He scowled. “Sometimes I worry about you. I crossed the street from Sophie’s house and walked up the steps while you were trying to beat down my door.”
Ever since Sophie Fleming moved into the house across the street last month, I’d suspected she and Fred had a thing going. I had no objection to the relationship. In fact, I approved of it. I just needed to know about it.
Although at four o’clock in the afternoon his presence at her house wasn’t really indicative of much of anything, I had to ask. “So, how’s Sophie?”
Fred moved around me and opened his door then held it for me to enter. “She’s fine. Nothing’s changed since you talked to her yesterday.”
“I know, but this is early for her to be home. She’s usually still decorating the homes of the rich and famous at this time of the day.”
“She needed some help with financial planning so I offered my services.”
I frowned. “Financial planning? What do you know about financial planning? You’re a day trader.”
He rolled his eyes. “Day trading is so yesterday. Do you want to come in or not?”
“No, I haven’t been home to let Henry out yet.”
“Then why were you standing on my front porch, banging on my door?”
“Oh, that, well…” I waved my arm toward my yard. “Thank you for mowing my lawn. Did you put that chemical stuff on it?”
“What makes you think I mowed your lawn? I’m making marinara sauce tonight. Would you like to come over for spaghetti?”
“Homemade garlic toast?”
He gave me a duh expression. “Of course.”
So much for delivering an excoriating lecture about chemicals in the ground water and the importance of all-natural lawns. “I don’t have any leftovers today, but I’ll whip up something for dessert. Cookies? Brownies?”
“Brownies. See you in a couple of hours.” He started through the door.
“Are you going to invite Sophie?” I called after him.
“She’s putting together a proposal for a new client tonight.”
Aha! He’d already asked her! Did he plan to have us both over, or was I second choice? Not that it mattered. Fred was sometimes my second choice if Trent couldn’t come over. So…did that mean Sophie occupied the same place in Fred’s life that Trent occupied in mine?
Actually, it did matter. If she wasn’t a romantic interest, did that mean she’d taken my place as his best friend?
I peered closely at him, trying to read his thoughts.
He closed the door.
With my ego issues unresolved, I went home to feed my cat and let him out to roam the neighborhood. Shortly after he moved in, he informed me he was an indoor/outdoor cat. He weighs twenty-three pounds and has half inch claws. I accepted his choice. He doesn’t go far and always returns home, sometimes with a present for me. We won’t discuss his choice of presents. It’s the thought that counts.
***
I spent a pleasant evening eating Fred’s delicious spaghetti, drinking red wine from crystal glasses and trying unsuccessfully to pry information out of him about his relationship with Sophie, his occupation, where he learned karate kicks and how to scan for listening devices—all the usual stuff.
In some ways Fred is like Henry. Henry appeared out of nowhere one day and took up residence in my house. I have no idea where he lived or what he did before he came to live with me, and he’s not telling. Not that Fred took up residence in my house, but he won’t tell me anything about his life before I became his neighbor.
Fred and Henry even have the same white hair and blue eyes, except Henry has gold markings and Fred doesn’t shed. They pretend to have a haughty disdain for each other, but they have more in common than either wants to admit.
I gave Brandon’s business card to Fred so he could check out the business before I entrusted my car to them.
At ten o’clock I thanked Fred for a wonderful meal, he thanked me for a wonderful dessert, and I headed home. No worries about having a couple of glasses of wine when I could always crawl to my house.
Henry met me on my front porch. I was relieved to see he had no gift for me.
“Have a good evening?” I asked.
He rubbed against my leg and purred. I took that to be an affirmative answer.
“Ready for a little catnip?”
He purred louder.
I unlocked my door and we went inside.
Henry likes his catnip straight, on a plate where he can snort it, lick it and rub his face in it. He’s an addict. I have to keep the bag under lock and key. Well, I keep it in a drawer high enough he can’t open it. At least, he hasn’t been able to open it yet.
I grabbed a cookie and we headed upstairs to bed. There’s nobody around to hide the cookies, so I get to indulge my addiction.
Henry settled at the foot of my bed and I slipped on my comfortable night shirt, also known as an old T-shirt Rick discarded years ago because it was faded and had a hole or two.
The doorbell rang.
I looked at my watch cat. He goes all jungle cat when someone he doesn’t like is at the door. Tonight he seemed unperturbed. I wasn’t sure if that meant my late-night caller was harmless or my watch cat was stoned.
I slipped on my jeans and went downstairs. I flipped on the porch light and looked through the peephole in my front door. Trent stood on my front porch. That was a pleasant surprise. We don’t usually get together except on weekends, but occasionally, when his work schedule allows, he drops by unexpectedly.
I flung the door wide. “Did you come over to play cops and robbers?” I asked suggestively.
Then I noticed he was not alone. His partner, Gerald Lawson, stood stolidly beside him. Oops.
Trent has brown eyes with traces of green that become brighter when he’s happy. Even in the dimness of my porch light I could see that his eyes were dark brown without a hint of spring. He wasn’t smiling or even blushing at my comment. We were probably not going to play cops and robbers. At least, not the fun version.
