No Gun Intended

by Zoe Burke

  I frowned at Mom, who gave me a fake, toothy smile. “Darling, those pajamas really are not becoming.”

  I exhaled loudly and trudged back upstairs.

  What the hell was going on with them?

  Chapter Eight

  The hospital where Claudia Bigelow lay in a coma is a teaching hospital, perched on a hill high above the city. I drove Luis and myself up the winding drive with Dad’s words in my head about driving carefully and obeying the speed limit. I pride myself on my excellent driving record (just one ticket, and it really wasn’t fair: I glided through that one red light, fully aware that no traffic was coming), so I didn’t know what he was going on about, except that he might have been expecting me to land myself in yet another mishap. The truth was, I hadn’t driven in a while, since I don’t need a car in Manhattan, and the Mazda 3 was pretty sporty and fun to drive. So, yeah, I was speeding a bit. Just a bit.

  Then I saw the police car lights blinking behind me.

  “Oh, no. This is ridiculous.” I pulled to the side while Luis turned around to look out the back window.

  “Be calm, Annabelle. Sweet. Lots of smiles.” He gave me a big one, just as fake as my mother’s earlier.

  I rolled down the window. “Hello, Officer.”

  “License and registration, please.”

  I dug my license out of my purse. Luis routed around the glove compartment for the registration. We produced both.

  “You were going thirty. This is a tricky road with all the turns.”

  “Sorry. We’re anxious to go see our friend in the hospital. She’s in a coma.” I pretended to wipe a tear from my cheek.

  “New York?”

  I nodded. “Manhattan. Visiting my parents here in Portland.”

  He stared at me, like he was waiting for a better explanation.

  “Great city you’ve got here. Not as big as my city, of course, but it has a lot going for it. Like the river. Well, Manhattan has rivers, too, of course. But Portland has, well, really great food trucks and I think the airport is super duper.” I flashed my pearly whites.

  The policeman handed the documents back to me. “Watch yourself, Ms. Starkey. This isn’t New York. We take things a little easier here.”

  “Roger that, sir. Ten four.”

  Then the cop peeked in at Luis. “Are you visiting, too?”

  I felt Luis tense up. I did, too. Why question my passenger?

  “Yes.” Luis held the cop’s eyes for what felt like a full minute.

  I broke the spell. “Thank you, again, um, Officer…?” I squinted at the name on his jacket. “Officer Foley?” I laughed. “Is your first name Axel?”

  He frowned. “No.”

  “You know, Eddie Murphy? Beverly Hills Cop? C’mon, you must have seen it.” Big smile.

  He paused. “Hope your friend is okay. Have a nice day.” Then he walked back to his patrol car.

  I turned to Luis. “What the hell, Luis? Why was he so curious about you?”

  “Amiga, I am brown.” He was jotting something down on a business card he had taken out of his wallet.

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to believe that. Damn. I wonder if he was following us. I wonder if the Portland PD is keeping a close eye on little ole me.” I leaned over to look at his note. “What are you writing?”

  “Foley’s name and badge number. Just in case.” He stuck the card back in his wallet. “Now, por favor, mas despacio.”

  “Dispatch with all due haste?”

  Luis peered at me over his sunglasses. “More slowly, amiga.”

  We continued on our way to visit Claudia.

  ***

  Claudia was not in the ICU, so it was easy to visit her—especially since there were no police officers posted by her room. Luis told me that wasn’t unusual. It was difficult to commit manpower to guarding victims except in high-profile cases.

  Claudia’s room had two beds in it, but she was the only patient. I was glad to see that she wasn’t on a ventilator and was breathing on her own. Her face was swollen and bruised, but otherwise she looked like a normal sleeping person.

  “She is young, yes?” asked Luis.

  “Twenty, according to her Facebook page.” I went to the closet. “Nothing here, except her clothes.”

