DEAD BY WEDNESDAY

by Beverly Long

  “Did Sawyer get her room finished?” Carmen asked.

  Liz smiled. “It’s gorgeous. I can’t believe he had the patience to stencil all those teddy bears. You should come see it. We’re getting pizza tonight. You and Raoul could join us.”

  “Raoul has band practice tonight. Even so...” She stopped.

  Liz frowned at her. “What’s wrong? You look really troubled.”

  “Nothing,” Carmen denied automatically. Then remembered this was Liz, her best friend. “I was going to say that even so, he probably wouldn’t want to come with me. I haven’t said much, but I’m worried about Raoul.”

  “What’s wrong with your brother?” Liz reached for Catherine and settled the little girl on her own hip.

  “He’s not talking to me. By the time I get home from work, he’s already in his room. He comes out for dinner, shovels some food in, and retreats back to his cave. I’m lucky if I get a few one-word answers.”

  “He’s an adolescent boy. That’s pretty normal behavior. Aren’t you almost thirty? That automatically makes you too old to understand anything.”

  “I know. It’s just hard for me. It seems as if it was just weeks ago that he and his best friend Jacob were setting up a tent in our living room, laughing like a bunch of hyenas until the middle of the night.”

  “I can see why you’d miss that,” Liz said with a smirk.

  Carmen rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. But in the old days he couldn’t wait to tell me what had happened at school.” She swallowed. “He used to confide in me.”

  Liz wrapped her free arm around her friend’s delicate shoulder. “That, my friend, is the difference between ten and fifteen. Give him a couple more years and he’ll start talking again. In the meantime, you need something else to focus on.”

  “Maybe I’ll take up knitting,” Carmen said. “I couldn’t find my scarf this morning.”

  Liz shook her head. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  Carmen sighed loudly. She and Liz had had this conversation. “I know what you were thinking.”

  “I never thought I’d play matchmaker. Really, I didn’t. It’s just that I’m so happy. I want that for you.”

  “I know. That’s the only thing that’s keeping me from tripping you on these stairs.” She leaned forward and kissed Catherine’s soft cheek. “Take care of your mother, darling. Her head is in the clouds.”

  Liz shook her head. “Just think about it, please. Maybe try the online thing?”

  “Sure. I’ll think about it. But right now, I have more pressing issues. I’m meeting my new client in fifteen minutes. Alexa Sage is sixteen, seven months along and lives at home with her parents, who have no idea that she’s pregnant.”

  Liz nodded. “Winter clothes make it easier to hide a pregnancy, that’s for sure.” She took another step. “Will you come for pizza tonight? Please?”

  “No need to beg. My middle name is carbohydrate. I’ll be there.” Carmen stopped at her office door, unlocked it, opened the door and immediately walked across the small space to pull open the heavy curtain on the lone window. Most days the sun offered some warmth but today, everything outside was gray. Wednesday. Hump day. By five o’clock tonight, the workweek would be more than half over. Although for the counselors who worked at Options for Caring Mothers, their workweeks didn’t tend to be so carefully defined. Babies came at all times of the day or night, and none of the staff wanted their teenage clients to be alone at that time.

  Alexa Sage arrived five minutes later. She wore a big black coat and jeans tucked into black boots. Her short hair was a white-blond and her pale skin was clear and pretty, with nicely applied makeup. Her eyes were green and wary.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Alexa,” Carmen said, motioning for the girl to take a chair. “I hope you didn’t get too cold getting here.”

  “I took the bus,” she said. She sat but didn’t take off her coat.

  “Better than walking,” Carmen said, keeping up the small talk. “I have a younger brother, and when I don’t have early-morning meetings, I drop him and his best friend off at school.”

  “My mother doesn’t work. She takes my sister and me to school every day. Picks us up, too. That’s what Frank Sage wants.”

  “Stepdad?” Carmen asked, noting the use of the first name.

