“Got any coconut crème pie?”
“I’ve got banana crème.”
Daniels didn’t like that. “Any chocolate crème?”
Scotti gave Davis a look, as though it were her fault that Daniels was such a carb junkie. “I’ve got chocolate cake.”
Daniels smacked his lips, then shook his head. “Carrot cake?”
Davis slapped the table and they both jumped. “You have apple pie?”
“We always have apple pie.”
“Good. Bring him apple pie, hot, with a big glob of chocolate ice cream on top. Bring me coffee.” She raised a finger. “Fresh coffee. Not that burned crap that’s been sitting on the burner for hours.”
Scotti chuckled. “You sure you wouldn’t rather have decaf?”
Davis glared at her and she scooted away, laughing.
Davis smacked Daniels’ hand. “Happy now? Can we get to business now? Can you give me the damn report now?”
While Daniels futzed in his briefcase, Scotti returned with his pie and Davis’ coffee. She put down the cup and locked eyes with Davis. “It’s fresh.” She winked. “Private stock. We keep a pot in the back just for us.”
Davis took a sip and approved with a nod. “I’ll remember that.”
Distracted by the pie, Daniels dug in and groaned in culinary delight. “This is so excellent. Never in a million years would I have thought up this combo.”
Davis shook her head at Scotti who said, “Hey, don’t look at me, he’s your partner.”
The girl sauntered off and once again, disappeared as if by magic.
Davis snapped her fingers. “Pete, give me the damned report.”
Daniels slid the report across the table to her. “You’ve gotta get a handle on your stress, partner.” He gobbled the pie. “You should have some pie.”
Davis grumbled. “I should have a partner transplant.” She scanned the report. “What?” She read it again but slowly. Then she dropped it on the table. “How do you overdose on sugar pills?”
Daniels finished his pie. “I dunno.” He raised his fork. “There's that diabetes thing you're always bugging me about.” He wiggled his eyebrows and scanned the room for their disappearing waitress. “Scotti?”
Davis kicked him under the table. “You don't give a shit about this, do you? You just don't give a shit.”
Daniels creased his forehead. “I give a shit. I got a theory.” His eyes roamed the dining room again. “But I need more pie.”
“Tonight, Pete. Okay? Tell me and I’ll buy you a case of pies.”
Daniels gave her one eye but kept the other out for Scotti. “It’s like this. They didn't start out as sugar pills. They were the real thing then somebody made a switch. Dumped the powder out and refilled the caps with sugar.
“Okay, genius. Why’s that?”
Daniels grinned. “So, when they were ready to make their move, they could load him up with it. Put it in something they knew he'd consume.” He patted his gut. “As they say, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
Davis snorted. “You should know.” Maybe it was the late hour and Davis was sleep deprived but her partner made sense. She bobbed her head in agreement. “That’d explain the overdosing.”
Daniels mimed flipping his hair. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Davis scanned the dining room for the magical disappearing waitress, thinking pie might actually be a good idea. “So, the bullet casing was a fake out?”
Daniels licked his fork. “Probably.” He shrugged. “Mama wanted to frame the wife. Or just tip the scales for murder. Or it fell out of Logan’s pocket.” He tapped his empty plate with his fork. “Doesn’t really matter since he wasn’t shot.”
His eyes scanned more furtively now—willing Scotti to reappear. “Next question. Who had means, motive, and opportunity? The wife and the sister-in-law both had the opportunity, plenty of times, he gave them the means. Motive?” He stood up. “I need more pie. Scotti?”
The girl swung through the kitchen, carrying two plates of pie a la mode and the coffee pot. Silently she refilled their cups, set down the pie, and then vanished from view.
Davis dug into her pie—it was surprisingly good. “If we believe Kathy Conlan’s story, then it’s Melanie. She tried to kill him with her car. She didn’t like being dumped. The pills were her backup plan.” She looked up from her pie. “She could’ve slipped him her pills. He did have them in his desk.”
