BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6

by John W. Mefford

  “I…I don’t know what to say,” he said, feeling his chest rise and fall.

  “I know words are difficult for you. And this whole stuttering thing is kind of a turn-off anyway. Let me just get a mental picture of everything I’m seeing and feeling from you.”

  She inhaled, closing her eyes while fluttering her hands in front of her. He studied her every movement, mesmerized. She didn’t just take his breath away, she replaced his oxygen.

  Without notice, her eyes popped open. “I can now envision our time together. Here.” She reached down and stuffed a wadded sticky note into his shirt pocket. “Make sure you are well hydrated and ready for a marathon session.”

  “I…uh...” He wanted to say no because he knew what would happen. But he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Like I said, words are not needed.” She popped his cheek with a little extra vigor. “Yum. Do I have plans for you…” she said. “Tonight.”

  And then she was gone.

  He blinked his eyes and could hear his breath heaving. Then he noticed his hand vibrating. Actually, it was his phone.

  Crap.

  Turning in his chair to face his monitor, he brought the phone close to his chest and thumbed through a myriad of text messages.

  Iron Man: CA…where you’d go????

  Five minutes later, another text.

  Iron Man: CA…u called the meeting. Where the hell r u??

  Another two minutes had clocked by.

  Iron Man: Dude, come on. U playing me??

  Then he saw that the third wheel had finally arrived to their group text.

  Black Widow: Don’t call me a bitch again, CA. Ive warned u before. Bitch!!

  Iron Man: BW…CA has disappeared.

  Black Widow: Get real. CA dont miss this meeting. He’s playing u.

  Iron Man: Don’t blame the playa, blame the game.

  Black Widow: U fucked up, trying to act like ur from the street and all.

  Iron Man: Home girl.

  Black Widow: Where the hell is CA? Im not in the mood for your shit. Too much on my mind. Remember?

  Iron Man: What?

  Black Widow: R u fucking kiddin me?

  Iron Man: Yeah.

  Black Widow: Screw u!!

  Iron Man: How many times?

  Black Widow: In ur dreams? Where’s CA? He’s the only one who can control ur perverted ass.

  Iron Man: Maybe something happened? Could have been caught.

  Black Widow: I got a headache.

  Iron Man: Hold on.

  Black Widow: I don’t hold for nobody. Get ur ass back in here.

  Another minute passed.

  Black Widow: Jesus, I think I need a cigarette.

  Iron Man: Im back.

  Black Widow: And?????

  Iron Man: Real black widow has CA cornered.

  Black Widow: What u talkin about? There’s only one.

  Iron Man: Wish I could trade places with him.

  Black Widow: Don’t wanna know what ur thinking. Zip it.

  Iron Man: U should see her.

  Black Widow: Black widow my ass.

  Iron Man: You should see her…J

  Black Widow: If CA don’t show up soon, I’m gonna whip him, right here, right now. I promise. I cant deal with all this shit by myself.

  Finally, he’d scrolled to the end of the notes, and he jumped into the conversation.

  Captain America: Sorry guys. Was pulled away. Down to bizness

  Iron Man: Someone was pulling alright…ur heart strings. I saw w/own 2 eyes.

  Captain America: Moving on…

  Iron Man: U have one flaw and we’re supposed to pretend it don’t exist. U’d have us quaking in our boots.

  Captain America: We’re one team. Set up for one mission.

  Black Widow: That’s what you convinced me of…but who got distracted?

  Captain America: Minor lapse in judgement. She means nothing to me. I know what will bring meaning to my life. What will make this country strong again.

  Black Widow: U ain’t even from this country.

  Captain America: Don’t say that, bitch!!!

  Black Widow: U call me that again and I’ll stick an ice pick in your eye.

  He tried to unclench his teeth, recalling why he’d recruited his two young apprentices.

  Captain America: Ready for ur big night?

  Black Widow: Think so.

  Captain America: Put all this childish crap out of ur mind. Remember what it was like to watch him walk.

  The screen remained blank for a minute.

  Iron Man: Pisses me off too

  Captain America: BW…u there?

