by Danae Ayusso
James chuckled. “Grandmother is the queen of the guilt trip.”
“She can be. What’d Dr. Marks say?” Colt asked.
“He put her on ice until tomorrow morning,” James said, sliding a file across the table to him. “I figured I’d talk to her family tomorrow, have them identity the body first.”
Colt shook his head, not bothering to look at the file. “You know I don’t agree with your put off giving bad news today until Colt can do it tomorrow philosophy.”
James merely shrugged with an apologetic smile.
“I’ll talk to the family tomorrow morning,” Colt grumbled.
“You’re actually back, as in back-back?” James asked, excitement beaming in his eyes.
He gave him a look. “Yes, obviously.”
“Thank God!” James huffed and pulled a gun and badge from his jacket and slid them across the table to him. “Good thing the Sheriff was lazy and didn’t file your resignation letter.”
Colt shook his head, taking the badge and gun. “You are the laziest sonuvabitch I’ve ever seen.”
“Sometimes, but I knew you’d be back.”
“Your gut told you that?” Colt asked, his attention across the bar to the rookie whining and grinding the toe of his shoe into the floor, watching the blonde playing pinball beat his score tenfold.
James looked between Colt and where his attention was. “No...kind of, I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “She’s trouble.”
Colt nodded. “I am well aware of that.”
“Why the look?”
The corners of his mouth pulled up on one side. “Jimmy, I’m a detective and that is a walking, breathing, living puzzle.”
“Simply curiosity?” James asked.
He nodded. “I don’t like blondes, you know that. And I love your sister.”
James groaned. “Colt, I mean this in the most endearing way possible but, you’re an idiot. My sister is dead.”
Colt softly growled under his breath, his hands balling into fists on his lap. “You are testing my patience,” he warned, and released his fists and clipped the holstered gun to his side to preoccupy his hands so he didn’t swing on someone, especially James, then clipped his badge on the front of his hip.
“How does it feel?” James asked, changing the subject; he knew better than to say something like that, especially about Vicks. “To be officially on the force again?”
“I feel the same now as I did earlier today, and as I did yesterday, and the day before that. The only difference, I feel ten pounds lighter from the haircut and shave.”
James chuckled. “I’ve never seen a shave so close,” he teased. “I’m glad you’re back. Did you want to crash in the spare room at my place? We can go over the case there.”
Colt shook his head. “I’m going to stay with Emma,” he said. “She’s getting up there in age and I haven’t been around like I should have been. She needs help around the place and Cat shouldn’t be the one doing it. Why didn’t you repair the chimney on the cabin?” he asked, turning to James. “You stand to inherit the estate so why not keep it up?”
He shrugged. “She never asked me to look at it. It’s not as if I’m a damn mason or anything, but still. You know that Grandmother is even more stubborn than you! Where do you think you got it from?!”
“The point remains, Jimmy,” Colt said, undeterred, “it should have been you. Emma shouldn’t have to ask you to fix your own damn house. Emma shouldn’t have to ask you to fix the chimney when you knew it collapsed. Emma shouldn’t have to ask you to come over for Sunday dinner. You are her damn grandson, her only living family, and you see her, what, once a year like you see me?”
James sulked down in his seat. “No. I see Grandmother a couple of times a week,” he mumbled. “Since Cat came around she’s less grouchy and started baking again.”
Colt casted him a sidelong glance, not amused in the least. “So you come over for cookies and pies,” he surmised. He stood up and motioned for James to stay. “I’m tired and haven’t been up this late in a long time, and I...I’m...just give me some space, please. First thing in the morning I’ll join you at the station and we’ll set up the war room before the FBI shows up.”
James nodded and grabbed the file, knowing that leaving it with Colt would be a mistake; Colt had already been pushed enough for one day. “I’ll see you in the morning, I’ll even bring donuts.”
Colt nodded and headed towards the bar and claimed the stool at the end of it, turning his back on James.
Cat watched the single-sided altercation from across the bar. The way Colt’s body stiffened at something James said made her want to storm over there and repurpose a pool cue, but she didn’t want to spend the night in jail, and it would have caused many questions to arise, none of which she could answer. Besides, Colt was a big boy, in every meaning possible, so she knew he could take care of himself. When he headed to the end of the bar, turning his back to the man who was like a brother to him, James looked like someone had just run over his dog.
Mickey waved with a smile when James sulked towards the door with the file in hand and, sensing that some line was crossed that she didn’t know existed, Cat threw her arm over Mickey’s shoulders causing the stunned rookie to blush.
Once the door closed behind James, Cat removed her arm. “Probie, why don’t you head home? I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early.”
He pouted his bottom lip out. “But we were just starting to have fun.”
She shook her head and tenderly patted his cheek. “Sweetie, it’s never going to happen. My demons would only bring you down with them. I’ll see you in the morning, and thanks for the quarters.”
Mickey chuckled. “That’s funny. You totally just sounded like you fell out of New York when you said that.”
