Ted scowled. "Probably?"
I shrugged. "I don’t know. I think this is it, but there might be other documents or testimony they want me to review." I pulled his arm around me and kissed his cheek. "I’m not defying you. And if I knew you’d be home so early, I wouldn’t have started it."
He sneered. "Because it’s a secret?"
"No, because it upsets you and I don’t want to upset you." I held his face with my hands and quietly said, "This is what I do, honey. It’s the job. But I’m not keeping secrets from you. I promise."
He bussed my lips with his. "I still don’t like it. I hate it."
I kissed his face. "I know."
He pulled me close and sighed into my hair. We held each other for moment then I stood back and felt his forehead. "Why are you home so early? Are you sick?"
He shook his head. "Just taking a break. I have to go back in a couple hours." He pursed his lips. "Might be an all-nighter."
I tried to take the news without scowling. "The new dispatcher called in sick again?"
Ted stretched out his arms and lay his head down on them. "Didn’t call at all."
I sighed. "Anything I can do to help?"
Ted raised his head. "Cupcakes. I need lots of cupcakes."
Chapter Fourteen
After Ted went back to work, I watched the rest of the interview, but beyond seeing what a badass Reznick was, it gave me little insight. I regretted giving back the data file because I wanted to review it again. I made notes, password protected the document and shut down the computer. Then locked the DVD in my desk drawer. Ted wouldn’t be home until late and being alone in the big house put me on edge. Watching the video was probably a stupid idea because all I could think about were dead mothers and babies.
I forced down a tuna sandwich and a cup of chamomile tea, then ventured into the back room, ready to face the boxes. The repetitive task of unpacking helped me relax and took my mind off the Atkinson case. And it wasn’t such a bad way to spend the evening. I found the box containing my office stuff and happily put away pens, paper, notepads, journals, printer cartridges, and desktop items. I found a framed photo of me and Zee taken at Manny the Cuban’s — a restaurant where we’d worked for many years — and put that on my desk.
I got into a rhythm, blew through a few more boxes and put away linens, dishes, and winter clothes. And it started to feel a little more like home to me. After a couple of hours, I went back to the kitchen and made another cup of chamomile tea. I was sweaty and needed another shower, but it felt good to have little pieces of me scattered around the house. I stretched and rolled my neck — eight more boxes left to unpack, but I was done for the night.
I sipped my tea and was considering breaking out the cupcakes when headlights flashed through the kitchen door window. I smiled because Ted was home, and I wouldn’t have to go to bed alone. Maybe he’d get in the shower with me and wash my back. I waited, but he didn’t bound through the back door. I cocked an ear toward the front. "What’s he doing?"
I hopped off my stool and checked the front but Ted wasn’t there either. Peering through the side window, I saw the drive was empty. Disappointed, I shrugged figuring it was the next door neighbor’s headlights I’d seen and checked the alarm panel. Ted hadn’t set it before he left. I turned on the alarm and checked the front door — all secure. "And he thinks I’m an airhead."
I shuffled back to the kitchen to raid the cupcake stash since there’s no comfort for loneliness like cupcakes. As I carried my cup to the sink, a scraping noise outside startled me, and I dropped it. "Damn it!" Barefoot, I tip toed around the broken china and looked out the kitchen window. I saw nothing but the faint outline of patio furniture and the glimmer of the pool in the dim moonlight. A thud came from the front of the house and I walked toward it. "Ted?" The dining room was empty. And as I headed for the living room the alarm beeped from the entryway. "Honey?" My pulse quickened. "Babe, is that you?"
Then the alarm stopped beeping and I froze. I whispered hoarsely, "Ted?" No answer just soft footsteps. The fireplace tools on the hearth a few feet away caught my eye. With adrenaline pumping, I grabbed a poker and raised it over my head, then charged out to the entryway. And there she stood, amber eyes wide, mouth forming a perfect oh. "What in God’s name are you doing in my house, Ingrid?"
She stood motionless for a moment, and then her million dollar smile made an appearance. "Oh. Hi. Is Ted home?"
I couldn't believe the nerve of this woman. Pointing to the door I said, "Get out!"
Ingrid bristled and put a hand on her hip. "Are you always this rude to people who drop by?"
I shook my head, not quite believing I was having the conversation. "People who drop by, ring the bell or knock on the door. They don’t break in."
Ingrid’s eyes skittered away from me. "I would never break into someone’s home. I have the keys." She held up a key chain. "The one for the front door still works." She chuckled. "Guess he never changed the code for the alarm, huh?" She winked. "But then he didn’t know that I knew the code."
Still clutching the poker, I went toward her. "You think this is funny? You broke into my house. I don’t care that you used the keys to do it." I waved the poker at her. "If you don’t leave now I’m calling the police."
She smirked and wagged a finger at me. "You’re an uptight little thing, aren’t you?" She grinned. "You should see how red and blotchy your face is — not pretty, honey."
