Discarded Promises

by Candice Poarch

  The area had been cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape, and an officer was holding people back. Quilla was able to get pretty close just the same.

  “Have they identified the body yet?” Quilla asked.

  “We notify the family before we reveal any information to the public.”

  Quilla noticed Trait and Officer Ebrium were both there.

  Reporters representing all the local stations were present. She kept her face averted so she wouldn’t be recognized.

  She couldn’t see very much of what was going on. Several officers were gathering evidence. The van from the morgue was also there. She saw a couple of men carry the black body bag to a van, and painful loss almost overwhelmed her. Deep in her heart she knew it was Sadie. And if it was, they finally would be forced to take action.

  “It doesn’t make sense for you to be out here in the open,” Irving murmured. “You can’t do anything here. Besides, you look like you’re cold and in pain. Did you remember to take your pain medication?”

  Quilla shook her head. She wanted to talk to Trait, but he was obviously too busy. She’d call him later.

  Irving was right. She couldn’t accomplish anything by being there.

  “All right. We can go back.” She was silent on her trip back to the apartment. A knot lodged in her chest and wouldn’t release. In the back of her mind she had been hoping that Sadie had survived. That she’d walked away on her own steam and would show up hale and hearty looking for her dog.

  But Quilla knew better. She’d learned long ago, during the times her father had beaten her mother to a pulp, that wishing never accomplished a thing. Bad things happened and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it.

  Sadie was dead. The most she could hope for was justice.

  That afternoon, the police arrived to go through Sadie’s apartment. Yellow crime-scene tape was put on the door. Reporters hung around outside the building, trying to get interviews from the residents. Her father called, saying they’d stopped by for an interview with her, but Quilla wasn’t in the mood for interviews. She wanted justice.

  It was Officer Ebrium who finally arrived at Denton’s door.

  She said the obvious. “So the body is Sadie’s.”

  “Yes. I’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said.

  She led him to the couch. “Nothing has changed. Just use your old notes.”

  “Do you remember anything about the man you saw standing over Sadie?”

  “He kept his face averted, so he could be standing in front of me and I wouldn’t recognize him.”

  And then Denton walked in and she ran into his arms. She didn’t know why she cried. Sadie wasn’t a really close friend, but Quilla felt heart-heavy anyway. She felt the loss deep in her chest.

  Chapter 13

  Later on, Quilla’s father called. “I’m sorry. I know how much you liked her. She was the best sitter we had. Could entertain you for hours.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m proud of you for how hard you worked to make sure they didn’t forget her. I know they’ll work to find her killer now, especially since they think she might be one of the people robbed.”

  “Yeah, well, if solving her murder will help them find rich folks’ robbers . . .”

  “Now, now. Don’t be cynical. Remember, whatever works, huh?”

  Quilla sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’m just not in a great mood.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Do you know where Sadie’s family moved to? Her manager claims he doesn’t know.” She’d asked Tom before, and he’d claimed he didn’t know anything.

  “I remember your mother saying they moved to New York right after, but they moved again in a few years. Your mother used to keep in touch, but . . .”

  “Well, I’m sure the police will find out. And maybe Tom will reveal something.” Quilla still had trouble with having this conversation with her father.

  “Customers coming. I’ll check on you later.”

  Denton arrived home from work early.

  “I knew she was dead, but having it confirmed seems so final. There was always that one in a million chance.”

  Denton gathered Quilla in his arms. “She was a friend. And now that it’s confirmed, it’s more real.”

  Quilla nodded.

  “And you don’t have anyone to fight anymore. I’ve learned that you love to fight.”

  He got a weak chuckle for that one.

  “Have the police questioned you yet?”

  “Yes. But I can’t offer them any more than I already have.”

  “At least they will do an autopsy soon.”

  “Yeah. But what are their chances of catching anyone at this late date?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Hum.” She clearly didn’t believe him.

  Later Quilla lay down for a nap, and Denton worked at the kitchen table. Tom was returning later that night, and they had discovered one of his contacts in the lab. They knew there was more than one. The job had too many components to be the work of only one man.

  He worked for an hour. When he got up for a break he wandered to the bedroom. Quilla was so enticing snuggled up in the covers that he couldn’t resist approaching her.

  Quilla felt a warm kiss on the side of her neck. She was on a sunny beach in the Bahamas and somebody was heating up her body with hot kisses.

  She moaned.

  “You awake yet?” a low voice asked, pulling her farther from sleep.

  “No.”

  Someone tugged at the covers, and cold air hit her stomach before something warm rubbed against her and kissed her again, drawing heat into her body.

  She moaned again.

  “Still asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  A warm hand moved down her thighs and her eyes popped open.

  “Thought that would get your attention.”

  Quilla sighed. “What a wake-up call.”

  “Anytime, baby.”

  His hot hands caressed her thighs, sending sensations all over her body. Quilla reached out and rubbed her hands over his smooth shoulders, feeling the contraction of muscles beneath her fingertips.

