by Linda Ladd
Inside, my little pooch, Jules Verne, the French poodle, came barreling down the stairs, yapping like crazy. Black had brought him to me from his Christmas trip to Paris—see what I mean about the gift-giving thing? Jules jumped around on my legs, his tail like a windshield wiper in a downpour, and I picked him up and snuggled him close. I only did that when nobody was looking, but the truth was, I really liked the silly little mutt. He was always there to greet me when I dragged in all depressed and gunshot. Even Black took business leaves of absence from my mayhem.
Jules calmed down after a while, but his tail kept beating the floor as I stood at the window watching McKay with his little girl. Zach and I had gone fishing once, and he’d caught a little perch. He’d be eight now. I wondered what he’d look like now, if he’d lived to grow tall and be on Little League teams and in Cub Scouts, and then I determinedly pushed those pictures out of my mind. He was dead and gone, had been for almost six years, don’t think about him, don’t remember, don’t make yourself want to die, too.
Instead, I let the anger come again, fast and furious, anger about my dead son, anger about my past life and all the death that came with it, anger about Hilde Swensen and the homicidal maniac running loose on my turf.
I needed to release some pent-up anger before Black came home or I’d probably take it out on the poor guy. I opened the back door, and Jules bounded out and ran around in circles as if he’d been locked in a box for thirty-six hours instead of sleeping on my very soft, luxurious, Black-bestowed, gold-and-black bedspread.
I’d work out a little, that’s what I’d do, get the aggression out of my system. It always helped me think, that, and yoga, which acted to calm me down. I wasn’t in the mood for calm now. I wanted the rage to roil up inside me, make me so angry that I’d think of nothing but solving this case. So I began my routine, protecting my wounded arm and jabbing my good fist into the punching bag I had hanging on the limb of a pecan tree outside my back door. Stopping, swiveling, kicking the absolute hell out of it. It made me feel good, it made me wish it was the guy who’d murdered Hilde, it made me feel like I was doing something to get him, but it didn’t erase the fact that I’d had him in sight and let him get away.
The sound of Black’s big Cobalt 360 thundered up out front, and Jules went absolutely berserk. He took off around the front of the house and down to the dock, and I followed until I could see Black stepping out of the big boat, my little poodle yipping and bouncing around him like a Mexican jumping bean. I watched Black secure the line, then rise and hold out his hand to McKay. They shook hands, then spoke together for a length of time that made me a trifle uncomfortable. A moment later, Black picked up the dog, then squatted down beside Lizzie, and to my surprise, she reached over and patted the dog’s head. Stunned, I watched him talk to her, amazed the child had taken to him even that much.
McKay turned around and glanced up at me, almost as if he knew I was watching them, so I turned and entered the house. It wasn’t long before Black came in the front door, carrying Jules Verne in one arm. He was smiling, and I realized then, with sinking heart, that I was beginning to need him with me more than I liked to admit. It was a weakness, true, and a vulnerability I wasn’t at all sure I liked.
Grinning, he headed toward me with a look I knew pretty well by now, but his expression changed when he saw the bandage on my upper arm. “Oh, crap. Bullet or blade this time?”
“It’s a minor bullet wound. Don’t get all bent out of shape.”
“Glad to hear it wasn’t a serious bullet.” Oooh, sarcasm from the good doctor.
“I don’t know why everybody’s making such a big deal out of this. It’s just a scratch.”
“Yeah? Well, you know how turned on I get when you’re all weak and wounded.”
“I’m not weak and wounded.”
“I get turned on when you’re not weak or wounded, too.” He smiled at me and I actually quivered inside my belly because I knew what that look meant. He said, “Sit down and let me take a look at it.”
I sat. He examined. We were avoiding talking about the homicide and how I’d gotten shot.
“At least this time you let somebody dress it who knew what they were doing.”
“I put some Band-Aids on it, but Buck just had to do it over his way. He’s always such a perfectionist.”
“I suppose that’s a good trait for a pathologist. Well, this time the wound doesn’t look too bad. That’s a change for the better.” He stood looking down at me, his hands on his hips. He had changed into a soft black polo shirt with the Cedar Bend logo and khaki pants and boat shoes, all the best money could buy, but of course. He always wore the best. “Want to tell me how this happened?”
I told him briefly about being ambushed on the deck.
“So you surprised the killer at the scene?”
“I guess. He still got away.”
“What’s Charlie say?”
“He’s outta town, so I talked to him on the phone. He said I could share the details if you keep your mouth shut. He trusts you.”
Serious now, Black sat down across from me and propped his foot on one knee. Jules Verne jumped onto his lap, and Black stroked his soft white fur. Black was good at stroking, let me tell you. The dog still liked him better than me. Probably remembered their time alone together in Paris.
I stood up and paced, agitated, furious all over again that I let the killer get away and dreading describing Hilde’s mutilation to Black.
“Okay, I see you’re nervous. Let’s hear it. How’d she die? A gunshot wound?”
“Buck hasn’t given official cause. I suspect she was strangled.”
“Where was she killed?”
“In the bathroom, we think. He left her posed in the shower stall.”
