18
Rolling back onto Greenville, heading south, I clicked Eva’s phone number. Three rings in, someone picked up.
“Hello?”
An unknown man’s voice, baritone, but pleasant enough. But it still threw me.
“Is Eva there?”
“Sure. Who can I say is calling?”
“Booker. Samantha’s father.” I felt compelled to claim ownership.
“Right. Hold on, and I’ll get Eva for you.”
In the background, I heard him say, “Hey, dear, it’s Booker.”
A ruffling sound. “Booker? Hi. What’s up?”
“Just checking in. I’ve been out of town a couple of days. Everything okay with you and Samantha?”
“Fine. We’re having a cookout. Samantha has a friend over. Why are you asking?”
Eva’s tone was pleasant, carefree even. The last thing I wanted to do was drag her and Samantha into my world of drama and death.
“Sometimes I just want to make sure my…” I paused, realized I couldn’t say “my girls” any longer. “Just wanted to touch base, see how Samantha’s doing.”
Eva laughed. “I’d get her on the phone, but she’s outside with her friend running around, blowing bubbles. Having a blast. I’ll have her call you later. Does that work?”
“Sure.”
We hung up, and I let the hum of the Saab 9-3 distract my thoughts long enough until I found Momma’s number. It rang seven times, then rolled to voicemail. Chewing the side of my cheek, I felt an agitated pit in my stomach, swelling more by the moment. At a stoplight, I punched in a text to Britney.
Would like to talk to you. Call me.
I pulled into my regular parking space, and my phone buzzed. Eager to see if it was Britney, I found a voicemail from Henry. I tapped the icon as I walked down the hall toward my condo.
“Booker, I’m at Central Division, working with the detectives, questioning the man you caught earlier. We’re working on murder charges, but during the interview something came up. We showed him a picture of Maggie Pickles, and he said it wasn’t her. Gave a different description. I gotta talk to you. Call me as soon as you get this.”
I tried swallowing, but my throat had almost shut. I forced out a breath, refusing to allow my mind to wander. I inserted the key into the deadbolt and…the door opened.
“Hey there,” Britney bounced through the doorway in body-hugging, black stretch pants and a pink workout shirt. She hugged my neck, a grin on her face.
“Hey,” I said, hands hanging at my side.
She snuck in a quick kiss and walked back inside. “Just got your text. I wanted to surprise you.”
Nearly yanking my arm out of my socket, she pulled me in. Glancing left, I first noticed the towel over Big Al’s cage, and I held up a finger.
“He just wouldn’t hush, so I had to put a stop to it.”
She brought me to the center of my condo, stopping me with both hands gripping my shoulders.
“Stand right here and close your eyes.” She arched her eyebrows, like she had so many times before.
The pit in my stomach hadn’t subsided. “Britney, I…we need to talk.”
She put a finger to her mouth. “Shh. We can talk later.” She leaned in, nibbled at my ear, then whispered, “Close your eyes.”
“I…”
“Later. Let’s enjoy now.”
Her blue eyes sparkled, and I complied. Two claps, and my eyes opened, my nerves on high alert.
She was giggling like a little girl. “I made some changes.” All the lights had been turned off, from her two claps it appeared. In their place, candles I hadn’t noticed earlier glowed through colorful votives, red, green, yellow. Fresh flowers in a vase on the bar, a place setting on either side.
“I made your favorite dish, you mother’s meatloaf.”
Taking in the sweet aroma, I turned around, confusion on my face. “You talked to Momma?”
“What? Of course, silly. She’s happy I’m making it for you. In fact, she told me that she considers me part of the family, wants me in your life.”
I tried to smile, but it wasn’t there. I noticed the bedroom, a golden glow, shadows dancing on walls.
She walked up and placed my hand on her breast, and she kissed me, full on. I felt awkward, but I couldn’t stop. I wanted to believe it was real, the Britney I’d…
“We can work up our appetite first.” She guided me into the bedroom, then winked. “I have another surprise. Give me thirty seconds.” She walked into the bathroom while removing her pink bra and tossing it back my way. I caught the side of her breast, and she shut the door.
