Bitch Factor

by Chris Rogers

  Pain shot through her shoulder as she opened the medicine chest to look for aspirin. Her whole body couldn’t feel worse if it’d been used for a hockey puck.

  The rich smell of bacon wafted from the kitchen. She pictured Dann at the stove, Mud standing guard, and wondered how long it would take to resume her normal routines—burnt toast for breakfast, junk food for lunch, salad greens for dinner. Mud would never forgive her when his bowl offered only dry dog food. Maybe she could find an exotic brand for special occasions.

  She swallowed the aspirin with water from her tooth cup, then decided to brush her teeth. Rinsing her toothbrush, she eyed the dental floss, reasoned that wounded people deserved some exemptions, and picked up the hairbrush.

  Belle had left a message saying she couldn’t talk to the ADA until Monday about withdrawing the charges against Dann. The ADA wouldn’t be happy about reopening the investigation—especially against two such upstanding citizens as Jon Keyes and Travis Payne. After coming so close to a conviction, pure cussedness might keep him from dropping the case. But Belle Richards wasn’t dubbed “Texas’ hottest defense lawyer” for nothing.

  In any case, except for delivering Dann to court and collecting her fee, Dixie’s job for Richards, Blackmon & Drake was finished. Yet, truthfully, it didn’t feel finished at all. Possibly because Dann was still living in her house.

  There was something distinctly disquieting about that. She remembered falling asleep last night with a tingling realization that he lay just across the hall, as alone in his bed as she was in hers. For a swift, wine-induced moment, a sweet madness had swept over her. She’d thrown the covers back and put her feet on the cold floor before regaining her senses—how would she feel if she cuddled in his bed and he rejected her?

  Worse, what if he responded to her sexual overtures, then later drifted on his way? Except for the brief moments of tenderness when she came home wounded, Parker had never expressed any emotional interest—she didn’t count his obvious moves on the drive to Houston, when he was trying to romance her into dropping her guard.

  Not that she was totally opposed to relationships based strictly on physical needs. Hadn’t she always been the one to keep men at an emotional distance? Now she wasn’t sure how to get close.

  Perhaps they’d both feel different after he was no longer her prisoner. If Belle was successful in her talk with the ADA, Dann would be a free man in four days. Surely he wasn’t crazy enough to skip town now that his case stood a good chance of being dismissed. Dixie could reasonably send him home, let him spend the weekend in his own digs.

  On the other hand, this was New Year’s Eve. The bars would beckon. After a few drinks, Dann might feel panicky and, even with his acquittal practically in the bag, might convince himself he’d never walk out of the courtroom a free man.

  Dixie flipped a strand of hair forward to cover her bandage. It wasn’t Parker Dann that made the job feel unfinished. It was six-year-old Ellie Keyes. Freeing Dann wasn’t enough if Ellie was still in danger, or was right now being molested by her father.

  Fortunately according to the visitation schedule, Ellie would be spending New Year’s weekend safely at home. Dixie planned to resume her investigation of Jon Keyes first thing Monday, but maybe she should just drop by the Garden Cafe today and see how Ellie was weathering the flu. Exchange a few knock-knock jokes. If she went early enough, Rebecca would be busy in the kitchen.

  “You’re an old softie,” the bear said when Dixie elbowed it off the commode lid.

  “And you’re a blabbermouth.” Dixie gingerly pulled on clothes and scooped up the bear, parking it in the breakfast nook when she entered the kitchen.

  “Only two eggs,” Dan reported, standing over the stove. “So I made French toast and bacon. How’s that?”

  “Smells great. I’ll pick up more eggs when I go out.”

  “Out? Did you see the weather?” He turned off the burner under the toast. “Is this another dangerous assignment?”

  “No. Just wrapping up a few loose ends.” She plucked a slice of bacon off the platter and halved it with one bite. “How do you get this to cook so evenly? Mine’s always burned on one end, raw on the other.”

  “Vigilance,” he said. “Vigilance and patience.”

  She could hear frustration in his words, along with something she didn’t recognize until she looked up to see the worry in his eyes. The chattering voice in Dixie’s mind abruptly went quiet.

