by K. J. Larsen
She emerged from the bathroom with tears in her eyes.
“What’s going on, Sylvia?”
She pressed her lips together. “Garret is a madman. He’s pissed I cancelled the wedding, and I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“Has he threatened you in any way?”
“I’d kick his ass. But he spilled red wine on my white carpet for God’s sake. The man is a maniac. Who knows what he will do next.”
“I know this is hard. But you’ll get through this.”
“You’re the one who told me not to marry him. This is all your fault. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“I—what?”
Sylvia blew her nose hard, fully activating the fog horn.
“The man was built like a god. Not that Howie was a slouch, mind you.”
“Okay. But for the record, I did not…”
“But Garret was a gorgeous hunk of man meat. I know someday he’ll get over me. He’ll forget me and find someone else.”
Her words threw her in torrential sobs.
“I am sure you are right.” From what I’d seen and heard of Garret Swearingen, forgetting and finding wouldn’t be a problem.
“I mean, my God, Cat, you practically entrapped the poor man.”
I went to my office for another box of tissues and fought the urge to duck out the door. I whispered a few choice words to Billy, trudged back to the kitchen, and waited for Sylvia to pull it together.
She sniffed. “You—you never gave Garrett a chance. You were against him from the start.”
I opened my mouth and no sound came out.
In a blink her eyes were dry and she regarded me with distaste.
“Don’t you dare bill me for your services. I paid Billy in full.”
“I understand.”
“Bill was supposed to handle my case. I’ve a good mind to stop payment on my check.”
If I knew Billy, he dashed to the bank before the ink was dry.
I said, “Good luck with that.”
Sylvia slapped her hands on the table and rose to her feet. She leaned in toward me. I felt her coffee breath on my face.
“What Garrett and I had was special. We understood each other. But a woman like you, Cat DeLuca, will always be alone.”
Whack-job!
My head did a double-take and my eyes flashed on the boobs in my face. I pulled back and wagged a finger left and then right.
“Wasn’t that butterfly on the other boob yesterday?”
Sylvia snorted. “Tattoos don’t fly, Cat. Everybody knows that.”
Chapter Twenty
The first boy I kissed was a vampire. His pasty face gave me a white mustache but I didn’t care. I was a warrior princess and I was wearing the shit out of Mama’s make-up.
It was Halloween night. For two whole hours our south-side gang owned the streets of Bridgeport. When our sacks got heavy, Billy and I hung back and shone a flashlight in our bags.
There was soooo much candy.
That’s when he kissed me. Billy couldn’t help himself. He loved candy.
The wax vampire fangs tickled my mouth. The quick, full-on smooch tasted like cinnamon.
Billy Bonham was delicious.
“You’re going to marry me someday, Cat DeLuca,” he said.
We were eight.
***
Billy told me the women who beat him in strip poker lived across the street from the ghost house.
He was talking about a Halloween night when vampires and ninjas ruled the streets. It was the first year Mama didn’t hover over us from the sidewalk. We took down Bridgeport block after block until our bags bulged, and we were tired and cold.
“My taffeta is scratchy,” Sophie said. “I want to go home.
My switched-at-birth sister was the only glittery-pink princess in our South Chicago gang that year.
I checked my bag. I had enough Jawbreakers and Jolly Ranchers to seriously bond with my dentist and his torture devices.
“I’m ready,” I said.
The others agreed. Billy was the last holdout. He screwed up his face and crossed his arms across his chest.
“I ain’t got no Hot Tamales,” he said.
“We all got red hots,” Rocco said.
Rocco beamed his flashlight on Billy’s face. His lips were red. He sniffed. Cinnamon.
Rocco frowned. “You ate the Hot Tamales. You’re supposed to wait until your Papa checks it.”
“I ain’t afraid of no razor blades.”
Rocco signaled the gang. “We’re going home.”
Billy’s gaze cut to the next house. It was dark and spooky. I was pretty sure Jason Vorhees was waiting for us inside the door.
Billy flapped his vampire cape. He howled. “One more score!”
I shuddered. “Not that house. It’s…creepy.”
“It’s Halloween, you big chickens!”
I called to my brother, “Rocco, wait! We’re supposed to stick together.”
I turned back and the blood-sucking vampire was gone. I tore after him.
“Stop, Billy. I don’t like it here.”
“Cluck cluck cluck!” He tromped up the dark steps and banged on the door.
I caught up on the porch and tugged at his sleeve. “Nobody’s home.”
“There’s a light on in back.”
“If they’re home, they’re outta candy. And I’m pretty sure they eat kids.”
I felt my stomach clench. There was the sound of bushes parting and a zombie emerged from the shadows. He did the creepy death that known zombies do—their outstretched arms devour small children.
We screamed. My legs turned to cement. Not Billy’s. He was all about saving the candy. Boots pounded the pavement and Billy jetted past the others. He didn’t stop until he was home.
Billy didn’t hear the old man laughing. Or his wife scold him from the porch.
