Look Before You Jump

by D. A. Bale

  I froze, the coffee pot trembling in my hand as I tried not to drop it. Bobby and I had a known history, with a police report to back it up. It didn’t require too much of a stretch of the imagination to conclude Bobby could’ve filled his wife with enough sleeping pills to put down a horse. Then I lure Amy to my building where I toss her to the asphalt parking lot below. Then Bobby and I live happily ever after. In a twisted way it made sense – at least from the detective’s warped perspective. Only one problem.

  Not a bit of it was true.

  Not to mention the other holes in the theory. How would a sleeping-pill filled Amy have driven halfway across town without falling asleep at the wheel? Ignoring that little anomaly, how would either of us have thrown her over the side without leaving any footprints along the asphalt rooftop? Then again, how would I have gained access to the roof in the first place without a key to unlock the door? The entire theory was predicated on the possibility I’d sent Amy a non-existent series of text messages.

  I put down the coffee pot, strode across the living room and grabbed my phone from the bathroom while the local law enforcement twins argued over jurisdiction of my residency. A careful scroll through the history to that night. Oh yeah, wet t-shirt night. Fake Boobs had won, though I’d commandeered much of the attention during the awards ceremony that night. A night when I’d been briefly separated from my phone to protect it from the elements.

  A shock shivered down my spine as I stared at the text evidence on my phone. Evidence that could fry me like a french fry. But at least now I had a better idea of how all of this was connected.

  And a good idea who the nefarious culprit was. But that sent up another question that remained unanswered.

  Why?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After Duncan grudgingly re-upped the agreement with Zeke that he’d be responsible for me, they both left for greener pastures. The rest of Monday I spent in my bathrobe, hiding out from the gathering storm like the yellow-livered filly I was – of that I had no trouble admitting. I was so afraid at that point, you may as well have treated me for jaundice. Instead of sleeping off the late night and too early morning, I alternated between planning how I’d trip up the cowardly killer into a confession and wanting to hide beneath my mother’s skirts like when I was a girl.

  Okay, you got me. Since I was never really the hiding type, that left me with coordinating my counterpoint to his point. Thus far the killer had been successful at keeping suspicion at bay. He’d pointed the finger not only Bobby’s direction but mine as well. But in doing so he’d given himself away.

  When I woke up Tuesday morning, I faced an exhausting day of shopping with Mom, who even allowed restocking of some of my rather scandalous attire for bartending duty. There’s something to be said for Momma Bear Syndrome. She also tugged out of me Friday’s planned attendance with Zeke to the governor’s dinner, which required yet another visit to another store – this time one of Mom’s favorite and exclusive boutiques. Personally, I think she’d developed visions of grandchildren with that pronouncement, even though I insisted I’d been strong-armed into agreeing to go with Ranger Taylor. At the end of the day, not only were my dogs barking but the sperm donor’s bank account had to be howling like a hound dog at a full moon.

  Between Monday’s planning and Tuesday’s spending, by Wednesday afternoon I was all set to lasso me a killer. But do you remember what they say about those best laid plans of mice and men?

  Yeah, this mouse forgot about that too.

  ***

  The parking lot at the bar was sparsely populated when I pulled in, but one black truck with a lighted roll bar over the cab grabbed my attention. Check one – the bird was in the nest.

  My legs went all noodley as I walked across the lot. But instead of attraction to my boss, this time it was fear that had me in a near swoon. I had to hold it together around him to get through a shift without revealing I was onto him. Would I be able to play our little tete-e-tete with the usual sexy and sophisticated aplomb?

  Okay fine. I wasn’t so sophisticated, but I could still play the sexy part. So check two – the yellow-livered filly was cured of jaundice. Maybe not cured, but definitely on the mend. I think.

  Check three screeched to a halt like the Vette stopping on a dime when I entered the bar. “What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Grady?”

  Bud stopped prepping the area and looked up at me with a wink. “Grady called and asked me to come in for him tonight.”