  Black Widow: Im seething. Hard to see straight right now

  Captain America: Don’t let anyone see u upset

  Black Widow: Ok. Now, Im ready

  Captain America: We got ur back

  Black Widow: All in. Will report back once complete

  He let his phone drop to the desk, bringing his hands to his face in a prayerful position. He didn’t need to think any further on the topic. He knew what needed to happen.

  Someone would die tonight.

  11

  Sliding my finger across the stained wood, I created a wedge through a thin sheen of dust collecting on the built-in bookshelves. I arched my neck to see the top—books of all types stuffed into every nook and cranny. I spotted countless legal books, a few biographies, and a wide assortment of fiction, everything from Faulkner to Stephen King, Edgar Allan Poe to Sue Grafton. And I spotted the Michael Connelly legal thriller, The Lincoln Lawyer. Not too surprising, considering Alisa and I were standing in the claustrophobic library in the home of Bernice Fischer, the recent widow of Judge Richard Fischer.

  As I turned to face Alisa, my eyes locked on a coffee table book about the Kennedy assassination in Dallas. Considering what I’d experienced a few months back, that one resonated a bit.

  “She’s taking a while. You think I need to check on her?” Alisa asked.

  Bernice had insisted on serving us homemade lemonade while we visited about the death of her late husband. Oddly enough, she had reached out to us before I had the chance to take Henry’s advice and secure her as a client. She’d called a couple of hours earlier, just as Alisa and I were putting on our costumes for the Halloween party at The Jewel that evening.

  I found myself staring at Alisa’s getup, then I realized she’d already asked me a question.

  “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “Your eyes playing tricks on you?” she asked with an overstated wink.

  Alisa’s normally crazy head of blond curls had been stuffed under a brown wig with bangs. She was playing Mia Wallace, Uma Thurman’s character from Pulp Fiction. I had been talked into dressing like Jules Winnfield, the Samuel L. Jackson character. I would have rather gone as Shaft, another role played by Jackson, but Alisa scoffed at the idea. I dropped the idea when she told me I’d have to shave my head. Still, when she handed me an overgrown afro with built-in Jheri curl, I was the one scoffing. So I kept it simple. Me, my normal goatee, a basic black suit, thin black tie, and white shirt. Mia wore a white, starched shirt under a feminine black sports coat and tight, black leggings.

  I couldn’t stop staring.

  “You actually like this look on me?”

  She gave me a flirtatious smirk, but I could also see it was a test.

  “It’s nice for one night, but I like authenticity.”

  “So no Uma dreams later tonight?”

  I decided to turn the tables rather than broach that subject, and I gripped my suit coat. “Jules doing anything for you?”

  “No, but Shaft would.”

  Considering we were still in the hand-holding stage, I think my jaw dropped.

  “Did I just say that?” Splotches of pink dotted Alisa’s face as she backed toward the hallway.

  “Look out!” I said, as she nearly ran into Bernice carrying a full tray.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, moving her arm to Bern
ice’s back.

  As nimble as a woman half her age, Bernice swung her arms to the right, avoiding contact with Alisa, and set the tray on the glass coffee table.

  “This is a recipe I’ve had for forty-something years.” The tiny woman who was dressed like she was going to church stood upright—all five feet of her—while jabbing her finger into the air. “Forty-three years, to be exact. Got it from Little Ricky’s mother.” Her eyes shifted to what looked like an antique desk as her face went blank. A black-and-white picture sat at the corner of the desk, two young people arm in arm, smiles filling up the photo.

  Alisa reached around and put a finger on the picture frame. “You and your husband right after you got married. You look like you’d won the lottery.”

  Bernice broke her daze, although I could see her glassy eyes. “I hit it big. Little Ricky was…what would you young kids say? The bomb.’” She released a Wilma-like giggle, then took a seat on the sofa and poured lemonade. Alisa joined me on the couch, opposite Bernice.

  “That’s cute, Little Ricky,” Alisa said taking a full glass from Bernice. “Thank you.”

  “Mrs. Fischer, I think you asked us over here—”

  “Please, do call me Bernice. That’s what Little Ricky used to call me. It makes me think his soul is still with us.”