  She loved the way he played the notes on her body, the way a musician played the notes on his instrument.

  “You’ve got the magic touch, baby.”

  “Do I?”

  “You know you do.” The words were merely a whisper because he took her breath away. She reached out with her left hand and . . . “Ouch.”

  “What?”

  “This arm.”

  “Don’t move it. Just enjoy.”

  “I am, I am.”

  She felt his breath on her face, his legs rubbing against her legs, and his hands cupping her breasts, rubbing her nipples back and forth with his thumb.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, enveloping her in his melodious voice. “I never get tired of looking at you.”

  She wanted to believe him. No one had ever said those words to her before. He kept talking in that soothing tone, taking her desire higher and higher. He made her believe.

  Denton realized he liked making love in daylight most of all. He gazed at a dusky brown nipple as he lowered his head and captured one bud in his mouth. Her skin tasted sweet, and the essence of her turned him on.

  He felt her fingers running down his chest, stirring him more.

  “I’m trying to take my time with you.”

  “I can’t wait another minute.”

  He slid up her body but then grabbed her by the waist and flipped her on top of him. He quickly donned a condom.

  Then she slid on his length until she enclosed him completely. And they began to move. He guided her hips; she moved until he was embedded deeper. He caressed her breasts, her full hips, her backside. He enjoyed the freedom of touching her body as they moved to their own rhythm until they both exploded with fulfillment.

  Quilla collapsed on his chest.

  It was the middle of the day
, but Quilla and Denton made love tenderly once again before they got up.

  “Since your dad was generous enough to prepare dinner, the least we could do is invite him to eat it,” Denton said to Quilla later on.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “I think you’re enjoying having him around, as much as you protest.”

  “Don’t try to analyze me. I’m not that deep.”

  Denton studied her. “Okay. Have it your way.”

  “Thank you,” was her sarcastic reply just as the phone rang. Denton picked it up and listened.

  “Hold for a moment.” He handed it to Quilla. “It’s your dad.”

  She took the phone and held it to her ear. “Yes?”

  “I have a man here who wants to know where he can find an owl. I tried to explain that we weren’t a pet shop.”

  “I’m not going to ask why he wants an owl.”

  “Says he’s got a problem with rats in his back yard.”

  “He can try the wildlife rescue. The number is on a card in the top drawer to the left. If one has recuperated and it can’t be released, they might consider giving it to him.”

  “I’ll tell him. There’s also this lady who wants a four-inch birthday cake for her dog, but the name is sixteen letters long.”

  “That many letters won’t fit on a four-inch cake. We can only put about four or five letters on it.”

  “That’s what I told her, but I wanted to make sure. Well, that’s it.”

  Quilla thought of her conversation with Denton. And before she could stop herself, she found herself asking, “What time do you get off?”

  “At six. Do you need anything?”

  “Just wanted to invite you to dinner.”

  “Oh.” He paused as if shocked. “Oh. Sure. I’ll come right after I get off. Want me to bring anything?”

  “We have it covered.”

  In the end they ordered out and it was delivered not more than three minutes before her father arrived.

  But Denton didn’t stay to dinner because he was called out. Before he left, he got her father’s assurance that he’d remain with Quilla until he returned. It was just Owen and Quilla, and she wasn’t comfortable. She could tolerate his presence easier with company around.

  Quilla was on pins and needles throughout dinner. Her father washed the dishes and Quilla put them away. With nothing left to do, they settled in the living room and turned on some movie that Quilla wouldn’t have been able to describe later if her life depended on it.

  At one point Owen turned to her. “Joyce and I want to invite you to dinner once this is over,” he said.

  “I don’t want to meet her. I already explained it.”

  “But Christmas is coming. You can’t cook the dinner, and Denton’s family doesn’t live around here. We’d like both of you to come to Christmas dinner.”

  “Does Joyce have children?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Does she know she has to be on edge all the time because you never know when you’re going to pop off? It’s not just alcohol that makes people abuse their wives.”

  “I don’t do that anymore.”

  Quilla felt a headache coming on just thinking about the past. “Why is it so important for me to meet this woman, or for me to accept what you did?”

  “I’m not asking you to accept it. I did something horrible to your mother and you as well.”

  Quilla glanced at the TV screen. But she wasn’t really focusing. “It’s asking a lot for me to forgive you,” she finally murmured.

  Owen sighed. With his elbows on his knees, he propped his chin on his steepled hands. “I know it is.”

  The night Tom arrived home, he slept on his side of the king-size bed and Wendy slept on hers. It felt like an ocean of space separated them.

  The next morning it still pissed him off that she dressed for work at the same time he did, that he was jockeying for space with her. Their schedules had worked perfectly for both of them before. She had to wear the pants and change all that. He wasn’t going to offer to take her to work with him. And he wasn’t going to offer to help her once they were there. He just wanted her to stay the heck out of his way.

  She made it downstairs before he did. He gathered the morning paper, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table reading it.

