I struggled to my feet and made my way through the darkened apartment, kicking something light that bounded into the air. A paper wasps nest? Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of angry buzzing and I pulled the jacket lower over my brow as I charged for the door.
Somehow, I managed to hold onto the carrier as I slammed the door shut without locking it. A couple of the wasps had gotten out with me — I could hear them — and I nearly fell down the steps in my haste to get the hell out of the stairwell.
The cold air hit me like a slap as I ran into the center of the drive, unsure of what my next step should be. I had a decision to make and I wasn’t sure what I should do.
I set Herschel’s carrier on the ground. He gave a plaintive cry as I pulled the cell phone from my jeans pocket, staring at it from the glow of the light above the garage door.
My first inclination was to call the police and report a break-in, but what additional hot water would I be in with Brenda if I did? Their house was dark. Calling Richard’s landline meant waking up the whole house. Why should I care? Da-Marr’s little stunt could be viewed as attempted murder. Being stung by one of those wasps could have killed me, especially since I wasn’t carrying the epi pen as Richard had instructed me to do. Who the hell thinks they need to be protected from angry wasps in their own apartment?
But I thought better of calling that number. It would upset Brenda. If Richard ever got calls in the middle of the night from the hospital about one of his patients, they always called his cell phone. Not that he was doing direct patient care anymore, but maybe out of habit he still kept the phone by his bedside. I took the risk and hit speed dial.
It rang four times — about to go to voice mail when a sleepy voice said, “Hello?”
“My cat and I are standing in your driveway.”
“My what?” he asked, sleepily.
“Your driveway. Someone broke into my apartment and left a nest of angry wasps. I’m asking your permission to call the police.” I waited, letting my last two sentences sink in.
“Is this some kind of a sick joke?”
“It’s me, Jeff. Someone broke into my apartment,” I repeated. “Can I call the cops and report it?”
“Why wouldn’t you — ?” He stopped, no longer sounding half-asleep. “I’ll be right there.”
I pocketed my phone and watched as a trail of lights came on over at the big house. A minute later, Richard opened the back door and shuffled through it in his bathrobe and slippers. I didn’t cross the distance to meet him.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked, more than a little annoyed.
“You tell me. Or rather, have Da-Marr tell me. And then he can tell it to the cops.”
“Are you sure the place is full of wasps?”
“I bent down and took off my shoe and shoved it at him. Half a wasp body still protruded from the edge of my sole.
Richard swallowed. “How do you know Da-Marr did it?”
“How many people know I’m allergic to bees — and possibly wasps? Let me guess,” I said and calmly counted them off on my hand, amazed that I hadn’t already exploded in anger. “You, Brenda, Maggie — and I’m assuming Brenda told Evelyn, and who would have been sitting right next to her? Da-Marr.”
Richard looked back down at my shoe still in his hand. “Shit.”
“What are you going to do about it?” I demanded.
He looked up at me. “Me?”
I grabbed my shoe, slipping it back on my foot. “It’s your property.”
He sighed, looking panicked. “I can’t call the cops. Brenda would — ”
“Do you think she’d condone this?”
“Of course not, but — ”
“What’s going on?”
We both turned to see Brenda standing at the door, backlit by the pantry lights.
“Go back to bed,” Richard called.
“How can I?” she answered, sounding worried.
I reached for the cat carrier and turned for the garage.
“Where are you going?” Richard demanded.
“Where else? Maggie’s. If she’ll have me. Christ knows I’ve got nowhere else I can go,” I said, and opened the side door to the garage, slamming it.
I stowed the carrier on the backseat of my car, got in, and pressed the garage door button. The door went up and I started the engine, pulling out.
Richard was standing on the steps by the time I hit the button and the garage door started on its way back down. I turned on my headlights and hit the gas, my tires spinning.
I didn’t look back. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see either of them ever again.
“Don’t you dare call the police,” Brenda grated. She held the cup of steaming cocoa up to her lips but didn’t take a sip.
“This is more than a prank, Brenda. Being stung could literally kill Jeff,” Richard said. Screw cocoa, he took a sip of Scotch, neat.
Brenda set her cup back on the kitchen table, her eyes welling with tears. “I can’t believe it. I won’t.”
“But you said yourself — ”
She looked up, glaring at him. “We are not going to accuse a guest of such a heinous thing.”
“Okay, if you don’t want to believe in attempted murder, how about malicious mischief? Every light bulb in the place is missing — it looks like they were all smashed. And the place is full of wasps.” He held out his hand to show the swelling welt where he’d been stung. “It was just dumb luck that Jeff isn’t dead from anaphylactic shock.”
Brenda kept shaking her head. “No. Da-Marr may be troubled, but he’s not malicious. Evie says — ”
“That he can be rehabilitated? You saw what he did to Jeff’s garden. You saw how upset Evelyn was this evening. Admit it, both she and you are afraid of what this kid might be capable of doing.”
That she didn’t protest said a lot.
