A Fine Fix

by Gale Deitch

  Where was Daniel?

  A knock on the door made me jump.

  “Daniel,” I whispered with relief and ran to the door. Fumbling with the lock, I finally swung the door wide.

  “Hi, Trudie.” Bradley stood grinning at me. “Can I come in?”

  I froze, mouth open. Before I could say a word, he pushed the door wider with one hand, strode in, and slammed the door shut behind him.

  “Actually,” I sputtered. “I’m expecting someone. Any minute.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?” He sauntered over to the sofa and sat down, crossing his legs. He wore scuffed cordovan penny loafers and no socks.

  “Detective Goldman. We have some things to discuss. Privately.”

  “I’m sure you two have lots to discuss privately. Ha!” His laugh sounded humorless.

  Something was out of kilter. Here, like at my parents’ house earlier, this wasn’t the Bradley I knew. I’d never seen him anything but friendly and helpful. He scared me a little.

  Sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa, I decided to try a different approach. “Bradley, Mom was thrilled with your roses. She put them in her favorite Waterford crystal vase on the table in the foyer. It was thoughtful of you.”

  “I like your mother. She’s a great cook—like you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Maybe my strategy of keeping him calm with normal conversation was working. “Is there something you want to talk to me about?”

  “You’re damn right there’s something I want to talk about.”

  I stood up. Something definitely wasn’t right. “Uh—could I get you a cold drink? It’s pretty hot out. You must be thirsty.” If I could just get into the kitchen, I could call 9-1-1 and leave the phone off the hook. Or I could grab a knife to defend myself, if necessary.

  “No. I’m here to talk. To you. Sit down.” He nodded to the sofa where I’d just been sitting.

  “I’m fine standing.”

  “I said to sit down.” He stood, grabbed my arm and threw me onto the couch.

  “Bradley. What in the world has gotten into you?” Half sitting, half lying across the cushions, I struggled to straighten myself out.

  “Let’s talk, Trudie.” He stood over me. He was frowning and intense. Upset.

  “Talk about what?” The back of my neck and scalp prickled as if each hair stood at attention.

  “You need to stop badgering her. Stop making her sad.” His face was almost pouty, like a little boy’s.

  “Badgering who? My mom?”

  “No. Allison. You went to see her today and made her sad.” How did Bradley know I’d gone to see Ally?

  “Yes, I did see her today. But we had a good talk and made up. We’re friends. She was fine when I left her. Really.”

  “Fine. You call that fine?” Bradley began to pace, his hands gesturing with every word. “She called me this afternoon to question my motives. She asked if I knew what happened to that scumbag manager who screwed her out of everything. Even accused me of using her credit card and booking airline tickets for her and Zach.”

  Then he turned to face me, his face reddening like a boiled crab. He pointed his finger at me. “What did you say to her? What did you tell her?”

  “Wha—? I don’t understand. Bradley, why would Ally call you? She doesn’t even know

  y—.”

  Oh, my God. Of course; I understood now. It hit me like a Hawaiian Punch. Bradley was Ally’s half-brother, Steven. She’d never met him in person so she wouldn’t have recognized him the night of the murder or at the funeral or the Shiva house. But there he’d been at every step of the way. Most likely, he’d been following Ally for the past year, watching her every move and then finding out everything else from their phone conversations. I examined him more closely now, and there it had been right in front of me all along. His eyes, the shape of his face, the dimples—he could have been her twin. Why had I never noticed the resemblance?

  I held out my hand to him, pointing. “You’re—Steven. Ally’s brother.”

  He gave a brisk nod. “Damn straight. And I don’t like the way you’ve been treating her, accusing her of things she’s never done. I heard the way you spoke to her in that bar, Trudie. You threatened her about going to the police. Poor Allison was scared to death. You scared her.”

  “You were there? At the bar?”

  “Of course I was there. How else could I protect my sister? Someone has to have her back.”

  I swallowed hard and tried to keep my voice from quivering. “Bradley—I mean Steven—please sit down and let’s discuss this. It’s obviously been bothering you.”

