The Edge of Night

by Jill Sorenson

  Her funeral had been this morning. April took Jenny along, avoiding eye contact with Tony’s friends while Lola’s mother wept. Again, she regretted never reaching out to Lola and tried not to imagine a similar demise for Josefa.

  Eddie and most of the Club Suave staff had also attended. Her boss looked stiff and formal in an ill-fitting black suit, the cuffs a half inch too short, buttons straining over his midsection. The waitresses clung together, pretty and sedate with their pulled-back hair and minimal makeup. April read the expressions of fear and sorrow on their faces, feeling hollow. Lola had caused a lot of friction at the club. She’d been high maintenance, high drama. But no one had wished her this sad end.

  The entire neighborhood was in mourning. Lola had been a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, a coworker. Chula Vista had lost too many residents to drugs, violence, and gangs. Everyone who lived here had been touched by death.

  The same tragedies that rocked the city made it stronger. The community members came together through similar experiences and a shared heritage. Many were survivors who’d endured hard times before.

  Like the funeral service, Josefa’s departure had been a quiet, heartrending affair. Jenny had cried for hours, finally falling into a fitful sleep late that evening. She liked the lively atmosphere at Consuela’s house and seemed to be adjusting well to the change of caretakers, but she asked about her grandmother often.

  April hadn’t heard from Josefa since she left.

  Jenny also had questions about Officer Young—Noah. Who was that man, Mommy? Why was he talking to you?

  Besides Eric, there were no men in their lives. Even before Raul went to prison, he hadn’t taken much of an interest in parenting.

  April hadn’t had a father when she was growing up, either. Her dad lived fast and died young; her parents never married. It had always been just the two of them, April and Josefa. Then, after Jenny came along, just the three of them.

  The house seemed so empty without her mother there.

  Now that the extra bedroom was available and every vestige of her mother was scrubbed away, April had a queen-sized bed to herself. The additional space felt odd. She’d tossed and turned every night this week, plagued with concerns about finances, neighborhood troubles, and Josefa’s well-being.

  There was another, more embarrassing problem. Seeing Noah at the park had thrown her hormones into overdrive, and being alone in that big bed amplified her discomfort. She couldn’t stop imagining his strong hands all over her body, stroking her to completion.

  Sleep had been elusive, and she was exhausted.

  Although she felt like slumping in the nearest chair, April held her head high, delivering the bill to a table of raucous college boys. Only one more hour until closing time. She couldn’t wait to shower and crawl into bed.

  The loudest guy at the table reached out as she passed by, detaining her. “It’s my friend’s twenty-first birthday,” he shouted. “How about a lap dance?”

  April stared at the hand on her hip. No one would ever grab a waitress this way in a restaurant, let alone ask her to put on a sleazy show. It was insulting and idiotic. “Sure,” she said anyway, smothering a yawn. “Who’s the birthday boy?”

  With a lopsided grin, the customer pointed at the ruddy-faced guy on her left. He looked harmless and a little reluctant.

  She held out her hand, inviting him to come with her. When he stood, she did a quick, graceful maneuver, taking his seat. Once there, she smiled up at him expectantly, waiting for him to start dancing.

  The guy glanced around the table in surprise, realizing he’d been duped. His friends burst out laughing.

  April pantomimed opening a shirt, encouraging him to take it off.

  He was a good sport, and his friends were egging him on, so he unbuttoned his shirt for her, swaying his hips to the music. April applauded his efforts, enjoying the role reversal. His physique was less than svelte, which made the striptease even funnier.

  Laughing, she patted his backside when he turned around.

  When she’d first started waitressing, she was afraid of her customers. Over the years she’d gained enough confidence to joke around. She was still careful about letting them get too close, but she didn’t suspect every man she waited on of wanting to hurt her.

  Before she left the table—with a great tip—she kissed the birthday boy on the cheek to thank him.

