Dickens of a Death

by Ashantay Peters

  Boy did I ever. My juices were running hot. I pushed Dirk’s tee up and rubbed my stomach with long slow moves. My voice had a sultry cast. “Yeah, I remember you hot and hard. I can’t wait. I need you.”

  “Baby, you don’t know...shit.”

  I sat up, the spell broken. “What do you mean, I don’t know shit?”

  His voice sounded all business. “Not you. My work phone is ringing. I gotta go. Love you, babe.”

  My body hummed. I clicked off the phone in my hand and threw it to the end of the bed. “Damn him.”

  I hovered halfway satisfied thanks to Dirk’s phone sex foreplay. I searched my bedside table for my battery lover, Pedro. He complained I’d been neglecting him, so I ran him until his alkaline faded. Never let it be said that I don’t listen to, and act on, complaints.

  Chapter Ten

  “Morning, Jim.” I looked around the construction trailer. “Hey, guys.”

  My boss Jim Prentice, owner of Get Solid Builders, held a morning meeting twice a week, more often during the summer. We weren’t as busy during the winter, but he usually found interior work to keep his crews going, at least through the holidays. The Charlotte area recently experienced an uptick in building, and Jim bid out regionally, so we’d keep going.

  Usually I fought with Jim over the office temperature, him liking it cooler than me. This morning, the heater ran full out, even though it wasn’t that cold. None of the men would look me in the eye. Not a good sign. I checked my work area for obvious traps before lowering my butt into my chair.

  Cam Darrow, my favorite supervisor and recently married to my friend, Maggie Stewart, perched on my desk. “How’re you holding up, Katie?”

  “Um, fine?”

  “You want me to kick Dirk’s ass for you? Just say the word.”

  My forehead wrinkled. “Kick—” Shoot. I’d forgotten we’d “broken up.” Now I understood the quiet and gazes avoiding my eyes. I smoothed my forehead with a finger. When in doubt, attack.

  “You’re only back a week, Cam. What happened to your honeymoon mellow? Your crew is going to miss the kinder, gentler you.”

  The supervisors guffawed.

  “I’m fine, or I was until I heard that douche bag dumped you. He’ll never find another woman like you, Katie.”

  “Relax, Cam. I can kick pretty good ass all on my own. Besides, I dumped him.” I raised my hand like I swore to tell the truth in court. “Everything’s cool.” If you count no mutual, in-person sex and a killer framing your substitute mother as copasetic.

  He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “Just remember what I said, okay? I’d wear a mask and catch him in a dark corner. He’d never know it was me.”

  I scanned his serious expression, trying not to laugh. Dirk would ID Cam in a New York street second. But Cam was a special friend, and he wore his heart on his sleeve. I never wanted him to change.

  Standing, I put my hands on my hips. “Look, you guys. Dirk and I splitting is no big deal. I can handle the breakup. Stop with the long faces on my behalf already. Do I look hangdog? I appreciate you stepping lightly but no more. You guys are creeping me out.”

  I grabbed my coffee cup. “A box of donuts is on the front seat of the dark blue SUV. It’s unlocked. Someone better go out and get them.”

  Walking to the pot, I poured myself some java, hoping no one would ask why I drove Ginger’s old vehicle. Plus, I’d forgotten I was supposed to be heartbroken. Dirk knows I’m a terrible liar. What were we thinking?

  Apparently my little speech did the trick, because a moment later Jim yelled. “Who the hell turned this damned heater up so high? Katie, I told you. Wear a damned sweater to work. I’m not made of cash.”

  “Could have fooled me. You’re looking a little green right now.”

  Everyone laughed and that was that. Now all I had to do was appear suitably downcast when others were around. I’d rather wear Victorian clothes. Besides not having Dirk to snuggle with, this “break-up” face I had to wear would drive me nuts. Our separation counted as another excellent reason to help Dirk find the killers sooner than later.

  ****

  “Katie, can you stop by my mom’s after work?”

