Black Friday

by Judy M. Kerr

  “Had to ask. Noticed the ring and all.”

  “My partner died recently, so like I said, it’ll just be me.”

  Cherries bloomed on his cheeks. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Ah. Six months is good. I can get the paperwork from my car if you want to wait here. Shoulda brought it with me so I could avoid those stairs a second time and . . . ”

  When he returned, out of breath and sweating, MC signed the required documents and wrote him a check.

  Stewie gave her two sets of keys. “I’ll let you have ’em now even though the lease technically starts on Wednesday.”

  “You’re very kind. I can start moving in right away?”

  “Have at it. Oh! And there’s a parking lot in the back. No assigned spots, but usually there’s enough room for all the residents.”

  “Thanks, Mister Levine.” MC pocketed the keys.

  “Stewie. Please. Mister Levine is my ninety-year-old father.”

  “Stewie.” MC shook his pudgy paw and ushered him to the door. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Call me if you have any problems.” He fumbled a business card from his wallet and dropped it, picked it up, and crammed it into MC’s hand.

  She stood in the barren living room as the winter sun painted her shadow across the floor. She tried to envision what the future held in store, and grief twisted her heart like someone wringing out a wet dishcloth.

  No rest for the weary, she thought. She sat on the windowsill above a hot and clanking metal register to make a few calls.

  With a deep breath she put her phone away, closed and locked the door to her new home, and strolled the short distance to Flannel. The one bright spot in this dark phase was she had Dara and Meg, and she’d be close to their house and the café.

  Over a steaming cup of dark roast MC filled them in on her day.

  “The moving company process was easier than I expected. Truck will be at the house at eight tomorrow morning. I guess a middle-of-the-month move is a good thing. I decided not to stage the house, so when the place sells everything will be out. What I don’t use in the apartment will go into storage. I have an appointment at one today with the therapist. Afterward I’ll be at the house.”

  Meg said, “We’ll come help you this afternoon when Kate comes in, sometime after two.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” MC swallowed back sudden tears. Both her friends wore similar expressions of dismay and helplessness. She couldn’t take their pity, and had no idea how to comfort them from their own loss. She rose. “I’ve got to get going. See you later.”

  Back in her car, MC played a voicemail from Sharpe informing her she could pick up her duty firearm.

  She called him and made the short trip to SPPD.

  A uniformed officer escorted MC up two flights and through the maze of hallways to the Homicide office and turned her over to Sharpe.

  Sharpe said, “Thanks for coming in so quickly. I’ve got everything right here.” He unlocked a file cabinet and handed MC her gun and magazine.

  MC took the items checking to ensure all was as it should be before stowing them in her messenger bag. “So, anything new?”

  He sighed, “No. I’m afraid not.”

  “Right,” she said. “Well, thanks for getting the gun back to me.” Fat chance he’d tell her even if something new arose. She refused to give up, though. She had her own agenda, and it didn’t necessarily correlate with SPPD rules.

  Her next stop was Louie’s Liquors on Grand and Snelling. She ran in and purchased a bottle of Goose. Back in the car, the brown paper wrapper crinkled in her gloved fist as she laid it inside a box of towels she’d packed a couple days earlier at the house.

  She made a mental note to purchase other freezer items to mask the bottle’s presence should Dara or Meg happen to peek inside the cold zone later.

  MC chomped a couple pieces of gum as she trudged from her car to Doctor Zaulk’s building. She settled into her spot in one of the wingback chairs and waited for the doc to open up the session.

  “MC, I know you weren’t interested in journaling, but did you make an effort?”

  “Funny you should ask. I want to come clean about something. The day after Barb’s, ah, death, I bought a notebook. A special notebook, in Barb’s favorite color.” A shade slightly lighter than the doctor’s eyes, MC realized.

  “Have you been writing in it?”

  More than you could ever imagine, MC didn’t say out loud. “Bits and pieces. Details I don’t want to forget.” Details about her bloody murder. MC shook her head to clear the images.

