That leaves Easton, who is lying on the floor at Joey’s feet, still sobbing. He appears to have wet himself, and once Larry and Junior realize that, they look at each other, sigh, and do a quick game of rock-paper-scissors. Junior wins and a reluctant Larry carefully approaches Easton and zip-ties his hands behind his back.
By now, I can see there are other people lurking in the hallway just beyond the doorway to the room: Arnie and Aaron Heinrich. I hear Arnie tell Larry, “Yeah, Joey and I were just coming back from lunch and we ran into this guy out front.” He gestures toward Aaron. “He told us about the meeting in here, and when we heard the commotion going on beyond the door, Joey went into hero mode, stripped off his regular clothes, and made his entrance.”
With everyone in the room secure, Hurley makes his way over to me and Izzy. His hair is attractively mussed, one sleeve is torn nearly off, revealing a sexy shoulder beneath, and his lower lip has a small cut on it.
“You guys okay?” he asks.
“We’re fine,” I say. “But you look a little the worse for wear.” I reach up and gingerly dab at a drip of blood on his lip. And as soon as my finger touches that soft flesh, I remember how those lips felt against mine. I feel myself growing hot and quickly pull away.
“I’m fine,” Hurley says.
“Thank goodness for Joey,” I say. “Who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did?”
Hurley looks offended. “We were managing just fine on our own.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” I say, looking askance. “Those nut jobs were beating the crap out of you guys.”
“The hell they were,” Hurley sulks.
I look at him and break into a grin. “Well, well. Aren’t we the macho man? You can’t stand the fact that a bumbling superhero-wannabe saved your ass, can you?”
“He didn’t. We almost had them by the time Joey showed up,” Hurley argues. He looks over at Izzy. “Didn’t we?” It’s a rhetorical question. Hurley fully expects Izzy to agree with him, but instead Izzy just shakes his head.
“Crap,” Hurley says, looking crestfallen.
“It’s okay,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “Cheer up. Nobody’s perfect. Now quit sulking, put on your big boy pants, and let’s get out of here.”
As I turn to leave the room I hear Hurley utter a parting shot behind me. “Women,” he huffs. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t get ’em to wear a leather bustier.”
Chapter 38
Oddly enough, Hurley’s parting quip gives me an idea. As soon as the Heinrich and Conklin clans are hauled off to jail, I make a phone call to Carla Andrusson and ask her if I can stop by again. She isn’t happy with yet another interruption in her dinner party preparations, but after promising to be quick, she relents.
I let Izzy know I’m heading out and make a beeline for Carla’s house before she has a chance to change her mind. When I tell her what I want her to do she is resistant at first, but after some reasoning and cajoling, she finally buys into my plan and we agree to implement it the following day.
From Carla’s house I head to the dry cleaner to pick up my gown and Hurley’s jacket. As I’m headed into the store my cell phone rings and, as I fumble for it, I run into someone who is coming out. I look up to apologize but the words freeze on my lips. Standing in front of me is Luke Nelson.
“Ah, so we meet again,” he says. He is smiling but it looks forced and the tone of his words is flat, tired, and exasperated sounding.
“Hello,” I say. I start to push by him but he stops me with a question.
“Anything new with Shannon’s case?”
I turn to look back at him, my hand on the door. “We’ve made a little progress,” I say vaguely, studying his facial expression. If my words worry him at all, he isn’t showing it.
“I hear they found the gun her husband owned.”
“Yes,” I say. “But we don’t have the ballistics report yet so we don’t know if it’s the murder weapon.” Then it hits me. “How did you hear about it already?”
“I have a few connections,” he says cryptically. His evasiveness annoys me but I can hardly complain since I’ve been that way myself. “I take it my alibi patients from the day in question have been cooperative?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So I can safely assume we won’t be having lunch again anytime soon?”
