by Holly Jacobs
Find the computer, find the murderer. And probably find Tiny’s pictures.
Find the computer.
In order to do that, I needed to find out where that bar was. There was a chance that’s where the computer got left.
That phrase flitted around my head because it was much easier to hold onto than my family’s conversation move from T cells to talk of an enzymatic pre-treatment, nanoparticles and biopolymers. It was some new Spanish technique for something medical. Art seemed especially animated about it.
And Art being animated was hard to discern from Art being his normal self-contained self. But as a sister, I could see the difference. I doubted that Cal was going to be able to notice the distinction, especially since his eyes seemed to keep moving in the general direction of my chest.
I breathed in deeply not to gain the upper hand, but to give him a treat. Tomorrow I was back to a sports bra, a Mac’Cleaner’s t-shirt and jeans.
“…Dr. Martin Mac,” an announcer who I hadn’t realized was speaking until that moment said.
My father rose.
He gave a nice speech thanking the organization (I have no idea what medical organization it was) for the recognition and the award. He talked about his new medical procedure, but he might as well have been talking Greek.
He took the trophy and made his way back to the table, and I couldn’t help but think of Mr. Banning and his Mortie of death.
I turned to say as much to Cal, when he patted his suit pocket and whispered, “I’ve got a call. Be right back.”
He left me.
With them.
My father’s new award was gleaming on the table as people from other tables got up and congratulated him.
My mother was glowing next to him, as if his award cast its luminosity on her.
That left my brothers and their wives.
Rather than basking in my father’s medical prowess, they all turned to me in a sort of Stepford Wives synchronicity and Gil said, “So he seems nice. How’d you meet?”
Now, I don’t lie. I skirt issues, ignore them or sometimes even blatantly change a subject, but I don’t lie.
I tried skirting. “That’s some award Dad got, huh?”
“About Cal?”
“Cal and Mal. They rhyme.” Okay that was a poor attempt at changing the subject.
“You met him where?”
“After a party.” There. That wasn’t a lie. Mr. Banning had had some kind of to-do at his house. “He spotted me across the yard and hurried over. He had questions, and I had the answers.”
I noticed my sisters-in-laws both smiled at that.
They weren’t Macs, so although they were both doctors, they didn’t have that same stick-in-the-mud medical myopathy that the Mac DNA seemed to carry. Whenever I visited Erie, they were my respite from Mac-family-overload.
Cal came back to the table, shutting down that particular conversation.
“I’ve got to go. I’ve got a new case,” he whispered in my ear.
A new case? That meant Mr. Banning’s case might fall to the wayside. If it did, Cal might not find the murderer. I didn’t want that hanging over my head. And I definitely didn’t want the thoughts of the pictures hanging over Tiny’s head. I wanted her to enjoy her wedding, every flouncy taffeta minute of it.
“I’ll come with you. You can go on your call and I’ll catch a cab home.”
“I could drop you off.”
“Even better.”
“Mother. Dad. We have to go. I’m so sorry, but Cal was called out. You all know how it is to have to respond to a call.”
They all nodded because they did understand. I don’t think I ever had a birthday where at least one of them didn’t get called out.
I kissed my father’s cheek. “Congratulations, Dad.”
“We’ll see you in the morning for breakfast,” my mother said.
I wondered if I could get called out on a cleaning emergency tomorrow. I waved at the rest of them.
Cal thanked them again for inviting him and we left the ballroom.
The valet brought Cal’s car around.
“Sorry to make you leave early.”
“Not a problem. Thank you for taking me with you. If you’d left me there, I’d have been surrounded by conversations about T cells and who knows what next. Proctological advances or the like.”
He chuckled. “They weren’t that bad.”
“I know. They’re really great and they love me, but the Mac gene doesn’t seem to have room for any normal conversations. If I’d asked them what they thought of The Walking Dead, I’d have gotten a lecture about how zombies couldn’t really exist and even if they did, why would they need to eat human flesh and…”
I laughed, imagining my family discussing the boys’ favorite show with all kinds of medical seriousness. “So you saved me from that.”
“So, zombies?”
“The boys like the show and I watch it with them. And by watch it, I mean, I follow along and close my eyes for the gory parts. I do like the characters and how they’ve grown…well, the ones who’ve survived.”
We talked about zombies the rest of the drive. Cal pulled up in front of my house. “I really have to go.”
“You’re sure it’s not something to do with Mr. Banning?”
He shook his head. “No. Like I said, it’s a different case. I generally have more than one.”
That made sense. On TV, the focus was on one case per episode, but in real life, cops had to multitask because the bad guys didn’t take turns with their murders and other crimes.
“Good luck, then,” I said. “And thanks for going with me tonight.” It had been nice to have a plus-one after years of attending family functions solo, or with just the boys.
“It was my pleasure. And speaking of pleasure, I really wish I wasn’t leaving. I’d like to stay.”
“But you can’t. We can’t even repeat that kiss from the other day. Not until after we find the real murderer.”
“After that?”
I knew I was smiling like a loon, but I couldn’t help it. “After that, we’ll see.”
