Maternal Harbor

by Marie F. Martin

  “Let’s go back and tell that handsome detective.”

  “Tell him what? That I get the creeps when I’m around one of his fellow officers?” Teagan shook her head. “This is silly. I’m just jumpy.”

  But Teagan knew that wasn’t so. Erica put her on guard. She hadn’t figured out why, but she planned to stay far away from her.

  Chapter 18

  Detective Lutavosky unfolded his sunglasses and walked from the Public Safety building with his eyes shaded by a new pair of Serengeti sport lenses. He paused for the light to change. Facts garnered in the last twenty-four hours scrolled through his mind: fearful Pai Sanders dead, neck broken by someone who knew how to, no indication of homicidal boyfriend, and Teagan O’Riley fighting for the Sander’s baby, seemingly a nice gal.

  “Hey,” called a voice behind him.

  Lute retreated to the curb and waited for Halstead to reach the corner.

  Hal’s chest worked; he had been hurrying. “Anything from the O’Riley statement I should know?”

  “Nothing new, but I’m guessing it isn’t your garden variety homicide.”

  “I’m glad CPS has that baby. Those two women are up to something. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a kiddie snatching ring.”

  “Where do you get that?”

  Hal pointed to Lute’s stomach. “Same place your guesses come from.”

  Lute sucked in his abs. “Guess it’s time to talk with the neighbors and check out Mrs. Sander’s friends. Dig into her past and see who has the better gut.”

  “Leg work on my sore ankle?” Hal’s limp was even more pronounced than last night as they hoofed downhill to the parking garage.

  Lute shortened his long stride to match Hal’s gimpy pace. “You’re out of shape for soccer,”

  “And you’re out of shape for shooting hoops. But what the hell, it’s a way to beat up on youngsters.”

  Lute chuckled.

  They entered the parking garage via a wide door on the main level and walked three rows in, then left to Lute’s unmarked Dodge Viper. Hal pinched up a greasy bag of popcorn from the passenger seat before he eased his sore leg inside and shut the door.

  “Be careful with that,” Lute said and buckled his seat belt.

  Hal wadded the top of the bag closed and tossed it into the backseat. “I can’t believe you munch that crap.”

  “Keeps me sane. Have you answered any homicide calls near the Sanders apartment village in the last year or so?”

  “Nope. Why?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “You should at least have a reason for your, don’t knows. Let’s get going. I’d like to start with the neighbors before lunch.”

  Lute rolled from the parking garage, worked through downtown traffic, and accelerated out on I-5.

  “Sheesh,” Hal muttered. “Can you believe the Mariner’s got beat again? Every damned year they come up short. They better damned well bring in a new manager.”

  “I wouldn’t want that job. Or work on a freighter like Mr. Sanders. He’s probably going nuts trying to get home.”

  “What he probably has is a knocked-up gal in every port.”

  Lute let that ride and settled into silence until they entered a maze of tall apartment buildings. A playground and greenbelt park ran from the entrance, along one side of the first cluster of apartments and around to the back. Preschool kiddies climbed on a jungle gym, their mothers gossiped by the fence, and a rumpled elderly man watched from a bench – all at peace, as though no one met an untimely death just the day before. The yellow police tape across the entrance of the Sanders’ apartment was the only sign of the tragedy.

  Interviewing neighbors of a crime scene came with the job, but Lute hated bothering folks. Rookie feeling that should’ve faded a long time ago. He hung back, letting Hal boldly rap against doors or push bells; however, Lute listened carefully, making mental notes of anything that might prove useful.

  The neighbors relayed nothing of importance until Halstead knocked on an apartment one floor above the Sanders’ place.

  The door cracked open. A tiny, moon-faced woman peered through the opening, apprehension evident in her dark eyes. She wore a sateen peacock-blue shirt with black tights and flip-flops. Her thick dark hair was cut in a page boy.

  Lute suspected her bright, shiny outfit camouflaged a quiet nature, and he stayed well back. His towering frame had intimidated much larger people than this mite of a woman and he did not want to frighten her with his size.

