My hair hadn’t calmed down any and, since I’d fallen asleep with it wet, was an even wilder, tangled mess. I tried to put it in a pony tail, but Alejandro had done some sort of crazy, choppy layering and most of my hair was too short to tuck into the rubber band. I grabbed one of John’s Cincinnati Bengal’s hats out of the hall closet and shuffled across the street.
Harry was on his porch in an aluminum lawn chair, drinking a beer. “Good Lord! Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. They’re only hives. I took antihistamine so the itching has mostly stopped, but the welts will probably take a day or two to clear up”.
“Are you sure? I mean, they look painful. Those are some seriously ugly welts all over you.”
“They don’t really hurt, just itch. I’ve had them before. I’ll be fine. My hair, on the other hand, well….”
I pulled off the hat and modeled my new ‘do. “I had some sort of reaction to the color. I’m probably going to have to go get most of what’s left chopped off and the color fixed. Of course, my scalp is all blistered up, so I’ll have to wait, I think. But enough about me. How was your game?”
“It sucked. I sucked. I, I, I’m done.” He began to sob.
I wasn’t sure what to do, so I put my arms around him and did the “there-there” thing.
It was awkward, what with him sitting and me standing. Plus that whole guy boo-hooing over losing a stupid game thing. He finally regained a bit of composure.
“What on earth happened, Harry? It can’t be all that bad, can it?”
“They released me. I can’t believe it. My dream. My whole life. And now, it’s done. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Oh crap. It wasn’t just about losing a stupid game. Still, I wasn’t sure what to do. Or say. I mumbled “I’m so sorry” a couple of times, but mainly just let him talk. He was a complete mess.
After he’d downed the beer he was drinking, we went inside. He got himself another beer and a cup of water for me and we retreated to the family room, a place I remembered fondly from spending time with Kyle. I plopped on the comfy leather sofa and cozied up next to Harry, thinking that maybe a bit of smooching would perhaps improve his mood a wee bit.
He wasn’t having any of it. In fact, he got up and moved across the room, settling into a navy blue leather chair. He pretty much talked nonstop for the next hour, ruminating over and over again about his lost dream and his ruined life.
Frankly, even though I still sort of liked him, it got old pretty quickly. Finally, I interrupted. “But what about another team? Surely someone would be happy to sign you for next year.”
“Nope. I’m done. It’s over. I’m considered damaged goods. My shoulder’s shot. Plus, I’m too old. I’m almost twenty five. That’s over the freaking hill in this sport. They’ve got babies on the team. Kids just out of high school who’ve got strong arms and good health.”
“I know it hurts, Harry, but at least you’re working on something for the future. You’re not just some dumb jock. Pretty soon you’ll have your degree and you can set up a practice or continue on for your PhD like you’re planning. You’ve got so much more going for you than baseball.”
He favored me with a nasty look. “Obviously, you can’t understand what this means to me. Baseball is everything. The degree don’t mean diddly. Sure, it’s an accomplishment, but it’s not the bigs. It’s not an analyst job on ESPN or the Baseball Network. I’ll be stuck in some lame office having to listen to people whine about their stupid problems.”
I backed off and apologized, then changed the subject. It was late, I was tired, and I had to get up in less than five hours and work again. Not to mention, the medicine was wearing off and I needed another dose before the itching became unbearable
“So, what do you say we get together tomorrow? For lunch and a movie?”
He avoided looking at me. “Well, uhm, you, uhm, you don’t look so great. Maybe we need to take a rain check. Wait until you look better.”
I blinked. Had he really said looked better instead of feel better? Surely I’d misheard.
Or not: “In fact, why don’t I walk you home? That way you’ll be able to get some rest. We can schedule something after you’re all cleared up. I’m sure you don’t want to be seen in public like that.”
