Tasha arrived half an hour later. “What? One body in your building today wasn’t enough?”
“Upstairs neighbor—Roseline Pageotte. The apartment is well over a hundred degrees and rapid decomp has taken over.”
“No air conditioning?”
“The A/C units here blow fuses all the time. Inside each apartment is a hallway closet where you’ll find a fuse box and a stack of fuses on the shelf. Landlord doles them out like candy so tenants won’t call him.”
“Got it.” Tasha started for the building.
“Tasha, you might want a mask.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Two assistants followed her inside, carrying medical bags. One turned back as soon as he stepped into the building. We could see through the stairway windows Tasha and the other assistant climb the stairs. The second assistant made it as far as the third-floor landing before she ran down the stairs, out the door, and puked on the sidewalk. Tasha disappeared down the hall from sight as we waited. A few minutes later an officer standing at the far corner of the building gave a thumbs up signal. Tasha must’ve opened the living room window.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my palm as Quille wiped the sweat on his neck.
He looked up at the building, then over at me. “We could wait in your apartment where the A/C is already cranked.”
“I get enough ode of death at work. My apartment door is staying closed and locked until the building airs out.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” he said, wiping the sweat from his neck again. “Are you going to stick around and work this case?”
“Assign one of the new guys, but I’ll walk the scene. Officially, I’m not back yet.”
“And unofficially?”
“I have an issue with two dead bodies in my building.”
“And when are you officially back on the job? Before or after you catch the guy?”
“Depends on who did it,” I answered before hopping off the tailgate and walking toward the building.
~*~*~
I was still in Roseline’s apartment when Gibson, a first-year detective, arrived. He walked in, nodded to me, then turned to question Tasha. “Time and cause of death?”
“Not sure yet,” Tasha answered as she bagged Roseline’s hands.
“Was she sexually assaulted?”
“Not sure.”
“Can you identify any weapon used against her?”
“Not yet.”
“Is there anything you can tell me?”
Tasha shifted her weight away from the body and looked up at Gibson. “Your tie is butt ugly.”
I snorted and walked over, pulling Gibson away from the body by his elbow. “You piss her off and you’ll be ousted from the homicide unit. You can’t work a body case if you don’t play nice with the ME’s office.”
“I need the information for my report. I’m supposed to ask questions.”
“Look at the body, Gibson. What’s the cause of death?”
He looked back at the body and grimaced. “Why’s she all puffy like that?”
“Bloating. The air conditioning was out and the oven was on. It was hot in here.”
“That’s why Tasha can’t answer the questions? Because the body got too hot?”
“The heat impacts the body, yes. The organs start decaying at a rapid pace. Tasha will get you answers when she can, but you need to work the scene. What piece of information did you just miss?”
Gibson looked at me. I could see him back tracking in his mind, trying to find the missing clue. “The oven. Why was the oven on?”
“She was cooking a roast.”
“Was it burnt?”
“More dehydrated than burnt. She was slow cooking it, so it shrank into a molted glob of blackness, barely recognizable as meat.”
“Her attacker showed up sometime after she put the roast in the oven but before it was done cooking.” He held up his notepad and looked at me. “How long does it take to cook a roast?”
“Do I look like Betty Crocker?”
He looked down at my outfit of linen pants, flats, and a satin shirt. “More like Martha Stewart.”
I glared at him. “Call your mommy. Call your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whoever cooks for you. I don’t really care who you call.”
“My mother knows how to cook roasts, but what if later she’s asked to testify? I don’t want to drag her into this.”
“It’s only information to narrow down the time of death until the ME’s office gives us their report. You need to have a window of time to ask people their whereabouts.”
“Right.” He walked into the kitchen and studied the roast, before placing a call.
“Be sure to tell her the potatoes hadn’t been added yet,” I called out as I walked toward the door.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. I jogged down one flight of stairs and unlocked my apartment. Uncle Hank sat in my living room, stretched out on my couch in plain clothes, watching TV.
“Did Aunt Suzanne kick you out?”
“Nah. But she told me you called about an overcooked roast. I figured you were working a case, so I called in and heard the hub-bub.” He sat up, placing his sock covered feet on the floor. “Should I be worried? Two dead bodies in one day?”
“Technically we only found them today. They died yesterday.” I tossed my handbag and keys on the table and retrieved a garbage bag from the kitchen. “I’m taking a shower. Gibson’s been assigned the case. He’s working to narrow down the timeline.”
“You didn’t share the information you got from your aunt?”
“What fun would that be?”
I disappeared down the hall and stepped into the bathroom. Stripping my clothes, I tossed them in the garbage bag, including my underwear, and pulled the tie tight. Careful not to be seen, I placed the bag in the hall before closing the door and taking my third shower of the day.
Chapter Ten
CHARLIE
Sunday, 12:35 p.m.
Once again clean, smelling less like a morgue, and wearing dress slacks and a blouse, I returned to the living room to find it empty. The trash bag of clothes in the hallway had disappeared along with Uncle Hank. An apple-cinnamon candle was lit and placed in the center of my dining room table.
