Yew to a Kill Page 2

  “Well, that proves one thing,” Dwayne murmured from behind the viewfinder.

  “What? That I’m a certifiable klutz? Everyone knows that. Turn the camera off.”

  He complied. “No, not that. Although you are one. It proves I was right. It ain’t the dead walking around out here.”

  I turned to gaze at the empty landscape, void of runners. “It’s not kids, either.”

  “Nope. One of those guys was Raphael Ramirez.”

  “Who?” I couldn’t place the name at first.

  “Ole Hot Legs’s cousin,” he said, referring to South Lake’s primo detective, Salvador Ramirez. He’d been tagged with the nickname after winning the Sexiest Legs contest in college.

  “How’d you figure that out? I couldn’t see anything.”

  “No wonder you couldn’t tell with this damn camera stuck to your eyeballs.” He motioned to his hand which held the camera in question. “You’re lucky you didn’t drop it. I happen to recognize clothes, Wall-ass. Rafe has that exact hoodie and is that exact build.” He gazed in the direction of a car gunning out of the lot. “There he goes. Can’t tell what kind of ride, though. Big, black, and four doors.”

  We made our way back to the Mustang, me limping, and Dwayne sympathizing. “Let’s give Rafe time to go home and then go visit him,” Dwayne said, climbing in on his side of the car.

  “How in the world you made out Rafe is beyond me. I trust you, though. You’re usually spot-on for that stuff. You know where he lives?”

  He smiled in the dark, his white teeth glimmering from the lights on the dashboard. “Yeah. I gave him a ride one time.” I swallowed a comment on his choice of words. “What will we say? Hi, we’re here to make sure you’re the same dude we just saw running from the back of the cemetery?”

  “Don’t be crazy. We’ll pretend like we have a flat or something. Excuse me, I need to borrow the phone,” he said in a bad impression of Wesley Snipes.

  “Won’t he be suspicious? What if he recognizes us?”

  He looked skyward, annoyed. “You can’t be identified since you were covered up with a camera, and I know they never saw me. I blend in with the night.”

  I looked at his charcoal turtleneck, black slacks, and dark shoes, some suede casuals from a high-end store most likely. “Maybe so.”

  My new shoes were a mass of muddy, grassy muck. I pulled them off and gently laid them in the floor board of the back seat before pulling out a pair of flip-flops stuffed down in my tote.

  “You always come prepared like that?” he asked, watching me.

  I nodded. “Yeah. I expected the new ones to rub a little.”

  He shook his head in amazement and cranked the car. “Can’t believe you let that fool at the department store talk you into them. Ugliest peach color I’ve ever seen.”

  I thought to correct his color analysis but gave up. More than likely, he did it to aggravate me. Of all things he was good at, it was fashion. He knew plenty about color and style, no matter what he pretended.

  ###

  Half an hour later, we parked down the block from Rafe’s and peered up the street at the house. A white Honda sat in the driveway. “Is that his car? It isn’t big, black, or four-door.”

  “I don’t know. He ain’t never had no car when I was around, hence why I gave him a ride that time. Or didn’t you get that part?”

  I scowled. “Whatever. I guess I’m going to go up and knock or something. I’m stiff from sitting, and you’re getting grumpier by the minute. You need to eat. Maybe your blood sugar is getting low.”

  He started to reply, but I got out and softly shut the door. Straightening my shirt, I made sure my little .38 remained tucked neatly in the small side pocket of my purse. I was only a little paranoid, especially after being attacked from behind by a murderer only a few months ago.

  The walk to the house didn’t take very long, and soon I stood by the Honda, gently placing my hand on the hood to see if it had been driven recently. The old rust-bucket felt warm, but not hot. Maybe it was his.

  A short trudge through the front yard, and I stepped up to the door to knock before my nerves took over. A Hispanic woman with a deeply furrowed brow answered the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for someone, I think he lives here. His name is Ramirez.”

  “Raphael?” she asked.

