“Quarter to nine. What—you’re not up yet?”
“I’m working the night shift for now.”
“Geezus. Go back to sleep. When’s a good time to call?”
Ray’s eyelids struggled open. “Forget it. Now’s fine. My alarm’s set to go off in a few minutes anyway. Neil’s funeral is at ten.”
Waverly groaned. “Tough way to start your day. Okay look, I won’t keep you long. I called to tell you Ed Costales got himself an alibi.”
“You’re kidding.” Ray sat up groping for a cigarette.
“It was his ex-wife who phoned him the night Valerie Davis was killed.”
“Does it check out?”
“According to the phone records, she placed the call at 10:57. They only talked for a few minutes. If he was in Minneapolis at that point, he’s not our man.”
“How solid is this alibi?”
“Very. I checked with his ‘ex’ personally. She was calling about an overdue alimony payment.”
“At 10:57?”
“Prob’ly did it to piss him off. It was not an amicable divorce, Ray, trust me. She referred to him as a calculating, two-faced womanizing opportunist.”
“Sounds like she’s as crazy about him as I am.”
“I know what you mean,” Waverly said. “Costales sets my teeth on edge, too. At least we’re whittling the list down.”
“What about Nick Vincent?”
“Still cooling his heels. Nothing new from forensics yet, though. Hey, Ray,” Waverly said,” I’ve gotta go. Roth’s waving me into his office. Take care. Talk to you again soon.”
The clock alarm shrilled a reminder seconds later that it was time to get ready for Neil’s funeral. Ray flung the clock across the room.
35
At the Good Shepherd Cemetery, mourners stood in concentric circles around Neil’s casket and open grave—row upon row of them. Scores of Widmer residents were among Neil Lloyd’s family and friends. Dressed in uniform, Ray and every other off-duty officer from Widmer and neighboring areas stood side by side, Woody Newell in the forefront.
Tall and lean, Neil’s father Tom Lloyd stood with one arm around his wife, the other around Neil’s sister Erin. Next to his parents and sister, Neil’s brother stood with a hand on his father’s shoulder. Nearby, Woody’s wife Betty stood bolstering dispatcher, Irene Herman. Amy Dexter stood among the others, her eyes red, her chin quivering. Unnoticed by Ray, Gail stood well back in the crowd, head bowed, paying her respects.
A light breeze whispered through the budding branches of a sheltering oak, carrying the minister’s voice over the crowd. Ray took what little comfort he could in the knowledge that he and Neil had parted well. Busy framing memories of Neil in a mental scrapbook, the minister’s words gradually became nothing but white noise to Ray. Eventually, the minister’s voice trailed off, completing the service, ending the goodbyes. The mourners turned and walked to their cars.
Amy walked alone, a small, slim figure in a black sheath dress and matching jacket.
As Ray caught sight of her, his strides lengthened. He caught up and touched her shoulder. “Amy, hi.”
“Oh, hi.” She raised a damp handkerchief to her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s surreal.”
“Are you okay?”
“I really miss him, Ray.”
“I know. Me, too.” He gave her a quick one-armed hug as they continued walking.
“Are you going to the lunch?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You?”
“I’d rather not, but the friends I rode with are going.”
“I could give you a lift to your apartment,” Ray offered.
“Thanks. If it’s not too much trouble, I think I’ll take you up on that.” Amy signaled a young couple waiting beside a green Taurus to go ahead without her.
Gail trailed well behind Amy and Ray on the way to her own car. Observing the familiarity of their interaction, new tears filled her eyes.
The ten-minute drive to Amy’s apartment was made in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Amy let herself out as he pulled to a stop in front of her building and leaned into the car. “Thanks, Ray. I appreciate the ride.” She brushed a fresh tear away. “This is ridiculous. I can’t stop crying.”
“Give it some time, Amy.”
