by A. J. Norris
Grace and Mikey lagged behind Davis when they reached the path that wound around the pond. Mikey pointed out the different plants, explaining which ones were annuals and perennials like a florist.
“Wow, you know a lot about this stuff. How often do you visit?”
“Brayden likes this place.”
“So how often?”
“So, a lot.” She bent down and sniffed a few of the roses. Her behind looked amazing in the jeggings she’d put on when they stopped over her place for a few of her things. Mikey couldn’t wait to get her home later.
Davis stopped at an empty bed that surrounded the pond. A flatbed loaded with a Japanese maple and several cartons of perennial flowers and ornamental grasses had been left near the plot.
Mikey looked at the dirt and imagined the best way to plant the vegetation for optimal aesthetics. After all, he was the only artist of the three of them. “I think the maple should be the focal point but let’s make this interesting.”
“Whatever you suggest is fine with me,” Davis said.
Mikey rubbed his chin. “All right, the tree in the back on the right. Tall grasses in a cluster here,” he pointed on the left, “flowers in the middle, and low grasses up front.”
Grace nodded in agreement. “You’re such a botanist.”
“What?”
“Yeah, you heard me. Trying to make it seem like this isn’t your thing. Blaming your son for coming here so much. But I get it. I’m onto you.”
A lopsided grin spread across Mikey’s face. “I don’t think you know what you’re taking about. I don’t like this place.”
They both chuckled.
“Liar. You do too.”
He came up to her; their chests brushed each other’s. Against her mouth he said, “Shhh, don’t spread rumors.” She stood on her tippy toes and pressed her lips to his.
“Ahem,” Davis cleared his throat. “When you two lovebirds are done I’ll be over here. Sitting on this bench. Right. Here.” He pointed to where he was going to sit.
Mikey laughed. “All right, all right. Let’s get started.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
Harry
Harry should have cancelled his plans with Gena. Gracie still wasn’t taking his calls. She’d texted him with the last name of the man who’d attacked her but didn’t answer when he’d called her right back. Over the last forty-eight hours he’d left four messages, each one sounded more pathetic than the last.
The only thing he was interested in right now was getting Gena into the sack. Unfortunately, his moral code required him to buy her dinner first. Call him old-fashioned, he had to at least pretend to care. The truth was she had a similar look to his late wife. Same hair color and figure and all.
Gena sat across from him after they met each other at their usual restaurant. The fact that they had a “usual” anything surprised him. Gena was younger than him by about ten years, maybe more. Remembering her age, although he did know she was over forty, seemed too complicated a concept. Also, this would signify he wanted more than sex. Which he didn’t. He liked her, but he didn’t want to marry her. Harry wasn’t a total ass though; he treated her well when they were together and always picked up the check.
“Harry, I was thinking…”
Uh oh.
He raised his eyebrows. “Uh huh?”
“Yeah. Why don’t you come over to my place tonight?”
“Uh.” Harry held his breath. “I have an early day tomorrow.” He had no interest in sleeping anywhere except his own bed, whether or not Gena was involved, that was her decision.
“On a Sunday?”
“Um…I work some weekends, you know.”
“When was the last time?”
“My daughter was…someone tried to hurt her…” He hesitated because he really shouldn’t discuss an open case, but decided he could be vague. Besides he wanted Gena to stop with all her questions.
Gena covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry. Is she all right?”
He waved off her overly concerned expression. “Yeah, yeah. Shaken up a bit. She’s tough, though.”
“I guess so. That’s scary.” She leaned back in the booth.
“Now you see why I have to work?”
She nodded.
He kept his eyes on the table. “Thanks. You’re welcome to come over.”
“I might be talked into that.” The light from the candle on the table sparkled in her eyes. He asked for the check, feeling a renewed lust for her.
Harry turned the corner onto his street, Chippewa Park. Grace’s car was parked in Natalie’s driveway. He slumped down in his seat as low as he could and still be able to see over the dashboard.
What am I doing?
If she were looking out the window, she’d still know who was in the tan Buick. He only owned one vehicle.
The garage door trundled up painfully slow.
Jesus. Come on.
He groaned to himself.
“Is everything all right?” Gena asked.
“Yeah. I can’t wait to get inside.” He killed the engine after starting the torturous closing of the garage.
She sucked in a breath. “Oooh, I like the sound of that.”
Wha…oh.
He’d almost forgotten he was about to get laid. Guilt or no guilt over Gracie and her mother, he needed to relieve some stress before his head exploded.
His bones cracked maneuvering himself out of the car. He stretched his arms over his head and behind his back. At one time Harry had six-pack abs and he could’ve sworn he was once taller.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Just limbering up,” he said and opened the door to the house.
Gena took four steps and spun around. Harry ran into her in the darkened hallway outside the kitchen. She pulled him into a kiss. She was tall for a woman, or maybe it was the shrinking-man thing again. Oh, who cared? Harry broke the kiss and led her to the bedroom.
