Targeted: A Ray Schiller Novel (The Ray Schiller Series Book 3)

by Marjorie Doering

  “You’re still in shock,” she said, patting the back of Amy’s hand. “Things will get better.”

  “They have to. I’m feeling so…lost.”

  “Listen, I’m glad you didn’t stand on ceremony and came over to see me. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” The doorbell rang and Liz excused herself.

  Moments later, a young woman with blond hair and bright blue eyes followed Liz into the kitchen.

  “What did I tell you?” Liz told Amy. “See who came by looking for you?”

  Before Amy could muster the strength to stand, Jessica Hall leaned down and wrapped her arms around her. “Amy, you poor thing. Are you okay?”

  “You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Jessie. Is Nicki with you?”

  “No. Hasn’t she been in touch yet?”

  “I haven’t seen or talked to her since she dropped me off at home Wednesday night.”

  “Oh, crap. Nicki isn’t on top of things either? What a couple of crummy friends we are. I show up a day late and a dollar short, and she’s even later and ‘shorter’ than I am. I’m really sorry, Amy.” Jessica dropped unceremoniously into the chair between Amy and Liz, loose strands of wheat-blond hair hanging beside her high cheekbones as she freed the rest from a rapidly failing ponytail. “What the hell is going on, Amy? I only caught a little of it on my car radio when I left work a little bit ago.”

  “First now?” Liz asked. “It’s been in the papers and on the mid-day news since Thursday. What rock were you hiding under?”

  “I was… incommunicado.” Jessica focused on her hands. “I swear if I’d known what was going on, I’d have been here in a heartbeat. I feel awful about it, Amy.”

  “Today’s Friday. Where’ve you been the last day and a half?” Liz asked.

  Jessica looked up, her face blushing an unflattering shade of red. “I hooked up with an old boyfriend at my party. After we left Gatsby’s, we wound up at his apartment—for Auld Lang Syne, you know?”

  “That’s a new name for it,” Liz said.

  “You’re a riot,” Jessica grumbled. “Anyhow, both of us called in sick yesterday so we could get reacquainted, if you know what I mean.”

  “You leave little room for doubt,” Liz said, arching an eyebrow.

  Ignoring her, Jessica leaned over and gave Amy another hug. “Anyway, I was out of touch—no phone calls in or out, no TV—just him and me. I went back to work today. On my way home, I heard about Hugh and nearly took out a city bus with my Honda. I drove straight to your place, Amy. When you weren’t there, it made me sick to think you might still be in custody. I hurried over here to get the lowdown from Liz. You’ve got no idea how relieved I was when she said you were here.”

  Liz poured a third cup of coffee. “Jessica, give Amy a break; stop and take a breath.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep running off at the mouth, Amy. So, tell me what happened. They made everything sound so incriminating.”

  “It is, Jessie. It’s a nightmare. Everything points to me, but I don’t understand any of it. I can’t remember a thing. All I know is I didn’t kill Hugh. I couldn’t have, could I?”

  “Of course not,” Jessica said. “Isn’t there something you can think of that might help?”

  “No, nothing. After I left your party, I went straight upstairs to bed. I woke up the next morning and found Hugh dead in front of the dresser. There was so much… He…” Amy’s breathing became labored.

  “There’s no point in making her go through this again,” Liz said, stepping in. “Amy’s already told me everything she can. Let me fill you in later.”

  “Thanks, Liz,” Amy said, “but talking about it might help me think of something I’ve forgotten.” She tried to hold herself together as she retold the events in sequence from the time the police arrived at her door. Choking back raw emotion, she repeated the highlights.

  When Amy finished, Jessica flopped against the back of her chair. “That’s just plain freaky.” Frowning, she crossed her forearms on the table. “Hugh’s voice on Gary Bartlett’s answering machine? How the heck did that happen?”

  “They’re saying he must’ve dialed Gary’s number on his cell phone as he came upstairs—that the answering machine apparently kicked in just as…” She couldn’t finish.

  “But I remember you telling me the jerk blamed you for losing his cell phone.”

