“Your timing was good.” I shook my head. “He was shitfaced.”
“Another proud graduate of the ‘one for you, two for me’ school of bartending,” said Milo. “You were pretty good with the gun.” He grinned.
I blushed.
Milo brushed his fingers over my left cheek. “But I think you’re going to have a shiner, Tough Stuff.”
There was that electric shock again. I felt my blush deepen.
“Yeah, well,” I mumbled. “Would’ve been a lot worse if it weren’t for you.”
Milo must have sensed my discomfort. He pulled his hand back and laid it on my manila envelope. It was right where I’d put it before beginning my search under the bar.
“Oh, that’s…um….”
“You’re helping Dennis on the Plimoth Plantation murder.”
Shit.
Chapter 6
Milo followed me back to my house and walked me inside. I told him that me and my 9 mm would be just fine even if Tommy did have the balls to show up, though I was pretty sure he didn’t, but Milo wouldn’t take no for an answer. Secretly, I was relieved.
“Got any frozen veggies in your freezer?”
I looked at him blankly.
“You want vegetables at one in the morning?”
“No. For your face. That eye’s swelling up.”
Oh.
“Um, no. Don’t eat vegetables much.”
“Vegetables are good for you.”
“Corn chips have corn in them.”
“Corn chips won’t keep your eye from swelling shut.”
He had a point.
I opened the freezer. There was a pound of hamburger with freezer burn and an empty ice cube tray. Hamburger it was. I pulled it out and pressed it against my face, walked over to my chair and sank down.
“Thanks again, Milo. I owe you.”
“Got a blanket?”
I blinked and then the light bulb came on.
“Oh, no, no, you don’t need to—”
He flopped down on the couch and put his feet up.
“I’m staying.”
I stared at him for a minute.
“Well, at least get your shoes off my sofa. You’re getting lobster juice all over it.”
He laughed and I went to find him a blanket.
Sun was streaming through my window when I woke up the next morning. I could smell coffee, which was confusing because I usually went to Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee in the morning. Pepper rode shotgun; it was our daily outing.
Then I felt the ache in my face and remembered. Milo was here. Shit.
I pulled on some jogging pants and my dad’s hoodie and looked in the mirror. Bed head is not a good look for me, especially when paired with a nearly shut black eye. I grabbed my Boston Red Sox cap and mashed the frizz underneath, but that was even worse. The red hat clashed with the green and purple around my eye. I pulled the hat back off and found a scrunchy and pulled the frizz back in a ponytail. I ran into the bathroom and applied makeup to my good eye. When I leaned back and looked I saw a she-Cylops with too much eyeliner. I groaned and washed the makeup off, then added back some mascara. I went downstairs.
When I came into the living room, Milo was sitting at my desk with the contents of Dennis’ envelope spread out over my desk. He had a mug of coffee and his longish hair was perfect.
I rushed over.
“What do you think you’re doing? That’s confidential police stuff.”
“That you shouldn’t even have. I want to help. I’ve been studying—”
“Dennis will kill me if he finds out you’ve seen this stuff. I haven’t even seen this stuff yet.”
“Yeah, well, I have and I have some thoughts. I’ve been reading since six. Lobstermen get up early.” He smirked. “Apparently private investigators don’t.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nine-thirty. Damn.
“I’m up at six most mornings too, I’ll have you know.” Sometimes seven, if I were being honest, and occasionally it was closer to eight, but Milo didn’t need to know that. I stacked up the paperwork.
“Hey, don’t! I’ve sorted out all the info. Stuff on the victim, stuff on her husband, stuff on the crime scene.”
I kept shoving the documents back into the envelope.
“I will make my own piles, Milo. Dennis told me I could help him on this. He also told me not to fuck up his pension.”
Milo’s raised eyebrows formed a question mark.
“If the Chief finds out I have this stuff, he’ll have Dennis’ ass.”
“Well then, we won’t tell the Chief.” He grabbed the envelope. “Just hear me out, Sam.”
