Killer Romances

by Dana Delamar, Talullah Grace, Sandy Loyd, Kristine Mason, Dale Mayer, Nina Pierce Chantel Rhondeau, K. T. Roberts, H. D. Thomson, Susan Vaughan

  “You know,” Jessie pushed a loose curl away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear, “we’re pointing the finger at Sawyer, but what if he’s been kidnapped too? It’s also a possibility someone broke into their house and wore rubber gloves. It’s not uncommon for thugs to break into a vacant home and eat when they’re hungry. Especially if they knew the Sawyers were away and they wouldn’t get caught.”

  “Yeah, but wouldn’t the alarm have gone off?”

  “Gerard, Gerard, Gerard. You’re not thinking clearly today. You want to catch Sawyer so badly you’re forgetting how easy it is for someone in the know to disable an alarm.”

  “And that’s why we’re going to check out every avenue so we can prove me wrong. But I don’t think I am.”

  Jessie walked toward the living room. At the far end of the room was a beautiful fireplace with an original wood mantel. The furnishings made for a perfect old time Christmas, with its large tufted sofa, loveseat, and two high back chairs. A corner curio cabinet housed porcelain flowers, and several small teacups.

  A melancholy feeling erupted in the pit of her stomach as she remembered the last holiday she’d spent with her mother and father as a family. Christmas no longer held the same excitement it once had. She pictured a Christmas tree from ceiling to floor covered with real candles, although she wasn’t sure what they used for lights during that era. She imagined the tree covered with red velvet bows and ornaments. She even pictured stockings hanging from the mantle. Curious, she crossed the room to check for nail holes in the front of the thick wood. It brought a smile to her face when she ran her hand across the front and allowed her fingers to stop at each hole.

  Zach called out to his partner.

  “In the living room on the second floor,” she shouted out. He walked up the stairs and into the room.

  “What did you find in here?” he asked.

  “Blood on the carpet.”

  She headed out of the room just as Zach’s phone rang.

  “Detective Gerard here.” His head nodded in the affirmative. “Good job, Dave. That’s what I’ve been suspecting.” He nodded again. “Yep. Thanks.” He turned to his partner, apparently hearing her footsteps. “I think I’m winning this one, Jessie.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I think we got him.” She watched him key in a number. “Yeah, Lieutenant, Gerard here. We have enough evidence to suspect Sawyer. I sent officers out to canvass the neighbors to find out what they knew. Jane Clayton, who lives down the other end of the street, said her daughter Marti and Sawyer’s daughter are best friends. The last time she saw them was when she dropped his daughter off on Sunday. Apparently the two friends had a sleepover at the Clayton residence. Mrs. Clayton said she dropped the girl off after lunch, and Sawyer was waiting in his car with the engine running. The wife wasn’t in the car, and she said Sawyer seemed preoccupied, looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in a while. She had expected him to strike up a conversation with her, but as soon as the kid got inside the vehicle, he drove off, giving her a casual wave. She didn’t have anything else to add, but said she’d give us a call as soon as she spoke to her daughter, or if she thinks of anything else.”

  Zach walked over to his partner while he spoke to Harwell so that she could hear the conversation. He tapped her shoulder and mouthed Harwell’s name. “We have a large crowd of neighbors outside asking questions. We’ll let the investigators finish up here while Jessie and I head back over to the dealership to see what we can find out about his whereabouts.” He gave Jessie the thumbs up sign, and flashed another smile. “Yep. I want this bastard as much as you do. We’ll keep you posted.”

  13

  It was dark outside when Lieutenant Jack Harwell’s taxi double-parked in front of his home. Exhausted from a long day, he paid the cabby and exited the car. A cool rush of air breezed against his face, reminding him autumn was just around the corner. He loved the cool nights and the warm Indian summer days they’d been having. September had always been his favorite time of year when the leaves began to change color like a vivid oil painting.

  He admired the maze of brilliant colors of the leaves showcased by a soft glow from the streetlights. Warm thoughts flooded his mind and brought him back to happy memories of his childhood.

