Shoot from the Lip (25 page)

Tillson’s face colored. “You running me off? Is that it?”

“Depends on who hired you and why you’re here.”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Tillson said. “I’ll go park in the street if that’s what you want.”

“From what I saw on the drive here, you won’t find a metered spot unless you go about five blocks.”

“I can do my job without any help from you, Peters.”

“Sure. That’s right.” DeShay turned to me. “Abby, you got your phone handy?”

I pulled it from my pocket. “Right here.”

“Take a picture of my friend Louie, would you?”

I flipped open the phone, hit the camera button and pressed capture before Louie could blink. I didn’t even get his ear in the shot, but I nodded, saved the worthless photo and closed my phone with a satisfied smile.

“Thank you,” DeShay said. “Now here’s the deal, Louie. You tell me why you’re here—not who hired you, ’cause I know you got your ethical standards to uphold—and maybe I won’t show this picture to hotel security and tell them they’ve got a pest on their property. If I do that, I’m thinking they’ll throw your ass out of here every time you show up.”

“She’s an investment, a reluctant one, they say,” Louie replied. “They want her protected, want to see where she goes and with who.”

“And what about my friend Abby? Are they protecting her, too?”

“Nah. They’re just interested in what she’s up to. I don’t know if anyone’s even on her anymore.”

DeShay walked over to the T-bird for the GPS device. He then brought it back to Louie and held it out. “This belong to you?”

“What the hell is that?” Tillson asked.

“Don’t play dumb, Louie.”

Tillson squinted and then said, “A GPS monitor?”

“If I look under Ms. Lopez’s rental, am I going to find one like it?”

“You think I need GPS to tail someone, Peters? What do you figure me for, some kind of amateur?”

DeShay laughed. “And do you figure me for some kind of stupid? Tell me you’ve never used one of these things.”

“Okay, I’ve used them, but not one like that, and not on this case. Go ahead. Check her car if you don’t believe me.”

And that was exactly what DeShay did. He found nothing.

Before we parted ways with Louie Tillson, DeShay pointed at the phone still in my hand. “If I find out you’ve lied to me about anything, I’ll make sure you lose your nice fat paycheck from those TV assholes by getting you kicked out of this lot.”

“What the hell would I lie about, Peters?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

 

I thanked DeShay, left the GPS device with him and drove on to Jeff’s apartment. He and Doris helped me carry the groceries inside. Putting away the food was like Christmas for Doris. Every box of cereal, every vegetable, every piece of fruit was like a prize. Then I showed her the
other
best Texas drink: caffeine-free, sugar-free Dr Pepper. I thought it would be an easier sell than something with the word
Coke
printed on it. Then I realized I didn’t even know if Doris could spell. Gosh, Jeff and I had a whole new learning curve ahead.

The Dr Pepper was a hit, and we shared a late dinner of deli rotisserie chicken, potato salad and fruit. Doris seemed to savor every bite and had better table manners than me. She even offered a halting, “May I leave the table?” when she was finished eating. Dr Pepper in hand, she went straight to Jeffs ancient recliner and used the remote to turn the DVD player back on. Once Jeff and I tossed the paper plates and loaded the dishwasher with glasses and silverware, we could hear Doris snoring loudly.

“Been a long day for her.” Jeff pulled me close.

I tossed the sponge I’d wiped the card table with into the sink and wrapped my arms around him. “Long day for you, too. DeShay was asking about you.”

“I called him about five minutes before you got here. I had to tell him I was back, Abby. I couldn’t lie to him.”

“I know the feeling, but I wish you would have done that earlier. I was dancing all around the topic of Jeff Kline. Or should I say
Jeffy
Kline?”

He smiled down at me. “When Doris was little, she couldn’t say Jeffrey—that’s what my Mom always called me. I became Jeffy.”

“You’re taking on a big challenge, but I’m glad you brought her here.”

“Nothing else felt right. But my place is too small. I’ll have to find a bigger apartment, get her bedroom furniture and—”

I put a finger to his lips. “Kate put a contract on a house today, and she’ll be moving out. We can stay at my house while you hunt for apartments and find Doris a good caregiver. At least then everyone will have a bed to sleep in.”