“Are there rules about cops kissing suspects goodnight? Just chaste little pecks on the cheek?”
Even the thought of a chaste kiss from Cal sent a shiver up my spine. “Hey, the Europeans do that whole double cheek hello and goodbye kiss all the time, so I guess that’s okay.”
He leaned forward and I turned my cheek, going for that European sort of goodbye kiss.
Cal bypassed my cheek and went right for my lips.
His lips on my lips.
Uh, I should note that I know chaste kisses and this kiss was not the least bit chaste. It was long. Hard. Intense. And it reminded me I was wearing a slinky red dress and that I was indeed a woman.
And I was very glad I was a woman.
I melted into Cal’s embrace, ready to say yes. More than that, ready to say oh-yes. I was ready to forget he was a cop, and I was a suspect. I was ready to drag him to my bed and have my way with him. And oh, what a way it would be.
As I was about to say the words and invite him inside, he pulled back and said, “Well, I’d better go.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure my legs would support me. I stumbled a bit. “You’re going after that? That wasn’t the least bit chaste.”
“That little chaste kiss?” There was a twinkle in his eye—it sounded cliché in my head, but that’s exactly what it was. The twinkle said he knew without a doubt that the kiss had been anything but chaste. “Sorry, Quincy. I’d love to stay and show you exactly what a real kiss is, but they’re waiting for me at a crime scene. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He turned around and left me without waiting for me to say goodnight. I was left watching him walk back to the car, wishing he were staying to show me the difference between that kiss and his non-chaste one. I wondered if I’d survive a hotter kiss. There was every chance that if it got hotter I might combust.
He waved before he threw
his car in reverse and backed out of my driveway.
I let myself in the house, locked the door and then collapsed on the couch.
Finding the computer—more specifically, finding Mr. Banning’s laptop.
That was Cal’s focus now in Mr. Banning’s investigation.
I got off the couch and went to stare at my whiteboard.
I took a sheet of paper and drew a laptop. Okay, so drew a laptop was a very generous description. I drew a rectangle. I knew what it was.
I put it in the center of the board.
I took a marker and drew a line to Shaley. She’d mentioned her father calling her honey. He’d finished typing, shut his laptop and leaned on it as they talked.
I drew another line to Cassandra. She’d told me that Mr. Banning was working on a new project. He’d take his laptop to some bar with a buffoon bartender and work there.
The laptop wasn’t at his house.
He liked to work at the bar.
What if he’d left it there, either by accident or for safekeeping?
I drew a little stick figure. It was Tiny. I didn’t want to put her actual picture on the board, because she was not a suspect.
But she was potentially tied to the laptop. I drew a line.
Her pictures could be on it.
So, how to find the laptop? That was my new priority.
Hopefully Cal was going to be distracted for at least a day or two with whatever his new case was.
By the time he was ready to concentrate on Mr. Banning’s case again, I’d have the laptop and I’d have erased Tiny’s pictures. Afterward, I’d give it to him.
Find the laptop.
Get Tiny’s pictures.
Clear my name.
Then find out exactly what one of Cal’s non-chaste kisses was like.
Chapter Ten
I woke up with a start. Someone was knocking on my door.
Everything came back to me in a rush.
My parents.
Dad’s award.
Breakfast.
Find the laptop.
Chaste kisses.
It was the kisses part that led to my night of tossing and turning.
I rolled out of bed, tossed on a sweatshirt and wished I hadn’t slept in.
I stumbled to the door and greeted my parents with, “Mother. Dad. You’re very early.”
“It’s nearly nine. If we’d come any later, it would have been lunch, not breakfast.”
“Maybe we could have tried for brunch?” I muttered.
My father held out a to-go tray. “I brought coffee and donuts.”
My mother led the way into the kitchen and was about to take a seat at one of the stools at the counter, when she stopped and brushed off some imaginary crumbs before she sat.
My father simply sat.
I busied myself with getting napkins and plates for the donuts. Finally, there was nothing left to do but sit as well.
“Our flight out is this afternoon,” my mother stated. “Your brothers left last night on a red eye.”
“Do you need a ride to the airport?” I asked.
“No. I need to know where you and this police officer stand.” My mother stared at me in that scientist staring into a microscope sort of way of hers.
I was pretty sure she didn’t know that I was a suspect in Cal’s case, so I simply said, “He’s a detective, and we’re friends. We haven’t known each other long.”
“But you like each other.” She nodded, as if she didn’t need to wait for me to answer. As if she’d solved some mystery.
I waited for her to tell me he wasn’t right for me. That she knew some doctor in Erie who would be perfect for me.
What she said was, “He seems nice, and from the way he was looking at you, the length of time you’ve known him has very little bearing on his feelings.”
“Thank you.”
My father quietly munched on his donut and my mother leaned toward me. “I know that sometimes I say things and they come out wrong. I know how to talk to patients. I can deliver bad news and good news with practiced ease. But I’ve never had any ease when I talk to you.”
“Maybe if you’d practice talking and not lecturing on how I’m the family failure.”
Dad reached over and took my mother’s hand, then shot me a look that said, Quincy, she’s trying.