I stomped to the door and threw it open. "Get out!"
Ingrid shrugged and tossed back her gleaming locks. "Fine." She pulled a pocket photo album from her bag and held it out to me. "Tell Teddy I came by to give him this. Well? Aren’t you going to take it?"
I snorted. "I’m not giving him anything except that key in your hand."
Ingrid giggled like it was all a game. She set the pocket album on the entry table and placed the key on top of it. "Okay, all better now?"
I waved the poker at her. "I swear to God, if you don’t get your bony ass out of my house, I’m going to kneecap you with this thing."
Stunned, Ingrid stepped back. "You’ve got quite a temper. Does Teddy know about your anger issues?"
I was done with the subtle approach and grabbed her skinny arm. "His name is Ted. He’s not five. He’s a grown man. And, he’s my man." I shoved her out the door then slammed it.
Proud of myself, I felt like quite the badass until I noticed the photo album sitting on the table. Seething, I grabbed it and opened the door. Ingrid stood on the sidewalk, and smiled. "Change your mind?"
I threw the album at her with everything I had. Unfortunately, she ducked as it flew past her face and landed on the ground at her feet. "Don’t you ever show your face here again. Do you hear me? You stay away from us!"
Ingrid glared and picked up her photo book. She jammed it into her bag and stared at me for a moment — as though she could hurt me with a look. I shook the fire poker at her. She turned away and hurried to her tacky sports car. Before she got into her car, she glared at me. "This isn’t over."
I waved the poker again. "It’s over. It’s more than over." I pulled out my cell and speed dialed Ted. "You have no clue how over it is."
Ingrid jumped into her car and pulled away from the curb. I never took my eyes off the bitch, not for a second.
"Scotti? Scotti? Are you there?"
"I’m here."
Ingrid peeled down the street, tires screaming against the pavement.
"Scotti?"
"When are you coming home?"
"Soon. Why, what happened?"
"Come home now." I hung up.
I slammed the door and threw the poker to the floor, screaming. Then I locked up everything tight and called Zelda. "I’m on my way."
"No, she’s gone now."
"I’m bringing Eric and Boomer. And my gun."
The lock turned in the front door and I inched toward the entry way. The door opened and Ted walked through. He turned off the alarm and his eyes wer
e both worried and confused. "I have to go. Ted’s home."
I was so relieved to see him, but when I opened my mouth to explain, I just came unglued and started sobbing. He rushed into the room and held me. "Scotti, what happened? Talk to me."
<<>>
I awoke in bed — Ted’s hushed voice coming from the hall. "Ted?"
He appeared in the doorway and nodded. "Okay, thanks." He put his cell in his pocket and came into the room. Sitting down next to me, he stroked my forehead and said, "Feeling better?"
I sat up. "Who was that? On the phone?"
"Zelda." He kissed my forehead. "I’m sorry baby, I didn’t know Ingrid would pull a stunt like that." He pulled off his shoes and socks. "Even for her that was bold."
"Didn’t you?"
He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and unbuttoned it. "What?"
"You called her a black-hearted bitch. You had some idea of what she’d do."
Ted finished undressing and got into bed with me. "Yeah but not something like this."
I hugged my knees. "Ted what did this woman do to you?"
He looked away. "I told you – she cheated on me. Slept with my best friend for pay back."
"For what?"
He turned to me and sighed. "For joining the service and going to Iraq." He grunted. "Guess she thought it would make me quit and run home to her." He pulled me down next to him and slipped his arms around me. "Tomorrow we’ll change the locks. I’ve got a guy who can do a fence around the house. She’ll never get in here again."
I raised my head and stared at him. "No. I don’t want to live in a prison because of your crazy ex girlfriend."
He propped up on his elbows. "So this is my fault?"
I sighed. "I’m not blaming anybody. I’m just saying that locks and gates won’t make the problem go away."
He lay back. "We’ll get a restraining order, too."
I snuggled into the crook of his arm and kissed his neck. "She did something to you, didn’t she? Something you don’t want to tell me?"
Ted ran his fingers through my hair and looked at me for a long moment. "She’s a troubled woman."
My whole body tensed and I frowned. "How troubled?"
Ted stared at the ceiling. "More than I thought."
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, the locks were changed, the security system code was reset and only Ted and I had the keys and the code. Instead of fencing in the whole property we had an electronic gate installed for the backyard that was programmed into the existing security system. And Dan promised we’d have a restraining order by the next day.
While Ted handled the gate and security guys, I spoke with Glendale police detective, Peter Thompson. Thompson scratched his chin as his disinterested eyes lazed around the room. "Did she take anything?"
"No."
"Did she destroy any property?"
"No."
"Did she threaten you?"
I sighed. "She said it wasn’t over."
"What did she mean by that?"
