“It was so much easier being married,” she shook her head and sipped her coffee on the way out the door.
Stepping out onto her front porch, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was a faint scent of cologne in the air…male cologne. She turned in a slow circle, her eyes darting in every direction, looking for an intruder. Something smelled familiar about the cologne, but she couldn’t quite remember why. The sun hadn’t quite risen all the way yet, although it had begun its ascent, and Rossie wondered if it would be safe to step off of her porch. What if an intruder waited right around the corner of the house, or was crouched behind the bushes?
Rossalyn’s jaw set with determination. “I will not live in fear,” she vowed, and keys and coffee in hand, she stepped down from the porch, walking quickly toward the garage, the scent of cologne fading behind her. Adrenalin coursed through her as she drove toward Hawg Heaven, wondering if it had been a mistake to leave Ryan alone and sleeping in the house. He always got up when his alarm went off, got ready for school and walked to the Junior High alone. Torn between thinking that she was just being paranoid and worrying that she and or Ryan might be in actual danger, Rossie ultimately turned the car around, traveled the short distance past her house and parked in front of Tom Hundman’s. The biker may be angry with her, but he seemed to have a soft spot for Ryan and had helped out in the past when she’d been worried about her son.
There were lights on behind the simple café curtains in the kitchen windows, so at least she wouldn’t be waking him up. The curtains had come with the house he’d inherited when his mother died. Tom was a bit of a neat freak, and his mother’s simple home had been perfectly preserved. Walking inside was like stepping into a brand new kitchen in the 1970’s. The colors were hues of avocado and mustard and burnt orange, and everything was spic and span.
As usual, when she had to approach the gruff mountain of a man, Rossie’s heart was in her throat. She wasn’t afraid of him, exactly…he just had a way of playing with her emotions that really messed with her mind. It was a normal thing for her to experience blazing fury, ironic laughter and a profound feeling of being safe, all in one encounter with the enigmatic biker. Tom had no filters, he said what he thought, even if it would make her mad, but she always knew where she stood with him. Taking a breath, she raised her hand and knocked quietly on the retro door that was in pristine condition.
Hearing the telltale clump of motorcycle boots moving closer, she squared her shoulders, determined to swallow her pride, on behalf of Ryan, and ask for help.
“What now?” Tom raised an eyebrow when he opened the door and saw her.
His expression was annoyed, but not overtly hostile, so she took that as a good sign and blurted out her request before she could change her mind.
“So, I was driving to work and I thought about someone lurking around my house and I realized that Ryan might be in danger if I left him alone. He’s sleeping because he gets up after I do, because I have to go to work early, and…” Rossalyn realized that she was rambling, but didn’t quite know how to stop herself. Fortunately, Tom took care of that for her.
“Is there a point to you telling me the details of your existence?” he sighed, interrupting her.
“Oh. Umm…yes, there is a point,” she bit the inside of her cheek, blushing and trying to keep her temper under wraps. This man certainly knew how to get under her skin.
Intentionally softening her tone, she tried again. “Someone who might be dangerous may be hanging around my house. I smelled cologne on the front porch this morning. I have to get to work and Ryan has to get to school, and I don’t want him to be in danger, so I was wondering if you could just keep an eye on the house until he gets out the door and walks to school,” she looked up at him hopefully, trying to forget that she was definitely not one of his favorite people.
“If you’re worried about the kid, maybe you should call your boyfriend. He’s a cop,” Tom grimaced and moved back to shut the door.
“Wait!” Rossalyn cried out, strongly enough to capture his attention.
He stood in the partially open doorway and crossed his thick muscular arms, waiting.
“In the first place, I don’t have a boyfriend. I’ve been a widow less than a year, thank you very much,” she gritted out, simmering. “And furthermore, I wouldn’t call him anyway,” she finished lamely, her cheeks coloring.
A sardonic smile quirked the corner of the biker’s mouth. “Things a little awkward with you two all of the sudden?” he taunted. “I wonder why that might be.”
“No, things are not awkward,” Rossie shot back, a little too defensively. “I just don’t want to bother a policeman over something that might be nothing.”
“Oh, but you’re willing to bother me?” he challenged, eyebrows raised.
“Sorry, didn’t realize that helping to keep a neighbor’s kid safe was such a sacrifice. I’ll stop bothering you now,” Rossalyn spat, her eyes flashing. “Thanks for nothing,” she turned to go, her eyes filling with tears of rage and frustration. She got to the end of the sidewalk before she heard him call out.
“Go to work. I’ll keep an eye on the kid. You’re welcome,” and he shut the door before she could respond.
She wanted to march back up to the door and tell him to shove it, she didn’t need his help. She wanted to yell and cry and most of all, she wanted to stop feeling so darn helpless. When it really came down to it, she wanted to be wrapped in those giant tattoo-covered arms and told that everything was going to be alright, and that’s what scared her most of all.
**
“Good morning Jose,” Rossalyn greeted the cook, who was busily prepping for the day ahead. “Something smells good.”
