Goody Goody Gunshots

by Sammi Carter

  I’d called Elizabeth earlier to see how Brody and Caleb were feeling about being sidelined. Neither of the boys wanted to speak to me, but Elizabeth assured me they’d get over their disappointment soon. Kids were resilient, she assured me. I hoped she was right.

  The parking lot was nearly empty when I pulled in, so it wasn’t hard to make sure there were no dark-colored SUVs lurking in the shadows. Even though lights spilled out of the windows and illuminated the sidewalks, I didn’t see another soul until I let myself through the front door and into the reception area.

  There, a young woman with curly dark hair sat at the front desk, the phone wedged between ear and shoulder. She smiled vaguely in my direction as I walked past her, but she was so deep in conversation, I wasn’t sure she actually saw me. The windows of the administrative offices were already dark, indicating that the office staff had already gone home, but the faint sound of exercise equipment floated up the stairs from the work-out room in the basement. At least one hearty soul was in the center that evening.

  I checked the gym to make sure Kerry wasn’t already there, then stepped into the ladies’ room. I had a few minutes to kill and nothing to do, so I spent a little while pretending to make myself presentable: a quick sweep of a brush through my hair, a swipe at the lips with the remnants dug out of an old pot of Carmex I found in the bottom of my bag, a quick adjustment to the shoulders of my sweater, and a tug at the hem. I’m not sure I made any real difference to my appearance, but at least I’d tried.

  After washing my hands, I reached for the door handle, but the sound of raised voices somewhere nearby made me stop with the door only partway open. Two men, from the sound of it. Two very angry men speaking in hushed, heated tones.

  Deciding that discretion was the better part of . . . something, I let the door inch shut again. Almost. Curiosity trumps discretion any day. Maybe I was eavesdropping, but how else would I know when I could leave the bathroom without interrupting?

  I couldn’t make out what the men were saying at first, but it didn’t take long before my ears adjusted to the ebb and flow of background noise and I began to pick up snippets of their argument.

  “. . . if anybody finds out, I’m through. You know that don’t you?”

  “Quit being so damn melodramatic. Who’s going to . . . ?”

  Intrigued, I leaned a bit closer to the narrow opening I’d left myself. The men couldn’t be far from where I stood. I could make out shadows moving on the wall across from me as they talked.

  “. . . proof somewhere. You know she’s got it.”

  “And she’ll be taken care of. Don’t worry about that.”

  That sent a chill through me, and suddenly eavesdropping on their argument stopped being only a mildly entertaining diversion. Who was “she”? And what did he mean by “taken care of”?

  “That’s good,” the first man said, his voice suddenly crystal clear and so close I caught my breath, “because if you screw this up, I’ll lose everything. I’m already damn close to losing it now. This is not what we agreed on.”

  “Relax, would you?” His companion must have moved closer, too, and I suddenly recognized one of the speakers. “You know why she’s come back,” Quentin Ingersol said. “You know what we need from her. Once we have that, it’ll be over.”

  My breath caught, and my heart thudded in my chest. Two women had recently returned to Paradise: Liberty and Ginger. Which one were they talking about?

  “It had better be,” the second man growled. “Because if it’s not . . .” His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It didn’t sound like Kerry, but I was pretty sure that whoever it was, I’d talked to him recently.

  The voices faded away, and the shadows on the wall moved toward the front of the building, too far for me to hear what the men were saying. I leaned my head against the cool tile wall and concentrated on breathing while I replayed the bits of conversation I’d heard in my mind. Who were they talking about? What did they need? And who was the second man?

  I stood there shaking, running through the list of men I’d spoken with in the past week or so. Dwayne, Marshall. Kerry. Who else? Richie, Dylan. Gavin. I racked my brain, not daring to step out of the ladies’ room until I knew I wasn’t alone in the hallway with a couple of killers.

  When I heard the first of the boys arrive for practice, I sucked it up and let myself out of my tile-walled sanctuary.

