Блейз Клемент - Duplicity Dogged Тhe Dachshund

“You did all the work on it?”

“It was a rusted mess. Guy imported it from some place in South America. I’m gonna hate to see it go.”

“What does something like that sell for?”

“Restored like this, about twenty, twenty-five thousand.”

“Is that all? I’d think it would be a lot more.”

“Nah, they’re not in the big leagues, they’re just sweet little cars.”

“Who owns it?”

“Guy named Brossi. Leo Brossi. He collects vintage cars. Buys them and sells them.”

Carefully, I said, “Is he somebody I should have heard of?”

“Nah, he’s not anybody. Just rich. Owns a call center over on Fruitville.”

“Must be a successful call center.”

“Must be. I guess the no-call business hasn’t hurt those places much. They still call me anyway, and I’m on the no-call list. Who has time to report every one of them? They probably get away with it a lot.”

“Is Brossi going to pick the car up soon?”

“Yeah, it’s done.”

“Birdlegs, do you know a state senator named Wayne Black?”

“Sure, Dixie, I hang out with senators and governors and A-rab potentates all the time.”

“How about Quenton Dyer? He’s a banker.”

“Him neither.”

He was beginning to look toward the work he’d left, so I thanked him for his time and started to leave.

“Call me if you find out who might drive that raised truck, okay?”

“Sure thing, Dixie.”

I was tempted to tell him to call me when Leo Brossi came in to pick up his restored Honda S600. I was beginning to be very curious about Leo Brossi.

Mame wasn’t waiting by the door when I got to her house. I found her in the kitchen sitting in front of her food bowl. I knelt beside her and stroked her head.

“Hey, Mame, sorry I’m late. I had to go see somebody about a car.”

She licked the inside of my arm and gave me a forgiving look.

All the kibble was gone, which was a good sign. At least she’d been eating. I washed her bowl and got out the big bag of senior kibble and put about a tablespoon in it in case she got hungry during the night. Then I picked her up and carried her to the lanai for a little play time. She didn’t seem inclined to play, though, so I sat down in a padded glider and held her in my lap, stroking her and gently rocking.

Lanais on Siesta Key are enclosed by screened cages shaped by black or white aluminum ribbing. The Powells’ cage had black ribs and soared two stories high, coming to a gazebolike point above the roof of the house. The swimming pool occupied the far side, and the inner side was protected from the elements by a wide overhang to which the cage was attached. Sitting under the sheltered roof and looking through the screen at the sky and trees and flowers was like being in a luxurious birdcage with a really big water dish.

Songbirds were calling to one another, and young red-shouldered hawks were wheeling above the palms. A line of enormous sunflowers stood at the back of the lot, their fuzzy green stalks twisted hopefully toward the declining sun. A squirrel suddenly raced up the lanai screen holding a sunflower big as a dinner plate. He held the stem in his teeth, with the flower head facing the lanai, so it looked as if the sunflower was zipping up the screen by itself. Mame and I went still and breathless until the moving sunflower disappeared over the roof, and then we looked at each other with wide-eyed amazement.

I said, “My gosh, did you see that?”

Mame didn’t answer, but her eyes were still bright with excitement when I told her good-bye. That racing sunflower had been a once-in-a-lifetime event for both of us.

My feet were dragging when I got out of the Bronco and went to Stevie’s front door. When she opened it, she looked as weary as I felt.

She said, “Thanks for coming by, Dixie.” But she didn’t move out of the doorway, and her voice was flat.

“Do you need me?”

She gave me an apologetic half smile. “Not really. I walked Reggie earlier, and I’m going to turn in early.”

I started to go, and she put out a hand. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate your stopping by. It’s just that everything is so …”

She leaned her head against the edge of the door and closed her eyes, clearly overcome by fatigue and stress.

“Stevie, I understand. You need to rest. I’ll stop by in the morning in case you need anything.”

She gave me a grateful smile and closed her door. Every cell in my body ached as my heavy legs carried me back to the Bronco. With each step, I whispered “Ouch, ouch, shit, fuck, ouch.” I felt as if I had gained about a hundred pounds since my alarm went off at 4 A.M. I hoped Michael and Paco would be there when I got home. Maybe they would have dinner with me and give me some advice. Or at least some pity.

I drove south down Midnight Pass Road, past the village and the fire station where Michael works, past the vacation condos and apartment complexes and waterside restaurants, and finally eased the Bronco down my twisty tree-lined lane. Paco’s car was in the carport, and so was his Harley, but Michael’s car was still gone. I parked next to Paco’s car and gave the storage closets a fast scan to make sure they were still padlocked from the outside. I pulled my .38 from my pocket, holding it out of sight as I pushed the door open. Even with Paco home, I wasn’t taking any chances.

The air under the carport felt like steam rising from a wet dog, but when I stepped into the clear, a whisper of sea breeze moved across my skin. I stopped a moment and looked toward the descending sun, then put my gun back in my pocket. In the presence of such beauty, a weapon of death is an obscenity. The back door opened and Paco strolled out to watch the sunset with me. We didn’t speak, just stood side by side watching an enormous garnet orb touch the sea, hover for a quivering minute, then give itself to the water in a velvet slide that turned sea and sky ruby red.

After a few minutes, I took a deep breath of salty air. Paco squeezed the back of my neck with gentle fingers that knew how to find the point that could stun or kill.

I said, “Where’s Michael?”

“He’s covering for another fireman whose wife had a premature baby. Four-pound boy. It’s little, but they think it’ll be fine.”

“Awwww.”

“You wanta go for sushi?”

My heart lifted. Michael calls sushi expensive bait and won’t touch it, but Paco and I slip off and indulge sometimes when Michael’s gone.

I said, “Ten minutes.”

Paco said, “Make it fifteen, and wear something hot. I’m tired of seeing you in that grunge getup.”

My heart lifted higher. I needed to feel sexy. Sexy feels powerful. And nobody in the world can make a woman feel as sexy as a gay man.

15

Ihustled upstairs to shower and smooth my aching self with a sweet coconut scrub that left me smelling faintly of piña colada. When I patted dry, I was tender with my purple rib cage and pelvis bones. Since I was going for sexy, I did a little creative work with makeup to disguise the bruise on my cheek. To cover my scraped knees, I put on a long white knit skirt slit nearly up to my crotch in the back. Then I pawed around in the stacks of knit tops on my closet shelves and found a hip-hugging black halter with a low V neckline. I put on strappy sandals with tall heels, screwed my hair on the top of my head with some errant strands falling down as if by chance, and stuck my .38 in a slim black straw purse.

Before I went out the French doors, I fished my client codebook and key ring out of my backpack. I put the code-book in my purse and stowed the key ring in the floor safe in the corner of my closet. Ordinarily, I feel they’re safe in my apartment when I’m gone, but that night I didn’t feel like anything was safe in my apartment, including me.