“But why?”
“Because she’s a lunatic!” Milo yelled again, swiveling the bullhorn back in my direction as I ducked and plugged my ears.
I backed away from the horn and looked around. Over by the neighbor’s fence I saw a crumpled heap of black metal that was once a shiny sedan. Dutch was standing next to it doubled over, his guffaws audible from way over here. Milo followed my gaze, caught Dutch laughing and shouted at him through the bullhorn, “It’s not funny!”
That was enough. I yanked the bullhorn away from Milo and marched directly toward the bulldozer. When I got up alongside it I raised the horn and shouted, “Catherine Cooper-Masters! Get out of that thing right now!”
Cat worked the levers in the cab of the dozer as though she hadn’t heard me and continued her slow march toward the house, a determined and half-crazed look on her face. I ran in front of the dozer and planted my feet, the officers giving me room. Cat pushed it to within a foot of me before she let up off the gas, and we had ourselves a little staredown.
“Get out of the cab,” I said through the horn.
“No!” she yelled back, working the gears threateningly.
“Get out of the cab so we can talk about this, Cat!”
“No!”
“Oh for the love of God, Catherine!” I yelled, completely fed up with her. “Get out of the friggin’ cab or I will call Mother and tell her what you’ve done!”
That did it. I saw Cat blanch, then succumb to a hail of tears. I threw the bullhorn aside and scrambled up onto the dozer, making my way along the oblong wheels and tapped on the side of the cab. After a minute Cat unlocked the door and I held it open as she blubbered her way out onto the dozer’s giant tread wheel and grabbed me in a desperate hug. I gently moved her along the side of the dozer over to the edge, careful to watch our footing, noting that Cat was dressed in a typical three-thousand-dollar designer suit with matching Manolo Blahniks. As I moved her to the edge of the wheel, I saw one of the officers move in, reaching behind him for a pair of cuffs.
Protectively, I pulled her back along the edge. “Milo!” I shouted. “Call off the dogs, and let’s talk about this!” There was no way I would let them cart Cat off to jail without a fight, and if that meant that I had to go along, well then, so be it.
Milo glared at me and kept his mouth shut, but thankfully Dutch came up to him and said something in his ear. I saw Milo protest, then throw up his hands and wave the officers away. With great care I lowered my sister, who was still clinging frantically to me, to the ground and I jumped down after her. I walked her to the car and noticed half a dozen onlookers from the neighborhood ogling us. I put the burbling Cat in the passenger seat of my Mazda, whispered, “Let me go take care of things, okay?” and handed her a tissue from the glove box. Then I trotted over to Dutch and Milo and said, “So tell me what happened.”
“Your sister’s a . . .”
“I know that already,” I said, cutting him off. “Milo, focus here! Tell me exactly what happened.”
Milo was as mad as I’d ever seen him, but to his credit he made a great effort to neutralize his facial expression and speak in slow measured tones. “We got a call from the station that some psycho woman was driving a bulldozer erratically down Woodward Avenue. I didn’t think much of it until someone else called in that she had turned off Woodward, and was heading in the direction of your house on Fern. Since all the stuff that’s been happening to you seems to revolve around this house, I took the call and headed over here. When I arrived I found your sister, locked in the cab of the bulldozer, heading straight for the home. She’d already run over the fence when I pulled my car in front of her to stop her forward progress. I got out and was trying to reason with her when she flipped me off and ran over my car!”
“Okay,” I winced as he shouted that last bit. “Listen, if it helps any, my sister is loaded, and I’m sure that after she calms down she’ll be more than willing to replace your Beemer.”
“I loved that car!” Milo said, a small tear forming in the corner of his eye.
Dutch had to turn away, his shoulders shaking again with laughter. I ignored him and continued, “Can we avoid an arrest?”
“Are you crazy?” he asked me, a look of astonishment on his face. “No way! Do you know how many laws she’s broken, Abby?” he asked me, then he began to list them, ticking each one off on his fingers as he went. “Assault with a deadly weapon, malicious destruction of property, hazardous driving, driving without a valid license . . .”