  I nodded. “Sure, Bernice.” She handed me a glass and I took a sip. “Best lemonade ever.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Booker. The two of you are nice to show up on short notice. I can tell you have plans for the night.”

  “By the way, feel free to just call me Booker,” I said, taking another gulp then setting the glass on a coaster. “We know this is a difficult time for you. Did Judge Fischer talk much to you about the cases that came through his court?”

  “Not so much. Well, maybe if it was really contentious, or if he felt like he had a big decision to make. Or sometimes he’d have funny stories to tell. Like this one: when the prosecuting attorney had given an eloquent closing argument, and then when he got ready to make his final passionate plea and though he was addressing Little Ricky, he actually used another judge’s name.”

  We all shared a quick laugh.

  “It gets better,” she said. “This attorney actually addressed him as Judge Ito…that little man from the OJ trial. I know I call my husband Little Ricky, but he was far from little.” A warm smile washed across her face, then disappeared just as quickly.

  I took in a breath and continued. “You know I’m only asking these questions to help with the investigation.”

  “Of course. I’m familiar with the process. And I respect the work of the police. But I also know how constrained they are by resources, how much information they’ll be willing to share. I’m not the kind of person who wants to hear a watered-down version of what happened. I can handle the truth. Not knowing the full story will eat at me forever.” She used a napkin to dab the corner of her eye.

  “So, are you aware of any recent threats that your husband received?”

  “Not that I recall,” she said, shaking her head. “He tended to not take those too seriously anyway. He used to tell me that everyone can lose their cool occasionally, especially when there’s so much on the line.”

  “He sounds like quite a man. Lots of wisdom,” Alisa said.

  “They say judges have to be hard-asses to be effective and respected. But that wasn’t how Little Ricky looked at his job or his life.”

  “That’s really cool,” Alisa said.

  Bernice held up a finger. It appeared she had arthritis. “Don’t take that as Little Ricky being weak. When someone crossed him or, worse yet, lied to him in the courtroom, hell hath no fury!” she said raising her arm above her head.

  “So, no threats here at home, I’m assuming?” I asked.

  “Nothing I’m aware of. Plus, we do have Bentley here to keep us safe.” I followed her eyes to the adjoining hallway. An enormous St. Bernard was draped across the floor, leaning against a wall just under an illuminated painting of hunters following a hunting dog across the prairie.

  I recalled the report I’d read earlier about Bentley running back home sometime during or after the attack. “He’s not a very aggressive dog, is he?”

  “He is rather old. Squirrels, other small animals get him going a bit. Other than that, he’ll only bark generally,” she said, her eyes shifting to the rug. She took in a breath. “The other night, when Bentley scratched at the back door and I saw the leash hanging from his neck, I knew something wasn’t right.”

  She moved her gaze to Alisa and then to me. “Justice meant everything to Little Ricky. And in this case, it means everything to me. Please find who did this and put them behind bars. Can you do that for me?”

  “We’ll do the absolute best we can.”

  Bernice walked us past Bentley and into the foyer. Earlier, when we’d arrived, I hadn’t noticed a framed map resting against the wall, a hammer lying next to it.

  “Do you need any help putting this up?”

  Alisa gave me a quick wink as I gripped the top of the frame.

  “That was our gift to each other. We were going to try to put it up the night he…passed.”

  I leaned the frame against the wall, wishing I hadn’t made the offer.

  “Richard was the love of my life, but he was also married to his job.” She crossed her arms, her jaw stiffening a bit.

  Hearing her use the name Richard, I knew she meant business.

  “We’d planned on traveling for years. One thing after another kept putting it off. As the magical age of sixty-five approached, I thought we were about to finally start the third act of our lives. But…”

  Alisa glanced at me, then put a hand on Bernice’s elbow. “Did something happen?”

  “Nothing happened. That’s the problem.” Bernice used the napkin to plug the leak in her eyes.

