“I’m not meddling, I’m just...okay, so I’m meddling. That’s what mothers do.” She dropped down on the edge of Tanya’s sofa bed and looked around the room. Her bracelets jingled. “You could teach this girl a thing or two about decorating.”
Cali sat up. “You always were a bit of a decorating snob.”
“No, I was a real estate professional. I knew what looked good.” Her mom lit up a cigarette. “But I like this girl. You two have a good time together. It was good hearing you laugh.”
Cali pulled the blanket up around her knees to ward off the chill.
Her mom’s expression grew somber as she helped Cali fix the blanket. “You spent way too much of your time with me these last few years. I should have stopped you, but I was selfish.”
A hitch of emotion stuck in Cali’s throat. “I wanted to spend time with you.”
“I know.” Her mother smiled, but it faded quickly. “You need to be very careful. The weasel, Stan is still looking for you. Listen to the detective. He’s going to help you. And you’re going to help him. Sometimes I love the way life works out.”
“Help him do what?” Cali dragged a pillow into her lap.
“I can’t tell you all my secrets.” She glanced at Cali as if she knew things. Her mother was never good at keeping secrets.
“What do you mean?” Cali asked.
“Well, in about ten minutes, he’ll be discovering he needs you. Dress nice tomorrow. Wear that pink dress you packed. Let him see that you’ve got more than a sweet face. Not that there’s anything wrong with having a sweet face.”
“It belongs on toilet paper.” Cali dropped back on the bed.
Her mother reached out and brushed a hand over Cali’s brow. “Get some rest, baby.”
“I miss you, Mom,” Cali whispered.
“I know,” her mother said. “I miss you, too.”
~
“Okay, let’s see what we have.” Quarles pushed up the sleeves of his white shirt, rolled closer to Brit’s desk and opened the envelope with the jewelry-heist photos.
Brit leaned back. Not as far back as he’d needed to do before. Quarles’ presence seemed less intrusive. Not that Brit liked him, but he could almost tolerate him. But why Quarles tolerated Brit’s pissy mood was a mystery. Even Brit had to admit, he’d been a pain in the ass.
And speaking of pain, Brit twisted his neck to release the nagging tension. He’d managed to get about three hours of sleep. If you could call it sleep. He woke up about every half hour, his brain actively working on Keith’s case.
Still, this evening he felt somehow more together. Maybe it was the lead on Keith’s case; maybe it was seeing Susan. Nothing like having his big sis fuss over him. She’d even gone to the store and left him a sandwich waiting in a plastic baggy. Yup, Susan won the Sister-of-the-Year award.
Brit’s gaze shifted to the sweater hanging on a hook behind his office door. Maybe his mood had something to do with looking forward to seeing a sexy blonde with big blue eyes. No. He raked a hand through his hair. Tomorrow he would return her sweater and collect his jacket. Maybe remind her to stay away from no-good men. Nothing else.
“Here.” Quarles laid out the images on the desk as if they were cards and they were about to play a game. “I thought I’d run by a few pawn shops tomorrow. Show a few pictures around. See if anything has surfaced.”
“Yeah.” Brit said. “I’ll take some too and hit a few on the north side while you go south. I was going to comb the gang hangouts in that area tomorrow anyway.”
Rotating his shoulders, his gaze caught on one of the photographs Quarles tossed down. A bracelet—a bracelet with diamonds set in small flower-shaped settings.
“I’ve seen one like this.” Pushing his hand over his face, he searched his mind. With him running on only a few hours of half-ass sleep, the search took longer than it should have.
“Not like this.” Quarles placed the other images out on the desk. “Most of these are pretty rare. The old man bought good stuff. Sold a lot to the rich folks.”
Brit read the back of the photo. The bracelet wasn’t an original, but information printed claimed it to be one of only ten. And it was valued at forty-eight thousand bucks. Then he remembered. “She was wearing it. That’s the bracelet Cali McKay was wearing.”
Chapter Ten
“Who?” Quarles’ green eyes tightened in puzzlement.
“Cali McKay, the woman with the domestic situation we backed up. She had a bracelet just like this.”
