Pink Balloons and Other Deadly Things (Mystery Series - Book One)

by Nancy Tesler

  “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.”

  He went on stroking José. I noted his easy manner with the cat, liked him for it. I couldn't be with a man who didn't like animals. Not that it mattered in this case, I told myself quickly, but it did make things more comfortable.

  I took two mugs from the cabinet and set them on the counter. Why didn’t I just ask him why he was here? I filled the mugs, rummaged around in the turntable, and came up with a box of Oreos. “Cream and sugar?” I inquired with tea party formality.

  “Black’s fine.”

  He downed three cookies and the coffee and held out the mug for more. “You have an alarm system?”

  Startled, I almost poured the coffee onto the table. “You think I need one?”

  “At least you've got Man-eater here for protection.”

  “Horton,” I corrected.

  Hearing his name, Horty’s tail thumped.

  “Named after?”

  “The elephant in Horton hears a Who. Dr. Seuss,” I amended when I saw he was at a loss. “You have to be a parent to get it.”

  “He trumpet or bark?”

  “Barks. Often and loudly.”

  “Good.”

  I shifted uneasily. “You think I’m in danger?”

  “Wish I knew. Haven't put the puzzle pieces together, yet.”

  Somebody was worried about me. Somebody who wasn’t paid to worry about me. Better. Somebody attractive, the first man I'd met since Rich who, let's face it, turned me on.

  Healthy, I rationalized. This is healthy. Doesn’t mean you have to act on it. Just means you’re alive.

  It popped out before I thought. “How come you never married?” Embarrassed, I added, “Of course, it’s really none of my business, just most people by the time they hit forty or so...” My voice trailed off into the swirls of my coffee.

  “Almost was.” He put his mug down. “Didn’t work out.”

  I let the quiet lie between us. Only José’s steady engine broke the silence.

  “I was with the NYPD. Shooting happened the week before our wedding.”

  I felt a coldness in my gut. I kept wanting to forget what went with being a cop.

  “Pam came to the hospital, told me her nerves couldn’t take it.” He gave a half-smile, but it stopped short of his eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the divorce rate among cops. So it all worked out for the best, really.”

  I doubted he thought so. His wound was as raw as my own.

  “Decided I needed a change,” he concluded. “Job offer came along in Bergen County. I took it.” He grinned. “So that’s why you’re stuck with me on this case. I really came over to bring you up to date. Your husband finally admitted he had heard rumors about the kickbacks.”

  That phony. Acting like he'd never heard the word.

  “The fight in the minister's study was more about that than the prenup.”

  “Why did he think Erica did it?”

  “Like we figured. Power play. Punishing him for insisting on the agreement.”

  “Well, she was into power. And she didn't intend to end up like me.”

  “She didn’t end up great.”

  “No.”

  “He agreed to take a lie detector test.”

  “Did he? Well, I don't think he’d do that if he had something to hide.” I remembered the boomerang. “You find any fingerprints at Dot’s?”

  “Some. Prints aren’t on file with AFIS.”

  “What's that?”

  “Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Computerized file of all known perps, plus whoever else might have been printed for job-related reasons. Picked up some of your husband’s.”

  “Well, I guess he’s spent a fair amount of time there.”

  “And there were yours. All over the place.”

  I shifted uncomfortably.

  “Lucky for you they weren’t on the murder weapon.”

  “You found the murder weapon?”

  “Kitchen knife.”

  “What about the rock that Erica was hit with? You could compare the prints.”

  “Difficult to get a print off a rock.”

  “So it might not even be the same person.”

  “Possible. Not very probable.”

  I realized Ted Brodsky would never be discussing this case so openly with me unless he had decided I wasn’t involved. I began to feel like I could really get into this crime-solving business. So long as I didn’t have to see any more dead bodies.

  “You get out of Rich who he was with the past couple of days?”

  “Gave us the name of a friend in Connecticut. We’re checking it out.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Guy name of Marty Kramer. Attorney. Know him?”

