Pillow Stalk

by Diane Vallere

  “Cute pup you got here.”

  “Yes, he is, though he’s also a troublemaker.”

  “It’s easy to forgive when they’re this cute,” he said and ruffled Rocky’s fur. I got into the cab and Rocky jumped onto my lap. The driver got in also and made a show of resetting the meter.

  I glanced at his license mounted on the glass partition behind his headrest. Maxim Smith. But by the sound of his accent, Smith was short for something Russian.

  “Take me to the police station off of Loop 12,” I said.

  “You’re taking cab to the cops? You’re not bad lady, are you? Turn yourself in?” he joked.

  “No, but it’s a long story.” I leaned back against the torn seat. “Loop 12 is going to be murder right now. Can you take the shortcut by White Rock Lake?”

  “Fine by me,” he answered.

  Rocky hung his head out the window while the passing air created by our speed whipped his fur away from his face.

  I’d left the notes on the murder victims on my desk at the studio, buried under swatches of five different shades of yellow, but the questions that I’d been thinking about were still weighing heavily on my mind. Pamela. Sheila. Thelma. What did these women have in common? I stared out the window as we drove around the lake. Sheila Murphy’s body was found somewhere around here. This was where Hudson had picked her up. But still, aside from knowing that she had dated Tex, I knew little else. If only there was a way to learn more about them. But deceased, with no surviving relatives, left me with no direction to turn. Unless...

  Like I’d learned with Jan Randall, you can learn a lot about a person by looking in their closets: how they lived, what they spent money on, what was worth keeping out on display and what they kept hidden out of site.

  And then my brain exploded and I knew why Tex had taken my truck. He wasn’t covering for me, he had found a way to gain entry into an investigation he wasn’t supposed to be working. He’d had the same thought as me, and by taking my truck back to Thelma Johnson’s house, he had access to what I already had taken from her estate and access back into her house.

  By leaving me behind, he was one step ahead. Tex’s motivation may have been rooted in solving a homicide but mine was rooted in a little something I liked to call Not Becoming the Next Victim.

  “Here you are,” the cabbie announced. I’d been so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t realized we’d covered the three and a half miles already. I fished into my wallet for a couple of bills and paid him.

  “Can I get a receipt?”

  His brow pulled together. “What are you paying me for? It’s already taken care of.”

  “By whom? I called the cab company myself.”

  “Lady, I was sent out to studio by some guy Allen. He gave me credit card number for to pay.” I was more confused by the content of his message than his improper English.

  “But I called for a taxi. Isn’t that you?”

  “Another cab showed up when you were inside. I told him to hike. I thought I was supposed to take you home, but you want for to be here, that’s fine by me.”

  Tex’s arrangements completely took me by surprise, they didn’t seem his style. I handed the driver a five, a generous tip if I did say so myself, and opened the car door.

  “May I have your card?” I asked.

  “What for?”

  “In case I want to hire you again.”

  “I’m out. Sorry,” he said, feeling around the dusty dash and center console.

  I pulled Rocky out of the back seat. Together we walked to the front doors of the police precinct and, after more sarcasm than I wanted to acknowledge, I drove away in the dark blue Explorer. To get back at them I let Rocky leave a small present next to a row of squad cars.

  I stopped at CVS for a bottle of water and swallowed the maximum dosage of anti-inflammatories. My knee was swollen and straining against the elastic bandage. Instead of driving home like I really, really, really wanted to, I drove to Thelma Johnson’s house. I didn’t know if what Tex had said was true or not. I didn’t know if I had a right to be there or not. But I wouldn’t sleep until I had a chance to walk through her house and look at it with a different perspective.

  The neighborhood was quiet, though people would soon be arriving home from work. Rush hour was full-on. Soon, the street would be lined with luxury cars. Most of the houses in this neighborhood were owned by secondary owners. Thelma Johnson must have been one of the last of the original residents.

  The house looked vacant. I parked in the driveway and walked Rocky around back, where I found the spare key under the Dracaena tree by the back door. We went inside and I flipped the deadbolt behind me. Locking doors behind me seemed like a good habit to keep up these days.

  There wasn’t much left in the kitchen, and I hadn’t touched the living room on my last trip. But that wasn’t where I wanted to go. I walked further down the hallway. The pull-down steps to the attic confirmed my suspicion that Tex had been here earlier. I eased past them to the master bedroom and crossed the room to the closet. What could I learn from Thelma Johnson’s belongings?

  A call from Tex interrupted my project.

  “Night, I hear you got your car from the lot.”

  “Yes, I did, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I suppose I owe you a thank you.”

  “I told you I did it for your own good.”

  “I don’t really know what you mean by that, but I do appreciate the cab.”

  “What cab?”

  “The cab, the cab. The taxi,” I said.

  “You called a taxi?” he asked.

  “You sent a taxi to pick me up from the studio.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “You can stop playing dumb. The driver told me. He said you’d made the arrangements to pay the bill.”

  “Night, are you at home?”

  “No, I’m at Thelma Johnson’s house,” I said.

  “What the hell are you doing there?” his voice snapped. “Get out of that house!”