“Really.” Quarles flipped the card and read the back. “It just looked like it. There were only ten of these made.”
“No. I remember because I helped her get it off.”
Quarles leaned forward. “You think she’s in on this?”
Brit crossed his arms over his chest and considered it. He got a visual of her eyes, big blue orbs of innocence. All her pleases and thank yous. “No. But her boyfriend...” The word “boyfriend” tasted sour on his lips. “But Stan Humphrey, yeah.”
“Did they ever find the guy?”
“No. But I don’t think they looked too hard.”
“Is she back at her apartment?”
“She better not be. She said she was staying with a friend.” A bad feeling bumped around Brit’s chest. What if she hadn’t listened to him? Damn, this guy could be a murderer.
He fumbled through some scrap papers on his desk until he found her number. He punched it in. Her answering machine caught the call, and he hung up. Leaning back, he drummed his fingers on his desk then stood.
“Where are you going?” Quarles asked.
“To pull the file Jones wrote up on her today. Maybe he got an address where she’s staying.”
“You thinking about looking her up now? At this hour?”
“If this guy is involved with the jewelry store robbery, he’s wanted for murder. So yeah, I’m looking her up.” Brit walked out.
A few minutes later, he sat back down at his desk with both Jones’ file and Anderson’s file in his hand.
“Got anything?” Quarles asked, edging closer.
“Not in this one. But Anderson mentioned he had several numbers.” Frustrated, he snatched up Anderson’s file and started leafing through it. “Pay dirt. Anderson said he thought it was her mother’s number. Maybe she knows where her daughter is staying.” Leaning against the edge of his desk, he punched in the number. An answering machine picked up. “Hi, this is Loren McKay….”
“Damn.” Brit hung up, collapsing back in the chair. He picked up the file and started reading.
“Ahh, listen to this.” Brit looked at Quarles. “Stan plays in a band and travels a lot. Guess where she thought Stan was supposed to be the night he shot at her.”
“Where?” Quarles asked.
“Austin. Isn’t that where one of the robberies happened?”
Quarles eyes lit up. “Yeah. Interesting.”
Brit tapped his knuckles against the desk. “Wonder how many members he has in his band? Want to bet it’s four?”
“Wouldn’t that be great!” Enthusiasm widened Quarles’ grin, and a little of the emotion leaked into Brit.
“I’d love to close this case.” Brit grabbed a phone book from his desk drawer and looked up Loren McKay. “Got it,” Brit said. “Here’s an address on her mother. She might not answer her phone, but she might answer the door.”
Standing, Brit reached back for his leather coat. His hand hadn’t hit the back of his chair when he remembered the soft swaying hips that had walked out with his jacket. He glanced at the sweater that now hung on the back of his door. He would hold it for ransom until she handed over his jacket. Right then, the anticipation of seeing Cali McKay surged back to life.
~
They went by her apartment first. The window had been fixed. No one answered the door. Then, they drove to the address listed for Cali’s mom. The house, a nice white brick, one-story home, sat far back on a manicured acre lawn with an abundance of trees. Brit pull
ed into the driveway.
“The whole neighborhood seems to be tucked into bed,” Quarles said when Brit cut off his engine. The night’s silence seeped into the car.
“Yeah.” Brit stepped out of his car. There wasn’t a light on in the house. Hesitation about waking up an old woman stirred in his gut.
“Look.” Quarles nudged Brit’s elbow.
Brit turned his head just in time to see a round orb of light dance across one of the front windows. Someone inside the house had a flashlight. Both he and Quarles reached for their guns at the same time.
“The lady could just use a flashlight to get to the bathroom,” Brit whispered, using logic.
“Yup,” Quarles said, but he didn’t put his Glock away.
Neither did Brit. “I’m going around back. Give me about two minutes, then, ring the doorbell.”
Quarles nodded, and they both froze as a car rolled by, its headlights casting two sprays of light over the tree-lined lawn. The sound of the car’s engine faded, and the dark silence returned. Brit started moving toward the fence.
