by Freya Barker
“Let me see?” I take the phone from her hand and try to decipher the blur myself, without success. “I should send this to Luna. She works with a guy who’s a tech wiz. Maybe he can do something about the quality.”
A knock sounds at the door and Chief pokes his head in.
“Sorry to bug you. Just wanted to know if you need me to lock up. We’re calling it a night, Sophie’s half asleep.”
I sit up and swing my legs over the side. “No, that’s okay. I’ll take care of it. I have a couple of calls to make anyway.”
“Sure thing. Night y’all.”
Autumn’s head pops up from the bed. “Night, Roman. Tell your wife I’m planning a big breakfast before you guys head back tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
As Chief backs out of the room, Red presses her body against my back, hooks an arm around my neck, and props her chin on my shoulder. “You know, if not for the fact that most of my belongings—alongside my dead neighbor’s—are now at the bottom of a dumpster, and the obsessive lunatic who is responsible is still out there, this could have been a great weekend.”
I put a hand on her forearm. “We’ll have more,” I tell her.
“You seem sure.”
Her voice is tentative, which I don’t particularly like. I turn and roll her on her back, closing my mouth over hers and kissing her deeply. When I feel her hands come up and tangle in my hair, I lift my head and hold her eyes.
“I am sure, and once we have this guy safely behind bars, I’m gonna enjoy proving it to you.”
Autumn
“Everything looks fine. Any shortness of breath? Excessive coughing?”
Dr. Landis flips through his papers, reading glasses perched on his nose, before he glances up when I keep him waiting for an answer.
“Well, there have been moments,” I finally confess, feeling Keith’s strict eyes on me. If it had been just me in here, I might’ve lied. I’m sick and tired of hiding out. Don’t get me wrong, I love being at Keith’s place, but I don’t look forward to spending another week twiddling my thumbs. “But as long as I stay away from irritants and don’t overdo it physically, I’m good to go.”
“That’s what I think too,” he says, slapping the file shut. “But I’m trusting you to take it slow, pace yourself, and I’ll want your blood again a week from today. I’ll call if something is off, and you’ll knock on my door if you experience any issues. Agreed?”
“Absolutely.”
Keith slings his arm around my shoulders when we walk down the hallway. I’m tempted to go upstairs and check in with Sandy, but I suspect he might have something to say about that. I can wait, now that I know I’m basically cleared for work on the provision I take it easy.
“Need to stop in anywhere while we’re here?”
I look up; surprised he seems able to tap into my thoughts. “Nah. I’m good.” Slipping my arm around his middle, I tuck into his side a little more as we head for the exit—just as Evan Biel pushes through the door.
I feel Keith’s entire body grow taut with tension, and he stops in his tracks when Evan spots us and turns our way.
“Is he insane?” he growls, under his breath.
I tighten my hold around his waist, as if I could hold him back should he go charging. To my surprise, the closer Evan gets, the more Keith relaxes.
Evan looks straight at me, pointedly ignoring Keith. The guy must have a death wish.
“How are you feeling?” he asks with what feels like genuine concern.
“A lot better, thanks.” I’m still clutching Keith’s shirt at the waist, despite the fact I no longer feel anger radiating from him. Curious. “I just received the all clear from the doctor.”
“That’s good.” He nods and looks down at his boots before lifting his eyes, first tentatively to Keith and then back to me. “I should probably apologize for pressing Jen for your number the other day. I didn’t realize until after—well, after I was put in my place—that was probably not a good idea under the circumstances.”
“Damn right,” Keith growls beside me.
“Right. Anyway, I was worried. Still am.”
“She’s looked after,” Keith speaks for me, and I pinch his side. He barely seems to register, still staring the other man down.
“So I discovered,” is Evan’s dry response.
“I appreciate it,” I quickly say, before the two of them get into it in the hospital lobby.
Evan just nods. “I hear the old man’s funeral is tomorrow. Me and a couple of the guys would like to come pay our respects, if that’s okay with you?”
I take a deep breath, unsure how to respond. Under any other circumstances it would be a kind gesture, but I just don’t know how I should take it. Keith surprises me when he answers curtly. “That’s appreciated. Greenmount Cemetery at eleven.”
“We’ll be there.”
My mouth is still hanging open in shock when Evan throws me a lopsided smile and walks off. Keith steers me out the doors, and it isn’t until we get to the Tahoe that I find my words.
“What the hell? One minute you’re ready to rip his head off, and the next you invite him for tea and crumpets?” He barks out a laugh, but I’m on a roll. “What’s gotten into you? I thought he was top of your suspect list?”
The grin on his face is starting to piss me off, but just as I’m about to say something, he leans in and kisses my tightly pressed lips. “It’s not him.”
I’m pretty sure I heard that wrong. “What?”
“It isn’t him. He doesn’t walk right.”
“Look, I’m not sure what—” He silences me with a forefinger on my lips.
“Red, I watched the camera feed probably twenty times. He’s the right height, same approximate build, but he doesn’t walk right. The guy in the video walks with slumped shoulders and a heavy tread. Biel’s back is straight as a pin and he has a little lift on every step he takes. He doesn’t walk right.”
