by Ellen Hart
Vince’s house was twice the size of his own house, with a three-stall garage and a wrought-iron fence that encircled the property. Standing at the front door, Emmett thought back to Vince’s middle-of-the-night phone call. He’d demanded that Emmett come by his house today at 10:00 A.M. sharp. He’d whispered, then shouted, then whispered again, acting like a man coming apart at the seams. He kept repeating that they had to make a plan. They couldn’t just wait around while this stalker picked them off. Emmett was glad to let Vince take the lead on it, especially after what he’d heard from his son last night.
It had been a busy morning. An old friend, Gavin Rand, a criminal defense attorney, had stopped by just after eight. Sitting down at the kitchen table, Emmett allowed Roddy to tell his story. As he listened, a few details his son hadn’t mentioned before leaked out. Not only had Roddy and his friends been bullying other students, but after football season was over, they’d been doing a lot of drinking. Even using something called ketamine—a substance Emmett had never heard of before.
Once Roddy was finished, Gavin asked him questions, waiting through Roddy’s stumbling answers. He eventually agreed to take the case. He stressed that if the police came to the house, Roddy should not allow himself to be interogated without Gavin and his father present, and he made it clear to Roddy that what he’d done wasn’t the least bit funny. It was morally wrong and had probably contributed to his onetime girlfriend’s suicide.
Emmett regretted that he didn’t have much money in the bank, but if he had to, he intended to take out a second mortgage on the house to pay his son’s legal expenses. Gavin was a friend, but he didn’t work for free. After gathering all the information he needed, he shook their hands. Roddy retreated to his room once Gavin had left, clearly ashamed and unnerved.
When the door to Vince’s house finally opened, Emmett was jarred back to the present. A chunky women in a tan twinset and slacks peered at him suspiciously. He was wearing his pilot’s uniform. He had the sense that she might not have opened the door if he’d been wearing street clothes.
“Can I help you?” she asked, taking in his cap and the braids on his jacket.
“I’m a friend of Vince’s. Emmett Washington. He’s expecting me.”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Washington. I’m Shelly Bessetti, Vince’s wife. He didn’t mention that you were—” She stopped short of completing the sentence.
Emmett wasn’t sure if she was about to say black or in the military.
She invited him in.
As he was standing in the foyer, Shelly shouted up the stairs, “Vince, honey. Mr. Washington is here.” Turning back to Emmett she said, “Would you like coffee?”
“No thanks, I’ve already had plenty.”
Vince, still wearing his bathrobe and slippers, bounded down the stairs. “We’ll be down in the workout room,” he said to Shelly. He led Emmett through the kitchen to a stairway at the back of the house, and they descended the steps into the basement.
“Take a seat,” said Vince, nodding to a leather couch.
As Emmett sat down, taking in all the expensive equipment, Vince perched on the edge of a workout bench. “I spent the night at the club,” he said. “Just got home a couple of hours ago. Had to get Shelly to drive me.”
“How come?”
“Somebody stuck a knife in one of my front tires.”
“You think it was—”
“Damn straight I do. I been thinking about hiring myself a bodyguard.”
“Oh. Not much of a solution for me.”
“Why not?”
“Can’t afford it.”
“Seems to me you can’t not afford it.”
There was no use arguing with him.
“You got a gun?” asked Vince.
“Hell, no.”
“Here,” he said, stepping over to a safe in the corner. He spun the dial and opened it, removing a revolver with a simulated wood handle. “It’s a .22 caliber. Not much firepower, although it’s better than nothing. If I were you, I’d go to a gun store and buy myself a cannon.”
“Okay,” said Emmett, taking the gun and stuffing it in his pocket. He felt numb, overwhelmed, unable to process.
Vince must have noticed something in his reaction, because he said, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Didn’t get much sleep.”
“You think I did?” He hunkered back down on the bench. “Look, here’s the key, what’s going to keep us safe. Don’t let anybody into your house. This maniac likes to kill up close. If you’re alone, lock the doors and keep the gun handy.”
“And hire a bodyguard.”
“Right. I’ve already called a service. They’re sending a guy out today, or at the latest tomorrow morning.”
“Are we looking for a man or a woman? Remember that note on Crowder’s door?”
“Yeah, the blond woman. Maybe it is a woman.”
“Her daughter?”
“Hell, it could be the woman herself.”
“Or maybe someone dressed up to look like a woman.”
“Possible, I suppose.”
“It’s not fair.” Emmett put his head in his hands. “I had nothing to do with what happened that night.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You four … you deserve to be punished.”
“And you don’t?”
“I was collateral damage.”
“Hell, it was all so long ago.” Vince rubbed his eyes, his forehead, raked a hand through his hair.
“It’s pretty clear what that Greek word means.”
“That we’re scum. Yeah, I get it.”
* * *
Jane assumed that Mouse, after being cooped up in the house alone all night, needed a walk. She put him in the backseat of her CR-V and drove him over to Lake of the Isles. The fact that her Mini had been impounded by the police galled her. She liked the CR-V okay, but she hadn’t had it long enough to form an emotional attachment. She still remembered with great affection the rusted green Saab she’d driven around for years, a time in her life when almost every dime she earned was funnelled back into her restaurant. It was funny how life seemed so much simpler back then.
