Murder on a Saturday Night

by K. C. Sivils

  Heat's voice cracked as he answered softly. "We'd planned to go together."

  "I know, but everyone would have wanted me to finish school, and I had to go right then," Anna replied.

  “I wouldn’t have stopped you,” Heat told Anna, his head tilting to the side. He looked confused and sad; the anger having left him for the moment. “You know that.”

  Anna shrugged, needing to move the conversation along. “I need your help, James.”

  “Are the kids okay?”

  A warm sensation swept through Anna, filling her with a sense of relief and hope. Heat had kept track of her, Anna realized. She let her lips form a small smile, and she made her brown eyes larger. "They're fine for now."

  “Sit,” Heat said suddenly, pointing towards the leather couch by the wall near the entrance to his office. “Can I get you something?”

  “No,” Anna replied, sitting on the edge of the couch, maintaining perfect posture with her knees pressed together. She waited for Heat to sit on the corner of his desk before she spoke again.

  “It’s my husband.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Devereaux, you don’t just walk away from something like this.”

  “I’m well aware of that fact,” Nick answered a bit too snippily for the man’s liking. He paid for it with a backhand to his already bruised face.

  “Everyone sins, Devereaux, especially you, Nick,” the man informed him. “It’s not just the money. You have things you must atone for.”

  “Anna will pay,” Nick promised, the blow having chastened him for the moment.

  “It is not your wife’s place to pay,” the man replied. “She can’t, you have to atone for your sins, Nick.”

  “You just need to give Anna some more time,” Nick replied with confidence, pointedly ignoring the man. He laughed as he responded. “She is fond of telling people how much she loves me because I’m the father of her children. She’ll make good.”

  Nick watched as the man stood up and unrolled his shirt sleeves, taking his time as he buttoned each sleeve. “You should count yourself lucky, Nick. Most women nowadays would cut their losses.”

  Relieved the man appeared to be readying himself to leave, Nick felt confidence he shouldn't have. "Most women aren't married to me."

  ---

  "This explains so much," Amy whispered. Blondie nodded in response and looked back at the speaker on Amy's desk. Both of the young women were leaning over the speaker, their chins resting on their hands to listen to the low volume.

  “She broke his heart,” Amy whispered.

  “Must be why Heat won’t take divorce cases for women,” Blondie observed aloud. “He can’t bring himself to trust them.”

  “Would you,” Amy asked. “I don’t trust women. It was a woman who lured me to the trafficker that turned me out. It was women who kept me in line.”

  Blondie didn’t say a word, staring at the speaker. “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday evening.” She looked up at her friend. “We aren’t women to Heat, more like his long-lost daughters he never got to have.”

  “Shhh,” Amy hissed, shooting Blondie a nasty look. “I can’t hear.”

  ---

  “You want me to what?”

  “Find my husband.”

  “No.”

  “Heat, I have nowhere else to turn to. There’s nobody who will help me.”

  “Call the cops.”

  "I did. The cops said sometimes people just want to disappear."

  “Tell them you’ve been paying off Nick’s gambling debts.”

  Anna gave Heat her best, award-winning pout. She threw in a tear for good measure.

  “Cops read the tabloids and social media, just like you seem to, Heat.”

  "What? Did you think I wouldn't keep tabs on you? As much as it hurts, I can't bring myself not to. I've seen every movie you ever made and watched every episode of tv you've ever been in. Even the really awful stuff. I've read a lot of what gets written about you."

  “Then you should know my family means everything to me, James.”

  Heat stood up and began walking towards the window of his office. “Funny you should say that, Anna. Because I don’t have a family.” He stared down at the road below and watched two cars go by. “I had hoped to be part of your family when we got married.”

  Anna flinched. She knew all too well Heat’s history and his need to belong.

  "You know how it feels not to have a father, James. Help me get Becca and Adam's father back."

  Heat leaned forward, placing one hand on either side of the window as he looked at the road below, watching two businessmen walk across the black asphalt as they made their way towards the parking lot.

  “I don’t think you’re quite grasping my point, Anna.”

  Frustrated at her inability to get Heat to focus on her situation, Anna let out an exasperated sigh and blurted out, “and just what is your point, James?”

  Bending his arms at the elbows, Heat leaned forward till his forehead touched the glass of the window. "My point is, I would never have cheated on you. I would have been there to support you through the miscarriage, and I certainly wouldn't gamble away your hard-earned money." Heat flexed his arms and pushed himself away from the window. Then, turning, he looked Anna directly in her eyes.

  His expression was stern, and Anna knew she'd misplayed her cards. Something had hardened inside Heat, hardened his heart so that she couldn't reach it, pull on his heartstrings, and bend him to her will.

  “Becca and Adam should be my children.”

  With steady, confident steps, Heat crossed the room to the door of his office. “The answer is no.”

  Desperation filled Anna. Panicked, she lost control and grabbed at Heat’s arm only for him to jerk it away.

  “Don’t beg, Anna. It’s unbecoming to you.”

  “I have nobody else to turn to,” Anna cried out truthfully. “They’ll kill Nick.”