  “Well, he must’ve found it again, because it was lying next to him on the floor. And the voice on Gary Bartlett’s answering machine is Hugh’s. They played the recording for me. He called my name. I heard the shots. He was begging for me to stop.” Both hands flew to her face. “I’ll never be able to get that out of my head.”

  “That’s horrible.” Jessica wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Wasn’t it kind of late for Hugh to be calling anyone?”

  “I guess. Maybe I should mention it to Detective Waverly.” With the words barely out of her mouth, Amy grimaced. “There’s no point; that wouldn’t prove anything.”

  “So what?” Jessica said. “Bring it up anyway. What have you got to lose?”

  “She’s right,” Liz said. “And the next time you talk to Detective Waverly, tell him I said he can stop by and grill me again anytime.” She gave them a wink. “He’s kind of cute.”

  Amy’s eyes widened. “You’ve talked to him?”

  “A few hours ago.” She pointed at the vacant fourth chair. “He sat right there, chatting with me just as you see me now—luscious and alluring in my housecoat and bed hair.” Liz laughed and struck a comic pose. “I must have made quite an impression, don’t you think?”

  “What kind of things did he ask you?”

  “Um…he asked about your marriage; about you personally; how long I’ve known you. That sort of thing. You have nothing to worry about, Amy. I didn’t say anything that could get you in trouble.” She turned to Jessica. “Sooner or later, he’s bound to pay you a visit, too.”

  “You say he’s cute?”

  Amy blew her nose and said, “Relax, Jessie, he’s not your type. Miles from it.”

  “Well,” Liz scoffed, “personally I find him very appealing. You can turn your nose up if you like, but by the time you reach my age, your tastes will have broadened. Anyway, I’ve always liked the big, overstuffed teddy bear type.”

  The comment piqued Jessica’s curiosity. “What are we talking about here—Chewbacca?”

  Liz shrugged. “He’s not as tall or as hairy, but you can judge for yourself when Amy’s Detective comes calling on you.”

  “He’s not my detective, Liz,” Amy said. “At least he seems to be trying to keep an open mind, though. I probably have Ray to thank for that.”

  “Who’s Ray?” Jessica asked.

  “Ray Schiller. We knew each other in Widmer before he moved here. He and Detective Waverly are partners.”

  Liz leaned closer. “Was that him at your place Thursday morning—around six feet tall, dark, sandy-blond hair, nice build?”

  Amy nodded.

  “Oh, honey, if I were younger... ”

  Jessica perked up. “You said you liked the ‘teddy bear’ type. I’ve got dibs on this Ray guy. Have him question me, Amy.”

  As misguided as their efforts to lift her out of her depression were, Amy appreciated the attempt. “Forget it, Jessie,” she said, doing her best to play along, “Ray’s happily married.”

  Liz smirked. “Isn’t that an oxymoron or something?”

  “Whatever. Ray’s not on the case anyhow. Conflict of interest he said.”

  “Just my luck.” Jessica sipped her cooling coffee and patted Amy’s hand. “You know, when this is all over and the time’s right, Liz, Nicki and I will have to find you a decent guy—the kind you deserve—anything but another Hugh. He treated you like dirt.”

  “But he didn’t deserve to die that way.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Jessica settled back in her seat, hand-combing her hair. “At least now there’s one less sleazeball left in
Minneapolis.”

  “Jessie, please… He’s dead now and—”

  “Amy, face it. He and his boss were two of a kind. It’s no wonder Hugh and Larry Benedict were discussing a partnership; they fit together like a hand and glove. Hugh just showed a little more class. The way Larry Benedict was ogling you at the barbeque you and Hugh hosted this summer, I’m surprised you didn’t haul off and slug the bastard.”

  “For the record, Hugh got the partnership. Larry made it official on Wednesday.”

  Jessica hooted and clapped her hands. “Oh, the irony. Divine justice. I love it. A partner one day, a dead partner the next.” She looked at Amy. “Don’t cry. Oh, Amy, please. I’m sorry. I’ve got all the sensitivity of concrete sometimes. Please don’t cry.” She gave her a tissue.

  Amy dabbed her eyes. “This morning, Larry was the last person to call before I turned off my cell phone and landline. Someone from his office must’ve contacted him in Florida and told him what happened to Hugh.”

