by DB Kennison
“Who called it in?” There was an edge to his voice.
“Civilian. Local.”
Jon’s brows pinched together. He looked at the smeared blood evidence, the smashed bags and the outline of multiple footprints in a mix of blood and mud on the asphalt. He shook his head and turned on Terri. “All right, who’s the dumbass that contaminated my fucking crime scene?”
Chapter Four
Hometown Café was the quintessential roadside diner, with blue vinyl booths along a windowed wall that allowed for breathtaking views of the patched parking lot and cornfields beyond. Chrome swivel stools lined up along a Formica counter that was marred with the brown swirls of hot plates and faded from years of bleach sanitizing. Its nostalgic charm was fine, but their real claim to fame was the twenty flavors of homemade pie offered daily, straight up or à la mode.
Randi’s post-investigation tradition of pie had gone by the wayside tonight. She and CJ waited on hot chocolate as the place became packed with impatient potential witnesses. Over the past hour and a half, individuals had been taken by turn to give an official statement and each gave Randi the evil eye as they walked by her. Word had spread that she was the one who found the body. It was her fault that they were still here, tired, inconvenienced and unhappy. And they made sure she knew it.
“Here you go, ladies. This will help warm you.” Claire, the bubbly brunette waitress, set two large mugs of steaming cocoa down on the table. She looked over at the angry crowd and back down at Randi. “Don’t you worry about them, they’ll get over it. Tomorrow when the story hits the papers they’ll be bragging to their friends that they had a front row seat.” She patted Randi’s hand and went to bus a booth down the line.
“Look at the bright side.” CJ said from the other side of the table. “When was the last time you got to wear such a chichi outfit?” She came away from her mug with a whipped cream mustache and wiped it off with her tongue.
Randi looked down at the pink polyester shift with its checkered pinafore apron attached—the name Gretchen embroidered on the left breast. Her bare feet swam in blue paper booties one of the techs had given her from a crime scene kit. She laughed, it was either that or cry. Only after the detectives had swabbed her hands, vacuumed particulates from her person, and processed her hair with something like a lice-comb, was she given permission to clean up. They’d even taken her clothing as evidence.
Left on her own in the restaurant to find something to wear, the shift manager had taken pity and offered her a choice between the spare waitress uniform or a short-order cook’s apron. The latter would have been quite the sexy choice in the right circumstances. However, her ass would have been hanging in the wind, which her sensible side deemed inappropriate. The problem was the uniform was two sizes too small, which meant her bust looked two sizes bigger and ready to burst out any second.
“You know, I once played a waitress for an entire weekend when I dated Bobby Delton.” CJ said, alluding to her love life as she often did—something Randi considered a personality defect rather than a quest for attention.
“We talked about over-sharing, remember?” Randi held up her hand to fend off further details of CJ’s sex-ploits. “One minute you’re squeamish about watching people have sex, the next you’re bragging about your fleshly adventures.”
“I’m not bothered by watching strangers have sex, it’s watching people that I know that’s a problem,” said CJ.
Randi had long ago given up on the hope that CJ would conform to any version of normal. She couldn’t remember the last time CJ’s hair was a traditional color—her bent ran towards fluorescent colors, which she coordinated or more often contrasted with an odd selection of clothing. This week her hair was purple with tiny black bows stuck throughout the spiky tufts to match her black covert ensemble. What surprised her most about her friend, given her weirdness, was that she was an adventurous fifty-five years old. “The thing is, most women outgrow the behavior by the time they’re twenty-five.”
“Meh, their loss.”
Randi rolled her eyes at CJ and looked at the officer who sat in the booth across the way, eyeballing them with suspicion. Officer Trujillo had told them to sit and wait. A detective would come to interview them. In the meantime it was his job to make sure they didn’t leave. Randi did her best to ignore him.
