Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3)

by Felice Stevens

  Cliff didn’t wait for Paul to finish talking. “Paul, I think you should come home.” His voice vibrated with tension, and fear sliced through Paul.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone fired a gun at the window. Please? Come home.”

  Chapter Two

  Earlier that morning, Cliff luxuriated in bed, intending to take full advantage of a rare day off. Paul had left about an hour before, but the smell of them remained warm in the sheets and pillow. Cliff hugged it close to his chest and smiled, recalling Paul’s good-bye kiss. He’d been grumpy as usual, but his kiss was soft and sweet.

  “Why don’t you invite the guys over for a barbecue tonight?” Paul had said. “Your parents too, if they’d like.”

  Having his family and Paul together was a dream Cliff had entertained from the beginning of their relationship, and now that his mother’s cancer was in remission, she’d slowly begun regaining her strength. He and Paul made a habit of having dinner with them once a week. Everyone together would be the best of all.

  Routine. Cliff liked routine, but having a partner in law enforcement meant last-minute changes to dinner plans and bedtimes. Cliff was learning to adapt because having Paul there with him every day was living his dream. Which would he rather have? Dinner alone every night at seven, or Paul across the table at nine, ten, or whenever?

  There was no choice.

  Cliff rolled over and stretched, then bounced out of bed and took a shower. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he made fresh coffee, toasted a bagel, and picked up the paper. It was such a beautiful morning, Cliff decided to indulge and have breakfast out on the deck. Juggling newspapers, coffee, and a bagel, he pushed the kitchen door open with his foot and was hit with the warmth of the sun on his face. He managed to set everything down on the table under the umbrella without dropping or spilling and stretched out on the lounge chair. Newspaper in hand, Cliff’s eye caught the headline about the recent string of break-ins on Main Street, and he wondered how Paul and Rob’s investigation was going. His phone rang, and swallowing a bite of his bagel, he answered the call from his best friend, Ryan.

  “Hey. What’s going on?”

  “Not much. Just checking in. Haven’t talked in a little while.”

  “It’s been insane at work. Three conventions, one right after the other, but at least I have the day off.”

  “Damn, that’s rough.”

  “Yeah. I’m not doing a thing today but sitting on my deck, drinking some wine, and reading a good murder mystery.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that myself.”

  “I’m reading a good one. S.c. Wynne has a new one in her Psychic Detective Mysteries. It’s called Shadows Deceive.”

  “Great. I read the first two. Gonna check it out after I get off shift. How’s Paul doing?”

  “Good. Working on those break-ins on Main Street, so he’s busy as hell.”

  “I know the feeling. Last night we had to put out a nasty grease fire at the Thai place, Lemongrass Grill. You ever eat there?”

  “Yeah, the food is really good. We ate there last weekend. Be safe.”

  “No worries, brother. They don’t call me Teflon for nothing.”

  “You’re funny, but I still worry.”

  “I know. And I’m careful. We all are. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “You want to come over for about a barbecue tonight? I’m going to invite the guys.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll text you later.”

  He disconnected the call and held his face up to the morning sun. “Better go inside and get sunglasses,” he muttered to himself. Empty plate in hand, Cliff reentered the house. He’d just placed the dish in the sink when he heard a bang and glass breaking.

  “What the hell?” He sprinted to the living room and saw the shattered front window.

  Bang! Crash!

  He threw himself on the floor as something whizzed by his ear. “Shit.” The screech of tires and the roar of an engine filled the air, then…silence. Careful of the shards of broken glass scattered around the floor, Cliff ran to the front door and yanked it open, knowing full well it was already too late to see who’d done this. Several people were out on their porches, talking and pointing.

  He began to hyperventilate, feeling light-headed, so he drew in a few deep, slow breaths, trying to pull himself together. The enormity of the situation hit him. Without moving from his place by the doorway, Cliff pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Paul.

  “Hi,” Paul answered. “I was—”

  “Paul, I think you should come home.”

