Danger Returns in Pairs (Shawn Danger Mysteries Book 2)

by Nina Post

  He went to his office, checked for messages, then spent a good hour on paperwork, and updated the murder book and his activity log. He wished he still had the same effortless ability to stay awake for long periods like in his twenties, but those days were gone. He cultivated the ability to micro-nap once or twice during the day, after he determined that sometimes a mere five-minute nap worked a hell of a lot better than coffee. Doing this enabled him to go the distance, like Rocky, but without the sweatsuit or the raw eggs or the neighborhood kids following him down the street.

  He had next to nothing on Brower, and was going crazy with anticipation for the check Dee thought she had. It could have a fingerprint, which would be helpful. And if it didn't, then maybe they could do something with the handwriting analysis or the bank, maybe get more security footage, because he didn't really have anything, even though he had that note and even though he knew it was Brower. His investigation would need one of those time-lapse video cameras to detect any progress.

  He had to bring Brower out, had to kick the anthill.

  Shawn thought back to one summer when he was eleven. It was late June and Darcy's birthday. Brower had gone to the library and checked out a bunch of books he thought Darcy would like, knowing she already reached her limit of books for the month. Shawn went with him and helped him find one or two books, but his contribution was a small fraction of a tall pile. Brower left the stack of books where Darcy was sure to find them, and where no one else would: outside of her bedroom on the roof, where she sat every night and stared at the starry sky. But Paul, who had a crush on Darcy, told her he got her the books, he climbed to her roof to put them there. Brower spit nails. He found Paul and nearly choked the life out of him. Shawn and Jasper pulled him off, but it wasn't easy.

  Brower's old man was the worst of all of theirs, which was saying a lot. That kind of anger, Shawn knew, had to go somewhere after it poured into John.

  He drummed a pen on his desk. After a moment, he started a new file and drafted a release for Craig to give to the media. Shawn made it seem like the department was crediting someone else for the murder of the Korean War vet. If he was right, the announcement would infuriate Brower and bring him out of hiding to claim credit. Was it possible that Brower had a partner? Maybe one or both killed Jasper at the site, then Brower, or both, took the body back to the house to make some kind of point.

  But a partner wasn't Brower's style. Then again, maybe Brower was counting on him to think that.

  At one-thirty, he decided to go home and get a couple of hours of sleep.

  ***

  He knew immediately he was in trouble with Comet. The normally affable and playful cat didn't greet him at the door, but watched accusingly from atop the kitchen counter, where he damn well knew he wasn't supposed to be. The counters were off-limits. It was a big middle finger.

  "Hello to you, too."

  Shawn locked the door behind him, hung his coat on the wall hook, then tapped the counter twice. Comet leaped down to the floor and arched his back to make his displeasure clear as Shawn refilled the food and water bowls, changed the litter box, then washed his hands. He took a plastic bottle of milk from the fridge, poured it into a tall glass and guzzled three quarters of it. "Did you know that milk is the state beverage of Pennsylvania?"

  Comet meowed silently in response.

  He rinsed the glass then put it in the sink, then headed upstairs, noting Comet trying to keep unobserved. He hung up his clothes in the bedroom, then flossed and brushed, then applied his facial cream, then took a quick shower. He had a general rule about showering before he got into bed, which didn't always happen.

  Fresh boxers and undershirt. Retin-A. Moisturizer.

  Then sleep, blessed sleep.

  ***

  Shawn's first thought when he woke at 4:17 a.m. was that he hadn't found Brower yet. He wondered if this would be the day, and wondered when police departments would start hiring only chemically or genetically-enhanced detectives who didn't need to sleep at all during an investigation. Well, not yet, dammit. They were stuck with him.

  He rolled over to grab his phone then checked his emails. He hadn't been asleep that long, so he didn't expect that much. There was one from Ethan Trainor, the geologist, who wanted to hear if Shawn had any luck at Presque Isle. The timestamp was from much earlier, so it must've been delayed to the server. And he had four from his family, who had emailed him from their phones.

