Love 'Em or Leave 'Em Dead

  “Ex-wife.”

  “No . . . wife. She hasn’t sent in the divorce papers.”

  Stunned, I was at a loss for a snappy comeback.

  He smiled. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

  “Why don’t you invite me in so your neighbors don’t have to hear what I have to say?”

  “Oh, I want them to hear your threats.” He pulled out his phone and tapped on it and pointed it at me.

  “No threats, Vince. But I am going to tell you she doesn’t want to hear from you or see your face again.”

  “That’s what she tells you, Deputy Cal.” He smirked.

  The only other person who called me Deputy Cal was Zach Whitman, and I didn’t like him, either. I made a fist. He slammed the door in my face before I could break his nose with it.

  16

  AS I RODE DOWN in the elevator, I ruminated why Dallas never sent the divorce paperwork in. What the hell? I got all the way to the front door, and decided the jerk was lying. I took the elevator back up, knocked on Vince’s door. He opened it with a cell phone in his hand. He handed it to me.

  “Cal?”

  “Dallas?”

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Talking to Vince.”

  “This is not your business. Leave now. We’ll talk when you get home.”

  I glared at Vince and handed him back the phone. “If you ever lay a hand on her again, I will come for you.”

  “You and whose army?”

  “What are you? In fifth grade?”

  It was his smirk that did it. Like a kid in a school yard, I picked him up under the armpits and held him inches off the floor and up against the wall. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes signaled fear.

  “No, just me.” I dropped him and backed out of the door.

  I WAITED TO CALL DALLAS until I was back in my room. I paced back and forth because I was too agitated to sit.

  “Is it true?” I asked in response to her “hello.”

  “Is what true?”

  “That you never signed the divorce papers?”

  I could hear her sigh. “Our attorneys are still working on the settlement, so no.”

  “I thought you were legally divorced. Your mom thinks you are.”

  “You assumed I was, and I don’t tell Mom everything.”

  “Or me, obviously.”

  “Because she thinks I should just let him have everything. He only wants me back so he doesn’t have to pay me the two hundred thousand for my share of condo.”

  “Tell me something. Did Vince call you tonight, or did you call him?”

  “He called to tell me you showed up at his door, which upsets me greatly.”

  “I can imagine. Your lies are now exposed.”

  Another audible sigh. “I didn’t lie.”

  “I gotta go,” I said.

  I watched the phone for five minutes. She didn’t call back. It was strange how being hurt could deliver such intense physical reactions. I ached from my stomach to my throat. Why wouldn’t she tell me she was waiting for money? Because she knew I would say the same thing Clara did. She left him over a year ago. How long did these settlements go on?

  I SAT ON MY BED LISTENING to the sounds of the television coming from next door. I got up, paced a few times, then decided to text Dallas: “So let a judge decide.”

  Nothing back. She’s mad at me? I didn’t have time for this. I turned on my own television for company, then opened Sonya’s social calendar. It wasn’t giving me much. She wasn’t as busy as I’d presumed a person of her position would be. She attended very few social events and only went on one business trip to New York in November to do an interview on The View.

  Dallas kept creeping into my thoughts, so I shut off the TV and pulled out my portable CD player and put in earbuds. Maybe the sound going directly to my ears would be less distracting. I selected the disc labeled “June.” Sonya was letting the first caller have it for talking over her. She called her a horrible listener. She was right. The woman wouldn’t shut up.

  I had a bit of luck when the third caller was named “Susan,” the alias Cyrus Fischer said his wife used. The guest host on that particular broadcast was Edward King, a divorce attorney. Sonya spoke for a few minutes, giving three justifications for divorce: addiction, abuse, and serial betrayal. King concurred and repeated what Sonya said, adding, “One affair should not have to result in a divorce.” What would Sonya have said to Dallas? Her marriage had two out of the three criteria. Shannon and I had zero. What about marrying the wrong person?

  Lilly, a.k.a. Susan, explained she’d known Cyrus for seven months before they married. He’d swept her off her feet, giving her flowers, taking her out for dinners, and opening doors. He called her several times a day to say he was thinking of her. She’d never been treated so well. I couldn’t imagine that piece of shit appealing to anyone—ever.

  “Let me guess,” Sonya said. “After the wedding, things changed.”

  “Well, it was more like six months.”

  “Then he stopped with the flowers, dinners, or opening doors?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you tried to keep the romance going?”

  “Yes, but I eventually gave up.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “And your husband?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  King jumped in, asking, “How long have you been married?”

  “It’ll be three years next month.”

  “First marriage for both of you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “No.”

  Sonya took the reins again. “Tell me his redeeming qualities and what he contributes to the relationship.”

  “Nothing, anymore. He’s obnoxious. He does nothing around the apartment but mess it. He eats in front of the television and gets food stains on the carpet. All he watches is sports and fishing shows.”

  “Have you tried talking to him about your issues?”

  “All the time. He’s not interested in changing.”

  “Sounds like you married the wrong man. Are you attracted to him sexually?” “Not anymore. He was a little chubby when we met, but he’s put on fifty pounds since.”

