Baby Brother Blues (Sammy Dick, PI Series: Book 1)

by Trudi Baldwin

  He strode back down the hallway and into the kitchen, flung open drawers, ripping them off their runners. Opened the pantry. Withdrew a metal stepladder that opened like a V. Scanned the ceiling with the flashlight until he found the square for the attic door in the hall. He slid open the stepladder, stepped up the rungs and popped open the attic cover. Hoisted himself gingerly into the heat. He shone his flashlight around to orient himself in the deeper darkness. Zero moonlight entered here. In the pitch black, the tiny beam of the flashlight caught the writing on several of the cardboard boxes. The intruder leaned in closer. His flashlight illuminated the word Xmas.

  He ripped open this box and the surrounding Xmas boxes, tossing the ornaments in broken disarray. When he ripped open a smaller box, carefully wrapped within he uncovered a porcelain nativity scene, a particular favorite of the absent wife. Each figurine lovingly wrapped in tissue and placed in its own form-fitting hollow the past holiday season. The intruder shattered each piece one by one on the attic floor. The last figurine was a cow resting with its hooves tucked under itself. He grasped the body of the cow, shuffled along on his knees to the attic door edge and rapped the neck with one quick tap. The head fell off, tumbling down into the hallway below, shattering upon impact. The intruder lay the cow’s body on attic floor. Removed the plastic bag of white powder from his pocket and flung some of the white powder on the floor behind him, leaving only a small amount in the plastic sack. Then he folded the sack up and inserted it into the hollow cavity of what remained of the cow’s body and set the decapitated form back into an upturned box.

  He suspended his red-shoed feet back through the opening. Dangled there momentarily until he found purchase on the ladder. Shinnied down the rungs, leaving the attic opening ajar. He checked the digital read-out on his watch and strode back to the master bedroom where he sat on the window seat and unlaced the trendy, red basketball shoes. He stuffed them into the backpack and withdrew some older basketball shoes. Put them on, not bothering to lace them, but carefully inserting the laces into the shoe top. He stepped in some of the blood that had drooled from the top of the bed to the floor. Then he ran into the office where he systematically ransacked file after file, scattering the hard work and organization of years on the floor.

  Upon exiting the office, he climbed up the ladder, hoisted himself again into the attic. Walked around among the boxes. Dragged some into a new arrangement and threw out a fresh set of ornaments with a crash. He exited the attic and returned to the bedroom. Removed those shoes and traded them in for a third pair. These were worn leather, slip-on boots and much too tight. He waddled in them around the bedroom, ripping open drawers and closet doors and smearing blood. At the bed stand, he scrounged until he found the corpse’s wallet stuffed with what looked like a sizeable amount of cash. Grabbed the credit cards. Stuffed the cash in the backpack and tossed the wallet. Then pawed through the remaining bedroom drawers with his latex-gloved hands.

  Still wearing the tight shoes, he packed everything into his backpack and slipped out the window, rounded the corner of the house and scrunched awkwardly through the gravel to set the backpack in the back of the van. Changed his shoes to the older tennis shoes and glided back around the house onto the veranda where he lifted his leg as if to enter the window, but he stopped short, whirled around and exited back the way he’d come.

  At 4:46:10 A.M., the van backed out of the driveway, lights off and returned the way it had come. The intruder had missed his planned end time of 4:45 by one minute and ten seconds. In the dark of the van, he smiled in appreciation of his own prowess. Just before Carefree Highway he flipped on the lights and made a right-hand turn. At I17, he merged north.

  Careful to keep his eyes on the road and maintain the speed limit, he lit a cigarette, sucking in the acrid taste. Held the smoke in his lungs for a pleasurable beat, exhaled through a clenched smile into the air. The sense of exhilaration and power coursed through his veins stronger than any high he’d ever achieved through his many business dealings or the dark sex and drugs in which he sometimes indulged.

  Grinning slyly, he settled deeper into the seat and guided the black-windowed van up the highway’s quick rise toward the cooler climes of Flagstaff, where he’d ditch the van, switch to his own vehicle and return to Phoenix to search out the location of his second prey.