Hooking a leash to her dog’s collar, Jane walked him halfway around the lake. On her way back, she remembered that she hadn’t checked her cell phone messages. Sitting in the front seat with the motor running and the heat turned up to broil, she switched it on and found three voice mails and four texts from Cordelia. Things must not be going well with Octavia. One call was from her executive chef at the Lyme House, one from a wine distributor, and the other from Barry Tune, returning her call. Nothing from Nolan, which didn’t surprise her. Nothing from Kevante Taylor either. And nothing from Avi.
Jane thought about calling Cordelia and Nolan to let them know about her arrest, but with a head that felt like it was stuffed with cotton, she figured it was better to wait. She couldn’t stand the idea of going over it again in the kind of detail they would demand.
She might not have wanted to talk about her arrest, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. In fact, she felt as if she were at the center of a mind blizzard. There were so many angles she needed to consider. Had someone planted the cocaine in her car just to mess with her, or had this been DeAndre’s sister’s way of telling her to back off? If the latter was true, then maybe she was closer than she thought to uncovering who Sabrina really was. She tried as hard as she could to remember the conversations she’d had last night, but her memory, always something she counted on, seemed to have failed her.
One particular matter bothered her like nothing else. If she was convicted of drug possession, her father had said, her liquor license could be revoked. She’d never even considered the fact that working as a professional PI might put her restaurants in jeopardy. If she couldn’t serve alcohol, she might as well close her doors. Not many days ago, when she received her PI license from the state of Minnesota, she’d been sure she could have it all. She was a restaurateur and a private investigato
r. Now it looked as if she might lose both.
Back at the house, Jane found a pillow and a quilt and stretched out on the living room couch. There was one person she did want to talk to. She tried Avi’s cell. When she was put through to her voice mail, she left a message.
“Avi, hi. It’s Jane. I came back to the bar last night to talk to you, but Diamond Brown said you’d gone home—that you weren’t feeling well. Hope you’re feeling better today. I had kind of a train wreck of an evening, myself. Maybe, if you don’t work tonight we could get together for dinner, or even just a drink. I’ll be unavailable for the next few hours. When you get this, leave me a message or a text and I’ll get back to you.”
Jane was about to flip her phone closed when it began to vibrate. Checking the caller ID, she saw that it was Nolan’s sister. She decided to take it.
“I’m so glad you answered,” said Fannie Lou. “Alf finally called me, but only once. Is that infection better? Is he finally on the mend?”
Jane filled her in about the second antibiotic, saying that the doctors still felt it was the right one.
“Oh, my. It all sounds so serious.”
Jane was worried, too—one of many worries, but one that kept bobbing to the top. She didn’t feel, however, that her concern was something she needed to pass on to Fannie Lou.
“Will you ask him to call me?”
“I’m sure he will, when he’s feeling better. Since I have you on the line,” said Jane, “can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Did DeAndre have a girlfriend?”
“Do you mean Jazmin? He broke it off with her when she left to go to Europe. I think he was angry that she would leave him for an entire year. She’s teaching in the Czech Republic. She’s very lovely—and very civic minded. I thought they made a wonderful couple.”
From what Jane had found in DeAndre’s hotel room, the e-mail on his netbook, they’d apparently patched things up. She said as much to Fannie. “Somebody should probably contact her, let her know what happened.”
“I’ll call her mother.”
“This next question may sound strange. Did DeAndre ever talk about a sister?”
“My Lord, no. He was an only child. We have that in writing.”
“Was he close to his adopted brothers?”
“Oh, yes. Well, he and Antoine—we all call him Twan—would mix it up sometimes, but they loved each other, I know they did.”
“Will Antoine be coming to the memorial?”
“He has such a miserable boss. I hope so.”
“What’s he do for a living?”
“Works for Carson & Keppler funeral home in Chicago. He has a degree in mortuary science.”
“He’s an undertaker?”
“Odd career choice, I know. My other two boys still live in town, thank the dear Lord. They’re my rocks since my husband died.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” asked Jane. “I know this is a terrible time.”
“You’re sweet for asking. No, just get that brother of mine on the horn.”
“I promise I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all you can do. Thank you, Jane. Let’s stay in touch.”
Turning off the phone before it could ring again, Jane closed her eyes, hoping she could turn her mind off as easily as her cell.
29
Avi sat on her bed, cell phone in hand, a finger over the DELETE key, wondering how she could have misjudged Jane so totally. It had to be the same old problem, one that had dogged her since high school. When it came to physical attraction, she saw only what she wanted to see. She would take her needs and conjure up an illusion to fill them, thus utterly failing to understand her new love interest for who she really was.
