Murder in Roseville

by Denise McGee

  "Are any of them worth a lot?"

  "He bought one a couple months ago that he paid several thousand for. I didn't really like it but he bought it anyway. I rarely went into his office so it's not like my opinion mattered."

  Aaron gave me a considering look. "Do you know the artist?"

  "Peter Jenkins, I think. Wait...no. Paul. Paul Jenkins."

  "Let's take a look and see if it's still there. Just don't touch anything on the way, ok? The crime scene guys are gonna have a fit that we’re going in as it is."

  “It’s not like they won’t find my fingerprints everywhere anyway.”

  “Yeah, but if you touch things you might smudge other prints.”

  “Huh. Ok.” I smiled and clasped my hands behind my back like a schoolgirl.

  He laughed. "Don't do that. It looks like I've arrested you for something." He made a call to the station asking for the crime techs and a photographer, then led me into the house.

  "Try to not kick anything, please. I need pictures of everything exactly as it is now."

  I nodded and concentrated on watching where I put my feet. It wasn't easy. The floor was littered with my belongings mixed with furniture stuffing.

  "It's going to take me weeks to get this all sorted again," I said. "Why would anyone do this to me?"

  "I was hoping you knew." His voice tasted of caution, but I didn't blame him. I'd suspect me of hiding something if I'd come into my life blind.

  "How'd you get his call, Aaron? I was expecting a blue and white."

  "I was close." He shrugged, tasting of reservations. He wasn't telling me everything. Not that he had to, but I'd begun to hope for something more than a casual acquaintanceship with him.

  "Heading home?"

  "Yeah, but that's not important."

  I maneuvered my way around the small table set in the hall. Two of the legs were broken and the drawer was in the shape of a trapezoid. I wasn't sure it was fixable. There was no sign of the vase that had been sitting on it.

  "Hopefully, your wife is used to your odd hours."

  He smiled. "I'm not married." He paused, then gestured, "Watch your step there. What are those things?"

  I slipped on one of the marbles from the broken vase anyway. Apparently, it had been thrown against Nathan's study door. Aaron grabbed me before I went down, yanking me hard up against his chest.

  "Did I hurt you? I grabbed you rather quickly."

  I shook my head and tapped his chest. "You're wearing a vest?"

  "Yeah, it's been a rough day." He didn't elaborate but I could taste stale adrenaline behind his words.

  He pushed open the unlatched door and we carefully entered. I hadn't been in the room since the day Graham Hamilton had visited. The wreckage in there wasn't as bad as the rest of the house. Prominently displayed behind his desk was the colorful painting we'd come to check on. It was crooked but undamaged.

  "Well hell," I said. "Now what?"

  "That's it?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. Even though I don't really care for abstract art, I'm glad it's not damaged."

  "Is that an outhouse with a tree growing in it?" His voice held amusement and I turned to see him gazing down at a smaller painting. It was lying half-buried in scattered papers on the floor behind Nathan's desk.

  "Cute, isn't it? Nathan said it reminded him of the outhouse at my lake house. Last summer we found a sapling growing inside it. He bought that a few days before he died."

  "It's unique for sure. Is it worth much?"

  "It's by a fairly well-known sculptor. Part of an ink and wash series he did. Broadening his horizons, I guess." I looked around the room. "The damage seems much less in here. Less...frenzied. Nothing seems to be broken, just moved around."

  "I noticed that too. Might be the first room they searched. They didn't find what they wanted in here so the moved into the rest of the house, getting more and more frantic and angry as they went."

  "Angry. Yeah, that's a good word for it." I was thinking of the shattered vase. I rubbed the goosebumps rising on my arms and shivered.

  "Laurel?" He was watching me, and I could taste his rising concern for me. "We should head back out."

  I nodded but took a long slow look around the office. Sudden tears stung my eyes and I lowered my head to blink them away. It was strange to see Nathan's belongings scattered like this and know he wouldn't be here to rant and rave while he put everything back. He really was gone.