  Luis opened the drawer in the bedside table. “A pair of glasses, broken.” He pulled it out further. “Ah. What is this?” He plucked a tissue out of a box and used it to pick up a piece of paper. “A note. ‘You are going to die if you don’t listen to me.’” He held it out to me. “It is crumpled. Like it was in her pocket.”

  I took it and read it myself. “The handwriting is very neat. Not scribbled in haste. Like the person who wrote it is calm and sane, but I’m thinking this person is probably neither.”

  I put it on the wheelie overbed table and took a picture of it with my phone. Luis returned it to the drawer. “She was in trouble, this Claudia.”

  “Yes. Maybe a bad boyfriend.” I walked to the side of the bed and took Claudia’s hand in mine. “You hang in there, Claudia. I don’t know how you’re connected to that gun, but Luis and I, we’re going to try to make sure you don’t have to use it. Ever.” I squeezed her hand, and then we left.

  We were quiet driving home, but after I entered my parents’ driveway, I turned off the ignition and sat back. “Let’s have some drinks downtown tonight.”

  “This will help, you think?”

  “Let’s have them with Nancy and Phillip Bigelow. We’ll call the hotels and find out where they’re staying.”

  “Bueno. And let’s find out about that murder.”

  We both got out of the car. “Mom and Dad can help.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “You would like this?”

  I smiled. “Actually, yes. As long as Mom behaves and doesn’t swear at the Bigelows too much.”

  Luis laughed. “She is a pistol, your mother. I like her very much.”

  “So far, you do, Luis. So far.”

  We went inside.

  Chapter Nine

  It didn’t take me long to find out that the Bigelows were staying at The Nines, discovered with only my third phone call to downtown hotels. The receptionist connected me, and Nancy Bigelow answered. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Bigelow?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Annabelle Starkey. I met your daughter, sort of. My parents and I found her shortly after she was attacked, at the Japanese Garden. I was…”

  “Aaah. Yes. The police told me. She had your backpack.”

  “Yes.” I heard her sigh. “I’m so sorry about your daughter. I would like to help if I can.”

  “The police are taking care of things.”

  “I’m sure they’re doing a great job. But I’m employed by a detective agency in New York, and one of my partners is here, and we’d like to buy you and your husband a drink and learn some more about Claudia, what she was doing in Portland, and…”

  “My husband?”

  “Phillip.”

  She snorted. “Yes, Ms. Starkey, I know his name. How did you?”

  I paused. I didn’t want to let on that we had been investigating the Bigelows on Facebook, but…“We looked you up, online.”

  Another sigh. “You did. Hmm. Well, Phillip isn’t here yet. I expect he’ll arrive around six. He was out of town on business and is flying in.”

  “How about the hotel bar, seven o’clock?”

  She made a little clucking sound. “I suppose that would be fine. See you then.”

  “Right. Thanks. Good-bye.” We hung up.

  Mom, Dad, and Luis were sitting around the dining room table listening to my side of the conversation, and when I put the phone down, I answered their inquiring looks. “Seven. We’re on.”

  “Great!” Mom slapped the table and stood u
p. “What shall we do until then? It’s only four.”

  “The murder. Research. And before either of you jump in,” I said, regarding Mom and Dad, “Luis and I will take care of this, along with Mickey. You two do whatever you do at four o’clock in the afternoon.” I flashed a big smile.

  Dad rose and stretched. “Nap for me.” He kissed Mom’s cheek and patted my shoulder as he left the room.

  Mom looked a bit at loose ends. “Well, if you really don’t need my help, I’ll pay some bills and send a few e-mails.” She waited, hoping, I thought, that we would change our minds.

  It was Luis’ turn to stand. “Señora Sylvia, if you don’t mind, I would very much like to take you up on your offer to help, with another little problem.” Mom’s eyes lit up as Luis continued. “Ruby, my wife, is pregnant, and…”

  I flew out of my chair. “WHAT?! RUBY’S PREGNANT?”

  Luis laughed. “Sí, amiga.”

  I threw my arms around him. “Why didn’t you say something right away?”