  Halstead showed her his badge. “This is Detective Lutavosky, and I’m Detective Halstead. And you are?”

  “Sung Lee.”

  “We’re investigating the death of Pai Sanders.”

  Her eyes pooled and her bottom lip trembled. “Very sad,” she murmured so softly that Lute barely heard her singsong words.

  Halstead cleared his throat. “You knew her?”

  “A little.”

  “Could we come inside and talk?”

  Trembling, Sung Lee shook her head. “No, no. I have to go to work. Many nails have to be painted by tonight.”

  “Let’s talk out here,” Lute said pleasantly. He stepped back and shot Halstead a look of annoyance.

  Sung Lee stepped out onto the landing, pulling the door closed, keeping her back to it, and holding onto the knob.

  “Don’t be frightened,” Lute added. “We just need to learn all we can about Mrs. Sanders. Will you help us?”

  “She was a new mother and nervous about it – so terribly nervous.”

  Keeping his tone as light as possible, Lute asked, “Did you notice anything unusual the afternoon Mrs. Sanders died?”

  “A policeman visited her.”

  “An officer?”

  Sung Lee nodded, the motion slight. She glanced in both directions down the walkway. Her low words rushed out, “I was returning a package of rice noodles when I saw him knocking on Pai’s door. I couldn’t intrude and came back to my place.”

  “Would you recognize him?”

  “Never saw his face.”

  “Did you notice a squad car?”

  “No. I left for work and didn’t see Pai again. She was a good person. We all liked her. That’s all I can tell you.” She turned the doorknob.

  “We?”

  Lute’s question stopped her from retreating inside. “Lots of Korean women live here.” As her words died, she lowered her eyes and crossed her arms.

  Lute knew further questions were futile. “Thank you for your help.”

  Without another word, she ducked back inside her apartment.

  Hal bristled. “Should’ve been in the prelims that a call was logged at the Sanders residence. Another damn rookie mistake or some uniform is banging the ladies like that one. Who knows what’s behind these doors.”

  Lute didn’t like Hal’s tone or the implication against another officer. “I’ll find out who.”

  Hal moved to the next door, but Lute lingered near Sung Lee’s apartment. He sensed she was probably leaning against the closed door, wishing they’d leave. And she certainly hadn’t wanted them to see inside her apartment. He felt uneasy. Why?

  Hal banged on the next door.

  While Hal questioned a teenager who should’ve been in school, Lute mulled over their talk with Sung Lee. Was she hiding something? Or just fearful of the police?”

  The teenager swore he didn’t know anything and shut his door.

  “That kid’s right about one thing,” Hal muttered. “He doesn’t know shit from shine-ola. That’s the last apartment. I’m ready to call it quits.”

  “Not yet. I want to check the perimeter.” Lute loped down the stairs two at a time and strode across the park with the gait of a long-legged athlete.

  Hal struggled to keep pace. “What the hell are you looking for?” His voice rasped, already short of breath.

  “I want to see what Pai Sanders stared at through the window. Her carpet by the balcony door was pressed down more than any part of the apartment. Sh
e spent hours looking outside.”

  To the back, the development ended with a deep ravine. A snarl of blackberry canes separated the tenants from the dangers of the steep drop off. A few dried berries hung between the stiff leaves and thorns. Lute ambled on through the complex for a couple of blocks. He traveled in a circular route and covered every spot where Pai’s sliding glass door would be visible.

  Hal lagged so far behind that Lute finally waited for him to catch up. “Hal, I’m thinking this case is as snarled as those blackberry brambles, but one thing is certain. Someone was stalking Mrs. Sanders.”

  “You got all that from our little walk?” Hal pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

  “I got that from the hole in the berry bushes. Someone has been hiding in them. Grass was worn flat. No dried berries were within an arm’s reach. Our stalker likes to nibble to pass time.”

  Hal sighed. “I’ll phone it in to Forensics.” His cell phone was lost in his stubby hand. After requesting a crew, he snapped it shut muttering about wasted time.

  “By the way,” Lute said. “CPS is giving that baby to Ms. O’Riley this afternoon.”

