by D. A. Bale
Bobby swiped a hand across his eyes as if wiping away sweat, but the shallow cough gave him away. Pain and heartache radiated from him. I hesitated. We’d gone this far, and the next question begged to be asked.
I approached it gently. “This leads into another question.”
A deep breath rattled as his head drooped. “Shoot.”
“Did Amy ever use any over-the-counter sleep aids?”
Bobby’s brow furrowed as he raised his head. “Not that I ever knew.”
My earlier glance into the master bedroom hadn’t revealed anything on the nightstands but a couple of Bibles, books and a notepad. Discretion had kept me from rifling through drawers and the medicine cabinet, so I had to take his word for it.
Hey, it was Bobby’s bedroom. I had no intention of crossing that threshold ever again – real or imagined.
“We have a bonafide mystery on our hands then,” I said.
“How so?”
“It just so happens a heap of the stuff was found in her system.”
***
In the two-and-a-half years in my apartment, I’d had few reasons to bother the super. Paid my rent on time and took extra special care of my place – well mostly. When the bi-annual pest control notice hit my door, I made certain me and my cuddly critter became scarce.
Point in fact – I didn’t want to even think about him going into my apartment. Jimmy’s appearance kinda gave me the creeps, what with the scars across his cheek and forehead like a gang war survivor. One side of his mouth drooped like the nerves had been cut deep under the surface, and I almost expected to see drool drip like a ravenous wolf baring its fangs.
Perhaps that’s more an active imagination on my part. Or too many horror movies. Yeah, we’ll chalk it up to that.
It had always surprised me though that he’d been entrusted with such a job, being the face of the building, that is. Even though he’d always been nice to me on the rare occasion we spoke – or more like indifferent – I never felt altogether comfortable in Jimmy’s presence.
After cleaning up from assisting Bobby all afternoon, I trudged my squeaky-clean rumpus down three flights of stairs to stand before apartment one-oh-two.
I stood.
And stood.
Working up some cowardly lion courage, I finally rapped on the door – and froze when Jimmy’s massive bulk filled the doorway. Three hundred pounds, give or take, and solid muscle through and through stared me down. His bicep was bigger than my waistline and the skull tattoo winked at me when he flexed.
We grow our boys big in the Texas sun. The brawn comes from God. The scary part? I don’t wanna know.
“Vicki, right?” Jimmy asked.
“Uh, right. From four-oh-seven,” I stuttered in surprise.
The guy had a good memory, considering the number of tenants in the building. Couple that with the fact I didn’t regularly bother him, and color me impressed with his cognitive function. Or creeped out even more ‘cause he knew who I was. I’m not that memorable – am I?
“Havin’ a problem?” Jimmy prompted.
“Not exactly a problem. More like a question.”
“Bout what? And make it quick,” he said as he glanced behind the door.
He might have company. Tread carefully. “It’s about that woman who committed suicide last week.”
Dark eyes trailed me up then down as if truly noticing me for the first time. When they rested again on my face, the window to the soul snapped shut so fast I almost heard it. Maybe that’s why Jimmy kinda freaked me out. I never could get a read on him, as if he had no past or dreams of the future. There was only the present with him.
“You some sort of PI now?” Jimmy asked.
“Nope,” I assured. “Just a bartender.”
“Why’re ya asking questions about the woman then?”
“Got a…friend. With the Rangers.” Eyes narrowed before I sputtered out the rest. “But we don’t talk much anymore.”
“So if y’all don’t talk anymore, why’s he still a friend?”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Why do you assume he’s a he and not a she?”
“Cause he used to be around often enough.”
The creep factor went up about ten degrees. Or twenty. “What? How do you know?”
“It’s my job to observe what’s going on in my building.”
First Zeke. Now Jimmy. Is it a requirement of manhood to be observant? While girls are in cotillion training, do they offer classes to guys like Habits of Highly Effective Observers? Perhaps something like How to Spot an Available Female. Or there’s my favorite one of How to Tell When a Guy is Hitting on Your Girl.
