The Trouble with Murder Read online

  Javier Mendoza wasn’t there. Rita Garcia, the office manager, wasn’t either. She’d been out since yesterday. She was the one who gave us our samples and brochures. She was also the one who gave us a heads up if Javier was dissatisfied with our sales. And in my case, that occurred quite often.

  Last week it was, “Hetty, Javier wants you to do better. Your sales are down. He’s not happy with your numbers.”

  “Me either. But you know business here isn’t the same as in the Valley or on the Westside.”

  “You and I know that, but he wants you to try harder.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Rita was always the ultimate professional, nice but business-like. She wore her brown hair in a short bob, sort of like they did in the nineteen-twenties. It never looked out of place. I wondered how she kept it so neat. I had a shorter haircut, back when I had money. It ended up a shaggy mess if I didn’t have it cut every three weeks. On what I imagined Rita’s salary was, I didn’t see how she could afford that many trips to the hairdresser.

  I thought of Rita as a kid, even though she was about thirty. She was a little naïve, in my opinion. She thought the best of everyone and always tried to be helpful. She never came off as spiteful or competitive. She was doing her best to warn me I could get fired if I didn’t step up. And she was so nice about it I didn’t blame her for pointing it out. Javier had fired the last rep that had my territory. Rita told me that a few weeks into the job.

  I knew I was cynical after what had happened with Leland. Rita was almost as new to Mendoza’s as I was. Give her time to develop a harsher attitude about everything, I figured.

  “I guess Rita’s not here,” I said. “Do you know where she keeps the samples?”

  “Javier was here earlier. He put some in the backroom,” Billy O’Brian said.

  Billy started working at Mendoza’s the month after I did. In his late thirties, maybe, he had a great tan and looked like he worked out. He always wore a tweet sports jacket. He had several in different colors. To me, tweed meant college professor or connoisseur of fine wine. He looked too educated and worldly to be working as a tequila mixer sales rep. That didn’t say much for me, but I knew I was down on my luck. I wondered what his story was.

  It looked like he was about to tell me because he followed me to the backroom.

  “I need to show you where they are,” he said.

  He didn’t really. Rita wasn’t the type to hide supplies, and the backroom was not a big place where things got lost. Mendoza’s didn’t manufacturer the mixers. They hired a factory to do that, so the room had just enough space for a table, some shelves and cabinets for samples and supplies. A door at one end of the room led to a bathroom. Another door led to the alley, but we weren’t allowed to use that. We had to go in and out the front door.

  The table in the room had everything I needed. I began filling my briefcase with samples and brochures. Unlike similar brands, Javier’s tequila mixers didn’t come in a liquid form but in a powder. Just add water and presto, they were ready to mix into a tequila cocktail. It made carrying samples easy.

  Billy leaned against a shelving unit, watching me. When I closed my briefcase, he said, “So who do you think killed Gerry Delaney? What did the police say?” Seeing my surprise, he added, “They called this morning, asking for you. You know me, I get here early. I answered the phone.”

  The police knew I was coming in. I suppose they called the office first to remind me, thinking I might stop at work first.

  “Did they accuse you of cutting off his head?” Billy said.

  “Oh, come on now. No, they didn’t. And they weren’t going to tell me anything. I bet you’re glad you didn’t have Delaney’s on your route. I doubt if anyone’s getting an order out of them now.”

  A few weeks earlier, Billy made a point of saying he thought Delaney’s should have been on his route. He was that type, the one who looked over everyone’s route to see if they were doing better than he was. That’s what I figured at the time.

  “Why should Delaney’s be on your route?” I had said.

  “Because I’m Irish. Gerry Delaney is Irish. Delaney’s is an Irish pub. I could have sold him something by now.”

  Nobody would ever consider Delaney’s an Irish pub. You know, a bar where you could get a hot Irish coffee, watch sports on a big screen TV and order fish and chips. Delaney’s was a dive bar with an Irish name. That’s all. They didn’t go in for big TVs, Irish coffee with whipped cream or food, except for beer nuts.

