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“Nice car, huh?” E.L. Turner said, breaking the silence as he drove eastbound on the 10 freeway.
Lionel Whitney nodded, smothering a yawn. “Yes. Yes, it is.” He took another gulp of coffee from his travel mug, like it was barely past sunrise instead of two-thirty in the afternoon.
“It still has that new smell,” E.L. remarked. “And the best part is, it’s legal. Nothing to worry about, you know?”
He’d decided to rent a car for this trip, rather than rely on another questionable loaner from some old friend. With his partner still getting over post-traumatic stress, the last thing they needed was a police chase.
“Mm-hmm,” Lionel murmured. He was facing the window, so E.L. couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not.
“Hey, Lionel, can I ask you a personal question?”
That got his attention, at least. “I guess so.”
“Are you allergic to sleeping pills?” E.L. asked.
“No, not that I’m aware of.”
“So you don’t want to try them because . . . ?”
“Well, you know,” Lionel said, “they can be habit-forming.”
E.L. looked at him. “Being able to sleep at night would be a good habit, right?”
“No, what I mean is, you can become dependent on them,” Lionel explained. “Then you have trouble falling asleep without them. I was hoping I could get over this on my own.”
“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but it’s not working,” E.L. said. “And now that we have this case to solve, you really need to be alert.”
“I know. I won’t stay up too late.”
Not good enough. “Look, I have an idea—if you can’t sleep again tonight, then you try some pills tomorrow. Or maybe just one pill; whatever it says on the box.” E.L. glanced at him. “Deal?”
Lionel didn’t look too happy about it, but he finally gave in. “Deal.”
They shook on it. “Thanks, man.” E.L. turned on the radio and found a music station he liked, then cranked it up. “So, I had another idea, too. I thought since we’re going to be strangers in a small town, we should probably have some alternate identities. How’d you like to be a food critic for the LA Times ? Jacques Fauber.”
“Jacques?” Lionel repeated, surprised.
“Oui. You can do a French accent, can’t you?”
“No.”
“Okay, forget the accent,” E.L. said. “But we’re going to be eating out a lot, so I thought it might be fun to—”
“No,” Lionel interrupted him. “I’m sorry, E.L., but I don’t want to pretend to be someone else. There’s too much to remember.”
E.L. glanced at him again. “All right.”
How long would it take for Lionel to get his enthusiasm back? E.L. silently cursed Cassius “Cash” Tyler and the late Byron Simms—once again—for what they’d done to his partner’s morale.
“You can be someone else, though,” Lionel told him.
“Well, we can save the food critic idea for another time,” E.L. decided. “Maybe we’d get a free meal out of it.”
“I don’t think it works that way. Aren’t you supposed to be anonymous, so they don’t know you’re critiquing them?”
“Hmm. You may be right. Guess I’ll have to do a little more research on that one.”
After getting stuck in some rush hour traffic along the 57 and 91, E.L. was glad to finally reach their destination, Corona, exiting on Maple Street.
“There’s our motel,” he pointed out as they traveled down Sixth Street. A two-story building, right next to the freeway.
“You’re not stopping?” Lionel asked.
“Not yet. I want to get to the Chamber of Commerce before they close,” E.L. explained.
A few miles later, he made a right turn into the parking lot.
“We need some local maps,” he told Lionel as he shut off the engine. “See if they have any for Riverside, too. We're going there tomorrow, to look at the public records.”
“Why me?” Lionel asked.
“Because you look like a tourist,” E.L. said.
“I do?”
“And I figured after all that coffee, you might need to . . . you know.”
“Now that you mention it . . .” Lionel got out of the car.
“If they have any restaurant flyers, grab those too.”
E.L. walked around the parking lot, stretching his legs while he waited. It was a lot warmer out here, only an hour from the desert, even though it was still spring. He tried to stay in the shade.
Lionel returned a short time later with a variety of reading material. Back in the car, E.L. studied a brochure about the town’s history.
“Population’s just under 40,000,” he commented. “Nicknamed ‘The Circle City,' because Corona means ‘crown’ in Spanish. And get this—they have a street that makes a complete circle. We just passed it.”
“I see it.” Lionel was looking at a map.
“They had three car races on it from 1913 to 1916, but someone crashed in the last one.” E.L. turned to the next page. “Did you know there’s a Sunkist plant here?”
“No.”
“Me neither. They used to call this area ‘Lemon Capital of the World,’” E.L. said. He put the brochure down and started the car. “They have orange groves to the south. The trees should be blooming right now.”
After exiting the parking lot, E.L. couldn’t resist getting into the left turn lane at the first intersection.
“This is it,” he announced. “Grand Boulevard. Just imagine you’re in a race car.”
“I don’t have to imagine it,” Lionel said. “You’re driving.”
E.L. laughed. A joke? That had to be a good sign. “All right, then, hang on. We’ll take a victory lap.”
He hoped they’d have a reason to take another one by the end of this trip.
****
Lionel gave up trying to fall asleep at two a.m.
He should’ve been tired. It’d been a long day of travel and exploring a new city. Not that there was much to see. After dinner at the Chuck Wagon, a local restaurant, E.L. had driven up to the groves, where orange blossoms scented the evening air. They smelled wonderful, but regrettably, it was also an unwanted reminder.
Sylvia Huckerman. Her betrayal had led to the murder of her husband Marty, Lionel’s closest friend from the brokerage house. He’d hoped E.L. had forgotten about the orange blossom perfume he used to give Sylvia as a friendship gift, but of course, E.L. mentioned it.
Not something he wanted to think about, especially in the middle of the night.
Lionel got out of bed, trying to decide what to do next. He’d already taken a nice long shower, read the first half of a Mark Savage novel, and watched the most mind-numbing TV documentary he could find. Nothing worked.
There was a vending machine down by the elevator, but all its drinks were caffeinated. The last thing he needed right now. Maybe he’d go outside anyway and walk up and down the stairs a few times. Fresh air and exercise could be helpful.
He put on his shoes, then tied his robe over his pajamas, making sure his room key was in his pocket. No point getting dressed when nobody was likely to see him at this hour.
The outside air was still surprisingly warm. From the second floor, he heard the freeway traffic, and the rumble of a passing freight train. Not nearly as noisy as home, of course, but not as quiet as he’d expected a small town to be, either.
Still, he tried not to add to the noise level as he headed for the staircase, especially when he passed E.L.’s room. His partner was going to insist on sleeping pills now, and maybe he was right. Being tired all day was problematic.
Lionel walked down the two flights of stairs, turned and jogged back up, then descended again, hoping nobody was watching and questioning his sanity. He decided to walk around the corner of the building, staying in the shadows, like he was going somewhere.
The pool was up ahead, and even though it had closed hours ago, the gate was unlocked. Two people were inside, a man and a woman. Lionel froze, making sure they hadn’t seen him, before he crept nearer.
When he’d gotten as close to them as he dared, he rubbed his eyes. Was he just imagining things, or . . . ? No, it was Gary Nolan. Their client. Why was he out here at almost two-thirty in the morning? And who was the blonde he was talking to?
