Each of them took a seat.
“What is it?” Jim had less patience than her.
“We think that your roommate, Simon—” Madison added his name in case Jim had more than one “—may be involved in the murder of a woman.”
“There’s no way that guy would have killed anyone.” Jim stifled a laugh. “It’s Regina that told you that, isn’t it? The lady’s crazy.”
“What makes you so certain Simon wouldn’t kill someone?” Terry asked.
Jim glanced at Terry and then gestured toward a cat that was curled up on a pillow in the corner of the room. “The guy would go out of his way to help strays, for goodness sake.”
Unlike Regina, this bachelor placed importance on cleanliness. Madison wouldn’t even have guessed a cat lived here. In her experience, most cat people’s homes—even if it was subtle—smelled like a litter box. Then the thought occurred to her: was the same true for those who owned dogs? Wonderful…
“As you can see,” Jim began, “I’m kind of stuck with it now.”
“Did Mr. Angle hunt?” Unlikely given his soft spot for animals, but she had to ask.
Jim waved off her question.
“That’s a no?” Just to verify…
“That’s a no. At least when it came to animals. But women? That’s another story. He basically hunts them. He has a way with them. Maybe it’s those puppy eyes of his, I dunno. I’m not a woman. The last time I saw him he was picking someone up.”
“And when was that?”
“Over two weeks ago now. I still can’t believe that Regina actually reported him missing. She came here flipping out, telling me that I had to let her know where he was.” He shook his head. “Stupid, jealous woman.”
Jealousy was an all-too-common motive for murder. Maybe Regina had killed Claire over her ruined marriage and fall in economic status. She could have hired someone to do it, knowing the evidence would lean toward a man. “I take it that you don’t agree with the missing persons report?”
He let out a puff of air. “Well, the guy owes me money, owes the bitch.”
Terry’s body stiffened beside Madison.
Jim noticed. “Excuse my language. Anyway, she said he owed her alimony. Why, I have no idea, because they’re not divorced. I’d make her take me to court. But the fact that Simon would give her money is just another display of how nice the guy could be.”
Could be? Up until that minute slip, Jim seemed to be singing Simon’s praises. “He wasn’t always a pleasant person to be around?”
Silence.
“Did he have a temper?” Madison pressed.
“He’d been handed a shitty life.” He glanced at Terry “Again, I apologize for the language. But Simon would just get real down some days. He’d throw things. He broke a vase that had been in my family for years.” He rubbed his jaw and dropped his hand. “In answer to your question, yes, he could have a temper.”
“So it is possible that he could have killed someone—”
Jim was shaking his head. “I ain’t no friend with a killer. I’d know.”
“You could be surprised,” she stated somberly. “Do you have any idea how we can reach him?”
“His cell is no longer in service.” Jim shared looks with each of them. “I know where he is, though. And I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell that wife of his.”
MADISON AND TERRY STEPPED OUT of Jim Sears’s house and were greeted with cold air and a blanket of white. Snow was falling in large flakes at a fast rate.
“Great. It’s a winter wonderland out here.” Sarcasm drenched Terry’s words.
“Do you have to complain about everything?”
He glowered at her.
She shrugged it off. “So Jim knows where Simon is, but still lets the wife report him missing?”
Terry opened his door. “You can’t control everyone.”
“He could have told her where to go.”
“He probably did.” Terry smirked.
She got in the car and twisted the key in the ignition. The engine grinded its protest that it was cold but ended up turning over. She put the wipers on to clear the snow. It worked, for the most part, but it was too deep. One of them—Terry—was going to have to wipe the windshield.
Madison faced her partner and batted her eyelashes.
“Fine.” Terry got out of the car, obviously getting her implication.
About a minute later, he was back in the car yawning.
“Hang in there,” she said, putting the car into gear.
“What do you mean by that?”
“We’re going to the address Jim Sears just gave us for Simon.” The trick was in presenting it as a statement and not like their next step was up for discussion.
“Urgh! I thought we’d be calling it a night.”
“Are you being serious? We’re possibly this close to catching the killer.” She pictured herself pinching her fingers together and silently cursed her mother for the basketful of clichés she apparently inherited against her will, which included both phrases and mannerisms. “We have no choice, Terry.”
“We always have a choice, Maddy, and I choose to let it rest ’til morning.”
“You would.”
“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
Her eyes were trained on the road. It was getting slicker as time passed, and people were driving like old women on a Sunday. At this rate, they’d be a while getting to their destination.
“Never mind,” she said. “I’ll drop you off, and I’ll take care of it myself. Like I always do.”
“Where did that come from?”
She avoided eye contact.
“You’re the one who sent me home on Christmas Eve. You told me to spend it with Annabelle. If I knew you were going to hold it over my—”
“This isn’t about that.” Okay, maybe a little, but she sometimes felt like solving cases meant more to her.
