We spent the next hour and a half talking about career goals and where we wanted to be a few years from now. Neither of us wanted to leave Lyons anytime soon, and Ali seemed quite content with her job. Viggo made his way back onto the couch, and by one o’clock in the morning, the storm had passed and there was no longer a reason for me to stay.
“I guess I should get going,” I said as the last few raindrops softly hit the window.
“Stay,” Ali said. “Viggo insists.”
I looked down at Viggo, who was lying across my lap. “Well, I can’t argue with that.” I laughed as I scratched him behind his ears.
Ali stood up and took the two wineglasses back to the kitchen. The power hadn’t come back on yet, and the fire was quickly dying. “The coziest room in the house is my bedroom,” Ali said as she returned. “And that’s where Viggo sleeps,” she added with a flirtatious smile.
“You’re not playing fair.” I couldn’t help but laugh. As I watched her walk across the living room toward her bedroom, I thought about how nice it would feel to sleep next to her. But I couldn’t do it. Not yet. Ali walked back into the living room, handed me two folded fleece blankets and kissed me on the forehead.
“Good night,” she said as she ran her fingertips down the back of my head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter Eight
As I lifted my head from the couch pillow, I took deep breath and smelled the fresh aroma of coffee brewing from the kitchen. Viggo was no longer on the couch with me, and I wondered how long Ali had been up. It had been a long time since I’d had to worry about my morning appearance, and I hoped there was an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. I began to fold the blankets Ali had given to me and set them on the cushion next to me. If she was brewing coffee, the power must have come back on during the night.
“Morning,” I heard her say from the archway leading into the kitchen. She was holding a white coffee mug by the handle, and I could see the steam coming off the top. “Being that you’re a cop, I assume you like coffee?” she teased as she set the mug in front of me.
“Only if you have a doughnut too,” I teased back. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?” I asked as I stood up and wiped the sleep from my eyes.
“Yeah,” Ali answered. She was still wearing the sweatshirt and black pants from last night. “Bathroom closet, second shelf.”
Walking into the bathroom, I closed the door behind me so I could have access to the closet. I turned the knob to the white door. The top shelf was filled with packages of toilet paper, and the second shelf had bars of soap and unopened toothpaste as well as a multipack of toothbrushes. Reaching up, I took the green toothbrush out of the pack and placed the others back on the shelf. The third and fourth shelves were filled with neatly folded bath towels, and on the floor of the closet were different cleaning products and disinfectants. As I shut the door, I noticed a bottle of bleach in the corner, which reminded me of what I had planned to do today. I needed to get home soon so I could work on Tammy Davis’s and Hillary Palmer’s cases.
After brushing my teeth, I looked around for a trashcan so I could throw the toothbrush away. But I didn’t know if that was what I was supposed to do with it. Did she want me to keep it next to hers for when I stayed over again? Would I be staying over again?
I walked out of the bathroom and into the living room. I picked up the coffee mug and carried it into the kitchen, where I saw Ali standing by the back door. I sipped my coffee as I headed toward her.
“I didn’t know what to do with the toothbrush,” I said. Ali turned around and smiled at me. She held her coffee mug close to her face. “I didn’t know whether I should throw it away, so I just left it on the sink.”
“I’ll put it away later,” she said and went back to looking out the back door. I stood behind her and finished the rest of my coffee. I needed all the extra energy I could get right now. Her couch wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture I had ever slept on, and I had only slept for about five hours. Most of that time was spent tossing and turning.
Outside, in the large backyard, Viggo was slowly walking around, looking for the perfect spot to do his business. Off to the left side of the yard was a detached one-car garage. With no driveway leading back to it, I assumed it hadn’t been used in years.
“Is that your garage?” I asked.
“Yeah. It’s falling apart though, so I don’t park my truck in there. I use it for storage more than anything else.” She opened the door for Viggo to come back inside.
“Speaking of, I should take you back to your car soon,” I said, taking a step back from the door.
