[Adventures of Anabel Axelrod 01.0] A Date With Fate

by Tracy Ellen

After that, we were all snickering and snorting, Reg and I interspersing our mirth with the occasional moan of pain.

  Jazy and Tre were at the top of the stairs in no time. John had to use his body and outspread arms to ban them going any further towards us. Luke added his warning to the mix, and the girls settled down after seeing Reg and me in one piece, more or less, lying in the sunlight at the other end of the room.

  I had to sit up and turn around to face them. Groaning under my breath, I made this slow maneuver. Actually, it felt better moving around. I carefully flexed my shoulders. Even with all the extra padding, my butt ached almost as much as my head.

  Peering around the human fence, Jazy took in the scene before her. She glared at John accusingly and shouted, “What the hell? I thought you said she wasn’t hurt!” Jaz called down to me, “Anabel, are you shot?”

  I reassured her quickly, ‘No, we’re banged around some, but only The Hammer got shot. He’s dead.”

  Whistling in admiration, Jazzy sang out, “Hallefuckin’luelah!” Then her voice turned wondering. “Tre, take a look at Bel. That’s gotta be The Hammer’s blood and guts totally covering her. How cool is that!”

  “Waaay cool!” was Tre’s enthusiastic reply.

  I vaguely heard Tre in the far recesses of my mind. I was looking down the length of my body. I heard more yelling start from the direction of the stairs and my mind registered Chief Jack had arrived, but only from a far-off galaxy in another world. Woozily, I stared down in growing horror at the sight of myself. There was wet, gooky stuff on me everywhere I could see. I twisted painfully to get a better look. It was on my chest and stomach, and continued down the length of me to my bare feet. My slacks were dark purple-red with it. I could not begin to imagine the origin of what some of the slimy chunks might be.

  I was dizzy and gagging in disbelief that I had been laying here oblivious to the effluvium of the bloody gore I was coated with while we chit-chatted about concussions and whatnot.

  I swiped my dripping, sweating forehead with a forearm. Glancing at the glob of bloody, gelatinous substance now smeared on my bare skin, I started making tiny gasping, squeaking noises. Tingling and swaying, I finally comprehended that it wasn’t sweat or perspiration I had on my face, in my hair, and drenching my body. It was the brains, blood, and guts of Gustav Hammerschmidt.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter XX

  “Haven’t Got Time For The Pain” by Carly Simon

  Sunday, 11/18/12

  3:45 PM

  I survived the police investigation…barely. The yelling I’d heard was Chief Jack kicking Jazy and Tre out immediately from the third floor. Under escort, they were allowed to deliver and put away my groceries on the second floor. Once the evidence techs checked out the apartment, the two girls helped fainting me into the shower.

  Yes, I have to face the unbearable truth and admit I freaking fainted. The men upstairs were lucky I did that instead of tearing them apart from limb to limb, and then beating them over their heads with their own arms. It was seven hours later, and I was still shaking my head over Luke or Reg saying nothing about the filthy crud covering me from head to toe. John didn’t count. Luke let me touch him and actually held me in his arms. He voluntarily touched my hair and my face. I might have to reexamine the whole concept of thinking I know men, much less like them.

  After taking Advil, I sat on the ledge seat in the shower under the hottest water I could stand. Above the noise of the pounding water, I told Jaz and Tre about The Hammer, and about Cheryl Crookston’s murder. I needed to be distracted from the slime I swear was still circling down my drain while I compulsively washed my hair for the fourth time.

  When I was done, the girls left. They gleefully promised to contact Mac, Anna, Stella, Kenna, and Billy to share all the news since last night. The store would be closed today, but I was still planning on having our family dinner at five. I did beg them to tell everyone not to come over any earlier than four this afternoon. I needed to be alone and recharge my batteries. Then I’d be ready to celebrate surviving another Final Destination attempt this weekend and give friendship support to Crookie, even if it killed me.

  Happily, I was right about the shower diagnosis. After finishing scrubbing myself so shiny clean I squeaked, and after the pills kicked in, I was feeling more human. After repeated gargling, vigorous teeth brushing, and lavish applications of Japanese Peony body lotion, I finally got my sniffer back in order. I’ve discovered the hard way, not smelling death every second was necessary before you could start not thinking about it every second.

