The House on Hallowed Ground

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  “I drive.” Romero skipped down the steps ahead of me.

  Wilson whispered. “I do hope he means his car.”

  “You and me both,” I said under my breath. I hollered to Romero. “I assume you mean your car?”

  Romero stopped in front of the sedan and opened the passenger door. “This is official police business, Misty. Much as I’d love to get behind the wheel of that beautiful Jag of yours, I doubt it’d be appropriate for me to be driving you around in anything but my own car.”

  I hobbled down the steps. “Since this is official police business, I’d like to add one stipulation.”

  “Which is?” Romero asked.

  “You start by sharing with me everything you know about Lacey’s murder, including what you have on Zoey.”

  If Zoey was convinced Romero thought she was a suspect, I wanted to know why, and what he had on her. With a little inside police knowledge, I felt I could better direct and expedite the case. Maybe even help Zoey meet her deadlines in time for her to make her trip to Italy. “I can be much more helpful that way. And when the case is solved, which it will be, I’ll be happy to hand you the keys to the Jag, and you can take it out for a spin.”

  “Deal.” The detective shook my hand, and before he could help me into the car, Wilson slid behind me and took the middle seat. Romero, totally unaware of our passenger, shut the door and walked around the driver’s side of the car.

  “You really plan to sit there?” I whispered as I struggled to make enough room for myself next to Wilson. Despite the fact Wilson couldn’t be seen, I didn’t want to be sitting in his lap, and cozied up close as I could next to the door.

  “You really plan to give the keys to my Jag away?” Wilson elbowed me. “How dare you.”

  “What else would you have me do? You’ve seen the way Romero looks at the Jag. He’s got mid-life crisis written all over him.”

  “Whose fault is that? Introducing him to my sister like you did.”

  “It wasn’t like that. I—”

  Romero opened the door. “Are you talking to yourself again?”

  “Am I?” I placed my hands on the dashboard and ran my fingers across the paneled instruments. “It’s just, it’s been so long since I’ve been in a car with the steering wheel on the left it seems a little odd to me, that’s all.”

  On the drive over to AJ’s, Romero filled me in on what he knew about Lacey’s case. Which wasn’t any more than what I already knew. Except for the fact forensics had made a positive ID from the doll Crystal had found in the guest closet. The blood on the doll’s hair was a positive match to Lacey. Add in the fact the doll belonged to Zoey, not Crystal, and Zoey had moved up Romero’s chain of suspects.

  “So for now,” Romero said, “I think Zoey looks just as good, maybe even better, for the murder than does her fiancé, Chad.”

  “And Crystal and Kelsey?” I asked.

  “They’re still a possibility. Cases like this, it’s usually someone close to the victim, but not always.”

  “So maybe it is AJ then?” I asked.

  “We’ll see,” Romero said. “Over my years of investigating murders, I’ve learned one day you like one suspect for the crime, the next day it’s the other. Best to keep an open mind and follow the facts.”

  AJ’s house was what Denise would have called a teardown. A small, 1960’s, single bath, two-bedroom in Van Nuys, sandwiched between two three-story apartment buildings. It looked like the owner, whether it was AJ or not, had lost out on negotiations with a developer and was paying for it dearly. The front lawn was overgrown with weeds and cluttered with lawn furniture. A fat-tire bike, a trike, and a dusty two-door Honda with a dented front fender were in the drive.

  From the outside, it looked like nobody was home. Romero checked the address on his cell phone and suggested I wait in the car while he went up to the door.

  Never to be one for following orders, I signaled Wilson to check the house, then waited until Romero’s back was to me and got out of the car. While the detective knocked on the door, I checked the Honda. I hoped to find the engine was still warm or any indication the car had recently been driven. Perhaps to make a floral delivery. I put my hand on the hood. It was dusty, covered with leaves, and dead cold. From the looks of it, I doubted the car had been moved from where it had been parked in months.

