“Are you calling to congratulate me on my east coast television debut?”
“Ah, I think I missed something here. Want to fill me in?”
When I was through, he gave out a long whistle. “Trouble just follows you around, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not my fault,” I sighed. “I have excitable genes.”
“Come again?”
“My mother’s side of the family, the Italian side. Very emotional people.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I could almost hear him smiling through the phone. “I’ve got a line on the SUV.”
“Already? Wow. How’d you do that?”
“Trade secret.”
“And what trade would that be?”
“That’s another secret. The car belongs to a guy named Thurman Williams. It seems that our man Thurman has been one busy dude. He’s served time for armed robbery and was arrested for attempted murder a few years back, but it never went to trial because the key witness disappeared.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Afraid not. There’s more. Williams was dishonorably discharged from the army, something drug related, it looks like. But guess what field he’d been trained in before he got discharged.”
“Demolition?”
“Bingo.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to visualize the bastard who’d almost succeeded in turning my best friend into burger bits.
“I have one more thing,” Nick continued. “He’s working construction now for a local company.”
“Who in their right mind would actually employ this guy?” I shrieked.
“It says here he works for Hoffman and Gruber Construction.”
“Why do I know that name?”
“They’ve built half the city. They’ve got projects in various stages of development all around town.”
“Hey, aren’t they building the new sports arena?”
“Yeah. Plus, they were just awarded a massive renovation project that’s due to start the beginning of the year.”
“Well, you’d think these people would do a better job screening potential employees.” I could just picture this guy’s resume. “Extensive experience in murder and mayhem. Good with people and making them dead.”
Nick put me on hold while he answered his other line. While he was gone I tried to establish a link between Maitlin and this Williams guy, but I kept coming up empty. Nick came back on the line. “Sorry, angel, I have to take this call.”
“Okay. Listen, thanks for all your help. I just have to figure out how it all goes together. It doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Maybe not yet, but give it some time.” Boy, how little he knows me.
Gail phoned. Predictably, the general manager was less than thrilled with my impromptu performance and threatened to pull my contract if only they could find someone else who was willing to humiliate herself on a daily basis, for a ridiculously small paycheck. My network is notoriously cheap.
I felt lonely and depressed. Not even the Hershey bar I’d hidden in case of emergency was able to cheer me up. I called Franny, but Eddie said she was at Carla’s getting her moustache waxed. He must really love her to be privy to that kind of information and still be willing to go through with the wedding. Paul was at the club. I thought about driving over there, but I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. Frankie offered to take me with him to a hockey game, only he was going with three other guys, and I’d have to sit on someone’s lap on the car ride over. And Janine was off getting her aura cleansed. I briefly wondered what Mindy Rebowitz was doing.
When the doorbell rang at eight thirty, my stomach muscles contracted and I began to break out in a sweat. Everyone I knew was busy, so that left Hatchet Man. Maybe he’d come back to finish the job. I peered cautiously out the spy hole. Bobby peered back at me, his face a road map to hell. Mad didn’t even begin to describe it.
“Brandy, open the door.”
“No.”
“I mean it, Alexander. Open the Goddamn door.”
“No. You’re scaring me.”
He changed tactics, his voice growing quietly controlled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to talk, okay?”
“You’re not going to yell at me?”
He thought about it. “I can’t guarantee that.”
“Then go away.” I’d had enough trauma for one day and I didn’t need any more, no matter how attractively packaged it was.
Bobby sighed loudly. He shifted his stance and I caught a glimpse of his gun, hidden under his jacket. God, I hope he’s coming off shift. I’d hate to think he wore it just for me. “I won’t yell,” he said.
I unlatched the chain and twisted the deadbolt open. He sauntered in, looking like an Irish Italian God, all heat and muscle and long lean body. He tossed his jacket onto the couch and unhooked his holster, placing it on top of the television set. Then he sat down heavily on the couch, and stuck his legs up on the coffee table.
“Comfy?”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the cushions. “Gimme a minute. I’m getting there.”
While he took his minute I began thinking about what it would be like to be married to Bobby. He’d come home after a hard day of shooting criminals, and I’d be waiting at the door in a shirtwaist dress, the kind June Cleaver used to wear, and a Martini in my hand. He’d kiss me chastely on the cheek and listen intently while I told him all about the trouble I’d had with the vacuum cleaner, and by the way, “The Beaver” was suspended again for sticking marbles up his nose.
“That’s my boy,” he’d grin, proudly.
“What?” I asked, aloud.
Bobby opened his eyes. “I said do you stay up nights thinking of ways to make me crazy?”
“Yes, Bobby. It’s all about you.” As if I gave him any thought at all. Sheesh. What an egomaniac. I nudged his feet off the coffee table. “You’re gonna leave scuff marks.”
He gave me a slow grin. “You’re getting to sound more like your mother every day.”
“Take that back or die, DiCarlo.”
He eyed the gun resting on top of the television and took it back.
“How’s John?” I asked, joining him on the couch.
