At the front door, I turned back and scanned the silent house to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. Then Ted screamed.
Chapter Nineteen
As though locked in a battle with an enemy, Ted thrashed and screamed in his sleep. I hurried to his bedside and switched on the lamp. "Ted, wake up. Honey, you're dreaming. Wake up." But my quiet pleas didn’t penetrate the turmoil of his dreams. I raised my voice with still no response. "Ted? Ted?"
When I tried to touch him, he shrieked and jerked away. "No, no, no, no!"
I screamed hoping to jolt him out of sleep. "Ted! Ted, wake up!"
He thrashed and kicked. Every time I touched him, he fought me. Arms and legs flailed and I felt like I was watching him drown while I was helpless to stop it. He screamed. He wept. All I could do was repeat his name, hoping it would lead him back to me. And then he stopped. He lay on his back, panting.
I sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed his brow. "Baby?" His face was flushed and sheened with sweat. I whispered, "Ted?" His eyes popped open but didn't focus. He turned his head side to side then back to me. Recognition came into his eyes. I stroked his cheek. "Hi."
He wrapped his arms around me, and buried his face in my chest. Combing my fingers through his hair, I said, "It's okay, honey. Just a bad dream. You're all right." He groaned and held me tighter. "I got you. I'm here."
We lay together for a long time, and when I thought he'd fallen back to sleep, he said, "Don't leave." He raised his head and looked into my worried face. "Please."
I caressed his cheek then pushed the sweaty hair off his forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."
Ted rolled away from me and lay on his back. He stared at the ceiling like he was studying the stars.
I lay next to him and held his hand. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"That worries me."
He ran a hand over his face and blew out a breath. "I know."
I whispered. "Should I act like it didn't happen?"
He turned and studied my face as though it were a thing of wonder. "I love you."
I nodded." I love you too."
"I need you."
"Me too. Always."
He kissed me softly. "Don't worry about me."
I tweaked his nose. "What a stupid thing to say to the woman who loves you." I frowned. "You scared the hell out of me."
"It doesn't happen much — anymore." He wound one of my curls around his finger. "You're so beautiful. So sweet. I want to give you everything."
I pulled his hand from my hair and kissed it. "You do give me everything."
"So, we're good?" He asked the question like he was afraid of the answer.
"We're good. We're better than good."
His eyes softened then he nuzzled into my arms, like an insecure child. I held him hoping I could protect him from his dreams until morning.
<<>>
Ted was his usual self the next morning and tried to convince me to stay in bed for another hour. As enticing as the offer was, I got up, made him blueberry pancakes, kissed him goodbye and went home.
As I rounded the park, I looked for the guys, and their absence made the scenery seem odd, foreign. They were on a mission to remain concealed from enemies real and imagined. And like Ted’s dream, I’d never gain entry into that world of war and survival. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from looking for them. Worrying about them.
When I got home, Zelda was unusually cheerful and helpful, but she didn't share the reason for her sunny outlook. We got right to work, and by late afternoon, we'd finished the baking for the week and for Ron's wake. I didn't go overboard, but we made three chocolate sheet cakes, three cherry pies, three apple pies, and two dozen brownies.
I cranked up the air conditioning, had a long shower, then took a nap. Two hours later, I woke cranky and hungry. After throwing on a fresh pair of shorts and tank top, I stumbled out to the kitchen. Zelda, Ted and his brother Steve sat at the butcher-block drinking iced tea like old friends.
Ted grinned. "Hey you little slacker, about time you woke up."
Still trying to compute Steve in my kitchen, I said, "Am I still asleep?" I cocked my head at Zelda. "Oh! Now I get it."
Steve's head popped up like turtle emerging out of its shell. "What do you get?"
Zelda was off her stool and shuffling me toward Ted before I could spit. "So the guys came by and offered to take us out to dinner. Isn't that nice?"
She handed me off to Ted, who guided me onto a stool. I took Ted's iced tea out of his hand and chugged down half of it. "And how did this come about?"
Cheerful and animated, Steve said, "Funny story. Ted came in this morning bragging about the awesome, and yeah he said awesome, blueberry pancakes you made him for breakfast. Then he told me about your brownies and that cobbler thing you make. Made me crazy. We Jordans have serious sweet tooths, right? It's in our DNA."
I raised my eyebrows at Ted — that did explain a few things. "Is that a fact?"
"Then I remembered that you have a food truck so I hopped online and checked your website. Very cool site, did you build it?"
I nodded and drank more of Ted's iced tea, wondering when he'd figure out that he should just pour me a glass of my own. "Yeah, with a little help from a friend."
I questioned Zelda with my eyes — was this a ploy to make Eric jealous? She cranked her hand at Steve and said, "Keep going."
