The Claudia Hershey Mysteries - Box Set: Three Claudia Hershey Mysteries

by Laura Belgrave

  The patio was nothing more than a concrete slab. Claudia guessed it to be about eight feet by fifteen feet. The only thing on it was a gas grill. A crack ran nearly the length of it, with spidery tendrils shooting off into a variety of smaller cracks. A tuft of grass poked out of the far end.

  “I measured,” said Hemmer. “The biggest part of the crack is over a half-inch. And that’s not the only flaw. The patio is buckled, too, mostly in the middle. See where it’s stained?” He kept the gun on Claudia while he pointed. “See it?”

  It would’ve been hard to miss. The discoloration was oval-shaped and darker than the rest of the concrete. Smaller patches crept toward the house.

  “I get puddles you could water ski on and nothing I put out here sits level. I used to have a patio table and chairs, but they wobbled too much. Now I just keep the grill. The whole patio must’ve been put together by a couple of drunks, but the bastard developer flatly refuses to replace it. He says it’s past the warranty period.”

  “Is he one of the people you have inside?”

  “No. I wish he was. But all I have are his minions, one more stupid than the next.”

  Claudia thought she was starting to see where Hemmer was going with everything. “What’s the story on getting your house painted?”

  “The paint’s fine. I just want a different color. What’s on it now is called ‘sea sand’, as if that makes it something other than beige. Here . . . wait.” Hemmer used his free hand to grope in his pants pocket. He pulled out a card and handed it to Claudia. “You see anything obnoxious about that? Anything that isn’t aesthetically pleasing?”

  The paint swatch was of a dusky blue color. To Claudia’s eye, it looked almost more gray than blue. She kind of liked it.

  “It’s called ‘morning mist.’ I let Sandi pick it out. She spent a lifetime finding just the right shade. That’s the color I want on my house. Does it seem like a big deal to you?”

  “No. So why is it?”

  “Because of the people in my family room.”

  “In that case, maybe it’s time to meet them.”

  He nodded toward the sliding glass doors. “Maybe it is.”

  * * *

  This time when he offered, Claudia accepted a drink from Hemmer’s cooler. It held cans of Coke, Diet Coke, and Barq’s root beer. In a pinch, any one of them could serve as a weapon, but Hemmer stood to the side watching, his gun held steadily on her. She selected a Diet Coke and slowly eased back to the wall. He watched her roll the can across her forehead, then pop the top and take a long drink.

  “Hot as hell outside, isn’t it?” he said. “I’ve been here a year and a half and I’m still not used to it.”

  Good. He was up for more conversation. “Where’re you from originally?”

  “Most recently Seattle. Stayed there longest, almost ten years. Before that, a whole string of places—San Diego, Denver, St. Louis, Boston. Moving around is the nature of my business. It was, anyway.”

  “What’s your business?”

  “Computers. Software, actually. I’m on my own now. What about you? I know you didn’t start out here.”

  “No. Cleveland.”

  Hemmer brightened. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. I read about you in the papers. City cop stuck in Podunk. But you just broke some big case, right? Something about an old guy out in Feather Ridge.” He made a clucking nose. “I bet they thought they were safe there, too. Guess you proved they’re not. No one is.” He scowled at the hostages. “Right now, especially them.”

  Claudia took another swallow from the can. “And ‘them’ is . . . who?”

  “No time for repartee, huh?”

  “We’ve got to get some stuff done, Mr. Hemmer.”

  “Steven’s fine.”

  “We need to get this thing resolved.”

  Hemmer began pacing. “That guy—the big one nearest the fish tank—that’s Bill Bonolo. I think of him as Bill ‘Assholo.’” Hemmer smiled at the flash in Bonolo’s eyes. “He’s more than an asshole, though. He’s also president of our esteemed homeowners association, not to mention one of the smarmiest people you’ll ever meet.” He squatted in front of Bonolo and chucked the gun under his chin. “Think I don’t know about you? What you really are?”

  Claudia was too far away to make a play, not with Hemmer’s gun at Bonolo’s face. She watched the big man’s eyes flare with fury. He squirmed against the duct tape.