Although he was curious, Lionel realized that marching over and asking questions wasn’t a good idea. He needed to listen, to gather clues. He spotted Nolan’s red Ford pickup in the parking lot. Their client, a building contractor, was a friend of the motel’s owner, he recalled, so maybe Nolan had access to the gate key.
He and the woman weren’t breaking the rules by swimming after hours, anyway. He sat on a deck chair while she soaked her feet in the water. She was wearing some sort of work uniform. Waitress, maybe; someone who was probably on her feet a lot.
Nolan motioned to the second floor with his chin, and Lionel wondered if he was talking about him and E.L. Luckily, the woman didn't bother to keep her voice down.
“Why?” she asked him. “I mean, you could find him yourself.”
“Yeah, but he probably wouldn’t talk to me. I just want to find out what happened.”
Nolan’s former best friend since high school, Steve Preston, had stopped working for him three months ago, without much explanation. All their client knew was that he’d moved out to this area somewhere and changed his phone number.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” the woman said. “You gave him a good job, but he wasn’t grateful. Then he just runs away? You’re better off without him.”
Lionel covered his mouth, trying to stifle a yawn. Now he was tired?
“You may be right.” Nolan looked at his watch. “Anyway, it’s getting late.” He reached down and helped the woman to her feet. She put her hand on his shoulder, smiling at him.
Lionel turned away before they caught him spying and went back to his room. He was pretty sure he could sleep now, but there was something he needed to do first.
Sitting at the desk with a sheet of motel stationery, he wrote down everything he’d just seen and heard, so he could tell E.L. about it later.
****
“Lionel!”
Startled, Lionel opened his eyes. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and why E.L. was leaning over him, looking annoyed.
“C’mon, man. You should’ve been ready an hour ago.”
Oh. Lionel sat up. “I’m sorry. I—”
“I know, I know,” E.L. cut him off. “Just get dressed, okay? I’ll be in the car.”
Judging from his tone, he must not have had breakfast yet. Lionel got dressed as quickly as he could, grabbing his notes about Nolan before he went downstairs. He slid into the front passenger seat, feeling like a kid who was late for school.
“Guess I didn’t need to leave you that note this morning,” E.L. commented as he drove, still a bit cranky.
Lionel glanced at him. “Note?”
“Yeah, while you were sleeping, I went out to Nolan’s construction site and talked to some of his employees.”
“Was he there?” Lionel asked. If so, he must have superhuman powers. There wasn’t a coffee cup large enough for that kind of sleep deficit.
“No, they said he had a lot of errands to run.” E.L. sighed. “It was pretty much a waste of time, anyway. Everyone said they like working for him, and the guys who knew Preston don’t know why he left.”
“Did Nolan ever mention a girlfriend to you?” Lionel asked.
“No. Why?”
“Well, while you were sleeping, I—”
“Hold on. Can this wait till I order breakfast?” E.L. turned into the parking lot of the Silver Dollar Pancake House.
Lionel was beginning to feel a bit cranky himself, but it wasn’t from hunger. “Sure.”
“Nolan recommended this place,” E.L. said while they waited for their food. “He likes to stop here when he’s in town.”
Lionel nodded. He took a sip of his coffee, then almost sprayed it across the table when he saw the woman from the motel, sitting at a booth with two other women.
“So, what were you about to tell me earlier?” E.L. asked, apparently not noticing his reaction.
“Uh, well, I went for a walk last night—late—to get some exercise,” Lionel began, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “and you’ll never guess who I saw by the pool.”
“Who?”
“Our client, with some woman. I think they may’ve spent the night at the motel.”
E.L. looked surprised. “Really? When was that?”
“About two-thirty.” Lionel tried to change the subject. “He must’ve had a key to the pool, because the gate was open, and—”
“Wait a minute. You were out walking at two-thirty in the morning?”
“Yes. I tried everything else I could think of, but—”
“Except the most logical thing,” E.L. interrupted again. “Which reminds me, I picked up some pills for you while I was out this morning. You should be able to sleep tonight, at least.”
“If I’d been asleep last night, I wouldn’t have seen Nolan and that woman,” Lionel reminded him, his annoyance growing, “or heard what they were saying.”
“So what did they say?”
Lionel took his notes out of his pocket and read them to E.L.
“Okay, they were outside talking about us in the middle of the night, which is a little weird,” E.L. conceded. “What else have you got?”
The waitress came over just then and set their plates on the table. Lionel waited until she left before he answered.
“Well, this woman—I think she’s Nolan’s girlfriend—seemed surprised that he hired us.” He glanced at her again. She hadn’t noticed them yet, as far as he could tell. Was it just a coincidence that she was here, too, or was she checking them out? “For some reason, she doesn’t want us to get involved in the case.”
E.L. looked a little concerned. “And you said he agreed with her, right?”
“He didn’t really mean it,” Lionel replied. He started eating.
“How do you know that?”
“It was obvious. Besides, he didn’t want to start an argument at that hour.”
“I hope you’re right.” E.L. looked up from his pancakes. “But what makes you think she’s his girlfriend? Couldn’t she be a friend or a relative?”
“There was just something about the way they looked at each other. And then . . . she put her hand on his shoulder.”
E.L. laughed. “Lionel, you put your hands on my shoulders all the time. It doesn’t mean we’re dating.”
“All right, just forget it.” It was obvious that E.L. wasn’t going to take him seriously.
“Wait . . . now it makes sense, though,” E.L. continued. “Why you’re suddenly interested in this case. Damsel in distress.”
“What?” Lionel exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down.
“You’re always more interested when there’s a good-looking woman involved.”
Even though he couldn’t deny it, Lionel was offended. “I never said she was good-looking, or in distress. We don’t even know who she is, aside from our client’s girlfriend.”
“Possible girlfriend,” E.L. said. “And that hasn’t stopped you before.”
If he brought up Sylvia again . . . “Yes, and it always ends badly, remember? I just want to solve this case and go home, E.L. That’s it.”
“Easy, big guy, I was just kidding. But, seriously, what does she look like?”
“You can see for yourself.” Lionel gestured to the booth, where she and her friends were getting ready to leave. “The blonde.”
E.L.’s head whipped around. “What? Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”
“Why? So you could make fun of me again?”
“Look, I’m sorry, buddy. I’ll make it up to you, okay? I’ll go find out her name.”
Lionel looked up, alarmed. “No. I don’t want her to know I saw her last night. She might tell Nolan I was spying on them.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna talk to her.” E.L. walked over to the booth where the woman had been sitting. She’d left her sunglasses on the table, Lionel realized. E.L. took them to the counter and started chatting with the cashier. He returned a few minutes later, looking pleased with himself.
“Her name’s Amanda Barlow,” he announced as he finished his breakfast. “Which is fitting, because she works at a bar. Ace’s, in Riverside. Night shift, from eight to two.”
Lionel stared at him. “How did you get all that?”
“Small town. Everybody knows everybody, especially regular customers. You just have to ask the right questions."
“That does explain the uniform she was wearing. And why she was at the pool at that hour.”
“And why Nolan was ‘busy’ this morning,” E.L. added. “Busy catching up on his sleep, I’ll bet.” He put his fork and napkin on his empty plate. “Well, now that that’s settled, we need to start looking for our man Preston.”