"Yeah, so I checked your route for today, hopped in my car and drove down to Figueroa. But when I got there, no truck. A few other people were waiting for you too. But you never showed. So I emailed you and then Zelda answered me. Then she ended up calling me." He shrugged. "We got to talking and long story short, we thought dinner would be fun."
I frowned and smacked Ted with the back of my hand. "You let your brother drive downtown, knowing we wouldn't be there?"
Ted snorted and laughed. "Yeah, good one, huh? We had a pool on how long it would take him to figure it out and get back to the office."
Steve laughed harder than Ted. He tapped his temple with a finger. "Yeah, I'm a little slow."
I gaped at Steve. "And you're not mad at him? At all?"
Steve wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Nah. Besides, wait 'til you see him pitch, there'll be plenty of ball busting to go around."
Chapter Twenty
Donna Jansen was a petite and energetic woman with close-cropped hair, large brown eyes and like her brother Ron, a winning smile. She radiated warmth and kindness, and I liked her instantly.
Admiring the cakes and pies on her kitchen counter she said, "Oh Scotti, look at all this work you did. Girl, you are something else." She grinned at me. "No wonder Ron sang the pie lady's praises."
I blushed and shrugged. "I was happy to help. Besides, it’s just what I do. I can practically bake in my sleep."
Donna laughed and nudged me toward the kitchen table. "Well, you just sit down in that chair while I fix you some biscuits and gravy. How do you like your coffee?"
I just stared at her.
She put her hand on my shoulder. "What's the matter honey?"
I chuckled. "Usually I'm the one cooking for other people. This is a switch."
Donna chuckled and put on an apron covered with blue butterflies. "Don't I know it?" Then she cooked and served up the best biscuits and gravy I've ever had. It took a little coaxing, but she gave me her recipe that I promised to guard to the death.
After we finished eating, we sat at the kitchen table talking and laughing. It was like catching up with an old friend. We shared recipes, swapped stories and laughed until we were clutching our stomachs. Donna was a kindred spirit, and it saddened me that Ron had this loving woman in his life but still died alone in a public park. "Donna, I'm so sorry about Ron."
She patted my hand. "I know Scotti. And I appreciate it. I truly do."
"I just can't…" I stopped myself. I couldn't torture this lovely woman with my paranoid suspicions. "Never mind…"
/> "Can't what, honey?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. It's nothing."
Donna stood, smoothed her apron, then carried the dishes to the sink. "More coffee?"
I scooted back my chair and stood. "No, thanks. Shouldn’t we get to the cooking if we want to be ready for tomorrow?"
Donna rinsed the dishes then racked them in the dishwasher. "Ain't no cooking to do. Everybody's bringing something. Like I said, pot luck." She fanned her face with her hand. "And it's so God awful hot, nobody's going to want heavy food anyway." She smiled. "So, we're having picnic food. Seems right, you know?" She dried her hands on a towel that matched her apron. "Ron loved picnics. Sitting under a big ol' tree with some fried chicken was his idea of heaven."
I could still see Ron, sitting under that old pine, eating pie. "It must've been hard when he came home from Iraq."
She nodded and stumbled over a sob. "Uh-huh, it was." She cleared her throat. "First we were just wanting him to get through to the next day. To survive. Then later…" Her voice trailed and her eyes misted. "We just didn't know how to help him. But we kept trying anyway." She looked at me with defiant eyes. "But my brother wasn't crazy. He knew what was happening around him. Ron knew who he was and where he was."
I put an arm around her shoulders. "I know. I believe you."
She relaxed and her face filled with gratitude. "You do?"
I nodded. "Ron understood more than he let on. Maybe that's how he dealt with being on the streets." I held her gaze. "But, and don't take this the wrong way, why did he live on the streets? I get that his marriage fell apart, but he had you and other family. Why didn't he just live with you?"
Donna turned away and wiped an imaginary crumb off the counter.
I sighed. One day my big mouth would get me in so deep I'd never get out. "I'm sorry Donna, I'm just naturally nosy. If it's none of my business, just say so."
She turned back to me and squeezed my hand. "Oh no, honey. That didn't upset me like you think. I can see you cared about my baby brother. And it comforts me that there was somebody out there looking out for him. You just don’t know how much that comforts me." She paused and sucked in a sob. "I don't want to be talking out of school but that wife of his…"
"Marika?"
She couldn't hide what she thought about her sister-in-law and it wasn't good. "Even before he went over there, she had him twisted like the roots of an old oak tree." Donna waved her arms like she was shooing flies. "When she kicked him out, he thought nobody wanted him." She made a face and put her hands on her hips. "Like if Princess Marika don't want you, nobody does. You know what I'm saying?"
I did know what she was saying. I knew how one devastating betrayal could make you suspicious of anyone who tried to be a friend. "I'm sorry."
Donna leaned against the sink and hugged herself. "I don't believe he did it."