Now there’s a class I could teach in the reverse. I mean, I was pretty observant, but mainly I checked out clothes, hair, and hygiene, not to mention the ring finger on the left hand – and making sure there was no hint of a tan line. Maybe I should’ve been a guy.
“So does that mean you saw something that night,” I ventured.
Jimmy hesitated and glanced again behind the door. “Wrap this up or come in for a spell. I gotta steak on the grill.”
Enter the lion’s dean? Willingly? Oh, heaven help me. My knocking knees must have made some noise.
Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Can you at least wait here so I can flip it before it’s beyond saving?”
All I could get out as I stared at Jimmy’s scars was, “Uh-huh.”
The door remained propped open as Jimmy lumbered across his living room. The rumble of opening sliding glass doors followed, and I caught a whiff of sizzling steak. My mouth watered and stomach betrayed me when I realized it was well into the dinner hour.
One of the benefits to living on the ground floor was residents had a fenced-in, postage stamp sized patch of lawn on which pooches could piddle. I rather liked the additional security of living upwardly mobile, but having a balcony with an outdoor grill would sure make a nice addition. Maybe the landlord would take that into consideration when it came time to renovate. Then again, if my eighties-style kitchen was any indicator, renovations wouldn’t come anytime soon.
Jimmy returned, dabbing saliva from the drooping edge of his mouth. Something in his expression had changed. Softened.
“So what’d ya wanna know?” he asked with a sigh.
“I’m kinda a friend of the family,” I said.
“Was the woman here for you that night then?”
“That’s what has me stumped. I worked that night and didn’t get home until around three-thirty.”
“Ya do keep interesting hours.”
You know that eerie tingle up your spine just before the killer in the movies jumps out from the darkness and slashes a character across the throat? Yeah, me too. Feeling it right now as a matter-of-fact. Not pleasant.
“Anyway,” I continued, squelching my imagination. “Some of the family isn’t convinced it was a suicide.”
Jimmy looked me up and down then sneered. “Do they think you dragged her up and tossed her off?”
“No. Can I ask the questions please?”
The bicep skull winked again as Jimmy glanced over his shoulder. “My steak’s ‘bout done so make it quick.”
“How would she have gotten to the roof in the first place?” I quickly asked.
“The stairwell.”
“But I understand the roof access is always locked ‘cept for maintenance.”
Something connected in Jimmy’s brain as a light dawned from behind his guarded gaze. “That’s somethin’ I didn’t stop to think about the other night.”
Stupidity prodded my next question, but I plunged ahead. “Don’t you have the key?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyone else?”
“Just me and the landlord, far as I know,” Jimmy said before anger-tinged fire flashed in his eyes. “Wait a sec. What’re ya saying?”
“Nothing, I…”
“You got somethin’ to accuse me of?
” The beefy body filled the doorframe as Jimmy stepped across the threshold into the hall, his voice deepening to a thunderous roar. “Think I’ve been negligent and left the door unlocked? That I killed that woman?”
“No, no, I just…”
The fires of Hell scented the hallway as I backed into it. Smoke rose steadily from Jimmy’s collar and spewed from his nostrils. No wait – it was in the background. Coming from his living room.
Jimmy swung around to face his doorway. “Damnit, woman. Now you’ve gone and made me burn my dinner.”
As I tripped and stumbled my way up the staircase, the slam of Jimmy’s apartment door rattled it like Dallas was having an earthquake. I was not looking forward to the next extermination visit.
Maybe it was time to reconsider my living arrangements. Could I take in a roommate? I could see the ad now: Notice – roommate wanted. Must be willing to tolerate a steady stream of cute guys, a cuddly cat, and quarters with questionable characters.
Yeah, that’ll bring ‘em crawling. They don’t call me Scaredy Cat Bohanan for nothing.
