"No, I didn't see them this time, but I think we can help send them away." Comino pulled an amber vial of white capsules from his jacket pocket.
26
THE DIGITAL WALL CLOCK OVER THE SINK MIRROR READ 11:15 A.M. I'D SPENT a couple hours in the tub. Did I fall asleep, or was I just that zoned out?
I remembered several prolonged bouts of crying. Okay, so the waterworks weren't very satisfying because I was in water. Why do tears only feel good when they are falling on a linen or silk blouse? It must just be the drama.
The Niagara Falls imitation gave way to a couple ranting jags. When was I going to learn that yelling at God was about as fruitful as yelling at the wall clock? "Lord, I'm trying to understand your reasoning. But frankly, when I was bouncing down those stairs, the only thing I could think, was 'Lord, don't let him kill me.'" I thought a minute and grimaced. "I guess you did answer that one." Okay . . . one for you.
With the tub-heating thermostat set, it had kept the water at a comfortably warm temperature to soothe out my kinks. The plan worked and, along with the Advil, I was beginning to feel human again. I sloshed myself upright. Water slurped over the side and onto the tile floor. I stared at the puddle as though it had done that just to tick me off.
"Lord, why Lord?" My hands slapped the surface of the water, splashing more onto the floor. "Why am I going through this with Trey?"
I looked up at the ceiling as though I suddenly developed X-ray vision and it would afford me a view of the heavenlies. Raising my neck made me wince. "Okay, so what am I supposed to do now? Sheesh, I can practically hear you clearing your throat and tapping your foot at me."
I'd come a long way since I returned home. I couldn't take all the credit. Mom took me to church a couple of times a week and read the Bible with me. Sigh. I missed those times. They had been few and far between these last few months without her. I felt like I was drifting back into my old self.
So how's that working for you?
I shook my head. Did I really just hear God say that? Was it out loud or in my head?
And then there was some self-admonishment thrown in for good measure. I was a certified candidate for a rubber room. I'm losing my mind, sitting in the tub, naked as a jaybird, having a conversation with the Lord, the God of the universe. Ugh! Get up and get dressed.
I looked at my hands, now achy prunes, and huffed out a puff of air. Expanding my cheek caused a wince, but the pain was dull. I stepped from the tub and wrapped myself in a fluffy cream-colored terry cloth robe.
I padded into the bedroom on fuzzy, quilted slippers. Every step led further and further away from the fog in my head.
High time to put on my big girl pants and take command of the situation. God, with your permission, please.
Why would anyone want me dead? What had I done?
And better still . . . how was I going to figure out who was responsible?
Fifi sauntered into the storeroom to pick up the last of her supplies. She had cleaned and reloaded Sloane's gun and safely placed it back in the drawer below the register. As she reentered the store with the gun-cleaning kit in hand, the bell jingled. She looked up to find Detective Griffen Justice approaching the counter.
She glanced down at the kit and, using a fluid continuation of her forward motion, shoved the kit under the counter between two small boxes and continued her stroll to the front.
"Well, Detective, what brings you here this early in the day?" She pasted on a demure Mona Lisa smile.
Justice looked down at his watch and frowned. "Officially, it's afternoon since it's almost one o'clock. But that makes no never mind because I came to return Miss Templeton's disk."
Fifi raised an eyebrow. "Have you investigat—"
I opened the front door to the bookstore and limped in wearing brown drawstring linen pants and a black and brown animal print caftan top. The looseness of the top hid the slight bend in my posture. I had let my braids flow free so they masked most of my facial swelling. I glanced up at the man standing at the counter with Fifi . Great! Griffen Justice. Just what I need right now. I pulled myself up to my full height before he turned around. Believe me, the popping noises in my spine were loud enough to scare birds.
I cut my eyes at Fifi and frowned. If that woman called the police again, I'm going to have some definite attitude. I glanced back and forth between the two of them and attempted to walk normally.