  Kerry was already in the gym with the kids, and his posture stiffened noticeably when he saw me. “About time you joined us, Shaw. I need you to gather up the permission slips for the away game the boys took home last time. And the equipment’s in my truck.” He lobbed his keys across the court toward me. “Go get it.”

  It took a lot of nerve to treat a fellow volunteer with such scorn, and I was in no mood for Kerry’s attitude. I caught the keys and lobbed them back at him. “I don’t think so. Considering the accusations you’ve made against me, I think it would be better if I kept my distance from your truck.”

  Color rushed into his face, and his eyes grew cold. A muscle in his jaw twitched repeatedly. Very slowly, he dragged his gaze away from mine and tossed the keys to Jason Pacheco, one of the older boys on the team. “Take someone with you, Jason.”

  Jason bobbed his head once, jerked his head at Ryan Goddard, and jogged toward the rear doors. Coach and I stood for a long moment staring each other down until a bored voice sounded in the doorway behind me. “Coach Hendrix? Phone call for you on line one,” and broke the tension. At least for the moment.

  I had enough time after practice that evening to run home, change into clean black slacks and a sweater, and run a brush through my hair before meeting Jawarski for dinner. Brody and Caleb might not be on the team at the moment, but I’d made a promise to all the members of the team, and I felt an obligation to their parents to make sure they were safe.

  On a whim, I replaced the old Carmex with a layer of the strawberry-kiwi lip gloss I’d picked up at Walgreens and brushed a hint of blush on my cheeks. A couple of minutes after eight, I pushed through the glass door to the restaurant and stepped into a crowd of people waiting to be seated. I knew Jawarski was already there, because I’d seen his truck in the parking lot when I cruised through.

  Inside, soft Asian music played on a PA system, and the host, a young man of about twenty, spoke rapid Thai into the house phone. The door shut behind me, setting off the oddly discordant yet soothing sounds of bamboo wind chimes. I glanced into the dining room, peering between bamboo plants strategically placed to give the illusion of privacy.

  Jawarski had already been seated, and he waved me over to our table. I was starving and more than ready for dinner, but seeing Jawarski sitting there in a crisp white shirt under his good black jacket wiped all thoughts of food out of my head for a full thirty seconds.

  He stood as I approached the table, a gentleman of the old school, and his eyes lit with an appreciative gleam. I thought that was only fair, since I’m sure mine were pretty well lit also. He pulled out a chair for me, held it the way boys used to be taught in school, and then resumed his seat across from mine.

  “You’re looking terrific tonight,” he said. “Basketball must agree with you.”

  I laughed, so relieved that we were going to start off on a pleasant note I probably sounded giddy. “I’m not so sure about that. It may just be the death of me.”

  Jawarski signaled the waiter, and a moment later a glass of Thai tea appeared on the table. I’m a pushover for touches like that, and he knows it. I took that as a sign that he’d calmed down enough to realize that I hadn’t exactly tripped Marshall and then beat him to the floor to get that kiss.

  “Trouble on the team?” he asked.

  I shrugged and stirred my tea. “I’m not sure if there’s trouble on the team or just with my portion of it. Wyatt and Elizabeth pulled the boys from the team, and the boys blame me.”

  I waited for one of those Well, what did you expect? faces, but that’s
not what I got. Jawarski’s eyes softened, and he touched my hand gently. “Ah hell, slugger. I’m sorry. I know how much those kids mean to you.”

  I could have handled an I-told-you-so, but that just about did me in. His eyes were so kind, I had to look away, and only Karen’s voice running through my head and warning me not to screw this up kept me from pulling my hand away from his. A solid block of something filled my throat, and my eyes burned. I hate crying more than almost anything, but still I forced myself to stay where I was. I just hoped Jawarski would appreciate my sacrifice.

  Finally, I found the ability to move my head and managed a small nod. “It’s fine.”

  “Yeah.” Jawarski ran his thumb across the back of my hand, then slowly let it go. “I can see that.” He leaned back in his chair and gazed around the restaurant, giving me a few seconds to pull myself together.