  I nodded and smiled. She said, “Oh, he doesn’t live here so much anymore.”

  “He doesn’t?” I asked, trying to sound disappointed. Over her shoulder, I could see into the house. She appeared to be alone. A newspaper sprawled over the coffee table, and the television set blathered on, everything spoken in Spanish. “Well, that’s too bad.”

  “No, not so much anymore. Is he in trouble?” She seemed concerned, and I wondered if she was his mother. She didn’t really resemble Sal, but that didn’t mean anything with all the stepfamilies and half-kin family people had today.

  “No, he isn’t in trouble,” I lied. “I just wanted to say hello to him.”

  “You are his friend, yes?”

  “Yes, we met recently.” I deepened my smile to be more convincing, and let the rest of my sentence drop.

  “The other day, he moved in the trailer park. You know where that is?”

  Boy did I. Dwayne lived there, too. “Yes, I know it.”

  She gave me some simple directions to Rafe’s trailer. I thanked her and left. I slowly made my way down the driveway, hissing at the blast of cold air against my uncovered feet and the painful hitch in my get-a-long. I ventured a glance back upon reaching the street, but she had gone inside. I climbed in the Mustang and turned the heater on high with the vents pointed on my feet.

  “What did she say?” Dwayne asked.

  “She gave me his address. He doesn’t live there anymore. The car was warm, but not like it had just been driven. I don’t think she knows anything about tonight.”

  “I guess she threw him out when he got arrested for assault,” he replied. “What’s the address?”

  “Over in your trailer park. And what assault? You let me go to a house where a guy was arrested for attacking someone?”

  “Relax, I was right here. You had your gun and all. You were perfectly safe,” he said, pulling away from the curb. “How’d he get holed up in the trailer park without my knowing it?”

  “Who cares? I can’t believe you just let me roll up there like that. What kind of assault was it, anyway?”

  “Look, I ain’t at liberty to give you all the details, but believe me when I say, it wasn’t the usual stuff.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe my landlord, old man Finn, let Rafe move in. He’s picky about the trailer park tenants.”

  I didn’t have time to give my opinion on the situation. He ran over a large chunk of wood that went skittering from under the car and across the road. I grabbed the door handle. “Damn!”

  He pulled over to the side of the street under a street lamp. We were only a few houses down from Rafe’s mother’s house. He got out and inspected the Mustang. I watched in the side view mirror as a dark green Taurus pulled in next to the curb behind us, right in front of Rafe’s former residence.

  Uh oh. Salvador Ramirez got out and headed toward us. Only a cop who had a history with me could make my hormones give me a heat wave.

  I opened the door. “Hiya.”

  He nodded to me and said hello to Dwayne. He wore a dark sweater over his button down shirt and tie, but the bulge of the gun on his hip was unmistakable.

  “What’s up?” he asked. “Filming flats now? Let me guess…you’re watching some errant spouse and only pretending to have car trouble?”

  I lifted the camera from the floor and smiled. “Yep. You know us, we’ll film anything as long as the price is right.” Sarcasm is not my best trait. I thought I heard Dwayne grunt.

  Sal crossed his arms and waited. “So who’s the lucky winner?”

  Tired of word games, I said, “No one. We came to pay a call on your cousin
there.” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder toward the house. “Think he might have some ideas on a little venture we’re involved in.”

  At this news, Sal straightened and went on alert. “Rafe?” The way he said it let me know he expected the whole story.

  I climbed out of the car and opened the back door to grab my shoes. “Yeah, we think we saw him over in town a little bit ago. We were visiting the cemetery.”

  I tapped the heels on the ground to dislodge grass and dirt and watched Dwayne to see if he would swivel around and tell me through hand signs to shut up. He didn’t. He also didn’t help me out with this discussion from where he lounged on the curb.

  “At the cemetery? At this hour?” Sal’s eyebrows lifted. “There has to be a story here.” He looked at his watch. “I came over to see if my cousin needed anything before going home. Rafe doesn’t live here.”