A friend had once said to her, “Once is a mistake. Twice is a pattern.” If that was true, what was four times? A blueprint? Even now, when she found herself attracted to a woman, she would convince herself that this time it would be different. That’s how it had gone down with Jane. She might be a liar, she might have zero interest in Avi, and yet Avi couldn’t see anything but the fantasy Jane—the good-looking entrepreneur, the wealthy, caring, funny, and literary-minded woman of her dreams. Admit it, she told herself. Jane had approached her for one reason only: to strip her of what was left of her pride, to take away everything she’d been able to salvage of her life, and ultimately to turn her over to the police and send her to jail.
Pressing DELETE, Avi consigned Jane’s text message to oblivion.
When her landline rang, she reluctantly set the cell phone down and raced out to the kitchen to answer it.
“Hey,” came a female voice. “It’s Georgia. Let me in.”
Except for Dorsey, nobody from GaudyLights had ever come to her apartment before.
“Avi? Are you there?”
“Yeah. I’ll buzz you.” She pressed the button, holding it for several long moments, then went to open the door.
Georgia stopped in the hall, a couple of feet away from the threshold. Looking tentative, she said, “My boyfriend kicked me out.”
“That’s … awful,” said Avi, surprised to see her looking so ragged, so … unglamorous and normal.
“Dorsey told me where you live. I hope you don’t mind. I needed a friend to talk to.”
“Am I a friend?”
“Aren’t you?”
Georgia had hit on Avi so many times that Avi considered it laughable. She was like a sexual wind-up toy, coming on to any warm body in her path. “Come in.”
“Really? It’s okay?”
“Of course.”
Depositing herself on the couch, Georgia lowered her head, her long blond hair falling over the hands covering her face. “That bastard. He’s been cheating on me and he throws me out.”
“If your name is on the lease—”
“Freakin’ douche. He knows how tight money is for me right now. This is my last few months in law school.” Running a finger under her nose, she added, “It’s his place, not mine. Every dime I make goes to pay for my degree.”
And for clothes, and hairstyling, and shoes, and makeup, and perfume, and body glitter, and a membership at Life Time Fitness, thought Avi. It was simply more proof that it cost a lot to look like a cheap whore.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” said Georgia, her face growing mottled and her eyes tearing up.
“What about your family?”
“My dad’s dead. My mom doesn’t speak to me anymore.”
“Other family?”
“My sister lives in Portland.”
“Friends?”
“I don’t have time for friends.”
“Well,” said Avi, “I suppose you could crash here for a while, just until you find someplace else to stay.” This was a variation on how she’d gotten in trouble last time. Not that it worried her. She wasn’t the least bit interested in Georgia.
“Are you kidding me? You’d let me do that?”
“It would only be temporary, right?”
“God, you’re a saint,” said Georgia, scraping tears off her cheeks. “I’ll find a way to repay you, I promise.”
“You’ll need to pony up some cash for food.”
Georgia pulled her purse off the shoulder of her belted camel-hair coat. Digging around inside, she came up with a fairly thick wad. “Here,” she said, peeling off two hundred dollars in twenties. “Will that do it?”
“More than adequate,” said Avi. “Unless you’re a big eater.”
“To be honest, I am. I eat like a horse.”
“You never diet to keep yourself slim?”
“I must have a supersonic metabolism.”
Avi hated her on general principles.
“I’ve got a bunch of stuff in my trunk,” said Georgia, leaping to her feet, all traces of anger and sadness gone.
“Need some help?”
As Avi retrieved her coat from the closet, a knock came at the front door. It was then that she realized
how much she’d grown to like her privacy since coming to Minnesota. Today was turning into a zoo.
“Dorsey,” she said, surprised to see him standing in the hall. He was holding a lumpy-looking blanket.
“Can I come in?” he asked, glancing furtively over his shoulder.
His pinched, nervous expression struck her as hilarious. “Why do you always look guilty?”
Georgia moved up behind her. “Hey, Dorse,” she said, smiling seductively. “I hear the FBI’s been asking questions about you. Something about an MX missile?”
Stepping inside, Dorsey ordered Avi to shut the door.
“You need to learn some manners,” said Avi.
“You’re so jumpy you’re making me jumpy,” said Georgia.
Lowering himself into a chair, he held the lumpy blanket carefully in his lap.
“What have you got there?” asked Georgia, her tone teasing.
Dorsey fixed Avi with a serious look and said, “You wanted to know why I’ve been so secretive? Why I never let anyone into my apartment?”
“You mean the missile thing was just a ploy?”
“This is not funny,” said Dorsey. He opened the blanket, revealing a small, curly-haired black dog. The eyes were bright and playful, the demeanor calm and gentle.
“What’s that?” asked Georgia, backing up a couple of steps. “Is it a dog? I’m not a dog person.”
“Your loss,” said Dorsey. “I found her out back of the apartment right after Christmas. I figure she must have been a gift, but when her owners discovered she couldn’t hear well, they dumped her.”
“She’s deaf,” said Avi, crouching down to get a better look.
“Not completely. I took her to the vet. She’s only deaf in one ear. Hardly ever barks. I keep her in the bathroom when I’m gone. That way I’m sure she won’t hear anything and start yapping.”
“I see one big problem,” said Avi, caressing the dog’s head. “This is a nonpet building.”
