Bad Medicine

by Caroline Fardig

  He furrows his brow. “Yeah, the chief called me in to help Harrison with it because of my narcotics background. How did you know?”

  “Brad was kind of a friend.”

  “You were friends with that guy?” he asks, seeming unimpressed.

  “He wasn’t that bad.”

  Brody gets out his notebook. “Tell me everything you know.”

  I wink at him. “That could take a while. I’m pretty smart, you know.”

  He cuts his eyes at me. The good detective is obviously not amused.

  “Oh, I see that you have your cop face on. This isn’t going to be fun, is it?”

  He squints at me. “What ‘cop face’?”

  “That face you make when you’re being a big bad cop. You know, the mean face where you don’t show any emotions.”

  His expression doesn’t change. “You are wearing me out. Now, talk.”

  “I’ll talk, but you’re going to have to talk to my boss. He is going to blow a gasket if I take a long lunch and don’t get my work done.”

  “I’ll take care of him. Go.”

  I relent, “Okay, okay. What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me about Brad Wilson. Did he have any unusual habits?”

  “Brad was…a player. For some reason, he had a thing for crazy girls. He said the sex was…” I pause, wondering if Brody is aware of the “crazy chicks equals crazy sex” theory some men share. He doesn’t even blink, so maybe not. I continue, “…um, intense. So, he posed as a witch to meet girls in a Wiccan coven because he thought they were likely to be crazy.”

  “That seems to be a fair assessment.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Watch it, pal. Those are my friends you’re talking about.”

  “Just go on,” he says impatiently.

  “He had pictures of himself and random girls all over his apartment.”

  “You’ve been to his apartment?”

  “Yes, once,” I say, neglecting to mention that it was when Julia, Lee, and I broke into his apartment. However, being the laid-back guy he was, Brad wasn’t mad about it. And he even served us beers. Not wanting to have to explain that one, I continue, “I think he might have been a sex addict or something. So it’s not completely out of character that he’d be caught, um, in the position that he was.”

  Brody pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Does the entire town know about this?”

  I smile. “There are no secrets in Liberty. You’re an outsider. You don’t get it.”

  He exhales sharply, writing furiously in his notebook. “What about drugs? Did Wilson do drugs that you know of?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I haven’t seen him for a while, though, and things could have changed. I mean, come on, he’s the store manager at Best Buy. He’d have to be fairly clean, right?”

  “You’d be surprised. But like you said, it would be unlikely that he had too much of a drug problem if he was able to hold down a good job.”

  “So, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That you need to keep your nosy little ass out of my investigation?” Again with the little ass. I really like him.

  “Nope. I’m thinking about our favorite chiropractor. Tell me, detective—how could Brad have possibly ingested the drugs by himself while handcuffed to the bed?”

  “He could have ingested them before being handcuffed,” he replies matter-of-factly.

  “Someone still had to be there right before he died, though. Think about the timeline. There wasn’t enough time for him to swallow a handful of pills, or whatever he took, alone, then for his flavor of the week to show up and get him bound up before the drugs fried his system. Surely there had to be a little foreplay between him answering the door and ending up naked and cuffed to the bed.”

  Brody shakes his head. “That still doesn’t mean he was forced to take a lethal amount of drugs. What if he’d been using all day and finally took one dose too many?”

  “Fine. So maybe no one forced them on him. But there had to be a person with him who knew he ingested too many drugs, and she did nothing to help him.”

  “Or maybe she got scared once the bad shit started going down, and she ran.”

  “Or maybe it was Lydia,” I retort.

  He glares at me. “Look. You need to stay as far away from this case as possible. And far away from all of my other cases, for that matter, since we’re…”

  “We’re what?”

  “You know.”

  “Friends?”

  He hesitates. “We’re a little more than friends, wouldn’t you say?”