“I’m practically dehydrated now.” She backhanded another tear away. “By tomorrow, I’ll be nothing but a mound of dust.” She stepped away, but hurried back. “I shouldn’t ask for another favor so soon, Ray, but…well, the crowd scene felt wrong, but being alone doesn’t sound so hot right now either. Could I talk you into sticking around for a few minutes? I can make a pot of coffee for us.”
Ray knew getting to sleep again would be next to impossible. Besides, the prospect of being alone sucked.
“Got decaf?”
“Sorry, I don’t. There’s grapefruit juice in the fridge, though.”
“Water will be fine.”
“Good. You’re in luck. The last time I checked, I had that, too.”
Amy lived in town above what was a small, defunct consignment shop turned insurance office. The shop owners had lived upstairs, the front half of the second floor serving as their residence, the other half as storage space. Aware of the building’s history, Ray didn’t expect much. They climbed the stairs and Amy opened the door.
“Make yourself comfortable.”
The apartment couldn’t have been more than 900 square feet. In spite of that, its open floor plan and Amy’s decorating made the most of it.
Slipping out of her jacket, she took Ray’s and hung both from a set of three gold-plated hooks on a small scrollwork piece of metal fastened to the wall beside the door. “My guest closet,” she said, smiling and rolling her eyes.
Ray took in the apartment at a glance. “This is nice.”
Two adjoining pale pink walls bordered a tiny kitchen/dining area, separating it from the bedroom/bathroom spot at the back. The two opposite walls were a cool, pastel green. White wicker furniture made up the majority of the sparse furnishings. Torchiere floor lamps stood strategically placed in two corners, partially camouflaged by potted palms.
“Have a seat. I’ll get your water,” Amy told him.
He sat on one of the wicker couch’s mint-green cushions. “You’ve done a good job with the place.”
She came from the kitchen with his ice water. “I spared no expense—mostly yard sales and K-Mart blue light specials.”
“Even more impressive.” He took the glass from her hand. “Thanks.”
When she turned away too quickly, Ray realized she was trying to conceal more tears. He felt better equipped to face an armed felon than a crying woman. “Yard sales, huh? You must’ve shopped in better neighborhoods than I did.”
Still turned away, she asked. “Why? What’s your place like?”
“Basic stuff. The chairs all have four legs. One has one leg shorter than the rest. I call that one my rocker.”
Amy turned around, her eyes red, but blessedly tearless. “So, a typical bachelor pad.”
“I like to think most bachelors have higher standards.”
“Why did you settle for odds and ends?”
The truth troubled him: I didn’t want to get comfortable there. Aloud, he said, “The move was unexpected. I rented the first place I found, bought a few essentials—crap though they may be—and set up housekeeping.”
“If you plan to stay there, you could replace what you’ve got with something better.”
If you plan to stay. Did he? The old cliché said it best: Home is where the heart is. But Ray’s heart still needed to find its way. He stood and walked toward a single item that looked oddly out of place. “Good-looking room divider, Amy. Where’d you get it?”
“An estate sale.” She moved to the six-foot, three-paneled rosewood screen separating the tiny dining area from the living room. A design of flowering cherry blossom branches trailed across the translucent rice paper panels.
“It’s called a Shoji screen.”
Sunlight entered through a window and danced over the short, dark hair caressing her face. He was suddenly aware of her fragrance, the floral and citrus scent as inviting as Amy herself.
“It doesn’t fit with the rest of my stuff,” she said of the screen, “but I just had to have it. Have you ever felt that way about something?”
He nodded—the question a little too on-point at that moment. Ray needed a distraction. “Neil and I were looking for the owner of a wrench that’s gone missing. Any chance he said anything about it to you?”
“A wrench?” She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. Is it important?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” He watched Amy lift a wooden hanger from the back of one of the screen’s panels. It held a sapphire-blue dress.
She draped the garment over her arm. “I meant to put this away,” she said, smoothing the fabric. “I agreed to go with Neil to his cousin’s wedding this Saturday. This is what I’d planned to wear.”
“He’d have liked it,” Ray said. “If it was a burlap sack, he’d have liked it. Neil was crazy about you.”
