Just me. The words seemed to chase the lump of hurt around her chest. The lump had been there ever since her mother told her about the cancer. Tears blurred her vision as rain coated her windshield. She attempted to hold back the tears; she didn’t need more liquid impairing her view.
~
Brit thumbed through another book of mug photos. His vision grew blurry. He needed some sleep or he wouldn’t make the night. Eyeing his watch, he decided to go home and try to grab a nap before his shift at eleven. Standing, he stretched his arms over his head. The wet sweater on his file cabinet caught his gaze. Tomorrow he’d drop the sweater off at her work, in exchange for his jacket.
The idea of seeing her again brought a surge of anticipation. His mind created a vision of her breasts against the wet blouse.
“Damn!” he mumbled, and mentally tossed the anticipation in the trash along with her cup of cold coffee. The last thing he needed was to get a hard on for some woman mixed up with an abusive boyfriend. He started out, then swung around and grabbed the sweater. He did want his jacket back.
Only a light mist fell when he stepped out the backdoor of the precinct. He stopped to grab his keys from his pocket when something brushed against his leg. Looking down, he saw the pathetic looking mama feline rubbing her face against the hem of his jeans. The animal’s gray fur seemed too thin, her chest swollen with milk, and her right ear was missing most of its tip. She’d tangled with someone she shouldn’t have. Her gold eyes rose, and she let out a pathetic meow.
“What? I already fed you.” He heard her light purr and could almost feel the soft rattle against his leg. “Look, you’re better off attaching yourself to that Anderson kid. He’s the real softy.”
Then Brit wondered if she’d let him grab her so he could take her to a shelter—one like Anderson said, one that didn’t euthanize. He’d bet Keith would have known where to take her. Hell, Keith would have taken her home.
Grief fluttered deep in his chest, and he continued to stare at the feline. She looked on the outside like he felt on the inside. Battered, worn down, at the end of an emotional rope. He thought again about rescuing her from the streets. But he couldn’t snatch her without her kittens.
“Your crew still in the storm drain, huh?” He bent down, but she instantly backed off and hissed. “Hey, you started this relationship.” Studying her, he slowly reached out, but she hissed again and took off, disappearing under the metal fence. He walked over to the storm drain, saw the water had risen pretty high, and he didn’t hear the kittens. She’d obviously moved them to higher ground. Smart cat.
~
Thirty minutes later, he walked into his two-bedroom bungalow in one of the older sections of Hopeful, Texas. The place had been one of six homes his Dad had bought during the recession in the eighties. When the economy took an upswing, old money came in and started turning the neighborhood around and property value shot up tenfold. One of the homes his mom had sold helped put him and his sister through college. Then she gave them each one as a graduation present. His sister sold hers, and his mom rented out the others, living off the profit.
Every few months, someone offered to buy Brit’s home. He could make a killing by selling. He refused. Not because of sentimental reasons. Nevertheless, his old man’s short career in real estate investment had been the only thing he’d ever done right. Of course, that one good thing had stemmed from his one big win at the track.
Tossing his keys on the kitchen table, Brit walked into his laundry room. He fit the soggy sweater around a plastic hanger. Catching a feminine scent, he pulled the wet wool to his nose. It smelled like her—the light flowery scent he’d noticed that night at her apartment. “Damn you smell good.”
“Sniffing sweaters, huh?”
Brit swung around. The sweater fell to the washing machine. “Friggin’ hell, Sis, don’t do that!”
“Don’t do what?” Susan asked.
“Sneak up on me. What the hell are you doing here?”
Her wide mouth thinned to a tight line. “Is it me, or have greetings gone downhill lately?”
He frowned. “You scared the piss out of me.”
She eyed him, head cocked to one side. “What happened to your lip?”
“Football,” he mumbled as he watched her toss a dark braid over a shoulder.
“God, you suck at lying.” She stepped closer and touched his swollen lip. “Ouch.”
“I’m fine.” He remembered Cali McKay muttering that same lie.
