He got up from the computer. He hadn’t heard his doorbell since the day he and the realtor came to the house. She’d rung it to show him the lovely ringing.
It made him realize that no one had dropped in on him in the two months he’d been back in town.
He hurried down the steps, yelling that he was on his way to the door. He wondered how long his visitor had been there.
There was no way of knowing.
He was about to pull the door open when he remembered that he’d set the perimeter alarm.
“Just a minute,” he yelled through the oak door. He punched in his code, undid the perimeter alarm, and then pulled the door open.
A man stood there, clutching a bouquet of flowers. He was small, nervous and balding, wearing a denim shirt and khaki pants. The bouquet—mostly roses and ferns—nearly hid his face.
“Is Jessamyn Chance here?” he asked in his nasal voice.
The very name set Rick’s teeth on edge. He blocked the doorway. “Who the hell wants to know?”
“Th-These are for her,” the man said. “I-I-I have to give them to her personally.”
“Do you?” Rick stepped across the threshold, pulling the door closed behind him.
“Y-Yes.” The man backed away.
Rick looked around him for a delivery van, hoping to see the logo of a florist shop on the side. But parked against his curb was a blue sedan.
He’d never expected the Creep to try the direct approach. But then, he hadn’t expected the Creep to follow him from Chicago either.
He also hadn’t expected the Creep to look so wimpy but then the police psychiatrist he’d talked to about this in Chicago said most of these stalker types appeared harmless in person.
“I-I-Is she here?” The man was holding his ground near the steps.
“Jessamyn Chance?” Rick said, putting the emphasis on the first name.
The man nodded, head bobbing like a nervous rabbit.
“You want to know if she’s here?”
The man nodded again.
“Because you theoretically want to give her flowers.”
The man nodded a third time. He wasn’t taking his gaze off Rick.
Rick drew himself to his full height. He knew he could be imposing when he did that, and he used every bit of it. This Creep would have to know who he was messing with. “What is it about her that so fascinates you?”
“N-N-Nothing.” The man’s gaze flicked toward the house. “I j-j-just wanted to g-g-give her th-th-these.”
Rick yanked the flowers out of the man’s hands. “Consider them given,” he said, and then he tossed the entire bouquet over the porch. They landed with a crash on the sidewalk below.
The man cringed. Rick grabbed him by the collar and lifted him against the porch’s main pillar. The man was lighter than he should have been. Or maybe Rick was angrier than he should have been.
“For the past two years, you have made my life a living hell,” Rick hissed, pressing his face close to the little man’s. “I’m tired of dealing with you and your obsession. You want to get me out of the way? Fine. Now’s your chance. Better defend yourself, because one of us is leaving this porch broken and bloody, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be me.”
THIRTEEN
“KEY-RIST,” LOU SAID, thumbing through the pile of real estate brochures on his lap. “Six-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars for a five bedroom, four-thousand square foot home with a view of Mount Hood.”
“Sounds low.” Tasha was driving. They were in a city car—neither Tasha nor Lou had volunteered their personal cars for police department use, even though they did get a mileage and maintenance fee. No mileage and maintenance fee was worth the damage one year on the force could do to a car.
This car was a white sedan that still smelled new. But instead of a regular radio, there was a police radio squawking up front next to the new computerized information system complete with fax, and child safety locks so that the person in the back seat could not get out without the person in the front seat’s permission. Not that Tasha would ever arrest anyone and put him in this car. It would be too easy to climb over the seat. But she appreciated the thought.
“Yeah, but look at this picture.” He shoved the brochure toward her and she pretended to look. Driving in Portland had become a contact sport. If she took her eyes off the road for too long, she’d run the risk of being hit or worse. Things were worse in the small residential areas like this one. The realty office had been in a nearby strip mall, and Tasha had decided to take the back roads to the station instead of chancing the main arteries in the middle of the day.
“So?” Tasha asked.
