Diagnosis: Death (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 2)

by A. P. Eisen

  “You were terrible.” His father caught his eye and smiled. The tight coil in Cliff’s chest loosened.

  “Dad. I just want you and Mom to love me for who I am. Who I love shouldn’t change that.”

  “I’ve missed you, and when you mentioned you’d almost been killed in that hotel murder, I haven’t slept. With your mother so sick and all, neither of us was paying much attention to the news. To think, if something worse had happened, we could’ve missed hearing about it…”

  Cliff hadn’t ever heard his father cry, but it was an ugly sound, one he knew he’d remember for a long time. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to give him hope.

  “Cliff,” his mother said, tears streaking her cheeks. “We’re sorry. We were wrong not to stand by you like parents should. I read about these young children being so brave and standing up for who they are and what they believe in, and I feel hope for this world.”

  “There are plenty of kids today who don’t get the support they need at home and feel hopeless, kill themselves. The suicide rate of gay teens is five times as high as their straight friends. It’s only because I had such good people who took me in and watched over me that I didn’t become a statistic.”

  His father took a seat on the sofa, next to his mother’s recliner. “So where do we go from here?”

  Leave it to his father to speak the plain facts, but Cliff could appreciate his bluntness. “I’m willing to try and be a part of each other’s lives. I have a house, and once Mom feels better and can travel, I’d like you to see it. I’d like you to come to the hotel where I work and meet the people on my team. I have a wonderful, full life, and I want you, as my parents, to be a part of it.”

  “And where does that detective fit in?” his mother asked. “How serious are you?”

  “It’s still pretty new between us.”

  “Do you think you want to get married and have children one day? Not that I’m rushing you.”

  “But you’d like to have grandchildren.”

  His mother’s eyes lit up. “I’m ready when you are.”

  They all shared a laugh. “I think we’ll have to table that for now. I’m not jumping into anything.”

  “But are you serious about him?”

  “Yeah. I am. But Paul’s very devoted to his work, especially when he’s on a case. It’s not the right time to talk about it.”

  “I don’t agree.” His mother put her e-reader aside and sat up straight. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkled, and Cliff hoped this meant she was feeling better.

  “Why not? We don’t see each other except in the evening, and by then we’re both pretty beat from work. Paul’s tenacious until he solves his case, and his focus is squarely on that, not his personal life.”

  “I don’t like that. People need downtime, and home shouldn’t be about work. It should be for relaxing.”

  “We’re figuring it out,” he reassured her, but he knew that for Paul, the work came first. He wasn’t yet secure enough in the relationship to have that talk.

  “Have people given him a hard time, you know, with him being in law enforcement?”

  “Because he’s gay?” At his father’s nod, Cliff continued. “He hasn’t really come out to many people. It’s another thing we’re working on together.”

  “Sounds like he has a lot of himself to figure out,” his mother said, and he forced a smile.

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “I don’t remember him much, but his brother was a nice boy. He’d come over sometimes after school.” Her shoulders drooped, and Cliff sensed she was getting tired.

  “Yes, Harley was the best. I still miss him.” He rose from his chair. “I’d better go. You need to rest, and I have to get home for dinner.” He bent over and gave her a kiss, and she grabbed him and held him tight.

  “I love you. It may not be enough for you to get past what happened, but I’ll do everything going forward to show you how I feel.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  His father walked him out, and they stood in the driveway next to his car. Twilight cast deepening purple shadows across the lawns. He wondered if Paul was finished with work and if he’d made any progress on his case. Although his mother said she didn’t like Paul bringing work home, it was a part of their time Cliff liked, when they sat together and Paul would ask his opinion on people. It brought them closer.

  “How do you feel now? Better?” His father leaned against the rear fender, and Cliff remembered when he’d learned to drive and how patient his father had been. It wasn’t like he meant to hit that garbage can or scrape the curb. The simple question from him showed Cliff his willingness to try. For that he was grateful and ready to take the leap into a second chance.

  “Yeah. I think we’ll be okay.”

