Slow Squeeze (Iris Thorne Mysteries Book 2) Page 20

  She quickly walked down the corridor, muttering to herself. “Freaking chamber of horrors. How the hell did I ever get involved with people like that? I’m through. Done. Finished!”

  Iris pulled the Triumph into its spot in the garage. It was eleven-thirty, and the cars of the other worker bees were already snug in their spots, their drivers snug in their beds, resting for the next workday.

  She got out of the Triumph, set her purse on the ground, opened the trunk, and started to take out the canvas car cover. She threw it back inside.

  “The hell with it.”

  She grabbed her keys from the trunk lock, closed the trunk, and picked up her saddle leather purse, hanging the strap over her shoulder. Suddenly, she felt compelled to turn around. The street man was standing close to her. She pressed the hand that still held the keys to her pounding heart.

  “You scared me!”

  He looked into her eyes for a brief moment, and in that moment the empty garage felt huge and lonely, and she thought she knew his intentions. She pushed past him and started to run. He grabbed the strap of her purse, jerking her toward him. Iris swung her right hand and slashed her keys across his cheek. He pulled the purse free of her arm and tried to take the keys from her hand, but she wouldn’t let go. He threw his elbow into her chest, knocking her and the keys to the floor, the cement scraping her outstretched palm.

  In the second it took for her head to clear, he was gone. She hadn’t even had time to scream. She pushed herself off the floor with her stinging right hand and walked back to the Triumph.

  She clambered on the Triumph’s hood, reached up to the top of the wood storage cabinets that were built over each garage space, and felt around in the dust and crawlies until she finally located her spare set of keys.

  Upstairs, after she had called the police, she sat in her living room in the wingback chair and gingerly examined her aching shoulder and hand.

  The police arrived quickly, but the street man was gone, having already removed his bundles from underneath the terrace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “I told you, they’re business associates.” Barbie took a can of diet cola out of the refrigerator and flipped open the top. It was the wee hours of the morning. “Sex is the only thing that gets Arturo’s attention. And sports.”

  Lorraine was sitting on Barbie’s ugly couch, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth. She was still wearing the black leather miniskirt and the sweater. “What about that purple blouse? You buy that same blouse for all your women?”

  Barbie went up to the bedroom platform and began to undress and hang up her clothes.

  “You came all the way out here just to find her after you saw her on television. Why? To see if she has that dead guy’s money or to make it with her?” Lorraine stopped rocking. “Don’t answer. It was the money and to make it with her. You like to make it with the people you rip off. It’s the frosting on the cake for you.”

  Barbie peeked her head out of the closet area. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  “Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.”

  Lorraine went into the kitchen and got the bottle of wine from the refrigerator. She took a glass tumbler from a cabinet, pulled the cork from the bottle, and tipped some wine into the glass. She took a sip. “There’s nothing wrong with this wine.”

  Barbie padded quickly down the three stairs and across the living room in purple slippers with pink pom-poms on top. She was wearing a purple negligee of sheer chiffon with shiny satin trim. A satin sash encircled her waist and was tied in a bow. She grabbed the neck of the bottle as Lorraine was pouring and yanked it from her hand.

  “Hey!” Lorraine tried to snatch the bottle back.

  Barbie started pouring the wine down the sink. Lorraine reached around and grabbed the bottle, wrenching it from Barbie’s hand.

  “You almost twisted my wrist,” Barbie cried.

  Lorraine took the half-full tumbler and the almost empty bottle back into the living room. She tucked her feet under her and nestled into the corner of the couch, the wine bottle snug beside her.

  “Ain’t this pretty?” Barbie faced Lorraine on the other side of the rickety coffee table. “Mixin’ booze with that pharmacy in your purse.”

  Lorraine unfolded her legs and put her stockinged feet on the coffee table.

  “Just how do you get so many pills, anyway?”

  “That’s easy. Just need to know the right doctors.”