“So?” Lou said. “All of the houses in this development look alike. You pay a kabillion dollars and get a large house that looks like every other house on the block. How much you wanna bet that you can only see Mount Hood from the upstairs window?”
“And only on a good day,” Tasha said.
Lou glared at her. That part went without saying. Any clouds at all and the mountains went into hiding. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“I don’t know why I should. We’re not interested in that house. We’re interested in Pfeiffer’s house. You didn’t have to pick up all those other brochures.”
“The wife wants to move.”
“Then you should be having this discussion with her,” Tasha said, wanting no part of it.
Lou sighed and dug through the pile until he found the brochure Tasha’s realtor friend had given them. Inside of the brochure were lots of pictures of the models in that year’s Parade of Homes, including some interior shots of the Pfeiffer home.
And, apparently, the realtor had taken some candid shots during the Parade of Homes. The images included various realtors and potential customers viewing the ground floor of the Pfeiffer home. It had been one of the main attractions of the Parade that year, and according to the media, it had been the most beautiful house on display. The realtor had copied those as well and stuffed them in the brochure.
“All right,” Lou said. “Let’s see what we got.”
He started thumbing through the stack of papers, when the police radio squawked again. He started to turn it down and then stopped, listened to the call, and swore. “That’s just a few blocks from here.”
“We’re not beat cops,” Tasha said.
At that moment, the unit cars radioed in. The closest ones were ten minutes away.
“Tash, we should check it out.”
She sighed. Lou believed they had a duty to respond if they were the closest. He always said that catching the bad guy in the act was the best way of preventing a homicide investigation.
“You know,” she said, “I wanted to be promoted so that I wouldn’t have to do domestic work any more.”
“No one said it was domestic.”
“In this neighborhood? Of course it is.” But she turned on the siren and made a left, as Lou reached under the dash and grabbed the light. He slammed it on the top of the car as they headed toward the disturbance.
FOURTEEN
TO RICK’S UTTER dismay, the man slid down the post, put his hands over his head, and started to cry. Rick stood over him for a moment, fists clenched, feeling his anger build.
Why couldn’t this Creep have the guts to fight? One good, knock-’em, drag-out and this thing would end.
Rick had expected the Creep to savagely attack him.
He never expected tears.
“Get up,” Rick said tightly.
The man continued to sob.
“Get up!”
The man shook his head like a little boy protecting himself from an angry parent.
“Get up!” Rick finally reached down and yanked the man to his feet. Then wished he hadn’t. The Creep’s face was blotchy and tear-streaked. He looked pathetic.
Rick didn’t want to feel sympathy for the person who’d ruined his life.
There were sirens coming closer. Apparently his little altercation w
ith the Creep wasn’t the only thing happening in his quiet neighborhood on this strange Monday.
“Just fight me,” Rick said, even though he hated the tone. It sounded like he was begging. “One punch. Let’s get this over with.”
All that did was provoke another sob. The man wrapped his arms around his head again, and faced the pillar like it could protect him.
“Son of a bitch,” Rick muttered. He had no idea what he was going to do. His fantasies of beating the little bastard bloody weren’t going to work. He couldn’t pound anyone who was crying. He just couldn’t.
He wondered if the Creep knew that and was playing on it.
Of course not. How could the Creep know that? How could anyone?
The siren sounded close. Rick looked up and saw an unmarked car with a light on the roof round the corner. It was the answer to his prayers. He’d flag the cops down, give the Creep over to them, and tell them he was being harassed. Maybe they’d leave it at that. Maybe he wouldn’t have to answer too many questions.
Even if he didn’t press charges, they’d get the Creep’s name and address. Maybe he was wanted for other stuff.
Rick grabbed the Creep’s arm and hauled him down the front sidewalk toward the street. The elderly woman from across the way was standing in her front door, hands folded protectively near her chest, as if she were spying and praying at the same time.
