by F J messina
“And you were staking out Dahlia Farm because?”
Sonia was stunned. No real response to a possible murder? Her mind scrambled for a moment. “Well, why I was there is really none of your concern. Client privilege and all, you know.”
Brad, again, sat in silence. His elbows still on the arms of his chair, he interlaced his fingers and began unconsciously moving them in and out. Finally, Sonia continued. “As I said, I was staking out Dahlia Farm and I saw several things that made me come to the conclusion that there was no way that John Hensley took his own life.”
His hands became still. “And you’re not willing to tell me what those things were?”
“No. I mean yes. Well, of course, I am. I’ll tell you all about that. I just don’t see what my reason for being out there has to do with anything.”
“Ms. Vitale─”
“Sonia,” she interrupted, leaning in and trying very hard to get on the same psychological footing as her . . . her what? Was he her adversary?
“Sonia,” he restarted. So did his hands. Sonia noticed the movement. Stronger. Intimidating. “My point, is that to truly understand anything, we have to bring to bear every bit of information we might possibly gather. And in that context, the reason for your staking out Dahlia Farm might have everything to do with what we’re discussing.” His blue eyes locked in on her. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Sonia took a deep breath. “Well . . . .”
“Okay, then.” Brad leaned back in his chair. “So, tell me why you were staking out Dahlia Farm. Then, of course, I’d like to hear what convinced you Mr. Hensley didn’t commit suicide.”
Sonia braced herself and jumped in. She started by sketching out the details about Ms. Torres and Mr. Torres, no relation. Once she got into the events surrounding Hensley’s death her tempo quickened, as did her level of determination.
As she spoke, Brad sat in silence, obviously listening very intently, his elbows on his desk, and his fingers tented in front of his mouth. His eyes never left Sonia’s face. In fact, Sonia was starting to have trouble discerning whether Brad was listening intently or just staring at her. And with those bright blue eyes, it was all a bit unnerving.
When Sonia finished her account, they sat in silence until Brad sat back in his chair. “So now you’re determined to find out what actually happened to Mr. Hensley?”
Spent both from verbally sparring with Brad Dunham and from reliving the lengthy story, Sonia just nodded.
“And you would like to know the why and the who as well?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve come to me for help because you really don’t know how to proceed on your own?”
Sonia sat up in her chair. This is starting to feel a little demeaning. What the hell? “Well, more like I would appreciate the professional courtesy of your input,” she said with noticeably more energy, “and perhaps your assistance.”
Brad remained relaxed in his chair. “And you would like me to do this pro bono?”
Sonia’s nostrils flared. Holy crap. This jerk expects me to pay him for his help? I can’t believe it. She glared at him silently.
After a few moments, Brad finally spoke. “Listen, Sonia, I know you don’t have the money to pay me, and I wouldn’t take your money anyway. I respect what you’re doing. Honestly, I’m crazy busy, but I’ll find the time to help you. Really, I will.”
Sonia pursed her lips. She locked eyes with him. The clock on the wall ticked. This bastard is going to help, but only after he demeans me and makes me feel like I couldn’t possibly accomplish this on my own. To add insult to injury, he makes me feel like I should pay him. Then he rubs it in by saying I couldn’t afford it, and he wouldn’t take my money anyway. The gall of this guy.
Sonia had to say something. She wanted to stick it to him, but she did need his help. She tried to hide her frustration. “And why are you going to do that?”
His gaze drifted to the placard on his desk, then he looked intently at her with those blue eyes. “Because that’s what I was taught.”
14
For the second time since she had entered the room, Sonia looked at the placard on Brad’s desk. “ ‘Do the right thing’? Like it says on your desk?”
“Like it says on the desk.”
He had said it so softly Sonia knew there was more. She waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing. The clock ticked again.
Brad stood up and started to walk around the room. He spoke. His voice was still soft, his words slower than before. “Listen, I was born up the road in Paris, Kentucky.”