  “Are they crazy?”

  Lute didn’t answer, just waited for the lab boys in silence, while Hal ragged about the laxity at CPS and the consequences of it.

  Erica lay flat on her bed, eyes squeezed shut, forehead furrowed, arms crossed. She could have been lying dead in a coffin. She relived the snap of Pai’s neck. Her fingers tingled from the sensation. A thrill vibrated down through her groin to the spot she battled for purity. She waited for the need to go away, waited quiet until her arms and legs tingled from numbness.

  “Iska, I can’t send Jimmy yet. I know. I know. I didn’t want to send the mother.”

  “Levi? You want Levi in the Peaceful Place?”

  The void offered no answer.

  Derek’s happiness?

  In one fluid motion, Erica rose and opened the closet. The starched and pressed uniforms hung neatly on one side. Ignoring them, she slipped a raw silk suit from a hanger and tossed it on the bed. She pulled on a garter belt. Black nylons glided up her legs. She rubbed them until the back seams were flawless and stepped into spiked heels. The red skirt slithered into place, and she zipped the side closed. Braless, she donned the matching jacket, leaving the top button open. She bent forward and to the side. Her breast showed all but the nipple. She checked the other side. The taut nipple stayed covered but the shape of it pressed against the silk.

  From a Styrofoam head on the closet’s top shelf, she lifted a long honey blonde wig that cascaded along her arms as she brought it down. She tugged it into place and straightened the tresses to ride against her cheekbones. Cosmetics were more of a problem. Unpracticed in applying them, she redid the mascara several times.

  A vibrant sexy woman gazed from the mirror, dressed in her mother’s clothes; the ones worn only when Daddy worked night shift and Grandma was told to keep Erica busy. “Sheesh,” Mother said time and again. “It won’t kill you to pay attention to your granddaughter. Play her some Monopoly or Rummy and she won’t drive you nuts.”

  After the door slammed behind Mother, Grandma would play the games, but without words, face sad, never smiling. Sometimes Erica excused her from playing, sometimes not.

  Erica smoothed the jacket and the soft, sensuous fabric caressed her skin. The disguise was perfect. Elation coursed throughout the erogenous zones of her body. Again, she called on her skills to fight cravings caused by clinging silk.

  She spoke to the woman in the mirror, “Hello, Mother.” Erica waited for an acknowledgment, but Mother just mimicked her moves, even tasted the lipstick on her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

  For a fleeting moment a quivering, luminescent image surfaced, then disappeared into the silver behind the glass. Mother slid the skirt up her thighs, exposing her crotch. Her blonde hair curled softly between her legs. She cupped herself. “Erica, this is how you prepare for a dance, you must stimulate yourself, be ready to sparkle for the man who holds you in his arms so his fingers will wander, touch more.” She pressed against her hand and moved slowly, working her fingers. “Girls are never too young to learn. I can teach you all kinds of tricks to bring you pleasure. Oh don’t look at me like that. I just want you to be alive.” She arched then spun, white legs flashing in the mirror.

  Moisture touched Erica’s palm and she sickened. The skirt dropped back in place. Erica reached for a black shoulder bag hanging on a hook inside the closet. She put her Glock and the switchblade inside the flap, draped the strap across her shoulder, and stole a last look into the mirror.

  Your mother was impure, not you.

  “Thank you, Iska.”

  Parked in the garage beside the black Blazer was the only good thing her mother bought with Grandma’s insurance money–a black Mercedes. Erica slid onto the rich seat, fired the finely tuned engine, and listened to it purr. She revved the accelerator, taking pleasure that the eight cylinders purred evenly, and that her wimpy grandmother’s death paid for it.

  Erica hated how Grandma always held in her feelings, never allowed her thoughts to flow in word or action, always afraid to say or do the wrong thing or bring attention. I could’ve taught her how to stand firm, showed her how to stare down idiots into a pile of mush, guided her to unafraid emotions – ones that could hit first and tell Daddy about Mother’s dirty little secrets.

  Erica stomped on the gas pedal and shot from the garage. Two black squiggly marks on the pavement reflected in the rear view mirror.