There is a hint of smugness in the way he says this that makes my hackles rise. I suspect he is deliberately taunting me. “You are safe from me,” I tell him, flashing him my best plastic smile. “At least for now.”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly when I utter this caveat and a muscle in his left cheek starts to twitch. For several intolerably long seconds we stand there staring at one another. I’m pretty certain he’s playing a game of intimidation with me so I stand my ground, refusing to break eye contact even though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to escape. It’s all I can do not to smile with relief when he finally says, “Good day,” and leaves.
Belatedly I remember the phone call I never answered. I take my cell out, look at the call history, and see it was Izzy. There is no message in my voice mail so I call him back.
“Hey, Izzy, what’s up?”
“Arnie says he’s found something of interest in the blood samples we collected from Shannon’s house. I thought you might want to be here when he tells us what it is.”
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there.”
I disconnect the call and head inside the cleaner’s, where the same lady is on duty behind the counter. She looks nervous when she sees me and I brace myself for some bad news. Which will it be? The gown or Hurley’s jacket?
“I have your stuff ready,” she says. She disappears into the back and returns a moment later with both items placed on hangers and covered in plastic. “That was one nasty jacket,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “We had to process it three times to get the smell out.” I nod, waiting for the kicker. “So your total comes to sixty bucks. I had to charge extra for the jacket treatment.”
I wince at the price and dig out my wallet. All I have is forty-two dollars. “I guess I’ll have to wait until payday to get both items,” I tell her. “How much was the dress?”
She chews her lip in thought for a moment, then says, “Tell you what. How about I give you a half-price deal?”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “You mean thirty bucks for both of them?”
She nods.
“That’s a deal,” I tell her. I pay her and walk out to the car feeling pretty chipper. Today must be my lucky day. But as I drive to the office, something about the whole transaction bothers me. It was easy, maybe too easy.
I take the dress into the office with me and give it back to Cass, thanking her for letting me borrow it. Then I head for Arnie’s lab.
Izzy is already there and he waves me in as soon as he sees me. “Come on in. You’re going to love this, I think.”
Arnie is sitting at his desk holding a small plastic plate about the size of a playing card. On top of the card are a series of circles, each one with a red dot in it. “Check it out,” he says, handing me the card. I look at it and see that it’s a blood typing test. “I’ve spent all week wading through those two-hundred-plus blood samples we collected from Shannon’s house,” he says. “And every one of them has tested out as Shannon’s blood type.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, confused as to why this news would interest me.
“Shannon’s blood type is A positive but that sample you have in your hand is B negative, which is a very rare type.”
“It’s not Shannon’s blood?”
Arnie grins and shakes his head.
“Where was it found?”
“I pulled it off of one of the glass shards we found in the kitchen.”
“So it’s most likely the killer’s blood?”
“Yep. And here’s the part you’re really going to like,” Arnie adds, his grin getting bigger. “Erik Tolliver’
s blood type is O positive.”
My eyes grow wide.
“And since we can assume the owner of this blood was injured by the glass, it might rule Erik out even more if there were no cuts of any kind found on him when he was arrested.”
My heart is leaping with joy; this really is turning out to be my lucky day.
“Have you told anyone else about this yet?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Izzy says. “I was going to call Hurley but I thought you’d want to be here when I deliver the news.”
“Damn right I do,” I say, smiling and rubbing my hands together with glee. “One free dinner coming up, compliments of Hurley. I can hardly wait.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Izzy cautions. “It isn’t a full exoneration yet, just a lot of very reasonable doubt. Arnie is going to send the blood sample to Madison for a DNA test and that might give us even more ammunition.”
“Might?”
Arnie says, “Well, it was a small sample to begin with and there isn’t very much of it left so I’m not sure if they’ll be able to get a full profile.”
“Still, the blood type alone is something, isn’t it?” I ask.
“It is,” Izzy agrees.
“Can I tell Lucien about this?”
Izzy shrugs and looks at Arnie, who shrugs back. “I don’t see why not,” Izzy says. “Why don’t you call him and I’ll get a hold of Hurley.”
