by Laina Turner
I put my car in drive to pull out of the apartment complex and turned left. “Shit!” I was supposed to turn right; this was a dead end. I pulled in to an empty parking spot, put my car in reverse, and backed out, noticing a black Cadillac through my rearview mirror. Was that Simon? There couldn’t be that many black Cadillacs in this town. I looked harder and realized it was Simon’s car. What was he doing there at Tobey’s apartment complex’s parking lot—with a woman? And, most surprising of all, the woman was Helen! Of all people. What the hell was going on? Helen had just told me she was afraid of Simon and here she was in a car with him! This was getting weirder by the second. Now I regretted hanging up on Cooper because I would love to tell him about this turn of events.
******
“We shouldn’t be meeting like this,” Helen hissed.
“Relax, Helen.”
“Don’t tell me to relax, Simon. Tobey lives here for God sakes. This is a small town. I can’t afford to have anyone see me with you.”
“But it’s okay to be seen with Chris?”
“Oh, stop it. You know that has to be done.”
“Well, I don’t have to like it.”
“You need to worry about Garrison hanging around.”
“Baby, I told you I can handle him.”
“You’d better.”
Chapter 16Walking out of the Coffee Café sipping on my large latte, looking up at the bright sky, I wished they made gallon-size cups and that I hadn’t left my sunglasses in the car. Last night I hadn’t been able to sleep at all, tossing and turning until finally giving up at 5 a.m. and doing some work on my computer. I put together the notes I had thus far for my piece on the Senator—the job I neglected when I took a nap yesterday. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t come up with much. Complete writer’s block. Not enough information and all this drama, and the stress of this being my first time as a writer, was about as good a combination as a brown and orange sweater: everyone knows that was so two seasons ago. I’d been dodging Trevor’s calls because I didn’t know what to tell him. It shouldn’t be this difficult to write a stupid article.
It was way too early to be up, and I needed some chemical help. So I threw on some jeans and snuck out of the house to get what my mother called “fancy” coffee. My parents had already left to do something together early that morning. My mother was always yelling at me about spending my money on things like that, but I missed my latte.
After a couple of sips of the hot brew, I finally started to feel human again. This was worth every penny. The sunshine held the promise of it being a warm spring day, which was exciting. There was nothing better than the first few days of spring.
As I was enjoying the effect the caffeine was having on my body and basking in the warmth of the morning, I saw a figure in the parking lot, hands in pockets, staring at me. As I headed toward my car and got a couple steps closer, I realized who it was: Simon Atkins. Uh-oh. Something told me he wasn’t waiting to chat, not at seven in the morning. I looked around, but there was no one out except a couple of senior citizens. I wasn’t sure they would be much help unless they’d started taking karate lessons instead of playing bingo. Oh well, I shrugged. What did I have to be afraid of? It’s broad daylight. He wouldn’t do anything to me in broad daylight. Would he? I groaned. I definitely needed more caffeine for this and a better outfit. Now I regretted walking out of the house the way I did. At least if I looked good I would have the upper hand, but it was hard to feel confident in dirty jeans and I didn’t even have cool shoes on to offset them. I patted my hair, unable to remember what it even looked like when I walked out of the house. I looked down at the tennis shoes I threw on and wished I had my red Enzos with the three-inch stilettos. Not only would they look hot, but they could be used as a weapon.
I had no choice but to walk over to him because he was parked right next to my Kia. As I neared him, my false bravado waned when I saw that Simon’s face was set in a stony grimace. This was definitely not a social call. He looked downright menacing or maybe I just felt more vulnerable today due to the shoe thing. When I got within a few feet of him, I stopped, waited, and just looked at him. I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the first one to speak. As hard as it was, I was determined to wait him out, and make him think I wasn’t scared.
“Is there something you need, Simon?” Okay, so I got impatient. I managed to keep my tone neutral; there was no reason to let him know I was scared shitless. I needed to give off the impression that I could hold my own with him. He didn’t say anything. He just stared back. He was pretty good at the staring thing. Didn’t even blink.
“Well? Cat got your tongue?” I thought maybe if I didn’t act scared he would think I was tough. Ha! Fat chance of that. Looking at him, I once again cursed myself for not putting on a better outfit to get coffee. The outfit always made the difference. He was wearing black boots, faded jeans, un-tucked blue-striped button-down shirt, and a black leather jacket; the effect was very casual and sexy in an intimidating way. Had he worn, say, a yellow polo and tennis shoes, I probably wouldn’t be as nervous. You can’t look scary in yellow, though there’s not much you could do about the bald head and lots of muscles, even if they were encased in yellow.
He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His blue eyes were cold and flat. He looked all business. “Enjoying your coffee?” He asked in a seemingly gracious tone, as if he didn’t have a care in the world and was just making conversation.
Please! As if he really cared about my coffee. I rolled my eyes and gave him a look—the kind that was supposed to make the other person feel stupid or belittled. That happened to be one of my best looks; I worked hard at it and used it often, but it didn’t seem to affect him at all. “It’s wonderful. Thank you for asking,” I replied dryly. “You really should go try some. They make a mean cappuccino. Or maybe you like straight espresso,” I said in the most charming voice I could muster. Maybe I could kill him with kindness before he killed me for real. I was getting overly dramatic. He wasn’t going to kill me. Why would he? This wasn’t the movies.