  “He does Rich’s corporate stuff. But why would Rich go to his house? Why not see him in his office?”

  “How good a friend is he?”

  “They went to college together, but we never really socialized.”

  “Would Kramer cover for him?”

  “I wouldn’t think he’d stick his neck out too far. Did Rich tell you who the woman was at Haji's?”

  “Said it was just a girl he’d picked up at the bar. Couldn’t remember her name.”

  “I don’t believe him.” I grabbed his arm. “You know what? We should talk to Herb Golinko. He knows about Rich’s women. You probably don’t know him. He used to work for Rich until Erica made him quit.”

  He took my hand and held it between his. “I know all about it. He’s dead, Carrie.”

  “What?”

  “Golinko died this afternoon.”

  “Oh, God.” Tears shot out of my eyes.

  “I'm really sorry.”

  “He wasn’t...?”

  “No, no, it was the disease.”

  “I don’t even know why I’m crying. He wasn’t a close friend or anything. But he was a sweet guy, and he got a raw deal.”

  We sat for a while not talking. I didn’t pull away until Horty got jealous and laid his head on my lap, wanting to be petted. Reluctantly I extricated my hand. Brodsky put José on the floor and stood. Reaching for his jacket, he said, “Want to go with me tomorrow?”

  “Where?”

  “Haji’s. Bartenders have good memories.”

  “I'll be in my office till four.”

  “Pick you up at six.”

  “Okay.”

  “See you then.”

  When he'd gone, I mulled over why I’d agreed to go to Haji’s with him, decided my reaction to him was normal. Coming off the rejection and pain of divorce, I’d probably have responded that way to almost any attractive man who paid attention to me. The trick was to recognize it for what it was, keep it in perspective. I’d seen this sort of thing often enough in my practice not to let myself be caught up in an inappropriate relationship.

  Never married, I thought. Bad sign. Besides, he’s a recovering dumpee, like me. His emotions can’t be trusted. And remember, he’s a cop. No sane woman would get involved with anyone who willingly walks into danger every day of his life. Whole thing’s totally unworkable.

  I went to bed, certain I’d come to the sensible conclusion. Still, I found myself looking forward to the following night. Despite the constant drumbeat of the rain knocking against my window, plus having to contort my body around four sleeping animals, I got the best night’s sleep I’d had since the whole bizarre sequence of events began.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Saturday, May 29

  AT FIVE-FORTY Saturday evening I was applying the finishing touches to my makeup when the doorbell rang.

  “Who is it?” I sang out to show Ted how careful I was.

  “Me.”

  Rich! Damn!

  “If you’ve come to see the kids, they're not here.”

  “I came to see you. C’mon, Cat, open up.”

  Cat. Not Nudnik or Dragon Lady? I wanted to say “Go away!” I wanted to say “Go to hell!” But, don’t ask me why, I opened the door.

 
The rain had continued on and off the entire day. Rich stood on the porch, a bedraggled pathetic figure, like one of those flood victims caught on camera watching his house float away. His face looked ravaged. His hair was plastered to his head, and his eyes were bloodshot with black rings under them as though he’d been drinking and hadn’t slept. I felt zero desire to comfort him.

  “Can I come in?”

  I hesitated.

  “Please.”

  I stepped aside, pushed the door shut against the wind. “What do you want, Rich?”

  “Just to talk.”

  “We talked yesterday. There’s nothing left to say.”

  “Please,” he murmured again heaving a sigh that should have moved mountains. “Would it be okay if we sat, maybe had a cup of coffee?” Not waiting for an answer, he walked into the kitchen and collapsed into a chair.

  There was nothing I could do but follow. “Don’t get comfortable. You’re not staying.”

  I’d be damned if I was going to make him coffee.

  “Just let me get dry.” Picking up a paper napkin, he mopped at his face. “Don't suppose there’s an old T-shirt of mine around here anywhere?”

  “Only those I’ve cut up for rags.” I walked to the sink and tossed him a dish towel. “Why don’t you go home and change?”