  “Then why’s his truck out in yonder parking lot?” I inquired.

  “That’s a Chevy, not a Dodge,” Bud replied with a smirk. “Square wheel wells, not round. It’s my brand new baby.”

  “And it got you here before me for once?” I asked in surprise and tossed my purse into a cabinet.

  A grunt. “Since it was an emergency the other job let me off early.”

  I should’ve noticed the wheel well shapes. Already the night wasn’t going as planned, which had the gray matter spinning as to how to accommodate this unexpected hiccup.

  “Well don’t try and sneak off early from this job then,” I said. Clean glasses sat in the top rack of the dishwasher. I grabbed a towel and started drying, half disappointed and half relieved that I wouldn’t have to face the boss – that meant I wouldn’t get any answers tonight either. “What was the emergency?”

  “Said he wasn’t feeling well. Probably went home to hork up a hairball,” Bud replied.

  “Ugh, thanks for the visual. I know all about hairballs.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard those long-haired cats can be especially nasty.”

  My insides clenched and the glass almost slipped from my fingers. “How do you know about my cat?”

  Bud’s eyes grew hooded. Guarded. “Well uh…you talk about that thing enough around here.” The fake Texas accent dissipated and the northern accent snaked through his words.

  “Oh,” I replied.

  Tension thickened. Silence between us extended as I lined the shelf with glass after glass. My mind whirled with conflicting thoughts as the band came in and warmed up for the night. I smiled as usual when patrons ordered, but all the while my brain buzzed with something other than beer.

  As far as I could remember, Slinky had never been a topic of conversation in the workplace. Even if something had slipped between my inebriated lips, I doubt the length of my tabby’s fur would’ve been the highpoint of anyone’s night. So where would Bud have come across that information but through firsthand knowledge? How would he have come across that knowledge unless he’d been in my apartment? Uninvited.

  Trust me. Bud would’ve never been invited to my apartment, no matter how drunk as a skunk I’d gotten.

  That left only one conclusion – Bud had been to my apartment without my knowledge. He’d seen my pet. Threatened my sweet baby kitty. Stowed the critter away in my closet and ransacked my rooms.

  That realization swung me between rage and fear like a hyperactive pendulum. Now it made sense why Grady kept Bud’s worthless and lazy ass around. Why he put up with the constant tardiness and early escape. It wasn’t about loyalty to an old Army buddy – Grady and Bud were partners on this side of the cartel’s drug smuggling operation.

  Since Zeke knew Grady a bit, I hadn’t wanted to bring him in on my plans to try and trip up the boss tonight. But did Zeke know about Grady’s nefarious connections? If Grady and Bud were the wranglers we’d seen at the cattle pasture the other night, the Ranger had to have been onto them. Zeke had even said they had a line on identities but were waiting for them to lead authorities to the bigger fish in the pond.

  And I’d worked side-by-side with those two rotten, stinkin’, bottom feeders for years. No, Zeke didn’t realize who Grady really was or he’d never have allowed me to work at this particular bar.

  Not that I would’ve paid much attention to Zeke’s cautions or demands. I’m just not very good with ultimatums.


  The only questions still in need of adequate answers were not only why Amy was killed by the cartel, but why they tried to pin her death on Bobby. And why use my phone to draw Amy to my apartment in the first place? The answers could be as mundane as a convenient means to an end all the way up to me being the intended target all along, what with all the activity centered on my building.

  Hey, I know I’m a bit narcissistic and all, but that’s a plausible suspicion when you’re the only child of a well-known and wealthy family. It could explain why my apartment was vandalized instead of burglarized when they discovered I was in absentia. Then again, Grady knew I’d be gone to Austin with Zeke that day.

  Damn. I’d really wanted some answers tonight, but now I was more confused than ever. The only things I was sure of were drug smuggling goings on, Amy’s biological father connected to a drug cartel, and Bobby charged with Amy’s murder – and somehow my boss and co-worker were involved. One of them corresponded with Amy from my phone. One of them tore apart my apartment. And one of them threw Amy off my building without leaving any footprints.