“So, you fancy yourself as some kind of investigator?” he asked, puffing on a lit cigarette.
Yuck, who even smoked anymore? Well, besides Helen. Funny they had that in common. This made me not like him all the more—filthy habit. “What are you getting at, Simon? I don’t have time to stand here and chat.”
“You seem to be poking your nose into a lot of things that aren’t your concern,” he replied.
“What’s it to you?”
“A pretty little thing like you could get hurt sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong,” he said, taking a step toward me.
“Why, Simon, are you threatening me?” I raised my eyebrows.
He shook his head. “Now, now. There’s no reason to get all dramatic on me. I’m not trying to threaten you. Let’s just say it would be in your best interests to just enjoy this time with your parents and go back to the city. Relax. You don’t need to be trying to find out who killed the Senator. Leave it to those who know what they are doing.”
He could claim he wasn’t threatening me, but I knew he definitely was. He was subtle; I had to give him that. I clearly understood what he was getting at without him even saying anything directly. I would have to file that one in my memory bank. That kind of subtlety might come in handy later.
“Last I looked, it was a free country, and I could poke my nose wherever I wanted. Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?” I asked flippantly.
He took another step closer to me. It took all my willpower not to back up. I had to hand it to him; he was good at this intimidating shit.
“Listen, Presley,” he said in a tone that didn’t even attempt to try to hide the fact he wasn’t a happy man. “I have a lot vested in this situation. I will not have you screwing things up.”
“Why, did you kill the Senator?” I didn’t really expect an answer, but was curious about what he might say. I thought that by just flat out ask
ing him, I might get some information from what he didn’t tell me or I could get even luckier and he would tell me something outright. Hey, anything is possible.
My question got a fleeting smile out of him. He was amused I would be brazen enough to ask him. He had to hand it to her; she could put on a brave front.
“You think I killed him?” Simon started laughing. “Now, why would I want to kill Senator Daniels?”
“Then why warn me away from finding the killer if your investment in this situation isn’t the fact that you have something to hide?”
“Let’s just say that there are certain things that I would rather stay quiet, but I am no killer.”
“Well, if it wasn’t you, then who was it?” I forged ahead. He didn’t seem to have a problem answering my last question so I thought I would see how far I could take this.
“What does it matter? He’s dead and he was an ass. It’s not like anyone’s going to miss him anyway.”
“He had a wife and family. Don’t you think they want closure?”
He snorted, which I interpreted as laughter. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, angel.”
I looked at him quizzically. Did Helen not care about Tom? I knew Helen cared about someone else too—that was evident in the make-out session I had witnessed the other night. Surely, she still had some feelings for Tom, or they wouldn’t be married, would they? Although people do stay married for strange reasons. That’s why I was still single. Emotions were too complicated.
He noticed my confusion and continued, “Not that Helen wanted the Senator dead, but it does make things easier for her.”
“Is that why you two were talking in your car last night?” Simon was startled by this bit of information. Obviously, they didn’t realize they had been spotted.
“You would be helping yourself out if you forgot you ever saw us together.”
“Why were you together in the first place?”
“Just stay away from this situation.”
“Who killed him?”
Simon shook his head. “Let the people who pass for cops in this town handle it.”
Now I was pissed. He couldn’t talk about my friends that way, even if he was a scary person who may or may not have killed someone.
“The cops in this town are worth ten of you, jerk.”
I finally wore out his patience. He grabbed my arm, and I tried to twist away, but he was quite strong. He started to shake me, saying, “Just go back to Chicago.”
“Let go of me!” I screamed, hoping one of those senior citizens would hear and call 911.
“Hey! Put her down!” I heard someone yell. It was Katy. Simon looked up for a minute but didn’t seem too worried about the situation. Why would he? Even two of us were no match for him. “Let go of her!” Katy said as she reached us, grabbing his arm and trying to pry it off me. The three of us struggled, and I was sure it would have been comical had I not been scared. Simon would not let go. I wasn’t sure what he thought he was going to do. Just as I was about to give up the hope of him letting go of my arm, Katy dumped her coffee on him, scalding his arm. Go, Katy!
“You bitch!” he sneered, quickly letting go of me and doubling over in pain.
“You started it. Besides, Katy was the one who wasted her coffee,” I retorted, backing out of his reach and not feeling the least bit sorry for him. I needed to gather my wits. I felt braver now that he was burned. I thought this might be an opportune time to ask some more questions.
“So, if you didn’t kill Tom Daniels then who did, Simon?” I asked. Katy looked at me like I was crazy, but I thought I would give it one last shot. He wasn’t in any shape to hurt anyone at the moment, so what did I have to lose? Besides, I felt much better with the two of us there, though I wasn’t certain Katy would agree.
“Can’t we just get out of here?” she whispered to me. “Wouldn’t that be the smart thing to do?”