  “What did Benedict say?” Liz asked.

  “I didn’t talk to him, but his voicemail said he’s back in the Cities already; he must have taken the first flight back. He offered his condolences and said to get in touch if there was anything he could do to help.”

  “Isn’t that just sooo sweet,” Jessica said. “I’m sorry, Amy.” She offered another tissue. “Let me say one more thing, then I’ll shut up,” she promised. “Larry Benedict’s a snake. Take my word for it; don’t trust him.”

  8

  The following morning, a wave of panic washed over Amy as she forced her eyelids open and found herself in a strange bed. She tried to calm down, then took another look and remembered she’d gone to sleep in the guest room. Haunted by the memories of Hugh lying dead and bloody on the floor of the master bedroom, she didn’t know if she could ever sleep there again.

  Allowing her heart to slow to its normal pace, she lay in bed, a crumpled tissue from the night before still wadded in her hand. The glare of the morning sun forced her to close her eyes once more. At least the throbbing in her head had stopped. For that, she was grateful. If her bladder hadn’t begun demanding immediate action, she might have lingered under the covers.

  Wrapped in a floral comforter, she wriggled to the edge of the mattress. She sat with her head bowed, trying to muster the energy to begin another day. An insistent breeze gushed through the two-inch gap between the window and sill. On the other side of the glass, the sight of fluttering autumn leaves—what was left of them—left her with a feeling of pervasive loneliness. Her slim body shivered as she rose and slid the window down before hurrying to the bathroom. As she went about preparing to meet the day, she avoided her reflection in the mirror.

  Amy hurried to complete her morning rituals, then slipped into black slacks and a gray, cable knit sweater. In need of coffee, she started downstairs as the doorbell chimed. She feared the reporters were back.

  “Leave me alone,” she shouted.

  It rang again.

  “Go away.”

  And again.

  She flung the door open. “I told you to—”

  On the doorstep, a young, redheaded woman took a step back. “Amy, it’s me…or did you know that?”

  “Of course I didn’t, Nicki.” She stepped over the threshold and grabbed her by the arm. “Come inside. It’s chilly out.”

  As Amy closed the door behind her, Nicole Wright stood with her hands in her jacket pockets. “I was afraid it might be even colder inside. I don’t blame you a bit if you’re angry with me. I’m kicking myself for not being here sooner.”

  “Well, you can stop,” Amy said, giving her a hug. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

  “I feel awful about this, Ames. About an hour ago, Jess came over when I didn’t answer the phone. She thought I’d died or something. She told me what was going on or I’d still be clueless. If I’d had any idea what had happened, I’d have dragged myself over here, hangover, barf bucket and all.”

  Amy took Nicki’s jacket from her and hung it on an old-fashioned, wooden coat rack beside the door. “You were sick?”

  “More like on the verge of death. You’ve heard ‘beer before liquor—never been sicker’? A truer word has never been spoken. Wednesday night, I started out drinking beer, switched to Seven and Sevens, and finished up with crème de menthe. I swear, for two days it hurt just to blink. I used a couple of personal days to stay home, sleep, and heave.”

  “Are you all right now?”

  “Forget about me. What’s going on? Are you okay, Ames?”

  “I’m doing all right.” The answer came too fast, too easily.

  “Bull. It’s Nicki you’re talking to. You can level with me.”

  “Would you mind if we talk about it later?” Amy said. “I don’t feel up to it right now.”

  They sat beside one another on the loveseat, Nicki rubbing Amy’s back. “Jess filled me in on the basics. Don’t worry. Everything will work out; you’ll see.”

  “I wish I believed that,” she said, gripping Nicki’s hand. “Finding Hugh lying dead on the floor… Being accused of his murder… I can’t think of words to describe what it’s like.”

  “Be grateful they let you out on bail. Murder suspects aren’t usually that lucky.” Nicki stood and pulled Amy to her feet. “Let’s go out and get something to eat. My treat.”

  “I’m not hungry. Anyway, I’m not a big fan of breakfast.”

