Deputy Zantos looked tired. As I no doubt do myself, she thought ruefully. Gabe’s britches had stains on one knee, and a splotch of something that looked like blood on the sleeve of his shirt. Giving her a little salute, he peered into the bus’s depths, watching as she tossed a stray syringe wrapper into a bag of garbage.
“I’m going off duty for a few hours’ sleep,” he said quietly, so the others wouldn’t hear, “but first, I wanted to let you know Victoria Pettigrew is arranging a new mattress for your duplex. It should be delivered late this morning.”
Internally, Frankie groaned. Great. Another day without sleep. “Does this mean the crime scene people came up empty?”
“Not exactly. We’re waiting on results of the blood profile. And I put somebody to checking with Cabela’s on the boots, although I wouldn’t hold my breath on that being a hot lead. Anyway, the duplex has been freed up.”
“Oh. Dang.”
“Dang?” He sounded amused.
Her head fuzzed for a second. “I mean, dang, the boots aren’t a hot lead. It’s good, and the apartment is okay.” Good lord, he’d think she was a blathering fool.
He grinned like already he thought so. “Yeah. Another thing, Frankie.”
When did we become Frankie and Gabe? Did she like it? Maybe.
“What?” she asked.
“Victoria Pettigrew said to tell you she’ll be there to accept the new mattress since she has to sign for it. You might want to crash at my place again.”
His eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, but that didn’t mean he lacked wit. She suspected the expression on her face showed him her doubts on that score. Like maybe, staying at his place was not quite kosher—especially if he was there too.
“Another ‘another’ thing,” he added. “About that old fence around the duplex. One of my guys accidentally broke down a big section when they went out to see where you found Ms. Rider’s dog. Howie showed us. Anyway, you better let me keep your guy until it’s fixed.”
“Oh, thanks. What a relief.” Frankie’s brain worked overtime, trying to process everything he’d said. Her brow puckered. Was she forgetting something? Yes. Dammit! “Uh, oh.”
“Uh, oh, what?”
“I told the veterinarian I’d keep Denise’s dog. Until the poor little thing recovers, at least. She needs nursing.”
For a moment, he looked nonplussed, then he shrugged. “Lots of room, I guess. Just don’t wake me up when you get there.”
He strode out again, pausing only to warn the dispatcher coming on shift that if they awakened him for anything less than a typhoon in the next six hours, they were in trouble. The dispatcher, a chubby college-age summer volunteer named Gina, fell all over herself with repeated, “Yes, sirs.”
Gabe was that kind of guy. And judging by the dreamy look on the girl’s face as she watched him leave, she had other ideas about him as well.
Maybe some of the same ones Frankie had been having.
Yellow crime scene tape, loosened now, fluttered in the breeze around the duplex’s front door when Frankie pulled into the driveway. Tearing down the tape and wadding it into a ball to throw away gave a sense of satisfaction.
She might not be able to sleep here without a bed, but she sure could take a shower, put on clean clothing, and eat a meal, in that order. As on previous mornings, the street was quiet, somnolent as the day heated up. A sprinkler whirled in a neighbor’s yard a few hundred feet away, spray beating rhythmically against a cedar fence that stood in need of staining. A quail perched on the corner post called out for “tobacco.” The smell of weeds and wheat and a faraway forest fire drifted over all.
There was no sign of Howie, not that she expected anything else. He’d been keeping out of sight lately.
Wondering if the presence of cops, or if Denise Rider’s disappearance had him freaked, Frankie let herself into the apartment. Lacking Banner and his feeling for trouble, she did her own walk-through, peeking into the kitchen, bathroom, and finally the bedroom, giving a huge sigh of relief upon finding the old mattress gone.
Her nose twitched. Although stuffy, the room already smelled better. Having the blood source removed, the apartment opened up, and police milling around had done wonders.
Signs of the search for evidence were all around. Her clothes in the closet pushed to one side, stuff in the dresser appearing to have been stirred, items in the bathroom jumbled, the kitchen a mess. Somebody had left several take-out coffee cups on the counter, complete with brown-colored drips and spills.