The old woman wrapped two fat slices of pumpkin bread and added them to my bag. There were chocolate chips and yellow raisins. And they were still warm.
A big brown bear in a Chicago football jersey waited for me down the block.
“Are you okay, Sis?” Rocco said.
My brother flashed a light and growled at the white face-paint mustache where Billy kissed me. Rocco didn’t leave me alone with Billy Bonham after that.
I saved a slice of pumpkin bread for Billy. I never had the heart to tell him where it came from.
I smiled at the memory and pulled Tino’s car in front of the pumpkin bread house. It had a fresh coat of paint. The old man and old woman would be long gone. But the street hadn’t changed much since we were kids. People move away. Young families replace some of the faces we knew. Other people stay. Like my parents.
Mama’s feet are firmly entrenched in Bridgeport. She plans to die surrounded by her grandchildren. She says if I want her to die happy, I’ll call Father Timothy and reserve the church.
“You should marry that nice FBI agent,” Mama says. “The one with good insurance. I can’t promise your Aunt Francesca will be there. Not after the FBI snubbed your cousin Frankie. But at your age…”
Mama’s eyes drag to the grandfather clock her papa brought over from Italy.
Tick tock.
I studied four houses across the street. Billy’s St. Christopher necklace had to be inside one of them. A. B. C. Or D. And if it wasn’t, the women who conned Billy would know where it was.
I moved the plush leather seat back, kicked off my shoes, and opened the latest Laura Caldwell novel. Izzy McNeil is my kind of woman. She’s Chicago tough. Street smart. And she always gets her man.
A short fifteen minutes passed and a muted blue Nissan Altima pulled up in front of House C. I watched the suit get out of his car, enter the house, and turn on lights. He
was followed ten minutes later by a second suit bearing a key and bearing Chinese Takeout. I whipped out my binoculars. My gaydar screamed before he made it to the door. The men kissed briefly and sat at the table. I took House C off my list, put away my spy eyes, and made a mental note to order Chinese food for dinner.
I opened my surveillance cooler and sliced up an apple. I smelled Inga’s sausages. I missed my partner.
I eliminated House A before I finished my apple. Mom came home in a minivan with three kids under five and four bags of groceries. I couldn’t imagine her having the energy to seduce Billy or ever wanting to see him naked.
That left houses B and D. I flipped a coin and went with B. The morning paper was still on the porch. They either left early, before it was delivered, didn’t come home last night, or hadn’t stepped onto the porch today.
At least I could scratch one possibility off my list. I checked the mirror and wiped a smudge of mascara from under my eye. I wet my lips with Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker.
Crossing the street, my eye caught a window on the side of the house. The screen was off, propped against the building. My heartbeat quickened. I’d found the house. And the window the women pushed Billy out of. I jabbed a hand in my pocket and fingered my lock picks. If no one answered, I had my own keys. I would be going in.
The door was new. Big, expensive, and possibly reinforced with steel. More than enough to keep a guy like Billy from kicking it down to recover his stuff. The lock was a Masterlock. Not impossible to pick but a little tricky.
I climbed the steps and a voice shouted over the whirr of a vacuum cleaner.
“Shut it off, babe. I’m talkin’ on the phone here.”
Cheery.
The vacuum stopped and I rang the bell. No answer. I pounded the door with my fist and rang again. The door opened a crack, revealing half a face. The chain was on.
“We don’t want nothing you’re selling,” the blond said. “So get off my property.”
Charming.
“I’m here for Bill. Remember him? The guy you screwed over.”
“Listen you psycho bitch, I don’t know who you’re talking about, but—”
“I am not here for an argument. I only care about his St. Christopher necklace. You can keep the rest.”
“Leave now,” she said in an eerily calm voice.
She started to slam the door in my face and I blocked it with my foot.
“Look,” I said with as much politeness as I could muster. “Just give me the necklace. I’ll go away, no questions asked. You’ll never hear from me again.”
A big tough-looking ogre sporting a gold tooth came to the door. “You heard the lady. Bounce.”
“Look, I get it. He was drunk and an easy score.” I batted my eyelashes. “All I am asking for is a lame St. Christopher’s medal that has sentimental meaning to the family. You can give me that, can’t you?”
He stared at me like I spoke Klingon. “Yo, little lady, I got no beef with ya’s. It’s like she says. We don’t know what you’s are talkin’ bout.”
I smiled, and breathed. “Okay, well it was worth a shot. My friend was so wasted he had no idea where he was. I’ve been up and down these blocks. I’ve struck out a dozen times. I give up.”
“Just go buy his mom another St. Christopher necklace. She won’t know da difference, ya know?”
The blond stood behind him, eyes focused. “See, now that’s a good idea.”
“What a fabulous idea!” I did the head conk thing with my hand. “Why didn’t I think of that? Okay well, sorry to bother you,” I said doing my best parade wave, as I scooted my butt to Tino’s Buick feeling their eyes on my back. I dropped my head on the steering wheel and breathed a huge sigh as soon as I heard the front door slam.