“Want me to take over behind the wheel?” Lionel offered as they walked outside.
“No, I’m okay.” E.L. unlocked the car doors, and they got in.
“My license is still valid, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I’d just feel safer if you’d had a good night’s sleep.”
Lionel’s temper flared again. “So you don’t trust me to drive, either?”
E.L. looked at him. “What is with you, man? On the way over here yesterday, you were like a zombie. And today it’s like you’re spoiling for a fight.”
“You’re the one who was snapping at me this morning,” Lionel pointed out, “and interrupting me. And not taking me seriously when you did listen to me. You’re treating me like an invalid who’s just along for the ride.”
“You’re not an invalid, Lionel, but you’re also not . . . we both know you’re not a hundred percent yet, either. Look, I’m glad you’re starting to get into this case. That’s what I was hoping would happen. But I want you to be safe, buddy. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“Because you feel guilty,” Lionel said.
“Yes,” E.L. admitted. “Yes, I do. I hate that those guys went after you. I hate that you had to fight off Simms from your hospital bed. It was just dumb luck that I crashed into that fool as he tried to run away."
“I’ve told you, E.L., you don’t have to feel guilty about this.”
“Yeah, well, that’s like me telling you you don’t have to stay up all night.” E.L. sighed. “I wish you’d just talk to me about what happened. Get it out in the open.”
Lionel looked around. “You mean, right here, in the parking lot?”
“Anywhere, anytime, man. Doesn’t matter.”
“You already know most of the story, anyway.”
“I know the basic facts,” E.L. agreed. “What I don’t know is your side of it. How you felt then. How it’s affecting you now. What’s going through your mind? Sometimes it’s like you’re a mile away.”
“I want to tell you,” Lionel said, “but the timing hasn’t been right.”
“Will it ever be?”
“Yes. I promise, I will tell you. Soon.”
“Okay.” E.L. started the car.
As they traveled east on the freeway to downtown Riverside, Lionel thought about the bar where the mystery woman worked. A plan was forming in his mind—and E.L. wasn’t going to like it one bit.
****
E.L. felt like things were finally looking up when a search of public records turned up two items with the same address for Steve Preston.
“He lives in Perris,” he told Lionel, waiting for his reaction. Sure enough, his partner looked bewildered.
“Paris? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does when you see how it’s spelled,” E.L. said, showing him the paper he’d written the address on.
“Oh. But where is it?” Lionel asked.
“Good question.” Luckily, there was a large map on the wall. E.L. went over to it and looked until he found it. “Right here. Southeast of Riverside. And I thought we were far enough east already.”
“Not a fan of the desert, I take it?” Lionel commented.
“Sure, I am. I love Vegas, man. As long as there’s air conditioning.” E.L. jotted down the name of the construction company that Preston was currently working for. “Now I need to find a phone. Maybe I can catch Steve on his lunch break.”
“Who are you going as this time?” Lionel asked.
“E.L. Turner.”
****
“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Edwin Lamont Turner, an investigator for the Department of Consumer Affairs. Would it be all right if I asked you a few questions?”
Steve Preston looked up from the tailgate of the pickup he was sitting on, eating his lunch. “I guess so.”
“Thank you, sir,” E.L. said. “I’m sorry to disturb you on your break, but as I said, I’m investigating a complaint filed with the Contractors State License Board by a former employee of Gary Nolan.”
As he expected, Preston flinched. “What employee?”
E.L. lowered his just-for-show glasses as he checked the names in his file folder: some of Nolan’s crew members he’d talked to that morning. “A Mr. Juan Roberto Contreras.”
“Never heard of him.” Preston took another bite of his sandwich.
That’s why I picked him, E.L. said to himself. “Yes, he was a more recent hire,” he explained. “But I was told by another employee, Jack Mitchell, that you used to work for Mr. Nolan as well.”
“Jack? He’s never had a problem with Gary.”
“Yes, sir, that’s what he told me,” E.L. agreed.
“So what’s this other guy’s problem?” Preston wanted to know.
“Well, I can’t divulge all of the details, I’m afraid. But apparently, Mr. Contreras felt that Mr. Nolan was a bit . . . shall we say, lackadaisical when it came to safety measures at his current worksite in Corona. He reported an ankle injury that he sustained due to hazardous working conditions, and said that Mr. Nolan expected him to continue working in spite of it.”
“That doesn’t sound like Gary,” Preston said. “He’s always been safety-first. Sounds like this guy’s trying to scam the system.”
E.L. started writing. “I’ll make a note of that in my report, sir. So in your experience, would you say that Mr. Nolan is a fair employer?”
“Yeah.”
“Yet you left the company in December, despite a long friendship with Mr. Nolan. May I ask why?”
For a moment, E.L. was afraid he wasn’t going to answer. Finally, the man sighed.
“It wasn’t work-related,” he said. “It was personal, between the two of us. And that’s all I have to say." He got down from the truck bed, crumpling his sandwich wrapper. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . ”
“Of course, sir,” E.L. said. “Thank you for your time.”
He walked back to the car, parked out of sight down the street. Lionel had dozed off while he waited, of course, the Thomas Guide mapbook still open on his lap. E.L. tried to stay cool.
“How’d it go?” Lionel asked, sitting up.
“Struck out.” E.L. started the car. “I must be losing my touch, man. But he did tell me one thing, at least.”
“What?”
“He didn’t have any problems with Nolan at work. He said it was something personal between them, but he didn’t care to elaborate.”
“Well, nobody said this would be easy,” Lionel reminded him. He looked at the mapbook, which he’d closed.
“So when do you want to try talking to Preston?” E.L. asked. He’d decided they should take turns instead of ganging up on him.
“Tomorrow. We probably shouldn’t corner him twice in the same day.”
“Good point.” E.L. headed back to the freeway. “Well, since we have some free time now, how ’bout a round of miniature golf at Castle Park?”
“Miniature golf?” Lionel sounded skeptical.
"It’ll be fun,” E.L. insisted. Just the thought of his lanky, six-foot-four partner on a little course like that was amusing. “I can work on my swing. And they have an arcade, too. You know, Lionel, I bet you'd be great at Skee-Ball. It's almost like bowling."
“I have to admit, this is one thing I never thought I’d be doing during a case.”
E.L. smiled. “All work and no play, man . . . Gotta have some fun, too, you know.”
****
Lionel was reading the second half of his Savage mystery that evening when E.L. knocked on the door between their rooms. The sound made him jump, but not as much as before. He hoped that was progress. “Come in.”
“Hey,” E.L. said. “I’m about ready to hit the sack. Acting like a kid isn’t as easy as it looks.”
Lionel smiled. After mini golf and the arcade, E.L. had jumped into the motel pool for a while to cool off. “Maybe tomorrow you can play at the park.”
“You should’ve gone swimming, too, buddy,” E.L. told him. “A few laps can really tire you out.”
Subtle, he wasn’t. “I told you, I didn’t bring my trunks,” Lionel said.
“You could’ve bought some. But we can argue about that later.” E.L. handed him a pill bottle. “Here you go.”
Lionel stared at the sleep aid label. He’d hoped E.L. had forgotten about it. “Thank you.”