  Hemmer laughed and straightened. “Like the way I put them boy-girl, boy-girl?” He pointed at the woman beside Bonolo. “This is Gloria Addison. Far as I can tell, she’s a kept woman. I don’t know who’s keeping her, but when she’s around you can find her at the community pool with a gin and tonic she pretends is water.”

  Addison didn’t react. But she held Hemmer’s eyes until he turned away. “Anyway, Ms. Addison is one of three members of the association’s property alterations committee. In the association newsletters, it’s merely called the ‘PAC.’ Gotta love those acronyms.”

  Even with the tape across her mouth, Addison would be a magnet for men. She had flawless skin and thick tawny hair that cascaded to her shoulders. Her arms looked toned in the way that only religious devotion to a gym could produce.

  “Next up is Kurt Kitner. He’s also on the PAC. I don’t think Kurt’s all that bad a guy, actually. Trouble is, he doesn’t know how to think for himself and he’s fearful of his own shadow—or at least of Assholo there.”

  Kitner had closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if he could make himself invisible. But he trembled convulsively and the stain at the crotch of his pants had widened.

  “Kurt’s an accountant. Rumor has it he has aspirations of being voted treasurer of the association.” Hemmer shook his head disgustedly. “A dream come true, right, Kurt?” He got no response.

  “Finally, we have Jennifer Parrish. She’s a former elementary school teacher and now a housewife—excuse me, a ‘homemaker.’ What do you have, Jen? Three kids? Four? Anyway, Detective Hershey, she’s the final PAC member. I don’t know if she’s particularly intimidated by the others, but she’d do anything to keep the peace. Keeping the peace means going along, so she always votes the majority way. Isn’t that right, Ms. Parrish?”

  Parrish nodded faintly. Hemmer sighed. “Silly goose.” He turned to Claudia. “There they are, the characters in my little drama. Think I can get Spielberg to cast any of them for a movie version?”

  Claudia pretended to listen when he lurched into a monologue about the nature of community. He seemed to be contrasting the peaceful coexistence of the fish in his tank to the lack of harmony in the Willow Whisper development. She stole surreptitious looks at the hostages whenever she could. The homemaker, Jennifer Parrish—it appeared like she was trying to signal something with her eyes. They darted to the left. The tank? Was she suggesting something about the tank? Kitner had opened his eyes, but wouldn’t look up. The other two, Addison and Bonolo, kept their eyes on Hemmer. Something had gone on in here while Hemmer was showing her around outside. She didn’t know what, but something.

  “. . . and you’ll notice that the fish are only aggressive at feeding times or breeding periods. It’s the natural order of things—very different than with people. You see the point, don’t you?”

  On some level she’d heard what Hemmer had said and she nodded. “I do. And I agree. But if we’re going to get your house and patio taken care of, then we have to move past the philosophical. What has to happen?”

  “You have a very practical nature. I like that.” Hemmer sifted through the cardboard box and took out a file folder. He slid it across the tiles. “Take a look. Those are copies of the requests I’ve put in for property changes. Denied every time.” He waited while she scanned the documents, then slid another folder to her. “These are the forms we have to use when we want to change something. Homeowners fill them out and submit them to the property alterations committee—my good friends here. They review them. If a request doesn’t threaten the structura
l integrity of neighboring property or harm the overall aesthetics of the community, the request is approved and the board signs off on it. But if the PAC thinks there’s a problem, the request is denied. The homeowner can forget about it or change the request to try and make it more agreeable. The approval process can vary, but it typically takes two to four weeks.”

  Hemmer glared at the hostages. “That’s how it’s supposed to work.” He sent another folder to Claudia. “I got my hands on copies of some of the forms that have been approved for other homeowners. You’ll notice the committee signed off on paint jobs from pale yellow to salmon pink, and on several occasions they’ve allowed homeowners to break up their patios so they could install new ones with pools. Now what makes their patios different from mine, I’ll never know.” He wriggled his eyebrows at Bonolo. “Then again, maybe I will. But that would be pure speculation on my part and it isn’t the point of today. It’s not the point of the here and now.”