  Let’s see, the warmth of the Winslows versus my Dirk-less, decoration-free home. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Rob called.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Rob Howe, Ginger’s husband, had done a number on her. Although she was guilty of adultery, having had one brief fling with a yoga instructor, she’d borne the brunt of their marital problems. Rob had not only cheated on Ginger, he’d taken a flyer with a bunch of her money. And yes, he’d lost the investment and tried to hide the results. They’d been working on patching their marriage, but their union had limped along most of the year. Ticked me off, too, because Rob had been my friend for years. Now I didn’t recognize the guy.

  A big part of me hoped his phone call meant he’d finally asked for a divorce. I couldn’t tell from Ginger’s voice, and that’s why I rushed to Patricia’s house an hour before my normal quitting time.

  “Hey, where is everyone?” I’d always walked freely in to the Winslow’s house, but usually someone answered my initial greeting. Not the case today.

  “Patricia? Ginger?”

  My friend walked toward me from the kitchen. Actually, she more stumbled and dragged her feet than walked. I think you can do both those things at once. Anyway, Ginger wasn’t smiling. She looked like someone photographed at a disaster scene.

  We hugged without speaking. I escorted her to the kitchen and got her settled at the table. After preparing a hot beverage for each of us, I sat next to her, a box of facial tissues nearby.

  She inhaled a breath that sounded more like a death rattle. “Rob called.”

  What could I answer? I sat quietly.

  “He says he wants to try again because he doesn’t want me to be alone during the holidays. Especially with Patricia under suspicion for murder.”

  The shit-head played on Ginger’s worst fears. Her face held no expression, which scared me more than her monotone.

  I tried joking her out of her misery. “More likely he wants a New Year’s date.”

  She examined her hands, folded on the table before her.

  “Okay, so will another try at your marriage make a difference? Last time we talked about this, you’d said you didn’t hold out hope.”

  “I don’t. Rob’s called and we’ve gone on dates twice, but we don’t have much in common anymore. Oh, we discuss investments, but we don’t have fun.”

  “Hasn’t he recognized the problems? You’ve been going to counseling, right?”

  Ginger nodded. “I’ve been going. Rob hasn’t. That’s why I told him I thought we should divorce.”

  Relief warred with sadness. Everyone around Ginger had seen this coming but supported her struggling attempts at reconciliation. Ginger’s stiff posture and pale face told me there was more to this story.

  “What did he say?”

  Ginger shook her head, tears glittering in her eyes. “He wants the house.”

  “Let him buy you out. You’ve always hated that place. Move in to my house.”

  “That’s not all.”

  My stomach muscles cramped. Figured.

  “He wants half of our investment accounts.”

  “But that’s your money. You used part of your inheritance to bankroll him.” I slapped my palm on the table. “For crying out loud, he lost a huge chunk of your money. You’re the one who earned it back. You’ve got more investment smarts than he does, and you can prove it, right?”

  “I did the research and figured out the market, but I don’t have a license. Rob made the buys after I outlined the moves.”

  “Damn it. So the records look like he made the reversals, earning a chunk of the cash.”

  She nodded.

  “I suppose he’s got all the files, too, so you don’t have proof.”

  Ginger straightened. “No
, I’ve got paperwork. May not prove anything, but I can show my involvement. Katie, it’s not the money.”

  No, for my friend who’d always had money, that wouldn’t be the issue.

  “I think he’s seeing other women. He said the counseling is b-bullshit. Rob says he still cares for me, but I don’t know. That’s what hurts. What did I do wrong?”

  She sobbed into a wad of damp tissue.

  I moved closer and threw my arm around her shoulders. “You did nothing wrong.”

  Rob moved to the top of my shit list, elbowing out the person who destroyed my car. In fact, I considered giving Rob permanent top billing.

  “So, essentially, what Rob wants is either a lifeless marriage or a chunk of cash that doesn’t really belong to him. Right?”

  Ginger nodded. “That and keeping me from enjoying my life with or without him.” She wiped her eyes with the tissue I handed her. “What happened, Katie? Where did we go so wrong? Why am I even trying to save my marriage to a man I can’t trust?”