Chapter Ten
You know how you feel in the mornings after using muscles you forgot you had? Yeah, me too. ‘Cept this time it was from lifting and dragging boxes across Bobby’s yard and into the house after I was already sore from shooting. I ached like a runner training for a marathon. Like a weightlifter for a competition. Like a – oh, hell. Morning had arrived entirely too soon and without my brain in tow.
The insistent buzz of my cell phone demanded attention even though everything in me screamed to throw it at the wall. But that’d leave me without communication to the outside world. Hmm. Tempting as the thought was at the moment, I really couldn’t spend money on unnecessary expenses right now.
After prying my eyelids apart to stare at a too-bright screen illuminating my dark bedroom, I counted three missed calls from Janine.
Wait – why was the phone lighting up my room? Why was my apartment still so dark? Five in the morning? As in A.M.? What the…?
“What the hell, Janine?” I yelled into my phone.
The buzzing continued. It echoed throughout my apartment and seeped through the open bedroom door from the living room. I flopped out of bed with a groan and sprawled across the carpet as my foot tangled in the sheets. Slinky slid off alongside me then scuttled under the bed with a scowl and accompanying yowl.
I’m gonna kill her.
Or maybe Nick was at the door looking for a morning booty call. Couldn’t the guy go a couple of days without release? I could. Usually. Warmth flushed my skin at the thought. Someone was about to get the full brunt of some sleep-deprived, muscle tormented, sexually frustrated female in her skivvies.
I ripped open the front door, which closed just as quickly when the attached security chain rebounded. In my frustrated and fumbling state, it took a moment to disengage the stupid and utterly worthless thing before opening the door again.
“What the hell, Janine?” I attempted again as Janine’s disheveled mug filled my doorway.
“Bobby’s been arrested,” Janine wailed.
Have you ever had one of those moments where a single sentence both wakes you and shuts you up faster than a tornado rips your house from the foundation?
I plead the fifth.
***
Most Rangers tend to live pretty close to their respective offices in order to get there at a moment’s notice – or at least that’s what Zeke led me to believe when we were dating. But this morning it made all the sense in the world. Even just after five in the A.M., driving from near Dallas’ West End to Garland left me snarled in traffic. What was at most a twenty-minute trip under normal circumstances doubled, tripled, and quadrupled with the early morning rush hour.
Then again there was little about Dallas that could be classified as normal when it came to traffic circumstances. Rush hour? What a joke. On both fronts. There was little rush and definitely more than an hour when it came right down to it.
As my Vette inched along toward the I-635 interchange, I snatched up my phone and tried Zeke again. Yes, even though we’d been split up for years, his number was still firmly implanted in my cell phone database. Emergencies only. Bite me.
A growl filled my ear. “Unless you’re on the way over, I suggest you hang up before someone gets hurt.”
I snorted. “I’m on the way over, but not for what you want, you idiot.”
“The idiot is hanging up now.”
“Don’t you dare, Zeke Taylor. Not after I dragged my butt out at this ungodly hour.”
“Wait, did you say you’re on your way over?” Zeke asked with a little more clarity in his question.
“Are you awake now?”
“Yeah, but why are you?”
“Cause Janine showed up at my apartment to inform me Bobby’s been arrested,” I said. “And she went back home to get ready for her classes only after I promised to immediately find out why.”
Two beats later. “Let me make some calls. What’s your ETA?”
“Whenever I can weed through this God-forsaken traffic,” I said.
“I’ll have answers and coffee when you get here,” Zeke offered. “Bring donuts.”
“I’m not your personal waitress.”
“Make sure one’s an apple fritter.”
“Asshole,” I muttered as he hung up and I tossed the phone into the console.
I’m not a morning person. Never been a morning person. You want me bleary-eyed and bitchy? Wake me any time before ten and that’s all you’re gonna get. Zeke was in for a real treat alright – and its name wasn’t apple fritter.