  Claudia caught a glimpse of Bonolo rolling his eyes. “Okay. Let’s assume you’re right and—”

  “I am right.”

  “Okay.” Claudia inhaled and told herself to slow down. She could make this work. “Okay,” she said again. “Let’s start by getting the house painted.”

  “My thinking, too. One last folder.” The folder skidded toward her. “What you’ve got there is a yet another completed form for the paint job. It’s dated today. It includes the specs. It includes another sample card showing the paint color. Every detail is properly included. There’s another completed form for the patio. Since the builder refuses to replace it, I’ll do it at my own expense, which I’ve made clear to the committee on more than one occasion.”

  “A folder for everything. You’re very organized.”

  “That, and considerate. I only brought downstairs what you needed to see.” He nodded toward the folder in her hands. “What I want is for these jokers to sign off on both forms, make them official.”

  “And you want the work to begin now?” Claudia looked at her watch. “It’s almost six-thirty.”

  “I have paint in the garage. We have light until after nine o’clock. I have a painting crew on stand-by—a crew that’s deliriously happy to work even in the dead of night for what I’ll pay. All we need is a phone call to get started. The patio can wait until morning. Heaven forbid I should disturb the serenity of the community with drilling at this hour.”

  Hemmer retrieved a cell phone from the cardboard box. “I know the number by heart. Here. You can dial.”

  He liked to slide things and apparently he liked to toss them as well. He pitched the phone toward Claudia. In the nanosecond that the phone hung in the air, she recognized the opportunity she’d been waiting for. She snatched at the phone and faked a fumble on the catch, slapping it toward the floor. It skidded in Hemmer’s direction and he did what she hoped he would: He took an awkward step toward it and bent forward to stop the slide. It was enough. Claudia vaulted off the floor and kicked out, catching him in the ribs. His automatic clattered to the tile and before he could react, she was on him.

  Neither went down and for one crazy minute they clung together like lovers, dancing like lovers, breathing hard like lovers. The room seemed to spin. It was like being sucked into a vortex. She couldn’t get a grip. He couldn’t get a grip. They grappled some more, their shoes squeaking on the tile, then collided into the fish tank. It went over, twenty gallons of water, gravel and fish splashing everywhere. Hemmer slipped. Claudia clutched him from the back, kicked him behind a knee and straddled him the second he buckled to the floor. She put a knee on his back. She could smell him and she could smell herself—fear, fish, adrenaline. In a few minutes she would collapse in on herself, as overcome as the platys gasping for air on the floor. With luck, she’d have him in handcuffs before that happened. Before Hemmer bucked her off.

  But he didn’t struggle. Maybe he was too played out. Claudia didn’t care. She managed to get them both to their feet, one of his arms twisted behind him and locked tightly to her chest, one of her arms around his neck. She shoved him into the wall, pushing his face against it, near to the cabinet where he’d set her purse. Her handcuffs were inside, within easy reach, and she felt the bloom of confidence returning. In another minute, it would be over.

  Hemmer’s breath came in ragged bursts. “The gun . . . wasn’t even loaded. How about . . . that? I bet you—”

  Whatever he intended to say was lost in a blur of motion that Claudia didn’t register until it was too late. From nowhere Bonolo hurtled at them both, roaring and bringing them all down. Something flashed in the lamp light a second before Claudia’s head hit the floor. Pain shot through her instantly, and when she looked up she saw blood on the white tile, already puddling to pink in spilled aquarium water At first she thought she’d cracked her head open or cut herself on a shard of glass. There wasn’t time to think about that, though; someone was screaming. She wobbled to her knees and got her bearings. It was then that she saw the knife stuck in Hemmer’s throat.

  Chapter 3

  The steamy night shrouded Steven Hemmer’s front yard in mist, giving it the gloom of a gothic movie. Claudia wondered what he would’ve had to say about that. A lot, probably. It wasn’t a detail he would’ve missed. She shuddered and pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. It wouldn’t stop the chill, though, and it wouldn’t stop the scent of blood settled in her hair, her clothes—in every pore of her skin.

