by Ali Brandon
Reese was quicker this time out, catching it in midair and then taking a large chomp out of it. “ Anyhow, we’re still looking for whoever hired her,” he said as he chewed. “One of our IT guys is backtracking the email address for me. And we’ll be interviewing people who Janie says can corroborate her claim that she was long gone before Ms. Baylor ended up in the street.”
“But why leave the apology card at the shrine,” Darla wanted to know between nibbles of the chicken wing she’d moved onto, “if she wasn’t the one who pushed Valerie off the curb?”
“Apparently, she felt like she’d enticed Ms. Baylor out into the street with her protest, and that none of this would have happened if she hadn’t been outside marching around.”
“But what about that whole pushed-versus-fell thing?” Jake chimed in. “The witness statements were pretty iffy, and your YouTube clip didn’t exactly resolve the question. If it was a push, and your girl didn’t do it, you’re gonna have to line up some more suspects.”
“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out, Detective Martelli. I might not be an old warhorse like you, but I know how to do my job.”
“Just sayin’,” Jake countered with a shrug, ignoring the age jibe. “By the way, I finally called Roy in Traffic this afternoon about the Shrine That Took Over Crawford Avenue. It was bad enough today with all the rubberneckers, but tomorrow’s rush hour is gonna be a beast. He said he’d send someone out for a couple of hours during peak drive time to keep things moving.”
Darla slid a piece of pizza onto her plate while Jake and Reese continued debating the merits of tax dollars being spent to accommodate public nuisances like the shrine. Once she’d finished off her slice, she waited for a lull in the conversation to announce, “Oh, I almost forgot. Something peculiar happened after we got back from chasing down Janie.”
She went on to describe how she’d found Hamlet and the books, and how she had first thought an intruder had been responsible for the neatly stacked piles of volumes. Feeling somewhat proud, she detailed how she’d searched the apartment and then checked in with Mary Ann before finally concluding that Hamlet had been the culprit after all. The only thing she left out was Mary Ann’s poltergeist joke. She didn’t need Jake and Reese to think she was losing it.
Even before she had finished her story, however, both Jake and Reese rounded on her with equal sternness.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Why didn’t you call Jake?”
Jake, in particular, appeared upset, pushing back from the table and giving Darla a dark look. “Rule number one, kid. You come home and it looks like someone’s broken into your place, you get your butt right out again and call 9-1-1—or me—but you don’t play cop. Better safe than sorry applies in spades here.”
“But it wasn’t a break-in after all,” Darla defended herself.
Jake shook her head. “This time, maybe not. But if it really had been a B and E, and you’d found the perp hiding in the back room, we might have had two dead bodies in two days. And for the record, just because Hamlet wasn’t raising hell wouldn’t necessarily mean that the bad guy took off. It could have been someone he knew, and that person could have still been there.”
Darla hadn’t considered that last. Nodding soberly, she held up both hands in surrender.
“Okay, I get it. Bad decision. I promise next time Hamlet strikes that I’ll drag Jake up to see his handiwork.”
She paused for a deep breath. One revelation down and another to go. Might as well get it all out into the open.
“Oh, and there’s a Part Two to what happened this afternoon after y’all left,” she added in a bright tone. “While I was talking to Mary Ann, she mentioned seeing a woman mixing with Valerie’s fans. It turned out to be the van driver, Marnie Jennings, handing out Bible tracts to the goth kids and scaring the bejeebers out of them with her lectures on how Valerie Baylor is burning in hell right now.”
The announcement had just about the effect that she anticipated. Reese choked on his beer, while Jake missed her mouth completely with her pizza slice and dumped half the toppings into her lap.
“That’s pretty damn cold,” Reese said with a shake of his head when he could speak again. “You run over someone and kill them, and then hang out at the accident scene talking smack like that? She’s lucky those kids didn’t take her apart.”
