“Shut up, bitch!” he whispered hoarsely, shaking her face with his hand. The pain as he gripped her shot straight up into her brain and the darkened living room began to ease into total blackness. “Open yo eyes! Open ‘em now!”
He shook her again but she felt his grip loosen. She fought to stay awake. He eased his weight off her chest but kept her pinned on the couch.
“You hear me, girl?”
Mia opened her eyes and saw that he was masked. She wouldn’t be able to identify him. If she lived through the night…
“Do you hear me?” he repeated louder, his voice thick with menace.
She nodded.
“You gonna leave it alone. You hear me? Leave it alone or next time I slit your throat. You get me?”
She nodded again. There was going to be a next time. She just had to live through the first time. The feel of his hand across her mouth erupted into a panoply of images, most of them too disjointed and unrelated to understand. The hand that held her had killed before, had killed recently. Her panic began to flutter in her chest like a trapped bird threatening to bash its skull against her rib cage.
“I should do you jes to make my point,” the man said, his eyes looking at her now as if trying to figure something out. His hand holding both of her wrists let go and he grabbed her left breast. “You leave it alone or I-ma come back and cut it off, ya hear?” He gave the breast a harsh twist and tears of pain sprang to Mia’s eyes. Then he vaulted off her, ran across the room and out the door.
She sat up, shakily, wanting to run to the door and shut it firmly between them, lock it, pile chairs up against it. Instead, she turned her head and vomited onto the carpet.
Burton sat on the couch, facing her. Two detectives examined the front door even though he’d already told them it hadn’t been forced.
Whoever Mia’s assailant was, he had had a key.
Burton opted not to ask Mia why she hadn’t gotten the locks changed. She looked fine, although the stain by the couch would suggest otherwise. After she’d called him—at three in the morning—he told her to call 911 and he’d be at her place in fifteen.
He’d made it in seven.
Now she sat on the couch in sweat pants and a loose tee shirt, clearly braless, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Two dark bruises appeared on either side of her cheeks. He’d made a pot of coffee but seemed to be the only one drinking it.
After two decades of dealing with people who were the victims of violent crime, one thing Burton knew was that people at this stage needed to be told what to do. If he knew Mia, she’d shake out of it sooner than most, but for now, he’d step in. As soon as the detectives left, he held out his hand to her.
“Up you go,” he said. “Take your shower. I’ll make breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Fine. Just put on what you were wearing yesterday. Is that this?” He scooped up a pair of jeans and a blue camp shirt from the living room floor and handed them to her. She took them in her arms and even allowed him to physically turn her around and nudge her in the direction of the bathroom. He started the shower for her, handed her a clean towel from the linen closet, then waited outside the door until he heard sounds that convinced him she was getting into the shower.
In the kitchen, he put four slices of bread down in the toaster and put on another pot of coffee. Every few seconds he stepped out into the hall to listen. There was a point between a stunned crime victim standing in a hot shower and letting the water pound down and do some real good—and someone going into an unproductive trance. At the moment Burton was thinking about breaking down the door, the water turned off and he could hear her moving around as she dressed.
He let out a sigh and went back to the kitchen to scramble the eggs. When she walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table, he saw that she was coming out of it. Her hair was wet and wrapped in a towel but she was dressed and when he set the plate of eggs and toast in front of her, instead of saying she wasn’t hungry, she reached for her fork.
He sat down at the table and poured her a large cup of black coffee.
“Somebody hired him,” she said finally, not looking at Burton as she ate.
“Sounds like it.”
“Was it Dave’s killer, you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think the cops will find the guy?”
“Maybe,” he said. “About now is when you wish we had those CCTVs that the Brits have on every street corner.”
“Why don’t we?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure it has something to do with our inalienable right not to be observed doing crimes or some such crap.”
He watched a brief smile break through across her face. He got up to tackle the dishes. “You gonna be okay to work today?” he said.
“Try and stop me.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, under his breath, surprising himself.
The fury and desperate helplessness that he’d felt when he got her call three hours ago was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Had he not cared for Diane? He didn’t know. Not like this anyway. All he knew was that the thought of some asshole with his hands on Mia made him want to pitch that someone out a twelve-story condominium window—without opening the window first.
“Did you remember I said we’re meeting with Carol and Heather today?”
He turned and wiped his hands on the dishtowel. “I did.”
“I don’t know about Carol but I need to talk to Heather alone. Otherwise, she’ll feel like she’s being ganged up on.”
“Okay. Where are you meeting her?”
“Mary Macs.”
“And Carol?”
“An hour later at your place. Something told me I’d have no trouble getting her over there.”
“You sure you feel okay?”
“I don’t feel okay, Jack. But I’m more determined than ever.”
“That’ll work.”
* * *
The parking at Mary Mac’s Tea Room off of Ponce de Leon was nonexistent as usual, Mia noted, which was why she was grateful she didn’t have to worry about it. Jack dropped her off in front of the restaurant and promised to collect her in an hour. She had exchanged her jeans for a skirt and ballet flats. Most of the patrons at Mary Mac’s this time of day would be Midtown business people—suits, mostly, and she didn’t want to stick out.