  Chapter 17

  Kathy’s body felt permanently bent into a sitting position. She’d been pointing the Saturn along the Beeline Highway for over seventy miles. She was dead tired but each time she stepped out of the car to try and unbend her body the heat was so oppressive, she scurried back in and continued her Beeline drive. As she’d wended her way through the Tonto National Forest, which did not match any definition Kathy had of a forest since it was dotted with dry saguaros and endless stretches of land with no leafy trees whatsoever, Kathy had begun to seriously question the intelligence of this headlong flight to Phoenix.

  What exactly was she going to do there? She knew no one. She had no home, no job, no computer, no nothing, and as far as she knew, she might be wanted by the law. Kathy had turned on the TV in a cheap little hotel where she’d finally broken down and paid cash for a night’s stay in Memphis, but there was no mention of the explosion in Newark, Delaware. It was too far away and old news by that time.

  Kathy had been crying off and on during the long drive. Crying for the loss of Peepers. Crying at the horror of how she’d found his precious little body all mutilated. Kathy had cried, too, for the loss of her job that she had loved and her life that she thought had finally stabilized. Kathy also found herself crying for the loss of her parents. She wanted a family and friends and stability. She felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her whole life.

  With these painful thoughts firmly stuck in her head, Kathy merged onto the 202 and piloted the Saturn for the final leg of the journey. Arizona seemed like a desolate place to Kathy. Where were the trees? Where was the humidity? The land was a wasteland of blazing heat. Why would anyone want to live here? Just then Tempe Lake appeared to Kathy’s left, shimmering in the midmorning sun. Perhaps things would get better, Kathy thought. She followed along the edge of the lake for a while, then saw another freeway heading north. Tired and thirsty, Kathy guided the Saturn onto it. Highway 51.

  I’m driving aimlessly now, Kathy thought, so she decided to veer off at an exit that said Indian School Road and get her bearings. I really am out in the Wild Wild West now, where they name the streets things like Indian School. At 32nd Street, Kathy pulled into a convenience store called QT which apparently stood for Quick Trip. Kathy filled up her Saturn with gas and then darted toward the store to buy a map, since she had no GPS device. The pavement radiated heat as she crossed the uncovered asphalt to enter the store. While she was paying for her map, Kathy was struck by a comforting thought. “Where’s the nearest bookstore?” she asked the QT attendant.

  He didn’t look like much of a reader, but he was quick to respond, “24th Street and Camelback, just down the way.”

  Kathy felt an odd sense of relief flood through her. If there was a bookstore in the Wild Wild West, she might survive. The attendant pointed out the directions for her on her opened map. Kathy thanked him profusely, then plunged back outside into the torturous heat. As she’d entered the city, the Phoenix radio station reported the temperature to be 101 degrees, as if that were an everyday occurrence in the Valley of the Sun. Maybe it was. Who knew? Who would live here? Kathy thought once again as she gingerly tried to pull open her sizzling car door handle, now nearly untouchable in the relentless heat.

  When Kathy saw the big, tall, beautiful bookstore in the Biltmore Shopping Center she almost began to cry all over again. It was such a relief to see the welcoming, familiar sight in this desert of a city where she knew no one. Kathy pulled into an available parking space, shoved her new map into the canvas bag that had survived so much and trudged across the blacktop making her way toward the bookstore like an oasis calling to her. When she swung
open the huge, lovely, polished wood doors, the coolness inside enveloped her. She looked upward. This was a two-story bookstore, with thousands of books and even a large music section. The Saturn’s weak air conditioning never really cooled, so for the first time since entering the state of Arizona, Kathy’s skin temperature dropped to an acceptable level. She wound her way up the wooden staircase to the second floor. A Starbucks even! Would wonders never cease? Kathy plopped herself down in a chair and drew out her money. Time for a grande with loads of ice and caffeine.