Sonia turned and watched as he moved to the window, looking out on East Main─black polo shirt, well-fitting khakis, black belt, black leather shoes─his broad shoulders, his trim body in silhouette.
“My dad, that’s his picture there, was a Kentucky State Trooper.” He’d said it without turning around. “When I was thirteen, my dad was killed in the line of duty─doing the right thing─shot during a liquor store robbery. Those were his words, ‘Do the right thing.’ ”
Sonia sat silently. She saw his fingers run absently over a window frame. She waited, trying to understand. Is his game shifting?
“Until I was seventeen, I lived alone with my mom. She was a nurse, and she worked at one of the hospitals here in Lexington. After he died, Mom started saying, ‘Bradley, do the right thing, honey, do the right thing.’ ” He turned and looked directly at her. He smiled. A real smile. “I think it was her way of honoring my dad, keeping him a part of our lives.”
His eyes were so bright, so intense. She smiled back at him, then felt uncomfortable for having done so.
“One night, it was in February, the roads were icy and there had been a bunch of accidents. She was at home, but the hospital called and said she needed to come in. She just went and put on her coat and boots. And as she walked out the door, she said, almost more to herself than to me, ‘Do the right thing. Just do the right thing.’ ”
There was a pause, and Sonia cringed inwardly.
“You know, some people call the road between Paris and Lexington the prettiest road in Kentucky.”
Sonia knew it was a beautiful ride between Lexington and Paris. She and Jet had made the trip several times, up to a shooting range they occasionally practiced on. Horse farms. And beside the road, miles, and miles of stone fences, some of which were actually built by slaves before the Civil War. But Sonia knew this wasn’t a story about horse farms and beautiful scenery. She already knew the end of the story. She didn’t want to hear it.
“But that night it wasn’t the prettiest road in Kentucky, it was the deadliest. She slid off the road, right into one of those stone walls.”
Sonia looked down at her hands. Why is he telling me all of this? So personal.
Brad turned, moved back to his desk, and stood in front of it. He leaned against it, putting himself between Sonia and the desk. He picked up the picture of the football coach.
Sonia could hear him speaking. Words came into her consciousness . . . “Aunt and uncle . . . coach . . . took a special interest in me . . .,” but they slipped by. She was trying to take the measure of the man, his strength, his sharp mind, but also his vulnerability. Her mind strained to grasp the whole of him. Who is this guy? What makes this guy tick?
“. . . but he knew how important the phrase, ‘Do the right thing,’ was for me.” Brad had finished speaking. He was smiling at her.
Sonia felt she should say something, but nothing came to her.
There was another long pause. He looked down at the picture and tapped it with his thumb. Then he turned back to Sonia. “You know, that could have become something I hated, ‘Do the right thing.’ I could have rebelled against it, but I didn’t. Instead, I took it on as my own.”
Sonia adjusted herself in her chair, and that seemed to break Brad’s train of thought. Brad put the picture back on the desk. He seemed ill at ease, as if he suddenly realized he was sharing too much. He straightened the picture several tim
es. His eyes rose to hers momentarily. “Sorry.” The words were soft, almost mumbled.
Sonia noticed the gentleness with which Brad had placed the photograph back on the desk. Gentle man? Tough guy? Which one? Both? Sonia’s eyes drifted to the miniature Marine Corps flag on the wall. Trying to break the intensity of the moment, she asked, “So, you were in the Marines?”
He looked at the flag himself. “Yeah.” His tone of voice was much lighter. “When the first Gulf War started, I wanted to go fight, but I was too young. So, I finished high school and went to the University of Kentucky.” Brad turned his blue eyes back to her. “But I knew that as soon as I graduated, I would enlist in the Marines.
