Fatal Debt Read online

  When we reached the door I turned back and called, “We’re going to the post office, Inez,” then rushed out before she could respond.

  Jade had on a short skirt with a slit up her thigh, a silk blouse with the top two buttons open, and stilettos with four inch heels. Not the best outfit for walking to the post office, but we did get two honks and a whistle from the homeless guy on the corner.

  We climbed the concrete steps with Jade teetering on her spike heels, and went inside.

  “Ours is back here,” I said, as I led the way into one of the alcoves lined with post office boxes.

  I opened our box and saw that it was stuffed full. What a great way to start my day knowing that so many of my customers were doing well enough to send in their payments.

  Some of the envelopes were wedged inside so that I had to struggle to pull them all out. Right away I recognized the names of several customers who’d been having a really tough time.

  Maybe Jade had brought me good luck, I thought. Maybe having her for backup had paid off. Maybe—

  A hand caught my arm and spun me around. I slammed backwards into the bank of post office boxes. Standing over me was the same guy who’d grabbed me outside Club Vibe.

  Chapter 14

  Or maybe it wasn’t the same guy. I don’t know. Tall, knit cap, sunglasses. My heard pounded so hard I heard it in my ears—no way could I make sense of anything.

  “I told you once, bitch,” he said, leaving down.

  I dropped the envelopes. They spilled out of my hand and littered the floor around us.

  “You keep your damn nose out of Sullivan’s business,” he said. “Or else.”

  He spun around and left.

  My knees shook. My thoughts raced. My pepper spray? My cell phone? Where were they?

  The office, I realized, I’d left them in the office because I’d come here with Jade thinking—

  Jade? Where the heck was Jade?

  I staggered out of the alcove and saw her butt sticking out as she leaned over the half-door, talking to the postal worked inside. My fear turned to rage.

  “Jade!” I screamed. “What are you doing?”

  She spared me a glance, gave me a hair flip, and turned away.

  It was more than I could stand. I headed for the door, then remembered the payments. I gathered them up, then thrust them at Jade.

  “Take these back to the office!”

  I threw open the door and dashed down the concrete steps. I wasn’t scared anymore, I was boiling mad. I hoped that guy would show his face again—so I could rip it off his head.

  Somebody was going to pay the price for me being frightened out of my wits again, and that somebody was Nick Travis.

  I jumped into my car in the office parking and drove to the police station. I didn’t wait to be acknowledged by the officer on duty. I straight-armed the door and marched to the squad room. Nick sat at his desk.

  “You idiot!” I screamed.

  Nick looked up—along with a dozen other men.

  I stomped over to his desk, glaring down at him.

  “You are a waste of skin!” I shouted. “You’re the worst detective on the planet!”

  Nick sprang to his feet. I liked it better glaring down at him, but I had no intention of stopping.

  “While you’re in here sitting on your butt,” I said, and pointed toward the building entrance, “I’m out there being accosted again.”

  Nick frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

  “Maybe if you got up and moved around a little, you’d solve the Sullivan case—or at least make some progress!” I yelled. “Maybe then the streets would be safe for decent people to get their mail!”

  “What happened?” Nick’s voice was so forceful I had to answer.

  I flung out both arms. “I was attacked at the post office!”

  Nick hustled me into one of the interview rooms off to the side. He sat me in one of the chairs that surrounded a little table, and closed the door.

  I sprang to my feet. “I don’t want to sit down!”

  “Tell me what happened,” Nick said, sounding way too calm to suit me. “Are you hurt?”

  “He grabbed my arm,” I said. “I probably have AIDS, or cooties, or something.”

  Nick just looked at me in that reasonable way of his, making me calm down.

  Suddenly, I was exhausted. All that emotion had taken its toll. I plopped into a chair.

  Nick sat down next to me and waited a few minutes while I caught my breath.

  “Now,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened.”

  I explained what had just occurred at the post office.

  “Was it the same man you saw at Club Vibe?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, angry with myself because I wasn’t sure. “He just told me to stay away from Mr. Sullivan’s murder, that’s all I know for sure.”

  Nick huffed. “Dana, I told you to steer clear of this investigation.”

  My anger flared again.

  “This is your fault,” I told him. “Don’t sit there and act like it isn’t.”

  Nick eased back a little. “My fault?”

  “If you told me what was going on with Mr. Sullivan’s murder when I asked, I wouldn’t have to check into things on my own,” I told him. “So don’t sit there now and pretend you didn’t have a hand in this.”

  Nick just looked at me.

  “And, obviously, I have done a better job investigation this case than you have,” I pointed out, “since I’ve had two death threats and you haven’t had a single one.”

  I paused, a little troubled, and said, “You haven’t had any death threats, have you?”

  “Not a one,” he said.

  “Okay, then, there you go,” I said, and sat back in my chair.

  Nick heaved a weary sign. “How about we have a mutual exchange of information?”

  I managed to look smug and self-righteous for a few seconds, then finally relented.

  “All right,” I said. “You first.”