“Oh, really? What’s this about, then?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Nice.” Terry let out a rush of air.
If he thought she was going to smooth things over with him, he’d be waiting a while. What made him think she enjoyed driving on the slippery streets through the city on the hunt for some guy that might not even be there?
“Come on, Madison. Go home to Hershey. I can hear him whining from here.”
“Kind of hard to hear his whining over yours.”
“Hardy har.”
It might have come out as a snappy comeback but she’d meant it… “We need to make this one last stop. It’s our job, and we owe that much to Claire.”
Terry muttered something as he turned to peer out the passenger window.
The rest of the drive was slow and quiet. When she eyed the house number she was looking for, though, she said, “We’re here.”
Terry got out of the car without saying anything.
“You don’t like the job anymore?” she asked.
“It’s not that I don’t like the—”
“Most days you try and dodge work. There’s always something more important going on.”
“I’m not getting into it.”
“What? The fact that you’re married and I’m not?”
“Let’s just see if Simon’s here.”
“Fine.” She trudged through the fresh snow on the front walkway, which was a good three inches. Flakes were sticking to her eyelashes.
An inside light came on and a woman wrapped in a wool sweater opened the door. “Officers?” Her frame was thin, her facial features sharp, and she had a turned-up nose.
“We’re looking for Simon Angle,” Madison said.
Her eyes narrowed, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Who?”
“We were told he was staying here for a bit
.”
“Simon? I don’t know anyone by that name. I did have a guy staying here recently, but he’s gone now.”
Had Jim provided this address to mislead them? But that wouldn’t make sense, as he’d have to know they would be headed right back to him. Madison ran with a gut feeling and brought up Simon’s DMV photograph on her phone. She held it out so the woman could see the screen.
She screwed up her face. “That’s the guy who was here, but I know him as Bob.”
Simon was using an alias; what was that about?
“When did he stay with you?” Terry asked.
“A couple weeks ago, for about a week.”
Madison put her phone back in her coat pocket. “Do you know where he went?”
“Think he was sniffing after some slut with blond hair. Beyond that, I can’t help you.”
-
Chapter 18
BY THE TIME MADISON DROPPED Terry off at the police station, the roads had become hazardous. Warnings were aired over the radio cautioning people to stay in unless they had to go out.
Madison pressed the brake at a four-way stop and skidded a bit into the intersection. She turned right and was thankful to see that a plow was in front of her. At least it had cleared the street and laid down sand in its wake, but its blinking lights were hypnotizing, and her mind went to Simon Angle.
It was quite possible that Simon wasn’t even the killer. As his roommate had said, Simon liked animals and rescued strays. Was it possible for a person like that to escalate to murdering another person? But then again, Simon did have a temper and a shitty life. Had that on top of Claire destroying him been enough to serve as motivation?
Her phone rang, and the screen lit up the interior of the car, nearly blinding her. She didn’t pull over but pressed the button to answer on speaker.
“Hey. Where are you?” It was her sister Chelsea. “Are you okay? I’ve been having a hard time reaching you.”
“You’re calling my work cell.” She preferred it be kept for business purposes only. For a moment, she felt the hypocrisy, as that thought never entered her mind when it came to Blake.
“Like I said, I’ve been trying to reach you. I left a message at your apartment last night. And I tried it just now, figuring you’d be home on a Sunday—”
“I didn’t check my messages, and I’m working a case,” she blurted out.
“You’re always working on one, M. You need a break.” Her younger sister’s voice didn’t condemn or judge her lifestyle, it only conveyed honest concern.
“Seems to me you say that a lot.”
“Seems to me you don’t listen.”
“I’m driving in a snowstorm right now. I’ll call you once I get in.”
“Sure you will. I can sense a brush-off. Besides, you have company waiting for you.”
“Company?” Blake should have left hours ago.
“A man answered when I called just before now. He’s the one who told me to try your cell.”
Crap! It was Blake. What was he still doing there?
Chelsea continued, “He said you guys have been seeing each other for months. I think he bought the act I put on about having heard of him. Why haven’t you mentioned him to me? He sounded pretty decent.”
Madison preferred her personal life to be just that. “I’ve got to go.” She snapped her cell shut before her sister could say another word.
Her mind was a whirlwind of the personal and professional. She couldn’t do her job properly if her mind wasn’t entirely focused on it. But how could she balance them? The truth was, her relationship with Blake was out of hand and taking up too much of her energy. Just the thought of going to her apartment and finding Blake made her temperature rise—and not in a good way. And what was it that bothered her so much about it? She couldn’t even narrow it down. All she knew was her first reaction was one of anger.
Twenty minutes later, she was riding the elevator up to her floor. Five stories to calm herself down. It dinged its arrival and she unloaded, taking a deep breath. The moment of truth. She walked down the hall to her door and turned the knob. It was locked. Okay, maybe this was a good sign. Maybe after taking Chelsea’s call, he’d made a run for it. Why answer her phone in the first place, though? Wasn’t that kind of rude?