  “And you?”

  “I take pride in how I look. I may be ten pounds overweight, but that’s it.” “We’re all ten pounds overweight, honey,” Sonya said. “So what made you call today? Did something happen?”

  “He hit me.”

  “He hit you?”

  “Yes, last night.” Lilly started to cry.

  King spoke again. “You should report this to the police immediately and get a restraining order, then get out. Go to your mom’s or a shelter.”

  Sonya said, “Edward’s right. But if she wants the house, she can’t vacate it. File the restraining order, change the locks, pack up all his personal belongings. Text him that it’s over and set his things on the step. Just get out of that situation for the immediate time until things are handled legally.”

  “Okay, I will.” Sniffing.

  “Okay, darling, we’re giving you a leave ’em! Throw the bum out!” Sonya laughed. “Thank you for the call, and take care.”

  After she’d disconnected with Lilly, Sonya said to King, “Why do women think they know a man well enough to marry in seven months? Wait three years, minimum, people! I think there should be a law that no one can marry before age thirty. Jordan, who’s our next caller?”

  Martha Gill texted me saying Fischer had purchased a Ruger LCRX 38.

  “Hot diggity!” I texted back.

  Martha: “We took his computer and phone into evidence. Place was disgusting. Surprised he let us in.”

  Me: “Why would he?”

  Martha: “He wants the credit.”

  Me: “Any sage-green towels?”

  Martha: “No.”

  Me: “Keep me informed.’

  Mart
ha: “C U 2morrow?”

  Me: “Yes.”

  Martha sent me a smiley face emoji, and I replied with a thumbs-up.

  The ballistics tests would confirm whether the gun used in the drive-by shootings was Fischer’s thirty-eight caliber. MPD had motive and opportunity, but it didn’t exactly help me, and Russell Bennett may have also had motive to kill his ex-wife and her mother.

  The amount of information available on the Internet is astounding. Bennett was born in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, and now lived in Salem, Oregon. No criminal record. He obtained a bachelor’s degree from the University of Minnesota in business. He went on to obtain a master’s degree in finance and was employed by Norwest Banks in Minneapolis from 1994 to 2006. Justine and Russell were married in 1993, and Zabrina was born in 1995. The couple divorced in 2006.

  Divorce. Was Dallas hanging on just for the money? I understood two hundred thousand dollars was a lot to give up, but it was a matter of principle rather than her needing it to live.

  17

  Friday, December 19

  AFTER I CHECKED OUT Friday morning, I made my way to the parking lot where Tamika was waiting, sipping coffee from a hotel paper cup, her luggage by her side. I planned to tread lightly. Maybe she was doing too much too soon after surgery, and I was taking my frustration out on her.

  “Good morning,” I said as I loaded the vehicle.

  “Morning.”

  “You feeling okay? Not too tired.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  I said, “I’m not being sarcastic. Maybe you should be part time for a while.”

  We got in the vehicle. Tamika said, “I am more tired than I thought I’d be. I’m sorry I crapped out on you last night—actually, I’m sorry for a lot of things, like I shouldn’t have invited Adriana without asking you.”

  “No harm done.”

  “I was thinking last night.”

  “Now that’s dangerous.”

  “Maybe you should run for sheriff. You’re a hero in Birch County.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I’m serious. You’d be great.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Did you get to the calendar?”

  “Yeah, not much there. I listened to a few discs—the one of Fischer’s wife. He was accurate in his account of the call his wife made. Oh, but the big news is Martha said they found a thirty-eight in his bedside table.”

  “Holy crap,” she said. “Do you think he killed Sonya, too?”

  “I’m not even convinced he shot Justine and Zabrina. If he was the drive-by shooter, why would he hang onto the murder weapon?”

  “Maybe he’s one of those sick puppies who wants credit.”

  “That’s what Martha said. I did some checking on Zabrina’s father, Russell Bennett. I hope to speak with him before I drive home today.”

  “You miss your babies?”

  “Of course. And Dallas.”

  “Hey, how is she?”

  “Why?”

  She cocked her head and knitted her brows. There could have been an edge to my voice.

  “Just asking. Why so defensive?”

  “Because you rarely ask about her.”

  “Really? Well, I think you two are good together.”

  “That’s why you tried to get Adriana and me back together.”

  “Yeah, but she’s dating someone else now.”

  “Good.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask who it is?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hunter Hughes,” Tamika said. “He’s a famous underwear model. You’d probably recognize him from magazine ads.”

  I screwed up my nose.

  “He’s hot.”

  “Won’t last.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause he’s probably as pretty as she is.”

  “You’re a pretty boy . . . in a rugged sort of way. You could make a heck of a lot more money doing underwear ads.”

  I screwed up my nose and turned up the volume on the radio.

  THE AROMA OF HOMEMADE bread greeted us when we walked into the door of the Logan house. Patrice immediately put her coat on over her gray pantsuit. “Sarah is making your breakfast, now I have to run,” she said.