His sister frowned. “You completely forgot, didn’t you?” She stared at his lip.
He got a bad feeling. “Forgot what?”
“I called you two weeks ago. Told you I’d be in town for Mom’s birthday, and you said I could stay with you.”
“Shit! I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes and leaned his ass against the dryer. “Was I supposed to pick you up at the airport?”
“Sort of.” She arched an eyebrow, then sent him the it’s-okay-you’re-my-brother look.
“I’m really sorry.” He meant it, too. He should have remembered. “Why didn’t you call my cell?”
“I tried. You didn’t answer. I was worried sick until I called your office and spoke with some guy named Quarles. He said you were working some case.”
He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and realized it was completely out of juice. “Crap. I forgot to charge it.”
“You still haven’t caught the guy, have you?”
“Not yet. But we’ve got a few leads.” Brit vaguely recalled telling his sister about Keith. Probably the same conversation in which she’d told him about coming down. Susan had met Keith once on one of her trips into town.
She took a step back and did her usual big sister head-to-toe inventory. Up, down. Sometimes he still expected her to check behind his ears and give his fingernails a good inspection. In many ways, Susan had been more of a mother to him than his own mother. And considering how protective he’d been of her, he supposed he’d been a little like a father to her.
She cocked her head and tapped a finger to her lips. “You look like day-old crap with a hangover.”
“You’re right.” He smiled. “Casual greetings have gone to hell in a hand basket.”
She grinned, picked up the sweater and hung it up on a hook on the wall. “Whose sweater were you sniffing?”
“Nobody important.” He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The only thing inside was some milk.
“I knew that already.” Her tennis shoes squeaked on the tile floor as she entered the room.
“Knew what?” He retrieved the milk, opened it, and gave it a sniff test. The sour smell filled his nose. But it was the taste of the sour milk that had him spitting in the sink. He screwed on the top and shoved the container back in the fridge.
His sister rolled her eyes at something. “I knew she wasn’t important. Relationships are never important to you. You’re a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy.”
“Spare me the talk.” He settled for a glass of water. “I swear I haven’t broken a woman’s heart in about fifteen minutes.” Truth was, he hadn’t broken any hearts in years. Since the disastrous relationship a few years ago, he’d been careful not to get involved with anyone who wanted to get involved.
His sister twisted her long braid, went to the fridge, and pulled out the milk, checked the date and then rolled her eyes again. “Why would you put it back in the fridge?”
“Because that’s where milk goes.” He shrugged.
Making a face, she poured the milk down the sink.
When she was done, she tossed the carton into the overflowing trash can then looked back at him. “We’re letting them do it to us, you know.”
“Letting who do what to us?” He drank his water.
“Mom and Dad. We’re letting how they lived their lives affect how we live our lives. We’re projecting their mistakes onto ourselves.”
“You’ve been watching too much Oprah.” He sat down.
“No. I’m actually seeing my own therapist. Besides, Oprah’s off the air, I’m into Dr. Phil now.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with us.”
“Then why haven’t either of us ever married?”
“Because we’re smarter than the average Joe.” He toasted her with his empty glass. “How long are you down for?”
“Five days.” She sank into a kitchen chair. “Do you want me to stay with Mom?”
“I don’t hate you that much.” He grinned.
“Thanks.” She leaned back in her chair. “You remembered Saturday, right? I’m having Mom’s sixtieth birthday party. You said you’d come. You have to come.”
“Saturday.” He pushed a hand through his hair and let his eyes close for just a second as he recalled agreeing to this, too. “Yeah. Saturday.”
“You really look tired.” Her eyes softened. “Too tired.”
“I’m fine,” he lied again. “And I have to be at work at eleven.”
“Then go to bed.” Standing, she put a hand on his shoulder. “I promised Mom I’d go to dinner with her.” Susan kissed his cheek. “Have you talked to her lately?”
Brit nodded. “Yeah, three or four weeks ago.” He’d screwed up and forgotten to check caller ID and was forced to talk to her for a minute.