I nod eagerly, realizing that for once in my life I’m actually looking forward to talking to Lucien. I take out my cell phone and dial his number, but it flips over to his voice mail. Rather than trying to explain everything on the phone, I leave a brief message to let him know we have discovered some key evidence in the case and ask him to call me back.
Izzy has already finished his call by the time I hang up. “Hurley will be here momentarily,” he announces.
I’m excited to hear this, not only because I’m eager to let Hurley know my faith in Erik’s innocence was valid, but because it means getting to see him again. I can’t wait to pick up where we left off and I figure any time spent near him enhances the chances of that happening.
I dash to the restroom to do some primping in preparation, and pop a breath mint just in case I might get lucky. By the time I come out, I hear Hurley’s voice outside Izzy’s office and hurry toward it.
As I round the corner high with anticipation, I stop dead in my tracks. Just as I’d hoped, there stands Hurley in the doorway of Izzy’s office. But standing beside him, looking doe-eyed, dewy-fresh, and lovely, is Alison Miller.
Chapter 39
Alison looks at me standing in the hallway and smiles. “Hello, Mattie.”
Hurley looks too, and I struggle to keep my expression impassive and not let on how badly I want to scratch Alison’s eyes out.
“Alison, what are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was with Stevie when Izzy called. I was interviewing him about the Heinrich case.” She hooks her arm around Hurley’s and leans into him. “When I heard there was something new in Shannon’s case, Stevie here was kind enough to let me tag along.”
Hurley turns back toward Izzy, forcing Alison to let go of his arm. If she feels at all slighted by his action, she doesn’t show it. “So what have you got for me?” Hurley asks.
Izzy fills him in on the blood evidence and then asks if Erik Tolliver had any injuries on his body when he was arrested.
Hurley, who is frowning, shakes his head. “Not a scratch,” he admits. He turns to look at me again and the smile he bestows on me makes my irritation with Alison evaporate. “Damn, Winston. It looks like you might have been right about Erik Tolliver after all.”
Seeing my chance to put Alison in her place, I smile back and say, “So I guess that means dinner is on you, correct?”
“Looks like it,” Hurley says.
Alison’s smile disappears faster than a Whack-A-Mole. “Dinner?” she squawks. “What dinner?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I tell her with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Just a little bet Hurley and I had going.” I look back at Hurley and smile sweetly. “I’m thinking lobster rather than steak.”
“Ouch,” he says, smiling in a way that lets me know he doesn’t find the idea at all painful. He starts to say something more when his phone rings. He answers it, frowning as he listens. “Okay,” he says into the phone. “I’ll be right there.”
He hangs up looking chagrined. “I have to go. I’ll catch you guys later.”
Alison falls into step beside him. “Where are we going?” she asks.
Hurley pauses and holds a hand up to stop her. “I’m done for today, Alison. We can finish this up some other time, okay?”
Alison pouts and starts to say something back at him but Hurley doesn’t give her a chance. In seconds, he’s gone. Alison looks so stricken that for a brief second I feel sorry for her. But then she turns, gives me a flippant little smile, and says, “I guess I’ll just have to hook up with him again later.” Then she flounces out of the room in Hurley’s wake.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in an exceptionally good mood. Between the new evidence exonerating Erik and my pending dinner with Hurley, even sitting in the library and reading up on all the horrible ways people have found to kill one another doesn’t dampen my spirits. Nor does the prospect of talking to Lucien when he returns my call.
“What’s up, Sweet Cheeks?”
“I have some news for you. We found blood evidence at the scene of Shannon’s murder that isn’t hers. And it isn’t Erik’s either.”
“Seriously?” Lucien says. “You’re not just yanking my chain, are you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, there are things on me I’d love to have you yank, but my chain isn’t one of them. Unless it was hooked up to my—”
“I’m serious, Lucien,” I say, cutting him off. Then, before he has a chance to start up again, I explain what Arnie found with all its implications. When I’m done, I tell him I have to run and hang up, not giving him a chance to thank me in his uniquely sordid way.