  The lingering smell of burnt leaves captured his senses, like comfort food. He drew in the pleasant odor and remembered how he and his brother used to jump into the large mound of leaves raked up by his father causing the pile to deflate into a brown carpet back across the lawn. He pictured his father, who would pretend to be upset, then sneak up behind the two of them and tackle his sons to the ground. He subconsciously brushed his sleeve as though removing the leaves his dad threw over top of them. A wave of melancholy washed over him and he wished he had that kind of time to spend with his own son. He wondered how his father, a homicide detective in NYPD, had found the time he so wished he had.

  The distinctive smell of meatloaf escaped when he opened the front door to his home, and his mouth salivated. He could hear his wife banging pots in the kitchen. She turned to face him when he came through the door. “Dinner’s almost ready, Jack.”

  He leaned over and kissed her hello. “Mmm, it smells pretty good in here. I’m starved.”

  “Good,” she said, “I made meatloaf.”

  “I know. That smell hit me the minute I opened the door.” He smiled. “Where’s Max?”

  “He’s holed up in his room with a ton of homework.”

  “How was your day, Hon?” he asked.

  “My day?” She made a face. “Well, let’s see. I had a pile of laundry to do, grocery shopping at the market, and then I came home and cleaned and made dinner. That’s how my day was,” she answered disgruntled.

  Jack recognized her mood and backed off. He reached for the stack of mail on the counter and leafed through the pile. He wasn’t in any mood to argue tonight. He was tired and hungry, and all he wanted to do was put his feet up and read the newspaper.

  “So how was your day?” she asked.

  “Uneventful,” he said while tearing the edge of an envelope.

  “That doesn’t sound good. What happened? No bad guys out there today?” He gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulder and continued to open the mail. “So I guess that means you can’t talk about it.” She stared at him and tapped her foot impatiently, apparently waiting for an answer.

  He placed the mail back on the counter, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s been a very long day, Ginny.”

  “How’s the old girlfriend working out?”

  “For chrissake, Ginny. I’m getting sick and tired of hearing this shit when I walk through the door every night. I don’t even want to come home anymore. It was a long time ago . . . long before we had a relationship.”

  “Well, actually not. You decided to screw me while you were dating her. Remember? Only, I got pregnant.” Her lips curled at the sides. “Once a cheater, always a cheater. I’ll bet seeing her again brings back lots of memories. I have no doubt you’re doing the same thing to me. Gives you goose bumps, doesn’t it, Jack?” she sneered.

  “Yeah, it sends chills down my spine,” he shot back.

  “Did you know she was at this precinct when you accepted the job?” She leered. “What I don’t understand is why you had to transfer to the precinct where she was working.”

  He exhaled and headed upstairs toward Max’s room. “And, I’m sure you never will.”

  “Dinner’s ready in five minutes,” she said caustically. She pulled plates out from the cupboard and banged them down onto the counter.

  He shuddered from the loud noise and wondered if she’d broken the dishes. He knew better than to ask. The woman just couldn’t help herself. She always found a way to ruin a family evening for him. He reached the top of the stairs and knocked on Max’s bedroom door, and stuck his head in without permission. “Max, it’s time for dinner.”

  Max was startled by the intrusion. “Oh, oka
y Dad.”

  Jack walked inside and sat down on his son’s bed, and patted his hand on the surface motioning for Max to sit down next to him. On his way home, he’d decided to ask Max in a non-accusatory manner, about the missing cassette from the surveillance equipment. Lord knew he’d been privy to that kind of treatment from his wife. Jack leaned over and gave Max a hug when Max sat down next to him. “How was school today, champ?”

  “Long.” He groaned. “I’ve got a ton of homework . . . but I’m almost finished.”

  “Need any help?”

  “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

  “All right.” Jack pursed his lips. “Hey, Max before we go downstairs, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, Dad. What?”

  “Well, we never finished our conversation about the missing cassette. You know, I could have sworn there was one in the machine when I brought it home, but I can’t be sure.” He kept his eyes fixed on his son’s face to gauge his reaction.