  “Me too.”

  Cliff reached out his hand, and his father took it, gave him a brief, hard squeeze, then let go.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  He got into his car and drove away. Traffic was minimal, and he made excellent time. His mood lightened even further at the sight of Paul’s car in the driveway when he approached his house.

  All smiles, he headed around to the back entrance and found Paul, already in sweats, firing up the grill.

  “Hey”—he waved the spatula—“how’s chicken and corn on the grill? I saw you had some in a bowl in the refrigerator and thought it might be good out here. Is that okay?”

  Cliff nodded, a bit overwhelmed by both the meeting with his parents and the feeling of completeness in having Paul here, doing the most mundane of tasks, like grilling. It all seemed so right and perfect, he almost didn’t want to do anything that might shift the landscape. But his mother’s questions about permanency and their relationship stuck in his head.

  “Everything all right? You met with your parents? Dammit.” He set the utensil down on the grill and ran down the steps. For a big guy, Paul moved swiftly and was surprisingly light on his feet. He hugged Cliff. “I’m sorry. Here I am yakking about chicken and you had a rough day. I can see.”

  “No, no. It went okay. I think we’re going to work it out.”

  “Yeah?” Paul cupped his hands around Cliff’s face and dipped his head so their lips met. The kiss tasted gentle and sweet, with that hot passion always simmering between them. He would never get tired of kissing this man. “I’m glad. Really glad.”

  They hugged, and Cliff clung to Paul’s broad shoulders for a moment. “Me too.”

  They walked up the deck steps, and Paul finished setting up the grill. “And your mother?”

  “I’m hoping our talk will set her mind at ease so she can put all her strength and energy into getting better. She looks stronger.” He opened the back door. “I’m going to get a beer.”

  “I’ve already got mine.” Paul swung the long-necked bottle between his fingers.

  “I see that. You’ve made yourself at home.”

  The door closed behind him, and he walked through the kitchen and living room to his bedroom, anxious to get comfortable. As he undressed, Paul entered the bedroom and stood by the door.

  “Want a show?” Cliff teased his fingers over the buttons of his shirt.

  “You don’t need to do that. Everything about you turns me on. You standing there is enough.” He took three long strides, and Cliff smelled his heat and sweat and grew breathless.

  “My mother wanted to know about you. Well, us, really.”

  Paul splayed a large hand between his shoulder blades and nuzzled against his neck. “She did? What did you tell her?”

  “I said it’s pretty new, still.”

  “Yeah. Yet I feel like I’ve known you forever.” Paul’s hand began a slow circular motion on the small of his back, and warmth spread through Cliff like butter over hot bread.

  “You have. Almost all our lives.”

  “Crazy, right? Yet it took a murder to bring us together.”

  The shadows deepene
d around them, but the clarity of the words he needed to say blazed through him like a comet, and he gazed up at Paul. “I didn’t tell her the most important thing, though.”

  “What’s that?” Paul kept a hand on his hip, his strong fingers teasing at Cliff’s hip bone.

  “That I’m in love with you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  He stared at Cliff for so long, he watched the doubt and embarrassment rise in Cliff’s eyes, and that shook him. Hearing Cliff’s declaration broke through the years of painful solitude, the hiding and the fear. He didn’t have to be lonely anymore. Now he knew what the driving urge was to see Cliff at the end of each day.

  “You are?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Don’t.” He put his fingers over Cliff’s lips. “Let’s sit.” Without waiting for Cliff to answer, he pulled him over to the bed. “I don’t want to screw this up and have you hate me.”

  “That would make me sound pretty stupid, considering what I just said a minute ago.”

  “Listen. You know I’m not sure what I’m doing here half the time. I’m going on my instincts.”

  “Paul, I know. You don’t—”

  “Yeah, I do, but you’re making it hard because you keep talking.” He placed his hands on Cliff’s shoulders. “I’m saying I might not always do or say the right thing. I’m hyperfocused on work and tend to get lost in my head sometimes.”

