Love Me or Kill Me (The Cable Denning Mystery Series Book 2)

by James P. Alsphert

  “Yes…for me, too. I didn’t expect this tonight, Cable. You caught me by surprise. I’m usually cold and aloof toward men. And you would never have gotten into my apartment in the first place.”

  “Want me to go now?” I asked. She was kneeling on the rug beside me. She grabbed both of my knees with her hands and clutched them.

  “No…but I think you’d better. I’m afraid…I don’t know—I sound crazy—but if you stayed, I might do something I’d regret tomorrow.”

  I got up from the love seat and pulled Misty up until we faced each other. “We gotta be clear, Misty. It’s either a platonic friendship—or—or the other thing, the thing that ‘lifts you high to heaven and lets you fall to hell’ all in the same breath, the thing that most humans succumb to because they’re too weak to explore the next chapter in human experience….the one that says maybe, just maybe, a man and a woman can become good friends and not fuck their way to oblivion.” I took her hand and shoved it into my crotch. “You tell me, Misty Sheridan, why would a woman desire a physical appendage that brings her ecstasy at the price of agony and heartbreak? Why would she risk her safety—even pregnancy—because her passions lead to instincts she can’t help, or toss her alone on the rocks below when it’s all over because a guy can always move on—and often does. Yeah, look at me, doll, you’re my love object of the moment, my prize singer for the night, the altar I go to when the world out there is too much to handle. So I go into the smoke and laughter to hear your music, your siren call of notes strung on longing and regret, calling my heart and my balls to your side, calling me like all the other poor blokes panting for you out there in the audience, making us juvenile chumps longing for the great elusive fuck—the one he’ll only dream about for the rest of his life, because he finds out that woman is an illusion, that sooner or later a babe will come along and put a collar around his neck and make him a slave from eight to six to bring home enough bacon to support her and three demanding brats in the nest.” I stood there looking at her, not sure why I was unloading all of this on poor Misty. “So what is it going to be, my beautiful Miss Sheridan? Keep me as a friend—set the tone now—or run the risk of falling in love and being lost to eternity, so one day someone might scrape you up off the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.”

  She was shaking and walked over to the other sofa and sat down. She couldn’t look at me. “I think…it’s too late…Cable…I think I fell in love with you over—over the second bite of my sandwich at Sam’s tonight. Then I kissed you…and my whole world changed…suddenly I could feel the woman in me stir…in a brand new way I’ve never felt before…” Then she looked up at me, yeah, me, standing there like a pompous prince in the middle of the floor. “No, Cable…I don’t want to go back, I want to go forward—with someone like you, strong and resilient to the world, yet loving and sensual. Maybe—maybe it’s time for me to experience life as a woman who was designed to love a man…what do you think? I’m a little drunk just now—and maybe acting stupid.”

  “I told you what I feel, Misty. Those are the odds. Most couples have a shelf life. Sooner or later they break up and the party’s over. I can promise you nothing. I live on the edge of a risky blackness, one I could fall into at anytime. My career owns me…I didn’t intend it to happen. But at any time a bullet, a poison slipped into a drink, a car running me over in the street—any of it could end it for me at any minute. You’d want to live with that roulette wheel spinning around in your love life?”

  “Yes…if it was you…because as you said, I didn’t intend for this to happen…but it did…and it happened so quickly…I’m a different girl than I was just a few hours ago. Do you understand that? That’s why I can’t go back. There’s nothing to go back to anymore.”

  “What about Edie Clason? You owe her something, don’t you?”

  “Owe her? I’ve given her ten years of my life—and my youth as well. I love her—for all the good reasons and the love she poured into me, for the years she protected me from men like my step-father, for her believing in me and allowing me to excel when her own singing career diminished. She was never jealous, always supportive.”

  “Well, that’s worth a lot.” I took a deep breath. I wanted to smoke really bad, but I didn’t want to pollute the singer’s immediate environment. “So…where are we now? Where do you want to go, Misty Sheridan, singer extraordinaire?”