  “What’s wrong?” Paul’s voice sharpened.

  “Someone fired a gun at the window. Please? Come home.”

  “Are you okay? Were you hit?”

  “N-no, but I’m freaked out.”

  “Don’t touch anything. I’m with Rob. I’ll call it in to the station. We’re on our way.”

  “Okay.” A thought hit him. “Paul. What’re you going to tell people? You know…” He left the question open-ended. Would Paul tell the officers on the scene that he lived here? With Cliff?

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  And he hung up.

  Within two minutes Cliff heard sirens wailing in the distance, and he stood in the street to make it easier for the officers to find the correct house. By now a crowd had gathered, and the sirens drew closer. Another minute passed, and then, finally, Cliff spotted flashing lights as a black-and-white sedan came tearing down the street.

  “Here,” Cliff called out, waving his hand. “Over here.”

  The police car halted, and two officers—one male, one female—climbed out.

  “Are you Cliff Baxter?” the female officer asked. “I’m Officer Porter, and this is Officer Lawrence.” The male officer, in his midfifties, with dark hair and eyes, pulled out his memo book, acknowledging him with a tip of his head, while their radios crackled with constant updates from the dispatchers.

  “Yes. Come in, please. Two shots were fired. The first one happened while I was in the kitchen, the second less than a minute later.”

  “Can you show us, please?”

  “Of course. Follow me.”

  They walked behind him and stopped at the entrance to the house. The large bay window in the front that let in most of the light to the living room was shattered, and a pang traveled through Cliff at the sight of all that glittering glass scattered on the floors.

  “Be careful, it’s all over.”

  Officer Lawrence nodded. “Thank you. You say you were in the kitchen. So you didn’t see anything?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I was in the kitchen, but no, I didn’t. I heard tires squealing, an engine gunned, and the car took off. After the first shot, I ran in here and hit the floor when the glass completely shattered with the second bullet.”

  “I see. Okay. Did you touch anything?”

  “No, nothing.”

  Tires screeched to a halt, and Cliff heard two separate car doors slam. Then Paul and Rob burst into the house. The expression on Paul’s face—fright and anger—was one Cliff knew he’d never forget. When he gave Paul a slight smile, the tension eased, and Paul blew out a breath and nodded. His shoulders relaxed, and Cliff watched Rob give Paul’s shoulder a tight, quick squeeze.

  When Paul spoke, he was in control. “Officers, good morning.”

  Porter nodded while Lawrence greeted Paul and Rob. “Oh, hello, Detectives. We were just getting some information from Mr. Baxter. He said he was in the kitchen for the first shot but in the living room for the second. He also heard a car speeding away.”

  “Good. Thanks. Can I ask that you call in Forensics? And then go outside and see if you can get the names of any witnesses? Detective Gormley and I will want to speak to them.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Lawrence gave him a brief smile. “Sorry this happened to you, Mr. Baxter. The detectives will ask you some questions now.”

  “Thank you,” Cliff said, wishing them gone. He
watched as the two officers left, and then it was only Paul and Rob.

  “Glad you’re okay, Cliff. Paul, I’m gonna go check the living room, see if I can find the bullets.” He left them, and Cliff understood Rob wanted to give them a few minutes to themselves. Paul led him to the rear of the house.

  “Are you really okay? No glass cuts or anything?” Paul’s eyes searched his as his hands ran over Cliff’s arms.

  “Yeah, I’m okay, but holy hell, I was scared.”

  “Dammit.” Paul pulled him close, and Cliff clung to his broad shoulders for a second before they broke apart. It wasn’t until that moment that Cliff realized how much he needed Paul’s strength. “I thought my head was gonna explode when you called.”

  “I’m okay. Just a little shaken.” More cars drove up, and Paul tensed and drew away from him. “Paul, what am I going to say if they start asking questions about who lives here, or anything else personal?”

  Steady, dark-blue eyes met his. “You tell them the truth. Anyone has any problems, they can come to me.”

