by TA Moore
“What the fuck?” Kelly blurted out. He followed her into the kitchen and watched her shove his clothes into the washing machine. It had been hers originally, handed down when he moved in there. He just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. “You and Cole are…. Jesus, I don’t know. Not happy?”
She snorted and dropped the lid of the machine. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve been married twenty years. Of course we’re not happy all the time. Nobody is happy for twenty years unless they have a syndrome or good drugs.”
“Divorce unhappy, though?”
“No. Not really,” Aggie said dismissively. She turned to look at him and rolled her eyes. “Stop that. You look like you just learned Santa’s not real. Me and Cole don’t always agree. The last few weeks, we’ve just been… not always agreeing more than usual.”
Ah. Kelly shifted the probable source of discontent in his arms.
“I don’t mind the kid,” he said. “It’s not for long.”
“Maybe you should mind,” Aggie said sharply. “Maybe there’s a lot you should have minded. Byron…. Byron could shit in a tin, and your mother would call it pecan pie. Maybe you should all mind that.”
The words blurted out of her as though they were scared she’d bite her tongue before they could escape. She looked surprised once they were out, not like she regretted what she’d said, but like she hadn’t realized there was that much to say.
“Maybe we should,” Kelly said. “What good would it do, though? The shit’s still in the pan, and Byron’s not-quite-ex still killed herself, and Mom won’t cop to any of it. It’s easier to just… roll with it.”
It wasn’t the answer Aggie wanted, but they both knew it wasn’t one she could argue with either. Kelly might be the youngest of his mom’s kids, but that didn’t matter. It was Byron who was the spoiled baby of the family, the last-born planned. Kelly had been the result of a careless anniversary and a dearth of condoms.
“I don’t get it,” Aggie said bluntly. “Cole won’t even talk to me about it. He just says that I don’t understand, that you have to make allowances for Byron. Why? Because he’s a cop? You’re all cops. Because he’s undercover? He could quit.”
“What’s he want?” Kelly asked.
“That’s a question. Not an answer.”
“Neither was that.”
Aggie tilted her head back, her curls loose around her shoulders, and took a slow breath through her nose.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to bring it up. I thought I had it out of my system.”
“What is it?” Kelly pressed. He pulled a chair out from the kitchen table with his foot and sat down. It was stupid. Babies, particularly Maxie, weighed almost nothing, but the sack of sugar heft of them still made your elbows ache after a while. He sat Maxie up on the table, left one hand there to support his head, and pulled a face at him. “If it’s Maxie, the kid is fine with me. Anyhow, by the time you arranged cover at the morgue, he’d be crawling.”
That made Aggie snort. She scrubbed her hands over her eyes. “By the time I arranged cover, he’d be in preschool. No. Even Byron knows he’s on a losing streak there. He wants money.”
Maxie frogged his legs and waved his arms in the air. It could mean anything from “Feed me” to “I’m currently pooping.” Or maybe the kid just knew the combination of Byron and money was a bad one. They’d all learned that young.
“Why?” he asked.
Aggie snorted, crossed her arms, and tucked her fingers in under her elbows. “He knows better than to ask me,” she said. “And Cole won’t tell me. He wants to sell the house.”
Shit.
He waited for a moment, but nothing better came to mind. “Shit.”
“Yes,” Aggie said. She looked at Maxie with an odd tangle of affection and regret. She pushed herself off the counter and walked over to stroke her finger over the top of Maxie’s powder-fluff head. “I love that house. More than your brother.”
“You mean Byron?”
There was a pause, and then Aggie twitched a dark eyebrow up, enough to hint at a few lines in the smooth skin. “For now,” she said tiredly. “Ask me again if we sell my house.”
“Aggie—”
“I’m joking,” Aggie said quickly. “You know I love Cole. I put up with your family for him. It’s just… it’s just all of you. I should go, hon. I’m going to be late.”
She kissed Maxie on the head and ruffled Kelly’s hair.
“Bring that tall streak of pretty to the barbecue. I’m still a doctor. If anyone gets the vapors, I can cope with it.”