  Doctor Zaulk scrutinized her. “You’ve made progress.” She wrote some notes. “Keep with it. Write as much as you feel able to. The more you let out, the better.”

  They talked about MC’s support team: Meg and Dara; Cam and Jane. MC confessed to having no communication with Barb’s family after the memorial.

  “Do you get along with Barb’s family?”

  “For the most part. There is . . . Barb’s sister-in-law, Jules, is a homophobe. I could ignore her at the few family functions we attended, but Barb couldn’t stand her. Family events were hard sometimes. It put Barb and her brother Dave at odds. But that’s not why I haven’t talked to them.”

  Doctor Zaulk asked, “Why then?”

  “I feel too raw yet. Like I’m responsible for their daughter’s death and they’ll blame me, not want to talk to me or see me. How can they not condemn me?”

  “You aren’t culpable. Barb’s death was not your fault. I understand needing some distance from her family, but I hope you’ll be able to come together at some point in your healing.”

  “So, doc, I can return to work on Thursday, right?” She felt a desperate need to be busy.

  “I think one more week off might do you some good.”

  “No. Please. I need to get back to my job.” She stopped and took a deep breath, steadying her racing heart, then calmly said, “I’m moving into an apartment on Wednesday, and I’ll be ready for work bright and early Thursday. I don’t want more time off. What will do me good is to immerse myself in something productive instead of having time to sit around and dwell on the current state of my personal life.”

  MC held her breath, waiting for the final verdict, ready to dive deeper into battle.

  Doctor Zaulk tapped a finger on her open notebook. “I’d rather you take the extra time, but I can’t force you.”

  She signed a basic Fitness for Duty form and handed it to MC. “I’ll agree as long as you continue weekly appointments for at least six months, as I’ve noted on the form.”

  MC stood. “Wait. Six—”

  “Non-negotiable, MC. These sessions are not a punishment. I’m here to help you. We’ve got lots of hard work ahead of us.”

  MC sank back into the chair. “Okay.”

  “We’ll reassess at the six-month mark.” Doctor Zaulk closed her notebook.

  “Reassess.” MC folded her get-out-of-jail form and scheduled her next appointment.

  She drove to the post office. Her PO box held a six-inch stack of mail, of which most appeared to be cards. MC asked for a bag at the window and dumped the envelopes in. She tossed the bag on the backseat and drove to the house, pushing from her mind all thought of opening and responding to sympathy cards.

  She parked in the garage and bolstered herself with a quick slug from the bottle, feeling like one of those folks she’d seen countless times in dank doorways along the city’s streets. She stashed the bottle in the back of the Subaru. MC hoped she’d be able to make it through the packing session without losing her mind—or at least until Dara and Meg arrived to prop her up.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wednesday, December 17 – Thursday December 18

  Wednesday evening Dara and Meg helped MC move the last of the boxes from her house to the apartment. The mover had dropped all the items MC didn’t need at the public storage space she’d rented.

  The house was now completely cleaned out. MC had argu
ed with Spencer, her realtor, about not staging the house, and she put her foot down. She needed distance. Needed to be out, once and for all. He finally gave in after Meg stepped in and read him the riot act.

  The three women worked in the apartment all day, unpacking, cleaning, and moving furniture around. They finally collapsed on the couch as the sun painted the western sky orange.

  “Supposed to snow tonight.” Dara covered a yawn.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to go back to work?” Meg asked MC, a frown creasing her brow. “You could put it off until Monday, start the week fresh.”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” MC stared out the window at the yellow glow of the street lamps reflected on the road below. “I have to go back. I need to work or I’ll go crazy. And the case is breaking wide open.”

  She didn’t mention she’d be doing her own sleuthing on Barb’s murder. Her gut told her Dara and Meg wouldn’t understand.

  Her insides itched. She needed something, a quick icy dollop from her friend the Goose. She licked her parched lips with an even drier tongue.

  Dara clapped a hand on MC’s shoulder and pushed herself up from the couch. “I guess we should head back to the shop.”