  My little commitment-phobe problem is beginning to kick in. I don’t know if I want a relationship, especially since I’ve barely known the guy for a week. I realize I jumped in the sack with him rather quickly, but some itches you just can’t scratch by yourself, right? I mean, I like him, but I don’t know if I “like him” like him.

  I finally reply with a firm, “Maybe.”

  Grinning at me, he jokes, “You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t like to talk about your feelings. Every girl I’ve ever met can’t shut up about her feelings. You’re like…a guy.”

  I glare at him. “I think we’re done here.”

  “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

  “Ya think?”

  Brody sets his notebook down and takes my hands. “When I stopped you, I didn’t intend to have to take a statement from you or to call you a man. I just wanted to do this.” He leans in and kisses me gently on the lips, melting away all of my angst from our prior conversation.

  I lean into him and put my arms around his neck, pulling my body closer to his. Our kiss turns from sweet to lustful, and he presses me to him with one hand while the other makes its way up my leg. When that hand reaches the hem of my dress, I suddenly remember where we are. I grab his hand before it can get anywhere and push away from him quickly.

  “What?” he asks in confusion.

  “We can’t make out in your squad car on the town square. It’s just not done. The Liberty town square is hallowed ground. It’s like making out in church.”

  Clearly frustrated, he sighs. “Rain check?”

  “Rain check.”

  Brody drives me the half of a block back to work and is true to his word about speaking to Sloane for me about my nearly two hour lunch. I can see the two of them talking through Sloane’s office window. Brody has one hand on his gun and his cop face in place. Sloane looks unnerved. Brody looks hot. This is awesome!

  Alan, having just come out of the break room with a full cup of coffee, takes one look in the window of Sloane’s office and starts screeching, “You guys! You guys! In Mr. Sloane’s office! He’s got a GUN!”

  A few of us stare at him, but none of us seems to want to take this one.

  Seemingly shocked that no one’s jumping on his crazy train, Alan scurries to the middle of the office, splashing coffee out of his cup as he goes. “Didn’t you hear me? I said there’s a guy in there with a gun!

  Sloane leans out his door and barks, “For Pete’s sake, Alan, calm the hell down. He’s a police officer, and he’s supposed to have a gun. Now go back up to your desk.” Sloane didn’t add “you stupid bastard”, but his tone surely implied it.

  Deflated, Alan hangs his head and shuffles to the stairs. Poor guy. He’s only trying to help in his own misguided way.

  Brody exits Sloane’s office, still all stern and manly. When he sees me, however, he lets a tiny smile form in the corner of his mouth, and his eyes soften. As he passes me, he whispers, “Walk me out.”

  Obediently, I pop up out of my chair and follow his perfect ass out the door. I hope I’m not drooling in front of my co-workers. Once we’re outside, he takes my face in his hands and gives me a quick kiss.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

  “Okay. And, Brody?”

  “Yeah?”

  Putting my hand on his chest, I hesitate, not knowing quite how to say this. “Be careful out th
ere.”

  “Is this you trying to tell me that you care?”

  Damn it. Does he read minds, too? It must be the detective thing. He’s freakishly perceptive. It’s a lot easier to date a guy who doesn’t have a clue.

  I shake my head. “I…um…no. I don’t care. Like, maybe five percent of caring.”

  A slow grin spreads across his face. “Five percent, huh?”

  I shrug. “Five, ten—whatever. Maybe twenty.”

  He kisses me again and heads for his car.

  I sigh, ridiculous grin back on my face.

  When I reenter the office, Bethany is standing there, in my way. I try to get around her, but she keeps moving to block me. Her eyes are wild, and she looks kind of agitated. I get the feeling she’s about to go ape shit on me.

  “You…with Blake…and now…that guy…and… I HATE YOU!”

  The room goes silent. I don’t know what to say to Bethany. Plus, if I do say something, I have to try to be nice. She reminds me of a wild animal, and I don’t know whether it would be better to stay still or to run. Hmm. I think you stay still if being attacked by a bear. If it’s a crocodile, you run. But what do you do when staring down a crazed Bethany-beast?