I tried to digest what he’d said. Okay, I looked hideous, but I wasn’t exactly worried about it now that I’d had some time to think. I mean, sure, I wasn’t crazy about the idea of having big red splotches all over me and crazy zombie hair, but it wasn’t like I was going to turn anyone to stone either.
And there were a lot of people in the world with way bigger problems than an allergic reaction to a bad dye job. His attitude irritated me, but I decided to chock it up to his having his dream ripped out from under him.
“No, that’s okay. I can manage. Thanks anyway.” I moved toward him to give him a good night hug and kiss, but he took a step away from me.
“Well, if you’re sure.” He kept far away from me, as if he thought I might be contagious. “Like I said, give me a call once you’re cleared up and we’ll figure something out.”
“Okay. I’ll do that.” I took my glass into the kitchen and loaded it into the dishwasher. And that’s when I saw it: a scratch pad of paper with a grocery list, written in the small, block handwriting that had been on the card. I slowly tore the list off, folded it, and stuck it down in the front pocket of my shorts. My brain was too addled to sort it all out right then and there, but one thing I knew when I left his place was that those initial thoughts I’d had about Harry Evans being a heartache waiting to happen had just come true.
25
I somehow managed to rouse myself at five and stumbled into the station at about quarter ‘til six, still a little itchy, but a lot less hideous looking. Since Herb had basically given up on the show, and apparently the station, he wasn’t waiting for me. I locked the door back behind me and went to the booth to say “hey” to Big Ed.
As usual, he had the booth lighting turned so far down, I wondered how he managed to see to work the equipment, or even stay awake. It was almost as dark in there as it was outside. In fact, Ed actually did appear to be asleep. He was slumped forward, his head on the desk.
“Hey, Ed, you okay?”
Nothing. Not even a snore.
“Ed?” I shook his arm. Not again. Please, God, not another one. Then, the window looking outside detonated.
I hit the ground. My heart felt as if it were about to explode too. Another shot and more glass rained onto the floor.
Gotta get out. Now. But what if the shooter sees me and hits me?
I had to take my chance. I was too vulnerable in the tiny booth. I peeked out from my position under the desk. It was so freaking dark outside, I couldn’t tell if the shooter was still out there. I checked the window from the booth to the hallway and decided once I was safely out of the booth, I’d head for Elvis.
The room had been Georgina’s office, but now it was a conference room. There was a door to the courtyard and, most importantly, a phone. I’d stupidly plopped my backpack, containing my replacement phone, on the desk and I didn’t want to take the risk of reaching up and grabbing it. Where I was, under the L-shaped desk, was fairly safe. Or at least gave me the illusion of being safe.
I counted to ten, took a deep breath, and slid closer to the part of the desk closest to the door. It was a more visible position, but I knew my chances of survival depended on a sudden and fluid move. I counted again, took another deep breath, and popped over to the door, yanked it open, and took off running toward Elvis. Luckily, the room was unlocked. As soon as I got inside, I grabbed the receiver off the hook of the phone and punched 911. Of course, the damned thing was dead. Whoever had killed Ed, and shot at me, must have cut the phone line.
I eyeballed the wall clock. Giselle wouldn’t be here for almost another hour. And I wasn’t about to take my chances and wait. The only sure-fire way I could think of to get immediate attention was to take
the station off the air. I prayed that the killer was still outside and ran down the hallway, back past the booth, and into the computer room. As soon as I got inside, I unplugged and pushed buttons in a frenzy of motion, basically destroying everything in reach, hoping that something would kill the computer and knock the damned broadcast off the air.
Finally, after I grabbed a big handful of wires and jerked them loose, the computer died. The station was quiet. Too quiet. I contemplated my next move. Would the killer come inside? I heard a door open and close and then another and another. Clearly, the answer was yes. There was a second door out of the computer room, leading to the chief engineer’s office. His office also had a door to the courtyard. If I could get out there, surely, I could make it to my car and safety. I hoped.