“You are gonna take ’em, right? We made a deal.”
“Yes, I’ll take them.” Tomorrow.
“Great.” E.L. smiled. “You’ll need to be sharp when you talk to Preston, you know? I really hope you can pry something out of him.”
“Me, too,” Lionel agreed. But first, he needed to find out a little more about Amanda Barlow. And for once, his insomnia was going to be an asset instead of a problem.
****
Staying up until one a.m. was woefully easy. Lionel finally finished his mystery novel, which, coincidentally, ended with the arrest of a beautiful woman as the deceitful culprit. Not that he knew for sure if Miss Barlow was guilty of anything. But he had a nagging suspicion that she might have something to do with this case.
Yes, staying awake was the easy part. Getting the car keys from E.L.’s room without him hearing—that might be more of a challenge.
Lionel opened the adjoining door as quietly as possible. E.L. was snoring softly, so he entered the room. The keys were on the nightstand next to the bed, and Lionel held his breath as he picked them up, careful not to make too much noise. When he’d gotten back to the doorway with them, he let out a sigh of relief.
He’d done it. Lionel felt a slight rush, something he hadn’t experienced in a while. He was a detective on a mission again, and the fact that it was late at night somehow made it that much more exciting.
Still, as he got behind the wheel of the car, he was aware of the need to be careful. He couldn’t give E.L. any additional reasons to be angry with him. And it wasn’t like he wanted to get hurt again, either. He had to prove that he could still do his job.
The freeway traffic was much lighter at night, and with a comfortable new car, the miles flew by. Before he knew it, Lionel was back in downtown Riverside, on his way to the block he’d located on the map earlier. Even at this hour, the bars were busy with last-call customers. He spotted the neon sign for Ace’s, which had a blue airplane and red propeller under its name, and pulled into the parking lot behind the building. He was a little early, so he'd have to wait.
How was he going to prove his suspicions about Nolan’s girlfriend? Lionel figured she must be having an affair with Preston. It all added up: the fact that he’d left a good job to move away from his friend, but didn’t want to explain why; the fact that Miss Barlow wasn’t happy to learn that detectives were on the scene; the fact that she lived closer to Preston than to Nolan. He wasn’t sure if Nolan knew about the possible affair. Wouldn’t he have told them about his girlfriend if he suspected her of cheating on him with his friend?
Loud voices got Lionel’s attention. He slouched down in his seat, hoping nobody would notice him. The bar was closed now, and a few customers and employees were walking into the lot to get to their cars. Where was Amanda Barlow?
Just as he was starting to worry that she might’ve missed work, she came outside, chatting with a guy. A patron? A bartender who’d already changed out of his uniform? Lionel couldn’t tell.
The man walked her to her car, close enough for Lionel to hear her say something flirtatious about his chivalry. Before he could figure out what was going on, Miss Barlow and the man embraced, sharing a torrid goodnight kiss.
Lionel was so surprised, he almost forgot to start the car as the woman drove out of the parking lot. Was his theory about her and Preston going up in smoke? He’d been so sure she must be involved with him. Was she having multiple affairs? It seemed unlikely.
He followed her car as inconspicuously as he could out of the downtown area and into a residential neighborhood. Finally, she turned left into a driveway and pulled into the garage.
Parked in front of the house was the red Ford pickup.
Lionel kept going past the house, then turned around and drove by in the other direction, looking for the house number. When he was out of range, he pulled over and jotted down the address before heading back to the freeway.
****
Whether it was some lingering adrenaline from his late-night adventure or nervousness about how he would explain it to E.L., Lionel was already up and getting dressed when his partner came in to check on him.
“Good morning, buddy,” E.L. said, smiling, but there was something about his cheerful tone that made Lionel uneasy. He hoped it was just his guilty conscience. “How’d you sleep last night?”
“Good.” Lionel sat on the chair by the desk.
“Yeah? The pills worked, huh?”
“I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.” That much was true, at least.
“Great. That’s great, man.” E.L. was still smiling, but Lionel braced himself, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where the car keys are, would you?”
Thud went the other shoe as Lionel froze. He’d forgotten to put the keys back when he returned. Oh, well, E.L. needed to hear about it anyway.
“I, uh, forgot to take them out of my pocket,” he confessed.
“Your pocket.” E.L. would make a great trial attorney. “Do a little sleepwalking last night, Lionel?”
He sighed. “No. I took them so I could go on a stakeout.”
The smug look on E.L.’s face changed to confusion. “Stakeout? What are you talking about?”
“I went to that bar in Riverside, to check on Amanda Barlow.”
“By yourself?” E.L. exclaimed. “In the middle of the night?”
“You told me she gets off work at two a.m.,” Lionel reminded him.
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t have told you.” E.L. collapsed on the bed. “How could you do something so irresponsible, man? After everything I’ve said about being safe, you go out for a joyride all by yourself?”
“It wasn’t a joyride. I was working.”
“We’re supposed to work together. Partners, remember? What if something happened to you? What if there was a fire here last night? I wouldn’t have even known where you were!”
“I left you a note,” Lionel said, trying to stay calm.
“A note?”
“On the dresser.”
E.L. went to his room and brought it back. “‘Going to Ace’s. Don’t worry. L.’” He looked at Lionel. “‘Don’t worry.’ That was a nice touch, man.”
“You left me a note, too, when you slipped out to do some work by yourself.”
"That was completely different,” E.L. said, still fuming.
“How?”
“Because I went out in broad daylight to a construction site, not some seedy bar at two in the morning.”
“It’s not seedy,” Lionel told him. “It looked like a nice place, from the outside, at least.”
“You still don’t get it, do you? You lied to me about taking those pills. You broke your promise. Then you snuck out of here, for what? That woman you said you weren’t interested in.”
Lionel took a deep breath. “First of all, I’m sorry about the pills. I promised I’d take them before I knew I needed to stay awake last night.” E.L. was about to interrupt again, so he held up his hand to stop him. “I will take them tonight, though, and you can watch me do it.”
“Lionel—”
“Second,” he continued, “I’m sorry I had to sneak out, but I knew you wouldn’t approve of my plan. I was careful, and nothing bad happened. In fact, I learned something important about Miss Barlow.”
“What?” E.L. asked, still skeptical.
“That it’s a good thing I’m not interested in her romantically, because I’d have to stand in a long line.”
E.L. stared at him. “What do you mean?”
Lionel explained his theory about an affair, and the kiss he’d witnessed between the blonde and the new man.
“Okay, then, maybe she’s not Nolan’s girlfriend after all,” E.L. suggested. “Or maybe they just broke up.”
“I followed her home,” Lionel said. “Guess whose red truck was parked outside?”
“Nolan’s?”
“Right.”
E.L. looked like he was running out of steam. “So what do you think is going on?”
“I’m not sure,” Lionel admitted. “Maybe she’s moved on from Preston to this other man. If Nolan thought they were cheating, he might want us to find Preston so he can confront him.”
“But he could’ve found the guy himself,” E.L. pointed out. “Why drag us into this?”
“His late-night motel tryst notwithstanding, Nolan’s a working man,” Lionel mused. “He has a job that keeps him busy. It makes sense that he’d hire someone to do the investigative work, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. What do you suppose he’d do if we gave him Preston’s address? Beat him up?”
