No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (14 page)

“She did. As far as I know, Traci was only seeing five patients at the time of her death. I took all of them. There was no mention of a patient named Laura Stewart in any of the paper work I received.”

Maybe Dr. Applebaum destroyed the file when she heard that Laura had been killed. But if Laura had been seeing a psychiatrist over some major issue, she probably wouldn’t have just tossed the file. Presumably, if she thought something Laura had told her was in any way linked to her death, she would have gone to the police when she found out Laura had been murdered. Unless… she didn’t have time to go to the police. What was it Peter had said about his wife’s accident?

I thanked Dr. Levi and hung up. Then I punched in Eric’s number. “Do me a favor,” I said when he picked up.

“Where are you calling from?” he asked.

“I turned on the engine and blasted the heat. “My car. Listen, I need you to look something up for me. Four years ago, a local psychiatrist named Traci Applebaum and her husband were in a car accident. He survived but she didn’t. Can you get me the particulars of the police report? I think this may be tied in to Tamra. I’d do it myself,” I lied, “but I’m checking out another lead and I need this info ASAP.”
Boy, if lying was fattening, I’d look like the Goodyear Blimp.

The thing is I didn’t want to go through my usual sources, meaning Bobby and Vince. They’re kind of under the impression that I’m out of the loop now, and that’s fine by me. My job is hard enough without those guys giving me grief about it.

Plus after my little escapade with Bobby, I wasn’t quite ready to see him. As soon as my parents had gone to bed last night, I’d called Franny.

“Are you awake?” I asked.

“It depends on what you want to tell me.”

I made her swear on her first-born child that she wouldn’t breathe a word of what I was about to confess and then I launched into the specifics of my evening.

“You actually hit him on the head with his own shoes?” she howled with laughter. “What is that, some kind of kinky, new mating ritual?”

“I’m serious,” I huffed. I don’t know what got into me.”

“From what you just told me,
nothing
got into you, which I might add is a little disappointing, seeing as the only thrills I’m getting these days are vicarious ones.”

“Fran, this isn’t helping.”

“Alright. So you fooled around a little. No big deal. Bobby’s a free agent, you’re a free agent. You’re entitled to have some fun.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I reasoned. “It’s about time I started having some fun. I deserve it.”

“So,” she asked, “was it?”

“Was it what?”

“Was it
fun?”

“God, yes!”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“I guess I don’t have one.”

Only why did I still feel like I did?

Just as frostbite began to set in, Eric called back.

“I’ve got the police report,” he told me. “What are you looking for specifically?”

“The date the accident took place and could you check to see if there was any mechanical malfunction that could have caused it?”

“Hang on a minute… preliminary findings… blah, blah, blah… Okay, it says here ‘broken brake line.’”

“Are you sure?”

“No, I’m making it up. What was the other thing you wanted to know? Oh yeah, the date. May 4
^th
.”

And we have a winner! Dr. Applebaum never turned Laura’s files in to the police because she was in a fatal car accident two days after Laura was killed. And not just any accident. Her brake line had snapped, just like mine.

I needed some time to think about this. “Eric, I’ve got to go.” I hung up the cell just as a new thought occurred to me.
The burglars weren’t after drugs when they broke into Traci’s office. That had to have been a cover-up for the real prize—Laura’s file.
If I was right, and it looked like I was, someone murdered Laura, stole her files and arranged her doctor’s death. Fast forward four years, they go after me, thinking I’m Tamra, then they kill her in order to keep the truth from surfacing.

My head was reeling from these new revelations, which was probably why I didn’t notice the guy with the ski mask sidle up to my car and smash in the window. Shit!

Bits of flying glass pelted the side of my face as a gloved hand clamped down on my neck. In an instant he thrust his other arm through the gaping hole in the window and grabbed for the door lock. I tried to pull him off me but he was too strong. I twisted sideways, loosening his grip on me. Blindly I fumbled around in search of the car keys. They were still in the ignition. As I reached for them, he let go of my neck and stuck his head inside the car, grabbing for the keys. His masked face was mere inches from mine. I raised my elbow and aimed straight for his windpipe.

