Fatal Debt

by Dorothy Howell

  “Brought you the inspection report on the Mustang,” Slade said. “On your desk.”

  Even though I’d written up a report of my own on the condition of Jarrod Parker’s car when it was repossessed, Quality Recovery compiled one also to cover them after the vehicle was left in their storage yard.

  “He hasn’t been in to pick up his car,” I said, “which means he didn’t have money to cover the check he tried to give me. He was going to stiff me.”

  “Bastard,” Slade grumbled.

  With that, our conversation ran out. It’s hard doing it one-sided.

  “I’ll let you know if he redeems the car,” I said.

  “Cool.”

  We walked through the office and out the front door. Traffic on Fifth Street whizzed past.

  An idea popped into my head, so I ran with it.

  “Do you know anything about a contractor out in Hayward named Kirk Redmond?” I asked.

  Slade just looked at me. At times I wasn’t sure if he was slow-witted, or just careful about every response he uttered.

  “My folks want some work done on their house,” I said, feeling pressured to fill the silence.

  “Don’t know Redmond,” Slade said. “I’ll ask around.”

  We stood there for a minute looking at each other.

  “So, you and Jade are going out?” I asked, doing my best to sound only casually interested.

  He shrugged. “We’re hanging out.”

  Everybody knew what that meant.

  “Saturday night, huh? That’s good,” I said. “Maybe her yeast infection will clear up by then.” I gave him a big smile. “Well, bye.”

  I went back into the office. Jade glared at me when I passed her desk.

  “That wasn’t my babysitter.” She started talking so fast and high-pitched it sounded like she was speaking Farsi, or something.

  The afternoon dragged by and finally it was time to go home. In my car I cranked up my CD player and lowered the windows. Cool night air blew my hair around.

  Friday, over and done with. Another week in the books. I settled back in my seat and took stock.

  On the plus side, I’d possibly saved my parents’ marriage, consoled a bereaved family, and made Inez Marshall’s life miserable for a while.

  On the down side, I’d stumbled onto a murder, threatened foreclosure, and narrowed down several murder suspects to the one person I truly didn’t want to be involved.

  And I’d gotten to know Nick Travis; I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  It had been one heck of a week. I was glad it was over. On to the weekend.

  I swung into my parking space at my apartment complex. No strange cars were in the lot. No Nick offering Chinese food.

  I climbed the stairs to my apartment. No smell of chicken in the hallway. No Nick.

  I unlocked my door and went inside, not sure why I felt disappointed.

  Chapter 10

  Why was it so much easier to get up early on Saturday than during the week?

  I contemplated this weighty issue as I pulled on sweats and put my hair in a ponytail bright and early on Saturday morning. Seven Eleven seemed less concerned about life, as I emptied a can of Kitty Stew into her dish and gave her some fresh water. I pulled on a jacket, grabbed my iPod, and left my apartment.

  At the bottom of the staircase I tightened the laces on my running shoes, settled the ear buds in place, switched on Three Days Grace, and off I went.

  I’m not big on exercising. I went to the gym a couple of times a week, but I didn’t especially like it. I loved running.

  I jogged through the maze of sidewalks that crisscrossed the complex, then took to the driveway, bobbing my head and firming my thighs.

  Another thing I liked about running was the solitude, the peace of those empty-headed moments with nothing important to think about.

  But for some reason, unwanted thoughts kept drifting through my brain this morning. Namely, Nick Travis.

  When I got home last night and hadn’t found Nick in my driveway or outside my door, I’d been disappointed. At first I told myself it was because I’d been hungry and he’d brought dinner two nights this week. But now, in the warm light of the morning sun, I had to admit my disappointment stemmed from something deeper. Something beyond chocolate, chocolate-chip ice cream.

  Jogging down the driveway I considered this situation. To be honest with myself, I accepted that I’d had a terrible crush on Nick when we were in high school. He hadn’t known I was alive, of course.

