Shadow Of Temptation (Margot Harris Mystery Series, #0)

by Nora Kane

  “Alright, you two have fun.”

  Margot was at the door when Flynn called to her, “Hey, Harris.”

  Margot turned.

  “Do you have a first name?”

  “Margot.”

  “Nice meeting you, Margot. I’m Mal.”

  “Thanks, nice meeting you too, Mal.”

  “You never asked me my first name,” Shaw said to Flynn as Margot headed out to finish her shift on patrol.

  Chapter 2

  Margot was out of uniform and on her way home when her phone buzzed. She was considering spending some of her off-hours looking for the kid, Sean, since after whatever happened at the shot house, he still hadn’t come home. Margot’s efforts to help seemed to have backfired; all she had achieved was to worry his mother more. Even though she was driving, she checked the face and saw her sister, Melanie, was calling. Margot answered and put her on speakerphone.

  “What’s up, sis?”

  All Margot got back was silence.

  “You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here, sorry. I was wondering if I shouldn’t have made this call.”

  “What?” Margot replied, but it didn’t take her long to figure out why Melanie was being hesitant. Before Melanie could reply Margot asked, “Did something happen to Mom?”

  “Mom’s okay...”

  “Define okay.”

  “What do you mean ‘define okay’? I think we both know what it means.”

  “There are degrees and we both know it. Is she ‘doing great’ okay or is she ‘happens to have not been murdered yet’ okay?”

  “Somewhere in between. I’m at the hospital.”

  “What happened?”

  Again a long silence.

  “Are you going to make me guess?”

  “She’s fine, it was just a precaution...”

  “I didn’t ask you how she was doing, I asked you what happened.”

  “Dad.”

  “Dad? Why was he even near her?”

  “He moved back in.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know, two months?”

  “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

  ..“Why do you think? You don’t exactly have an open mind when it comes to him.”

  “No shit. Do you think maybe if I knew, Mom wouldn’t be in the ER right now?”

  “She’s actually out of the ER. They just want to keep her overnight because she had a concussion.”

  “A concussion she got from our father.”

  “You don’t know that and neither do I.”

  “Mom knows.”

  “Yeah, but she ain’t saying.”

  “Maybe I’ll go ask Dad, he’ll know.”

  “For everyone’s sake, please don’t. Give yourself some time to calm down at the very least. In fact, promise you won’t talk to him right now.”

  “Promise you? Like the way Mom promised not to take the dirty bastard back?”

  “The ‘dirty bastard’ in question is her husband and our dad.”

  “Yeah? Dirty bastards get married and have kids all the time, it doesn’t make them any less dirty bastards.”

  “Just promise me.”

  “Fine, I promise.”

  “Do you have time to come by the hospital? I’m sure Mom would like to see you.”

  “Sure. I’ll be right there.”

  Margot ended the call but didn’t drive to the hospital. Instead, she went straight to her mother’s house.

  Her mother lived in a similar place as the dead man she’d found today, only her mom was a much better housekeeper. There were no empty pizza boxes decorating her living room and all of her furniture matched. Margot parked in the driveway and made a point to leave her gun in the car just so there wasn’t any temptation to shoot him. As much as she despised her old man, she didn’t want to murder him.

  Margot still kept a key so she let herself in. As she suspected would be the case, Dad was sitting in his chair in front of the television. Next to him was a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass with two cubes of melting ice floating in two fingers of whiskey. In some ways, she was glad to see the whiskey. There were times his drug of choice was more of the amphetamine variety.

  From her dad, Margot had learned how to read the eyes to see if someone was tweaking long before she became a cop. While it didn’t really make him sending Mom to the hospital any better, Margot was strangely glad to see his pupils weren’t wide open and locked in place.

  He swallowed the rest of the whiskey and then swiveled to look at her. He looked older than he really was and, if one didn’t know better, even kind of frail. If a person knew where to look, however, they could see evidence he might not be one to mess with. He was more wiry than skinny. His bent nose and the excess scar tissue around his eyes showed this was a person who’d been in a few fights. In his case, some in the ring, others in parking lots and back alleys.

  “You don’t knock?”

  “It’s more my place than yours.”

  “You moved out.”

  “So did you.”

  He scratched his chin. She felt the same way standing there under his gaze as she did at times out on the streets wearing a badge. She felt like she was being sized up. If she was working, she might have gone with the preemptive strike, used some of the things she learned fighting to cause some pain before she slapped handcuffs on a person. It wasn’t like she usually had a better choice. She was maybe five foot seven and didn’t tip the scales at much more than one thirty-five. Like her old man, she was stronger than she looked and had been in a few fights, some in an octagon but others in parking lots and alleyways, just like her old man. At her size, however, she wasn’t going to intimidate anybody without showing them she could hurt them first.

  Right now, she wanted him to try something. She wanted to hurt him. She stood there hoping he gave her an excuse.

  Instead, his eyes softened and he said, “You come over to have a drink with your old man?”

  “We both know why I’m here.”