“I hope not.”
“I was kidding,” E.L. said. “You don’t really think he’d be violent, do you?”
“It doesn’t take much to send a man into a jealous rage,” Lionel replied. “In fact, Mark Savage had a case like that in this—” He stopped, remembering that E.L. had no interest in the fictitious detective.
But instead of looking annoyed, E.L. smiled. A genuine smile this time.
“What?” Lionel asked, confused.
“You’re starting to sound like your old self again,” he explained. “Welcome back, partner.”
****
That evening, Lionel opened the car door, preparing to walk up to Preston’s house.
“You sure you want to level with him?” E.L. asked.
“I don’t think I have much choice,” Lionel admitted. “Yesterday’s ruse didn’t work. He’d probably be suspicious if I made up something, too.”
“I guess you’re right. Well, good luck, buddy.”
“Thanks.”
Preston was home from work. Lionel could see the glow of a TV through the blinds as he climbed the front steps. He rang the doorbell, taking a deep, calming breath.
A man opened the door. Lionel recognized him from the photo Nolan had given them, plus E.L.’s description. “Mr. Preston?”
“Yes?” The man sounded suspicious already.
“Hello, sir, I’m Lionel Whitney, from the Lionel Whitney Detective Agency. If I may, I’d like to ask you a few questions about Amanda Barlow.”
He’d decided not to lead with Nolan, figuring that might shut the man down. Apparently it was the right move, because Preston looked surprised, then curious.
“Did Gary hire you?” he asked, checking the street.
“Yes, but he doesn’t know we’ve located you yet,” Lionel told him.
“Well, I guess you might as well come in, then.” Preston held the door open for him.
Lionel could almost picture E.L.’s jaw dropping as he walked inside.
Preston turned off the TV and motioned to the couch. “Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you.” He waited while the man went to the kitchen and returned with a beer.
“So how do you know about Mandy?” Preston asked, sitting in his recliner.
“Well, Mr. Nolan didn’t mention her to us—me and my partner, that is—but I saw them together.”
Preston smiled. “Your partner . . . Was that the guy who was asking me questions at work yesterday? Black guy? What was his name?"
“Turner,” Lionel said. “Yes, that was him. He enjoys undercover work.”
“I thought that story sounded fishy. Gary might have bad taste in women, but he knows how to lead a crew.” He took a sip of his beer. “So what did he tell you guys about me, aside from not hearing from me?”
“Well, he said a friend of his thought you might’ve moved out here due to financial problems,” Lionel told him.
Preston laughed bitterly. “Friend, huh? That had to be Mandy. She’s my only financial problem.”
Lionel waited for him to go on.
“She tried to blackmail me again,” Preston explained.
“Again?”
“Yeah.” The man sighed. “That’s why I asked you to come in. I could use some help. I know Gary hired you, but I’d be willing to pay, too, if you can get her off my back.”
“Miss Barlow?” Lionel asked.
Preston nodded. “It’s kind of a long story. About five months ago, she and I had a . . . fling. She came on to me, and I—I’m not proud of it. In fact, I felt like dirt, doing that to Gary. Then Mandy said she wanted to leave him for me, but I told her no. I was done. She didn’t take it well, you know?”
Lionel nodded.
“A friend of mine told me there was a big building boom in Riverside County, lots of jobs. I decided I could use a change. And a place to hide. When Mandy found out I was leaving, she threatened to tell Gary about us, that the whole thing was my idea, unless I paid her off.”
“And you did?” Lionel guessed.
“Half. That was all I could afford. Then, after I moved here, I figured she’d leave me alone. But I underestimated her.”
“She moved out here after you did?”
“Yeah. Can you believe it? She told Gary she wanted to be closer to her family.” Preston shook his head. “He works out here a lot, too, so I guess he doesn’t mind.”
“Do you think that’s the reason she’s still with him?” Lionel asked. “I saw her kissing another man last night, outside the bar where she works.”
“Huh. Gary must have something she wants. I don’t think she really loves him.”
“So you paid her half of the extortion amount, and now she’s looking for the other half?” Lionel hoped E.L. wasn’t getting too bored waiting in the car.
“Not since I found my secret weapon,” Preston said. “Some . . . photos I took last year.”
“Of Miss Barlow?”
Preston nodded, finishing his beer. “We were both drunk one night, and she wanted to model for me, so . . . I stashed the pictures away and forgot about them until I was unpacking after the move. I thought I’d destroyed them. If she wants them, it’s going to cost her. The amount I paid her, plus a signed statement that she’ll stop harassing me in the future.”
“Do you think she’d agree to that?” Lionel asked, intrigued.
“I don’t know. We’re in a standoff right now. Neither of us wants to give in. I’ll keep the pictures forever; I don’t care. I just hope Gary doesn’t find out about it.”
“Are you worried that Mr. Nolan might become violent if he does?”
“A little worried, yeah. He’s usually pretty easygoing, but he does have a quick temper sometimes.”
A car horn sounded outside, a series of short blasts. Lionel went to the window. E.L. had propped up the hood and was hiding under it, pretending to fix the horn.
“Is that an alarm?” Preston asked.
“A prearranged signal. My partner, E.L., said he’d use it to warn me if . . . ” Amanda Barlow’s car pulled up to the curb. “Miss Barlow is here.”
"What?” Preston got up. “Did she know you’d be here?”
“No, we didn’t tell anyone,” Lionel assured him. “Where can I hide?”
“In the kitchen. There’s a door to the pantry.”
Lionel went into hiding moments before Miss Barlow knocked on the front door. She would be a knocker, he thought, still jumpy at the sound.
“What do you want?” Preston demanded from the living room.
“Gary hired a couple of private detectives,” the woman told him. “I think one of them followed me home last night. It’s just a matter of time before they uncover something.”
“I haven’t talked to anyone. If you think detectives are following you, why lead them here?”
Good point, Lionel cheered silently. He liked this guy.
“Just give me those pictures, and I’ll leave you alone, okay? For good.”
“As soon as you give me the money you stole from me,” Preston said.
“Do you think I’m carrying that much cash with me? Look, if you give me the pictures right now, I’ll tell Gary there was no affair. It was all a misunderstanding.”
“He won’t believe you.”
Miss Barlow sighed. “All right, then, let’s make the exchange and get it over with.”
“When and where?” Preston asked.
“Tomorrow. Noon. You have Saturdays off, right?”
“And so does Gary.”
“I’ll tell him I have a salon appointment. He won’t want to go there. We can meet in the parking lot of that medical center in Moreno Valley, the big one on Cactus Avenue. You know where it is?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”
After she left, Lionel returned to the living room. “Wow.”
“Real piece of work, isn’t she?” Preston shook his head. “Did I do okay?”
“You did fine,” Lionel assured him.
“You and your partner . . . you’re going to be there tomorrow, too, right? I know I can’t trust her.”
“Yes, we’ll be there, in hiding. And we’ll notify the police that a blackmail situation is occurring.” He paused. “I have a suggestion for you, although I know you won’t like it.”
“What’s that?” Preston asked.