  “We don’t need to go down this path, Bernice. No need to upset you in this—”

  “He put me off for thirteen years. Each year, I thought he’d put in his retirement papers, and then he’d say he wanted to stick around until the end of a big case or ruling. There was always something bigger, more important.”

  “I’m sure he just didn’t know what to do with himself,” Alisa said.

  “Sounds like you knew him,” Bernice with a slight chortle. “The last couple of years especially, I thought he was afraid to retire. But finally the law kicked in, and he couldn’t avoid it.”

  My brow furrowed a bit.

  Bernice laid her hand on my arm. “They set a mandatory retirement age of seventy-nine. So he only had four more months. He told me to go ahead and start planning our first trip. I was so excited. I already have it booked and everything. We were supposed to leave the day after he retired.”

  Alisa paused, then spoke up. “Where to?”

  “The Amalfi coast in Italy. A cruise over to Greece, and then the last leg of our trip up to England. I’ve always wanted to tour Downton Abbey.”

  “I’m really sorry, Bernice.”

  “I guess it wasn’t mean to be. Maybe I’ll go alone, or find another widow at the church who would want to tag along.”

  “And I’m sure you’ll have a great time,” Alisa said with a heartfelt smile.

  Bernice gave Alisa a hug, then turned to me while keeping her arm around my partner. “You’ve got a good woman here, Mr. Booker.”

  I smiled, admiring how Alisa could make friends with anyone. “She’s a keeper,” I said. Alisa gave me a funny look.

  “Oh, I didn’t really take notice earlier,” Bernice said, stepping back a step and giving us the once-over.

  Pointing at me she said, “You’re supposed to be that rapper guy.” She brought a hand to her head. “Oh, what’s his name?”

  I glanced at Alisa and mouthed rapper.

  “Jaz Z?” I just threw out any name.

  “No…he teamed up with the country boy, and even had a woman in the last movie. That’s you, Alisa,” Bernice said.


  Alisa raised both arms, apparently unsure how to respond. “Thank you,” she said, sounding more like a question.

  Bernice snapped her fingers. “Men in Black.”

  For some reason, I touched my suit coat. “Oh, Will Smith. You think I look like Will Smith in Men in Black?”

  “Yes, but your ears are normal-sized. He’s kind of goofy looking,” she said, then put a hand on Alisa’s shoulder. “And you’re his female sidekick in that third movie.”

  I didn’t have the heart to correct Bernice as we walked onto the front porch.

  “Thank you for the conversation,” she said. “You can see I’m a little bitter about his delay in retirement, but talking about it helps. I’ll forgive him and learn to remember only the good times. We had a simple life. He chose not to chase the money, and I’m sure our lives were less complicated because of that.”

  We said our goodbyes and walked to the car. “I kind of like the Men in Black idea.” I said. “Catching bad guys instead of being a homicidal maniac.”

  “I don’t know…I could call you Shaft instead.”

  I just shook my head and smiled. She punched my shoulder and then grabbed the keys out of my hand. “You can be my sidekick this time. I’m driving.” She winked and got in the driver’s seat.

  <><><>

  Alisa scrolled through photos on her phone as I turned onto Greenville, heading for The Jewel. We’d just left Eva’s house, where we had led a platoon of paparazzi in watching my little Samantha do the trick-or-treat thing.

  “She’s adorable, Booker. Look at this one!”

  Pulling to a stop at the light, I glanced over to look at the picture on her phone. Samantha looked like she’d just seen a ghost. Her startled, round eyes stretched wide open as she held her bag of candy.

  “Great look. Even with her face stretched, you can still see her dimples. Of course, this is before she accidentally squirted that red liquid candy all over her Elsa costume.”

  We both laughed, even as I recalled my little girl breaking out in tears the moment she noticed red dye dripping down her ice-blue dress—an exact replica of the one worn by Samantha’s idol, the star of the hit movie, Frozen.

  Samantha had worn the dress all day long, starting with her school party, all through the afternoon, and then for the actual trick-or-treat event itself. Between Momma, Uncle Charlie, Alisa, Eva, her boyfriend Thom, and two sets of neighbors, I think Samantha’s mug shot might have made some type of trending list on Instagram.