I grade her a one and a half on her third-degree—hungry to make an arrest
and
she’s a loose cannon.” He checked over his shoulder then pulled into the heavy traffic on Vanowen. “When I brought up Schelz’s daughter, she brushed me off. Then I put her on Stanger’s trail with the information on the drugs and the symbol.”

“You didn’t tell her I—”

“Got the information? No. I let her assume McCormick did the investigation. I left you out of it.” He looked over at me. “And you should stay out of it.”

“What if Nick locates Margaret Smith in McHenry, or the woman who gave Schelz’s pamphlet to Weisel shows up at the liquor store again?”

“You call me and I’ll get McCormick to do the follow-up.”

“Then what’s next?” I said. “Will Carla leave me alone now? Do I get my box of books back?”

“Cool it on the books. You’ll get them back at the end of
the investigation unless the killer smeared fingerprints all over the box. Now? We wait. Pratt may want to see you again. I think the pressure is off for this weekend. Go home. Have some fun. You did good. She gave up more information than she got.”

“Right—the photo,” I said. “When Carla showed me the frame, I didn’t stop to think about why it was broken. Jealousy? Envy? Spite? Why would the killer smash my wedding picture? I don’t get the connection.”

“Pratt thinks she made one—Laycee broke up your marriage.”

“My marriage faltered long before Laycee crawled into bed with Jarret. She was a catalyst but not the cause.”

O
liver dropped me off at my car with instructions to call if I heard from Carla again, and warning me to give up playing detective for the rest of the weekend. No problem—assuming Carla backed off for the moment.

I cranked up my air conditioner and turned the local rock station on loud in an effort to block negative thoughts of a confrontation with Nick.
Nicky.
Didn’t work. Despite the blaring music, I spent the drive home creating scenarios between Nick and Isabella. The ugly knot of traffic I fought through the Valley to Studio City gave me plenty of time to torture myself.

By the time I pulled up behind an old compact and Nick’s SUV parked at the curb in front of my house, I had set myself up for an invitation to their wedding. At least one thing was going right—Stan’s white truck sat parked in the
driveway. I didn’t hear the squeal of a drill blasting through the closed windows on the second floor but the plumber was somewhere inside working.

I climbed my porch steps with trepidation, opened the door, and crossed the foyer to the living room. I stopped short. A plump, pie-faced, twentyish Latina in an oversized UCLA T-shirt nestled in the corner of my couch, talking on her cell phone.

She brushed an explosion of black frizzy hair off her face and broke into an open smile. “Liz?”

“Yes. And you are?” I glanced past her into the den. Nick sat at my desk with his back to us.

“I’ll call you back,” the girl said into the phone. She unwrapped her tight-clad legs, rolled off the sofa, and rose to greet me. In heels, she might clear five feet in height; in her flip-flops, the top of her head barely reached my chin. She tilted her head back to look up at me, her eyes sparkling. “I’m Isabella. I’m so happy I finally got to meet you. Nicky told me many, many wonderful things about you.”

Her little hand pumped mine with enthusiasm. A string of clichés rolled through my mind: “Love is blind,” “Love conquers all.” Maybe she was a genius. Or—

“You’re free. You escaped the wrath of Pratt.” Nick rushed from the den with his arms spread wide and rocked me in a warm embrace. “I thought about you all morning. Why didn’t you call as soon as you left the station?”

“I couldn’t wait to get home.” Not a lie, just subject to interpretation. I glanced past him into the den. Seriously, where did he hide the statuesque sex-bomb I drove myself into distraction over?

“I see you met Izzy,” he said.

“I did.” I managed an uncertain grin. “What a…nice surprise.”

“I recruited her help to make calls to McHenry about Margaret,” he said.

“Did you find her?” I said, happy to escape utter confusion for a moment.

“No. I want to hear what Carla had to say, but first let’s talk about Izzy’s call this morning. Your message sounded distant. I think you may have misunderstood.”

