Doing It To Death

by Angela Henry

  “You’re lucky,” he said. “And I’m sure Mr. Watts is going to be just fine.” I pulled away from him and he wiped away the single tear that had leaked from the corner of my eye.

  “Hey,” said a female voice. We pulled apart to see Mason’s partner, Jess, approaching with a small notepad in her hand. She gave us a quizzical look before focusing her attention on Mason.

  “What have you got?” he asked her.

  “The other victim is Tarik Dixon, 27, a known drug dealer. The shooting was most likely some kind beef between Dixon and another dealer or possibly his distributor. My guess is Mr. Watts was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she concluded.

  “When can we question him?” Mason stood up and they took a few steps and turned their backs on me.

  “He just got out of surgery and is still under sedation, so not for a few hours at the soonest. And possibly not until morning at the latest.”

  My numbness gave way to anger, and I stood up abruptly knocking over the Styrofoam cup of coffee Mason had sat on the floor. A flood of tepid brown liquid spilled across the yellow linoleum. Were they serious?

  “You do know that some mystery person posted Lewis’s bail, right?” They turned to look at me in surprise.

  “Yes, we were aware that Mr. Watts was out on bail, Miss Clayton,” replied Jess, sounding slightly annoyed like I was a child who’d interrupted the grown-up’s conversation. Mason, who’d been so comforting a moment ago, gave me a blank look.

  “And not twenty minutes after he’s out of jail, he gets shot? That doesn’t strike you two as odd? And who the hell posted his bail anyway? That was a lot of money.”

  “And what would be the motive for someone to shoot him?” asked Jess, giving her partner a look I didn’t like one bit. It was a look that screamed she’s crazy. And suddenly, I didn’t want to talk to her. I needed to talk to Mason. Alone.

  But before I could pull Mason away for a private conversation, Sharon Newcastle arrived, looking frazzled and still dressed in her work clothes. She was headed to the nurse’s station when she spotted me and came rushing over.

  “Is it true Lewis Watts was shot? Is he…?” Her voice trailed off and she searched each of our faces in turn.

  “He’s still in surgery,” I said before Mason or Jess could get a word in, then proceeded to explain to her what had happened.

  “Wow, that’s awful,” she said softly. “Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’m glad you’re okay, Kendra.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I blurted, making Sharon jump. Jess rolled her eyes. Mason looked away. Realizing I was the only one seeing the obvious, I decided to drop it for now. Instead, I sighed and asked, “Do you know who posted Lewis’s bail?”

  “Dr. Joyce Kirkland posted his bail. As a matter fact, I’m no longer representing him. Dr. Kirkland’s hired Phil Redmond, a big-time criminal defense attorney out of Columbus. I know him and Mr. Watts is in good hands.”

  Huh? Wait a minute. Lewis had been so adamant about refusing Joyce’s help because it might cause a problem between her and her husband. And if Joyce had indeed posted his bail, why didn’t he tell me? Or had he lied to me again?

  “Well, I guess that solves that mystery,” said Jess, shoving her notepad into the pocket of her parka. A smirk flashed across her face but was quickly gone. What was it with me and female police detectives? I had actually wanted to like this chick. Or did she have the hots for Mason and didn’t like him being nice to me?

  “Oh, Kendra,” said Sharon, reaching into the large black handbag slung over her shoulder. She pulled out an envelope and handed to me, “You’ve been such a big help, and I was really looking forward to working with you some more. But I guess that’s not necessary now. I’m sure Phil probably has his own investigator.”

  “Investigator?” said Mason and Jess simultaneously. Oh, brother. Mason’s eyes narrowed, and I knew I was in for an interrogation, a threat of obstruction, and possibly a spanking, which wasn’t entirely unappealing.

  A doctor in surgical gear appeared at the front desk and the nurse staffing it gestured to the four of us. Mason tossed me a glare before he and Jess went over to speak to him. My feet were rooted to the spot, and my stomach instantly knotted up. I was too afraid to go closer to hear what the doctor was going to say. Lewis and I were never going to be besties. But on a purely human level, I wanted him to be okay. I tried to gauge the doctor’s expression as he spoke to Mason and Jess. But he only spoke to them for less than a minute before he disappeared back down the hallway he’d emerged from. Mason walked back over to us, while Jess had pulled out her cell phone and made a call.

