Damn.
“Okay,” I said and stood. “I’ve already got dessert on my mind.” I put my arms around his waist and smiled up at him.
He looked down at me and shook his head. “Wow,” he said.
“I know,” I replied. “I told you I hadn’t gotten cozy in a long time. I’m just getting warm.”
He laughed. “Yeah, well, as much as I’d love a little dessert before dinner,” he said, “Dennis and Turk will be here any minute. We better hold off.”
“Lightweight,” I said.
“Oh, I can hang,” he said and pressed himself closer to me. “See?”
He wasn’t kidding. Damn. I grabbed my wine and took a sip, one hand still clutching his butt. Pepper jumped up on the desk, sat down and stared suspiciously up at Milo.
“He’s jealous,” I said.
“Yeah, well, he better get used to it.”
Excellent. I was already getting used to it. We were right in front of the window; I looked over, but for once Mrs. Trimble wasn’t hovering in her kitchen. I let go of Milo and walked around my desk.
“So, I’m back to 1670 or so and I still don’t have a Billington ancestor,” I said. I’d been working on my genealogy. “I got Warren and Browne and Chilton. No Billington.”
Milo frowned. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m not done yet, but getting close. There’s only two more generations.” This genealogy business wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t rocket science either, especially not when you had free reign of every online database imaginable. Had the killer made a mistake? Changed his MO? “So far, I’m not descended from Billington.”
My front door opened and I heard Dennis and Turk shuffling in. “Honey, I’m home,” Dennis called. I could feel my cheeks flush as Dennis walked into the living room. Milo was a good eight feet away but I felt like I was wearing a neon sign. One of the blinking ones. Sam had sex today. Sam had sex today. Sam had…
Milo stayed behind my desk. Dennis looked at us blankly. Turk came into the room behind Dennis and stopped. “Sheeet,” he said and winked at me. Wow. Turk really did have freakishly good instincts. He pulled off his coat.
“Smells good,” said Dennis, apparently none the wiser.
Out of nowhere, a knock sounded at the door. We all looked at each other. Dennis put his hand on his gun and followed me to the front door.
I peered through the peephole. I turned to Dennis. “It’s Barbie,” I said with a smirk.
He stared at me. “Oh, for God’s sake.” He opened the door.
Barbie stood under the front porch light smiling. She held up a bottle of wine. “Hi…?”
“What are you doing here?” Dennis asked.
Her face held the smile, but her eyes lost it. “Well, I saw you leaving the station and…”
“And you followed me?”
“I just thought…things didn’t end so well at that…place the other night,” she said. “I had some wine, so I thought…well, I thought you were going home but then you passed…”
“Come on in, Barbie,” I said, giving Dennis a look. It wouldn’t be good if Judge Barbie figured out that Milo and I were working with Dennis. She knew people. Like Chief Hastings. Time to pour Barbie a drink. “Here, let me,” I said, reaching for her bottle. “We were just getting ready to have some drinks before dinner.”
She smiled at me appreciatively. Handing me her bottle, she stepped inside and followed me into the kitchen. Grunting, Dennis followed. Barbie was wearing a long cashmere coat and designer boots. Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahnik. I sometimes read Vogue in the checkout line; I’m a little bit better with shoes than I am with cars.
“Can I take your coat?”
She shrugged it off and handed it to me. When I went into the foyer to hang it, I saw Milo in the living room cleaning the murder board. Good man.
A minute later Milo came into the kitchen and went to the oven, opened the door and had a peek. He was making a pork roast in pastry with Dijon mustard and tarragon.
“Oh, it smells wonderful,” Barbie said. “Are you sure—”
“It’s fine,” I said with a smile. “Here, let me open that. We were having red.” I grabbed the corkscrew off the counter and went to work on Barbie’s bottle. It was a 2008 Pinot Grigio.
“Got any Scotch?” Dennis asked. I pointed to the cabinet above the fridge. He took down my bottle of Dewars and poured himself four fingers. Shit. That was expensive Scotch. But Dennis looked like he needed it.
