If Cooks Could Kill Part 27

"Maybe he has the rest of the diamond?" Angie offered. "Butch didn't like Dennis's idea to expand the restaurant, and if Dennis doesn't play football, he'll need money."

"It still doesn't fit," Paavo said. "Go straight home now. I've got a lead on Squire's whereabouts, and Yosh and I are just leaving. I'll come by later to pick up the diamonds."

"Can I leave them with Lt. Hollins?" she asked.

"Hold on." He made a quick call and got back to her. "Vic Walters is at his desk; Robbery is down the hall. Room four-eighty. He'll be waiting."

"Great. Be careful."

"Promise me you'll go straight home after you drop off the diamonds."

"Of course," she said.

Why didn't he believe her?

He was on his feet, putting on his jacket to find Max, when a small man wearing a green jacket, vest, s.h.i.+rt, and trousers, with green face paint, green pointy ears, a green bowler hat, and green suede shoes with upturned pointed toes sprang into Homicide. A good-sized crowd chortled, clapped, and murmured behind him. "Paavo Smith?" he trilled.

Luis Calderon pointed at Paavo.

The green bean suddenly began to cartwheel down the aisle between desks, cabinets, and chairs to land on one knee at Paavo's feet. With his arms outstretched like someone about to propose, he announced, "I'm Larry the Leprechaun from Shamrock Motors. I'm here, Paavo Smith, because this is your lucky day!"

Paavo looked at him as if he were a giant green bug that needed to be stepped on.

"No, it isn't." Paavo barreled past the guy and marched out of the room daring anyone to say a word.

They didn't.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Veronica. Alive.

She was leaving the Hall of Justice, getting into a Mercedes.

They'd tricked him. He thought she was dead, but she wasn't. That was why there was nothing in the newspaper, no word of looking for her killer.

Was she working with the cops now? With Homicide? She must be.

The Mercedes pulled out of the parking lot.

He had to follow. He thought he'd killed her once.

He wouldn't miss this time.

Chapter 30.

Connie didn't know what to do. While Angie had delivered the diamonds to the robbery inspector, she'd stayed in the lobby and used a pay phone to check for messages at her home and business.

When she heard Max Squire's voice, she nearly fainted.

She returned his call. He'd gotten himself an inexpensive cell phone and was currently at the Main Library at the Civic Center. He was earning twenty dollars an hour to straighten out the accounting books for the organization that ran the shelter where he'd been staying. It was a bargain for them-a professional CPA could well charge ten times that amount, and it meant money for him.

He wasn't staying there any longer, though, because he knew the police had shown up looking for him. He'd been lying low ever since.

Still, he'd been worried about her, had checked on her apartment and business many times, but she seemed to have vanished. He wanted to see her, to try to explain.

She was angry with him-beyond angry-and wanted answers. "Meet me," he said, "and I'll give them to you."

The Main Library was a busy place. She'd be safe meeting him there, and she wouldn't let him sweet-talk her into going anyplace where they'd be alone. This girl was no fool. She'd seen lots of TV shows and movies about murderers. No way was she going to let herself get into some dangerous situation.

She glanced over at Angie, now driving them back to her apartment.

Not most of the time, at least.

Why should she meet him? What she should do was call the police and have them arrest his a.s.s! He was a sitting duck.

He'd trusted her, though; maybe that was why she couldn't do it.

She told him she just didn't know if she'd be there.

He said he'd wait all evening.

More trust.

G.o.d, but she hated it when people she hated decided to be nice. What was with that?

"Angie," she said as they neared the library, "I need to be alone for a while. Drop me off at the Main Library, okay? I'll take a cab back to your place later."

"The library? Are you joking?"

"No. I want to think. A lot has happened."

"You want to think about Kevin, don't you?" Angie said. "There's still an undercurrent between you two, you know."

She didn't want to hear that. "It's ancient history, nothing more. When I see him, the disappointment comes back all over again."

"Maybe this time he's straightened himself out," Angie suggested.

"Sure-like trying to fence diamonds he stole from my place. If that's straight, I don't know crooked." Connie turned away, staring out the window. "I'm tired of hoping."

Angie nodded. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather come back to my place?"

"I need to do this. Let me out at the corner."

Angie peered quizzically at her, but did as directed.

"Don't worry about me," Connie said. "I'll see you later."

"Be careful."

Connie headed into the building. It was recently built, with lots of gla.s.s, very modern. Frankly, she preferred the old Greco-Roman building that had served as the main branch for decades. But, as she was learning, all things must change.

She went into the reading room and almost didn't recognize Max. He'd gotten his hair cut short and was wearing gold-rimmed gla.s.ses. Even his clothes were fresh and clean. Hints of the high-powered financial advisor were before her, a man he'd kept well hidden up to now. Had he kept the side of himself who could be a killer hidden as well?

He stood as she approached. "Shall we go outside so we can talk?" he asked.

"No," she said too quickly. "No one is using the table and chairs in the far corner. Let's go there."