Kelly rolled his eyes and shifted Maxie up onto his shoulder. “It would give Clayton the vapors. He’s not the type.”
“Fine, but I’ll see you there anyhow,” Aggie said. She patted her pockets to check her keys were there as she headed out of the kitchen. “And if Byron bothers to show up, maybe I’ll finally get what you all see in him.”
Kelly patted Maxie’s back and hoped not.
THE SHOE had gone under one of the parked cars. A client’s, judging from the classy BMW lines of it. None of the investigators drove anything that eye-catching. It was all tidy, middle-aged Fords and dusty old pickups. In their line of work, you didn’t want people to take too much notice of your wheels. Kelly knelt on the tarmac and breathed in the smell of oil and damp as he groped under the chassis for the miniature Nike sneaker.
“I don’t even know why you need shoes,” he muttered. “You can’t even walk, Maxie, never mind dunk.”
“White boys don’t dunk, Kelly.”
Kelly turned his head and frowned at the very fancy, snakeskin stilettos posed by Maxie’s baby seat.
“I think that’s jump,” he said as he sat back.
Larry cocked a hip, crossed her arms, and raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. She was the only woman he knew who could make a wrap dress look sharp enough to take an eye out on.
“You can’t do that either,” she said. “Since you’re on vacation, I assume this is some new and exciting enrichment experience for Max?”
“It’s just a favor.” Kelly ducked back down to peer under the car. There it was. He stretched his arm in and grabbed the shoe. “I just need to hit the database, make some calls. I’ll be out of your hair before lunch.”
Larry plucked the shoe out of his hand and bent down to pick up Maxie. She hooked the baby carrier over her elbow as she clicked her way toward the elevator. Maxie, the little traitor, made an excited seagull noise and flapped his hands in her general, brightly colored direction.
“Vacation,” she tossed over her shoulder. “A fixed holiday period. A break from study, work, or day-to-day life. Not just starting a bit late.”
“A friend just asked me to run a background check for them.” Kelly scrambled to his feet, brushed the oily grit off his jeans, and followed her. “Nothing exciting.”
Larry glanced over her shoulder. “Same favor as last night? For Reynolds?”
“Sorta.”
Her smile was sour with sympathy. “Joe was out there this morning. She said the poor woman looked scared out of her wits. Logged them into her Netflix account for free.”
That was Larry for “I won’t ride your ass about invoices.” Kelly appreciated it. They were technically partners—Kelly and Jessop right on the letterhead—but… well, Kelly was a bit Hardy Boys and Larry was more Forensic Accounting, second edition.
Larry reached the elevator and jabbed the button. She turned around as the doors slid open and handed a reshod Maxie back.
“And the reason they wear tiny shoes, Kelly,” she said as she stepped back into the elevator, “is because they’re fucking adorable.”
“Jesus, Larry,” Kelly grumbled as they got into the narrow, black-glass-lined box. “Don’t swear in front of him. His first word is gonna be grandma, not ‘fuck it.’”
She smirked and adjusted the band of her watch on her wrist as they slid upward.
“You’re going to miss him,” she said, “once your
brother gets his shit together.”
Kelly leaned back against the cold wall. He could feel the growl of the motor against his shoulder blades.
“He eats, he poops, and he sleeps,” he said. “If I miss him that much, I can just ask one of my brothers to move in for a while.”
The thought slid through his head that it would be Cole if his oldest brother didn’t sort things out with his wife. It was a weird thought. Cole and Aggie had always seemed as rock solid as Mom and Dad to Kelly.
He missed the first part of what Larry said, but his ears dragged his brain back online for the last half of the sentence.
“…how easy you get used to things, Kelly.”
“I could get used to sleeping through the night,” Kelly cracked as the door opened.
Their office manager greeted Larry with an armful of files and a frown for Kelly.
“You’re supposed to be on vacation,” Randall chided. Then he produced a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it over. “Our doctor has already been out to see your client. That’s his cell number if you need to get in contact.”