  Footprints. I’d forgotten all about the roof. As soon as I escaped tonight, I needed to swing by my apartment building and see if the access door was unlocked. Then I could get a bird’s-eye view of what Amy had seen of the Dallas skyline – before someone else sent her on her journey.

  Spirits lifted, I finished the night alongside a potential killer and skedaddled across the parking lot as fast as my cowardly legs would carry me. Bud was still halfway to his truck when I fired up the Vette and peeled out toward home.

  Ah, home. The old brick building had never looked as good as it did when I pulled into the parking lot. I missed having my own space to crawl home to every night. Since I’d given my only key to Mom, I couldn’t step inside to check out what direction Reggie had taken the décor of my apartment. But after only a few days there probably wasn’t much to see ‘cept perhaps new paint on the walls. Special order takes weeks – sometimes months. I groaned, and not from the extra floors required to scale the building to the top.

  The sixth floor roof access door had a shiny new padlock in place, probably installed after I’d made Jimmy-the-Super mad with my accusations. Hmm, I’d kinda forgotten all about where Jimmy fit into the picture now that Grady and Bud were the prime suspects. Was he involved? If so, I hoped he hadn’t heard me come through the front door. Maybe he’d think I’d come home for more clothes. Perhaps that I’d forgotten about the state of my place while in a drunken haze.

  Hey, don’t judge.

  A closer inspection revealed the padlock wasn’t the problem. The brass plate screwed into the door jamb appeared loose, as if the screws were stripped. Using a fingernail, I easily slid first one then another screw from the soft wood until a tug of the plate sent the remaining screws falling into my palm and the door swinging open with a drawn-out spooky creak.

  Thank God it wasn’t near Halloween or I’d have been close to piddling my panties again. First the visit with Charlotte at her web and now creaky doors. Instead of laying off the sex, maybe it was time to abstain from the horror movies for awhile. You think?

  A summer breeze whispered across the threshold as I stood in the doorway and surveyed the surrounds. The bright lights of downtown flickered in the not-so-far distance, providing enough ambient light with which to make out the nearby air conditioning units churning out cold air.

  My heels sunk ever so slightly as I stepped onto the rubber covered asphalt and walked to the first unit. I flicked on the new flashlight I’d bought and looked at the imprints left in my wake. Yep, definite evidence of shoe impressions. The killer could’ve walked along the units to the wide concrete edge to avoid leaving footprints across the roof, but that still didn’t explain why there was nothing between the doorway and the first unit. A big heavy man carrying a petite but pregnant woman? Yeah, footprints left behind for sure – unless.

  The idea struck out of left field, but I removed my new pumps anyway and set them carefully along the edge of an air conditioner. The rubberized asphalt was still warm from the hot summer sun but not too uncomfortable by this time of night as I returned to the door. The flashlight beam revealed what I’d hoped not to see.

  Bare foot imprints. Barely there, but there nonetheless.

  I hung my head with a sigh – and caught sight of a sliver of wood beneath the open door. A tug sent the door creaking again and revealed a narrow slab of plywood leaning against the wall within reach. The weathered wood looked just long enough to create a pathway across the roof between the door and the first air conditioning unit. With a long stride – easy for a taller man – once he got to the first, it’d be a simple matter of hopping from one unit to the next over to the edge. But you’d have to have really good balance to walk around the cement edge to the parking lot side where Amy’s body was found.

  The heat of a Texas day would probably cause any shoe imprints in the rubber lining to dissipate over time, evidenced by the lack of Jimmy’s impressions from when he’d come up to work on the roof. Work boot imprints would sink down pretty deep, but my barefoot imprints hardly showed. If the killer decided to go barefoot and did falter while balancing a pregnant woman in his arms, he may have stepped down from the edge somewhere on his journey and left a mark the police missed.

