Murder Mayhem and Mama

by Christie Craig

  “Ease up!” a voice said as the door jerked open. Tanya’s brown eyes went wide. “Wow, it’s the cop with an attitude. What do you want?”

  He frowned. “Is Cali McKay here?”

  She tilted her head back. From the twinkle in her eyes, he knew she was going to give him some lip. Before she could speak, he leaned forward. “I need to know where she is. Now!”

  She drew back. “Cali’s right. You really are a dickhead.”

  “She could be in danger,” he said, trying to take it down a notch, but he remembered the scene at the hotel that Humphrey left behind, and knowing he might have Cali chewed on his last nerve.

  The chick’s eyes rounded. “She’s...staying at a hotel off Highway 6. I tried to get her to stay here, but she wouldn’t.”

  “What hotel?”

  ~

  Brit saw Cali’s silver Honda in the hotel parking lot. Pulling in beside it, he cut off the engine and dropped his head on the steering wheel. A few deep breaths later, he headed to the front office, his badge drawn.

  “What room is Cali McKay in?” He showed his badge.

  The clerk’s round face tensed. “Is she a hooker? I swear, I didn’t know.”

  “No.” Brit shoved his badge back in his pocket. Who could look at Cali and think hooker? “Just give me a room number.”

  The man turned to the computer and pecked on a few keys. “Room ten. Five rooms down on the left.”

  After rushing to the door, Brit hesitated. What was he going to say to her? “I thought I’d lost you.” Hell, she wasn’t his to lose. Then he remembered he had a reason to be here, besides just needing to see her alive. He needed information on Stan. And to inform her about their suspicions concerning her ex. She needed to know how dangerous the freak really was.

  He knocked. No answer.

  He knocked again.

  “Cali? It’s me, Brit.” It suddenly occurred to him that she hadn’t ever called him by his first name. Had he even given her his first name? Jeez. He’d made love to the woman in his mind, and he hadn’t even given her his first name.

  “Cali, it’s me, Detective Lowell. Brit Lowell.” He knocked again. “Cali?” All the panic he’d felt earlier and just released suddenly U-turned with a rushing force. “If you’re in there, open the door. Please.”

  Nothing. Visions of her lying on the bed with her throat slashed filled his head. Then he considered that maybe she just didn’t want to see him.

  “I’m sorry again for being a dickhead. Open the door, please.”

  Still nothing. He stormed back to the front office. “Give me the key to her room.”

  The desk clerk shot him a cocky look.

  Fear of what he’d find behind that locked door churned in Brit’s stomach. He reached across the counter, grabbed the man’s shirt, and jerked the clerk so close that Brit knew the man had onions with his lunch. “Give me the damn key.”

  Seconds later, key in hand, he ran back to her room. “Cali?” He pushed open the door, his gut knotted, ready to be sick.

  Chapter Fourteen

  An hour later, Cali sat across from Betty, her mom’s hospice nurse. She knew the conversation would be hard—talking about her mom always was—but she also knew she had to do it. Just as she had to do other unpleasant things, like find a new place to stay. Luckily, she’d found a hotel only a block from the hospice center.

  “I always try to keep my distance, emotionally,” Betty said. “You have to in this line of work.” Betty’s hazel eyes clouded with tears. “I couldn’t do it with your mom. She was so easy to talk to. So genuine.”

  Cali’s chest tightened. “She appreciated you so much.”

  Betty smiled. “Your mother had a way with people. I told her things about myself that I haven’t told my therapist.”

  Betty, my hospice nurse, she’s a lesbian. Her mom’s words still rang in Cali’s mind.

  “She loved people. Loved to know everyone’s business.” Cali grinned even as a wave of grief swelled inside her. She looked out of the office window. The afternoon traffic whizzed by. “I went to her place today. But I couldn’t stay.”

  Betty rested her hand on Cali’s. “Have you talked to someone? A counselor, a therapist?”

  “No. I had to work.” And I’m running from a murderer.

  “Our psychologist is here now and she just had a cancellation. I’m sure she’d see you. You really look as if you could benefit from talking to her.” Betty’s gaze pleaded. “Let me call her.”

