by Jada Ryker
“We were just getting ready to leave.” Marisa gripped Verna’s arm firmly, and propelled her to the door. Marisa tried to shut the door as Verna protested, “Hold on, Marisa, I did not get to meet your friends—”
Alex leaped to his feet. “I’ll help you out, Mrs… er … Verna. It looks like you’ve been gardening.” The two passed through the door.
Marisa turned to Russell with relief. “I don’t think I could take much more of her!” Marisa realized Russell was looking at her very directly. “What?”
Russell pulled Marisa to the window. He delicately lifted strands of her hair and held them to the sunlight. “When you’re not directly in the sun, the coppery highlights in your hair are totally invisible. They only come alive out of the shadows.”
Russell dropped the strands of hair and gently tilted her face up. “You lived a double life. One was the chaotic excitement of drinking and the club. The other was the order of your life as a conservative human resources manager. You chose, for a time, to live your life both in the sunshine of order and the shadows of chaos. If you ever think you chose the dull and boring life, remember the fire the sun brings to your hair.”
Russell pulled her closer.
Marisa could feel the beating of his heart against her chest. Instinctively, she touched his arms, and found them firm and warm and strong. She couldn’t look away from his intent gaze behind the thick lenses of his glasses.
He angled his head, and touched his mouth to hers.
His lips were butterfly soft.
Marisa felt her heart expand, and her breath stopped. She placed her hands tentatively on his shoulders, and pulled him close. His chest and legs were hard, with his stomach a soft squish against hers.
The squish! Now would be the time to see if his pudgy belly was his own, or a disguise. She allowed her hands to drift toward his stomach.
Russell pushed her away so hard she nearly fell.
The kitchen door opened and Alex glided into the kitchen. “What did I miss?”
At the same time, Russell yelped.
Marisa looked down.
Laithe had his claws hooked in the bandage on Russell’s leg, playfully trying to rip it off.
Hard pounding rattled the door.
“Verna back to gather more information?” Russell tried to pull away from the determined cat.
Marisa recognized the impatience behind the knock. “I wish it were Verna,” she sighed.
The young man who swaggered into the kitchen brought with him the smell of stale whiskey, old cigarette smoke, and a whiff of vomit.
“Marisa!” His jeans streaked with dirt and grease, and his t-shirt stained with unidentifiable spots, he strode toward Marisa. His large, filthy athletic shoes left clumps of dirt in their wake.
With a pirouetting agility, Marisa sidestepped the exuberant hug. “Mosely. What do you want?”
The thin face splotched by sparse patches of stubble hardened. The bloodshot eyes narrowed in calculation. “You know I prefer Lee, not that terrible name Mom thought sounded so romantic. No hug from my favorite sister?” The smile revealed a missing canine tooth, with the remainder of the teeth mottled with decay.
Marisa’s mind filled with a sudden vision of Mosely as a little boy, the front of his t-shirt wet and wrinkled. He’d compulsively chewed the neckline of his shirts, as other people would gnaw fingernails or a child would suck his thumb. Their father ridiculing Mosely for his constant, allergy induced dripping nose. “Sheep leg” had been their father’s derisive term for the drip.
Avoiding Alex and Russell’s gazes, Marisa faced her brother. “I’m your only sister, and you only come here when you want something. What is it?”
Mosely shrugged, giving up the pretense of happy, healthy family dynamics. “Gotta have money for the weekend.”
A kaleidoscope of images tumbled through her mind. Her mother, pregnant with her little brother. As a five-year-old, Marisa had watched in horror as her father had beaten her mother. In his drunken rage, her father had smashed his fist into her mother’s face and into her stomach. He hadn’t loved or wanted the children he already had. He didn’t want to add another whining brat to the brood. A few months later, Mosely had been born, his feet and ankles horribly deformed.
Marisa’s heart ached for the little boy he’d been. She tried to harden her heart against the man her little brother had become. “I noticed in the online edition of the newspaper a company is renovating some buildings downtown and needs laborers. I’m sure if you run by there, they’ll gladly put you to work.”
“Marisa, you know I can’t work. I still have pain in my legs. I’m working on getting disability.”