  “I can help you close later.” Even as she uttered the words, she prayed they’d decline. She needed a drink, and Dara would know immediately. She always did. “It’s the least I can do for all you’ve done for me these past couple of weeks.”

  “No way.” Meg stood, hands on hips. “You have enough to deal with. You can help us some other time.”

  “You heard the boss.” Dara smirked. “I think we both know better than to argue. Right?” She hugged MC. “Love you.”

  Meg grabbed hold of MC. “I love you. I didn’t mean to be so feisty with you, but I know how stubborn you get. Someone has to keep you in line.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.” She brushed a tear away.

  “It’s okay, Meg. You’re right. Barb was my North Star. Sometimes I feel like a buoy afloat on this giant ocean of life. Nothing’s anchoring me.” She pulled them into a group hug. “I love you guys. But right now, I need you to leave so I can get ready for tomorrow.”

  And have a drink or two.

  MC ushered them toward the door and locked up behind them. She left the shade up on the middle window and pulled the two side ones down. Dara and Meg stepped down the stairs from her building.

  They turned and waved. She waved back and decided on some soup for supper. While the soup warmed in the microwave, MC poured frosty vodka into a coffee mug. The quicksilver heated her from chest to belly.

  She sat at the kitchen table and spooned cream of broccoli soup into her mouth as she reviewed notes on the Stennard case. The empty coffee mug beckoned from the middle of the table.

  MC ignored it and continued to peruse her notes. Cam hadn’t let her know if he’d talked to Gavin or if he’d found out about Arty’s post office box. She made the PO box her first priority for the following day, unless Crapper had other plans for her. Jamie hadn’t mentioned anything specific when she called to let him know Doctor Zaulk had released her and now that she’d be back in the saddle, she’d be under Crapper’s supervision still.

  She closed the work notebook and opened “Life after Barb,” the green notebook. She decided her plan would be to start at ground zero.

  Who called 9-1-1? Maybe Sharpe would tell her. Even if he did, she concluded that interviewing her old neighbors was a must. Not a task she relished. Maybe she’d be able to find an ally in SPPD willing to score her some inside info.

  She cleared the table and washed the dish and spoon. Thirsty work. She opened the freezer in search of something to take the edge off. The long, pearly neck of the Grey Goose bottle pointed at her, luring her in. The bottle seared her fingertips.

  She pulled back and opted for the safer, though more calorie-laden, Dove bar. Mint swirl ice cream surrounded by silky Dove dark chocolate would suffice.

  She slammed the freezer closed before the demon could change her mind and savored the chocolatey minty sweetness, feeling a sort of victory. She’d be going back to work with a clear head in the morning, though she swore she heard a scratching sound from the wintry confines of the freezer.

  “Come back, MC. One more won’t hurt.”

  She picked up the notebook, shut off the lights and concentrated on the ice cream, drowning out the wicked whispers as she headed toward the bedroom.

  Chalk one up for the good guys.

  She tossed the green notebook and pen on the nightstand. She kept the log close in case something came to her during the night, or as in most cases lately, to help fill the dark sleepless hours.

  Her journal, her murder book, not only her means of chronicling her investigation, she also filled the pages with entries in which she swore to Barb she would find whoever was responsible and bring them to justice.

  Or better yet, retribution.

  The next morning, MC woke before the alarm sounded. She showered, dressed, and strapped on her gun. A surreal feeling engulfed her as she packed up her messenger bag and opted to stop at Flannel for coffee.

  Her actions felt rote, like someone else was performing them. The streets and sidewalks bore a pristine Christmastime snow covering the dirty underlayer. She scraped ice and snow off the car, and the tires crunched frozen slush as she eased out of the parking lot.

  She arrived at Flannel within minutes.

  “Morning, sunshine. The usual?” Dara’s gravelly voice carried over the hum of early morning caffeine seekers and the holiday music piped over the cafe’s speakers.

  “Please.” MC forced a smile onto her face.

  “You ready?” Dara handed MC a twenty-ounce white cardboard cup and a sleeve with the word Flannel imprinted in black watch plaid.