“Fine. Bored. He’s stashed at a house in the country. He says it smells like feet and he swears dinner tonight was baked road kill. By the way, when did John become a vegetarian?”
Bobby kept his promise not to yell at me—for about fifteen minutes. But then a “teaser” came on television advertising “News at Ten,” and guess who was the lead story? Just my luck, no 7.0 earthquake in Japan that wiped out an entire village, to take the heat off me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Brandy?” Bobby was sitting up now, hands clenched on his thighs, his jaw muscles working overtime.
“You said you wouldn’t yell at me.”
“Yeah, well that was before, when I’d just heard what you’d done. Now that I’ve seen it for myself —what the hell were you thinking? Advertising the fact that you know there’s something squirrelly going on in the department, and accusing the mayor of God only knows what. Did ya think this was a good thing? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, from my point of view, it’s not helpful!”
I decided to ignore the insults and take a reasonable approach. “Bobby, can’t we just agree to disagree on this?”
“Are you, insane? You accused the mayor, on national television of being some kind of monster who goes around covering up crimes against gay citizens. Then you make the entire police force out to be this corrupt, evil organization—”
“Not the entire police force,” I said, quietly. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I just got really upset when I met Konner Novack’s sister. Somebody had to speak up for her.”
The phone rang and I ran to get it, grateful for the diversion. It was a man’s voice; at least I think it was a man’s. He sounded like he was speaking through a distortion device. “If you
want to know what happens to people who can’t keep their noses out of other people’s lives, just look out your front door.” He hung up quickly, and I stood there, stunned, the phone dangling from my hand.
Bobby followed me into the kitchen. He took one look at my ashen face and grabbed the receiver from my hand. He listened a beat and then put it back on its cradle.
“Who was on the phone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what did he say?”
I started for the front door. “He said to look out my front door.”
“Don’t.” Bobby swatted my hand away as I reached for the doorknob. He grabbed his gun off the television set and motioned me out of the way. Cautiously, he opened the door a tad, and then a bit more. “Christ,” he muttered and slammed the door shut again.
“What is it?” I pushed passed him and tried to open the door, but he grabbed me around the waist and swung me around. “Get out of my way, Bobby,” I screamed.
“Brandy—”
“Move.”
He stepped aside and I opened the door. On the steps was the head of a goat, its neck tendons severed and dripping blood. Its eyes were wide open, exuding pain. And buried between the eyes, splitting its face in half was a hatchet. Bile shot up my throat and I forced it back down. I shut the door again but could not seem to let go of the doorknob.
Bobby gently pried my hand loose and guided me over to the couch. Then he shoved my head between my legs to keep me from passing out. “Tell me exactly what he said to you,” he told me. So I did.
“Bobby, do you think you could, um, clean it up for me?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we’ve got to call the cops in on this.”
“Why? They’re probably the ones who left it there in the first place.”
He opened his mouth to argue the point, but I guess he didn’t have the heart to follow through. “Go upstairs,” he said, instead.
I stood on shaky legs and climbed the stairs to my bedroom.
Twenty minutes later Bobby joined me there. I was sitting on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. I couldn’t seem to get warm, even though the blankets were piled around me. I looked up when he came in and cut him a look. “All gone?”
He nodded.
“Thanks.”
Bobby sat down next to me on the bed.
“Boy, somebody really doesn’t like me,” I said, and then I began to cry, big fat tears that traveled down my cheeks and pooled at the base of my collar.
Bobby put a tentative arm around my shoulder and hugged me to him. I looked up at him; his face was tense, and his eyes burned in the semi darkness. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice husky. “Why are you putting yourself at risk?”
I spread my hands across my face, wiping away the tears. Then I pushed the covers off and scooted down to the edge of the bed and slid off. I walked over to the window and gazed out into the night. “Remember the time I got suspended because a teacher was bullying one of the ninth graders and I stood up for her?”
“As I recall you called him a dickhead.” He smiled at the memory.
“Well, maybe I went a little too far, but—it’s who I am, Bobby. I can’t stand by and watch the bullies win. And maybe I don’t always think things through, and maybe I don’t always get it right, but I’m never going to just sit by and do nothing while there are people in the world who can’t fight for themselves. You used to be able to accept that about me.”
“It used to drive me nuts, but I knew there was no stopping you. But this is different. This is life threatening.” He climbed off the bed and joined me at the window. “Brandy,” he said, forcing me to look at him, “I know I gave up the right to tell you what to do a long time ago. But I care about what happens to you.”
I reached my hand to his cheek and held it there. “I know you do. Look, you said you wanted to be my friend, again. Can you accept me as I am? Because I’m not going to change, for you or anybody.”
He took my hand off his cheek and turned it palm upwards, placing a light kiss on the fleshy part of it, before letting it drop to my side.
“Can I reserve the right to worry about you?”
We went downstairs and I made a pot of herbal tea. What I really wanted was hot cocoa, but I knew sleep was going to be an up hill battle without adding caffeine to the mix. As a gesture of trust, I filled Bobby in on what I’d learned at the club. He said he’d look up Maitlin, check for priors. I didn’t tell him that Nick was already doing that. Why rock the tenuous truce we’d struck. But Bobby wasted no time in asking me about Nick. Who was he? What did I really know about him? Why did I feel I could go to a virtual stranger for help rather than him?