  “Nope. His blood is my blood. Let me tell you, that has kept me up a few nights. He doesn’t like it when I call him Frank. My mom thinks it’s disrespectful, too.”

  “Do you say it to be disrespectful?”

  “I say it because I can.”

  Maybe that’s why she’d had sex. Because she could. And now she was in a heap of trouble. “How did you find out about Options for Caring Mothers?” Carmen asked.

  “My counselor at school. She gave me an OCM brochure.”

  That was how many of their referrals came. “I’m glad that happened,” Carmen said. “Did you tell her that you were pregnant?”

  “I think the school nurse told her. I got sick a couple times at school. The nurse thought I had the flu and wanted to send me home. I had to tell her the truth.”

  “But you haven’t told your parents?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Alexa chewed her lip. “My dad works in some little factory and he hates his job. He gets mad when my sister or I get a B. Says that if we’re not careful, we’re going to be trapped in some dead-end job. When he finds out that I’m going to quit school to take care of the baby, he’s not going to be happy.”

  “So, you’re planning on keeping your baby?”

  The girl nodded.

  “What about the father of the baby?”

  This got a shrug. “He’s a junior, too, so we’re not, you know, getting married or anything, but he’s cool with it.”

  “He hasn’t told his parents?”

  “There’s only his mom. And no, we both agreed that we wouldn’t say anything to anybody.”

  Alexa was mature, but was she mature enough to handle a child? “Have you considered adoption?” Carmen asked.

  Alexa shook her head. “So that she can be raised by somebody like my parents? No, thanks.”

  Carmen nodded. Not much to say to that, was there? “Have you had any prenatal care?”

  Alexa nodded. “At the health department. Everything is fine. I’m twenty-eight weeks. The baby is due April 15.”

  “How much longer do you think you can hide your pregnancy from your family?” Carmen asked.

  “Probably not much longer. In a week, I have a family wedding. I’m not going to be able to wear a sweatshirt and baggy pants or my coat. I think the cat is going to be pretty much out of the bag.”

  “You should tell your parents before then,” Carmen said.

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. Frank doesn’t do so good with surprises. Goes a little crazy sometimes.”

  “What kind of crazy?” Carmen asked. “Crazy yelling or crazy something else?”

  “When my mother hit a post with the fender of our car, he slapped her so hard that he split her lip.”

  Carmen felt sick.

  “You were the counselor who helped my neighbor, Angelina. She said you were wonderful. I was hoping you could be there when I tell him.”

  Chapter Two

  Raoul almost dropped his trombone when a skinny man stepped out of the dry cleaner’s doorway, right into his path. His dark hair was slicked down on his head and pulled back into a short ponytail. His skin was really pale and he had gray eyes.

  “Hi, there,” the man said.

  He was about six inches taller than Raoul, which basically wasn’t all that tall. His shoulders were wide and he had on a really ugly plaid coat.

  Raoul tried to step around him.

&nb
sp; The man stepped with him, blocking his path.

  “Hey, man,” Raoul said. He’d already had a really bad day and all he wanted was to go home.

  “Is that how you treat your friends, Raoul?”

  Friends? “Who are you? How do you know my name?” Raoul asked, feeling uncomfortable. He looked around. There were other people on the sidewalk, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him.

  “I know a lot about you. Your brother Hector and I were friends. Real tight.”

  Hector had been dead for eleven years. Whenever anybody said Hector’s name, his sister, Carmen, got a real funny look on her face and she got sad. Once, when he asked her about it, she said that she was just so sorry that Hector had died.

  That made him feel even worse that he couldn’t remember Hector. He’d only been four when he’d died. He couldn’t tell Carmen the truth. That would probably make her even sadder.

  “You really knew Hector?”

  “Oh, yeah. One time, before he died, he told me that if anything ever happened to him, that I should watch out for you.”

  Raoul didn’t know what to say to that and anyway, his throat felt tight.

  “Your brother used to talk about you all the time. Said that having a kid brother was cool.”

