Partnerships Can Kill: The Third Charlie Parker Mystery by Connie Shelton Page A

with
others about his client's business, but when the law steps into it,
the CPA can find himself in the slammer just as quickly as the next
guy. I could see, however, with this one the only thing I'd get by
arguing was a swift boot out the door.
    "Look, I'm just trying to help David's
partner," I said, adopting what I hoped looked like a kindly
attitude. "Sharon needs to know where things stand right now.
Especially with this IRS question up in the air. I'm trying to work
with her, and I can't locate any copies of the financials for the
restaurant. I was hoping you might have copies in your files."
    He took a step toward me and stuck an index
finger at my face. "Look, Miss, you won't get anything from me. All
business between David Ruiz and me was private. I got nothin to do
with him killing himself, and no file leaves this office without a
subpoena attached."
    "Fine. We can work it that way." I turned to
the door, my hand shaking as I reached for it.
    He followed me as far as the doorway, but I
was already halfway down the stairs. "Listen, you little bitch," he
shouted, "you better not drag me into this."
    I forced myself to walk slowly, as though I
hadn't heard his words, but in truth I wanted to bolt. As I pulled
open the outside door, I glanced back up. He was still standing at
the top of the stairs, hands on hips, his lips pursed into a tight
knot. I got to my Jeep as quickly as possible and locked myself
safely inside. My fingers were still shaking as I fumbled the key
into the ignition.
    I drove several blocks before my mind settled
down enough to form a plan. I realized that continuing south on
Broadway would take me out to the valley. A couple of turns would
get me to the Ruiz place.
    The house somehow looked somehow different,
smaller and lonelier, than it had yesterday with all the cars and
people around. I pulled into the driveway behind a two or three
year old gray Pontiac. I couldn't be sure whether it belonged to
the Ruiz's, or if they had company.
    I was raising my hand to tap on the aluminum
screen's frame when the front door suddenly opened. A little girl
of about three or four stood clutching a stuffed rabbit by the ear.
She looked as startled as I felt.
    "Hi," I said, smiling to put her at ease.
"Are Mr. and Mrs. Ruiz at home?"
    Her thumb went straight to her mouth, the
rabbit dangling from her clenched fist. A woman stepped up behind
her.
    "Can I help you?" she asked.
    "Mrs. Padilla! I'm Charlie Parker. I met you
here yesterday after the funeral."
    "Oh, yes, Charlie. Please, call me Esther.
Come on inside." She stepped back, pushing the screen outward for
me.
    "I was wondering if Mr. and Mrs. Ruiz are
home," I told her.
    "We were just about to leave for mass," she
said, looking around somewhat apologetically.
    "That's all right," I assured her. "I just
wanted to ask one or two questions."
    "Let me find Bernice. You can visit with my
granddaughter, Melissa. I was trying to keep her from going outside
yet. We need to keep that pretty dress clean." She pried Melissa
off her leg, and gave her a gentle push toward me.
    I'm always at a loss for something to say to
children in situations like this. My repertoire of kiddie
small-talk is sadly lacking, I'm afraid. I smiled at her, and she
retreated a couple of steps.
    "What's your rabbit's name?" I said
tentatively.
    She mumbled something past her thumb, and
hugged the rabbit closer to her. She'd make a real protective
little mommy one day.
    "That's a neat vest he's wearing," I
commented, thinking privately that a rabbit dressed in a
pin-striped vest was an odd toy for a little girl. Usually such
things were pink and fluffy, I thought. Melissa made no reply to my
overtures. I was about to ask how she thought the Dow Jones would
do this week, when Bernice Ruiz appeared from the other room.
    She was dressed in full mourning, including a
black lace mantilla. Her hands fluttered a lot as she spoke, and
she was clearly not in much better shape than she'd been