Jack hesitated, not wanting her to know he didn’t like heights. After a moment, he said, “Were you close with your father?”
“Stepfather,” Eve said. “I thought you were off the clock.”
“Detective Orlean invited me over – to warn me about you.”
“Detective Orlean is a fool,” Eve said. “His theory is that I’m guilty and he’s not going to rest until he sees me behind bars.”
“What’s your theory?” Jack said, wishing she’d come away from the ledge.
“Jeni did it.”
Jack glanced at her, surprised. He felt a stab of guilt and tried to imagine how Eve would react to finding out that he’d had sex with her sister.
Eve said, “Why do stepdaughters kill stepfathers?”
Jack flinched, knowing the answer.
“He never touched me. Never,” Eve said. “He was always watching Jeni. Following her.” She shook her head, “You never met anybody with worse luck.” Eve faced him, “Is Jeni writing a book?”
“Ask her.”
Eve walked over, held out her empty wine glass.
Jack filled it.
Eve sipped the wine, thoughtful. “She’ll embarrass herself.”
“You afraid of her embarrassing you?”
Eve smiled, amused. “She didn’t tell you? I’m perfect.”
“Nice work if you can get it.”
Eve smiled as if to say “it is.”
Jack said, “The newspapers had a field day with you – all the rumors – that you’re the killer.”
“I got the money. That made me the primary suspect – doesn’t mean I did it. People get jealous – they get ugly.”
Jack raised his eyebrows.
Eve said, “I’m not the murdering type. I prefer not to get my hands dirty.”
“Jeni likes to get her hands dirty?”
Eve shrugged. “I’m not my sister’s keeper.”
Two bottles later, they cautiously made their way down the deserted trail. He’d stopped drinking, acutely aware that Arizona was not a state where you wanted to get pulled over for a DUI.
The basket bumping against his leg, Eve clung to his arm as they made their way to his car. He opened her door and was startled when she pressed him against the car, moving her hips into him.
Eve said, “You’re going to seduce me.” It was more a statement than a question.
Jack leaned in to kiss her just as he spotted Frank’s car at on the edge of the lot. Cursing, he pushed away from her. “We got company.”
“Bullshit,” she said, gently biting his lower lip.
Jack saw the burning tip of Frank’s cigarette. He pushed her back. “I got a tail. He ain’t getting a show.”
She pulled a Queen Elizabeth, gave him a cold smile and got in the car.
They remained silent as Jack drove her home. He was ready to invite himself in when he pulled up to her security gate, but her door slammed and she was gone. She signaled for Horace to shut the gate on him and Jack watched as she walked up the long driveway – away from him.
Jack asked Horace, “You always here?”
“Feels like it,” he said.
Jack pulled out, scanning the street for Frank, determined to have it out. He was gone.
Why the hell is he still following me?
Driving home, he ran a string of curses that took care of Frank’s offspring into the next century.
He’d lost Eve – for tonight – but there was always tomorrow.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
I have never met a man so ignorant that I couldn’t learn something from him.
–Galileo Galilei
Bud and Jenson stared down at what used to be a man. Stretched out on the coroner’s table, the corpse was a macerated and grotesquely swollen. The neck had a deep cut.
Chip hung back, intently staring at the floor.
“I’ll be,” Jenson said.
“One strangled, psycho-clown perp, just like the doctor ordered,” Bud said.
Jenson said, “Even if our young friend Enid strangled him, I’m having trouble imagining ninety pounds of her wrapping two hundred pounds of him up tighter than a Christmas turkey with a duct tape bow and dumping him in the canal.”
“She’s a person of interest,” Bud said.
Chip said, “There’s no way that kid did this.” He looked at the corpse and turned away, greenish.
Jenson waved his hand at the corpse, “I thought gross anatomy would have inured you to this.”
Chip said, “Big difference between a cadaver and – this.”
“Can we get a photo of his face?” Bud asked.
The pathologist, Sarah Nells, serious-faced and pretty, wore a white coat stained with cadaver juice. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which made her look younger than her thirty-two years. She whipped off her greasy gloves and snapped a picture of the dead man’s face with a Polaroid. She straightened, “I don’t have my official cause of death yet but it’s most likely strangulation.”
“Ya think?” Chip said, eyeing the neck.
She glanced at him, unimpressed. “I’ve got fibers in the wounds that indicate man-made materials, nylon rope or clothing maybe.”
“Like a bra?” Bud said.
“Possibly.”
“Is it common?” Chip said. “I mean – getting strangled by a bra?”
Dr. Nells shrugged, “Wouldn’t be the first time; won’t be the last.”
“Cause of death looks rather conclusive to me,” Jenson said.
“I’m not done,” Dr. Nells said.
“What else could it be?” Chip said, averting his eyes from the corpse.
She shrugged, “I rule nothing out until my examination is complete.”
“Wise woman,” Bud said.
“Once burned, twice sure,” she said. “He has a penchant for Marvel comics and he’s a breast man.”
Chip said, “How would you know that?”
“Tattoos,” Bud said.
