As I turned onto my block, I slowed the car to a crawl, looking for Rafe’s-Sherry’s?-black Lexus. Traffic was relatively light this late in the evening and no one seemed too perturbed that I was creeping along at five miles an hour. In a three-block radius, I spotted a silver Lexus and a green one, and several black luxury cars, but no black Lexus. Hmm. I knew Rafe used to park his Camry on the street, but maybe he was more cautious with the Lexus? I made my way to the parking garage two blocks down from my house and parked on the curb across from it, unwilling to pay a fee to spend a few minutes in the garage looking for the Lexus.
Enough passersby strolled the streets at ten o’clock on a Friday that I didn’t feel too isolated. I crossed the street and slid around the moveable arm blocking the garage’s driveway. No attendant. The garage was a dark cave lit by strips of fluorescent lights and my footsteps echoed weirdly off the cement floors. With my arms crossed over my chest, Rafe’s car keys clutched in one hand, I methodically walked up and down the aisles on the ground level. More than half the spaces were empty and I didn’t spot the Lexus. I felt fairly stupid and vaguely criminal to be scoping out people’s cars, and I wondered if the chance of finding Sherry’s flash drive was worth it. It wasn’t really about the flash drive, I realized; it was about the hunt. I’d already invested so much time in looking for the stupid thing that I hated to give up now. I’d give it ten more minutes, I decided, reaching the stairs.
The stairwell door screeched as I opened it and I surprised a couple in their fifties making out on the landing as I climbed to the second level. The gray-haired woman giggled and pressed her face into the man’s chest. He smiled and waved, seemingly unaware that his other hand was cupping the woman’s rear end. The smell of alcohol hung around them as I hurried past. I’d have to be dead drunk before I’d think it was fun or romantic to play kissy-face in a garage stairwell that stank of urine and cigarettes. On the second level, I began marching up the rows again, staying in the center of the driveway, as far as possible from the shadowed spaces between the cars. Coming around a massive concrete post, I spotted a black Lexus in the farthest corner. Finally! I broke into a trot, aiming the clicker at the car.
My heart beat a bit faster as I halted beside the car. I punched the remote buttons again without getting a flash of headlights or the beeping sound that signaled the car was happy to see its owner. Maybe the battery was dead. Making a visor of my hand, I peered into the side window. I could make out nothing but vague shapes at first, but then I recognized the bulky object on the backseat as a child’s safety chair. Oops. I jumped back as if stung just as someone yelled, “Hey! What are you doing? Get away from our car!”
I whirled to see a young couple, him dark and scowling, her blond and obviously pregnant, jogging toward me. Their attire suggested they’d been at a semiformal dinner or reception.
Holding up Rafe’s keys, I stammered, “I thought it was mine. So sorry! I must have left mine on the next level.” I hoped the dimness hid the blush I could feel warming my cheeks.
The scowling man inspected the keys in my hand, walked all the way around his car suspiciously, and then escorted his wife to the passenger seat, giving me a wide berth.
“Drinking and driving is very irresponsible,” the wife murmured as she passed me.
“I’m not-I haven’t been-” I shut up. It didn’t seem worth it. Turning on my heel, I headed back to the stairwell and up to the top level, my breaths coming faster than usual.
With little hope of success, I emerged on the third floor, held my arm out at shoulder height and clicked the remote. Nothing. I turned forty-five degrees and tried it again. A flash of brake lights in the row just to my right rewarded me. Hallelujah. My shoes tap-tapped on the cement as I hurried toward the Lexus. It gleamed a dull black in the stingy light and the door opened smoothly when I pulled up on the handle. I hesitated, running my gaze over the interior, and glints from the passenger seat and footwell caught my eye. Leaning in, I saw that the sparkles came from glass bits strewn over the seat. I looked up, squinting, and realized the passenger side window had a hole stove in it, big enough to admit a hand.
The sight was unexpected and creeped me out. I jerked upright, banging the back of my head against the door frame, conscious of my mother’s admonition to always check the backseat before getting into a parked car. I backed away two steps, rubbing my head. Could there be someone-The ding of the elevator interrupted my thoughts and I turned, expecting to see another couple looking for their car postmovie or postdinner. Instead, a uniformed police officer came toward me, face stiff with suspicion, flashlight describing an arc in front of her.
“I was just about to call you,” I said, intensely relieved.
“Oh, really?” Her tone held polite disbelief and her eyes studied me, lingering on my hands as she said, “We had a report of a suspicious person casing vehicles in this garage.”
I was indignant that the couple with the other Lexus had apparently called the cops on me over a perfectly innocent mistake.
“Is this your car, ma’am?”
“Umm.” I winced inwardly, foreseeing an awkward explanation. I dove in. “Well, not exactly. It’s my ex-fiancé’s, my business partner’s. He-”
The flashlight beam raked the broken window. “Mad at him, were you?”
“I didn’t do that! It was like that. He was killed last week and-”
“Step away from the car and keep your hands where I can see them.” At the word “killed” her voice went all stern and coplike and I sighed, raising my hands, palm out, and dangling the Lexus’s remote between a thumb and forefinger. The cop’s hand went to her holster and she spoke softly into the radio affixed near her shoulder, never taking her eyes off me.
I sighed, anticipating a late night. “Do you know Detective Lissy?”
It was indeed a long night. By the time backup cops arrived and someone called Detective Lissy, and I explained how I came to have Rafe’s keys and Lissy called Tav to verify my story, it was after midnight. Lissy, not surprisingly, wanted to know why I was searching Rafe’s car. I’d had plenty of time to realize the question would come up, and I told him Rafe had some files related to studio business and I thought they might be in the car since Tav had looked for them in the condo and not found them. I blinked at him with great innocence when I finished my explanation. Lissy looked like he didn’t believe me-why was I getting that response so much lately?-but said I could go.
I hesitated, then asked if he thought the murderer had broken into the car, searching for something. I didn’t suggest the “something” might be a flash drive.
“The car’s apparently been sitting here since the day Acosta died,” Lissy said. “A target of opportunity for any petty thief. The stereo system’s missing, so this is probably a random break-in, not connected to Acosta’s death. Unless you know otherwise?” The lift of his brows said he’d be happy to take down my confession.
“You might want to give Sherry Indrebo a call about the car,” I said casually, happy to supply him with a course of action that might distract him from poking around in my affairs. “She leased it for Rafe.”
Lissy sucked his lips in and eyed me wearily. “What a good idea,” he said. “I might not have thought of it on my own, what with having only twenty-seven years on the job.”