You think?

“I’m so sorry.” Blushing, Izzy took my hand between hers and said, “I must have sounded crazy, pushing Nicky so hard. I consider him family and sometimes I forget he’s not. I’m freaked out because my grandfather will be here on Monday for a visit. He doesn’t know yet.”

Neither did I. I creased my brow, still struggling to follow. The doorbell rang. Nick answered, and a slim young man in his early twenties followed him through the foyer carrying two paper bags.

Sweet-faced and well-groomed in a polo shirt and fitted jeans, the young man stopped under the living room arch and said, “Where should I put the tacos, Izzy?”

“First come and meet Liz.” She bounced to his side and tugged him toward me, her face glowing with affection. “Liz, this is my fiancé, Jorge.”

Fiancé. Well, I got the wedding invite right but miscast the groom. Relief flooded through me, then shame for doubting Nick.

“Very nice to meet you, ma’am,” Jorge said, a shy smile
on his face. He set the bags on the coffee table, and wrapped a loving arm around Izzy.

“A complete pleasure, Jorge,” I said. A
complete
pleasure. Nick grinned at the young couple like a proud uncle. I tucked my hand under Nick’s elbow and said in a low voice, “You might have mentioned this to me a few days ago.”

“I just found out myself. I was going to tell you, but clearing up Carla’s crazy accusations toward you took priority,” he said.

“Don’t blame Nicky,” Izzy said. “Jorge and I kept our engagement a secret from everyone.” She pointed at the brown bags. “Can we tell you the whole story over lunch? Jorge brought tacos from Henry’s.”

“I would like that a lot,” I said. “I’ll get some plates. We can eat in the dining room.”

“Let us set the table,” Jorge said. “Izzy and I will get everything ready so you and Nick can talk.” He picked up the bags and scurried Izzy to the kitchen. I’d known the kid for less than five minutes yet he was scoring points by the second.

When they were out of earshot I said to Nick, “When Izzy left you that message this morning, I thought—”

“I know,” he said. “I heard it in your voice. That’s why I asked her to bring Jorge here so you could meet both of them. This is my fault for not introducing you to Izzy months ago.”

“No, I’m sorry for letting my old fears creep into our relationship. Next time—”

“I won’t try to manage you,” Nick said.

“You manage me?”

“I said
try
.”

Stan appeared at the foot of the stairs. “Mr. Garfield, I’m taking a lunch break. The plaster in the second bathroom is drying. I’ll be back at two.”

“We’ll see you then,” Nick said.

After he left I said to Nick, “Stan calls you Mr. Garfield?”

“Damn right he does. We had a long talk this morning. I’m not happy with the speed of your renovations or the budget he showed me. As Melvyn Douglas said in
Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House
, ‘You’ve been taken to the cleaners, and you don’t even know your pants are off,’” Nick said. “Pending your approval, Stan quoted a new estimate to finish the whole job, and then I reduced the number by twenty percent. He promised the shower in your spare bathroom would be usable tonight. Your master bath will be completed by Wednesday, on budget.”

“And if it’s not?”

“The full renovation on the second bathroom goes to another plumber.”

“Did you bully him?” I pictured Stan on his way home instead of going to lunch. After he warned the plumber grapevine about Nick, I would never have a working shower in my own house again.

“Not at all. We got along famously. I earned his respect by speaking tool.”

“Tool?”

“It’s a derivative language spoken by artisans. Ancient. Very—”

“You can name all the thingies he carries in his toolbox.”

“Correct.”

Jorge and Izzy called us into the dining room. We sat around my oak table eating tacos while Izzy explained how she met Jorge in the UCLA library and they fell in love. Trapped in the lie she told her grandfather before she left Costa Rica last summer, Izzy let him assume she was still engaged to Nick. Now that her grandfather was on his way to the States for a visit, she had to reveal the truth—she and Jorge wanted to marry.