PENITENCE: An Andi Comstock Supernatural Mystery, Book 2 (95,893 words)

by Ann Simas

  Bert rumbled off a string of profanities that under different circumstances might have amused Andi. “What the hell are you doing to find this bastard?” he demanded of Stacy.

  “Everything we can. For her part, Denise is getting a security system and having all her locks updated. She’ll have to become a hermit until the ninth of February. It will help considerably if you have the kids here with you, safe and sound. They can communicate with their mom via Skype, but it’s imperative that they stay away from their house. Tomorrow, I’ll help Denise pack up some of their clothing and other personal stuff and bring everything over. After that, none of you is to go to her house.”

  When they didn’t respond, she said, “Is that understood?” When they still didn’t answer, she said, “Colonel, I know that you’re used to issuing orders, not taking them, but your grandkids’ lives depend on you doing exactly what I’m telling you.”

  “I get it, Lieutenant. I just feel so goddamned helpless.”

  “We’ll do exactly what you say, but how do we explain this to the children?” Gayle asked.

  Denise stood and went to kneel before them. “I’ve given this considerable thought, because the kids and I have talked already about how much we need each other during this time. The only thing I can come up with is to tell them I’ve come been exposed to some highly contagious disease, maybe Ebola. That might resonate with them, since it was in the news not that long ago, and it would explain why I’d be in quarantine.”

  “How on earth would you explain coming in contact with that?” Gayle asked, skeptical.

  “From the hospital, when Clem was admitted.”

  Bert shook his head. “That could work, but it would mean telling the kids they can’t talk about it at school. If they do, everyone will freak out.”

  “Maybe you should keep it simple and just say it’s a virulent strain of the flu virus,” Father Riley suggested.

  “That makes more sense,” Denise agreed. “Thank you for the suggestion.” She reached up and embraced her in-laws. “It’s all going to work out, you’ll see.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Gayle said.

  “I am,” Denise said. “Andi promised me it would.”

  Andi would have crawled in the nearest hole, had one been available. Instead, she nodded and said, “That’s right. I did.”

  She was aware that all the incredulous eyes in the room were trained on her.

  . . .

  Stacy and Denise went off to Denise’s house.

  Father Riley headed back to the rectory.

  Vaughn went home to hug his kids.

  Andi sat for a few solitary minutes in front of the elder Naylor’s house in a funk.

  What was she thinking, making promises she might not be able to keep, even though she’d convinced herself she could?

  What was she thinking, worrying that Jack might be throwing her over for a homicide detective from Dubuque, Iowa?

  What was she thinking, staying on at Orion’s Belt, when she could find another job, somewhere else where the dead didn’t stop by for chats, almost on a daily basis?

  She started up her car and burned a u-ey, headed for home.

  Hours later, she wondered yet again what she was thinking, going down to her office with the hope that Clem would show up to talk to her for the second time that day.

  Fifteen minutes later, parked in the lot closest to the building so she wouldn’t be completely in the dark, she turned off her headlights, made sure her doors were locked, and turned the radio on low, comforted by an easy-listening station on satellite radio.

  God or Providence or Clem must have been watching over her, because moments later, Clem’s smoky essence filled her vehicle.

  I did something bad, Andi, and I don’t know how to fix it.

  “I know, Clem, but you should find some solace in the fact that your parents now know everything and they’ve agreed to keep the kids until February ninth. They’re going to tell them that Denise is in quarantine from being infected with a bad flu bug when she went to the hospital with you. They’ll communicate by Skype.”

  Thank you, Andi. That does ease my mind.

  “Tell me, Clem, did you mail or email a picture of Denise to The Liquidator?”

  No, I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I know it seems silly, but I couldn’t decide which one to send. You know, which one was the best shot of her.

  Oh, brother.

  What are you thinking, Andi?

  Andi came up out of her slouch. “I thought you could read my thoughts. You should already know what I’m thinking.”

  For a moment there, you were a complete blank. In fact, you still are. What are you thinking?

  “Something crazy.”

  Like what? Cuckoo’s Nest crazy, or M-A-S-H crazy?

  “Cuckoo’s Nest crazy. I’d be Jack Nicholson.”

  Okay, now I can read you again. You can’t do it, Andi! Don’t even think about it.

  “I don’t have any kids, Clem. Denise has two.”

  This isn’t your battle.

  “Really? Every time you ‘talk’ to me you start out with, ‘I did something bad, Andi, and I don’t know how to fix it.’ Isn’t that a plea for help?”

  I didn’t mean it that way.

  “Of course you did, but regardless, I’m engaged in your battle. I’ve wracked my brain and I can’t see any other way around it.”

  You should talk this over with the priest.

  “He’ll tell me not to do it.”

  He’s a smart and wise man. Listen to him.

  “I think the person I need to talk to is Stacy.”

  The cop, your boyfriend’s boss? She’ll tell you the same thing.

  Andi straightened in her seat. “How do you know about Jack?”

  I know a lot about you now.

  Great, he was super-sleuthing her, but had he done anything about his own predicament? “Did you start asking some questions over there, wherever there is? Did you find out something more I should know?”

