by Dawn Dugle
"HEY!" I shouted, turning around and coming face to face with a broad chest.
"Cupcakesss are fer d'ectiviss," my brother Tripp slurred before he shoved the entire thing in his mouth.
"That's my birthday cupcake, you jack-wagon!"
"It's your birthday?" He cocked his head to look at me. His eyes were the type of brown that reminded me of a big pile of shit, because he was always so full of it.
Wyatt "Tripp" Ward, the third was 30, and up until three days ago, he had been the youngest person ever to make detective in Flamingo Cove. Despite what our father believed, Tripp wasn't handling our little brother's promotion very well at all, and was already knee deep into a bottle of tequila.
"I've been soooo busy solvin' crimesss, I haven'had time to look at a calendar," he slurred. "That's what real d'ectives do. Ya know what else real d'ectives do?"
I was debating whether to smack him in the back of the head or just give him a smartass remark, but he beat me to it: "You wouldn't know, being just a sergeant and all."
He stumbled away, laughing.
Dix reached across the bar and rubbed my arm. "Don't listen to him, darlin'. He's drunk. Man, I'm so glad he's not related to me. Tripp may be your HALF brother, but he's a WHOLE ass."
"He's not wrong about the detective thing, though," I shrugged.
"If you want to make detective, you'll make detective."
"Dix, I'm 40 with three strikes on my record. It's not looking good for my future."
"Three strikes? I only know of two - punching out your ex-husband..."
"Who also happens to be my commanding officer."
Dix dismissed it by waving a hand. "Extenuating circumstances!"
"Which is why I'm still employed," I swigged my beer.
"Then the rookie mistake," Dix started.
"I don't want to talk about that."
"Fine. What's the third strike?"
"My arrest record is low."
"Just because you don't go around arresting a bunch of people to make a quota," Dixon was indignant and was really getting worked up in a lather when my father walked up.
Chief Dad eyed Dixon. "We don't have quotas at the department. You know this."
"But yet, my 'work performance is not up to par', I think is what they called it on my last review," I shrugged, peeling the label off the beer bottle. "Explain to me what 'par' means then, if not 'quota'?"
"I remember in our day, you were applauded for preventing crime," Dixon glared at my dad. "Remember what the old captain used to say?"
"'If you have to arrest someone, you didn't do your job of preventing crime,'" they both said in unison.
They became partners right out of the academy and were hot shit in their day. Dix and Deuce solving crimes and making the ladies swoon. That came to an abrupt end when Deuce met Dixon's sister and married her. They couldn't be partners after that, since they were now related. Their career paths went in different directions. Dix was more interested in preventing and solving crimes than playing politics. Dad didn't have an aversion to the politics, and eventually ended up as Police Chief. That's when Dix retired and bought the bar.
"So, why don't they give Wysdom a shot at detective?" Dix crossed his arms again, staring Deuce down in a way that few people dared to do.
"I don't want to show favoritism, which is why I asked Captain Sweeney to mentor her."
My uncle shook his head. "Kate 'The Snake' Sweeney? You want her to mentor your daughter?"
"She was the first woman to be promoted to command staff in the city," Deuce began. "I thought she could give Wysdom some pointers."
I rolled my eyes. Chief Dad thought he was doing a nice thing, asking who he thought was a Trailblazing Model of Feminism to teach me how to shatter the class ceiling and break into the old boys' club. He had promoted her, after all, and was lauded all over the state of Florida for his progressive hiring practices.
Trouble was, Kate Sweeney didn't want anyone else to shatter the glass ceiling. She was a Queen Bee through and through. She wanted to be the only woman in the old boys' club hive and would cut a bitch to keep it that way.
"Shit Deuce, that woman eats glass for breakfast. She has antifreeze running through her veins. Rumor has it that you can't look too carefully at her..." Dix trailed off and his eyes got wide.
"Look too carefully at her... what?" A cold, crisp voice asked behind me.