  A light breeze ruffled the papers lying on the floor. One of them whirled off the pile covering the outhouse painting and plastered itself to Aaron's chest. He reached down to peel it off and read it, an odd expression on his face.

  "Perhaps this one should go in a safe place." He handed it to me; it was a copy of my marriage certificate.

  "I didn't even know he kept a copy in here." I took the paper, rubbing the vellum between my fingers. "Where did that wind come from?"

  Aaron's head lifted as if listening. He frowned looking out the office door. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

  He left the room and I could hear him opening and closing doors, his footsteps moving away from me.

  I set the paper celebrating an empty marriage on Nathan's desk and went to stand at the doorway, listening to Aaron moving throughout my home. His steps echoed back to me from the living room and kitchen. His return heralded by the sound preceding him down the hallway from the kitchen.

  He smiled at me, a genuine smile that reached the soul in his eyes. It was a smile that said "you're safe" and "welcome home" at the same time. I felt warm, cherished and the feeling was so unexpected I flushed in confusion. But I also smiled back.

  "I didn't see anything to explain it. The doors are closed and there aren't any windows open." He held out his arm to me and said, "Let me help you over those marble things and we'll get out of here." I tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow and blinked as his free hand covered mine.

  As we moved down the hallway he kept his hand protectively over mine. "You sure you have no idea what this is all about?"

  The taste of his words had changed. He was no longer doubtful of my involvement. I wasn't sure what had changed but I was glad. The thought that he didn't trust me was hurtful in places so deep inside I never knew they were there.

  "I wish I did. You know I was gone over the weekend. They could have broken in anytime while I was gone. Why wait until I was back?" I turned confused eyes to him, hoping he had an answer for me.

  "Who says they weren't here while you were gone, too?" His hand tightened on mine as I swayed. I'm sure I turned white as a sheet, too.

  Aaron held my hand with his offhand and moved the arm I had been holding behind my waist. He all but carried me to the swing on the front porch before I quite knew what was going on. I absently noted the other cruiser had gone. Good, there were no witnesses to my half-faint.

  "Just sit there a moment and catch your breath. I didn't mean to shock you like that."

  He reached up and caressed my temples, his hands cupping my head as he knelt before me. His touch was soft, gentle and I gazed up at him transfixed by the look in his eyes. I turned my head slightly, so I could rub my cheek against his palm.

  And at that moment my car exploded.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Little Tied Up

  AARON

  The blast from behind surprised me nearly as much as Laurel Wentworth nuzzling my hand. I'd daydreamed - in that idle way you do about anyone famous - about meeting her since I'd picked up 'Frantic in Frisco' to read to my mother and had enjoyed the book much more than I'd thought possible for a book of that genre.

  It was just my bad luck that our meeting was under such terrible circumstances. Still, I never really got over the hope we'd meet again. Didn't imagine it'd be like this, though.

  Fortunately, I had my back to the drive, almost completely sheltering her from the explosion and the inevitable shrapnel that comes with it. Doubly fortunate that I still had on my vest because of the warrant I'd
help serve earlier. I may just have to send a carton of cigarettes to Freddy Martindale.

  My good luck benefits hit their yearly cap when it came to avoiding all damage, however. I felt myself slam into Laurel and the collapse of the swing all at once. Pain in my left arm. From shoulder to wrist. There was a buzzing noise from under me and something tickled my right ear.

  "What the…," I muttered. Hands grabbed my chin and my head was forcibly pulled downward. Concerned female eyes swam partially into focus. Her lips moved but all I heard was that buzzing bee. My focus drifted to a piece of...metal...something...embedded in the remains of the porch swing. It must have just missed my head. I reached out to touch it and realized I'd been fingering the side of my head. My digits were covered in red and strangely kept going in and out of focus. I stared at them, puzzled at their slick wetness. Then my face was grabbed again.

  This time I heard a faint voice, like from a broken radio. "Aaron! Aaron, can you hear me?"

  "Aaron?" I was puzzled. Who the hell is Aaron?

  "Aaron, you have to get off me so I can call for help. You've got me trapped."