  He hugged me. “I was under strict instructions not to say anything because she is still in the first trimester. But I could not help myself.”

  Mom chuckled. “Wonderful news, Luis. How can I help?”

  Luis disentangled himself from me. “Sylvia, Ruby is concerned about the move to New York and starting with a new doctor. Can you help her figure out the best way to find the right doctor? Her clinic in Las Vegas does not have a recommendation.”

  Mom clapped her hands together. “You bet. Shall I give her a call?”

  Luis nodded. “Just as soon as I call her, and let her know that the secret is no longer a secret. Thank you, Sylvia. Ruby has no mother anymore, and she is a little scared.”

  “Well, shit, of course she is.” Mom beamed. Suddenly I realized how much she would enjoy a grandchild. How had I not known this before? I was immediately overcome both with gratitude that she hadn’t pressured me about this, ever, and with guilt, knowing that I simply did not want to have a baby, ever.

  I sat back down while Luis gave Mom Ruby’s phone number and then slipped outside to call her. Mom, still beaming, walked around behind my chair and kissed the top of my head. “Lovely man, darling. He’ll be a great father, I think.” Then she scooted upstairs.

  Left alone temporarily, I rubbed Dusty’s ears and decided to take her for a quick walk. I leashed her and we ducked out the front door. It looked like it was about to rain, so I had put on my mother’s heavy-duty rain jacket, with hood. We walked a few blocks west to a park, where I let Dusty off the leash so she could nose around in the bushes. No one else was there. I found a bench and sat down.

  Babies. Mickey and I had talked about getting married, no serious conversation, just casual asides. But not about babies. What if he wanted one? What if he wanted several, like five or six? How was it possible that I hadn’t considered this before, that Mickey might not feel the same way I did about having little ones?

  I was happy, supremely happy, for Luis and Ruby. But when Mickey heard the news, would he start seeing me as mother material?

  I couldn’t be. I mean, I don’t think I would be a Joan Crawford Mommie-Dearest clone, cruel and sadistic. But I couldn’t see myself as Kate Winslet in Finding Neverland where she was raising all of those boys while coughing her head off and never issuing a cross word. Okay, I know there’s a middle ground. But the long and short of it was this: I had no biological clock ticking. No yen for children. No mother instinct.

  I’d have to talk to Mickey about this, probably soon.

  I whistled for Dusty and attached her leash. The rain was just starting to fall as we reached home.

  ***

  The murder committed with the backpack gun—Luis, Mickey, and I figured, after the three of us had done some research online—was of a young man of twenty-five. He was shot in the back, on a rainy night, in eastern Portland, near the Gresham border. He had come out of a bar, turned a corner onto a narrow side street, and had been unceremoniously gunned down. Two bullets: one to the back and another—administered after he was on the ground—to the back of his head.

  Executed, in other words.

  The murder was the only one we could find that happened in the two-week time frame. The victim’s name was Hank Howard. He was an auto mechanic. By all reports, he was a normal kind of guy. No record, quiet, friends who loved him, solid family, parents married for thirty years. There were no suspects—at least that’s what the news reports said.

  We further researched Howard, looking for any connections to Seattle or the Bigelows, and came up with nothing. Luis suggested that we visit the bar where Howard was last seen, and Mickey, on speakerphone, thought that was a good idea. “But you shouldn’t go, Anabelle.”

  “And why not?” I sputtered. “I’m the one most involved here, and just because I’m a girl without a gun doesn’t mean that I can’t pull my weight on my wagon, thank you very much.” Metaphors come easily to me.

  “Will you please calm down? I know you can pull your wagon, or whatever you just said. But if the police find out that you were asking questions in that bar, they’ll be all over your ass again. If Luis goes by himself, they won’t make the connection.”

  I groaned. “Unless Alex Foley is following us around.”

  “Huh? Eddie Murphy? What?”

  Luis was remaining silent through this banter, but he chuckled at that. “The officer who pulled us over, Mick. When Annabelle was speeding.”