  ENGMENT PARTY TMRW U SELFISH ASSHOLE WLD IT KIL U TO SHOW UP, from his sister.

  Email, no subject: Shawn honey your sister will be so disapointed if you don't make it for her party. Why don't you come by for just a few minutes, it would make her happy, from his mother, who apparently hadn't ever bothered to observe interactions between him and Melly.

  His mother's sister, who showed up for some of the holidays then obsessed over the coffee creamer in the house when she wasn't out walking her dog: Hear your not coming you think your better than all of us? Your family's the only thing youve got so you better start appreciating them without them you'd be nothing and the dead can waita n hour.

  Shawn deleted these then sent a request to Lola's Bakery for a pick-up later that afternoon. He should've ordered the cake yesterday, but whenever he thought of this minor failing, he wasn't in a position to do anything about it. He checked his messages and found out that today was Jasper's autopsy.

  When did Dee Albert's shift start? He didn't think she had said, so he called the Park Dinor and asked. They said five that morning. This was like a little shot of espresso to his system.

  He put on a dark gray suit with a blue, gray, and red striped tie. He fastened his watch and threaded his belt, which reminded him of the belt he got from Brower's old house. Brower used to lift his shirt and show them the bruises.

  He brushed his hair for a few minutes and patted some moisturizer under his eyes. Sarah thought he was vain. He wasn't vain. He merely took care of his appearance. Besides, he had a clothing allowance. It was encouraged.

  Comet jumped onto his bed. "Hey, buddy." Shawn reached over from where he standing in front of the dresser and stroked Comet's back until the cat purred like a Lotus engine, and wondered about Charlie, Jasper's pug. He reminded himself again to check in with A-Maz-Ing Pet Finders.

  There was something different about his house now. It had a quality it didn't have before, and whatever it was, it made him anxious. It was too quiet. Sarah would probably decide to cut her losses with him in a moment of epiphany, probably this weekend.

  He felt a stab of grief for his old friend as he laced his shoes. One day they're all flying down a hill on their bikes, and snap of the fingers, he has to observe one of their autopsies as the investigating detective. "It's a strange world, Comet. Be glad you're a cat."

  In response, Comet leaned over and started to clean himself in a private area.

  "Charming." Shawn hurried downstairs and opened a cabinet to take out the box of flax cereal, then stayed his hand. "I don't think so," he muttered, then grabbed the box of SolarBurst. He set the single-serve side on the coffeemaker and started the brew, then ate a bowl of the cereal. "Bless you, Demeter, for this cereal," he said through a wolfish mouthful. Comet came running in.

  "Good of you to see me off." Comet stuck up his tail and voiced his displeasure. "Haven't had your coffee yet. I get it. No hard feelings." Shawn crouched to stroke Comet's back as Comet brushed past his knee, then stopped at the back door to gather his coat. "If I don't come back with Brower's metaphorical head on a stick, feel free to mark your territory all over the house. I'll deserve it."

  ***

  Early Tuesday

  The Park Dinor was a short drive east of the office out in Lawrence Park Township, which was established in the early twentieth century as a General Electric company town. Lawrence Park was named after the Erie-built snow USS Lawrence, the flagship of Oliver Perry, known as the Hero of Lake Erie for his nine military campaigns there, including his most significant victory, th
e Battle of Lake Erie in the War of 1812. The Lawrence was sunk in Misery Bay, and there was a monument at the east end of the Isle.

  He knew at least some of his Lake Erie history.

  Shawn fidgeted and drummed his fingers, excited to get his hands on the check he hoped Dee had for him. It was going to be another day of good weather, in the mid-50 and warming to low-70s and no rain, but the wind was steady and had gusted a few times already.

  He caught every red light, and put in a Clash disc to feed his nervous energy. His phone rang. He muted the music, put in his ear piece, then checked the number. Sarah. She usually woke up early.

  "Skybird, this is Drop Kick with a red-dash-alpha message in two parts," she said.

  "Stand by to copy message," he said.

  "You're already working." He heard the smile in her voice.

  "Happy birthday."

  "Thank you. We can do something this weekend, all goes well."