  “Gee, I don’t know, Dad,” Max answered, and nervously tapped his foot up and down.

  “Max? You weren’t using the equipment again, were you?”

  Max jumped off the bed and stood. “No, Dad, but I did show Richie how it worked . . . I didn’t take it off the table though,” he said nervously. “Why? Don’t you have more blank cassettes?”

  “Of course I do, but I’m trying to find out if the officer who used the equipment last, followed protocol. My staff has been instructed to remove the cassette from their session if it has a recording on it and replace it with a new one.” He shrugged. “We need to safeguard those recordings. Can you imagine what would happen to evidence on the cassette if the officer forgot to replace it with a new one, and the next guy taped over it?”

  Jack glanced over at his son whose eyes were now fixed straight ahead. He knew Max was lying because he was afraid of what was going to happen to him. Jack had to admit he’d been pretty hard on the boy the last time he used the equipment without permission. He decided to let it go for now. Jack remembered being as inquisitive as Max when he was his age. He smiled to himself at the similarities between them.

  “I’m sorry, Dad, I wish I could help.”

  “Okay, Max, I guess I was mistaken.”

  The two walked downstairs and took their places at the table. Ginny Harwell brought the steaming hot food to the table, filled the plates and placed the dishes in front of each of them.

  Dinner in the Harwell dining room was especially quiet except for the clicking of their utensils against the plates. Max loved his mother’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy. It was his favorite meal. He cleaned his plate and added a second helping. His parents barely said a word throughout the meal. He didn’t understand why things had changed ever since his father had taken this new job, but his mother’s behavior toward his father had become nightmarish in their household. When the last fork full of food was in his mouth, Max asked to be excused.

  “Yes, Max,” Ginny, said. “Don’t forget to take your plate into the kitchen.”

  “Okay, Mom.” Max rushed into the room and placed his dish and silverware inside the dishwasher, then walked back into the dining room.

  “Is it okay if I go back to my room and finish my homework?” he asked both his parents.

  “Sure.” Jack stood and removed his plate and utensils from the table, leaving his wife by herself. Max watched him walk into the kitchen, then cross the room toward his office and close the door. When the lock clicked into place, Max looked at his mother and was overcome with sadness.

  He walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Dinner was awesome, Mom. Thanks.”

  She nodded and remained silent. He bolted for the stairs and closed his bedroom door when he reached the top.

  He didn’t like telling lies to his father. A guilty feeling tightened his stomach muscles, and the first thing he thought about was a trip to the confessional to tell Father McKinley he’d lied to his dad. His mind raced trying to figure out how he could make it right without getting caught. If he put the cassette on the floor somewhere in the basement, his father would assume he dropped it and things would be back to normal. His stomach tightened again just thinking about it. He dialed Ritchie’s number.

  “Ritchie, my dad’s asking a lot of questions.”

  “Questions about what?”

  “The missing cassette.”

  “I told you. Why don’t you just tell him the truth?”

  “I can’t, Ritchie . . . especially since I lied again tonight.” Max sighed and wondered why he’d called Ritchie for support. He’d never been supportive in situations like this. “Okay, I’d better get back to my homework. I just thought you might have an answer for me.”

  “Yeah, I do. Tell him the truth and face the music.”

  “I just told you, Rich, I can’t do that.”

  “Well, have you listened to the recording? Maybe there’s a bunch of nonsense on the cassette and you can erase it.”

  “I don’t have anything I can use to listen to the cassette. Dad took the equipment back to the precinct.”

  “Well, you’d better pray he brings it home again.” The boy paused. “I hate to say it Maxie, but you really should have thought—”

  Ritchie’s comment stung like an arrow to the heart. He interrupted his friend, vowing to conduct his future investigative work by himself. “Yeah, thanks Richie,” he said with a sarcastic flare.

  “I know you don’t like to hear this stuff, Max, but just because your dad is a cop, and you want to be one, doesn’t mean you should be playing detective. You could wind up getting killed or something.”