“What are your plans today?” Ali asked as she set her empty mug in the sink.
“Going over case files, mostly.”
“Is that an all-day thing?” Ali asked as she opened a ceramic cookie jar, pulled out a dog biscuit, and gave it to Viggo. He quickly trotted off into the living room with his reward.
“Only if I don’t solve it,” I answered honestly.
“Give me a few minutes to get dressed?” Ali asked. “Your clothes should be dry by now.”
We both walked back toward her bedroom, and she handed me my clothes, which she must have put in the dryer when the power came back on. I could feel the lingering warmth in the fabric as my hands absorbed the heat. Walking back into the bathroom, I picked up my toothbrush, opened the medicine cabinet, and placed my toothbrush next to hers. Quickly getting dressed, I neatly folded my sleeping clothes and placed them on top of the toilet lid before exiting the bathroom. She was waiting for me in the living room.
“Ready?” I asked as I picked up my keys and cell phone from the coffee table. I checked my phone. No messages or missed calls. Aside from work, that was typical.
As we walked out to my car, the aftermath of the storm was evident in her front yard, and small branches from the neighbor’s trees lay across my windshield. Unlocking the passenger door for her, I walked to the driver’s side of the car and got in. I waited for the Sunday motorists to pass by before backing out of her driveway. One car seemed to drive much slower than the others, as if the driver wanted to stop and say hello, but the windows of the black sedan were too tinted for me to see inside.
It didn’t take nearly as long to get back to the fairgrounds as it had driving to Ali’s house the night before. Fallen trees and broken limbs were alongside the road. Aside from the obvious reasons, I was glad I had decided to stay over. There was no telling what type of accident I could have gotten into, and I doubted any type of roadside assistance could have come to my rescue fast enough. “I’ll make it a point to be finished around five o’clock,” I blurted out. “If you wanted to do something,” I quietly added. I took my eyes off the road for a moment so I could gauge her reaction.
“Yeah?” She smiled at me.
“I’ll text you my address,” I said as I turned into the fairgrounds’ grassy lot. Her truck was the only vehicle in sight.
“Sure,” she replied as I parked next to her red truck. “Five o’clock,” she said, and then leaned in to kiss me. She stopped short. “Is this okay?” She was less than five inches from my mouth, and our eyes locked on one another.
I leaned in and kissed her.
“It’s okay,” I said as I leaned back. “Five o’clock,” I repeated as she got out.
As I watched her walk around the front of my car, I could feel myself falling for her. I wasn’t in love, but I knew I really liked this woman. The way she moved, the way she talked, even the way she breathed captivated me in a way that I hadn’t thought I would ever get to feel again. But I couldn’t figure out what it was about her—why her and why now? I had tried to get back into the dating pool so many times before, but I barely made it past the shallow end before drowning. Ali was different.
Driving back to my house, I turned on the radio and sang along to every song. Even if I didn’t know the words, I sang anyway. I was too excited to worry about trivial things like correct lyrics.
I remembered feeling this way when Tara and I met. How blissfully naïve I was. Maybe things with Ali would be different? I didn’t get the impression that Ali had a secret drug addiction and I didn’t get the impression that Ali was hiding anything either. She was easy to talk to and she acted as if she really wanted to get to know me. I couldn’t deny that I was insanely attracted to her—but what I was feeling for her was more than what she had to offer on the surface. Deep down I had connected with her and my heart craved to be next to her just as much as my body did.
The sun was shining brighter than it ever had before, and I couldn’t help but see the world as a beautiful place where only beautiful people lived. I wanted this feeling to last as long as possible—because I knew as soon as I got home and started reviewing those case files, I would come crashing back to earth.
Two blocks away from my house, I heard a rumbling noise coming from my front driver’s side tire. I looked at my dashboard and saw the tire-pressure light come on. I slowed down until I came to a complete stop. Getting out of my car, I looked at the tire and saw that it was nearly flat. With the storm last night, it was possible I had run over a sharp twig or a nail that was mixed in with all the debris.