Trying her best to ignore the disorder, Frankie grabbed a clean bra and panties from the drawer to don after her shower. Warm water, as she’d been taught would conserve body temperature, beat down on her head, tingling against her skin. Her body wash, a pretty floral scent, came from one of the specialty stores, and she sniffed appreciatively. Lord, how she’d missed such luxuries in Afghanistan.
Pushing the thought away, she enveloped her hair in a turban of lather. It was a special shampoo she bought from a ritzy salon. Her hairdresser assured her it encouraged hair growth to fill in over the scars. If so, Frankie reflected wryly, it worked pretty damn slow.
Clean enough and still in her underwear, she nuked bacon, fried an egg, burned a couple slices of toast and ate standing up. By then, almost asleep on her feet, she’d about decided to curl up on the couch when from next door, Howie’s stereo started in with an unholy din.
“Oh, Gawd. Not rap.”
But it was, the thunderous beat nearly shaking the building. Her fists pounding on the wall between the two apartments went ignored.
Giving up on trying staying in her own place, Frankie scrawled a quick note to Jesselyn’s sister and left it on the counter. Thanks, Victoria! the note said.
Dressing quickly in shorts and a T-shirt, she shoved a fresh set of work clothes into a plastic grocery bag with an Albertson’s logo and set off for Gabe’s place.
Which worked out fine. Silent as a shadow, she let herself into the old house where she found Banner curled up on a clean rug laid out for him on the back porch. Her eyelids nearly glued together, she played with him a few minutes before calling him in. Together, they climbed the stairs and fell into bed.
Banner, to her satisfaction, stretch out at her side with a huge sigh. She flopped an arm across him and slept.
Gabe was gone when Frankie got up five hours later. No surprise there. In some far reach of consciousness, she’d heard a shower running and later, a door slamming on a muttered curse. Somehow comforted by the small sounds, she’d rolled over and gone back to sleep. Downstairs, a note on the table welcomed her and invited the use of a French press coffee maker.
Who’d ever have guessed Gabe’d be such a connoisseur? Anyhow, she took advantage of his generosity while Banner did his thing outside, and she got ready to go pick up Shine.
Dr. Kelly, rushing against time-constraints with what appeared to be a sudden influx of sick animals, greeted her with open arms—so to speak. Out back of the clinic, as it happened, where she found the vet stitching a barbed wire cut in a horse’s shoulder.
The receptionist, visibly shaken, stood at the horse’s head.
“Oh, good, a helper,” Dr. Kelly greeted Frankie. “Hold him. Mary needs to get back to the desk.”
Wordless, Frankie took the lead shank Mary thrust into her hands.
“One of my assistants called in sick today.” Dr. Kelly smiled at her receptionist’s retreating back. “And I’m afraid soothing sick horses isn’t Mary’s forte.”
Frankie snugged the horse’s head to her chest to keep him from tossing it and moving around. She blew once into his nostrils and talked soft nonsense to him. Bernie, the assistant she’d met the other day, kept the thoroughbred’s hindquarters pinned against a sturdy wall while he handed Doc necessary items.
The animal’s skin rippled as the doctor’s needle flashed in and out. “I’ve numbed him,” the vet assured Frankie. “But he knows what’s going on and doesn’t like it.”
The vet grimaced. “I’ve heard that one before. Though not from the horse, you understand.”
Frankie smiled.
Banner, who as always accompanied Frankie, touched his nose to the horse, providing an instantly calming effect on the larger animal.
Dr. Kelly brushed back a lock of her brown hair. “I think I need to offer Banner a job around here.”
The Samoyed’s tail waved at the sound of his name.
“He wants to know if you pay in money or in rawhide chews,” Frankie spoke for him.
Laughing, the vet finished her handiwork, daubed antiseptic over the neat row of stitches, and affixed a dressing to keep the flies away. “Looks good,” she told her paid assistant as she stripped off latex gloves. “You can put him in the back stall, Bernie. Check him every half hour, please, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. Come with me.”
Aiming the last sentence at Frankie, Dr. Kelly was several steps ahead before it sank in and Frankie hurried to catch up.