Taking in the whole scene, my heart hammered in my chest for so many reasons, all competing against each other. I couldn’t let my mind go where it needed to go. Instead, I slipped off my sweatshirt and opened my closet.
“Momma!”
She was tied up like a prized pig, a gag in her mouth, tears and makeup etched in every crevice on her terrified face. She had a fat lip, one eye swollen shut, a cut on her nose.
I reached in and took off the gag as she shook her head.
“Booker! Noooo!”
Her eyes looked beyond me.
I flipped around, and a thunderous object slammed against my jaw. Like a TV shutting off, my mind, all my faculties, powered down. Crashing to the floor, my eyes fluttered, clinging to life for one final second. One last image—a pink bra, laced edges.
Then it was over.
19
“Give me a sec,” I said to the red-headed valet just outside of Marvel.
The window lifted, an air-sucking sound the last couple of inches, keeping the arctic blast of air on the other side of the glass.
I’d just unfolded a copy of the note Britney had left on my bare chest just over a week earlier. Checking the rearview mirror, I adjusted my jaw, touched the bruise, felt around the edges of the last bandage, a bump still evident.
Enough stalling. I flapped the crinkled paper and started at the top.
My dearest Booker, if you’re reading this note, you know things didn’t work out between us. In some respects the last few months were the best of my life. But they also grew to be the most painful, watching you take our relationship and toss it in the wind. I opened my heart and gave you all of me, every last bit of kindness, compassion, tenderness. We could have had what every couple dreams about, friendship, lifelong companionship, passionate love, and hot sex.
Ashton cheated on me with countless other women, practically throwing their skank pussies in my face! But he would not shame me. I found that little bomb-making twerp and convinced him to exact revenge on Ashton in the most humiliating manner possible. All I had to do was give him a blowjob. Kaboom! LMAO. That was the day you entered my life, and I knew instantly it was serendipity.
Until you became distracted by other women. Courtney Johnson, Olivia Dunham, they thought their talent and fame allowed them to take anything they wanted, including my prized possession—you. They practically threw themselves at you with countless, slutty flirtations. I couldn’t let them continue. I had to protect you from them. Ultimately, though, I knew you would cheat on me.
As much as it pains me, I’ve moved on to another place in my life, and no one will ever find me. Maybe we’ll cross paths again someday, and we’ll have another duel:) Maybe you won’t know it’s me. Maybe I’ll fuck your brains out, and then you’ll pick up my scent. If you do, I’d have to cut your dick off and stuff it down your throat. Oh my, what a dick you have, IMHO:)
They say there’s a thin line between love and hate, peace and war. Perhaps I’ve crossed it a time or two. But in the end, it was worth it, loving you. I’ll never forget you, Booker. And I hope you never forget Britney Hill.
xoxo,
Britney
Emotions swelled inside, thankful that Momma hadn’t been harmed too badly, or worse yet, killed. While I couldn’t make sense of anything, even a week later, I’d come to grips that I’d been falling in l
ove with a maniacal, cold-blooded killer. But I couldn’t let the thought or memory of Britney control me or change my life.
I ripped the paper into shreds and exited the car. “Here you go.” Handing the remnants to the snotty valet, I walked inside Marvel, finding Renee and Muffin Cromwell finishing up a late Sunday lunch.
“Not watching the Super Bowl pregame show?”
Both women released a light laugh. Renee set down her cup of coffee in a fluid, graceful motion.
“Thank you again, Booker. I know you sacrificed a lot for us. It’s much appreciated.”
“You’re welcome. I wish she was behind bars, but given that the FBI put her on their Most Wanted list, and every cop in Texas and the surrounding states are searching for her, I think they’ll find her in a faraway place, probably across the border.
“I have to admit something to you,” Muffin said, her eyes moist. “On Ashton’s wedding day, I heard the two of them arguing. She accused him of cheating, and he denied it. I’m not taking up for my son’s actions, but I heard venom in her voice.”
