Allison Janda - Marian Moyer 01 - Sex, Murder & Killer Cupcakes

by Allison Janda

  I awoke to another gray dawn, cold rain giving my windows a warped appearance. The apartment had been exactly as I’d left it just a week ago and yet, things weren’t quite the same. My suitcase sat unpacked by the front door and my empty leftover cartons from my parents’ house lay open on the floor in front of where I’d fallen asleep on the couch. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I reached for my phone and clicked off the alarm, then lay back into my pillows, waiting for that tiny burst of willpower that would get me upright.

  Following a long, steamy shower, I hastily tidied up my apartment, fed Fred and locked up. Checking my watch, I decided that the stairs would be much quicker than the elevator and walked quickly towards the emergency exit signs which glowed eerily. I was in such a rush to get to my car that when I went to pull my keys from my purse, I stumbled right into the man in front of me who was squatting to pick up something he had dropped. As soon as I bumped into him, he pitched forward but managed to catch himself and spin quickly, helping me to regain my own balance. Still somewhat caught off guard, I glanced up to thank him and realized that I was staring right into the gorgeous green eyes of James Holden.

  I felt my face flush instantly and my hands immediately went to smooth my blouse, which I instantly wished was just a bit sexier. “James!” I stammered in surprise. “How have you been?”

  “Marian Moyer,” he replied with an easy smile. “It has been a long time.”

  “Six years.” The words flew out of my mouth and I immediately clapped my hand over it. Idiot.

  He laughed, but not in a cruel way, then stuffed a hand into his coat pocket. “I guess that, that makes sense.”

  There was an awkward silence so I shifted my gaze to my feet and pulled my handbag up on my shoulder. I felt the blush burning strong on my ears and neck. Fiddling with my keys for a moment, I cleared my throat and tried to think of something intelligent to say. When nothing came to me and when he didn’t say anything further, I mumbled, “Great to see you,” then stepped around him and quickly walked towards my car.

  “Marian,” he called after me. Pausing but not turning around, I waited. “Have dinner with me. This Friday.” I could hear the smile in his next sentence. “How about Kabuki, for old times’ sake?” I turned to face him, stunned, but managed to give a curt nod of approval. “Great,” he answered. “Meet you there at six?” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his keys up into the air, caught them, gave me a sly smile and then walked the opposite direction.

  I was on Cloud 9 my entire drive. My normal road rage didn’t even kick in when I got cut off as I approached my exit. As I slowly rolled past the entrance to our warehouse, I noted that the other three were already there, hoods pulled tightly to their heads to shield them from the cool drizzle. Parking behind the building on the pebbly lot, I grabbed an umbrella from the back seat and hurried towards the front.

  “We’ve been waiting forever!” Addison cried as I scurried up the driveway.

  “Five minutes,” I replied. Once closer, I cast her a sideways glance. She caught the glint in my eye and her face lit up, her eyes telling me she knew exactly what I was communicating. “James?” she mouthed as Rory, oblivious, unlocked the door to the warehouse. She knew that he was the only man capable of putting me into such a giddy state. Rory holding the door for us, Betsy marched her way inside first, followed by me, then Addison who was clutching my shoulders and gently shaking them with pure glee. Rory pulled up the rear. Before the door closed, he flipped the light switch and our studio was awash with soft lighting. All signs of muddy shoe debris that had been trailed in by the string of law enforcement, all the sticky dust that was used to check for fingerprints were gone. Barry had sent a service in to clean up the scene after they’d finished, “to be billed to the department,” he’d told me over the phone when he called to inform me about the autopsy results — the pride in his voice clear. As we shifted our gaze higher, we noticed that both the door to the main office and the dressing room door hung wide open.