You ever get that feeling like someone just stepped across your grave? You know the one, where it's 90 degrees outside, yet you get a chill that runs right down the middle of your spine? While I appreciated the momentary peri-meno-PAUSE in my hot flash, it could only mean one thing. The Devil's Handmaiden was standing right behind me. I turned around to look straight at Captain Kate "The Snake" Sweeney.
My uncle smiled. "Don't look too carefully at her, because you might fall in love."
Captain Kate was actually very attractive at 58 years old. She dyed her hair jet black, and I had never seen it down. She always wore it in the tightest bun without any stray hairs. They wouldn't dare fall out and fly around her face. Her skin looked porcelain, not pasty, and her eyes were the dark green of a reptile, lulling its victim into a false sense of security. Right before they squeeze the life out of you, or swallow you whole, using your body to sustain them for months.
"Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing ever," she smiled at my uncle, showing all of her teeth.
"That's what she said," my uncle showed all his teeth back at her.
Chief Dad stood up. "Okay, that's about enough of that."
Kate turned to my dad. "Chief, one of the city councilmen would like a word with you before you leave. As for me, I'm leaving. After being here for an hour, I now need a tetanus shot."
"Isn't it a little too bright outside for you?" Dix called out to her retreating back. "I thought your kind burst into flames in sunlight."
I couldn't help myself and started laughing so hard, I was cackling.
"You are two peas in a pod," my dad shook his head.
"Must be that Abreo blood running in her veins," Dix replied. "Don't you have something to say to your daughter?"
"Oh yes, I almost forgot."
I sat a little straighter on my stool, grabbing onto the bar to keep from rocking off. Maybe he remembered it was his oldest child's 40th birthday after all.
"Denise and I are throwing a barbecue this weekend to celebrate your brother's accomplishment, and she wants you there," Dad said.
"That's it?"
"Well - you could probably get there a little early and help out your Bonus Mom. I know she'd appreciate the time with you."
Dad had uncorked the fine wine of guilt today. Reminding me of how Denise practically raised me after my own mom died. I looked heavenward and said: "Fine."
"Great!" Dad clapped his hands together, and kissed me on the cheek. "See you Sunday."
He disappeared into the crowd.
I looked at Dixon. "Was the famous detective Deuce Ward always this clueless?"
"It's hard to believe, but he was actually a very good detective," Dix told me. "Our closing rate was nearly 90 percent."
A cop at the end of the bar signaled to Dix and he walked down to take his order. I swiveled around on my stool to watch the crowd, nearly swiveling myself right off the damned thing. When I leveled myself out, I caught sight of my ex surrounded by fake women and more fake people.
When I was a kid, I had a game called Fashion Plates. You would take these plastic plates with raised outlines of skirts, tops and shoes. You laid them down in a frame, placed a piece of paper over it then traced over the ridges with colored pencils. You could mix and match and create new outfits, but they all were just copies of the same thing.
That's what the women all looked like. They all had the same hair, the same boobs, the same clothes, just in different colors. They stood around, flicking their way-too-long-maybe-wearing-extensions hair over their shoulders, which would ultimately smack someone in the face wh
o was standing too close. It reminded me of a bunch of horses, flicking their tails and nickering, impatient for a carrot or apple.
One version with dark hair and a tiny blue dress who barely looked old enough to vote was whispering into my ex's ear. He was more than twice her age with a true "Dad Bod" without being a dad - beer gut, love handles and receding hairline of gray hair - but it didn't matter to this badge bunny. She had her sights set on a big man on campus.
Kirk got the same look on his face that he had when it was time for our monthly sex date during our marriage. It wasn't great then and it was creepy AF now. It wasn't long before he grabbed Blue Fashion Plate Badge Bunny by the hand and dragged her to the men's restroom. I think I might have thrown up in my mouth a little bit.
"You're probably going to need to disinfect the men's room when they're done," I said to my uncle as he returned.
"Tell me again why you married that jackass?"
"I married his potential. He didn't live up to it."