  Chief Jack was ominously silent after shouting his orders at the girls, but anyone knowing him could tell he was in a towering, black rage. The cops and assorted personnel were busy on the third floor, but it was a solemn, carefully quiet busy.

  In the organized confusion of the first hour after the police arrived, Luke and I had been separated. With his special talent of observation, I felt he always had his eye on me wherever I was, even if we didn’t speak.

  The County Attorney, Wade Patterson, showed up in my dining room to listen to Reg and I give our statements and answer questions on the shooting death of Gustav Hammerschmidt. Mr. Patterson is a high strung, anxious gentleman. When he saw Luke, a stranger leaning a shoulder against the wall and quietly listening, the head prosecutor of crimes in Rice County peevishly suggested Luke go wait somewhere else.

  Luke straightened up, pulled a chair out beside me, and quietly informed Mr. Patterson that he was representing me until it was determined conclusively that I didn’t need to hire a criminal attorney. This was how I found out Mr. Secretive has a law degree.

  That announcement was a double dipper of a good time for Chief Jack. His grim countenance lightened up briefly for the first time since arriving at seeing the stunned look on my face at Luke’s reply to Wade’s invitation to leave. In addition, Luke had no way of knowing Wade Patterson has been in love with my grandmother since before we were both born. Mr. Patterson was an old sweetheart, and while he’d probably draw the line at letting me get away with cold-blooded murder, even that’s debatable if NanaBel was in town. Shooting a full magazine at a known bad man in self-defense while being attacked in my own home was a slam-dunk, even with a weapon not registered to me. I learned chances were high it was Reggie’s bullet that killed him first. As Chief Jack liked to say, this meeting was strictly for crossing the fucking Ts.

  Once they were done with my interview, I made no effort to speak with Jack. He seemed to be avoiding me, too, and I didn’t care why. His insistence to keep me in the dark had almost accomplished that very thing, but permanently. At the moment, I didn’t give a rat’s ass about Jack’s emotional well-being due to his professional embarrassment. I was okay with being alive due to my decision to trust my own instincts. It was one of those times when my silence would speak much louder than any words.

  My brother would try to lord it over me the rest of our lives that he saved me with one headshot compared to my ten fired below the belt. I informed him that would be true, except for one fact; I was aiming based on my theory that most men’s brains were in their pants. Reg proved my theory by only needing one bullet to the man’s head. He was still thinking that over when he left.

  I assured Reggie, in fact I insisted, that he should go home to shower and relax. I wasn’t up for cooking any breakfast right now. He said he’d be back for dinner and took off as soon as the cops were done with him. Turns out his head wasn’t sliced to ribbons because it never hit the glass, it was his shotgun that broke through the window. His head had been smacked hard against the wooden frame of the window when Moth Man landed on him. It stunned him insensible for a few seconds. It probably saved his life. The Hammer didn’t mess with him anymore, but came right after me.

  Luke and John left soon after my brother. They were the first on the scene within seconds because they weren’t out ordering women for breakfast like I had grumpily imagined, but had been keeping my building u
nder surveillance. It was too bad Gustav Hammerschmidt hadn’t gotten the memo he was supposed to come from the outside to attack me.

  Luke had seen the turret window shatter. He’d been on the stairs when the first shots started. It was over by the time he burst into the attic. Like he’d told me earlier, he known right away I was still alive. I’d been doing the croppy on the floor. I was wriggling like a fish out of water while trying to get my wind back and squirm out from being half buried under The Hammer’s revolting body. That image was nearly as pleasant for me to contemplate as fainting twice this weekend.

  I had no idea what Luke was thinking about today’s events. He’d been closemouthed on the subject of The Hammer being overlooked in the police search when Reg brought it up. He was silent in general, he and John staying in the background as the police took over the scene. I had also kept silent. It hadn’t been the time or place to discuss any personal issues. But I had a feeling this near death experience might drive home to Luke the necessity to lighten up on the macho madness with me in a way no casual discussion could ever get across. If not, he’s too thick to ever get it.