“Lindsay, we need to talk to you,” he said.
Lawson, better known as Granite Man, looked grim and said nothing. He does that quite well.
My heart clenched into a tight little knot. I was pretty sure this wasn’t a social call. Cops at my door in the middle of the night could only mean bad news.
My mind raced through a list of the people I loved, the people who could have been hurt…or worse. It couldn’t be Fred. I’d just left him and besides, he’s invulnerable. Henry was upstairs asleep. That left my mother, father, Paula, Zach, Sophie...
“Who?” One word was the most I could force through my lips.
“Do you know a man named Robert Markham?”
Not bad news about somebody I loved. My heart unclenched and I released the breath I’d been holding. “No.”
“He got a to-go order from your place today. Two chicken sandwiches, several cookies, a cupcake, a can of Coke and a bottle of water.”
I started to shake my head then frowned. That order sounded familiar. Robert Markham? Bob? The man who was trying to put his life back together? The man who got a haircut and a shave and a new job? I couldn’t believe he’d regressed and done something so stupid the cops were after him.
“Why are you asking?”
Lawson remained grim and silent.
Trent shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “He was murdered in the alley behind Death by Chocolate.”
Chapter Two
I swallowed hard and lifted a hand to my throat. “No, that can’t be.”
Trent’s expression softened. “So you did know this guy?”
“Yes, I knew him.”
“Good. We can’t find a home address, next of kin, place of employment…nothing. The only ID he had on him was an expired driver’s license with an address he doesn’t live at. Any information you can give us will be helpful.”
I sighed. “Come in and have a seat. I’ll make some hot chocolate.”
“Do you have coffee?” Lawson asked.
“Sure.”
“Coffee would be great,” he said.
“Trust me, it wouldn’t,” Trent assured him. “I’ll take the hot chocolate.”
Trent’s comment bordered on rude but it was also true. I went to the kitchen, made two cups of delicious hot chocolate then filled a cup with hot water and added a coffee bag. I don’t drink coffee, don’t know how to make it, and see no need to learn. Paula does a great job at the restaurant. If not for her, I’d probably be serving hot water with coffee bags there too.
I carried the three cups to the living room. Trent occupied his usual spot on one end of my big, cushy sofa with brightly colored flowers, and Lawson sat stiffly erect in the faded rose colored recliner that doesn’t match the sofa and I don’t care. I handed out the beverages then sat beside Trent.
We all sipped in silence for a few moments. I didn’t want to be the one to start talking about Bob. I didn’t want to hear the awful words again or think about what had happened to him.
Henry appeared from the shadows and leapt onto the sofa. He settled beside me, a warm, fuzzy presence, and he didn’t even mention catnip. He can be kind and caring, especially when he’s well-fed and stoned.
Lawson set his cup on the coffee table. It was still half full of a murky brown liquid. He should have taken the hot chocolate. “So what can you tell us about Robert Markham?” he asked.
I set my own cup on the coffee table, pulled my feet up and wrapped my arms around my knees. “You can’t find his home address because he didn’t have one. He’s—he was homeless.”
Trent nodded. “We considered that possibility, but he was clean shaven, dressed in decent clothes.”
I nodded and clutched my knees more tightly. “He was supposed to start a new job tomorrow. He was rebuilding his life.” I told them about Bob’s wife and his descent from successful businessman to homeless street person. “He was a good man. He just had some tough luck, but he was starting to get his life together again. This isn’t fair.” I blinked a couple of times and ordered myself not to cry, certainly not in front of the cops.
“Do you know where he was going to work?”
I shook my head. “Some construction company, an old friend of his. He called him Nick, but he didn’t mention his last name and I didn’t ask.”
Trent and Lawson both made notes.
“Did he have any enemies?” Lawson asked.
I cringed, wishing I’d asked more questions, made more of an effort to find out about the unfortunate man who’d come and gone from my life in little more than the blink of an eye. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He was a very nice person.”
“How about friends?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I just gave him chocolate.”
Trent slid closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Maybe it wasn’t strictly professional, but it felt really good. My boyfriend on one side, my cat on the other. I blinked fast and swallowed the lump rising in my throat.
“You did more than most people would have,” Trent assured me. “It’ll be all right. We’ll make every effort to find out who killed your friend.”
I nodded. Even if they caught the killer, that wouldn’t help Bob.
“How—” I cleared my throat and forced myself to ask the question I didn’t really want to know the answer to. “How did he die?”
“Blunt instrument,” Lawson said bluntly.
Trent didn’t elaborate and I didn’t pursue the subject.
After a few more questions to which I had no answers, the boys gave up.
Lawson tucked his small notebook into his pocket. “Sorry we had to bring you bad news, Lindsay.”
“Go ahead,” Trent said to him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Lawson left and Trent pulled me into his arms. “Are you okay?”
I held on tight for an extra moment then stepped back and gave him my best I’m tough smile. “Absolutely.”
“Want me to come back tonight after we file our reports?”
“Of course I want you to come back, but I’ll be sound asleep when you get here. Might as well wait until we can be awake together this weekend.”
“Call me if you need me.” He gave me a quick kiss and left.