  She got up and came over to me, clasped her arms around my neck. “Wherever you take me, Cable. I’ve always been the one in control. But now I want you to allow me to be the soft one, the one who surrenders to giving that part of myself. Will you give me that chance?”

  “Well, lady, I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna take off now. I want you to sleep on it. Think about it…let it settle in, okay? And if tomorrow or the day after that you still feel the same, let’s talk about it.” I reached into my breast pocket and took out a card. “Call me.”

  “Will you kiss me one more time before you leave?”

  “No, Misty—if I do, I’ll stay…I’ll grab you up in my arms and carry you off to your bedroom, toss you on the bed and take your clothes off like the same kind of animal who raped you when you were too young to defend yourself. Plus I don’t think I’m ready yet……you understand.”

  “I guess so,” she said, her face a little sad. “But please…just one more kiss…something to remember you by, so when I think it through tomorrow I can feel it below my belly button, too.” She pulled my face toward hers and planted those luscious lips on mine. I could feel my manhood begin to surge. “Like that…” she whispered.

  I left Misty Sheridan’s feeling like that lonely sax had moved from the early morning breezes into my chest and started a new tune…one I hadn’t heard before. But I also knew that sooner or later, despite whatever happened between me and Misty, that sound would come back to haunt me, like it always did, restless through the night, always there in moments when I was alone, counting out the hours that I might have left. We go through life taking for granted that it will always be there tomorrow. But surprise! It isn’t always. Nothing is for always. Just like Misty Sheridan. She hadn’t been there…down that trail of joy and tears with someone you love and lose. But one day she would.

  Hands Across the Table

  Late the next morning I was catching up on some bookwork when the phone rang. “Yeah, Cable Denning here…”

  “Mr. Denning! I’m so glad I finally got hold of you! I’ve been trying for days—and Harry isn’t getting any—any—well, I need your services—I’ve lost my husband—he’s just gone! Gone, Mr. Denning!”

  “Hold on there, lady—first of all who am I talking to? And second of all, get a grip on yourself. I’m not a talking post. Just the facts. Tell me the facts and I can respond, okay?

  “Okay. I’m Florida Heston—your secretary or house cleaner or whatever, told me you were gone a few days. I really needed you more a few days ago, you see, because Harry’s —Harry’s—"

  “—Harry’s what, Mrs. Heston? Unless you’re honest with me up front, I can’t help you. So what’s going on with Harry?”

  “Can you come out to my house and meet with me? I’m afraid to go out…afraid they’ll come for me.”

  “Who are you afraid of, Mrs. Heston? You’re not making much sense. Do you need to check yourself into a hospital or something?”

  “No! How much do you charge? I’ll double it if you come to my home—I just can’t leave the house!”

  “I get twenty bucks a day plus expenses, like carfare, meals.”

  “I’ll give you fifty dollars if you’ll come out.”

  I could really use the bucks, I thought. “Where do you live, Mrs. Heston?”

  “2000 Highland Avenue. Please…come…will you?”

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll drop what I’m doing and be there within an hour.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Denning…thank you so much!”

  We hung up and I grabbed my coat, hat and gun and figured the best way was to walk up Cahuenga.
When it merged with Highland Avenue, I walked south a few blocks to the address. It was a nice neighborhood, fairly new homes built of brilliant white stucco and terracotta roofs. 2000 North Highland Avenue was a two-story affair in flamingo pink with the Spanish style roof and set back from the street. I walked up the path and rapped on the door. A short little woman with hazel eyes and a pageboy haircut answered. She was busty and carried herself a bit stiffly. “Mr. Denning? I can tell it’s you—by the way you dress. Exactly like a private detective.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Heston.” I took my hat off and she led me to a large front room. I noticed a strange odor permeating the room, as if someone hadn’t emptied the garbage for a while. She went to her purse and handed me the fifty smackers she had promised. She invited me to sit down on a very comfortable light-grey sofa. “Now…what can I do for you? You seemed rather unsettled on the telephone.”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly where to start, now that you’re here. You know how it is, sometimes we get desperate about things…and then we realize we don’t have to be desperate anymore because things seem to work themselves out on their own.”