  When the door closed behind Patrice, Sarah appeared. She was wearing black slacks and a shirt with a white professional chef’s apron.

  “I’m making omelets. Any special requests?”

  “Thanks, but I’m not staying,” I said. “I need to be on my way.”

  “Please, let me earn my keep for the time I have left.”

  “Were you given notice?” I asked.

  “Patrice is closing up the house within two weeks, which means I’m out of a job now, doesn’t it?”

  “You should be able to find work,” Tamika said.

  “Yes, but this was the ideal situation for me. I made a great salary and had all holidays and many weekends off, especially in the summer.”

  “You’ll find something,” I said.

  There were many victims in murder cases, and in this one you could include all Sonya’s employees.

  “So what kind of omelets would you two like?” she said.

  “Surprise me,” I said.

  “I’m not a fussy eater, as you can tell by my petite figure,” Tamika said.

  I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and was surprised to see Grady making his way down.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Did Patrice let you stay overnight?” Tamika asked.

  “Zabrina didn’t want to be alone.”

  “And Patrice was okay with that?” Tamika asked.

  “Shh!” he said, holding a finger to his lips. “She didn’t know. Zabrina begged me to stay until she fell asleep . . . then so did I.”

  “How long did the girls stay?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Clinton kicked them out after an hour.”

  “I’m making omelets, Grady,” Sarah said.

  “Thanks, but I gotta run. I have a final.”

  WITHIN FIFTEEN MINUTES, Sarah was serving us crab omelets with toasted homemade bread and strawberry jam. The table was set with multicolor striped ceramic plates and coffee mugs.

  Sarah came back with a coffee carafe and filled the cups.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked, sitting at the third place I assumed was for Zabrina.

  “Please do,” I said.

  “Where are Erica and John this morning?” Tamika asked.

  “They took the day off to meet with their agency about new employment.”

  “Does Erica serve breakfast and lunches?” she asked.

  “No, everyone eats at different times, so I serve. Then Erica is free to do the cleaning uninterrupted.”

  “Seems like Sonya ran a pretty formal household,” I said.

  “In this bracket, it’s expected.”

  “I suppose.”

  The doorbell rang and Sarah got up to answer. Tamika and I followed, lest some undesirable was on the other side.

  A slight man in a long, black wool coat stood on the stoop. His dark hair and beard were neatly trimmed. His eyes went to my hand resting on my firearm.

  “Can I help you?” Sarah asked.

  “I’m Russell Bennett, Zabrina’s dad. She’s expecting me.”

  Sarah’s shoulders noticeably lowered an inch.

  “Oh, sure,” Sarah said. “Come in.” After the door closed behind him, she added, “She’s still sleeping, and I think we should let her get as much rest as possible.”

  “I agree,” he said.

  “Did you fly in this morning?” I asked.

  “My flight arrived at eight o’clock last night, but I thought it was too late to drop by. I went directly to my sister’s in Blaine.”

  “Have you had breakfast, Mr. Bennett?” Sarah said.

  “Yes, and call me Russell.”

  “Would you then join us in the dining room for a cup of coffee or tea while we finish ours?”

  “Oh, sorry to have interrupted yo
ur meal.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  We all followed Sarah back into the dining room. She said, “Coffee or hot tea, Mr. Bennett?”

  “Coffee would be wonderful.”

  As I took my place at the table, Tamika followed Sarah into the kitchen. I could hear her say, “From now on, Sarah, let me answer the door. That’s my job today.”

  Dish noises drowned out Sarah’s response.

  “And who are you?” Bennett asked.

  I explained, then Tamika returned, followed by Sarah with another mug of coffee, which she set before Bennett.

  “When did you first know about the deaths?” I asked.

  “Zee called me last Saturday morning to tell me about Sonya, then again the night she was shot. Poor thing was so distraught I caught an earlier flight. Is she correct in that her grandmother drowned?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Do you know who’s responsible?”

  “We’re still investigating.”

  “I know Zee’s suffering emotionally, but how is she doing physically?”

  Sarah said, “She was lucky. The bullet passed through her upper arm, missing the artery and bone. She’s wearing a sling and taking antibiotics and pain meds that make her sleepy. But you’re right—emotionally, this is super tough on her.”

  Bennett nodded, his face displaying concern. “I can imagine.”

  “How often do you see Zabrina?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, not as much as I’d like. With the bed and breakfast, I can’t get away very often. This is only the third trip back since I moved to Oregon.”

  “Are you the owner?” I asked

  “Simon and I run it together. He’s my business partner and husband. When Justine and I split up, I came out. Justine didn’t want me to tell Zee, so I haven’t. But I think it’s time.”

  “Maybe you should wait until after the funeral,” Sarah said. I found it odd for her to voice an opinion on the matter.

  “When’s that?” he asked.

  “Patrice is arranging it today,” Sarah said.

  Zabrina entered the room, with bed hair, in the same outfit she wore yesterday. “Daddy,” she moaned.

  Bennett rose to hug his daughter gingerly. When she began to whimper, he said, “Let’s go upstairs.” He took her right hand, and they walked out of sight.