“I only wish they’d include their social security numbers,” Dr. Nells said.
“Do you like being a doctor?” Bud said, turning to Dr. Nells. “Are you glad you went to medical school?”
Chip’s lips tightened.
She gazed at him in surprise, “I guess so. Why?”
“You ever think of dropping out?” Bud said.
“I didn’t realize being a doctor meant I’d spend so much of my time exploring dead people’s orifices.”
Jenson made a face.
Dr. Nells said, “I always had a hankering for being a country singer – but I couldn’t carry a tune if I had needle-nosed forceps.”
“But you like it?” Chip said.
Dr. Nells put on her gloves, “Love it.”
“We’ll let you get back to work,” Bud said, holding up the Polaroid photo in thanks and heading for the door.
She glanced at the clock, “I have a blunt trauma I need to get done before lunch.”
“Bon appetit,” Jenson said.
Once in the hallway, Jenson said, “What’s the difference between a serial killer and a pathologist?”
“A degree,” Bud said.
“Sometimes not even that,” Jenson said. “Well, our leads are Superman and big tits. I won’t say that narrows it down.”
“Oh, I think it does,” Bud said.
“How so?” Jenson looked at him in surprise.
“I know who he is,” Bud said.
Chip and Jenson stared at Bud in surprise.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Any idiot can face a crisis – it’s day-to-day living that wears you out.
–Anton Chekhov
Ernie’s treehouse that sat twelve feet up was weathered to the point of being dangerous. Ernie sat in the fetal position, groaning and mumbling to himself.
Enid struggled to hold a pomegranate-cherry Popsicle with her bandaged hands. The bandages had been “repaired” with a series of crisscrossing duct tape.
Enid said, “There
are worse things then having your mother explain the birds and bees.” She pressed her toe into a loose floorboard. “Are you sure it’s safe up here?”
“I’d rather fall off a hundred-story building and have my eyelid catch on a rusty nail on the way down than go through that again,” Ernie said, curling into a tighter ball.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
Ernie shot her an evil look.
Enid said, “What’s the big deal? You know what sex is all about, right?”
“Yeah,” Ernie said, his face reddening. “But a man doesn’t want to discuss these things with his mother.”
“Your mom was mostly right – I think she was making up the part about – ”
Ernie held up his hand, “Puh-leaze! I’d rather be surprised – someday.”
From below, Cheryl said, “Ernie?”
They froze.
Ernie scrambled to the hole in the floor. “Yeah?”
“What’s going on up there? I hear talking.”
Ernie hesitated and said, “I’m practicing my lines for the school play.”
“Since when are you in theater?”
“It’s mandatory,” Ernie said. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Cheryl said, “I’m going to the store – I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Do you need anything?”
“Amnesia,” Ernie muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
They listened as she got in the car and drove off.
Ernie said, “Have you done it?”
“Done what?”
“What you were talking about.”
“Sex?” Enid shook her head. “No, but I’m thinkin’ about it.”
Ernie’s eyes widened. “With who?”
“Guy named Chip. He’s – I’m in love.”
“He love you?”
“Not yet.”
“What grade’s he in?”
“He’s not in a grade. He’s a man,” Enid said.
Ernie made a face. “Don’t text him pictures, he’ll end up in jail.”
“Gross.”
“So you haven’t done it?”
“Not it, but – stuff.”
“Like what?” Ernie said.
Enid thought about Joey Wysocki and his thing and how great it felt to slug him after he shoved her hand down his pants.
Did that count?
Enid shrugged, “You know, guys want to do stuff, they chase me – that kind of stuff, but I’m waiting for the right guy. Chip is it.”
“What kind of car does he drives?”
“Black Charger.”
“Wow. When you gonna do it?”
“He wants to, but – you know.”
Ernie sighed, “Yeah, I know. Amber Johnson told me that Mindy Lindd wants to go out with me, but – you know.”
“Yeah,” Enid said. “I know.”
Ernie contemplated this. “You still hungry?”
“Starving.”
Ernie led the way into the house, where they raided the pantry for Oreos, crackers, peanut butter, soda and a box of cereal.
“I stink,” Enid said, sniffing her armpit.
Ernie led her down the hall to his and Sharon’s shared bathroom. “Sprinkle when you tinkle – she’ll think it was me.”
“Where can I snag a T-shirt and – stuff?” Enid said, thinking about how you never think about how great it is to have clean underwear – until you don’t have any.
Ernie pointed to his mother’s room, “Pull from the back of her closet. She’ll never miss it.”
“She hangs up T-shirts?”
“She hangs up socks.”
Once in a hot shower, Enid felt like she was getting clean for the first time in a century. She had taken off the bandages, which was a mistake because the soap burned. She gingerly washed herself and removed most of the sticky residue left on her skin by the hospital monitors.
There was a knock on the door. Ernie said, “Hurry up.”
Enid stepped out of the shower, grabbed her clothes off the floor and wrapped a towel around her as she made her way to her Aunt’s bedroom. She found the closet and thumbed through a row of T-shirts and was startled to see that Ernie wasn’t kidding – her socks were neatly pinned on hangers.
