The Marquesa's Necklace (Oak Grove Mysteries Book 1) Page 2

  I sputtered. “What do you mean my car exploded?”

  “In a fireball. Burnt to a crisp. If you had been in the vehicle, you’d be dead.”

  Chapter Three

  I knocked a stack of paper off his desk as I attempted to retrieve the package of tissues, but they’d managed to disappear in the few minutes we had been talking. Detective Thomason must have figured out what I was searching for, took pity on me, and handed me a box from his drawer. I blew my nose loudly, scrunched the tissue into a ball, and aimed for the wastepaper basket. Surprisingly, I made the shot.

  “Someone blew up my car?” I scrambled to pick up the scattered papers and return them to their prior home.

  He nodded. “Apparently. Since you kept the car in good mechanical shape even if it looked like a piece of junk, that’s the only explanation we can come up with. Of course, the State Police will go over what remains of it and tell us what they find. We don’t have the knowledge or resources to do that on our own.”

  “And you suspect this man in a brown suit did it?”

  “We have one bystander who saw a man fitting that description near your car just before it blew up. By the time she got off the phone with 911, he’d disappeared. No one else remembers seeing him. Doesn’t give us much to go on.”

  I grabbed another tissue before I asked my next question, afraid of the answer. “Was anyone in the car?”

  The slight smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, Miss Duprie, we didn’t find any bodies in the wreckage.”

  I let out the breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. “Good.” I blew my nose before I took another deep breath. “Is that scumbag Jake still in prison?” I wanted to describe him with harsher words, but decided against it.

  The smile reached his eyes this time. “Yes. We checked that out right away, as soon as we were able to identify that it was your car.”

  “So your only lead is this mysterious man in a brown suit.” The image of the man in the library flashed in my thoughts for a moment. I brushed it away. He wasn’t real, after all, according to my friends. “That description could fit hundreds of men—hell, even you, Detective, if you have a brown suit.” I smiled so he would understand I wasn’t serious.

  He grinned back at me. “I have an air-tight alibi. I was in the Captain’s office getting reamed over late paperwork.” He got up. “I’ll walk you to the front desk to get a copy of the report so you can file it with your insurance company, and then I’ll take you home if that’s all right.”

  I wondered why he didn’t have one of the officers give me a ride. “I’d like to talk to you off the record,” he said.

  I nodded my hesitant approval as I stood. With my heels, our eyes were almost level, and he stared for a long moment into mine. “Believe it or not, Harmony, I was glad when the jury cleared you, especially after finding out what a manipulative son-of-a-gun Jake Hennessey is.”

  It was as much of an apology as I would ever get from him. It didn’t even bother me that he called me by my first name. In Silence, I followed him to the front desk. The officer there barely glanced up before handing me the blue copy of a form done in triplicate. I folded it in quarters and stuck it in my purse. The lost keys jangled as I threw the strap on my shoulder.

  “Are you still taking the self-defense class?” Detective Thomason asked, with an urgent expression in his voice. The man knew far too much about me.

  “Every Monday night.”

  “Good. Don’t give it up, okay?”

  He wasn’t telling me something. “Why?”

  He avoided meeting my eyes, and pulled a set of keys from his pants pocket. “My car is out front.”

  His car turned out to be a nicely restored red Mustang fastback, mid 1960’s. “I like the car,” I said, climbing in.

  “Thanks. Buckle up, please.”

  “What size engine?” I’ve learned just enough about cars to sound like I know more than I really do.

  “V-8.” He adjusted the rearview mirror. “She’s not a Cobra, but she’s plenty fast for me.” He fell silent as he pulled out of the parking spot and into traffic. I realized he didn’t need directions to take me home. It was a strange feeling. Clearly, he’d investigated me thoroughly after arresting me.

  A couple of blocks from the station, he started talking again. “If the state lab confirms this was a bomb, you might want to make other living arrangements,” he said. “Go stay with a friend or relative. At least until we figure out who did this. The best we can do is increase patrols in your neighborhood—we can’t offer constant protection.”