  After Kathy sipped up about a third of her drink, the icy caffeine began to flow through her veins, helping her to focus. She realized she had no real plan. She’d left Delaware, driven by her outrage at St. Pierre or whoever he was. Well, and my entire workplace blew up, Kathy thought, allowing herself some understanding and compassion. But now it was time for a true plan. Someone had left the day’s Arizona Republic newspaper on the table next to her. Kathy reached for it and opened to the Rooms for Rent section. After looking through a few ads, Kathy realized it was unlikely anyone would rent her a room if she didn’t have a job. So, Kathy flipped through to the job openings section. She would probably have to get a job if she was going to stay here long enough to find St. Pierre and uncover whatever he was up to. There were three real estate title-related jobs listed in the Republic. Kathy circled those. One even needed someone experienced in large commercial and international title work. Kathy decided to call that one first. She picked up her cell and started to punch in the numbers. Then she set her cell phone back down. I don’t even have a resume! Or, for that matter, a computer and a place to live, Kathy thought in dismay. How am I going to get a job? More importantly, how am I going to expose St. Pierre without a base to work from?

  By this time, though, the caffeine Kathy had sucked in was beginning to really buzz through her whole body. No job, no home, no computer, no problem, Kathy thought. I’ll pay someone to create a resume. She lifted the Classifieds section from the paper and folded it beside the map into her handbag. She waited in line briefly until a salesperson was free, then asked where she might get a resume made for her that was close by. The saleswoman looked skeptical, but said she thought there was a place that would do it across the street to the west. She couldn’t remember the name of the place, though. With those vague instructions, Kathy shoved open the front doors of the bookstore and plunged back out into the punishing heat. For once, Kathy barely noticed. She was on a mission.

  In Phoenix, apparently, they make open-air malls. Kathy observed this with incredulity as she walked outside between stores. Kathy made her way through red flowerbeds vibrant with geraniums. The summer heat almost scalded the air it was so hot. She passed by Saks Fifth Avenue and Cartier heading west to 24th Street in the direction she’d been sent.

  At 24th Street she walked the short distance to the traffic light and crossed over to the high-rise business building. She entered the doors and found the list of businesses. Absolutely nothing looked like a place that would write a resume for her. One name jumped out at her though: DICK INVESTIGATIONS. Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone. Maybe this business could help her find St. Pierre and write her resume at the same time. With these unrealistic hopes buzzing in her caffeine-laden brain, Kathy stepped in the elevator and pressed the number seven.

  When the elevator door opened, Kathy walked down the hall to the right. All of the businesses had full-length glass entry doors. The third one down displayed the sign she was searching for. DICK INVESTIGATIONS: For Your Most Sensitive Business & Personal Investigations.

  Kathy peeked through the glass. Inside she could see a small but upscale office, befitting the area. Behind the single desk sat a young man about her age dressed all in black with ivory skin and black hair. He wore a silver, Gothic-looking chain around his neck. Kathy couldn’t see if anything was attached to the chain as the young man was hunched over a computer working intently. Even though he was dressed all in black, he didn’t look very scary, so Kathy knocked lightly on the wood frame that surrounded the glass door.

  He seemed not to hear her at first, because he kept on typing. Kathy figured this was a business with open access, so she turned the knob and walked in. The young man continued to type. Maybe he actually couldn’t hear. Kathy cleared her throat.

  Finally, with great reluctance, he dragged his eyes up off his work and focused on her. He didn’t say anything. He just raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Yes?”

  “Is this a place of business?” Kathy asked tentatively. If it wasn’t, why was it situated here?

  “Um, yes,” the young man said.

  Kathy waited for him to elaborate or at least invite her to sit down, but he just closed his lips and looked at her as if she were in the way of his work.

  Kathy gave in first. “What kind of business do you conduct here?”

  “The sign is on the door,” the young man said. Kathy was beginning to guess that he was a man of few words. And those few words were curt. He didn’t seem very interested in drawing in new business either. In fact, his behavior was turning it away.