She scanned the room and recognized Chad Sanke, the subject of their recon, standing near the door with a cell phone plastered to his ear, looking absolutely frantic. Randi smiled. The night hadn’t been without its perks.
Just then Sarah Redding walked in. Tall and elegant in designer jeans and an expensive silk sweater, she drew the attention of every man in the room. She showed her credentials to the officer at the door and he pointed her in their direction.
“What the hell happened?” Randi’s lawyer reached down to give her a hug. It was the hug she hadn’t known she needed. She was surprised when tears slipped from her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand before her friend noticed. Across the room, Officer Trujillo shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked away.
Randi gained control as Sarah took a moment to greet and comfort CJ as well. She slid into the booth, reached over and thumbed a smudge off Randi’s cheek like a mother would for her child. She cocked an eyebrow at the tiny uniform but said nothing.
Randi and CJ tag-teamed a fast and sloppy explanation of what happened.
Sarah sat back against the tufted vinyl, her mouth slack as they finished. “My God.”
“We’re still waiting for a detective.” CJ said, sullenly.
“Yes, apparently discovering the body does not put you at the head of the line.” Randi spoke loud enough to grab Trujillo’s attention again. Sarah held up her hand to let him know that he needn’t be concerned; she could handle the cranky blonde. Randi flipped him the finger and received the I’ll-bash-that-finger-with-a-ruler schoolmarm look from Sarah for her trouble—ever the mother even though they were the same age.
“Do we know who the woman was?” She asked.
Randi shook her head and dropped her gaze to her lap. She didn’t elaborate on the woman’s condition, or what she had seen in the alley when the police had first illuminated the area. An uncomfortable silence followed.
Sarah broke it first. “I heard your commercial on the radio today. It was nice.”
“Real estate or investigations?” Randi asked.
“Real estate. I think it will bring you a few more clients.”
CJ yawned and changed the subject. “Speaking of men—”
“We were not speaking of men,” said Randi.
“I have the perfect—”
“Stop! No more blind dates!”
The friends burst into laughter, all thinking about Randi’s last blind date. One, after weeks of harassment, she’d finally let CJ arrange.
“Come on, tell it again.” Sarah winked at CJ like a co-conspirator. “We can use some laughs while we wait.”
Randi shivered. “Oh my God, that guy was so weird!” The man had taken her to a Madison sports bar that transformed just for Sunday brunch, known as Porn in the Morn! She couldn’t fathom such a concept. It was like explaining the rationale behind Ed Gein—the Musical, which was based on a serial killer’s life. Incomprehensible!
Of course she had no idea the restaurant did the makeover one day a week and Randi never questioned his choice. “I remember trying to hold a conversation, unaware of the screens due to first-date jitters. I’d just asked him if he liked full-contact sports… when I looked up and saw a ménage à trois on the screen.” She slapped a hand on her forehead—what had she been thinking? “The worst part was when he started comparing his sunny-side-up eggs to the porn star’s nipples!”
Realizing that her voice had risen, Randi glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping and then leaned forward, dropping to a whisper. “What I want to k
now is how many first dates had that yokel taken there before that. And later he’s sitting around scratching his balls and wondering why none of those women jumped on a second date. Talk about delusional!”
She waited for the sympathy and comfort she knew her friends would bestow—the way women support each other in friendship without judgment—when without warning, CJ slapped a palm down on the table and let out a “whoop” that turned to laughter. Trujillo started to get up. Sarah once again waved him down as she hid her own giggles behind her hand. People were starting to stare.
“And you wonder why I don’t put you in charge of my personal life.”
They’d gained a small measure of composure when a man in jeans and a T-shirt stopped at their booth. “You look like you’re having a good time tonight, ladies.” He leaned onto the table with beefy hands and tanned, muscled arms. Although he addressed them all, he stared openly at Randi. Or, in another manner of speaking, Gretchen.
He wasn’t bad looking if you liked that unkempt, disheveled kind of guy. But the way he looked at her was unsettling. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise along with the creeping spread of a blush.