“How’s Brianna taking it?”
“Not so well. Bud’s with her.”
“Does she have any idea who might’ve done it?”
“No. But like I said, she told us that her sister lived it up a bit with the fast set down at South Beach.”
“Do you have to go down there?”
“Probably.”
“Tell Charlie I can fly you there on the Lear. I’ve got this whole week written off on my calendar for the pageant.”
I heard the Harley fire up, and I turned and stared out the window. McKay and Elizabeth were heading home. I still hadn’t gotten to the worst part and wasn’t looking forward to it. “It was ugly, Black. He mutilated her.”
“I see. What’d he do to her?”
“He cut off her lips and left us a note stuck on her shoulder with a cute little Shakespearean quote written on it.” I told him what the message said, and he frowned.
“That’s from Hamlet. You say the body was posed?”
“You bet it was. He left her sitting in the shower stall, on the bench, her hands taped to hold some roses. I guess he was placing her on some kind of throne. That would explain the crown, too. It doesn’t make sense why he took a shot at me. We didn’t even see him until he fired. Didn’t have a clue he was still around.”
“And all this happened in broad daylight? This morning?” He was silent a moment longer, then said, “He might’ve been drawn down here by last summer’s press coverage. And the pageant would be the best place to get lots of media attention. Percentages don’t support another sensational crime at the lake this soon.”
“Tell me about it.”
“This is not your fault, Claire. Don’t blame yourself.”
We were going into a rapid free fall into analysis mode, and I wasn’t in the mood for it. I changed the subject, not wanting to talk about myself anymore.
I said, “You and McKay looked pretty friendly down there.”
“I asked him about Elizabeth.”
“She took to you.”
“You were watching?”
I didn’t want to admit it, so I said, “She’s not doing so good, is she?”
Black nodded. “I offered to work with her. Pro bono. I sug
gested we do it out here when she’s fishing, so she doesn’t get anxious.”
I stared at him a moment, really, truly pleased, touched, to be truthful. “That’s a pretty cool thing to do, Black.”
“I can be cool when the occasion calls for it.”
“Oh, I’m finding that out.”
We smiled at each other.
He said, “Maybe you could help me with Elizabeth. You know, hang around when she’s here, hold her on your lap, help her bait the hook so she’ll be comfortable with me.”
I stiffened because I knew where he was going with this. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Black. Killing two birds with one stone, right? Helping Elizabeth cope and forcing me to be around a toddler Zach’s age.”
“Nobody ever said you were stupid, Claire.”
“Sorry, I can’t do it. Not yet.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Okay.”
“Is this reverse psychology again?”
“I’d never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I told you that from the beginning. I make the suggestions. You make the calls.”
Black was good, oh, yeah, I’d give him that. Time for change the subject, part two. “You hungry?”
“I’ll be starved afterward.”
“After what?”
“After you give me the welcome I deserve.”
“You got yourself a deal, Dr. Black.”
“Tell me about it.”
I was glad the talking was done for the moment, glad I didn’t have to think about lifeless, staring eyes and smiles that dripped blood. Black could do that for me, just by his touch, and he was very good at it. Practiced, even, and at least for a little while, I didn’t have to think about Hilde lying dead in the morgue, her mouth in a plastic evidence jar.
Sisterly Love
The older one couldn’t wait for Saturday to come. She was so excited she could barely sleep. It didn’t even bother her that Sissy was prissing around in the new tiara she’d won and talking about how pretty it was. The older one just tried to stay away from her and her stupid crown. Momma was taking Sissy to be photographed in her new blue sash and crown on Saturday, which would make it easier to slip away and meet the boy.
She waited until around two-thirty, then walked up the alley behind the houses, searching for the red gate. She found it without trouble, but there was no one outside on such a cold winter day to notice her entering the boy’s yard anyway. She latched the gate behind her and picked her way carefully across the frozen grass. There was a pool house with lots of fogged-up plate-glass windows, and she stopped to look inside because she had never seen a heated indoor pool before. There was even a swirling hot tub and a great big TV to watch. She turned and headed for the back steps that led up into a large, glassed-in sunroom.
The boy had a really nice house, huge, and a lot newer than their old farmhouse, and it was painted a really pretty yellow color, almost like canaries. The sunroom was long and furnished with wicker chairs and sofas with orange-and-blue floral prints, and the boy was sitting in a wicker rocker beside an orange fireplace shaped like a funnel. Logs were crackling and snapping inside the grate. He unlocked the door and let her in, and she stood by the fire a minute, warming her backside.
“Here, give me your coat. I’m glad you wore that white shirt in case any of that bleach stuff gets on it.”
“You sure your mom won’t come back and catch us?”
“Oh, yeah. She has double duty at the piano teacher’s place so the twins can each get some practice in. And she wouldn’t care, anyhow. She likes us to invite friends over. You wanna Coke, or something to eat? We’ve got some chips and onion dip, and stuff like that.”
“No.” Suddenly she felt a little nervous, and she looked around at all the expensive furniture and elaborate paintings with little lights attached to the frames and wondered what it would be like to have a momma who liked her to have friends over and took her to piano lessons.