  He plopped onto the sofa and folded his arms.

  “Steven.” I kept my voice as quiet and steady as I could. “Ally allowed Zach to be arrested for killing that girl at the University of Maryland when she knew he didn’t do it. Why couldn’t she have gone to the police instead of letting Zach be the fall guy?”

  “Why should she? She didn’t put peanuts in those bars. I did. Allison wanted to be with Zach that night. She’s always wanted Zach, but all he cared about was that other girl and her peanut allergies. So I took care of it.” His grin twisted into an ugly grimace.

  “You? You put peanuts in those bars?” I was having trouble catching my breath, and my body began trembling again. “But that was, what, eight years ago? You didn’t even know Ally back then.”

  “Sure I did. She just didn’t know me.”

  He’d been following Ally for years? What else did he do to “protect” his half-sister?

  I didn’t want to ask the question, but I had to know. “What about the cookie bars Ally made for her father? Did she…?”

  “What kind of friend are you? Allison wouldn’t do that to her father.” He shook his head.

  I stared at him, wondering why I hadn’t seen through all that charm to the despicable human being who sat in front of me now.

  “He had to be punished, don’t you see, for what he did to Allison. Or for what he didn’t do. All he had to do to make her happy was to save her restaurant. He had plenty of money—there was no end to his money.”

  He chuckled again. “Allison actually made it pretty easy for me, delivering her dessert bars to the house. All I had to do was sprinkle the bars generously with peanut dust. Zach had some guy at the party deliver them right to the old man for me. I found Schwartz in the cabana watching some game on TV. He was so delighted that his little girl had made him his favorite treats. Gobbled down a huge piece.”

  Steven stood up and paced the room, gesturing with his hands while recalling what had happened.

  “It was all so easy. The band was on break, smoking around the other side of the house. Didn’t even see me. It was pretty quick, too. The old man started wheezing and clutching his throat. Stumbled out of the cabana toward me. You should’ve seen his face, all splotched and puffy, his eyes big and wide, questioning why I wasn’t helping him. Ha! I told him exactly why.” Steven grinned. “What a pleasure to watch that man suffer.”

  Steven’s words swum round and round in my head at a dizzying pace. I didn’t want to hear any more, but he continued.

  “Fell flat on his face on the concrete. I just stuck out my foot and rolled him into the pool. Voila.” Steven brushed his hands together as if he’d just completed an important task. Then he slumped back onto the sofa laughing.

  This wasn’t a human being. He was a monster. “B-but Mr. Schwartz loved Ally. And she loved him, more than anything. How could you take him away from her?”

  Steven stood up, leaned over me and bellowed, “He made my sister sad!” His face was flushed, and his eyes had grown as dark as Greek olives.

  Swinging away from me, he began to pace the room, muttering to himself. “Fathers are pieces of garbage. They don’t deserve the children who love them. Night after night I waited for my father to come home to us, listening to my mother sobbing in her bed. But no, all he cared about was himself and getting into bed with all those other women.
Mama was so beautiful, so serene. She kept telling me one day he’d come to his senses, return home to us and he’d stay with us because we loved him and we were his family and he loved his family.”

  I scanned the room, searching for some type of weapon. I glanced at the door, wondering if somehow I could get to it before Steven. If I didn’t find an escape on my own, he’d never let me out of here alive.

  Where was Daniel?

  Steven stopped pacing and glared at me, still blabbering. “Mama really believed he’d come home. Ha! Once a piece of shit, always a piece of shit. They’re all the same. Every last one of them. And they all deserve the same consequences.”

  “But…”

  “Enough talk. Now I need to deal with you.”

  I sat up straighter. “Detective Goldman will be here any minute, so I’d suggest you get out of here while you can.”

  “Detective Goldman is not going anywhere,” he spat at me.

  Suddenly, the air became very thin, and I found it difficult to inhale a full breath. My words caught in my throat. “What did you do to him?”