Tears wet her dark lashes. “I acted like such a jerk—always giving Neil a hard time—always making wisecracks. I was crazy about him, but not the way he was hoping for.”
“That wasn’t about to stop him. You’d have thought he’d won the lottery when you accepted his invitation.”
“He told you about it?”
“If he hadn’t, I could’ve guessed,” Ray said. “He was practically floating an inch off the ground.”
Amy bowed her head. “He shouldn’t have wasted his time on me.”
Ray gripped her shoulders. “Neil didn’t see it as a waste, Amy. In case you didn’t notice, when he set his sights on something, he went after it with everything he had. You included.”
“Oh, I noticed all right.”
“Anything short of you dousing him in mace probably wouldn’t have discouraged him. In fact,” Ray said, “as persistent as he was, I wouldn’t have put it past him to win you over eventually. You did accept his invitation to that wedding, right? Based on that alone, I’m betting Neil died happy.”
Stretching onto the balls of her feet, Amy kissed Ray’s cheek. “Thank you for that.”
Like a spark in kindling, the innocent kiss ignited a flame. Suppressed desire flared, its intensity increasing as they stood facing one another, the shared emotion gleaming in their eyes.
A stunned silence passed between them.
Tentatively, Amy kissed Ray a second time, her lips lush and tender against his. Need spread through Ray’s body, his passion unexpected, exhilarating. Hands trembling, Amy unbuttoned his shirt as he slid the zipper at the back of her dress down. She let the dress slip to the floor. The warmth of her skin against his stoked Ray’s desire. He kissed her smooth shoulders then sought the gentle curve of her throat with anxious lips.
Taking his hand in hers, Amy led him toward the bedroom. Under the gentle pressure of her hand, Ray felt his wedding band shift. The fleeting sensation triggered an avalanche of unwanted memories and unresolved guilt.
Ray had seen the results of his parents’ shattered promises and broken hearts firsthand. The grim memories of the consequences never left him. He’d promised himself he would never cross that line—not in his marriage, not in his law enforcement career. Never.
“Ray?” Amy gripped his hand a little tighter. “Ray, are you okay?”
He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Amy, I can’t do this.”
“What’s wrong? Did I—”
He freed his hand from hers. “I’m still married.”
“You’re separated.”
“Still married,” he repeated. “If I were divorced, it wouldn’t make this right. Trying to fill the void Neil left behind this way is crazy. It would be a quick fix—nothing more.”
Amy looked into his eyes and shook her head. “I’ve always been attracted to you. I just realized it’s more than that. Much more.”
“It would be awfully convenient for me to accept that, Amy, but I can’t. You’re upset.” Body and mind at odds, he told her, “You’re not thinking clearly. I’m not going to take advantage of that.”
She caressed his chest, her touch light, gentle. “I care about you, Ray…deeply.”
“Believe me, I’m flattered, but even if I accept that, you and I are a mismatch. For one thing, I’m too old for you.” He stepped away, buttoning his shirt. “Of course,” he joked, “I know you don’t give a damn about my age. That’s understandable. I’m just too damn handsome for my own good. You know I’m right, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You are too handsome.”
He took her face in his hands, sighing. “Oh, lady, don’t think this is easy for me.”
“There’s good news.”
“My God. You’re something else.”
“And you’re going to pass me by.”
Ray shook his head. “I must be out of my ever-lovin’ mind, but I have to.” He took his jacket from the hook beside the door and dropped it over his arm. One hand on the doorknob, he asked, “Amy, are you okay?”
“That’s the second time you’ve asked me that today. Go on. Leave before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”
Amy dried her eyes and smiled for him, but as the door closed behind him, Ray heard her crying on the other side. Preoccupied, he didn’t notice Gail pulling out of the parking lot across the street as he stepped out of the building.