  "Deal. Oh, hey, can I watch the footage you took at the Downs?"

  She hesitated. "Sure, I'll give it to you."

  Surprising himself, he said, "Do you like it here?"

  "Where, Erie?"

  "Yeah."

  "I like it all right," she said. "But I wouldn't say, 'I'd never leave.' Why?"

  "Just thinking."

  He really wanted to do something better for her birthday, something more than just a cake, albeit a delicious one made of her strange favorites -- pear-flavored frosting and maple sugar flavor. But he'd be busy the entire day, and probably wouldn't sleep more than a couple of hours that night, too.

  "Are you going to catch up later? You and HAL?"

  "HAL?" She frowned in confusion.

  "That's what I call your camera," he said. "After the AI in 2001."

  "Sorry, what?" she said.

  "2001. Don't tell me you don't -- oh. Don't do that to me."

  "Besides, I prefer to think of him as Number 5," Sarah said. "I've seen old movies, you know."

  "Harsh." He added, against his better judgment, "You know that was the original name, before he changed it."

  "You should go to trivia nights, win hot wings," she said. "They'd carry you on their shoulders."

  "Or knife me in the alley for getting every question. Besides, I can buy a bucket of hot wings, thank you very much. I'm a lieutenant now. I don't need to win one with my jaw-dropping powers of trivia."

  "Hot wings won with trivia domination would be the best you've ever had. And to answer you from before, yes, you can bet your murder book I'll catch up later."

  "I'm not betting my murder book. I'd be in serious trouble if I lost that thing."

  "I'd give it right back."

  "No way," he said. "That's my whole job, right there."

  "Okay, a donut, then."

  "Feel free to bring doughnuts to the office," he said. "Everyone there thinks you're one of their co-workers, anyway. The captain may start giving you stuff to do, like put you on a squad."

  "It's my birthday. Someone should bring me doughnuts. And he better not put me on vice."

  "Can't hurt to curry favor early. You never know what you may need for your documentary. Or your accidental career as an LEO."

  "Money is what I need."

  "Money?"

  "How do you think docs get made? On fairy dust?"

  "My Acura runs on fairy dust," he said. "It's expensive as hell, and there are hardly any charging stations with the right kind of dock. So, back to money."

  "It costs money to make a movie. That's all. Do not think I'm asking you for it, because you would be grossly mistaken."

  "Look, I don't know if you've ever seen me at a trivia night around town, but I could fund ten documentaries from my trivia money!"

  Shawn pulled into the lot in front of the historic dinor, built in 1948 and on the National Register. Their food was more recent. "Gotta go. I'll see you later?"

  "Bet your bottom donut."

  "I always take the top donut," he said.

  "But they're stacked side-by-side."

  "Okay, I take the corner donut."

  When he walked into the dinor, he didn't spot Dee right away. Inside, it smelled like bacon and coffee. There was a sixteen-stool counter, one table, and five booths. The two TVs were on news channels with the volume set low, and the newscaster said something about reestablishing a population of lake trout, which were declining owing to higher sea lamprey populations and an expanding dead zone. "Wow, that sounds bad," Shawn said under his breath. 40,000 more lake trout would be released from Dunkirk, New York next week. There was a low grumble of acknowledgment from the customers at the counter who looked like they worked jobs that involved carrying heavy things. Two of the customers were more like owners of their own insurance business. In the last booth was a quiet family, mom, dad, and a girl he guessed was around ten. Probably traveling.

  The only employee he saw was a blonde woman in her twenties pouring coffee at the counter. She glanced over and he smiled briefly in greeting as he walked up to the counter. He noticed that the two closest customers had omelets with Greek sauce. When the mugs of the construction workers were filled, she strode over and grabbed a menu. Her name tag read Morgan, in large cursive letters.

  "I'm just here to see Dee Albert," he said. "Is she around?"

  "Yeah, but you gotta eat, right?" She flipped the menu side to side and angled herself toward the booths.

  From the kitchen he heard Dee's loud voice call out, "That's the guy gave me the ham. Gimme a minute."