"Detective, what can we do for you today?" I glared at Fifi as I passed behind Justice and came behind the counter. He didn't have any muscles to speak of, but he sure was easy on the eyes. I guess detectives didn't get much time to go to the gym. Too busy chasing criminals who, ironically, spent most of their time in the gym building muscles.
"I'm afraid we've hit a brick wall with the e-mail sample you supplied." He extracted the disk from his inside suit pocket while staring at my face.
Could he see the swelling around my eye? I reached out with my right hand but pulled it back and carefully extended my left hand to accept the CD. Bruises covered the knuckles on the right that I didn't want him to see or question. "Did you find anything usable?"
"We do know that it didn't come from an account with the ISP that it was routed through. It used a sophisticated set of bounces that we are not able to follow with the equipment available to us." Justice continued to sweep his glance over my face.
I recognized that look and snapped my head down to flop the braids closer to my nose, hiding the bruise that I had attempted to camouflage with concealer. "Onion routing isn't so difficult to decipher."
Justice squinted. "Excuse me? Onion routing?" I broke his concentration on my face. Good.
I attempted a smile but spent more energy masking the painful pull to my face. "It's using cryptography in a multilayered manner to impede Internet traffic analysis."
He raised both hands and chuckled. "Okay, you've just gone over my head just like our tech did. I give."
Fifi tapped on the counter with her glossy fingernail. "But I see it on TV all the time. Crime scene investigators have all that high-tech equipment—"
"Not in the 88th. Our forensics lab is very small." Justice shook his head. "We don't have the money for manpower, let alone equipment. We'd have to send it to Manhattan for further analysis, but as backed up as they are, it could take months. And that's only if they wanted to spend the money on the investigation at all."
I nodded softly so as not to disturb my hair cover. "I understand. Our lab at NYU cost several million dollars, and we still didn't have the latest equipment."
"You can't repeat this," Justice leaned closer, "but if you can get me more tangible proof, I can put the muscle behind it to get it sent to Manhattan."
Even though his effort was useless at the moment, I felt better that he at least wanted to help. Or was he just trying to get a closer look at my face? "Thanks."
Fifi put her hands on her hips. "What about the rodent and the box? Did you check them for fingerprints?"
Had he just rolled his eyes?
Justice shook his head and jammed his hand in his slacks pocket. "Your rodent friend received an unceremonious burial in the Dumpster along with the box."
Fifi chimed in. "But that was evidence. All those shows on TV—"
"You can't fingerprint a rat." The detective cut Fifi's procedural perception off gently. "And the box was no help because everyone at UPS, and even you, had handled it. The label was investigated, but it was just a cash drop-off package at one of the services across town. The only thing we had that no one but the perp could have handled was the knife. And it didn't have any prints. So we've hit a dead end until something else happens. Sorry." He shrugged.
Fifi pulled back her chin. "What do you mean until something else happens?"
"Technically a couple e-mails are not a credible threat."
"But there were a lot of e-mails." Fifi turned to the computer. "Where did that one go from this morning?"
"It's gone. I deleted it." I glared at her. If
she kept up like this, I might have to appeal to her compassion and ask her to just shoot me instead. Why does she keep pushing it when I tell her to let it go? Thankfully, neither of them seemed computer savvy enough to know I could retrieve it if I wanted to.
"Were there others that I didn't see?" Justice looked me square in the face.
"Most of them we deleted. Like you said, Detective, they aren't serious." I wasn't about to let him see the latest threat. Just in case it actually was from Trey. If they sought him out again . . . I suppressed a shudder. Don't think about that. Not now.
"And the dead rodent? That wasn't credible enough?" Fifi's eyes widened.
I dropped my head. Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.
Justice shook his head. "Nothing ties them together."
"So you're saying she has to be attacked—"
I stomped on her foot.
"Ouch!" Fifi glared at me.
I raised a sore eyebrow. "Sorry. I didn't see where I was stepping."
Justice looked back and forth between the two of us.