  “To be honest with you, Dana,” he said, and sat forward resting his elbows on the table, “I haven’t made much progress in the Sullivan case. Nobody’s talking. Not the family, the neighbors, nobody. There is no motive, no real suspects. Plus, I’ve had three more homicides since Sullivan’s.”

  This didn’t seem like much of a mutual exchange of information because Nick didn’t have any info to exchange. I wondered if he was really telling me the truth, but I had no way of knowing for sure, and we wouldn’t get anywhere if I didn’t give him something in return.

  “Have you checked into Gerald Mayhew?” I asked.

  “Who’s he?” Nick asked.

  I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard about Mayhew. I’d gotten the information only because of my connection with the family. I explained about Mayhew’s jealous nature and the suspected affair between his wife and Mr. Sullivan, and how he’d lied about his alibi.

  “Also,” I said, “I questioned Mayhew last week, then was jumped at Club Vibe. Last night I was at his job asking for him, and this morning the post office thing happened.”

  Nick pulled a little tablet from the pocket of his jacket and wrote down everything I’d told him.

  “I’ll check into it,” he said. “Anything else?”

  I considered telling him about Leonard’s disappearance and my questioning the timing of Mr. Sullivan wanting his house painted, but I’d given him enough information for now.

  “Nothing else,” I said.

  “I’ll take it from here.” Nick pointed his finger at me. “You back off.”

  I didn’t promise that I would, because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  “You’ll let me know?” I asked, gesturing to his little tablet.

  “I’ll keep you informed,” he promised.

  We sat there for another minute or so looking at each other. I wondered if he’d take this opportunity to explain about Katie Jo. I wondered if he e
ven remembered that I’d brought it up yesterday.

  Apparently not. Nick rose from his chair, my cue to leave, then he surprised me by saying, “Do you want me to take you home?”

  Okay, I’d barged into the police station shrieking at the top of my lungs, but that was in a moment of passion. I’d cooled off now. Besides, I didn’t want to be coddled—not by Nick. Not with that whole Katie Jo thing between us.

  “I’m going to work,” I said, and left.

  Manny was on the phone when I walked into the office. He gave me a look when I passed his desk and I figured he wanted to know where I’d been. No doubt Inez had started her stop-watch the minute Jade returned from the post office without me.

  Just as I settled into my desk, Carmen brought me a phone message.

  “She thought you’d like to go,” Carmen said.

  I read the message. It was from Leona Wiley advising me that Mr. Sullivan’s graveside service was today.

  When Manny got off the phone I sat down in the chair beside his desk.

  “What’s up, Dana?” he asked. “You okay?”

  I didn’t want to go into what had happened at the post office, so I just waved my hands around a bit and said, “I’m having some issues right now.”

  “Need anything?” Manny asked.

  “No,” I said.

  He looked relieved, and I couldn’t blame him.

  “I’d like to go to Mr. Sullivan’s funeral today,” I said.

  “Sure,” he said. “Want some company?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll be okay by myself.”

  I went back to my desk. The more I considered his suggestion, the better it sounded. Some company would help.

  I dug out my cell phone and called Slade.

  “Will you go to a funeral with me today?” I asked.

  “Cool.”

  * * *

  Mr. Sullivan’s service was on State Street. A long row of parked cars lined the road that wound through the cemetery. I eased my Honda in line with the others, and got out.

  The day was sunny and warm, perfect Southern California weather. Too pretty a day to spend at the cemetery.

  But here I was, and maybe it was good that I was here. Saying good-bye to sweet old Mr. Sullivan might be what I needed. Closure, and all that other psycho-babble.

  I spotted Slade leaning against his Blazer farther up the procession line. Mr. Ex-Special Ops had transformed into Mr. GQ. He wore a dark suit, white shirt, and gray tie. Very sharp.

  We walked to the folding chairs that had been set up under the green canopy covering Mr. Sullivan’s casket. Mrs. Sullivan and Leona Wiley sat in chairs, surrounded by a couple dozen family members. Friends crowded at the rear of the chairs, everyone dressed in dark colors.

  Mrs. Sullivan seemed to have shrunk since I’d seen her sitting in her living room with Mr. Sullivan, watching her stories. Back before her life had been turned upside down.

  Slade and I kept to the rear of the gathering as the minister conducted the service, and I was touched by all the sad faces around me. I thought about how short life really was, of that brief window of time we’re given to accomplish something, help somebody, improve the world.

  I projected myself into the future. One day I’d be standing at my parents’ funerals. One day, my kids would be standing at mine.

  I didn’t like either scenario.

  Another thought came to me as the minister offered a prayer. If things had gone differently Saturday night in the parking lot of Club Vibe, or at the post office this morning, my parents could have been attending my funeral.

  Fear whipped through me.

  What was it like to die? To simply cease to exist? I couldn’t fathom the emptiness—or the fulfillment of Heaven. All I knew was that I didn’t want to miss out on my life.

  Maybe Nick was right about me backing off.

  When the service ended, Slade and I approached Mrs. Sullivan and I expressed my sympathy. She looked dazed, lost. Slade took her hand and leaned down, speaking softly to her.

  “Thank you for coming,” Leona said.

  “It was a nice service,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

  She gazed at the people gathered in little knots, talking quietly.