  Addison reached out to grab my hand and the two of us slowly crept towards the staircase with the other two trailing close behind. Together, we slowly made our way to the upper landing. We glanced first into the main office, which had been left untouched. In fact, nothing had changed other than that the message light was flashing an angry red 13. Pausing, we backed out and glanced at the other door, which waited inviting and open just a few feet away. Addison tossed her hair and took a deep breath, then crossed the divide and flipped the light on. It, too, gave no indication that anything had been amiss only about a week before. As promised, Barry had removed the chair and the room stood completely bare save for the lighting around the mirrors playing off the soft green walls.

  “I’ll order a new chair today,” Rory said quickly. We all mumbled our thanks, then flipped off the lights, closing the door behind us. Trooping slowly down the stairs, our footsteps echoed eerily throughout the studio.

  Back at the entrance, Addison and I waved our goodbyes, making Betsy promise to call us if anything was amiss. Rory wrapped an arm around Betsy’s shoulder, then gently pushed her behind him before she could share what was clearly on her mind. “There won’t be any issues,” he promised, fixing her with a look. Then turning back to Addison he said, “Remember the call is set for tomorrow morning at ten.”

  Addison smacked her forehead. “Bob is going to kill me,” she moaned. “I can’t believe I already blanked that.”

  “You’ve had an eventful week,” he shrugged. “See you tomorrow.” With that, he shooed us out and closed the door.

  Walking towards our cars, tucked under the security of my umbrella, I turned to her. “Bob isn’t happy with all the requests off?” I asked, sympathetically. While being a freelance crime scene photographer definitely had some downsides, the one thing I could always count on was free time as I found myself needing it.

  “No,” she mumbled. “He asked me to write the story on it all before I left town last week, but I told him, ‘no way.’ “

  I nodded sympathetically. “Too close to home?”

  “I just wouldn’t be able to look at it from the perspective of a journalist,” she admitted. After a brief pause she raised her fist to the air and shook it before saying in a deep voice “A good journalist can write anything!”

  I laughed. “Does your boss know what a great impression you can do of him?” Bob, who reminded me of J. Jonah Jameson from the Spiderman comics, was loud, impersonal and always forgot who I was.

  She smiled at me briefly and then, suddenly remembering our earlier exchange, her eyes grew wide with anticipation. “So?” she squealed. “Tell me what happened with you this morning!”

  We had reached our cars but I took a second to fill her in on my extremely ill-prepared run-in with James. I finished and grinned widely, completely unable to contain my elation over my upcoming date at the end of the week, but Addison’s face had turned from excitement to a look of motherly compassion just before delivering bad news. “You’ll be careful, right?” she asked me, searching my face. “You know how that ended last time.”

  I frowned. “It was a long time ago,” I countered. “And I’ve dated since then. I know what I’m doing now.”

  Addison snorted. “I’ve dated much longer than you have and most days I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Oh, please. You and Pete already made up. He was still upstairs when I came to pick you up the other morning,” I chided. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

  She ignored my comment. “You’ve already slept with James once, so you don’t have to worry about anything related to that.”

  I reddened. “That was a long time ago, too.”

  She shrugged. “It won’t have changed much. Other than the fact that you’ve gained a little more experience.” She paused, then with a wicked grin said, “And have a much more delicate palate than the back of a Honda outside a coffee shop.”

  “Go to work,” I retorted, pretending to be offended. Sh
e laughed easily and gave me a gentle shove, then pulled me in for a hug. “See you tomorrow,” she said. Then with a wink, she climbed into her car. I waited until her door was closed before I moved the umbrella and started walking back towards my own vehicle.

  The only thing on my agenda today was to tackle household tasks that included grocery shopping and a lot of laundry. The whole bit sounded incredibly boring and domesticated — neither of which I was feeling in that particular moment, revved up by memories of sleeping with James. Once inside my car, I started the engine, then pulled out my phone to check my bank account. “Not much but just enough,” I smiled. A few minutes later, I was headed west towards the mall, hoping to find just the right outfit for my date later that week.