She closed her eyes against the images of Mosely in a wheelchair, his tiny body swallowed by the chair, both legs and feet in hard, white casts. “Corseer Children’s Charities fixed your legs, Mosely. Remember all those surgeries? The doctors and nurses went to a lot of trouble to ensure they’re perfectly fine.”
Mosely’s face hardened in calculation. “If you don’t want to give me money, dear sister, then I’ll just have a seat here at this table with your fancy friends. We can talk over old times. I’m sure they’d love to hear all about those old times.”
Clenching her fists, Marisa felt the familiar wave of hot shame wash over her. She knew it was wrong to give him money to get him to leave, but she didn’t want Russell to hear the details of her childhood. Since Alex had grown up with her, he already knew. Marisa reached for her purse.
The door opened, and a bone-thin woman hesitantly leaned her head inside. “Lee? Some old woman kept pestering me while I was sitting in the truck, asking me questions, so I came in here to find you—” She peered into the kitchen. “Miss Marisa? Is that you?”
Marisa frantically wracked her brain to match the woman’s familiar face with a name.
“I’m Fern. Remember? I’ve seen you several times at the domestic violence shelter, where you do volunteer work.”
Mosely laughed shortly. “I’m not surprised to hear my sister is a do-gooder. I’m sure it makes her feel like she’s better than the ones she does good for.” He stood so close to Marisa that she could have counted the broken capillaries in his heavy nose. “Don’t you know giving begins at home?” His breath would have stripped two hundred years of varnish off antique furniture.
Marisa tried to breathe through her mouth as her hands stilled on her wallet. “Fern?”
“I didn’t realize you were the sister Lee told me about. Oh, Lee, Miss Marisa was so nice to me at the center after I left that good-for-nothing Bobby Ray!”
“Blah blah blah, we ain’t got time for all that, Fern.” Her brother turned to Marisa.
Fern continued her happy prattle. “And who would have thought I would actually meet your brother when I went to the Redneck Ruin Bar!”
Hating herself, Marisa passed a plastic card to her brother.
Mosely reached for the card. His thin hand shook uncontrollably. Following Marisa’s gaze to his trembling hand, Mosely forced a laugh. “Too much caffeine.” He snatched the card. “Huh, another damned gas card! Don’t you know the station will only let me buy gas with it?”
Marisa bared her teeth at her brother. “Just enough gas to get you back to Mom’s house. You should be ashamed of yourself, allowing our seventy-year-old mother to work long, exhausting hours at the sewing factory to put food in your belly and a roof over your head, paid truck insurance, and legal fees and bail to keep you out of jail.”
He slammed out of the kitchen.
Turning away, Marisa wondered if her mother incessantly coddled her son due to guilt. Their mother had chosen to stay with an abusive alcoholic who flew into rages, with Mosely as his favorite target. She wondered how much different their lives would have been if her mother had possessed enough backbone to leave their father. And now, if Mom could find the strength to force Mosely to stand on his own two feet, would he come out of his alcoholic haze and learn to take care of himself?
“Your brother is much nicer to me than Bobby Ray.”
Marisa turned to Fern in surprise. From her work at the shelter, Marisa knew Bobby Ray was Fern’s abusive husband. He was lazy and worked only sporadically, for beer and drug money, Marisa remembered. He was also a small-time criminal who dabbled at the edge of the underworld, pulling small jobs for easy money. Bobby Ray was as mean as a snake and as sneaky as a weasel. Fern had traded Bobby Ray for a man just like him. Marisa’s brother.
“During the past year, I’ve run away from Bobby Ray and taken shelter at the center five different times. Each time after leaving him, I always went back. I’m not sure why.” Fern glanced at Alex and Russell, seated at the table, and then away at the floor.
Marisa sighed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Bobby Ray made promises, and you thought he’d keep them.”
“Mrs. Gray, the director at the shelter, said sometimes it takes a lot of tries to finally break free. Mind if I sit down? Lee seemed a little cross, so I reckon I’ll let him settle down a bit in the truck.” Fern pulled out the chair next to Russell. Crossing her legs, encased in threadbare jeans, Fern gazed at the slate kitchen floor. “After I left Bobby Ray, his friend Kerry came into the convenience store where I work. Can you believe he was hitting on me? Luckily, I told him to get lost. If I had gone on a date with him, I’d have missed the chance to meet your brother.”