I lowered myself down to look at the tire, and I saw along the outer wall of the tire a slash mark approximately three inches long. And it wasn’t from a branch or a nail. This intentional slash must’ve been made by someone late last night or early this morning. Ali’s street wasn’t known for its teenage pranksters, but that didn’t necessarily mean it couldn’t have happened.
As I stood up and opened the driver’s side door to pull the lever to release the trunk, I realized that I hadn’t changed a tire since I was in my mid-twenties. But calling roadside assistance was out of the question. Living in a small town had its perks, but it definitely had its disadvantages too—and I didn’t want it to get around town that a female detective couldn’t change her own flat tire.
After thirty minutes of what felt like the most intense physical labor I had endured since police training, I had the flat taken off and the spare put on in its place. I could feel the sweat bead around my hairline, and I was glad this happened after I dropped Ali off at her truck. I put the flat tire in the trunk of my car, setting the jack and crowbar on top of it. As I got back into my car, I cranked up the air conditioning to full blast and drove the remaining two blocks to my house.
I unlocked my front door and noticed an unfamiliar feeling of expecting to be welcomed home by someone. Ali had Viggo to greet her every time she came home, and walking through my lifeless house, I began to realize that was what I wanted. I wanted to feel alive again. I wanted to feel my life expand into something more than just my job. I wanted to be in love.
Picking up the two newest case files belonging to Tammy Davis and Hillary Palmer, I walked into my office. Plopping the files onto my desk, I picked up a stack of sticky notes and began to place them on the wall behind me. I had made a timeline of events pertaining to each of the previous four women’s lives and murders to see if there were any similarities. I was going to spend the majority of the day updating the timeline to include Tammy Davis and Hillary Palmer. Going through their files, I began writing down information on sticky notes. I added their dates of birth, years of graduation, common friends, and common hangouts. If there was something that could link them together aside from their killer, I was determined to find it.
Around four thirty in the afternoon, I heard my phone vibrate twice. It was a text message from Ali. I texted her back with my address and asked her to stop by in two hours because I still hadn’t showered and really needed to straighten up the house. I had been working on the case files for almost six hours now, and I was no closer to solving it than I was when I first started. I didn’t want to give up, but there wasn’t much more I could do today.
Hanging the pictures of each crime scene on the wall next to the timeline, I took a step back and studied the photos as if they were all part of the same exhibit at a museum. I let the pictures tell the story, even if there wasn’t much of a story to be told yet. At five o’clock, I walked away from the files completely and took a shower. Ali showed up at my house at a quarter after six.
She knocked twice on the door, and I could feel my heart sink into my stomach. I didn’t have anything prepared for the evening. No food, no wine, no ideas. As I walked toward the front door, I could feel my nerves increase. Anything we did tonight, whether dinner or a movie or both, would eventually lead to sex. Maybe not tonight, maybe not next week. But if I continued on this path with her, it was going to happen. And I was only frightened because of how much I wanted it to happen.
“Hi!” I opened the door and swallowed hard. She was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt that made the highlights in her blonde hair stand out. She looked so stunning standing on my doorstep that I had to keep myself from pulling her inside and leading her directly to my bedroom. But I had thought ahead and had an insurance policy in case certain events led us there: I purposely did not make my bed or hang up any of the clothes that had been strewn about while I was getting ready. And there was no way I was going to let her see my bedroom in the condition it was in.
“Someone wanted to see you,” she said. Viggo was in her arms. “I hope it’s okay I brought him?”
“Of course!” I opened the door wider so she could come inside. I was really glad she was here. “Are you hungry?” I asked as she walked in and put Viggo on the floor. She was carrying a small reusable grocery bag full of dog treats, chew toys, and the stuffed frog that he had claimed as his own.
“Yeah,” Ali answered, “I’m starving.” She gave Viggo a bone, and he tried to squeeze behind my living room sofa for privacy.