  Romero came back to his sedan, his cell phone in his hand. “Doesn’t look like anybody’s home. Nobody’s answering the phone.”

  “Now what?” I asked. “We just leave?”

  “Not much else we can do. I don’t have a search warrant, and I can’t just go barging in. I can call his parole officer again. Don’t worry, one way or the other we’re going to talk to this boy. Sooner or later.”

  Later wasn’t the answer I wanted. I needed to meet with AJ soon as possible. If he had delivered the flowers, I’d sense his excitement of his sneaking onto Zoey’s property and being so close to his once intended victim. If I waited too long, all that anxious energy would be gone. I’d have no sense of what he had done or where he had been. I looked back at the house. Wilson was on the porch with a big thumbs up.

  “You mind if I try?” I asked.

  “You think he’s home?”

  “Detective, I know he’s home. He’s not going to just answer the door for someone like yourself. But I doubt he’s seen me. If you move your car, and I was to show up fifteen minutes from now, I’m not nearly so threatening.”

  I was certain if AJ had seen Romero it was before I had gotten out of the car. AJ had no reason to think Romero wasn’t traveling solo. My guess was, if I knocked on his door AJ wouldn’t be nearly as suspicious of an old lady on his porch in the middle of the day as he was an obvious plain-clothed detective.

  “That’s highly irregular. Not at all how the department would handle it.”

  “I’m irregular, Detective. And if I’m right, we won’t have to wait for a court order or AJ’s parole officer to show up. Really, there’s nothing to this. I’ll chat with him. See if I can get inside the house. Look around. If I find anything or feel as if he’s our man, I should know pretty quickly. Then you can come back and arrest him or pick him up for questioning or whatever you think necessary. Meanwhile, if anything doesn’t look right, you can come get me. Guns blazing. But believe me, you’re not going to need to do that.”

  Romero sighed. “Fine. We’ll try it your way. But the minute things go south, you’re out of there.”

  I promised. We drove around the block and parked in front of the apartment building adjacent to the left of AJ’s house. I left Romero standing beside his car with a clear view of the front porch. Wilson waved as I approached and took a seat on a patio chair.

  Over the years, I’ve found two things that work well for me when I need to elicit help: The first, is my gray hair. It’s a door opener. People love to help old ladies; makes them feel good. And second is my cat. Bossypants.

  Feeling like I had both going for me, I pulled up a photo of Bossy on my cell phone and knocked on the door. “Hello?” There was no answer. I knocked again. This time trying to sound a bit distressed. “Hello? I’m your neighbor. From the apartment building next door? I’m looking for my cat. Hello? Anybody home?”

  Moments later, a woman holding her hands beneath a pumpkin-sized belly that could have won first prize at the state fair, answered the door. She was pregnant, and dressed in a short, sleeveless, cotton maternity dress, and wearing a pair of cowboy boots. A toddler wrapped himself around one of her bare legs and peered up at me.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you. My cat’s missing.” I pulled open the screen door and held out my phone for her to see. “I think she might have jumped from my balcony into your backyard.” I pointed back to the apartment building next door. “She’s white with orange and black markings. A calico. ’Bout eight pounds.” I patted the youngster on the head.
“Have you seen her?”

  The woman took my phone and stared at Bossy’s picture. From her smile, I could see she was an animal lover, and busy as she was with the toddler and babies on the way, I suspected she knew nothing about Zoey or the flowers. From behind her, a husky voice interrupted.

  “Who’s there, Babe?” I peered into the living room. A man was huddled over a drafting table, his head in his hands.

  “Just some lady looking for her lost cat,” she said.

  “Tell her to go away. We don’t have any cats here.”

  “I’m sorry.” The woman handed me back my phone and started to close the door. “I hope you find her.”

  I put my hand to my throat. “Do you mind? I’m thirsty. I could use a glass of water.”

  The detective might have put his foot in the door, but for someone like myself, much frailer, the act of asking for a glass of water was just as effective. While Babe went back to the kitchen, I poked my head inside and started chatting with the man of the house.