“Morning. I started a batch of barbequed pork tamales for the special today,” the always affable young man grinned. “Hey, did that guy find you?” he asked.
“What guy?” Rossalyn frowned.
Jose shrugged. “I don’t know, some guy was out front when Garrett and I got here to start prepping this morning. It was dark so I couldn’t really see him that well, but he was looking for you, I think.”
Rossie was confused and wary. She’d had her fair share of male admirers who went too far in their efforts to try to date her, and she was more than weary of stalkers.
“Did he say anything?” she asked, not knowing what to expect or if the incident might have something to do with the cologne that she’d smelled earlier.
“He just said, “Is this Ross’s place?””
The color drained from Rossalyn’s face and she swayed a bit.
“You okay, Miss Rossalyn?” Jose stepped toward her, hand out, ready to catch her if she fainted.
“Wha…? Oh, yes, I’m fine Jose,” she leaned against the countertop, her eyes remote. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him that you owned it but that you wouldn’t be in for another hour or so. I asked him if I could give you a message or something, but he just shook his head and walked away.”
“You didn’t see what he looked like?” her eyes were wide, and she studied the cook as though her life depended upon his answer.
“No, sorry. I think he had long hair, but it was dark, so it was hard to tell.”
“Okay,” Rossie nodded, lost in thought.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jose frowned, his concern evident.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m just going to go back to the office for a little while,” she rose slowly to her feet and walked down the hall in a daze, leaving Jose staring after her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
*
Evidence gathered in the Deedee Delario case was piled on a couple of card tables in the conference room. Notes and files were scattered across another table, and sticky notes with questions in red marker were attached to the wall above the tables. Morgan Tyler picked up the plastic bags of evidence one at a time, searching for the clue that would give him an inkling as to what direction to take next in the case. His interest always returned to the
letters that threatened to harm Ruth and Marvin Venkman. There had to be some sort of clue in the letters that he was overlooking. Frustrated, he made a phone call to a friend of his in Chicago who specialized in paper forensics. Lenny Waldman picked up on the first ring, and after hearing Morgan’s story, assured him that he could be at the station in about three hours, because he never sped on the interstate.
**
“Well, there’s something that stands out to me right away,” a gloved Lenny Waldman, holding a magnifying glass, observed as he examined the letters.
“Really? What’s that? I’ve been reading and re-reading these letters for days and I got nothing. Zip, zilch. You grab a magnifying glass and figure something out in about twenty seconds,” Morgan shook his head, impressed with Lenny’s expertise and frustrated with his own inability.
“That’s because you’ve been looking at the letters,” Lenny smiled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been looking at the letters, when perhaps you should have been looking at the envelopes. Tell me what you see when you look at them,” Lenny encouraged, as Morgan snapped on a pair of gloves and picked up the envelopes, examining them one at a time and placing them carefully on a sterile pad.
“Well, the two that Howard Parker admits to sending have Marvin’s name handwritten on the front, and on the other three, the name is typewritten, just like the letters,” Tyler looked to his buddy and found him still smiling.
“Get out of the box a bit, Morgan. Turn ‘em over,” he inclined his head toward the envelopes.
Morgan frowned, but did as Lenny suggested, carefully taking each one by a small corner and turning it over.
“No visible fingerprints, not even a partial,” the officer mused. “None of them were glued shut, so there’s no DNA. Someone was really careful, but Howard Parker already admitted that he sent two of them and we know that he’s not a pro. No trace evidence…I’m sorry, I’m not seeing what you’re seeing,” Morgan sighed in frustration. “At this point, I’m thinking that Howard sent all five and is just messing with us, because I don’t think that he had anything to do with Deedee Delario’s murder.”
“You’re not seeing what I’m seeing because you’re looking for evidence,” Lenny’s reply was maddening.
“Isn’t that kind of the point?” Tyler shot back.
“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes, but in this instance, the envelopes themselves may be the evidence.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look here,” Lenny gestured with a gloved fingertip. “And here, and here…” he repeated the process with each envelope, pointing to the center of the back where the four corners of the envelope attached to each other. “On these two, the ones that Howard Parker admitted to sending, they’re perfectly normal, but look closely at the other three. See how the points of the four corners are out of whack? They’re crooked, see…they don’t line up properly,” he explained.
Morgan nodded. “So you think that someone else sent these three?”
“It’s possible, but what really matters here is that this was a manufacturing defect. These envelopes would not normally have been put out for sale, making them somewhat rare. Chances are, if you can trace the owner of these envelopes, you might just find your murderer. Oh, and there’s one other thing that you should check out.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Morgan was intrigued and encouraged that now he could at least search for something specific.
Lenny went back to the actual letters and hovered over one of the Howard Parker letters with the magnifying glass. “Read the word “hurt,” here and here,” he pointed. “See anything unusual?”
“There’s a break in the letter U.”
“Exactly. These were produced on a typewriter, which hardly anyone uses anymore. If you can find the crooked envelopes, as well as a typewriter with a flawed U key, you may be well on your way to solving this thing,” Lenny summed up.
