The lawyer told Vikki her ex-husband Eric was in jail. He had been involved in an altercation outside a bar and allegedly assaulted a police officer.
“And what do you want me to do about it, Mr. … Mr.?”
“Kent, ma’am. Steven Kent. Eric needs someone to post his bail.”
Vikki couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’ve got to be kidding! You tell that cheating son-of-a-bitch I hope he rots in jail!” She slammed the phone down and took a few deep breaths. She had to cool down before returning to the meeting. No way I’d ever help him. He can get that trollop Chrissie Andrews to bail him out.
Steven Kent’s next call was to Towercrest Realty.
* * *
Lorne opened his briefcase and took out the papers he’d been served earlier that afternoon. He placed them on the bar and threw back another shot of whiskey. He unfolded the legal document. The first page said it all. “Paternity suit,” he groaned. “I still can’t believe it—a stinking paternity suit. With no job and creditors all over me, that’s about all I need right now.”
The suit had been filed on behalf of Joyce Myers, a former client of the SOE. Lorne had been assigned her case and was immediately enthralled by her. She was a ravishing willowy blond. He wasted no time in asking her out. They dated for some time, but she ended it when she learned he was also dating several other women.
When Joyce confronted Lorne about his womanizing, he became angry and threatened her. She contacted the SOE and lodged a complaint. She was so shaken by the whole incident; she moved away and tried to put Lorne out of her mind. A short time later, Joyce discovered she was pregnant with his child. When she contacted the SOE once again, Charles Talbot suggested she pursue a paternity suit.
Lorne didn’t notice the police car parked at the convenience store next door. He staggered from the bar to his car. After several clumsy attempts, he managed to insert the key into the driver’s door lock. As he swung the car door open, he lost his balance and fell into the driver’s seat.
He drove over a curb on his way out of the parking lot. Swerving down the street, he heard a siren and saw the flashing lights of the police car behind him. Too drunk to realize the police were pursuing him, Lorne rolled down his window and signaled them to go around. He was driving ten miles per hour on the wrong side of the road. He didn’t stop until the police finally forced his car off the road into a hedge.
At the station house, two separate Breathalyzer tests were conducted. Lorne blew .26 both times.
Rock bottom wasn’t far away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Felons
When Charles Talbot called that morning, Melinda Davis was pricing a new order of exquisite lingerie from her European supplier. Top of the line satin and lace undergarments were Melinda’s stock-in-trade. She sold elegance to an elite and discerning clientele. She was one of her own best customers. Melinda answered the phone, and Charles went right to the point.
“You may be in imminent danger, Melinda. We served Lorne today with a summons to appear in court. He’ll know you instigated the arrears action against him.”
Melinda thanked Charles for the call. His warning shook her. She had known Charles since he became head honcho at the SOE. She knew how he operated; he was all business. If he thought this was serious, it was very serious. Melinda opened the small safe in her office at the back of the store. She took out her gun, holster and ammunition. She and Lorne took small arms training after they purchased their handguns. He had insisted the guns were necessary for their family’s protection. Lorne told her at the time: “Some of the deadbeats I’ve dealt with would like nothing better than to harm us.”
Melinda stuffed the revolver into her purse. I’ll take it home with me. Won’t do me much good here if— The thought of a confrontation with Lorne made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Melinda hated guns and never wanted to own one. Now, however, she was glad she had it. It gave her a sense of security. She wondered if she would actually have the guts to shoot another person. She hoped she would never have to find out.
* * *
The last thing Chrissie wanted to do was bail Eric Millard out of jail. His lawyer offered a sympathetic appeal on his behalf, indicating she was his last resort. Eric was nice to me, she thought, as she turned into visitor’s parking at the police station, and we did have some fun times together. Chrissie found a tight parking spot and deftly maneuvered into it. Good thing I only had one drink at lunchtime. Wouldn’t that be something? Picked up for a D.U.I. in the police parking lot?