  Sloane roars from across the room, “What the hell’s going on now?”

  I have an idea of how to diffuse the situation. Over Bethany’s shoulder, I call to Sloan, “It’s all good. We’re working it out.”

  He mutters something and goes back into his office. I’d better lay low around him the rest of the day.

  I smile tentatively at Bethany. “Um…Bethany, I think maybe I can do something to help you. Have I told you about my friend, Todd? I think you guys might really hit it off. Julia and I could probably set you up if you’d like.” Why didn’t I think of this before? Bethany and Todd would be perfect for each other. They’re the most annoying of their species.

  Her eyes come back into focus, and she replies warily, “You’d actually set me up with someone? And this isn’t some evil plot to ruin my life?”

  “You know I don’t care enough to take the time to ruin your life.” It’s not mean—it’s true. “I recognize your symptoms. You need a man. Badly.”

  “I do. I really do,” she says, more to herself than anyone as she sinks down into her chair.

  Wow. Crisis averted. Who knew that simply being nice to Bethany would hold the insanity at bay? Maybe Mason was right after all. I’ll be damned.

  When I get back to my desk, Julia hisses, “What did you say to get her to calm down? I thought she was going to rip your eyeballs out and eat them!”

  “Me, too. And I said, um, that you would get her a date with Douchebag Todd.”

  Staring at me with her mouth hanging open, she replies, “How am I going to convince Todd to go out with Bethany?”

  “The same way you convinced me to go out with Todd. Lie.” Julia rolls her eyes at me and picks up the phone. Remembering about Brad, I add, “Hey, did you hear about Brad, you know, the Bradster?”

  Julia frowns. “Yes. That was so sad. Poor guy.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “How did you not know? Everyone’s been talking about it all morning. But then again, you’ve had your head up your ass.”

  I don’t have a good comeback, so I just settle for sticking my tongue out at her. I seriously need to get to work here. Looking back on this morning, I realize I didn’t get a damn thing done. I guess I proofed a few articles, because there’s a record of me sending them off for print, but I couldn’t tell you what any of them were about. As I’m speed-proofing my way through one of Hank’s articles about the baseball team, I get an IM from Blake: Meet me in the break room. I know he wants me to give him the information I got from Megan yesterday, but I so don’t have time for this. I take a moment to finish proofing the article and get it sent. That’s one down, too many more to go.

  When I get to the break room, Blake is waiting impatiently for me. He says, “All right, I want to know everything you know about Lydia Thomas.”

  “And I will be happy to tell you, but not now. I’m way behind, and I need every second I can get this afternoon. Are you busy after work? We can talk then.”

  “Don’t you have a date with your new boyfriend?” he asks petulantly.

  Oh, yeah. He’s jealous. I had a feeling he was, based on a comment he made at Mason’s party, but now I’m positive. Ha! Serves him right. He shouldn’t have dumped me.

  I reply calmly, “No, and Brody’s not my boyfriend. I’ve only known him a week.”

  His eyes flash with anger. “Yet you went on a trip with him and obviously let him into your bed.”

  “What do you mean ‘obviously’?”

  “It’s a small office. And Simmons has a big mouth.” I knew he was listening in on our conversation this morning.

  I gripe, “So it’s perfectly fine for you to go back to your man-whoring ways, but I’m not allowed to have one relationship with a nice guy. You know what? You can get your own damn information on Lydia. I’m not sharing if you’re going to be like this.”

  Knowing me well enough to know that I’m about to flounce out of the room, Blake blocks my way to the door before I can even take a step. He’s extremely close to me, taking up more than his share of my personal space. He says quietly, “I’m sorry. What you do with your life is none of my business anymore. It’s…difficult for me to see you with someone else, that’s all.”

  I look away, a little overwhelmed by his admission. I murmur, “Now you know how it feels.”