  “Nothing dangerous today” she said. “Honest.” He could go with her, she supposed, except then she couldn’t visit Ellie. Dixie took the pot from him and poured the coffee. “Maybe I’d better get used to waiting on myself now.”

  They sat down to breakfast with a huge silence between them. Dinner at Amy’s had muddied their relationship. No longer were they merely jailor and jailee.

  “Guess you didn’t believe in me as much as I thought,” Dann said. “Since you know about Heather.”

  “I know you won the paternity suit. I know she was eighteen and you were thirty-five.”

  Another silence.

  “Dann…” Parker. Since he was no longer a prisoner, she didn’t need to distance herself further by using his last name. “Parker, my instincts about people are good but not infallible. I had to check you out.”

  He moved his toast around the plate, soaking up honey. He hadn’t eaten much, she noticed.

  “Heather was a very mature eighteen.”

  Dixie didn’t know what to say to that. Eighteen was eighteen.

  Parker pushed his plate aside. “Guess men don’t look at age the same way women do. A few drinks, a warm, willing female.”

  “Whoa! You don’t have to explain anything.” Dixie had no desire to hear the intimate details. She carried her dishes to the dishwasher.

  “Heather was a secretary to one of my clients,” Dann persisted. “One day the client dissolved the company. No warning, bam! Big CLOSED sign on the door. Heather’s out of a job, I lost a big contract. Guess misery loves company. We went out a couple times. Nearly three years later I get these papers in the mail. She knew the baby wasn’t mine. Her relationship with her boss had been more than she let on, but he disappeared and I looked like an easy mark. Guess she figured I wouldn’t do the tests.” Parker paused. “Tell you the truth, I kind of wished the kid was mine.”

  “You send her money every month.”

  He took his plate to the sink and scraped his uneaten breakfast into the garbage disposal.

  “He’s a great kid. Working, raising him alone, be easy for a woman to feel desperate, jump the first guy who shows an interest. Maybe the few bucks I send give Heather a chance to make choices.”

  A sudden image invaded Dixie’s thoughts—a tawdry princess, too young to be a mother, with too many men knocking at her door but no handsome prince to help her turn them away. Life sure got complicated at times.

  Dixie grabbed her jacket from the closet. She felt a huge need to be alone for a while, and the overcast sky outside suggested she finish her errands fast. On her way out the door, she tossed Parker the talking bear.

  “Hug me,” it said. “I hug back.”

  Parker plunked the bear on top of the refrigerator and opened the door. Dixie had left before he could find out if she was okay about last night. He’d enjoyed visiting her family, hamming it up. And he’d seen another side of her, a softer side—tough bitch turned mild-mannered, insecure little sister. But Dixie had gone real quiet after he accepted Carl’s invitation to dinner tomorrow. Parker hoped she didn’t feel he was mooching in where he didn’t belong.

  Now why the friggin hell was he standing here looking in the refrigerator? Oh, yeah, tonight’s dinner. He took out a ham and the orange juice, then a package of frozen black-eyed peas from the freezer. After splashing some juice in Mud’s dish, he filled a glass and drank half of it.

  He’d miss Mud when he left. Wasn’t right leaving a dog alone all the time. He’d miss Flannigan, too. Last night, lying there in the da
rk, he couldn’t get her face out of his mind, the way she’d looked after a couple glasses of wine. Relaxed. Happy. Enticingly female. And there she was, maybe twenty steps beyond his own bed. He’d been halfway to the door before realizing only a total jerk would show up in her room uninvited. If she was interested in sharing some time between the sheets, she’d have put out signals.

  “‘Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired,’” he told Mud, who’d lapped up his juice and sat watching Parker juggle the ham. “Robert Frost wrote a lot of shit about love. Maybe he even got some of it right.”

  Parker put the ham in the oven and the black-eyed peas on a rear burner to cook. Until he came to Texas, he’d never thought about eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day for good luck. Now he wouldn’t dare miss them. Who knew what bad luck he’d suffered in years past simply from not eating black-eyed peas?

  Mud watched him adjust the flame under the pot, then padded to the ultility room and came back with his Frisbee.

  “Aw, I don’t think so. Looks cold out there. Cloudy. Like it “might rain.”