Turk approached Barbie. “I’d kill for a taste of that Pinot Grigio,” he said. “So to speak,” he added with a chuckle. The ghetto accent was nowhere to be heard.
“Oh, of course!” she said, pleased to be of use. Milo put ice cubes in two wine glasses and served Barbie and Turk. We all went into the living room and sat. An uncomfortable silence ensued. Dennis chugged his Scotch. Barbie put her hand on his thigh. Dennis picked it up and moved it off.
“Sooo,” Barbie said, turning to me, “I guess you had a bit of a scare the other night.”
A bit of a scare? How about I was kidnapped at gunpoint, tied up, shoved into a trunk, and nearly froze to death just before I nearly drowned?
“Uh…yeah,” I said. I took a swig of wine.
“Sam can’t talk about what happened,” Dennis said crossly.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I know that,” said Barbie. She uncrossed her legs and then crossed them the other way. Pepper chose that moment to walk over to the couch and jump up. He looked at Barbie and dug his paws into her thigh. Left, right, left right. Was she wearing Spanx? She looked thin, but Pepper doesn’t waste his time kneading muscle. He has a sixth sense for cellulite.
“Oh,” she said, and pushed Pepper onto the floor. She looked at me apologetically. “I’m allergic,” she said. Pepper jumped back up and resumed in earnest. Barbie’s eyes turned anxious. They were watering. She stood and Pepper fell onto the couch.
Dennis rubbed Pepper’s chin. I wasn’t sure Dennis even remembered Pepper’s name, but suddenly they were best friends. Barbie stood there uncertainly.
Milo stood. “Here, Barbie, take my seat. Pepper doesn’t bother me,” he said.
“Thank you, Michael,” she replied. I stifled a giggle. They maneuvered around the coffee table and each took their new seats.
Just then, there was another knock at my door. Seriously?
I rose again and Dennis followed me to the door. I looked out the peephole. Shit. I looked at Dennis. “It’s the chief,” I whispered.
He rolled his eyes. “Fuck me,” he said.
“Go upstairs,” I said. “Quick! I’ll try to get rid of him.”
After Dennis disappeared into the upstairs hallway, I opened the door.
“Chief! So nice to see you. Come in, come in,” I said. I waved to the uniform who was standing guard in my driveway and quickly closed the door. A couple of persistent reporters remained huddled in their vans out on the road.
Chief Larry Hastings was a roly-poly man in his early sixties; he was just a little taller than me and about four times as wide. He had thick white hair, intelligent dark eyes and long, opinionated eyebrows.
When I was little I once asked my father if “Uncle” Larry was a Weeble; the chief had always been round. This made my parents laugh so hard that the memory was etched into my brain. In the twenty-six years since, every time I saw the man, the Chief of the Plymouth Police Department, every single time I saw him, the Weebles slogan entered my brain. Usually, it stayed there for days. Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down. Weebles wobble…
The chief thrust a bouquet of lilies into my arms. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get over to the hospital to see you, Sam. Things are a bit crazy right now—”
I grabbed the flowers and led him into the kitchen. “I understand, Chief. Not to worry. How’s the case? Did they get anything useful out of the car?” I grabbed a glass, poured the chief some Scotch and handed it to him. I lifted my wine glass toward Turk in the living room. “This guy
won’t tell me anything,” I added.
Chief Hastings peered around the breakfast bar. Turk and Barbie and Milo stared back at us with a smorgasbord of expressions. I could see Barbie trying to figure out where Dennis was. Turk was struggling not to laugh. Milo’s face remained impassive as he sipped his wine. The Chief looked confused and I was nearly in a panic. I leaned down and pulled a vase out of my cabinet.
“Nice to see you, Chief,” said Barbie with a smile. She rose and approached the kitchen and glanced around the room.
Loudly, I cut in. “We were just getting ready to have some dinner. These are so beautiful…aren’t they pretty, Barbie?” She nodded. As she opened her mouth again, I opened up the tap and ran the water into the vase for thirty full seconds.
“There,” I said as I put the lilies in water. I turned back to the Chief. “Um, would you like to join us?” I could almost hear Dennis growling from upstairs. I just hoped he wasn’t in my room; I was pretty sure even he would notice the cozy aroma of afternoon delight.
