KILLALOT Read online

  “Ah.”

  “But the straw that broke the camel’s back was when I overheard someone say, ‘I hear you’re with Bianca. She’s like, amazing.’ And Riley said, ‘Yeah. She’s got a sweet fifth-wheel.’”

  Chapter 43

  “Just one last thing,” I said. “Tell me about the fight you had with Riley.”

  “Why?” she said. “Why are you so interested? And why did you borrow his armor?”

  I was relieved she’d asked the question—after all, she had to be thinking about it. “You can’t tell Riley.”

  “I won’t.”

  I was pretty sure she wouldn’t. After all, she wasn’t speaking to him, and even if they did make up, it sounded like it would be awhile. “I’m not just Riley’s friend. I’m also a private investigator. The Ren faire hired me to look into Angus’s death. Riley doesn’t know.” I figured it was safe to tell her. If she lied to me because I was investigating, I could always use my undercover belly dancer-mime persona to find out the truth. Too bad I couldn’t do the same with Riley. I hated keeping him in the dark. “I borrowed his armor today so I could replay the scene.”

  “Looks like you replayed it more than you intended.”

  “About that: Was anyone around when you and Edgar found me?” Yep, that was the first time I thought to ask that question. My mind was still awfully foggy.

  “I didn’t see anyone. You, Edgar?” She looked at the bird as if he might really reply. I was beginning to wonder myself.

  Bianca could have hit me herself, of course. “I don’t think whoever did it meant to hurt me.” I watched her carefully. “I think they would have hit me harder.” No reaction. “Probably just trying to scare me.” Not a flicker. Okay, a new tack: “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill Angus?”

  “I know so many people who wanted to kill him,” she said. “But no one who tried to do it.”

  “Did you break up with him?”

  “How do you break up with a guy you’re not exactly with?”

  Having sex with a guy counted as “with” in my book, but maybe not everyone’s.

  “But you did break up with Riley?”

  “We broke up. Not sure who started it.”

  “Was Riley ever violent before your last fight?”

  “No...What do you mean, ‘before our last fight’?”

  “Riley said he shoved you. Hard enough to make you fall down.”

  “Riley said that? Really? He reached out for me and I stepped back. Tripped over a rock.”

  “So he’s not violent?

  “No. He’s just an idiot.”

  Though I felt good enough to drive, my head still hurt, so after getting a milkshake at the Whataburger drive-through I went home so I could lie down for a bit. “A bit” was all I got. My head throbbed, as much with questions as with pain. Who hit me? Bianca didn’t react, but she was an actor as well as a falconer, so she could’ve fooled me. Jackie could have done it, followed me there from rehearsal. John Robert too. It could have been any of the Rennies hanging around. It could have been...

  Doug. He knew I had the armor. But why would he try to scare me off his own investigation? I got up, booted up my laptop, and got back to work. About fifteen minutes later, I found something interesting. Doug had been upper level management for a large corporation before going to work for the Ren faire. His new job had to be quite a step down, both in pay and prestige. Why would he do that? He didn’t seem to be in love with faire life, so...

  I called his former place of employment, Alber Enterprises. “Hello, this is Irene from What a Temp! I’m calling to—”

  “What a Temp? I’ve never heard of you.”

  Arghh. I should have come up with a better name. Dang head. Dang Whataburger. Hey. “Actually,” I lowered my voice, “I’m from Whataburger. One of your former employees has applied for a management position here.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s why I said ‘What a Temp.’ People can be funny about burger work.”

  “Burger work? You’re trying to tell me that one of our employees is applying for burger work at Whataburger?”

  “We have very good benefits,” I said in a haughty tone. “All the fries you can eat.”

  “Rosie?” she said, “Is this you? Very funny.”

  Dang. Really messed this one up. That’d teach me to try to be clever after being hit on the head. “Seriously, it’s Irene with Whataburger. I just want to know if you can tell me why Doug Agravaine left your employment.”