  “There’s gotta be more there than you could ever need.”

  “It gives me peace of mind to know I can check out any time. No razor blades. No guns. I can be all laid out, nice and pretty.”

  “Remember one thing, missy, before you head off to la-la land. This is my house, and in my house you follow my rules.”

  “You were in charge. No more.”

  “Just go ahead, girl. Just keep goin’. You’re gonna mess up everything I’ve been working on for months. If you’re not gonna help me, you’re gonna have to get out.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You try to get rid of me, all I have to do is make a little phone call to the police. Hell, my father would be happy to come out here and ring your chubby neck himself. Or how about that Jack Goins guy?” Lorraine held the tumbler up to Barbie in a toast, then took a long sip. “I don’t know what you’re so pissed off about. I’m doing everything you asked me. I’m telling all the right lies.”

  “Sure you are. What was that business about calling me Charlotte?”

  Lorraine looked into space, trying to remember the incident. She sputtered through her lips. “Oh, right!”

  “Fortunately, I covered it up.”

  “How did you come up with the name Barbie Stringfellow anyway?”

  “It’s cute and it sounds like a thin woman’s name.” Barbie started pacing. “All I need is for Iris to put doubts in Arturo’s mind and he’ll never turn that money over to me. She’s already checked out my Atlanta story. What did you tell her while I was upstairs with Art’s uncle?”

  “Nothing. We were dancing. You took care of that, remember? You’re messing yourself up more than I’m messing you up.”

  “I gotta move fast. Faster than I’d planned, but I can still pull it off.” Barbie walked into the bedroom area and returned with her can of diet cola. “This is exactly why I’ve always worked alone.”

  “Maybe it’s time to take on a partner.”

  “Well, Rainey, I never would have thought you had it in you, but I’ve seen a side of you the past few days that I never knew existed.”

  “Teach me.”

  Barbie stepped around the coffee table and sat near Lorraine on the couch. She spread out the folds of her negligee. “Maybe I should at that. I’m gettin’ old. Losin’ my looks. I can’t do this forever. That checking account and credit card stuff is penny ante. This was gonna be my last job. Get me enough to retire in comfort. Maybe I should take on a younger associate.”

  “If you teach me, I’ll give you a cut of everything I earn.”

  Barbie ran her fingertips across Lorraine’s face. “You may have something at that.”

  Lorraine closed her eyes as Barbie moved her hand to her breast and rubbed it through the clingy jersey. Lorraine grabbed Barbie’s hand and kissed her palm. She looked at Barbie. Her eyes were moist.

  “Do you like sleeping with Art?”

  Barbie quickly shook her head. “Honey, no. I told you about that.” She picked up Lorraine’s hand and put it on her face. “Touch me.”

  “You’re not in love with him?”

  “Good Lord, no.”

  “What about Iris?”

  She moved Lorraine’s hand over her body. “Honey, there’s no one but you. Art and Iris are just business. Let’s go to bed.”

  Barbie lay in bed, listening to Lorraine sleep. Her breathing was deep and even and had been for a long time. Barbie had almost dropped off a few times but forced herself awake. She watched the minutes click
by on the illuminated dial of the digital clock on the nightstand. Finally she climbed quietly out of bed.

  She walked in bare feet to the closet, which she had left ajar, and picked up the jeans, top, and shoes that she’d neatly folded and placed on the floor when Lorraine was in the bathroom. She took the clothes into the living room and quickly dressed in everything except the shoes. She rolled up her nightgown and stuffed it under a couch cushion.

  Still barefoot, she walked into the kitchen and opened the cabinet beneath the sink. She took out a folded brown paper grocery bag that she’d placed there earlier in the evening and pulled her bright yellow, rubber household gloves from where they were draped across one of the sink pipes.

  She picked up her large hobo-style purse from the bar, put the yellow gloves inside, held the paper bag under her arm, being careful not to rustle the stiff paper, grabbed her shoes, and quietly left the apartment. She left the door unlocked.

