What Doesn't Kill You

by Aimee Hix

  I shrugged. “She’s a few years younger than me—maybe twenty-four?—and I only met her once when we were kids. From what her grandparents shared, she’s been pretty coddled most of her life. An only child of wealthy helicopter parents from Northern California. She would have been good mark for a guy like Joe Reagan.”

  At the question in Boyd’s eyes, I held up my hands. “I don’t know anything other than what I’ve been told. This was just a neighborly favor.”

  “I’ll bet you’re regretting that now,” she said.

  “I have a general rule about not doing favors, but the Horowitzes have always been good to me and my brother.”

  Boyd was all business suddenly. “Gut feeling, please. Did Violet Horowitz do this?”

  “Nope. The scene is too clean for him to have gotten violent and she fought back. He’s got two to the torso in a decent placement. That’s a confident shooter, not a panicked young woman.”

  “Any other scenarios occur to you?”

  That was an odd question for a witness.

  “Like …?” I mean, I had, for a second, considered that Violet might have gotten fed up with being smacked around and planned to take out her boyfriend, but it was a passing thought.

  “Could it have been one of the grandparents, knowing you’d find the body and provide deniability for the granddaughter?”

  My mind boggled at how cynical that thought was.

  “David and Susan Horowitz have been a part of my life since I was in grade school, Detective Boyd. David is a retired pediatrician and Susan a nurse. They introduced my dad to his wife, Nancy. No, I don’t think either of them had anything to do with Joe Reagan’s murder.”

  She opened her mouth, but I held up my hand to forestall the question I knew was about to come.

  “No, they didn’t hire this. They’re not killers and if for some bizarre reason they suddenly were, they would not have sent me to find the body.”

  She handed me her card. “If you think of anything else give me a call. Oh, and Willa—I know it’s pointless to tell you not to talk to the grandparents, but you need to limit it to talk. Am I clear?”

  I nodded. Nobody deserved to be murdered, but I didn’t have to stand for Joe Reagan. One of the perks of handing in my badge. But even if it wasn’t my job, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had happened to Violet Horowitz.

  Chapter

  2

  As I trudged up the front walk I saw Susan’s face peek out the living room window and knew I couldn’t delay any longer. My stomach soured at the worry on her face. David had the door open before I took another step, his expression a mirror of Susan’s.

  “Violet’s not with you, Willa.” It wasn’t a question.

  I met David on the landing and looked him in the eye. “Joe Reagan is dead, Mr. Horowitz. I don’t know where Violet is.”

  I heard Susan gasp inside the house. I motioned toward the open door. “Maybe we should go in and sit down. I’m sure you both have questions.”

  He stepped out of the doorway to let me in. I looked around at the Thanksgiving decorations already up, three weeks early. David ushered me into their tidy living room with the window Susan had peeked out when I arrived. She was perched on the edge of an armchair. She didn’t look at me when I came in. She was staring at a picture of a dark-haired girl about six wearing a purple princess costume.

  “Violet?” I asked.

  Susan nodded and placed the frame on the console next to her chair.

  This was worse than any of the notification calls I’d had to make when I was a cop. At least then I hadn’t known the family and I had some answers even if they were unpleasant. The kindest thing, for all three of us, would be to just be as straightforward as possible.

  “When I arrived at the house this morning to meet Violet, no one was there. I knocked for a few minutes but no one came to the door, so I stretched up to look in the window. That was when I saw Joe’s body. He’d been shot twice.”

  Susan let out a little sobbing noise.

  “How do you know Violet wasn’t there?” David asked. What he really wanted to know hovered in the awkward silence.

  “Based on the scene and my experience … my instincts are telling me she wasn’t there, that she’s most likely safe.”

  I gave them a minute. Their suburban life hadn’t prepared them for dead felons or missing granddaughters.

  “So what happens now, Willa?” David looked me right in the eye.

  “You both need to understand that the police are looking for Violet. She’s going to be officially labelled a person of interest. They have two scenarios in mind. One is that she’s a victim and in need of assistance. The other is that she’s involved in Reagan’s death. They will be coming here to talk to you very soon. Just be honest with the detective. Her name is Jan Boyd and she’s the best option you’ve got for getting Violet home safe. Boyd’s fair, a good cop.”

  “Should we call an attorney?” It was just like David to get to the thorny details quickly.

  “A third party who is looking after your interests, and Violet’s, is not a bad idea. This isn’t a television show so the cops aren’t automatically going to assume you’re stonewalling them or that you or Violet are guilty. A family attorney should be fine at this point, but you will want a criminal attorney later. When Violet is found, or returns on her own, the district attorney could attempt to file charges.”

  Susan gasped. “But if Violet’s innocent …”

  “Mrs. Horowitz, charges are filed and dropped all the time. Filing charges gets the person in custody to answer questions in a more controlled setting. Sometimes it’s done to protect the individual. Sometimes the DA’s office is just cranky that someone isn’t being as cooperative as they’d like. We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, okay? I just wanted to warn you.”

  David patted her hand. “It’ll all be okay, dear.”