I said, “I obviously need some practice, too.”
“Then, let’s do that. Let’s practice. I’ll call weekly and we’ll talk about my grandkids, about you and Cal, about the family. We’ll talk and we’ll try.”
I took my coffee cup and lifted it toward her.
She smiled, lifted her own cup and toasted mine.
“I’d like that,” I said.
“No matter what you think, and no matter what I occasionally say, I’m proud of you, Quincy. You’ve built a good life for yourself, and you’ve raised wonderful boys.”
“Thank you,” I said and I meant it.
My urgent need to find the killer—or at the very least Mr. Banning’s computer—grew. I didn’t want to lose whatever ground I’d just gained with my mother.
More than anything, I wanted her to find someway to be proud of me. And going to jail for murder wasn’t the way to make that happen.
Sunday was quiet. I spent an hour and a half talking to the boys…and Peri. She always liked to say hi.
I read the paper in bed.
I drank an entire carafe of coffee.
I finished cleaning the house. That way if the cops did show up to arrest me and had a search warrant, I wouldn’t die of maidly embarrassment.
But mainly, I pondered.
I tried to decide how to find out what bar was Mr. Banning’s inspiration and workplace.
Cassandra Yu was my link.
I just had to decide how to get to her without seeming creepy.
I baked some cookies.
I don’t want to brag, but my oatmeal cookies are so good that people who don’t even like oatmeal like them.
That’s why Monday morning before I even went to the office, I pulled into Cassandra’s driveway.
I figured it was early enough that I’d catch her before work. Her car was in the drive.
I ‘accidentally’ hit the horn as I got out of the car with my giant plate of cookies.
Cassandra opened her front door.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ms. Yu. I was just going to leave these on your porch.”
“What is it?” she asked. She looked a little better than last week. As if she’d managed to get some sleep.
“Cookies. I felt so bad about your loss that I thought I’d leave some comfort food.”
“Really, you didn’t have to—”
“There’s a saying—I don’t have to do anything but die and pay taxes. I try to live by that. So rest assured, I wanted to.” And really, despite the fact I was using her for information, I did want to do something to ease her pain. “Losing someone is hard. Cookies don’t really help but they’ll remind you that someone cares.”
“Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee and a cookie with me. I mean, never mind. You’re probably on your way to work.”
“I’ve got time. Just let me lock my car.” Now, that was a brilliant touch. Leave my purse in the unlocked car, as if I was planning to get back in right away.
I handed Cassandra the plate, dug for my keys, which as always had disappeared to the bottom of my mom-purse and hit the lock button on the fob.
We went into the kitchen and Cassandra poured me a cup of coffee. I occasionally thought about cutting back on my coffee intake. I mean, there was a chance I had a slight addiction going.
But really, I kept it under four cups a day. Okay, sometimes a few more.
Okay, sometimes a lot more.
But if you’re going to be addicted to something, I figured coffee wasn’t a bad option.
Of course, there was a chance I could become addicted to Cal’s chaste-kisses and really would like a chance to experie
nce, and possibly become addicted to his non-chaste ones, too.
“So, how are you?” I asked Cassandra.
“Better,” she said weakly. “The funeral was hard. His ex’s were both there, and his daughter. Shaley came over to me and hugged me. She said I’d made her father happy. I didn’t expect that. She’s been cold to me in the past. She seemed…different somehow.”
“Different good?” I asked with no private investigator interest. I genuinely liked the girl.
“Yes. I mean she was telling me she’s got a job as a cater-waiter to help pay her tuition. She’s Steve’s sole heir, but it’s going to take a long time to sort that out, so in the meantime, she’s working.”
“It’s nice to see kids grow up and become responsible.”
“It is.” She lowered her voice as if someone could hear. “We’re going out next week. I have a friend who’s a genius with hair, and Shaley could use the help.”
“That’s nice. It’s nice you both had each other to lean on at the funeral. I hope a lot of his friends showed up.”
“Oh, they did. It was like a Hollywood A-List gathering. Even his ex-writing partner, Louis Michaels was there.”
“He didn’t see his partner often?” I asked.
Cassandra shook her head. “No, Lou and Steve had a falling out over a project and broke up about the same time Steve divorced Tessa.”
The ex-writing partner? Could he be a suspect? Mr. Banning obviously knew him. Knew him well enough to let him into the house.
“And I finally met his bartender friend.”
“What bartender friend?” I asked absently, my mind was still focused on Louis Michaels. He could be the killer. A man would be strong enough to hit Mr. Banning with his Mortie…strong enough to bludgeon him to death.
“The bartender friend Steve based his new show’s main character after. Hanky Panky, he named it. Steve pitched it as Cheers meets Arsenic and Old Lace. The bartender was a slime-ball all right. Steve didn’t make that up.”
“What did he do?”
“He hit on me at my boyfriend’s funeral.” She lowered her voice. “Stop in at the bar, sweetheart. We don’t get many lookers and you’d class up the joint.”
Don’t get many lookers.
That struck a chord.
It took me a minute, but then I said, “This wouldn’t be Willy from The Bit Part Bar, would it?”
