by Gregg Bell
“But he didn’t need a search warrant?”
“To detain you, no.”
“So why didn’t he at least detain me, then?”
“Well.” She uncrossed her arms. “Did you ever consider that perhaps there was no DNA under Rashida’s fingernails?”
“No, actually.”
“Well, consider it.”
“But I could still be arrested?”
“Of course.”
He sat up in the chair. “Aunt Elizabeth, I know you may find this hard to believe, but the reason I’m so concerned about getting arrested is because if that happens, I will no longer have a chance to find Rashida’s killer.”
“Well, that’s all well and good, Dennis, but good intentions are not going to keep you from being arrested. We need information, cold hard facts that exonerate you.”
Denny swallowed. “So what do I do from here?”
Aunt Elizabeth held up a finger. “One. Have no contact whatsoever with the police.” Another finger. “Two. Find out what your friend Orson did after he left The Wild Bull.”
“I can do that.”
“And, Dennis, witnesses, generally speaking, don’t lie. They may have hazy recollections but they have no reason to lie.”
Denny rubbed the back of his neck. “So are you saying you think Orson killed Rashida?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m saying witnesses normally don’t lie. In other words, there’s a reason Orson lied. See if you can find out what it is.”
Denny drew in a long breath.
Aunt Elizabeth stood and Denny followed her cue.
“Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth.”
“Just one more thing.”
He waited.
“You’re still going with Summer. Is that the case?”
“Yes.”
Aunt Elizabeth scowled. “Then don’t be making passes at Gabriela.”
“I wasn’t—”
She held up a palm to silence whatever objection he was about to make. “Dennis, from what I’ve heard, firemen are either heroes or zeroes. Don’t be a zero, Dennis.”
Chapter Fourteen
So at least he wasn’t going to have to learn how to meditate. But he felt like a worm walking out of Aunt Elizabeth’s. Don’t be a zero, Dennis. Okay, maybe he wasn’t feeling exactly like a zero, but he wasn’t feeling like much more than a one. And a one with a guillotine hanging over his neck. He drove around the neighborhood. He hardly had the money to burn the gas, but what the hell, Aunt Elizabeth had scared him sufficiently to make him think he might get arrested any minute. And the Martha Stewart story. He wondered if he’d lied to Detective Washington during his interviews? One answer came stinging back from that question. Yes, he’d lied by not telling Washington what had happened to him the night Rashida was murdered. He’d told him he’d just been out drinking with the guys. And who knew what Brig or Orson told him. Oh well. If he wasn’t going to jail by being the fall guy for Rashida’s murder, he might go for lying.
And Gabriela. Aunt Elizabeth had obviously seen him hitting on her and he shouldn’t have been. Her beauty had just done him in. Temporary insanity. And if Summer ever found out, well, Denny wouldn’t want to be Gabriela or himself. Summer did not do well with jealousy. No, not at all.
He almost felt like he owed her an apology. Maybe he did. Yes, she’d been acting strange lately, but overall, she’d been so supportive through all this mess. Welcoming him. Feeding him. Giving him sex. And yeah, he needed to find out why Orson lied but Orson wouldn’t be around till later in the day anyway, and Denny did feel guilty about flirting with Gabriela. Maybe he should try to make it up to Summer somehow. He drove there.
When he got to her condo, Summer was walking out the door. Looking fine in a short navy coat, her legs lean and mean and looking particularly naked against the winter backdrop.
Denny waved. “Hey, where you headed?”
“I’m going to a buyer’s. A so-called buyer, that is. A buyer I was working with.” She walked past him to her matador-red Lexus.
Okay. She was obviously in no-nonsense business mode. Still, Denny wanted to be with her. He walked after her. He had to walk fast. “Can I come along?”
It was as if she’d just noticed him. “You might not want to.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
She blew the bangs off her forehead as she popped the door locks. “Whatever. Suit yourself.”