“No shit?” I mumble behind his finger, before opening my mouth and biting down on it.
“Ouch.”
“Serves you right.”
He’s still chuckling when he climbs behind the wheel.
Chapter 25
Keith
“Wowza.”
Most of Sunday and a few hours last night, Autumn disappeared into my office. She just walked out in a little black dress, I didn’t even know she owned, looking like a million bucks. The woman has good legs and a spectacular rack. Not that it’s news to me, I take every opportunity I can get to see her naked, but she never puts those attributes on display when she’s dressed.
The little smirk and faint blush look good on her, but my attention is drawn to the two large pieces of poster board she’s carrying. She just mentioned working on a little project when she asked to stop at Walmart for a few supplies yesterday, on our way home from the hospital.
“What’s that?”
Instead of answering, she sets both on the couch, leaning them against the back. It looks like a collage of some sort, with photos and newspaper clippings, some official looking forms and a little Polish flag. I fish the new, and rarely used, pair of readers from my suit pocket and slip them on.
Along the top in tidy bold print is written: The Life Of Joseph Aleksander Bartik. Right underneath, next to the little Polish flag, is a document in a language I assume is Polish and looks like a birth certificate. There are a few pictures of a young boy, smiling gap-toothed at the camera. Then comes a travel document, listing all three in the Bartik family, and a picture of a teenager flanked by smiling parents in front of a ship. There are landing documents, a newspaper clipping with an image of the family standing in front of their newly opened bakery in Newark, New Jersey. There are dates, train tickets, a map, a dried boutonniere, and a wedding picture. Both boards are filled with little vignettes of the old man’s life, and I have to swallow hard at the unexpected emotion washing over me.
She did this. She took all of the memorabilia she wanted fr
om his house, and managed to put it all in a concise, exhibition-style chronicle of Joseph Bartik’s life.
“That’s beautiful,” I croak, looking up at her with a lump in my throat.
“I don’t want him to be forgotten.” For a brief moment I wonder if it’s healthy for her to take on such a heavy responsibility, but before I can comment she continues. “My mother was an alcoholic. After my father left, she destroyed any memory of him in her alcohol-induced rages. Three of those pictures I salvaged from the other house are all I have left of my childhood. Nothing else to pass on.” She sniffs and magically pulls a tissue from her sleeve to wipe her nose. “This man kept a detailed written and illustrated history of his life, but sadly had no one to pass it on to. It makes me feel good to do this for him. For me.”
“He would be pleased.”
“Yes, he would,” she says with a watery smile, and I take her in my arms for a quick hug.
“We should go,” I remind her gently. “It’ll take us close to twenty minutes to get there.”
To my surprise, there’s a quite a little group gathered at the open grave.
Biel, I knew was going to be there, but I didn’t expect Fire Chief Curtis Buxton to be one of the guys he mentioned. I suspected Tony might come and show his face, but Luna was there as well, as was Jen Raymond, the nurse from the burn unit. At some point, Autumn must’ve called the funeral home, because at the edge of the grave, two easels were set up to hold her boards.
The result was a rather unconventional affair, with a brief reading by the funeral director, a blessing of the casket, but when the official part was done, the whole group stood around the boards, talking, and getting to know Joseph Bartik.
Autumn steps free from the group and walks up to me, a smile on her face.
“Is this weird?” she wants to know, looking up at me.
“No,” I shake my head. “This is perfect.”
“I feel bad not having any coffee and sandwiches to offer anyone.”
Autumn is fidgeting beside me, so I reach over and still her hands, keeping my other one on the wheel.
“No one was expecting to be catered to, Red. Let it go.”
She’s silent for the next few minutes and I feel her restless energy fill the car. She’s been a little on edge ever since we left the doctor’s office on Monday. I thought it had to do with the funeral, but now I’m thinking that may not have been it. It wouldn’t have been the encounter with Evan, now that I’ve been able to scratch him off the list of suspects. It doesn’t take long for her to answer the question for me.
“I found a place I’d like to check out.”
“A place?”
“Yeah, an apartment. Luna mentioned the other day that somebody at her work has a place for rent. It’s actually not far from where I was, just on the other side of Main. The Jarvis building?”
“I know the place.”
I don’t say anything more, because I’m not sure how I feel about this development, which is probably why it made her nervous in the first place. Truth is, I’ve avoided thinking about this exact thing. I like sharing my space with Red, and maybe part of me was hoping she wouldn’t want to leave.
“Right. Well, Luna mentioned today she could get me the key so I could have a look. Apparently it’s empty.”
“What—now?”
“No, and you don’t have to come—I can go by myself—I just wanted to ask,” she snaps and I realize I may have been curt.
I lift a hand from her lap and press my lips to the pulse point in her wrist. “I’ll come. I’d like to come. I know the building, I probably even know the apartment, and you could do a whole lot worse.”
“That’s what Luna said. Especially for a short-term rental.”
My eyes have been on something in the rearview mirror that has me a little distracted.