  When I was done being questioned, John waited by the stairs to leave while my unsolicited Solicitor took me aside in the foyer.

  I didn’t say a word, but Luke held up a hand, as if I had barraged him with a firestorm of questions. “I need to take care of some business and then I’ll come back in an hour. We’ll talk about everything then.”

  I shook my head. “No, please don’t come back before five tonight for dinner.”

  Brows meeting in surprise, he rapped his knuckles against the arm of the church pew bench while digesting my blunt refusal.

  “I know we have things to talk about, Luke, but I am simply not up to it. I’m all yours later tonight after dinner. Frankly, I’m not feeling very cooperative or compliant. You won’t be happy with anything I have to say right now.” I frowned up at him. “I know I won’t be happy with anything you have to say to me right now, that’s for sure.” I almost patted his jacket arm. “I’d love to kiss you good-bye, but I know you are disgustingly smeared with dried gook in spots under your jacket. Please have a heart, get the hell out of here and let me be alone for a few hours.”

  For some reason, Luke’s face lit up and he grinned broadly at my words.

  I heard a muffled laugh from the stairs and shot a questioning glare John’s way.

  His face was bland and he shrugged innocently in return.

  I sniffed.

  We still hadn’t been officially introduced, but I begrudgingly thanked him politely for his efforts on my behalf, fruitless as they were.

  He bowed slightly in return.

  Luke laughed as they departed down the stairs.

  By eleven o’clock everyone was gone but the police. While the police followed their protocols and did their thankless, routine work, it felt good to keep busy doing my own thankless routine of work around the apartment.

  The housecleaning service came on Fridays, but any woman worth her salt could always find a load of laundry that needed doing. I changed the sheets on my bed and did a pass of the guest bedroom before Crookie showed up. I found myself humming as I slowly worked. My head still hurt a little and I was going to be one sore, whining baby tomorrow, but it was interesting how having a death threat off the table made a girl appreciative of the mindlessly mundane.

  Finally, the police left after taping closed the door to the attic. A few hours went by. Keeping busy helped me sort my muddled thoughts. Not that I came to any great conclusions because I was still me. I didn’t really want to change the status quo of having no definitive status quo in my life. Regardless of where Luke and I were headed, I knew I couldn’t take the “protect me for my own sake” attitude. It was a matter of trust, in my opinion, and nonnegotiable. I realized it could take some time, but Luke had to be willing to compromise on this and mean it.

  Anna texted her plan of the day was to break it off with Jim Mardsen this afternoon. Mum was the word on that score; Anna wanted to see Reggie’s face when he heard. Today, Mum was my middle name, so no problem there.

  Kenna texted she was happy we were still alive as of ten o’clock this morning. She was at a friend’s in White Bear Lake and not coming to dinner.

  This led to me calling Mac about Candy. That led to a thirty-minute conversation about The Hammer and Cheryl Crookston, but talking with Mac was good. We’ve always been sounding boards to each other and talked over life’s issues together. My sis could be depended upon to be practical and levelheaded, except for the going crazy every eighteen years part. The upside to our conversation was her reaffirmation I probably wasn’t in any imminent danger of catching some foul plague from the grossness plastered all over me upstairs. I didn’t think I’d eaten any of Gustav’s guts, or absorbed any through my eyeballs, open sores, or Queen Vicky.

  The downside to my call was that it led to me being blackmailed into doing a dessert for tonight. I was making an apple crisp with a crumble topping about three inches thick. This was Diego’s favorite dessert. It was also the vig for Mac agreeing to get Candy over here sometime before five- no questions asked.

  If I needed any further proof Mac was wild about her husband, her choice for dessert said it all. She was a chocolate girl all the way. This was giving it up for love in action.

  I worked in my home office for an hour on store business. Thankfully, no pedestrians were nearby when the glass fell from the turret window down onto the sidewalk. The mess was swept up and the window had been boarded shut. Due to my freakish need for control, I was happy to be the one taking care of any store related issues concerning The Hammer’s death. So what if I was basically followed the same format as Luke had yesterday. That splitting-hairs detail had a way of making everything sunshiny in my world.