  On her way back to the cash register, she noticed a man standing at the bar, watching her. His stance was casual; shoulders relaxed, hands in his pants pockets. He was wearing a simple white dress shirt and tan trousers.

  It was Noah.

  She’d seen him this morning at Lola’s funeral. He’d paid his respects and left, never having approached her. She wondered if he had a girlfriend. A man like him wouldn’t have any trouble attracting beautiful, willing women.

  There were a couple of hungry-eyed young ladies checking him out right now.

  Although he couldn’t have been oblivious to the attention, his gaze didn’t linger on any particular female as he surveyed the room. Rather, he nodded at the group of college boys she’d just waited on.

  Realizing he’d witnessed the spectacle, she felt a flush rise to her cheeks.

  “Is spanking one of your regular job duties?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

  “Only on birthdays.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  She couldn’t resist smiling back at him. Out of uniform, he was even more handsome. His shirt fit nicely, accenting his broad shoulders. With the sleeves rolled up and the tails not tucked in, he looked comfortable. He wasn’t trying too hard to be cool, and she liked that. She’d never been impressed by the guys with bulging biceps, designer T-shirts, and gelled hair.

  Mirror-kissers, the waitresses called them. They didn’t tip well.

  “I’d offer you a drink,” she said, leaning her hip against the bar, “but last call was five minutes ago.”

  “I didn’t come to drink.”

  She wanted to ask why he came. The idea that he’d made a special trip for her made her throat go dry. She swallowed, staring at the open collar of his shirt. The other day she’d caught a glimpse of his bare stomach. It was taut with muscle, slick with sweat.

  The sight had played a major role in her fantasies all week.

  “I’m working, actually. Scoping out the clientele.”

  She blinked away an image of her sprawled over him, her cheek resting on his flat belly. Concentrating on the clothed Noah, she lifted her gaze from his torso. This morning he’d been wearing a tie and jacket. “Were you working at Lola’s funeral?”

  “I would have gone anyway.”

  “Why?”

  He paused, considering the question. “Because I feel connected to her. I was the first on the scene.” His blue eyes met hers, intense and earnest. “Her death … the case … it’s very important to me.”

  The lights overhead clicked on, a rude glare that signaled closing time. Grumbling patrons began to shuffle out the front entrance. April crossed her arms over her chest, self-conscious in her cheap outfit and heavy makeup.

  Noah was so clean-cut, so handsome and sincere. In contrast, she felt soiled, as if the grit of the club coated her skin. Her hair probably smelled like booze and cheap cologne. “What about Tony?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “He has an alibi.”

  “You don’t think he’s responsible?”

  “No. But he’s involved in some other crimes, so it was good to get him off the streets. You did the right thing.”

  She glanced toward Eddie’s office. He hadn’t said a word about Lola, but he’d donated some funds for the funeral. Perhaps his conscience was bothering him. “I have to clear tables.”

  “When do you get off?”

  “A little after two.”

  “Can we talk?”

  She felt a twinge of unease. Or maybe it was just excitement. At the park, when he’d asked about Raul, she’d been convinc
ed that his interest was personal. He wanted to know if she was available. For him.

  April was an expert in letting men down easy. She received offers from customers almost every night. Some requested her phone number or tried to give her a friendly hug. Others invited her to wild after-parties, hot-tub socials, and hotel-room trysts.

  None had tempted her half as much as Noah.

  “I’ll wait for you in the parking lot,” he said, studying her face.

  Although a polite demurral was second nature to her, her mouth refused to form the words. “Okay.”

  He turned his attention back to the crowd, his lips curving with satisfaction. The expression was another hint that he wanted more than information from her.

  Heart pounding, she went behind the bar and filled a glass tumbler with ice and lemon-lime soda. Any amount of interaction with him was a risk. Eddie would assume she was turning against the neighborhood, telling secrets.

  Hand steady from years of practice, she passed Noah the tumbler, watching while he took a measured sip. He didn’t seem surprised that she remembered his preference.