  “Your precious Daniel won’t be coming to the rescue tonight. And we need to finish what we started yesterday. You know—you and the walk-in cooler?”

  He paused to let this sink in and then continued. “The thing was I kind of liked you, Trudie. I don’t know, I guess I just decided I wanted you around a little longer. So, I let you out.” He stepped over to me, leaned down and grasped my chin so I’d look up at him. “You were the only one who understood me. So—I gave you a little more time.”

  My eyes were wide, locked on his.

  “But…all good things have to come to an end. Right? Answer me,” he growled, moving my chin up and down to make me nod. “Pretty clever way to get rid of someone, huh? Like the guy in Chicago. He deserved it more than anyone, fucking my sister and then stealing her blind. Oh, excuse me, Trudie. I know you don’t like curse words. He filleted her, fantailed her and fried her, and so I fucking froze him like a fish stick.” He burst out laughing at his own joke.

  My body trembled and an alarm screamed in my head. “What did you do to Daniel?” I shrieked.

  Steven chuckled. “I’ve taken care of all of them now—except you. I warned you about putting your nose where it doesn’t belong. I warned you on the phone last night. But still you went ahead anyway, upsetting Allison and her mother about things that don’t concern you. Dredging up the past and making my sister sad.”

  So that explained the threatening call, but what about Daniel? Had Steven really “taken care of him”? Why hadn’t I told Daniel everything over the phone? If I’d given him the information I had, he might have put it all together. He might still be alive.

  My heart sank.

  I’d cared for Daniel. I believed he cared for me. Now he was gone.

  And I was next.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  No. I refused to be Steven’s next victim. The others had been unsuspecting targets. They had no idea who he was or that he intended to kill them. But I did, and I would get myself out of this. Somehow.

  I tried to clear my head and think. It seemed unlikely that Steven had merely pretended to be Bradley over the past week and a half. No one could fake such big differences in their appearance and personality. Could they? Was Bradley actually Steven’s alter ego. If that were true, I needed to get Bradley’s attention. If I could establish communication with Bradley, I might have a chance.

  Steven still paced back and forth murmuring to himself about how and where he would “take care of me.” Occasionally, he stopped, contemplated me, and shook his head, then continued pacing.

  “Bradley? I’m going to need your help at my next gig on Wednesday. Do you think you’ll be available?” I tried to keep my voice from shaking.

  His brows lowered. “My name’s Steven, not Bradley.”

  “I’d like to speak to Bradley, please. Is he still there?”

  “No, you can’t speak to him.”

  “But I have the perfect job for him. A vodka and caviar event on Wednesday. Zach and I need a good bartender. We need Bradley.”

  I waited, hopeful that I was right. That Bradley would emerge and save me from certain death.

  Steven stopped and faced me. His facial features began to change right in front of me. The furrowed brow smoothed out, the eyes brightened, and the mouth broke into a wide smile.

  “Trudie, I would love to help you on Wednesday. But…” He glanced around the room as if fearful of who might be listening. He finished in a whisper. “…I don’t think he’ll let me.”

  “Of course he’ll let you help. Steven.” Addressing the alter ego, I wondered if I was the crazy one now. “Can Bradley work our Wednesday gig?”

  Bradley’s smile tightened into a frown. He let out a mirthless laugh, bent over me and shook his head. “You are one stupid bitch. There is no Bradley. Only Steven. And, no, I do not have a split personality. I played a great role, don’t you think? That’s the one thing my father taught me: how to be charming and con everyone around me. But you’ve run out of luck, lady. Let’s go.” Steven yanked me up by my arm.

  “Go where?” My stomach churned as if filled with popping corn. Did he think he could drag me out of my apartment without drawing attention?

  No. I couldn’t let this happen. Trudie Fine was not going down like this.

  I wrenched my arm from his grasp and ran behind the sofa, Steven following close behind. I ran to the door and pulled it open. Thankfully, he hadn’t latched the deadbolt. Attempting to sprint out into the hallway, I screamed, “Help! Someone help!”