The cop car pulled in front of Rick’s house and stopped. Had they seen him? Then the siren and the light went off, and his stomach turned over.
The Creep wasn’t fighting at all. In fact, he was a limp bundle that Rick had to drag down the sidewalk.
The car’s passenger door opened and a beefy middle-aged man got out. He wasn’t in uniform, but he looked like a cop. He wore a cheap brown suit that bunched over his considerable muscles. He had a badge in one hand and handcuffs in the other, and he was shouting, “That’s enough! Let him go! Let him go!”
Rick stared at him for a moment, confused. This wasn’t how he had planned it. The Creep squirmed slightly.
“Help!” The Creep’s voice crackled and he sounded even more pathetic than he was.
“Let him go!” The cop said. His badge had disappeared and he was reaching for his gun.
The cop was talking to Rick! Suddenly Rick felt like he’d fallen into the rabbit hole. He let go of the Creep—who fell to the sidewalk with an audible thump—and raised his arms like he’d seen countless people do on television.
“Okay,” the cop said. “Turn around.”
The other cop got out of the driver’s side. Rick caught a glimpse of someone tall and thin wearing a brown blazer before he turned to face his house. The cop hurried toward Rick, brought his arms down, and with a practiced movement, cuffed him.
It hurt more than he’d ever imagined it would. The cuffs were too tight around his wrists and his arms were in an awkward position. He could feel the strain on his shoulders.
“Officer, it’s not what you think,” Rick started.
“You shut up,” the cop said. Then, in a more compassionate tone, he said, “You all right?”
Rick opened his mouth to answer when he heard the Creep say, “N-No. I was just—”
“Rick?” The voice was familiar.
He turned his head over his shoulder. Tasha was standing behind him. She wore a light brown blazer and her blonde hair was pulled into a severe bun which accented her delicate features.
“Tasha?”
“Oh, n-no,” the Creep mumbled.
“What is this, Tash?” the cop asked.
“I have no idea.” She sounded annoyed. “Rick, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“He at-at-attacked me,” the Creep said. “Th-Th-That’s what’s going on.”
“Is that true?” Tasha asked.
Rick turned around. The Creep was still sprawled on the sidewalk, his face still blotchy and tear-streaked. He certainly looked like he’d been beaten up.
“He’s been harassing me,” Rick said.
“Th-Th-That’s not true,” the Creep said. “I’ve never s-s-seen him before.”
“Who called this in?” It was that question that made him realize that Tasha was here in an official capacity, that she wasn’t, for some reason he didn’t yet know, traveling with the cop.
“You’re a cop?” Rick asked.
Tasha rolled her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a cop?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you beat people up?”
“You know him?” the other cop asked.
“He was an usher at my cousin’s wedding,” Tasha said.
“Hey,” the Creep said. “Wh-Wh-What about me?”
“What about him?” Tasha asked Rick.
“He’s been harassing me,” Rick repeated. “This is the first chance I had to confront him.”
“I was d-d-delivering flowers,” the Creep said. “They’re smashed beside the porch.”
“I don’t see a van,” the cop said.
“I was s-s-s-stopping on my way home. The delivery was on my way. I was t-t-taking a half d-d-day. My wife is s-s-sick. Just c-c-call my boss. She’ll c-c-confirm th-th-this.”
“Who is your boss?” Tasha asked, whipping a cell phone out of her pocket.
“C&J Flowers,” the Creep said.
“Tasha, how can you believe him?” Rick asked.
Her gaze was cold. “Because I saw you drag him across the front yard.”
“My front yard,” Rick said. “I was bringing him to your car so you could arrest him.”
She turned her back slightly as she dialed information. Then she bent her head and requested the number for C&J Flowers.
“Are you all right?” the cop asked the Creep again.
“N-N-No,” he said. “I’ve n-n-never been so s-s-scared in my life. N-N-Not even when I was a k-k-kid. I used t-t-to get beat up a lot you know. Because of the s-s-stutter. But nothing like th-th-this.”