  Not bothering to step back, he says gently, “You know, if we put half the energy into investigating Lydia that we put into making each other miserable, we would know all of her secrets by now. We’re going to have to call a truce.”

  You know, he’s right. “I can probably do that.” Against my better judgment, I add, “Why don’t you come over to my house after work? I have all of my information there.” Having Blake back in my home is going to bring all kinds of old feelings and emotions back to the surface, but it’s best to be someplace where we can talk freely.

  Smiling, he says, “I’ll be there.” He steps aside so I can leave the break room. I can’t believe I just invited Blake over to my house, alone. What have I done?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I finish with my last article just after five o’clock. Whew! I didn’t think I’d be able to pull it off. Blake’s article on Brad was pretty long, but it wasn’t overly factual. I guess you can’t really describe a bondage and drug-related death in too much detail on the front page. All of the blue-hairs in town would be down here beating Mason over the head with their canes for putting that kind of smut in their beloved hometown newspaper.

  Turning to leave, I notice that Blake is waiting for me. Ooh. I just got a weird flashback from the old days when he would come over to my house every day after work, and we would just hang out and be together. I miss that so much. Shaking my head to clear out the unwelcome thoughts, I say, “Let’s go.”

  We drive separately to my house, and once we’re inside, it really starts to feel weird. The last time we were in here together, I distinctly remember Blake kissing me and telling me that I “meant everything” to him. That was before. Now, we’re like strangers, all awkward and uneasy. I hate this.

  It would feel way too intimate for us to sit on the couch and talk, so I steer him into my kitchen and take a seat at the table. He doesn’t say anything, but I assume he’s thinking along those same lines.

  Before, I was very wary of telling Blake all of my suspicions about Lydia because I thought he might use the information for an article and blow my covert investigation of her. However, in light of the fact that I think she may have killed two of my friends, I’m on a mission. I need all the help I can get to find some kind of evidence that could link her to even one of the men I suspect her of killing. All I need is one concrete link, and she’s behind bars. And since Brody told me in no uncertain terms to stay out of his investigation, he’s
obviously not going to discuss any of it with me, so that leaves Blake.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Blake asks. I didn’t think I was zoning for that long.

  “I don’t even know where to begin,” I sigh. “Wait. Before I tell you any of this, you have to promise that everything we discuss is in confidence. I don’t want to see any secrets outed in the newspaper, like last time…”

  Appearing apologetic, he says, “I promise. I learned from my mistake.”

  “Okay. I guess it all started at Vibe, the night you were there with that dumb…”

  He frowns at me.

  “Never mind. Anyway, Lydia was there with a guy I knew from high school, Jason Harris, who’s married. The next morning, Jason turns up dead from a supposed drug overdose.”

  “Right. I passed on doing a story about that. I thought the family had been through enough.” Wow. Has Blake grown a conscience when it comes to too-hard-hitting journalism? This is not a bad thing.

  “Yes. And his wife thinks there’s something more going on, because she swears up and down he didn’t have a drug problem.”

  “Was Lydia one of the last people to see him alive?” he asks.

  “I assume so, because Jason was at home when he died and his wife was out of town. Maybe Lydia was with him, but who knows? That alone wouldn’t have aroused my suspicions, except that the next night, I saw Lydia having dinner with Mark Heston at Cooper’s. I even went up and spoke to them, so I know it was Mark for sure. I didn’t see a ring on his finger that night, but I remember reading in Mark’s obituary that he was married, also. Don’t you think it’s a little strange to have two dates in two nights with two married men who both turn up dead the next morning?”

  “Yes, but it’s not a crime. Maybe she just makes poor choices.”

  I roll my eyes. “Anyway, back to Mark Heston. There was a wreck just down the road from the restaurant when I left. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but the next day I found out it was Mark’s wreck. So, Lydia was definitely the last one to see Mark alive.”