“I think we should tell Mr. Nolan what’s going on,” Lionel said.
****
“Did he actually go along with that?” E.L. asked.
They were back at the motel again, but Lionel had so much to report, he still hadn’t finished yet.
“Reluctantly. I explained that if you or I tell Nolan everything, it might defuse some of his anger. And render Miss Barlow’s threat ineffective.”
E.L. smiled. “Well, he did want us to keep him informed. I’ll call him. You’ve done enough for one day, partner.”
“Thanks, E.L.”
It turned out that Mr. Nolan was staying at the motel again, so E.L. went downstairs to talk to him in person. After another long discussion, he was ready for a good night’s sleep.
Lionel was waiting for him in his room. “How’d he take it?”
“He didn’t break anything, at least.” E.L. sat on his bed and took off his shoes. “He suspected something was going on, but he didn’t know it was over, or about the blackmail.”
“So he was hoping to confront Mr. Preston,” Lionel concluded.
“Yeah, it wouldn’t have been a happy reunion. You were right about telling him.” E.L. looked at him. “You’ve been right about a lot of things lately, man.” He yawned. “But we’ll have to talk about that later.”
Lionel smiled. “It has been a long day.” He held up the pill bottle. “I think I’ll be able to sleep now, too.”
“That’s great, because we’re checking out of here tomorrow. Good night, buddy.”
“Good night.”
****
The ringing phone woke E.L. He squinted at the clock on the nightstand. Only eleven-fifteen, but it felt like the middle of the night.
“Hello?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“Hi, Mr. Turner? It’s Steve Preston. I tried calling Mr. Whitney, but there was no answer.”
“Oh, yeah, he’s . . . he was pretty wiped out. Is something wrong?”
“I’m really sorry to bother you, but there’s been a change of plans.”
Uh-oh. “What’s up?”
“Mandy just called me and said she wants to meet at midnight instead, in the parking garage across the street from her bar.”
“What?” E.L. exclaimed. “Why?”
“I think she’s getting nervous. She said she had a fight with Gary earlier, so he’s staying at the motel tonight. She’s probably hoping she’ll throw you guys off her trail.”
“Yeah, okay.” E.L. sighed. “We’ll get over there right now.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem, man.” He hung up. “Big problem.”
He picked the less odious task to do first: wake Nolan. Then he got dressed and opened the door to Lionel’s room.
His partner was sound asleep, looking so comfortable that E.L. almost turned around and walked outside by himself. But he knew Lionel would be upset if he did. He’d practically solved this whole damn case by himself, so it was only fair that he be given the chance to see it through.
E.L. sighed. “Lionel?” He shook his shoulder. Why did he have to insist on giving Lionel those pills? No—why did these people insist on doing everything in the middle of the night? “Hey, buddy.”
Lionel looked surprised to see him, of course. “E.L.? Is it morning already?”
“No, not yet. I’m really sorry, buddy, but you have to get up.”
“Is there a fire?”
E.L. didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both. “No, Barlow’s flipped her lid. She wants to meet at midnight, instead.”
“Midnight?” Lionel sat up. “What time is it now?”
“Eleven-twenty. They’re meeting across the street from her bar. So you can kill me later, but right now I need you to show me where to go.”
“Okay.”
“So . . . you’ll have to get dressed, man. Need any help?”
“Not since I was four,” Lionel said.
E.L. couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, then. I’ll just wait over here.”
All things considered, they made it outside relatively quickly. E.L. steered Lionel away from the dark staircase and into the elevator.
“Did you call Nolan?” Lionel asked, drinking some coffee from a vending machine as they got on the freeway.
“Yeah. Preston said he and Barlow had an argument tonight, so that’s why he’s at the motel. Wonder what they were fighting about.”
Lionel was quiet for a few minutes. Just as E.L. was wondering if he was still awake, he commented, “I have a feeling Mr. Preston’s about to walk into a trap.”
E.L. looked at him, surprised. “I was thinking the same thing.”
He followed Lionel’s directions to the exact street downtown. Hard to believe just this morning he’d been arguing with him about driving to this place by himself. If Lionel hadn’t done it, E.L. would be wasting precious time now looking for it on the map.
He found the parking garage across the street from Ace’s Bar. Preston was waiting by the entrance, and he motioned to them to go on inside. E.L. drove past the man’s truck and around the corner, out of sight. Amanda Barlow wasn’t here yet. Would she be driving, or walking across the street from work? Too many unknowns.
He parked on an uphill slope, so they could see the activity below them, then he and Lionel got out of the car. There were big concrete pillars they could hide behind, not far from a pay phone.
Barlow’s sedan appeared, stopping across from Preston’s truck. She got out, wearing a jacket over her uniform, and carrying a duffel bag.
“Did you bring it?” she asked.
He nodded, holding up a 9 x 12 envelope. “You first.”
“Fine.” Barlow handed him the bag, then snatched the envelope from him.
Preston looked inside. “What the hell is this?”
“Exactly what you deserve.” Barlow’s smug look disappeared as she pulled out the contents of the envelope.
"Nolan should’ve been here by now,” E.L. whispered. “We’d better call the cops.”
After using the phone, he turned around, expecting Lionel to be right behind him. But he didn’t see him anywhere. Where did he go?
“Gary and I used to play poker all the time, remember?” Preston was saying. “I knew you were bluffing.”
“You’re not going to get away with this.” Barlow’s voice was cold as ice.
“Your threats against Mr. Preston are no longer effective,” Lionel announced. E.L. finally saw him down below, swaying a bit from fatigue, way too close to the action.
Amanda Barlow looked shocked, then angry. “You again!” She turned to Preston. “You called him?”
“You bet I did. This guy’s been one step ahead of you the whole way.”
“And thanks to my partner,” Lionel added, “Mr. Nolan knows all about your nefarious deeds.”
Was he even aware of what he was doing? E.L. hurried down to stop him before he got himself in trouble.
Preston chuckled. “‘Nefarious Deeds.’ Great band name.”
“That’s enough!” Barlow pulled a gun out of her jacket and pointed it at him. “I want those pictures. Where are they?”
Oh, no. E.L. got in front of Lionel, blocking him.
"They’re at the house,” Preston said.
“Then let’s go get them.” Barlow turned to E.L. and Lionel. “And don’t even think about following us, or—”
Squealing tires got her attention as the red pickup finally arrived. Nolan got out, but froze at the sight of the gun.
“What are you doing here, Gary?” Barlow asked, annoyed. “Don’t you trust me? Why did you have to get them to spy on me?”
“I didn’t,” Nolan said, “but I know what you’ve done, Mandy. How could you lie to my face and tell me you loved me?”
“I do love you! There’s no one else, I swear.”
“What about that man you were kissing outside the bar last night?” Lionel asked over E.L.'s shoulder.
Barlow glared at him. “He’s lying, Gary. Whatever they told you, it was all a lie.”
“For God’s sake, Mandy, don’t make this even worse,” Nolan told her.
To E.L.’s relief, two police cars pulled up behind the red pickup.
“Put the gun down!” an officer shouted from behind the driver’s door. “Put it down!”