Daniels nodded. “True. And she’s not the kind of woman who’d go away quietly.” He winked. “A woman like that, wicked in bed, guarantee it. So old Phil was probably stringing her along while he could. If she knew that, it would’ve really pissed her off.” Daniels scrunched up his face. “But according to the office manager, there was no damage to any of the trucks. So, we’ve got no evidence of the road rage incident.”
Davis paused and considered it. “Okay, then that leads to all the cheating he did on the wife. And he beat on his first wife, no reason to think he didn’t do the same to Christine. Julie got out but maybe Christine couldn’t. Didn’t have the nerve.”
Daniels considered it. “My money’s on the sister-in-law. The wife seems too soft. Timid. Always apologizing for every little thing.”
Davis twisted her lips. “Those are the ones you have to watch out for. Sitting on all that anger and resentment for years? One day, she just loses it and decides it’s time to get rid of him.”
Daniels snickered. “Hell hath no fury, eh?”
“You better believe it.” Davis pushed her plate aside. “So, now you’re with me on this, huh? Not an accident?”
He drained his coffee cup and leaned back in his seat. “Doesn’t matter what I think. Only thing that matters is what we can prove.”
Davis frowned waved the report under his nose. “This is pretty compelling.”
He snorted. “Circumstantial and”—he wiggled his hand—“not so compelling from the D.A.’s standpoint.” He chuckled. “You better hope one of those gals wants to confess.”
Chapter 33
CHRISTINE OPENED THE door and regarded Phillip’s first wife with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
Julie looked over Christine’s shoulder into the house. “Are you alone?”
Christine gripped the doorknob. “What do you want?”
Julie glanced at the empty street behind her. “I need to talk to you. Alone.” When Christine didn’t respond, she said, “Please, it’s important.”
Reluctantly, Christine opened the door enough for Julie to pass through. She closed the door and leaned against it. “If you’re here to explain about Phillip. I already know.”
Julie nodded, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I wanted to tell you. I meant to. But I never got the chance.” Julie glanced toward the living room. “Just give me five minutes? Please?”
Christine didn’t trust her. Didn’t like having her in the house. She led her into the living room and stood at the fireplace, while Julie perched on the love seat. “Say what you have to say. And then I want you to leave.”
Julie ran a hand over her hair and expelled a shuddered breath. “First, you need to know I wasn’t trying to deceive you.” Christine tensed but said nothing. “I never expected to run into you. Never thought for a minute you’d be the painting instructor. It really was a coincidence at the Community Center.”
Christine furrowed her brow. “You expect me to believe that?”
Julie shook her head. “No. In your place, I wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” She held Christine’s gaze. “And then I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I say something? Keep quiet?” She waved her hands in front of her face. “It happened, I can’t change that. Let me just explain. Then you can ask me anything you want.”
Christine nodded, a sense of dread swirling in her belly.
“Okay?” She drew in a long breath, as though to give herself strength. “We were together for five years. It was great at first. He was so
romantic and loving that I really believed I’d lucked out.” Her eyes grew hard. “Then one day, we had a fight. I can’t even remember what it was about. Just something stupid. Small. You know? But he hit me.”
She popped to her feet and paced. “Oh, he apologized and swore it’d never happen again. All the stuff they say. Men like him.” She smiled sadly. “Then it happened again. And again. And kept happening—”
Christine shot out her hand. “Stop. You don’t need to tell me—” A sharp cramp in her belly doubled her over. “I—”
Julie rushed to her, face pale as new snow. “Okay, I’ll stop. Don’t get upset. I won’t tell you.” Shaking, she led Christine to the sofa and eased her down. “Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?”
Christine’s head swam for a few seconds and then the pain passed. “It’s nothing. Just a cramp.” She looked into Julie’s terrified face. “Really, I’m fine. But I’d like you to leave.”