  I had my own failed marriage and no answer about hers other than observations.

  “You’re loyal, but Rob changed, sweetie. He’s gone over to the Dark Side or something. Maybe he has an evil woman pushing him to this. I vote his nasty-ass mother is the female involved. You should get a wife of the century award for putting up with that bee-itch.” I pulled more tissues from the box for her. “I repeat what I’ve said before. Stop trying to revive a dead marriage. You’re only hurting yourself. “

  “I’ve had it. I’ll call Tom Jenkins for a referral tomorrow.”

  “Good. Tom won’t let you down. Next we need to drown your sorrows with Mona’s chocolate. After we get all sugared up, we can plan how to get back at Rob without him knowing.”

  “I don’t want to add fuel to his fire.”

  “Oh, we won’t do any of the stuff, but talking strategy will make you feel so much better. Believe me. I never actually told my ex’s new girlfriend he had an STD, but I enjoyed the heck out of imagining her face if I did.”

  Ginger hiccupped a laugh. “I remember that.” She stood and tossed her tissues in the trash, then washed her hands.

  “You up for a trip to Mona’s? Or I can grab a takeout box.” My friend is one of those people who look good after crying, but the ravages of her tears still showed.

  She pulled a Chocolate Fix box from the cupboard. “I stocked up earlier.”

  That’s Ginger—beauty and brains.

  I rubbed my palms together. “Now we’re good to go.”

  She sat at the table and opened the box. The scent of fresh chocolate filled the air. “So, how had you planned to announce the STD? I’m thinking a full-page newspaper ad ought to do the trick for me. You know, set up like the ones that announce class-action suits?”

  “Don’t waste your money,” I said. “Just get your hair cut at the Hair Shack. Everyone in town will know in an hour or less.”

  “Let me get a pen and paper. I’ll take notes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  We filled three sheets of notebook paper with ideas then Patricia arrived. She sank into a chair at the table and reached for a truffle.

  “My goodness. I don’t know how you do it, Katie. If I were involved with a policeman, I’d worry about him constantly.”

  My spine straightened. “What do you mean?”

  She patted my hand. “No, don’t worry. He’s fine. It’s just the people he has to work with that bother me.”

  I relaxed. “Criminals. Yeah, they can cause nightmares.”

  “I referred to Mayor Rose. Odious man. My friends tell me he’s smearing my reputation, not that he’s getting far.” She looked unconcerned, so my worry that she’d been called back for questioning died a quick death.

  “You know,” I said, “I’ve been wondering what the scoop is on your feud. Besides Madeline being a total pain in the butt, what’s with you and the Roses?”

  “Stephen Rose is a nincompoop. If it weren’t for Tom, he’d have flunked out of college.”

  Tom had been Patricia’s husband. “That’s old news, right?” I sensed the feud was deeper and more serious, but I didn’t want to push.

  Patricia took another truffle and bit down. Her gaze remained focused on a scene outside the window while her fingertips drilled against the tabletop. She swallowed and cleared her throat.

  “This story doesn’t travel further than the three of us.” Her gaze moved from Ginger to me. “I promised I’d never repeat the information.” She played with the silk scarf at her neck.

  She smiled at me. “I could hear you wondering, Katie. Tom and Stephen Rose worked for the same law firm. Yes, years ago, Stephen worked at the law. Before he took over the Rose family business.”

  She shook her head. “They both worked for a man long retired now. Judge Benson. He died early last year.”

  Patricia contemplated the chocolates, then put her hands in her lap. “Tom found indications that Stephen had manufactured evidence later used to free his maybe not-so-innocent client.”

  She thanked Ginger for pouring her a cup of tea and sipped. Replacing the bone china cup on its saucer, she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Tom agonized for days. He and Stephen were friends, close friends. They played racquetball together, went out for drinks to celebrate case wins, but more importantly, they collaborated on strategy. Tom believed he understood Stephen’s thoughts. His ethics. All that trust got blown out of the water when he understood what Stephen had done.”

  I’d inched to the edge of my seat. “What happened?”