  Jazy and Tre had done themselves proud and didn’t miss an item on my grocery list. I cranked the music and got busy cooking. If I was banging pots and pans around a little louder than I normally did in the kitchen, it was for a good cause.

  “Beat a Pan, Save a Man” was my new motto.

  Not knowing how many would show up tonight, I’d decided on soup, salad, and breadsticks for the menu. I finished the chicken wild rice soup, with a smaller pot of mushroom wild rice soup for the non-flesh eaters. My salad greens were washed and chilled. I whisked together the raspberry vinaigrette, sliced strawberries, red onion, and a Gouda cheese, made cracked black pepper croutons, and toasted some walnuts in a little honey. I prepared rosemary breadsticks ready for the oven and I whipped up several pots of herb butter.

  Cooking was Zen-like for me. I wouldn’t want to cook three squares a day for a large brood, but I loved having dinner parties and entertaining in my apartment. As I whisked, diced, sautéed and stirred, I let my mind free fall where it would.

  ‘Geez Louise, we’ve had long phone conversations. What could possibly be the reason for Luke keeping a law degree hush-hush? Did he have so many talents and degrees he couldn’t keep track of them all? Who can keep secrets like that, anyway? Most men bragged their butts off until you wanted to pay them to stop! He was a damn, tight-lipped freak of nature- was what he was.’

  Peeling and cutting up the Honey Crisp apples, I absently munched on a juicy slice while I recalled a comment I wanted Reggie to expand upon from yesterday. It niggled and wouldn’t stop, so I called him.

  He was vegging out watching the game but it was a commercial break, so I was absolved. We agreed we each felt much better now. We agreed we would refer to The Hammer’s murder as a joint effort to keep the peace between us.

  Courtesies exchanged, I asked, “What did you mean yesterday in reference to Cheryl Crookston when you said she was a ‘ditch-digging whore’?”

  “Ah, yes. How erudite of me. Jack nailed Cheryl for a DUI a while back. She got fined and sentenced to do some community service hours. It was picking up trash in the ditches on the side of roads. She tried to get out of it.”

  I smiled at tha
t scenario. I also complimented Reg on his impressive usage of last Friday’s Word-of-the-Day. Jazy had jokingly given us all the same calendars last Christmas in our respective stockings.

  “Oh yeah, how did that work for Cheryl?”

  “I think she offered up her services to Jack in another capacity. Well, you know ol’ Jack,” Reggie’s voice was ripe with innuendo, “the job always comes first. Cheryl did her time in the ditches.”

  I snickered, but my hands stilled for a beat in the process of combining the crumble topping ingredients. I thought of my brother’s streaked blonde hair and husky, muscular build. I couldn’t believe where my detective voice in my head was leading me. No wonder his comment had niggled in the back of my mind.

  Reg’s hair was like mine. It was streaked with different colors from the darkest brown to the whitest blonde. The white blonde streaks dominated the more sun we got. Since he worked outdoors primarily throughout much of the year, his top layer of hair was often bleached platinum blonde by the sun.

  “Huh.” was my less than erudite reply. I got busy again cutting in the softened sticks of butter with the flour, brown sugar, chopped pecans, and spices. This was going to be the mother of a huge pan of apple crisp happiness.

  I asked casually, “Off topic, do you ever lend out your truck to friends? For instance, speaking of Jack; does he ever borrow your work truck to get supplies when he’s doing projects around his place?”

  “Tell me you aren’t thinking of borrowing my truck?”

  “You’re a funny guy.”

  Chuckling, he said, “Sure, he’s used my truck lots of times. Why do you ask?”

  With perfect timing, I heard a roar of cheering from the television in the background. “I hear the game’s back on, so I’ll talk to you later. Bye!”

  ‘Was I really thinking Jack was the man in bed with Cheryl Crookston the night Crookie spied on her?’

  I didn’t want to even contemplate Jack could be Cheryl’s killer. I shook off that disquieting thought after telling my detective voice it had better shut up, or we would tangle. However, if he was the man Crookie saw it sure explained why he was so determined to control what information I received on her murder. I could easily see him writhing in embarrassment if I found out he had been screwing her. She was a girl my age, not only married to one of my friends, but a woman he had also arrested.