  She stared at his mouth, wondering how it would taste.

  Blushing, she blinked out of her stupor, grabbing an empty tray from the bar as she walked away. Feeling his eyes on her backside, she added a little extra swing to her hips. Then she glanced over her shoulder, catching him looking.

  He smiled, guilty as charged. And lifted his drink, saluting her efforts.

  Laughing breathlessly, she set her tray down and started to clear off tables.

  Noah watched the Club Suave parking lot from a distance, drumming his hands against the steering wheel.

  Over the past week, the trail had grown cold. Santiago seemed convinced that the murder was a random act of violence, but Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer would strike again. He’d driven by the club several times this week, scanning the parking lot.

  Although Eddie Estes, the club’s manager, had been investigated, he’d been working late the night of the murder. Security cameras showed him leaving the club at 5:00 A.M., well after the estimated time of death.

  Estes might not be a murderer, but he was a shady character, and Noah didn’t like him.

  He was also disappointed with the lack of progress in the investigation. Most homicide cases that weren’t wrapped in the first forty-eight hours went unsolved, so he knew the clock was ticking. Failure would be devastating, and it wasn’t even his case.

  Noah had been burning the candle at both ends all week, performing his regular duties on the gang unit and volunteering on homicide. He hadn’t been home much, and he suspected that Meghan was enjoying his absence. She had a job he couldn’t find fault with, and she’d enrolled at Southwest College. The other day she’d brought home a bag of groceries and some decorations for “her” room.

  She was definitely staying. And their mom was pissed.

  As the parking lot emptied of patrons, he kept his eyes peeled for suspicious characters. He saw a very drunk young woman, slumped against her friend’s shoulder, and a couple of possible DUI candidates. None of the drivers violated any traffic laws or showed obvious signs of impairment.

  After most of the customers had cleared the area, April came out of the back entrance, chatting with another waitress, Carmen.

  Trying to remain objective, he analyzed the similarities between April and Lola. They had the same hair and eye color, the same basic height. They were both slender, although April was a little curvier. From a distance, it would have been difficult to tell them apart.

  April waved goodbye to Carmen, yawning behind her hand. The streetlamps overhead cast shadows under her eyes, accentuating her fatigue. Inside the club, she hid it well, keeping her smile bright and her posture straight. If the sexy spike heels she wore made her feet ache, she didn’t show it.

  Noah felt a strange tug in the middle of his chest. He was familiar with physical desire, and he’d even been in love before. But he couldn’t remember having an overwhelming urge to give a woman sleep.

  He got out of his truck, letting her know he was there.

  She stopped near a ten-year-old beige Taurus, waiting for him with her arms crossed over her chest and a sardonic expression on her face. “I’m not going out with you.”

  Noah was surprised by the declaration. He hadn’t said anything about a date. And he wasn’t used to getting shot down in advance. “Fair enough,” he said anyway, clearing his throat. “Is this your car?”

  She followed his gaze, frowning. “Yes.”

  “Did you drive it to work last week?”

  “Actually, it was in the shop until Wednesday.”

  “For what?”

  “The air conditioner wasn’t working.”

  “Did you get it fixed?”

  “No,” she muttered. “I couldn’t afford the repair.”

  He nodded. “How did you get home on those nights?”

  “Carmen.”

  Noah rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the scrape of new stubble. Carmen had given Lola a ride the night she was murdered. Friday night. One week ago, exactly. “Did you have any trouble with customers last week? Or see any strange men in the neighborhood?”

  “Not that I recall. Why?”

  “You and Lola look kind of similar from a distance. It’s probably nothing.”

  April shivered, glancing around the deserted parking lot.

  “Do you mind if I follow you home? Just to make sure you get in safe.”

  “Okay,” she said, then, after a short pause, “but you’re not coming inside.”

  He agreed easily, though he found her boundaries a bit odd. In the club, she’d felt secure enough to flirt with him. Now that they were alone, she seemed stiff and uncomfortable, as if he’d made untoward advances.

