Fighting my instincts, I got out of the car and unlocked the security gate. I wanted to give him space, but it took all of my will power not to turn around, jump back into the car and choke an answer out of him. It was a lonely walk back to the apartment.
My cell phone rang just as I reached the elevator.
“Brandy, it’s Mike.”
I was in no mood to talk, but curiosity got the better of me. “Hey, Mike. What’s up?”
“The cops have located Donte Lewis.”
“Are you serious? That’s great! How did it happen? Did he confess? What did he say?”
“Not a whole lot. He’s dead.”
Chapter Seventeen
“What?”
Mike filled me in as I climbed into the elevator and made my way to the fourth floor.
“A couple of hikers stumbled across Lewis’ body in a shallow grave in Tookany Creek Parkway.
“Where, exactly?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere near the golf course. Looks like whoever killed him was in a hurry…either that or they didn’t give a shit about Lewis being discovered. He was just sort’ve dumped there.”
Near the golf course… which, I happened to know from my obsessive internet searches, was about half a mile from Wade Stoller’s house. I said as much to Mike.
“If you’re suggesting that Stoller killed him, why would he dump the body so close to his house?”
“Good question…unless someone else did the dumping.”
“Who’d you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Someone on his payroll who didn’t have the work ethic to do the job right.” And, seeing as three out of four of the major players were already dead, that only left Barbeque Master Chef, Reginald “The Torch” Harwinton.”
I let myself in to Nick’s apartment and collapsed onto the couch. Adrian sauntered out of the bedroom and began whining at the front door.
“Sorry, baby, I whispered softly. “Nick’s not here.”
He seemed disappointed. Or maybe I was projecting.
I turned my attention back to Mike. “Do you know how Lewis was killed?”
“From the preliminary report, it looks like he was shot in the chest at close range. I don’t have any of the details, and it’ll be a while before they’re available.” Mike coughed and cleared his throat. “Look, Brandy, I shouldn’t have shared that much, only, I feel like I owe you for setting me up with Janine. But—if DiCarlo asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Got it.”
*****
The readout on the clock in Nick’s bedroom said three a.m. Instinctively, I knew I was alone in the king-sized bed, but I reached an arm out, anyway, hoping to be wrong. I wasn’t.
I sat up and turned on the light and grabbed my phone. Halfway through his number I disconnected and placed the phone back on the nightstand. I spent the next ten minutes playing the What If game. What if he got into an accident…what if he’s lying in a ditch…what if he’s lying in someone else’s bed…in someone else’s arms…No. He told me there’s no one else, and Nick would never lie to me…But, what if…
The front door opened without warning. Quickly, I lay back down and squeezed my eyes shut and waited for Nick to enter his bedroom and slip into bed beside me. My breathing slowed. I overreacted. Everything’s fine. I waited some more.
A half hour passed before I finally admitted to myself that he wasn’t coming in.
*****
“He didn’t even hear me leave, Janine. Or if he did, he didn’t try to stop me. For all he knows I could be dead.”
Being the knee-jerk reaction kind of gal that I am, it took me less than five minutes to gather up Rocky and Adrian and go. I tiptoed past Nick, who was sprawled on his back, asleep on the couch. He hadn’t even bothered to undress.
“Is that why you left?” Janine asked. “So you could milk some grandiose reaction out of him to prove his love for you?”
“Of course not!” You’re Goddamn right it is. I’ll show him. I’ll leave and get killed and then he’ll be sorry, and…oh my God. What am I? Five?”
At least I’d left a note.
Dear Nick,
I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but you need your space, even if you’re too kind to tell me. It’s safe to come home now. I’ve found new temporary housing.
Brandy
It was passive-aggressive to say the least. To say the most, I felt hurt and was being a manipulative brat. Nick had done nothing wrong. I was punishing him for…for what? I didn’t know.
“I screwed up, Janine. What am I going to do?”