I blew the candle out, grabbed my handbag and keys, and left.
Only five steps outside the building I noticed Garth, one of Baker’s top security guys for the Outer Layer, standing on the sidewalk waiting for me. I walked over to him, tipping my head back to look up at him. Garth was big. Tall. Nearing the seven-foot mark. And as broad as a barn door.
He held out his hand, offering me a set of keys. “Baker asked me to exchange vehicles and remind you of your eight o’clock meeting.”
I unclipped the keys for the old pickup and handed them to him. “Where did you park my car?”
“Half a block down,” he said, pointing. “Sorry. Couldn’t park closer with all the cop cars.”
“That’s fine. Be sure to park the truck in the city parking garage across the street.”
“With pleasure.” Garth partially bowed in mock respect before walking away. Though we both consider Baker a friend, we also both enjoyed messing with him. And me parking cars in the city lot pissed Baker off.
I started down the block toward my car, spotting it immediately. It was a simple looking car, a dark blue Chevy Impala, only a few years old. But under the hood, I’d had a larger engine installed which kicked up the car’s horsepower a few levels. I slid into the driver’s seat, turning the engine over. Checking the display screen for the time, I noted I had ten minutes to cross town.
As I pulled into traffic, my phone rang and I pushed the button on the steering column to answer. “Yeah?”
“You’re late,” Aunt Suzanne said through the car’s speakers.
“I’m not late. I have ten more minutes, and I’m in the car, heading your way.”
“Pick me
up at the car lot off tenth street. We can leave my car there.”
I paused to think out her reasoning and realized she wasn’t at home. She was running late and playing off that she was doing me a favor. Otherwise, she wouldn’t miss an opportunity for me to drop her off later at her house, hoping to convince me to stay for dinner. “No. I’ll meet you at your place. We have plenty of time.”
“I insist, really. It will be quicker for you to pick me up at the car lot.”
I smiled to myself as I turned onto the highway. “I went a different way. I’d have to backtrack.”
“Charlie Harrison, pick me up at the damn car lot!”
I laughed out loud. “Are you sure you’ll have enough time to get there before me? I’m guessing you’re at the mall.”
There was a long pause before she replied. “You’re worse than your uncle,” she grumbled before hanging up.
I cranked the radio and exited the highway. Stopping in the bumper-to-bumper traffic for a red light, I looked at the car next to me and laughed. Aunt Suzanne was trying to slide on sunglasses and duck out of view. I blasted my horn, which startled her and her sunglasses went flying. She looked over at me and gave me the finger. The naughty finger.
Five minutes later, I idled my car behind her parked car as she slid into the passenger seat with two large gift bags and her bulky purse. She inspected my outfit, which must’ve met her approval because she settled the bags at her feet before clicking her seat belt.
“Where to?” I asked, putting the car in drive.
“Coconut Grove. About a mile south of the sailing club.”
“Fancy. Remind me… Is this a wedding shower, baby shower, or a lame selling party where I’m pressured into buying crap I don’t want?”
Aunt Suzanne held up one of the bags that had a yellow elephant imprinted on the side.
“Boy or girl?”
“I’m not sure. The invitation didn’t say, so I went gender neutral.”
“And do I know the mother to be?”
“You went to the wedding.”
“You’ve dragged me with you to at least four weddings this year, and in each case, I knew neither the bride nor the groom.”
Aunt Suzanne, bless her heart, was an amazing woman, but she had an unusual addiction to attending social events: weddings, showers, charity auctions, candle parties, sex toy parties… It didn’t matter what the event was, she wanted to attend. Uncle Hank and I took turns accompanying her. Occasionally we put our foot down and refused, but there were always consequences.
“The baby shower is for the bride from the spring wedding. The one at the big cathedral downtown.”
“There’s been a lot of big cathedral weddings. And she must’ve already been preggers at the wedding if it was in the spring.”
“Whatever you do, don’t ask if she was knocked up before they reached the alter. The last time you did that, I could’ve crawled under the couch. I was so embarrassed. And you should remember the cathedral. You swore and it echoed off the high ceiling for everyone to hear.”
I remembered saying the swear word, but not the reason why. “It was only a little swear word.”
“If you’re counting letters, yes. If you’re counting the look on the priest’s face—not so little.”
I smiled at the memory of the stricken look on the poor priest’s face. Deciding to change the subject, I asked, “So what did I buy? And why were we invited?”
“I’m guessing we were invited because we give such great gifts. You bought a few outfits, some bibs, two rattles, a bottle warmer and those baby plates that suction cup to the table.”
“I should’ve asked what I didn’t buy,” I said, shaking my head at her. “And why would they think we buy such great gifts? What did I buy them for their wedding?”
“A bread maker. She’s one of those stay-at-home wives, so I’m sure she appreciated it.”
“No one appreciates a bread maker.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why’d she invite us to the baby shower?”
“I have no idea. But it wasn’t because of a bread maker.”
“We’ll see. Turn left. Their house is the third on the right according to Google.”