  “So the Irish only work with other Irish?” I had said. “Is that a thing?”

  “Every little thing helps in sales. You’re not doing anything there,” Billy said. Then he smirked at me, his favorite way to end a conversation. He must have thought sticking his chin up and frowning at the same time made him look superior instead of like a poor imitation of Mussolini.

  But Billy didn’t stop there. A week after that conversation, when I was on my sales route, I saw him go into Delaney’s. He looked more casual than he usually did. No tweed jacket that day. It was about ten in the morning. I had been in Delaney’s the week before and I was going to wait another week before I approached Gerry again. But there was Billy, trying to persuade Gerry to buy from him. What other explanation was there? I couldn’t picture Billy getting a drink in a dive bar any time of the day. He was too upscale for that.

  I hung around outside Delaney’s, waiting for Billy to come out. It was over thirty minutes before he did. “Hey, what are you doing here?” I said. “Delaney’s is in my territory.”

  Billy looked surprised to see me. “I was just checking it out.”

  “This is my territory, and you know it.”

  “I wasn’t trying to sell anything for my route. I was trying to help you. I put in a word for you. Irish to Irish.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on now. I don’t even think you believe that.”

  “It’s the truth,” he said.

  I was so disgusted I didn’t bother with an answer and walked off. I thought about telling Javier, but I let it go.

  Nothing came of Billy’s sales pitch. Delaney’s still hadn’t bought anything from us.

  Today, a different Billy, a more serious one, faced me. A little out of character, I thought.

  “Yeah, I guess I missed being the last one to see Gerry Delaney alive,” he said. “Just the luck of the Irish, I guess. But just so you know, I was really trying to help you when you saw me go in there.”

  “Sure thing, Billy.”

  When I turned to leave, he touched my shoulder.

  “Maybe you and I could have a drink one night? Like tonight?”

  So this was his way of flirting, annoying people to death and then catching them unaware? I didn’t pick up on it. Maybe I was the naïve one. But dating someone at work? Even if he had been nice, it didn’t seem like a good idea.

  He smiled at me. “Hey, I’m a good guy. It’s just a drink.”

  “I don’t know. Are you going to try to steal more of my customers?”

  He laughed and held up his hand. “Scouts honor. I wasn’t trying to steal Gerry Delaney from you.”

  “Well, somebody thought he was up for grabs. Poor man. His head cut off. How gruesome.”

  Billy frowned and looked sad. “Yeah. It’s too bad. I wouldn’t want that to happen to anyone.”

  “It’s bizarre, for sure.”

  Maybe Billy wasn’t such a bad guy. He was cute. He might seem less annoying if I got to know him. Some guys had zero social skills. Could be he was out of practice. So what if I went out with someone at work? I came to the office only when I ran out of samples and brochures.

  Maybe I needed to get off my high horse. I didn’t like the sleazy lawyer I married because he cheated people, but I admit I judge men on their earning ability and on the prestige of their professions. Lawyers and other professions were at the top of the list. Salesmen were not. I looked down on them. Was it time to reevaluate this and stop being so stuck-up? I had nothing to be stuck-up about at this moment in my life.

  So I said, “As long as tequila isn’t on the drink list. And not on my route. Never drink where you sell. My motto.”

  Billy laughed. “It’ll be out of your area, I promise.”

  But not out of my comfort zone, he hoped. I saw that in his eyes.

  “We could combine it with dinner, if you’d like.”

  What the hell. I could use a diversion. He was willing to take me out to dinner.

  Now that I knew he was attracted to me, maybe he was trying to help me out with Delaney’s. “Okay,” I said. “Dinner sounds good. Call me.”

  “What’s your number?”

  It was too late to play hard to get, but I didn’t want him to think I was easy. He needed to work for it a bit. “It’s on my business card at the front desk.”

  “Gotcha. How about seven-thirty?”

  “Sounds okay. See you.”