  “Doug’s applying at Whataburger?”

  “Free fries.”

  “Huh. Well, I can tell you he was terminated.”

  “Oh. Can you tell me why? Maybe we don’t want him at Whataburger.”

  “All I will say is that if he winds up there, it would serve him right.”

  “Good thing you didn’t use In-N-Out Burger,” Uncle Bob said when I called him just after five. “I can just hear that conversation. Hey, I’m on my way somewhere. Can we talk a little later?”

  “Sure.” I was hoping that was an invitation to sit in his backyard and drink beer. “Your house?”

  “No, uh, well...”

  This was mysterious. Uncle Bob rarely vacillated. “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “The gym,” he mumbled.

  I had never heard my uncle use that particular word. “Gym? What gym? I’ll meet you there.”

  “The LA Fitness off Camelback on Thirty-second. Say seven fifteen?”

  “See you then.”

  I arrived a little early—not typical for me, but I wanted to do a little spying, see if I could catch a glimpse of Uncle Bob lifting weights or riding a bike or whatever. I told the guy at the reception desk I was just looking for someone. He looked me up and down, smirked, and waved me in. Must have decided I didn’t look like someone who would sneak in to use a gym. I couldn’t decide whether to be offended or not.

  I went first to the big room with all the bikes and stair climbers. No Uncle Bob. I walked past all the disgustingly disciplined people in the weights area. No Uncle Bob there, either, unless he’d grown some really big muscles. I made my way through the women’s locker room to the pool, where the chlorine tang nearly knocked me off my feet. Several people were swimming laps in the roped-off aisles. None of them were my uncle.

  Huh. I walked slowly toward the gym’s entrance, past the classrooms. Was this just a convenient place to meet? No. There were plenty of restaurants and bars nearby. So where was my uncle? A blast of Latin music about knocked me off my feet as a door opened and a woman scooted out of one of the classrooms. An amplified voice said, “All right, Zum-bers. That’s it for today. See you—” The door closed again, but only for a moment. A wave of women in brightly colored workout gear swept into the hallway. I hugged the wall to let them pass by: women chattering about their kids, women wiping their faces, women fluffing their hair—and my uncle, red-faced and smiling.

  “Uncle Bob?”

  He gave me a sheepish grin.

  I looked back at the open door. He’d come from there, right? “Were you in a Zumba class?”

  He nodded, probably because he was still breathing so hard he couldn’t speak.

  “Oh.” A light came on in my head, and I got close enough to smell a sort of soapy sweat mixed with the Old Spice deodorant he always wore. “You’re investigating someone, right?”

  He smiled and gulped air. “I’ll explain.” Big breaths. “After a shower.”

  Chapter 44

  At seven fifteen on the dot, Uncle Bob met me in the gym’s lobby, his hair still damp and his skin still glowing. “You wanna grab something here?” He nodded at the juice bar.

  “Um, no. Not unless you need to for...work, you know.” Maybe whoever he was investigating liked smoothies.

  He shook his head. “Ok
ay, let’s go to Tee Pee.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I stepped inside Tee Pee Mexican Food, and headed toward the bar. This was more like it: a semi-dark space with Christmas lights on all year and a bar with a “D Backs” license plate mounted above the margarita blender. Comfy but not hip, sort of like Uncle Bob.

  He beat me there by a couple of minutes, so he was already talking to the bartender: “And a Diet Coke.”

  Good thing I didn’t a have drink yet ’cause I would’ve done a spit take. Who was this and what had he done with my uncle? I ordered a Negro Modelo and a Tee Pee special and sat down at a nearby booth with my uncle. “Bobby, you got some ’splainin’ to do.”

  “Nice.” Uncle Bob was big fan of Lucy. “So, how’d it go today?”

  “Bobby...” I shook my head at him.

  He laughed. “All right, all right. I’m just trying to lose a little weight, you know.”