She used her napkin to dab under her nose. “I hired you, Booker, because I thought somehow Britney might have had something to do with his murder. A mother’s instinct, I suppose. Thank you.”
Muffin patted my hand, and I took hers and held it tight.
“Have you seen the chef, David?”
Renee held up a finger. “He’s so suave and charming. And what a menu he’s cooked up.”
That’s what most women say, I thought. “Good to hear nothing has changed at Marvel.”
“I think I saw him headed back to the kitchen, talking with his maitre d’…what’s his name, Dax?”
I waved goodbye and meandered around Spiderman chairs and faux spider webs, passed by the bar and entered the kitchen, where five folks dressed in all-white were chopping and mincing, sipping soups, adding spices to dishes. The aroma was addicting.
“Booker, what brings you here?” Dax asked from across the kitchen, holding an open notebook, his smug smile painted on his face. The old Dax had returned.
“I need to speak with you and David.”
Fluttering his hand my direction, he said, “Let’s get out of the kitchen and let them get back to work. You can just tell me what you need, and I’ll relay it to David.”
He walked my direction, thinking I was on a leash and would follow.
“Sorry, but I need to speak to both of you at the same time.”
“What about?” David turned a corner from his office, removing readers.
“Let’s go back to your office, in private.”
“What’s the big deal? Just share it. I’ve got a restaurant to run, man.” Harry Specter had also returned.
This might not be as difficult as I’d imagined.
“Okay, we’ll talk right here in front of everyone.” Glancing around the Double Ds, I noticed eyes shifting, but everyone still chopping and mincing. “Ever since last week, when Sciafini tipped off the FBI and they saved our asses, at least mine, something about the whole fiasco with Sims has been eating away at me.”
David pursed his lips, looked down at his watch.
“I kept asking myself how Sims knew I’d be at NorthPark Center? How did he even know, David, that you knew about his operation?”
“Well, I think he probably realized he’d opened his mouth in the restaurant, and I’d overheard it. He’s a cop. Used to be, anyway. He knows how to put two and two together, I guess.”
“What’s the point of this, Booker?” Dax asked, a leg thrusting forward, hands on his hips.
“The point is, I’ve now got both feet in the Sciafini sandbox, and if I’m going to be working with you guys on any level, trust is paramount.”
“We know you’ve been through a great deal. We all have. But I think we’ve learned a thing or two along the way. Trust…and treating people right.” David nodded.
Shifting my eyes to Dax, I said, “Dax, why don’t you tell us about trust and loyalty?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I think you know. Do you have something to share with David?”
“Uh. I have never…” His voice faded.
David’s eyes narrowed. “Dax?”
“Dax?” I added.
“Okay.” Dax thumbed a tear from the corner of his eye. “Sims…” He paused and lifted his chest. “Sims caught me kissing another guy.”
David’s head dropped, but Dax continued. “I was drunk, pissed off, jealous even of all the attention David was getting with the restaurant, and no one ever noticed my contributions, my talent. But it’s no excuse. I’m so sorry, David.” Dax touched David’s arm, and the chef looked at me, shaking his head.
“There’s more, right?” I motioned for Dax to keep talking.
He swallowed. “Sims threatened to tell you, David, if I didn’t provide him information on Booker. I never thought what I shared would matter. I only want the best for you.”
David looked at Dax, his eyes shifting to his crew momentarily, his voice broken. “I trusted you.”
“I’m so sorry. You’ve been so kind to me, and I betrayed you. I’ll never let it happen again.”
They walked off, but there was still hope in David’s eyes.
I wished I could feel the same.
20
Henry ignored everything I’d said, his eyes wide and excited. He took a container out of his pocket, sprayed twice in his mouth, and padded over to the table where Cindy and Dina sat. I waved and swiveled in my bar chair to face Justin and Alisa.
“What gives with Henry?”
“His blind date last week couldn’t have gone worse,” Alisa said, shining a mug with a towel.