“Dad’s got some beer stashed down in the basement fridge. Wanna try some?”
“No. Momma’d kill me if she found out.”
“Screw your Momma.”
The older one liked the sound of that. “Yeah, screw Momma.”
The boy took her hand and led her into a real big dining room with an elaborate crystal chandelier and lots of other crystal goblets and bowls sitting around on glass shelves, but he stopped halfway to the living room and looked into her face. “She beats you, doesn’t she? I saw some bruises on your neck once when I sat behind you on the bus.”
The older one nodded and was surprised when tears welled inside her eyes. She’d never told anyone that before; it was the deep, dark secret of their house. Even Stepdaddy didn’t know what Momma did when he was at work. Somehow it felt good for someone else to know about it and look at her with sympathetic eyes.
“Don’t feel so bad. My dad hit me once, too.”
“Really? Why?”
“I got mad and slapped my mom once when I was about nine, and he walloped me good. I sure never did that again.” He laughed. “I don’t want to, anyhow, she and I get along a lot better now. I was just a stupid kid when I did it.”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to laugh about what her momma did to her.
“C’mon, Mom keeps the stuff upstairs in her bathroom.”
The older one followed him through the house, looking around in awe at the wonderful place. It was really cool, beautiful, like rooms inside houses in the soaps she watched. Everything was all decorated pretty and everything was in its place, with lots of pretty plates sitting around on little wooden stands. The carpet was so deep that your shoes sank a little into it and was a creamy beige color, and she didn’t see a spot of dust anywhere, not even between the banister rails. The house was completely silent, and something made her stop at the bottom of the steps and hesitate.
“Can’t we do it down here somewhere?”
“Nope. Somebody might come to the door and see us.”
Upstairs, he led her down a long hallway and into a huge master bedroom decorated in pale blues and browns. The bed had four posters and was so tall that it had little miniature matching steps just to climb up to the mattress on. She stopped at the footboard and admired it.
“Can I sit on the bed?” she asked.
“Sure, lay down on it, if you want to. It’s all made up. Nobody’ll know.”
She climbed up the steps and sank down in the silky-soft brown satin bedspread. “This feels as soft as velvet.”
“Yeah, it’s made out of silk. It’s got velvet on the other side, though.”
The boy ran up the steps and took a big jump on the bed. It bounced her whole body right up off of it, and she laughed until he fell on top of her and held her hands imprisoned over her head.
“Hey, let go.”
“Oh, c’mon, give me a little kiss. I’m gonna get rid of your freckles for you. You owe me.”
“Uh-uh. Get off me, you’re heavy!”
“Give me a kiss and I will.”
“No.”
“Then you’ll just have to keep your freckles, won’t you?
“That’s mean.”
“Hey, you want the bleach stuff, or not?”
She wanted it, really, really wanted it, and she was pretty sure she wanted to kiss him, too. Her body was feeling kind of funny now with the boy straddling her hips. His nose was nearly touching hers, and she could smell nacho cheese and potato chips on his breath.
“C’mon, all I want is one little bitty kiss. I’ve never kissed a girl before, and I wanna see what it’s like. You ever kissed a boy before?”
“No, and I don’t think I want to.”
“Try it, you’ll probably like it. You’re old enough now. I bet you even got your period.”
“What’s that?”
He laughed and rolled off her. “Your Momma hasn’t told you about periods, either?”
“No, what is it?”
“I know what it is because of my older sister. It’s when you bleed down there a little. It comes once a month, I think.”
“Uh-uh, you’re lying.”
“You’ll see.”
She sat up and looked down at him. He was lying on his side with his head cupped in his palm. He was smiling and looking up at her. She decided then and there that he was really, really cute. Almost like the guys she looked at in the teen magazines in the school library.
“Let me touch you there.” He pointed to the front of her shirt.
“Uh uh. You’re being nasty.”
“Just once. Not even under your shirt, and we’ll get the stuff out of the bathroom.”
She considered and decided it wouldn’t hurt to do that. “Okay, I guess.”
The boy reached out and put his forefinger on her nipple, and she felt a thrill course down through her body. He removed it at once and smiled, and then he said, “I guess we’ll have to get married now, huh?”
Laughing, he jumped off the bed and she climbed down and followed him, wondering what his kiss would have felt like. She knew lots of girls kissed boys behind the hedges in the schoolyard, but she never had. She never thought any boys would want her to.
“Here it is. Put this towel around your neck. That’s what Mom does with the girls.”
She obeyed, and he took out a little applicator from the box and squeezed some blue gel onto it. “Okay, hold still. You got a few more than the girls, so we might have to do this a bunch of times.”
She watched in the mirror as he gently spread it around on her face. “Is it gonna burn?”
“Not much. You got to let it get absorbed for a while, then you got to wear a baseball cap if you go out in the sun, or anything.”
“I don’t have a baseball cap.”
“Well, I’ll let you borrow one of mine. Dad brings me a ball cap from every place he goes on business. C’mon, I’ll show you my collection.”