  I started to tiptoe to the end of the units to follow-up on the idea and left my shoes behind. Being barefoot allowed me to be discrete and not leave behind too much of my own trail. Being barefoot also helped the killer creep across the rooftop without making a sound – a realization I had right about the time I was grabbed from behind and a hand slammed across my mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Unfortunately for me, the man-handling wasn’t from Zeke this time.

  “You think you’re always so smart,” Bud whispered in my ear, stale beer breath hot on my cheek. “Got your rich mommy and daddy to bail you out so you can play instead of work a real job, while people like me have to work two.”

  My scream was muffled and the metallic taste of blood seeped past my lips. I tried to wrench my pinned arms from Bud’s meat hook, but all that got me was pressed up tighter against him. It was immediately obvious my struggles turned the creep on.

  “Flirting with every guy you see,” he continued. “Letting them feel you up.”

  Warm slobbery lips dipped to my neck and sent my heart racing into overdrive. ‘Cept this time it was from disgust. In a swift takedown, Bud swept my feet out from beneath me, grinding my knees and face into the stinking roof to where I could barely breathe, much less scream, as he sat on top of me and secured my wrists with a zip tie. That was gonna leave more than just a mark. My eyes watered, blurring my view of the nearby roof edge where Amy had last stood.

  “Everyone except me, Vicki. Why is that?”

  Before I could answer – or more likely scream – Bud stuffed an oily rag in my mouth. The crushing weight lifted only long enough for him to flip me to my side, one hand trailing up my leg while the other grabbed my breast.

  My stomach clenched. I cringed. Bud moaned until I kicked him in the leg. But at that angle I couldn’t get any power behind the thrust, and it probably came across more like a pat of encouragement to him. Bud laughed and gripped my breast until it hurt, and I could hardly breathe.

  “Still think you’re too good for me?” he asked. “My dick could fill you up more than that sissy pretty boy you’ve been shacking up with.”

  I was pretty sure he meant Nick and not my current roommate. Landlord. Oh hell, I didn’t know what to call Zeke – I just wished one of them would ride in at that moment like the cavalry and save me.

  Wait a minute. I was no shrinking damsel. In distress? Sure, but not some ditzy damsel who couldn’t take care of herself. While Bumbling Bud had been talking and taking advantage, I’d used my tongue to work the rag loose until I spit it out in his face. Sometimes it helps having a t
angoing tongue that gets regular workouts. Or a big mouth.

  “Get your hands off me,” I screamed, “or so help me you won’t have a dick left to piss with.”

  As he reached for the rag, I sat up and caught him right in the nose with a crack. I saw stars, while the howl he let loose would’ve rivaled a hound. Blood gushed down his shirtfront as I scrambled to my feet and dashed toward the door like a wingless chicken. His hand clamped down and spun me around to face the edge once again.

  “You just can’t leave well enough alone,” Bud snarled as he shoved a gun under my chin and dragged me toward the cement surround.

  “Stop right there!”

  My hero stood in the doorway of the roof entrance in the form of one Jimmy-the-Super, his white boxers gleaming in the dark. A gun wavered in his two-fisted grip, and my heart lurched as Bud used me as a human shield. With Jimmy’s drooping right side, it made me wonder which of us he held in his sights. Not a pleasant thought in this situation, but it was nice to see I’d been wrong about my landlord’s employee.

  “Let her go,” Jimmy demanded.

  Bud barely flinched when he flicked his gun barrel from my chin toward the super. The report rang in my ears as Jimmy fell backward in a heap on the landing. The cavalry’s ride was over before it had even mounted. My hero lay dying – and I was next.

  The scent of singed flesh joined that of spent gunpowder when Bud shoved the smoking barrel against my neck. Tears ran warm down my cheeks, but I refused to give my captor the pleasure of crying out in pain. Instead I pulled out the only weapon I had left in my arsenal – talking him to death.

  Remember, I’m a woman.

  “Did you try to rape Amy too before you tossed her over the side?” I asked, trying to delay while I thought up a new plan of escape.

  “A pregnant woman?” Bud spat. “How desperate do you think I am?”