  That’s the problem with Jawarski. One minute I’m so frustrated by him I’m ready to turn around and walk away; the next he does something so thoughtful I wonder what my life would be like now if he disappeared from it. That thought terrified me. After the breakup of my marriage, I’d vowed never to let myself become dependent on a man again. I’d been so careful to draw clear lines between my life and Jawarski’s. I’d kept him at arm’s length longer than he wanted me to, and much longer than I wanted to, yet I still hadn’t managed to achieve the measure of independence I wanted for myself.

  “So,” he said after a lengthy pause, “where were we, when we were so rudely interrupted the other day?”

  “I think you were accusing me of encouraging Marshall Ames.”

  Jawarski gave that some thought and shook his head. “No, if I remember right, we’d already worked through that, and you’d just observed that I’m an emotional wreck of a man carting around so much baggage, you keep tripping over it.” His face didn’t betray any emotion, but his eyes danced with amusement, and I knew we’d both moved past the edge of the cliff we’d been standing on yesterday.

  “I think you’re right,” I conceded. “I was in the process of pointing out how annoying all that baggage can be for someone as emotionally healthy as I am.”

  Jawarski grinned lazily. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  He sobered again and said, “Listen, Abby. About what I said yesterday . . . It was a shitty thing to say.”

  I felt my own smile slide from my face. “Yeah,” I said. “It was.”

  “I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “No,” I said. “You shouldn’t.”

  He fell silent, and his eyes slowly roamed my face. After a long time, he shrugged. “That’s all. I just wanted you to know that it was a shitty thing to say.”

  I like the fact that he’s not sappy. I’m not either, so it seems to work. “You’re a little late, Jawarski. I knew it was horrid the minute it came out of your mouth.”

  “Well, then, next time how about filling me in?”

  “You got it.” I waited for a second and tried to look annoyed. “That’s it? You’re not even going to apologize?”

  He pretended to think about that for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Nope. I think that’s it.”

  I reached across the table and punched his arm with more affection than irritation, and we spent the next few minutes poring over our menus and discussing the pros and cons of several choices. After we’d ordered, Jawarski rested both arms on the table and smiled slowly. “Thought you might be interested to know that we got a lead on Hobbs today.”

  Jawarski offering me information about a case was so unexpected, I choked on my tea. He came halfway out of his chair to pat me on the back—which did nothing except knock my breath away each time I almost caught it. When I could breathe again, I waved him back into his chair and picked up as if I hadn’t spent the past five minutes coughing and sputtering. “What did you find out?”

  “He was renting a room from a woman named Corelle Davies. She runs a Laundromat over on the north side.”

  “Have you talked to her?”

  He nodded. “We have. She didn’t have a lot to add, except that Hobbs had been living there for about two months.”

  That fit with what I’d already learned. “If he was here that long, why didn’t anybody notice him around town?”

  “I’m sure some people did,” Jawarski said, leaning back to avoid hitting our server as he slid a plate of egg rolls in front of us. “It was just never an issue until he turned up dead.”

  I opened a package of disposable chopsticks and spent a few seconds thinking about that while I rubbed the sticks together to get rid of loose splinters. “Did his landlady say whether he had friends?”

  “We asked. She didn’t notice anyone hanging around.”

  “So Hobbs just rented a room from her and then lived there in seclusion until the night he fell onto the highway in front of my car?”

  Jawarski picked up a piece of egg roll and dipped it in the fish sauce. “That seems to be the story so far.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t believe it. In fact, I think Hobbs was a very busy boy from the time he came to Paradise until the night he died.” I leaned in close to make sure I wasn’t overheard. “I talked to a couple of kids who work at Walgreens. One of them saw Hobbs talking to Quentin Ingersol just a few minutes before he turned up dead.”

