“Stay. Have fun. I’ll be fine,” I insisted, then darted away before she could say anything, and waited by the front door for Slade.
I expected him to roll up in an Abrams tank, or a Hummer, at least. Instead he pulled up in a black Blazer, left it at the curb, nodded to the bouncers and headed toward me.
I’d never been so glad to see anyone in my life.
“You hurt?” he asked.
“Just scared,” I said.
“That’s cool, babe.”
Slade hooked my elbow and we walked outside. He opened the passenger side door, helped me climb in, then took a look around the parking lot before getting behind the wheel.
I pointed out the back window. “My car—”
“Got it covered,” he said.
I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but I let it go.
“What’s the story?” Slade asked, pulling out of the parking lot.
“A few days ago I witnessed a murder, sort of,” I said. “Some guy jumped me in the parking lot and told me to mind my own business.”
Slade glanced at me but didn’t ask anything else. He drove to my apartment keeping an eye on the road and the rearview mirror. Slade walked me inside. I expected him to leave but instead he took my key, told me to wait in the hall, and went in ahead of me.
I didn’t stay in the hall. In the entry way I saw him flipping on lights, checking out each room. He came back, closed and locked the door, and slid the safety chain into place.
At this point, the incident in the parking lot seemed surreal. Looking back, I felt kind of foolish that I’d been so frightened, that I’d panicked and called Slade.
I went into the kitchen. He followed and leaned against the door casing, crossing his arms over his chest.
I knew I owed him more of an explanation, so I told him in detail about my involvement with Mr. Sullivan’s death. Slade seemed to know about the murder, and I got the feeling it wasn’t from the newspaper accounts.
I thought I was doing pretty well until I got to the part about tonight’s incident. Tears suddenly popped up in my eyes. I tried gulping them down but more kept coming. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to admit to myself that the jerk in the parking lot had that much control over me. I didn’t want to fall apart in front of Slade.
I brushed away my tears, gulped hard, and forced myself to go on.
“It wasn’t such a big deal, really,” I managed to say. “I mean, the guy didn’t hurt me, or … or …”
Slade came forward. He put his arms around me and pulled me against his chest.
I lost it. I cried and sobbed. Slade just stood there. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word.
The thing about men was that they were always trying to fix things—a holdover from some ancient hunting instinct, I suppose. If a woman had a problem, she could hardly get the words out before the guy was steam rolling her with the solution.
Slade wasn’t like that. He just held me and let me cry. I hadn’t pegged him for Mr. Sensitive, but he was doing a darn good job.
When I finished crying, I was exhausted. Not one single emotion or one ounce of strength remained in me. Slade guided me to my bedroom and pulled back the covers on my bed. I felt his hands on the button at the back of my skirt.
“Are you planning to take advantage of this situation?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t be cool,” he said.
“Darn …”
He unfastened my skirt and let it fall, then pulled off my sweater. I sat on the edge of my bed and he yanked off my shoes.
“You’ll be safe here tonight,” Slade said. “I’m staying.”
I lay back on the bed and said, “Are you sure you’re not going to take advantage of this situation?”
He grinned and pulled the covers over me. “Go to sleep.”
He switched off the light and left.
I fell asleep.
* * *
The green numerals on my alarm clock told me noon approached when I awoke the next day. I laid there for a while, thinking and remembering what had happened last night. I really hadn’t been my best. In fact, I’d pretty much been a total mess.
Finally, I decided that, yes, I could be embarrassed that I’d fallen completely apart on Slade, that I’d cried and been such a girl about the whole thing. But I wasn’t embarrassed. Murders and threats didn’t populate my world. It was okay that I’d been upset.
I climbed out of bed and saw my skirt and top that Slade had folded and left on the dresser. Handled just right, this could make one heck of a story at work tomorrow morning—me, Slade, an all-nighter.
No one would believe nothing happened between us, unless they saw me right now. I caught my reflection in the mirror—thick, black mascara tracks running down both cheeks.
Slade hadn’t been interested last night? Go figure.
I hit the shower and left my bathroom smelling coffee. I found Slade in my kitchen. I guess I hadn’t really thought he’d stay because I was surprised to see him. Seven Eleven sat beside her food bowl licking her paws and looking altogether pleased with our house guest.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
He’d poured coffee. I sat at the table across from him.
“Thanks for last night. I guess I screwed up your Saturday night.” A memory I’d rather not recall flashed in my head. “You were hanging out with Jade last night.”
Slade sipped his coffee. “Didn’t happen.”
It was the only good thing that had come out of the entire ordeal.
“You’d better do like that guy said, Dana, and quit poking your nose into the Sullivan murder,” Slade said. “Unless you don’t mind a repeat of last night.”
“I’m not involved, really,” I said. “I looked at mug shots but couldn’t identify the guy I saw at the crime scene. I’ve asked a few questions, but that’s all. Nothing big.”
Slade shook his head. “You pissed off somebody.”
Yes, it seemed I had. But who?
“Do you think they’ll come after me again?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
A little chill ran through me. “I don’t like the idea of being scared every time I leave home,” I said.