“I’m not much of a cook.” I shrugged. “So we can go out if you want.”
“I can cook,” she said with a smile. “If you trust me in your kitchen.”
“I trust you,” I said—suddenly realizing I meant more than just in my kitchen. “But I don’t have much in the way of groceries. Will he be okay in here by himself?” I added, looking back to try to find Viggo. But he was completely hidden behind the couch, enjoying his bone.
“He’ll be fine,” Ali said, waiting for me to lead her into the kitchen. Part of me hoped she was waiting for me to lead her into my bedroom—my very messy bedroom, I reminded myself. But looking at her, and into her eyes, all embarrassment and self-restraint were about to be thrown out the window. I had never wanted someone so much in my life.
Once in the kitchen, I told her she had total access to whatever she needed. She asked me to stay in the kitchen with her while she cooked in case she had questions as to where something was. She said she didn’t want to go through my cabinets, but I told her there was nothing to find—at least not in the kitchen. I kept my personal gun in a lock box under my bed.
Ali did manage to find some uncooked rice and enough ingredients in my shabby kitchen to throw together a homemade risotto. It was good, and I was thoroughly impressed by her resourcefulness. Although we didn’t talk much while we ate, it was an incredibly comfortable kind of silence.
After dinner, I collected the dishes and set them in the sink. As I rinsed them off before placing them in the dishwasher, Ali requested that we do something fun and different because she didn’t want to watch a movie. Racking my brain for something to do, I asked her if she wanted to go to the gun range. With a little hesitation, she agreed. She waited in the living room while I grabbed my mm pistol and its holster from the lock box under my bed, put it in my backpack, and we headed out.
Ali drove us in her pickup truck. I tossed my bag into the bed of her truck, and we arrived at the range about an hour before it closed. I scanned the parking lot, looking for familiar cars, but there was only one other vehicle. I got out of the truck and grabbed the backpack, which contained protective gear and supplies, then placed the bag over my shoulder as we headed toward the cinderblock building. I held the door open for Ali to walk through, an
d we were met on the other side by another set of double doors.
I led her inside toward the counter, where guns and ammunition were sold. We walked up to the man on duty, and I showed him my badge.
“Welcome back, officer,” he said. Detective, I thought. I looked at his name tag and smiled. I didn’t feel the need to correct Michael.
“Hello,” I said. “We just need an hour. It’s her first time.” I turned to Ali, who was looking around the store in awe at all the different types of guns and rifles. “He’ll need your driver’s license,” I whispered, catching her attention. She dug into her back pocket for her license. Michael handed her a waiver to sign before we were allowed to go downstairs where the range was. “Anyone else here tonight?” I asked.
“Just you two.” Michael smiled. “Head on down,” he added.
I opened the heavy metal door that led downstairs. The concrete walls were cool to the touch. Ali followed closely behind me. Once we reached the bottom of the stairwell, I grabbed two pairs of protective earmuffs from my backpack. Ali placed hers around her neck as I opened the last door between us and the firing range. This door was just as heavy as the one above and was covered in safety-advisory posters.
Once inside, Ali began to look around the room, wide-eyed. The space was at least a hundred feet long and fifty feet wide, with six different shooting lanes. I asked her to pick a lane, and she walked toward the far right one that hugged the wall. She turned back and looked at me with a curious smile. I couldn’t help but find her intrigue adorable.
We stood side by side in the last lane, and I set my backpack on the small table behind us. I reached into the bag and took out two pairs of goggles, a box of ammunition and a few paper targets. Ali smoothed her hair back with her left hand and pulled the headphones on with the right. Adjusting them to fit, she put the glasses on next and waited for me to do the same. Once my glasses and headphones were secure, I hooked up the target and pressed the button to send it twenty feet down the lane. I then took my gun from its holster and set it on the shelf next to us. I loaded the magazine with ammunition as Ali watched in reverent silence.
Sight Lines Page 7