I shrugged. "I’m not a mind reader. You’d have to ask her what she meant."
He puckered his lips. "But you felt threatened?"
"Do you have a wife, detective?"
He cocked his head and finally looked at me. "Yes, ma’am."
"If your wife were home alone and she discovered your ex girlfriend inside the house — would she have felt threatened? Would she have been upset or frightened? Afraid her life might be in danger?"
The detective nodded. "Point taken." He made notes in his notepad. "Address?" He looked up. "We’ll need her address to bring her in for questioning."
I slumped. "You aren’t going to arrest her?"
"That’s up to the D.A." He frowned at his notes. "We have no evidence, no sign of a break in, no property damage or injuries."
I smirked. "You don’t believe me?"
Detective Thompson smiled. "For the record, yes I believe you. But, our justice system requires evidence." His pencil poised over his pad he asked, "Do you have Ms. Sorensen’s address?" I gave him the contact information we had for Ingrid. Then he closed his notebook and stood. "We’ll be in touch if anything develops. In the meantime, I’d suggest you consider getting a restraining order."
Ted came into the living room and put his arm around me. "In the works."
Detective Thompson nodded and looked around the room. "You’ve done what you should — changed the locks, your security code — that should be the end of it. But if she makes contact again, call us."
Ted shook Thompson’s hand. "Will do."
Then Thompson left, and I frowned at Ted. "Well that was a big fat waste of time."
He shrugged. "We gave the system a chance." He patted me on the butt. "I’m hungry."
I followed him into the kitchen. "What are you thinking?"
Ted stood at the open fridge moving stuff around. "I'm thinking I could go for a meatloaf sandwich — is there any left?" I nudged him aside and pulled out the meatloaf and sandwich fixings then set them on the butcher-block. Ted grinned and rubbed his hands together. "You want one?"
I nodded and watched him make the sandwiches. "Ted what’s going on in that devious head of yours?"
Ted slathered mayo on four slices of bread. "Melinda knows Ingrid’s family." He cut tomato slices and put those on the bread. Ted flicked me a look. "There are certain pressures she can exert that are more effective than a scolding from the police." He smirked. "One look at Ingrid and Detective Thompson might forget how to write his own name."
I pulled up a stool and sat across from him. "What kind of pressures?"
Ted stacked thick slabs of meatloaf on top of the tomatoes and then covered them with pickles. "I don’t ask." He placed the top slices of bread on the sandwiches and cut them in half. "I just know it works."
I laughed. "You make it sound like Melinda has mob connections."
Ted slid my sandwich to me and poured two glasses of milk. "Connections, is a good word for it." I made a face and cranked a hand — requiring more of an explanation. "My dad was career military, but Melinda grew up in a kind of fancy family. There’s a whole system to that world that outsiders don’t know anything about. Ingrid’s part of that world too. Mom knows which way the wind blows in those circles." He winked. "And how to shift those winds."
I bit into my sandwich — the babies purred and did a happy dance inside me. I nodded. Ted finished half of his sandwich in two bites. "You understand?"
I shook my head. "Not really. Do we have to bring Melinda into this?" He nodded and I sighed. "Melinda’s already on it, isn’t she?"
Ted made a second sandwich and groaned when he bit into it. "Baby, you make the best damn meatloaf."
Proclamations of my cooking prowess was Ted’s way of ending discussions. If I wanted further answers I’d have to go to the source — Melinda. Ted knew I wouldn’t do that. I wasn’t hungry anymore so slid the plate across the counter to Ted. "Still hungry?" No words, just a big hand snatching the sandwich and aiming for his mouth. I rested my chin on my hand and studied him. "Why won’t you tell me what Ingrid did to you?"
Ted wiped his hands on a napkin then finished his milk. He wiped his mouth, balled up the napkin and tossed it into the trash bin. He creased his forehead. "You’re just going to keep after me, until I do, huh?"
I rubbed his arm. "Yeah, I think I am."
He pursed his lips then blew out a breath. "At first it was small stuff — things you could explain away. A look. A tone of voice. Friends suddenly avoiding you. Things go missing but you convince yourself that you lost them." He shrugged. "Things like that."
I tilted my head. "And after the small stuff?"
Ted tapped his fingers on the counter and pursed his lips. "When Tom started seeing Ginny we double-dated a few times. This one time we went to a karaoke bar. It was fun. We got hammered and they got me up on stage." He grinned. "Didn’t know I could sing, did you?"
"No honey, I didn’t."
"Anyway, Tom brought my guitar and dared me to play." He blushed. "I thought I’d be a rock star during my misguided youth." He cleared his throat. "It was late, only a few people in the place. So I played a song I wrote. I was hammered and didn't remember it, but Ginny went on about it the next day when the four of us were at breakfast. A few people came by the table and said some nice things too." He smiled. "It was cool. Made me feel good."
Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3) Page 10