I was 25 when I met Kirk Chamberlain. It was before his body started going south. At the time, he was tall, dark and handsome. He reminded me of Superman with that dark hair that almost looked blue-black in certain light. His blue eyes made my stomach flip flop when he turned his attention onto me. He was 30 and totally different than the other guys I'd dated. Kirk was serious and career-driven, and I thought he would be a good partner. That's how he proposed too, by laying out all the reasons our partnership would be perfect.
"I knew when he proposed it wasn't going to work out," I recalled. "I don't think he ever said he loved me. Not once the entire time we were married."
Dixon winked. "So, not your soulmate then?"
"Um no. There was no passion and I never felt like my soul found its missing piece." I wasn't even sure there was such a thing.
"I also seem to recall you pukin' your guts out on the wedding day," Dix laughed and pointed at me. "Your body was trying to tell you something, you just didn't listen."
"I thought he would grow to love me," I complained. "I couldn't throw out a perfectly good partnership because my gut told me differently."
Dix chided me. "Honey, you need to trust your gut! That's where your instincts are. You come from a long line of cops and those instincts have been honed for generations. If you listen, they might save your life someday."
I rolled my eyes. "My instincts also told me Kirk would do right by me in the divorce, but he got the house and most of our savings."
"That was your heart wishful thinking, not your instincts. And you didn't put up much of a fight."
"I wanted to be done with it."
"Your instincts told you that you'd pass the sergeant's test, and you did," Dix needled. "And if your dad had accepted your detective promotion when it first came up, YOU would still be the youngest person to make detective on the police force, even after your brothers got there."
"Hard to make detective or get ahead when you punch your boss in his rat bastard face," I stood. "Enough of memory lane, how much do I owe you for the beer?"
"On the house," he said with a wink.
"I can't take your charity."
"It's not charity, it's a birthday present. Now get out of here and go do something fun!”
∞∞∞
Chapter Three
The upside to getting nothing in the divorce - I didn't have much to move when I found the most perfect little cottage on the Gulf of Mexico. It was a two-bedroom, two bath house with no front yard to speak of.
It was a hot mess when I found it. The previous owners had purchased it with the idea of turning it into a vacation home. When their business floundered, and they couldn't sell it, they turned it into a vacation rental. They were absentee landlords who didn't care what condition the house was in, as long as people still paid their deposits and full rental fees.
As a result, the house was damaged, almost beyond repair. The bank had foreclosed on it and I think they were hoping someone would come in and buy the thing to tear it down. But I thought it had good bones.
When Kirk announced he wanted a divorce because "things weren't working out", I seriously thought he was kidding. We hadn't been married that long, but went through our first bump in the road. He couldn't handle it and pulled away from me when I needed him most. I was still reeling from a trauma when he asked for the divorce and barely remember the legal proceedings to make it official.
In the end, I got a few things, including a little bit of money. I used the money to purchase the cottage and with the help of YouTube, Uncle Dixon and my dad, we fixed up all the problems with the house. It took nearly a year, but I had a vision for this tiny little oasis in Flamingo Cove.
Plus, the house had two great things going for it. Right from the start. First, it had a two-car garage, which meant I could park out of the elements - a must when that Florida summer sun beats down and is so hot you can burn your hand just trying to get your car door open. Inside a hot car, you could even bake a tray of chocolate chip cookies. No joke. Television news people are doing it all the time during our heat waves.
The other great thing about my cottage was the backyard. The "yard" wasn't more than a postage stamp anyway, so I xeriscaped it. Now, there's a lanai complete with pergola, landscaping that doesn't have to be mowed or watered, plus a zen rock garden and fountain. It all butts up to a retaining wall at the Gulf of Mexico. When you have that in your back yard, the sunsets are spectacular.
I unlocked the door to the cottage and stepped inside. It was almost time for the Big Show out back.
"Honey, I'm home!" I called out.