  I felt pressure on my chest then, pressure that urged me to move. I shifted to my left and felt agonizing pain shooting up my arm. I cried out and collapsed forward again.

  That tinny voice again, "Oh no, your arm's bent at a heck of an angle. I'm so sorry, Aaron." And I felt arms pulling me toward something soft, cradling me like an infant while the world softened like a misty morning and then went dark.

  ***

  I awoke to an odd cold smell. Like a bitter taste on the back of my tongue, it was a clean smell but dry. Antiseptic. A beep chirped rhythmically in the room somewhere. I was in a hospital.

  I shifted a little uncomfortable and found I was restrained, my left arm elevated and tied to the raised rail. My right arm had a wrist strap holding it still. What the hell?

  I pried my dry crusty eyes open and blinked at the bright lights. Well, my eyes had been dry, but they were watering a little now. I must have made a sound because a guy in colorful hospital gear was instantly at my bedside.

  "Good - you're awake. Can you tell me who you are?"

  I opened my mouth to find it was dry and my throat was raw and had a scraped feeling. I tried swallowing a couple times but couldn't work up enough spit to wet an ant's throat. Suddenly there was a straw wavering in front of my face and I seized on it greedily. Water. Not my first choice, but I wasn't gonna be picky at that moment. I drained the cup until it made dry, slurpy noises at the bottom.

  "Thanks," I whispered. "Throat hurts."

  "That's to be expected. We had to intubate you. So, it'll be sore for a day or so. Do you know who you are? Where are you?"

  "Aaron March. Hospital."

  "Very good. I'll let the doctor know you're awake. You've got a visitor, you know." He nodded to a chair in the corner where a bandaged figure was collapsed over an arm. Asleep was my guess from the unconcerned attitude of the nurse.

  "She's been here for days waiting for you to wake up. You should send her home to get some real rest."

  "Days? How long? Why tied up? What happened?" Ouch, it hurt to talk.

  He looked sharply at me. "What's the last thing you remember?"

  I thought about it but the only thing I could remember was a pair of distressed eyes and the hand holding my chin.

  "Eyes."

  "Eyes?" His grew even more concerned at that answer.

  I nodded. "Scared eyes."

  My own eyes widened as more intel flowed back into my brain. "Laurel!” I croaked. “She ok?”

  "You remember now?"

  "Yeah. Explosion. She ok?"

  He smiled in relief. "Who do you think is in the chair?" And he left the room.

  I stared at the figure in the chair. It didn't look much like Laurel. Her lovely brown hair was a mess, and it looked like an area had been shaved to make room for a large bandage that covered an area above her right eye and extended onto her scalp. There was a wide scrape mark on her right cheek and one leg had a soft cast on it. I hadn't protected her as well as I had thought, and my heart turned over painfully in my chest.

  I tried to move again. Curse these restraints. I growled a little but that made my throat hurt again. I was also becoming aware of pain in other places. The side of my head throbbed in time with my pulse and my left arm decided to join in the party. My back felt bruised but otherwise intact. Broken arm? I vaguely remembered Laurel saying something about it being bent the wrong way before I had lost consciousness.

  My restless movements must have woken her because I heard rustling from her corner as she stirred. I looked that direction in time to see her eyes pop open and immediately swivel my direction. Pleasure flooded her features as she took in my gaze.

  "You're awake. You had me so worried." She rose and hobbled to my bedside. I tried to decide the color of her eyes and finally chose hazel. But that wasn't exactly right - they were more of an olive color. Too brown to be green and too green to be brown. Different...and pretty. I realized I was daydreaming about her eyes and a rueful grin crossed my face.

  "You ok?" My voice sounded like a 15-pack a day smoker, but at least it was understandable.

  She smiled. "I'm fine. You were the one everyone was worried about. You know you were out cold for 2 days?"

  I let my eyes linger on the bandage on her forehead and said, "Don't look fine."

  Her hand lifted to touch her gauze covered wound. "Just a few stitches. Nothing major."

  "And leg?"