“Yeah, well, I doubt she was running around with a name tag on,” Jake countered, muttering a few choice words as she scrubbed tomato sauce off her jeans. “Now, don’t tell me, Darla . . . while I was sitting all snug and clueless down here, you went outside and had a chat with her, didn’t you?”
“I was only out there a few minutes. I rescued some boy she was trying to save, basically told her what a jerk she was, and loaned her a thousand dollars so she could fix her van and leave town.”
She mumbled that last in a rush, but Jake didn’t miss a word. She shoved her chair back from the table and stared at Darla.
“You loaned her a grand, just like that? What, so you two are BFF’s now?”
“I wasn’t doing it to be nice,” came Darla’s defensive reply. “She and her friends were going to be stuck here until her church could raise the money for the van repairs. I was just trying to get her out of town before anything else happened.”
“Like running over one of the most famous authors of the decade?” was Jake’s ironic response. Reese’s reply, however, was even more stinging.
“Hate to tell you this, but someone might think you were paying off this Marnie to leave town. A little hint, Darla: it just doesn’t look good, handing over that kind of cash after an incident like this.”
“It was a personal check,” she countered. “ And why would I need to pay her off?”
Reese merely quirked a brow, but it was enough for Darla to realize just where his thoughts were headed. Her redhead’s temper flared from zero to volcanic as she leaped from her chair and stared him down.
“Oh my God, don’t tell me you think Marnie and I were in cahoots, that we planned to kill Valerie Baylor together!”
She shot a look at Jake, who promptly raised her hands as if to ward off a similar accusation.
“Calm down, kid, I know you’re in the clear,” Jake hurried to assure her. Turning a stern look on Reese, she added, “And Mr. Detective over here does, too. But as for Princess Wackaloon . . .”
She trailed off with a shrug and then added, “Yeah, yeah . . . I know it was an accident, but I have a sneaky feeling your buddy Marnie isn’t as sorry as she acts.”
“Now, that’s not fair, Jake. In her own narrow-minded way, she really is devastated by what happened,” Darla shot back, a bit surprised to find herself taking Marnie’s side. No doubt it was one of those reflexive support-your-homegirl things.
Jake must have picked up on that vibe.
“Jeez, kid, just because she knows your sister doesn’t mean you owe her a damn thing. Have you forgotten that letter she sent, trying to blackmail you into cancelling the Valerie Baylor autographing?”
“Letter?” Reese interjected before Darla could answer. His gaze whipped between her and Jake. “What letter? And what the hell did Jake mean about the Jennings woman knowing your sister?”
Jake raised her brows. “You didn’t mention any of this to Reese when you gave your statement?”
“I guess it kind of slipped my mind?”
Still offended by Reese’s earlier unspoken accusation, Darla gave him a defiant look. When her questioning tone didn’t buy her a pass from either of them, she went on, “All right, I was tired, and I figured the cop handling things outside would share with Reese. It didn’t seem that important anymore, especially once they decided not to charge Marnie with anything.”
“Yeah, but if I’d known that little tidbit about a threatening letter, we might have taken another look at the woman. If nothing else, I would have put her in a lineup with a bunch of scarf-wearing women for Janie to look at. So, do you still have it?”
Pretty sure.
“It’s upstairs,” she answered. “If you want, after we finish eating, you can come up and take a look, and I’ll tell you the whole story. So, Jake,” she added in a hopeful tone, “I don’t suppose you have some wine to go with this pizza? I’m not feeling much like beer.”
“Right, change the subject,” the woman muttered, but she obligingly found a bottle of decent white chilling in her refrigerator—not exactly what Darla would have chosen to pair with marinara, but it would do. She was hardly in a position to complain.
To her relief, Reese let the matter of the letter slide while they finished supper, though the occasional stern look he shot her over the course of the meal told her he wasn’t about to let her off easily. It was a little after eight when Darla slid back her chair and said, “I’m going to call it an early night, since I’ll be opening up tomorrow as usual. Reese, if you want to see that letter, you’d better come up with me now.”