  And as long as I was being honest, I admitted that I’d been a little jealous of Katie Jo Miller when the two of them started going out. Then she’d gotten pregnant, and I’d gotten angry—at Nick.

  Of course, that was a long time ago. I’d changed. Katie Jo had probably changed. Nick might have changed.

  I circled the far end of the parking lot and headed toward my apartment again. Maybe Nick really was a nice guy now. He’d been nice the last few times I’d seen him. Maybe the years had changed him.

  Or maybe I was expecting Nick to be something he just couldn’t be. Like when we were in high school.

  I didn’t want to be disappointed all over again.

  I’d jogged about a mile by the time I returned to my apartment, short of breath and knees aquiver. Just as I grabbed an energy bar from the cabinet, my cell phone rang. It was my best friend, Jillian Brown.

  “Want to go shopping?” she asked.

  I was always up for a trip to the mall—especially if it helped rid my brain of thoughts of Nick, and Mr. Sullivan’s murder.

  “We need costumes,” she said.

  Halloween was a week away. If we wanted an awesome costume—and who didn’t—we couldn’t wait until the last minute.

  “I’ll pick you up,” I said, then ran through the shower, got dressed and left.

  Jillian and I had been friends since high school. She had big brown eyes, and dark hair with an auburn tint to it, and had a job at a bank in Santa Flores and an apartment not far from mine. She dashed out as I pulled up. Both of us were wearing the same sort of outfit—jeans, sweater—but since Jillian is five inches shorter than me, it came off differently.

  “What are you going to be for Halloween this year?” Jillian asked as we pulled up in front of the costume shop on State Street that had been there for decades.

  “I thought I’d get inspired,” I announced, as we went inside.

  Easy enough to do. Costumes hung on dozens of racks down the center of the store and along two of the walls. Another wall held accessories. The place smelled like lint and wood floors.

  “Our costumes have to be fabulous,” Jillian said. “Nothing less will do for Felderman’s party.”

  Between Jillian and I, we knew lots of people, most of whom liked to party. So far, we’d been invited to three parties next Saturday night. Halloween was on the following Monday, so everybody would be celebrating the weekend before. Costumes required.

  The best party, by far, was given by Ron Felderman. He lived in the upscale area of Maywood, just east of Santa Flores, and threw a Halloween bash to die for. Everybody was there. The party routinely spilled out of the house, onto the lawn and into the street. Things got pretty wild.

  “What do you think?” Jillian asked, holding a Snow White outfit in front of her.

  “Dream on,” I said. “I held up a black and white striped prison uniform. “Maybe I’ll wear this to work.”

  Jillian rolled her eyes. “And give Inez a heart attack?”

  “Call it an early Christmas present,” I said.

  We went through another rack considering the possibilities and I decided to talk to Jillian about the situation still clinging to the back of my mind.

  “Do you remember Nick Travis from high school?” I asked.

  She looked at me over a set of green hospital scrubs. “Are you kidding? Who could forget Nick Travis?”

  “I saw him the other day.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Nick Travis?
You saw Nick Travis? Oh my God, what did he look like? Is he still gorgeous? Oh, he is, isn’t he?”

  “He’s still good looking,” I said. “Do you remember what happened with him and Katie Jo Miller?”

  “You mean Katie Jo getting pregnant?” Jillian’s mouth dropped open. “That was Nick? Nick got her pregnant?”

  “You didn’t know that?”

  “Oh my God. You’re kidding. Nick Travis got Katie Jo Miller pregnant?”

  “It was all over school,” I said. “I thought you knew.”

  “There were rumors, but I never knew for sure,” Jillian said. “Katie Jo got really weird after that happened.”

  “She didn’t want to be friends anymore,” I said.

  “What’s Nick doing now?” she asked.

  “He’s a cop.”

  “Yeah?” Jillian seemed lost in thought for a few seconds, then said, “Whatever happened to Katie Jo?”

  “I never heard anything about her after high school,” I said.