She unlocked the door and entered her apartment. Her place was open concept. Once through the door, a small dining table was to the right. Her L-shaped kitchen was on the left; a counter with stools served to separate that space from her living room.
Her table had a single candle lit in front of a place setting complete with a wineglass. A smell hit her nose… Tuna casserole?
She looked toward Blake, who was sitting on her couch drinking a beer and watching a football game.
“Hey, beautiful. Welcome home.” He toasted her with the bottle. His other hand held a twisted rope which Hershey was busy trying to pull away from him.
Blake was awfully comfortable on her couch, in her apartment…
Had she fallen into an alternate reality like characters often did in science fiction? She looked around her apartment. This was her place, right? Framed photographs on the walls and the wilting potted plants testified to that. Hershey, too, not that he seemed to notice she was home.
She unwound her scarf and put it on a hook.
“Hope you don’t mind that I ate without you. Left yours in the oven on low up until an hour ago when I turned it off. It’s still sitting in there, but it might need to be warmed up.” His gaze went back to the TV.
He had obviously gone to a lot of trouble, but why? She turned her back on him to hang up her coat and stared at the wall hoping to derive some sort of miraculous insight on how she should handle this situation. She spun around. “What are you do—”
“I thought you’d be hungry when you got in.” He rose from the couch and tossed the rope for Hershey, who bounded after it.
“It’s eight thirty at night. What are you doing here?” She could hear the strain in her own voice.
He put his arms around her…not letting go of the beer, of course. The chilled bottle touched her wrist, and it jarred her memory. She didn’t have beer when she’d left this morning. In fact, she never bought the stuff because she didn’t care for the flavor.
She stepped back from him. “Where did you get the beer?”
Blake kissed her on the cheek and moved toward the oven.
Inside her head, she was screaming. “You’re going to ignore me?”
“I think the answer is obvious,” he stated matter-of-factly. He turned to face her and added, “I’m guessing you’re not happy to see me here.” He didn’t sound disappointed or apologetic.
“I didn’t expect—”
“I can leave if you like.” Still no show of emotion.
She couldn’t look at him anymore. Her gaze went to the living area and settled on the coffee table. It was the one tangible item that remained of her grandmother. She feared the worst as she thought of condensation. She hurried toward the table.
“Don’t worry, I used a coaster,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I’m not a barbarian. I’m actually rather domesticated.”
Yeah, in my place!
If she faced him, her glare would shoot daggers and pierce him on sight.
The hinges on the oven door squeaked.
“Hopefully you like this,” Blake began. “It’s nothing too exciting, just tuna casserole.”
Just like she had thought. She was speechless.
“I know you like fish.”
She turned the television off.
“Ooh, why? It’s the second quarter, and the Patriots are already slamming the Giants.” His words died on his tongue under her glare.
She kept her gaze on him as she took a seat on a stool at the counter.
“You like fish, don’t you?”
/>
“I do,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Good.” He dished up a plate, not even acknowledging her displeasure. “It still looks hot.” He took her dish over to the place setting and sat at the head of the table.
Son of a bitch! Her rumbling stomach had her getting up and going to the table.
“Your sister called,” he said as she sat down.
She was already here; she might as well eat. Rather, she’d dig in. The faster she ate, maybe the sooner he’d leave. But it was so good…
“I take it you like it.” He smiled at her.
Despite her intentions to keep her opinion of the meal to herself, a small moan escaped.
He took a swig of his beer, finishing it off, and set the empty bottle on the table. “Your sister reached you and told you I was here? Is that why you’re acting strange?”
“Is that why—” She put her fork down and took a deep breath. “If I’m acting strange, it’s because you stayed here all day. And you answered my phone.” She flailed her arm toward the kitchen. “You even went shopping and did some cooking.”
He sat there with a dazed look in his eyes, but oddly, she sensed that he was feeling smothered. How did that work exactly? Like a switch in the guy’s personality apparently. But then she recalled what her sister had told her about making a big deal of their relationship. His bringing up the phone call must have brought that back to him. She loaded her fork again, but before placing it into her mouth, she stopped. “I’m just really busy with my current case.” Why those exact words, and how did they even tie in right now? Urgh, sometimes the mind worked in strange ways…but maybe it would distract him from how her sister had exaggerated things.
He got up and headed to the fridge where he pulled out another beer. “Hershey and I went for a walk. Dropped in and got a six-pack. Hope you don’t mind.” He filled the wine glass in front of her with red without asking if she wanted any and took a seat again.
She stuffed a forkful into her mouth. It would serve two purposes: stop her from lashing out at him and feed her starving stomach. On second thought, it was finally starting to feel like she was filling up. She set her fork down.
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