  “I WASN’T SPEEDING!”

  Luis shrugged. Mickey said nothing.

  “Well, okay, if you want to call that ‘speeding.’ But I wasn’t putting anyone in danger.”

  “Babe, please, let Luis do this on his own. You can drive him there and stay in the car.”

  Luis leaned across the table toward me. “He is right, amiga.”

  I exhaled loudly. “I can’t promise. I’ll have to depend on how things feel when we’re there.” I paused. Mickey and Luis said nothing. “Look, I have to trust my instincts, just like you.”

  Mickey took a moment before he answered. “Our instincts don’t seem to be in alignment. But you be damn careful.”

  “I will. But right now we should get going. We’re off to meet the Bigelows.”

  “Okay. Call me later?”

  “Yup.”

  “Annabelle, don’t be pissed. I’m just…”

  “I know, Mickey. It’s weird not having you here. Lots going on, and the parents are weird, and Luis is, well, not weird, he’s great, but I don’t like any of this. And I don’t like being told what I can’t do.”

  “Luis, my friend, please tell Ruby how happy I am for you. Such great news. Outstanding news!”

  Luis got up. “I will speak with you later, Mick.” He left to give us some private time. I picked up the phone, taking it off speaker.

  Mickey said, “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “I’ll be there. One day, maybe two. I’m close to finding the boy.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I hope so. Look, I don’t like being away from you. You know that, right?”

  “Yup. I do. It’s just today, for some reason, I feel so unsettled.” I did know the reason, and it was the baby news coupled with Mickey trying to save a child.

  “Maybe that drink with the Bigelows will help. Hey, we got good news today, though, right? So exciting about Ruby being pregnant!”

  “Absolutely! Yes!” Uh oh, I thought. You wanna be a daddy. I took a deep breath. “Mickey, we’re together, no matter what, right? Like right and left guards?”

  “Babe, what’s this about? Yes, of course, no matter what. Are you okay, really?”

  I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “I want to kiss you.”

  “I want to do more than that.”

  “Is it getting hot in New York, because it’s sud
denly really warm in Portland.”

  He laughed. “I am stroking you in all the right places, right now, in my wide-awake dreams. And while I’m staking out a possible crime scene tonight, I will have a very hard time thinking of anything but you.”

  “Don’t forget my flannel pajamas.”

  “Oh, I’ve already removed them.”

  “Be careful. And get your ass out here, along with the rest of you.”

  “Count on it.”

  We hung up.

  Chapter Ten

  The Nines Hotel is in the heart of downtown Portland. The lobby is on the eighth floor, where there are several casually delineated seating areas. Luis, Mom, Dad, and I scoured the busy lounge, looking for the Bigelows. Dad and I had seen Nancy’s picture on Facebook, which ended up being a very good thing: there were dozens of couples enjoying the hip ambiance. Dad saw her first, and we made our way over.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bigelow?” I held out my hand. “Annabelle Starkey. This is my partner, Luis Maldonado, and these are my parents, Jeff and Sylvia Starkey.”

  Nancy and Phillip Bigelow both stood up and shook hands all around. After we sat and placed our cocktail orders with the waiter, Phillip drained his existing martini and popped the olive on the toothpick into his mouth. Chewing, he leaned back against the couch, his hands behind his head, and winked at me.

  This, I thought, was as inappropriate as Kevin Spacey’s father character in American Beauty, who lusts after his teenage daughter’s friend. Okay, I’m not a teenager, and if Bigelow had an ounce of Spacey’s class, maybe I wouldn’t have been so disgusted by him. But he didn’t, and I was.

  Then he spoke. “So, you’re a detective. You look more like a school teacher.”

  And you, I thought, look like a basset hound, jowls and ears competing with each other for best in class.

  Dad reached over and put his hand on my arm before I could respond. “Annabelle’s in a partnership with two detectives, based in New York. Lots of experience among them. What sort of work are you in, Phillip?” He squeezed my arm and let go, his eyes not leaving the basset’s.