Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries)

by Bartlett, L. L.

  I let out a resigned breath and looked up at the waitress. “Could I get a hard-boiled egg and some dry white toast?”

  “You’re kidding,” Sam said, giving me an odd look.

  “That’s what I want.”

  “Not a problem,” the waitress assured me, and turned to Sam.

  “I’ll have a slab of lasagna, and a side salad with bleu cheese dressing.”

  She nodded and departed.

  Sam turned his attention back to me. “Are you ready to talk about what you experienced in that car?” he asked, not unkindly, and then took a sip of his beer.

  So much for sympathy.

  I lowered my gaze to stare at the table. A crisp white linen tablecloth was protected from spills and crumbs by a slab of beveled plate glass. “Morrow died with his secrets.”

  “He didn’t try to save his neck by telling his killer where to find his money? He didn’t even bluff?” Sam asked, surprised.

  “He knew the minute the gun was shoved against the back of his skull that he was a dead man.” I closed my eyes and placed my right index finger against the middle of my forehead where a headache was beginning to blossom. With my other hand, I reached into my jacket pocket and withdrew my prescription bottle, glad I’d thought to bring it. I doled out a pill and washed it down with a sip of bourbon — not exactly as per the pharmaceutical company’s instructions.

  “Did you learn anything else?”

  “Morrow’s killer must have been a friend, or at least a regular visitor to his home.”

  “How do you know that?” Sam asked.

  “That billiards chalk I found at Morrow’s house. It held the same vibes as the back of the leased Lexus.”

  “Damn. That’s something the cops should know — but would totally blow off if we told them.”

  “It wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, that’s for sure.”

  “What else did you learn?”

  “I’m not sure. Sometimes it takes a while for all the stuff I absorb to make sense.”

  “Is there any way to speed up the process?” Sam asked, taking another sip of his beer.

  “Not so far.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the waitress approach with a tray. “Luncheon is served,” she said, and set Sam’s salad and lasagna before him. Next, she set my plate down. The egg had been split in half and sat in the middle of two slices of dry toast cut into triangles. “I had the chef zap the egg in the microwave so it would be warm. I hope that’s okay.”

  I gave her a wan smile. “Just the way I like it. Thanks.”

  She gave me a much warmer smile and briefly touched my shoulder. “Enjoy.”

  Sam grabbed a shaker filled with parmesan cheese and doused both his entrée and salad before taking a bite. He chewed thoughtfully before swallowing and speaking. “You must know something more about the killer than he plays pool and shoots people.”

  I bit the end off of one of my toast triangles and thought about it. “Morrow had always underestimated his killer. He’d dismissed him as a non-threat, and wrongly so.”

  “Was he a business colleague? An underling perhaps?”

  I thought about it. “I don’t think so.”

  “A disgruntled client?”

  I shook my head. “Not that, either.”

  “That leaves a friend — or at least an acquaintance,” Sam suggested.

  I nodded. “That seems about right.”

  Sam cut another piece of his lasagna and frowned. “And how many friends and acquaintances did the guy have over the years?” He stabbed at a chunk of sauce-covered pasta and stuffed it into his mouth.

  I grabbed the pepper shaker and shook it vigorously over my egg halves, thinking about the killer. “Morrow knew this guy for years, but I sensed that they weren’t close.”

  “And yet they regularly played pool at Morrow’s home?”

  I frowned. “That does seem odd.”

  “Could he have been one of Morrow’s personal employees?” Sam suggested.

  “You mean like a gardener or something?”

  Sam nodded.

  I popped half of the egg into my mouth and chewed. It was barely warm; I should have eaten it first. “I don’t think so.”

  “A regular visitor to the house, then?” he asked.

  I picked up another toast triangle. “Maybe.”

  Sam chased a grape tomato around his salad plate, captured it, and dipped it in dressing. “Looks like I should try to have another conversation with Mrs. Walburg.”

  I chewed my toast thoughtfully. “I wonder if she’s had her suspicions about the killer all along.”

  “I doubt it. Who besides you would have associated the man’s killer with a piece of billiards chalk? But I’ll bet she knows the name of every regular visitor who came to that house.”

  “Wouldn’t she have already shared that with the police?”

  “If so, they may or may not have acted on it.”

  I shook my head. “You’d better be careful. Ask too many questions and you could put the old lady in danger.”

  “Hey, I’m a pro. I’d ask enough bogus questions that she’d have no clue as to my real interest.”

  I sipped my bourbon and considered dipping a piece of toast into the glass … but decided against it. “So you say.” I ate the other half of my egg. “Our original intent was to find the assets. Now it seems like you’re more interested in the killer. But he didn’t get Morrow to tell where they were, so it would seem the killer is just as clueless as we are.”

  “Probably. But I’ll bet he hasn’t stopped looking, either.”

  “And where does that leave us?”

  Sam frowned and cut another piece of his rapidly dwindling lasagna. He shoved it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “What if I can get into Morrow’s former offices? As far as I know, they’re vacant. I’ll call the real estate office to see if I can make an appointment.”

  “There’s not likely to be anything there in the way of furniture. The walls themselves may or may not have retained a sense of Morrow.”