  “For the coffee? Why, did you poison it?” MC meandered to the end of the counter and dumped cream and a packet of sweetener into the cup. She held it to her nose and breathed in. “Used hemlock, eh?” She set it on the counter and snapped a black plastic lid on top.

  A customer standing in line regarded the two, eyes wide.

  “Always the comedian. Don’t listen to her.” Dara served the customer, who quickly left the shop. She wandered down to where MC stood pulling her gloves on. “Seriously. Going back to work, I’m—”

  “Worried about me. I’ll be fine. And with this jolt,” she raised the cup, “I can handle anything they throw my way. Give Meg a hug.” She met Dara’s eyes. “I’m okay.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re a good liar, MC. Always have been. How about dinner here tonight? Seven? Maybe we can entice you into helping close.”

  “Bribery by food. Tempting.” MC sipped her coffee. “Let me get back to you once I have an idea of what’s on my plate at work. Deal?” The last thing she wanted was dinner with her friends. Much as she appreciated them she had a need to pull back a bit. They weren’t exactly suffocating her—okay, yeah, they were suffocating her.

  “Let us know. We can order Thai and eat here. Or maybe some Chicago-style pizza?”

  “I’ll call later. Love you guys.” MC waved and held the door as a threesome entered, stomping snow from booted feet.

  MC arrived at work by seven and swiped her badge to enter the office suite. Chelsea didn’t come in until eight, so the Reception bubble was empty.

  She hung her coat on the skeletal rack in the corner behind her desk. One day she fully expected the assemblage to collapse, scattering its bones every which way. She thought about buying a new one herself, since multiple requests for a replacement had been denied. Budgetary constraints.

  Ensconced behind her desk, computer humming, MC drank her coffee and plowed through the hundreds of emails in her Outlook account, mostly moving condolence messages to a separate folder to deal with later. The mind-numbingly boring task was exactly what she needed to start the day.

  She’d just opened an email from Agent Ferndale when someone knocked on her door.

  “Come in.” She hit repl
y as Jamie Sanchez entered.

  “Welcome back. Mind if I sit?”

  “Thanks, Jamie. Sure, have a seat.” She pushed her keyboard aside.

  He smiled. “How you doing?” His brown puppy dog eyes showed concern.

  If she had a dollar for every time someone said “How you doing,” she could retire. “Good as can be expected.” She reached for her coffee.

  “MC, if you need more time—”

  “Jamie, thank you. I don’t. Honestly, I need to work.” Offset my nightmarish life, she thought. “At this point even dealing with Chrapkowski is better than not being here.” She took a mouthful of coffee and swallowed hard.

  “Okay, then. You’re still on Stennard. Cam will bring you up to speed. Priority one. Work your other cases as you have time.” He stood up.

  MC rose. She was afraid he’d hug her if she stepped around so she stayed rooted behind her desk. “I’ll get with Cam as soon as he’s in.” And avoid Crapper as long as I can, she thought. “Wait. Why are you giving me assignments and not Chrapkowski?” She stuck her hands in her pants pockets.

  Jamie said, “I almost forgot. Chrapkowski is out on indefinite medical leave. He suffered a heart attack almost a week ago. I’ve heard from the Assistant Inspector in Charge his prognosis isn’t good. He may retire rather than return to work. Time will tell.”

  MC knew she should feel something—empathy, concern, maybe even jubilation—but she couldn’t muster the energy or the will to express emotions for Roland Chrapkowski. Instead she let the silence build up around her, a padded wall of protection, allowing feelings to bounce off it. Heartless Crapper incapacitated by his heart. The forces of the world were exacting a fitting payback.

  Jamie had his hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry for the way he’s treated you. The teams have your back. You’re one of the most respected inspectors in this domicile.”

  MC blinked. To hold the tears in check, she focused on the chipped eggshell-colored paint above the doorframe. “I appreciate that, Jamie. I hope Chrapkowski gets what he needs.” Even though the asshole doesn’t deserve it.