  The reality of what he was saying got through to me. “Whoever did this may try again?” I squeaked.

  “Officially, I can’t say that.” Glancing in his mirror, he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “But at a minimum, I suggest you change your daily routine. Go to the library at different times. Switch the bar you and your friends hang out at instead of always going to the Pink Flamingo. And always check who’s at your door before you open it. Hang on.” He twisted the steering wheel sharply to the right making the turn at the last second. The tires squealed but the car took the corner without a problem. His lips tight, he studied the rearview mirror again. “I guess I was being paranoid. I thought we were being followed.”

  I don’t know if I was more stunned by the fact that he knew my schedule or that he had just pulled a risky maneuver, endangering his obviously much-loved car, in order to protect me. Or maybe I found the idea he was worried about me overwhelming, but I couldn’t come up with a snappy comeback. When he suggested checking out the apartment before I went in, I was so shaken up I let him. I didn’t even insist he get a warrant as I had for his previous visits.

  Before he left, he handed me his card. “Call me if you think of anything that might help with the investigation,” he said.

  “You’ll call me when you hear from the lab?” I asked.

  “Of course.” As I went to shut the door behind him, I heard him add “Don’t forget to lock the door, Harmony.”

  I have to admit, after a supper of fettuccine alfredo accompanied by a glass or two of a nice Sauvignon Blanc, my logical brain started operating again. Why would anyone put a bomb in my car—or under it, or whatever they do to blow up a vehicle? Maybe the gas line had leaked, or something as equally innocent. It was just bad timing for whoever “borrowed” it. I poured one more glass, and drank a toast to George—my faithful companion for many years. I’d give myself a few days to mourn him before I went car shopping.

  The city bus line runs a block from the apartment, so it wasn’t a big sacrifice to resort to mass transit. Keeping Detective Thomason’s advice in mind, I left an hour later than I usually would to go to the library. When I got there, I set up shop in a different section than normal.

  My new research topic was the adventures of Gertrude Bell, the English traveler, in the late 1800’s, so I spent my time browsing the travel section. I half-expected to run into my mystery man each time I went around a corner, but didn’t catch a glimpse of him. At least not until I returned to my new office space. He sat in my chair in his brown blazer and slacks, waiting for me. When he saw me, he flashed a quick smile, stood, and walked away. I discarded the notion of following him and lifted the lid of my laptop, discovering a single sheet of paper on the keyboard.

  “I’ve got your back,” read the first line and the second “Don’t tell anyone.” I watched the ink slowly disappear and I was left holding a blank page. That’s when it hit me.

  Chapter Four

  The bus ride home seemed longer than the morning’s trip as I studied each person getting on for a potential threat. Was the little gray-haired lady with the oversize purse and shopping bag packing a handgun? Did the teenage boy wearing a long black coat keep ninja stars in his pockets? And the woman in her mid-twenties holding a little girl’s hand? Was the child was just a prop, borrowed for the afternoon, solely to throw off suspicion? In reality, was the woman a super spy w
aiting for a chance to drug me and cart me off to her remote hideaway?

  Or not. Buying a new car became a priority. I toyed with the idea of a Harley. I envisioned it—me, dressed out in a black cat suit, wearing black boots with five-inch heels, striding into the biker bar across town. But it’s awfully hard to haul a laptop and scanner around on one of those things, let alone bring home the groceries. Maybe I would settle for a screaming red Corvette or Ferrari. My funds manager would think I’d gone off my rocker.

  Yes, I have money. I just don’t spend it. My mother was a hippie—I learned from her you don’t need to spend money to be happy, but my father was an investment banker, and made a lot of it. I inherited a goodly sum when they died in a freak mountain climbing accident. I also inherited Dad’s financial adviser, and Keith knows what he is doing. I won’t ever have to worry about having enough money to live on. That makes the Corvette a definite possibility. I wondered how Detective Thomason would react if I pulled up next to him at a red light, gunning the car’s engine, daring him to drag race.

