Read Online Cool Cache by Patricia Smiley - Free Book Online Page B

they find Lupe’s car?” I said.
    “She was driving a van from the janitorial service she worked for. Beverly Hills PD found it in a parking garage about a block away. Funny thing, though: her cleaning bucket and some supplies are missing.”
    I cocked my head. “That’s odd.”
    “Who knows? Maybe her kid took them.”
    “Why would he take cleaning supplies? Roberto’s a druggie who needed a fix. It’s not like a can of Old Dutch Cleanser is worth big bucks on the street. I just talked to Detective O’Brien. He says her cell phone is missing, too.”
    Eugene picked up the files and set them on top of the cabinet. “Roberto didn’t do it. The police arrested the wrong guy.”
    Charley and I exchanged skeptical glances.
    “Believe me,” Eugene continued, “I understand the lure of matricide, but Roberto Ortiz had too much on his plate last night to pull it off. He had to drive all the way from East L.A. to Beverly Hills, kill his mother, and then drive home to open the door when Helen and Tucker got to his house. From what Tucker said, the guy was high on drugs. I don’t know how he could drive, much less accomplish all that.”
    Charley crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive posture. “Like I said before, we don’t know if it’s possible until we know the timeline of the murder.”
    True, but Eugene’s point was well taken. If Roberto’s motive for killing his mother had been revenge for meddling in his gang life, why had he driven to Beverly Hills to kill her? That seemed risky. Even if he’d been angry and desperate for a fix, it seemed more likely that he’d kill her at home at the moment she’d refused to give him money.
    Eugene stood. “Roberto is innocent. I just know it. I think Lupe’s murder is a carefully planned conspiracy to destroy Helen Taggart.”
    Charley rolled his eyes. “How so?”
    “First came the harassing telephone calls, then the theft of her chocolates, then the break-in at her condo, and now murder. Somebody wants to drive her out of Beverly Hills.”
    Charley picked up one of his number 2 pencils and shoved it into the electric sharpener. Over the noise of wood grinding to a fine point, he said, “And who would that be?”
    Eugene began to pace. His words were punctuated with sweeping arm gestures. His breath grew shallower with each hypothetical. “Maybe the European chocolate industry is threatened by her success, or a band of antisugar terrorists wants to kill the candy industry one chocolate store at a time, or maybe it’s her ex-husband or that Rossi guy. He’s been vile to Helen. I bet one of them is behind all these problems.”
    Charley blew the lead dust off the tip of the pencil. “Calm down. I have to go to the courthouse for another client. I’ll see if I can find a criminal record on either of those guys. If I learn anything, I’ll let you know.”
    “Let me do something,” Eugene said.
    “If I need help, I’ll ask for it.”
    Eugene turned and stomped out of the room. Over his shoulder he said, “I just wish you two had more faith in me.”
    Charley loaded his sharpened pencil and a notebook into a battered leather briefcase and left for the courthouse. I returned to my desk. Soon after, I heard the outer door open. I glanced up and saw Lorna Tate strutting into the office like a cartoon runway model. I was surprised her hip joints could withstand the gyrations. I walked to the lobby to see what she wanted.
    Charley’s wife was in her late thirties, with violet eyes, chestnut hair, and a butt as flat as a tortilla grill. She had on her porn-queen outfit—high-heeled leather boots and a fake leopard coat. She looked like an escapee from a stuffed toy factory. She set a large Bloomingdale’s shopping bag on Eugene’s in-basket, collapsing the plastic Corinthian columns. He caught my gaze and stuck his finger down his throat, pretending to gag. Eugene and I tolerated Lorna, but you’d never see the three of us sitting around a campfire