As she came around the corner of the station house, a familiar figure came down the front steps and turned to walk away. She tried to get his attention. “Lorne. Hey, Lorne.”
When he spotted Chrissie, a strange look spread over Lorne’s face. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Haven’t seen you for awhile. Just visiting?” He was uncharacteristically unshaven and his suit was wrinkled.
“Very funny. Actually, I’m here on a police matter.” Lorne felt he was brilliant, coming up with the perfect answer so quickly. And after all, it was the truth. He just purposely omitted the fact he had been charged with impaired driving and spent the night in the drunk tank. “I should ask you what the hell you’re doing here. Cops catch you in one of your shady real estate deals?”
“No. Actually, I’m here on a police matter as well. I have to bail someone out.”
“Anyone I know? Like your ex?”
“Yeah, like I’d bail him out. No, actually it’s Eric Millard. Apparently, he assaulted a police officer.”
“The police frown on that sort of thing,” Lorne said. “Not surprised about Millard though. Heard he’s having a tough time.”
Yeah, well apparently he’s not the only one, she thought. Chrissie decided not to bait him with the gossip she’d heard about his excessive drinking and the sexual escapades that lead to his firing. She figured Lorne would either be embarrassed or deny it. Either way, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. Besides, it wasn’t any of her business, and she had business of her own to take care of. “Yes,” Chrissie said. “Things aren’t going well for Eric right now. Speaking of which, I’d better go.”
Lorne knew he was getting the bum’s rush. He didn’t want her to think he cared. He looked at his watch. “Oh, man—I gotta go too. Great to see you. I’ll give you a call.”
Chrissie hoped he wouldn’t. She had an uneasy feeling about Lorne. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but her intuition was never wrong. He was obviously under a great deal of pressure and needed help. But she didn’t need another hassle in her life. No—Eric would be the last lame duck she’d help. Lorne would have to find his own nursemaid.
Eric was quiet as Chrissie drove him home. Uncomfortable, she finally asked how he was doing.
“I’m okay. And thanks for bailing me out. I didn’t hit that cop. You gotta believe me. He lied about the whole thing.”
“Don’t care about that,” Chrissie said. “You’d better get a good lawyer. You don’t want to spend any more time in jail.”
“Wasn’t so bad in the slammer.” Eric was watching the shoreline condos and apartments whiz by. “Met some guys who have ways of getting things things I want things I need.”
The tone of Eric’s voice intrigued her. The way he said “things” sounded so sinister it tweaked her curiosity. She had to ask. “What kind of things?”
“Drugs … phony ID … guns.” Eric continued to stare blankly out the window. “Anything I want. Anything at all.”
Chrissie didn’t want to hear any more. She never wanted to see this guy again. He was deranged. He wasn’t the same Eric she met a few short years ago. He was this new Eric: angry, psychotic and downright scary. Lorne seemed to be heading down the same path. She decided to keep her di
stance from both these losers. Millard and Davis, she thought, boy, can I pick ‘em.
* * *
Heading home from work Saturday evening, Melinda Davis recalled the recent warning from Charles Talbot. He hadn’t pulled any punches. “Lorne’s in a lot of trouble, Melinda. And I’m not just talking about his legal and financial difficulties. It’s his mental state. It’s not good. He could be heading for a breakdown.”
Although Melinda had neither seen nor heard from Lorne for a while, she was wary nonetheless. She had witnessed Lorne’s temper and would never forget the first time he hit her. He apologized immediately, but Melinda was afraid the violence he exhibited that day would escalate.
Lorne’s problems were piling up: unemployed, unable to find work, facing a paternity suit, a D.U.I. charge and now because of her, the SOE was taking him to court. She knew how Lorne handled problems. He’ll let his troubles fester, she thought, as she turned into Botsford Downs, until he finally explodes into violence. I’ve felt the sting of his fists before. I do not want to be around when it happens again.