  Jawarski’s brows knit. “My men interviewed those employees—”

  “Yeah, I know, but the checkout girl wasn’t allowed to talk to the police. Her manager did all the talking.” I gave him Britnee’s name and added Chase’s for good measure. “I don’t know how much they’ll be willing to tell you. They’re both under the impression that they can be fired for talking to you, so you might want to find them when they’re not working.”

  Jawarski nodded and nudged the last piece of egg roll toward me. “Did she happen to hear what Hobbs and Ingersol were talking about?”

  I polished off the egg roll and drained my tea. “Britnee said that Quentin told Hobbs to back off. What do you suppose that meant?”

  “I have no idea, but I plan to find out.”

  “I also overheard Quentin having an argument with someone tonight at the recreation center. I couldn’t hear everything, but they were talking about a woman who supposedly has proof of something.”

  “Oh?” Jawarski looked up, obviously interested. “How did you manage to overhear them?”

  “I was in the ladies’ room. They were right outside.”

  “You were eavesdropping.”

  “Not intentionally. Not at first, anyway. But when I realized they were having an argument, I wasn’t going to walk out into the middle of it.”

  He grinned and picked up a piece of pickled carrot with his chopsticks. “Good plan. Any idea who Ingersol was arguing with?”

  “None. Sorry.”

  We ate in silence for a few seconds, but something was still bothering me, and I had to ask, “Why are you discussing the case with me?”

  “You object?”

  “No, but it’s definitely a change of pace. Usually, you do that whole cop thing. You know, the ‘stay out of the investigation’ bit?”

  Jawarski chuckled. “And you always do exactly what I say.”

  “Well, of course I don’t. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Look,” Jawarski said, his smile fading slightly, “it’s not that big a deal. It just occurred to me that the more information I withhold from you, the more eager you seem to investigate on your own. I thought it couldn’t hurt to see what you’d do if I gave a bit more.”

  “Ah, I see. It’s just a ploy.”

  “I wouldn’t call it that,” Jawarski protested mildly. “I’d say it’s more of a strategy.”

  I made a face. “Same thing. And what if I don’t change my evil ways?”

  He shrugged and took my hand again. “I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we?”

  Chapter 30

  Jawarski and I stayed late, eating, talking, laughing— both of u
s apparently reluctant to end the evening, neither of us willing to take that next step and suggest we go home together. I’m just old-fashioned enough to believe that once you take that step, there’s no turning back. You’re in it all the way, whether you want to be or not.

  When the restaurant closed, we walked through the parking lot together, arms linked around each other’s waists. Again, the longing to have someone permanent in my life rose up strong and hot. I’d missed this—dinners together, long walks in the moonlight, intimate conversations about absolutely nothing—but I needed a bit longer before I could let myself trust it.

  After a long time, Jawarski settled me in the Jetta and walked to his truck on the other side of the parking lot. I could have watched him walk forever, but I knew he wouldn’t leave until he saw me drive off, so I started the car and pulled out onto the nearly deserted street, heading home. Jawarski pulled out behind me and turned in the opposite direction, and his taillights disappeared before I reached my first turn.

  For the first time in days, I didn’t think about the murder. It had been too wonderful an evening to spoil with thoughts of dead bodies and knife wounds. I wound along the curving two-lane road that separated the Lotus Blossom from the west end of town, slowing as I came around the curve near the recreation center.

  I was surprised to see the beam from someone’s headlights on the grassy slope between the center and the baseball /soccer fields. Wondering who was at the center this late, I slowed and glanced into the parking lot as I drove past. When I spotted Coach Hendrix’s familiar Ford truck, I tapped the brakes to slow the car even more.

  In the gleam of the headlights, I saw someone moving around. A few feet farther down the road, I realized there were two people there. One was Kerry Hendrix, the other the increasingly lumpy figure of Dwayne Escott.

  So the two of them were still friends. Or at least on speaking terms. I pulled to the side of the road and turned out my headlights, hoping they wouldn’t notice me there. They talked for a few minutes, their breath forming thick clouds in the cold November air. The conversation looked so normal at first, I wasn’t sure whether I was disappointed or relieved.