  I didn’t know. My uncle had always seemed perfectly happy being, um, portly. “Really? And Zumba? Seems like you’d prefer...” I was stuck. The Uncle Bob I knew preferred hand-to-mouth exercise, preferably with a beer or a chicken leg in that hand.

  “I know.” He chuckled. “But after Bette and I took those salsa lessons...”

  Now I did do a spit take.

  “I discovered I really liked Latin music. Once I joined the gym...” I would have choked again if I hadn’t already seen him there. “I was planning to swim, but on my way to the locker rooms, I heard the music.” He grinned so wide I could see a glint of gold in the back of his mouth. “So, Zumba. I’ve already lost eight pounds.”

  The waiter dropped off a taco salad and my Tee Pee special. As you can tell from the name of the restaurant, it wasn’t the most authentic Mexican food in town, but I loved the way they covered everything in cheese. My meal must have been three billion calories. “But you were just eating broasted chicken and drinking tequila a few days ago.” I dug into my enchilada.

  “That was a slip-up.” Uncle Bob looked at his salad, a little sadly.

  “Okay. Losing weight’s good,” I mumbled around a mouthful of melted cheese. “But why?”

  “Well, last time I saw Bette”—since Uncle Bob’s girlfriend lived in Colorado, they only saw each other a couple times a month—“she said something about hoping we’d be together for a long time. Or maybe I said that.” Even in the dim light of the bar I could see his cheeks flush. “Anyway, I realized that if I want to be around for a while, I’d better clean up my act a little.” I must have looked stricken, either at the thought of my uncle dieting or the idea that he wouldn’t be around forever, I wasn’t sure, but something must’ve shown on my face because Uncle Bob reached over the table and patted my hand. Then he grabbed my taco. “But I’m not goin’ crazy with this health kick. Moderation, you know.” He took an enormous bite of taco and gave it back to me. “So, what did you learn today?”

  “Not as much as I’d hoped.” I told him about Riley and Angus and Bianca.

  “Did you say you met Bianca’s muse?”

  “No, I met her at the mews. It’s what they call a place where you keep birds.”

  “Mews...” mused Uncle Bob. He loved new words. “You really think Bianca could’ve pulled off the joust?”

  “I do.” I also still wondered if she could have hit me on the head, but I didn’t tell Uncle Bob about that particular incident. I felt dumb enough without having to hear him say it too.

  “So she’s a good rider?”

  Arghh. I knew I forgot to check on something.

  Cockadoodledoo!

  “Where are we?” asked my uncle. “Old MacDonalds’s farm?”

  Saved by the rooster. I picked up. “Doug? Yeah, thanks for calling me back. I’m just checking everyone’s background. Just typical procedure. I’m sure you understand why. So...may I ask why you left Alber Enterprises?” Uncle Bob raised an eyebrow at me. “So you weren’t terminated?” My uncle sat back in his chair. “I see. Thank you for being honest. Yes, we’ll both be at the faire tomorrow.” I hung up and answered the question in my uncle’s eyes. “Insurance fraud. He resigned before they could fire him.”

  “Really? Did he serve jail time?”

  “Nothing on his record, but he was accused.”

  “Big difference between accused and guilty, Olive. You should know that.”

  “I know. But I do think there’s something...hinky about him.”

  “Hinky. Love that word. Don’t know why. Hinky.”

  “But...insurance fraud. Could that fit into this scenario?”

  “Didn’t you tell me he wasn’t going to have his insurance guys investigate the incident with the wizard?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That seems like the opposite of insurance fraud.”

  “Maybe you can stop in and see him tomorrow when you’re at the faire, see if you think he’s...”

  “Hinky.” He grinned. “But about tomorrow, do you really think you need me actually there, or—”

  “Yes.” Uncle Bob always picked up information I didn’t.

  He sighed. “It’s going to be like backstage at the theater, isn’t it?”

  My uncle was not a big fan of loud people running around in their underwear and breaking into show tunes. “No, it won’t. All these people will be clothed.” I thought about the guy in the fur diaper. Maybe he took Fridays off. “I think you should probably wear a costume yourself.”