  Barbie drove her red Mercedes convertible with the top down through the quiet streets of Santa Monica. She drove past Iris’s building, paused in front of it, and looked up at the windows. They were dark. Barbie drove on.

  She parked on the street in front of Palisades Park, the long strip of grass and trees fronting a cliff that dropped off steeply to the ocean and the Pacific Coast Highway below. Wrapped bundles were nestled underneath trees and on park benches. The park, a favorite of street people, was a short distance from the Santa Monica Pier and its antique carousel with its carefully restored horses and calliope. A new extension had been built on to the pier after a rough storm several years ago had knocked half of it into the ocean. A fresh storm was on its way, and the ocean was already churned up in anticipation.

  Barbie hummed to herself.

  After a few minutes, the street man walked out from behind one of the pier pilings, up the steps that led to the street, and over to Barbie’s car.

  She said nothing as she pulled the yellow rubber gloves from her purse and put them on.

  He handed her Iris’s expensive saddle leather handbag.

  Barbie took it and looked inside. She found the wallet and opened it. The gloves were clumsy.

  “Everything’s there,” the street man said with irritation.

  Barbie counted the money in the cash compartment. “Eleven dollars?” She tsk-tsked. “Iris honey, you should always carry enough for cab fare home.”

  “Where’s my money? I have to beat it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll give you your money.” She continued looking through the purse. “Where are the keys?”

  “Oh, right.” He reached inside the pocket of his denim jacket, pulled out the keys, and threw them on the Mercedes’s passenger seat.

  Barbie frowned at him. “You a local boy?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I figured as much. None of y’all out here have been raised with any manners.”

  “Just give me the money.” He looked around nervously. “I can’t stand here all night.”

  Barbie reached into her hobo bag, pulled out a wad of bills that were folded in half and fastened with a rubber band, and handed it to him.

  He took off the rubber band and started counting the money.

  “It’s all there,” Barbie said.

  He continued taking his time counting it, refastened the rubber band, shoved the wad into his jacket pocket, saluted Barbie, and walked toward the pier, down the steps, and into the shadows underneath.

  Barbie took the eleven dollars from Iris’s wallet and put it into her purse. She opened Iris’s checkbook and pulled a check free. That done, she opened the brown paper bag, put Iris’s purse inside, and folded the bag over it.

  She started the car and drove until she found a mailbox. She crammed the bag with the purse into it, opening the hinged door again to make sure it had gone down all the way.

  She sat in her car and picked up Iris’s key ring from the passenger seat. It held many keys. She smiled as she turned them, one by one, around the ring.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Howard saw Iris walk up the granite steps leading to the bank. He almost didn’t recognize her because she was wearing a beret and had her hair twisted up into it. He’d never seen her wear a hat before. But he recognized the cobalt blue suit that she wore frequently. He figured it was one of her favorites.

  He watched her frown at a street man who shook a paper cup that held a few coins at her, his soiled pants slung low on his hips. She clutched her large handbag to her chest, scurried up the remaining steps, and pulled open one of the bank’s tall glass doors.

  The bank had just opened for business. Howard was working the teller windows with three women. He was counting out cash for his first customer, laying it down carefully in the shape of a fan, when Iris came in. She was hesitating just inside the doorway. Since the dimness of the bank contrasted with the bright sunlight outside, he figured she was letting her eyes adjust.

  The queue fed another customer to Howard’s window. He ignored the elderly man facing him and looked over his shoulder at Iris still standing inside the door. He looked up at her from underneath his eyebrows, trying to catch her eye. He knew she’d eventually look his way and smile at him and maybe even wave, and he didn’t want to miss the moment.

  Finally, she glanced in his direction. He angled a crooked smile at her. When she didn’t respond, he wiped the smile from his face and blushed, the red flush starting in his cheeks and moving down his neck. Humiliated, he quickly looked down.

