by Jada Ryker
She held up one thin hand. “I think I’m getting used to breaking the law with you, which is very scary.”
After taking a quick scan of the hallway, he slid the key into the lock. “I’ll take the bureau,” Clay stated, “and you can check the dressing table. Then we’ll tackle the closet and the night table.”
As they sifted through old letters and pictures, Althea started to get discouraged. “I don’t think there’s anything here, Clay.”
Clay turned to her. “I believe you’re correct, my dear.” He spread his hands. “What now?”
Althea frowned. “When I went to the nursing home, I simply had too much stuff to bring everything. I left boxes and boxes of my belongings with Marisa, and she stored them for me. What if Mrs. Craft did the same thing?”
Clay snapped his fingers. “Excellent idea, Thea! Let’s go and check the residents’ files. It will surely have Mrs. Craft’s next of kin listed.”
They used the master key card to enter the office. Clay shook the mouse next to the computer. “How handy to find the user name and password taped to the monitor!” The computer whirred as he clicked. “Here’s Mrs. Craft’s information. I’ll print it out so we can take it with us.”
His gray eyes gleaming, Clay snatched the still-warm papers from the printer. He read through several sheets. “Ah ha! Here is the Next of Kin!” He bent his white head over the papers.
“Illegible. She thwarts us even from the grave.” Clay slapped the papers against his leg.
A creaking noise caused them both to freeze. Clay quickly slid the papers into his jacket. He was powering down the computer when the door opened.
“Mrs. Flaxton and Mr. Napier! What are you doing in here?”
Wally, the assisted living center’s ancient security guard, stood in the doorway. His wrinkled face was accusing, and his hand was gripping his night stick.
* * * * *
Althea had seen Wally limping through his rounds at the center and had wondered how the old man would handle a confrontation. With his frizzy black hair dusted with white, as though it was a dust mop that had picked up dust bunnies, one knee crooked at an angle and his hands gnarled from arthritis, he wasn’t an imposing figure.
Althea never thought she’d be on the receiving end of his night stick.
She decided to try to buy a little thinking time. “Wally! My goodness, you scared me to death! I thought for sure it was an intruder.” She summoned up a dazzling smile. “With you on the job, there’s no way an intruder could get past your perimeter.”
Wally blinked a little. “No need to worry, ma’am, with me on the job.” He winked at her. “I always take special care to keep a close eye on you, especially when you’re walking outside. Sometimes a breeze will hit your skirt just right, and I get a look at those great legs of yours.”
Clay growled.
Reaching out, she squeezed Clay’s hand to signal him to let her handle the situation. “We were looking in Mrs. Craft’s file to see who she listed as her next of kin.”
Wally frowned suspiciously. “Why would you do that, ma’am?”
Althea straightened her shoulders and pinned him with the authoritative glare she’d used on rowdy fifth graders. “We are investigating her murder. We want to contact her next of kin, and see if she left any papers or such behind when she checked in here.”
Wally smiled at her. “Fred told me you two were amateur detectives. He said you all helped him solve the murders at the nursing home back in the spring.”
Clay choked.
“I’ve known Fred for nigh on forty years. He still works on the bus line. I retired from there, and took this job in security. I wouldn’t have retired, but I was forced into it. One of the bus passengers accused me of sexually harassing her. Can you believe that? She was a blind lady, and I was helping her off the bus. She took a tumble on the step, and I tried to catch her. I guess my hands slipped and landed in a sensitive area on her body. She filed suit for harassment, and the city made me take retirement.” He thumped his night stick on the table.
Clay’s eyes met hers. The gray depths were alight with amusement.
Althea cleared her throat. “Wally, you’ve obviously been around this town for many years. And I remember Mrs. Craft said she’d lived here all her life. Would you happen to know if she left any children or friends?”
Wally adjusted his glasses. The stems were stretched, as if his head had outgrown the glasses. “Why, sure. Her daughter’s name is Helen Proctor, and she lives just outside of town.”