  Kathy was about ready to give up and keep searching for someone else who might help her with her resume, but the air conditioning in this office felt so refreshing and she was getting tired of wandering around in the oppressive heat. She decided to try a different tack. At the very least, that would give her a few more minutes to bask in the air conditioning. “Do you have an extra computer here?”

  The word computer seemed to arouse his interest finally. He hesitated only briefly, then said, “I just packed up my personal laptop. It’s an Apple MacBook Pro with a 17-inch TFT, LCD display. Would you like to see it?”

  No, I’d like to use it, Kathy thought to herself, but let’s see if we can get to that in a little while. It amused Kathy that men were so quick to boast about the length in inches of anything they owned. Kathy responded, “Sure, I’d love to see your 17-inch monitor with LCD display. I’ve never even met anyone who could afford such a powerful laptop. What all can it do?”

  “Here, sit here,” the young man pointed with enthusiasm, rolling a chair from across the small office and placing it on the desk beside his work space. “I’ll show you.” He opened his black canvas bag and pulled out one of the biggest, shiniest laptops Kathy had ever seen. He opened it lovingly as if incense and myrrh were encased inside and folded back the huge screen. Kathy had to admit that it was an awesome-looking computer.

  Kathy noticed now that the silver chain around the young man’s neck supported a Christian cross. He had three tattoos surrounding his bicep in some kind of Asian script.

  “What do your tats say?” Kathy asked, hoping to keep a conversation rolling.

  “Which ones?”

  Yikes, who knew where the rest were? “The ones around your arm.”

  He looked down distractedly and lifted his sleeve. Then he looked her in the eyes and smiled shyly, pointing to each tattoo, shifting down his bicep as he spoke. “Peace. Harmony. Electronics.”

  He blushed a little as he said this and then, surprisingly, Kathy felt herself blushing too, the blood bursting up along her cheeks. She began to giggle. “So Mr. Peace, Harmony and Electronics, what’s your real name?”

  He quickly looked down at the MacBook, now spread open between them where his fingers were effortlessly skimming across the various buttons and accessories, plugging things in and turning everything on. “My name is George, Georgie Dick,” then he proceeded to blush to the roots of his very black hair, “but my friends call me Geo.”

  Kathy felt compelled to make some kind of further contact with him, so she extended her hand. He stopped racing his fingers across the keyboard controls and connectors long enough to pull his right hand away and join hers in a handshake. Then he risked raising his eyes to meet hers again.

  Kathy met his gaze head on. “Geo, my name is Kathy, Kathy Keach, and you’re the first person I’ve officially met in Arizona.” Then she smiled with all the warmth a
nd sweetness of her nature, causing a dimple to crease inward on each smooth cheek and her blue eyes to sparkle with innocence.

  Geo seemed to freeze mid-handshake as if electrical shocks were pulsing through his body, then he audibly sucked in a deep breath and returned his gaze to the safety and familiarity of the keyboard. “Why do you need a computer?” he ventured as the screen lit up.

  Kathy thought about giving a roundabout story, but for some reason, she trusted Mr. Peace, Harmony and Electronics, so she responded with only a slight tremor in her voice. “I’m in trouble, and I need help.”

  That stopped Geo completely. He pulled his hands away from the keyboard, put them in his lap and swiveled his high-backed, leather office chair around to face her directly. “I’m sorry that you’re in trouble. How can I help?”

  Kathy’s father used to say, “Your best friends are those who help you in word and in deed.” Geo seemed like he might make a good friend. Kathy realized that she was pretty short on friends—well, more than short; she was at ground zero in that category, and she’d been alone too long. Not only had she been alone for almost an entire week driving across nearly the entire United States on this crazy mission, but she’d been isolating herself ever since her parents died, burying herself in her work and staying isolated in her private life. Maybe it was time for Kathy to trust someone, and Geo just might be that someone.

  Kathy really liked it that Geo hadn’t asked her to elaborate when she’d said she was in trouble; he’d just gone right to the how can I help? part. That made her inclined to trust him even more, but first she needed to get something straight. “Why were you ignoring me so much when I first walked in?”