Once inside the room, she headed for the bed. He came up behind her while he unzipped his pants. She slid her hair over one of her shoulders. His lips found her neck and kissed and sucked.
“Oh, that feels good,” she moaned.
He undid her pants and moved them down her thighs. “Bend over,” he purred in her ear.
“Anything you want.”
Harry thanked God for women over forty who’d had hysterectomies. He pressed into her slick channel, deciding to make this a quickie in the process. Hard and fast was the way Gena liked doing it anyway. He wasn’t into making love any more than she was. Gena never minded when he called her Annie during sex. Who would put up with that other than someone not thinking long term? Not many women.
Sweat dripped down his cheek. He panted jagged breaths. He adjusted his grip on her hips. A couple more thrusts and the walls of her began milking him. She pitched forward and he followed, driving her into the mattress. His orgasm gathered and built.
“Oh…oh…oh…ahhh…Nat-alie…” He collapsed onto her back with an elbow on either side of her, his heart pounding.
“Did you…call me Natalie?”
“No.” He swallowed hard and licked his lips.
“Yeah, you did. Who’s Natalie?” She rolled to her side and pushed him off her back.
“Um…”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You know, I put up with you calling me Annie because she’s your dead wife and there’s no threat to me, but Natalie? No. No way.” Gena stood and fixed her pants and underwear. “I’ll be leaving now. Fun while it lasted, huh?” She stomped down the hall.
“Hey, wait, let me give you a ride home,” he called but didn’t run after her.
“Don’t bother! I’ll walk!” The front door creaked.
Harry sat up on the bed. “You live over a mile away.”
“Goodbye, Harry!”
SLAM! The walls of the house shook.
“Natalie? Really?”
CHAPTER
&nb
sp; THIRTY-NINE
Mikey
As far as receptionists went, Mandy had proven her staying power. She’d survived an entire week. Mikey liked her. She was sassy although respectful to customers. Her thin arms gave her tattoo sleeve femininity. The roses in thin black lines done with a fine needle only had splashes of color.
Mikey finished up his last client for the day. After the dude paid and was out the door, he cleaned up his work area, including the padded lounge chair. He had a seat and stretched out, laying his head against the headrest.
The phone rang.
“Ink Addiction,” Mandy answered. She listened to the caller. “Um…I’m not sure…what? …Um, I’ll have to see if he’s available.”
Mikey sat up and waved “no” at her. He was done for the night and wished he’d left instead of being lazy.
“Uh huh. I understand but he’s not taking any more clients tonight.” She held the phone away from her ear. Mikey heard the guy squawking on the other end from across the room. Mandy put the phone on her shoulder. “He’s insisting on talking to you.”
Mikey lumbered to his feet. Who is it? he mouthed on the way to the phone.
“It’s that guy,” she whispered.
He wasn’t in the mood for whatever idiot was on the phone; he could say ‘that guy’ about a number of his regulars.
“Hello, this is Mike.”
“Your receptionist said—”
He talked over the caller. “Sorry, but I’m not doing any more tattoos tonight, man. I’m all tapped out. We can schedule you for—”
“Not acceptable.”
Mikey didn’t listen to the rest. He recognized the voice. “Cody? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Excuse me?”
“Excuse you. You got some balls. Don’t contact me again!” Mikey slammed the phone down.
Mandy’s face lit up. “Wow. I don’t think I ever seen you get mad before.”
He braced himself on the counter. “I get mad sometimes.”
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
“Should I get that?” she asked.
Ring.
“Ink Addiction,” Mikey said into the phone. When he heard Cody’s familiar throat clearing, he hung the phone up and unplugged the cord from the back of its cradle. “I can’t believe that bastard. If you see him again, call the police.”
Mandy stared at him. “What happened?”
“He attacked Grace.”
Mandy’s eyes became saucers. “What?”
“You heard me right.”
“Oh my God.” She put her hand over her open mouth. “Is she all right? And more importantly, why is he not in jail?”
“Beats the hell out of me. She’s fine. Freaked out, but fine.”
“That’s messed up. He must have jumbo balls to call here after that.”
“Yep.” He blew out a breath. “I’m tired…Grace is waiting at my house for me. Let me walk you out.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Harry
Harry studied Cedric’s living room. He had photocopies of old news stories pinned to the wall. Pictures of the murder victims were stuck to a city road map at the locations where the bodies were found. The map was an artist’s rendition drawn in perspective and on the cartoonish side, meant for tourists. He scratched his head. “Good Lord, Cedric. When I asked for your help, I didn’t mean make a wall collage. What is all this stuff?”
“It’s only a few things. I was thinking about your suspect. The two murders were eerily similar to an unsolved from about a year ago.” Cedric limped over and stood next to him.
“I’m listening.” Harry sipped his coffee.
“You ever think about cuttin’ back on the caffeine?”
Harry glanced at his friend then went back to staring at the wall in front of them. “What about the unsolved?”
“Same MO. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head, but the woman had dark hair.”