  I stood up and immediately David popped up out of his chair too. I’d forgotten how old-fashioned he was. That would go over well with Boyd.

  “One last thing. If Violet calls, you need to convince her to come home. The sooner Boyd can talk to her, the better for Violet.”

  Susan glanced at the photo again. “Violet’s been feeling a little overwhelmed lately.”

  I looked back and forth between the two of them. I wasn’t sure what that meant since from their description Violet struck me as the kind of girl who got overwhelmed by too many lip gloss options.

  “What Susan is trying to say is that Violet’s pretty upset with us. We had a fight last night when we told her you’d be helping her move out. She stormed out during dinner.”

  “Just do your best to impress upon her the seriousness of her situation. And even if you can’t convince her to come home, you have to tell the police she contacted you. That protects the two of you.”

  I could see Susan gearing up to argue with me.

  “If you’re in jail, you’re no good to her. This is a murder investigation. Boyd would jail both of you for obstruction of justice if she found out.”

  David walked me to the door. “Willa, I hate to ask, but … ” He let the question hang in the air.

  “Mr. Horowitz, I’m not a licensed private investigator yet, and even if I were, it’s illegal for PIs to investigate murders in Virginia.”

  He nodded, looking dejected, and I felt like shit. My hands were tied. He closed the door behind me as I walked down the steps.

  I hadn’t asked them if they knew where Violet was because I had assumed they weren’t just acting concerned. One of the first lessons you were supposed to learn as an investigator was not to make assumptions.

  I had barely gotten the kitchen door at home shut behind me when I heard Ben call out, “Will, you’ve got to come see this video. A guy timed up The Big Lebowski with his dog’s mouth moving.”


  It sounded hilarious. I needed some hilarious after my very unamusing murder scene.

  “Will! Seriously, it’s the funniest thing. You have to see him do the line about the rug.”

  I headed into the living room where I found my teenage brother sprawled, all 6'3" of skinny arms and legs, on the couch, a tiny smartphone cradled in his massive hands.

  “A dog doing The Big Lebowski? Aren’t you a little young for The Dude?” I teased. Of course, I was the one who’d shown him the movie when he was seven. Mom grounded me for two weeks for exposing him to bad language and violence. I was glad she never found out about me letting him watch Fargo.

  I ruffled his hair because I knew it annoyed him. He flicked it back into place with a jerk of his head. I flopped down next to him, nudging him out of the way enough to squeeze in between him and the arm of the couch.

  “Okay, show me this dog video.” I leaned over his shoulder to peer at the phone screen but he grabbed the TV remote control.

  “I’ll just fling it up to the TV. I put a little something together this past weekend since Mom won’t pay the ‘exorbitant fees they want for those things.’” His impression of our mother was dead on. The little tech genius was always upgrading something. I couldn’t keep up with how his brain worked. None of us could.

  “You’re trolling dog videos on the Internet. Mom still hanging tough on not getting a puppy, sport?”

  His eyes rolled. “Ugh! Her latest argument is that I’m leaving for college soon and the poor thing—her words, not mine—would be so lonely.”

  The whole family was adamant that Ben go off to college, get his degree in something technically obscure that made a ton of money, and then cure cancer or something else equal to his intellect. Ben, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to be a private investigator like Dad. And me now, I guess.

  “Besides, I told her I’m going to stay home and go to community college for the first year.”

  This kid was going to give our parents ulcers with his stubborn refusal to accept their dreams for him. He wasn’t lured in by any sexy portrayal of a PI in a movie—shootouts and bedding the bad girl with the heart of gold. No, he just thought our dad was the coolest, most awesome grownup on the planet. He was right. That still didn’t mean it was the right life for Ben.

  “I thought we’d agreed you were going to apply to the colleges your school counselor said wanted to give you scholarships. Remember, keeping your options open?”

  He shrugged. Pushing would only cause him to dig in deeper. He was almost as stubborn as me.

  “Dude, do whatever you want. Mom would love to keep you home with her. Remember how hard she cried the day I applied to the academy? And I still lived at home.”

  He’d gotten a funny look on his face. I could play him like a video game.

  “I’ve got some time before I head out with John. I guess I could fill out the Common Application to make Mom happy. Most of the schools she’s excited about use it.”

  I nodded like it hadn’t been my idea and headed to the door that connected the family room to the room over the garage, Dad’s office, as nonchalantly as I could. Just because I couldn’t officially investigate didn’t mean I wasn’t curious. It wouldn’t hurt to poke around a bit and see what was up with the dead guy. Had been up. Whatever.

  “Let me know if you need any help, bud.” I ignored his snickering. I consoled myself that even if I wasn’t the smartest kid in the family, I was still the coolest.

  Dad’s office had only been shut up for a week, but it had already taken on that disused, empty smell. I cracked the window open a bit. I am sure Dad thought he’d left his desk tidy. Ben had gotten the slob gene honestly. And undiluted, it seemed. There were papers stacked in some fashion but Dad’s organizational skills didn’t seem to fall into any recognized form of order.