  “Breakfast? Have you looked at a clock? It’s after eleven already.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Ten after to be more exact. So how about it? You have to eat, you know.”

  Pulling a curtain aside, Amy chanced a look through a front window for reporters. She scanned her street to the left and right, then cast a glance at the second floor windows of the Retzinger’s house before letting the panel fall back in place. “How about if I just whip something up for us here?”

  “Hiding out isn’t the answer, you know. Besides, people tend to associate that with guilt.”

  “Let them.” Amy headed to the kitchen. “I’ll go see what I’ve got in the kitchen.”

  “You’re going to stay cooped up? Well, if you won’t let me take you out for a meal, at least let me play chef.”

  “I’ve got it covered, Nicki.”

  Nicole rubbed her chilled hands together. “Uh-uh. You go take a long, relaxing bath and I’ll fix lunch. When you’re done, I’ll have the food ready. Nothing gourmet, but it’ll be edible. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and… No. Hot chocolate—from scratch. It’s rushing the season, but it sounds really good, doesn’t it? While we eat, we can have a nice long talk…or not. It’s up to you.”

  “Nicki, I’m fine, honestly.”

  “Like hell you are. Go on. Get in the tub and take it easy for a while.”

  “I just showered,” Amy said.

  “I’m not talking ‘hygiene’ here; it’s about relaxation. Go get in a nice, hot tub, and I’ll be right here, messing up your kitchen.”

  Amy turned and started up the stairs. “All right, but if you mess it up, you clean it.” Her own laughter surprised her. Nicki was just the medicine she needed.

  Twenty minutes later, Amy stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a thick, yellow bath towel and a faint smile brought on by the wonderful, subtle aroma of hot chocolate permeating the second floor. It brought back childhood memories: snowmen, snowball fights, sledding down a favorite hill behind Becky Decker’s house, both of them wrapped in so many layers of clothing only their noses and cheeks felt the sting of the cold.

  Her smile faded as she approached the master bedroom in search of more colorful clothes to suit her improved mood. As she crossed the threshold, a gasp stole her breath away. “Oh, crap, Nicki. You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry, Ames.”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  A large, steaming mug in hand, Nicki stepped away from the walk-in closet. “I brought a cup of cocoa up for you. I hope
you don’t mind, but while I was at it, I thought I’d look around and see how much stuff can be packed up.”

  “Packed up?”

  “Hugh’s things.” Nicki set her cup down beside the one she’d left on a nightstand for Amy. You’ll want his stuff cleared out, right? We can either throw his things away or donate them to Goodwill or something.”

  Amy’s stomach clenched. “It’s so soon.”

  “Hey, if you’re not up to it, I’ll be glad to do it for you. Just say when, okay?” Nicki hurried to the door, a tear glistening in her eye as she glanced toward Hugh’s dresser. “Take your time. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  When Amy stepped into the kitchen, the sight of peanut butter and banana sandwiches made her smile. “And you said it wouldn’t be a gourmet lunch.”

  “What can I say? I went all out.” Nicki passed a paper napkin to Amy as they sat down. “I wish I had been at Liz’s place with you and Jess last night.”

  Amy picked up her sandwich and pushed a slice of banana back in place. “As sick as you were, it’s just as well you stayed home. Besides, Liz and Jess were terrific; both of them were so supportive. Talking to them helped a lot.”

  “Well, now let me give it a shot.”

  Amy’s eyes flicked from Nicki’s face back to her sandwich. “I still don’t feel up to talking about it. Not again… not yet. Do you mind? Just your being here is a big help.”

  “Fine.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I’m feeling left out, but that’s something I’m used to.”

  Smiling, Amy wadded up a napkin and threw it at her. “Stop sulking. If you’re smart, you’ll embrace this positive mood swing I’m having and hold on tight, because as unpredictable as my emotions are right now, it could change in a nanosecond.”

  “Have you been getting any sleep?”

  “Over the last two nights… maybe a grand total of about four or five hours.” She buried her face in her hands and began crying. “Every time I close my eyes I see Hugh’s face, the blood all around him, and the—” She laughed in spite of herself. “Welcome to one of my mood swings. I did warn you.”