“Oh, man.”
“Yeah. Somewhere in that shooting, his hat falls off, the one that was caught on tape in the robbery. If Crank hadn’t robbed that store, he would never have been caught for killing Civic.”
“He didn’t know his victim.”
“Bingo. Total stranger calls him a girly man. Bang.”
“And there you have an accidental shooting, yo.”
“And he blames the victim …”
Claire’s laugh cut off as she looked up at a spot right behind my shoulder. I turned, expecting to see Cindy. But it was Lorraine, coming to clear the table.
“You girls want coffee and dessert?” she asked.
“Hell, yes,” I said. “We’re eating for four.”
Lorraine laughed and read off the dessert menu. I picked chocolate mud pie, and Claire went for a spiced-apple tart.
I called Cindy while we were drinking our coffee and left her a snarky message. I left another one when we paid the check, and then my cell phone battery died.
I don’t know why, but I wasn’t worried about Cindy.
I should have been. But I never saw it coming.
Chapter 100
I GOT HOME at eight-something that evening, left my wet shoes on the doormat, and went inside. Martha came wiggling up to me, her fur still damp, and I bent to hug her and got my face washed for me.
I called out to Joe, “Hey, sweetie, thanks for walking Martha.”
I found him on the phone in the living room, teetering towers of papers stacked all around him. I heard him call the person on the phone “Bruno” and say something about containers, which meant he was talking to the director of Port of L. A. Security. This was Joe’s freelance job that was supposed to last a month but had been his steady paycheck for the better part of a year.
Joe waved at me, and I waved back and headed to the shower: a six-head, low-flow, spa-type contraption that made me feel like royalty. I took some time in what I liked to call the car wash, lathered my hair with a lavender shampoo I love, and let my mind drift in the steam.
I toweled off with a man-size bath sheet and threw on my favorite pj’s — blue flannel with clouds. Joe came in and hugged and kissed me and we got into it a little. Then Joe remembered and said, “Conklin called.”
“When was that?”
“Just before you came in.”
“Did he say what was up?”
“Nope. Just ‘tell Lindsay to call’ and ‘can you believe the Niners, that dumb play in the last quarter?’”
I said, “I’d better call him.”
Joe grabbed my ass and I smacked his. I wriggled out of his arms, saying, “Later, buddy.”
I called Conklin from the bedside phone.
He picked up on the first ring. “Cin?”
“It’s Lindsay,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I can’t reach her,” he said. “She’s not picking up, not returning my calls.”
I didn’t like the sound of his voice. He was scared, and that scared me.