  “What? Why? I know you were here today. Are you afraid I’m going to discover something you didn’t?”

  “Night, that house is a crime scene. You should not be there, you have no authority to be there. I took your car because it was filled with stuff you took out of that house, and I don’t care how much you like that stuff, it’s evidence in a homicide investigation.”

  “I wrote a check for this estate,” I said, but my sentence fizzled as I remembered that the Steve Johnson who took my check wasn’t who he said he was. “My check hasn’t been cashed, has it?”

  “No, and it’s not going to be. Now get out of that house before the cop that’s watching the residence calls you in for B&E. Drive to the nearest police station—Highland Park. I’ll meet you there.”

  “No, Tex, I’m tired of playing games. I want to go home.”

  And then I heard footsteps in the attic above me and realized I wasn’t alone.

  EIGHTEEN

  I scooped Rocky up in my arms and moved to the hallway. The fold-down attic steps bisected my path to the front door. Silence surrounded me, and I wondered briefly if I’d imagined the sound. Tex is playing with me, I told myself in an attempt to calm down. I eased sideways past the collapsible staircase. As I passed it, I looked up at the black hole of the attic. The tip of a man’s rubber sole hung over the top step, the rest of him lost in the darkness.

  Adrenaline propelled me to the front door, despite the pain in my knee. Clumsy footsteps thudded down the wood stairs behind me. I didn’t look back. Rocky whimpered as his tail knocked against the small counter in the kitchen. I pushed against the door and hobbled through the small, enclosed porch. My fingers threw the deadbolt and I yanked the front door open. I stumbled down the three front stairs and ran to the Explorer, fumbling with the keys for the remote.

  I slammed my palm on the lock switch once we were inside. Rocky’s leash was caught on the other side but I didn’t risk opening the door. I unclipped it from his collar.
My eyes flicked up to the house, back to the ignition, checking to see if anyone was there, if anyone was coming to get me. I jabbed the key at the ignition. On the third try it slipped in. I tore away from the sidewalk, tires squealing. I drove fast—too fast for a truck this size—out of the small neighborhood. Twice the truck swayed dangerously to the side. I had to slow down but I had to get away from that house.

  My cell phone flew from the passenger seat to the floor, the screen still a blue glow. I hadn’t hung up when I ran. Tex was probably still on the line, but I couldn’t take my hands off the steering wheel.

  “I’m out of the house!” I shouted at the floor. “I’m out of the house!”

  His reply was lost in the sound of the vibrating floorboards and the pulsating rush of blood in my ears.

  I didn’t drive directly home for fear I was being followed. There was no mistaking the fact that someone had been in Thelma Johnson’s attic and they’d started to come after me. That much I knew. I checked and rechecked the rearview mirror. Something, a blur of a memory I couldn’t focus on, told me he’d stopped his pursuit at the threshold of Thelma’s front door, but I was still scared. He’d had a clear view of my car; if he wanted to follow me, he could. If he didn’t want to follow me tonight, he’d know what to look for tomorrow. And if he knew who I was, he probably knew where to find that car, and therefore, me.

  I turned up and down side streets, constantly checking the rear view mirror. Occasionally a car appeared behind me, and I took a series of right and left turns to ensure their presence was coincidental. I turned onto Mockingbird and drove the length of it until I arrived at the Highland Park Police Station.

  I pulled into the lot and stared at the army of patrol cars. Shiny, clean. Newer than the cars that were parked in the station north of White Rock Lake, but Highland Park was the richest area in Dallas. The women and men they protected and served were of a different social background than the ones Tex’s team watched over.

  I didn’t get out of the car. Just being there, in the well-lit lot, surrounded by cop cars, allowed me to low down for a moment. Rocky thwomped his furry paws onto my lap and he looked up at me, fear visible in his giant brown eyes. I kissed the top of his head and ran my hand over his fur. He was trembling as much as I was.

  I fished the cell phone off the floor. The call had dropped. I called information and asked for the number to the Budget Rent-a-Car. They were closed for the night. Tomorrow morning I would trade the SUV in for something else.

  I called Tex back.

  “Madison, where are you?” he asked.

  “I’m at the police department in Highland Park, like you said. I don’t think I was followed.”

  “Good. Stay there. Tell them I’m coming to get you.”

  “I’m okay now. I just need a second to calm down. I want to go home.”

  “Not in that car, you’re not. I’ll take you home. You can leave that car there.”

  “No! You are not placing me under house arrest!” I flipped the phone shut and threw it back to the floor. Immediately it rang, but I ignored it.

  I reached across the passenger seat and opened the door, freeing Rocky’s leash. The handle had become frayed from dragging outside of the car, but it was still in one piece. I wound the leash into concentric circles and set it on the floor, then kissed Rocky’s head again and positioned him on the passenger seat. “Time to go home, Rocky.”

  I rebuckled my seat belt and started the ignition. As I released the parking break, knuckles wrapped against my window. I jumped, despite the cross-chest seatbelt strap holding me in place.

  An officer dressed in an immaculately cleaned and pressed navy blue uniform stood next to the car. His mirrored aviators were both clichéd and unnecessary with the waning sun.