  I went on my sales route with an air of excitement. Oh, Billy could be a jerk at times, in fact, most of the time. But he was nice to look at. And it had been a while since a man asked me out.

  Billy was the early type so he called at six. “How about if I swing by now and pick you up? I’m on the Westside. Where are you? I could be there in five minutes.”

  More like forty, if the traffic wasn’t bad. “How fast can you get within a few blocks of Mendoza’s?”

  I gave him my address. “Honk and I’ll come down. I’m upstairs and the building’s locked. There’s no way to buzz you in.”

  At seven, he honked. I looked out the window. He was right out front. I ran downstairs and went out.

  He drove a newer Mercedes. That stirred my curiosity. W
ho was this Billy guy?

  He parked and got out to open the passenger door for me.

  I was impressed. “Thank you,” I said. “Hey, nice car.”

  “And hello to you too. You look super nice.”

  I knew I did. I had on a black cocktail dress from a known designer and higher heels than I usually wore. “Well, thank you.”

  He got in, and we were on our way. My first date in a very long time.

  Billy had changed into a different sports jacket and had shaved. His skin looked smooth. He was a good-looking guy. Blue eyes, light brown hair. Must have been blond when he was younger.

  “So this is where you live? Or is this your office?” he said. “I saw your sign on the door. I didn’t know you were a private investigator. Is that why you’re working at Javier’s? Are you investigating something?”

  I laughed. “No. My business is slow so I took the job at Mendoza’s. It’s close to my office. And I do live there. I’ve got an apartment upstairs.”

  “But the big sign on the building is for a sewing factory, or is that an old sign?”

  “No. The man who owns the factory rents me the space.”

  “I see. There’s more to you than I thought.”

  I didn’t know how to take that. “I guess, there’s more to you than I thought. You must be doing well to have a car like this.”

  “It’s leased. And not too expensive. Tequila mixers are an add-on. I’ve got two other lines. I need a decent car for the territory I’m in.”

  “That’s right. Beverly Hills.” My old stomping ground, I wanted to add but didn’t.

  Dinner was going to be at some Beverly Hills restaurant. It took forty-five minutes to get there, but Billy didn’t seem to mind the drive. He wanted to know all about me. Where I went to school, what things I liked to do, what kind of food I liked. He dropped the smirking attitude he usually had, but he didn’t reveal much about himself other than he sold tequila and vodka for other companies.

  “So that’s why tequila mixers were a natural,” he said. “Javier gave me a territory I was already working.”

  I knew Javier had moved the rep working that territory to another one when he hired Billy, despite that guy’s objections. I didn’t realize Billy had prior experience. I looked at Mendoza’s as a job of last resort, while Billy saw it as a bigger opportunity. Learn something new every day.

  “And if you must know, that was one of the reasons I went to Delaney’s that day. I wanted to sell him tequila—as I said, I carry a line of tequila. I wanted to increase my sales. Nobody in my company was working that territory so I thought I’d try it.”

  “I see.”

  “And I told him I knew of a sales rep who sold tequila mixers. I didn’t mention that I worked for Javier. I was trying to help her. So is your family in L.A.?”

  “My aunt used to live here, but she passed away last year. She raised me. My parents died in a car crash when I was a teenager.”

  “Oh, sorry. Any other relatives?”

  I didn’t want to get into my family history, so I changed the subject. “What companies are they?”

  “Companies? What do you mean?”

  “The ones you sell liquor for.”

  “Why? Do you need an extra line?”

  “No. Just curious.”

  He hesitated.

  “I’m not trying to take your business away. I would never do that,” I said.

  “AF Vodka Distributors and—”

  Without warning, he swerved the car to the right. In a panic, I held on to the dashboard.

  “What happened?” I yelled.

  “Wow! Did you see that guy cut me off?”

  I caught my breath. “No. I didn’t. I wasn’t looking.”

  “Good thing I was.”

  “Yeah.”

  I leaned back in my seat and tried to relax. He drove a while without speaking.