He nodded, his gaze telling her he understood why she didn't want to be alone with him.

They sat catty-corner on wooden chairs at a wooden table, and Max slid his chair closer to hers, his demeanor sad. "You don't trust me at all, do you?"

"My store was trashed," she said. But he was right, he seemed like a stranger now.

He shut his eyes. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

She didn't want his sympathy. She was barely able to contain her anger. "Tell me what the h.e.l.l this is all about. Why am I involved?"

He relayed the story she already knew about Veronica embezzling from him. "So what?" she demanded. "You aren't the first guy who's ever trusted the wrong woman. She embezzled, she went to jail. Case closed. There's got to be more."

"She still has the money," Max said. "I thought that if I could get my hands on it, I could pay back my clients, get the lien against future earnings lifted off my back, and have a life again. I kept trying to find her."

"Why?" She spat the word at him. "Did you think if you asked, she'd just turn it over to you?"

He shook his head. "I thought that if I threatened, she might."

"Threatened to do what?"

"To kill her."

Connie stared at him. "And did you?"

"Did I what? I never saw her-except once. The time she used to frame us both. I still don't know where the money is. Or where she is."

She wondered if he was telling the truth. She wanted to believe him, and yet strangely, in cleaning himself up, he was no longer the scraggly, vulnerable man she'd been attracted to. He was more in control, more calculating and self-contained. She was always a beer-and-pretzel kind of gal, and he was suddenly chilled white wine and roasted Brie. An absurd sense of loss surrounded her, and she rubbed her arms.

"If she had those millions," she continued, "why didn't she just leave the country once out of prison?"

"That's what I can't figure either. It has to do with Dennis. She was hanging around him. He must know, but he pretends he hardly knows her."

"When they were teenagers, they got married in Mexico. His family helped him get it annulled."

Max stared at her a long moment, then he laughed bitterly. "Wouldn't you know it? G.o.d, what a fool I was."

"Do you think she gave Dennis the money, and now, he won't give it back? Could that be why she's here?"

"She wouldn't give it to him. I can't imagine her trusting anyone enough to give it to, but then"-another sullen chuckle-"I'm the last person to try to figure her out. I never could."

"If you had the money, how would you have hidden it?"

He picked up his pencil and tapped it, point, then eraser, then point again. "In offsh.o.r.e banks. That's what I did with a lot of my clients' money. That was the system she broke into."

"So, she understands offsh.o.r.e accounts. What would have stopped her from setting up one of her own?"

"I expect that's exactly what she did," he said with a shrug.

"How would she get into it? Could there be someplace in the city that she needs to go to?"

"It's easier than that. Any Internet account would get her in. It's just a string of numbers-a code."

"Numbers? Like, twelve or so?"

"Even longer. Plus, a couple of pa.s.swords."

Connie remembered the string of numbers she and Angie had found hidden in Veronica's room. It had been torn in a way that some of the numbers might have been removed. "What if she didn't have all the numbers?" Connie mused. "What if someone else had part of the code? She might have been here trying to get the rest of the code."

His gaze hardened. "What do you know?"

"Nothing!" she cried. "I'm trying to figure out what's going on. Why I'm involved; why some fiend is trying to ruin my life!"

He stared at her, trying to calm his suspicions. "You're right." He tossed aside the pencil and rubbed his forehead. "I've allowed myself to be consumed by her for so long, I can't think straight. You know what's the most ridiculous part of all?"

She shook her head.

"I don't really care anymore. Seeing her again, in that quick moment, I realized the woman I loved never really existed. I imagined her as what I wanted her to be, not what she was. The part that makes me the angriest is that I wasted three years of my life over her.

"I could have been working to pay off the liens against me, I could have gone back to court, had changes made in the judgment after the insurance companies paid off my clients, done something more than sit around brooding, lovesick and feeling sorry for myself." He caught Connie's eye. "I could have tried to find a good woman to love and worked to make myself worthy of winning her love in return."

"Nothing's stopping you," she said.

He bowed his head, and again the thought struck her that he might have killed Veronica. Her heart sank.

"You could have been a fine man, Max," she whispered, "a wonderful friend, and a caring lover."

"Not the way I was, not before I met Ronnie...and not after."

Ronnie? The night they'd first met, when he'd called out a name, she'd thought he was calling to her and she'd simply misheard. But he wasn't. It was Veronica he'd called. It was always about Veronica.

She folded her hands. "I'm so sorry, Max."

With great tenderness, he leaned over and lightly kissed her. She stared at him in shock, and he gently brushed a lock back from her cheek, his gaze studying her as if burning her face into his memory. "If I can ever become the kind of man you deserve, and if I'm lucky enough that you haven't found someone else-or if that ex of yours who you still care about despite your denials hasn't straightened himself out-I'd like to see you again, Connie. You've touched me more deeply than you know, with your serious ways and your good heart."

She wasn't sure how to answer, and the silence grew awkward.

He stood, understanding. "There's something I've got to take care of. When it's over, whenever that might be, I'll come back."