Denny climbed in. The Lexus was luxurious—had that new car smell—as was everything Summer owned. Summer was driven about certain things and making a lot of money was one of them. After the dispatch job, she decided to be rich and that was that. “So where we headed?”
“Oak Brook.”
Hmm. That was out of her usual range of real estate roaming. “Kind of not your regular turf.”
“No.”
He looked over. Her face was brittle like stone, anger hard-set in her eyes. He touched her cheek.
“Not now.”
Okay. He bit his lip. The anger was obviously her thing. It, for once, wasn’t about him. They rode along in silence, Denny noticing she was going fifteen over the limit. They passed Oakbrook Center mall. She drove a little further and turned into a residential area. Small-ish homes, the little enclave surprisingly modest for upscale Oak Brook. She pulled up to a house with red siding and snowdrifts hanging from the gutters like frosting on a gingerbread house.
“Wait here.” She got out, slammed the door and marched up the walk.
Denny felt that whoever was in the gingerbread house was in for one hell of a surprise. He heard Summer’s rapping on the storm door even through the Lexus’ shut windows. Be smart, Denny thought, warning the house’s occupant with a thought wave. Don’t open it.
His message didn’t get through. The door opened and Summer yanked the storm door open so she was face to face with an older woman with salt and pepper hair and a startled expression on her face.
Denny buzzed his window.
Summer leaned in at the woman, almost as if she was going to head-butt her. “I showed you how many condos for how many days and you bought from someone else? Do you know how wrong that is? Do you know how much work I did for you? How many comps I analyzed? How much time I spent driving you around showing you listings? And you buy from someone else?!”
The woman took a step back and said something Denny couldn’t make out. She was closing the door but Summer blocked it.
“I ought to knock you silly. You know that?”
Denny rose up in his seat. Summer, don’t!
“You screwed me and nobody screws Summer Adamoski.” She grabbed the woman by the hair.
Denny opened his door.
“Nobody.” Summer banged the woman’s head against the door. “Nobody!” She banged it again.
Thank God, Summer finally released the woman, and Denny eased his door shut. That was insane, Denny was thinking, as Summer, her face beet-red, walked back to the car. Absolutely insane.
* * *
Denny and Summer rode along in silence on the return trip to her condo. He figured she needed space to cool off but even so, the rage she’d exhibited had scared him. Oh, he knew she was a smashmouth kind of woman who wouldn’t let anything stop her from getting what she wanted but slamming the woman’s head into the door?
“That was a little over the top, don’t you think?” he finally said, risking a glance her way.
Summer bristled. “I just had to get it out.”
Denny shrugged. “But what did the woman really do? I mean, she just didn’t buy from you, right?”
“No, Denny.” Summer clenched her hands on the steering wheel. “She screwed me. She lied to me. When a buyer works with a real estate agent there’s an unwritten rule they need to be fair.”
They pulled into her complex’s lot. “But, Summer, isn’t that the same thing, in your mind anyway, as they have to buy from you?”
“No.” She wrenched the car into park and turned to him. “It’s not a
t all. Plans change. A person could lose a job or have a major illness. All kinds of legitimate things can stop a buy from coming off. But when someone tells you they’re in the market and asks you to work with them, and you do work with them, for weeks on end, and then they turn around and buy from someone else without even a word to you, well, that’s just obscene.”
“Obscene?”
They got out and walked to her condo. She opened the door. “Yeah, obscene.” She threw her purse onto the sofa and pointed. “See this furniture, Denny?” She waved her arm across the room. “The oil paintings on the wall? All this stuff costs money. Or how about the Lexus? Think that was free? Think the Lexus Fairy gave it to me?”
“Not free but—”
“But what, Denny? Are we going to be able to buy the things we want, live the way we want, on your what, measly forty-five K salary?”
Denny leaned against the wall. How’d she know how much he made? And what was with all this ‘we’ stuff? She was talking like they were already married. “So you feel you gotta bang people’s heads into doors?”
She took off her coat. “She had it coming.”