  Patricia’s lips curved in a small, sad smile. “Tom went to Judge Benson. He wasn’t a judge then, of course. That came later.” She shook her head. “I digress. Tom presented his suppositions. The evidence was too weak for disbarment proceedings, but Judge B knew both men better than they realized.”

  She cleared her throat and sipped tea. “The upshot is that Stephen left the firm, Tom made junior partner a year later, and Madeline got married after a whirlwind courtship. Stephen joined his father-in-law’s company. The rest you know or can guess. The two close friends became bitter enemies.”

  I slid back on my chair. “Wow. I’m surprised none of this made the gossip rounds. Not that I’d have heard any of it except as anecdotal stories.”

  “I never knew the whole story either,” Ginger said.

  “That’s the point, dears. I doubt that Madeline knows the truth, but defended Stephen out of a misguided loyalty. Certainly, I’ve never done anything to her.” Patricia nabbed another chocolate. “The story died with Tom and Judge B. I’m sure any files relating to Stephen’s indiscretion were destroyed long ago.”

  She tapped a fingernail on the table. “Now, I’m the only person left beside Stephen and Madeline who could know any part of the truth. Outside of you two, I’m not talking.”

  “Do you think Mayor Rose framed you? Or wait, maybe he’s the one who killed Richard Shorter.” I got excited just thinking about the idea.

  Patricia smiled, the first real expression I’d seen on her face for the last fifteen minutes. “Stephen’s not a killer. A cheat, yes. But he’s not homicidal.”

  “Mom, you don’t know that for sure. I’ve been hearing stories that the mayor is thinking of moving up in the political circles. Maybe a run for a state seat.”

  I snagged a truffle. “Yeah, and you know newspaper reporters. They dig up stuff you wouldn’t believe.”

  Patricia stilled. “I’m not talking and neither are the two of you. If Stephen wants to run for a higher office, let him. He’ll fit right in with the rest of the crooks.”

  I rubbed the side of my neck. “But don’t you think having you in jail would fit right into his plans? You’d be out of the way. No one would believe a convicted killer over a respected politician. Not that you are or he is, well, you know what I mean.”

  She patted my hand. “Yes, and I understand where you’re headed. I believe whoever killed Richard Shorter had a vende
tta against him. Using three different poisons points to someone with an overwhelming hate. Then there’s the old cliché about poison as a woman’s weapon.”

  “Madeline Rose fits this scenario,” Ginger said. “Let me count the ways. First, she’s in your Garden Club. Next, she and Shorter were having an affair. Third, she’s married to a sworn enemy of the Winslow family.”

  “Thanks for the outline, dear, but you’re forgetting one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No one could have predicted Richard Shorter would collapse on my back stairs after I showed him out.”

  “Mother, Shorter had a clipboard with him. He’d planned to stop here three times that night but only made it the once. Anyone who knew him and his attention to detail could foresee the possibility and plan accordingly. Especially if they knew his schedule and had a way to deliver the poison appropriately.”

  Patricia waved her hand and the conjecture away. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Neither do I. About the timing that is,” I said. “And don’t forget about the blow to the back of his head. The killer wasn’t taking a chance Shorter would outlive the poison.”

  I pushed my hair behind my shoulders. “But I’d believe the idea of a frame if I were you. Looks like someone has it out for you, and I vote Madeline Rose.”

  “And I think Richard’s dying here is coincidence.”

  “Dirk doesn’t believe in coincidence.” I inhaled through my nose. “I hate to ask this, but do you have any enemies? People who’d like to see you in prison? Besides the Rose duo, of course.”

  Patricia’s hand went to her throat. “No, well only, no. I can’t think that way.”

  “Sorry to bear the bad news, but I’d start thinking that way if I were you.”

  ****

  “Hey, babe.”

  I melted at the sound of Dirk’s voice but gave a loud sniff. “Like I should talk to you, after you left me hot and ready Tuesday night.” I didn’t mention I’d hoped our phone sex would encourage him to sneak over so we could have an in-person physical exam. I loved my bouts with Cop Sexy.