  “You a draftsman?” I asked.

  “Who wants to know?” AJ didn’t bother to look up. I stepped further into the room with one hand behind me, holding the door open.

  “Just me,” I said. “My late husband did the same thing. All the work and none of the glory, right?”

  AJ looked up from the table. I noticed several tabloid newspapers on the coffee table, and a vase of flowers next to them. Surprisingly similar to those delivered to Zoey.

  “Are those peonies?” I pointed to the flowers. “They’re my favorite.”

  AJ got up from the table. He was big. Paul Bunyan big. With dark eyes and a full beard. He went to the table and took a flower from the vase.

  “You like these?” he asked.

  The man sounded irritated. I backed out the door. He was twice my size. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wilson get up. Ready to spring to my defense should I need it. With one hand behind me, I waved him off.

  “I love them,” I said.

  “Here take one.” AJ handed me the flower and held the door open while we waited for Babe to return with the water.

  “Lived here long?” I asked.

  AJ was about to answer, when from behind me, Romero bolted for the patio. He must have suspected the flower was some kind of signal and came rushing up the walk, flashing his ID.

  “Your name Adam Johnson?” Romero pushed me aside. His voice gruff.

  “Yeah. Why you askin’?” AJ rubbed his hands down the outside of his pant legs. The man was nervous. I could feel it like an electrical charge in the air between us, cancelling out any chance I had of getting a sense of him. “I ain’t done nothin’. What you want?”

  “Why don’t you answer your door?” Romero barked.

  “What’s this about?” AJ looked from me to the detective. His eyes weary. He looked like he had pulled an all-nighter.

  “I knocked on your door ten minutes ago,” Romero asked. “Where were you?”

  “In the backyard. Fixing the kid’s swing. Why? That against the law?”

  Romero ignored the question. “You sure you weren’t just getting back from Zoey’s, where you’d delivered some flowers?”

  “What’s this all about?” AJ asked.

  Romero continued. “I understand you got an early release from the state pen.”

  “So what?” AJ jutted his jaw. “That the reason you and this woman are standing on my doorstep?”

  “Record showed you served fifteen months for a three- to five-year sentence for stalking.”

  The color in AJ’s face went from a ruddy red to a pale salmon. The realization this was not some ordinary, unannounced parole visit was beginning to sink in.

  Romero continued. “And being that you were in jail because you’re a big fan of Zoey, I imagine that you must have heard about her best friend Lacey being murdered?”

  AJ took a step back. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that.”

  “You mind telling me where you were a week ago, last night?”

  “A week ago?” AJ scratched his head. “Man, I hardly remember where I was yesterday. You accusing me of somthin’?”

  AJ’s wife joined us at the door. “What’s going on?”

  “This cop’s here about Zoey. He wants to know where we were a week ago. Specifically, the night Zoey’s best friend got murdered.”

  “You’re not serious?” The woman looked back at Romero. “AJ’s been here. And a week ago today? We were in the ER. We were there three times last week.” The woman put her hands on her stomach. “You can check the record if you like. I’ve been having cramps. The doctor thinks the babies might come early.”

  “Local ER, right?” Romero took out a small notepad and scribbled a note.

  “Providence St. Joe’s in Burbank,” she said.

  AJ held his hands up. “Look, I don’t know what you think. And I don’t know nothin’ about any flowers or Zoey’s friend getting herself killed. That stuff that happened ’tween Zoey and me? That’s in the past. It was bad news. Chick blew it all out of proportion. But it’s behind me now, okay?”

  “You’re sure you didn’t take a little break, maybe? Drive over to Zoey’s just for the fun of it this morning?’

  “Yeah, right. You seen my car?” AJ pointed to the gray Honda. “Battery’s dead. Haven’t had money to fix it.”

  “Really?” Romero sounded skeptical. “Then how’d you get your wife to the doctors?”

  “Ever hear of Uber?”

  “What about the bike in the drive?”

  “What about it?” AJ asked.