I glared at him. He glared right back.
Finally I said, “I need coffee.” I turned and went into the kitchen. I could hear Milo putting his piles back in order. I gave Pepper some kibbles and fresh water, poured my coffee and added cream. I took my time about it, but I couldn’t think of a single way to get rid of Milo. He’d already seen the stuff; I couldn’t put the genie back in the bottle. And the genie was awfully good looking.
I grabbed the refrozen hamburger and put it against my face and carried my coffee back to the living room.
Milo started in before I was even seated.
“Anna Fuller, age twenty-eight, was the victim. Dennis and Turk interviewed her husband yesterday. They also went through her condo, which is down on Water Street. Pretty nice digs. She was working in Boston. Husband’s name is Alan Perkins. Looks like they met in the city; he works downtown too. They’d been together for nearly two years, got married in September.”
I sipped my coffee and moved the hamburger package around my eye.
“Nothing remarkable about either of them in the initial interviews, frankly. I’ve looked over all of your stuff here too, and I like the connection with Elizabeth Smit’s husband and the message left with the body, but I also think we should check out the actor who found her. Your notes say he was about to be fired.”
“I think it’s too early to say anything and I have a lot of work to do. I also think you should be off pulling lobster traps somewhere. Dennis will have my hide if he finds out you’ve seen all this stuff.”
We stared at each other again for a full minute. I was trying to look severe, but the black eye/hamburger combination was working against me. And he was so damn cute.
He sighed.
“Look, you heard my dad last night. He doesn’t want me on the boat. And I’m not…ready to go work in the city. And, as I proved last night, you could use a man around. You might be good with a gun, Sam, but hand-to-hand you suck.” After a few more seconds, he added, “And I don’t like the idea of you doing this all alone.”
Flip. My heart was doing somersaults again. I felt my face turning red and was thankful I could hide behind the hamburger.
“But Milo,” I said, “most of my work for Dennis will be done online. You know what I do. Dennis agreed to let me help. Me, not you or anyone else.”
“Sam, I won’t do anything you don’t okay, all right? Just think of me as your sidekick…your Robin. And if we go out to do a little reconnaissance, I’ve got your back.” He grinned. “Maybe if I play my cards right, I can have a little of your backside as well.”
I got up and took my coffee and ground meat and stared out the slider at the ocean. My blood pressure was up; I felt giddy, like I was blissfully skating on very thin ice. I’m not sure what scared me more—the threat of Dennis’ wrath or the idea of letting Milo have a little of my backside. But after my run-in with Tommy, I felt vulnerable.
I spoke to the sliding glass door. “You agree to stick with me and not run off playing Sam Spade on your own? We have to be discreet, Milo. It’s no joke; it’s Dennis’ job….Not to mention a murderer.”
“Cross my heart and hope not to die.”
He rose from my desk as I turned around to face him.
“You got any eggs?”
Chapter 7
Milo worked my kitche
n like Emeril Lagasse, though thankfully, without the Bam!’s. He made an omelet that was shockingly good given the meager contents of my refrigerator. He found some bread heels and toasted and buttered them, then sliced up my one overripe tomato and sprinkled it with salt.
As he seated himself at the counter, Milo said, “If we’re going to be holed up in here investigating, we’re going to need food.”
“I have food.”
“You do not have food. You have granola bars and cheese doodles. And three eggs, which we are now consuming. The cheese was green on the edges; I had to trim a quarter inch off the sides. And the only meat in the house has been thawed twice now in the service of your shiner.” He pointed with his elbow at the hamburger package lying on the counter next to me.
“That needs to go in the garbage.” He shoveled a big bite of cheese omelet into his mouth.
“I know that!” The ‘use or freeze by’ date was back in 2010 anyway. “You’re here to be Robin, not critique my pantry. Talk to me more about the case.”
I kind of liked the whole Batgirl thing.
Milo chewed thoughtfully.
