Not One Clue (12 page)

—
Brainy Laney Butterfield,
being brainy, and a little
depressing

“H
ow long has she been sleeping?” Rivera’s voice rumbled softly through my sluggish system. I was lying on my side in my own bed, with no idea what time it was. In fact, I was entirely uncertain of the day. I glanced toward the window. It was dark.

“Half an hour,” Laney said. “Maybe more. I was worried. She was pretty upset before she fell asleep. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It’d be more of a bother to find your decaying bodies three days after the event.”

“Sensitive,” she said. “That’s what I love about the L.A. Police Department.”

“To protect and serve,” he said, and she laughed. “Is this the letter?” I heard him move away, heard his volume lessen.

“Are you in love with her?” Elaine’s voice was barely audible now.

My ears perked up. I glanced furtively toward the kitchen but was foiled by a couple of walls.

I could imagine him looking at her. “You a spy?”

She said something I didn’t hear.

He answered. Also unheard.

I swung my feet quietly to the floor. Standing carefully, I stepped into the bathroom adjacent to the kitchen. Quiet as an Apache.

“She drives
everyone
crazy, but that’s not what I asked,” Laney said.

“She takes too many idiotic risks.”

“She’s plucky.”

“Plucky!” He snorted, then sighed. I could imagine him rubbing his eyes. Sometimes I seemed to make him tired. “I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep since I met her over Bomstad’s dead body. She’s like a damned commando.”

“Can I tell her you said that?”

“If you want to spend a night in lockup,” Rivera said.

She laughed again. “There’s no one more loyal.”

“Or with a better ass.”

“Whoa,” Laney said, but in that moment, Rivera peered around the corner. His face was inches from mine, his expression absolutely unsurprised.

“Did you hear that one, McMullen?”

“What?” I stumbled back a step, then stretched, awkward as hell. “I just woke up. When did you get here?”

He chuckled and disappeared. I didn’t have much choice but to follow him. He was already peering at the envelope on the counter when I arrived.

“Nice penmanship,” he said. “I assume none of them have a return address.”

“None that I can identify as his,” Laney said.

“Are they all postmarked from L.A.?”

I felt myself pale again.

“The others were from Montana,” Elaine said.

“Where you film?”

“We’re actually in Idaho, but the border’s just a few miles away.”

“How many letters?”

“Five altogether, I think.”

He nodded, then glanced at my hands. One was garbed in a pink rubber glove. One in blue. I was hardly surprised that I had fallen asleep with them on. As a teenager, I’d once slept still wearing my tuba. “That to eliminate fingerprints?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said, and he shook his head as he held the envelope up to the light.

I crowded closer as he pulled out the letter. The handwriting inside was just as neat as on the envelope. Perfectly spaced and uniformly sized. I read it through.

Dearest Ms. Ruocco
,

I write again to caution you to use your gifts wisely. Your God-given beauty will eventually fade. Make certain when that day arrives you have not foolishly squandered your time and talents nor spent your days with those unworthy of you. I do not deny that your betrothal is disconcerting to me. But perhaps it is not his money but his wretchedness that draws you to him
.

Perhaps you are being charitable in that regard. And in charity we find peace. I hope you will take my words into consideration, as I have no desire to take further steps to ensure your future happiness. I prefer that you find that path on your own
.

“Is this typical of the others?” Rivera asked.

“Pretty much. The threat in this one seems more overt. Or maybe it’s just that it was delivered here.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“Regular mail?”

“It was in the box when I checked this afternoon.”

“But the others were threatening also.”

“In a nebulous sort of way.”

“Any idea who it might be?”

“None.”

He glared silently at the letter. If I were a nasty missive, I would have turned tail and run … if I weren’t so damned plucky.

“Do you know anyone who holds a grudge?” he asked.

Laney shook her head.

“How about you, McMullen?” he asked, glancing at me. “Anyone you can think of who might be angry with her?”

I shook my head, too.

“Do you owe anyone money?” he asked.

“Mac,” she said.

“Really?” he asked, looking curious.

“Truckloads,” she said.

“You write this?” he asked, glancing at me.

“Just the part about Solberg,” I said, and he snorted as he turned toward Laney.

“Any disappointed men in your past?”

She blinked.

I laughed out loud. “Are you serious?”

He turned toward me. I raised a hand to indicate her perfection. “Look at her. She’s the most gorgeous woman on the planet. Every man in the world is disappointed. Except Solberg, and he obviously made some sort of pact with the inhabitants of the underworld.”

Rivera stared at me all stormy-eyed and there was something in his expression that almost seemed to refute my opinion. It made me feel a little breathless, but he turned his laser-vision away in a moment.

“The first letter arrived about five months ago?”

“I believe so.”

“Was there anyone new in your life at that time?”

She shook her head. “People come and go all the time on location.”

“Did you work with any new men?”

“Yes.”

“Can you give me a list?”

She paused for a moment. “I don’t think it’s any of them.”

“We’re going to have to assume this isn’t obvious.”

Her frown was back in place. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’d like to take all the letters to our analyst.”

“I can have the others sent to me.”

He nodded. “In the meantime, I don’t want you living here alone.”

I blinked. “She’s not alone,” I said.

He turned toward me, jaw muscles already jumping as if itching for a fight. “I meant the two of you. I don’t want you here alone.”

“Oh?” I was calm. Like the eye of the proverbial storm. A tornado maybe, with the rest of the world swirling around me. “What do you have in mind, Rivera?”