Denny wasn’t sure he even wanted to stay. He needed to talk to Orson anyway. He needed to keep moving. He thought of Detective Washington sneering at him at the restaurant. “You don’t worry about what the police might think?”
She laughed. “Those dirtbags. Those guys are even worse than you firemen.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“Whatever, Denny. Don’t get me started about cops. You know they’re a sore spot with me.” She sighed and joined him leaning against the wall.
“Yeah, but the thing is they could put you in jail for what you did. That woman files a complaint, and they could charge you with assault and battery.”
“Not without proof they can’t.”
“And that woman had no proof?”
“No, she didn’t. Anyway, enough of this.” She pushed off the wall and slid off his coat. “So the only way they can get me...” Her voice went soft and sexy. “...is if you turn me in.” She started undoing his belt. “And you wouldn’t do that now, would you?”
Women being sexually aggressive. He was sunk. “Never.” He slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her to him.
* * *
Ah, Denny was thinking as he left Summer’s condo. There was nothing like afternoon sex. But he could feel the pressure creeping back in. Was Detective Washington getting a warrant for his arrest this very moment? A beer would certainly help settle his nerves.
At least there was no brick in his windshield when he got to his car. But as he pulled out his keys he thought maybe somebody’d rigged a bomb to the ignition switch. Yeah, that would be pretty out there, he thought, but it was only a couple of steps beyond a brick in his windshield. Should he check for it? Ah, whatever, if this was his time it was his time—maybe he deserved it to be. He started the car.
His life suddenly felt like it was on auto pilot, like the afternoon sex had triggered his pleasure mode and he found himself driving straight to a liquor store to keep the buzz going. Then a flash of a memory came to him. A fragment from the night Rashida was murdered! The memory was dim, but there it was—he was talking to a cab driver who’d dropped him off at his building, something about not being able or not having to pay him the fare. It was all so faint and nothing more than that but at least it was something!
He couldn’t get drunk now. Now that at least something had come to him, maybe more would follow. Could it be as the psychic had said? He just needed the courage to remember? But he’d remember nothing if he got drunk. Middle of the day. Nowhere to go. Desperate to get drunk. That only meant one destination—the Serenity Club. But that could mean Rufus Tucker again. Denny sighed. If it did it did. He drove there.
Black ice was on the sidewalk in front of the club, and as Denny climbed the stairs, he distracted himself with the thought that he’d throw rock salt on it. Yeah, that would at least give him something to do, cover the social awkwardness if Tucker was there.
He scanned the club when he walked in. He asked some old-timers at a table if they knew where the custodian was, while he checked for Tucker. But no Tucker. Denny’s sponsor, George, was there, though. And he was talking to a cop!
Not a uniformed one but Denny knew the guy was a detective from being in meetings with him. Which meant the guy almost certainly knew Detective Washington. Which meant if George said anything to him regarding Rashida’s murder that this could be a disaster. Denny breathed in deep. The odds of that happening were slim. Even so, he had a twinge of self-recrimination. He never should’ve said anything to George about it. Hell, he never should’ve come here in the first place.
Denny asked again, out of nervous habit, about the custodian. He got a couple of double takes from the old-timers at the table as if they’d already answered him (maybe they had), but they said the custodian wasn’t around. Denny told them about the black ice, and one of the guys knew they kept rock salt in the utility closet. Denny, weirded out about George talking to the cop, went there and grabbed the bucket of rock salt and headed down the stairs.
As he tossed handfuls of the coarse salt onto the sidewalk he felt as if he was tossing his life away. He wanted to help the cops find Rashida’s killer, he did, but it was as if they’d already decided he’d killed her. And as they were known to twist things to their advantage, especially when it came to being in court, he wasn’t helping them take himself down. Especially since he’d lied in what he’d told Detective Washington about being out drinking the night of Rashida’s murder. Well, maybe he hadn’t exactly lied, but yeah, it was a lie of omission in that he hadn’t told him he couldn’t remember anything.