Julie nodded. “Okay, but let me just tell you one more thing.” She crossed her heart with a finger. “Then, I’ll go.” She sighed heavily. “The police called me this afternoon and asked about my relationship with Phillip. They wanted to know about the abuse.” She bit her lower lip. “At first, it seemed like they were going to accuse me of killing him.” She shuddered. “God knows, I’d thought about it a hundred times.”
Christine stared at her hands, dread twisting her insides.
“But then I realized they were trying to establish that he had a history of battering women.” She peered into Christine’s eyes. “Do you understand?”
Christine balked. “Are you accusing me of—”
Julie clutched her hand. “No. I’d never. But that doesn’t mean the police won’t.”
Christine pulled hand free. “Is that what they told you?”
Julie shook her head. “No. I’m just saying, be careful.” She backed toward the foyer. “That’s really all I came to tell you. I won’t bother you again. Sorry. For everything. Goodbye.”
Christine trailed after her. “Wait.”
Julie stopped and slowly turned to face her.
“Faith? Is she? Is she Phillip’s?”
Julie raised her head proudly. “Faith is mine.” She flicked a look at Christine’s belly. “Just like your baby is yours.” Stunned, Christine had no response. “Take care, Christine.” She pivoted for the door and then was gone as though she’d never been there at all.
Chapter 34
CHRISTINE JERKED AWAKE with Phillip’s hands around her neck. He smiled wickedly. “You're coming with me, darling.”
She screamed and bolted up in bed. Eyes darting, she searched the room. She was alone. She fumbled with the lamp and light pushed back the shadows. Hand to her neck, she mumbled, “You’re dreaming. Wake up. He’s dead.” She threw back the quilt. “You’re safe.”
Still drunk with sleep, she padded to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She hunched over the sink afraid to look in the mirror—expecting to see marks around her neck. But it was just her tired drawn face. Nothing else. No one else. “He can't hurt you anymore.”
Calmer, she returned to the bedroom but scanned again for intruders. His hands around her neck had felt so real. But it wasn’t real. She was alone. It was only a dream. She was safe.
She pulled back the bedclothes and gasped at the dark stain on the sheets. “No, no, no, no.” Panicked, she twisted her nightgown around and found blood. She called 911. “I need an ambulance. I'm losing my baby.”
She held her breath through the ambulance ride, the admission, the residents poking and prodding. And then she waited an eternity for Dr. Ruckman to appear. Tired but smiling, she squeezed Christine’s hand. “You’re okay.”
“I’m still pregnant?” She rubbed circles on her belly. “I didn't lose her?”
Ruckman consulted her chart. “Your blood pressure is a little high. You’re going to have to reduce the stress in your life. Make some adjustments, yeah?” Christine nodded, still anxious. “But if you do that, we'll have a healthy baby girl in a few months.”
“What about the blood? There was so much of it.”
Ruckman squeezed her hand firmly. “Yeah, I’m sure that was pretty scary for you. But a lot of women bleed in the first trimester. You’re okay. You’re fine.” She smiled warmly. “I promise.”
Melanie burst into the room, looking a wreck—no makeup, wild hair, and dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt. “What happened? Are you sick? Are you hurt?” She rushed to Christine’s bedside. “They wouldn’t tell me anything on the phone.”
“Mel—”
Melanie grasped Christine’s hand until it hurt. “You need a kidney? Bone marrow?”
Ruckman silently nodded to Christine, then slipped out of the room.
Christine pulled Melanie into a hug. “No, my little drama queen. I don't need any organs. Or a transplant.”
Melanie pulled back to look at Christine, eyes wet with tears. “Something’s wrong, you’re in the hospital. What happened?”
Christine brushed Melanie’s tears. “It’s okay, take a breath.” Melanie expelled a trembled sigh. “I just over-reacted.” She squeezed Melanie’s hand. “But I’m fine. We’re both fine. I promise.”
Melanie blanched. “Oh God, the baby.”
