“It’s perfect,” I said, and put it back in the box. “Sheridan will love it.”
Mike nodded. “I can get them to you in a couple of days.”
A two day turnaround time for the hundreds of bags I needed was quick, even for one of the factories housed in the upper floors of the nearby buildings. I guess Mike was putting a rush on it for me.
“What’s going on with your friend’s murder? That detective’s girlfriend?” he asked.
Mike and I had discussed Amanda’s death the last time I was here, and I was a bit surprised that he brought it up again. Yet it didn’t seem like a casual question. Mike looked troubled.
I got a weird feeling.
“The LAPD knows who murdered her,” I said. “They’re—”
“Who?” Mike demanded.
My weird feeling got weirder.
Jeez, maybe I was wrong to connect with Mike again—no matter how desperate I was for gift bags so I could keep my job. I didn’t know if the identity of Amanda’s killer was confidential—Shuman hadn’t asked me to keep it to myself—but I guess he didn’t figure on me discussing the murder with a maybe-maybe-not guy from the Russian mob.
I couldn’t exactly refuse to give Mike the guy’s name. I just wish I knew what he planned to do with it.
Maybe I was better off not knowing.
“Some guy named Adolfo—”
“Renaldi.” Mike bristled. His chest expanded and his shoulders straightened—which was usually a really hot look on men, but this time it kind of frightened me.
“Are they sure it was him?” Mike asked.
“They’ve got DNA, fingerprints, surveillance footage, even an eyewitness,” I said. “Do you know this guy?”
“Lorenzo’s brother.” Mike shook his head. “Scum. The worse kind of scum. The whole family ought to be taken off the streets.”
“The LAPD is trying to find the guy,” I said. “No luck—yet.”
Mike grunted as if that was what he expected from the police department.
“What about that detective? Shuman?” he asked.
“He’s taking Amanda’s death hard, really hard,” I said. “He’s working the case, but not officially.”
Mike nodded, and by the look on his face I could see he didn’t disagree with Shuman’s actions.
“I’ll call you when the bags are ready,” Mike said, and disappeared into the stock room.
I headed back to the parking lot. While I stood on the corner at Maple and Olympic waiting for the light to change, I pulled out my cell phone and Googled Adolfo Renaldi’s name.
Yikes! The guy, along with his family, was mentioned in a number of news reports linking them to all sorts of crimes in the Long Beach area.
I crossed the street thinking about Mike. He owned an import–export company. He did business at the port in Long Beach.
Maybe his interest in Amanda’s murder went beyond that of a concerned citizen.
By the time I got my car and crawled up the freeway with the zillion other commuters, it was too late to go back to the office. I texted Muriel—which was okay because traffic was at a complete standstill—and let her know that the gift bags and the swag were handled, and that the theater manager from the Beatles Love show in Vegas would contact her.
By the time I got to my apartment, I had just enough time to run in and change clothes for my shift at Holt’s. I jumped out of my car and spotted Cody sitting in his pickup truck.
Oh my God. Cody. I’d forgotten all about him—and that he’d kissed me.
Jeez, what’s happening to my life?
He got out and ambled over.
“Sorry, tonight’s not a good night for you to work on my apartment,” I said.
Cody glanced around the parking lot, then said, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes—no. No, I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said.
He leaned around me and gazed at I don’t know what, then turned the other way and did the same thing.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Remember the last time I was here?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said.
The night I’d met him in the parking lot and we’d kissed.
I saw no reason to mention that I’d totally forgotten about it until now.
“After you went upstairs, some guy came up and told me to stay away from you,” he said.
“What?”
Cody nodded. “He said to leave you alone. You were going through some things and I’d better back off.”
“What?”
“I’m not looking for any trouble,” Cody said. “You’ll have to find somebody else to fix up your place.”
He got back in his pickup truck and drove away. I stood in the parking lot staring after him.