  When I regained my equilibrium, my mind wandered back to what we’d been talking about before a car cut in front of us. “So do the expensive places like the mixers?”

  “You’d be surprised. I’ve been selling a lot. And they buy a lot at once.”

  That’s all I got out of him. No family history or past experiences. Well, I didn’t go into mine much. Since he knew about my PI business, I felt I had to say something about getting my license. I didn’t want to go into my search for Leland, the main reason I became a PI, so I made up one. “I read so many mystery novels when I was a kid, I always wanted to be a private investigator.”

  “So after college you just decided to hang out your shingle?”

  “Kind of.” Again, I changed the subject. “I’m divorced. No kids. How about you? Have you been married? Do you have kids?”

  He smiled. “Let’s just say things didn’t work out like I planned. So tell me, detective, who do you think did Gerry Delaney in? You must have some idea.”

  “No. Not a clue.”

  “Come on. Are you working with the police? Yeah. I bet that’s why they called you in, isn’t it?”

  “No. Not working with the police.”

  “Then how did they know you had anything to do with him? They interviewed you.”

  “You know he was on my route. They found my business card on the bar. Lucky me. I was there late that night.”

  He perked up. “Really? So you work at night?”

  “Sometimes, if I can’t see someone during the day—hey, can we talk about something else?”

  “Sure. Sure. It’s got to be upsetting. One day you see someone. The next day he’s—murdered. Sure.”

  He didn’t say much after that. He turned the radio up and hummed to one of the songs.

  The restaurant served classic French food, and Billy knew the waiter and the bartender. If you asked me, despite the upscale appearance of the restaurant and the excellent food, our waiter and bartender looked a little shady. Why I thought that I didn’t know, but I got that impression.

  I checked the place out when I thought Billy wasn’t looking. I hadn’t been in a restaurant on the Westside since my marriage ended. I didn’t want to run into anyone from those days, and this was the type of place my old crowd would frequent in Beverly Hills, though I had never been here before.

  But so far so good. The place was dark, and if anyone I knew came in, they wouldn’t see me.

  “Is this restaurant one of your accounts?” I asked.

  “It is. I have no objection to drinking where I sell.”

  “Well, with my territory, you got to admit, it’s not the same as yours.”

  “Gotcha. But why do you work that area? I would think you belong uptown.”

  “My PI office is there. The rent’s cheap, and I can walk to my sales route. It’s good exercise.”

  It sounded plausible. It seemed to convince him, though every day I asked myself how and why I ended up on the poor side of town. Not that I grew up rich. But as Aunt Alma said after I married Leland, “You’re in the Big Life now.”

  That was my aunt’s definition of being rich. But Billy didn’t need to know that.

  “You’re unconventional,” Billy said, “but that’s why I like you.”

  So he liked me. After dinner we took a drive to the beach to look at the stars. It was romantic. We stayed in the car. He kissed me once. It was nice.

  “I think we should call it a night,” he said. “You have to invite me in. I’m dying to see your office and your place.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t so sure about that, but maybe that was better than him whisking me away to his place. I’d rather end the night at my home base and not stranded in his apartment, if that’s what he had in mind.

  I didn’t tell him about the back parking lot so he parked in front again when he took me home. If he stayed the night, and that was still up in the air as far as I was concerned, he’d have to move his car in the morning, before eight or it would get towed. And even earlier than that, he’d have to vacate my place before the factory opened at seven. I didn’t need everyone knowing my personal business.

  When we got inside, I showed Billy the factory. “So all this goes on every day?” he said. “It looks like an abandoned building from the outside. What do you have, thirty machines?”

  “Yeah. And thirty women work nine hours a day, five days a week here.”

  It was a typical factory. The windows had security bars on the outside and the glass was frosted so you couldn’t see in or out. The walls were a dingy beige, painted years before. The floor was wood in places and vinyl in others. A glass cubicle at the far end of the room was my office. I didn’t mention that so far I had never used it. I met most of my clients at their place, whenever I had clients, which was rare. Hence the reason I worked for Mendoza’s.