Nosey bastard! This was a café for Christ’s sake, not a bar. And there had been a tragedy here tonight. She shot him a patronizing smile. “We’re sharing a private moment.”
He didn’t move. “It’s strange you gals seem to be having such a fun time considering the circumstances. Maybe you can explain that to me.”
What the hell was this guy’s problem? What kind of idiot would pick this particular time to hit on a woman? Just another ball-scratching egomaniac on another Sunday. And he obviously did not recognize a brush off when he heard one.
Frustrated that she was still stuck in the diner, needing to shower and to get the hell out of the constricting uniform, this guy’s attitude had pushed her over the edge.
She spoke in slow, carefully chosen words that he could understand. “Look Buddy, it’s really nice of you to come over here…but we are really tired. It’s been a long night and we don’t need your concern, or your charm. We’re just three friends trying to lighten the mood after a crappy evening.” She paused to make sure he was paying attention. “If you want to meet the woman who fell on a dead body then take a number. And if you were hoping to get lucky.” She made air quotes with her fingers. “Then you can take a flying leap, ’cause that’s never going to happen.”
CJ and Sarah sat wide-eyed at her uncharacteristic outburst. Down by the door, Trujillo had gone pale. To her astonishment the stranger remained, concreted in place and staring down at her as his lips spread into a slow, lopsided, sexy smile. Unbelievable!
“Are you hard of hearing?” There was a sudden edge to her tone. She crossed her arms, which pushed her cleavage up ever higher. “Look, Shitforbrains, do I need to call a cop? This place is swarming with them.”
The man dug a wallet out of his back pocket and flashed her his detective badge. “You don’t say?”
Chapter Five
Exhausted, Randi watched the exchange between Detective Bricksen and Sarah across the room as she and CJ sat at separate tables and looked on. After her embarrassing tirade, he’d greeted Sarah with a pleasant smile and a handshake, one professional to another. In fact, the man was still hanging on her every word. The head-turning lawyer was probably explaining what her flunkies were doing in the alleyway and apologizing for Randi’s foot-in-mouth disease.
Good Lord, it was like she and CJ were in the principal’s office and Sarah was their mom come to explain their behavior. At one point, Sarah gestured toward Randi and the man cast her a smug look of what she could only assume was contempt. She found it offensive that he hadn’t wanted to talk to her first. She was the witness after all. But she had to concede that her behavior earlier might have been a bit off-putting.
Before parting, Sarah shook the detective’s hand. Then at the front door she mouthed, “I’ll call you tomorrow” to Randi and with a wink left the café. Huh, maybe everything would be okay.
CJ was escorted three tables over to interview with a female detective—lucky her. That unfortunately left Detective Bricksen all for Randi. Her face got warm and she inexplicably began to squirm under his attentive glare.
Detective Bricksen slid into the booth across from her. Like Sarah, Randi held out her hand in a more formal greeting. He ignored the gesture and motioned to the waitress to bring coffee over. Randi let her empty hand fall into her lap and narrowed her eyes at him. She wondered what she’d done to be on the receiving end of such animosity. Other than the way she’d first greeted him…and screw up his murder scene. But it wasn’t like she’d done it on purpose.
The sexy, off-kilter grin he’d given Sarah earlier he now offered to Claire as she filled his cup with steaming dark roast and placed a fresh mug of cocoa in front of Randi, nudging a small side dish of mini marshmallows in her direction. Claire nodded as the detective thanked her and stuck out her lower lip sympathetically when she caught Randi’s eye. Claire’s tip just got bigger.
Randi’s skin became prickly under the man’s annoyed gaze. There was no trace of a smile on his face now. Cold blue eyes, but she sensed the inferno that simmered beneath the surface. Randi got the feeling that if she touched his arm it would burn her hand.
“Look, I’m sorry about earlier, I….” She began,wanting to start fresh.