"We will call you if we find any more evidence, Detective Justice. Thank you for coming." I tipped my head to obscure my swollen eye. I wanted to ask him about Verlene's case but I couldn't risk the extra time, what with him looking at me so intently.
He waved as he left. "Ladies, good day."
Fifi slapped the counter. "Sugah, did your brains fall out your ears when that no-account dragged you down the stairs?" Her eyes shot open so wide I could see the whites all the way around her eyeballs.
"Why? Because I wouldn't let you open your mouth about Trey? Or about me shooting him? I could get hauled in for that ya' know."
"So you're just gonna wait for him to come back and finish the job?"
"Don't go all melodramatic on me. He won't be back." Yeah, sure. That's why I was installing more security.
"At least you hope not. I've cleaned and reloaded your gun, just in case." Fifi gestured toward the drawer. "Now put it in your pocket."
I hesitated. Did I really want to go there? If I chose this path, it would ratchet up the stakes. My hand rested on the pull for the drawer. I slowly opened it. The gun lay there, taunting me. I am your new best friend, I heard it say. I slammed the drawer shut. The gun slid the length of the drawer, hitting the back with a thump.
Fifi touched my shoulder. "What's the matter?"
"I shot someone with a gun."
"Is there any other way to shoot them?" A smirk crossed Fifi's lips.
I snapped my head toward Fifi. "I could have killed him." I lowered my head. Sadness tugged at my heart. Was I becoming violent like him? Or am I just becoming brave enough to protect myself? Could I even be one without the other?
A tear splashed from my eye to my cheek. I scrubbed it away with the back of my hand. Pain shot though my face.
"Considering what you look like now, he should count himself lucky that you only popped two holes in him." Fifi acted almost happy.
I shook my head. "I don't think I could do that again. There was so much blood."
"You'll learn."
"Learn?" My eyes went wild. "I don't want to learn! I don't want to have to pick up a gun and shoot someone again. This is not the Wild West!"
"As we say down home, there comes a time . . ." Fifi tipped her head.
"A time for what? Violence? Violence begets violence." I ran my hand across my forehead.
"All I can say is that when you turn on the lights, the roaches run everywhere. Sugah, you've obviously done something to someone that is pushing all these buttons. You just need to figure out what it is."
I gestured to my face. "Let's not forget that this beating was caused by you siccing the police on Trey."
"I'm talking about this whole thing. The threats. The rat. Who would like to get rid of you?"
"My fan list seems to be growing every day. Let's see . . . Coltrane Realty wants me gone."
Fifi frowned. "Robby would not try to hurt you."
She and this Robby thing were beginning to bother me. He was way too young for her. It felt creepy. "Yeah, right. I wouldn't put it past him. Then, there's our two professors and that stupid book."
"Nah, what would they have to gain if you were gone?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they think dealing with you would be easier." I laughed a little nervously. "And then, there's you."
Fifi dropped the papers she was picking up from the desk. "Me? Sloane. How could you say such a thing?"
"Because you've said more than once that I should go back to my computer job and sell you the store."
"But that was the deal between your momma and me, and you know it." Fifi looked over the top of her reading glasses. "You never wanted to be here when she was alive."
"I changed my mind." I really didn't want it, but I didn't want to leave the last of Mom either.
Fifi looked at me. Her eyes went downcast, and she leaned against the counter.
"Sugah, please put the gun back in your pocket. Remember, we have other hoodlums to be on the lookout for. I'm packin' mine." She slapped her hip pocket.
I had already forgotten about the thugs we were possibly expecting to try to sell Verlene's book. Reluctantly, I opened the drawer and wrapped my hands around the cool metal, bringing it out into the open. It smelled of fresh gun oil and gleamed shiny bright. I stuck it in my pocket. The last time I had done this, it had saved my life. I guess I was going to have to learn to like it.
I slid onto the chair at the desk, pulling the keyboard over in front of me. I tapped a key. Nothing happened. I flicked the switch on the monitor. Still nothing.
"You told me not to touch it, and I couldn't let customers see that, so I pulled the plug." Fifi bent down and plugged the monitor in. The screen blinked on with the death threat.