The gate to the backyard was locked. He found a place to climb over. Falling to the other side, he barely escaped a rose bush. The darkness grew denser. Thick clouds held even the moonlight back. Gun in his hand, he moved toward the back patio.
Brit cut around the corner of the house. A noise brought his gaze up. But too late. Even in the dark, he saw the large object being hurtled at his head. He swung, saved his skull, but took the blow to the shoulder. The impact knocked him to the ground. His gun, jarred from his grasp, hit the concrete.A barbeque grill came slamming down beside him. Charcoal and ashes rained on his face, and he blinked the soot from his eyes. Unsure if he’d be shot in the process, but refusing to go down easily, he lunged for his Glock. He wrapped his hand around the solidness of his weapon and leapt to his feet. Blinking, still half blind, he tried to see his attacker.
No attacker, but he heard footfalls. The bitter taste of charcoal filled his mouth. His eyes, full of grit, stung like hell, but he scanned the shadows of the deep backyard.
Noise clattered behind him. Turning, Brit spotted a dark figure climb over the front fence. He tightened his hold on his gun, but recognized Quarles.
Another noise echoed from deep in the yard. Brit saw someone scrambling over the back fence. “He’s running,” Brit called and took off. Gritting his teeth, he fled after the grill-slinging bastard.
Heart pumping adrenaline into his chest, he hurdled the fence, and landed in another backyard and obviously in a big pile of dog shit if his nose was working right. He gaze darted around. Nothing. Then, he heard Quarles make the fence behind him.
“What we got?” Quarles’ voice stabbed at the dark silence.
“One man. I didn’t see a weapon.” He pointed. “Go that way.” He raced around one side of the house, Quarles the other.
Brit bolted through the open gate just in time to see a white truck, fitting the description of Humphrey’s vehicle, hauling ass down the street. “Crap.” He spit the bitter taste from his mouth, scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and wiped his shoe on the grass, trying to remove the crap. He smelled like last week’s grilled pork chop and dog shit. Lights flickered on in the house of the fence they’d just climbed. “Damn.”
“Who’s there?” a voice called out from a window.
Quarles walked toward the front porch. “It’s okay. We’re police.”
Brit left Quarles to explain while he ran back the way he’d come. He didn’t think Cali was there, but Humphrey could have hurt Cali’s mother.
He made the fence, landing with a thud. His shoulder ached, but he kept a firm grip on the Glock. He heard Quarles behind him again.
“Let me call for backup,” Quarles said, breathing hard.
“I’m going in.” Brit moved to the back door and found it open. Glass from the shattered window crunched beneath his feet.
“Police.” He held his gun out. Dead silence permeated the home. “Mrs. McKay? Anyone home?”
No answer. Quarles followed him. Brit motioned for his partner to check the rooms off the living room. Then following his instinct, he darted into the dark hall.
“Mrs. McKay?” he called again. “It’s the police. Are you okay?” No one replied. His finger tensed on the trigger. He had a bad feeling. Something about the house felt eerie, off. It even smelled strange.
A few minutes later, Quarles and Brit stood in the middle of the master bedroom. A hospital bed centered the room. Scattered about were all kinds of medical paraphernalia—oxygen tanks, an IV stand. Now he could place the smell he’d noticed earlier—hospital.
Quarles holstered his weapon. “The woman must be sick.”
“Yeah.” Brit swallowed a bitter taste, then noticed Quarles staring at him. “What?”
His partner grinned and touched his face. “Wish I had a camera.”
Brit noticed the soot on his hands and figured he also had it on his face. “He got me with the grill.” Brit heard sirens as police cars stopped in front of the house. “Ah, fuck. Did you call for backup?”
“Yeah. You hurt?”
Brit gazed at his soot-covered clothes. “I’m fine.” Another lie, but nothing was broken, just bruised, like his damn ego. He used his sleeve to clean his face then rubbed his shoulder again.
“Should you be checked out?” Quarles asked.
“Hell, no.” Brit noted a broken lamp on the floor. A few drawers had been yanked out of the dresser and the contents strewn about. “Appears Humphrey was looking for something.”
“You think it was him?”