  I hadn’t dated much in the last few years. There was one semi-serious relationship but no one that ever really moved me long-term. I seemed to draw in a lot of nutcases, probably due to my line of business. While I’m a naïve, Midwestern girl at heart, something about taking almost-nude photographs of really attractive people followed by an afternoon clicking away at the scene of a homicide doesn’t exactly suggest that to potential suitors. Actually, when I put it like that, it makes a lot of sense. Still, even though James had been a heartless bastard for stealing my virginity and never calling, something inside me never quite let go of the hope that somewhere down the road things would work out for us. It was complete romantic doe-eyed nonsense, but fate did seem to have a way of repeatedly bringing us back together, despite the very different lives we likely led. I found myself wondering what he did these days, why we’d run into one another outside the apartment and if he still drove his beat up Honda.

  It’s funny to look back at that exact moment in time, simply because I was beside myself with excitement. I had no idea what a horrific chain of events would follow that single run-in, in my parking lot. However given past experiences, I probably should have guessed.

  I stretched noisily in my metal chair, then reached for my coffee with a yawn. The previous day in the middle of my shopping expedition, I’d gotten a call asking if I was free to photograph a homicide. While it wasn’t at the top of my list of things I wanted to do at the moment, my mind still ripe with Alec’s death, my bank account disagreed and I found myself among what remained of a love triangle gone terribly wrong.

  Crime scene photographs, unlike the photos I took for the magazine, are incredibly complex. In cases where a crime goes to court, a photo of the aftermath can say a thousand words. However, it must meet very specific requirements to be entered as evidence. The hardest part for me was always flipping the emotional switch in my brain and shooting things from a technical perspective. It wasn’t my job to choose a side, it was my job to record the evidence.

  The shift had run late into the day and various standing and squatting positions had all but exhausted my legs. By the time I stumbled into my apartment, I’d only been able to manage a hot bath and bed, my microwave meal from the night before thawed out but uncooked on my kitchen counter the next morning. I’d barely had time to stop for coffee before stumbling into the studio only seconds ahead of our scheduled call.

  We were taking a short break in between our next round of models. While our subjects ultimately did have to strip down to just their undergarments, we first spoke with them about their background, their accomplishments thus far and ultimately their goals. A vibrant personality could go far in swaying our opinion. Meanwhile, those who didn’t impress us while clothed rarely saw an opportunity to show off their bodies.

  The original call had been for male models but Rory had “mistakenly” input a need for females as well. “They don’t get paid anyway,” he argued. “We may as well build up our cache.” Thus far, we’d been unimpressed with what had come through our doors. Still, we had a few hours yet ahead of us and we were bound to find at least one diamond in the rough. The Midwest isn’t exactly crawling with the same daily vibrancy as say, L.A. or New York, but you’d be surprised at what could walk in our doors. We might have been a free publication but we had a name and a reputation.

  “Are you ready for our next guest?” Betsy called out from behind the black curtain we’d erected in the studio. It blocked both our chairs and our makeshift set from those who were waiting to be seen.

  Rory eyed Addison and I for the go-ahead. When we both nodded in approval, he shouted, “Send ‘em in!”

  Betsy stepped out from behind the curtain and made her way to the stool which sat pooled in soft light upon our makeshift stage. Once she was seated, she smoothed her skirt and gave the three of us a smile.

  “Betsy, I meant send in the next model,” Rory reprimanded frowning and looking back down at his notes.

  “I am the next model,” she replied. The three of us just stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted three heads. “Hear me out!” she pled, noticing our confusion. “When I originally came to you, I’d wanted an opportunity to model but you weren’t looking for someone new, so I agreed to the internship.”

  “Betsy,” I said gently, “we’re still not looking for female models. That was just a mistake.” Rory guffawed loudly and I shot him a look. Turning back to Betsy I added, “Please send in the next MALE candidate. Okay?”

  “But Rory just said!” she shouted, practically in tears. “I heard him! You don’t pay the models anyway and there’s nothing wrong with adding someone new to the list if they have potential. I have serious potential. I just know I do.”

  I fixed Rory with another look, but he ignored me, his gaze remaining fixed on his notes. I wanted to stab him with my pen. Desperately, I eyed Addison for backup.