“Proctor?” Althea frowned in concentration. “I believe that was the last name of the young man who acts as receptionist for the trauma hospital where Marisa, Alex, and Tara work. I wonder if there’s a connection.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Fred’s head hung on his chest and his mouth drooped. Even his large belly seemed to hang lower over his belt than usual.
In the chair next to him, Marisa checked her phone. She frowned at the text from Heidi. Skip the meeting. I am at the Exit Room Bar. Meet me and we’ll have a great time. Marisa gritted her teeth. She scrolled to Heidi’s number. No. She wouldn’t let Heidi drag her down. She had worked too hard for her sobriety. Marisa turned off the phone.
Fred’s gloom penetrated her thoughts. She had never seen the resilient Fred so depressed. Marisa pushed Heidi and her relapse out of her mind. “My goodness, Fred, you look like somebody stepped on your pet frog.”
Fred’s round blue eyes lacked their characteristic twinkle. He gave Marisa a limp hug. “Clara’s making me pretend to like that oily bitch Moira. Clara claims her slay-dar positively clamors whenever Moira is around. Clara said pretending to be interested in Moira would be a great way for me to gather information and maybe even some clues.”
Marisa hid her smile. “That sounds like a great idea, Fred. You’ll definitely be right in the thick of the detecting.”
Fred’s bottom lip thrust out like a sulky toddler. “I don’t want to.”
Marisa had to put her hand on her mouth to hide her grin.
“I thought helping to find the murderer meant I’d be whacking killers on the back of the head with The Library. Not skulking around like that.” He crossed his arms and sank into a glum silence.
When she glanced up, Marisa was surprised to see Kevin the Stalker. His dark hair was standing straight up on his head, as if he’d been running his hands through it or pulling at it. His shirt was wrinkled and his pants were stained. He marched over to her, and flopped into the chair next to her.
Across the circle, she saw Jason rise from his chair. With his arms covered with tattoos, his sturdy legs encased in leather biker chaps, and his body hung with enough chains to secure a junkyard, he appeared tough and intimidating to anyone who failed to look beyond his exterior. Marisa knew Jason was actually a very intelligent and intuitive man. At the moment, he was also protective.
Marisa clenched her fists. “Kevin, get the hell—”
Jason stood over them like an avenging fury. As he ranged his body in defensive mode, his chains clinked warningly. He placed a tattooed hand on the back of Kevin’s chair.
Kevin held up a hand. “I know, get the hell away from you. You sound like a broken record. I just came by to tell you I’m done. I’ve noticed your little personal escort in her white Camry following you for the past week. Tonight, all I was doing was just seeing where you were going. And she roared right up next to me on the road and tried to force me off into the ditch. If my mother had given me a better car, I could have out driven the bitch.” He stood up. “You win. I’ll leave you alone. Jeez, you could have just asked nicely instead of hiring a female goon. I discussed it with Mother, and she thinks you have major issues. No wonder you can’t keep a boyfriend.” He stomped out of the room.
Jason laughed so hard he doubled over in front of her. “What a way to get rid of your stalker, Marisa! I have to give you points for both creativity and deviousness.”
Marisa forced a smile. She d
idn’t want to tell Jason she had a second person stalking her. He’d worry about her. It was possible he would even try to intervene. She couldn’t risk his getting hurt because of her. “Yeah, I showed him.” Jason brought up a congratulatory fist. She weakly met it with her own.
The meeting room door opened. Alex sauntered through it.
What is he doing at an addiction meeting?
He tentatively peered around the circle of faces. With his short dark hair, white t-shirt and white shorts, and deep tan, he looked like he should have been searching for a tennis game, not an addiction meeting. When he saw Fred, his face lit with recognition. He greeted the older man warmly and shook his hand.
When Alex saw Marisa, he did a double take. “What are you doing here, Marisa?”
She shook her head. “No, Alex, what are YOU doing here?”
“I almost wasn’t here. I had a devil of a time finding this meeting.” He included Fred in his smile, and pulled a torn scrap of paper from his pocket. “Fred’s handwriting was a little difficult to read, but I finally made it.”