  Randall ran downstairs and tossed his backpack on the table. “Mom, I need money to pay for the graduation-night party,” Randall said. “I was supposed to pay for it yesterday, but I forgot to catch you before you left for work.”

  Tom squeezed his mouth tightly together and glared at his wife.

  “How much do you need?” she asked.

  “Fifty dollars.”

  Wendy went to her purse and counted out the money, handing it to their son. “Eat some breakfast before you go,” she said.

  He grabbed a Baggie and filled it with fruit and took a couple slices of toasted wheat bread and slathered marmalade on them. Wrapping a paper towel around the food, he grabbed his backpack and headed toward the door.

  “You sure it’s not too late to pay now?” Tom asked. “Wendy, you’re supposed to keep up with these things.”

  “Hope not. See you later.”

  “Have a great day, sweetie,” Wendy said. “Drive carefully.”

  “Oh, Mom. I always do.” Randall hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and disappeared outside. A minute later they heard the motor start to the Mustang his grandfather had given him for his sixteenth birthday. The old fart couldn’t wait for Tom to buy his son a car. No, he had to take the pleasure from him.

  Wendy rounded on him. “Don’t criticize me in front of our son.”

  “If you were at home making sure he got what he needed on time, there wouldn’t be a problem,” Tom snapped.

  “So now I’m supposed to stay home because Randall can’t remember to ask for money on time? Get real, Tom. He’s not a baby. Maybe my working will make him more responsible.”

  Tom buried his head in the paper. “Where’s breakfast?”

  “There’s oatmeal on the stove, and fruit and toast on the counter.”

  He peeped over the top of his paper. “That’s it?”

  “If you don’t like it, make your own.”

  He shook his head and snapped the paper. Here she was dressed in a green suit preparing to leave for work when the average woman would be happy for the opportunity to stay home and take care of the kids. And she couldn’t even fix him a decent breakfast.

  “I guess now that you’re a working woman, you can’t plan a dinner for Edward and Sidney, and their wives.” Tom knew very well she hated both of his friends, but he’d use anything to needle her.

  “When do you want it?”

  “Friday’s good.”

  “This Friday?”

  He peered at her over the top of his paper. “Is that a problem?”

  “Thanks for giving me ample notice.”

  He ignored her sarcasm and focused on his paper. “If you can’t do it . . .”

  “It shouldn’t take much effort to tell the cook what to prepare for a dinner party,” she snapped. She glared at him. Her eyes reminded him of her father’s. “I’m not going to let your needling change my mind, so you may as well quit now,” she said and picked up her purse and briefcase, and marched out the door. It banged behind her. In seconds he heard the car door slam and the motor start.

  “Sweetcakes, I’m not going to be around that long. As soon as my ship comes in . . .”

  Tom glanced at the clock. It was seven. Plenty of time to take care of a little pleasure before work. He had no intention of going to the office immediately. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Melissa’s number. Wrinkling his nose, he glanced at the oatmeal and fruit, but he didn’t touch either. Did she really think he was going to be satisfied with that?

  Melissa finally answered on the third ring, and her sweet, sultry voice coming over the wire gave him an immediate hard-on. He couldn’t wait to get his h
ands on her.

  “We’re still on, sweetie?” He just loved blondes. He loved anything as long as it wasn’t his wife. And Melissa would be waiting for his arrival without any sass if he was late. With her he could do anything he damn well pleased, and he didn’t have to put up with any mouth or answer any questions. And George Macdougal had no control over that. Neither did his witch of a daughter.

  Two days later the body was conclusively identified as Sadie’s. The autopsy was done and dental records matched.

  Quilla realized she couldn’t forget that Denton’s search was about government business. He worked long hours on whatever he did at Tom’s office. And it didn’t concern Sadie. She was so frustrated being cooped up without the freedom to search, or even take care of everyday business.

  Quilla talked Irving into taking her to the police station. She bore down on Trait. He groaned as she neared his desk.

  “How are you feeling, Quilla?” She could see that he was busy, and she wouldn’t take up much of his time. But she had to find out what was happening with Sadie.

  “Just great . . .”

  “I know, I know. You want to know about Sadie.” He took his time flipping through papers on his desk. “Have a seat.”

  Quilla perched on the edge of the seat, wondering what had gone wrong with their relationship so many years ago when they both attended T.C. Williams. She had been a sophomore and he a senior. Maybe they were doomed from the beginning. It was his last year in high school and he was bursting at the seams with impending freedom right around the corner. He had wanted to visit her on weekends, but she wouldn’t let him. She was ashamed for anyone to see her father in his drunken state.

  “Well?”

  “You were shot by the same weapon as Sadie.”

  “Shot? I didn’t see any blood.”

  “We believe you interrupted him in the process of killing her. She was knocked unconscious but later shot. The bullet killed her.”

  Quilla leaned back in her seat. “So she was still alive when I saw her?”

  “We believe she was. And before you go off on one of your tangents, there’s nothing you could have done to save her but get shot yourself. So don’t start with the blaming.”