Dark Streets, Cold Suburbs

by Aimee Hix

“I didn’t want her to see me like that,” I said, quietly.

  “Willa, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You went through something traumatizing and suddenly, you were in a situation that felt similar. You’re human,” Jan said.

  “She called me for help. I promised her I’d help.”

  Nancy did touch me then, kissing me on the top of my head, the smell of her coming down over me, bread and lilacs, and I let the breath out that had been squatting in my lungs. “It would help her to see that you understand what she’s been through. Is it really all that different from what that man did to you?”

  I bit my upper lip and forced the tears back down. “Yes. It is. Because I’m the lifeline she reached out for. And she wasn’t safe yet. I wasn’t doing my job.”

  Nancy stroked her hand down my hair then settled it on the back of my neck. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t get through a simple witness statement without my mommy having to rescue me from the mean cop who made me cry. The fact that the two of them didn’t see it like that made it worse.

  “You made sure she was safe. First at her house and then by bringing her here. Whatever else you think you could have done or should have done is useless.”

  Jan gave me a look that said the matter was closed. I nodded and gave myself another second to pull it together.

  “Did you see the damage Aja told you about? The pillow?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t see anything as an independent witness until today with the sabotaged locks and the masked man lurking on the property?”

  “Correct.”

  “Sabotaged locks?” Nancy asked. “Sorry, sorry. Finish your official stuff.”

  “As you indicated today, the location where the body was found was quite close to Aja’s house, through the woods. Had she given you any evidence of finding mud or leaves in the house during these incidents?”

  That was an odd line of questioning. It wasn’t like we were going to be able to charge the exceedingly dead Damian Murphy with stalking Aja. He wasn’t ever going to be indicted for breaking and entering so who really cared if he’d gotten the carpets muddy while he was skulked around her house trying to locate her kitty to pull a Fatal Attraction on?

  I reminded myself that sometimes investigators have thought processes that don’t always make sense to other people. Not even other investigators.

  “No. To be fair, I didn’t ask. I wasn’t officially working for her so I was playing a little loose with how I did case intake.”

  My father wouldn’t be thrilled with that admission. Luckily, he was still hiding in the basement waiting for the junk food inquisition to start.

  “Okay.” Jan put away her notebook. “I want to tour the house with you. You can point out the area you saw the person this morning then.”

  And just like that it was over. The tension I’d been feeling popped like a soap bubble and my senses returned to normal. The most annoying aftereffects of being the victim of a crime was how when your brain was stressed, it started to shut down stimuli it felt you didn’t need, ready for fight or flight to kick in. You never even noticed until the birds started chirping again and you could feel your extremities I whined about it now but that fight or flight had come through for me in a big way in the past so I was trying to be grateful for all that my brain did to enable it.

  “Jan, please stay for dinner. I’ve made beef stew.”

  There was nothing Nancy liked more than a full house for dinner. With Jan we’d be six, a full table.

  Fargo settled on my feet after we dished up, trying to avoid all the other feet crowding a space usually more open. Aja sat with one leg underneath her like a flamingo. The conversation swirled around the upcoming baseball season, a topic I knew less about than calculus and I knew nothing about calculus. Jan was surprisingly conversant on the topic and she and my dad had a spirited conversation, with Ben and Aja providing mathematical insights on statistical averages. Trying to follow it all was impossible so I let it wash over me without tuning in and just observed.

  Aja’s hair was starting to fade from the artificially dark black she’d been dying it and hints of auburn swished every time she turned her head to participate in the volley of words. My dad was excited to have someone to talk about his love of baseball and was animated in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time. Nancy was quietly pleased watching her family—to her, Jan was family now too—being fed and enjoying each other. A flicker in her eyes let on that she was worried about me. I gave her a smile to reassure her that I was no worse than usual. I was no better but status quo was always a win over decline.

  My phone blipped and I apologized my way into the foyer, Fargo bumping my heels as I hurried. The name on the screen surprised me.

  “Seth?”

  “Hey, Sunshine. It’s a crazy story.”

  Ah, so he’d heard my twenty-two voicemails. They’d started out cogent arguments as to why running off without a word was not how adult relationships thrived and quickly degenerated into protestations of disbelief then just as rapidly into strings of curses.

  “Uh huh.”

  It had gone silent in the kitchen. A table full of teenagers and detectives was going to be a nosy group in general, but my family elevated butting in to an art form.

  “A spot at FLETC opened up unexpectedly. I didn’t even pack. I got on a plane and showed up to make sure I got the chair.”

  The Federal Law Enforcement Training Center was putting on an annual course that Seth had been unsuccessful in securing enrollment in, despite his recommendation letters and the recent commendation in his file. He’d been deeply disappointed. Everyone, including past FLETC instructors, had assured him he’d be chosen. The class wasn’t in the regular courses in the catalog and was word-of-mouth only. He’d been allowed to tell me about its existence as generalities only and those generalities had been it was a class and it was this week. I didn’t even know which FLETC location he was at.

  “I see.”

  Remember when I said I wasn’t complex? That isn’t always accurate. My feelings regarding Seth are complex. Complex, contradictory, and wildly swinging. Current mood—deeply annoyed and exceptionally proud. He knew what he wanted and despite knowing his actions would cause problems with me, he did it.

