BLINDED (Elkridge Series Book 1)

by Lyz Kelley

  How could he make her understand? Yes, Sam’s killer needed to be found, and the deputies should catch the guy before long, if they could figure out how to do their jobs. And, if the guy, whoever he was, wanted to hurt Mara, the profile he’d been starting to compile in his head indicated Mara wasn’t in immediate danger.

  In either his brother’s or Mara’s case, there wasn’t some whack-job brutally killing women every ten days or so. The serial killer would strike again—soon. The sociopath liked playing games. He liked the chase, and Joey wanted that bastard behind bars for life.

  “I can tell you’re upset.” She tapped her finger on the table. “Since you are here, and there is little you can do about what’s going on in Seattle, do you mind if I change the subject? Or would you like to talk about your case.”

  “I can’t discuss the details of my cases. What I just told you has already hit the news outlets. So, it might be a good idea if we talk about something else.”

  “Okay, then. Listen up. I think you’re up for a challenge. Being friends depends on how you answer the next question.”

  Her eyebrows moved with the inflection of each word. Her earnest attempt at light humor created an appreciation. Cautiously, he took a breath, released it slowly, ready to answer any question she asked. “A test. All right. Lay it on me.”

  “Would you be willing to share a slice of banana cream pie with me?”

  “For breakfast?”

  “Yep.”

  That unfamiliar rumble of laughter erupted from his chest. Unbelievable. Twice in one day, she’d made him laugh. The stress knot at the base of his neck began to unravel. “A woman after my own heart.”

  He never shared food. Ever.

  Maybe because he never found someone he wanted to share with.

  However, with her, he’d share.

  Sheila appeared when Mara raised her hand.

  “Banana cream with extra whip, please.” Mara paused, before adding, “I would like coffee as well. How about you, Joey?”

  “Coffee, black.”

  Mara took a deep inhale, soaking in the melodic tones of his voice, wishing the phone call hadn’t caused his mood to turn dark. However, the return of his boyhood moodiness drew some comfort. He hadn’t changed that much.

  When a girl had a crush on a boy who happened to be the school’s star athlete and nominated three years in a row for prom king, she figured the heavens would need to open and grant her a lifetime of wishes to get noticed. Only by accident did her parents thrust her in his path when she came home with a “C” average in Math and Science. Even with that cosmic event, not surprisingly, the stars didn’t suddenly shift and realign in the sky, causing all her dreams to come true.

  So why was her fantasy man sitting in front of her now…now, when she couldn’t even see his gentle, handsome face?

  If she ever met the faerie named Fate, she’d kick her in the shins for being so cruel.

  “Here’s your coffee.” A mug clunked on the table, followed by a liquid glug-glug-glug, slightly rising in pitch with each glug, until each cup measured three-quarters full. “Your pie will be up in a minute.”

  “Thanks, Sheila.”

  Mara reached for the wall, skimming her fingers along the table’s edge until she found the individually wrapped creamer cups, and then curled her fingers around the spoon Joey nudged toward her hand.

  His offer of guarded chivalry sent sprinkles of happiness throughout her system. He protected, yet supported. He’d helped her shop, pointing out sale items, yet didn’t demand to play the hero when she wanted to bag her own groceries. Even her father might have approved. Kym would be envious. Her older sister would be jealous, because Sarah had tried everything to get Joey’s attention in high school, short of crawling naked into his bed.

  “Here’s the pie. Extra whip.” Sheila slid the plate to the middle of the table. “Anything else, just call.”

  In the process of taking a sip of coffee, Mara gave Sheila a thumbs-up and swallowed. She placed her cup on the table, flattened her hands, thumbs together moving them forward until connecting with the plate, nudging the pie toward the man. “Go ahead, you have the first bite,” she offered, although perhaps a bit reluctantly.

  “Ladies first. I insist.”

  My prince.

  What girl didn’t dream of taking the first fork of Banana Cream Delight, rather than the guy eat half the pie in two bites and then shoving the plate across the table for her to finish off the scrounged scraps? Tony would have eaten two-thirds before passing the plate to her.