  “He lost a lot of blood, but the wound to his shoulder was a through and through and missed his heart and lungs. The surgeon said he should make a full recovery,” said Mason. I let out a slow sigh of relief.

  “I’m so glad to hear that.” I looked over at Sharon and was surprised to see she was gone. I hadn’t even seen her leave. That was weird. But what was even weirder was why she’d even shown up at the hospital to begin with when she was no longer his lawyer. Just how did she even know he’d been shot in the first place?

  “Lewis was going to tell me something important about Dibb Bentley.” Mason was driving me back to Lewis’s to get my rental since I’d left it parked at the corner of his street.

  “Is that so?” The sarcasm in his voice told me he was not amused. He hadn’t so much as glanced at me since we’d gotten in the car.

  “Well, yeah, I—” But he cut me off.

  “What’s your degree in, Kendra?”

  “What? My degree?”

  “Yeah, what did you major in?”

  “English, why?” But I knew exactly what he was getting at.

  “English, huh? Well, I majored in criminal justice. I’ve been a cop for ten years and I was also an MP for four years when I was in the Marines.

  “Good for you,” I said in a small voice.

  “So how would you feel if I came to one of your classes and tried to tell you how to teach your students?”

  “I’ve never once tried to tell you how to do your job!” I exclaimed, indignantly.

  “Every time you go putting your nose where it doesn’t belong, you’re showing me you don’t trust me to do my own damned job! Not to mention putting yourself in danger.”

  “Oh, come on. Sharon Newcastle offered me money to get information to help Lewis’s case. I needed the money and she needed the information. It was a win-win situation.”

  “I don’t know what the hell she was thinking, either. You’re not a licensed investigator. Giving you money to dig up information is like asking a manicurist to perform brain surgery!”

  “Ouch!” Now it was my turn to glare. I crossed my arms and turned away staring stonily out the passenger side window.

  “Look,” he said softly, as he pulled up behind my rental, which someone had pushed around the corner, and turned off the ignition. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Kendra. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. Your brake line was cut, and you could have been killed, Then your grandmother’s house got ransacked. Do you have a death wish, or what?” I ignored his question. I knew when I was being handled, no matter how much concern was wrapped around his words.

  “You know the case against Lewis is sketchy at best. Don’t you even want to hear what I found out? Are you so opposed to my help that you’d ignore a possible lead just because it came from me?”

  “Fine.” He ran a hand over his face in exasperation. “What is this hot information you found?” I quickly filled him in on what Pinky Buford had told me, which lead to what I’d found out about Constance Newcastle’s murder. Mason looked impressed despite himself.

  “What if there was a third person involved in that robbery and Dibb was blackmailing them?” I watched as a range of emotions flitted across Mason’s face, and I knew what I’d just told him was sinking in. Then he ruined it. “What if was Charles Newcastle?”

/>   “Or what if was Lewis Watts?” He deadpanned. Ugh! He was hopeless!

  “Forget it.” I jumped out of the car and stalked over to my rental. Mason got out of his car and followed me.

  “Kendra, come back! I’m not done talking to you!”

  “Well, I’m done talking to you! Thanks for the ride, Detective Mason. Goodnight!” I yanked the driver’s side door open and wrinkled my nose as the scent of funky jailbird wafted out. Then I saw something that made me jump back in shock. Someone had driven a cleaver to the hilt into the driver’s seat.

  Twelve

  I woke up groggy the next morning and sat up in an unfamiliar bed and instantly panicked. The room was half in shadow. But even in the dim light I could see I was in a king-size bed with a blue comforter. The two side tables matched the plain oak dresser across from the bed, and tan curtains hung in the two windows flanking the dresser. No pictures graced the walls or dresser. No clothes on the shiny hardwood floor. Not even a robe hanging on the back of the bedroom door. It was very stark, very neat, very masculine, very impersonal, and very militaristic.

