Cuts Like a Knife: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 1)

by M. K. Gilroy

  “Too bad. That’s going to leave a scar.”

  “It is?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “The doctor told me it would disappear!”

  “Look for yourself. When did this happen, a month ago?”

  “Five, maybe six weeks.”

  “Well, it’s no big deal, but it is going to leave a scar.”

  I didn’t want another scar. I already have enough scars inside and out.

  “So where you been lately, Kristen?”

  “Busy with this Cutter Shark thing.”

  “Yeah, another dumb question. That’s all people are talking about. The Cutter Shark.”

  “No kidding. I hate that Cutter Shark nickname. But it is obviously catchy.”

  “Kind of says it all. We do miss seeing you on Wednesday nights. We’ve been having about thirty show up for Bible study.”

  “Very nice. But lately I’m all meeting’d out.”

  “I can imagine. You got any leads?”

  “If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

  He rolls his eyes at my cheesy cliché.

  “By the way, where’s that ace reporter sister of yours lately? Only time I see her is if the late news is on TV at the ER. She going to church somewhere else?”

  “I’m pretty sure she is. She keeps telling us she’s just visiting because I don’t think she wants to hurt Jimmy’s feelings, but I think she has made a change. She told me she’s even going to Sunday school.”

  “I’m impressed. Beautiful and devout. That’s the Conner girls.”

  “At least two of them are beautiful.”

  “Yeah right. I love your show of modesty, but I’m guessing you look in the mirror, too.”

  “Well, Lloyd, you are just Mr. Sweetness.”

  “That’s right. And stop being a stranger so you don’t forget it.”

  I give him a salute and answer, “Yes, sir! And how about you? You doing okay?”

  “Same old same old. Doctor says I have to lose some weight. So I’m on a diet.”

  “No more Gas & Grub for lunch break?”

  “I somehow knew that was going to come up. But nope. No more Gas & Grub. Not sure where you’re going to get your hot crime fighting tips now.”

  “Unless you can find the Cutter Shark for me, you just need to worry about taking care of you and listen to your doctor.”

  “How about I return the favor and tell you the same thing? You need to make sure you’re taking care of you, too. I may be a couple hundred pounds overweight but you better eat a sandwich or you’re going to blow away with the wind.”

  “Believe me, Lloyd, I eat. Plenty.”

  “I know. I’ve seen you in action. I also know you work out like you’re training for a triathlon. So I’ll correct myself and say you need to eat two sandwiches.”

  It’s my turn to roll my eyes at him.

  “Kristen,” Lloyd says, now serious. “You’ve got a lot you’re working through. It’s been a tough year for the Conner girls. And your mom. Even if you can’t make Wednesday nights until this Cutter Shark mess is done, make sure you get yourself in a place where you can open up about the hard stuff of life with some people who care about you.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say and salute again.

  “Okay, okay. I know when you’re blowing me off. But as tight as you’re wound up right now, I don’t want to see you snapping.”

  I give Lloyd a stare. He holds his hands up in surrender.

  “Okay, I said too much. But I do have the special power to see when your invisible force field goes up to shut everyone out. Which is most of the time. Just remember, you can’t always be the lone wolf.”

  Wound up too tight? I shut everyone out? Are my friends and loved ones talking amongst themselves? Is there a Fix-Kristen conspiracy going on?

  I look over Lloyd’s shoulder and see Dell’s revenge date, Carrie, walking by, arm in arm with some guy I don’t recognize. Dell obviously didn’t listen to my advice and pursue her—or if he did, he scared her off with plans for an Amish expedition. She was probably too young for him anyway. I’ll have to give Jimmy a hard time about running a dating service at church.

  • • •

  “Hey, stranger. No hello?” Dell asks, trying to look as if everything is normal, but with his face scrunched up like I’ve punched him in the stomach. Is the pained expression because of seeing me or because he just saw Carrie with someone else? Please let it be the latter.

  I open my car door to hop in to head over to Kaylen’s for lunch and Kendra plops into the passenger seat. She likes to ride with me—like it’s a special treat. He bends over and waves to her.

  “Hey, pretty girl.”

  “Hi, Mr. Dell,” she answers.

  “Wow,” he says with a whistle, “someone has fixed up your aunt’s ride.”

  Patricia hasn’t talked to me since last Tuesday night. Jeff called the office on Thursday to set up a time to drop my car off and get the keys to the Mercedes I drove for two days—I had no choice, it was the only set of keys I had after our late-night interview with Jonathan and I had no idea where he took my car. I felt both incredibly guilty and amazed over the ride the whole time. When he called my office to make the switch—he refused to let Sheila patch the call through to me—I hoofed down with my checkbook to pay for the repairs—hope Mom has a few extra bucks to loan me because I’m not asking Klarissa even if we are getting along—but Jeff wouldn’t even look at me, much less answer a single question. He handed me my keys and took the keys to the 500SE, got in, and drove off. I am going to miss that ride.