  “Since we can’t talk about my cases, do you mind if we talk about your accident?” he asked.

  She choked on the cream in her mouth and worked to swallow both the food and the emotions clogging her throat. The noise from the kitchen, the constantly swinging door, and the servers’ chatter at the cook’s window could have served as an excuse to ignore his inquisitiveness, but she heard the question.

  Still pushing for answers, eh, Joey? “No, I don’t mind, but it’s somewhat of a downer subject.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Never mind.”

  “It’s not that. Over the years, customers sometimes asked about my parents or the accident, but I learned most people only wanted enough details to satisfy their curiosity. Somehow I don’t think the minimum would be enough for you.” In fact I know it won’t.

  No, Joey liked to push—like at math. He’d push until she gave him the correct answer. He’d push until there was no place left to hide.

  “I guess maybe I’m guilty of being curious as well. When I started on the force, I worked all types of scenes. Domestics. Robbery. Homicide. I saw a lot of people at their worst. I often wondered what happened after…I mean, how a person picked up the pieces and moved on.”

  A long, slow inhale and exhale helped her find equilibrium, a place that allowed her to revisit the past without reliving the accident, a place where details could flow without the emotional baggage being lugged along behind.

  Joey’s safe. You can do this. He won’t second-guess or judge like the others.

  She wrapped her hand around her fork twisting the metal in her palm. “We were on a snow-packed road and running late.” The words came out slightly louder than a whisper. “Dad decided to take one of the back roads to avoid traffic. From the pieces I can put together, an intoxicated mother of two took a curve too fast, overcorrected, and her car fishtailed. I don’t think my dad saw the car coming until the last minute, then he swerved.”

  “Did the car go off the road?”

  “We ended up going down a steep ravine. One minute I was sitting in the backseat talking to Sarah, and the next minute I was waking up unable to move my legs. My head felt like someone had dropped me headfirst onto the pavement. Things get a little blurry from there. I remember drifting in and out of consciousness, and at one point searching for my sister. I guess it took the medics a while to get to me.”

  Joey’s warm hand covered hers. “Were you scared? What am I saying? Of course you were.”

  “Actually, no, not at first. I was pretty out of it. As soon as I got to the hospital, the doctors pumped me full of meds to fight off the brain swelling and infection. Several days passed before I learned my sister was thrown from the car because she’d removed her seatbelt to get something out of her purse. The police working the scene told me the car rolled several times, but all I remember is feeling disoriented, like I was floating.”

  “I’m told that’s a normal sensation.”

  “The most vivid memories are of voices telling me to hold on, doctors asking me questions I couldn’t answer and nurses explaining I was lucky. Although I’m not sure lucky is the term I would use to describe my situation. I underwent four surgeries and twenty-seven weeks of intense therapy learning to walk again, and a lifetime of wishing I could see another sunset…or children playing…or my family’s faces.”

  Joey squeezed her fingers. “I shouldn’t have asked. I was just curious. I know how hard it
is to live with memories. There are some things you just can’t un-see.”

  “I’m glad we can talk. I hope you know you can talk to me…anytime. So many people don’t know what to say, so they ignore my blindness, or ignore me altogether. Others want to know every tiny detail so they can offer advice or compare my injuries to Uncle Harry’s triple bypass or Aunt Harriett’s arthritis.”

  She lifted her fork and aimed toward the pie. “But today, I have things to celebrate. I can walk. I have work, good friends and a brother who truly cares about me. And I have a mouthwatering banana cream pie sitting right in front of me, waiting for me to take another bite.”

  “You certainly can walk and do a lot of other things pretty well, I might add.”

  Yep. She could walk, but an antique doll with movable joints had fewer pins and screws holding different body parts together. Doctors warned her more surgeries would be required as her body continued to age. A pang of sorrow nudged its way into her chest. “I shouldn’t complain. Brianne’s life was destroyed. She literally has nothing.”

  “Do I know Brianne?”