I leave the office a little before five and on my way home I stop at the grocery store. Not wanting to attract any unneeded attention with the hearse, I pull into the far side lot where the employees park. Inside the store I grab some cans of tuna for Rubbish, and some fruit, rolls, and chicken salad for myself, managing to pass up the ice cream aisle.
Back outside I unlock the hearse and toss my bag onto the passenger seat. I’m about to get in when I hear a whimper behind me and pause, wondering if I imagined it. But then I hear it again, this time accompanied by an odd scratching sound. I turn to investigate and focus on the back area of the lot where two large Dumpsters sit. Sandwiched between the bins is a dirty, skinny dog that looks to be barely more than a pup. It’s standing on its hind legs, clawing at the side of one of the Dumpsters with paws much too big for the rest of him. Its color is a dingy, brownish yellow—though I can’t tell how much of that is natural and how much of it is dirt—and I can see ribs protruding through its fur. Its eyes are huge, round, chocolate brown, and the ears are flopped over like a lab’s.
As I get closer it sees me and drops down to all fours. I expect it to run away but instead it plops down into an awkward sitting position, hind legs akimbo, revealing that it’s a he.
“What’s the matter, boy?” I say, slowly moving closer. “You hungry?” He cocks his head at me and whines, his tail thumping a few times. I stop and squat down about ten feet away from him. “Come here, boy.”
He thumps his tail a few more times and stands, but doesn’t approach. I try coaxing him again and though he looks like he wants to come, he stays put. Deciding I need more of an enticement, I get up, go back to my car, grab the chicken salad I bought, and begin another slow approach. When I pass the point I was at before, he stands and backs up a few steps, so I stop and squat. He stops, too, and wags his tail in a steady rhythm. I can tell he’s both hungry and curious so I pop the top on my container of chicken salad and set it on the ground in front
of me.
“Come on. Come get a bite. You look like you could use it.”
He wags his tail so hard his butt wiggles from side to side. He takes a tentative step forward, ducks his head, pauses, then another step. A minute or two of this and he is only an arm’s length away. His nostrils are flaring wildly as he sniffs the chicken salad. I reach for him and he cowers but holds his ground and lets me give him a little scratch behind the ears. I slide the chicken salad an inch or two closer and it’s enough to overpower his fear. He closes the last little distance and starts sucking up the food with amazing speed. His efforts inch the container closer to me. By the time it’s empty it’s nearly touching my feet and the pup’s head is between my knees. I stroke the top of his head, and though he flinches, he doesn’t back away.
“Good boy,” I say softly, petting him gently. He lifts his head from the empty dish, looks at me briefly, and then glances away. He plops his butt down and lets me continue to pet him, but he avoids making eye contact, clearly letting me take on the role of alpha dog.
After a few minutes I stop petting him and he looks at me again, his tail stepping up its rhythm. I pick up the empty container and stand, expecting him to run off, but he stays at my feet. I walk over to the Dumpster and toss the empty container inside. I’m surprised to see the pup has followed and when I turn to head back to my car, he stays on my tail.
When I reach the door to the hearse, the pup sits down at my feet and looks up at me with those huge, chocolate-brown eyes, his rump wiggling with excitement.
“What?” I say, and the rump wiggles faster. “Don’t you have a home?” Judging from his condition and the lack of a collar, I doubt he does, and those beseeching eyes are starting to tug at my heartstrings. I consider trying to take him to a nearby shelter but in the back of my mind I worry that if I do, it will be a death sentence for him.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I tell him. His butt wiggles with tail-wagging delight. “If you want to come home with me for tonight, you can.” His butt moves even faster, as if he understands me. “But it’s only temporary, just until I can find you a home, okay?” He bobs his head and pants happily and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he just nodded his agreement.
Scared Stiff Page 24