“Short-term?” I ask, trying not to let on my attention is focused on the old, burgundy Jimmy I spotted up at the cemetery, and is apparently still with me after making some random turns and twists through downtown.
“Where are you going?”
I make another left off Main and end up in the same subdivision of the Delwood fire. A fairly quiet residential area, where a tail would stand out like a sore thumb.
“Just taking you on a tour of Durango.” I want to lie, but I promised her honesty in return for her trust, and convinced the truck is following us, it’s probably time to let her know. “Actually, don’t look, but we have a tail.” Of course she immediately starts turning in her seat, but I give her hand a firm squeeze in warning. “Can you fish my phone from my pocket and turn it on?” I hadn’t switched it on again after turning it off for the funeral. She does as I ask, holding it out to me. “Would you mind hitting two on speed dial?”
“Miss me already?” Ramirez voice echoes from the speakers.
“What’s your twenty?”
“Pulling into the station’s parking lot, why?” He’s on alert right away.
“I’m looping around the Arroyo Drive neighborhood with a mid-nineties, burgundy Jimmy on my ass. I don’t think he knows I spotted him, but I saw him parked near the entrance at Greenmount.”
“License plate?”
“Can’t tell, he’s leaving too much distance for me to see. I’m gonna see if I can draw him toward the college. See if you can pick us up on East 8th.” Leaving the line open, I make my way back to Main and turn south. I see the Jimmy turn onto the much busier thoroughfare two cars behind me. “Heading south on Main. He’s still there.”
By the time I turn left onto 8th, I notice Autumn is clutching the console with one hand, and the door with the other. “Relax,” I reassure her, prying her clawed fingers loose and weaving them with mine. Her hold is almost painful. “It’s the middle of the day. Unlikely he’ll try anything. He’s probably just on a fishing expedition.”
“Is that him?”
“You have anyone else after you, sugar?” Tony quips, still listening in, before he turns serious. “Have a visual. Pulling behind him, can you see me?”
“I see you,” I confirm, watching his unmarked Charger come into view.
“John Deere sticker on the gate. License…G…A…A…6…7…7.”
I turn left onto Rim Road, which curves around the college. I look over at Autumn when we near the lookout point. Clearly recognizing it, a deep red flushes her face. “Remember this place?”
“What are you on about?” Tony’s irritated voice comes over the sound system.
“Wasn’t talking to you, moron.”
“Never mind, guess I don’t wanna know. Hey, heads-up. I think I’ve been made, he’s turning into the parking lot.”
“Stay on him. I’m calling in the digits. Keep him busy while I get Autumn out of here.”
“Will do.”
Autumn
That was not what I’d consider fun.
Not exactly a high-speed chase by any stretch of the imagination, but my hands are clammy and my heart is still racing, even after Keith turns the Tahoe onto the drive.
He hits the button on his steering wheel when a call comes in, just as we pull up to the house. “Talk to me.”
“Lost him. Sonofabitch.”
“How?”
“He was jerking me around the student resident buildings when he suddenly darted back out on Rim Road, cutting off a damn bus. By the time I was able to get around it, he was long gone. Did you call through the license plate?”
“Waiting for a call back.”
“Did you put out a BOLO?”
“No grounds for it. For all we know he was sightseeing and happened to be going in the same direction. You know it requires more than that.”
“Fuck.”
“If you don’t have anything pressing back at the station, head up here. I won’t be coming into the office after all.”
“Ten-four.”
“What does BOLO mean?” I ask, when he opens the door for me.
“Be on the lookout. If we know a specific
vehicle—or driver—has been involved in a crime, we put a general call out for patrol to keep an eye out.”
He takes my hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. With the other he opens the door where both Gizmo and Jack are waiting.
“You’re not going to the office?”
“I can work from here.”
He doesn’t say more, gives me a peck on my lips, and disappears down the hall to his office. I go the opposite way and slip out of my black dress, and into my favored yoga pants and oversized shirt. Doesn’t look like we’ll be going anywhere else today.
I’ve barely started washing up our breakfast dishes—seems a waste to stick them in the dishwasher—when Keith comes stalking in.
“Short-term?” he repeats his question from earlier. The one I was happy to avoid answering after realizing what I’d given away. This is a subject I would’ve liked to avoid a little longer. At least until I had a semblance of control over my life again. I’ve been so preoccupied with getting my feet back under me, I haven’t felt confident enough to make any long-lasting decisions. Of course, that means I haven’t been entirely aboveboard with Keith about my temporary status here.
It’s funny, because part of me was expecting something to come up while Sophie and Roman were staying here, but they never let anything slip. Given the fact I’ve all but moved in with Keith, they drew what would conceivably be a foregone conclusion—I’m here to stay.
I dry my hands and slowly turn to face him.
“Nine months and change,” I answer, gauging him for a reaction. It’s hard to tell, because his jaw is already clenched and his look impassive. “That’s when my contract is up. I probably should’ve told you before.”
“What exactly should you have told me?” he bites off, and I cross my arms defensively at the cold anger radiating from him. “Maybe that you’re only here for a limited time? That you never looked for anything more in me than a temporary distraction, and will be gone the moment your time is up?”