Melinda drove past some kids playing soccer while their parents cheered them on from the sidelines. The family scene tugged at her heartstrings. She missed Kimberly and David. They were spending the weekend with her parents. They loved their grandma and grandpa. She would bring them home tomorrow night, after they all had Sunday dinner together.
Preoccupied, she didn’t notice Lorne’s car when she drove past. It was parked on the street about half a block from their cul-de-sac. She arrived at home and parked, as usual, in the driveway. He was waiting for her around the side of the garage. Lorne was drunk, and it got ugly quickly. He jumped Melinda from behind as she opened the front door. Startled by the suddenness of the attack, she had no chance to react. She had no idea who her attacker was. She did know he was strong, stank of booze and had her in a bear hug. She struggled to get free. She had to get to the gun hidden upstairs in her bedroom.
Melinda’s survival instinct kicked in. She remembered some self-defense techniques she learned in a rape prevention course she took in college. The local police were providing the classes for female students. Her roommate Brenda convinced her to enroll. “It’s a good idea,” Brenda told her at the time. “Hey, you may never need it, but if you do—you’ll be glad.”
Melinda threw her head back with all her might into her assailant’s nose, and his grip weakened. She broke free and flew through the door. She tried to slam it closed, but he jammed his foot in the way and forced it open. She saw his face. “Lorne!” she screamed. “No! Lorne! No!” Lorne took a wild drunken swing at her. Melinda jerked her head back, and his fist found nothing but drywall. “Lorne! Stop! Don’t do this!”
“You bitch!” he snarled. He lunged at her and grabbed her by the throat. “Turn me in to the SOE, huh? I outa kill ya!” As Lorne drew his fist back to hit her again, she kneed him hard in the groin and sprinted upstairs, two steps at a time. Seeking refuge in the master bedroom, Melinda locked the door.
The master bedroom was a safe room. An SOE security consultant had recommended it. The solid oak door had a steel frame and a heavy-duty deadbolt. The room was impregnable without a key. When Lorne moved out, the red wall telephone with a direct line to the police station had been disconnected and removed.
Melinda picked up the receiver of her bedside telephone. She couldn’t hear a dial tone. “Damn! He cut the phone line!”
Melinda ran to her walk-in closet. She reached up to the top shelf and grabbed the shoebox containing her handgun and ammunition. Frantically, she dumped the contents onto the bed. She took the revolver out of the holster and grabbed some rounds. Her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn’t guide the bullets into the cylinder. She heard Lorne try the bedroom door. Then, a key turned the dead bolt. Oh, my God! He still has a key! I didn’t change the lock! C’mon, c’mon, hurry, get those bullets in!
Lorne burst in. Wheeling around, Melinda aimed the gun at Lorne, stopping him in his tracks. “Gonna shoot me, sweetheart? You can’t shoot me! You haven’t got the balls to shoot me. You don’t have the balls to shoot anybody!”
“Take one step, you bastard, and I swear—I’ll blow yours off! Not one step! I mean it!” She was trembling uncontrollably and couldn’t stop the gun from shaking.
Lorne laughed at her. “Look at you shake. You’re too gutless to shoot me.” He started towards her, and she fired. The bullet tore into his left shoulder, the impact twisting him back against the wall beside the door. Her second shot hit the wall just above his head as he turned and fled.
Afraid to breathe, Melinda waited until she was sure he was gone. Her ears were ringing. Smoke from the two rounds hung in the air. The smell reminded her of the firing range at the gun club. Holding her gun in a two handed grip, she went cautiously out into the hallway. She was ready to fire. Lorne was nowhere in sight. She moved slowly down the stairs. The front door was wide open. She quickly and methodically checked the rest of the house. He was definitely gone. She locked the front door.
Traumatized, Melinda’s first thought was to report this to the police. Then, she wasn’t sure. She had to calm down and think this through. She was certain Lorne would not lay a charge against her. He had enough problems already. She decided she didn’t need to involve the police. She would handle this herself.