  “Can’t stand it there. Tried to sleep there last night. Nearly drove me crazy. So goddamned lonely.”

  Tell me about it.

  When I didn't answer, he went on. “You can’t imagine how empty that house feels without the kids.”

  I couldn’t imagine that house at all without our children. “Our kids haven’t been living in that house on a regular basis for over a year. Did you just notice?”

  “It’s hitting me how much I miss them. I keep listening for that awful loud music they were always playing, and those beeps from Matt’s Gameboy that went on half the night. All that stuff used to bother the hell out of me. Now all I hear is the silence.” He leaned over and gave Horty’s rump a couple of friendly smacks. “I even miss this elephant you call a dog.”

  He gazed at me expectantly. What did he want me to say? I could feel my EDR go up a couple of degrees. Was he going to ask to change the custody arrangement? When the quiet became unbearable, he said, “Where are the kids, anyway?”

  It annoyed me that he couldn’t remember. “Allie went to Boston with the chorus. Matt was invited to Jeff’s. It’s why you have them next weekend. We told you about it.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.” He gave me the crooked grin that not so long ago would have had me on his lap, arms wound around his neck. “You look nice. Going somewhere?”

  I glanced at my watch. I didn’t want him around when Ted came. “Very soon. Why’re you here, Rich?”

  “I told you. I wanted to see you.”

  I started toward the foyer. “Well, you've seen me.”

  He looked as though I’d struck him, started to get up, grimaced as his arm hit the table, sank back. “Ow!”

  I softened. “You okay?”

  He touched the arm gingerly. “It’s killing me. And I'm starving. Haven't eaten a decent meal in days.”

  I didn't move.

  “I can't believe what’s going on. That cop, Brodsky grilled me yesterday like I was O.J. Where was I this day, that day—-at three o’clock, at four o’clock, at ten o’clock? How the hell was I supposed to remember?”

  “Try telling the truth.”

  “Dammit, Carrie, cut me a break.”

  Horty came over and sat next to me, his eyes shifting anxiously from one to the other of us.

  “Rich, I really haven't got time.”

  “Wait. Please. We’re getting off on—-I’m not doing this right.” He rose, went over to the sink, poured himself a glass of water, drank. “You’re making it hard.” He fiddled with the folds of his sling, reached down, and rubbed his leg where the footrest had banged it yesterday afternoon. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. Matt's face, the time his baseball came through an open window and nailed my favorite lamp. “I know I haven’t always been straight with you, but you have to believe me. I never wanted it to be bad between us.”

  The sociopathic mind is an amazing mechanism.

  “Okay, I’ve been a bastard,” he said, catching my reaction. “I put you through hell. Maybe it was the middle-age thing. Happens to lots of guys. But I’m over it.” He crossed to where I was sitting, knelt, took my hand in his good one. “Cat, let’s try again.”

  The words I had longed to hear. Why wasn’t I dancing for joy?

  He saw my hesitation, pounced on it. “You don’t easily break a bond of nearly twenty years. I've learned that. There's still something between us. You know there is.”

  I did know it. No other man could be the father of my children. No other man would ever know the open, care-free young woman I had been-—would ever share the memories constructed over a lifetime.

  He read my mind. “We have so much history.”

  For a brief moment a picture of us as a family again played over in my head, and oh, how I would have given ten years of my life to have it the way it was-—the way I’d thought it was. But then I remembered those terrible months after he left, for an instant relived the sleepless nights, the shock of going through his records and finding the paper trail of his betrayals.

  He mistook my silence for capitulation. “I’ll make it up to you. We'll be better than we ever were.”

  We. How long had it been since he and I had been a we? “What were we, Rich? Not what I thought we were.”

  He ignored that and went for my weak spot. “It’d be better for the kids. You know it would.”