  “Yeah? Why is that?”

  “Are you going to leave nicely?”

  “I’m not going to leave at all.”

  Margot stepped forward. “I’m not asking.”

  “Come on, Margot, what are you going to do? Beat me up?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. This ain’t an octagon and there’s no referee. Even if there was, you don’t fight in my weight class and we both know I taught you at least half of what you know. The half that works, by the way, not the Hong Kong phooey bullshit you wasted my money on. You’re a tough kid, Margot, and I’m proud of you for it, but you’re out of your league.”

  “Don’t say you’re proud of me. It implies you had something to do with who I am.”

  “Look Margot, I know we’ve had our disagreements, but I’m still you dad.”

  “In name only. Are you going to leave nicely or not?”

  He poured another two fingers of whiskey over what was left of the ice before he said, “Come on, Margot. You don’t even know what happened.”

  “Let me guess, she fell. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Is that what you consider fatherly advice?”

  “You’re starting to try my patience.”

  “Go ahead and do something about it.”

  He scratched his chin again and took another drink before he said, “Get out of my house, Margot, before we do something we’ll both regret.”

  “What’s the matter? You have trouble hitting things that might hit back?”

  Just like always, there was no gearing up to violence with him. He went from calm to murderous rage in an instant; he nearly always acted on his violent impulses the moment they hit. It was the reason his wife was being observed overnight at the hospital.

  Margot, of course, knew this, so she ducked when he snatched the bottle. She knew throwing things at people was one of his
favorite things to do in this state and he didn’t disappoint. Even though she saw it coming, she missed taking a fifth of Jack to the face by only inches.

  He stood up, but Margot sat him right back down with a kick to the chest. When he hit the chair, it topped over backward, spilling him out the other side. She was moving in to press her advantage when his hands found the lamp that had also hit the floor when the chair tipped over. Instead of pinning him down and putting him into some manner of chokehold, Margot was raising hands and taking a lamp to the forearms instead of her face. It didn’t do any damage, but it slowed her down enough that he was able to roll to his feet and square off with her.

  “You made me waste half a bottle of whiskey!” he growled.

  Margot didn’t say a word as she closed the distance between the two of them.

  He smiled and motioned for her to keep coming.

  “Both of you, stop!”

  Margot didn’t look back at her sister; instead, she kept her focus on him.

  “You promised, Margot,” Melanie shouted and then sobbed loudly.

  “Look what you did,” her father said as he motioned toward Melanie, “You made your sister cry.”

  “What I did?” Margot said as she shuffled forward. Her dad, however, moved out of striking range. He wasn’t wrong when he said he’d taught her half of what she knew. He may have drunk half a fifth of Jack Daniels, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have experience fighting under the influence. It occurred to Margot her chances might be better if he were sober.

  “Don’t make me kick your ass in front of your sister,” he told her. “You know she’s sensitive.”

  He wasn’t wrong. When they were kids, Melanie’s reaction to this kind of thing was to run away and hide. Her reaction hadn’t changed much as she reached young adulthood. Still, Margot didn’t lower her fists. He certainly wasn’t above hitting her when her guard was down.

  “You going to leave?” Margot asked.

  “It’s still my house.”

  “It’s Mom’s house.”

  “Is she telling me to leave?”

  “No, I am.”

  “Well, it ain’t your house either.”

  “If Mom says you have to leave?”

  “Then I’ll go.”

  Margot stepped back out of punching range and lowered her hands. “Fine, go ahead and pack your stuff. She’ll be telling you to get the hell out once she gets back from the hospital.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  Margot turned and walked away.

  “You promised,” Melanie said as she walked by.

  “I guess that makes me a liar,” Margot quipped as she kept going.

  “You owe me a bottle of whiskey!” her dad shouted as she reached the door. Margot didn’t bother responding.

  Chapter 3

  Margot considered going to the hospital but just like she knew how going to visit Dad was going to go, she could see how it would go with Mom as well. In the end, she’d be mad at Margot for interfering in her life and Margot would be mad at her for keeping a guy who treated her like a punching bag around.

  Margot could hear it in her head: “It’s my life,” followed by the long list of excuses for her father’s behavior. Since her mom’s voice was already in her head, Margot decided there was no reason to hear it again in person and went home.

  Before she realized the irony of what she was doing, Margot found herself sitting in her own easy chair with a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks in her hand. Unlike her Dad, she preferred Maker’s Mark. Her salary made both it and her apartment across the street from the beach affordable.

  She was thinking about pouring another glass when her phone buzzed. She checked the face and saw it was Ms. Oliver, Sean's mother. With all the drama her father had created, Margot had forgotten to call her to let her know how the search for Sean was going. There wasn’t much to tell and until they identified the body, she didn’t want to worry her since the dead guy appeared too old to be either of her sons. She still should have checked in, though, if only because she’d said she would.

  For about two seconds, Margot let herself think it might be good news. Perhaps, Ms. Oliver was calling to say Sean, and maybe even his brother, Steve, had come home on their own.