“Evelyn is — we’re — a positive influence on Da-Marr. I refuse to believe that he could do something this terrible. I refuse to believe that he is responsible.”
Richard chose his words carefully. “I understand that you want to give Da-Marr the benefit of the doubt, but admit it; is this someone you want around our baby?”
Brenda turned away. “I trust Evie’s judgment.”
And suddenly you don’t trust mine or Jeff’s? he dearly wanted to ask.
“Richard, this boy has had a hard life. His family has more or less given up on him. All of them — except for Evie. She’s worked miracles with kids. She’s sure she’s turned him around. She’s sure — ”
“Why does she care so much? Why this boy?” Richard shook his head. “And that’s the thing; he’s not a boy. He’s a man. He’s twenty years old.”
“But he deserves a second chance. Evie doesn’t champion losers. In all the years she’s been a teacher and a school administrator, she’s never had a failure. She’s that good.”
Or was she willing to dismiss whatever failures she’d had?
Richard drained his glass, already wanting to pour another. But he wouldn’t because he could see the hurt in her eyes. More than once he’d had too much to drink. His mother had been a drunk. Brenda worried that he might succumb to that obsession. He couldn’t bear to see that look of disappointment in her eyes.
“So what do we do next?” he asked.
“Give Da-Marr the benefit of the doubt,” she said vehemently
“And the wasps up in Jeff’s apartment?”
“Call an exterminator. And we’ll get our cleaning service to see if they can send someone by in the morning.”
“And after that?” he asked.
She let out a shuddering breath. “Pray.”
Pray? They might as well make a wish on a falling star.
“And how do we keep this from happening again?”
“It won’t.”
“How do you know it won’t?”
“I will make sure it doesn’t,” she said, and then winced.
“What’s wrong?” Richard ask
ed.
Brenda shook her head. “The baby kicked.” She reached for his hand and placed it on her abdomen. The tiny foot once again jutted against its fleshy prison.
“It won’t be long now,” Richard said. Judging by the position of the foot, the baby was starting to turn. He looked up at her, but neither of them could muster a smile. They’d so looked forward to this birth and now discord and enmity supplanted their joy.
They weren’t going to talk about it anymore that night. Brenda got up and poured her nearly full cup of cocoa down the sink, and Richard followed, placing his glass there, too, then they headed down the hall to the stairs.
No lights shone under the guest room doors. The house was as quiet as a tomb.
They climbed into bed and Richard molded his body against Brenda’s, but he could feel the tension emanating from her.
It was a long, long time before either of them fell back to sleep.
Chapter 13
Since his arrival, Da-Marr seemed to have grown in stature. He was not only taller, but beefier, and an angry sneer perpetually covered his brooding, thug-like countenance.
The three of us stood at the stern of Richard’s boat, which seemed to have grown as well. The open deck was nearly the size of a tennis court.
“You still haven’t recognized me,” I accused. It had taken every ounce of courage I possessed to challenge him.
Da-Marr’s gaze shifted from my face to the deck, his shoulders hunching like a prize bull getting ready to charge.
I forced myself to continue. “I used to have a brown leather bomber jacket. Man, I loved that coat. I had it almost twenty years. They cut it off me in the Emergency Room.”
Da-Marr’s eyes remained locked on the deck.
“Did Lester’s balls ever recover?” I asked.
No reaction. I’d kicked his cohort hard where it counted, but that had only increased Da-Marr’s killing rage.
“Are you still friends with Reggie?”
That got Da-Marr’s attention, and he looked up sharply. He’d wielded that vintage baseball bat, using it to smash my skull. The bat had come down, over and over again.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Richard asked, sounding both confused and concerned.
“Da-Marr’s got himself a collector’s item. A Reggie Jackson special — one quality baseball bat. It had to be at least thirty years old, too. I saw the signature burned into it just before it plowed into my skull.”
Richard’s mouth dropped open in horror.
Da-Marr still said nothing.
“I figure you owe me a computer, a camera, binoculars, a stereo, TV, microwave, and a gun. Want me to continue with the list of what you cleaned out of my apartment?”
Da-Marr still said nothing.
“But most of all, you took my fucking life!”
“What are you saying, Jeff?” Richard demanded.
“Big Brother, meet the man who caved in my skull.”
Richard shook his head in denial. “You don’t remember what happened. How could you — ?”
“You’re right. At first, I didn’t remember. It started coming back to me in dreams. Little snippets at a time. How many nights did I wake up in a cold sweat seeing one face. One black face, starkly lit by a sodium vapor light. Oh yeah, brother, I remember the face. I remember the hands that wielded the bat that hit me. I remember every fucking detail.”
Richard looked from me to Da-Marr, his face a study in growing terror.
“Say something,” he told Da-Marr. The kid kept looking at the deck.
“A man’s gotta survive,” Da-Marr said at last. “You don’t know what it’s like out on the streets.”
“Are you the one who mugged Jeff and left him for dead?” Richard demanded.
“There were a lot of guys in bomber jackets. A lot of apartments I emptied.”