“Then don’t be scared,” Slade said. “Be smart.”
I scrambled eggs and we finished off the coffee, then left my apartment. In the parking lot I saw my Honda sitting in my designated spot. I didn’t know how Slade managed it, but I decided not to ask.
All sorts of rumors buzzed around Slade, about this past, his unexplained absences, the people he knew. When we drove away from my apartment in his Blazer, I expected to wind up at a shooting range, or at the gym for a self-defense course, or maybe a secret government installation hidden in the mountains that monitored movements of known criminals and terrorists. Instead, Slade drove to Home Depot.
He loaded a cart with all sorts of things, then drove us back to my apartment. Slade spent the afternoon fitting dowels inside my sliding windows, and installed a dead bolt lock on my door.
“Your place is as secure as I can make it unless your apartment complex okay’s a surveillance system,” he said, loading tools into the metal box he’d brought in from his Blazer. “Stay alert. Keep your phone close. Watch behind you when you’re driving. If you think you’re being tailed, go to the police station. Be cautious of strangers.”
“Got it,” I said.
He pulled a palm-sized canister out of his tool box and gave it to me.
“If things go sideways, use this,” he said.
“Pepper spray,” I realized. “Is it legal?”
He grinned. “Just don’t spray a cop.”
He showed me how to use it, then carried his tool box to the door.
“Thanks for everything,” I said.
“It’s cool,” Slade said. “You need me, you call me.”
He left and I closed the door, throwing the bolt on my new lock. I felt safe and secure, more in control of my world. Slade had given me g
ood advice. He’d given me instructions, direction, something that would actually help me.
Of course, none of that would matter if Mr. Sullivan’s murderer wasn’t caught.
I grabbed a pad of yellow paper and a pencil from my desk in the bedroom and settled at the table in my kitchen. In the center of the page I drew a big circle and wrote Mr. Sullivan’s name in it, since he was the central figure in all of this. I drew two short lines from that circle to two smaller circles and wrote Gerald Mayhew and Leonard Sullivan’s named in each. I drew another line and circle, and put a question mark in it, representing the guy who’d knocked me down at the murder scene. And just because I was short on suspects, I repeated the format including Kirk Redmond’s name.
I studied the lines and circles. These people were the only ones associates with the murder or the crime scene—the only ones I knew about, anyway—making them the only people who might have arranged the warning I got in the Club Vibe parking lot last night.
Gerald Mayhew had a motive—jealousy—but he also had an alibi. He’d been working; I’d verified that with his employer.
Kirk Redmond had no motive and needed no alibi. He’d simply been there on business.
Leonard Sullivan had a motive—keeping his grandfather from going to the police about something Leonard was involved in. He might have an alibi, but I’d have to find him to learn what it was.
The mystery guy who’d knocked me down was still that—a mystery.
I turned the page sideways, then upside down and studied it from different angles, trying to gain a different perspective on the names in the circles. I realized I’d left out one person—me.
I drew another line from the circle containing Mr. Sullivan’s name and wrote my own name in it. I had nothing to do with the murder, yet I was involved.
From my circle, I drew another line and circle that represented the guy who’d jumped me in the Club Vibe parking lot. Another face from last night flashed in my head—Jarrod Parker. A wave of nausea washed through me.
I’d been to that club dozens of times and had never seen Jarrod. Was it a coincidence he’d been there the night I’d been accosted in the parking lot? Could he possibly have something to do with Mr. Sullvian’s murder? I put Jarrod’s name in a circle and drew a line to mine.
I studied the chart I’d created until the circles started to overlap. Annoyed, I realized I was getting nowhere. I locked up and left. Halfway down the staircase it occurred to me that when Slade left earlier, I hadn’t watched him through the peephole, but I’d watched Nick both times he’d been to my apartment, which only annoyed me further.
I drove to my parents’ house. To my delight, my mom and dad were both home, and delicious smells greeted me when I walked into the house.
“You’re just in time for dinner,” Mom said, as I walked into the dining room.
“What’s tonight’s theme?” I asked and sat down.
Mom couldn’t cook a meal without a theme.
“Route 66,” she said, then disappeared into the kitchen.
Dad gestured at the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans and corn on the table.
“Diners across America,” he explained.
Mom came in with a basket of fresh baked biscuits and sat down with us.
“Apple pie and ice cream for dessert,” she announced, and we dug in.
Afterwards, Mom and I cleaned the kitchen while Dad watched TV in the family room.
“Looks like things are going better with you two,” I said.
“He’s taking me some place special next weekend,” Mom said.
“Yeah? Where?”
She smiled. “I don’t know. He won’t say. Sounds very mysterious.”
Sounded to me like he hadn’t made definite plans yet, but I wasn’t going to burst my mom’s balloon. No way did I want to start hunting for a moving truck.
On the drive home I kept my gaze on my rearview mirror, as Slade had advised, watching for a car that might be following me. None did. In the driveway of my complex I checked for lurking strangers, but didn’t see any, luckily, because it occurred to me that I’d left the pepper spray sitting on my kitchen counter.