  Hector would have understood how hard it was to be the smallest kid in the class. He’d have known how humiliating it was to have someone jam your head into a toilet. He’d have known how ridiculous it felt to be tripped going down the hall and have your books fly everywhere.

  He’d have known how much it hurt when everyone laughed.

  “What’s your favorite song?” the man asked, giving Raoul’s shoulder a light punch.

  Raoul didn’t want to talk music. Even though this guy had been a friend of Hector’s, he sort of gave him the creeps. “What’s your name?” he asked again.

  The man shook his head. “We’ll talk soon, Raoul. I know what your brother wanted for you. I’m here to make sure you get it. Now, go home. Practice your music like a good boy.”

  * * *

  BY THE END of the day, the police knew just a little more than they had that morning. The boy had not been killed on site. No, somewhere else, and then brought into the alley. One of the neighbors said that he’d left the neighborhood bar and walked home, cutting through the alley shortly before two in the morning. He swore that the body hadn’t been there. If he was right, then the drop-off had occurred sometime between two and four, which was earlier than the other three killings. Those bodies had been found late in the day, and the coroner had estimated time of death to be late afternoon, early evening.

  Was the killer getting more anxious?

  That thought kept Robert and Sawyer and a half dozen other detectives knocking on doors, for six blocks in every direction, in the hopes that somebody had seen something. Maybe they’d also walked through the alley, maybe they’d seen a car idling nearby, maybe they’d heard something unusual.

  It was the proverbial looking for a needle in a haystack, but dead kids got feet on the street.

  Early evening, Robert and Sawyer returned to the parking lot behind their police station. They parked the department-issued cruiser and walked toward their own cars. “I’m starting to really hate Wednesdays,” Robert said.

  Sawyer nodded. “Yeah, me, too. At least I have dinner to look forward to. I’m picking up pizza at Toni’s. Liz invited Carmen over to look at Catherine’s room. I painted it this weekend.”

  All damn day Carmen Jimenez had been on his mind. “I’ve been thinking of doing some painting,” Robert said.

  Sawyer smiled. “Yeah. But for some reason, I doubt you’re thinking pink.”

  Robert shrugged. “What did you use? A gloss, semigloss or a flat?”

  Sawyer waved a hand. “I have no idea. I used the paint in the can that Liz brought home from the paint store.”

  “Oh, good grief. Now I’ve got to see this paint job. If you get the pizza, I’ll get a couple bottles of wine on my way. As long as you think it will be okay with Liz.”

  “Liz adores you. Why, I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

  Robert shoved his friend, then had to grab him to keep him from slipping on the snow, which was gathering a top layer of ice as the temperature continued to drop.

  “Be careful,” Robert said.

  “Be on time,” Sawyer said, getting into his car. “I’m hungry.”

  Less than forty-five minutes later, Robert knocked on his partner’s door. He’d had time to run home, take a five-minute shower and grab a couple of bottles of wine off the rack in his kitchen.

  While he was perfectly happy in his ultramodern high-rise, he had to admit that he loved Sawyer’s house. A month before Liz and Sawyer had gotten married, Liz and Catherine had moved into the eighty-year-old brownstone. Now the family occupied the first two floors and rented out the top floor to a single woman who spent most of the week traveling.

  The house had good bones. Before meeting Liz, Sawyer had already refinished the oak floors, replaced all the lighting and hung artwork that reminded him of the Deep South. Liz had added feminine touches that had turned the wonderful structure into a home.

  “Hi, Robert,” Liz said as she opened the door. She leaned forward for a kiss on the cheek. “Come in quickly. It’s freezing.”

  He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He could hear the soft murmur of voices from the living room. He heard Carmen laugh, and there wasn’t a cold bone in his body.

  Liz peered at the wine. “Very nice,” she said. “The pizza is good but this may put it to shame.”