I gave an exasperated sigh. “Come on, Milo,” I pleaded. “Be reasonable. Listen, she’s had a really tough week, and I think all she wanted to do was vent a little, and this is Cat’s way of venting.”
“Bulldozing an innocent BMW?” Milo shrieked.
I winced again and said, “No, not that. I think she just wanted to take it out on that house and your car simply got in the way.”
“She doesn’t have a permit to do that, Abby!”
“Yes, I know. But, again, she’s had a tough week.”
“Most people just go to the gym, you know,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Milo, haven’t I always helped you when you asked? And wasn’t it because I provided you with the winning lottery numbers that you were able to afford that car in the first place?” I added.
Milo glowered at me, then lowered his head and kicked at a rock on the ground. After a long moment he said, “She gets on a plane tonight, and I don’t want to see her again for a very long time.”
“Deal,” I said, and was about to leave.
“But first,” he said stopping me, “she needs to buy me a new car.”
Two hours later we were ready to leave the BMW dealership, Milo in his shiny brand-new black sedan and Cat writing a notation for seventy thousand dollars in her personal checkbook.
“I’m going to take Cat to the airport. Why don’t you head back with Milo and I’ll meet you back home later on tonight?” I said to Dutch.
Dutch gave me a torn look, which I understood all too well. His best friend just got a brand new toy, with a few extra upgrades, but he was worried about leaving me to my own devices once I dropped Cat off. “I don’t know . . .” he said, thinking it through.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dutch. I’ll be fine. I’ll come home right from the airport. Honest Abe.”
“Is your cell phone charged?”
“Check!” I saluted.
“Is it turned on?” he probed.
“Check, check!”
“Fine, but no detours. Okay, Edgar?”
“Check, check, check!”
“Smart-ass . . .” he said as he winked at me, ruffled my hair and walked away toward Milo.
I didn’t wait for him to change his mind but hurried over to my car and climbed in. Cat and I had a long talk ahead of us. “I booked a flight for seven,” she said, sounding tired.
“Good, that’ll give us some time to talk.”
Cat played with the belt of her designer coat for a minute, before saying, “Thank you for getting me out of that.”
I shook my head, marveling at the audacity of my sister. “So . . . where’d you learn to drive a bulldozer?”
“I paid the guy I rented it from two grand for a quick lesson, and his promise to look the other way when I drove it off the construction site.”
“Construction site?”
“Mmm-hmm. They’re putting up an office building two blocks over. I figured I could level the house and have it back to the site in an hour or two, with no one really the wiser.”
“Good plan,” I said sarcastically.
“It seemed like a good one at the time.”
“So, what brought all this on?” I asked.
Cat played some more with her belt before answering me, “I don’t know. . . . I guess it’s about how Claire makes me feel every time she’s near me. I mean, I’m a big cheese, Abby. I run a multimillion-dollar company that I built with my bare hands. I tell thousands of peop
le what to do, but when my mother’s in town I’m five years old again, and I can’t even get the respect of my own housekeeper.”
“Ah,” I said. “Well, then, I guess you have no choice.”
“No choice about what?”
“No choice but to get your power back.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, today, you defied the law, the police and common sense, Cat. That took balls. Big brass ones at that,” I added with a chuckle.
“Go on,” she said, smirking herself.
“See? There’s no reason someone like that, someone with cajones that big, can’t kick a couple of unwanted houseguests out of her home, and fire her disloyal housekeeper.”
“I know it sounds easy, Abby, but the moment I see Claire’s face . . .”
“Cat,” I said slowly, “today you ran over a seventy-thousand-dollar automobile and didn’t think twice about it. You then proceeded to stare down five cops and come very close to bulldozing a house! What’s telling Claire to pack her bags and get the frig out of your house compared to that?”
Cat chuckled. “I see your point.”