  I lay back down, and the scent of a familiar tang of soap coming from the white sheets tickled my nose. I remembered exactly where I was—Detective Blake Mason’s bedroom. After evidence techs had bagged and tagged the cleaver and impounded my rental, he’d taken me back to Mama’s and insisted I pack a bag and come home with him. And no amount of protests on my part would dissuade him. Like it or not, I had my own personal bodyguard, again.

  A quick glance at the digital clock on the bedside table told me it was seven a.m. I had to be at work at eight thirty but needed to pick up my car on the way. I planned on stopping by the hospital to see how Lewis was doing on my lunch hour. Hopefully, if I kept busy I could forget that a lunatic had left me a very real and very scary threat. I could smell coffee brewing somewhere beyond the closed bedroom door, got out of bed, and stepped out of the bedroom. A short hallway led to a small living room just as blandly decorated as the bedroom with tan leather furniture and an entertainment unit against the wall with 50” flat screen sitting on top of it. The shelves in the unit held about 50 DVDs, mostly action adventure, science fiction, and anime. On one shelf sat a framed silver picture of a much younger and skinnier Mason with glasses, braces and a Jheri Curl, wearing a cap and gown. He was standing with an older woman with salt and pepper hair that hung to her shoulders, and a man who could have been his shorter twin. It was the only photograph in the entire apartment. I picked it up to get a closer look—it was like a high school graduation photo. These people had to be his parents. Mason was a very good-looking man, so I was surprised at what an ugly duckling he’d been in high school.

  “Quit being nosy.” I practically jumped out of my skin, almost dropping the picture frame.

  Mason, already dressed for work, came around the corner out of the kitchen, which must have been just off the living room, with two steaming mugs in his hand. One was plain black ceramic; the other was an oversized scarlet mug with the words Marine Mom in gold lettering. He handed me the black one and I eyed scarlet one quizzically.

  “I gave this to my mom not long after I finished basic training. It was the only mug she’d drink out of. And after she died, I took it back. Dad gave away a lot of her stuff to charity, but I held on to this.”

  “Has she been gone long?’ I felt flustered and didn’t know what else to say. I knew next to nothing about Blake Mason. Seeing a private side to him was a little disconcerting.

  “About five years. She’d beat breast cancer when I was in high school, but it came back seven years ago. She wasn’t so lucky the second time around.” He took a big gulp of his coffee and looked at the floor.

  “And your dad?”

  “Oh, he’s fine. He retired last year and spends all his time working on his yard and playing chess in the park.” An awkward silence ensued.

  “Uh, nice Jheri Curl,” I said to lighten the mood.

  “You making fun of my soul glow, Kendra? Man, that’s cold.”

  “And those braces were pretty cute, too.” In fact, between his greasy hair, the glint of the sun reflecting off his glasses, and the metal on his grill, he’d been shining like new money.

  We looked at each other for a long minute and I noticed he was staring at my bare legs. In my haste to pack what I hoped would only be an overnight bag. I stuffed a night shirt in it that I hadn’t worn in a while because it had shrunk in the dryer and was now too short. It barely reached the top of my knees and the clingy fabric clung to my breasts. When he realized I knew he’d been checking me out, he quickly looked at his wristwatch and walked back into the kitchen.

  “I need to head out in twenty minutes. Is there somewhere I can drop you off on the way?”

  “Yeah, I need to go pick up my car from the shop. If you could drop me off there I’d appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem. There’re fresh towels and washcloths in cabinet in the bathroom.”

  I headed into the bathroom to take a quick shower and impulsively looked back before closing the door and was pleased to see he’d been checking me out again. Once the door was closed I opened his bathroom cabinet. The first thing I saw was a white plastic toothbrush holder with two toothbrushes, a blue one that I assumed was his, and purple one. There was no trace of a woman living here that I had seen. Yet here was another toothbrush in the holder in Mason’s bathroom. That could only mean one thing. He had someone in his life who spent the night regularly enough to keep a toothbrush at his place. A wave of disappointment washed over me. I didn’t know why. Hadn’t I already told myself this man was dangerous? I quickly shut the cabinet and jumped into the shower.