Melinda felt better. It was the right decision. She was a strong person. After all, she had just fired two shots at her ex-husband, with every intention to kill. Next time, she would. “Next time,” Melinda said. “Yeah, what about next time? You know he’ll be back. With a gun.”
The thought of Lorne coming back sent a wave of panic through her. She decided her only choice was to go into hiding. In a hurry to get away, she hastily packed clothes for herself and the kids. We can spend the night with my folks. Then, we’re outa here. She was lucky to be alive. But she knew Lorne. He would return to finish the job. A restraining order would be worse than useless. No—the only answer was to disappear.
And pray he would never find them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Pursuits
Chrissie arrived at Andrews Office Supply in full rant. She was already shouting at Craig when she burst through the door.
“Whoa! Whoa! Settle down!” Craig yelled. “I can’t understand you!”
Chrissie jabbered on for a few seconds before she realized he had spoken. “What did you say? What did you call me?”
“I didn’t call you anything. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Julie! How dare you tell her to arrange an intervention! It was so embarrassing. All those people from work ready to ambush me. My life is none of your business and certainly none of theirs! Why did you instigate that stupid intervention?”
“I didn’t,” Craig said. “Julie approached me.”
“I don’t believe it! She’s my friend. No way she would ever go to you, unless she wanted to … to—” Chrissie was about to accuse Julie of wanting to sleep with her ex-husband. She stopped short. She would not admit to Craig her best friend found him attractive. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Craig tried to corner her. “Wanted to what?”
“Never mind what! She would never go to you. You probably called her to stir up a bunch of crap about me!”
“I didn’t call her. She showed up here and wanted to talk. Listen, Julie cares about you. All those people do. They were trying to help you.” Craig was thinking this was classic Chrissie. No one could tell her anything.
“Well, they can just mind their own business—and so can you!”
“I don’t give a rat’s patoot about you or your stinkin’ business! But I do care about Robbie and Heather! You can’t drink like you do and then drive them—”
“Shut up!” Chrissie screeched. “Don’t you dare say I would put my children
in danger! And just for your information, if you think your little Miss Millard is going to play mommy with them—well, you’ve got another think coming, mister. I’m their mother and no one else! You hear me? I’ll take you back to court. You’ll never see your kids!”
The threat caught him off guard. Craig knew Chrissie was capable of malicious behavior, but he had underestimated her venom. “I’d never let that happen! You’ll be sorry if you try!”
“You threatening me? You stay away from me, and keep your little whore away from my kids!”
That was the last straw for Craig. “Get outa here! Just get the f**** outa here!”
Chrissie saw the fury in his eyes. She’d gone too far. She turned and stormed out to her car. She had said all she needed to say. She was satisfied. In her mind, she had won another round.
Shaking with anger, Craig tried to piece together what had just happened. He noticed Chrissie’s car was still parked out front. She was sobbing, slumped over the steering wheel. Moments later, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She rammed her car into gear and with tires squealing, fishtailed away down the street. She’s finally snapped, he thought.
As Craig stood at the window, it dawned on him why she was so angry. It made sense. This was not about Julie, the intervention, or even Vikki. This was about him remarrying. It went against her domineering nature. Somewhere in Chrissie’s confused twisted mind, she believed she could have him back whenever she wanted. If he married someone else, she would lose him forever.
As far as Craig was concerned, it had already happened. She lost him a long time ago. The bridge back to Chrissie was burned beyond repair. He would never go back—never be drawn into her web again. Nothing would change his mind. He was going to marry Vikki. She was one of the best things to ever happen to him, and he loved her with all his heart. Robbie and Heather loved her—and she loved them. Chrissie will rue the day she tries to stop me from seeing my kids, Craig thought. She’ll wish she hadn’t. His children would always be part of his life. No negotiation.
Weeds in The Garden of Love Page 19