“You can do this, honey. Take back your power! You’re not five and powerless—you’re thirty-five and invincible!”
“I can do this?”
“Abso-friggin-lutely!” I said triumphantly as I mentally crossed my fingers.
“I can do this!” Cat said and sat up straighter in her seat.
“That’s the ticket!” I said and beamed her the full grill.
“I need a drink before I do this!” Cat said, a note of panic in her voice.
Ah, crap. So close . . .
I looked at the digital clock on the dash. Well, we had time for a shot or two before we needed to be at the airport. I got off the highway at the next exit and made a detour into a little bar and grill that Dutch and I were fond of. I parked and Cat and I got out and went inside. We found two seats at the bar, and Cat ordered a double vodka martini, and I ordered a Coke. Cat downed her drink in about two swigs, and I ordered some food, hoping to soak up a little of the alcohol before she became too obnoxious.
As I was trying to catch the waiter’s attention my spidey-sense went off. I had the feeling I needed to turn around, and I swiveled in my seat and stared across the restaurant. There, hidden by the darkness of a booth was James Carlier, watching me with a menacing stare.
As he watched me I got the smallest shiver up my spine. It made me angry to think that it was too much of a coincidence we might be here at the same time. I got up from my seat and whispered to Cat, “I’ll be right back,” and took a step in James’s direction.
As soon as I did that though, he got up, threw some money on the table and headed out the door. I stopped midway to the lobby, knowing that I’d already lost him.
Shrugging my shoulders, I headed back to Cat, and watched as she swigged another glass of vodka. I rolled my eyes and made a slicing motion across my neck to the bartender, cutting her off. Our food arrived and I managed to shovel some into Cat, although it wasn’t easy because she was definitely tipsy. I glanced at my watch, and decided to quit while I was ahead. I paid the bill and poured my sister out of the restaurant and into the back of my car and headed for the airport.
An hour later Cat had sobered up a little, and I left her teetering slightly at the security entrance. “I can do this,” she said as she hugged me, her words a little slurred.
“I know you can,” I answered, and mentally told my inboard lie detector to shut the hell up.
I made it home by seven and walked in the door feeling exhausted. Dutch was sprawled out on the couch reading a book. “Hey, there,” he said when I walked in. “Did she get off okay?”
“Yeah, and it only cost me a couple of martinis.”
Dutch smiled and grabbed my hand, pulling me down on top of him. “I had a good time with you this morning,” he said playfully as he nibbled on my ear.
I smiled, enjoying the delicious feeling. “You mean at breakfast?”
“After breakfast.”
“With Madame Dubois?” I giggled as he moved to my neck.
“Before that,” he whispered, his hands finding their way underneath my clothes.
“At James’s?” I said, only now remembering the encounter at the restaurant.
“Earlier . . .” he said, nibbling on my neck. “Remember? It was warm, wet and soapy.”
“Hmmmm,” I purred. “I remember something about a shower, but do you think you can refresh my memory?” I pulled my face up to hover my lips alluringly over his.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said and kissed me.
I moaned and curled my fingers into his hair. No one kissed like Dutch. He had the perfect blend of full lips combined with soft touch and skillful tongue. I swooned on top of him as parts of me went moist and parts of him went hard. And then . . . the phone rang.
“Son of a bitch,” he swore as he pulled away and reached for the receiver. Looking at the caller ID he groaned and hit the ON button. “Rivers,” he barked.
There was a pause, and then he sat up, moving me to the side and grabbing a pad of paper and a pen from the coffee table. “Yes, sir,” he said, jotting down a few notes, “Yep. . . . Okay, I got it.”
There was another pause. “I’d appreciate it, thank you, sir.” He disconnected.
I looked quizzically at him as he stood up and squirmed in his jeans, while giving me a sly look. “Seems the universe is against us consummating our relationship, sweethot.”
“Why? Who was that?” I asked.
“My boss. If I come off workman’s comp one week early and do a little work from home, they’ve agreed to give me back my vacation time.”