  Steven was right behind me. He hauled me inside, slammed the door shut and shoved me away from it. Losing my balance, I fell backwards, my head catching the corner of the coffee table. Sharp pain stabbed into the back of my skull, and all went dark.

  I AWOKE BLINDED by the bright fluorescents on my kitchen ceiling. I tried to move, but my hands were bound in front of me with the purple and orange scarf I wear for outdoor catering events. I lay on my back on the cold ceramic tile floor. I tried to lift my head to see what he’d used to tie my ankles together, but pain sliced through my skull as if split with a meat cleaver.

  The sound of thudding bowls and jars and the rustling of packages drew my attention toward the commotion. Steven was emptying the contents of my refrigerator and making a horrible mess of my kitchen.

  “What are you doing?”

  Steven regarded the Styrofoam takeout box in his hand and opened the lid. It was the slice of chocolate chunk cheesecake I’d picked up at the Cheesecake Factory over the weekend. He picked a fork out of the dish drainer, took a taste, and held it out to me. “Pretty good. Want some?”

  He held the container under my nose, taunting me. Bastard. I’d been thinking about that cheesecake all day, but watching him now, I didn’t think I’d want cheesecake ever again. If there was an ever again.

  “Nah.” He laughed, shaking his head. He tossed the box over his shoulder into the sink.

  “Hey,” I yelled. “You’re trashing my kitchen.” I winced as searing pain bounced inside my head. Okay, no lifting heads and no shouting.

  Steven balled up a dish towel and stuffed one end into my mouth. “Quiet!”

  My mouth was already dry as day old bread, but this cotton towel would absorb any bit of saliva that was left. I felt like a suckling pig bound up with an apple stuffed into its mouth.

  Standing back, he assessed his work then removed all the refrigerator shelves and drawers until it was a big, empty shell. “Let’s see,” he said, turning the dial. “We’ll set the temperature all the way down. The colder it is, the quicker you’ll lose consciousness. See? I can be compassionate.” He chortled again.

  As it dawned on me why he had emptied my refrigerator, I shook my head “no” until the pain felt like it would burst me open. I scooted across the floor away from him, pressing my bare heels into the tile. He laughed, grabbed my ankles and dragged me toward the refriger
ator. I’d been in the walk-in cooler the day before, and I had no intention of being put in that situation ever again.

  He got behind me and sat me up. First he tried to pick me up by the arms. Then he tried to lift me from the waist. For the only time in my entire life, I discovered a benefit to being overweight. The gag in my mouth suppressed my laugh.

  “God damn it, you are one heavy bitch,” he groaned. “You’re just delaying the inevitable, Trudie. I’m going to get you in there somehow.”

  Steven squatted next to me on the floor and tried to get me into a fireman’s carry over the shoulder. I squirmed and rolled and twisted and kicked my bound feet, aiming for his crotch and hitting my target.

  “You fat bitch,” he groaned. He dropped me back onto the floor and doubled over, dropping to his knees and then onto his side.

  Fat bitch? No one calls Trudie Fine a fat bitch. Once, in the high school cafeteria, when that prissy cheerleader Jenny Jones had called me a fat bitch, I’d knocked her down, sat on her stomach and rubbed my spaghetti in her face. It had been a waste of a good lunch, but no one in school ever called me that, or any other nasty name, again.

  Still groaning, Steven started toward me.

  My body trembled with anger. He’d threatened me, trussed my body like a turkey ready for the oven, and called me a fat bitch. I’d had just about enough of him.

  We were on my turf now: the kitchen. I inspected the room to see what ammunition might be available and pushed my heels into the floor to back myself up to the drawers and cabinets.

  Unfortunately, my galley style kitchen is small, and Steven easily grabbed my legs and began to pull me toward him. I lifted my bound hands up above my head and hooked the scarf onto a cabinet handle. Again, I kicked my feet as hard as I could. Steven emitted a loud grunt as I connected with his face.