  Pipe down and I’ll tell you, Andi, but first, let me thank you for suggesting I broaden my communication horizons. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe what a guy can learn where I am.

  Andi couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “You’re welcome. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  Here’s a dossier on The Liquidator in a nutshell. His name is Dex Moran. He’s a former military sniper, Purple Heart and Bronze Star recipient. He was dishonorably discharged for drug distribution. He served time in Leavenworth and when he was released, he hired out as a soldier of fortune and contract hitman.

  “Wow. Where did you get all that?”

  You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Suffice it to say, it’s all true. Now get your butt home and try to track him down on the Internet. And, Andi?

  “Yeah?”

  Forget this nonsense about trying to pass yourself off as my wife.

  Chapter 11

  Andi hightailed it for home and planted herself in front of her laptop. She didn’t pass GO and she didn’t collect two hundred dollars, but she did talk her way out of a speeding ticket on the way.

  Sunday morning, she rose early so she could make seven o’clock mass. She’d spent another restless night plagued by the vagaries between Sherry’s contact with her and Clem’s. Ultimately, the big difference was that Sherry was murdered and Clem was a murderer, albeit via hitman.

  The result for Andi was an overwhelming sense of urgency to accomplish something to save Denise. Nothing she was doing, and no amount of research undertaken, lessened or eased the helplessness smothering her.

  Add to that her hare-brained scheme that might have made an interesting chapter in the Wild Hare game, but was sheer foolishness for a real-life person. Substituting herself for Denise might have been the dumbest idea she’d ever had. Or maybe it was the most brilliant.

  If only she knew whether or not The Liquidator had researched Denise and located a picture of her somewhere on the Internet. Andi had found one in
less than ten minutes. Of course, she knew what Denise looked like and was able to identify her specifically out of all the Denise Naylor’s on the Web. It didn’t seem like a common name, and certainly it wasn’t, compared to more generic names like Jane Johnson or John Smith, but quite a few hits had come up, nonetheless.

  Andi entered the church early and set about praying. She followed the service pretty much by rote, then remained in her seat afterward as she continued to pray for guidance. A year ago, she wouldn’t have pictured herself doing that, but a year ago, she hadn’t yet had contact with a Smokie.

  Life was just full of surprises.

  She felt a soft touch on her shoulder. She finished her prayer, crossed herself, and looked up.

  “You okay, Andi?”

  “As good as can be expected.” She eased back into her seat.

  Father Riley’s brow wrinkled with concern. “This thing with Denise has been pretty rough on you.”

  “Not as rough as it’s been on her.” She scooted over to make room for him in the pew. “I went back to the Belt last night and waited in the parking lot, hoping Clem would talk to me.”

  “And did he?”

  “Yes. He’d taken my advice and gathered some information that should be useful. The Liquidator’s name is Dex Moran.” She gave him the other details Clem had provided.

  “I guess I don’t need to make any more trips to any prisons or seek out additional information from, shall we say, less desirables, then.”

  “I’m glad of that. This whole thing has taken on the proportions of a scarier-than-crap thriller. The kind that makes your hair stand on end.”

  “I wish I could say that you need to back off and that you’d listen to me, but I know you well enough by now to know that you’re not going to give up until you’ve managed to save Denise.”

  “Who knew I was so transparent?” she asked, keeping her tone light, hoping to elicit a smile from him.

  No such luck. His expression remained somber. “I ran into your parents at dinner last night. They said they hadn’t heard from you for a while. I took that to mean you’re avoiding them so you don’t have to tell them what’s going on.”

  “Guilty as charged. I often regret that I broke down and told them about this thing with the Smokies in the first place.”

  “They’re your parents. They’ll worry about you, true, but they trust you to make sound decisions.”

  Andi grunted. “Maybe they shouldn’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She staved off answering by standing and slipping into her coat.

  The priest stood, as well, and stepped back into the aisle. “Andi, what have you got up your sleeve now?”

  She buttoned up slowly, positioning her scarf to keep her neck warm. “I went to see if Clem would talk to me because I had another question for him.”

  He waited her out in silence.

  “I wanted to know if he’d provided a picture of Denise to the hitman. He hadn’t.”

  She pulled on her gloves and picked up her purse, and still Father Riley remained quiet. If he’d had actual thinking gears in his head, the noise would have been deafening.

  Finally, he said, “Please don’t tell me you’re considering what I think you’re considering.”

  “Okay, I won’t.”

  He dropped his head and closed his eyes. Andi suspected he was the one now praying for divine guidance. She hoped to hell he got some and that he’d share it with her.

  When he looked up at her again, his expression was as solemn as she’d ever seen it. “You can’t be a proxy for Denise, Andi. She won’t allow it, nor will the police, nor will I. Somehow, he’ll know you’re not her and you’ll both be dead.”

  “It’s not my first choice of solutions, but if I can’t think of something else to trip him up, then I definitely have to consider it. Denise has two kids, Riley. I don’t have any. That kind of sets the priority, don’t you think?”

