Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis by Maria Swan (feel good novels TXT) 📕

“Is that Tommy’s Harley in your garage?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah,” she mumbled. “He needs me to store it for him. I have the feeling he owes money to someone, and he’s just afraid they’ll take his bike. You know Tommy.”

I sighed. “Indeed, I do.” I folded the paper napkins next to the plates.

Bob sat there, sort of staring into the wall. “Bob, am I watching too many TV cop shows, or should the phone call from the Dumonts’ line have shown up on Silvia De Aguilar’s cell? If there was one, of course.”

He nodded. I could tell the subject made him uncomfortable. “Mistakes happen,” he said. “Frankly, all of this couldn’t have just happened. No one asked for my opinion, but I doubt this Rogelio Avondo is smart enough to have set up this scheme. Plus, whoever is behind it had to be familiar with Tristan’s travel schedule. Too many coincidences.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking—that Angelique is the brain behind the killing of two innocent women? Why?”

“Monica, in all my years with the police, one thing never changes—people kill for two motives—money or sex. In this case I’m guessing the answer is money as she apparently was having sex with Avondo while prepping him for the murders.”

All I could do was nod. Officer Bob made perfect sense.

“God knows where she is hiding,” I sighed.

“The rental car she got using Lois Thomas’s credentials was found abandoned in the long-term parking lot of the John Wayne Airport in Orange County.”

“In California? Seriously? I would have never guessed that.”

“That’s probably why she took that route. No one was really watching. All eyes were on flights out of Mesa or San Diego. Like I said, this is not an amateur or last-minute decision. I have the feeling Angelique Dumont has been planning this for a long time. What she hadn’t planned was Silvia De Aguilar coming to warn Tristan Dumont. The poor woman may have saved his life.”

“Enough talk about depressing things,” Brenda called from the kitchen. “You two go wash your hands or whatever you need to do. We eat in ten minutes.”

Bob’s last comment had somehow killed my appetite. Deep down I knew that what he said made sense as motives went, but was it even possible that Angelique would have inherited the Dumonts’ estate if Tristan died before the divorce? Certainly he would have made other provisions in his will?

Will? He was what? Thirty-five? Thirty-five and trusting? I could hardly stand it. I had to talk to him. And say what? If you die, will Angelique inherit your money? How was that for a romantic conversation starter?

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head, kid, but you’re not going home until you eat some dinner. Got it?” Brenda said, putting a platter of chicken breast fillets resting in heaps of scalloped potatoes right under my nose. I was caught totally off guard, and before I could think, I had scooped up some potatoes.

With Brenda back home and Bob sitting at the table with us, it felt like the good old days. And at least for the duration of the meal, we managed to avoid talking about Angelique Dumont.

TWENTY-TWO

ANGELIQUE DUMONT. THE missing wife of the man who held my heart captive. Even when gone, she managed to control my thoughts. Damn.

I unlocked my door.

“Hi.”

I jumped back. Tommy Baker, my ex, stood feet behind me, and I had no idea where he’d come from.

I frowned. “What the hell? Are you trying to scare me to death?”

“No. I want to get my bike.”

This must be important as he didn’t even try to come too close or mouth out some mean remark.

“Your bike is in the garage. Go get it.”

“Can you open the garage door?” Ah, there it was... he wanted something of course.

“Tommy, don’t drag me into whatever this is. Ask Brenda.”

“I would. As soon as the pig gets the f**k out of her house.”

“Is that what you’re waiting for? You can’t tell when Bob Clarke leaves, not from here. He goes out the front door and usually walks across the street to visit the widow.” I shrugged, hoping he would march himself to Brenda’s. I wasn’t about to open my door while he hung around. I knew his tricks too well.

“Why don’t you call her on the cell? If she says it’s ok, I’ll get the garage open for you.”

He rubbed his hands on his jeans and avoided eye contact. “Well, uh, my phone is... I don’t have it on me at the moment.”

Same old Tommy, flat broke and probably hiding from people he borrowed money from. I fished my phone from my bag and called Brenda. “Here, ask her.”

He did. His back to me, I could hear him mumbling. Then he handed me back the cell. “She’s coming to let me in the garage.”

“Good,” I said.

Brenda opened her back door as Dior ran off, circling happily around Tommy. I picked that moment to let myself into my place and lock the door behind me. I was on the phone with Greg Coste when the unmistakable roaring of the Harley filled the calm of the early evening. Good riddance.

The review of the inspection results went quick, Coste knew exactly what he wanted fixed or replaced and what he would let slide. He mentioned Brenda not once, not twice, but three times. Apparently, they really clicked. How about that? Maybe I could add Monica Baker, Matchmaker, to my resume.

Finally, with duties out of the way, I could talk to Tristan. Somehow I had hoped he would be calling me. It had been so long since I slouched comfortably on the couch, in my robe, to chat on the phone without interruptions. Plus, knowing that Brenda and Dior were next door added to my sense of safety in general.

“Fiat, how are you?” That’s all I needed, those few repetitive words I never tired of listening to as long as he spoke them.

“Good, better now. What’s happening? Are you still staying at...