  She answered. Before she could say anything, the voice on the other end whispered, “He’s back.”

  Margot didn’t need to ask who.

  “I need your help,” Ms. Oliver continued. “Can you come to my house? Now?”

  So much for good news. Margot told her, “I’m on my way. Have you called 9-1-1?”

  “No, I called you. Can you handle it? I trust you.”

  “Okay, but if it’s too bad, call 9-1-1, that’s what it's there for.”

  “Just hurry, please.”

  Ms. Oliver ended the call. Margot grabbed her gun since Ms. Oliver’s estranged husband wasn’t a blood relation, and left her apartment.

  Margot was glad she’d only had one glass of whiskey, even though one glass still probably put her on the wrong side of the driving under the influence laws. She kept this in mind as she pushed her Toyota Prius up above the speed limit and sped through an intersection where the light might have yellow for a millisecond when she entered. A DUI wouldn’t help her impending promotion.

  Her phone buzzed again, and she put the call through on her Bluetooth system, thinking it was Ms. Oliver again.

  “Hey Margot, it’s me, Mal.”

  It took Margot a second to figure out who Mal was. Even though it hadn’t been more than a few hours since they met, it had been an eventful couple of hours. She was about to ask how he got her number, but then she remembered she’d texted him the information on Ms. Oliver’s sons.

  “Hey, Mal what’s up?”

  “Two things. I got an I.D. on the kid with his brains on the wall.”

  “Steve Oliver?”

  “No. It wasn’t the younger brother either. It was one of our finer citizens, dude named Robert Ballard. Does that sound familiar?”

  “I can’t say it does.”

  “How about Boogie Bullfrog?”

  “Is that someone’s actual name?”

  “Nah, just a street name, but it sounds a lot cooler than Robert Bullard, which is why everybody called either Boogie or Bullfrog.”

  Margot pulled up to Ms. Oliver’s house. As far as she could tell from the outside, it was just like every other house on the block. Something must have been going on; otherwise, she wouldn’t have called.

  “Hey, Mal, can I call you back?”

  “I didn’t get to the second thing?”

  “Can you do it in thirty seconds or less? I’ve got a thing going.”

  “Work?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Do you need help?”

  Margot considered it for a moment and then said, “Ms. Oliver’s ex-husband is back.”

  “Okay, I take it that’s bad news.”

  “She thinks so.”

  “I have the address. It’s not far from my place. I can be there in ten if you want some backup.”

  “This is kind of extracurricular.”

  “I love extracurricular.”

  “I don’t know if I can wait for you. I should be in there already.”

  “Fair, but I’m coming anyway.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Margot clipped the holster for her standard-issue Glock 19 to her belt and put the gun inside. She hung the lanyard with her badge around her neck and left the car.

  She paused by the door and listened. It wasn’t long before she heard Mr. Oliver.

  “Look, if you’re not going to open the door, at least tell me where they are.”

  Margot didn’t hear Ms. Oliver’s reply but judging by the way he yelled back, “Bullshit,” it wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

  Margot checked the door and found it was locked.

  Mr. Oliver continued to yell. “I will kick in this fucking door! We both know the little pansies wouldn’
t be staying out all night on their own, so tell me where they are.”

  Margot knocked on the door, putting some force into it.

  “Go away, I’m busy,” Mr. Oliver yelled back.

  Margot knocked again.

  “What part of ‘I’m busy’ did you miss?”

  Margot knocked again.

  “If I have to come over there, you’re going to regret it.”

  Margot knocked again.

  The door flew open and a squat fireplug of a man stared at Margot with hate in his eyes. “Do I know you?”

  “Is your wife home?” Margot asked.

  “How is that your business?”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  He saw the badge and took a step back. “You’re the cop, from the other night.”

  “That’s right and if your wife is home, you are currently in violation of a restraining order. If she’s not, then you’re trespassing. Either way, you need to take your act on the road.”

  “How can I be trespassing? This is my house.”

  “Since you never got around to paying any rent, your name isn’t on the lease.”

  He looked for a second like he was going to leave but then his brow furrowed and instead of walking away, he said, “How come you ain’t wearing a uniform?”

  “It’s casual Friday.”

  “Really? You guys have that? Wait, it’s not even Friday.”

  “I’m asking you nicely to leave, Mr. Oliver. I think we’d all be happier if we didn’t let things get past the asking nicely stage.”

  “You would anyway. Where’s the big white boy who was with you last time?”

  “Do you really want to go to jail?”

  “No little bitch is taking me to jail. You want to come back with some real cops then we’ll talk.”

  Oliver went to shut the door, but Margot kicked it open before he could get it latched.

  He took one step back and then held his ground. “So, you want to tussle? I’m actually in the mood to do some tussling.”

  “So am I, but I think I’ll just shoot you instead,” Margot said as she drew her gun.

  Oliver took another step back and raised his hands as if they could somehow stop a bullet.

  When she didn’t fire, he smiled, “Shit, you’re bluffing.”