Henry and I went back to bed but suddenly I wasn’t sleepy. Tired, exhausted and sad, but wide awake. I couldn’t stop thinking of Bob and his proud smile as he told me about his new job. When the cops caught the creep who killed him, I hoped I’d have a chance to tell him what I thought of him. Actually, I hoped I’d have a chance to do more than that. Kick him in the crotch. Push him into a puddle of battery acid. Poke him in the eye with a sharp stick. Life had been unfair to Bob. Death had also been unfair.
I had just dozed off when the doorbell rang again. Henry opened one eye then closed it and continued his soft cat snores. He wasn’t worried. Maybe Trent had returned.
I headed downstairs, not bothering to put on my jeans. If it was Trent, he’d seen me in less than my sleep shirt. If it wasn’t Trent, I wouldn’t open the door.
I flipped on the porch light and peered through the peephole.
It wasn’t Trent.
It was some woman with smeared mascara, bright red hair and Big-D implants bulging out of a tiny tank top.
I live in a quiet neighborhood. Well, there was the time last month when that nut job tried to kill me in Sophie’s house, but other than that, it’s pretty quiet. Okay, for a while people were breaking into my house and digging up my basement. And Paula’s ex did try to poison me. But my point is, I don’t usually have hookers knocking on my door at midnight.
I turned around and headed back toward the stairs.
“Lindsay!”
The hooker knew my name.
And her voice sounded familiar.
Over the last couple of years of hanging with Fred, I’d met some interesting people. However, I would not invite most of them into my home in the middle of the night. I started up the stairs.
“Lindsay, you’re no good for Rick!”
I froze in place with my hand on the stair rail and one foot on the bottom step. A red rose stuck in the door at work, a sleazy woman shouting my ex’s name on my front porch in the middle of the night. Things were starting to fall into place.
“You’re right!” I shouted back. “I’m terrible for him! You can have him. He’s all yours! Good night!”
I made it up two more steps before the shrill voice stopped me again.
“Lindsay, we need to talk!”
“No, we don’t.”
“I could be a better mother to Rickie than you!”
I gasped. Rickie? The name struck fear through my heart and caused my whole body to tremble. I hadn’t heard that name since his mother reclaimed him over a month ago. What ill wind had blown this woman to my front porch to utter that name in the middle of the night?
I went back downstairs and stood against the door. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“Lindsay, it’s Ginger! Open the door!”
Ginger? Not a hooker, just a bimbo. I opened the door a crack. The woman didn’t look like the Ginger I’d seen in Rick’s house only a few weeks ago. “Ginger? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! Don’t you remember me? I met you at Rick’s last month.”
The boobs were the same, but— “You were blond.”
She bit her lip and wiped one eye, smudging the mascara further. Her eyes were blood shot as if she’d been crying. Or drinking. Or both. “You’re a redhead. I thought he’d like me better if I looked like you.”
Oh, good grief. “That was a very bad decision.”
“He kicked me out! Yesterday we were talking about having a baby and tonight he kicked me out!”
“Yeah, Rick’s not the fatherly type.”
“Yes, he is! When he told Grace he was going to have a baby with me, she said she’d give him Rickie but only if he got back together with you. Gra
ce likes you. Rickie likes you. Rick has to do it because that’s his son and he missed the first years of his life, not because he loves you. It’s all for his son.”
I released a long sigh and dropped my head, uncertain how to respond to such a load of hogwash.
Ginger rushed into the gap of silence. “Rick says you’re a good woman, but he’s wrong. What kind of life do you think you’re going to have, taking one woman’s kid and another one’s man?”
I could have told her Rick was lying, but it was the middle of the night and I didn’t want to get into a pointless argument. “You’re right,” I said instead. “I won’t do it. You keep Rick, and Grace can keep Rickie. Good night.” I closed the door.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. You’ve made me see the error of my ways. Good night.”
“Don’t leave! I don’t have anywhere to go. Rick kicked me out, and it’s your fault.”
Marrying a con artist is like grabbing hold of a sticky fly strip with both hands. Even when you finally manage to get it into the trash, you can never get all the sticky off your hands.
I was not going to take Ginger in for the night. I’d already provided B&B services for way too many of Rick’s relatives and pseudo-relatives.
“There are lots of motels on the highway just a few miles away. I’d invite you to stay here, but I have a cat and Rick’s allergic to cats, so if you go back to him all covered in cat hair, he’ll go into anaphylactic shock and you’ll have to take him to the hospital to get a shot in his genitals. You won’t be able to have sex for five months. He might never be able to have kids after that.” Yes, that was a load of hogwash too, but Rick set the standard.
“Really?” Ginger asked. “That’s scary.”
“Easily avoided. Find a motel. Good night. Live long and prosper.”
I returned to bed. Henry opened one eye when I slid in beside him. I repeated the story I’d concocted about Rick’s allergies and the possible consequences. He smiled and went back to sleep.
I actually slept better after Ginger left than before she came. The absurdity of the whole thing took my mind off Bob’s death.
Fatal Chocolate Obsession (Death by Chocolate Book 5) Page 2