Part 29 (1/2)

”But he killed Richard.” She started to cry.

I sighed. ”I figured that out. I'd rather not be shot too. Let the man have the carrier.”

She dropped the handle so quickly Lenny staggered backward. Now with the carrier in his possession, he searched for the memory card he'd never find.

I mouthed for Fallon to back away from Lenny but she was too busy bawling her eyes out. I backed away from the hothead with the gun.

His head jerked up. ”Where is it?” He waved the gun at her.

”It's in there. I saw you hide it,” Fallon said through her tears.

”No it's not.” He looked at me. Redirecting his gun at me, he said, ”Where is it?”

I managed a shrug. It was hard to think with a weapon aimed at my head. ”I don't know what you mean.”

”The memory card from the filmmaker's camera. I hid it in here. It was perfect. You and your nosy a.s.sistant were so busy playing mystery detectives you were never at your booth. Why'd you even bother to come?”

I rolled my eyes. ”Trust me I won't make that mistake again. What's on the card that's so important?” Again, that wasn't just for Malone's benefit.

”You know exactly what's on it. That stupid filmmaker was everywhere. She caught me following Richard to his car.” At the sound of Richard's name, Fallon wailed even louder. ”Shut up,” Lenny roared. ”He wasn't worth all the tears.”

I agreed with him.

Fallon hissed. ”I knew you were a horrible person.”

”I asked her nicely to hand over the camera, but she refused. I didn't mean to break her neck, but she wouldn't stop fighting me.”

I gasped as I remembered talking to Lenny in front of the chili truck that afternoon. He'd been sweaty, and his s.h.i.+rt had been ripped.

A sick smile spread across his mouth. ”You remember now, don't ya? He asked, soft-voiced and crazy-eyed.

I swallowed hard. ”You'd already killed her.”

”But she was shot,” Fallon said.

”Melinda had seen me. I had to cover my tracks, so I shot the filmmaker with the gun I found in her camera bag. I needed to frame someone. The owner of that gun was the perfect patsy.”

Betty's gun. Great. I'd probably heard the gun fire, but chalked it up to the starting gun. Just like everyone else at the race.

”Get out from behind the counter,” he demanded with a wave of his weapon.

I ordered Missy to stay. She didn't want to, but she sat, growling at Lenny.

”Don't be a hero, girlfriend. Please, stay.” I bent down and shoved her back under the counter where she was safer.

That gave me an idea. During my college days, I was a bartender. I'd dealt with plenty of functioning drunks. Many of whom were jocks. One thing I'd learned, the bigger they were the harder they fell.

I came out from behind the counter, my back to the door. Lenny hadn't thought his instructions through very well because now he was sandwiched between Fallon and me. Not that crybaby Fallon would be much help anyway.

”Please don't hurt us,” I pleaded. I eyed the three empty plastic totes.

”I want the memory card. Now,” he bellowed, pointing the gun at me.

It was now or never. I dropped to a tight ball at Lenny's feet. ”Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me.” I told myself not to panic. Breathe. Wait for the right moment.

”Get up,” he shouted.

I could sense him leaning down to grab me. With every ounce of strength I had, I popped up as fast, and as hard, as I could, clipping him under the chin.

He stumbled backward and tripped over the storage container. He lost his balance, collapsing to the floor like a pa.s.sed-out drunk. The gun fell from his hand.

Seeing double, I scurried on my hands and knees toward the gun, grabbing it before he could stand up.

I aimed the weapon at him. ”Don't move.”

My eyes watered. My head felt like it was about to explode. I could hear Missy barking and Fallon yelling. I felt lightheaded. I would not pa.s.s out.

”Fallon, call 911,” I said, barely above a whisper.

”No need.” She pointed a shaky finger toward the front door behind me.

”Police. Don't move.” Detective Judd Malone.

I lowered the gun and sat down. Malone and Officer Salinas stood behind me, firearms drawn on Lenny.

Salinas cuffed Lenny, who started to blubber about Pickles alone in the car. He wanted someone to check on him. An officer I didn't recognize ushered Fallon to my office for privacy.

”Are you okay?” Malone asked.

I thought he looked worried, but with double vision, it was hard to tell. I closed my eyes. ”I'm going to have one h.e.l.l of a headache.”

”The EMTs will be here in a minute.”

I a.s.sured him I'd be fine. He a.s.sured me that for once I'd do as I was told without arguing. I called for Missy. She ran over to me and immediately a.s.sessed my situation.

”You did a good job, Melinda.”

I smiled up at him. ”There's something to be said for having a homicide detective on speed dial.”

Chapter Thirty-Two.

ONCE LENNY STARTED talking, he couldn't stop. Due to his addiction to mouthwash, he'd lost his job as a personal trainer two months earlier. He'd been living out of his car ever since. Around the same time, Pickles had been diagnosed with arthritis. With his racing days numbered, Lenny was desperate for his beloved dog to experience one win before he had to hobble away.

Fallon had seen Lenny lurking around my booth at the race. She didn't know what he'd put in the carrier, but she believed it was important. Maybe next time she'll call the police before taking matters into her own hands.

Gia planned to file for bankruptcy and have an estate sale. After having an unauthorized preview of what would be up for grabs, I made a mental note to keep an eye out for the announcement.