  Cliff’s eyes lit up. “Sometimes?”

  “There you go, doing that talking thing again.” He thought of the men he’d been with before Cliff and knew for certain there wouldn’t be anyone after. “You need to know there isn’t anyone I want more than you, and I don’t see that changing. I still have nightmares of that knife at your throat and what would’ve happened if I didn’t get there in time.”

  “I know you do. But you did, and I’m fine.”

  “I’ve never had the urge to protect someone like I do you, and yet I am in awe of your strength.”

  “Me?” Cliff’s brows drew together.

  “Yeah. You. You were kicked out by your family and had to rely on your wits to survive. And you not only survived, but succeeded and have the respect and admiration of all the people who work with you. You’re not afraid to be who you are. I may screw up, probably will at some point. You might not hear me say it often, but don’t ever doubt my feelings. I-I love you too.”

  Cliff blinked several times. “I don’t…that was…I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about, ‘That was amazing, Paul.’ ” Their lighthearted teasing was one of the things he liked best—no, loved—about their relationship. He’d have to get used to the word.

  “You are amazing.” Cliff kissed his cheek. “Thank you for being here tonight. I really need you.”

  His heart jolted. No one had ever said that to him before. “Nowhere else I’d rather be. I’ll let you finish getting changed while I put the food on the grill. I didn’t have time for lunch, so I’m starving.”

  He left Cliff to hang up his suit and stopped in the kitchen to get the food out of the refrigerator. As he set the chicken pieces on the grill and listened to the racket of the birds in the backyard, he wondered at the ease with which he’d slipped into the relationship. They fit together perfectly, and Paul could see them living here, having friends over on the weekends and…whoa. He shook his head, laughing at his fantasy. Saying I love you and living together were two separate animals. Cliff hadn’t mentioned it, and he didn’t want to push. He put the foil-wrapped corn on the opposite side from the chicken and closed the grill top. With the food cooking, he picked up his beer and sat in one of the lounge chairs.

  Cliff opened the door and walked onto the deck. “Beautiful night. Do you want to eat outside or in? I have lights if it gets dark.”

  “Either or. You pick.”

  With a grunt, Cliff took a chair opposite him and stretched out his legs. “Why did you miss lunch? Anything you can talk about?”

  Paul knew Rob talked to Annabel about his cases without disclosing sensitive information, and it would be nice for him to have someone to bounce around ideas on and get a fresh perspective.

  “We might have a breakthrough, but I’m not sure whether this person’s the one who killed Ulrich or if she’s protecting someone else.”

  “Why would she protect a murderer? Is it her family member?”

  “No, but she’s worked for the family for many years and might be in protective mode. I have to say after today’s conversation, it seemed like an obsessive relationship.”

  “Hmm.” Cliff took a sip of beer. “So many suspects.”

  Paul smiled over his bottle. “Everyone’s a suspect unless they have an alibi. And she’s tripped herself up with some information that makes me think she’s hiding something.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  Paul considered what he knew about Josie. “She believes her employer, Ulrich’s wife, was too good for him, that she didn’t need him or his money. At one point she even stated she encouraged the wife to leave him. She didn’t like Ulrich at all.”

  As Paul spoke, Cliff narrowed his eyes in thought. “Rebecca.”

  “Huh?” Paul had no idea what Cliff was talking about. “That’s not her name.”

  Cliff snorted. “Oh, brother. No, Rebecca—the Daphne du Maurier novel? There’s a classic movie too, directed by Hitchcock. It’s a mystery. In a nutshell, a man remarries and brings his new wife home. His first wife’s maid still works there and resents the new wife, hates her, in fact, and does everything she can to sabotage the new marriage because she is obsessed with the old wife.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty close. She couldn’t hide the dislike on her face when she talked about the husband. It’s all very odd.” He pointed to his watch. “Better check on the chicken.”

  He opened the grill, and a fragrant cloud of steamy smoke enveloped him. His stomach growled, and he turned the pieces to get the other side the same nice, crispy brown. “Looking good.”