I glanced around to see who was close enough to read the screen. Barbara was sitting in her regular spot on the other side of the room between the fiction section and the coffee bar.
I motioned toward Barbara. "How's she seem to be doing today?"
Fifi sighed. "You've just been beaten senseless and you're worried about that nutjob? Give it a rest, sugah. Worry about yourself for a change."
"I can take care of myself, and she can't."
Fifi stage whispered. "Don't look now but here comes your charity case."
Barbara approached the counter.
I whipped my head around, disturbing the braid facade.
Barbara gasped and gripped the counter. "My goodness, Sloane. Your face! I'm so sorry. Is he beating you too?"
My chest clenched and I started to sway forward in the chair. "W-What are you talking about?" There's no way this woman could know about Trey.
Fifi touched my arm to steady me.
Barbara stood staring and wide-eyed. "M-My husband . . . is he beating you too?"
Fifi and I expelled a collective sigh of relief.
"No, honey, your husband is not beating me." I brushed the braids back over my swollen eye. "Is someone hitting you?"
Barbara's eyes darted around. "No, I don't provoke him." She shook her head in small, jerky movements. "I want to be a good wife."
Fifi pushed past my chair and over to the counter.
"Barbara, can I help you with something? Sloane has work she needs to get done." Fifi turned and glared at me.
"I-I just wanted to use the computer. But it's not coming on."
I looked out into the room at the dark monitors.
Fifi reached behind me and clicked off the button on my monitor. "Have a seat at your table, sweet pea. They'll be running in a jiffy."
Barbara nodded her head and padded back to her table, scuffing her loafers on the hardwood.
Fifi gestured and shook her head. "The woman can't even pick up her feet when she walks."
I squinted, and looked at Fifi from the corner of my eye. "You need to be more compassionate with people in her condition, Fee. She ain't all there."
"Listen, sugah. Your momma and I ran t
his store right fine all these years, and we never had to adopt no vagabonds." Fifi waved an arm. "She hardly spends a penny here, and all she does is sit there all day. I'll tell you, if your ma was still alive—"
I felt a twinge in my chest. If one more person challenges my personal decisions, I'm going to blow a fuse. "My mom isn't still alive. And I'm the one in charge now."
"Need I remind you that this store was our dream? You never wanted anything to do with it or the book trade." Fifi put her hands to her hips.
"Well, I do now." That was the second time today that she'd said that. Was she just digging at me, or was there an underlying problem? If I'd had druthers, running a bookstore would not have been among my choices for a profession.
"That newfound interest wouldn't have anything to do with the boatload of cash that the book auction is going to bring, would it?"
"You think I want to keep the store for the money? The book wasn't even a consideration until just this week." Who was this woman? Fifi had never acted this way in all the years I'd known her. Mom always said money did strange things to people.
"So is that why you're stalling on selling the store to me? Before your momma died, you couldn't wait to get one of your computer jobs and get out of here." Fifi waved a hand at the computer. "That thing is what you like. You don't care about books. Unless they're ones that can make a lot of money."
I needed to end this conversation before I said something I'd regret. I turned back to the computer. "This conversation is over."
"I have dreams, too, you know."
I raised a hand and shook my head.
Fifi moved forward. "You need—"
"You need to get out of my face. Now! Leave me alone, please." I just couldn't take anymore of anybody or my head would blow off.
Fifi set her jaw and stomped off across the store.
I clicked on the monitor, sectioned off and locked the Administrator node, then booted the computers for the store.
I didn't like the thoughts running through my head. Fifi was not money grubbing. She would not threaten me or try to run me out of town just to get her hands on the store. Would she? I thought about it for a minute and then shook my head to clear away the thought. No, that was ridiculous. The enemy was playing tricks in my mind. Thinking that Fifi would hurt me was as absurd as thinking Andreas would hurt me.
Cooking the Books: A Sloane Templeton Novel (2012) Page 17