  “Looks like you’ve ridden that recently. Unless you’re in the habit of leaving it out front.”

  “I took a ride to Trader Joe’s, okay? Got milk for the kid. Eggs for breakfast and flowers for my wife. What do you think I’m training for, the Tour de France? Zoey’s place gotta be at least fifteen miles from here.”

  “Ten,” Romero said. “Easy ride if you use the bike lanes.”

  “You guys never give up do you?”

  “Not ’til we have answers.” Romero reached back into his pocket, took out the plastic bag with the small card that had come with Zoey’s flowers, and held it up for AJ to see.

  “This isn’t your writing then? And if I run this card by my forensics guys they’re not going to find your prints on it?”

  AJ looked at the card and laughed. “You think that’s my writing? Give me a break.”

  “Odd though, don’t you think? You being a draftsman and all. You ask me, this note looks exactly like the type of lettering a draftsman might use. The same type of lettering you used the last time you sent notes to Zoey.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t write that note. And I sure as hell didn’t send Zoey any flowers. Look around. I got my hands full. Pregnant wife, a drawing board full of plans that are past due, and a house that’s falling apart.”

  “Sounds tough, son.” Romero took out a business card and stuffed it into AJ’s shirt pocket, patting him on the chest. “Just in case you want to talk.”

  I could feel AJ’s anger rising. I stepped between the men. Another second and I felt the two would come to blows.

  “I think we’re done here, Detective. I’ve got everything I need.” I put my hand on Romero’s arm.

  AJ took the card from his pocket. Looked at it, then jutted his jaw again in my direction. “Who are you? Some social worker? Come to check on the kid?”

  “I take it that’s not your son?” I asked.

  “No, but he might as well be. He belongs to my wife. The two in the oven, them two’s mine.”

  “Three,” I said.

  “Three?” AJ’s head jerked back. “You’re kiddin’ me, right? How you know that?”

  “Tell the doctor to check the sonogram again,” I said. “The third baby’s small. He mi
ssed her. She’ll be fine, but you might want to buy another crib. They’re coming early.”

  Chapter 22

  “That some kind of trick you were doing back there or were you just trying to unsettle the kid?” Romero buckled himself in behind the sedan’s steering wheel. “Telling him his wife’s pregnant with triplets?”

  “That’s what you want to know?” I couldn’t believe Romero was more concerned about how I could predict the number of babies AJ’s girlfriend was carrying than whether or not I thought the man might be guilty of murder.

  “Yeah, that’s what I want to know. How do you do it?” Romero put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

  Wilson elbowed me. “Me too, Misty. Go ahead, explain that one. I’m curious,”

  “Stop.” I put my hand out to the side of my head, in front of Wilson’s face. I couldn’t deal with him, not now.

  Romero braked. “Something wrong?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Not you, Detective. Please, I don’t mean for you to stop. Just go.”

  Romero put his foot back on the gas and continued pulling away from the curb. “Misty, I’m beginning to think in addition to talking to spirits, you talk to yourself.”

  “You have to understand, if I wanted to unsettle AJ I could have found easier ways.”

  “Like what? Bang a few doors? Flip the lights off and on?”

  “That’s not what I do. I’m a psychic, not a magician. An intuitive medium, if that makes it any easier for you.

  “An intuitive medium is it now. And exactly what is that?”

  “Same thing as a psychic,” I said. “I sense things. See things others don’t, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there or that you couldn’t see them just as easily.”

  Romero grunted. “I don’t know about that.”

  “You don’t have to see something to believe in it. You do it every day.”

  “Like what? Help me to understand. ’Cause I really don’t get what it is you do. Something about it unsettles me, and I’d like to know why.”

  “Okay. I’ll give you an example. When one of your patrol officers sees a speeding car, he can’t detect how fast it’s going. He simply knows it’s a car and it’s traveling faster than some of the others around it. It’s not until the officer points a speed gun in the direction of the target and clocks the speed that he can get a read on it.”