“No! Well, yes, it would probably be the smart thing to do, but he attacked me and I want some answers.” I looked at Simon expectantly. He seemed to be dealing with his burned arm okay, but still didn’t look completely back to normal. He was still a little pale, and I could tell he was extremely angry at us.
“I’m not telling you anything and I’m not going to tell you again to stay out of this. Can’t you just forget about this and go shopping or something?”
“Listen, Simon. You obviously have something to do with this whole mess. The police are going to figure it out soon, if they haven’t already. Your time is running out.” He began to head back to his car. “Simon, if you don’t tell me who killed the Senator, then what reason is there to believe that you didn’t do it?” I yelled, trying one more time to get some answers.
“Why don’t you ask your little friend’s boyfriend who killed the Senator,” he said over his shoulder, pulling open the door on his Cadillac.
I looked at Katy, and Katy returned my confused look and shrugged her shoulders.
“What did that mean, Katy?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” she replied. She pulled out her phone. “That’s why it’s handy to have friends who are cops.” She dialed Dirt’s number.
Chapter 17I sat in the parking lot of the police department for fourteen minutes waiting for Dirt to come out—not that I was counting or anything, but when I finished my coffee, I started getting antsy about waiting on him. When I called him after the incident with Simon, he told me to come to the station and wait for him until he came out, which was what I did. When I finally saw him coming out of the door, I stuck my hand out the window so he would see me. Jogging over to the car, he opened the passenger door and got in.
“You look horrible, Dirt,” I said, looking at him. He did look horrible. His clothes were wrinkled as if he had slept in them, but the bags under his eyes didn’t seem to indicate that he’d been sleeping at all. His eyes were also bloodshot and his hair was sticking out every which way, as if he had been raking his fingers through it.
“Thanks for that boost to my self-esteem, Presley,” he said wryly.
“C’mon, Dirt. I think you always look good no matter what, but you do look a little worse for wear. I take it you haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”
“No much, Pres. Not since the Senator was murdered, anyway. When the FBI got here, I stupidly thought it might be easier, and they could help us deal with it. Admittedly, we don’t have the resources for an investigation of this magnitude. However, they seem more interested in pointing out ways we have screwed this investigation up, rather than in trying to find the killer. And they won’t share anything with us. Assholes.” He pounded his fist on the dash in frustration.
“Do you have any leads?”
“All we’ve been able to confirm is that he did in fact have a gambling problem and owed some men in Vegas big time. Which we pretty much all knew anyway.”
“Why wouldn’t he just pay them if he was in that much trouble? It’s not like he didn’t have the money.” As I said this, I wondered if I should tell Dirt what Helen said about the gambling. How did this shit just happen? It seemed surreal to me that people could ever get in these kinds of overwhelming messes.
“Well, that’s just it,” Dirt continued. “We’re not sure he did. We started looking into his finances, and it seemed Helen had control of the money and had him on an allowance. He already paid someone several hundred thousand in debts and may not have had the money this time. Unless Helen was willing to give him more. We are now trying to figure out exactly who he owed.”
“Have you asked Helen?” I wondered how the Senator managed to gamble so much if Helen had the purse straps shut tight, though that was probably why he owed millions.
“Not yet. The FBI headed over there this morning to do just that.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out then. Do you think they killed him because Helen wouldn’t give him money? Would that make her an accessory to murder?”
“No, it’s not a crime to be a big bitch,” Dirt replied
. “It’s not a crime to be stupid either, but it could make you a statistic.” He gave me a stern look. “What were you thinking asking Simon if he murdered the Senator?”
“Really Dirt, what was he going to do to me? We were in a public place.” Now that it was all over, I had my bravery back and didn’t want a lecture. It’s not like I was in any real danger. Although scary at the time, I didn’t think Simon was really a killer. He’d just been angry I wouldn’t listen.
“Not that I am happy you were stupid, but I was thinking about what you told me on the phone about what Simon said. Do you really think he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t kill the Senator?”
“You know what? I do for some reason. I am convinced he’s involved in this mess in some way, but I honestly don’t think he’s covering up the fact he murdered the Senator. What I don’t understand though is what he meant by his reference to Katy’s boyfriend, or why he was with Helen last night. The boyfriend reference would mean Chris did it, wouldn’t it? I’m not sure he’s technically her boyfriend, but she isn’t seeing anyone else that would fit the bill. What could Chris possibly have to do with this? I asked Katy and she has no idea. I told her to ask him, but I’m not so sure she will. Do you think maybe because Tobey is his brother that he’s somehow involved? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Why wouldn’t she ask him?” Dirt asked.
“She seemed uncomfortable about the entire thing and tried to blow it off. Maybe you should ask him. You’re friends, so if he does know something he would probably tell you. Wouldn’t he?”
“Normally I would think so, but Chris hasn’t been acting himself lately. I thought it was stress at work, because he mentioned hating his job. Maybe there’s more to it? Listen, Pres, I have a favor I need to ask.”
“What?”
“I need you to ask Cooper what he knows about Simon Atkins’ background.”
“Why do you need me? Don’t you have access to that kind of information? You’re a cop, and besides, I told you I don’t think he’s the killer. And neither does Tobey.”