“It’s funny.” He shrugged. “Because I had a college degree, I could have gone into the Marines as an officer, but that’s not what I wanted. I wanted to be more of a, well, a first responder. I wanted to be on the front lines. I wanted to actually be doing the right thing. So, I went in as an enlisted man and served in combat in the second Gulf War. It was years before I became an officer. Twenty years later, here I am back in horse country.
Brad moved behind his desk and sat down. He was back in his simple, black, functional, executive chair. In charge. He looked at Sonia, “And now, Sonia Vitale, you’re sitting in front of me, telling me you want to find out what happened to John Abbott Hensley; you want to do the right thing. That’s why I’m going to help.”
Sonia took in a deep breath and wondered about the man in front of her. Is he the Boy Scout all these stories would imply, or is he just conning me? Unclear of where she stood, she said the only thing she could think of. “So, how do we move forward?”
15
At eleven fifteen, Sonia walked back toward her office, shell-shocked. When she passed the entrance to Magee’s she stopped, thought for a moment, then turned inside. I need a cup of coffee and a chance to just sit and chill. She walked to the counter and, with just a word or two to Hildy, she went to the coffee bar and got her coffee. Then she took a seat in the front corner of the bakery, a seat which offered her the solitude she needed.
She sat there, lost in her thoughts. Her mind kept flashing back and forth in fragments. His mom and dad . . .Those blue eyes . . . That son-of-a-bitch . . . Of course, I’m competent! . . . But I don’t even know where to begin . . . Damn, he’s hot . . . He wants me to pay? Son-of-a-bitch . . . But he is going to help . . . . She took a careful sip of her very hot coffee. Get a hold of yourself girl. You’re supposed to meet him at three forty-five, out here in the parking lot, and you’d better get your act together. Be ready. Be a pro. Do this thing.
Sitting in the corner, facing the door, Sonia’s eyes had been seeing but not perceiving. Suddenly that changed. The door opened and Detective Sergeant Adams walked into Magee’s. She woke from her trance. What the hell is he doing here?
Adams cruised right past her without appearing to notice. He went to the counter, and it seemed to Sonia that he had paid only for coffee since he walked toward the coffee bar with nothing in his hand. Sonia sat quite still. After her experience with him at the news conference, she didn’t want the detective to notice her.
After he filled a large cup with dark roast coffee, Detective Adams turned and looked around the room, apparently searching for a place to sit. When his eyes connected with Sonia’s, he walked directly over to her.
“Ms. Vitale. How nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you as well, Sergeant Adams.” Sonia picked up her phone and slipped it into her purse on the floor, hoping to send the message that she might soon be leaving.
“Please, call me Johnny.” He looked around the room. “Nice place.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before,” said Sonia. Damn, I should have let that go by.
“No. I haven’t been here for a very long time. But coming by on my way to visit with you the other day, it struck me that I should stop in sometime. Would you mind if I joined you?”
The words that came out of Sonia’s mouth were, “Certainly. Have a seat.” But the words that were running through her brain were two-fold. Part of her brain, her temporal lobe, where sexual attraction occurs, said, “He’s wearing that dark gray suit again. My, it does look good on him. Nice smile, too.” Another part of her brain, her cerebrum, where thinking takes place, said, “What is he doing here? Is he after something? Can I trust him?”
All of a sudden, Sonia realized Detective Sergeant Johnny Adams was talking and she had not the slightest idea of what he had said. The voices in her brain had drowned him out. Quickly, however, she caught his gist.
“—was the right time of day for it. I’m so pleased that I happened to run into you.”
“Yes,” she said, hoping the answer made sense.
Johnny Adams smiled and leaned in. “Listen, I’m so glad you took my advice and didn’t ask or say anything at the press conference. I was worried that you might, somehow, get yourself into a difficult situation. It’s good that the department got that whole issue wrapped up, and so quickly.”
Sonia felt her guard go up. “Yes, it was.”
“You don’t have any more questions or issues? You’re comfortable now that the medical examiner has filed her report?”