  “Ma’am?” he said, to the shut window.

  “I’m just leaving, Officer,” I yelled at the glass.

  “Turn the car off and come with me,” he said.

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  “No you’re not. I booted your car.”

  There was no way I’d heard that correctly. I cracked the window. “What did you say?”

  “We got a call on the radio from a Lieutenant Allen saying you were in our lot. Said for us to keep you here.”

  “You can’t do that. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  The officer adjusted his aviators and gave me a half-smile. “Said you racked up a whole lot of unpaid parking tickets, and he’s been after you for awhile.”

  I had no unpaid parking tickets, but Tex couldn’t tell them I was involved in a homicide investigation that he wasn’t supposed to be investigating. Seems we both had cards we weren’t playing. I wasn’t pleased by this turn of events.

  “Officer, can I see some identification so I know who I’m talking to?”

  He held an identification card and badge up against the window. I grabbed a pen from the center console and wrote his name and badge number on the back of the rental car papers that had scattered on the floor.

  “Ma’am, it’s for your own good. Come with me and I’ll get you a cup of coffee while we wait for the Lieutenant.”

  “No. The Lieutenant has me confused with someone else, and I want to go home now.” I unlocked the parking brake and put the car in drive. The car jerked but didn’t move. I checked the brake and the gears and tried again. The same thing happened.

  The officer again rapped his knuckles on my window. “Ma’am, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re goin’ to ruin a nice set of tires and these ones here are expensive.”

  I rolled the window down completely and hung my head out. Sure enough, an orange boot was locked on my rear tire. “You already know I don’t have any outstanding parking tickets.”

  The officer tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile.

  “There has to be some kind of law against that,” I added.

  “Yep, there probably is.”

  “Then unlock it and let me go.”

  A black Jeep swung into the lot, Tex behind the wheel. He parked in front of the Explorer and hopped out. He flashed a badge.

  “What’s going on here, Officer?”

  “Lieutenant Allen? This here’s the car you wanted us to hold up, right?”

  “This one? Nah, it’s a different one. You can go ahead and take the boot off now.”

  The young officer unlocked the orange contraption with an ear to ear smile on his face. Now that Tex’s Jeep blocked my exit, I was as trapped as before.

  Tex leaned his elbows on the now-open door window and rested his chin on his crossed wrists. His light blue eyes drilled into me. I matched his stare with my own but it didn’t matter. We were on his turf.

  “Night, this is for your own good. Get out of your car, get whatever you need, and I’ll take you home.”

  “And then what happens? I can’t leave my apartment? I’m trapped and out of your way? I don’t think so.”

  He opened his fist and dangled a set of keys in front of me. “There’s another rental waiting for you at your building. I’ll return this one tomorrow. I don’t think it’s wise for you to drive around in this car if—” he stopped talking.

  “If the killer saw me get into it and knows how to find me,” I finished for him.

  “Did he?”

  “I think so.”

  “We need to talk, Night. I need to know what you know because you know something.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “Get into my Jeep.”

  I clipped the frayed leash onto Rocky’s collar and reluctantly got out of the truck. We walked toward Tex’s Jeep, me favoring my knee. I got into the black vehicle and rubbed my hands over the swollen joint. It was the second time I’d been chauffeured by Tex in a week and the circumstances hadn’t improved.

  He spoke to the young officer briefly and joined me in the car. I would have been very happy with silence but it was not to be so.

  “Why did you go back to Thelma Johnson’s house, Night?” he asked
as we pulled onto Turtle Creek Boulevard.

  “Why did you?” I asked.

  He kept his eyes on the road.

  I was silent.

  It wasn’t a long drive from the Highland Park police station to my apartment. He didn’t ask any more questions but I sensed the conversation was not over.

  He pulled the Jeep into the driveway on the south side of my building and drove it to the parking lot in the back. He left the engine running. Something stopped me from getting out.

  “I don’t know why I went to Thelma Johnson’s house. I was looking for something, only I don’t know what. A connection.” I looked down at my hands. “I’m trying to figure out what this all means, these four murders, and what they have to do with me.”

  “That’s not your job, Night.”

  “It’s not your job either, Lieutenant.”

  “My job is to look out for the citizens of Dallas. You’re a citizen of Dallas.”

  “So I’m supposed to sit back and trust you’ll figure it all out before I get killed? I’ve been in more dangerous situations since I’ve met you than I have in my whole life.”

  “I admit, these aren’t the best circumstances for us to have met.”

  I wanted to smack him. “There is something very wrong about the way your brain works, Tex Allen. I’m afraid for my life and all you do is joke around. My life is in danger and I don’t know why. And everybody acts like I’m one of your disgruntled conquests, like I’m only around because I’m trying to get your attention.”

  He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “It’s been known to happen.”

  “But I can’t begin to imagine under what circumstances I would be happy to see you.”

  He smiled but stared straight ahead. “You’ll come around.”

  “OOOooohhh!” My fists instinctively balled up and pounded the dashboard. I tried to unlock the door but Tex had the driver’s side locks engaged and I couldn’t get out. Heat lit up inside of me, at playing the mouse to his role of cat.