  Shrugging, he got into his truck and turned on the engine.

  He knew he shouldn’t act on his attraction to her. Apparently she didn’t want him to, so crossing the line wouldn’t be a problem. No matter how intense their physical chemistry was, or how come-hither her eyes looked, he had to listen to what her mouth said.

  If a lady wasn’t available, she wasn’t available.

  He waited for April to exit the parking lot before he pulled away from the curb. Her resemblance to the victim might be coincidental, but he had a hunch that it wasn’t. He wanted to stick close to her. Protect her.

  April’s house was a small bungalow with a composite roof and stucco exterior. The front yard had a single fruit tree and a simple sidewalk. While she parked in the narrow garage, Noah idled by the curb, feeling frustrated on many different levels.

  Just as he was about to drive forward and call it a night, he noticed an open window. The screen lay propped against the side of the house, its frame bent. A white eyelet curtain fluttered in the breeze.

  There was no way April would leave the house unsecured like that. Not in this neighborhood.

  “Fuck,” he said, reaching into the glove compartment for his service revolver. As soon as the gun was in his hand, he jumped out of the truck, rushing toward the front door.

  It was ajar.

  He nudged the door open with his shoulder, holding the gun straight out in front of him, doing a quick survey of the living room. It was clear.

  April walked in from the garage, via the kitchen. When she saw him, her eyes widened with shock.

  Noah shook his head, imploring her to stay quiet. Pointing his gun toward the bedroom on his right, he gestured for her to go back out the way she came. She nodded once, disappearing.

  Relieved that she’d reacted sensibly, he strode forward, flipping on the light switch. The room was empty. Someone had gone through the dresser drawers, and there were items of clothing strewn across the hardwood floor.

  Other than that, the space was uncluttered, the bed neatly made.

  Noah found another empty room down the hall. It was Jenny’s, judging by the décor. The blanket on the bed featured a little cartoon girl wit
h brown hair and brown eyes. He moved on, checking the rest of the house, the garage, and the backyard. There was no one.

  Tucking his gun in the back of his pants, he went outside. April was standing near the curb, her arms crossed over her chest. She appeared annoyed rather than concerned.

  “It looks like you had a break-in,” he said. “Where’s Jenny?”

  “At the sitter’s. She stays overnight.”

  She walked through the front door and into the bedroom, staring at the clothing scattered on the floor. It was mostly bras and panties, he realized. A mix of serviceable white cotton and basic black.

  “Is anything missing?”

  Shaking her head, she knelt to scoop up the demure lingerie.

  “That’s evidence.”

  “Of what, my nonexistent sex life?”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “April, some rapists collect women’s underwear. They collect victims’ underwear.”

  She shoved the panties back in the drawer. “It’s not what you think. I kicked my mother out earlier this week. This room used to be hers, and she has a drug problem. I found pills taped to the underside of these drawers, so I flushed them down the toilet. She probably broke in, looking for her stash.”

  Noah was silent for a moment, absorbing the information. Her conclusion was more reasonable than the one he’d jumped to.

  He closed his eyes, cursing himself silently. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  She finished putting away her things and brushed by him, taking a seat on the living-room couch. “I appreciate your investigative fervor, Officer Young, but there’s nothing to see here. It’s just your regular, everyday family dysfunction.”

  He studied her face, wishing he could help her. No wonder she looked exhausted. He also figured she was embarrassed about revealing her problems—and her underwear—to a stranger.

  “What’s she on?” he asked, sitting across from her.

  “OxyContin, mostly.”

  “There’s a methadone clinic on E Street.”

  “Is it free?”

  “Of course.”

  She rubbed her temples. “I don’t think she’d go there. She doesn’t want help from anyone. She dates a lot of losers, but she doesn’t rely on them. I’m the only real family she has, and I haven’t heard from her since she left.” Her voice broke on the last sentence, and her shoulders slumped forward, shaking with emotion.