“That’s a relief,” Morgan nodded. “If you want to hang around for a bit, I’ve got a couple of search warrants to request, then we can go to dinner, my treat.”
“If your life is so sad that I’m the only one you have to take to dinner, yeah, I’ll hang out,” Lenny teased.
“You have no idea,” Morgan muttered, reaching for his phone.
**
Rossie was exhausted. She’d had Jose ride with her to the bank after closing so that she could make her deposit, then drove him home, not wanting to encounter any strange men while carrying the café’s profits for the day with her. Her heart stopped when she parked in her driveway and saw the silhouette of a man in the kitchen next to Ryan’s smaller silhouette. Had whoever was stalking them gotten inside? Grabbing her tray of leftover tamales, she rushed to the door and opened it without even considering the consequences.
Sagging against the doorframe in relief, Rossalyn saw Tom Hundman helping Ryan put together a fragile wooden model boat. Will had bought it for him before leaving for Afghanistan. The house smelled like model glue, the dog snoozed peacefully at Ryan’s feet, and Rossie was weak with gratitude.
“Anybody hungry?” she asked shakily, holding up her tray of tamales.
“Yes!” Ryan exclaimed. Hunger was a perpetual state for the growing young man. Barney raised his head briefly, thumped his tail on the floor a couple of times, then lowered his head back onto his paws and went back to sleep. “Mr. Hundman, are you going to stay and eat with us?” he asked eagerly, the hero-worship in his eyes obvious.
“I don’t think so kid. I got some leftovers waiting at home,” Tom put down the piece of the boat that he’d been working on and stepped back.
“I can guarantee you that Jose’s leftovers are better than anything you’ve ever eaten,” Ryan persisted.
Before Tom could demur, Rossalyn joined in.
“These tamales really are spectacular. You should join us. Providing dinner is the least I can do,” she said softly, grateful that the biker had taken his role of being Ryan’s watchdog seriously.
Tom was silent for a moment, then nodded. Ryan had already capped the bottles of glue and paint and was setting the dining table for three. Rossie set the pan of tamales on the kitchen counter and went upstairs to freshen up, her legs unexpectedly shaky.
“They’re already hot, I’ll be down to serve them in a minute,” she called out on her way up.
She changed into a clean pair of yoga pants and a soft pink t-shirt that hugged her curves, feeling oddly feminine. Brushing her hair and leaving it down around her shoulders, she wiped the smudged eyeliner from beneath her eyes and ran a warm wash cloth over her face, feeling as though she was stripping away the cares of the day. Refreshed, she dotted a bit of perfume on her wrists and headed down to dinner.
Ryan kept Rossie and Tom entertained with stories of his adventures in trying to train Barney how to do tricks. By the end of the meal, not only was Rossalyn stuffed with Jose’s amazing food, but her sides ached from laughing, which was a rare thing these days. As the three of them sat back, quiet and content, Ryan announced that he was going upstairs to do his book-of-the-week extra credit reading.
“Thanks for helping me with my model, Mr. Hundman.”
“No problem, kid. You do good work.”
Barney raised his head and stared at the door, his tail thumping a few times.
“Whatcha looking at boy,” Ryan waved his hand in front of the hound’s face, but the dog didn’t budge, still staring at the door. Ryan laughed. “Come on boy, it’s time to go to bed,” he grabbed Barney’s collar and tugged on it until the dog followed him, looking back over his furry shoulder, taking glances at the door all the while.
Tom and Rossie exchanged a glance.
“Want me to check it out?” the biker asked quietly after Ryan had closed his bedroom door.
“Please,” Rossie nodded.
She cleared the table while Tom went outside, loading the dishwasher while anxiously awaiting his return. She turned on t
he dishwasher and poured herself a glass of wine because she thought it might steady her nerves. Getting down a second glass, she poured some for Tom too, hoping that he was okay outside. Just as she was getting ready to grab a flashlight and go after him, she heard a soft knock on the door and he came back in, looking puzzled.
“What is it?” Rossalyn bit her lip.
The biker shook his head. “Not sure. It felt like there was someone out there, but I couldn’t find any trace. I haven’t experienced anything like this since…” he broke off abruptly.
“Since what?” Rossie’s eyes grew wide.
“Nothing. It’s not important,” he said dismissively. “Just lock up and I’m sure you’ll be fine,” his hand was on the doorknob.
Rossalyn covered his hand with hers without even thinking about it.
“I poured a glass of wine for you. It helps me relax, so I thought maybe you might want to join me. I don’t…I don’t really want to be alone right now,” she admitted, dropping her eyes.
She didn’t see the pained look that crossed Tom’s face as he closed his eyes for a brief moment.
“Sure,” he agreed quietly. “I haven’t…had a glass of wine in a long time.”
“Thank you,” Rossie raised her head, meeting his gaze, then went to fetch the wine. “I’ll meet you in the living room.”
“I’m not good company,” Tom accepted his glass. “Not really the social type.”
Hawgs, Dogs, and Murder (Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries Book 4) Page 5