  Mud looked at the door. Looked back at Parker. Padded to the door and waited, the red toy clamped in his mouth.

  “Okay. Half an hour, that’s all.”

  Parker opened the coat closet and shrugged into his parka. Before pulling on his gloves, he went to the den and took out the volume of How Things Work that described automobile ignitions.

  Mud had been all teeth and determination every time Parker threw the Frisbee toward the gate. But when he tossed it into the garage, no problem. And when he jimmied the lock on Dixie’s taxicab, and the Frisbee landed inside, the dog had lumbered in to retrieve it. Later, Parker whistled Mud up onto the seat to ride shotgun. Providing he learned how to hot-wire the ignition, Parker figured he’d have no trouble at all driving out the gate, so long as the dog went with him.

  Finishing the juice, Parker set the glass in the sink and scooped up the book. When he shut the refrigerator door, the bear fell off and bounced.

  “I love you,” it said. “Do you love me?”

  He thumped the bear down on the table and went outside with Mud.”

  Chapter Forty

  The rain turned mushy as Dixie drove the twenty miles from Richmond to Houston and parked across the street from Payne Hardware and the Garden Cafe. When she stepped from the car, sleet stung her face, reminding her of the trip with Parker through South Dakota. Had it been only a week ago?

  Ice-slickened sidewalks triggered her phobia about falling, but she planted her boot heels and ignored the queasiness. If she could weather a South Dakota blizzard, she could handle Houston ice. Surprisingly, the anxiety lifted.

  A note on the door said Payne Hardware was closed until Monday, but the cafe was open until two o’clock, according to the sign. She was determined to check on Ellie, even if it meant another argument with Rebecca. Gillis greeted her at the counter.

  “Cheers!” Dixie said, sliding her last handful of Hershey’s Hugs toward the waitress. “Why’s the hardware store closed? Did the Paynes go somewhere for the holiday?”

  “Mr. Payne went to visit his folks in Denton, but Ellie’s still down with the flu, so Rebecca stayed in town. We fixed up a little bed in the storeroom near the kitchen. Ellie’s sleeping.”

  “My nephew caught it, too” Dixie said. “But he’s feeling better already.”

  Gillis poured Dixie a cup of coffee, her fourth that morning. “Some kids are strong like that. Poor Ellie seems to feel worse every day. Can’t kick the fever.”

  “She’s been to the doctor, hasn’t she?”

  “Oh, sure. He gave her these little white pills, and I guess they’re helping. Mrs. Payne says Ellie just needs plenty of rest and liquids. Mr. Payne was really angry, though, that they couldn’t all drive up together to see his folks. I’ve never seen him so upset.”

  The bell over the door tinkled delicately. As Gillis left to wait on the new customers, Travis Payne’s bank records filled Dixie’s mental computer screen. White numbers popped in and out of a blue spreadsheet as money moved from one account to another. Fifty thousand dollars after each death. When Payne installed the new computer section at the hardware store, his balance plummeted to an all-time low. Yet, he had mentioned adding software and accessories. Where did he plan to get the money?

  First rule of detection, Flannigan: look at who profits. A mom-and-daughter “accident” would mean two million and change to Payne’s bottom line.

  Today was only New Year’s Eve, not the actual holiday, and it was also a Thursday. Smart retailers didn’t close in the middle of the week—unless, of course, there was reason to believe one might be coming into some money… maybe taking advantage of the bad weather? Slick streets, low visibility, car suddenly out of control, Payne conveniently thrown free while his wife and stepdaughter smash into a concrete embankment. Quick cash.

  Dixie swallowed the last of her coffee. Gillis had told her that Rebecca and Ellie stayed at home. So maybe Travis-Santa Claus-Payne was just a lamebrained businessman with strong feelings about keeping families together at Christmas and no sinister motives.

  Outside, the weather had turned miserable—freezing, sleeting, with a wind nearly as cruel as the one in South Dakota. A braking motorist slid through the intersection, missing the Mustang by a hair. Not the ideal time to be running errands, Dixie realized, but things needed to be done.

