Nancy Bush's Nowhere Bundle: Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide & Nowhere Safe. Nancy Bush
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“We met in a bar. I liked the way she looked. I guess she felt the same. I was doing some landscaping for Lawn Like New. Asshole boss. Asshole company. She was workin’ for that Zuma guy and makin’ more money than I was. We started renting and then the bastard fired me and Jessica said maybe it was meant to be. We could squeak by on her salary for a while, and this way, I got to work on my sculptures full time.”
Gretchen just stood back; she’d heard enough bullshit in her life to be bored or irritated or both. She was itching to get on to something new.
September said, “Any thoughts on why someone might have it in for Jessica?”
His flinty eyes gazed at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Hell, no. Everybody loves Jess. She’s nice.” He slid a look Gretchen’s way as if making a point. “You gotta get your head outta your asses. This ain’t about Jess. This is about that asshole Kurt Upjohn. He’s the asshole. Makes tons of cash and works everybody like crazy.”
“You have any specific reason to suspect the murders were because of Upjohn?” September asked.
“Wha’d I just say? He’s an asshole!”
“I heard that Paul de Fore gave her a hard time for leaving on her break,” September said.
“God . . .” He shook his head. “She met me at that Starbucks close by Zuma to give me my keys, which she ran off with this morning by mistake. Stop trying to pin this on her. It’s Upjohn’s fault Rambo came in and shot the place up.” A pause, and then he said with a hitch to his voice, “That was the last time I saw her.”
Gretchen chose that moment to join back in, saying coolly, “She’s at Laurelton General now. You can stop by anytime. Do you have anything concrete to back up your theory that this was Upjohn’s fault? Something besides just not liking the guy?”
“All I know is that Jess doesn’t deserve this. Any of it.” His lips started to quiver a little and he smashed them together. “It’s Upjohn’s fault she got hurt. That’s on him . . . asshole,” he added.
They left after a few more questions that earned them more of the same. In the car Gretchen observed to September, “You’re a lot more patient than I am.”
She observed right back, “You haven’t set the bar too high.”
That earned her a snap of Gretchen’s head and a drop of her mouth. To date, September had been quietly taking it all in, not wanting to make waves, but her innate sense of humor couldn’t remain repressed for long.
Gretchen gave a short bark of laughter. “Okay,” she said. Then, “Let’s get our asses back to work.”
“We don’t want to be assholes,” September agreed.
They both broke into chuckles.
At the station, D’ Annibal was just coming back from an on-site interview at Zuma with Pauline Kirby as Gretchen and September entered the station. Gretchen glared at Urlacher, whose throat worked as if he were desperate to get the words out even though he knew she’d growl at him. He just managed to keep his requests for ID to himself.
D’Annibal was entering his office, taking off his coat and loosening his tie. His gray hair was smooth, his color high, as if he’d been standing in the sun for a little too long, which he probably had been.
“How’d it go?” Gretchen asked him, stopping outside his door.
“Fair. She kept zinging questions about Upjohn’s finances, his relationship with Dirkus’s mother, and the secrecy surrounding his operation. I kept deflecting.”
“Did you bring up the Martin killing?” she asked, as September joined her, both of them standing outside the office.
“I tried to say next to nothing except that we’re on the job.” He smiled thinly. “The usual. It’ll be on tonight’s news. Another reporter appears to be on the Martin homicide. Expect a call,” he said to September, seating himself behind his desk.
It was their cue to leave and as they walked away, Gretchen said, “Ever talked to the press?”
“Not about work.”
“Give ’em the basics: where the body was discovered, that the death was from a bullet wound—don’t say how many shots—that the name won’t be released until next of kin have been notified.”
“His parents are both gone. Jo is really all he has,” September reminded her.
“Don’t mention her name, either. Let ’em think we’re still notifying family, even if we aren’t.”
She asked innocently, “Do you want me to also keep it quiet about the fact that Olivia Dugan, Zuma’s missing employee, is a person of interest in the Trask Burcher Martin homicide?”
Gretchen shot her a look, realizing she was being put on. “Smart ass.”
September grinned. “You and Jaffe. Big with the ‘ass’ stuff.”
Gretchen pointed a finger at her. “I’m just sayin’, when you get the call, sound like you’re being overly helpful but give them as little as possible.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“Omit, omit, omit.”
“What if I screw up?”
“You won’t. And if you do, you’d better hope to hell you get that other reporter instead of Pauline Kirby because she’ll eat you alive.”
The news came on at five and Auggie, who’d flopped himself on the bed and gone channel surfing the last ten minutes, switched to Channel Seven’s News at Five. His antennae were very aware of Liv Dugan, who had settled on the couch as if she were done for the day.
He called out to her. “You want anything to eat? You missed lunch.”
“I’m not hungry,” she called back.
“You should eat something.”
He heard her rustle around and then she was standing in his doorway. There was something elfin about her large eyes and pale face, but her chin was stubborn, and her arms were crossed.
“Wanna go get something to eat?” he asked. “I just was going to check the news.”
“I don’t want to show my face anymore than I have to.”
“But food . . .” He tried on his most winning smile. “It’s how we stay alive.”
“I don’t think I could eat anything. I’m just . . .” She looked over her shoulder as if she’d heard something. “I’m just not hungry.”
“There’s a deli about two miles away with the best soup around. I’ll go get some after the news and bring it back.”
“Maybe I could go