  “You’re very angry. Still?”

  I took a moment to choose my words. This situation had great potential to be turned to my favor and I wanted to make sure I got as much out of it as I could. Without alerting any family members there was juicy information to be had.

  “I’m contemplative.”

  He was silent for a full minute, clearly trying to decide his next move. Ours was a love affair plotted out in strategic moves that would make a 3D chess player weep with frustration. He was trying to come up with an appropriate response and I was listening carefully for any background noise that would give away where in the hell he was in the United States. When Spooks Fall in Love will be the movie they make about us.

  “Are you contemplating changing the feelings you’ve done an excellent job of expressing on my voicemail?”

  “The circumstances would seem to warrant that, but I find I need more information to fully assess that course of action.”

  I was driving everyone nuts being so vague. The eavesdroppers were getting no satisfaction and Seth had no idea what to say or do. Perfect.

  “Do you want me to come home?”

  A bluff. He knew I’d never say yes and I knew if I did say yes, he wouldn’t. Interesting attempt. He felt he’d nudged us into a stalemate.

  “If you feel that’s the best course of action.”

  Everyone’s food had to be cold by that point. Good.

  “I, uh, I want to know what you want.”

  Weak sauce, bud. Lobbing that crap over the net at me guarantees a blistering return.

  “Really? Is that what you
want? To know what I want? To tell you to come home? So despite how you chose to go about this, I’m the bad guy. Are you scared, Seth? Is this course intimidating you now that you’re there? Do I need to be the bad guy so you can call it quits and then it’s my fault?”

  I could picture my dad dropping his head into his hands. Don’t lose faith, Dad. I got this.

  “No, Seth. I don’t want you to come home. I want you to take this class because it’s what you want. Even if it’s scary right now. You can do this. I have faith in you.”

  He’d tried to goad me into a fight—our default setting for months now—and I’d just dropped a daisy cutter. Chopper incoming with reinforcement troops in three, two … .

  “I really feel like you’re where you need to be right now, Seth. And I have two cases all of the sudden so I’ll let you go. Check in when you can. Bye.” And I disconnected the call.

  Five agog faces greeted me upon my return to the kitchen.

  “Um, I don’t know if I’m supposed to say something or not but … wow,” Aja said.

  “That was … something,” Ben added.

  “Willa, honey, you handled that … hell, I don’t know, well?” Dad was at a loss.

  Jan avoided my eyes.

  “Pinned his wings right to the board, didn’t you, sweetie? Two days without a how do you do and just calls acting like it’s nothing. He’ll be running that conversation through his head nonstop,” Mom said. She smiled and put a big spoonful of stew in her mouth.

  That was the cue for everyone to stop goggling at me and finish their dinners.

  That’s right he’d be thinking about it for a good long while. And I’d just bought myself a big old bucket of leeway the next time he thought I was being reckless and leaping before I looked. I’d supported him and treated him like an adult when he hadn’t acted like one. He got on a plane and flew to who knew where and waited over twenty-four hours, two days of me leaving voicemails, to tell me where he was and what was going on. Screw that noise. Choke on the support and understanding, Ace.

  Chapter

  11

  Fargo whined from her bed on the floor. Apparently the ultra-deluxe, triple-layer, memory foam dog bed with the upgraded fabric in cow print wasn’t as comfy as she’d like. Unfortunately, her better choice, my bed, was currently covered with crime scene photos from the homicide of Amanda Veitch. I was comparing the photos with the crime scene evidence log and my eyes were swimming at the tedious, painstaking task. It had to be done though.

  Being a PI was not the glamorous occupation shown on TV. Or in movies. There were no sexy dames with gams for days, unless I counted Fargo’s gangly puppy legs. There were no well-dressed men in fedoras staking out the hotel lobby bar, cigarette smoke heavy in the air while a torch singer moaned into an old-timey microphone about the man who done her wrong and at the end of the hour and a half, she and the PI would press into each other, a smoldering kiss almost upon them when the screen would fade to black.

  No, being a modern PI was wearing a grubby t-shirt emblazoned with Matt’s Pool ’Que and riddled with holes from said long-legged puppy’s teething issues, sitting on a bed that desperately needed clean sheets (added to the obscenely long to-do list of chores ignored for far too long), combing through a hundred photos taken of every conceivable angle in a ten-by-twelve bedroom looking for the one piece of evidence a detective with more experience investigating than I had shaving my legs (something else for the to-do list) had missed in the almost twenty years she’d been going over the case.

  It was midnight and I was exhausted. I knew I couldn’t make the same mistake I’d made investigating Joe Reagan’s murder last fall. I had to sleep and eat regularly. I had to interact with more people than my younger brother and the guy I thought was the murderer. I had to, at least, shave my legs on the reg. I had to use caffeine responsibly. More responsibly. Okay, not recklessly. Which was why I had not made a second pot of coffee after dinner even if I’d only had two of the ten cups from the first pot. Okay, three, but I hadn’t finished that cup and it sat, more than half full, on the nightstand.