“What we need to figure out is motive. Dennis and Turk are on the forensics, the lab stuff, and they can go interview people officially. Where we want to go is inside the killer’s head.”
That sounded a little less fun than Club Med.
Milo continued. “Why hang her? Why Anna Fuller? What does AD mean…Anna’s Dead?”
“Wait, what’s AD?” This was new to me.
“She had a cloth band around her upper arm, with the letters AD printed in red on it.”
I pondered this without comment. I had some catching up to do.
Milo continued with his litany. “Was it random? And how significant is the crime scene? Is Plimoth Plantation part of the message, or is it just a good, creepy, isolated spot to do the deed?”
Milo forked a bit of toast, a slice of tomato, his last bit of omelet and added another bit of toast. Sandwich by fork.
“Was she sexually assaulted?” he continued. “Did the husband get pissed and then try to make it look random? Was she an heiress and now he’s got the ring? Why did this guy do this?”
We both chewed.
“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, I guess,” I said finally.
I tossed my plate in the sink, ran some water on it, refilled my coffee and headed back toward the living room. Milo raised a lot of good questions, the answers to which might be scary. Not to mention dangerous. But this was what I’d been itching to do. (“Time to put up or shut up, Sam,” said Dad.)
“You’re not going to do your dishes?”
I turned and looked back at Milo.
“Batgirl doesn’t do dishes. Robin does dishes.”
“So, Robin cooks and does the dishes?”
“And anything else Batgirl doesn’t have the desire or skills to do. That’s why Batgirl has a sidekick in the first place.”
“I can think of some desires Robin might fulfill for Batgirl.” Milo put his lips to the back of my neck. Joinggg! I was not ready for this. I lurched away from Milo, turned around and glared at him. I raised my arm and pointed at the sink.
“Dishes!”
While Milo finished the washing up, I sorted through the paperwork and studied Dennis’ findings. The crime scene photos were particularly awful. Anna Fuller was about my age. She’d been an attractive blond, had a good job, was recently married. I felt tears swelling under my eyelids. Dammit, Batgirl doesn’t cry; she nails the bastard who did it. Milo came in and was staring at the photos with me when my front door opened. Panicked, I jumped up.
“Mrs. Trimble!” I hissed.
“Sam,” she called in her screechy voice. “Put your gun away, it’s me…”
Milo grinned. “You pulled your gun on her?” he whispered.
“Quick! She can’t see all this. Go charm her. Take her in the kitchen. Something.”
Milo hurried into the foyer; I was piling up papers and turning them upside down.
“Hi, Mrs. Trimble, how are you? I haven’t seen you in ages…Can I get you a cup of coffee? Right in here.”
I grabbed my bulletin board off the wall, ran to the couch and shoved the board underneath. I did the same with the white board, then rushed back to my desk.
“Sam, Mrs. Trimble brought over some homemade coffee cake,” Milo yelled. He entered the room slowly and raised his eyebrows at me. I nodded. Mrs. Trimble was crowding at his heels. At least she was dressed and wearing undergarments today.
“Good morning, Mrs. Trimble. It was so nice of you to bring coffee cake.” I smiled broadly.
She looked at me and frowned.
“What happened to your face, Sam?”
Shit. I’d actually forgotten my black eye.
“I, uh, well, I guess I had a few too many last night…I banged it on the door leaving the Trap.” I shrugged.
“Hmm…What’s Milo doing here? He spent the night here?”
“I drove Sam home last night, Mrs. Trimble…like she said, she had a few too many. But I slept on the couch.”
She stared at both of us, lips pursed.
Finally, she said, “Sam’s car is out there. And it was out there at four-thirty this morning when I started on my coffee cake.”
She waited. She looked around. She stared at my desk. I was getting ready to throw myself across it if she tried to pick up my papers.
Mrs. Trimble looked at me hard. “I don’t think you drank too much, although Lord knows your father always did, God rest his soul, and I don’t think Milo slept on the couch.”
