by Skyla Madi
“Not anymore. Have a safe flight home.” Harry raced round the block and back onto the same road, headed in the other direction. He’d call Rudy later and explain. And apologize. As soon as he walked in the garage door which led into his kitchen, he plopped down in a chair. His elbow knocked the edge of the table while he shrugged out of his blazer. He buried his face in his hands and dissolved into a fit of laughter. What in the world had just happened? That woman had to be the craziest person he’d ever met. What a nut job.
His phone vibrated against the leg of the chair. Natalie’s name lit up on the screen. “Hello?” His voice hinted at the humor he still found from the Marie incident.
“I made spaghetti sauce.”
“Bring it and yourself over here.” He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.
“O…kay. Are you feeling all right? You sound funny,” Natalie said. Harry could hear what sounded like a pot being covered with a lid. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Natalie knocked on the front door a couple of minutes later and he let her inside.
“The pot is very hot.” She shook her hands out after setting the saucepan on the stove.
“Did you burn yourself?”
“Not really, the pan’s hot and heavy.”
He chuckled.
“What?” she blushed. “The sauce is hot.” Natalie turned the knob on his stove. It clicked a couple of times and the blue flame ignited. She lowered the temperature. “Hope you have some pasta.”
“I’m a bachelor. I always have noodles.” He searched his cabinet for a package of angel hair pasta and handed her the box. They settled at the table after she put a pot of water on another burner.
“How was the funeral?” she asked.
He sighed. “Terrible.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured. It was a funeral.”
“No, it’s not that. There was a low turnout and when I say low turnout, I mean, low turnout.”
“You see Mikey and his son?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s a nice guy. Mikey, that is.”
“You’ve met him?”
“Yeah, a couple of times.”
“And?”
“Harry,” she grasped his hand, “do you think he did it?”
“No. And I’m really pissed off about it. I want to hate this guy.”
The toilet around the corner from the kitchen flushed. Harry’s heart thundered inside his chest. His hand gripped the hilt of his gun. The snap on the holster sounded louder than usual.
“Harry, take your hand off your gun, it’s only me.” Cedric turned the corner into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with your own crapper?”
“I prefer yours.”
Natalie ignored the banter and patted Harry on the hand. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. The stubborn old goat is a pain in everyone’s ass,” Cedric said and stabbed his cane into to linoleum. He put a file folder down in front of Harry. “I interviewed Chelsea Rand’s family.”
“You did what?”
Cedric pulled out a chair. “Shut up and listen. I asked if she had a new man about the time of her death. They told me she didn’t have a man because she was one of those lesbians. Something else they told me was that she befriended this man a week before her death. Someone her dad thought may have had mental problems.”
“So?”
“So maybe this guy was the killer. They described him. Brown hair, said he reminded him of that sicko who ate all them little boys a few years back. Got shanked in prison.”
“Anyway?” Harry prodded.
“I remember you saying Grace said the same thing about the guy who attacked her. And maybe—”
Harry opened his eyes wider and he cut in, “It’s the same person.”
“Yeah.”
This wasn’t news to Harry. Cody Pollard was definitely a suspect after attacking his daughter. The detective in him wondered why the previous investigators wouldn’t have asked Chelsea Rand’s parents if their daughter were seeing someone or been hanging around anyone new. Maybe they had and this was the reason they never followed up with more probing questions.
“Did these parents give you a name?”
“They couldn’t remember, but her mother thought his first name started with an ‘L.’”
Harry snorted. “Not really all that helpful, is it?”
“S’pose not,” Cedric conceded. “But we know it wasn’t Hardin. From the way you described him, at least.”
“All right, boys, this isn’t good dinner conversation.”
He’d forgotten Natalie had gotten up and finished making the noodles. Harry set the table while she laid out a platter of spaghetti.
“Thanks for inviting me to supper,” Cedric said.
“We didn’t,” Harry said.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Mikey
The library was the biggest room and the only one with carpeting inside the community center converted from an old elementary school. The room still smelled of a ditto machine and paste. Bookshelves lined the walls but now held a collection of donated novels and self-help guides. Fridays from seven to ten, Alcoholics Anonymous met in this room. Outside the door, a sign meant as a joke read, ‘Top Secret Meeting.’
Mikey walked past a card table with cups of juice and stale cookies near the entrance. He grabbed some grape juice and stared at a corkboard screwed to the wall above the table. Papers were haphazardly pinned to it vying for space—yellowed posters on what to do in case of choking and a fire route plan were curled around the edges.
“Excuse me,” someone he’d never met said.
Mikey edged away from the table. A circle of chairs sat in the middle of the room and he sat down on the edge of one with his back toward the door. In his mind, he figured if he didn’t sit squarely on the seat, he wasn’t actually there. His eyes darted from person to person as everyone found a seat.