IT WAS JUST PURE LUCK that a buddy on the graveyard shift called Daniels and told him about the 911 call to Christine Logan’s house. And he’d have called Davis sooner if his pal hadn’t wanted to talk about their next fishing trip.
They met at the hospital entrance and went in together. As they neared Christine’s room, they heard voices. Davis stopped and signaled to Daniels to listen.
Their voices were hushed and Davis flattened against the wall, just outside the door, straining to hear the conversation.
Christine wept softly. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t get an abortion.” Her voice cracked. “And he meant it.”
Davis chanced a peek inside. Melanie sat on the bed holding Christine’s hand. All the bravado gone—just two women consoling each other. “Oh God, Chris, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there for you.” She sniffled. “I don’t even want to think what he could’ve done to you.”
Christine collapsed against her sister. “I couldn’t do it though. I just couldn’t kill my baby.”
Melanie rocked Christine in her arms. “Don’t cry, sissy. It’s over now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Christine whispered. “Or the baby.”
Wrapped in each other’s arms, they whispered and though Davis couldn’t make out the words she understood the secret language of sisters. She knew it and she missed it. Every day.
Melanie drew back as a thought struck her. “What about Michael? He doesn't care about the baby?”
Davis perked up her ears.
Christine wiped the tears from her face. “It's not Michael’s baby.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.” Christine patted her belly. “It's Phillip's. Is it crazy that I’m happy about that?”
Davis had heard enough and nudged her partner away from the room. As they ambled to the elevator, Daniels said, “Guess we got our motive, huh?”
Davis was sick to her stomach. “Yeah.”
They rode the elevator to the lobby in silence. Once outside, Daniels said, “What kind of guy threatens to kill his wife for having his baby?”
Davis continued toward the lot, staring straight ahead. “I don't know.” She glanced at him. “A monster?”
“Kind of firms things up.” Davis nodded. “She's screwing around—”
“Nothing, compared to what he was doing.”
“She gets knocked up. Tells him it's his.”
Davis snapped. “There’s no proof it isn't his.”
“Tells her to get rid of it or else.” Davis grimaced. “She's tired of being pushed around, living with a tyrant, a womanizing prick—”
Tears rose in Davis’ eyes but Daniels didn’t see. “And she can’t take
anymore.”
They reached Daniels’ car and he eyed her over the roof. “Gotta hand it to you, partner.” She glanced at him unhappily. “You called this one and you were on the money.”
Davis smirked and backed away from the car. “Yeah, good for me. I called it.”
Daniels screwed up his face. “What’s the matter?”
She turned away. “I'll catch up with you later.”
“Davis? Em?”
She kept moving. “Need some thinking time. See you in a couple days.”
Daniels called her again but she kept walking. She needed to be alone. She needed to think. She needed to figure out what she thought of the whole damn mess.
Chapter 35
DAVIS TOOK THE WEEKEND to think. She didn’t answer her phone or return Daniels’ calls. Or emails. Or open the door when he came banging. She sat on her bed and thought. Took long walks. Ate junk food. Watched chick flicks. She even went to the local shelter to see if they had any yappy dogs she might like. But she had Daniels, what did she need a dog for?
Monday morning, she waited outside the courtroom to be called to testify in her robbery/homicide case. After lunch, the D.A. told her they’d made a deal. She didn’t mind too much because she’d forgotten to get her court suit dry cleaned.
She got to the station house a little after 2:00 p.m., did some paperwork, then went looking for her partner around 3:00 p.m. She found him in the break room, nursing a cup of coffee and talking shit with another detective.
He grinned. “You’re back.”
“Let’s go for a ride.” Daniels queried her with a raised brow. “Time to wrap up the Logan case.”
Though he employed his charm in every way he knew how, she refused to share her thoughts with him. When they got there, she made him stay in the car. He squeezed her shoulder. “Fine, don’t tell me. Just do the right thing. You read me, partner?”
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