  “Betsy, we don’t have a need for female models right now,” she said firmly. “We haven’t brought any new women on board today and we’ve seen-” she scanned her list briefly, “over a hundred. We told every single one no.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Rory muttered.

  “You’re no better than any of the other young ladies that have come through, and certainly no worse, but we still don’t have use for you as a model right now,” Addison continued. “You’re a decent intern. Stick with that this semester and please send in our next applicant,” Addison admonished. There was no room for discussion in her voice.

  “But-”

  “Now,” Addison cut her off, glancing back down at her pile of papers. “I won’t ask again.”

  Betsy climbed, distraught, from her stool and made her way slowly back behind the black curtain. A few moments later, we heard footsteps approaching the set. Though I hadn’t turned to look, I felt as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room while my hair practically stood on end with electricity.

  Once he’d walked into our line of vision, I felt myself suck in a deep breath. Not a single bit of him was what I was expecting and yet, he looked so incredibly familiar. His skin was olive in tone and his hair was a wavy brown. However, it wasn’t his lean physique and tall stature that drew you to him, it was his eyes. They were the same color you’d see viewing sunlight from below the ocean surface — the brightest blue.

  Sitting motionless, I realized my mouth was hanging open. Clamping it shut quickly, I glanced both left and right to view the others’ reactions. Even Rory seemed stunned by our sudden stroke of luck. “Your name?” he finally uttered, glancing down at his call sheet.

  Startled by the break in silence, I dropped my pencil and fumbled around for it momentarily before moving back to my chair and letting out a small embarrassed laugh, which was more of a honk. Blushing, I ducked my head and furiously pretended to be writing very important things.

  “Mikael,” he replied in a soft lilt that I couldn’t quite catch. “But everyone just calls me Mika.” He brushed a wave off his forehead and beamed. His smile had a slight crookedness that only served to increase his attractiveness, causing me to nearly fall out of my chair. Or maybe that last bit was caused by his dimples, it’s hard to say.

  “I see,” Rory responded, a little too impressed for having only hear
d a name. “And Mika, tell us a little about yourself.”

  “Well…” he started hesitantly, shifting on his stool. “My mother is Finnish and my father is from the Ukraine. We moved to New York when I was 15.”

  “And how long ago was that?” Addison asked, shooting me a wink. God love her.

  “Are you allowed to ask that?” he asked with a good-natured laugh. The sound was melodic. He had fire. I liked it. I liked it a lot.

  We all giggled back. Even Rory, which was even more funny, causing Addison and I to laugh harder. “No,” she responded, “but it’s off the record.”

  “Personal curiosity,” Rory added dryly, wiping the mirth from his face.

  “About 15 years ago,” Mika told us with a smile.

  I sank back in my chair with relief. I never quite got over feeling old when I found younger male models attractive. There were a lot of them. It seemed like no one in the industry was much past the age of 25. “Anyway,” Mika continued. “I followed a girl to Milwaukee.” My heart sank in disappointment and I felt charged with an irrational jealousy. “But that didn’t work out,” he continued quickly as I felt myself perk up again. “I guess I just decided to stay.”

  Rory noticed my emotional investment and rolled his eyes. Mika’s hold had clearly worn off for him.

  “I’ve worked in carpentry my whole life,” Mika added, folding his hands in his lap.

  “Carpentry,” I murmured surprised, shifting my gaze to his hands, which didn’t look worn at all, but incredibly smooth. “Why are you here, then?” I asked.

  “Not that she’s complaining, you see,” Rory added and I wished silently, again, that I could stab him in the neck with my pen.

  Mika seemed to give this some thought but shrugged, seeming to come up empty. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I still love working with my hands. My father taught me the discipline. But I saw an ad for this and I just thought I’d…check.” He looked down at his feet and shook his head. “Silly right?” he asked us, pushing himself off the stool. “No experience and here I am, trying to get a gig at a place like this. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”