  Heat shook his head from side to side, scowling at Anna as she stood up and moved close to him. He opened the door and stepped away from her, spotting Amy and Blondie hurrying away from Amy's desk in the outer office and heading down the hall. He glanced at Amy's desk and noted the speaker by the corner. They'd been listening, not that it surprised him.

  It wasn't every day a starlet of Anna Devereaux's fame came calling.

  “I have no reason to help you, Anna. No reason to help the man who stole you from me.” Something in Anna’s expression told Heat he’d touched a nerve. “Yeah, I know about you and Nick.”

  He watched as Anna's sweet face turned dark. It was one of the things he'd loved Anna for. Her passion was always just below that charming, pleasant exterior, waiting to emerge at any moment. Sometimes it made its appearance as a woman's fury, but at other times it could be displayed by an intensity of performance others could not match. It was what set Anna apart.

  "I see. I hurt you, so you're going to hurt me, is that it?"

  “No, Anna. You just don’t seem to get it,” Heat barked back, raising his voice. “You didn’t care enough about me to even tell me it was over. In order to function, to move forward with my life, I had to learn to not care about you, Anna.”

  Heat motioned for Anna to leave.

  “I just don’t care anymore. What’s more, Anna, I’m not going to let myself care.”

  The man standing before Anna scared her. James Heatley had changed. He had become hard, made of something far sterner than he'd been made of when they had dated. Yet, she hoped somewhere inside his heart of stone, there remained that bit of a hero she'd fell in love with, the man who was compelled to help people when they needed it.

  She played her last card.

  Anna reached into a side pocket in her purse and extracted a white business card. It was blank except for two phone numbers printed on it in black ink.

  “If you change your mind, and I beg you to think about it, James, call me.”

  Heat didn’t reach for the card when Anna held i
t out for him, so she stuffed it in his shirt pocket and exited through the door. She didn’t look back while taking her time strolling the short distance to the exit of the waiting room, hoping Heat’s eyes were watching her rear end as she departed.

  Without looking behind him, Heat let out a sigh, and then in his blunt, gruff voice, spoke aloud, "Amy, Blondie, don't listen in on the intercom system. Meetings with potential clients are confidential."

  “Yeah, well, this was different, Heat,” Amy answered. “First, it’s not every day a big star like Anna Devereaux comes through our office doors.”

  Wanting to get her two cents in, Blondie blurted out, “yeah, and what’s more, here you have us thinking Boucher is the player when it’s you who reeled in the big fish. How could you not tell us you were engaged to Anna Devereaux?”

  “Because it’s nobody’s damn business but my own,” Heat informed them.

  “She needs your help,” Amy pointed out.

  "Anna can get help. Like you said, she's a superstar."

  Heat reached into his shirt pocket and extracted the card with Anna’s phone numbers. He turned and leaned over slightly, creating a clear path to the garbage can beneath Amy’s desk. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the card spinning towards the receptacle. It rebounded off the far side and disappeared into the wadded-up paper inside.

  “If anybody calls for me, I’m out. All day,” Heat announced, slamming the door to his office behind him.

  Amy and Blondie glanced at each other and then pulled the garbage can from under Amy's desk and started fishing for the card. Blondie found it and handed it to Amy.

  “I’ll put it in my desk,” Amy whispered.

  “Heat’s a softie,” Blondie whispered back.

  “Yeah, he’ll change his mind.”

  Blondie giggled. “If it weren’t so serious, it’s sort of romantic.”

  Amy didn't seem to think so, and her expression made it clear to Blondie. "I think it's sad for both of them."

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Blondie replied, her mirth gone. “It’s sad for Heat for certain.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Elijah Boucher was a proud man, a fact he was well aware of. He was equally aware that his pride had contributed to his trials and tribulations in life. Boucher's beloved mother had, on more than one occasion, pointed out to him the Bible taught the need for humility and that pride led to a multitude of sins.

  He stared at the office windows of Pfeiffer and Heatley Investigative Services. The lights were on in both windows, indicating Amy was at work in the reception area and Heat was doing whatever it was Heat felt like doing on Mondays in his office.

  Boucher's current problem was a lack of money, brought on by his latest suspension without pay from the HPD and his parents cutting him off financially. His vanity and desire to own the finer things in life combined with his constant womanizing left Boucher with no savings, sizeable credit card debt, and both his rent and car payments due in a week. All of which converged on Boucher at once, forcing him into a position he hated. Having to ask for help.

  Heat’s threats from their weekend trip to Baton Rouge regarding the sexy Blondie were still fresh in his mind, making what he had to do even more distasteful. Boucher was going to ask Heat for a job while he served his suspension.

  “Sitting here isn’t going to help matters,” he told himself. “Better to get it over with, Elijah. You can’t hear yes if you don’t ask.”

  One final examination in the rearview mirror confirmed the eye drops had removed any trace of bloodshot eyes. His hair was slicked back without a single strand out of place, and Boucher's teeth were pearly white. He exited his BMW, checked his clothes, and began walking through the parking lot towards the office building, locking the door to his car with the remote.