He waved a hand dismissively without letting her finish. “Don’t worry about it. Your lawyer explained what you were doing and I’ll be asking more about that in a minute. But for now, how long have you been a PI, Ms. Lassiter?” His eyes fell on her prominent cleavage and lingered, eventually wandering over to her left breast’s name tag, again.
“About two years.” She slapped a hand over “Gretchen” as she pulled at the already stressed material in an attempt to get another button closed. She realized she was holding her breath and let go of the uniform. The opening gaped further and she regretted her earlier apology.
“Licensed?”
“Of course.”
His brows rose almost imperceptibly.
“Does that surprise you, Detective?” She was annoyed that he would think otherwise.
“Seems a bit extreme is all. I see that you hold a realtor’s license and yet you went to the trouble to get a PI license just so you can photograph people having sex. Is the housing market that bad?”
Randi struggled to exercise patience. She was tired and sore, and at this point surviving on a thread of equanimity, so she pointedly kept her reaction in check. She took a moment to examine the insufferable beast with the clarity of a scientist probing an amoeba under a microscope.
Detective Bricksen was ruggedly handsome, yet had a boyish grin that she’d seen deepen when he’d extended it to Sarah and Claire. A five o’clock shadow dirtied an otherwise chiseled complexion. There was the tiniest hooked scar on his lower lip that held too much of her attention. His dark hair was overdue for a trim and downright insubordinate in her opinion. Her eyes came to rest on his and she knew a well of trouble when she saw one.
She sighed. “It’s true, that makes up the bulk of my investigative business. But we do more than just take lewd pictures.” She leaned on the table and laced her fingers beneath her chin. “We secure proof of infidelity that expedites the painful process of divorce, Detective, and that is a godsend to someone suffering through an unhealthy marriage and longing to escape.”
“Uh-huh.” His flippant tone was bad enough, but his next words opened a deep wound. “Sounds like you’ve had personal experience with that sort of thing.”
The verbal slap rocked her back in her seat. She focused on the wood grain of the table. No way was she going to discuss the intimate details of her life with this guy.
“And tonight you just happened to forget your flashlights.” It wasn’t a question. He looked across the room at CJ’s purple hair and shook his he
ad. “A couple of professionals. Right.”
Randi refused to be baited. She forced out a sweet smile. “Do you have any questions regarding the woman who was murdered, Detective? Because if my personal life is going to be the sole focus of your questions, perhaps we can cover it another time. It has been a long night and I’d like to go home.” She narrowed her eyes, daring him to continue his moronic interrogation.
“You’re right, Ms. Lassiter, I’m sure I can get your life’s story from a dozen of Mt. Ouisco’s citizens.” He cut her off before she could protest. “Your lawyer has assured me that you are not involved in the death of our victim and assuming I believe her…” He paused, waiting for her to react, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction. “…then do you happen to know who the victim was?”
“The sad truth is I don’t. I grew up here and I do know a lot of people, but it was dark when I…fell on her.” She slipped her fingers over her mouth as nonchalantly as she could when bile rose to the back of her throat. The smell of the garbage, the sound of the rats, the blood on her hands, it was all coming back.
“Did you see anyone in the area as you conducted your little candid adventure?”
Again his words smacked of sarcasm, but she took the time to think about it. She shook her head. “The only other people we saw were a family unpacking their minivan and heading to their room. Gray minivan parked at the end of the motel, near the alley.”
He took down a note then stared at her again with his piercing eyes. “So tell me, Ms. Lassiter, as a professional investigator, how much of an impact do you think crawling around on top of the body made to my crime scene?” The accusation was rhetorical.
Randi hated that he was lecturing her. But when the facts were listed altogether, he was right. But why was he hammering away at her? Had he no pity for the woman she’d landed on? She failed to understand how he could view such a gruesome murder, know she had to be experiencing some level of shock, and just not give a shit.