  “Still, it’s worth trying.”

  He’d told me not twenty minutes before that he was sorry he’d put me through all this psychic crap, and already he was trying to figure out another way to use me as his human Geiger counter. What are friends for?

  “What other ideas do you have for tracking down the missing swag?’ I asked, and polished off my last piece of toast.

  “Morrow’s wife and kids aren’t around to talk. Even though he’s dead, his lawyers are anything but cooperative, and Morrow doesn’t seem to have had a friend left in the world. He swindled most of them. I’m sure more than a few of them cheered when they heard he’d been killed.”

  “It’s hard to be sympathetic when you face an uncertain financial future.” Boy, could I identify with that statement. Richard had once promised to leave me a million in his will, but I had a funny feeling he was going to outlive me. It was an intensely disquieting thought.

  Sam toyed with the last of his salad and drained his beer. “I need to get back to work. Besides the Morrow story, I’ve got several others in various states of completion. I’d better hand in something today or my editor is going to explode.” He signaled the waitress for the check, which was quickly delivered. Sam paid for the lunch with a corporate credit card, leaving a generous cash tip.

  “So, can I count on you to come with me to visit Morrow’s offices?” he asked as we waited for the credit card and slip to be returned.

  I let out a breath, once again remembering the gun I’d never returned. “Sure.”

  “And now that you’ve got a better handle on the killer, try handling that chalk again. Maybe you’ll get some new insight.”

  Now he was starting to piss me off. “Shall I try to cure cancer and impose world peace while I’m at it?”

  He shrugged. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  I laughed in spite of myself.

  We left the restaurant, which had filled up w
hile we’d been otherwise occupied. The food — and the little blue pill — had quelled my headache. Sam dropped me off at my car and promised to call later that day or perhaps by morning to set up a time to see Morrow’s offices.

  I was glad I didn’t have to work that night. It had been a rough couple of days. My schedule for the afternoon included a nap before I headed to Clarence to visit my neglected cat and equally neglected lady friend. Would she let me spend the night? I sure hoped so, but I was also ready to give her more space if she needed it.

  Arriving home, I unlocked the door to my apartment, happy to see that no unwelcome visitors had trespassed during my absence. Maggie wouldn’t be home from work for hours. Even longer if she intended to visit Lily at the rehab facility. That gave me hours and hours to kill.

  I peeled off my jacket, hung it in the closet, and settled down on the couch. The chalk cube still sat on my coffee table. Sam wanted me to commune with it, but I wasn’t exactly eager to revisit the emotions I’d experienced in the back of Morrow’s leased Lexus.

  Gathering my courage, I picked up the cube and held it in my fist. Again, I got the impression of a man rubbing the chalk on the end of a cue. Squeezing my eyes tighter seemed to bring the image into greater focus. Pale, white skin. Young hands. Hands unmarred by calluses — someone who didn’t sully them with honest labor. Someone just as crooked as Jack Morrow?

  I opened my eyes and set the chalk back down the on coffee table, sat back and folded my arms over my chest, quite content to leave connecting with Morrow’s killer for yet another day. Knowing Sam, he’d be dragging me to Morrow’s offices sooner rather than later.

  And I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Chapter 18

  When the big furniture delivery van backed into the driveway, Brenda was all smiles. But when the merchandise came out of the truck in one very large cardboard carton, her eyes welled with tears. Big wet tears that silently cascaded down her cocoa brown cheeks. Tears that nearly broke Richard’s heart.

  “I think I may have forgotten to tell you that the crib was going to arrive unassembled,” he apologized.

  Brenda’s lower lip trembled as the deliverymen brought the box into the kitchen and followed Evelyn to the nursery upstairs.

  “Will they assemble it?” Brenda asked, her voice breaking. She was far more emotional than the situation warranted.

  Richard placed what he hoped was a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I’m afraid not.”

  Another big tear leaked from her left eye and she wiped it away. “I waited too long,” she said and sniffed.

  “What for?”

  “To set up the nursery. We should have done this months ago. We should have — ” Her voice broke again and she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “We knew it was it was on backorder when we first saw it. And it’s not like it’s broken,” Richard said and immediately felt like slapping himself upside the head. What if they opened the box and it was broken? He forged ahead. “I’m sure between us, Jeff and I can put it together by this evening. It’s just a small setback, not a catastrophe.”

  Brenda nodded, cleared her throat, and straightened. “I’m sorry. I’m just — ”

  “Overwhelmed?” Richard suggested.

  She nodded.

  He kissed her. “Just a few more days; maybe a few more hours, and the baby will be here.”

  Brenda looked down at her belly and sighed. “She can’t come soon enough for me.”

  “I’m going upstairs to make sure all the pieces are there before the movers leave.”

  “Good idea,” she said, and sat down at the kitchen table once more.

  Richard wasted no time heading up the stairs, but Evelyn had had the same idea and already had the deliverymen removing each of the crib pieces from the box so she could inspect them.

  “Everything seems to be in order,” she said, sounding satisfied.

  “Sorry we can’t assemble it for you, but we’ve got strict orders,” said one of the burly deliverymen.