I slipped into his office and crouched under his desk. Just to be sure, I tried his phone, but, of course, it was just as dead as the one in the conference room had been. I checked the time again. Even though it felt like everything was happening fast, only ten minutes had passed since I’d arrived. I decided to go. Then, I realized my car was parked around front, which meant I’d have to put myself out in the open and run clear around the building. Whoever was in the building was likely alone, but I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.
It occurred to me that I could instead run into the woods bordering the back parking lot. They weren’t very wide and on the other side of them was a busy highway called Salem Road. If I could make it there, I’d be home free. There were tons of fast food joints and gas stations and I’d be able to call the police.
I stood up and gulped in air, hoping to suck in a little bit of courage at the same time. I took off, bolting through the door to the courtyard. It was pitch black out there, which had good points and bad. On the positive side, it helped conceal me. Oh the bad side, I couldn’t see a thing, which meant I had to feel my way forward to keep from crashing into chairs, tables, benches, a fountain, and all the little ankle high bricks lining the paths to the back gate. I figured the best thing to do was to use the building wall as a guide.
I stuck to it as closely as I could, inching forward to keep from hurting myself, and finally made it to the black wrought iron gate. It was locked. Of course it was. It was always locked. Fortunately, it wasn’t terribly tall, but since I’m a weakling and even with superhuman adrenaline, I wasn’t going to be able to hoist myself up and over the fence and gate without some assistance. The sky was starting to lighten just the least little bit, so I pulled one of the heavy, black wrought iron chairs over to the gate and stood on the seat. With a good heave, I managed to get one leg on each side of the fence. It was not a pleasant sensation. I felt myself slipping to one side and quickly weighed my options. I could hang on tight and end up in a semi-upside down position, then fall to the ground, or I could just let go and fall quickly. While I was thinking about it, the door from the conference room opened and my mind was made up for me.
I let go.
I won’t lie. It hurt like the dickens. First, it knocked the breath out of me when I hit the ground, and secondly, it felt like I’d either dislocated my shoulder or broken it. I struggled to my feet and took off, limping as fast as my big old feet would carry me. The first shot whizzed past my head and splintered the bark off of a tree. I don’t know where the second one went, because by then, I was scurrying through the woods, no longer limping and not feeling anything but pure terror.
The kid manning the counter at the Save-a-Bundle gas station and convenience store never batted an eye when I burst through the door screaming at the top of my lungs for him to call 911.
He took his sweet time standing up and reaching for the phone. It felt like an eternity before he handed me the receiver.
Tim was the second call I made, but, as with Sabrina’s murder, he was the first to arrive. He wrapped me in his arms and held me until the rest of the first response squad showed up.
Of course, the only things they found when they went over to the radio station was Ed’s body, the shattered window, and a handful of spent cartridges. Herb and Giselle arrived minutes after the police locked down the building, and were standing out front when Tim took me over there.
Herb jumped up and down and yelled and said more actual curse words, but, of course, no one but him cared that the station was off the air and he’d have to make up the ad revenue later.
Giselle was thrilled to be surrounded by cops and firefighters and EMT guys, so she was busy hiking up her skirt and tugging on the deep v-neck of her halter top, and getting in the way of all of the people working the crime scene.
After the EMTs checked me over, and pronounced my shoulder to be badly bruised, Winger sent one of the younger detectives to take my statement, I guess figuring that the less interaction he had with me, the better. She took us over to her car, greeted Tim cordially, and typed up what I said in great detail, asking me twice to slow down. Once she’d finished questioning me, Tim asked her about Ed’s death.
“They aren’t sure yet if he was murdered or if it was natural causes. Because of the gunfire, they thought it was murder, of course. But he wasn’t shot. There weren’t any overt marks, no wounds. Poison, maybe. Or an overdose or maybe even a heart attack or stroke. It appears that he’s not been dead for very long. Maybe an hour or two at the most.”
“Next of kin?” Tim asked.