36
He could have been sharing Amy’s bed, but Ray had chosen moral satisfaction over physical gratification. Where was the peace of mind he’d expected to follow? Unable to sleep, he watched slices of daylight slip through the slats of an old set of Venetian blinds. He tossed and turned for the next two hours, unable to turn off his thoughts.
Lying there was accomplishing nothing. He got up and dressed in his uniform. It would be hours before he officially went on the clock, but at least he’d be ready when the time came. Counting on the sugar rush to keep him going until he got some coffee into his system, Ray ate another of the half-dozen crullers he’d picked up at Weidemeyer’s the day before.
On the way to Speltz’s Amoco station, he stopped at a Kwik Trip for his caffeine fix. He would have gladly settled for the foul coffee outside Captain Roth’s office if it meant working the Davis case in person again. Being yanked back to Widmer still irked him, but he realized he’d have done the same thing in Woody’s place. Not an easy admission.
Parking in front of the garage, Ray wandered into the repair bay, looking for Greg Speltz. Instead, he found the kid’s father, his head under the hood of an Impala, replacing a set of spark plugs.
“Working alone today?” Ray asked.
Burt Speltz backed out of the engine compartment and turned around. “I didn’t hear you pull up. Need gas?”
“No. I came to talk with Greg. Is he here?”
“Nope.” Speltz ducked back under the Impala’s hood.
“Are you expecting him?”
“Why?” Speltz backed out again and leaned against the Impala’s fender, greasy hands fisted on his hips. “What do you want with my kid? Does this have something to do with that new paint job on Kramer’s barn?”
“You know about that?”
“Hard not to notice. I drive past the place every day.”
“And the first thing you thought of was your son. Interesting.”
Speltz grabbed a shop rag out of his back pocket and ground his knuckles into it. “Truth is, my first thought was that it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Until you walked in here lookin’ for my son, I didn’t bother giving it another thought.”
“There was bad blood between Greg and Hank Kramer. Now the same can be said for him and Kramer’s son, too. Greg’s the logical place to start.”
“You can’t blame my kid for bein’ pissed off. Those bastards—”
Ray held his hands
palms out. “He may have good reason. I can sympathize, but I can’t give him a pass if he’s responsible for the vandalism.”
Speltz’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “Six months out of rehab, clean and sober. He’s trying to make something of himself. He wouldn’t pull some lame-ass stunt like that.”
“I need to check it out.”
Speltz grabbed the spark plug wrench off the battery and waved it in Ray’s direction. “You know, once Hank Kramer died, I figured Greg would get the money he had coming to him, but that son-of-a-bitch kid of his is every bit as tight as his father ever was.”
The hairs on Ray’s arms stood on end. He turned for a closer look at the rest of Speltz’s hand tools organized on a nearby wall. They hung in their assigned places, each a piece of quality equipment. Ray kicked himself for not having thought of it sooner. As a mechanic, it followed that Speltz would use quality tools. It would be a good investment. Maybe it was the same thought that had occurred to Neil.
“You know,” Ray said, “I’m a father myself. I understand how a man could get sucked into a bad situation involving their kid. Some hard-ass gives them a raw deal and it’s tough not to step in. Push comes to shove and maybe things get out of hand.”
For a moment, Speltz listened in apparent confusion.
“Is that what happened when you confronted Hank Kramer?”
Speltz’s narrowed eyes sprang open. “Wait a minute. Whoa, whoa. Back the bus up. What the hell are you talking about? I never so much as set a foot on Hank Kramer’s property.”
“You didn’t go there to have it out with him?”
“Hell, no. Look,” Speltz said, “I taught my boys to stand on their own two feet. I don’t fight their battles for them.”
“So, the wrench I’ve been looking for isn’t yours?”
Burt Speltz plodded over to his wall of work tools, extended a muscular arm and pointed at the twelve-inch crescent wrench. “Look for yourself. My wrench is right there.”
It was all Ray needed to hear. “Unless it was yours, how’d you know it was a crescent wrench I was looking for? I never told you.”
Dear Crossing (The Ray Schiller Series) Page 19