  Should I tell him? Would he get angry, like Tony?

  The sting of the heartbreak made her fold protectively inward. “No. You don’t know her. She doesn’t live in Elkridge.”

  “Why do I get the sense Brianne is important to you?”

  “You must be a truly excellent detective.” She tapped on the table while she weighed and debated whether she should reveal the tragedy. The ache in her chest expanded. Joey turned her hand over and started drawing circles…no not circles…the word “believe,” causing her body to relax and her heart to heal, at least a little.

  She swallowed to clear the regrettable injustice. “The day of the accident, Brianne’s mother was driving the other car. Like me, her sister was also in the car. Neither her mother, nor her sister survived. I’m not supposed to know, but a friend in Child Services told me Brianne’s just been placed with a new foster family, her fourth in six years. She turned eleven last month.”

  “Four families? That’s a bit much.” The disgust in his voice reassured her.

  “Not really. Brianne has severe emotional issues stemming from the accident. Nobody knows why, but she blames herself for the accident and her mother’s drinking. Since that day, she hasn’t spoken to anyone but me, and only once. After the nurses moved me out of the ICU, she begged to see me. Child Services arranged a visit. When she entered my room, she broke down sobbing, and all she could say was ‘I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry.’ It was heart-wrenching. I tried explaining the accident wasn’t her fault, but she refused to believe me. Her life’s been like a puzzle that’s been broken apart and jumbled, and nothing fits together anymore.”

  “Poor kid.”

  “I wanted to pick her up and hold her, but she wouldn’t allow anyone near her.” Mara’s chest grew tight with the memory. “I can’t imagine the torture of feeling responsible for such a tragedy. I wish…. Maybe we should talk about something a little less heavy.”

  Joey thankfully turned the conversation to safer topics, like the whereabouts of mutual friends, who stayed, who moved away. Tony came up in the context of indulging in food, and the fact he inhaled everything edible within a ten-foot radius. As the seconds ticked by, the despair lifted.

  Joey turned her hand over and hugged her palm with both of his. “So, how is the flower business these days?”

  Boy. Another doozy. The accident. The business. A good ol’ one-two punch.

  This time the way he asked the question transported her to an uncomfortable place, like an imaginary interrogation room with no windows, no artwork, no carpet, only a single table and chair and an observation mirror.

  She swallowed an uneasy, queasy feeling, not wanting him to know how truly bad the business was suffering. “The flower business is doing okay. We did well over the holidays. My suppliers and I are working to come up with some Mother’s Day specials.” Using less expensive flowers because that’s all I can afford. “I’m hoping to offer a couple of lower-price-point items to entice purchases.”

  “That sounds good.” Joey’s muffled voice gave her the impression he’d stuffed the remaining pie into his mouth.

  She wished the slowly forming image of his cheeks stuffed with pie would make her feel better, but it didn’t because her thoughts ricocheted back to her business. Most of their flower vendors were now demanding cash rather than accepting credit, the mortgage company called yesterday demanding last month’s overdue payment and the international vase shipment remained stuck in customs. Somehow those realities didn’t seem like a fun topic for an early morning chat. Both she and her brother had made mistakes. Lots of mistakes. But they’d learned from them. Bottom line, the flower business wasn’t all daisies.

  She managed to keep what she hoped was a pleasant smile glued to her face. “Speaking of the flower shop, I should get back. Tony’s probably wondering where I’ve run off to.”

  Joey shifted in the booth. “I’ll flag down Sheila for the check.”

  A few seconds later, Sheila stopped at the table, and Mara caught a whiff of her perfume and the faint smell of stale cigarettes. “Anything else I can get for you two?”

  The smell stirred a memory. The flower shop. The smell of cigarette smoke. “No, we’re good. Thanks, Sheila.” Mara clenched her fingers into tight fists as the awareness expanded.

  “You about ready?” Joey’s question came to a rolling stop. “What’s wrong? You look worried.”