He pulled a hard breath into his nostrils. “It would be best if you lived somewhere else for a while.”

“So I should just shut down my practice and hike out to …” I felt anger beginning to bubble up a little in my gut, but I just let it simmer. “Do you have somewhere specific in mind?”

His eyes were dark and low-browed. “You should get out of L.A. Schaumburg might be—”

“You think I should go crawling back to Chicago?”

“Don’t be juvenile about this. I’m sure your parents would love to have you stay—”

“Before you continue, I want you to think of Harlequin,” I interrupted, smiled, unclenched my fists. “Where will he live if I’m incarcerated for shooting an officer of the law?”

“Are you
threatening
me?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Your family isn’t that—”

“My brothers put bugs in my rice.” I was coming to the boiling point.

“I didn’t say they were—”

“Pete called it fried lice. Said it was an Asian delicacy.” I was starting to snarl.

His frown deepened. “I’ll ask them not to do that anymore.”

I paused, trying to get adequate air. Turns out there wasn’t enough to accommodate my lungs while thinking of living with my parents. Holly had kicked Pete out of the house again. Which meant he would be crashing with the folks. “You’ll ask them—”

“I’ll
tell
them not to.”

“I’m not running back to Schaumburg like a—”

“That’s because you’re too fucking stubborn to realize—”

“Jeen can move in,” Laney said.

We turned on her as if she’d just been diagnosed with mad cow disease.

“What?”

“What!”

“I think he’d be happy to look after us,” Elaine said. “Besides, if the letter-writer found me here, what’s to stop him from following us to Chicago?”

It took a moment for my brain to form intelligent thoughts, a little longer to articulate them. “I’m sure Solberg would be tickled pink,” I said. “But I’m not going to—”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Rivera said.

I jerked toward him so fast I could hear my neck snap. “Do you hate me that much?”

“Only when you’re acting like an adolescent—”

“I’m not an—”

“Then don’t act like one. Would you rather be killed in your sleep or spend a couple weeks with Solberg?”

I stared at him.

“McMullen—”

“I’m thinking!” I snapped.

“Well …” He chuckled, shook his head. “I’m thrilled to know you’re still capable of such—”

“Hi.”

We turned back toward Elaine. She had a cell phone pressed to her ear. I was already holding my breath.

“I miss you, too,” she said, and smiled past the little receiver at me.

I could hear Solberg’s whiny tone on the other end of the line. I would have snarled something but I felt too sick to my stomach, and I wasn’t naïve enough to blame the ice cream.

“I know,” she said. “Just a couple more weeks.” She paused, listened, then, “But how many seconds left?” she asked, then laughed. “Maybe you can recalculate later.”

More whining. Another laugh on her part.

“Listen, Jeen, I have a favor to ask you.”

Mumble, mumble, whine, grovel.

“I don’t actually
need
your liver.” She glanced at me, grinning a little, knowing I was about to puke, and enjoying it immensely. “But I was wondering if you could come stay with us tonight.”

There was stunned silence from the other end of the line. Maybe if I was really lucky he’d die of shock. So far as I knew, and I knew pretty far, Elaine and Solberg had never shared a mattress.

“Honey?” she said.

I heard a croaking noise from the other end of the line. Some frogs turn into princes. Some frogs will forever remain frogs.

“You don’t have to—”

Even through the phone, I heard him slam his door.

“Honey, I need you to pack some clothes. Get a toothbrush. Stay a few days.”

But his car was already starting. He owned a Porsche. A cobalt blue Turbo Cabriolet. Laney didn’t particularly care for it because it got about a half an inch to the gallon. But I had driven it once and determined without delay that I’d trade thirty-seven Solbergs and his mansion in La Canada for that car.

There was silence for a moment, then, “Oh, okay, then. Love you, too,” she said, and hung up.

We stared at her.

“I take it he’s coming?” Rivera said.

“You’d better open the door or he’ll drive straight into the living room to save time,” I warned.

“He loves me,” Laney said, and laughed when I threw up a little bit in my mouth.

13

As a rule I’m against capital punishment. But I know a few boys who could benefit from a little public flogging.

—
Linda Griffin, Chrissy’s new
neighbor, and single
mother of a teenage
daughter

T
he next couple of days went by with relatively few catastrophes. Over the weekend I picked up my mermaid princess gown from the tailor, took Harley to the dog park, and placed my vote on what flavor frosting Laney’s five-tier wedding cake should have.

Monday rolled around, and although I hadn’t yet been attacked by either an abusive Yemeni or a whack job letter-writer, I still felt jittery.

Temporarily losing my mind, I opted to go for a run. Not because I wanted to. Not because it was safe to, but because exercise sometimes helps me relax. Of course, high doses of calories will generally put me into a lovely catatonic state, but I had left all of my would-be calories at the grocery store when Ramla called. So I did my three miles of perdition, showered, then locked myself in the bedroom lest Solberg groggily stumbled into the wrong room. After that I got dressed and rushed off to work.

When I say “rushed,” I mean that I drove twenty miles per hour in head-pounding traffic since the 2 was reminiscent of Macy’s parking lot. I actually think I saw some guy serving lemonade from the back of his pickup truck.

Eventually I arrived at the office. Shirley was manning the desk.

“Whoa,” she said as I rushed in the door. It was two minutes before my first client was scheduled to arrive.

I teetered to a halt on wedge cork heels.

“What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you look like you slept hanging upside down last night.”

“I didn’t.”

“What happened?”