Cat cocked an eyebrow. “No I didn’t, now get outta here,” she said and he chuckled again so she winked at him. When the door closed behind the rookie, her smile fell and she headed towards the sullen figure at the bar and sat on the stool next to him. “Is this seat taken?” she asked.
Colt looked over at her from the corner of his eye. She was looking at the dirty mirrored back wall of the bar. Between the bottles of cheap liquor displayed, she was watching the few patrons who were left, as if she was looking for someone or something. “You sent the rookie packing, why?” he asked under his breath.
“Just a feeling,” she said. “You got your badge and gun back, I see. How’s that working out for you?”
Colt shrugged. “I haven’t shot anyone yet.”
“The night’s still young,” she reminded him and motioned for the bartender. “I need some quarters,” she said and tossed a ten-dollar bill on the counter. With quarters in one hand, she took Colt’s hand in the other, and pulled him towards the video games. To her surprise, he didn’t pull his hand away, in fact, he weaved his fingers through hers and held her hand tight.
When they reached the video games, Cat slipped some quarters into the Area 51 game and reluctantly released his hand, then slid the blue plastic gun from the holder.
“You want to play video games?” Colt asked, slightly amused and picked up the red gun.
“You have questions,” Cat said, selecting a location.
“Yes.”
“As do I,” she continued. “Win for answer,” she offered.
The corners of his mouth pulled up on one side and he took aim with the red plastic gun. “Twenty potential wins?” he asked, clarifying what she was offering exactly.
“Twenty potential answers.”
“Deal,” he said.
Cat laughed. “You seriously want to ask that question?” she asked, wanting to clarify since it was such an off the wall question compared to the others he had asked.
Colt shrugged with a small smile. “I’m curious.”
“You apparently aren’t curious about what I thought you’d be curious about,” she admitted before taking a drink of her coffee.
Colt
nodded; he’d give her that one. “We all have stuff that we wish we could change or forget, and many of those are beyond our control. Believe it or not, I get that better than you could imagine. You can’t answer the questions that I haven’t asked because we both know you can’t, and I rather you tell me the truth than lie to me.”
Her smile fell. “You are a very strange detective.”
“I’m out of practice,” he admitted with a chuckle.
“I’ll give you that,” she conceded. “Madre and I didn’t move around too much when I was growing up. She was a firm believer in having roots and standing your ground.”
"You and your mother, you were close?" Colt asked.
“Is that your next question? You only have three left,” she reminded him.
He huffed then finished off his coffee before putting the mug down. “I should say no and ask for a give me.”
“Which I won’t give you,” she assured him.
“I know,” he said and made a face. “But I’m curious so I’ll use a question to satisfy my curiosity.”
Damn it. This isn’t something I want to talk about but he’s playing by the rules, so that means I have to as well.
“You could say that we were close,” Cat reluctantly said. “She was my best friend until she died,” she said the latter indifferently as she cracked her knuckles one at a time. “Natural causes,” she added when he opened his mouth.
Colt, sensing there was more to it than that, pressed it. "Cancer?" he surmised.
“No, car bomb,” Cat said before she could stop herself.
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.
“But of course,” he dryly agreed. “Your turn,” he offered.
Cat looked up from her nearly empty coffee cup to him and was surprised that he was watching her with a small smile on his face. She expected an accusatory look, a flaring of his nostrils from irritation, a barrage of questions flowing from his lips. Instead, he looked completely content. She opened her mouth to press why he was so complacent, especially after she just blurted out the most unnatural means to die, but she promptly closed it when he raised an eyebrow, seemingly reading her mind and sensing her argument.
“It’s getting late,” she offered instead, looking at the clock above his head on the back wall.
Colt nodded. “It is. Did you wish to hold your remaining questions for a later date?” he asked with a chuckle.
What Cat really wanted to do was crawl into bed in her pajamas with Detective Colt Fury and continue probing his brain. If he wasn’t such a good shot, and a huge cheater, she would have had all twenty questions. Instead, after he lost the first three games, he took her gun and held it above his head while he went on an alien shooting rampage for the last thirty seconds, putting him ahead of her by one kill. Two games later, he covered her eyes with his free hand and ignored the three kidney shots she delivered in return. But not to be outdone, she did jump on his back and cover his eyes, took his gun, and even crawled up on his shoulders once.
It was immature by all accounts, but it had been far too long since she’s felt like her normal self. When she was a kid, she’d go to Coney Island with her mom and they’d play games and eat hotdogs, watch boardwalk performers and lounge on the beach. When she was having a bad day or couldn’t wrap her mind around something, Frankie would practically throw her over his shoulder and take her to Coney Island for hotdogs and beer. “The perfect date,” he used to call it since it only cost him ten bucks compared to the hundred to two-hundred-dollar dinners he usually spent on a woman. But Cat wasn’t just any woman, Cat was his best friend and partner, the two did more together than most married couples, and she had a familiarity with him that she’d never had with anyone else before, and to have that long, missing feeling seemingly back, but because of a complete stranger, left her disquieted.
“What are you thinking about?” Colt asked when heavy lines presented across her forehead and her lips went taut.
“Is that one of your remaining questions?” she automatically asked, not bothering to look at him.