  “At the shop this morning, I smelled cigarette smoke. People smoking outside of businesses irks me, but an idea just occurred to me…the smoke wasn’t stale. Sheila smokes. The cigarette smell rests just beneath her perfume, and is softer, most likely because she hasn’t taken a cigarette break recently. The scent this morning was strong and had a crisp edge, like someone had just lit a cigarette. I’m wondering if that guy from the store followed me from the shop.”

  “On the way back, we’re stopping at the hardware store for some pepper spray. Promise me if that guy gets near you again, you’ll spray him and scream one of those girly roller-coaster screams. Don’t think, just trust your instincts.”

  “For your information, I can’t do a girly scream. In fact, I can’t scream, period. My dad made me take a self-defense class before I went to college, and, after three sessions, the instructor suggested I get a whistle.”

  “Then I’ll get you a whistle. Promise me you’ll spray anyone who threatens you. Pepper spray is not fatal and wears off. Maybe the guy will scream like a girl, so you won’t have to.”

  Laughter bubbled up even as her fingertips went cold and she started to shiver. What-ifs raced through her mind like hailstones pelting a window, ping, ping, ping. “Let me get my wallet so we can pay the check. Sounds like you need to get home. It must be hard wanting to be in two places at one time.”

  “I already paid the check, and you’re right, I’d love to catch the shooter before I have to leave. Here’s your coat. Let me help.”

  She grabbed for his arm. “If I don’t at least pay half, someone will start a rumor that we’re on a date.”

  “What if I already consider this a date?” he asked, his tone soft and caressing, almost soothing. “Would you have a problem with that?”

  Her unsettled mood abruptly turned the corner, and a happy excitement hip-hopped up her chest. A date. With Joey?

  She liked how he rotated her fears a hundred eighty degrees in seconds. “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so. Now, there’s a statement that will give a man confidence.”

  “Sorry, it’s just I haven’t been on a date since college. It’s a bit hard for me to get my head around.” She most definitely liked the idea of a breakfast date better than pepper spray. She loathed having to carry a weapon. What was happening to Elkridge?

  He gently held her jacket open for her. Warm hands brushed her neck, and her body responded. The moment felt natural, unhurried—hence the roo
t of her uneasiness, that while everyone else might watch, judge, assess, Joey didn’t care. He didn’t push or seem self-conscious about her needing time to gather herself or Buddy. Maybe since he’d gotten out of Elkridge and lived in a big city, his patience and tolerance for people had matured into a genuine understanding. He never seemed to make assumptions like the other residents. If he had a question, he asked, and seemed to listen to her response.

  “All set?” he asked.

  All set to find out how you kiss? Absolutely. Too bad that wasn’t what he meant.

  “Yes. Thanks for the pie and for listening to me jabber on. Catching up was fun and a nice way to get me out of shop duty.”

  “I don’t suppose owning your own business allows for much free time.”

  “No, but I do manage to take time for things I like to do.”

  “Such as?”

  The sentiment popped up again. A genuine interest that made her feel like Taylor Swift onstage, surrounded by her adoring fans. A light shiver spread from fingertip to fingertip. She pulled the hair out of her jacket and wrapped her scarf around her neck before leaning down to secure Buddy’s lead.

  “Like I said before, I volunteer at Helper Shelter once a month. They need someone to test service dogs to see if they are ready for placement. For some reason, the dog trainers think I qualify.” She laughed at her joke, but noticed Joey didn’t find her self-inflicted humor funny. “I also love discovering local artists who make fun gifts for the store, and, generally, making people happy.”

  The thought brought about a sense of empowerment until she took a step forward, and panic set in.

  Confusion choked off her air.

  Her mouth became dry as toast.

  Crap, where’s the front door?

  She reached for the table to reorient, but only air moved around her fingers. Voices came from various directions. Buddy didn’t have Sheila to follow, and ‘exit’ wasn’t in his vocabulary.

  Come on. Not now. Not here.

  Embarrassment paraded up her face, heating her skin as it went. She stretched her arm farther, hoping to connect with something, anything.