My ears perked up. "Did what?"
"Killed himself — accidental or otherwise." Our eyes met, and she saw we shared the same conviction. "You don’t believe it either, do you?"
I shook my head. "He hated the meds. He said they made him crazy."
Donna nodded. "That's right. Ron wasn't crazy, except when he took those damn pills." She held up her hands. "I know, I know, that's the medicine that's supposed to help them, but it don't. When he took those pills his nightmares were a hundred times worse than when he didn't. Made him feel like he was somebody else. It scared him. So you tell me, why'd he turn around and take thirty of them?"
Stunned, I dropped back into my chair. "Thirty?"
Donna refilled our coffee cups and sat at the table. "That's what the M.E. figured."
Even though I wanted to jump on the disbelief train with Donna, I had to be careful — cheerleading her could end up smacking me in the head. And I didn't want the whole LAPD pissed off at me. "The way it was explained to me was that his short term memory tripped him up." I looked into her disbelieving eyes. "He took a few, then forgot he took them and took more until he just took too many."
Donna pounded the table. "Bullshit! My brother wasn't no feeble-minded idiot." She shook her head emphatically and stabbed a finger in the air. "Truth is, they just don't care. One more homeless guy off the streets, and they're fine with that."
I should've just sympathized and kept my mouth shut. I knew better than to open up a new can of what-ifs. I just knew better but I said, "What do you think happened?"
Donna leaned across the table and lowered her voice like someone might overhear us. "I think he saw something. Over there. And whatever he saw followed him home."
I tilted my head. "What do you mean, followed him home? Like from Iraq?"
Donna nodded. "There was a man following him."
Gently I asked, "Is that something Ron told you? Or something you know?"
Donna twisted her apron in her hands. "I know it. I saw him." I raised my brows.
She held up a hand and shook her head. "Not long enough to tell you what he looked like. But Ron wasn’t lying — a man was following him."
I remembered what Mike had said at Sizzler's. "One of his buddies from the park said something about Jody. Could that be who was following him? Did he know somebody named Jody?"
Donna frowned. "Jody?" She shook her head and then snapped her fingers. "No baby, that's Army slang." I furrowed my brow. "A Jody is a civilian who’s doing your woman while your off fighting the war."
I tried to hide my reaction but didn’t do a good job of it. By Donna's definition, Beidemeyer was the Jody. "So it's a thing, not a particular person?"
Donna probed me with her dark eyes. "What? Do you know something?"
I dug Daniels' card out of my bag and handed it to her. "I know he talked to you after they found Ron. But I think you should go talk to him again. Share your concerns?"
She frowned at the card and tossed it on the kitchen table. "He ain't interested."
I put my hand over hers and squeezed it. "Try again, Donna. Detective Daniels is a friend of mine. Tell him I sent you. He’ll listen."
Her eyes burned into me like a laser. "You do know something."
I shrugged. "No. I don't know. Maybe." I sighed and slouched over the table. "I just think something is very wrong here." I looked up at her. "I don’t have any proof of anything. It's just a gut feeling."
She pursed her lips and said, "Will you help me?"
<<>>
Friday night, the temperature was eighty-seven degrees and the score was 10-2. All the Jordan boys looked sexy in their uniforms and were damn good players. But the players on the opposing team were monsters — bred to spit, play ball, grab their crotches and gloat. Thankfully, the massacre paused during the seventh inning, allowing us to catch a breath and get something cold to drink.
Ted's prediction seemed likely to come true — his brothers would ride his ass hard. Not because he was a bad pitcher, actually he was damn good. Killer fast ball and a pretty mean curve ball. But every member of the opposing team could legitimately have been nicknamed slugger or killer. So from the four hits Ted had allowed, ten runs racked up on the wrong side of the scoreboard.
Ted and Tom, pitcher and catcher respectively, huddled on the mound talking strategy. Both men serious and communicating as much with their eyes as their voices while shoving sweaty hair under ball caps. I waved to Ted, but he was in the jock zone, and no women existed there.
Somewhere between the sixth and seventh inning I'd lost track of Zelda too. So, like the rest of the spectators, I walked to the food truck at the edge of the field that served as the concession stand. I wondered if Zelda and I could get a piece of that action. Cupcakes and pies at a baseball game? Interesting concept.
I shuffled forward in line behind the wives and girlfriends of the winning players. It was easy to spot them — they were the happy, chatty ones.
Steve tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey."
I looked up. "Hey. Intense game."
Steve nodded and wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. "The weather
isn't helping any. And what the hell's up with this humidity?" Steve had the unenviable position of right field, and he'd been running most of the night.
My eyes drifted to Ted and Tom. Still huddled. Still serious. "Are you really going to bust his balls when it's over?"
M.urder R.eady to E.at (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 2) Page 12