  Was she ready to know if she was crazy? That was the $50,000 question. Cali took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”

  ~

  “Thanks for seeing me.” Cali sat down on the sofa a few minutes later.

  Doctor Roberts, a mid-fiftyish, petite woman, smiled and settled in the chair across from her. “No problem.”

  Soft classical music played in the background. Cali looked around the room nervously, noticing the pale, soothing colors, and then confessed, “I’ve never talked to a therapist.”

  “You’ve never lost your mother before, either.”

  Cali looked into the woman’s kind green eyes, eyes that whispered, “trust me.” “It’s hard,” Cali admitted.

  “How long has it been?”

  “A week.” Cali gazed out the window. The sky had darkened to a deep purple, but streaks of pink painted the horizon. “Every time someone offers me their condolences I almost cry.”

  The doc shifted in her seat. “Have you let yourself cry?”

  Cali thought about Lowell holding her. “Oh, yes.”

  “I mean really cry.”

  “You should have seen Lowell’s shirt this morning.” She tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a sob.

  “Lowell? Is he your boyfriend?”

  She suddenly realized she didn’t know if Lowell was his first name or last. But someone had called him Lowell. She’d cried all over a man and didn’t even know his name. Emotion swelled in her throat. “No. It’s not like that.”

  “Not like what?” Dr. Roberts handed her a box of tissues.

  Cali set them beside her and drew one out, wrapping it around her fingers like a rope. “I’m not attracted to him.” The lie hung like a dense cloud around her. “Okay, I am attracted to him. Every time he smiles, my stomach does that flip thing.” She pressed her hand to her middle. “I’ve got a lump of grief in my chest and my stomach’s flipping. I shouldn’t be feeling this when I should be thinking about Mom.”

  Dr. Roberts tilted her head to one side. “It’s okay to be attracted to someone even when—”

  “Okay, so maybe it isn’t wrong.” She snatched another tissue when her vision blurred with tears. “But he’s a dickhead!”

  Dr. Roberts smiled and jotted something down on her pad. Cali wondered if the doc wrote down that she’d said “dickhead.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m practicing being a bitch. Mom said...”

  “Your mom said what?”

  The question set Cali’s confession loose. “I’ve been dreaming about my mom. She tells me things.”

  “What kind of things?” Dr. Roberts asked in a calm voice.

  “Like to leave the apartment because Stan’s trying to break in.”

  Confusion puckered the doc’s brow. “Someone broke into your apartment?”

  “My boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend.” Cali tightened her hand around the wad of tissue, then added another to her collection.

  “And his name is Lowell?” the doctor asked.

  “No. Lowell’s trying to catch Stan. He’s a detective.”

  “Did Stan do something wrong?” she asked, leaning forward.

  Cali nodded. Soft music echoed in the background. Everything she’d been scared to think about suddenly bubbled to the surface.

  “He robbed a place and killed someone.” Cali twisted the tissues together and more words spilled from her lips. “Mom told me to wear the pink dress because I was going to help Lowell. And he showed up and asked for help.”

&
nbsp; Dr. Roberts tilted her head to the side as if to contemplate. “Who did your boyfriend kill? Or was that just a dream?”

  “No. Not a dream.” Cali snatched another tissue, and her tears flowed. “He robbed a store, and gave me a bracelet. Now he wants it back.”

  “And he tried to break into your apartment to find the bracelet?”

  Cali nodded. “And he tried to shoot me.”

  Shock widened Dr. Robert’s eyes. “My God, are you okay?”

  Cali nodded and her tears rolled down her face. “But my lamp didn’t survive. And then he took out the other one.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t.

  Dr. Roberts held up her hand. “Let me see if I understand. Your boyfriend broke into your apartment and tried to kill you.”

  “He didn’t get in. He shot through the door. But yeah, he broke in later.” Cali’s voice shook. “I wasn’t there. But he ransacked my apartment. The detective helped me clean it up.” A few more tears rolled down her cheeks. “After I cried all over him.” The lump of emotion kept growing and she kept talking. She dropped the tissues and grabbed a clean one. “Then the dickhead broke into my mother’s place.”