  “I wonder if she ever thinks about Nick,” Jillian said.

  I wondered if Nick ever thought about Katie Jo.

  After an hour of digging through costumes, we made our selections and left. Come next Saturday night, Jillian would be the fairest damsel in the land, and I, the sassiest pirate who never sailed the Seven Seas.

  We decided that we’d hit Club Vibe, a great place off Clayton Boulevard, later tonight. I dropped her off and drove to my parents’ house.

  While I didn’t expect my efforts at marriage counseling to have solved my folks’ problems completely, I did expect to at least find them together. They weren’t.

  So much for my career as a social worker.

  Dad was in his bedroom standing in front of the mirror, swathed in powder blue polyester.

  “Is that a leisure suit?” I asked.

  Dad preened in front of the mirror. “Still looks pretty good, huh?”

  “Well …”

  “Fits good too,” he said, stretching the button toward the button hole. “Your old dad’s still got it.”

  I was completely lost.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Just doing what you said.” Dad leaned a little closer to the mirror and smoothed back his hair. “You’re right. Your mother and I need to get out more.”

  “You’re not going to wear that suit, are you?” I asked.

  He squared his shoulders. “Your mother loves me in this suit.”

  Who was I to argue with that?”

  “Where’s Mom?” I asked.

  “Down at the church,” he said. “Some bake sale, or something.”

  Good. As long as she wasn’t at the U-Haul rental place.

  I leaned against the door casing. “Do you remember Nick Travis? I went to high school with him.”

  “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t remember.”

  “He got Katie Jo Miller pregnant,” I explained.

  “Who’s Katie Jo Miller?”

  “My best friend, Dad,” I said.

  That whole incident had devastated my sophomore year. How could my dad have forgotten?

  “Nick Travis,” I said again. “He played football.”

  “Oh, that Nick Travis. What a quarterback. Boy, that kid could throw a ball. Hit the receiver right at the goal line the last five seconds of the game that won the division championship.” Dad looked at me. “He got somebody pregnant?”

  “I thought maybe you remembered some of the parents talking about it,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Not a word.”

  I made myself a sandwich hoping Mom would come home. I wanted to talk to her and see how things were really going with Dad. She didn’t show up so I left, content that Dad was on the right path, leisure suit and all.

  * * *

  Club Vibe was huge, and always packed. I slid my car keys and some cash into the pocket of my skirt, and Jillian and I got in line at the entrance. Two bouncers worked the door. One patted down the men, the other checked women’s purses.

  We moved inside with the flow of people. The place was packed. The deejay played Pitbull while a couple dozen people danced. The music was loud, the room dark, the crowd close. Jillian and I had discussed strategy on the drive over, noting who to look for, who to avoid. It was dollar drink night until 11:00. Anyone wanting to get drunk on a budget would have to do it quickly.

  We made our way to one of the bars, bought beer, then proceeded to the most important part of the evening—seeing who was there.

  Jillian and I wove through the crowd, and wouldn’t you know it, the first familiar face I saw was Jarrod Parker’s.

  “Hey, Jarrod,” I called. “I didn’t know the city bus ran past this place.”

  Jarrod stopped, and instead of being angry he looked me up and down, and smiled. That kind of smile.

  Jeez, what was up with this guy? The last time I’d seen him, I was repossessing his car, his only transportation, and he’d called me some very colorful, if unimaginative, names. And just now I’d thrown the whole incident in his face with a really snotty comment, which I probably shouldn’t have done, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Hey, Dana,” Jarrod said, easing closer. “You’re looking good tonight.”

  One beer didn’t get me drunk enough to fall for that old line—especially coming from this guy. I’d never get that drunk.

  “Are you going to pick up your Mustang, or what?” I asked.

  Jarrod tipped up his beer and grinned. “You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I told him. “There’s something about a jackass who won’t pay his bill that I can’t get off of my mind.”

  Okay, that too was a really crappy thing to say. But it seemed to entice him, somehow.