“That matchmaker website set him up with a tree-hugging anarchist. She told Henry in the first five minutes that all laws were bad and that she supported the overthrow of all governments worldwide,” Justin said, a smile escaping his lips. “Even worse…she had hairy armpits and believes that deodorant infects your body with a bacterial disease that will force humans to take antibiotics from pharmaceutical companies for the rest of their lives.”
I think my mouth hung open.
“I ain’t shittin’ ya.”
“Hey, turn it up. Isn’t that the Eagles?”
Justin clicked the remote as the Star Spangled Banner played on the Super Bowl pregame. Don Henley hummed a chord on his harmonica, then the other members of the Eagles—Glenn Frey, Timothy B. Schmit, Joe Walsh—chimed in for an a cappella harmony.
All heads turned to the big screens in The Jewel, the most silent I’d ever heard the bar when it wasn’t empty. The four aging rockers nailed the final note, a perfect blend of pitches.
“Greatest rock band ever,” Justin boasted.
“They’ve done a few things,” I said with a wink.
“A few?” he said. “You do know that Don Henley himself had a drink in this bar four years ago?”
I held up ten fingers, and Justin scrunched his forehead.
“Booker’s saying you’ve told us the same story ten times,” Alisa said, rolling her eyes. “Double that for me. But it’s more myth than fact, right, Justin?”
“Henley sat right on the bar stool you’re sitting on, Booker, late one Sunday afternoon in August. It was hot and humid outside, and since he’s a Dallas native, said he was passing by, saw The Jewel sign, and thought the bar would be cool. He had a single beer, draft. Gave me a twenty-dollar tip.”
Justin’s eyes drifted to a corner of the bar, his mind in another place.
“I thought you were going to say that Henley asked you to join his band on the next tour,” I said, snorting out a chuckle.
Justin tossed a white bar towel at my face. “Punks. Both of you.” He walked off, shaking his head.
“How have you been this week? I haven’t seen you much,” Alisa said, touching her jaw while looking at mine.
“Healing rather nicely.” I paused, tipped my head back, and took a
swig of my bottled beer.
Alisa gave a single nod, her lips slowly widening. I could sense her care for my well-being.
“I’m guessing Henry didn’t say anything about law enforcement catching her?”
I tried to act mildly interested in her whereabouts. But I still refused to say her name.
“Nothing so far. But she’s not an international criminal with dozens of identities and contacts across the globe. They’ll catch her eventually.”
International travel. She and Ashton had traveled the globe. I wondered if there was any way possible she’d planned for this; it was possible, considering the fragility of her mental health. Blinking my eyes, though, the thought sounded absurd.
“Just so you don’t get surprised in case the press calls you up, or you read it on a website, it’s now come out that she had an affair with one of her high school students when she was in west Texas,” Alisa said.
“I didn’t know she taught anything other than fifth grade in Fort Worth.”
“Apparently the boy broke it off, then she threatened him.”
I felt my forehead crumple, a small headache coming on. “How did she get another teaching gig?”
“They think her family paid off the boy’s family to keep it quiet. Maybe her family knew about her obsession issues.”
“Damn, she’s messed up.” For a few seconds, I let my mind slip into a state of analyzing the past, how I couldn’t see any of the signs, how I’d been blinded by her beauty, compassion, kindness. I wondered how I’d ever trust a woman again.
The few seconds to dwell on what I could have done, should have seen, was over. I felt condensation from the cold beer on the tips of my fingers.
The big game kicked off, a cascade of whoops and hollers throughout the bar. Just as the place settled down, I heard Henry’s woodpecker laugh. Looking over at the table, his face was red.
“Hey, Booker,” Henry called out, then took Cindy’s hand and walked to the bar. “You’ve got to check out this picture Cindy’s posted on Instagram.”
Cindy handed me her tablet, which drew the attention of Alisa. Justin waltzed up from behind.
BOOKER Box Set #1 (Books 1-3: A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense) Page 46