  “So where do you go from here? Do you think you’re near the end?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned against the side of the house, gazing at the expanse of green lawn. Maybe they could get a basketball hoop set up at the end of the driveway. “We have all the pieces. I’m thinking we just have to sit down and puzzle them out to see how they fit together.”

  Cliff slipped his arms around Paul’s waist. “You’re good at that.”

  “It’s frustrating when you know it’s right in front of you and you can’t see it yet.”

  “You will. And as for frustration, come on inside.” He plucked the bottle out of Paul’s hand. “That chicken has a while longer to cook, and in the meantime, I can take your mind off it.”

  Paul reached out and lowered the heat on the grill. “Take however much time you need. We’ve got all night.”

  Cliff laughed, and the screen door slammed behind them as they went inside.

  * * *

  The next morning, he and Rob were at the station by eight to prepare for the ten o’clock meeting with Chase and his lawyer. They knew every word and action would be reported to Lieutenant Kraft, and they couldn’t afford any flubs. They’d only have one chance.

  But first, Paul had a few calls to make. “Hello, is this Ever Green Market? I need to speak with the manager.”

  “Yes, sir, this is Colin speaking. I’m the store manager. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “This is Detective Paul Monroe of the Thornwood Park Police Department.”

  “Oh, uh, yes, Detective. How can I help you? Anything you need.”

  It never failed to amuse Paul how even the most law-abiding citizens acted guilty when he identified himself. The criminals were the ones who showed no fear. Sort of like a challenge—a come-at-me-bro attitude à la Chase Ulrich.

  “Can you tell me, do you have surveillance cameras in your store? And does your camera save or rerecord over the footage?”

  “Yes, yes we do. In the store
and in the parking lot too. The tape records a month at a time and runs twenty-four seven.”

  “Perfect. I’ll need the footage from a week ago, Saturday, so that would be the fifth.”

  “Sure, sure. Whatever you need. I’ll have it on a flash drive. Would that be okay?”

  “That’s perfect. What time does your store open?”

  “We open at eight a.m.”

  Paul, scribbling in his notepad, stopped writing. “You don’t open until eight?”

  “N-no, Detective. Is that a problem?”

  Not for Paul, but definitely for Josie.

  “No, everything’s fine. Are your hours the same on the weekends as they are during the week?”

  “No. On weekdays we open at seven.”

  “I see. Thank you very much. My partner and I will be over this afternoon to pick up the flash drive.”

  Rob was at the printer and handed him a sheet of paper. It was Josie’s driver’s license. “I figured when we go over there, we’ll show her picture around. If she’s as much a creature of habit as we think, someone at the store might remember seeing her.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be last Saturday because the store didn’t open until eight o’clock, and she stated she was already home by then.”

  They stared at each other. “Damn. She’s it?” Rob asked.

  Paul considered all the facts and the lies she’d told them. “I’m beginning to think so. But what would her motive be? To get Catherine Ulrich all to herself? It makes no sense. They weren’t lovers. And killing Ulrich hurt Catherine. Despite his cheating on her, she still loved him.”

  “I don’t know. This is pretty heavy psychological stuff to wade through, if it is her.”

  “Yeah,” Paul said grimly. “And the fact is, in my mind it doesn’t matter why. If she killed him, she’s going to jail.”

  “That’s right, Bulldog. You do the crime, you do the time.”

  “Let’s get ready for Chase. That’s not going to be a pretty discussion, especially if he’s belligerent and high.”

  Over the next hour, they coordinated their questions and practiced answers based on how they believed Chase would respond. When the allotted time arrived and Chase and his attorney were escorted in, he and Rob exchanged wondering glances. Where before they’d seen him only as a sullen teenager, usually high and dressed in grungy T-shirts and shorts, today he walked in with his hair cut and combed, wearing a dark suit and muted patterned tie. His counsel, Jake Devine, was a well-known criminal defense attorney, and Paul and Rob had testified in court under his questioning. Paul thought him sharp and smart.