  Chapter 19

  Doretta pushed through the back gate of her family home. The small cornflower blue house drew constant glances, some with smiles, some with dismay. Florene braved all complaints with an attitude of tolerance; however, the color stayed. “Makes me feel special living in a color so bright,” she told her girls many times.

  “And it doesn’t hurt you girls to live tight.” And it didn’t. Neither Doretta nor her four sisters suffered any lasting damage from sharing a bedroom and bath, although that was one reason Doretta cherished being single. When she grew tired of a man hanging around, she simply booted him out and reclaimed her bathroom.

  Although her mother manicured the front yard, mud surrounded patches of grass in the back. Doretta sidestepped the gooey places. Inside the kitchen, yeasty bread dough rose in a crock on the table and beef stew simmered on the gas range. An old wood stove, kept for comfort among the new appliances, sat in one corner on a stone hearth, her mother’s creaky rocker beside it. Doretta set Levi’s carrier on the floor and sank into the chair. This time she hugged herself, gently rocking. Her eyes roamed the room as she soaked up the feeling of safety. A framed snapshot of her and her sisters sat on the top shelf of a wrought iron baker’s rack. She wondered which one was their mother’s favorite. Not me, she thought. But darn, right now, she needed to be; she needed some good old fashioned sympathy.

  “I’m sorry your friend died,” Florene said from the doorway.

  “Me too, but right now I’m trying to rid myself of the hassle I just saw Teagan go through at CPS.”

  Florene harrumphed. “That place is full of long noses and hard heads.”

  “I still don’t understand why, but it was like someone pulled strings until Teagan convinced an officious broad to call Detective Lutavosky. He had contacted the shipping company and Duffy is on his way home. Jimmy is at Teagan’s now.

  Florene’s face beamed with a wide, toothy smile. “That does my heart good.”

  Levi stretched, drawing the two women’s attention.

  Florene crossed to him. “What did your mom do? Just left you on the floor like an old worn out shoe? Shame on her.” She gathered him into her arms and perched on her high stool at the counter. “He’s grown since yesterday.”

  “He should. He eats enough to feed ten babies.”

  “Girl, you’re late for work. You better get off your bottom if you wanna buy enough food for the next heavyweight champ
ion.”

  “I am. I am.” Doretta continued to sit, rocking gently, keeping the rhythm of the squeaks to mimic her mother rocking the baby sisters. It was the song of the kitchen, like yeast was the aroma, and beef stew the flavor.

  “What’s the matter?” Florene asked, but continued to cluck at Levi and didn’t glance at her daughter.

  Feeling like her mother enjoyed playing with the baby more than listening, Doretta muttered, “I think I’m tired of living alone.”

  “Marry Levi’s daddy, whoever he is. I bet he’s pestering you too.”

  Satisfied she now owned the attention, Doretta asked, “Why do you think marriage is the answer? You’ve spent most of your life alone.”

  “Your father is just a phone call away. Who do you have?”

  “You.”

  “You want to move back home?”

  Doretta laughed. “Don’t look so scared. Me and Levi are fine where we are.”

  Florene exhaled a long exaggerated sigh. “Gal, you scared me to death. Sissie just moved back.”

  “Really? I thought she was all grown up.”

  “Rent’s too much now that Dahlia got married.”

  “Just can’t get rid of us, can you?”

  “Lordie, I try.” Florene balanced Levi in one arm and punched the bread dough down. “Working takes the mind off sad things.”

  “You’re right. Sitting in your chair moping isn’t gonna bring Pai back.” Doretta wrapped her arms around herself again and shivered. “How could anyone murder her?”

  “Question only what you can change.”

  “Mama, a pat answer stinks.” Doretta shoved herself upright and smooched Levi on the cheek. She turned at the door. “I almost forgot. Teagan will pick up Levi on her way home from the fish market in a couple of hours. We’re doing movies and pizza at her place.”

  “Is there enough room in her pickup for two more car seats.”

  “Extended cab, remember?”

  You need your rest instead of staying up late.”

  “I’m just scheduled to work rush hour.”