  “I understand,” Richard said, and reached for his wallet to tip them, but a glare from Evelyn stopped him.

  “I’ll show you out,” she said in her no-nonsense principal’s voice. The deliverymen followed her out of the nursery.

  Richard found the assembly instructions sitting on the glider. He picked them up and examined them. There were so many slots and screws, rails and rods, that he shook his head. This was not his kind of thing. He’d be quite content to hold pieces together and hand Jeff the screwdriver, or hammer, or whatever else it took to build the damn thing.

  Evelyn returned in record time. “Brenda is sitting at the table and sniveling,” she said acidly.

  “She’s just disappointed,” Richard said, feigning interest in the assembly instructions. “She’ll be okay once we put it together.”

  “We?” Evelyn asked.

  “Jeff and me.”

  “I’ll get Da-Marr to help.”

  “That’s okay. Jeff and I can handle it.”

  He looked up to see Evelyn check her watch. “Where is that boy? I noticed he turned the TV off early last night. He should have been up hours ago.”

  Should Richard tell her that he had turned off the set and that Da-Marr had gone out and hadn’t returned until after six that morning?

  He decided not to — but he would have a word with Da-Marr.

  Evelyn marched out of the room and Richard heard her knock on the guest room door. “Da-Marr? Da-Marr! It’s long past time you got up. Do you hear me?”

  Richard strained to listen, but couldn’t made out what the kid was saying.

  “I’ll go fix you a late lunch. You be downstairs in five minutes or I’ll be back with instant up.”

  Richard poked his head around the nursery’s door. “Instant up?”

  “Ice cubes,” Evelyn said, trying, but not succeeding, to hide a smile.

  Richard watched her as she headed down the stairs.

  He waited, and it was nearly five minutes later when a still sleepy Da-Marr trudged out of the guest room, closing the door behind him.

  “Da-Marr,” Richard called.

  The kid stopped dead and turned.

  “Your Aunt Evelyn doesn’t know you didn’t spend the night in your room, but I do.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Bullshit, nothing. I turned off the TV in your room last night, and I heard you come in this morning. Now, what are we going to do about this situation?”

  Da-Marr eyed him coldly. “I’m a grown man. I can come and go as I please.”

  “Not in my house. You may be a guest, but right now, you’re not a very welcome one. I don’t know what you’re up to, but if you step out of line one more time — ”

  “What are you going to do, tell my auntie on me?”

  “Exactly. And then you’ll have to face the consequences.”

  Tough guy though he wanted to be, the kid actually seemed to fear Evelyn’s wrath. Without another word, he turned and hurried down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Richard reentered the nursery and picked up the crib’s assembly instructions once again. Now all he had to do was convince Jeff to come over and assemble the damn thing.

  It took twenty minutes waiting on hold before the receptionist came back on the line and I finally got permission from my primary physician to contact a couple of allergists. As I suspected, I wasn’t going to get an appointment for testing for at least two months. Well, in a couple of weeks all the bugs would be hibernating and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting stung, so I wrote the appointment on the calendar and hung up the phone once again. Almost immediately, it rang.

  “Hey, Jeff, it’s me,” Richard said, sounding rather sheepish. He wanted something.

  “Hi.” I said, drawing out the word.

  “I thought I’d call to see how you were doing today.”

  “You could have walked across the driveway,” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess I could
have. It’s just — I feel like every move I make is being watched.”

  There was a way to remedy that situation, too, but I wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it.

  I let the silence lengthen.

  “Uh, you said you’d help put the crib together.”

  Sure, I said I’d help, but that was before I’d had to experience a man’s head exploding, communed with a killer, or been stuck on hold for what seemed like forever. “Don’t you have a bassinette already stationed in your bedroom?”

  “Yeah, but Brenda’s got her heart set on having the nursery finished before the baby arrives. Do you think you could come over this afternoon and give me a hand?”

  “You’re going to build it?” I asked skeptically.

  “We both know the answer to that.”

  I still had hours to kill before I could see Maggie, and I needed a distraction to keep from dwelling on the visions I’d seen in the leased Lexus. “Sure. But I don’t want to run into your company.”

  “Thanks,” he said, sounding relieved. “And don’t worry, I’m working on that.” Whatever he was going to say in further explanation never materialized because I heard Evelyn’s voice in the background, although I couldn’t understand what she said. “No problem,” Richard said, his voice sounding muffled. When he came back to talk to me, his voice was back to regular volume. “I’ve got to take Evelyn to the store, but I should be back in an hour or so.”

  “We’ve got all afternoon,” I said, but I’d already decided to scoot over there the minute he pulled out of the driveway.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  I knew he did. The poor schmuck was caught between a rock and a hard place, and despite the fact I was majorly pissed about dealing with Da-Marr, I wasn’t going to make his life any more difficult than it already was.

  “Richard!” Evelyn snapped somewhere in the background.

  “Gotta go,” he said.

  “I’ll see you later,” I said and hung up the phone. I wandered over to the window, standing back far enough so that I could see the back door to Richard’s house but not be seen, and waited. Within a minute, the door opened and Evelyn and Da-Marr marched out, with Richard dutifully following behind. He closed the door behind him.