“Abby, I can’t ask you—”

“You don’t have to ask. Now do something better with your mouth than talk. She’s asleep and we need to make good use of our time.”

The following morning, Kate and I ate breakfast on the back porch. She’d made a bagel run and as promised brought home cinnamon raisin as well as the two-ton, whole grain, generously seeded kind she prefers. Kate wasn’t in when I got home the night before, so at least I didn’t have to lie about being at Jeffs place. In fact, both of us avoided the subject of the previous night altogether, instead focusing on the house she’d fallen in love with and how she hoped they’d take her cash offer.

“Who wouldn’t?” I said.

“I’m afraid the owner will change his mind or something,” Kate said.

“The house is empty, Kate. Why would he change his mind?”

She grinned. “If I don’t have something to worry about, life seems so empty.” But despite the joke, she and I both knew who the pessimist in the family was.

She said, “The armoire and the bedroom set I let Aunt Caroline keep when I moved in with Terry will soon have a new home.”

“I picture her being completely shocked that you would take back furniture you’d given her.”

“She knows they’re mine, Abby.”

“Hey, I’m preparing you, okay?”

She looked out at the cloudless sky. “Buying all new furniture would be cleansing, wouldn’t it? A brand-new start?”

“You don’t want to ask her for your stuff back, do you?”

Kate smiled. “Not really.”

“Coward,” I said.

I heard the doorbell ring through the open porch door, and Webster started barking—seemed he was already getting protective of my place. Kate and I went inside the house, and while I went to the foyer to see who was there, Kate took our plates and coffee cups to the kitchen.

DeShay’s smiling face appeared on the security monitor when I turned it on. I opened the door and let him in. He wore a navy sports jacket and striped tie.

“You coming from church or are you working?” I asked.

Before he could answer, Kate joined us. “Hi, DeShay. Bet you’re missing Jeff almost as much as Abby.”

“Hey, Kate. You are looking particularly gorgeous this morning.” He avoided the Jeff question, as I had yesterday.

“You’re between girlfriends again, I take it?” she said.

“You think I’m hitting on you?” He looked at me. “Abby, she thinks I’m hitting on her.”

We all laughed. DeShay does like the ladies.

“What’s up?” I asked.

He’d brought a manila folder with him and opened it. “Check this out.”

It was a mug shot of a woman with blond hair, smeared makeup and lifeless eyes.

“This is the woman I told you about. Fiona Mancuso, aka Diamond Monroe, aka Loretta Mancuso—I won’t bore you with all the other names she’s used. This has to be Christine O’Meara’s friend.”

“I’m sure Rhoda could tell us for sure, except I doubt the motorcycle shop is open on Sunday,” I said.

Kate was staring at the mug shot, and I could tell she’d switched to therapist mode. “I hate seeing someone that young look so empty.”

“If it helps, she hasn’t been arrested in nine years.” DeShay looked at me. “I checked the databases and there’s nothing recent. She’s never had a driver’s license using any of the aliases we know about. Either she died or she went down the straight and narrow into oblivion.”

“What about her social security number?” I asked.

“You don’t exactly need one of those when you turn tricks for a living. No number was ever recorded on any of her arrest reports.”

“Great. All we’ve got is a pimp to help us. And why should he do that?” I asked.

“If he knows anything, he’ll cooperate. Not hard to dig up a reason to send a lifelong criminal back to jail.”

“Ah,” I said, nodding. “What about Emma? If this was her mother’s friend, maybe she saw her at least once. There were parties at the house before the last baby was born.”

“Can’t hurt to show her the mug shot, I guess,” DeShay said.

“I’ll give her a call right now,” I said.

I learned Emma, Shannon and Luke were headed for Mass, and she said she’d stop by when the service was over. DeShay had no problem with this arrangement, as there were bagels and cream cheese to enjoy. I put on a fresh pot of coffee and had just poured three mugs when the doorbell rang. I checked my watch and was thinking they went to the shortest Mass they could find, but the monitor showed Clinton Roark’s smiling face.

I called for Kate, then let him in.