“You’ll be amazed at how quickly Shine’s recovering,” the vet said over her shoulder. “Another debt we owe Banner. Anyway, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with her. Like I said yesterday, you’ll need to administer some meds, change the dressing as necessary, and give her lots of love. I can tell she’s missing Denise. Has anyone heard from her?”
They’d reached the clinic’s rear entrance. The vet keyed open the door and held it for Frankie and Banner to enter, allowing Frankie enough time to formulate an answer to Dr. Kelly’s rapid-fire dialogue.
Deciding to keep it simple, she said, “Not that I know of. But at least the police are on the case now.”
“They are?” Dr. Kelly’s eyes rounded as if surprised. “Huh! What changed? You must know someone with clout. When I spoke to them the other day, they could’ve cared less.” She led the way between crates, dogs on one side, cats on the other. The room was noisy, as barks and meows greeted their intrusion. Several animals, sedated, no doubt, slept right through the din.
“I know.” Frankie raised her voice. “There’ve been other developments in the last couple days. But—”
Just then Dr. Kelly stopped in front of a crate where a bedraggled looking little dog lay, one of the quiet ones. Big dark eyes dull, it sat up with some effort and uttered a tiny whine.
With all the hair around the wound shaved down to the skin, and quite a lot of what remained discolored with blood stains, Shine looked about as woebegone as possible.
“Oh,” Frankie crooned, instantly melting. “You poor baby.”
Her cell phone, tossed onto the dashboard to be handy in case of emergency, pealed as Frankie passed the cut-off to the tribal casino.
“Frankie, here,” she said, expecting a demand to report to the station early. The call wasn’t from work, though, thank God. Victoria Pettigrew was on the line.
“Hi, Frankie,” Vic spoke quickly as if she had no time to waste. “I wanted to let you know the new mattress has been delivered.”
A sudden flash of how the other had sagged and smelled, intolerable even for the few hours she’d slept on it, almost made her ill. “I hope it’s a good one.” She tried for a cheerful effect.
“Well, it’s not a Tempur-Pedic or a Davenport Hotel special.” Victoria’s voice held a trace of amusement. “But it’s better than the owner wanted to spring for. Anyway, you can sleep in your own bed tonight—if you like.” Her pause seemed fraught with sexual suggestion. “I understand you’ve been staying with Deputy Zantos at your grandmother’s house.”
Frankie knew innuendo when she heard it. Instantly, she flashed on Gabe Zantos and his hazel eyes. Damn! It was crazy since she hadn’t as much as seen Gabe at any time while staying at his house. That, in turn, caused her temper, somewhat unreliable anyway, which she liked to blame on the plate in her head, to turn up the heat.
“Deputy Zantos has been very generous, taking me and my dog in,” she said, aware she sounded like she had a corncob up her butt. Well... too bad. “He sure didn’t have to. He has no obligation to me, not even as a co-worker.”
Had that been clear enough? She didn’t want to spoil Gabe’s reputation in the community. Or her own, for that matter. Not so soon, anyway.
Victoria snorted. “Huh! Well then, lucky you. Gabe’s a good-looking guy. Anyway, the bed is delivered. Whether you sleep in it or not is up to you.”
The turn off to the casino with its garish neon sign in her rearview mirror, Frankie sped up for the long winding hill leading to Hawkesford. “Thank you, Victoria.” She said it sweetly, meanwhile gritting her teeth. “That was quick service. I appreciate your efforts.”
“You’d better.”
Sensing Victoria was ready to hang up, Frankie hastened to hold her just a moment more. “By the way, did Gabe talk to you about the previous tenant?”
“Not yet. We’ve missed connections twice now, but we have an appointment for this evening when I get home from work. He said he had questions about Denise. Why?”
Opening her mouth to tell Victoria about Denise and the other stuff going on at the duplex, Frankie as quickly closed it again. She’d meant to pump Victoria about the missing woman, but that seemed an awful lot like infringing on Gabe’s territory.
“There’s been some odd things going on around the apartment is all, stuff you should know about,” she said instead. “I’m happy to leave all that to Deputy Zantos.”