“Yeah. No connection to Hardin that we know of.” Harry looked into his empty Timmy H cup, like he could will more coffee to appear.
“I know. But these recent killings might be related. Maybe you should do a little more digging on this Chelsea Rand girl.” Cedric pointed to the girl’s picture with his cane and tapped the news print photo.
“I thought about that, but now I have a more pressing matter. Grace.”
“Yeah, I know, she’s pissed at you.”
“Not that. She was attacked, and I think by the same man who committed these murders.” He mumbled a curse; he missed his daughter.
“Shit!” Cedric exclaimed. “I assume since you’re standing here, she’s all right.”
“Yeah. Funny thing is she knew the guy, or met him once.”
“Where’s your daughter hanging out these days?”
“Watch it.” Harry narrowed his eyes at his friend.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”
“Forget it,” Harry said. “We ran his name and came up with nothing. Either it’s an alias or he’s completely off the grid. A ghost.”
“Not likely,” Cedric countered. “Do me a favor and check the old case files on that Rand girl. Maybe something will look differently now.” He stabbed the floor with his walking stick on the way back to his recliner. Harry stepped closer to the news clippings on the wall for a better look. He read one of the articles about Chelsea Rand. It was before her body had been found and she was still a missing person. The headline read,
WOMAN MISSING SINCE TUESDAY.
“You said you were thinking about the suspect, Hardin?”
“Yeah about that. I don’t think he did it but I think the murderer knows him,” Cedric said.
“Why, you think he’s targeting him? Except how do you explain the tips we received?”
“I’m not looking at that. And besides, you already mentioned you think they were both from the ex-wife with an agenda.” Cedric popped up the footrest on the Laz-E-Boy.
“Yeah, but I may be reconsidering my earlier position.”
“Oh bullshit, Harry. Talk to your suspect. Find out if he knew Chelsea Rand. If he did then decide.”
“I hate it when you make sense. And why didn’t you become a cop again?”
“I decided to go to prison instead. Thought it’d be fun.”
Harry had no idea how Cedric had forgiven him for putting him in prison.
“Sit down, Harry. Tell me why Gracie’s mad at you, again.”
“What are you, my shrink now?” Harry tilted his head back. “Fine.” He flopped down on the sofa, the plastic cover creaking beneath him. He briefly wondered if he needed to bathe after, or wash his hands. “You don’t have sex on this thing, do you?”
“Why do you think there’s a cover on it?”
Harry cringed. Cedric laughed. “Gotcha, didn’t I? No, I don’t have sex on my couch. I’m not that limber.”
Harry sighed. “She found out about my women.”
“How?”
“Natalie.”
“Oh, I like her. Go on.”
Harry glared at the man. “Anyway, now she won’t talk to me. Neither of them.”
“Since when do you care about what Natalie thinks?”
“She was Annie’s best friend. I think about her sometimes. Uh, I mean, I…whatever.” He couldn’t look his friend in the eye.
Cedric shook his head and laughed under his breath. “What’s wrong with Natalie or you, that you can’t admit you have a thing for the po’ woman?”
“What makes you think I have a thing for her?”
Cedric glared at him. “You.”
“Me? What are you talking about?” Harry picked lint off his pants.
“Never mind. So Grace…”
“Won’t except my calls.”
“Good. About time you stood on your own two feet. Got her so crazy, worrying about you all the time.”
“Worried about me?”
“Yeah, you. All them birthday celebrations for her dead mama. H
ow would that not mess with her head? I’d been worried about you too, if I didn’t know what you was up to all these years.”
“Hmm…”
“Yeah, hmm.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
Mikey
The doorbell to Ink Addiction chimed and Mikey inwardly groaned. He ducked behind the curtain toward the back of the shop. Through a gap he watched Detective Harry Hunter survey the parlor until he spotted the glass top counter and Mandy.
Her bright smile greeted him. “What can we help you with today?”
“Looking for Mikey Hardin. Is he here?”
Please don’t tell him I’m here.
“Yeah, he’s in the back.” She nodded in Mikey’s direction.
Dammit.
“Mike!” she shouted. Her feet padded toward him. “Mike…”
He came out of his hiding spot and nearly ran into her.
Her face flushed. “Oh…this guy is here to see—”
“I heard.”
Mandy returned to her post behind the counter as Hunter joined Mikey back by his work station, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Hardin, need to have a word with you.”
What now?
“All right.” He waved him over. “We’ll need to make this quick, got another tattoo to do in twenty minutes.”
“This won’t take long. I’ll come right out with it. Do you know a Chelsea Rand?” Hunter scrutinized Mikey’s face.
“No, can’t say I do. Is there a reason you’re asking about her?”
“She was found murdered.”
“Another one? Shit, when?”
Harry sipped his coffee, eyeing Mikey over the rim of the cup. “About a year ago.”
“And you think I had something to do with it?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “When is this nightmare going to end?” he muttered under his breath.
“What’s that?” Hunter asked.
“Nothing. When did you say she was killed?”