“Good morning, Abby. Is Kate—Oh, there you are.” His smile grew wider, and they had eyes only for each other.

I left them eyeball-to-eyeball and heard Kate say, “You feeling better about your family problems this morning?” as I walked away.

Roark said, “If my son doesn’t want to spend time with me, I can’t force him.”

Bet Kate was loving this. She could rescue this guy from his
pain.

A minute later, as DeShay and I were enjoying some damn fine coffee, I heard Kate call out that she and Clint were going for a drive.

DeShay said, “She’s already found a new man? And you think I’m bad?”

“I’ll admit I’m a little worried.”

“Rebound,” DeShay said. “I’ve done it myself, especially when a girl had that extra something. I saw Terry moping around Travis Center once this week on a psych consultation. Wonder how the good shrink is getting over her?”

“I should call him,” I said. “But I’m afraid I’ll be tempted to ask if he knows about Clint Roark.”

“Call him. He’s still your friend. Anyway, while we’ve got a minute, what’s with Jeff? I assume you’ve seen him?”

“Yesterday. He told me he had to tell you he was in town, but right now he doesn’t want anyone else to know. He has business to take care of first.”

“What kind of business?”

“The details have to come from him, but I can tell you it has to do with his family.”

“But I’ll help him with anything. He knows that.” DeShay sounded hurt.

“You do know him, which means you understand he has to do things his own way, in his own time.”

“Yeah, but—”

“DeShay, I don’t doubt for a minute that when he’s ready, he’ll sit with you in that bar you two go to, and spit out more words than you ever thought he could. For now, I think we have to respect his wishes.”

“You’re sure he’s okay?” he said.

I nodded and changed the subject, asked if they had any new leads on the Billings murder.

“Before White took off yesterday, he found out where Billings’s AA meeting was. A church. Nothing unusual happened there, according to the janitor who cleans up when the meeting is over.”

“Did anyone besides Mr. Aguirre hear or see anything at the apartment complex?”

“I bet they did, but since half the complex is filled with illegals, no one’s talking. The preliminary autopsy report came in. Billings was cut from behind, left to right. There were hesitation marks, and you saw that ugly wound. The weapon may have come from the kitchen, a dull knife.”

“Could the attacker have been a woman?”

“Unless we’re talking domestic violence or gangs, women don’t try to overpower a man with a knife, Abby. They prefer guns or blunt objects.”

“I trust your experience, but Billings was a skinny, small man, and—”

“According to the report, the attacker was taller than the victim. They’ll probably be able to figure out exactly how tall, but that will take time.”

Before I could ask more questions the doorbell rang.

When I let Emma in, she hugged me with both arms—a good sign that she was almost mended.

“Where are Shannon and Luke?” I asked.

“Youth group meeting.”

“Good. They probably don’t need to hear about this anyway. Come into the kitchen for coffee.”

While she greeted DeShay, I poured her a mug of French roast. She took it black and smiled after the first sip. “Now, this is some good coffee. You need to give the hotel a lesson.”

“I have a photograph for you to look at, Ms. Lopez,” DeShay said. “We believe this woman was a friend of your mother’s, and perhaps you can confirm that.”

“Like I’ve told Abby, aside from her parties, my mother never brought her friends home unless they were male.”

We sat at the kitchen table, and DeShay reached for the folder. “I understand. Maybe seeing this face will jog a memory.” He removed the photo and slid it in front of Emma.

She stared for several seconds, and her wide eyes told me she did recognize Fiona Mancuso. “Oh, my God,” she finally said. “That’s
her.”

“She came to your house?” I asked.

“No, no, she’s the bus stop lady.”

“The bus stop lady?” I echoed.

“Yes. I haven’t seen her in the last couple of weeks, but to save gas, sometimes I leave my car at work if I don’t have to drive a carpool for the kids. I take the bus, and this woman”—Emma tapped the mug shot—“she was at the same stop pretty often. We talked a lot. Really nice person.”

“She tell you her name?” DeShay asked.

“No, but I must have told her mine, because I remember once she called me Emma. That’s strange, isn’t it? That I would give her my name without asking for hers?”