Janine yawned. She was an awfully good sport for having been woken up in the middle of the night. “You’re asking me for relationship advice?” she laughed. “Well, whatever I’d do, do the opposite.”
I called him at eight a.m.
Nick picked up after five rings. His voice was low and filled with sleep, and a hint of his southern roots clung to his words. “Hey, Darlin.’ Why are you calling? I’m just in the living room.”
Unh! He didn’t even know I’d left. “Um, Nick, we need to talk.”
There was a soft beep on the other end of the phone. “I’m getting another call, Darlin’. Can I put you on hold for a minute?”
“No, that’s okay,” I said in a rush. “I just wanted you to know I’m at Janine’s. I’ll be staying with her for a while.”
“Any particular reason?” he asked, evenly.
“I, uh, left you a note.”
There was a split second of dead air as Nick’s call waiting clicked again. Ignoring it, he said, “Is this about last night?”
The question caught me off-guard. “Yes… No…I don’t know. Everything feels all messed up, and I don’t know why.”
“You’re right, Angel. We do need to talk.”
Uh oh. He’s agreeing with me. That can’t be good. “Look, take the call,” I told him. “We’ll talk later.”
“Te amo,” he said, softly.
“Te amo.”
*****
I spent the afternoon fending off a full-blown anxiety attack. “Why do you always have to analyze the crap out of everything?” asked Tough Girl Brandy. “Just shut up and enjoy the sex.”
“No. You shut up,” snapped Sensitive Brandy. “You know what Nick and I have goes way beyond sex. But there’s something inherently wrong here, and ignoring the fact won’t make it go away.”
“Why don’t I just pop you one and put you out of your misery?” asked Tough Girl Brandy, which was a rhetorical question and didn’t require a response. It did, however, cause some concern over the voices in my head. Note to self: Call mom to see if schizophrenia runs in the family.
I had to find something useful to do. I settled on looking up the docking information for Island Dream Vacations. The cruise ship coming in from the BES Islands was scheduled for arrival the next day at six a.m.
I took out my phone and scrolled through my photos, zipping past the shots of Rocky and Adrian decked out as elves for this year’s Christmas cards. (FYI, friends and family love receiving pictures of your pets in funny costumes. They rank right up there with annual holiday newsletters and fruit cakes.)
Finally, I found what I was looking for—the photo of Wade Stoller’s August calendar page. He’d marked off the 16th with a notation underneath. 6:00 a.m. I. D. V. Perfect. I emailed the photo to Bobby and gave him a call. It went straight to voicemail. “Call me, ASAP,” I told him. “It’s important.”
Next, I called Vince. His receptionist said he was in a meeting. I then tried Mike Mahoe, but he was out on patrol. As a last ditch effort I called Richie Burns, the traffic cop I used to hang with in my Godfrey days. He had a “situation” at Ninth and Wharton. In the never-ending cheese steak wars, a couple of customers from Pat’s and Geno’s gridlocked the intersection as they duked it out over a lone parking spot. He said he’d get back to me.
Having exhausted my list of everyone I knew that carried a badge, all there wa
s left to do was to go down to the docks myself and…and what? Make a citizen’s arrest? Wade Stoller, stop in the name of the law and my possibly unfounded allegations! The idea was ludicrous even to me.
I thought about calling the DEA with an anonymous tip, but I couldn’t afford to blow this. Instead, I went stir crazy waiting for someone (anyone) with authority to return my call.
When I couldn’t take the waiting any longer, I jumped into the car and swung by Johnny’s to see if he wanted to work out again. After all, it was so much fun the last time.
I didn’t have any clean shorts, so I put on a pair of sweat pants that I’d commandeered from Nick. They were big in the waist, so I rolled them down until they rested on my hips.
Arriving at John’s I got an idea. It would be funny, I thought, to play my Rocky ringtone and dance around with my arms raised like Sylvestor Stallone did in the movie. The boxing gloves were in the trunk of my car. I retrieved them and shoved my hands into them to complete the ensemble.