“The guy was driving a white Chevy. It was him.” Brit raked a hand over his face. “Damn, I wanted to get him.”
“Would have been nice,” Quarles said as Brit headed to the front yard to meet the other officers.
He gave them a quick report. Lights flashed on next door, and he mumbled, “I’m going to talk to the neighbors.” A woman opened the door and took a step back.
“I...thought you....were the police.” She stared at his soot-covered frame.
“I am.” Brit flashed his badge. “Sorry to disturb you. Someone broke into the house next door. No one’s home. Do you know how I could reach Mrs. McKay?”
“Mrs. McKay?” the woman asked. “The owner of the house?”
“Yeah. Do you know how I could contact her?”
“Do you have a good psychic? She died last week.”
~
The next morning, after a shower and her last aspirin, Cali stood in Tanya’s living room and went through her suitcase. She saw the pink dress and remembered the dream. They were just dreams. She pulled out the wrinkle-free dress and gave it a shake. The movement sent pain screaming behind her eyes.
“You want coffee?” Tanya, hand pressed to her head, crept past and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Yes, please.” Cali bit into her lip, remembering it was Thursday. A week since her mom had died. A week since her entire life had turned upside down. Somehow, some way, Cali had to get her world upright again.
Swallowing, she pressed a hand to her forehead. But first she had to get rid of the doozy of a headache.
“Oh, fudge!” Tanya said from the kitchen. “I’m out of coffee.” She appeared in the doorway and collapsed against the wall.
Cali tried not to think about the niggling pain in her heart and head. “Why don’t I go by Starbucks and grab us some on the way in?”
“That would be great. Or we could just ride together. You’re going to stay the weekend, aren’t you?”
Cali shook her head then stopped abruptly when it hurt. “I’ve intruded enough.”
Tanya took a step, moving slowly, as if it caused her pain. “You haven’t intruded. Besides I thought they said you shouldn’t go back to your place for a while.”
“I’ll get a hotel.” Cali tried to smile, but couldn’t.
“You should stay here at least for the weekend.”
Cali held up a hand. Her mouth felt li
ke cotton. “I appreciate it. But you’ve got sex and jewelry scheduled.”
Tanya sent her a dismal smile. “I’ve decided on jewelry. Sex next weekend. You’re welcome to stay.”
“Thanks, but I need to get some order into my life. I need to go to Mom’s and start clearing her house out.” Order, Cali thought, and, she almost . . . almost . . . felt capable of pulling herself together. She inhaled and made some quick decisions. Forget about the dreams. Forget about the rude detective. After she delivered his leather coat, she wouldn’t have to see him again. And for now, she’d stay away from her apartment so Stan couldn’t find her. Making plans gave her a sense of control, even if it was a false sense. What was the saying? Fake it until you can make it. She could do that. Couldn’t she?
“Are you going to move into your mom’s place?” Tanya stepped beside her.
“No. I’m going to sell it.”
“It’s a nice house,” Tanya said, having attended the memorial service at the house last Saturday.
“Yeah, but . . . The day Mom moved into the house is the day she found out the cancer had come back. I went over there to help her unpack and she was sitting there in the middle of boxes just staring at nothing. Now, every time I think about the house, all I think about is cancer.”
“Bummer.” Tanya pressed a finger to her temple. “Please tell me I’m not the only one hung over.”
Cali grimaced. “Got a whopper of a headache.”
“Good,” Tanya said. “Misery loves company. I’m gonna shower.”
~
Brit paced in front of Cali’s classroom. The lady in the office had said Cali usually got here about 7:00. It was already 7:15. Had something happened to her? For about the hundredth time, he wished he’d made her tell him where she was staying.
He’d searched her mother’s home up and down for telephone numbers that would lead him to Cali. But nothing. Today, he wasn’t leaving without knowing how to reach her.
Of course, finding out how to contact her wasn’t why he was here. He needed to find that bracelet; he needed to find Stan Humphrey. And he needed to apologize for being an ass. Her mom had just died and then he’d come along and took his bad mood out on her.
Murder Mayhem and Mama Page 8