“What happened to Lester?” I asked again.
“Knifed in an alley — tried to rip off his crack supplier.”
“At least one of you got what you deserved.”
“And now you’re going to get what you deserve.” He reached into the pocket of his long black duster and pulled out a semi-automatic. I recognized the gun. It had once belonged to me.
“Da-Marr! You can’t!” Richard pleaded, but his words held no sway.
Da-Marr aimed the gun at my chest, and pulled the trigger.
A loud bang on the glass next to my left ear woke me with a start. It was still dark out, but the porch lamp lit the upper half of the driveway. I turned, feeling half-frozen and terminally stiff.
Maggie’s face peered at me, her expression a mix of annoyance and worry. I rolled down the window.
“What in God’s name are you doing here at six-twelve in the morning?”
“Waiting for you to get up.”
It looked like she was barely awake. Her hair was tangled. She wore her blue quilted robe and a pair of moccasin slippers, and held the newspaper in her hand. She looked through the back passenger window. “Is Herschel in there?”
“Yeah. I need a favor.”
“You know he doesn’t get along with Holly.”
“Yeah, but I thought since your mother-in-law is in rehab he might be able to stay in her apartment for a few days.”
“Lily doesn’t have a litter box.”
“I bought one on the way over. The poor cat’s been stuffed in that carrier for five hours. By now he might need to use it.”
“Five hours?” she cried in disbelief. “Let’s get him out of there.” She went inside ahead of me. I hauled Herschel and his supplies out of the car and we waited for Maggie to get the key to the apartment. She unlocked the door, then grabbed the bulky bag filled with a ten pound sack of litter, food, and cat treats in one hand, hauling in the new litter box with the other.
Maggie flipped the light switch and crossed the threshold ahead me. Her apartment above was decorated in what she liked to call eclectic contemporary — with refurbished yard sale finds mixed with contemporary furniture and a smattering of antiques. In contrast, entering Lily’s home was like to stepping back into the 1970s. The shabby green furniture was badly faded, and the air hung stale, no doubt from the place having been unoccupied for nearly two weeks.
“You’d better put the litter box in the bathroom,” Maggie advised.
I shucked my jacket, tossed it on the couch, and grabbed the bag of supplies and the box. Two minutes later, I let Herschel out of the carrier. He made a beeline for the box and we turned away to give him his privacy.
Maggie flipped on the kitchen light switch, found a couple of bowls, and filled one with water, setting it down on the floor. “When was the last time he ate?”
“Before I went to work last night.”
She took one of the cans of cat food and dumped half into the other bowl, setting it down next to the water.
“So, do you want to come upstairs for a cup of coffee and tell me what the hell is going on?”
“It’s a long story, and you’re going to have to get ready for work.”
“Give me the abridged edition,” she said, and started back for the front door. I left the lights on for the cat and followed.
Holly met us at the door to Maggie’s apartment. She seemed to know something was wrong about the timing of my visit, and whined quietly as she followed us into the kitchen. The coffee was indeed ready, and Maggie poured me a cup, dumping just the right amount of milk into it and handing me a spoon before we sat down at the table.
“Okay, I’m listening,” she said, and took a big gulp of coffee, as though to fortify herself.
I did give her the short version.
She listened, without interruption. “What are you going to do now?” she asked, and I could tell from her tone that although I was welcomed back into her life, she didn’t expect me to move in with her. Fair enough. I didn’t want that either. Crummy as it often was, I wanted my old life back. The life before Evelyn and Da-Marr entered it, that is.
“I’m
not letting that punk drive me from my home, but I can’t risk Herschel getting hurt and being terrorized. Can he stay at Lily’s — just until Da-Marr is out of our lives?”
“And when do you think that will be?”
“It had better be damn soon, but even Brenda doesn’t have a clue when Evelyn intends to leave.”
“So she said.”
“I’m sure Richard will be on the phone calling an exterminator and his cleaning service the minute either of them opens this morning. He’ll make it right, at least in that respect.”
“He really doesn’t have proof Da-Marr did it, and what’s he supposed to do, kick out Brenda’s houseguests a day or so before the baby arrives? You know that isn’t going to happen.”
I looked away.
“Oh, come on, Jeff. You’ve been married. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” I grudgingly admitted, “I do.”
She reached over and touched my hand, gave me a wan smile, and then got up to scrounge for something to eat. With her harried life these past couple of weeks, I knew her cupboards had even less in them than mine. In desperation, she zapped a couple of slices of the pizza from two nights before.
I sipped coffee and attempted to read the paper while Maggie got ready for work. What I really wanted to do was try to catch another hour or two of sleep.
Maggie donned her coat and grabbed the canvas bag she hauled around with her current novel and work shoes. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” She handed me a key on a ring. “It’s the extra one for Lily’s apartment. I’m going to stop and visit her on the way home from work. She likes me to stick around and watch TV with her for a while every night, so I probably won’t be home until at least seven.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be here or not. I don’t have to work, but I’m expecting a call from Sam.”
Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) Page 11