Marisa smiled weakly. That would have been too bad if Fern had missed out on a wonderful catch like her brother. Wait a minute. Kerry? What was it about Kerry that caught her attention? “Kerry? What’s Kerry’s last name?”
“Webber. Kerry Webber. Why?”
Alex pounced. “The ambulance driver, Kerry Webber?”
Fern was surprised. “Yes, he drives an ambulance. He also does odd jobs at the strip club, along with Bobby Ray.”
Russell hissed in Marisa’s ear, “Brandon said Kerry Webber was there the day of the murder! And Kerry also did odd jobs at the strip club! What if it’s the same club where Zoe worked?”
Marisa waved him back. “What about Kerry and the strip club, Fern?”
Fern shook her head, the limp brown hair flying around her flushed face. “I don’t know. I did have to sneak back to the house to get some stuff. I heard Bobby Ray and Kerry talking about the club. Bobby Ray said, ‘Kerry, don’t you know what this is? It’s a chance to get money, really big money. Not the measly few dollars here and there to do odd jobs. We can get the big bucks—’”
The blaring of a horn interrupted Fern. “Oh, wow, your brother is getting tired of waiting for me. Gotta run! Don’t want to make him mad!”
Marisa exchanged glances with Alex and Russell. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” She grabbed Fern’s arm before she slipped through the door. “What is Bobby Ray’s address, Fern?”
* * * * *
“We’ve got to get to Bobby Ray’s house as fast as we can!” Marisa glanced in the rearview mirror. “My gut is screaming those two hoodlums have bit off more than they can chew, and their newfound source of income is going to decide to get rid of those two loose ends!” The tires squealed as Marisa took a turn on two wheels.
“Marisa, my gut is screaming we’re going to have an accident if you don’t slow down!” Alex ground through teeth clenched in terror as the jeep careened around another sharp curve. He leaned forward to glare at Russell. “Letting her drive just because she knows the way was a big mistake!”
“I didn’t know she was going to drive my Jeep like it’s a ballistic missile!” The Jeep turned sharply and threw Russell against his door. “Marisa! We’ve already called the police! They are bound to beat us there, so we might as well slow down!”
“I’m sorry.” She slowed the car fractionally. “I know they’re just no-good scum and at least one of them is an abusive husband, but I’m positive they’re in imminent danger. If we can beat the killer, then we can at least get them into protective custody, where they can safely tell us the name of the murderer.” In her agitation, she accelerated.
When they neared the address Fern had given them, Marisa’s heart sank. “Oh, no. The police wouldn’t need an ambulance to question the men.” Several police cars lined the street, their blue lights flashing in the hot summer sun. An ambulance was pulled up in the driveway, the back doors open. By the time they screeched to a halt in front of the small, rundown house, Marisa was positive they were too late.
Russell opened his door. “Stay here, Marisa,” he ordered tersely.
Alex tumbled out of the back seat and nearly fell on the ground. “He’s right, Marisa! Don’t move! We’ll be back!”
“Like hell!” Marisa scrambled out, and had to practically run to keep up with Russell and Alex. As they stumbled across the uneven lawn of sparse grass like bald spots on a mangy dog, littered with empty beer cans, trash bags of leaves, evidently from the previous autumn, and a wilted inflated Santa Claus, the peeling front door opened.
Struggling through the narrow opening, an emergency medical technician nearly fell onto the littered porch, gripping the head of the stretcher. He backed up, stumbling down the uneven steps. The other end of his burden appeared, held by a technician in an identical dark uniform. When the two men reached the bottom of the steps, they let the wheels down on the gurney. As the technicians drew abreast of her, Marisa saw a mound covered the stretcher. The white sheet was soaked in blood.
The second paramedic grunted, “I don’t think I’m in the mood for that taco salad with lots of salsa for lunch now.”
Marisa gagged. Russell and Alex each reached for one of her hands.