Barlow hesitated for a moment, then gave in. As the police swooped in to apprehend her, E.L. could finally breathe again.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked Lionel, hoping the gun hadn’t upset him too much.
“Yes.” Lionel seemed calm enough. Maybe he thought he was dreaming. “Thank you, E.L.”
"Glad I could help somehow. You cracked this case, partner.”
“We both did,” Lionel corrected him. “I probably wouldn’t have even gone on this trip if it weren’t for you.”
Huh. Maybe he was more awake than E.L. thought. “It was some ride, man. But now the case is closed, and we can celebrate.”
“Later,” Lionel mumbled.
“Much later,” E.L. agreed.
Preston and Nolan were standing nearby, talking.
“I’m sorry about all this, Gary,” Preston said. “What I did . . . it was a huge mistake. I’ll be glad to destroy those photos.”
“I owe you an apology, too,” Nolan told him. “About Mandy, and for thinking you were still seeing her all this time. I’ve been such a fool.”
“There were so many times I’ve wanted to pick up the phone and call you.” Preston sighed. "You think you can ever forgive me?"
“All I know for sure is, I’ve missed you too,” Nolan admitted. “Now that I have the weekend free, maybe we can go out somewhere and have a long talk. Lunch or dinner, maybe?”
“I’d like that.” Preston extended his hand, and Nolan shook it. Then they turned to E.L. and Lionel.
“Thanks, guys,” Nolan said, shaking their hands next. “I’m sorry I wasn’t completely honest with you. This didn’t turn out the way I expected, but there may be a silver lining.”
“I hope things work out for you and your friend,” E.L. told him.
Mr. Nolan promised to contact them again before they returned home, then walked back to his truck.
“I can’t thank you guys enough,” Preston said. “I feel like a huge weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. Mr. Whitney, you rode in like the cavalry there.”
“You were pretty bold yourself,” E.L. reminded him. “You took a big risk with those fake photos.”
Preston smiled. “It was worth it to see the look on her face. Of course, knowing I had backup made a big difference, too.” He yawned. “Well, I guess we’ll all sleep a lot better now, huh?”
“That’s for sure,” E.L. agreed.
****
“I can’t believe I slept in my clothes,” Lionel said, back in the car with E.L. again after brunch.
“You said you were too tired to change. But you did take your shoes off, at least.”
“That’s the last thing I remember.”
“I’m surprised you can remember anything.” E.L. shook his head. “The first time you try those pills, and I had to wake you up like that.”
“Well, at least we found out they work,” Lionel said. “By the way, where are you going? The beach is in the other direction.” E.L. had made reservations at a hotel for the weekend.
“I thought since we have some extra time now, we could get our kicks on Route 66 first.”
Lionel still couldn’t believe they’d solved the case already, or that his insomnia had played such a big part in it. If he hadn’t seen Amanda Barlow by the pool that first night, he might not have even learned about her involvement with Preston.
“Feeling better now that you’re back in the game?” E.L. asked, as if he’d read his mind.
“Yes. You were right, E.L. I did need to get away from everything for a while.”
“That might be the only thing I was right about,” he admitted. “I should’ve listened to you more; trusted your instincts. I never thought I’d be putting you in harm’s way.”
“Danger’s a part of the job,” Lionel reminded him.
“Not my favorite part,” E.L. said.
Lionel finally realized where they were going when they reached the city of Arcadia. Sure enough, E.L. turned into the parking lot of the Santa Anita racetrack.
“E.L., not again.”
“We don’t have to stay here all day. Just a couple of races.” He paid the parking fee, then found an empty space. “Actually, we’re here for your benefit.”
Lionel looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
E.L. showed him the race entries in the sports page of the newspaper. “Third race. They've got a horse namesake for you this time."
“You’re telling me there’s a horse named Lionel Whitney?”
“Of course not. That’d be too on the nose—no pun intended,” E.L. said. “But it’s close enough, see? White Lion. It has all but two of the letters in Whitney, and only two missing letters from your first name. And what are those two missing letters?”
“E.L. . . ”
“Right!” He grinned. “I’m telling you, man, it’s fate. Another longshot. And look at this beautiful setting: mountains and trees and flowers.”
“The County Arboretum’s right across the street,” Lionel pointed out. “It has all those things, too. Plus peacocks.”
“Yeah, but you can’t bet on a peacock.” E.L. got out of the car and started walking toward the gate. Lionel followed him, shaking his head.
With race three approaching, E.L. led Lionel to the betting windows.
“I’m not here to bet, E.L.,” he said.
“C’mon, buddy. Have some fun.”
“There’s nothing fun about losing money.”
“Two bucks,” E.L. said. “If he loses, you’re out two measly bucks. But if he wins . . . ” He pointed to the tote board on the TV monitor overhead. “Look at those odds.”
“Those odds are that high for a reason,” Lionel argued. “He hasn’t won a single race.”
“Yet,” E.L. countered.
Lionel sighed. There was only one thing left to do. “All right, I’m going to make that bet.”
“You are?” E.L. sounded delighted.
“Yes, just to teach you a lesson about the futility of gambling.” Lionel pulled out his wallet and opened it. “Do you have anything smaller than a ten?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Just as well. You can watch ten dollars go down the drain.” Lionel looked at the betting windows. “What do I do?”
“Go tell that man you want to put ten bucks on number seven, to win,” E.L. said.
“You don’t think he’ll laugh at my foolishness, betting on a such a heavy longshot?”
“As long as your money’s good, they don’t care. Go on, man.”
Lionel returned a moment later with his ticket.
“Good job,” E.L. told him. “Now, let’s go look at your investment.”
The jockeys were waiting to mount their horses in the riding ring. A groom led number seven past the crowd.
“You know, he kinda looks like you,” E.L. remarked. “Long legs, big brown eyes. And he’s gray, like your favorite suits.”
Lionel rolled his eyes. “So what did Early L.T. look like?”
“Dark and debonair,” E.L. said. “Lots of flash.”
They returned to the grandstand to watch the race.
“Getting excited yet?” E.L. asked.
“I can hardly contain myself.”
“Me, too. There’s a steak dinner on the line here, you know.”
“There is?”
“Call it my cut for the hot tip.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Lionel told him.
He wasn’t surprised when number seven came out of the starting gate behind the rest of the field.
“He’s saving his energy for the stretch run,” E.L. reassured him.
There was no point in saying anything. His partner would see for himself. Betting was a racket, and there was no earthly way this horse could . . .
The crowd roared with surprise as White Lion gained ground on the outside edge of the pack, pulling even with the 2-1 favorite at the top of the stretch.
“Come on, big guy!” E.L. hollered. Lionel realized he was talking to the horse.
He watched in amazement as the gray colt opened up a one-length lead before crossing the finish line in first place. Beside him, E.L. was jumping for joy, but most of the spectators threw their losing tickets on the ground, disgusted. Litterbugs.
“I told you!” E.L. said. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“I can’t believe it,” Lionel admitted.
“I’ll take my steak medium rare.” He lowered his voice. “Let’s go get your money and get out of here.”
Lionel kept an eye out for shady characters as he turned in his ticket and pocketed a stunning amount of cash.
“I’d better stop by the bank and make a deposit,” he said on the way to the car. “Then to the beach, right?”