The chief downed his Scotch and set his glass on the counter. “Thanks, Sam, but the little lady is waiting.” He reached around and squeezed me tight. “I’m just so glad you’re all right,” he said into my ear. “Some godfather I am, huh?” The sharp scent of his cologne filled my nostrils.
“You’re a great godfather and I’m fine, Chief. My friends are all here…” Tears rose in my eyes in spite of myself. I’d almost put the horrific events of Wednesday night out of my mind; now it all came rushing back.
Chief released me and glanced into the living room again. He nodded at Turk. “Didn’t know you were friends with Sam, Turk,” he said with a shrewd gaze.
“Turk’s on my bowling team,” said Milo quickly. He grinned. “Raises our handicap considerably.”
“Sheeet,” said Turk.
The Chief watched the both of them for a moment. Finally he nodded. “Right, well, I best be off.”
“Thanks again for the flowers, Chief. And tell Nora I said hello and not to worry about me.” I walked him to the door.
“Be careful, Sam,” he called as he exited. I could see the uniform outside straighten up as the chief walked down my driveway. He might be a roly-poly, but he commanded respect nonetheless. Weebles wobble….
I waved once more as he got into his car and closed the door. Holyshitthatwasclose. After a few seconds Dennis came down the stairs. He went straight to my bottle of Dewars and poured a few more fingers.
“Where’d you disappear to?” Barbie asked with a smile. “The chief was just here.”
“Really? I was in the can.”
Barbie didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm. Aren’t judges supposed to be smart?
As I walked back into the living room, Turk turned to Milo and said, “Bowling? You shittin’ me? Dis nigga don bowl.”
Chapter 39
“What are we missing?” I asked.
Pepper and I were riding shotgun in Milo’s pickup; we were heading to Duxbury to welcome Laura home. Grady was already at the hospital.
Milo exhaled loudly. “Do we really know that the Billington link was the only connection between the other victims?”
I wracked my brain. “Seriously, we’ve looked at everything under the sun. Fuller and Cummins didn’t have abortions. None of them went to Smit’s church. They didn’t know each other. I didn’t know them. The Billington connection is—was—the only thing that made sense…until he came after me. And I guess all of the supposed sins… ” I’d finished my family tree early that morning and then spent two more hours double-checking my work. I was not a Billington descendant.
“That means he knows you’re working the case,” said Milo. “He’s scared. We must be closer than we thought.” He reached over and took my hand. “This time I am not letting you out of my sight. Not until they catch this guy.”
I glanced in the side mirror. “Yeah, you and I don’t even know how many cops.” Dennis wouldn’t tell me how many babysitters there were; I just knew that more than one team was out there watching my every move. I seriously hoped they hadn’t bugged my bedroom. For the first time in years I was getting some, and I’d been a little bit vocal about it. I could just imagine the Feebs in their utility van listening.
“If you’re right, that means it’s someone we talked to,” I said. “In person. Clarkson and his crew. Meredith or Zeke Bradley. Their majesties Liz and Charles. By now they know the Sharon Stone cover story was a lie.” I’d been headline news for the past few days.
“Someone on the task force,” Milo said. He looked over at me. “How do we know there isn’t a crazy cop smack in the middle of it?”
Shit. I hadn’t even considered that possibility. “Something to run by Dennis later,” I said noncommittally. I didn’t like to think about bad cops. My parents were cops. My best friends were cops. They weren’t perfect people, but they were absolutely committed to their work. Nonetheless, it was a possibility that should be explored. Cops-gone-crazy were in the news all the time.
“People aren’t always what they seem,” said Milo quietly.
“No, they’re not,” I said.
We rode in silence the rest of the way.
Fifteen minutes later we turned into the Cooke’s driveway. As we neared the house, I noticed a dark sedan parked at the end of the driveway. My hands grew clammy.
“Who’s that?” I asked. Grady’s truck was nowhere in sight.
“Not sure,” said Milo. He pulled his truck up to the front of the house.