I turned onto the private community drive and parked a few houses down from where the pink, yellow, and blue balloons were strapped to the hostess’s mailbox. I looked around the community as I climbed out of the car. The houses were grand. The yards thick with dark green landscaping. And you could almost smell the new-car smell from the shiny convertibles lining the street. “Great. Rich people.”
Aunt Suzanne’s smile was bright enough to blind someone as she handed me my offering—I mean gift bag. She hurried down the sidewalk toward the main event as if there was a door prize if you arrived on time. I shook my head, half jogging to catch up.
Five minutes later, Aunt Suzanne was in her element chatting away with women of all ages as I stood anti-social beside her and scanned the room. When I saw the very pregnant guest of honor walk into the room, I swear my heart stopped beating.
Tugging on Aunt Suzanne’s arm, I got her attention and whispered, “We have to go.”
“What? Why?” she asked with an eyebrow arched high.
“I remember the wedding.” I tried steering her from the room, but when we got to the foyer she refused to move any further, planting her feet.
“Charlie, what the hell is going on. We can’t leave. It would be rude.”
I looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear our whispered conversation. “We have to leave. I had sex with her husband.”
“You slept with a married man?”
“No. Well, yes,” I said, arguing more with myself for the right answer. “No! He wasn’t married yet.” I knew I needed to explain or she’d refuse to leave. “But he was married about fifteen minutes later.”
Her face froze in a stunned expression when she realized I’d had sex with the groom before the wedding. She sharply inhaled a gallon of air as her eyes widened.
I wrung my hands as I explained. “I thought he was a groomsman! There was a big closet off the hall… Plenty of time to kill… He was cute… I was bored…”
“Charlie Harrison,” she said leaning toward me and placing a death grip on my bicep. “You slept with the groom?”
“I didn’t mean to! I mean— I intended to have sex—I just didn’t mean for it to be the groom. You know I wouldn’t have done that on purpose.”
She stared at me, not saying anything.
“If it makes you feel any better, he fucks like a jack-rabbit.”
“Language!” she said, pointing a finger in my face.
I was relieved though to see her eyes start to dance with humor. The shock of the confession was wearing off. That is, until she looked over my shoulder and her eyes widened.
I didn’t want to look. I wanted to run out the door straight to the car. But Aunt Suzanne was in heels and I couldn’t leave her behind to clean up my mess. I slowly turned, finding a tall, primly-dressed woman in her mid-sixties smiling at me.
“Your f-bomb at the wedding when the groom and groomsmen took their places makes sense now.” Her smile widened.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he was the groom. I’m not a homewrecker. I swear.”
“I believe you.”
“We should leave,” I said, taking a step back.
“Nonsense,” she said, chuckling.
Aunt Suzanne and I inhaled sharply, floored by her pleasantness.
“This is the third baby shower MaryBeth has had with Travis’s flings. When my daughter first suggested doing this, I thought she was crazy. But she’s raking in the best gifts. She’ll want for nothing by the time the baby’s born.”
Aunt Suzanne elbowed me in the ribs. “Told you we were invited because we give great gifts.”
“What was your gift for the wedding?” the woman asked as she steered Aunt Suzanne into the living room.
“A bread maker and…” Aunt Suzanne’s voice d
rifted off as she walked away.
The Mother-To-Be waddled over to me, her nose wrinkling as she watched the women walk away. “I have to admit, I returned the bread maker.”
“I don’t blame you. They sell perfectly good bread at the store.”
A smile lit her face. “You sticking around? Or making a run for it?”
“You’re not angry? Pissed at seeing all these women?”
“Not even a little,” she said, shaking her head. “And if I hadn’t spent every dime in my savings to buy a small house for me and the baby, I wouldn’t even be doing this. But I needed a strategy to leave Travis, and this was the best idea I could think of.”
“Does he know? That you’re leaving him?”
“Not a clue. He’s too busy cheating to even notice I’m pregnant.” She had been fake smiling toward the living room, occasionally waving, but glanced back at me and smiled for real. “He’ll be surprised when he comes home from his,” she paused to make air quotes, “business trip and finds half the furniture gone, though.”
I couldn’t help but like her. “If you weren’t pregnant, I’d take you out for martinis.”
“Stick around. These showers are a hell of a lot more fun. My grandma goes around whispering slut and then walking away. At the last shower, my aunt proposed to play a game of truth or dare, and three women bolted for the door. One of them stopped at the card box and dropped a pile of hundreds through the slot.”
“I don’t feel that guilty. Sorry.”
She laughed, looping her arm through mine, leading me into the living room. “Did you bring a gift for the baby?”
“Yup.”
“Then you’re good.”
Chapter Eleven
CHARLIE
Sunday, 2:25 p.m.
“Best baby shower, ever!” Aunt Suzanne said as I drove us back across town.
“Agreed.”
Two women had run out the door crying. Another had emptied the cash from her wallet into MaryBeth’s hands before leaving. And yet another blurted out that she’d gifted a thousand-dollar bond because she felt guilty about sleeping with Travis.
Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Page 6