After muscling my way through traffic then swinging through a donut drive-thru for an apple fritter, bear claw, and a couple of chocolate iced, I made it to Zeke’s Country Hoedown by six twenty-five. Pink and orange tinged the sky as I made my way past the security gate and parked. The high-rise building offered the latest innovations of modern living space, but I doubted if Zeke had ever used anything in the kitchen ‘cept the coffeemaker.
You can take the boy away from the ranch, but that don’t mean he’ll leave it behind. I’d bet a hundred dollars he still had the longhorn steer head on the wall for hanging his hats on the horns. And that nasty deerskin rug in the living room – ugh. What about that tree ring coffee table resting on the antler stool? He’d probably gone and killed Bambi’s mother just to get them.
‘Course I completely missed all that when Zeke greeted me with nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips. Chiseled abs and cut pecs begged me to run my fingers through the dark mass of chest curls. Did the air just spike a hundred degrees? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Ignoring my hot and bothered state, Zeke grabbed the donut box, shoved the apple fritter into his mouth, then headed toward the kitchen with a mumble of what I can only assume was some sort of hello. I shut the front door and let my nose lead me by the scent of fresh-brewed coffee. A full cup with milk added and what I hoped was two sugars sat waiting on the modern cement countertop. I didn’t even have to ask if it was mine. Now Zeke? He drank it straight – black like any good cowboy. Or as God intended. Or whatever other reason he’d come up with for the day.
When he gravitated toward one of my chocolates after inhaling the fritter, I slapped his hand away. “Chocolates are mine.”
“The bear claw’s for me?” Zeke asked with a frown.
“Thought it fitting since you growled like one on the phone,” I replied. “What’d you find out about Bobby?”
“So much for sparkling breakfast conversation.”
“Hey, you’re the one who ordered and received a free breakfast.”
“But I don’t like bear claws.”
“Too bad. Can we get back to Bobby please?”
In my experience, most guys will eat anything you place in front of them. Zeke was no exception. After grousing like a ten year old, he got down to business around a bite of bea
r claw.
“Bobby was arrested late last night,” Zeke offered.
“Tell me something I don’t know. Why?”
“For his wife’s murder.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I exclaimed. “Bobby’s not a murderer.”
“I’m only the messenger.”
“But why do they think Bobby killed her?”
“Because they discovered an empty bottle of that sleep-aid found in Amy’s system sitting in his curbside trash.”
Yesterday’s events replayed over in my mind, but I couldn’t recall seeing any sort of bottles during my cursory glance into the bedrooms. ‘Course, I hadn’t dug through their cabinets or anything. Why would I? They’d barely moved into the house before Amy’s death. The curb had held a myriad of boxes when I’d pulled up and more by the time I’d left.
“There were a ton of moving boxes by the curb yesterday,” I mused. “Anyone could’ve simply driven by and added an assortment of crap to the pile.”
“True,” Zeke said.
“The real murderer could’ve planted it.”
“It’s possible.”
It didn’t make sense. We were out there together most of the day. Bobby never acted like he had anything to hide. Matter of fact, he’d been pretty open about Amy’s family background. He hadn’t said anything about the police contacting him again. So what had changed?
“When did the police reopen the case?” I asked.
“Yesterday.”
“But why’d they go after Bobby?”
Zeke didn’t hesitate. “Apparently you asked too many questions that didn’t have adequate answers.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, taking the time to chew and swallow the last of my donut while I wrapped my brain around what Zeke didn’t say. “You’re blaming me for Bobby’s arrest?”
He tossed back the dregs of coffee like a shot of Jack. “You do have a tendency to get people into trouble.”
I didn’t even have to work up a glare at that and wished daggers would come shooting out of my eyes into his rock hard, beckoning chest. Maybe Nick would be up for a call tonight so I could work out my frustrations with him.
The empty coffee cup cracked as I smashed it down on the countertop and turned to leave in a huff. Zeke’s firm grip didn’t allow me to get very far.
“Would it help to know what I think?” he asked.
I didn’t trust myself at the moment and shrugged instead of allowing my disease-ridden mouth to take over the conversation.