My babysitters were out on the road; I’d made a point of telling Dennis that I didn’t want any intrusions at Milo’s house when Laura came home. He was cranky about it, but in the end, he agreed to give us some space. It wasn’t even noon; the killer always struck at night.
We gathered up the flowers we’d brought and our backpacks and got out of the truck. Pepper ran gleefully toward the house. There were fish to watch in there, and a Chihuahua in need of grooming. No time to waste. I trailed slowly behind, looking at the sedan. Milo approached the car.
A plump, mid-sized man in a navy blue suit, white shirt and red tie got out. He wore sunglasses, although the clouds were still heavy overhead. A second man exited the passenger side; no sunglasses, he sported fancy, gold-rimmed spectacles. A thin spattering of hair flopped over his pink scalp. A gust of wind grabbed the curtain of hair and made it stand up straight. Dude obviously used hairspray.
I stopped in front of the door and watched. Pepper looked up and meowed. Like me, Pepper isn’t always terribly patient.
“Milo Cooke?” asked Sunglasses.
“That’s me,” said Milo.
“Scott Randolf, Justice Department Investigator.”
Milo was quiet for a moment. “And? My mother’s coming home from the hospital today; she’ll be here shortly.”
“And we need you to come with us,” said Hairspray.
Milo stared at the two men, his arms weighed down by a dozen roses and his backpack. “And if I say no? As I mentioned, now really isn’t a good time.”
“There’s never a good time when you do what we do,” said Sunglasses. “But if you don’t come with us now, times could get worse.” He paused. “However, cooperation is always appreciated.”
I dropped the flowers I was holding and walked towards the sedan, fishing for my gun in my backpack. Where was the damn thing? Finally I found it.
“Do you have some identification?” I yelled, pulling my nine out of my bag. I held it down at my side.
“Whoa, hey, no need to get uptight,” said Hairspray. He held his hands up by his face.
“I think it’s actually a perfect time to get uptight,” I said. “You two are sitting here, waiting for us, when we pull in. We don’t know who you are. I was kidnapped by a serial killer just a few nights ago, in a car just like that one by the way, and now you want my boyfriend to just go with you? And leave me alone here? You do realize there are at least two cops standing guard at the end of the driveway right now? You
upset me, even a little, my fragile psyche might just break. I might just get twitchy. So, I suggest you explain yourselves just a little bit better. Right. Now.”
“Sam,” said Milo.
Sunglasses pulled off his shades. Slowly. He put his hands up by his ears. “We don’t know anything about any serial killer,” he said. He had small, piggish eyes and he squinted now in the daylight.
“Are you sure? ‘Cause I’m just a little leery of strangers right now. You might be too, if you’d been thrown in a trunk and then nearly drowned.” All of the tension and emotion of the past few days was like dry kindling to the fire that was growing in my belly. They couldn’t just barge in here and take Milo. Not now. “You mean to tell me you haven’t heard about the Pilgrim Slayer? And you supposedly work in law enforcement? Hello? My cat made the news.”
“Sam!” Milo said loudly.
I turned to him.
“Stop. This is something else.”
I faltered. “What do you mean, something else?”
“We need to talk with Mr. Cooke about a Justice Department matter,” said Sunglasses. “I’m sorry about your…trauma…but this relates to a case that’s a few years old. Just put the gun away and I’ll show you my credentials.”
I stood there stunned. I looked at Milo but he was staring at the ground.
“Just put the gun away, Sam,” he said. “Please.”
Forty minutes later, Grady’s truck came down the driveway. Pepper and I were sitting on the kitchen door steps. I wiped my eyes and gathered up the flowers Milo and I bought. I stood and walked over to the passenger door and helped Laura out.
“Where’s Milo?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. Her bright smile faded like new jeans in bleach.
Chapter 40
“Mrs. Trimble? It’s Sam. Would you and Mr. Trimble do me a really big favor?” I listened. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
I ended the call and took one last look in the mirror. I had on brown pants, a black hoodie, and a navy blue stocking cap. Not the best outfit for a Vogue spread, but it just might get me out of my house and over to Mrs. Trimble’s without alerting the babysitters.
Saints & Strangers (A Sam Warren Mystery) Page 21