The force of the blow stunned him long enough for me to turn on the engine and drop it into gear. I gunned it and took off, with half of him still stuck inside my car. He ran alongside, spewing expletives until I stopped short, trying to shake him loose. He stumbled and fell to the ground and I tore out of there, never looking back.

Ten minutes later, the surge of adrenalin that had propelled me into action abandoned me. I pulled over and parked, oblivious to the graffiti filled buildings and urban filth that lined the street. The wind had picked up and whipped through the car as I sat huddled behind the steering wheel. My throat hurt and I had a pounding headache but I was still alive, which was more than I could guarantee for the guy I’d left lying in the road.

I found my cell phone and was about to punch in 911, when I noticed a torn piece of dark leather material sitting in my lap. I picked it up and turned on the interior light so that I could examine it more closely. It was the tip of a glove. It felt wet and sticky, with chunks of glass clinging to it. Gingerly, I opened it and peeked inside.
Eewww!
Bile rose up in my throat and I flung it onto the floor and bolted from the car.

As I stood shivering on the sidewalk, wondering what the resale value is for a twenty-year old La Sabre equipped with a shattered window and a severed human finger, I began to take note of my surroundings. Suddenly I realized that I’d been on this street before, on this very block, and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief.

Halfway down the street I spied what I’d been looking for. I ran towards a pristine storefront, stopping short as the door opened and ten or so young guys in martial arts attire poured out the door. They were speaking Spanish, sweating, laughing. I shrank back to let them pass. When the last one filed out, I lost my nerve and turned to leave, but I didn’t get very far. One man had remained in the doorway. Now he reached out and gently pulled me to him. “Hello, Angel. Rough day?”

“…a
nd then to top it all off, there was a
bloody finger lying
in my lap! It’s still in the car by the way, if you wouldn’t mind helping me get it out.”

Nicholas Santiago flashed me a lopsided grin and my stomach flipped. “One thing at a time, darlin’. Let’s first take a look at those cuts on your face.” He knelt down in front of me and gingerly brushed the hair away from my cheek.

I was curled up in the red velvet armchair in the back office of his martial arts studio. The studio I was convinced was a front for all sorts of nefarious operations, but I was willing to overlook them for the moment.

Nick gently lifted my chin. I pulled back, embarrassed. I’d caught a glimpse of myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror as we first walked in and, well let’s just say that between the red blotches on my face and the snot pouring out of my nose, I wasn’t looking my best.

“Nick, really, I’m—”

“Are you going to tell me you’re fine?” he asked mildly. “Because I’ll believe you if you do.”

I looked away, not wanting him to see how scared I really was.

He turned my head, forcing me to meet his gaze. “But I won’t think any less of you for needing help,” he continued softly. “You know you can tell me anything, Angel.”

I did know and I was through fighting it. “Nick, I need your help.”

Wordlessly, he got up and poured me a shot glass full of amber liquid. I didn’t bother asking what it was. I really didn’t care. I downed it in one gulp and it helped to stop the shaking.

While I busied myself getting good and blotto, Nick sauntered over to his desk and extracted a small bottle from the bottom drawer. He doused a cotton ball with its contents and positioned himself in front of me again. “This is going to hurt,” he warned, swabbing my cheek with antiseptic.

It stung like crazy but the pain was offset by the feel of his hand on my leg. He was so close I could smell the heat wafting off his caramel-colored skin.
Jesus, I’m sitting here with glass embedded in my face and I’m so turned on I could explode. What is wrong with me?

“That should do it,” Nick said, getting to his feet.

“Thanks. I just couldn’t face another trip to the E.R.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Another?”

“This hasn’t been my week. Listen,” I said, extricating myself from the chair, “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I should go.”

He gently pushed me back down. “Not yet, darlin’. We have some business to take care of.”

“We do?” I gulped.

Nick picked up the phone and punched in some numbers. While he was waiting for whoever it was to pick up, he said, “Have you called the police yet?”