  I just don’t get men sometimes.

  “Want to dance?” Jarrod asked.

  “Maybe in my next life,” I told him, and left him with that goofy grin on his face, holding his beer.

  Jillian took off after some guy she knew so I circulated, talking to people I recognized. I came to this club pretty often so I’d gotten to know a lot of people. Other faces looked familiar, but I couldn’t place them.

  By the time I found Jillian again, she’d gotten ahead of me on beers and was out of money. I volunteered to get more cash out of her purse—we’d locked them both in the trunk of my car—so I left my drink in her custody and headed out to the parking lot.

  After the press of hot bodies inside the club, the air felt chilly. Music drifted out, melding with the buzz of cars on the street.

  I hurried across the lot to the last row where I’d parked my car, popped the trunk and reached inside.

  Somebody grabbed me from behind.

  Chapter 11

  A big hand clamped onto my arm, spun me around, and shoved me against my car. I tried to pull away but he squeezed tighter, quelling my adrenaline rush with raw fear.

  He was a black guy so tall I had to lean my head back to look at him. He had on sunglasses, a dark overcoat, and a knit hat pulled down to his eyebrows.

  Who was he? What did he want? How could this be happening—to me? My mind screamed a thousand questions in a nanosecond.

  “You listen to this good, bitch, because I’m not repeating myself.” He leaned closer. “What happened to old man Sullivan is none of your business. You keep your ass away from it. Got me?”

  I was trembling so hard I must have nodded “yes.” Good thing, because I couldn’t have spoken a word if my life depended on it—which, I believed, it did.

  He gave my arm a final squeeze, then whirled around and disappeared between the cars.

  I didn’t stand there long enough to see what happened to him. My heart pumped like crazy. My arms and legs shook. And I was freezing.

  I grabbed our two purses from the trunk of my Honda, slammed the lid and ran back into the club.

  My whole body trembled as I wove through the crowd to the hallway outside the restrooms and
dug my cell phone from my purse. I wanted out of this place. I wanted to go somewhere safe. But I was too scared to go into the parking lot again.

  I had to call somebody. But who?

  My dad? Good grief, no.

  The police? Yeah, I could call them but what would I say? That I’d been frightened in the parking lot? Big deal. It was Saturday night in the Murder Capital of America. No way were they rushing right over.

  Nick Travis? Oh, Nick. Yes, yes, yes.

  Nick was the perfect person to call. He’d be here in a heartbeat. He’d help me. He’d—

  No, not Nick. No, no, no. Calling Nick would escalate our relationship to another level. It would acknowledge that we did, in fact, have a relationship.

  Or that we didn’t, if he failed to rush to my rescue.

  Either way, I wasn’t ready to turn to Nick—which left only one person.

  I scrolled through the address book in my cell phone and called Slade.

  It’s kind of interesting what you’ll bargain away in times of need. By the time the call went through I’d sworn off drinking, vowed to go to church every Sunday, and was ready to deal away my first born child.

  “Hey.”

  Slade’s voice spoke in my ear. My knees nearly gave out.

  “I need your help. I’m at Club Vibe and some guy jumped me in the parking lot and—”

  “On my way.”

  The call clicked off. I stared at my phone for a few second, then dropped it in my purse.

  I didn’t know where Slade was or how long it would take him to get here—or if he’d even made sense out of my hysterical ranting—but I wanted to take off as soon as he arrived.

  I found Jillian at a table near the dance floor sitting with two girls whom, I recalled, worked with her. I handed over her purse.

  “I’m sick,” I said shouting over the music.

  She squinted in the dim light and said, “You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m going home,” I said. “Can you get a ride?”

  “You can ride with me,” one of the other girls said.

  “No,” Jillian said. “You’re not feeling good. I’ll take you home.”

  No way was I going to allow Jillian to walk into that dark parking lot with me. Plus, once we got outside I might burst into tears, and I didn’t want to go into the whole Sullivan murder thing with her.