Not One Clue_ A Mystery - Lois Greiman [12]
“Lompoc is full of men with good intentions.”
“I guess it’s a good thing he found me, then. To help him nurture those intentions.”
“Is that your job, McMullen? To save the fallen angels of the world?” Rivera had made his share of mistakes. For better or worse, his father, an ex-senator with more charm than morals, had been able to sweep most of them under the rug.
“Some are too far gone,” I said.
“Good to know you’re aware of that.”
“Micky’s not one of them.”
“Did he rape Lavonn’s sister?”
“Did you see Lavonn’s eyes?” I asked.
“You’re avoiding the issue.”
“That’s my job. Did you see her?”
“I heard reports.”
“Did they say she was stoned?”
“Tox hasn’t gotten back to us yet.”
It was my turn to snort. “I’m willing to bet Jackson was just as far gone.”
“That give your boy the right to shoot him?”
“My client has the right to defend himself … and his son … even in L.A.”
“Spoken like a gun-toting Midwesterner.”
“You don’t have to be an ass, Rivera, just because you’re jealous.”
There was a momentary pause. Maybe it was even thoughtful. “Is that what I am?”
“Sounds like it.”
“And what would you say if I told you I was really talking to Rachel last night after I hung up with you?”
Anger zipped through me. Immediately hot. “Is that skank circus back in town?”
There was a moment of silence, then he chuckled, soft and low, sending the sound skimming over my nerve endings like fingers on sensitized skin.
“Mamá says you should come over for margaritas,” he said, and hung up.
5
In my family, being an overachiever means drinking your weight in the alcoholic beverage of your choice.
—Chrissy McMullen, whose
brothers had actually
achieved that feat on more
than one occasion
“Hey, girl.” Shirley glanced up as I walked into the reception area of L.A. Counseling, then did a double take and popped to her feet. She was freaky graceful for a woman her size. Shirley Templeton is a big woman. Big hands, big shoulders, big belly. Huge heart. “I didn’t think there was no trains in your part of town.”
“I wasn’t hit by a train,” I said, carefully removing my sunglasses as I lowered myself into a chair near her desk. It had been hotter than jambalaya on Interstate 2 that morning and the Saturn’s air-conditioning hadn’t quite been up to the task of keeping my brain from shriveling like overcooked bacon. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall behind me.
“Well, what in God’s good name happened to you, then?”
“Oh …” I may have limped a little as I made my way toward my office. Maybe I had even added a pathetic little mew of pain as I’d entered the building. Let it never be said that Christina McMullen is above soliciting sympathy. Shirley’s usually comes in the form of sugar. Need I say more? “There was a little altercation.” Lavonn might have been a scrawny little crackhead, but she could pack a wallop when cornered.
“Who was she?”
I opened my eyes and turned to look at my receptionist. There are times when she can be almost as spooky as Laney. Maybe that’s why she had slipped so seamlessly into Elaine’s position behind the front desk.
“What makes you think it was a woman?”
“’Cuz I ain’t heard ’bout no fatalities in your part of town and if there was a man involved, I got a feeling there woulda been a funeral.”
“Actually, there was a man involved. Two, in fact.” I frowned, remembering Jackson.
“They gonna be all right?”
“Who?”
“Whoever you’re worried about.”
I considered that for a moment. “Have you ever thought about becoming one of those psychic readers?”
She shook her head. “They make a lot of money?”
“Has to be more than what I pay you.”
She thought about that for a second, then shrugged. “Money ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. My kids would just take it anyhow,” she said, and turned back toward her desk. “You need any ice for those ribs?”
“No. I’ll be fine.” I’m extremely comfortable in the role of martyr. More than once I had considered investing in a nice camel-hair tunic, but at that precise moment I was wearing a pair of black capris with a short-sleeved turquoise