  At the supermarket, she picked up everything on Parkers list, then stood pondering a display of champagne. Usually, she wasn’t much of a party person on holidays. Last year she’d fallen asleep watching a movie on her VCR, missing the big Twelve-O-O entirely. But tonight she’d have company. Parker would likely cook something special. She picked up a bottle of champagne to ring in the New Year, hesitated, then added five more bottles to her cart.

  Traffic on the freeway was all but stopped. Houstonians were uncomfortable driving under icy conditions. As a veteran now, she zipped ahead, taking the Mykawa exit to Homicide Division. At Rashly’s office, she dropped off the first bottle of champagne. He held it at arm’s length to read the label.

  “You get five thousand dollars for an hour’s work, and this is the best you can afford?”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to buy you the good stuff. Your palate’s so deadened from smoking that pipe, you couldn’t taste the difference between Chateau du Pape and turpentine.”

  “I get satisfaction from reading the label.”

  “You’re saying a hundred-dollar bottle reads better than the twenty-dollar variety?”

  “How the hell do I know? The good stuff’s always in French.”

  Dixie tipped him a wave. “Cheers, Ben.”

  “Hey.” He tossed her a gold foil bag, embossed with holly leaves and sealed at the top with a gold medallion. “You did damn good on that Sikes thing.”

  She peeled the medallion off carefully, already certain what was inside. Every year Rashly ordered dark sweet chocolates with liqueur centers, straight from Switzerland. So good they should be illegal. Better than drugs or sex, Dixie had once told him. On her way out the door, she aped a swoon.

  The second bottle of champagne she took to Amy and Carl, with a split of nonalcoholic bubbly for Ryan and a large container of orange juice. Carl liked to make mimosas on New Year’s morning.

  “Why don’t you join us tonight?” Amy said. “Bring Parker. Carl picked up a stack of videos. We can make popcorn.”

  Dixie managed to beg off by reminding Amy they’d be over for dinner the next day.

  The last three bottles of champagne were intended for the Gypsy Filchers. They wouldn’t be in, of course, but they had methods for keeping track of visitors to their headquarters, even in the daytime. She tapped in the code on the nine-digit keypad. When the elevator doors opened, she placed the three bottles of champagne precisely in the center of the car, and tucked an envelope down between them. Inside the envelope she had placed five one-hundred-dollar bills, five percent of th
e fee she’d collect later from Belle Richards, wrapped in notepaper with the single word THANKS. They’d never miss her at the party.

  When the twenty-minute drive home looked like turning into an hour, the roads getting slicker every minute, Dixie picked up the cell phone to call Parker. A coating of ice glistened on rooftops. Long icicles hung from eaves. Power lines drooped under the extra weight. Trees lacy with frozen droplets sparkled red and green in the streetlights, turning the city to a winter wonderland that quickened Dixie’s holiday spirit. The phone fuzzed out a couple of times before she finally got a connection.

  “I hate to tell you this,” Parker said, “because it probably means you’ll be late for dinner again, but Jon Keyes has been calling every ten minutes for the past hour.”

  Keyes? “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Only that it’s urgent.”

  Dixie wasn’t eager to have her good mood spoiled, but if Keyes was still pissed about her checking up on him, maybe he’d let slip something she could use. She rang the number he’d left with Parker. The area code sounded like Austin. “Mr. Keyes?”

  “Oh, Jesus, thanks for calling. After yesterday, I wasn’t sure you would, but I didn’t know who else to ask. The cops won’t help, and I’ve got this awful feeling—”

  “Slow down.” He was talking so fast she could barely understand him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s Ellie.” She heard him take a breath. “I phoned to check the messages on my machine. I taught the girls to call anytime, for any reason, or just to talk, only this time Ellie sounds… strange, like she’s hurt or lost… I’ve never heard anything like it. The cafe closed early and Rebecca won’t answer the goddamn phone—”

  “Where are you?”

  “In Austin. Flew in for a meeting—”

  “Maybe Ellie’s medication—”

  “Medication? Has she been sick? Why the hell didn’t Rebecca tell me?”

  “It’s only the flu. You didn’t know?”

  “I haven’t talked to Ellie since Sunday. This goddamn job is running me ragged—”