  “You mean your husband’s come back?”

  “Well, not exactly. But I know where he is.”

  “And?”

  “Well, he’s in the bedroom.”

  I was starting to put two and two together. “Is he okay?”

  “I guess so, but one never knows about these things.” She took a big gulp of a sherry she had in her hand. “You see, I killed Harry several days ago. He had embezzled all my money and invested it in the stock market—we lost everything. When I complained he threw it in my face that I was stupid and couldn’t handle the money anyway—and the stock market would recover and we’d be even richer than before. But I didn’t believe him.”

  “This is a matter for the police, Mrs. Heston, not a gumshoe.”

  She ignored me because I realized a screw had gone loose inside her head and she had to tell the story to get it out. “And to add fuel to the fire, Harry was seeing his petite—young—secretary, a cunning little bitch, who I found out had been in heat for my husband for months. So one night when Harry did come home early from the office, I confronted him. He denied everything. So I killed him.”

  “I see,” I said, rubbing my chin. “May I ask what you used to kill Harry with, Mrs. Heston?

  “He bought me a wonderful culinary knife set for Christmas. It contained a very sturdy meat cleaver, so while Harry was sitting up in bed reading, I chopped him—and chopped him—and chopped him until he fell over, gurgling blood out of his betraying big neck!”

  “You do realize there are laws against killing your husband, even if you found him out in his little tête à tête and he turned out to be a lousy embezzling husband.”

  “No! There are no penalties for a justified wife! I know my rights. Harry was definitely in the wrong. He confiscated my inheritance and diddled his female employee. Of course I killed her, too.”

  I started! Now I knew the dame had really gone over the edge. It’s strange, when an ordinarily sane woman snaps and she can kill in cold blood without remorse. Probably things like that accumulate inside like a festering canker that has to come out one day. And it does. This time it was expressed with the ultimate violence. I’d seen it a lot of times when I was a cop. Going to people’s homes in the middle of the night to find one partner lying dead. More times than not it was about money and sex. This one was no exception. I tried to keep the conversation calm. “And where, if I may ask, is the dead young lady?”

  “In the trunk of my car”. She said rather matter-of-factly, ”I chopped her up after a liaison with Harry. It was late at night and I had to drag her from a little house Harry had rented for her—with my money—and heave her into my trunk! You see the justification there, of course, Mr. Denning. Totally justified…I am completely guilt-free in this case…don’t you agree?”

  “Well, I might agree, Mrs. Heston. But I doubt if a judge and jury will. A double homicide is a pretty tough rap to beat—unless it was self-defense—and even that can get sticky.”

  “Will you defend me, Mr. Denning? Will you tell them the truth? We can’t let scoundrels like Harry and Miss Fancy Ass live now, can we? Otherwise, there’ll be too many of them, won’t there? And then where would society be?”

  “You’ve got a point there, I agree, Mrs. Heston. But you see, the laws vary from country to country. Like in Saudi Arabia, a man can kill his wife with impunity for going to the store without her head being covered. In Morocco, wives are sold to slavery if they don’t work out so well. But in these so-called civilized countries, like the good ol’ U.S., lawyers have to make their big bucks and spousal murder is kind of discouraged, if you get my drift.”

  “Such a pity, Mr. Denning. But surely a smart lawyer will defend me properly and I will be acquitted justly.”

  I got up from the spacious gray sofa. “I’d get rid of the body as soon as you can, Mrs. Heston. It’ll smell up the nice home you’ve got here. Harry’s already beginning to stink up the place”

  She giggled. “Oh, Mr. Denning! Thank you for making me laugh! I think it’s funny, too. Doing Harry in wasn’t too hard because I had planned it for a long time. So doing it didn’t make me fret a lot.”

  “I do have one question…why did you call a private detective and not the police right away?”