  He hung his head. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

  Paul rested his hands on Cliff’s shoulders. “Hey. It’s not your fault. You’re the victim. We’re going to find out what’s going on. Maybe there’s no connection, but there’s something I should’ve mentioned before. This past month I got two threatening notes on the windshield of my car. Now after this, I’m beginning to wonder.”

  His pulse spiked. “What do you mean, threatening? And why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t think it was anything at first. There’ve only been the two, and they both said the same thing: ‘I see you.’ I thought it might be a prank, but…” He rubbed his jaw, and his eyes and mouth hardened. “Now I’m not so sure.”

  Surprised by this information, Cliff cocked his head. “You should’ve told me. I have a right to know.”

  “You’re right, I should’ve, and I’m sorry. I was trying to protect you.” Footsteps sounded on the front steps. “That’ll be the forensics team. I have to talk to them and anyone else out there who might’ve seen someone.” Paul touched his face for a brief moment, then left.

  Cliff hung back, watching the forensics team canvass the living room. He counted three people: two men and a woman. One was taking measurements of the distance between the window and the glass fragments, another was picking up shards of glass and placing them in bags, and the third was speaking to Paul. Through the broken window, Cliff saw Rob had begun to question people in the crowd. The man talking to Paul kept shooting Cliff looks.

  Did he guess that Paul lives here?

  “Cliff?”

  He broke out of his thoughts to find Paul waving him over. He joined the two men.

  “Manny, this is Cliff Baxter. Cliff, not sure if you met Manny Rodriguez, our head of Forensics, during the Jerry Gregoria murder investigation.”

  “Don’t think so,” Cliff said, and they shook hands.

  “We’re going to be here a while, looking for the bullets. Can you tell me where you were when the second shot was fired?”

  “Right there.” Cliff pointed to the space next to the couch. Glass lay scattered all around the area except for the narrow space where he’d ducked down.

  “Okay, thanks.” Manny’s smile was brief and impersonal, revealing nothing. Paul too seemed unperturbed. “My team and I will be taking measurements as well as photographs, inside and out.”

  “Whatever you need,” Cliff said. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

  At that he received another professional smile, and Manny left them to join his team, now searching the area around the long couch.

  “I think…maybe I should go out back and let you and the guys do your thing. Plus, I have to figure out what to do about the window repair.”

  “Good idea. I’m sure once they’re finished, you can get someone over. It’s a standard window. Hopefully they’ll have it in stock. Thanks for handling this.”

  “Okay. But I guess dinner is off tonight?” He’d been looking forward to getting together with everyone.

  “Up to you, but I can’t say for sure when I’ll be able to get home. Talk to you later.” With a pat to his arm, Paul left the house to join Rob outside.

  For a few minutes, Cliff stood and watched the team, seeing the exact moment when they discovered the bullets. One was buried in the frame of the couch and the other in the wall. Cliff shivered, thinking about what might’ve happened if he’d been lying there. Despite that, he was fascinated to get the chance to see them work at digging out the bullets and slipping them into evidence bags.

  None of that was getting his window fixed, though, so he left them to their work and called the window-supply company. He’d ordered from them when he first moved in and redid the windows, and the clerk assured him they had the size in stock.

  “Just call and let us know when to come by to install it. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Thanks, Jeff.”

  “No problem, Cliff. Glad to hear you weren’t hurt.”

  “Me too.”

  He sat at the kitchen island, pondering what Paul had told him. It annoyed him that Paul still felt he had to protect Cliff from the big bad world.

  “I can take care of myself,” he muttered, and though he knew better, he left the house through the kitchen door and circled around to the front. Paul was still talking to the neighbors, while Rob was walking down the middle of the street, checking the skid marks Cliff knew hadn’t been there yesterday when he’d come home. One of the forensics team was taking pictures and measurements.

  One of their neighbors, Judy Swanson, twittered, “Oh, Cliff, I’m so glad you’re all right, dear.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. Scary, for sure.”