“No, I—”

“Good.” He began speaking into the phone in rapid-fire Spanish, pausing to ask me exactly where I’d left the guy who had attacked me.

“Nick, no.” I’ve seen first-hand Nick’s brand of justice and although I was sorely tempted, I’d just as soon not be the cause of another dead body added to his resume. “Let the police handle it.”

“Sit tight, I’ll call you back,” he said in English, hanging up the phone.

Suddenly, it was all too much. I sank back into the chair again, drawing my legs up and curling into a ball. I was so close to tears I could taste them. “Nick, I didn’t come here to be rescued.”
Well, I did, but I hated myself for it.
“Hey, you’re not one of those guys who gets off on helpless women, are you?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Let’s review the facts here. A guy tries to attack you and he ends up lying in the road, with nine and a half fingers. I wouldn’t exactly categorize you as helpless.” He scooped me up off the chair and sat down, bringing me along with him. “You have great instincts, Angel. But you’ve been through a lot in the last few months and it has to be taking its toll on you.”

I sat up, spoiling for a fight. “Are you telling me to butt out too? Because I’ve had my fill of people telling me that lately.”

“No,” Nick said calmly. “I’m telling you to be careful. And to accept help when you need it. It doesn’t make you weak to need someone every once in a while.”

“Who do you need, Nick?” The question just popped out of me. I really didn’t expect an answer.

He grew quiet for a moment. Then he kissed the top of my head and eased me off his lap. “Let’s take care of that car window.”

We decided to grab something to eat, but first we took a detour in Nick’s 1964 XKE Jaguar to check out the scene of the crime. We didn’t find anyone sprawled in the street or squashed like road kill in the oncoming traffic. We got out and looked around. Not even a tire mark where I’d peeled rubber. “Do you still want to report it?” Nick asked. “It’s your call.”

I weighed my options. If I report it to the police I could end up looking like a nut job, or give my parents matching heart attacks and effectively ruin Paul’s bar mitzvah. If I don’t report it, I can go home and pretend it never happened. In my current state of mind it was a no-brainer.

Nick and I settled into a booth at Mai’s Vietnamese Restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall located about two blocks from his studio on Spring Garden. We’d dropped my car off at Nick’s body shop and the guy promised to have it back to him in no time. We took the finger with us.

The server at the restaurant knew him,
of course
. She was young, beautiful and looked like a Bond Girl.
Stupid exotic looks. I hate her.

Nick ordered soup and spring rolls which sounded good to me so I ordered some too.

The soup came and we both dug in. “I just don’t get it, Nick. Tamra’s dead. Whoever did it must know they finally got it right. Why are they still after me?”

“They may have gotten wind somehow that you’re taking up where your friend left off. For better or worse you’ve earned a reputation in the past few months. You’ve been involved in some pretty high profile cases.” He paused and shook some red pepper flakes into his soup. “Whoever’s behind this knows their secrets aren’t safe with you in the picture. Eventually, you’re going to ‘out’ them.”

I lifted my eyes to him. “Yeah? Well, I think so far they’ve got the edge on me.”

“My money’s on you.”

The server returned to our table, bringing our meal. Nick smiled and thanked her, which, in my mind translated as,
“I’ll be back as soon as I dump the albatross.”
I guess my self esteem could use an upgrade.

I looked down at my plate, expecting to find a greasy, pork-filled fried wonton and found instead what appeared to be fresh salad wrapped in steamed wonton dough.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Spring rolls,” Nick said, biting into his. “I thought you wanted them.”

“I did. Only, I thought they’d be, I don’t know—more—exciting.” I picked one up and bit into it. Yep. Salad. It was really disappointing.

“If you want more excitement, try the sauce. But I’ve got to warn you, it’s spicy.”

He dipped his spring roll into a gooey reddish mixture and took a bite. Then he dipped it in once more and offered it up to me. It felt more like a challenge than an invitation, so naturally I had to accept it.

“I like spicy. I live for spicy. Bring it on.” I took a bite and instantly my mouth was on fire, blazing a trail right up my nose. I spit the spring roll into my napkin and grabbed my water glass, taking humongous gulps.