Victoria’s normal staccato speech slowed. “That sounds very mysterious.”
“Yes. I guess it does.” And then, as Shine whimpered from her bed behind the driver’s seat, she added, “But there’s more than you can guess. Gotta go. Thanks again, Victoria. I owe you.”
“You bet you do. Count on me collecting.”
The phone went dead.
Rats, Frankie thought, if Victoria is making something of Gabe’s generosity to Banner and me, what about the rest of Hawkesford? She had a pretty good guess, and while it didn’t bother her especially, having no one she needed to impress, Gabe’s reputation was another matter. Any hint of fraternization could mean slower promotion. Or wait. Was that only relevant in the military? Or in business? Or…
Without warning, lights flashed behind Frankie’s eyes, megavolts of unrestrained energy. Anvils clanged inside her head.
“Oh, no.” Fighting a blaze of pain, she took her foot off the gas and pulled off the highway into a field where shorn stubble showed the wheat had been harvested. Grasshoppers flew up around the pickup cab, banging into the windows.
She got the truck stopped and threw the shifter into park before pressing two fingers against her temple, hoping to quell the situation or wait it out. Banner barked his annoyance.
“Sorry, lovey,” she told him faintly, a second before the world went black.
Chapter 10
Frankie’s eyes blinked open, her face, fiercely hot in a couple places, pressed against the steering wheel. Sunlight glared through the side window. Groaning, she straightened. She had no idea how long the blackout had lasted this time. Probably no more than a minute or two.
A nerve in her temple spasmed, the sharp ping doing more to awaken her than Banner’s tongue lapping her cheek, his nose stuck in her eye.
“Good boy.” She raised a hand to defend herself. “I’m all right. Stand down.”
The dog backed off, watching her anxiously with sharp dark eyes.
After her time in the hot, dry mountains of Afghanistan, Frankie never went anywhere without a bottle of water. Thank God. She slopped some over a tissue and wiped dog slobbers off her face before guzzling down a couple long swallows. Gradually, her head stopped spinning and, with a little help from the therapist’s pressure technique, the flashes behind her eye quieted.
“A real zinger,” she told the dog, squinting against the afternoon light. “I thought we were through with them. Let’s hope this one was an anomaly.”
&nb
sp; Banner looked like he hoped so too—whatever anomaly might mean.
“Good thing I got off the road before I blanked.”
This time he definitely agreed. He barked. Shine stirred in her bed behind the seat.
“Yeah. Okay. We’ll go in a minute.” She took another gulp of water and a few deep breaths before nerving herself to put the pickup in gear and reverse out onto the highway. The dashboard clock showed an hour before her shift started.
“Looks like we’re cutting it pretty fine, doesn’t it?” Not quite trusting her reaction times, Frankie drove a little slower than usual as she dropped off the hill leading into town. Her hands shook on the steering wheel. Maybe she’d better ask Lew if he’d drive tonight if they had any calls. What kind of excuse could she use? Hah. Best scenario was that they’d get lucky and there’d be zero calls. Maybe they could spend the night studying protocols and memorizing maps instead of attending accident victims.
Yeah, right. Memorizing.
Crossing her fingers, she steered for the duplex, bypassing her grandmother’s house. Hearing Victoria’s comments helped strengthen her determination to avoid Gabe just now. Besides, Frankie knew how she looked. If Gabe was home, she didn’t want him to see her like this, eyes like dark holes, skin pale as a fish belly, trembling like a Parkinson’s victim.
Small towns. So many busybodies with his or her eye aimed toward his neighbor, each eager to pick and choose from facts and think the worst.
Too bad the busybodies hadn’t checked out Denise Rider more closely.
Howie’s door stood open at the duplex, flies busy swooping in and out. No sign of the man himself.
Wrinkling her nose, Frankie gestured Banner out of the pickup before sliding the driver’s seat forward and scooping Shine into her arms. The bichon recognized her home territory. She wiggled until Frankie set her down, allowing the dog to limp toward her accustomed unit where she sat waiting until Frankie got the door open.
Hometown Homicide Page 9