(“Always was a nosy witch,” muttered Dad.)
She looked from Milo to me and back again, but neither of us said a word. “Well, I guess an old woman should just mind her own business.” (“That’s right!”) Dad, again.
She set her coffee mug down on the end table and went out the back door.
“Thanks again for the coffee cake,” I called after her. She didn’t look back.
“Sheesh,” I said. “The fricking devil brings baked goods.”
“Wish she were right about the couch,” Milo mumbled. Then he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “So, you pulled your gun on Mrs. Trimble?”
“Yeah, twice now.”
Milo laughed. Eventually I giggled too, and Milo laughed even harder. The mental image of me pulling my nine on little old ninety pound Mrs. Trimble was hysterical, I had to admit. I turned around and through the window I could see her back in her kitchen window again, shaking her head. I jerked my head back around.
“Big Brother has blue hair,” Milo choked.
After another minute, I exclaimed, “Okay, enough. We’ve got work to do.”
Still smirking, Milo pulled a chair over and sat down next to me. My core temperature shot up by several degrees, but I ignored it. Batgirl wouldn’t hook up with Robin I told myself, and anyway, I wasn’t ready to hook up with anyone, especially not Milo. I repeated this to myself a few times mentally, daring Dad to comment. For once he kept his trap shut.
Milo was giving me a funny look.
“You good?” he said.
“Yep. I’m good. Let’s see if there’s anything up yet on the autopsy. After that we’ll get an inside look at Anna and Alan’s lives.”
Milo raised his eyebrows again. “And how do we do that?”
“Elementary, my dear Milo. We hack their Facebook accounts.”
Chapter 8
The autopsy results were in, and Milo and I paged through the scanned report. Cause of death was cerebral ischemia, or insufficient blood flow to the brain. No surprise there. There’d been no skin under her nails, and no bruises apart from around her neck. There was some chafing around her wrists where she’d been bound, and broken nails, but the medical examiner concluded there wasn’t much of a struggle. She wasn’t sexually assaulted.
“She knew him?” Milo said.
“Maybe….or not.”
“She’d have fought
if a stranger grabbed her.”
“Probably, unless he drugged or stunned her,” I replied. “Tox screen isn’t in yet. Or maybe he just pointed a gun at her. That would be pretty convincing too.”
“Would the autopsy show it if she was tasered?”
“I’m not sure; I’ll ask Dennis.”
Milo thought for a moment. “She was seen leaving work around six. Her car came out of the parking garage at six-twenty. Time of death is estimated at one in the morning. If it took her an hour to get back to Plymouth, then we have a gap from seven-twenty ‘til one or thereabouts.”
“No, Alan Perkins said she called him just before eight. He was working late; she was already home. Dennis and Turk found her work clothes on her bed. She was hanged in a jogging suit.”
“So she goes jogging and the killer grabs her?”
“Maybe.”
“Do the phone records rule out Perkins as a suspect?”
“Well, no. He could have made it to Plymouth from Boston before the time of death. And if it were Perkins, that might explain the lack of a struggle. And he doesn’t have an alibi after that phone call. So, no. We can’t rule him out. Not yet.”
Milo leaned back. I leaned forward. It was still warm in there.
“Let’s see what Anna Fuller and Alan Perkins post about on Facebook.”
Anna Fuller had been a bubbly Facebook chatterer. At least once a day she posted something. There were photos of her dog, of the beach, of Alan. Some funny political shares indicated she was a liberal.
She and Alan made a handsome couple. She’d changed her relationship status on Facebook to “engaged” on the fifth of July in 2012; he must have proposed on the Fourth. She had photos of the two of them out on the Boston Harbor for the big Fourth of July celebration. The U.S.S. Constitution, the oldest commissioned battleship in the U.S., was brought out that year in celebration of the bicentennial of its victory in the War of 1812. Thousands attended; I remembered reading about it online.
Saints & Strangers (A Sam Warren Mystery) Page 4
