“Well, that sucks!” I stood, holding the phone again now that I’d freed my bike. I needed those albums. Like, needed them to function. That music kept my dad alive for me. I thought better when pairing the right album with a particular problem. I couldn’t move forward without those records. And the whole reason I’d kicked Max out was to get my life together, so I needed this major distraction to end yesterday.
“Sorry. I’ll look into it, but we’ve got bigger crimes to solve. You’ll have to be patient.”
We’ll see about that.
“Fine.” I had to be careful not to give anything away. “Please call me if you learn anything.”
“Erin, trust me. I know what those records mean to you. I’ll do everything I can, okay?”
He meant that, but I couldn’t sit around waiting, especially when I wasn’t bound by his rules.
“Thanks.” I closed my eyes. Rodri had been a good friend for half my life. Tons of people assumed we’d slept together, but we never had. Ours was not that kind of love. Too bad, really. My parents would’ve been happy if I had ended up with a nice, stable cop from a decent family. Instead, I’d chosen Max, who’d turned out to be worse than a simple loser. A heartless, cruel thief. As bad as Lyle, if I were being honest. Boy, that didn’t make me happy. I’d never before considered myself a dupe.
“Wanna grab a beer or something this week?” Rodri sounded distracted, like someone else was waiting for him to finish the call.
“I won’t be good company until I find Max. But call me later. Bye!” I hung up and hopped on my bike, heading for Nuts & Bolts to find Max’s BFF, Joe, a mechanic and fellow stoner. The low-lying body shop had been in his family for two generations. Dingy white paint flaked off the brick exterior like old bark. Not that I cared about its state of disrepair. Joe was Max’s friend, so his family business meant less than nothing to me. Heck, I hadn’t even owned a car since the rusted-out Volkswagen I’d bought at twenty-one finally gave up the ghost two years ago.
In my haste to get to Joe, I didn’t bother locking my bike. Instead I leaned it against the wall and strode right into the garage, coughing from the stench of oil and engines. “Joe Marinelli, get your butt over here!”
Joe popped his head out from under the hood of a nice-looking Cadillac. “Erin?”
He’d pulled his dark hair into a short ponytail, but one section had fallen forward. The baggy work attire didn’t hide an otherwise smokin’ body. Six feet three. Clooney eyes and a sweet smile. Yeah, Joe was a hottie, but not any more motivated than Max. If it weren’t for his dad keeping him employed, he’d probably be sponging off folks like Max did.
I marched over to him, my hands on my hips. “Where’s your lying thief of a friend?”
Joe sucked at poker, as proven by the numerous times I’d beaten him. He had many tells, like, right now, the way he scratched his ear and avoided my gaze. “Dunno.”
“Bull.” I extended my arm, palm up. “Hand me your phone, please.”
“What?” He half laughed, waving me off like I was a powerless little flea. “Why?”
“The phone, Joe.” When he continued to play dumb—or be dumb, I couldn’t be sure—I barked, “I’ve already gone to the cops. Make no mistake, I’ll do anything to get my dad’s albums back, and I don’t care who gets hurt in the process. If you don’t cooperate, Rodri will be here in five minutes to write you up for obstruction.”
Thank God for my gift of projecting toughness. It came in handy more often than I could say. Actually, maybe I owed my mom for that, because she’d honed it with her chronic stream of criticism.
“Aw shit, Erin.” He scowled with a sigh and then put his phone in my hand.
“Unlock it.”
He took it back, pressed his thumb to the button, and then handed it to me like a petulant child.
“Thank you so much.” I turned my back on him and dialed Max. Unlike with my recent calls, he answered Joe’s on the second ring.
“Hey, Joe, ’sup?” Max’s happy, dippy voice hit my eardrums like a knife scraping china. Not for the first time, I ached for how someone I’d loved had done the worst possible thing he could think of to hurt me. No wonder my sister was so flabbergasted by Lyle. I should be more patient with her.
“It’s not Joe, but don’t you dare hang up unless you want the cops on your tail.” In my mind, I resembled a fire-breathing dragon.
“Erin?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” I closed my eyes, gathering strength. “You know why I’m calling. I want my albums back yesterday, Max.”
A pause. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stomped my foot, yelling, “Do not get cute with me. We both know you took them, and if you don’t bring them back today, prepare for an unholy war.”
He huffed, acting blasé. “You’d have to find me first.”
Time to roll the dice on my hunch. “You’re at your mom’s, dumb-ass.”
“How’d you . . .” He stopped himself, but now I had confirmation. “I didn’t steal anything. You owed me something after the way you kicked me out.”
I owed him?
“Don’t be a dick. I never even asked you to repay the charges you ran up on my card last month, though I probably should. You know what those albums mean to me. Just bring them back and I’ll tell Rodri to call off the extradition paperwork.” Max needn’t know that paperwork hadn’t gone into effect.
“You went to Rodri?” he yelped. Good. While it would’ve been nice to have heard a bit of guilt with that fear, I wasn’t holding my breath.
“Yes, and he’ll be at your mom’s door tonight unless you return my property. Thousands of dollars of stolen property, Max. Felony-level crime. You want that on your record?”
I smiled when he cursed, but then a long pause made me wary.
He heaved a sigh. “I don’t have them.”
Desperation—not at all my choice emotion—pushed past all bravado. Tears were clogging my throat. “Please. Let’s not end our whole relationship on this crappy note. I don’t want that, do you? All I want are my records.”
“Sorry, Erin. I sold them and then used the money to come here. Lost some at the casino . . .”
My heart stopped. I hadn’t considered this complication. Jesus, I had no time to waste. “Sold them to whom?”
“Some dude Clyde knew who collects classic records.”
Clyde—Max’s buddy who played jazz guitar at local clubs like the Lamplight. “What ‘dude’?”
“I don’t remember. Eli something. He’s there in town.”
If I could’ve reached through the phone to strangle Max, I would’ve. “Eli who? Where in town? Apartment, house, condo? East side or west?”
“Hang on, let me see if I can find the email,” he said, pausing. “But you swear you’ll call off Rodri?”
If Max needed to think he had some bargaining power, I’d oblige long enough to get what I needed. “I don’t care if I never see you again. I told you, all I want is my property.”