“You should talk to her and see her more often.” Susan went to his pantry, opened it, and shook her head. “Are you even eating?”
“See her more? I’m not a masochist. Besides, she has Fred.”
“Frank,” Susan said. “Fred was her last husband.”
“She divorced Fred? Really?” he asked. “Wait. Wasn’t he the one she said was her soul mate? Or was that Floyd? What is it with her and men with names that start with an f?”
Susan closed the pantry. “Don’t get cute, brother.”
“I can’t help but be cute.” Rising, he shot her a teasing glance. “It’s the Lowell charm.” He gave his sister’s hair a playful tug. “Sorry about not picking you up. Stay as long as you want. You got the key, right?”
“How else would I have gotten in?” she asked.
He shrugged. “You could have taken after dear ol’ dad. Breaking and entering was his gift.”
She did the eye roll again, only this one appeared serious. “We have to get over the past.”
“I have.” He started to his room. “If Dad were alive today, I’d arrest his ass.” He glanced back. “I’m going to go to bed before I fall asleep standing up.”
“I love you, Brit.” Susan’s words floated down the hall.
He smiled over his shoulder. “Back at you, Sis.”
“I’m going to buy you some groceries,” she called out.
The bed came into view. “I’ll pay you back,” he countered, and his whole body felt weak with the idea of sleep. But as soon as his head hit the pillow, his mind pulled up a picture of Keith lying cold in his casket. Why, damn it? There was no rhyme or reason to his death. They hadn’t taken his wallet or his car. He’d been leaving the gym after working out. Someone just walked up to him and shot him.
Brit clutched a handful of pillow in his fist. Nope. Nothing was fine. All he could do was keep going. But for how long?
~
Cali leaned back on Tanya’s sofa and picked up another piece of pizza. Spicy sauce and melted cheese. Heaven. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.
“This is so good,” she said. “I can’t thank you enough for letting me come over.” And now Cali meant it. As much as she’d craved being alone, being with Tanya chased away her doom and gloom mood.
Tanya smiled. “You want another glass of wine?”
“Yes, but I shouldn’t.” Cali looked around at her friend’s apartment. It suited Tanya. Bright and cheery. Eclectic.
After arriving almost an hour late, Cali crashed on the sofa and Tanya opened a big bottle of Merlot. They ordered pizza and drank while Tanya listened about Cali’s suicidal day. Cali managed not to cry, but only because the three glasses of wine had helped. It was still helping.
Tanya refilled Cali’s glass and looked at Cali’s things in a chair. “New coat?”
Generally, Cali abided by a two-drink minimum. Not tonight. “No. It’s his.”
“Stan the Dickhead? Let me get my scissors.”
Cali grinned. “No, the other jerk.”
“Oh, you mean, Mr. Little Dickhead, the detective. How did you get his jacket?”
Cali remembered the detective wrapping his coat around her. For just a second, she’d almost seen some humanity in him. “He put it on me after he stole my keys.”
Eyebrows arching, Tanya said, “Sounds sort of sweet.”
“Humane maybe, but not sweet. There’s nothing sweet about Mr. Little—jeez. I can’t even call him an ugly name. I really need to learn to be a bitch.” Cali bit into the pizza with gusto and watched Tanya pour the rest of the wine into her glass. They weren’t drunk, but they were definitely approaching the silly stage.
Tanya’s goofy smile said the stage had already arrived. “Bitch lessons?”
Cali leaned forward. “Yeah. Can you teach me?”
“Shit.” Tanya held up a hand, did the attitude head-shake, and smiled. “Are you calling me a bitch?”
“Yeah, but in a good way.” Cali chuckled. They’d definitely hit the silly stage. “I’m too nice. Too agreeable. Ask anyone who knows me. If I had dollar for every time I’ve heard, ‘Oh, Cali, you’re so sweet.’”