  “Oh my word, yes. Such commotion.” Judy liked to think of herself as “the eyes and ears of the community,” while her husband good-naturedly corrected her as being “more like the neighborhood gossip.”

  When he’d moved in, she’d welcomed him with a casserole and her granddaughter’s telephone number, and when he told her he was gay, she merely blinked and said, “Well, then you wouldn’t be interested, would you?”

  Gossips like her he could deal with.

  “Did you see anything? Have you talked to the detectives?”

  “Not yet. I’m going to talk to them now.” She lowered her voice. “Such a nice man. You made a good choice, dear. Everyone wants a big strong man to protect them.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I better go talk to them, then I have to get back to Father. I’ll drop by later to make sure you’re okay.”

  She fluttered away, and Cliff remained where he was. Paul had a savior complex, and Cliff knew it had to do with losing his brother. He couldn’t help his need to protect Cliff, and while Cliff understood to a point, he refused to be shielded from what was happening around them. If they weren’t on equal footing in their relationship, they’d never survive. It might be time to have that talk he’d been putting off.

  Chapter Three

  “So what you’re telling me is that you saw a vehicle speeding down the street after the shots were fired?”

  The fortysomething-year-old housewife with two-year-old twin boys squirming in their stroller nodded vigorously. “Yeah. The boys were driving me crazy inside, so I’d just put them in the stroller and was pushing them out the door when I heard it. At first I thought it was a car backfiring, ya know?” She pushed a hank of streaky blonde hair off her forehead and chewed her gum with a snap. Paul liked her rapid-fire, no-nonsense speech and remembered she and her husband had moved to Thornwood Park from New Jersey to get away from the cold winters up north and for a slower pace of life. They were one of the friendlier couples to him and Cliff in the neighborhood.

  “But it wasn’t? What happened next?”

  “Well, I heard the bang, and Chase started yelling. I heard another one, like less than a minute later, and all this glass breaking. That’s when I saw the truck—it was black, by the w
ay—go the wrong way. Ya know when you’re so shocked by something, you don’t think about looking at the license plate or the make of the car? That was me. I got scared ’cause of the boys. I was afraid they’d get hurt. I pulled them back into the house and grabbed my phone and called the cops. Sorry, Paul.”

  “It’s okay, Kathleen. I appreciate everything. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Cliff’s okay? He wasn’t hurt, right?”

  “No, he’s good. Thank you for asking.”

  “Good. Lemme know if you need me again.”

  He made a few more notes on his pad, then looked to find Rob. He was speaking to Judy Swanson, his elderly neighbor. Paul’s fury over the shooting was no less diminished than when he’d run inside the house to find glass all over the floor and Cliff white and shaky, but he had to compartmentalize it. He had a job to do.

  Later, when he was alone, he’d punch a hole in the fucking wall. The thought of someone shooting at Cliff made his blood boil. He could’ve been killed.

  If I get that call…

  Panic seized him, and for one crazy moment he wanted to run into the house and hold Cliff. He’d only just found himself, and he knew he couldn’t lose Cliff. What would he do? He couldn’t go back to that closed-off person he was before, but he knew he’d changed only because he had Cliff. Without him…

  Stop it. Nothing will happen.

  Gathering witnesses and ferreting out information was paramount. Messy things like emotions only muddied the waters and distracted him from the precise, step-by-step investigation he and Rob needed to apply to this case, just like every other one they investigated.

  Only, this wasn’t like every other case.

  This was personal.

  Harley might no longer be around for him to protect, but Paul was going to make damn sure nothing would ever hurt Cliff. They’d have to come through him first.

  He reached Rob’s side, and Judy turned her bright gaze on him. Paul often joked about their nosy neighbor. Perhaps this time it would work in their favor.

  “Oh dear, I’m sorry about what happened. But Cliff seems to be fine.”

  “Yeah, he is, Mrs. Swanson. You’ve been filling my partner in on what you know?”