“Yes. A sister. But they haven’t located her yet. They went by her apartment, but she wasn’t home. Checked her office, too, but she wasn’t there, either. One of the guys said you know her. Said she lived in your complex and that he thought maybe you went out with her. Her name is Carole. Carole Samuelson.”
Tim and I stared at each other, our mouths hanging open.
26
“Unbelievable,” I said. “Carole was his sister. Now it all makes sense. But, why? Why on earth would they try and hide it?”
Tim ignored me. “I had a drink with her last night at Pilazzo’s. She never mentioned anything being amiss. In fact, she was upbeat and in a great mood, although she wouldn’t tell me about what. When I left her at about nine, she said she was going straight home. I’m worried. Really worried about her. Whoever killed her brother might have harmed her. We need to put out an APB as soon as possible. She could be in danger.”
He took off, to track down Detective Winger, leaving me alone with the young officer. She asked me a few more questions, and told me she, too, needed to leave. “Do you want me to call someone?”
“No. My parents and my brother-in-law are on their way over now. Is it okay if I leave when they get here?”
She gave me the go ahead and that’s exactly what I did. After a lot of hugging, kissing, and fussing by Mom, of course. We decided to go over to Charli and John’s since Charli was alone with the kids and was, as John described it, “a total basket case”.
By the time we got there, it was almost nine o’clock. Once they’d determined that I was really, truly okay, John and Dad left for work. Charli called Mrs. Conner to tell her the shop was going to have to remain closed for a couple of days, and the three of us sat in her living room, hashing over everything that had happened over the past few days and wondering if Carole had been located. Mom left a little later, saying she had to get busy writing up her story, but making us promise to call her if we needed anything.
Charli got out a steno pad and the two of us began making a timeline listing everything that had happened since I’d met Sabrina and company at Pilazzo’s. We stacked up the cards we still had, and added the photo of Tessa I’d taken from Model Magnifica. I shocked her when I added Harry’s grocery list to the pile.
“Do you think this means.…”
I nodded before she even finished. “Yes. I don’t want it to be true, but I’m convinced Harry lied to me. He said he didn’t know her. That he hardly remembered what she even looked like. But why else would that card have been in her apartment? Why would he have written down the names and the location of the people who adopted her baby? Could
he have been trying to somehow help out his buddy? Or protect him from someone he thought was a gold-digger?”
Charli gave me a sad smile. “More likely to protect himself. Marty, hon, I know you don’t want to believe it, but it’s entirely possible Harry was the father of Sabrina’s baby. He could have just as easily known her down at school as Mark. You said yourself she couldn’t take her eyes off of him that night at Pilazzo’s. That would explain it, wouldn’t it? ”
I knew she was right, but I didn’t want to face what else it could mean. Charli force me into confronting it, though. “Maybe he’s the one,” she said.
“The one? You mean the one who killed her? Oh my God. What if he killed her? What if he tried to kill me? It’s possible, you know. He could have easily put the snake in my kayak while I was snoozing. Could have tried to drown me. And shot at me.” My hands were shaking so hard that I nearly dropped my mug.
I handed Charli my phone. “Text Tim. Tell him to get over here as soon as he can. Tell him it’s urgent.”
He was there in ten minutes. He was calling Winger before we had it all even laid out completely.
“It’s worth looking into,” he told the detective. “Yes. Yes, sir. I know, sir.”
“He agrees that it’s a possibility. A slight one is what he said. He thinks you’re putting too much stock into what amounts to some barely circumstantial evidence. He’s also pretty mad that you didn’t call him when you found that card. To be honest, I’m pretty ticked off about that myself. You two have got to stop playing detective. It’s foolish and dangerous. Not to mention, you’re interfering with a murder investigation.”
“What’s he going to do about it? Is he going to arrest Harry? Pull him in for questioning?” Charli asked.
“You two watch too much television. You can’t just arrest someone without reason. He’s sending a guy over to interview Evans later on.”
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