  I needed to go to sleep and clear my brain out to start again in the morning. I needed more space for the photos. I needed to just put it all away and go at it again when it was daylight. I jotted a quick note about reworking the list by piece of evidence and noting which photos showed that piece then arranging them that way.

  I pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and went to check the locks on the slider. I peeked behind the curtain to make sure no one was lurking in the backyard. Locks were well and good, but those sliders were mostly glass and there were easy ways to bust them that didn’t involve making a ton of noise. I checked the two windows to make sure that the window locks were engaged and the pins were in place. It had been a few days since I’d checked the storm windows to make sure no one had tampered with them. I added that to the top of the to-do list, pretty much ensuring my legs would have to go another day without being shaved.

  I wasn’t content with merely checking the security downstairs and decided to make a perimeter sweep of the upstairs. I hopped over the snitch step and weaved my way up the rest of the staircase, avoiding the squeaky spots on all the other boards. Fargo wasn’t heavy enough to set off any of the noisy points yet so she slipped up behind me like a dancer.

  Dad slept about as well as I did and I wasn’t keen for anyone to get shot. I was pretty sure he wasn’t stupid enough to hear a noise and come out guns ablazin’ but you read stories about perfectly intelligent people being surprised in the middle of the night and shooting a loved one. It was probably why Nancy has instituted the Everyone Disarm in My Darn House Right Now and I Mean It policy.

  I went to start with the office and the door was almost closed but I could see the soft glow of the desk lamp spilling out around the frame. Déjà vu struck me and I half expected to push open the door and see Seth rifling through the stacks of manila folders like I had months before. Instead, Ben was sitting behind the desk, fingers flying over the keyboard of Dad’s laptop. I found it disconcerting he didn’t even look up to see who it was. Had we not drilled being safety conscious into his head at every turn?

  I opened my mouth to chastise him and he cut me off before I could start.

  “I knew it was you before you opened the door, Will. Fargo’s nails clicking on the kitchen floor gave you both away.”

  Wow. That was pretty observant. I had tuned out the sound of her paws days after we got her. And his hands hadn’t even paused while he was talking. That was next level impressive.

  “Don’t get cocky, Benj. What if I was being held at gunpoint to get to you?”

  He stopped typing. “You’re the only family member annoying enough that someone would just kill them first.”

  “Um, thanks. But what if some extremist group managed to track you down and kidnap you to force you to hack into the NSA?”

  Fargo, lacking any commands to sit or stay or do anything, trotted over to Ben and put her paws up on his legs. It was adorable so I was sure he’d tell her to stop, but he just rubbed her ears while he gave me a pitying look.

  “One, no one is going to be able to track me down. I’d explain to you all the levels of encryption I use to mask myself online but we both know it would be a waste of my time. And, two, I can’t hack the NSA so they’d just have to kill me.”

  I had no doubt Ben thought he was being reassuring but he had a long way to go if he hadn’t seen the mistakes in his assurances.

  “Okay, smart guy, don’t be so sure no one can track you. There’s always someone smarter or more determined. It’s no comfort that someone will and I quote, ‘just have to kill you,’ and, finally, how do you know you can’t hack the NSA if you haven’t already tried and failed?”

  He looked at me his eyes widening. “I didn’t exactly try to hack them. I just … um … .”

  “Let me guess, you
could explain it to me but it would just be a waste of your time?” I cocked an eyebrow at him. Genius, my ass. He was just outsmarted by a solid C student who’d had to get her six-year-old brother to help her with algebra. “Just finish up whatever fully legal, non-federal sentence resulting activity you’re doing and go to bed. It’s long past the time you should be asleep.”

  He opened his mouth and this time I got to cut him off. “I’m just checking the locks and then me and pretty girl are going to bed ourselves.”

  As expected, everything was double-locked and as secure as it could be. I led Fargo downstairs and we both climbed into bed to snuggle up for the night.

  Two and a half cups of coffee weren’t enough to overcome my need for sleep and the comforting warmth of Fargo’s body against my back. We were both still asleep and dreaming when my alarm went off. I knew she was dreaming because Fargo’s twitchy legs continued while I groped for the phone to turn the alarm off or, at least, down. I had somehow cranked the ringer volume way up from the usual low I kept it at. I was a light enough sleeper that I didn’t need anything extreme to get me up so if anyone was thinking of getting me one of those clocks that you have to chase, you should forget that now. I’m cranky in the mornings and I’m a good shot even with sleep in my eyes.

  I was tired. I was beyond tired. And I had interviews with Amanda Veitch’s mother and brother in the morning. In the morning that was light as opposed to the morning I was in where it was dark and I was staring at the glowing red number of the clock.

  Six thirty. Time to get up. I was extra groggy because I’d been woken in the middle of a dream cycle. That always threw me off.

  I gathered my hair and put it up into a messy whatever it was called when it was in a ponytail but not pulled all the way through. It wasn’t a bun. It didn’t matter. I jammed a pair of earbuds in to listen to the morning meditation both Leila and Nancy had sent me. I was supposed to be sitting in a chair, with my feet on the floor, relaxed and ready for brain bliss but I didn’t roll like that. Meditation needed to be portable.