  “Amazing, isn’t it? People do the strangest things around here. I mean, just as we deduce Rafe is involved in something not quite above board at the cemetery, and we come over to check him out, you show up at the same time as we do. Kind of like a strange mind meld between us.” I twirled my finger to include Dwayne. Then I slipped my shoes on one at a time and straightened to deliver my line. “Guess your sister called you to check things out?”

  Dwayne coughed in warning.

  “I might be able to help you,” Sal offered, not letting me bait him.

  I put my hand on the door handle and paused before opening it. I didn’t want his help. His help always came with strings. Like the dare date he’d whisked me away on when we were in college. Although that was old news now. More recently he’d done me a solid with my video debacle, but I didn’t think sharing information on this situation was a good idea just yet. This was a job we were actively involved with. If the cops took over, we’d likely lose it.

  And Rafe was Sal’s relative. Family ties stood for something. They were blood and blood still remained the thickest of all substances according to the old cliché. Sal might not be so easy to work with when it came to his own family and their secrets.

  “I think we got it, at least for now,” I told him, opening the door.

  “Well, if you change your mind,” he said. “Call me.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got your number.” It came out a little too nasty.

  He sized me up with his dark, brooding eyes, and I did a quick appraisal of his temperament. Nothing about him seemed tensed in determination and nothing menacing seemed to be going on in his face. At the moment, he just appeared mildly curious.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I started to get back in the car but Dwayne stopped me by standing. He patted the roof of the Mustang and said, “Don’t wanna be a party-pooper here, but I need to go to the auto parts place. I think that piece of wood busted a hose somewhere.”

  “Better go to Walmart,” Sal answered. “Auto Zone closed some time ago.”

  Dwayne nodded and asked the question I hoped he would never ask. “You mind giving Miss Thang a ride?”

  Sal grinned at the double-edged question. “Not at all.”

  I wanted to smack his smarmy face and punch Dee in the gut.

  “Great. I’m outta here,” Dwayne said, opening his door.

  I reached inside and grabbed my bag, making a point to catch Dwayne’s gaze. “Thanks, Dee. Really. And oh, do take care of that camera for me, won’t you?” I tried for a murderous look.

  “What? What’d I do?”

  I shut the door on his words and stepped back as he pulled away. His taillights flashed when he reached the end of the street, and he disappeared into the night.

  I turned to follow Sal, who opened the car door for me. “Might want to secure your firearm before seating yourself, ma’am. I’d hate for you to have an accident in a city-owned vehicle.”

  Tapping my purse, I replied, “Snug as a bug.”

  He inclined his head as I breezed past and plopped into the front seat. When I was settled, he shut the door and strolled over to his cousin’s house. I thought his shoulders shook just a little as he walked away.

  After my third constellation hunt, he returned, silently started the car’s engine and pulled away. We spoke little as we drove through town.

  When we passed the McDonald’s restaurant on Greenman Road, he finally said, “Don’t hold anything against Rafe for his actions. He grew up without much male influence. I’ve tried to stand in the gap, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. He’s in a bad group of people and as long as he thinks more of their opinions than his family’s, he’ll find trouble. I’m trying very hard to get him out of this group of people he’s hanging with.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Was Rafe in a gang? I suddenly wished Dwayne had unveiled what the assault had been for. Sal opened my door when we got to my apartment and followed me to my stairs. He stood and watched until I slipped safely inside. I didn’t invite him up, and he didn’t ask.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, AC/DC’s Back in Black vibrated out of my cell phone jarring me from a dream about large, slobbering dogs cornering me in an alley in Old Town. I stumbled from the couch, wincing at the pain in my tail section, scrabbled around in my purse until I found the ringing nuisance, and squinted to see the time.

  It was Dwayne and it was 8:25 in the morning.

  “Hello?”

  “Shannon. Wake up.” He sounded mad.

  “I’m awake. What’s the matter?”

  “Meet me over on the old highway. At The Delicate Petal.”