As soon as I rang the bell, I turned my back to the door and hit the ring tone simultaneously raising my gloved hands high in the air. The sweat pants eased their way south, but all he’d see was the top of my underwear. No big deal.
John’s door opened. Immediately, I began belting out the words to Gonna Fly Now, as I sprung into an improvised Rocky victory dance.
“Can I help you?”
Hmm. That so doesn’t sound like Johnny.
My gloved fist-pumping slowed, and I dropped my arms just as the sweat pants slipped again, dipping well into Refrigerator Repair Man range. At that precise moment I remembered which pair of undies I’d grabbed out of my suitcase that morning…the emergency ones with no elastic on the waist band. Uh oh. Frantically, I tried to pull them up, but I was literally all thumbs.
“Is John home?” I asked. With my back still turned, I sat down on the step and tried to wriggle my ass back into Nick’s sweat pants.
“John’s indisposed,” replied the voice that, unmistakably, belonged to Garret. Who else could spit out a phrase with such pomposity?
Sweat pouring down my face, I worked my underwear back over my hips and stood up. I turned around, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“It’s uh, nice to see you again, Garret.”
“Is someone at the door?” John walked into the living room and peered over Garrett’s shoulder. I waved a gloved hand in his direction.
“Hey, Sunshine. This is a nice surprise. Isn’t it a nice surprise, Garrett?”
“Well, it was a surprise, anyway. She mooned me.”
“Jesus, Garrett. Not on purpose. Look, John, Garrett says you’re busy, so I won’t keep you. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bran, wait.” I noted with satisfaction that John nudged Garrett out of the way. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside.
‘We’re not busy. I’m glad you came by.”
Garrett shot him an annoyed look. “But we were going to watch that PBS Special on Monarch Butterfly migration from Mexico to Pacific Grove. I’m sure it would just bore her.”
“She has a name, Garrett. It’s Brandy. And if Brandy’s bored, we can turn it off.” There was an edge to John’s voice that I hadn’t heard since the time he called the Banana Republic to protest their return policy on holiday novelty items.
“Suit yourself,” Garrett shrugged. “I’m going to go watch it in the bedroom.”
“He’s mad,” I whispered when Mr. Personality left the room.”I should go.”
“You’re staying.”
“But he saw my ass. I’m not comfortable.”
“Look, Sunshine.” John shoved me onto the couch. “It’s a matter of principle. If you leave now, he’ll think he’s won.”
“John, what part of he saw my ass did you not understand?”
“Stop whining. You’re missing the big picture here.” John ran his hand lightly over the top of his head. The hair had started to grow back and he was looking more like his old self again. “Listen, kiddo, I never should have let this go on for as long as I did. You’ve knocked yourself out trying to be nice to Garrett and he’s thrown it back in your face. It’s about time I grew a pair and told him to knock it off or get out.”
“But—but I don’t want you to die alone—or worse yet, end up with that guy who smelled like bug spray.”
“I won’t,” John grinned. “I’ll move in with you. Besides, the truth is this whole thing isn’t even about you. Yeah, I know you think everything is about you. But this is between Garrett me, and how I feel about myself with I’m with him. And I gotta tell ya, I don’t feel too great.”
I stood and gave John a hug. “You guys have some talking to do. I’m gonna go.”
John nodded and walked me to the door. “I would’ve given anything to see the look on his face when you mooned him.”
“It never happened.” I pointed a warning finger at him. “End of conversation.”
*****
I was alone at Janine’s and feeling fairly rudderless. On my way back from John’s, Nick had called. We made plans to get together for a late night dinner. He sounded weary and distant, but the latter could have been my imagination. Despite Tough Girl Brandy’s best efforts, I was projecting all over the map.
Then, there was the whole no job thing. At the rate I was running through my savings I was going to lose my home. Plus, it felt unsafe going back there anyway, because the Junk Town Gang kept trying to blow it up. Or were they?