  Robert set the wine on the entryway table, shrugged off his coat, stuffed his gloves in one pocket and handed it to Liz. She hung the coat in the hall closet. There was a royal-blue cape hanging there and he suspected it belonged to Carmen.

  It was crazy but he liked seeing his coat next to hers.

  He picked up the wine and followed Liz into the family room. Like any good cop, he took in the details quickly. Fireplace was lit. Soft jazz played in the background. Catherine lay on her back, on the very nice rug that had been one of Liz’s contributions to the house. Both plump little legs were moving, as if she were pedaling an invisible bicycle. Sawyer was stretched out next to her.

  Carmen was sitting in the chair, leaning forward, looking at the baby. The light from the fireplace cast a soft glow around her. She wore a red sweater and black slacks. Her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders.

  She was beautiful.

  And when she turned, he saw that she wasn’t surprised to see him. Her face was composed, polite. And he should have felt much the same. After all, he’d known that she was going to be here. That was why he’d wheedled an invitation with some crazy excuse that he was interested in paint. Paint, for God’s sake. It was ridiculous.

  And it was pretty damn ridiculous, too, that just looking at Carmen made him feel short of breath and a little unsteady on his feet.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he managed.

  Sawyer sat up. “Cold beer in the fridge.”

  Robert nodded. “I’ll stick with this,” he said, holding up the wine. He looked at Carmen. “Can I get you a glass?”

  She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  Liz reached for the wine. “I’ll get some for both of you. I need to check the pizza anyway. We put it in the oven to keep it hot.” She took a step. “Have a seat, Robert,” she said gently.

  He sat. And felt like an awkward sixteen-year-old at his first prom. His shirt felt too tight and his heart was racing in his chest.

  The only noise in the room was Catherine’s happy squeals. Carmen stared at the fire. He stared at the antique umbrella stand in the corner of the room.

  Sawyer looked from Carmen to him and back again. Finally, his
friend sprang to his feet. He reached for Catherine and cupped her in the crook of his elbow. “Liz probably needs my help in the kitchen,” he said as he left the room.

  Now there was just silence.

  Sawyer had probably been gone for less than a minute when Carmen turned her head. “I don’t think Liz really needs his help.”

  He relaxed. “Maybe if we were having grits and chicken-fried steak.”

  “Ugh,” she said with a smile that made her even prettier. “I’d suddenly have to run an errand.”

  “I’d drive you,” he said. “Although to be fair, the man makes a great gumbo. He brought some into work one day, and it made me nostalgic for my last trip to the French Quarter.”

  “I think I’d love New Orleans,” she said. “Maybe someday.”

  The kitchen door swung open, and Liz emerged holding two wineglasses. “Follow me,” she said, leading them to the dining room. There was a huge pizza in the middle of the table with a big bowl of salad next to it. Sawyer was clipping Catherine’s high-chair tray on.

  They sat, and Catherine immediately started squealing and pounding her plump fists on the high-chair tray. Liz smiled apologetically. “Sorry. This is the kind of ambience we have now.”

  Robert dished out a slice of pizza and handed it to Carmen. “No problem. Table manners like her father.”

  They were done with their pizza and cutting into the cheesecake that Carmen had picked up at the bakery after work when Robert’s phone buzzed with an incoming text message. He glanced at it, shook his head and turned his phone upside down on the table. “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “Bad news?” Liz asked.

  “A reporter from the newspaper,” he explained. “She’s evidently not getting enough of a story from Blaze and Wasimole, so she tracked me down. I imagine she got the number from one of the people we talked to today. We generally leave a card in case they think of something that might be helpful.”

  “These killings are the only thing the local talk show hosts were discussing today,” Liz said. “It’s getting very scary.”

  It was horrible, thought Carmen. With Raoul being about the same age as the other victims, it made her sick to hear people talking about the stories. Her heart ached for the terrible loss that the families had suffered, for the pain the boys had endured. “I didn’t know if I should say anything to Raoul,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to scare him unnecessarily but I also didn’t want him to be naive.”