“Thanks.” Kelly glanced at the number and then tucked it into his pocket. He hitched Maxie’s carrier up and held it out toward Randall. “I need to run a couple of searches. I don’t suppose you want to—”
Randall shied backward as though Kelly had just tried to hand him a burning sack of dog crap. He wagged a finger at Maxie.
“Not in my job description,” he said. “Babies are disgusting. They poop themselves right in front of you.”
He snatched the now-signed files from Larry, gave Maxie a look and a shudder, and stalked off back to his office. Kelly shrugged after him and turned to Larry with a hopeful lift of the baby.
“Larry?”
“Tempted,” Larry said as she chucked Maxie under his chin. “But if I go home smelling of baby again, the wife will kill me. Anything else, though. Just ask.”
She slapped him on the shoulder and strode off toward her office.
“We should have something for parents,” he called after her. “Like a baby coat check.”
“That’s day care,” Larry said as she reached her door. “And we have a generous leave policy instead.”
She closed the door with a firm click. Kelly looked down at Maxie, who shoved a chubby fist in his mouth and drooled. Kelly sighed.
“Right. Well, I’ll do the hard work,” Kelly said. “You fetch the coffee.”
Maxie yawned at him.
“I know, I know.” Kelly scratched the back of his neck and headed to his office. “You’re a baby. You can’t handle hot liquid. Well, you’re going to have to start pulling your weight sooner or later, kid.”
SOMEONE HAD been using Kelly’s desk when he was out. There was an empty coffee cup sitting on the glass surface and granola grit in his keyboard. He’d already shaken it out over the trash can, but he could still feel the stubborn crunch of it every time he hit the Space bar.
“How hard is it not to touch my stuff, Maxie?” he asked as he typed with one hand and jiggled a blue dog with crinkly ears at the baby with the other. “It doesn’t seem like it would be hard.”
Maxie made a noise that was halfway between a croak and a giggle and bounced in the carrier.
“Was that a laugh?” Kelly asked as he looked away from Jimmy Graham’s life story on the computer. He made the blue dog—might be a dragon now that he looked at it—bop around until Maxie creaked out his excited noise again and kicked his feet. It was definitely, Kelly decided, meant to be a laugh. He grinned and bopped Maxie gently on the nose with the dragondog. “Look at you. You happy to be at work, Maxie?”
Okay. Maybe Kelly would miss Maxie once Byron actually decided to deal with his new single fatherdom. For a wiry, monkey-looking infant, Maxie had grown on him.
“Just remember in the future that I’m your favorite uncle,” he said as Maxie managed to shove a handful of rustling blue velour ear into his mouth. “Don’t listen to what your dad says.”
Maxie stared at him with huge blue eyes and gummed contentedly at the noisy ear. Kelly left him to it and went back to strip mining Jimmy’s life. The first background check had laid the groundwork, but this was a deep delve.
Or it would be, but Jimmy Graham didn’t seem to have anything under the surface. Kelly scratched his jaw and reached for the coffee. The stink of stale cinnamon was all that saved him from a mouth full of someone else’s backwash. Kelly grimaced and leaned over to set the cup out of easy reach on the edge of the desk.
There was something off. Kelly sat back in the chair. It creaked as his weight shifted back in it. He had enough here for Clayton to get Jimmy’s assets frozen. That was all he’d been asked to do.
He glanced at Maxie, who was still happy as he drooled all over his toy. He tried to imagine Maxie in a barren, sweaty little safe house—scared, worried about his mom, not quite ready to trust anyone. It made Kelly’s stomach knot with a musty new fear that didn’t care that it wasn’t really an issue.
“It can’t hurt to turn over a few more rocks,” he said as he tweaked Maxie’s again-naked toes. “Once I’ve sent this over to Clayton. Just to see what comes scuttling out. Well, I’ll see. You get to stay with Mrs. Ryder and her kitties. No stakeouts till you’re older.”