“But you haven’t taken a vacation,” I said, getting up with him.
“True, however, before workman’s comp kicks in, the Bureau soaks up a week of vacation pay. I’d rather take you someplace warm and sunny than spend my vacation hours having you play Nurse Nelly.”
“So you have to work?” I asked, looking at my watch and noting the late hour.
“Yeah, there’s a file I’ve gotta run through tonight and give a synopsis to my boss before morning. I’m afraid I’m not going to be any fun for you tonight.”
“I can’t keep doing this, you know!” I groaned.
“What’s that?”
“This!” I insisted pointing to the couch. “I mean, I have urges, you know.”
Dutch chuckled in spite of himself and came over to cup my chin in his palm. “Listen to me,” he began. “I promise you that just as soon as I get the okay to drive I’m gonna whisk you off someplace and satisfy every single solitary urge you have. Deal?”
“Whatever,” I said, feeling disappointed as I tried to turn away. It always seemed to be something with us.
“Hey,” he said holding on to me. “I’m doin’ the best I can, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, refusing to let him off the hook, even though I knew it wasn’t his fault. “Go to work, cowboy. I’m headed upstairs with Eggy for a little telly.”
Dutch gave me a long, deep, parting kiss, then walked into his study. Sexually frustrated, I watched his perfect derriere as he walked away, then sighed, picked up Eggy and trotted up the stairs.
The next morning I was up early again. Dutch had come to bed around three in the morning, and fallen immediately to sleep. I, on the other hand had tossed and turned all night long. When all you can think about is how much you really want a little nooky, there’s nothing worse than having to sleep next to someone who could put a little “ooo” in your “ooola-la” if only he wasn’t snoring.
Sleep deprived and tense, I trotted downstairs, Eggy in tow, and peered into the fridge. Not much stared back.
“Time to go shopping,” I said to Eggy, who answered me by wagging his tail. I walked over to a window and peeled back a curtain. The first wisps of sunlight were beginning to streak across the lawn. I looked back at Eggy, who put the tail wagging into overd
rive, adding a little snap of his jaws as if to say, “Well get to it!”
“Fine,” I said and pulled my coat out of the closet. “I’ll go.” Eggy hopped up on his back legs and did his version of a Snoopy happy dance. “Yeah, yeah,” I said as I opened the door and ran to my car, shivering in the frigid temperature. The market was only a few blocks over and I navigated the streets easily on the way there. I found a parking space in front and headed inside.
Grocery shopping is right up there on my list of least favorite things to do. For a multitude of reasons I can’t stand to do it. In part it’s because I’m inherently impatient, and buying food that I have to lug home, unpack, put away, only to get it back out again and cook just seems like far too much work.
It’s also that I can’t stand the long lines. Almost without fail I will get stuck behind some mother of three who has eight thousand coupons ready to be scanned, processed and notarized until the bill for her overflowing grocery cart is less than my gallon of milk. The whole thing drives me bazonkers.
This morning, however, the store was relatively empty and it was clear there’d be no line for me to wait in, which made the shopping a little less of a pain in the tookus. I zoomed through the aisles, pulling down anything that looked good. Mostly ready-to-serve stuff, but here and there I added a few things that required actual work to make . . . like cookie dough, and brownie mix.
A short time later I headed to checkout. As I was unloading my cart my antennae buzzed. I looked around sharply. There, across the store near the exit was James Carlier. “Son of a bitch!” I hissed. What was with this guy? I glared at him as he stared back at me, his face blank. “What?” I mouthed as I challenged him. He held my gaze for a long moment then turned abruptly and left the store.
The whole thing really gave me the creeps because it was obvious he was following my every move, and I had no idea why. What did he want with me that he was unwilling to confront me about? As I set the rest of the items on the counter I made up my mind to find out.
After paying the bill, and groaning at the charge, I wheeled my bags to the car and looked around the lot. There was no sign of James, but I kept a lookout just in case.
A Vision of Murder Page 19