No one answered, as it should be since I lived alone. I was trying on this Marie Kondo thing where you shout out to your home when you return. It's supposed to bring peace, tranquility and prosperity to your life. All it brought me was a sense of ridiculousness that I was talking to my house.
I stowed my service weapon and backup gun in the safe, and turned toward the kitchen. I poured a glass of Le Crema chardonnay and went out back to my zen garden to enjoy Mother Nature's farewell to the day.
"Here's to turning 40," I raised my glass to the sunset.
It was too quiet, and when it was too quiet, my thoughts always returned to the same memory.
There was a call about possible homicide in the Inland District. My partner turned on the lights and sirens and we responded, arriving first at the scene. Jeffrey Rose was distraught. He had come home and found his wife, Mary, stabbed to death in their bedroom. Rose wasn't making any sense and kept babbling and pointing into the house. My partner and I cleared the scene, making sure the killer didn't lurk in a closet or outside in the yard. That's when I got a glimpse of the body. The woman was covered in stab wounds. So many stab wounds, and so much blood. There wasn't an inch of her flesh that was untouched by the knife. The violence of it made me shiver and it was hard to look away.
But I had a job to do, so I went downstairs and began cordoning off the area with crime scene tape. I was just finishing up when Detectives Fairchild and Silva arrived.
"Officer Ward?" Fairchild nodded. "What'chu got for us?"
I gave my report: "We arrived at 18:05 and found Mr. Jeffrey Rose distraught outside the house. He claimed someone had broken into his home and killed his wife. Officer Barry and I cleared the scene and he has been waiting with the husband while I strung up the tape. The victim is upstairs in the master bedroom."
"Good work, Ward," Silva nodded. "Do you want to come in with us while we work the scene?"
Why didn't I say no? If I could go back in time, the one thing I would do would be to scream at my younger self to just say "no". Or scream at Silva and Fairchild to get their heads out of their asses. DON'T TAKE THE ROOKIE BACK INTO THE CRIME SCENE!!
But Fairchild and Silva reported to my dad, their Lieutenant at the time. They wanted me to succeed and do a solid for the L-T's daughter. And because I was a gung-ho first year officer, I wanted to make a good impression and learn something, so I said yes and went
into the house.
Silva and Fairchild took the upstairs where the body was, and told me to look for clues downstairs. I searched the living room and the study, finding nothing. Then, I entered the kitchen and looked through the cabinets and drawers. I stopped cold in front of a butcher block. There was a knife missing. The chef's knife. I knew it would have a nine inch long pointed blade.
"Detectives?" I called up the stairs.
Fairchild came down the stairs into the kitchen and I showed him what I found. Or rather, what I didn't find.
"And you looked everywhere in the kitchen for it?" He asked.
"Yes. I didn't find it."
"Good work, Rook!" Fairchild patted me on the back.
The medical examiner came and took the body away. The crime scene people took their pictures and samples, and eventually we all left. My partner drove Jeffrey Rose to a hotel. No one stayed with him and no one was assigned to guard him. We thought he was just the distraught victim in all of this.
We were wrong. So wrong.
Later that night, my stomach was in knots. There was something wrong. I couldn't shake the feeling like I had locked my keys in the car or forgot to put the milk away in the fridge. I barely slept and when I did, I dreamt of monsters.
The next morning, Jeffrey Rose showed up at the police station covered in blood and holding a chef's knife. He confessed to the murder of his wife, and two more people whom he killed overnight.
As they were hauling him into the jail for booking, I heard him taunting Fairchild. "You dumbass! You didn't look in the dishwasher!"
Then he just laughed and laughed and laughed. A laugh that I hear in my nightmares.
No. Fairchild didn't look in the dishwasher, because he believed the rookie daughter of his boss would have been thorough in her search. I fell to my knees and threw up on the floor.
My stomach flipped over and for a moment, I thought I was going to throw up again. But this was just a kindly reminder that I hadn't had much to eat today. Not only had it been hard to get the dumpster smell out of my nose, but someone had snagged my birthday cupcake.