  “A nice turn out. Real nice,” she said. A different sadness clouded her face as she turned back to me. “I guess you didn’t have any luck finding Leonard.”

  I felt as if she’d slapped me. In fact, if she’d hit me it would have hurt less.

  “I’ve not heard a word from that boy, not a single word. Nobody has,” Mrs. Wiley said. “It’s a shame, just a shame. Gladys is so disappointed. What in the world could he be thinking?”

  I didn’t know. But I was getting a really bad feeling about Leonard.

  Gazing from Mrs. Wiley to Mrs. Sullivan, to all the other faces of family and friends, I knew I couldn’t back off. No matter what Nick said. No matter what.

  “I’ll keep looking for Leonard,” I promised, and fought the urge to draw a little “X” over my heart. “But in the meantime, is there anything else I can do? Anything at all?”

  I hoped she’d name something—anything—and give me a chance to redeem myself. I’d been a total failure so far.

  “Oh, no, honey,” Mrs. Wiley said. “You’ve done enough.”

  “There must be something,” I insisted.

  She paused for a few seconds, then said, “Well, there is one thing.”

  I felt like a puppy waiting for a treat.

  “Could you come by my place tomorrow around noon?” Mrs. Wiley asked. “I can’t drive and Gladys, well, she’s in no shape to get behind the wheel.”

  “Sure,” I said quickly. “I can come over on my lunch hour.”

  “Thank you, honey,” Mrs. Wiley said.

  I felt as if a lead weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Finally, something I could do—that I could actually accomplish.

  I spotted Slade standing in the center of a half dozen elderly black ladies, all in hats and holding large purses. The women chattered and Slade nodded, looking at them earnestly and, apparently, holding up his end of the conversation.

  It was weird—but this had been a weird day.

  When the crowd around Slade finally broke up, he walked over to me.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said.

  “It’s cool,” he said.

  We parted ways, me going back to the office, him going who-knows-where.

  Manny wiggled his fingers at me when I walked in, and I sat down beside his desk.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “Sean and Belinda Griffin’s house burned down.”

  My mouth flew open.

  “I got a call from Belinda,” Manny said. “It happened Sunday night. The whole place went up.”

  The pretty little Victorian home out in Webster that I’d done the foreclosure look-up on last week flashed in my head.

  “Were they home?” I asked. “Are they okay?”

  “Visiting her mother in Laughlin at the time, according to Belinda,” Manny said. “They’re back in town now staying with friends.”

  I sat there for a couple of minutes, soaking it in.

  “I hate to say this, but the fire solves a lot of their problems,” I said.

  “Sure does,” Manny agreed.

  Manny and I looked at each other and I knew we were thinking the same thing—was the timing of the fire a little too convenient?

  “What happens now?” I asked. “About their account, I mean.”

  “We’ll hold off on the foreclosure until we hear from their insurance agent,” he said.

  I went back to my desk and tried to work, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the Griffins. They’d lost their house and everything in it, but after the way Belinda had acted the last time we talked, I wondered if it made any difference to her.

  Yet another black cloud descended when Jarrod Parker walked into the office. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him, but I wanted his ac
count to disappear—and him along with it.

  Looking at him standing at the front counter, I flashed on how I’d connected him to the guy who’d jumped me in the parking lot last Saturday night. Now, my best guess was that Gerald Mayhew had been behind the incident. Yet, somehow, I couldn’t forget that Jarrod had been there that night, too.

  Carmen seated him in one of the small interview rooms off the main office. I printed his account summary and went inside.

  “Hi, Dana,” Jarrod said, smiling up at me.

  I dropped into the chair across the table from him.

  “You’d better be here to pay off your account,” I told him.

  I knew I wasn’t being nice to Jarrod—and I’m always nice to my customers. But this guy didn’t deserve my kindness or my patience.

  He folded his hands and leaned closer. “Yeah, Dana, but I need to find out how much I owe.”

  This was a lame excuse for interrupting my day because I’d already given him that info when Slade and I repo’d his car—plus the amount was printed on his monthly statement.

  “It’s the same figure you already have,” I told him.

  “Well, huh, Dana, I don’t remember how much it is.” He gave me a lazy grin, which I’m sure he thought was charming. “Guess I’ve just had other things on my mind.”

  I went back to my desk, accessed his account on my computer, printed the balance, then went back into the interview room and slapped it down on the table in front of him.

  “You’ve got ten days—by law—to pay off your account,” I said, “or your Mustang will belong to someone else.”

  He grinned again. “You’re one tough chick, Dana.”

  I thought I was going to barf across the table on him. I almost wished I could.

  “So,” Jarrod said, sitting back. “What’re you doing this weekend?”

  I rose from my chair. “Look, Jarrod, I don’t want to see you in this office again unless you’ve got the cash to pay off your account. Understand?”

  He looked me up and down and said, “You like me, don’t you?”

  I stomped out of the room.

  Could this day get any worse?

  Chapter 15

  I decided a free meal might perk up my day considerably, so after work I headed over to my parents’ house. Crock Pot Week continued with a chicken and wild rice concoction.