  “At least now you know Lewis couldn’t have put that cleaver in my car. He was too busy bleeding out on the sidewalk,” I pointed out smugly on the way to pick up my car.

  “True,” he’d conceded. “But I’m still not convinced your buddy Lewis is completely innocent. He knows more than he’s saying.”

  “Of course he does!” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Didn’t I tell you he was going to tell me something last night before he got shot?”

  “And now he’s going to tell me,” said Mason, as he pulled in front of Frank Z Auto Body Repair Shop.

  “Uh, no offence, but he doesn’t know you. And you’re a cop. I guarantee he’s not going to talk to you. But maybe if I was with you?” I concluded, hopefully.

  “Nope. You’ve had your fun playing private eye. It’s time you let the professionals handle this.” I glared at him but didn’t reply. Boy, he sure didn’t know me at all.

  Before Mason pulled off, he gave me his cell phone number, making me promise I’d call if anything else weird happened. He also warned me he’d be calling me throughout the day to check on me and I’d better pick up. I thought that was going to be the extent of my police protection. But I noticed a patrol car following me to work. When it parked next to me in the parking lot and two cops got out and followed me into the building, I found out that Mason, unbeknownst to me, had assigned them to watch me. And to be honest, as much as I didn’t want them around, having Mama’s house trashed and now the cleaver in the rental had me pretty shook up.

  Rhonda was in a foul mood when I arrived at work. She tossed me a dirty look when I said good morning and snapped at student for talking too loudly, which made the poor girl cry. After I smoothed the student’s hurt feelings, I pulled Rhonda out into the hallway for a little chat.

  “Okay, what’s up? And don’t say nothing because I can tell something’s wrong.”

  “What’s wrong is I took your advice about seeing a therapist,” she said, sounding completely miserable.

  “And?”

  “He told me I needed to own my part in why Dan had an affair! Can you believe that shit? I gave that man everything! I gave him two beautiful kids. I took care of the kids and that big house all by myself, cooking and cleaning. No maid! No nanny! I hosted all the hospital fundraisers, schmoozing with all tho
se bigwig snobs! Even as tired as I always was, I rarely ever told him no in the bedroom! So how the hell is this my fault?”

  “It’s your fault because you let him take you for granted.” Came a raspy voice behind us. The building’s custodian, a grizzled elderly woman named Rosetta stood there with her push broom lying in the crook of her arm. A cigarette dangled unlit from the corner of her mouth. Watery blue eyes stared out at us from a face as wrinkled as a Shar-pei and was framed by a bouffant of obviously dyed blonde hair.

  “What did you say?” Rhonda asked, her spine stiffening and ready to take offense at the intrusion into her personal business.

  “I’ve been watching you walk around here like you got kicked in the cooch. I knew it had to be man problems. And I’ve been biting my tongue ever since. But I can’t take it anymore. Now I’m going to give you some advice you don’t have to pay for. You know what your problem is, sweetie?”

  “What?” Rhonda looked wary but took a step towards Rosetta.

  “You thought if you did everything for him, and didn’t complain or make no waves, and put everybody and their needs before yours, that husband of yours would think you were the perfect wife. Instead, you just taught him how to take you for granted. Then this other gal came around and showed him some backbone and spunk, which he obviously wasn’t getting at home, and he fell hard.” Rhonda’s shoulders slumped.

  “What do I do?” she said in a small voice, surprising me that she wasn’t arguing with Rosetta. But even I could see the truth in her words. Rhonda’s world had revolved solely around her husband and kids. I doubted she knew who she was if she wasn’t a wife and mother.

  “Depends,” said Rosetta around her cigarette. “You want him back?”

  “Of course I do. I still love him, and he’s the father of my children.”

  “Then pick your face up off the ground. You got nothing to be ashamed of. Get a new haircut, put on some makeup and new outfit then drop those kids off with him for the night and go out and have some fun.”