He expected no less.
“If that’s the only way I’ll find out, then yes, I guess it is.”
She looked from the clock to him. “You sound almost disappointed in that, even though you cheated to get the damn question to begin with.”
He shrugged his shoulders slightly, to anyone else, they would have missed the barely-there movement, but she saw it and knew it translated to something that she couldn’t afford at the moment.
Cat stood and Colt did as well and motioned her towards the door. She tossed some money on the table and nodded to the bartender and he smiled at her in return. Once they were outside, the extreme change in temperature from the stuffy bar to the bitter March weather hit her like a fist to the gut and she gasped.
“For someone that runs much too early in the morning in barely any clothes, you sure are surprised by how cold it gets at night,” Colt said and shrugged out of his jacket then wrapped it around her shoulders.
“You don’t have to do that,” she argued but made no attempt at giving him back his jacket. It was large, warm, and smelled heavily of him: woodsy, clean, slightly musky from work, masculine, and something spicy she hadn’t been able to pinpoint yet, but she’d keep trying until she figured it out. The jacket hung well past her backside, the sleeves draped over her fingertips, making Cat feel as if she was a little girl playing in her father’s closet when he was away on business.
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do,” he reminded her and opened the door to her Bronco that she let him drive since the police jeep would get too much attention, in her opinion. Besides, Frankie always drove so she didn’t mind riding shotgun.
“True, so I shouldn’t say thanks?” she mused and stepped up on the passenger side running board.
Colt instantly wrapped his hand around her elbow, and guided her up into the lifted Bronco then closed her door before she could object. He walked around to the driver’s side, his hand clenching and releasing into a fist as he went, before he eventually joined her.
“Are you cold?” she asked, cranking up the heat but it would take ten minutes before it blew anything other than artic air.
Colt shook his head. “I was born and raised in this climate,” he explained. “The winter was surprisingly mild this year.”
Cat’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open with a popping sound.
Mild?! There’s still snow on the ground and it piled up over two feet in less than a day!
Colt chuckled at the expression on her face. “Put your seatbelt on,” he said and she immediately complied. “Usually we have measurable inches well past April. This year there’s only a dusting left on the lower planes. Now, where you found the body...” his words trailed off and he looked away from her.
“What?” she asked.
Colt shook his head.
Cat growled under her breath before conceding. “I use a win,” she huffed. “What makes the location of where I came across the body getting closed off Detective Colt Fury worthy?”
He snorted at her choice of wording, and they did agree that there were no PASSES in their Q & A game, so he had no choice but to answer her.
Colt licked his dry lips and put the Bronco in drive. “That area is…it’s considered remote in Eureka. The road is narrow, the embankments ridiculously high, at least a dozen people have died taking that stretch of road in the winter-early spring in only the past few years. The locals stay off of it and tourists usually take note of the signs that are posted all along it. There’s nothing at the end of Elkhart Drive. The old estate that marks the end of Eureka has been boarded up for years.”
“Was there something that happened there….and no, that isn’t using a damn win,” Cat quickly added the latter and he looked over at her, cocking an eyebrow. “It doesn’t,” she informed him, jutting her chin out defiantly.
He liked pushing her buttons, but he’d give her this one simply because
he was actually enjoying talking with her. It didn’t matter what they were talking about, even shoptalk, as she called it, was enjoyable with her.
“Fair enough, but I will remind of you of my generosity when it suits me,” Colt smugly informed her and she made a face at him. “The estate at the end of Elkhart used to be the Mayor’s Estate. It was one of the first notable estates in Eureka, and it stood the test of time, for the most part. According to the police report, nearly twenty years ago the soon-to-be not-reelected mayor killed his family and tried to set the place on fire with him inside. The walls are made of brick covered lap plaster so the fire was contained to the main level of the house. The bodies were found by the Fire Chief on the second story; the Sheriff deemed it a murder suicide. Since the estate was owned by the city council and the cost of repairs were beyond what the town could afford, not that anyone wanted to live in a house where four people died, so they sealed it up and locked the gate barring the driveway to the estate. The fact that you were jogging along that stretch of road…” his words trailed off.
Cat nodded her understanding. “That is most inconvenient,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Are you scared?” he asked.
“No,” she answered quickly. “I had never even heard of your little serial killer so I highly doubt that this has anything to do with me. But it makes me curious as to why he picked that dumpsite. Have the other sites been that remote?”
Colt looked at her curiously. “You’re getting worked up,” he said.
“This is not me worked up,” she retorted.
“In your opinion,” he said with a small smile. “But when you get worked up your ‘Midwest’ accent flares heavily, making you sound as if you fell out of A Bronx Tale.”
Cat scoffed. “Bronx? Please! Try Mulberry Street,” she retorted and instantly regretted it. “Merda!” she hissed.
Colt simply nodded, smiling internally that he had figured two mysteries out about the puzzling woman: she’s a New Yorker and Italian…though, she didn’t look Italian in the least.
“Well, that was fun while it lasted,” she grumbled under her breath and opened the Bronco’s door before Colt had come to a complete stop in the driveway.