Marisa turned to Fred. She knew the addiction meetings weren’t open to people off the street. The group strove to balance its members’ need for privacy from the curious and safety from predators with the goal of being accessible to those in need of the group. Potential members had to be vetted.
Fred’s smile was smug. “When I heard about his SPANK ME license plate and his online...company, I knew Alex was one of us. I invited him to the meeting.
Marisa cleared her throat. “Umm, Alex...”
“I think Fred said it’s some kind of a social get-together,” Alex said as he put the paper away in his wallet and looked around. “It’s a great coincidence you’re here. I was going to call you so we can go and question Sarah’s abusive boyfriend, the infamous Jake the Snake.”
Momentarily diverted from her embarrassment, Marisa shook her head. “Alex! Have you lost your mind? Not Jake the Snake. He’s crazy.”
“We have a psycho bitch ex-wife after you. What can be worse than that?” Although his face was perfectly solemn, the deep blue depths of his eyes twinkled with humor.
“You don’t understand, Alex. Jake is sick and scary crazy. He’s mean and spiteful and nasty, and he’d stop at nothing to get what he wants. He’s scary in the way that turns your intestines to water. No way will I get anywhere near that guy. I am staying way the hell off his radar.”
Jason, the night’s leader, called the meeting to order.
Oh, no. She’d missed her chance to tell Alex he was in the wrong group.
As they went through the readings, Marisa felt Alex stiffen in his chair next to her when the words “sexual addiction” were voiced. She sensed him looking at her. She rubbed a hand over her face, and steadfastly refused to look at him. As she glanced across the circle, she inadvertently caught William’s eye.
Great. Add to her stressors the presence of William the Roaming Free and Unfettered Pedophile.
The leader started the round robin of each member identifying himself or herself by first name only and the statement “…and I am a sex addict.”
When it was Alex’s turn, he said, “Hi, I’m Alex, and I’m new.” As they always did for new members, the group applauded enthusiastically.
As the leader, Jason suggested the topic for the full group discussion. “I believe the further along we get into the recovery process, the more distorted our perception of our previous unhealthy sexual behavior becomes.”
Sierra’s face twisted in confusion. She tentatively raised her hand.
Jason held up his hand. The tattoos seemed to undulate up his arm in the florescent lighting. “Let me clarify, using myself as an example. I have been in recovery for three years. Now, when I think about those previous years of addictions, I find myself dwelling on the fun and exciting parts. I loved going to the clubs, picking out a woman I’d like to take home for the night, and setting myself the challenge of getting her to go home with me. I remember the thrill of the evening’s chase, getting her to agree to leave with me, and spending the early morning hours banging her brains out.”
Jason gazed around the circle. “I can see by the looks on some faces you’re remembering similar times in your own pasts. I believe for some of us, one of the particularly slippery slopes to relapse lies in dwelling on the fun and excitement of sexual addiction.” He smiled faintly. “It may be a disappointment to some of us tonight, but I’d like for the group discussion to dwell on the negative consequences of our behavior.”
Jason grabbed the bottom of his black shirt and quickly pulled it up and over his head.
Everyone gasped.
The center of Jason’s smooth, white chest was marred by a jagged line of puckered red scar tissue that ran from his breastbone down to his navel.
“The last woman I picked up and took home for the evening suggested we indulge in a bit of bondage. I allowed her to tie me up to my bed. In the glow of the lamp, I saw her reach into her huge shoulder bag. She pulled out a butcher knife. I thought it was just part of the game, the fantasy. She straddled me. I looked up. She held up the knife in both hands. With a grunt, she stabbed me in the chest, slashed the knife down my belly, and left me tied to the bed to die.”
The room was silent. No one even fidgeted.
“After I was sure she was gone, I managed to yell for help. The police never found her. After all, how could they? I didn’t know her name. I didn’t know where she lived. I didn’t even know what kind of car she drove, since we left the bar in my car. I was so drunk, I have only a hazy impression of what she looked like.” Jason ran his hand down the scar. “This is the negative consequence of my addictive behavior that I need to dwell on, not the fun and excitement of addiction.”