  I slid the laptop out from the pile it was buried under and turned it on. Crap. Password protected. Dad must have written it down somewhere since I doubted he was able to keep a password in his head. And he probably hadn’t hid it anywhere too clever. I leaned back in the chair and looked around the room, trying to think like my dad. I picked up the Rubik’s Cube. Dad hated puzzles. I ran my hands over it, feeling for any anomalies in the surfaces. One of the squares was a little askew. I grabbed the letter opener, wedging it in the space, gave a gentle twist, and the whole cube popped open. Dad’s cheat sheet fell out into my lap.

  I scanned the list and found his log on and skip trace database passwords. Heh. Nice try, Dad. Once the computer was done coming to life, I opened the skip trace program and entered in Reagan’s data, guessing that his first name was Joseph, and threw in the address on Jennings Circle. And hello, all the information I could possibly want on Joseph Lyndon Reagan. Were his parents under the impression he was going to be president someday, saddling him with that moniker? Maybe they should have spent more time teaching him to not be a criminal.

  I scanned the information on the screen and then hit the print button. No harm in making a hard copy. For learning purposes. I had been right in my assumptions about his history with the law—chronic petty criminal. The most serious charges were for Distribution and Sale of Stolen Property, but he had a laundry list of Minor Possession, Drunk and Disorderly, Simple Assault—all self-control issue crimes. He hadn’t been making it a career. He’d just been an immature dumbass.

  “Will?”

  I heard Ben calling from the main house. I checked the time and saw that I had been at it for a half hour. Ben could have finished his college application form while I had been hunting down Dad’s passwords and running Reagan’s rap sheet. I had no idea how easy or complicated the forms had gotten in the decade since I’d done my own.

  “Hey, Will.”

  I looked up from the screen to see Ben leaning against the door frame. He looked nervous.

  “What’s up, Benj?”

  He bit his lip and he looked five years old again. “So I was filling out the form and I got to the demographics portion. You know, name, date of birth, race … ” He trailed off and just stared at me.

  “And you know all that stuff, smarty pants,” I said.

  He nodded, his eyes darting all around the room refusing to meet mine. “I was checking Caucasian, non-Hispanic and I thought … I’ve never … we haven’t … whatdoyoucheck?” He’d blurted the words out so fast I almost hadn’t deciphered the breaks between them.

  What do you check?

  Sonofabitch. He was nervous about asking his own sister what box she checked on a stupid form. “No, we’ve never really talked about it. I assumed that was just because you had no room in your brain for anything other than gigabutts.”

  “Gigabytes,” he said.

  I snorted a laugh. “I know, dork. I was teasing. I usually check both Caucasian and African-American. Until they come up with a better way to ask, I’ll just choose both. Because I am. I’m not more one than the other.”

  He started chewing on his thumbnail. He looked even more like five-year-old Ben doing that.

  “It’s just genes. Hair color, eye color, skin color mean shit, okay? It’s just a stupid question on a stupid form that they use to create pie charts and crap for their annual report.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding back. Then he smiled and turned to leave. “Mom’s right. You cuss too much.”

  Chapter

  3

  “Hey, Sunshine.”

  That voice through the phone caused the hair on the back of my neck to prickle. I’d picked up the unknown number thinking this might be an update regarding Violet. Tears stung the back of my eyes before I could stop them. I cleared my throat.

  “Seth.”

  I didn’t know how else to greet him. He sounded happy and part of me, the bitchy part, begrudged him that. I knew Seth adored Michael and grieved the loss of his younger bro
ther deeply, but it was hard to get past my own grief. It had only been a few months. Plus, things had never been easy between us. If asked to label our relationship I’d definitely have to choose it’s complicated.

  “I heard you were back in town and was hoping we could get together.”

  I glanced around my dad’s office, as though looking for a hidden camera. Was this a prank? I wasn’t sure how to take the invitation. The last time I’d laid eyes on Seth Anderson I was putting back on my mourning clothes and doing a stealthy walk of shame out of his apartment.

  “I, uh … I’m busy,” I said.

  He laughed. “I didn’t say when yet. You’re busy for the rest of your life?”

  He sounded so breezy and light and I felt my sadness at being reminded of Michael harden into the hollow anger I had gotten used to.

  “I’m busy right now, Seth.” I kept my voice as neutral as possible. Let him take that whichever way he wanted.

  “Sure,” he said. “It’s just that Matt’s Pool Cue is reopening—”

  “Matt’s reopened? That’s amazing,” I said, interrupting him. Unexpectedly happy memories of Michael, my best friend, replaced the grief for an instant.

  “Well, it’s reopening in a few weeks, Sunshine, but they’re doing a dry run tonight. I figured you’d want to go.”

  “Hell, yes.”

  Which is how I found myself walking back into Matt’s after more than a decade. The new location’s parking lot was fairly full, a relief. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to handle seeing the oldest friend I had in the world at this point. One who I could count on the very short list of people who’d seen me naked. Seth’s list was not nearly as short as mine, which was always our problem when we got right down to it. Pun very much unintentional.

  Still, I couldn’t resist the lure of revisiting the restaurant that figured so largely into my youth.

  “Kid, you grew up on me,” Matt said as he enveloped me in his large frame. As sneak attacks go, I’ve had worse.