His sponsor Sam, the group moderator, nodded from a chair opposite him. Mikey recognized a few of the members. As they each greeted him in their own ways, he started to feel more comfortable. He eased to the back of the chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his legs kicked out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. The tattoos on his biceps popped. He’d ditched his funeral attire in favor of a black muscle shirt and cargo pants. On his way out the door, he’d shoved his feet into a pair of combats boots and left them untied. Some of the members he didn’t already know stared at his clothing. He glowered at them.
Sam cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. He waited for all side conversations to come to an end. “Good evening, and welcome everyone. I’m Sam. Let’s begin with a moment of silence.” They all bowed their heads. Sam recited the serenity prayer, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” He scanned the faces of everyone seated. “I don’t see any new faces, but there are some I haven’t seen in a long while.” He winked at Mikey. “You want to introduce yourself to those that may not know—”
“Who’s the new guy?” a man with salt and pepper hair interrupted.
Everyone looked at him. “I’m Mike.”
“Hi, Mike,” most of the group chorused.
“Why don’t you share a little bit about what brought you here tonight?” Sam prompted. Mikey knew the guy was going to give him a hard time. Mikey looked to the ceiling.
SQUEAK!
Dimly, he was aware of the door opening and closing behind him but didn’t bother turning around. He really didn’t care who the alcoholic was. Everyone in the room was the same, only the details of their stories varied. The reason for drinking wasn’t unique to anyone present. They wanted to forget.
“My ex-wife was murdered, my girl dumped me, and my son is counting on me to do right by him. Not that I don’t want to. Yep, that about covers it.”
The fact that no one even blinked at Mikey’s “share” told him the stories of t
he others in the group were more fucked up then his. The latecomer lumbered around the circle and found a chair next to Sam. “Questions, comments, anyone?”
Everyone’s head snapped in the direction of the new addition as he bumped the chair. Mikey face-palmed and slumped further in his seat. Any lower and he’d be lying down. He chuckled without humor.
Unbelievable.
Mikey realized that if he could survive this night without drinking, he may never take up the bottle again.
“You want to share what’s so funny?” Sam asked.
“Not really,” Mikey said.
“I wanna know,” a woman to his right said.
“Yeah,” a few others said.
“Let’s take a vote,” another proposed.
“This is not majority rules here. Mikey, you don’t have to answer to anyone here, including me,” Sam told him for the benefit of the others as well. He addressed the tardy guy. “Harry, why don’t you introduce yourself?”
“Ahem. I’m Harry.”
“Hi, Harry,” everyone said, Mikey louder than everyone else. The detective narrowed his eyes. Mikey curled his upper lip.
First, Hunter had ruined things with Grace, then showed up at the funeral of his ex-wife, and now this bullshit. Okay, so Grace was his own fault. Still.
You better be a fucking alcoholic, he mouthed to Harry.
What? he mouthed back.
Mikey repeated himself, except this time about every other word came out as a squeak.
Sam frowned at both of them. “You should take this outside, gentlemen.”
“No, I’m good,” Mikey said.
“I’m here to share,” Harry said, feigning innocence with his palms up.
“You guys know each other?” a woman asked.
Harry grunted. “You could say that.”
“How?” a few asked.
Mikey decided to answer for both of them. “He’s my girl’s father.”
“I thought you said she dumped you?” Number one nosy pants asked. He glared at her. “Well, that’s what you said isn’t it?”
The others murmured in agreement.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake’s, what does it matter?” Despite Mikey’s extreme annoyance, he was still seated the same way as before. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “All right, my ex-girlfriend’s father. Are you happy now?”
“Well, yes,” she said.
Mikey looked at Sam like aren’t you going to say anything. He took the hint.
“Harry? What brings you here tonight?” Sam asked.
“Long fucking day. It started with a ten-year-old ripping my heart out. Sweet kid whose mother just passed away. Then I tried to do someone a favor and that favor turned into being groped.”
Mikey’s eyes went round and he laughed. He didn’t need to be told Harry was referring to Marie. The woman was psychotic.
“Not funny,” Harry said.
“It’s totally funny. And let me guess; Marie.” Mikey howled with laughter.
“What do you know about it?”
“About what? That’s she’s a freak? When you both disappeared at the same time, I knew she’d roped you into taking her back to the hotel. I was glad I didn’t have to do it.”
The members of the group sat in silence, some with their mouths open. Harry peered around the circle at each of their faces then leaned back in his chair. He chuckled. “Okay, it’s a little funny. What the hell is wrong with her?”
“You want a list? This meeting is only a couple hours long.”
Harry scratched his head. “A warning would have been nice.”
“How was I supposed to know you would be stupid enough to leave with her?” Mikey was full-on grinning from ear to ear now.
“I t-thought…I was doing…you a f-favor,” Harry said between bursts of laughter. His eyes had tears in them. “Least I could…d-do.”
Sam had a gleam in his eye when he spoke, “Okay, let’s get back to the meeting.”
They sat and listened to a couple of the other members. The nosy woman shared her story about how she’d killed her best friend when they’d gone out drinking one night. She’d jumped the curb and flipped her car into a pine tree. Her friend didn’t have a seatbelt on. This had happened thirty years ago when they were teenagers, and the guilt still controlled her.