  “Wait.” She held up a hand. “The detective broke into your mother’s place?”

  Emotion caught in her throat; she pushed it away and kept talking. “No, Stan, the bigger dickhead. And he broke my car’s window after he found me at the lawyer’s office.” Cali clutched her hands. “He kissed me. I hated it. I don’t think I ever liked kissing him. And I keep having these dreams about my mother. Oh, and the detective wouldn’t give me my keys.” Cali gave up trying to make sense; she just let it all out. “And Sara’s mom has cancer.” Cali’s tears flowed.

  “Who’s Sara?” The doc’s voice sounded a little less calm.

  “My student. She asked what happened to my mom.” Her voice shuttered. “I told her. But I didn’t know her mom had cancer. And now she thinks her mom is going to die, too. I feel terrible.”

  Dr. Roberts stood behind her desk and moved to sit beside Cali. “Good Lord, you’ve had a bad week, haven’t you?”

  “You think?” Cali wiped some more tears from her face.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Cali calmed down enough to explain things better. And she told the therapist everything. About all the dreams and how they made her feel nuts. When she finished, Cali looked into the counselor’s eyes and asked the all-important question. “Am I crazy?”

  A smile washed over the doctor’s face. “Your life’s been crazy, but I don’t think you’re crazy.”

  “But what about the dreams?”

  “What do you think about the dreams?” Dr. Roberts asked.

  “I asked you first,” Cali said, and looked at the empty Kleenex box. In her lap, she had a baseball-size wad of tissues. Cali spotted a small trash can beside the sofa. Leaning over, she tossed them away, keeping one for emergency use. “Are you sure I’m not crazy?”

  The woman folded her hands neatly in her lap. “At hospice, I deal a lot with people who have lost loved ones. You’re not the first person I’ve counseled who said she’s felt the presence of someone who passed away.”

  “But I don’t feel it,” Cali insisted. “They’re dreams. Sort of.”

  “I know, and that’s my point. Feeling close to our loved ones who have died generally brings us comfort. I’ve never seen a ghost, but I can’t say they don’t exist. However, you’re not even seeing ghosts. Most of the time when we dream, the people appearing in our dreams are usually a projected image of ourselves.”

  The doctor got up and poured them each a glass of water. “If you dream of a child, you’re really dreaming of your inner child. If you dream of your mother—”

  “So my mom is really my maternal psyche trying to help me.” Cali accepted the water and leaned back.

  The doctor smiled. “You catch on quick.”

  “But what about the things she tells me?”

  The woman sat down beside her again. “Everything you’ve told me she said could be easily explained. You heard Stan opening the door. During the funeral, you probably noticed Stan flirting, but were too upset to really think about it. Even with Lowell showing up. You’re an intuitive person. He’s a cop trying to find your ex-boyfriend. It makes sense he would need your help.”

  Cali let out a deep breath. “So I’m not losing my mind. I’m okay?”

  “Besides the fact that you’re grieving, have a murderer after you, and are having to deal with a detective who could use a few manners.” She grinned. “Yes, I’d say you’re okay.” She paused. “Do you want to talk about why you got involved with someone like Stan?”

  Cali bit down on her lip. “I know that one. I didn’t want to be alone. And he was there.” She recalled what Lowell had said about her being the kind of woman who allowed men to abuse them.

  “What about past relationships?”

  “What about them?” Cali asked, now afraid Lowell might be on to something.

  “Have there been many?”

  “Some.” Cali set her water down. “But not for a long time. The last few years I’ve spent most of my time with Mom.”

  “Were they good relationships?”

  “If they were good, wouldn’t they have lasted?” She thought about Marty, the man she thought she’d marry—the only one she’d really loved.

  “Not all relationships can last. But there’s still a difference between good and bad.”

  Cali considered it. “Some of them were okay, but most of the guys ended up being jerks.” And one chose a career over me. Or did I choose my mother over him? Cali stiffened. She had enough to cry over, she didn’t need to dredge up Marty memories.