  The Delicate Petal was a fairly new florist in South Lake. I hadn’t had the pleasure of using them yet, but had decided I would send my aunts some lilies for Easter from there.

  “You called me up this early on a Saturday to come to a flower shop? Why? You buying flowers or something?”

  “Or something. Just do it.”

  He disconnected. I glared at my phone as the screen blinked a moment before going back to my home screen. I was so going to get him back for this.

  Limping to the bathroom, my sore butt let its feelings be known most emphatically. The pain back there would require a couple of days of walking crooked, if nothing else. I poured water into my cupped hand and threw two pain relievers back. While running a shower, I examined my rear view. The mirror showed no bruising. I took that to be a good sign.

  I opted for the au naturel look of no makeup, donned faded Lee jeans, and a long-sleeved tee shirt which read “I’m out of espresso and I’ve got a gun.” Maybe my subconscious was speaking. Who knew?

  I drove the back roads over to the old highway, humming to Sweet Home Alabama playing on the radio. When I slowed to figure out which building was The Delicate Petal, I noticed a large amount of police traffic. The Texaco on the corner of Greenman and old Highway 178 crawled with cruisers and uniforms.

  Uh-oh. No wonder Dwayne wanted me to come over. Somebody was dead or my name wasn’t Wallace. Maybe he wanted a video clip for the newshounds over at Channel Three? Not that there was any money in that, I mused. Those people wanted everything for free. Public domain my ass.

  As I pulled into the paved parking lot at Jones Realty, the closest location to the flower shop without police traffic, I saw Dwayne sitting on the hood of his Mustang, shades on, shoulders hunched beneath his windbreaker.

  I parked old Betsy, my 1985 Mercury Cougar, took my license out of my wallet, poked it down in my back pocket, and tucked my purse under the front seat. The cops always wanted to see ID, no matter where you found them or they found you. No sense in making things difficult so early in the day.

  I walked around to my trunk and opened it. Dwayne beleaguered me to carry some equipment whenever I went out. You never knew when something would happen and be worthy of turning a camera on, he always said. I would bet he already had a camera set up since he hadn’t asked me to bring one. I was not going to endure his diatribe about not being prepared, so I grabbed my tripod and camera bag and strolled his way.

  The weather had modera
ted nicely, and I almost believed spring danced around us. A slight breeze worked with the sun to create one of those feel-good days. Dwayne slid off his car at my approach. He didn’t have any equipment nearby.

  “What’s the deal?” I asked, ogling the crowd behind him. I set the bag down and started to open the tripod.

  He put his hand out and stopped me. “Don’t do that.”

  Confused, I babbled. “What? Why?”

  He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the flower shop. “Been a killing over there.”

  “I got that part. And you don’t want me to film the activities?”

  “No, I don’t want you to film it!” he said, exasperated. “Bradley Thames, we all called him Bubba, the dude who owns the place, was a friend of mine. Man, this sucks.”

  My stomach tensed and I finally understood. “What happened?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I came over to have a cup of coffee and chat for a few. I found him. The door was unlocked. I didn’t think nothing about it, you know? Waltzed my ass in there, hollered his name, went to the cooler to snag some roses, and his body was, like, shoved in there. It was gross.”

  “Oh, no! I’m so sorry. How horrible.” I gave him a quick hug, squinted at the traffic going in and out of the flower shop. “Do they have any information yet? Well, any they would be willing to share?”

  “Nobody’s saying nothin’. Some of South Lake’s finest showed up a while back with Sal. Then he came over, asked me some questions, and promised to hunt me up later. That was it.”

  “Did you see anything? I mean, could you help out with the investigation?” I had to tread lightly. He could misunderstand my words in his present condition.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t see nothin’, man. But then again, I wasn’t looking to see nothin’ either. I was too busy calling Ramirez.”

  Picking up the tripod, I caught his grieved look and hurried to explain. “I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t know what you wanted me to come for. I can just put this back in the car.”