“Mia, darling!”
Mia saw Heather seated by the window. The two women air kissed cheeks and sat at a small table in front of the window facing Ponce de Leon.
“I am so glad you called, Mia,” Heather said. “I ordered for both of us. Do you mind? The fried chicken is to-die-for and I can’t imagine anyone not adoring it.”
Mia debated telling her that she was vegan but the memory of the burger she’d wolfed down last night tempered the urge. “No, that’s fine,” she said. “I haven’t been to Mary Macs in ages. I used to love their mac and cheese.”
“I know. That was Dave’s favorite, too,” Heather said, adopting a patently false look of sadness.
“Was everything okay between you and Dave, Heather?”
“If you call the fact that we were about to announce our engagement ‘okay,’ then, yes, Mia, we were very okay.”
“You were engaged? Dave never said.”
“Well, that’s the whole point of announcing it, isn’t it?”
Mia knew that her mother didn’t care for Heather. She was pretty sure Jess let Dave know it, too. The waiter came with two large plates of fried chicken, collard greens, sweet potato soufflés and cornbread and set them in front of them. A waitress appeared and replenished their glasses of sweet tea. Heather bent her head as if in prayer and then picked up one of the chicken pieces with her hands.
“Oh, my God, I’m so hungry,” she said, biting into the crisp chicken piece. Mia watched as Heather rolled her eyes in rapture over the bite she hadn’t finished swallowing before she took another.
Now that
she really looked at her, Mia could see that Heather was a little on the chunky side.
“Are you not eating?” Heather said around a mouthful of collard greens. “Because I show grief different than other people. I hope you don’t think because I have an appetite that I’m not absolutely devastated about Dave.”
Mia reached for her iced tea and, instead, grabbed Heather’s wrist.
“Hey! Do you mind? What are you doing?”
Mia closed her eyes and tried to block out the restaurant noise and Heather’s protestations. She focused on her brother and tried to fuse the thought of him with the woman whose arm she held. A thought simmered in her mind and floated around tantalizingly before finally sifting down into her consciousness.
This was just a vain, vapid woman whom her brother used for sex. Heather didn’t have the brains or depth of emotion to mastermind the demise of her beau—if she’d ever wanted to.
“Mia, stop it!” Heather squeaked, pulling her hand away. “What is your problem?”
Mia watched Heather rub her wrist although she hadn’t held her tightly.
Probably more annoyed that I interfered with her eating hand than anything else, Mia thought, as she picked up her fork. “Sorry,” she said.
There was just nothing there.
“Have you tried the corn casserole?” Mia asked sweetly.
* * *
Jack was waiting for her out front. He’d obviously run home since Daisy was in the car with him. As Mia climbed into the front seat and pulled the little dog onto her lap, she noticed a small overnight bag in the back seat. Unless he was planning on taking a trip, she guessed he was spending the night at her place again.
Which suited her just fine.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“She didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Is that what she told you? Because you know the culprit is likely to be a big fat liar.”
“I told you, Jack, I don’t interview the same way you do.”
“So you gave her the touch test.”
“Basically, yes. And she passed. I felt nothing weird or violent about her.”
“If you say so. I’m assuming you don’t mind if we’re a little more traditional in questioning Carol?”
“Not at all. I don’t suppose the cops called?”
“You mean about the guy last night? No.”
“Does this mean we’re getting close to something?”
Burton gave her a look of complete incomprehension. “We haven’t done anything yet,” he said.
“We’re together. We’ve formed a partnership. Maybe somebody doesn’t like that.”
“Maybe you watch too much NCIS.”
“Okay, fine. Then is it Dave’s apartment? Because that’s the only common denominator. The guy said I’m supposed leave it alone. That’s what he said.” She shivered when she said it, recalling the man gripping her with his legs, his breath putrid and cloying. “What else could he mean? Leave it alone means stop trying to find out who killed Dave. What possible other meaning could it have?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to think all morning. But if they know I’m involved…”
She watched his mind work as he drove. It didn’t make sense. Obviously she would run straight to Jack after the assault. And if anybody knew Jack Burton, they’d know there would be no leaving anything alone. Ever.
“Maybe it was a warning…for you?” she said, straightening out the curls in Daisy’s topknot. “Not me at all.”
“I thought about that too.”
The two of them were silent for the drive up Peachtree to Jack’s house. He lived in a neighborhood behind Garden Hills. Old fifties houses, two and three bedrooms, with older cars parked in the driveways. No garages, a few carports. Solidly lower middle class, Mia thought. It looked different in the daytime. Most of the homes had carefully tended lawns with the traditional dogwood and azaleas dividing the home sites. When they pulled into Jack’s driveway—cracked and buckled from years of use—she saw Carol’s BMW parked on the street waiting for them.