  “What was your father like?”

  The question hung in the air. “I don’t know. He left when I was young. Mom said…he wasn’t a keeper.”

  Dr. Roberts raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember him?”

  “Vaguely.” Cali started shredding the tissue and tried to listen to the music. It was a Christmas tune now. A time for family gatherings. Something she no longer had.

  “Was he a dickhead, too?” the doctor asked with a touch of humor.

  Cali raised her gaze. “The detective?”

  “No. Your dad.” She paused. “It’s very common for girls who witnessed their mother being mistreated to fall for men who mistreat them. Did your father mistreat your mother?”

  Cali looked at her hands. Was Lowell right? “He yelled a lot and would throw things. He left us.”

  “Your mother told you this?” Dr. Roberts asked.

  Cali inhaled a shaky breath. “I guess I remember more than I want to.”

  The doctor’s voice softened. “Sounds as if this is a new issue you need to explore.”

  “Don’t I have enough already?”

  “If only we could schedule our problems.” The counselor gently smiled.

  Cali tried to grasp it all. “So you’re saying I choose bad men. That if I’m attracted to a guy, it’s because he’s a jerk like my daddy was.”

  “Well, it’s not as if you can’t be attracted to a good man. I’m saying the tendency would—”

  “So I’m more apt to fall for dickheads.” She thought about the detective. Oh, yeah, the proof was in. She had a serious thing for dickheads.

  The doc laughed, then got serious again. “I think you should be careful about who you allow in your life. If you know your weaknesses, then you’ll be wiser for it.”

  Cali looked up at the window. “It’s late.”

  Dr. Roberts looked at her watch. “Goodness. It’s almost six-thirty.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cali said. “You should be at home. Not listening to some crazy talk.”

  “It’s not crazy talk. And if you would like to see me again, all you have to do is call.” Her gaze softened and she patted Cali’s hand. “You should listen to the detective and not go home for a while. He sounds a little crusty but he probably knows what he’s talking about.”

  C
ali nodded. “I got a hotel room just down the street.” She stood up. “Thank you.” Cali looked at the trash can, overflowing with mascara-smeared tissues. “I’ll replace the tissues.”

  “You are too sweet.”

  Cali frowned. “I really am working on being a bitch.”

  The doctor chuckled.

  After saying her goodbyes, Cali walked out of the office into the dark night. The November cold seeped through her cardigan sweater. She remembered that she’d left her heavier sweater at the police station. Remembering the police station made her remember Lowell and the warm jacket that he’d placed on her shoulders. Her stomach did another cute-guy flip as she remembered how it had felt leaning against him. Remembering Lowell made her think of Stan. Could he really have taken part in killing an elderly man?

  She recalled him snatching her by the hair in the lawyer’s parking lot. She remembered how repulsive she’d found his kiss. Had her stomach ever flipped for Stan? She didn’t think so. So I’m more apt to fall for dickheads. Did that mean Lowell was a bigger dickhead than Stan?

  Streetlights and passing cars cast sprays of light across her dark path. She wasn’t the only pedestrian braving the cold night, but fear still shimmied down her spine. She thought she heard someone behind her. She jerked around, expecting to see Stan. But no Stan. Just shadows. Only her mind playing tricks on her.

  Biting into her lip, she walked faster. Her warm breath easing from her lips floated up like cigarette smoke. That made her think of her mom. Thinking of her mom made her feel just a little safer. Or it did until she heard footsteps behind her.

  Probably nothing, she told her. Probably just someone else like her trying to get out of the night. Probably.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After forty-five minutes of combing the area, visiting all the restaurants where Cali McKay might have walked to, Brit returned to her hotel room and finally cratered and called for backup. If Stan Humphrey had Cali, it might take more than him to find her.

  Brit wore the hotel’s carpet down to another layer of thread as he paced. Pausing, he stared at the two officers who’d just arrived—Wolowitz and Edwards. “I called her friend again. She hasn’t heard from her,”