“Fighting for his life,” I said, trying to choke back a sob. I hadn’t signed on for any of this, and I was making promises to Sister Mary Eucharista that I would never get involved in this sort of thing ever again as long as she let me live.
The bigger-than-life Elvis hovered overhead, the Love Shack sign flashing its neon. Anyone watching us would think we were just another couple going in to get married.
I needed to stall for more time.
“So I think I know what happened,” I said. “Bernie paid Lucci to kill his son-in-law, who was beating up his daughter. You didn’t think Lucci worked fast enough; you had some sort of fight-that’s where those bruises on your hand came from-you ended up killing him and putting him in my trunk; then you sat back and waited until the time was right to kill Lou.” I paused. “How did you know where to return my car after you killed Lucci?”
“I was with him when he stole it.”
Okay, that made sense in a weird sort of way. “So how come your prints weren’t found in the car, but Lucci’s were?”
He snorted. “Gloves.”
People wear gloves only when they know they’re going to have to cover something up. “You stole the clip cord; you had gloves; you were waiting for that moment, weren’t you?” I asked.
“Always be prepared, right?” His voice was so cold it sent shivers down my spine.
“Lucci didn’t really try to run you down, did he?”
“I wish you’d stop with the stupid act.”
He was giving me a lot of credit.
I had another question. “Why the rat?”
“I hated that rat.”
“Dan said Lucci killed it.”
“I did. And I figured what better way to send off Dean Martin than with a rat. Rat Pack, right?” He chuckled at his own joke.
“But you didn’t kill Lou, did you?”
He stopped laughing, and he shoved the gun hard into my back. “What do you mean?”
“Bernie killed him. With the Gremlin. But you still wanted money, didn’t you? It wasn’t enough to have Rosalie. That’s why you had him meet you at Murder Ink. To try to get money out of him.”
He wasn’t arguing with me, so I figured I was on the right track. I wished I had a tape recorder or something so I could prove all this to Tim later. If I had the chance.
We were going toward the door of the Love Shack now. It was a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel, and it bled light out onto the parking lot. If he was going to kill me, it seemed pretty risky to do it here.
And then I remembered Martin Sanderson.
“You’re driving Sanderson’s car,” I said. “Why?”
“It’s my car,” he said. “Martin doesn’t know I switched the plates.”
He wouldn’t be telling me all this if he was going to let me live.
Maybe I could yank myself away from him. Try to kick up backward and get him in the groin or the shin. Spin around and push him away and run.
As I was going through scenarios in my head, I didn’t hear the roar of the engine until it was almost upon us.
The car made the decision for me.
Will Parker threw me aside as the Impala sideswiped him, throwing him up over the hood in a total deja vu moment.
Chapter 62
I’d lost my balance and ended up on the ground. When I rolled slightly to get up, I saw the gun near my feet. I stood and picked it up. It was big, like that Smith & Wesson that came in the mail for Ray Lucci. Had Lucci been waiting for the gun to kill Lou? Is that why it took so long that Parker felt he had to take matters into his own hands?
“Dear, are you all right?” Sylvia climbed out of the Impala and came toward me. She took the gun out of my hand as though it weighed next to nothing and went over to Will Parker, who lay on the ground, his leg twitching slightly.
Sylvia pointed the gun at him.
“Who do you think you are?” she demanded.
Her white hair was piled on top of her head and held in place with those little butterfly clips; she wore cotton pants and a fleece pullover. If it weren’t for the big gun locked between her hands, she’d look like someone’s grandmother on her way back from book group or knitting club.
Movement caught my eye. I turned to see Tim running across the intersection, his face grim.
When he caught sight of Sylvia holding the gun on Will Parker, he stopped short, and a big grin crossed his face. He hid it quickly, though, and strode over to her, putting his hand over hers and carefully taking the gun. He tossed a “How are you?” back at me.
I nodded to indicate I was okay.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Tim demanded of Sylvia as he leaned down and turned Parker over, slapping handcuffs on his wrists.
“I tried to tell you, but you weren’t paying attention,” Sylvia said. “I saw him”-she cocked her head at Parker-“taking Brett over here and it didn’t look like anything friendly. Someone had to do something,”
“That’s the last time I leave my keys in the car,” Tim muttered, pulling Parker to his feet.
“If you didn’t keep the keys in the car, then who knows what would’ve happened to your sister,” Sylvia said sharply. She was almost a foot shorter than he was, but she looked a lot taller as she stood with her hands on her hips, admonishing him.
I stifled a chuckle.
Parker glared at me. “It’s your word against mine,” he growled.
Tim shoved him. “Somehow I think her word is worth more,” he said.
A cruiser skidded to a stop behind the Impala, and Tim opened the back door and pushed Parker in, closing it behind him. He turned to me.
“Hate to tell you, but we’ve got to take a statement.”
Story of my life.
I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to get myself to the shop by eleven the next morning. I was sitting with my coffee and a bagel when Bitsy and Joel came in. They were laughing about something as they pushed the door open, but when they saw me, their faces froze.
“What happened to you?” Bitsy demanded, her voice stern, although I could tell I was totally off the hook for abandoning everyone yesterday.
Joel came over and gently touched my face. “Sweetheart, you look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I said, making a face at him. I’d looked in the mirror exactly once that morning and decided I wouldn’t do that for the rest of the day.
I’d spent most of the night at the hospital with Sylvia, waiting for Jeff to wake up. When he did, he gave me a small smile and raised his eyebrows as he assessed my bruises and scrubs, but he didn’t say anything. They wouldn’t let me stay, because I wasn’t family. Tim took me home after I gave my statement about Parker, and I got exactly two hours of sleep. But at least I’d gotten another shower and I could put on clean clothes.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I said. “I went out for chocolate, and the next thing I knew, I was riding the Monorail and going to Summerlin and getting shot at. And Jeff’s in the hospital, and Will Parker tried to kill me a second time and-”
“Jeff? What’s wrong with Jeff?” Joel asked, concern etched in a frown across his forehead.
“Parker shot him after he ran us off the road. But he’s okay,” I added. “He’s out of surgery, and they say he’s