“Sure, let’s go,” he agreed, polishing off his beer and getting to his feet.
Darla rose a bit more carefully, mindful of the two glasses of wine she had downed. She should have just run upstairs earlier and brought the letter down to him, but she had to admit that after that afternoon’s fright, she wasn’t looking forward to entering the apartment alone. And, whatever his shortcomings as a dinner companion, Reese definitely was tough enough to best any intruder, human or supernatural.
“You sure you don’t need help cleaning up?” she asked Jake as she surveyed the aftermath of their evening’s gluttony.
Jake waved her off. “I’ll send the leftovers home with Reese, and a trash bag will take care of the rest. Now, go, before Hamlet sends out the search party.”
They went. The cool night air outside Jake’s apartment did a little to dispel the fuzziness that seemed to have gripped her brain, for which Darla was grateful. Last thing she needed was to be off her guard around Reese. Deliberately keeping a bit of distance between them, she hurried up her own concrete steps, glad she’d remembered to turn on the small light that illuminated the door. She paused there, however, to reflexively glance back in the direction of the Valerie shrine.
The sidewalk tribute hunkered in the dark like an immense petalled caterpillar, stretching the length of one brownstone. Someone had lit the dozens of candles that had been left among the flowers, and their flickering golden light seemed to give movement to the mound. For an instant, she could swear that a caped female figure stood in the shadows among the flowers, watching her.
She shivered despite herself.
“Chilly,” she explained aloud to Reese as she dug into her pocket for the key, though in fact the wine had warmed her sufficiently that she didn’t need a coat.
Reese, snug in his leather motorcycle jacket, merely shrugged. He, too, appeared taken by the sight of the shrine.
“Looks like the votive candles at church,” he remarked as he joined her. “Except these days, the real candles have been replaced with those electric ones. Fire codes, you know. It’s not the same.”
“Kind of takes away some of the mystery,” Darla agreed and unlocked the front door. Barely had she opened it, however, when Reese put out a restraining arm.
“No way you’re going up first,” he declared, and she saw from his expression he was serious. “I know you told Jake you’re sure Hamlet caused that little problem in your apartment this afternoon, but I’m pretty good at reading people. You don’t believe it yourself, do you?”
Darla started to protest, and then shook her head. “Yes . . . no . . . maybe?” she answered, trying to smile but not doing much of a job of it. “I mean, I’ve seen him pull books off a shelf, but there’s no way a cat could stack them on top of each other so neatly. It had to be a person . . . or like Mary Ann said, a poltergeist. She was kidding, of course, but that’s as good as any theory I’ve come up with so far.”
“Poltergeist?” Reese echoed with a snort that promptly made her regret mentioning that conversation. “I saw the movie . . . scared the crap out of me when I was a kid. But if it will make you feel better, I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my fifteen years as a cop, and ghosts ain’t one of them.”
He started up the steps, Darla behind him. It was obvious from the view she had that his gym workouts were doing the job, she thought with an inner grin of appreciation. Though, to be honest, she could tell that the past few months of marching up and down two flights a couple of times a day had helped in the posterior area for her as well. But recalling the way she’d been outrun that morning, she knew she should still consider adding wind sprints to her workout routine.
When they reached the top landing, Reese stepped aside long enough for her to unlock that door before again taking the lead. “Stay out here in the hall,” he said in a low tone, “and I’ll give you the all clear once I’ve had a look.”
Though Darla felt certain that no one had broken in during the past few hours, she found herself holding her breath in nervous anticipation as he slowly turned the knob and inched open the door. The faint light from the single lamp she’d left burning in the living room threw a pale white ribbon onto the faded cabbage-rose pattern of the landing. So far as she could tell, all was silent inside. Reese signaled her to wait, and then pushed the door open the rest of the way.
“A-a-a-i-i-i-e-e-e!”