  I looked at him then, searching his face for the man I had loved, the man who’d cried with me when we’d had to put our old dog to sleep, who’d been there to help when my dad had his first heart attack, the man who’d lent me his strength when the doctor told us our first baby was in trouble and would have to be delivered by C-section. But there was no sign of him, only this stranger, this emotional cripple who could no longer give or receive love.

  “You’re not worried about Allie and Matt,” I said wearily. “You’re worried about you. Erica’s gone, Dot’s gone, you're tired and hungry and afraid of being alone.”

  “That’s not true. I’m a man. Men make mistakes.”

  “A mistake? You really believe that’s all this was?”

  “I know it’ll take time but I’ve never stopped loving---”

  My hand covered his mouth. “Don’t say it.”

  I could hear the clock ticking, or was it my heart pounding? Sensing the tension, Horty slunk away from the table and curled up by the refrigerator, whining softly.

  Rich struggled to his feet. “Well,” he said in a last-ditch effort to salvage his pride, “I tried. Don’t ever say I didn’t try. Just remember the ball was in your court, and you threw it in my face.”

  “You’ll be okay,” I said softly as I followed him to the door.

  “You bet I will. I don’t need you or anybody.”

  “I know.”

  I watched him get into his Mercedes and roar off.

  I wish I could say I felt elated, or at least a sense of satisfaction that I had once and for all cut the cord. I didn’t. What I felt was lighter, as though I’d finally jettisoned a stone that had been pressing on my heart. Which is progress. The other, I guess, will come.

  As I was closing the door, I saw a black car swing out of my neighbor's driveway and take off in the same direction. I tried to see the license plate but missed it. I decided I was getting paranoid about black cars.

  WHEN THE DOORBELL rang fifteen minutes later, I found myself looking at Ted Brodsky with the eyes of a woman ready for a new relationship and fervently wishing we had met under different circumstances.

  Sensing my mood, Ted tactfully refrained from asking questions. We made small talk while I searched for my raincoat, wedged in the back of the coat closet behind two snowsuits, a pair of skis
, and the crutches Matt had used after his first trip to Hunter Mountain. I gave up trying to find an umbrella.

  The rain had lightened to a fine mist. I stopped to admire the sleek white Miata parked at my curb.

  “Yours?”

  “Poor man’s Porsche,” he joked. “And a little older than Horty.”

  “Doesn’t look it. It’s beautiful. I thought the brown Chevy was yours.”

  “Department issue.”

  He opened the door for me, and I sank into the passenger seat. “Going to be interesting, watching you get in.”

  “Roomier than it looks.” He maneuvered his long legs into the cramped space under the dashboard. “‘Course you have to be highly motivated.”

  The car slid smoothly into gear. Ted was a good driver. I’d imagined he would be. The other times I’d driven with him, I’d been too preoccupied with the catastrophe de-jour to notice.

  You can tell a lot about people by the way they handle themselves behind a wheel. Ted drove at a good clip, as if he were one with the machine. Rich, too, had been a competent driver, except when he got pissed off at someone and decided to teach him a lesson by driving up the car’s rear end. One night he flew out of the car and kicked a cab that had cut him off. It was the night of the snowbank incident. He broke his toe. Since then it’s been a lot easier to believe in Goddess.

  Thoughts of Rich brought to mind the reason we were headed for Greenwich Village.

  “If Rich is willing to take a lie detector test,” I remarked as we crossed the George Washington Bridge, “you’ll know if he was lying about the woman at Haji’s.”

  “Maybe. The tests aren’t foolproof.”

  I knew that was true from my own work teaching clients to bring down their electrodermal response levels. “I don’t think he’d lie about her under oath. Unless they’re both involved in some way.”

  “From what you tell me, your husband’s a good liar.”

  “I was an easy sell. I would’ve believed him if he’d told me his mother was Anastasia and he was the czar’s only surviving grandson.”

  “Don’t go into the detective business. I wouldn’t believe Anastasia was Anastasia if she showed me the crown jewels.”

  “Well, I’m savvier now. Did he tell you her name?”

  “Sharon. Said he never asked her for her last name. They just talked and had a drink.”