Aunt Cheryl is a weirdo.
She chose a black T-shirt with a cracked decal of “Lou Reed Transformer.” She didn’t know who Lou Reed was, but thought she looked cool.
A car pulled up in the driveway.
She froze.
The front door opened and Sam’s voice boomed through the house, “Cheryl?”
Ernie stood in the bedroom door, eyes locked on Enid. His wide eyes moved down her towel-wrapped body. He put his finger up to his lips.
Enid pushed back into the closet until her back was against the wall and socks dangled in her face. She got behind the dresses, which hid her better.
“Cheryl?” Sam said, slamming kitchen cabinets.
“She went to the store,” Ernie from the hallway as he headed toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Ern,” Jack said.
Enid felt a rush of anger.
What’s he doing here?
“Hey, Uncle Jack,” Ernie said, his voice unnaturally loud so that Enid could hear him. “What – are – you – doing – here?”
“Nice – to – see – you – too – Ernie,” Jack said in an equally unnatural voice.
Sam said, “Did your mother go to the hospital?”
Enid strained to hear the reply but couldn’t.
“Was Enid there?” Sam said.
More mumbling.
Enid struggled to make out their conversation but it got more muffled. Another car pulled up and, in moments, Enid heard what sounded like Cheryl’s voice.
Enid moved the dresses aside and eyed the window, looking for a way to escape back to the treehouse.
Ernie popped up in front of the dresses, “You won’t believe what happened.”
Enid almost yelped in surprise. “Do they know I’m missing?”
Ernie said, “Uncle Jack – ”
Enid scowled, insulted that they weren’t talking about her being gone. “I don’t care about him. He’s not my father and I never want to hear his name again.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Once again… welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring.
–Bram Stoker, Dracula
On the drive to Sam’s house, Jack told him what had happened the night before – it was the least he could do after Sam had bailed him out of jail.
Once in the house, Sam had jerked his head in Ernie’s direction and shot Jack a warning look, so Jack had left off anything to do with Eve. What Ernie did hear was shocking enough without adding the truth of what really happened.
The night before, after his date with Eve had come to a screeching halt, Jack came home to a dark, empty house feeling dejected.
He headed up his driveway with a bag of groceries that he’d stopped to purchase.
Annie Cisco bounded out her front door, followed by her father, who sounded like he’d bagged some pints. It was ten o’clock – too early for Jack’s date to end, but too late for a kid like Annie to be going out.
Annie and her girlfriend clambered out the front door, her father’s voice bellowing behind them.
Annie spun around, high heels digging into the grass and her long legs overexposed in her mini. “Gawd, Dad! Don’t worry – we won’t smoke, drink – ”
Annie caught sight of Jack, flashed him a smile. She called to her Dad, “I’ll call if we’re late.”
“Don’t be late!” he said.
Annie and her girlfriend jumped into the Mustang with grins that boded trouble. Annie eyed Jack’s ruined suit, “Hey, Mister Fox, how was the prom?”
The Mustang pulled out onto the street to the sound of peals of laughter and squealing tires.
Jack watched as Nick stalked back into his house.
Another fun night po
lishing his shotgun collection.
Jack unlocked the front door, careful to keep an eye out for Harriett, the cat. He flipped the light switch, but it was dead. He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dark.
A noise.
Jack froze, looking intently into the shadows.
Harriett?
A woman’s voice said, “I hope you don’t mind – ”
Startled, Jack stepped back.
“I let myself in,” Eve said from the darkened corner.
Jack remained silent. In the moonlight, he could make out Eve sitting on his couch. He could just see the white of her neck, rising above the deep V of her dress.
He said, “You rig the light?”
“I’m not that talented.”
Harriett nosed open the kitchen door and Eve rubbed her fingers together, enticingly. Harriett bounded to Eve’s lap, where she purred under Eve’s caressing fingers.
Jack said, “I didn’t realize I was such an easy target.”
“I’m not accustomed to being turned down.”
Jack walked over, standing above her, staring down at her upturned face. Her eyes glinted like shards of glass on a welcome mat.
He bent down, knowing that she expected him to kiss her. He hovered and, with a swift movement, he scooped Harriett off her lap and into his arms.
He stepped away from Eve, caressing Harriett’s ears.
Eve’s eyes flashed and Jack felt a stab of satisfaction.
It felt good to hurt her.
Eve jumped up, pushed past him toward the door.
Jack dropped Harriett, who landed on the floor with a velvet thud. He grabbed Eve, pulled her close.
She was like a wild thing, pushing him away with vile curses as his lips came down on hers. She pulled away, slapped him.
He slapped her back.
Her mouth formed an “o” of shock.
“Play nice,” he said.
She stared at him, unsure. He liked that look on her.
She said, “Why’d you send me away?”
“I never will again.”
Eve pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him hungrily. Then she screamed and tore herself from him, cursing. She bent down. Blood trickled from her ankle.
Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) Page 21