  She walked to the counter where the nonmonetary transactions were conducted and set down a large Luis Vuitton satchel that she’d been clutching on the counter. A woman sitting at a desk on the other side of the counter whose plastic name tag announced she was Mrs. Harris, got up and walked up to her.

  “Hello,” Mrs. Harris said amiably. “Nice to see you again. How are you today?”

  “Fine.”

  Mrs. Harris watched her run her hands up and down the satchel’s leather strap, then suddenly fold her arms across her chest with her hands tucked under each forearm. “I want to open my safe-deposit box. Now.”

  “Certainly.”

  She unfolded her arms, reached into a pocket of her suit jacket, and retrieved a key ring with a brass fob. She fumbled through the many keys and finally located the small key that was embossed with 106.

  “I have as many keys as you,” Mrs. Harris said. “You just keep putting them on and before you know it, there you are.” She reached her hand under the counter, and the door to the high-walled wooden cubicle where folks conducted their safe-deposit box business in private began to buzz.

  “I’m sorry I startled you,” Mrs. Harris said when her customer flinched. “I guess I should warn people before I do that. I’ll meet you inside.”

  She left then returned with the safe-deposit box, which she sat on the counter. “Just give me a holler when you’re finished.”

  Howard saw Iris leave the bank without saying good-bye, clutching the satchel close to her body. She descended the steps and continued down the street, out of Howard’s view. After a few blocks, she entered a multilevel parking garage. She approached a red Mercedes convertible and got inside. Barbie was sitting in the car.

  “Well, Iris?” Barbie grabbed the satchel and eagerly pulled it open. “Oh, my Lord.” She fished her hand around, churning the bundles of cash.

  “I was so nervous. I didn’t think I could pull it off. But then the money was right there in front of me.”

  “Rainey, we did it!” She grabbed Lorraine’s arm. “You did it, darlin’. I’m so proud of you.”

  Lorraine beamed. “It was great.”

  Barbie held her palm out. “Put it there, partner!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  On Tuesday morning, the locksmith left after rekeying all the locks in Iris’s condo. Iris had canceled her credit cards, told the bank that her checks and safe-deposit box key had been stolen, and had arranged to leave the Triumph with the mechanic to have its loc
ks rekeyed later in the day. She’d done laundry, straightened up her condo, unloaded the dishwasher, called in the order to close out Barbie’s account, left instructions to give Barbie’s check to Art Silva, and gathered together a bundle of clothes for the dry cleaners. She’d looked high and low for her cobalt blue suit, which she was certain she’d thrown in the pile of clothes for the dry cleaners. She decided she’d probably already taken it to the cleaners.

  It was just midmorning. She’d got an early start because she’d hardly slept a wink. She’d forgotten about the tiny blue tablets that Lorraine had given her until she’d picked up the purple silk shirt and thrown it into the bundle for the dry cleaners. Not that she would have taken the pills anyway. She tossed the tablets into a drawer of her jewelry box.

  Herb Dexter called her at home and asked if she would help him out and attend a two-day seminar in his place. Iris knew it was just a way of giving her a couple of days away from the office, and she was grateful. While she didn’t feel up to facing the office, she was not enjoying being left alone with her thoughts.

  During the next two days, the only call she took was from her mother, to whom she revealed the mugging and her break-up with John, confirming all her mother’s worst fears in one blow.

  She did not hear from either Barbie or Art, not that she would have taken their calls if they’d attempted to contact her. She had a wild thought that Barbie was behind her mugging, that she’d done it just to nab her safe-deposit box key, but felt reassured when she called the bank and was told that her safe-deposit box was sealed until she was able to move everything to a new one.

  The seminar was held at a hotel near the airport. On both days, Iris dressed casually, in slacks and a jacket. She met some people, saw a few friends, and began to put Barbie, Lorraine, Art, and John behind her.