  Strolling casually as if he didn't have a care in the world, Boucher reached the double glass doors to the building's lobby. He opened the door on his right, holding it for a woman rushing to leave. He did a double take, staring at the woman's backside as she hurried across the street to the parking lot.

  "I've seen that strut before," Boucher mumbled, unable to place the woman. He shrugged it off as it was inevitable given the number of women he'd pursued that he couldn't remember them all. He made his way to the elevator, pushed the up button, and waited. The doors opened, and a pretty redhead stepped out of the elevator, momentarily distracting Boucher. He barely managed to get on the elevator in time before the doors closed.

  “Get it together, Elijah. Focus.”

  He pressed the button for Heat's floor and stepped to the back of the elevator to watch the lights over the doors indicate which floor was next. His destination reached, the light for Heat's floor lit up, the doors opened, and Boucher stepped out. He gave his pants a final hitch, put on his trademark smile, and brashly walked into Heat's office.

  He stopped dead in his tracks, allowing the door to slowly close behind him. Sitting at her desk with Blondie huddled behind her was Amy. Both young women’s faces bore grave expressions as they looked up at him.

  “I promise,” Boucher stammered, “I behaved myself this weekend. What’s more, Heat was a good boy too.”

  Boucher watched with concern as the pair looked at each other, communicating only with their eyes as is the manner of women when a man is present. Finally, the two seemed to reach an agreement as Amy turned her face towards Boucher.

  “Elijah, Heat isn’t here.”

  Boucher considered this bit of information for a moment, all the while watching the pair of women. He had the distinct feeling he'd arrived at an ill opportune moment.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Again, the pair of females consulted each other in silence before Amy answered.

  "There was a potential client who met with Heat, and it upset him no end. So, he left through the back entrance. Can I help you?"

  “No, I need to talk to Heat face-to-face. Just tell him I was here, and I need to talk to him.”

  After exchanging a few pleasantries, taking care not to appear to be flirtatious with Blondie, Boucher bid the pair goodbye and turned to leave. He frowned at the thought of something upsetting Heat, particularly a potential client. It was easy to imagine his friend getting angry and tossing a possible client out of the office. What wasn't easy was to imagine a potential client who could upset Heat to the point his friend would feel the need to leave work.

  Standing in the doorway, half in and half out of the office, Boucher suddenly put a name to the strut of the woman who’d been in such a hurry.

  “No,” he exclaimed. “It couldn’t be.”

  ---

  Adlerian psychology theory claims the firstborn child tends to be more serious than their younger siblings. Often feeling like they must be the "little adult" in the family. Thus, when the family experiences difficulties, the firstborn often becomes aware of the adults' problems in the family despite the best efforts of the child's parents to shield their children from the adult world.

  Becca Devereaux was no exception to this particular tenant of Adlerian theory. For some time, she'd sensed things were not good between her parents. Anna worked, providing an excellent income that provided everything the family needed and so much more. On the other hand, Nick did little more than see to it the kids got to school and back. He was often gone, having one adventure or another.

  For as long as Becca could remember, things had always been this way. Until recent months, it had never been a problem. Her mother absolutely doted on their father, never complaining about the family dynamics.

  Children of celebrities grow up by a different set of rules than most children, which was the case for Becca and her brother Adam. It wasn't that they were given everything they wanted or were taught that they were better than others. Instead, Anna saw that they were sheltered as much as possible from her life as a Hollywood celebrity, raising her children in her home state of Texas and commuting to and from Hollywood.

  The first sign of trouble h
ad been when their grandma had come for an extended visit, taking the place of the nanny who’d been with them all of Becca's life. Her mother and grandma constantly quarreled, ultimately resulting in grandma going home. Becca didn’t know the source of conflict between the two, only that they raised their voices with each other when in rooms where the children couldn’t hear, or so they thought.

  Troubled but not wanting to upset her mother, Becca had started paying attention to things around the home. Her increased awareness led to realize economies had been made. The family didn't go on outings when their mother flew home for the weekend. Once a month, she stayed in California instead of coming home. This led Becca to peek at the family bills, which, combined with her finding the password for online banking, revealed the Devereaux family was struggling financially.

  When Becca heard her parents arguing, she made it a point to eavesdrop, often standing outside the room her parents were in. Like so many other children, Becca learned her parents were flawed people. And in the case of the Devereaux family, her father, Nick, was particularly flawed. On more than one night, Becca, like her mother Anna, cried herself to sleep. Usually, because she'd learned of her father Nick's latest indiscretion or the discovery he'd gambled away more of the family's money.

  Becca knew something was up. Her father had been gone for over a week, which in itself was nothing unusual. But what was supposed to be a sleepover had turned into an extended stay. Given that her mother was on hiatus from her tv show and never traveled during her time off, that was grounds for concern.

  Sitting at the top of the stairs, Becca could hear her friend Katie’s parents, Paula and Jim, arguing. Hearing both her name and her brothers, Becca quietly made her way downstairs to listen. It was quickly apparent she and her brother were not in trouble. Quite the opposite, they were the primary source of concern for Jim. He was angry at Paula for insisting they stay out of the situation.