A familiar voice, sharp with exasperation, penetrated Marisa’s lightheadedness. “Why am I not surprised to see you three here? Two small-time criminals get blasted into more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle, and who I do find on my crime scene? My favorite trio of amateur detectives.” She pulled away from Russell and Alex to face the lawman. In his t-shirt and jeans, Lieutenant Camden looked like a teenager, ready for a basketball game with his friends.
Speaking rapidly, Marisa explained what had led them to the house. “But obviously we arrived too late.”
“I need you three to go by the police station and give your statements.” The lieutenant ran his hand over his shorn head. He frowned, his frustration and fatigue giving his face a haggard cast. “Something…odd has come up.”
Marisa’s heart sank right to her toes. Whether it was her guilty knowledge or something in the lieutenant’s demeanor, her mind flew directly to embezzlement at the hospital.
She glanced at Alex. His body was braced, as if he was waiting for a blow to strike him. She knew he was thinking of the user identification, his user identification, associated with the embezzlement.
Russell threw his head up, like a wolf catching a scent. He seemed to sense something was wrong.
The lieutenant rubbed the back of his neck. “A Mr. Jacobs was in my office earlier this morning. He stated he is auditing the financials of the trauma hospital. He turned over copies of documents which indicate Mr. Caldwell has been stealing from the company. Jacobs believes Mr. Caldwell slipped down the hallway, into the outer office, and fired into Ms. Adair’s office to kill his blackmailer. According to Mr. Jacobs, given the so-called evidence he found, it’s only a matter of time before Mr. Caldwell kills Ms. Adair. He’s very concerned for her safety.”
“Mr. Jacobs,” Marisa mimicked the lieutenant’s tone, “is a self-righteous prick. I am sure a personality test would show he doesn’t have one. Hell, if anybody was the poster child of a potential murder victim, then it would be Brad Jacobs.”
“Lieutenant Camden, I’m willing to take a lie detector test. Whatever it takes to prove to you I’m innocent, I’ll do it—”
“Wait a minute. Ms. Adair, what did you say?” The lieutenant turned to her as if he was on a string she had yanked.
“Jacobs is a self-righteous prick?”
“No, not that—”
“He doesn’t have a personality? Hey
, can you get a court order or subpoena or something to get confirmation—”
“Ms. Adair!” Camden visibly held onto his temper. “You said Jacobs would make an excellent murder victim. What if he was the target? Jonah Graham and Jacobs were both wearing similar gray suits. He and Jacobs were both tall and skinny. Jacobs was in your office only moments before Jonah showed up as a surprise visitor. Jonah was where Jacobs was expected to be. What if the embezzler meant to kill Jacobs before he could find the discrepancies, but shot Graham by mistake?”
A discrepancy…a tiny tendril of memory teased Marisa. What was it? Something that didn’t make sense, a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit neatly into the picture.
“Ms. Adair! Do you have a tummy ache or are you thinking?”
“Something just out of my mind’s reach…” The particular tendril of memory burned away like mist in the sun. “Damn, it’s gone. But wait a minute—” Marisa sucked in an excited breath as she remembered the confrontation between Jacobs and Jonah. “There could have been a connection between Jonah and Jacobs! Jonah hinted he’d seen Jacobs in the Golden Kitty strip club the night before! Jacobs denied it, but he was obviously agitated. He was in such a hurry to get away from Jonah he nearly left skid marks on the carpet!”
The lieutenant puffed up like an angry cat. “Why didn’t you tell me this before, Ms. Adair?”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Jonah was shot in front of me. That fragment of conversation just flew right out of my head.”
His sharp claws metaphorically extended, Camden pounced. “If it flew right out of your head, as you say, then why were you and Meeks nosing around the club after the murder?”
Russell shuffled to Marisa’s side. “Because Zoe Walker was a dancer there, we decided to ask questions at the club.”
The lieutenant swung his gaze to Russell, as if he was a larger and juicier mouse than Marisa. “That doesn’t explain Ms. Adair’s haunting of the club for several years, until six months ago.” At the trio’s matching expressions of surprise, his smile was smug. “I am a detective. I detect.”