Crash and Burn Read Free

over her victory.
    “Sir, your name?”
    “Jim Douglas.”
    “Mr. Douglas, did you already call 911?”
    “Yes. I thought I was going to be dead before anyone got here!”
    Newport PD’s response time was one of the best in the county. “How long ago did you call?”
    “Few minutes.”
    Almost as she thought that a few minutes weren’t very long, she saw a California Highway Patrol coming down Jamboree toward them.
    “She wants to kill me.”
    “Oh, God, you’re so damn melodramatic. You hit me. ”
    “Bullshit! You’re lying to a cop now? I’m sorry, Wendy, for everything, but this is childish.”
    Scarlet glanced over at the Lexus and now she realized why she’d thought something was strange when she first approached. The tire impressions in the gravel were curved, as if Douglas had turned in sharply from the street and parked. But then the rear tires went straight back four feet from the curve. Two different cars might have made the impressions, but with the naked eye, they matched. Four feet—he wouldn’t have been in park, and he would have been rammed hard. A good forensics team could prove it.
    But right now, it was a he said, she said situation.
    She glanced over her shoulder. What was taking CHP so long to get out of his car? Then she saw a second CHP vehicle approach.
    Wendy and Jim were arguing and the venom was escalating. Scarlet put her fingers to her lips and whistled. They shut up.
    “Listen, I don’t know or care what your beef is with each other, but you’d both better settle down before the chippers get over here and want answers. Wendy, go stand by your car. Jim, stay here. Do not move. Got it?”
    Thankfully, they both did as she said. As a female cop, she’d learned early on that eye contact, attitude, and follow-through were all crucial in maintaining control of potentially volatile situations. Scarlet walked over to where the two CHP officers were getting out of their vehicles. She pulled out her ID, then flipped it to make sure that the officer saw her concealed carry permit. “Scarlet Moreno, private investigator. Happened upon the scene and stopped to help.”
    “Moreno,” the first officer said. “I know a John Moreno with LAPD.”
    “My brother,” she said, though the twinge of longing came back. She didn’t tell the cop she’d been with LAPD for twelve years. She handed both of them her card. It didn’t hurt to share her business cards with cops—they sometimes shot business over to P.I.s. Not her and Krista, unfortunately, but that was because they all had their favorites, and ninety-nine percent of the time the favorites were retired cops they’d known from the job. But like Krista told her, pass out cards and something would come back to them.
    The chippers introduced themselves. Ericson and Woods. Scarlet gave them a brief rundown, ending with, “It’s pure domestic bullshit, but potentially volatile.”
    Ericson said, “You’re welcome to stay.”
    “Thanks, but I have an appointment,” she lied. “I just stopped to make sure no one was injured.”
    “Any other witnesses?”
    “Not that I know about—I didn’t see the collision. If I were you, I’d check the skid marks and tires. At first glance, Wendy’s story makes sense, but looking at the physical evidence—I’m inclined to buy the guy’s story, or a version thereof. But being a domestic issue, neither of them is telling the whole truth.”
    Woods snorted. “It’s up to the insurance company to weed through the bullshit. We’ll just take the report and make sure no one needs a medic. Thanks for the heads-up.”
    Scarlet considered staying just for the humor of the squabble, but instead walked back to her Jeep and drove off as the CHP officers talked to the two drivers. This was domestic drama, the one part of being a cop she didn’t miss.

Chapter Two
     
    Nearly ninety minutes later than she planned, Scarlet dragged her hot and tired body into the bar. Diego’s was already