  She thought for a minute. “Oh, well, you know…I didn’t want to bring in a whole gang of people traipsing through my lovely home. After all, Harry says he’ll get a new gardener next month and we’ll take out the old hedge and put in a new one—Holly Berry, my very favorite. But Harry is treating me to that. We won’t get the bill for at least a month. Then maybe he’ll pay it without complaining. He’s always complaining about spending too much money on the house.” Then she flipped again and got angry. “But he doesn’t care how much he spends on that whore secretary of his—oh—no, let’s keep Florida in the dark, let’s keep her guessing…" She ran to her kitchen sink and grabbed the ol’ cleaver and came after me. “And you, too—you seemed so nice—but you’re a wife killer, too, aren’t you? You screw all kinds of women on the side and never let the little woman at home know about it.” As she came screaming at me I drew my .38 and as soon as I had an opportunity, I dodged her and conked her on the head with the butt of my gun. She went down, sending the meat cleaver across the room.

  I called the cops and waited until they came. Jimmy Swinson was the lieutenant in charge of the case. I knew Jimmy from earlier days when he was a Swedish punk drowning his girlfriend’s newborn kittens in Mrs. Murphy’s big pot of potato-leek soup. When Jimmy looked at a dazed Florida Heston with a little lump on the back of her head, he threatened me with assault and battery. I told him to shove it, that I was doing his job for him and went back to the office. The day hadn’t started off so well. But there was one silver lining to this Thursday. About 2:30 p.m. the phone rang and I picked it up, hoping it wasn’t another Florida Heston or some other nutty fruitcake wanting to hire me.

  “Yeah, Cable Denning here.”

  “Well, you don’t have to shout. I’m right there…in your heart,” a lovely, sexy voice intoned into my ear.

  It was Misty. In light of a day that had already gone bad, her voice was like the fresh air right off the seashore. “Hey, babe…and how are you this fine afternoon? Did you sleep in? You were a little snockered last night, you know.”

  “Yes, Cable….I slept in and dreamed about the most special man I’ve ever met. I was fantasizing about what it would feel like if I woke up and found myself wrapped around him.”

  “Whoa! Wait a minute, Nellie! This isn’t a done deal yet….I didn’t stay because I’m giving both of us an escape clause in this contract.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I have no desire to run, you handsome Private Eye. My only desire is—is…for a wonderful guy who my heart’s been introducing to my womanhood.”

  Misty’s words poured into me like hot
chicken soup when you’re recovering from a bad case of the flu. “Sounds like a pretty lucky guy to me, doll. It all happened so damned fast last night. Have you had it happen like that before?” I asked, not being able to recollect too many magnetic relationship beginnings in my life outside of Honey and Adora. They were like that. And look at them, they’re gone….out, kaput, disappeared from my life, dead. I took a deep breath of dread, thinking what if my death-jinx was now going to fall on Misty? What if my presence in a beautiful dish’s life meant her imminent death?

  “No, remember me? I’m the Sleeping Beauty who just now woke up to her Prince. I’ve been asleep, Cable…all this time, thinking one man was all men. What a fool I’ve been. How much time I’ve wasted.”

  “Well, look at the good side. It could’ve been worse. You could have gone through a dozen guys by now, all with the wrong brand on their boxers.”

  She giggled at the other end of the line. “God, you’re funny, too, Cable. How do you manage a sense of humor in a grim and thankless job? I can’t imagine dealing with some of the people you must see.”

  “It's like your singing—you have to love it and realize at the end of every rainbow there may not be a pot of gold, but there’ll be truth….and I’m kind of a truth guy, Misty.”

  “I like that—truth…it was the truth I was speaking last night, wasn't it?”

  “Maybe. Or was it part fascination with the evening and part eighty-proof honeyed whiskey?”

  “No, it was me, Cable. You’re really something, you know. Here I’m feeling like a woman for the first time in my life and you’re on the other end of the phone still trying to find reasons why I shouldn’t fall in love with you. Well, Mister, as I told you last night…it’s too late for that. You shouldn’t have sung to me across the table. That, plus my second bite into the pastrami sandwich, was all it took.”