With the exception of the first hit on the house—and the guy had confessed he’d gone rogue—there was no real proof that the JTG was trying to kill me. But if someone wanted me dead, they’d be the logical choice to pin it on. I didn’t have to stretch my imagination to figure out who that someone was. God, I wanted to nail the bastard and get on with my life.
DiCarlo called me at eight o’clock.
“Did you get my message?” I asked.
“I did, and I’m way ahead of you, Sweetheart. I went and talked to somebody who talked to somebody and they’re going to be there to greet your pal Stoller and the ship, tomorrow. And don’t bother asking me any of the details. These people could lose their jobs if it became known they were working off a hunch and a favor to me.”
“Fine.”
“That’s it? No argument?”
The truth is I was happy to turn it over to someone else. I didn’t need to know the details. And anyway, I figured I’d find out soon enough. Because when the ship came in, I was planning to be there.
“You’re not thinking about going down there, tomorrow, are you?”
“Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous.”
DiCarlo groaned. “Alexander, I swear, if you were still my girlfriend—”
“You’d be the luckiest man on Earth,” I finished for him, although I was pretty sure that’s not where he was headed. “Listen, Bobby, I promise to stay out of everyone’s way. There’s nobody who wants to get this guy more than I do.”
*****
Nick and I were supposed to meet up at his apartment. I was almost there when my phone rang. I pulled over to the curb anticipating he was calling to tell me that he was running late or that he wouldn’t be able to meet me after all. “Hey,” I said into the phone.
“Brandy?” Hmm. female. Definitely not Nick.
“Yes?”
“It’s Sherese.” There was a hitch in her voice like she’d been crying.
“Sherese, what’s wrong?”
“I—I found something. I think it’s what you was lookin’ for.”
“What’d you find?” I asked my pulse quickening. If all went right the next morning, Stoller would be arrested for drug smuggling or at the very least for purposely turning a blind eye to someone else doing it. But that wouldn’t necessarily tie him to all the murders. I needed proof that he was involved, and, just maybe, Sherese had found it.
“I don’t want to talk on the phone,” she told me. “You said to call if I found somethin’ and I found somethin’. I need you
to come over right now and get it. I don’t want this shit in my house no more.” She stopped and caught her breath and added, “And don’t bring nobody with you. I don’t want people knowing where it come from.”
I did a quick mental calculation. It would take me at least an hour to schlep across town, pick up whatever it was Sherese had and get back to Nick’s. Unh! I started the engine and pulled out into traffic. I’m on my way.”
I called Nick to tell him of my change of plans.
“No problem,” he said. “There’s a Cuban restaurant not too far from there. It’s on the corner of Listern and Girard, and it’s open until two. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
Cross town traffic was surprisingly sluggish for the lateness of the hour. There was construction on Broad Street, so I had to take a detour to get to Sherese’s. I’d have to hurry to meet up with Nick.
After what felt like an eternity, I turned onto Sherese’s block and parked directly in front of the house. In the stillness of the night the neighborhood creeped me out, so I reached into my glove compartment and took out the Clear Knuckles I’d bought last year. In case of emergency, they were much more my speed than a loaded pistol. Not that I’d given up completely on the idea of carrying concealed. In fact, my aim was improving on a daily basis. Unfortunately, my judgment was still in its formative stages.
I exited the car and jogged up the sidewalk. The sofa was still out on the street looking forlorn and a little bit embarrassed. I felt sorry for it.
Sherese’s porch was shrouded almost completely in darkness, with just the barest of light peeking through the living room curtain. I knocked briskly and waited for her to answer.
After a minute she called out from behind the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Brandy.”
I listened as the deadbolt turned. Sherese opened the door and stepped out of the way to let me in. Her face was turned and cast in shadow, and I sensed that something was wrong a split second before the door slammed shut behind me.
Chapter Eighteen
I spun around and found myself staring into the eyes of a lunatic. A lunatic wearing a carpenter’s tool belt with a blowtorch hanging from it. A scream rose in my throat but nothing came out.
No Such Thing as a Lost Cause Page 24