Mikey felt inspired to share more of his story. He didn’t know why, or maybe he wanted Harry to know.
“I’ve been an alcoholic as long as I can remember. My family owned a chain of liquor stores, so access was never a problem. It’s funny, I remember my dad getting hammered, like, every night. My mom would cry. She would make me hide in the closet when he got really bad. He never hit me that I can recall, but my mom was scared of him. This happened so frequently I kept a notebook and pencil along with a flashlight in the closet and I would draw.” Tears welled in Mikey’s eyes. “It’s probably why I became an artist.”
Harry made a sound of disdain.
“Tattoo artists are artists, Harry,” Mikey said. “The canvas doesn’t matter.”
The detective nodded.
“Well, my story is different from all of yours, but the feelings, the reason for drinking, it’s no different,” Mikey finished.
“Thank you,” Sam said. “Who wants to go next?”
“Hey, I want to know why Harry was groped. That sounds interesting,” a man Mikey recognized as Chuck said.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Grace
Grace knocked on Mikey’s front door. Glancing around the porch, she didn’t see the sidelight curtain fall back into place. The door swung open. Brayden stood behind the screen door with his arms crossed. By the way he looked, she imagined he was tapping his foot behind the bottom half of the door. “Hi, is your dad home?”
“Uh uh.”
“Are you home by yourself?”
“No.” He eyed her suspiciously. For the first time, she noticed his eyes were the same color as his father’s.
Andrea popped her head around the door. “Who are you talking to? Oh hi, Grace. You looking for Mikey?”
Grace half-smiled. “Yeah.”
“He’s not home.” Andrea checked her watch. “He should be back soon though. Come inside.” She opened the screen door.
Grace followed her into the living room where a movie was playing on the TV. The volume was on low and she could barely hear the dialogue.
“Brayden, it’s time for bed. Your dad will be home soon. I promised I’d have you in bed at nine o’clock, and it’s almost ten,” Andrea said. She led him back to his bedroom. Grace trailed behind them.
Brayden got into bed and pulled his shirt and socks off before laying his head on the pillow. Andrea kissed his forehead. Grace stayed by the door.
Feeling out of place, Grace turned to leave.
“Grace?” Brayden said.
She stopped and poked her head back inside the room. “Yeah?”
“I figured out what I wanted to do for my mom,” he said.
“Okay.”
Brayden looked at Grace for a long moment without speaking. She waited. When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there today.”
“I know.”
“You do?” A tear rolled down her cheek. “How?”
“Because you’re here now.” Brayden rolled over and tugged the covers up to his neck.
Grace smiled. The kid had a point. She and Andrea started back toward the living room. Brayden came running out of the bedroom. “You didn’t hug me goodnight.”
“Sorry,” Grace said, bending over to give him a squeeze. She mopped her eyes as she watched him walk to his room in only his gray sweatpants. The door shut with a click.
Grace joined Andrea in the living room. She perched on the edge of the couch with her hands tucked beneath her thighs. The other woman sat in one of the chairs across from her.
“That kid, he’s incredible,” Andrea said.
The tension in Grace’s body eased. “Yeah, he is.
Is it cool if I hang out and wait for Mikey?”
Andrea smiled at her. “Of course. You know, I don’t blame you for getting upset and either does he.” An open book lay on the coffee table and she picked up the trashy novel, but instead of reading she earmarked the page. She yawned and checked her watch again. “Speaking of which, where is he?”
The side door off the kitchen opened. Keys hit the tiled floor followed by a curse. Grace moved toward the kitchen.
“Oh, hey, I thought that was your car parked out front,” Mikey said, a lopsided smile on his face. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Okay, clearly he wasn’t going to make this easy on her. “Can we talk?”
He nodded. “Yeah, but let me check on Brayden first.” She felt the heat of him as he brushed past her. His scent lingered in the air; she sniffed.
Grace walked back to the couch and sat down. Andrea had disappeared. She heard the front door close. Feeling insecure with a wacko still on the loose, she got up and locked the door, putting the chain in place. She leaned her back against the door. Her shoulders sagged. On the way over to Mikey’s, she’d rehearsed what she wanted to say to him but now all she wanted to do was hold onto him.
She returned to the couch and waited for what seemed like an hour. When he never came back out, she wandered down the hallway. Brayden’s door was shut but a light shone beneath Mikey’s bedroom door at the end of the hall.
She knocked. “Mikey?” her voice sounded tiny.
He didn’t respond. Panic squeezed her heart. “Mikey?” She grabbed the handle. The knob was yanked out of her hand.
“Sorry.” He yawned. “I dozed off.”
“Do you want me to come back tomorrow…or—” Her eyes blazed; he’d removed his shirt.
“You don’t have to go.” Mikey backed up and allowed her to enter his room. She sat on the end of the bed. The muscles in his back bunched as he shut the door and locked it. Grace had never considered tattoos sexy, but she quivered thinking about his smooth skin, ink or no ink.
Her breath caught when he turned around. My God, he had an awesome chest. She’d forgotten.