When I got inside I put the pepper spray in my purse, then got ready for bed. Last night Slade had been in the bedroom with me when he was supposed to be out with Jade. She’d be so hurt, if she knew. She’d probably spent hours deciding what to wear, getting dressed, arranging for a babysitter, only to be stood up because of me.
I couldn’t wait to tell her.
Chapter 12
When I walked into the office Monday morning, Inez’s evil eye seemed to burn unusually bright, Lucas wandered around the breakroom, Carmen was already working, and Jade sat at her desk brushing her hair.
“How was your weekend?” I asked.
“It sucked,” she said.
“Too much time with your kids?” I asked.
She flipped her hair at me and gave me stink-eye.
“Slade said to tell you hi,” I said.
She swung her hair the other way. “Slade?”
“Yes,” I said. “Your name came up over breakfast Sunday morning.”
I lingered at her desk to savor her displeasure, then headed for the back of the office. My work there was done.
As I settled into my chair I realized an orange plastic pumpkin had been placed on the corner of my desk. Looking around, I saw that our office had been decorated for Halloween. Inez must have slipped in earlier than usual this morning and done it, more like an evil Grinch than a fairy godmother.
Every desk had a jack-o-lantern, the file cabinets had smiling witches perched atop them, and a dish of individually wrapped candies sat on the front counter. I was willing to bet these were the same decorations that had been here last year—and probably for at least the decade before that, thanks to Inez.
If she didn’t hurry up and retire, we’d soon be able to stick her in the front window with a crow on her shoulder and straw up her sleeves.
Something to look forward to.
I saw that Carmen had left a stack of payments on my desk that she’d picked up at the post office on her way in. We usually received a lot of mail on Monday, and today proved no exception. I noted that several of my customers had sent payments, as promised, and I was relieved that their lives had turned around and they were on track again. I was anxious to tell Manny, who’d just hustled into the office carrying a briefcase and a cup of coffee, looking stressed and frowning as if he could use some good news, especially for a Monday.
The thing about good news was that it’s almost always followed by bad news.
Inez rose from her desk, and called, “Attention, attention.”
I kept my head down, pretending not to hear her.
“Dana, we’re ready for you,” she declared.
My head snapped up. “Ready? For what?”
She gave me her third-grade-teacher look.
“Now, Dana, what is it you’re supposed to do this morning?”
I didn’t waste precious brain cells on the matter.
“I can’t solve the puzzle, Inez,” I said. “Can I buy a vowel?”
Inez wasn’t amused. Inez was never amused. She pursed her lips and said, “We’re ready for your safety meeting.”
I glanced at Manny but he ignored me. No reprieve there. I was on my own—which was okay because I already had the perfect excuse.
“No meeting today,” I announced. “I have too much work to do.”
“Now, Dana,” she said, “Corporate’s memo specifically states—”
“Not today.” Manny finally came to life.
“Manny,” Inez said, turning her prune-face expression to him. “Corporate has dictated that—”
“If Corporate has a problem, you tell them it was my decision,” Manny told her. “They can talk to me about it.”
I love that guy.
He turned to me and said, “I need you to go look at another foreclosure.”
Now I wasn�
��t loving him so much.
“The Teague account,” he said, waving a print-out at me. “See what kind of shape the house is in.”
I grabbed my things and left the office.
As I drove, I found myself checking my rearview mirror. No one seemed to be following me, but they may as well have, with the incident at Club Vibe still ingrained in my mind.
I wondered if I should tell Nick about it. After all, he was a detective. The guy in the parking lot was definitely tied to the murder. Maybe it would help Nick solve the case.
I fished my cell phone out of my purse and called Nick. His voice mail picked up. I left a message asking if we could meet at McDonalds near the office.
The house Manny wanted me to look at was on Ninth Street, a few blocks off of State Street. Visions of the Sullivan home flashed in my head as I parked at the curb and got out. This neighborhood wasn’t quite as scary, but still, pizza places wouldn’t deliver here after dark.
I glanced over the account history Manny had given me and saw that the house belonged to Janet Teague, a forty-two-year-old unmarried woman who worked at a warehouse in Hayward. She’d taken out a second mortgage with Mid-America and used the cash to pay off bills, among other things.
Rows of small frame houses sat side by side, each surrounded by a fence. As with most neighborhoods, some of the homes were well kept, others not so well. Janet’s was one of the not-so-wells.
I snapped a photo of the house with my cell phone, then kept an ear out for barking dogs as I opened the gate and climbed onto the cement porch. I knocked on the front door. Nobody answered. I heard no sound from inside.
According to the comments Manny had entered on Janet’s account history, things had gone well then, suddenly, she’d stopped making her payments. No call, no office visit, no explanation, no nothing.
I was annoyed with Janet which, really, wasn’t like me. But Janet was the exception.
She wasn’t home so I glanced around, then lifted the lid on her mailbox beside the front door and peeked inside. The electric and gas bills were there along with a Visa monthly statement, both addressed to Janet Teague, both postmarked yesterday. At least I could report to Manny that she still lived here.
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