  Though he obviously struggled internally with the prospect of having to choose between two kids losing their mother or Andi dying in her place, he had no verbal response to offer.

  . . .

  Andi stopped by a donut shop and picked up a dozen mixed pastries and three coffees, then headed to Denise’s house. Nothing like a sugar high to kickstart your brain and your body. Calories be damned.

  Both Denise and Stacy were still asleep when she rang the doorbell. Maybe they’d had a late night talking, or their synapses had been all screwed up like hers and they’d had trouble falling into a deep sleep. Regardless, she had new information to relate and she wanted to get it over with.

  Stacy pulled open the door and scowled at her. “Eight-thirty? Really? What are you, some kind of human alarm clock or something? It’s Sunday morning, Andi, and the only freaking day of the week I get to sleep in.”

  Denise peered down at her from the top of the stairs. “It’s only eight-thirty?”

  “Join the club,” Andi said. “I couldn’t sleep, either, so I went to early mass, then stopped for donuts. If I’m up, you’re up, because I have something new for you.”

  “New? As pertains to Clem?” Denise asked.

  Andi nodded. “Meet you both in the kitchen. Don’t get dressed on my account, but” —she grinned, hoping to inject a bit of levity into an otherwise gloomy atmosphere— “do brush your teeth if you have bad breath.” The thing was, who was going to cheer her up? Where was Jack when she needed him?

  Denise called down that the jar of ground coffee was in the freezer before she turned away.

  “Hope Jack appreciates this cheery, morning side of you,” Stacy commented with a bit of sarcasm, making her way back to her first-floor room.

  Speaking of Jack. “You’ll never know,” Andi shot back.

  They joined her a few minutes later and dug into the donuts, not bothering with plates.

  “This is decadent,” Denise said, choosing a cinnamon bun.

  “But, oh, so delicious,” Stacy said, biting into an apple fritter.

  Andi selected a Bismarck for herself.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” the LT said.

  She filled them in on the hitman information Clem had given her.

  “Did you have a hunch or something that he’d be able to give you the hitman’s ID? Is that why you went back to Orion’s Belt?” Stacy asked, frowning.

  “No, I wanted to ask him if he’d given the killer a picture of Denise.”

  “And had he?”

  “No.”

  “How will he know me when he sees me?” Denise asked.

  Andi grabbed a napkin. “I Googled you. He can find several pictures of you on the Internet, plus you have a Facebook page.”

  Denise put down her cinnamon bun and picked up her coffee cup, holding on to it as if it were a lifeline. A lifeline that sloshed. “Should I take down my Facebook page?”

  “No,” Stacy said. “By now, he’s already done his research on you. He knew Clem died, didn’t he? So he probably has your address, too, even though we know from the emails and texts that Clem hadn’t sent that information to him yet.” She paused a moment. “It wouldn’t surprise me if the bastard was at the memorial service. He seems brazen enough to pull it off.”

  Andi said, “I could call Phil tomorrow and ask if the name Dex Moran is in the guest book.”

  Denise gave a startled yelp. “Oh my gosh! I have it.” She pushed away from the table and left the room, returning in a couple of minutes with a small silver book. She set it down in front of Andi. “You look. I haven’t been able to read through it yet.”

  Andi put down her Bismarck and wiped her fingers. She flipped through the book until she found the lined pages where guests had signed their names. “Holy shit.”

  Denise and Stacy said at the same time, “He’s there?”

  “Last name on the list. Brazen is right.”

  “Let me see.” Denise extended her hand across the table.

  “I’m not sure that’s
a good idea,” Andi said.

  “Why not?” Denise demanded.

  Andi closed the book and put it in her lap. “Because.”

  Denise blew out a impatient puff of air. “That’s the answer I give my kids when I don’t want to come up with a real answer. Hand over the book.”

  Still Andi resisted.

  “Stacy, make her give me the book!”

  Andi glanced at Stacy, who was considering her with narrowed eyes.

  “If Andi doesn’t think you should see the book, then you shouldn’t see it.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, give me the damned book!”

  Almost before Andi knew what was happening, Denise was out of her chair and around the table. Andi lost her grip on the book and it went sliding to the floor. Denise dropped down on all fours, scrabbling for it before Andi could even get her chair pushed back.

  Denise maneuvered herself onto her butt and opened it, paging through until she found the last signature. She stared down at the page in horror, then threw it across the room. She pushed herself up off the floor, and holding her hands over her mouth, ran from the room.

  They could hear her upchucking in the downstairs guest bathroom because she hadn’t closed the door behind her.

  Stacy left the table and retrieved the book. “Jesus, Andi, next time you get a bright idea, share it with me out of Denise’s hearing.”

  “You’re the one who suggested he might have been at the memorial service,” Andi reminded her.

  “Don’t confuse me with facts!” the LT responded, opening the book. She stared down at the page in shock.

  Andi knew exactly how she felt. “That bull’s eye pretty much says it all.” Dex Moran had not only signed his name, but he’d left a picture of Denise taped in the book with a bull’s eye drawn over her face.

  “It’s not a bull’s eye, it’s a reticle.”

  “What’s the difference?”