  Still smiling, I studied the exterior of my humble abode as I strolled to the gate in the back yard. The house is a fully restored Victorian. Luke did most of the work to save it from demolition. I helped paint it the original colors—a yellow green with maroon trim. The exterior stairs were the only way to reach the entrance to my apartment unless you used a ladder to get to a window. There is an interior stairway that I, or my landlords, can use in case of an emergency, but they use it as a closet, and it’s an obstacle course to go up and down. Then there’s Luke’s dog and alarm system, Piper. He was in the fenced yard and I patted him before I started the climb to my place.

  Piper is half Rottweiler, half German Shepherd, half demon, and extremely protective of his family. I live in the same house and take care of him when Luke and Joe are out of town which makes me family too. I always knew when I was under surveillance because he went crazy barking. No matter what Detective Thomason suggested, I don’t need to go stay with friends. My apartment is plenty secure.

  Absentmindedly, I thumbed through my mail as I climbed the steps. Just the usual assortment of ads and credit card solicitations, nothing important. It would all get shredded and end up as mulch for the rhododendrons that graced the yard. I wasn’t paying attention as I pulled out my keys and unlocked my door.

  The folded, bright orange paper that must have been stuck between the screen door and the main door caught my eye. I almost dropped my laptop bag when I snatched it from the clutches of a sudden gust of cold wind threatening to send the sheet sailing. But I managed to hang onto it with my free hand, using my hip to push open the heavy wooden door.

  Curious, I set down my laptop and purse and unfolded the paper without even kicking off my shoes first. Totally not like me. I sank down on my old brown couch.

  A crudely drawn skull and crossbones adorned the top half of the page. On the bottom half, scrawled in red ink, were the words “You got lucky this time.” I took a deep breath, picked up the landline phone, and hit memory five—Detective Thomason’s direct line.

  I was sitting at the bottom of the stairway, patting Piper, and practicing breathing exercises to calm my nerves when he arrived in a squad car, sirens wailing. To my shock, Piper didn’t even growl. The uniformed cop with him dashed up the stairs, his hand on the butt of his gun. The detective sat beside me and pulled the evidence out of my still-shaking hand. He flipped open the sheet, glanced at it, and folded it in half. His lips tightened into a thin line as he stared at the crack in the concrete beneath his feet. We sat there, not looking at each other, until the policeman came stomping down the stairs.

  “It’s clear.”

  Detective Thomason grunted. “Ms. Duprie, have you met Officer Clearmont?”

  I recognized the face if not the name. I’d probably seen him around the station. “I’d like to say good to see you again,” I said, “But unfortunately it’s not.” Wow, I was really slipping, cranking out a line like that. Under other circumstances, I would have been ashamed of myself.

  “I’ll dust for prints on the door, but I don’t expect to find any,” the officer said, his expression not changing. “Except for yours, ma’am,” he added, acknowledging me.

  “And we have hers on file at the station, so they will be easy to match up.” Detective Thomason noted dryly. “Bring back an evidence bag for this too.” He waved the guilty piece of paper in the air. “Although I doubt we will find any unknown prints on it.”

  I watched Officer Clearmont’s retreating back. “Are you sure Jake is still in prison?”

  “Yes.” He put his hand on my knee. “That doesn’t mean a friend of his, still on the outside isn’t doing this for him. Do you remember the names of any of his business associates?”

  I let the hand stay, but Piper growled. Detective Thomason glanced at the dog, but Piper was inside the fence and no threat. I patted him through the wire until he settled down. “No, Jake never introduced me to them. Of course, I thought his business was real estate until you arrested me for selling drugs with him.” It might have been a figment of my imagination, but I think the detective blushed.

  “Just doing my job.” He moved his hand. I missed its reassuring warmth.

  “I don’t know how you thought I was some gangster’s moll. I mean, I’m just a plain old ex-librarian.”