  “I thought the same thing. If I really need to go, that is.”

  “You do. Do you want me to rent a costume for you?”

  “Nah.” Uncle Bob sighed dramatically. Sheesh, and he thought actors were bad. “I suspected you’d want me there, so I already figured it out. All of this clean living I’m doing now...” he took a big slurp of his Diet Coke. “I’m gonna be a monk.”

  “I think you’ll like this ringtone much better.” Uncle Bob reached across the basket of chips to hand me back my phone. “Not nearly as annoying. Sorta soothing, even.” His hand grabbed a tortilla chip on the way back to his side of the table, but just one. “So, see you tomorrow morning? You wanna drive together?”

  “I can’t. I have rehearsal beforehand.”

  “I forgot. It’s weird, you rehearsing in the morning. You know, you haven’t said much about that lately. Other than the fact that Jackie’s a man.”

  “And she—he—had a fight with Angus.”

  “The plot thickens. Anything more on the composer?”

  “Nothing more on him, but...” I used the ripping-off-the-Band-Aid trick again: “John Robert said the play will move to La Jolla Playhouse and then on to New York and hopefully to Broadway.”

  “Wow.” Uncle Bob pushed back his chair. “Wow.” His jowls jiggled as he shook his head and his eyes...shone? Were those tears? “I am so proud of you.”

  I reached a hand across the table and put it on top of his big paw. “Even though it means I’ll have to leave?”

  “You’ll come visit your old uncle, I know. And I’ve always wanted to go to a Broadway show. Especially one starring my niece.” His smile dimmed. “But what about Matt?”

  “I don’t know.” I took my hand back and picked up my beer. “The timing couldn’t be worse. He just asked me to move in with him.”

  “He did?” Uncle Bob’s eyes got that shine again. “So? One choice doesn’t necessarily preclude the other, you know. Have you ever heard about Dolly Parton’s husband?”

  “Yeah. As a matter of fact I have. Thanks.”

  “Sorry.” Uncle Bob held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to make you sore.”

  “It’s just...” I picked at the label on my beer bottle. “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Do you love Matt?” This was awfully straightforward for my uncle. For anyone in my family, really.

  “Yeah.”

  �
��Do you think it’s fear of commitment?” said my new straight-talking uncle.

  “What?” I said. “No. It’s having to choose between Matt and a Broadway career.”

  “You know, I don’t think that’s it. I think that part could be worked out. I think you’re afraid.”

  “Afraid of commitment.”

  “Afraid to be loved.” Uncle Bob’s eyes went from misty to hard, like they wanted to cut something. “Sometimes I just want to shake them. Your parents. They have no idea how much they screwed you up.”

  Uncle Bob’s defense of me was comforting, but... “Am I that screwed up?”

  His eyes got gentle again. “Listen, I’ve known you since you were little. After Cody’s accident you went from being a sunny outgoing kid into a little snail curled up in a shell. The only time you poked your head out was when you were onstage. And even then, that was as a character, not as yourself. It’s just been this past few years I’ve seen the real Olive take some steps out into the world. I think part of that was about getting to know your brother better as a person instead of a symbol of what went wrong. And the other thing—person—who’s drawn you out is Matt.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Uncle Bob reached over and patted my hand. “It’s okay to be afraid of things, Olive. Even love. It’s scary stuff. You might get hurt, or hurt somebody else. You have to decide for yourself if it’s worth it.”

  Chapter 45

  I wasn’t feeling great when I got home. Could have been the hit on the head, the realization that yes, I was pretty messed up, or the three pounds of cheese I ate. But an hour later, I felt better. Mostly because I was talking to Matt. His mom’s prognosis was looking good—maybe a month or two in a rehab facility, then she could come home. “I’m trying to find some help for Dad,” he said. “Someone to come and help him clean and cook, do the laundry, that sort of thing. I’m helping him figure out the books for the farm, the household bills. All of that.”