  Morgan mouthed an Ohhh and gave him a knowing look. "This is the Meat Bingo guy?" she called out. Great, now he was the Meat Bingo guy. Morgan looked up at him. "You must be really…memorable," she said in a conspiratorial voice.

  "How's that?"

  "You're so tall you barely fit through that door. People remember you when you're tall -- tall and good-looking." He smiled a little. "But it must be a challenge, too, huh? Being that tall?"

  Dee yelled, "Leave him alone, Morgan!"

  "It's not that busy!" Morgan yelled over her shoulder.

  He liked the good-looking part, of course. That was nice. But he really liked the 'must be a challenge' part, because it made certain things, like fitting into cars or planes or under doors, and finding clothes, more difficult.

  "That was nice of you," Morgan said, in the same conspiratorial voice. "To give Dee that ham. Some guys," she narrowed her eyes, "they would keep the ham." Her eyes were fixed on his. "They would keep the ham." She raised a brow and tilted her head as though she just told him something important and was waiting to see if he understood.

  He nodded. "It was Dee's ham."

  "That's right." Morgan took a half step closer and kept her chin low like they were meeting clandestinely. "The ham was anyone's before you won, but it belonged with Dee. However."

  Morgan put up a hand and continued in the same soft, low voice. "Perhaps only you could have made that happen. If Dee herself had won the ham, she would be pleased, but it would be what she expected, what was right. If the ham had gone to anyone else aside from you, then the ham would be with the wrong person and it would never get to Dee. When you won the ham, it made Dee worry: oh no, maybe I won't get the ham I really wanted. Maybe I was wrong to think something good could happen. Man, am I a sucker. Then when you gave her the ham that you won, it must have felt…

  "Serendipitous?" Shawn suggested, while she was gesturing wildly as though the right word was a fly she was trying to catch.

  He clapped her hands together then balled her fists. "Exactly. It could have changed the trajectory of her day, or her week, or her whole life." Her eyes widened. "You know?"

  "You're saying it had more significance because the ham went through a circuitous route and made Dee worry."

  Her lips curved up and she pointed at his chest. "Exactly. Yes. Circuitous -- I like that! You're a master of the o-u-s words." She twirled around in a circle and ended with pointing at him again. "Aren't you?"

  Dee Albert wa
lked up, tying her apron behind her. "Morgan, leave the Detective alone and get back to work." Morgan made that face again with the slow, wide grin. "Detective! I shoulda known." She winked and went to check on a table.

  "Good morning, Ms. Albert. Did you find anything?" Shawn felt electric. He really wanted that check, and enjoyed talking to someone who understood the wide-reaching effects of small actions and sympathized with the challenges of being tall.

  "I didn't really get a chance to look."

  "Oh."

  "Wait here." She turned and went behind the counter. He exhaled and looked out the window. Shawn heard her approach again and saw that she was holding a banker's box. "If there's anything, it would be in this box," she said. "I don't mind if you look through it as long as you give it back to me in the same condition. Filing's a pain in my ass."

  He accepted the box like it held lost Incan treasures. "Of course. Thank you. This is -- this is great."

  "You got it, Detective."

  "Do you have time to come by the station today and work with our sketch artist?"

  She chewed on her bottom lip. "Yeah. I'll stop by after my shift. How long will it take?"

  "Maybe a half an hour."

  She thought about it, then nodded. "Okay. Is he good-lookin'?"

  "Who, the sketch artist?"

  She nodded.

  "I don't feel qualified to -- yeah, sure, he's a handsome guy."

  "I'll be there."

  Chapter 12

  "There are limits to the indulgence which friendship allows."

  Marcus Tullius Cicero

  ***

  Tuesday morning

  Shawn drove the box back to the office, jittery with anticipation. He practically ran with it into the station, wind buffeting him strongly to the right. Then once he reached his office, he left the door open, tossed the top of the box on the floor and walked his fingers over the tops. He separated the front-most file and flicked it forward to read the scrawled titles on the tabs until he found the file with the address of the house.

  Please be here, please be here…