  “There’s nothing plain about you, Harmony,” he blurted out. It was my turn to blush. I busied myself patting Piper until Officer Clearmont returned. The two men went upstairs to do whatever it is the police do at a crime scene.

  I cleaned for two hours after they left. It started with washing the residue of fingerprint powder off the door, and morphed into a deep cleaning of everything Officer Clearmont might have touched. The counters, the doorknobs, I even changed the cover on my bed, and that was a week ahead of schedule. Don’t get me wrong, he was well-groomed, but my friends accuse me of being slightly fanatical about keeping my place up to my rather-high standards. My furniture may be old, but nobody will ever be able to say anything in my apartment is dirty.

  The whole ritual was cathartic. It made me feel in control again. Almost as good as deep meditation. I put away the soap, bucket and sponges and sat down to relax. The fresh scent of pine filled the air, and I filled my lungs as I sank into the cushions of my couch. The notion of borrowing Piper to spend the night with me fled. As much as I love him, he stank. Then my eyes fell on my laptop case.

  With the piece of blank paper tucked inside.

  The one from the library.

  The one I conveniently forgot to mention to Detective Thomason.

  *****

  Monday morning, I pulled up to the library in my brand new salsa red Jaguar. I could practically hear the vertebrae in people’s necks cracking as they twisted their heads to see. It was an F-Type V-8 S, and smokin’ hot. Definitely not a George. That snooty salesman never knew what hit him when I walked in wearing my old jeans, pointed to the car I’d seen on-line, and brought out my checkbook. He practically fainted when he looked at the check and realized it was for the full amount of the asking price of the car. Of course, the sales manager needed to call my bank before he handed over the keys. Now I had two new best friends. Too bad neither one of them was my type.

  I considered doing my bit for the environment and buying a Tesla Roadster. But living in a third floor apartment it made it next to impossible to charge the battery. And the Jaguar was only half the cost of the Aston Martin I checked out, being a big James Bond fan. I could spend hours debating the merits of each of the actors who played him in the movies. Daniel Craig was my new favorite.

  So I bought the Jaguar. I should be able to outrun anyone who tried to tail me now. Her name would come to me soon. Yes, a she. That much I knew.

  *****

  I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face as I settled into my preferred chair. It gave me view of the front door as long as I didn’t pile too many books in front of me, and the sun streaming in the win
dows made it as cheery as me. It didn’t take more than a minute for Janine to show up.

  “Don’t tell me your insurance paid for that,” she said, her eyes wide with admiration.

  “Would you believe it’s a loaner until George gets repaired?”

  She put her hands on her hips and stared at me.

  “I haven’t asked yet if my insurance covers accidental bombings,” I tried not to smile, but lost the battle. “Let me know when you go on break, and I’ll take you for a quick spin.”

  “Oh no, not on my break. After work. When I can go home and put on an outfit the car deserves. I’m thinking ‘Thelma and Louise’.”

  Bad reference, considering my recent past, but I let it slide. I was in a good mood. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at 5:30. We’ll find a long straight road somewhere and see what she’ll do.”

  “Maybe you ought to spend a few days getting used to it before you push it too far.”

  “What do you think I was doing when your calls went to voice mail yesterday?”

  She still looked doubtful. I winked at her. “Who’s the scaredy-cat now?” She was always after me about expanding my horizons, trying new things, letting go of my inhibitions. She’s the one who introduced me to Jake.

  Chapter Five

  Jake.

  He’s the one that gave me the confidence to buy the Jaguar. His car, a souped-up Dodge Charger, could outrun anything in a 200-mile radius, including the cops. That’s the car he used to give me driving lessons. And I don’t mean the check your rear view mirror, use your turn signals, hands at ten and two type lessons. I mean like the 90 degree handbrake turn, or parallel parking by sliding into a spot. I never got the courage to try driving on two wheels like he wanted. After our arrest I figured out why he wanted me to be able to drive that way.