  "You saw that did you?" Amusement colored her voice. "How like a cop to not miss a detail. I wrecked some muscles when the swing came down. That leg was tucked under it."

  "Sorry." Guilt stabbed at me. I had pulled the swing down on her leg when the blast thrust me forward.

  "Why are you sorry? You saved my life, you think I'm gonna quibble about a slight bump or bruise?"

  I nodded, unconvinced, but letting it go. "Why tied up?"

  "You kept trying to yank the IV from your arm and picking at your bandages. After you managed to undo the stitches in your arm twice they put on the straps."

  "Can remove?"

  "You promise to leave your bandages alone?" She teased and I grinned back, pleased she was here.

  She said with laughter coloring her voice, "I'm not sure I trust that look." But she started unbuckling my arms all the same.

  I flexed my right hand once it was released, shaking the arm carefully so I didn't entangle the IV cord attached to my interior forearm. I could see a couple of puncture marks, one on the back of my hand and one in the crook of my arm. They looked raw as if the needles had been torn forcibly from my flesh. I guess they had been.

  I winced as Laurel's hands worked the buckles on the left arm. The drum corps in my veins started a deep bassy number and the steady beep of the machine attached to my fingertip provided a quickening counter-tempo. She stopped working on the fastenings and threw an anxious, almost hopeful, look toward the door.

  "I think perhaps we'll just leave that one strapped for now. It seems to stress you and I'd really like the doc to take a look at you before exciting you that much."

  I chuckled, manfully ignoring my sore throat, and she colored but met my eyes with speculative ones of her own. "You sir, are much too injured to be thinking such thoughts."

  A thousand responses flashed through my head, most of them crass, and I finally settled for merely laughing again.

  "Bad boy," but she was smiling. She seemed in much lighter spirits today than she had been even a mere 2 days ago. Near death, experiences can do that to you. The accompanying adrenaline rush after surviving can do some pretty crazy things to you. I knew this from experience. After an across town chase that ended in gunfire three years ago, I’d nearly become a father when the rush hit.

  As much as I was drawn to Laurel, I was suddenly glad as shit that I was confined to bed and had been unconscious when the first flush of 'I'm Alive!' had hit. If things between
us ever progressed that far I wanted far more than a quick roll in the sheets.

  I laughed again, this time at myself. Look at me, a Sir Galahad in disguise. You don't really know her at all and you're picking out curtains.

  She looked at me quizzically, started to say something but was interrupted by the doc and nurse coming through the door. Which was just as well because - while I may have missed that first rush of 'living' - I was still glad to be alive. Despite my chivalrous notions, certain parts of my anatomy were starting to rise to the occasion. If you catch my drift.

  "Hey, Andy. You worked on me?" Andy Reyes was a good friend and even better surgeon. We'd played football in high school together and even gone to the same college, although our separate courses of study didn't lead to much interaction aside from the occasional party. He had his pre-med friends and I had the judicial types. Still, we kept in touch and even had the intermittent BBQ.

  "Good to see you functional, man." He shone a light in my eyes, watching the pupils dilate as he spoke. "You rattled your brains good this time. Any headaches or blurry vision?"

  "Only when I asked Laurel to undo the torture device you have me strapped to. Things got a little wonky then."

  He was amused and I caught an answering gleam in Laurel's eyes, "Wonky?"

  "Yeah, technical term." I was still talking in those damn short sentences but the words seemed to be getting clearer.

  Smothered laughter came from Laurel's direction. I caught her eye and winked.

  "Well, to avoid more things going 'wonky' we'll just leave that arm immobile a little while longer then. I had to repair a lot of damage in there."

  "How much? Permanent damage?"

  "I'm hopeful that there won't be. Had to put in a couple pins. It was a compound fracture but a relatively simple one. You'll have to keep it elevated and watch out for any swelling. Once we take out the stitches we'll take another look at it and see if you need a cast. Right now it's in a soft splint so I can keep an eye on it. You're looking at 6-8 weeks of healing and a couple months of therapy." He was checking my arm as he spoke, making sure we hadn't undone anything while fussing with the restraints.