Oh, I will be back.
Chapter Twenty-one
My pocket vibrated before I could start the engine. It was my brother.
“Yo,” Rocco said. “The results came back on Cristina Lindstrom’s fingerprints.”
“What happened to McTigue?”
He laughed. “She’s full of surprises. I hope you’re at your computer. I’m pushing send now.”
I picked up Rocco’s email on my phone. Then I called Cristina. Halah answered.
“Whatcha doin?” I asked.
“Lunch.”
“Where?”
“Connie’s Restaurant.”
I cranked the engine. “I’m on my way.”
Five minutes later I pulled up a chair beside Halah and snagged a fry.
“Hey,” she whined.
“Your mom and I need to step outside for a minute. When the server comes by, order me a Mediterranean Chicken Salad. And a Pepsi.”
“Okay. But you’re getting your own fries.”
“They won’t taste as good as yours.”
Cristina grabbed her jacket and followed me. “What’s happening? Are you ready to crack the case?”
“I’m ready to crack your head. You lied to me, Cristina Lindstrom.”
She huffed with indignation. “You investigated me? How rude is that?”
“Ten years ago you were arrested for petty theft. You stole your employer’s piggybank.”
“Some people just can’t take a joke.”
“There was three thousand dollars in it.” I blew a sigh. “Eight years ago you did forty days in a Cincinnati jail for pawning a gold cross that was stolen from a church rectory.”
“I found it.”
“In the rectory. You pissed off God.”
“I went to Confession.”
“Seriously? Have you no shame?” I sounded like my mother.
Cristina Lindstrom waved a hand, blowing me off. She was clearly raised by wolves.
“That’s why Tierney left a note in his safe. He knew you were a thief. He figured you’d come around for the cash.”
Her eyes flickered slightly.
“Why didn’t you tell Billy that Tierney was your lover?”
“Do you always blab who you slept with?”
“Depends if I am asking for help.”
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
“You lied to Billy about Marilyn’s diamond.”
The doe eyes widened. “Oops.”
“Oh yeah. I’m onto you, girlfriend. Alan Mitchell was your partner. He stole Marilyn’s diamond earrings from the Palmer House Hilton the night your boyfriend killed him. You were up to your eyeballs in the heist. What I don’t know is how Kyle Tierney fits in.”
She blew off the question.
“Kyle dumped me. He moved on.”
“But you didn’t. You wanted revenge.”
She smiled a slow sardonic grin. “Some like it hot.”
“So if Tierney doesn’t have the diamonds—”
“Kyle’s a liar.”
I had to give her that. “But he’s not lying about this. So where are they?”
“You figure it out. You’re the hotshot detective.”
She did a little pouty thing with her mouth. “You’re still going to help me, right?”
“Wrong.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“No. I have another word for you. Therapy. Get some.”
“So you’re gonna walk away? Tierney gets by with killing Billy.”
“Oh, I’m getting Tierney. Without you. You’re heading home to California tomorrow.”
“I’m not leaving. You’re stuck with me. I don’t care about the diamonds anymore. I’m here to get Tierney. I owe it to Billy.”
“Really?”
“I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“Is your mother even dead?” A thought came to me. “Oh my God! You’re not really dying, are you.”
“We’re all dying,” she snapped and then almost looke
d sheepish. “I know. It was a terrible thing to say. But Billy wasn’t going to take my case. Two other investigators already turned me down. Once Billy thought I was dying, he was all over it.”
“You have no soul.”
“Now that’s plain silly.” She laughed and took my arm. “My lunch is getting cold. And next time don’t drag me outside. I don’t keep secrets from my daughter. I tell her everything.”
“Poor kid,” I said, and held the door for her.
Chapter Twenty-two
The woman is certifiable. But I learned a long time ago you can’t kill people who make you crazy. If you could, I’d be an orphan.
I left Connie’s and drove straight to LA Fitness. Working out makes me feel better than Ding Dongs. And it’s cheaper than therapy. I worked the machines and did laps in the pool until I wasn’t irritated any longer. Cristina was hard to shake. It took twenty extra laps and an ice cream cone at Scoops on my way home.
There was a message on my phone when I returned from the gym. The voice was timid.
“Uh, Cat? This is Brenda Greger. You may not remember me.”
Oh. I remembered.
“I hired you last summer to follow my husband, Steve.”
Toothy boy.
“I thought Steve was cheating on me.”
He was.
“I don’t know why I let him convince me otherwise.”
Cuz you’re a kind fool with jelly for a backbone.
“Steve’s out again tonight. He says he’s working late. I know he’s with her. She wears Amazing Grace perfume.”
That would be the tall blond woman I call Legs.
“I don’t know who else to turn to. You have my number.”
I dialed it. The call went to voice-mail.
“Brenda, this is Cat. Call onstar and have them tell you where Steve’s car is. We finish this tonight.”
***
I parked on Clark behind Steve’s beemer and studied the row of apartments. All were two- and three-story walk-ups. I had a hunch Legs lived in one of them.