Chapter Eight
YOU COULD shuffle the houses on Nadine’s block like checkers and no one would be the wiser. They were nice houses—low and wide with long stretches of window—but they were all the same neat, bluntly geometric houses on the same neat squares of land. Some of them were painted one color, but one of them had replaced the lawn with a rectangle of small white stones and large gray paving slabs. That was just cosmetic. Underneath, the bones were all the same.
It had taken Kelly two days and an hour longer than it should have—a traffic jam on the I-405 caused by, as far as Kelly could tell once he got that far, a Spongebob hairbrush some kid had tossed on the road—before he could get a chance to poke deeper into Jimmy’s life. Two days and four stiffly professional emails with Clayton, Kelly’s ever helpful brain reminded him.
He ignored it as he walked up to Nadine’s house. Someone had filled the garden with roses. Kelly assumed it was Nadine. Jimmy didn’t seem the type. They had wilted over the last few days. Their fat pink heads sagged on thorny stems, and the grass was covered with shed petals. The smell of decomposing flowers hung sweet and heavy in the air, like perfume gone sour.
Kelly ignored the No Trespassing sign mounted on the chain-link fence and let himself in. In his street, the curtains would have twitched three houses in either direction. Here there was nothing.
Nadine said that Jimmy would probably be away for work this week, but Kelly knocked on the front door and waited anyhow. There was nothing as embarrassing as being caught. He glanced around at the empty street, tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and walked around the side of the house.
A tantrum had hit the backyard.
A large wooden sheet was hammered over one side of the patio doors, and a kitchen chair lay on the grass. Bits of broken glass lay glitter bright on the lawn. An old swing—older than Harry from the look of it—had been kicked out of its concrete block foundations. It leaned drunkenly against the high back fence. The broken seat dangled sadly from the long chains.
Kelly toed over a large bit of glass and grimaced. It looked like Jimmy had noticed his wife had left him.
He picked his way through the debris to the back door and peered inside. There was a dent in the white wall and an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor that might have caused it. A broken closet door leaned on barely moored hinges.
Something about the scene plucked at the back of Kelly’s brain. It wasn’t the destruction. It was the way it just petered out. Kelly had turned up at houses to serve soon-to-be exes and found the sort of destruction that only resentment and almost unhinged preservation could commit—everything in the house ripped out and smoldering on the lawn, crap from every dog in the nei
ghborhood smeared on their spouse’s clothes. When people lost it, it usually took exhaustion to set in before they found it again.
This was a mess, but it was a halfhearted mess. Either someone had interrupted the spree or Jimmy had just realized it wasn’t going to get him anywhere and gave up. When they were kids, Kelly remembered Byron doing that. He’d gone to six therapists to help him deal with his temper, but the only thing that ever really stopped him midrage was the realization that it wasn’t going to work this time.
Of course, Jimmy wasn’t a spoiled ten-year-old. Kelly took a quick series of pictures of the mess with his phone and headed back out to the street.
No one was in the house on either side. Two doors down, a tall, tired-looking woman in crumpled nurse’s scrubs opened the door and squinted through the security-chained gap. She listened patiently until he mentioned Jimmy’s name. Then her face closed like a trap.
“I don’t know them,” she clipped out. “We don’t talk. We have no business.”
“You didn’t see anyone come to the house last night?” Kelly asked. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flicked it on. The glower of some of Jimmy’s known associates was already pulled up to view. “Maybe one of these men?”
The nurse thinned her lips in irritation. Her eyes didn’t even flicker down to the phone screen.
“I work. I come home. I sleep.” She drew back into her house and added through the nearly closed door, “I mind my own business.”
The door clicked shut. It wasn’t slammed, but it managed to convey the same finality.
Kelly tried five other houses. Only two doors opened, and neither of the residents had seen anything.
“I just rent,” a sleepy-eyed blond man—pretty enough to make Kelly have to kick his brain back on track—shrugged helplessly. “I don’t want to get involved.”
The last door was the most promising. The middle-aged woman who answered the door, her hair up in a towel and the smell of bleach on her cuffs, snorted.