As other members of the group shared their thoughts and experiences of negative consequences, Marisa found her mind wandering. Between Alex’s accidental appearance in her sexual addiction group and her worry about his insane insistence on questioning Jake the Snake, Marisa found it very difficult to concentrate on the group discussion.
When they counted off in groups of five for the small group discussions, Alex stated he’d join Marisa in her group. The counting went blithely on.
Marisa’s small group consisted of herself, Alex, Fred, and Sierra.
As they waited a few moments to ensure everyone had found his or her small group, Marisa eyed Alex. She realized she was waiting for him to display the usual male reaction to the beautiful Sierra.
Marisa glanced at Sierra, lounging in her seat.
Sierra’s more conservative clothing was, in Marisa’s opinion, even more provocative than the daringly short skirts, plunging necklines, and knee-high leather boots Sierra used to wear. The short pin-striped jacket, buttoned over her chest, camouflaged the huge size of her breasts, and the skirt brushed her shapely calves. The mystery of the professional outfit was more effective than Sierra’s open display of her curves.
With her skin the golden brown color of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and the caramel topping of her long hair, Sierra looked good enough to eat.
Marisa turned her head back to Alex, and found him looking at her.
“What?” he whispered.
Marisa shook her head. No way to say, “Oh, I was just waiting to see if you’d drool over Sierra.”
Could Alex have a girlfriend? That didn’t make any sense. He had never mentioned anyone, either at work or away from work.
Could he be gay? With the number of closeted gays in the group living heterosexual lifestyles, Marisa knew better than to jump to a concrete conclusion of Alex’s sexual orientation. She frowned. Why was she feeling upset at the thought that Alex could be gay?
Marisa looked up as a latecomer joined their group. She nearly moaned aloud.
William.
Sierra sat up in her chair, her beautiful face twisted with disgust. “Umm, I just remembered, I have to be somewhere.” With an angry jerk of her arm, she threw her bag over her
shoulder.
Marisa remembered Sierra had told her she’d been abused as a child. She thought about following Sierra. She glanced at Alex. He’d probably think she was a coward if she dragged them both out of there now. Marisa resigned herself to staying.
William’s mouth twisted in a humorless smile as Sierra practically scraped the wall as she passed him, putting as much distance between their bodies as she possibly could.
Because he sat directly across from her at the small table, Marisa couldn’t avoid looking at the convicted pedophile. He was obviously in distress. He fidgeted in his seat. His hands were constantly moving on the table. His face was wet with perspiration, in spite of the fact the church rooms were kept freezing cold, regardless of the season.
Marisa shuddered. She felt revulsion for William because of his past conviction for molesting his stepdaughter. She also knew there was a high rate of recidivism among child molesters. Sick to her stomach, she wondered if he had relapsed into his despicable past behavior.
When it was Marisa’s turn to talk, she gave a very neutral update of her week. She said only it had been a challenging week, and she had not engaged in any behaviors which she should avoid.
As the new member, Alex passed.
It was William’s turn.
Marisa scrutinized William’s face. She thought that if one didn’t know about his past, he was actually rather attractive. He was of average height with a good build. His eyes were so dark they appeared to be black. He had thick dark hair and even features.
In a shaking voice, his eyes on his hands, William talked. “I have a friend. I shouldn’t even be associating with him, due to his history of sexual crimes against children. But it felt so damn good to able to openly discuss my problems with someone who really understands.”
The only sound in the small room was the monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall. Marisa felt Alex stir in his chair next to her. She was positive he was feeling the same sense of revulsion that she did.
“This week, my friend told me he was caught inappropriately touching a little girl. Her father walked in and caught him in the act. He and the father play golf together. Although his picture and his crimes are posted online, the little girl’s parents have no idea my friend is a convicted pedophile. He also told me that prior to getting caught by her father, he took pictures of the little girl.”