“Sounds good to me, buddy.” E.L. handed him the car keys. “You’re driving.”
****
That evening, they lounged on hotel chairs in the sand, sipping tropical drinks while listening to the waves crashing on the shore. Seagulls drifted overhead, and in the distance, families laughed and chatted; sounds of contentment all around.
Lionel couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so relaxed. Judging from the look on E.L.’s face, it’d been a while for him, too. Lionel hoped he wasn’t entirely to blame for that.
“E.L.?” he said.
His partner’s eyes were closed, but Lionel knew he wasn’t asleep. “Hmm?”
“I think I’m ready to talk.”
E.L. turned to him. “Yeah? You mean, about . . .”
“What happened to me,” Lionel confirmed. “That is, if you’re still interested. I don’t want to disturb the peace here.”
“No, no.” E.L. adjusted his chair so he could face him. “You’re feeling better, remember? No nightmares for a while. Now’s the perfect time to let it all out.”
He couldn’t have picked a nicer setting for it, Lionel had to admit.
“I’ve been trying to figure out why it’s bothered me so much,” he began. “Before, I’d always been able to shake things off and get back to work. I could let it go.”
“Well, this one was a lot worse,” E.L. pointed out. “And you had more time to think about it, at the hospital and then at home.”
“That’s true.” Plus, he’d gotten an additional jolt when Byron Simms snuck into his hospital room—and ended up dying there. Lionel took another sip of his drink. “It was fear, mostly. That’s what kept me awake at night. That feeling of helplessness . . . it just smothers you. You can't breathe, and even if you are asleep, you wake up shaking, in a cold sweat.”
E.L. nodded, waiting for him to go on.
“You already know how it started, with Simms and Tyler at the office. For some reason, I locked the door that morning, so I had to go open it.
“I wasn’t afraid at first. Even when I saw the gun. I mean, we’ve had so many guns pointed at us, I’ve lost count. But usually the person holding it starts talking, you know? They order you around, try to intimidate you.”
E.L. nodded again.
“But Tyler just . . . he caught me completely off guard.” Lionel shook his head. “I didn’t try to close the door or move out of the way, or anything. I just stood there. I remember being surprised, and in pain. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor, and . . . and I . . .” He paused to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief.
“It’s okay, buddy,” E.L. encouraged him. “Keep going.”
“Those guys were still there, watching me. I was afraid if I moved, Tyler might shoot me again. You know, finish the job.” That was what’d been haunting him, Lionel realized. The memory of being alone and vulnerable in his own office. “I could feel the blood gushing. I thought I was going to die, and nobody would even know what happened, except those two men.”
E.L. let out a deep sigh, staring at his glass.
“Finally—it was probably only a few seconds, but it felt longer—Simms said, ‘Let’s go.’ I heard them walk down the hallway. I was a little worried it might be a trick; that they might come back. But I couldn’t wait anymore.”
Lionel glanced at E.L. He was blowing his nose with a cocktail napkin. “I took off my tie and rolled it up, and stuck it inside my shirt, to try to slow the bleeding down. Then I crawled to my desk. I knew I had to hurry—I was getting lightheaded; a little woozy. So I called Mike, and he must’ve set a new speed record driving over.” He smiled. “I just tried to stay awake until he got there. I didn’t want him to think I was . . . that it was too late, you know? But I guess I scared him anyway, because he looked like he’d seen a ghost.”
E.L. nodded. “You were both really pale when I walked in. Mike said you went into shock.” He looked down. “I just wish I’d gotten there sooner, buddy. I hate that you had to go through all that by yourself.”
Lionel reached over and patted his arm. “I’m sorry, E.L. I know this is really depressing.”
E.L. choked out a laugh. “You’re worried about me ?”
“Well, it was a lot to dump on you,” Lionel said.
“I asked you to,” E.L. reminded him. “I can’t believe you were able to work with all this on your mind. Do you even know how brave you are?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
“When Mike and I were waiting at the hospital, he told me you were gonna be all right, because you’re a fighter. He said you had to be, just to make it that far. And he was right. You fought like hell to stay alive, man.”
“I was thinking about all the things I hadn’t done yet,” Lionel admitted. “And all the people I care about. I could just hear my dad saying, ‘See? You should’ve listened to me.’”
E.L. smiled. “I hope he didn’t tell you that at the hospital.”
“No, but I’m sure he wanted to.” Lionel took another sip of his drink. “I was thinking about my friend Marty the other day. Sylvia's husband, remember?"
“Sure.” E.L. had met him at their office, not long before he was killed.
“He was living the life my parents wanted for me, but it didn’t keep him safe, either.” Lionel still couldn’t believe he’d never see him again. “And because I was the one who left the brokerage house, I was able to work on the case. Get some justice for him, at least.”
“We both know you made the right choice,” E.L. told him. “I mean, where would I be right now without all your help?” He nudged him. “And my nephew. You got that get-well card he sent, right?”
“Yes.” Lionel smiled. “I loved that picture of Brendan in a Scout uniform. Did he really join?”
“My brother told him it was either that or military school. He likes it, though, just like you said he would.”
“That’s great,” Lionel said. “Now he can put that quick mind of his to good use. I have to admit, I was surprised to hear from him.”
“Why?” E.L. asked.
“I didn’t think he really liked me.”
“Sure he did. He’d just never met anyone like you before. And it was his own idea to send you that card. When I told him you got shot, he said, ‘That’s not supposed to happen to the good guys.’”
“Brendan said that?” Lionel asked, startled.
E.L. raised three fingers on his right hand. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a Scout.”
“Still true, though.”
"Thanks for telling me,” Lionel said.
“You, too. For talking to me, I mean. Aren’t you glad you did?”
“I am,” he admitted. “I thought it would be a lot harder. A week ago, it probably would’ve been.” Lionel speared some fruit from his glass and popped it into his mouth. “I can’t believe I didn’t want to go on this trip. Now I’m in no hurry to leave.”
“You liked Corona that much, huh?” E.L. teased him. He’d gotten his final victory lap around Grand Boulevard that morning, just like he’d wanted.
Lionel smiled. “Well, maybe not quite as much as Corona del Mar. But I can see the attraction.”
“You can?”
“It’s a hub,” he explained. “Not too exciting, but pretty much equidistant from places that are. Mountains, deserts, beaches.”
“Disneyland,” E.L. added.
"The Railway Museum in Perris,” Lionel joked.
“Yeah, that was exciting. I’ll bet you had one of those Lionel model train sets when you were a kid, didn’t you?”
E.L. looked pleased when Lionel laughed. It’d been a long time since he’d found anything very amusing.
“I thought it was named after me,” he confessed.
The sun was sinking closer to the horizon; the sky streaked with pastel colors.
“You going swimming tomorrow?” E.L. asked, taking another sip of his Mai Tai. “Last chance."
“I suppose I should.” Lionel peeked under his shirt. “You don’t think my scar looks too bad, do you?”
“Is that what’s stopping you? That’s a badge of honor, man. Survival.” E.L. raised his glass and clinked it against Lionel’s. “To many more incredible sunsets, partner.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Lionel said. And he did.
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