“I didn’t touch you,” Rick said.
“Except for the dragging across the yard part,” the cop said. “Tash was right to ask. Who called this in?”
“I didn’t,” Rick said, “and obviously the Creep here didn’t have a chance—”
“I’m n-n-not a c-c-creep,” the man said. “I was just d-d-delivering flowers!”
“—but I suspect Old Lady Busybody across the street was the one who dialed 911,” Rick finished as if the Creep hadn’t said a word.
The cop looked over his shoulder. The old lady was still on the porch, hands clenched.
Another police car pulled in, followed by another. These were regular police cars, with sirens built into the top, Portland Police Department stamped on the side, and officers in uniform inside. What had that old woman said? That there was a riot going on here?
Tasha slipped her phone back in her pocket. “His story checks,” she said to her partner.
“Whose story?” Rick asked.
“M-M-Mine,” the Creep said, raising his chin defiantly.
Rick resisted the urge to growl at him, knowing that would make the Creep dissolve into tears. Again.
“They got an order to send flowers to this address and he volunteered to take them even though they weren’t on his normal route. He was going to take the rest of the day off to spend it with his sick wife.” Tasha delivered all of that news in a flat tone.
Oh, that was just beautiful. Rick closed his eyes for a moment, trying to contain the anger building in him.
“S-S-See?” the Creep asked. Or the Not-Creep, as the case may be. Either way, Rick could see why the guy got beaten up in school. And it had nothing to do with the stutter.
Rick opened his eyes. The Creep—the Not-Creep—was sitting defiantly, his arms crossed.
“Where’s your goddamn van?” Rick asked. “I looked for your van before I even stepped out of my house.”
“That’s enough,” the other cop said.
The uniforms were out of their car and headed Rick’s way
.
“Answer me,” Rick said. He couldn’t believe the mess he was in now. “Where’s your fucking van?”
“S-S-See?” The Not-Creep shuddered. “He’s t-t-terrifying.”
Tasha glared at Rick as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He shook his head.
“Where is your van?” she asked the Not-Creep in a very gentle tone.
“I d-d-don’t have it,” the Not-Creep said. “I c-c-came in my c-c-car. I d-d-didn’t th-th-think it would be a p-p-problem.”
“Oh for god’s sake.” Rick couldn’t keep the exasperation from his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me this at the door?”
“You d-d-didn’t g-g-give me a ch-ch-chance.”
“I did too. I asked you a bunch of questions.”
“And d-d-didn’t g-g-give me a ch-ch-chance to answer th-th-them.”
“That’s enough.” Tasha turned to the uniformed cops. “Take him.” And from her gesture, she meant Rick.
“Hey!” he said. “This is my home. Doesn’t a man have the right to defend his own property?”
“Against a flower delivery? Mr. Chance—”
“It was Rick this weekend,” he said.
“Mr. Chance,” she said again, this time more firmly, “we’re taking you to the station where we can settle this. You’ll have to come with us too, Mr.—?”
“Flegal,” the Not-Creep said miserably.
“Mr. Flegal,” Tasha said. “I’m sorry.”
“B-B-But my wife—”
“Can she be alone a bit longer?” Tasha asked.
The Not-Creep wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Could he be any more pathetic? Rick grunted and looked away.
“I guess so,” the Not-Creep said.
“Maybe we don’t have to take him,” the other cop said, but by that time, two uniformed cops had taken Rick by the arms and were leading him to one of the squad cars.
He looked across the street. As his gaze met his elderly neighbor’s, she grabbed her sweater tightly, and moved closer to her door. His frown deepened. He wasn’t that frightening. Well, maybe he had been a little. He’d been trying to scare off the Creep—the Not-Creep—the Not-Creep whom he thought was the Creep. Anyone would understand.
The Perfect Man Page 8