But now maybe he was finally starting to remember. He could see the hazy face of the cab driver again as he dropped him off in front of his building. Yeah, he could see him. Denny looked down at the rock salt bucket. It was empty. Oh, he was so tempted to just set the bucket down and walk away. The pressure was getting to the breaking point and he needed a drink, and the Serenity Club had become potential quicksand for him. He had his coat on. Yeah, he could just walk away. Go get a damn beer.
But he had the bucket. He swallowed hard and climbed back up the stairs. He returned the bucket to the closet. And George seemed to be finishing up with the cop. Yeah, the cop was standing, shaking George’s hand. He was leaving.
Denny avoided the cop’s eyes and walked over, his stomach churning. “Hey, George.”
“Denny.” George smiled. “Forgive me if I don’t get up. Darn stiffness in my back with this cold weather. Please, have a seat.” He pointed at the chair the cop had vacated.
Denny sat. He still felt so uncomfortable but right away George’s voice began its familiar acting as a calming agent. Denny had never been able to figure that out—how just a person’s voice, well, George’s voice, could steady his jangly nerves. “Thanks, George.”
“So any news on your situation?”
“Oh, not really.” He was still leery.
“Have you been going to meetings?”
Denny shrugged. “I’m here.”
“That’s right. That’s right.” George grabbed the coffee pot on the table and gestured toward Denny with it. “A fresh pot. You want a cup?”
It couldn’t hurt. Denny pulled a styrofoam cup from the stack in the middle of the table and George poured. “That’s enough.”
“A meeting’s starting in fifteen minutes if you can stay for it.”
Denny spooned powdered cream into his coffee. “Oh, I don’t know, George.”
“Well, see how you feel.”
“Yeah, okay.”
George was taking him in with a long steady gaze. “You seem heavy-hearted. What’s on your mind?”
Denny stirred the powder into his coffee. Then he thought if he knew anything at all in this world, it was that George was a truly good man. “To tell you the truth, George, I saw you talking to Jim D. when I came in.”
&nbs
p; George nodded. “Ah. I wasn’t talking to him about you if that’s what you mean.”
Ha, Denny thought, Hank Loftis isn’t the only psychic. “Well, to be honest, I was wondering—”
“Denny, whatever you tell me is kept in complete confidence. I would never tell a soul a single word of what you’ve told me. It’ll go to my grave with me.”
Denny knew he was telling the truth and a peace was coming over him. “Thanks, George.”
“Jim D. just asked if I’d hear his fifth step tomorrow, and I told him we’d have to schedule it for another day because I had some back surgery I had to get done.”
Denny frowned. “Back surgery. Are you okay?”
“Oh sure, I’m fine. It’s just the darn arthritis in my back. I’ve been putting this off forever.” He shook his head. “Crazy what they can do nowadays. The surgeon said he’ll use robotic lasers and I should be able to go home the same day.”
“Well, that’s cool.”
A young woman stood between the posters at the front of the room. “A 3rd step meeting is going to be starting,” she announced. “We have 12&12s for anyone who hasn’t brought theirs.”
Denny sipped his coffee and sighed inwardly. The 3rd step. All about turning your will and your life over to God. He wasn’t up for any more spiritual stuff. But it felt so good, so safe, being with George.
“You gonna stay for it, Denny?”
Denny bit the inside of his cheek, but then nodded. “Yeah. I could definitely use a meeting.”
Chapter Fifteen
One thing Denny was glad for was that the cop, the detective, Jim D. had left the Serenity Club. It made Denny nervous to think that a cop, especially a detective, was going to be listening to whatever comment he might make during the meeting. That’s if he commented at all. He saw George had his own copy of the 12&12 so he went up and nabbed a copy for himself.
Step meetings reminded Denny of being back in school. Which had not been his favorite place. Just following along as they went around the room reading paragraph after paragraph until the three or four pages of the step were done. Here we go.