“He’s not a virtual stranger. He’s a friend of Carla’s cousin, Benny.”
“Benny the gun runner? Oh, that makes me feel tons better.”
“Okay, let’s not dwell on the negative, here.” I took a TastyKake out of the cupboard to balance out the tea. “Want one?” I tossed the package to Bobby. “Oh, and another thing.” Then I told him about Thurman Williams.
“Jesus, Brandy,” Bobby began.
“Yes?” How far was he willing to go to accept our friendship by my terms?
“Nothin’. I was just going to say,” he swallowed hard, “good work.”
I grinned. “Thanks.”
We talked until one a.m. going over the clues. I tried to sum up what we knew or suspected. “Curtis Maitlin was a violent guy who had a history of beating up his lovers. He was at the bar the night Konner was killed, and is a viable suspect for the murder. The M.O. was the same as another murder that took place six months ago, and both times, evidence disappeared.
Thurman Williams, an employee of a successful construction company was hired by someone to kill John, because John had seen the pictures and could potentially identify Curtis Maitlin. And all this started happening the minute John went to the police and told them he had pictures of Novack, the night he was killed. So someone in the police department is protecting this guy, Maitlin. Who’s protecting him, and why?”
“We have to look for common links,” Bobby said.
“Like?”
“Like, I don’t know. It’s late. I’ve got to get some sleep. Why don’t we table this until tomorrow?”
“But we’re just getting started. I’m so pumped I could go all night,” I argued, suppressing a huge yawn.
Bobby smiled and pulled me to my feet. “You’re exhausted and you’re afraid to go to sleep. I’ll stay with you until you drift off.”
“I’m not afraid,” I countered, letting him lead me up the stairs. “But if it makes you feel better, you can stay.”
“Thanks.”
I didn’t even bother to change out of my clothes. I just shoved all my stuffed animals to one side and climbed into bed. Bobby tucked the covers all around me. “Could you turn on the night light, please?” I yawned. “In case you need some light when you leave,” I added.
“That’s very considerate of you.” He walked down the hall into the bathroom and flicked on the switch. When he returned he stood in the doorway, watching me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, panicking.
Bobby shook his head. “Nothing. There’s just no place to sit.”
“Oh. Well, um, you could sit on the bed if you’d like.”
In the semi darkness Bobby walked towards the bed. He kicked off his boots and shoved my stuffed animals onto the floor. Then he sat down and swung his legs up onto the bed and stretched them out in front of him. Sitting upright, he leaned his head against the headboard. “Goodnight,” he whispered.
“Goodnight.”
I awoke to something hard pressing into my back. I tried to move, but I was pinned to the bed by an immoveable object. Cautiously opening one eye, I saw that Bobby’s arm was slung across my chest, my body snuggled up against his, spoon-like. I peeked under the blankets. We were both fully dressed, but there was still the matter of the hard thing at my back. It wasn’t
a gun in his pocket—he’d left that on the dresser. So I guess he was just glad to see me.
Trying not to disturb him, I glanced over at the clock. It was after nine a.m. I had to check twice to be sure I was reading it correctly. I’d slept for eight solid hours, which was nothing short of a miracle. It was the first real night’s sleep I’d had in a week. I wanted to stay snuggled next to him forever, but I had to get up to pee. It also occurred to me that waking up in a married man’s arms may not be the smartest thing if you’re not the one he’s married to.
Well, this is awkward. I shifted slightly and he groaned, so I quickly shut my eyes again, feigning sleep. Let him deal with it. I felt him remove his arm and sit up. Slowly, I opened my eyes as if for the first time. Bobby’s hair was all tousled, and his five o’clock shadow had deepened overnight. He rubbed his hand over his face and yawned.
“Hey,” he said, softly.
“Hey.” I sat up too, conscious that I hadn’t brushed my teeth. “I thought you were going to leave when I fell asleep.”
“Nah. I got too tired. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” A sudden shyness swept over me. “I’ll be right back.”
I scrambled out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Some hideous girl had taken up residence in my bathroom mirror and she greeted me when I walked in. Ahhhh! How could I let him see me like this? My face was creased with sleep, and my hair looked like birds had nested in it. I peed and brushed my teeth, and then I grabbed a brush and yanked the tangles out of my hair, which now hung limply to my shoulders.
When I returned to the bedroom Bobby was out of bed. He’d straightened the sheets and fluffed up the pillows. “I didn’t know it was so late, he said, grabbing his gun off the dresser. “I’ve got to get to work.”
I followed him down the stairs and tripped over the last step, catching myself before I landed on my nose. “I could make you some breakfast,” I offered.
“Don’t have time,” he replied, shrugging into his jacket. “Besides,” he grinned, “you don’t know how to cook.”
No Such Thing as a Secret: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As...A Brandy Alexander Mystery) Page 17