  “We’ll get you out of here in another minute, Hershey. You don’t look so good.”

  She glanced up from the patio chair someone had found for her. Blue light from a squad car flickered across the police chief’s face. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, but the gruff posture couldn’t conceal the concern in his voice. It wasn’t something Claudia heard often, at least not directly, and never intentionally from Mac Suggs. She felt a thin layer of numbness slip away.

  “I wish you’d gone with the paramedics, Hershey. One of the fellas told me your blood pressure was on the wrong side of the border.” He grunted. “You’d think all those knocks on your head woulda put some common sense in that brain of yours.”

  This was more like it. Claudia shook a cigarette from the pack in her handbag. “Medical information’s supposed to be private.”

  “You want private, you should be livin’ somewhere else.”

  Old territory for them, and Claudia smiled tiredly. She lit her cigarette and blew a plume of smoke sideways.

  “Those things are gonna kill you one day,” Suggs said. He’d lost some weight in the last month and gave a hitch to his pants as he gazed across the yard. “They took Hemmer’s body out a little while ago.”

  “Yeah. I saw.”

  “First time someone died in your arms like that?”

  She nodded. It wasn’t an image she would ever block. She took her glasses off and examined them. They were badly smudged and one stem was bent. It had all happened so fast. First the scuffle. Then Bonolo. Then Hemmer grappling with the knife, gurgling and pulling it out. She couldn’t stop the bleeding. She’d put pressure on it with her hand, turned him away from gravity, held him. But she couldn’t stop the bleeding, not that, and then not the convulsive tremors from shock. She could not stop anything.

  Claudia took a drag of her cigarette, then stubbed it out. “Hemmer said his daughter’s name to me, just before he went. He said something else, too—sounded like, I don’t know—like ‘dicksharee’ or ‘dishree.’” She frowned, trying to capture the words. “He could hardly get any air. He was choking, and it was all so faint. He . . . I tried, but then he was just gone.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Hershey.”

  “The gun wasn’t even loaded.”

  “Yeah. We’ve verified that.”

  “He never meant to hurt anyone. He died for no reason.”

  Suggs sighed. “He had a reason, Hershey. It just wasn’t one worth dyin’ for. Sometimes—”

  “Bonolo came out of
nowhere. I already had Hemmer subdued. I had him subdued. It was almost over. We all could’ve walked away without a scratch.”

  “Bonolo says he didn’t see it like that. He thought you were in trouble. He was trying to help.”

  “Right. A guy carries a knife wrapped around his ankle just to be helpful.”

  “Lots of guys around here carry knives, Hershey. Come on, you know that. Bonolo says he carries it for protection because he’s on the road alone at night a lot. He says—”

  “I know what he says.” Claudia stood suddenly. She threw off the blanket and began to pace. “It was a matter of good luck and good timing. He happened to have the knife— that’s the luck part. Then the timing. Hemmer and I go outside. Bonolo and Gloria Addison scoot around so she can get to the knife. It’s awkward, but she manages to work it free and cut through his tape. We come back in. They pretend nothing’s changed.”

  “It was an amateur job of taping.”

  She looked at Suggs. “Yeah. Just another bit of good luck.”

  “Call it what you want.” He cleared his throat. “Bonolo’s a little pissed that you knocked him on his ass. What he—”

  “He was trying to get his knife back. Given what he’d just done with it, I didn’t think it was a good idea. All I did was give him a little shove back.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, anyway, I don’t think he’s going to make noise about it, but—”

  “Good, because I’m not about to apologize to that son of a bitchin’ gorilla.”

  “It’s late. We don’t have to talk about it now.”

  “What does that mean? Wait—you already have? On my behalf? You did, didn’t you.” Claudia shook her head and looked away.

  “You need to go home, Hershey. You’re gettin’ all agitated. If you want I’ll have one of the guys run you back. Nothin’ else to be done here now.” He waited into her silence, then said, “You, uh, you got someone to stay with you? Just in case one of those bangs on the head concusses, or whatever.”