“I may have given her the idea it would just be you today,” Mia said.
“Really.”
He reached for the dog but she shook her head.
“I got her,” she said as she climbed out of the car.
Carol was walking up the driveway and even from this distance Mia couldn’t help but sense the woman’s disappointment at seeing her.
“Hi, Carol,” she called as Burton walked to the front door to unlock it.
“Mia,” Carol said. She was dressed for the occasion, Mia noted. Skintight Capri pants and a form-fitting cashmere sweater with a plunging neckline. The annoying thing about cooler weather for a woman on the prowl, Mia thought, was that it forced her to cover up more than she wanted to.
Was Carol on the prowl? Mia shifted the little dog in her arms. If she could just get one hand on Carol, she’d know for sure if the woman had designs on Burton. That might not tell her much as far as her candidacy as Dave’s murderer, but it would at least be more information than they had before.
Mia put the dog down and put a hand out to steady Carol who was wearing heels and trying to navigate the broken driveway without tripping.
“Careful, there are hidden roots, too,” Mia said, touching Carol lightly on the arm.
“My, you really know your way around Jack’s place, don’t you?” Carol said none too sweetly as she pulled her arm away.
It didn’t matter. Mia got what she wanted. The woman was on fire she was so hot for Burton and seeing Mia here—even though it was Mia who had set up the appointment—had just cranked up her emotion. Mia smiled. Jealousy was good. It made people do emotional, rash things. It lowered their guard.
“Ladies?”
Carol moved past Mia to where Jack was waiting on the front porch.
“I’m going to let Daisy wet the ground a bit, Jack,” Mia said and he nodded, ushering Carol into the house.
Let them have a moment, she thought. Let Carol have a moment. In fact, now that Mia was sure about the whole jealousy thing, she probably shouldn’t be here at all. She clapped her hands to the little dog who ran to her and sat, looking up at her.
“Somebody trained you, girl,” she said, ruffling the dog’s hair. “Let’s give your old man a few moments.” She turned and sat on the porch. The dog promptly ran up and sat next to her. Mia lifted her onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her. She bent her head to smell her and was surprised to realize that Burton had given the animal a bath.
Across the street, a man was trimming his hedge but spending a good deal of time trying to check Mia out without seeming to. He was in his seventies if he was a day. A girl over at Burton’s must not be an everyday occurrence, she thought. Especially not two girls. Mia waved to him and he looked away. A moment later, he waved back.
A loud crash from inside made the little dog start violently in Mia’s arms. She stood up, still holding the dog, and was about to go inside when the front door burst open and Carol stood there, her face flushed red with rage.
“I don’t know what you think you are doing,” she said to Mia, “but I will see that you are not allowed to…to disrupt normal people’s lives to ease your own grief. It’s just sick.”
“Carol…” Jack said as he appeared in the doorway behind Carol. Mia saw a large red handprint across his face. She was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten frisky with the suspect so the slap was all the more interesting.
“If you ever call me again…or get your girl to call me…I’ll take a restraining order out on you. Do you hear me? The both of you are pathetic. You’re lucky I don’t file a complaint today.”
Mia joined Jack in the doorway and the two of them watched Carol march up the drive to her car, slam the door and leave, tires squealing.
“What happened?”
“What happened was that she thought this was an assignation, Mia.”
“Look, I just needed to get her here. She was going t
o put me on her calendar for some time two months from now but you, I knew she’d make time for right away. So did you learn anything?”
“I learned that she might have been sleeping with your brother.”
“Well, we already knew that, right?”
“We did?”
“The perfume. Oh, I didn’t have time to tell you. Her perfume is the same that I smelled in Dave’s car and in his condo.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“Well, I didn’t really have time to tell you. And as you keep pointing out to me, women who slept with my brother aren’t really in exclusive company. She totally overreacted, don’t you think?”
“People tend to do that when they sense you’re questioning them as a suspect in a homicide.”
“So her storming out of here doesn’t tell you something?”
“Tells me she was pissed. How about you? I saw you grab her as she came up the walk. Smooth move, by the way.”
“All I got was jealousy. I didn’t focus on anything else, which was stupid. And I would’ve grabbed her when she was storming off just then but I was pretty sure all I was going to feel was rage. So I’d say we’re not done with her yet.”
They moved into the living room and Burton headed for the kitchen where, from Daisy’s immediate reaction, Mia assumed he was opening a can of dog food.
“Well, now what?” she asked as she walked around the living room. There was a trophy on the mantel for sharpshooting. When she touched it, she nearly recoiled from the sadness she felt in it.
“Now we just go down the list of suspects,” he called from the kitchen.
“I noticed your ex-wife hasn’t called you today.”
He came into the living room and handed her a glass of red wine. “You notice too much,” he said.
“Not if I’m supposed to be a detective,” she said, taking the wine.
“We did a more formal ending of our post-divorce period,” he said, as he poured his own glass of wine.
“When? Today? When you questioned her about Dave?”
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