A drawn out, ungodly shriek split the silence. The singular sound was followed by a flash of black and a thud that collided squarely with Reese’s chest.
The detective let loose with a few pithy epithets that included the FCC top seven plus several that Darla couldn’t recall previously hearing. She didn’t have time to be offended, however—she was too busy trying not to burst out laughing. Reese, meanwhile, made a hasty retreat back into the hall and slammed the door closed again.
He stared down at his battered leather jacket, which now sported four distinct claw marks angled from shoulder to opposite hip. Shaking his head, he said, “I guess we have our answer. Your buddy Hamlet’s not going to let any intruders into your place.”
That did it for Darla. Whether it was the wine, or the stress of the past days’ events, or simply the look of disbelief on Reese’s face, she lost it. With an outright howl of hilarity, she collapsed onto the carpet and laughed herself silly.
It was a good two minutes before she had herself suffi – ciently in hand again to be able to stand. The detective, meanwhile, was surveying her with a sour look. “Guess I provided the entertainment tonight, huh?”
“Sorry,” she said, trying for contrite but not quite making it. “He must still be mad at you from this afternoon. But that doesn’t excuse the ninja strike. I’ll be glad to pay for the damages to your jacket.”
“Not necessary . . . it’s been through the wars already. A couple of cat scratches won’t do anything, except get me some ribbing from the guys. You wanna try it again?”
“I’ll lead,” she agreed. “I think if anyone was inside, we’d have seen the body lying right inside the door, with Hamlet crouched over it.”
Feeling much lighter in spirit than she had in some hours, Darla reopened the door and stuck her head around its edge. “Hamlet, it’s me,” she called. “Lay off the attack mode, okay?”
She opened the door the rest of the way and walked in, Reese right behind her, using her as a shield. This time, their entry was uneventful. Hamlet lounged atop his usual spot on the horsehair couch. He yawned and flicked a cool green look in their direction, but otherwise it was as if the earlier ambush had never happened.
Reese made the obligatory search while Darla waited near the door. He rejoined her a few minutes later to give the all clear. “No sign of anyone. Now, first things first. Do you want to show me that whole book thing from this afternoon?”
&n
bsp; Darla gave him the rundown again, pointing out which shelves had been emptied and where the books had been piled. He studied the scene with a thoughtful look. “I don’t suppose you took any pictures of the stacks?”
“No. I even had my phone in my hand, but I guess I was too rattled by how strange it was to even think of that,” she admitted. “But if it happens again, you can bet I’ll do video, pictures, grid drawings . . . the whole nine yards.” Then, seeing something in his expression, she asked in some concern, “Do you think there really was someone in my apartment?”
“With all the craziness from Ms. Baylor’s fans, it’s not impossible that there might be some loony kid running around playing games. You have to admit some of the ones we saw the other night were, you know . . . odd.”
Remembering Robert and Sunny, Darla replied, “Some of them are pretty intense, sure, but most of them seem like really good kids.”
“Yeah, but until we figure out this whole accident thing, I don’t want to discount any possibilities.”
He hesitated, and then added, “I know why you didn’t call Jake. She’s a tough broad, but that bullet did more damage than she’ll ever admit to any of us. But, believe me, it would hurt her a whole lot more to know something happened to you because you were being thoughtful. So the next time you have intruders or poltergeists or whatever, do me a favor and call her.”
“I will. I guess you want to see the letter now?”
At his nod, she went over to her desk and pulled it from the top drawer. She handed it over and gave a quick explanation of Marnie’s tenuous connection to her sister, though emphasizing she herself had never before met the woman. After asking a few clarifying questions, Reese studied the envelope a moment before carefully extracting out the single sheet and reading it in silence.
“It’s a bit over-the-top,” was his assessment a few moments later, “but as far as threats go, it’s pretty tame. And it was directed at you, not Ms. Baylor. Even so, I’d like to hang on to this for a while if you don’t mind.”