Tanya picked up a piece of pizza. “It’s your eyes. Big and blue. You look like a Charmin baby.” She pulled a piece of pepperoni off the triangle slice and popped it into her mouth.
“A Charmin baby?” With her pizza poised for another bite, Cali licked a drip of sauce off her lip.
“You know, those baby faces that go on toilet paper.”
The bite of thick crust caught in her throat. “I have a face that should be plastered on toilet paper? You see, only a bitch could say something like that.”
Tanya dropped back on the sofa. “That’s a compliment. Charmin was very particular. I’ll bet my mom sent my picture and I was rejected.”
“Please, you’re exotic looking,” Cali said. “I’ve always wanted to look striking.” Picking up her wine, she studied the pizza balanced on her fingertips. “Seriously, I really need to learn to be a bitch. A bitch would have gotten her keys away from that detective.”
“You got the keys,” Tanya said.
“Only after he got what he wanted.”
Tanya chucked. “I’ll bet he wanted something else too.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Anyway, you’re perfect just the way you are.” Tanya tossed the half-eaten pizza slice back into the box and wiped her hand on her jeans. “Did you get that e-mail at school asking if anyone knew of any public officials, as in police officers, who could speak at the At-Risk seminar?”
Cali cut her gaze toward Tanya. “You think I’d ask the detective? Don’t think so. Plus, I volunteered at the last seminar. This Charmin face got the cookies and juice donated.”
Tanya grinned and picked up the jacket. “Well, Mr. Little Dickhead is a nice dresser. Is he married?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Cali bit into her pizza as the question bounced around her head. Had he worn a ring?
“What does he look like?” Tanya leaned in with interest.
“Burt Reynolds.” Cali spoke around the pizza in her mouth.
“Who?”
Cali swallowed. “Burt Reynolds, the movie star. That’s who he looks like. But with blue-green eyes. And maybe taller. A little more shoulders.”
“Ug, that Burt guy is an old fart.”
“Well, the detective is a younger fart, maybe thirty.”
Tanya grinned. “Does Mr. Little Dickhead have a nice ass?”
“Haven’t checked,” Cali told her, but unwillingly she tried to envision it.
“Well, have you checked out his pockets?” She dangled the coat out in f
ront of her, and brown leather danced in the air.
“No.” Cali hadn’t thought about going through his pockets. But now that Tanya had mentioned it, Cali’s curiosity zinged to life, and the wine gave her courage. Not that she needed courage. They weren’t going to steal. Just snoop. “Go for it.”
Tanya dug her hand into the first pocket and retrieved a half-eaten pack of breath mints. “Well, he cares about his breath.” She grinned and went treasure hunting in the second. She pulled out a candy bar wrapper. “He has a sweet tooth.” She patted the coat down then turned it inside out. “These coats always have a few hidden pockets.” Then she found one. It even had a zipper. She unzipped it and reached in. “What do we have here?” Opening the pocket, she glanced inside. Her mouth dropped. Tanya collapsed on the sofa and giggled.
“What?” Cali downed the last sip of her wine.
Tanya’s eyes glittered with humor. “We’ve given him the wrong nickname.” She held up a condom packet. “It’s extra large.”
They both fell back, snorting with laughter.
~
“He does look like Burt Reynolds, doesn’t he?”
Her mama had followed her to Tanya’s house, Cali thought. Even in her sleep she worried that it wasn’t normal to dream so much about someone who’d died.
“He has great shoulders, too.” A smile sounded in Mama’s voice.
“I wouldn’t know.” Cali kept her eyes closed.
“It was sweet of him to give you his coat.”
“He’s not sweet.” Cali pushed her hand into the pillow.
“He’s got a lot happening now. He’s not normally that gruff. He doesn’t even like himself right now.”
“Well, I’ve got a lot happening now, too.” Cali nuzzled her pillow with her cheek.
“That’s why you should understand. Ease up on the guy.”
Cali rolled over and looked up. “Mom, you’re dead, and you’re still trying to meddle in my life.”
Murder Mayhem and Mama Page 7