Sonia decided to play things close to the vest. “Yeah. I guess you guys got it all figured out. Must’ve been my imagination running a bit wild. You know how we PIs can get.”
Detective Sergeant Johnny Adams sat back in his chair. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He turned around in his chair and took in the mural and the stained-glass sign in the room. “Gosh, this is a nice place, isn’t it? Is this around the time you usually come in? Lunchtime?”
“No, I’m usually here and gone way before this.” Damn, he didn’t need to know that. “It’s just that I had . . . I just came from a meeting with a client and thought a second cup of coffee would be nice. You should try the Southern Pecan. It’s delicious.”
With that, Sonia stood up. “I’ve got to get up to my office. I’ve got to work on some things with my partner. It was nice to see you.”
Johnny Adams stood up as well, the perfect gentleman. “Well, again, it was nice to run into you. I hope that happens again.”
Sonia scooped up her purse, and with a quick “Bye now, Sergeant Adams,” moved around him and headed for the door.
“Johnny. You can call me Johnny,” he called after her. And as Sonia hustled through the door, he added, “Bye!”
Sonia climbed those damn stairs, even more annoying now that Brad Dunham had mentioned them. Aren’t I a hot mess? Now her brain was not only conflicted by dual thoughts of Brad Dunham, but by dual thoughts of Detective Sergeant Johnny Adams as well. Sonia was a very attractive woman who had been pursued by more than her share of men. She stopped at the top of the steps, with her hand on the door. Is he trying to get something out of me? She thought for a moment and opened the door. Either that, or he just wants me. She smiled.
16
At precisely three forty-five, Sonia walked down the stairs, put her brown leather purse on the ground, and leaned against her car, waiting to drive Brad Dunham out to Dahlia Farm. He had said that he needed to get a feel for what was going on out there. As she stood by her red Subaru, which was in pretty good shape for its age, a very new-looking Corvette pulled into the parking lot and stopped. It was a real muscle car─a deep rich blue. The sound of its engine was a deep-throated rumble. She smiled a sad smile. Yet another gray-haired old man driving the car of his teen-aged dreams. The car door opened and Brad Dunham half-stepped out. He yelled at her over the door. “Are you coming or not?”
She picked up her purse. Jerk. Of course he thinks he’s driving. She walked to the Corvette. Yes, Your Highness. Your humble servant is on her way. How may I serve you?
As she slid into the supple leather seats, she smelled that unmistakable fragrance. “New?”
“Just this week. Thought it was time I got rid of the Porsche and bought American again. Got myself a ‘Vette. Nice, h
uh?”
Sonia’s eyes roamed around the cockpit of the car. Corvette logos. LED displays. Stick shift. High tech navigation system. High tech everything. She let out a deep breath. Oh, brother. She managed a “Very nice.”
Brad turned the car around effortlessly and took a left onto East Main. Sonia watched the streets go by. “Do you know where you’re headed?”
“GPS.” Brad kept his eyes on the road.
Sonia turned her head and looked out the passenger window. And so it begins. Butthead.
They were both silent as they worked their way out of the city and past the airport. Brad turned at the castle. As they approached the farm, Sonia said, “It’s right here on the left.”
Brad slowed way down, stopped for a moment, then drove on. They approached the place in which she had parked her car those several days that she was staking out the farm. “We can turn around right here.”
Brad smoothly palmed the ‘Vette’s steering wheel, turning the car around and pulling into the spot. He reached toward the dashboard and slid down a plastic cover between the dash and the console. Sonia’s eyes opened wide. “What’s that?”
“That’s one of the images I just took as we passed the farm.” He was nonchalant. “The car is equipped with four cameras, one facing each direction. They all feed into this mini- computer. I can take stills or video of anything, no matter what side of the car it’s on. Of course, for our purposes now, it was better to take stills.”
Sonia swallowed hard. Whoa, we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. She didn’t say a word.
“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.” Brad scrolled through several images. He stopped. “Is that the barn where it happened?”