  “Yeah, right. I have a better chance of getting killed by my father.” He shook his head and chastised himself for calling Ritchie.

  “But you’re just asking for trouble.”

  “When did you take on the role of self-proclaimed Guardian Angel?” Max could hear Ritchie sigh. “Geez, Ritchie. I called you for support. I guess I should have known better.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “Okay, I have to go.” He started to flip his phone shut when Ritchie’s voice rang out.

  “Hey, want to come over tomorrow after school? Mom says I have to babysit my sister so she can go to the store. We can watch a movie, or something.”

  “No. Thanks anyway. I’ll catch up with you another time.”

  “Wait. Don’t hang up, Max. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be such a jerk.”

  “Right. You shouldn’t. I gotta go. See you at school.” Max clicked off his cell phone and sat down on the edge of the bed. His anxiety returned.

  A whiff of pie baking in the oven filled the air with a rich buttery smell, and he knew his mother was making his favorite—cherry pie. He could feel the crunch of the crust between his teeth, and taste the release of the sweet liquid when he bit into the plump cherries. His mouth watered thinking about it. But tonight, he had to pass on his favorite dessert. It would kill him, but he couldn’t risk having his father ask more questions.

  He opened his closet door and pushed his clothes to the side. Holding onto the doorframe with one hand, he reached inside his secret hiding place with the other for the cassette and pulled it out to look at it. He tossed the cassette on the bed and remembered his old recorder. The one he used to listen to Dr. Seuss tapes, and prayed the mini-cassette would fit. He rummaged through his old toy chest hopeful he’d find the small Sony when he heard his father’s voice call him from downstairs. He ran to the door before his father could walk up the steps.

  “Yeah, Dad,” he said, sticking his head out the door.

  “C’mon down. Mom made your favorite dessert.”

  “Uh, Dad, I’m not done with my homework yet. Maybe later.”

  “You can’t be serious. You’re going to pass up on your mother’s homemade cherry pie and ice cream?”

  “Save me a piece, will you?” Max shut the door and continued rummaging through his toy chest. A sudden series of thuds on the stairs made him panic—his fat
her was on his way up to his room. He quickly closed the toy chest and grabbed the first thing closest to him to make his father think he was studying, and jumped on his bed making sure to sit on the cassette just as his bedroom door creaked opened.

  “Are you okay, son?” Jack asked. “I can’t believe you’re passing on cherry pie.”

  “It’s okay, Dad.”

  “All right. If you’re sure.” His father turned around and started to walk away.

  “Oh, Dad,” he called after him, remembering he had a little matter he needed to clear up. His father stopped and turned to face him.

  “What, son?”

  “I remembered something about the recorder. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this when you asked me, but there wasn’t any cassette in the recorder. Like I said, I was trying to show Ritchie how it worked, and without the cassette, I couldn’t show him anything.” He shrugged, “so I just told him how to set it up.”

  “Okay son, thanks. That’s just what I was worried about.” He nodded. “I’ll take this up with the last person who used the equipment.”

  He left the room and Max exhaled a sigh of relief, waiting until he could no longer hear his father’s footsteps. He quickly jumped off the bed and rummaged through his toy chest one more time but gave up when he didn’t see the recorder. He walked to his closet to return the cassette back to its secret hiding place.

  14

  Jessie walked to her desk with a container of coffee in her hand. Her partner was already at his desk, his feet propped on top, eating a powdered donut.

  “You’re going to get fat from all those trans fatty foods you’re consuming, hotshot.”

  “Yeah, my mother used to tell me the same thing, but I work out, so I can eat all I want.” He waved the box past her nose. “Want one?”

  “No thanks. I’ve already had breakfast.” Her cell phone chimed its melodic ring tone.

  “Detective Kensington.” She poked him in the arm so he’d pay attention and pointed to her phone. “Yes, Mrs. Clayton.” He sat upright, leaning in to hear above the noisy office. She rested her hip against his desk and watched his handsome face, subconsciously wiping a dot of white powder off the corner of his mouth with her fingers. He gave her an appreciative smile.