  I found the work order in the glove compartment. There was no price for the work and the itemization was handwritten on a generic form, so the mechanic’s name and contact information was not on it. Not only did Jeff have the starter replaced, but he had his mechanic friend do a whole laundry list of maintenance items. And then he had the car detailed inside and out. I don’t know what kind of wax the guy used, but the black paint looks shiny and gorgeous again. Same with the tan leather seats and convertible top. It drives like a charm. And it starts up immediately. I’m still in the habit of parking on hills just in case I wake up and it was all a dream.

  When you’re a cop, you do get some freebies. Some restaurants refuse to take your money for a meal, for example. Some cops abuse the generosity of others and start expecting everything to be for free. Others won’t take anything. Ever. I’ve read and signed the CPD ethics policy statement. This is a gray area. Jeff didn’t do anything for me based on my performance in the line of duty. On the other hand, I would never have met Patricia if I hadn’t been working the Saint Bart’s AA meeting on behalf of the CPD.

  I better get this reported to Zaworski. And even if Jeff wouldn’t take my check, I’m still going to pay them back. That doesn’t have anything to do with institutional policy. I just feel lousy about how things went south so fast. I’ll show Jimmy the bill and have him look over my car this afternoon and ask him how much he thinks it all cost. I know I can’t pay Jeff and Patricia back in one or two paychecks, but I’ll start sending them something every month to settle this.

  “It was time to get a few things looked at,” I say to Dell. “It even starts without a long hill,” I add.

  “Nice.”

  “Are you coming for lunch, Mr. Dell?” Kendra asks.

  “Not this week, sweetie,” he answers. He better not be. I may not be able to keep him from attending the same church as me—which doesn’t sound very Christian of me—but I do have the right to be with my family without a guy who won’t let go of being there.

  He looks up at me with a searching glance after he says it. Is he sniffing around for a lunch invite? Probably.

  “You take care,” he says.

  He walks briskly to his car without looking back. I’m just not going to see him anymore. At all. Period.

  Kendra and I talk and giggle the whole way over to her house. I’ve never seen her carry a purse to church. She shows me the reason she has it now. She u
sed it to smuggle her Kristen doll to show all her friends. If Kendra’s mommy finds out, we’re both—make that all three of us if you include the Kristen doll—in big trouble. All of us might end up in time-out.

  I turn off my car and park it in a turnout in front of their house. My mind flashes back to Lloyd. One more person in the long line of people claiming I have issues keeping people at arm’s length.

  38

  May 14, 11:43 p.m.

  I NEED TO get back on schedule. I’ve never golfed before but I know about a mulligan. You get to choose one shot per round that doesn’t count and you get a do-over.

  I’ve made a decision. Candace is my mulligan. I am turning the clock back to Sandra Reed for when it is time to go again. Looking at my watch—well, what do you know?—it’s time again now.

  My FBI fans might argue that I’m going early for a second time in a row and that it is an indication I’m not following my pattern as carefully as before. Blah blah. First of all, it is my decision when I act. Their criticism is only meant to cover their own ineptitude. Secondly, they’ve probably never heard of a mulligan.

  Chicago started so splendidly. Then I decided to invest in some extracurricular activity, and boy, did that blow up in my face. Her cruelty toward me has bordered on torture. I’ve let her be for the moment. She may think she is getting away with a blatant disregard for my kindness and my needs, but she will discover the heights and depths of pain that a human being can experience.

  I have always been merciful to a fault with my subjects. It’s taken a lot of trial and error, but I believe I have created the perfect mix of light paralytics and pain inhibitors to obtain an acceptable anesthetic awareness when I perform on them. I like for my girls to be awake so I can watch their eyes and imagine what is going on behind them—they kind of know and kind of don’t know what I’m doing—but I do want them to be comfortable. And they are. So no one in his or her right mind can accuse me of cruelty or torture.

  But I am going to treat her like she has treated me. No pain inhibitors. A large enough dose of pure Suxamethonium to completely paralyze her—but where she will feel everything. With absolutely no muscle movement, she won’t even be able to blink or shed a tear. But I know she’ll be crying on the inside. And I’m certain she will finally understand how bad she made me feel.

  I would like to move her to the front of the line. But knowing that I am about to get back on schedule makes patience easier to bear tonight.

  I was afraid that Chicago was getting too messy. Tonight should tidy things up.

  I worked pecs and abs hard this morning. I am ripped.

  39

  “YOU WENT ON a date with someone from work?” my mom nearly shouts down the table. “But you’re going out with Dell.”

  I thought I made my feelings clear to her. She’s listening about as well as Dell. And why did Klarissa have to bring up my date on Friday night?

  We’ve only been sitting down for five minutes at Sunday dinner and I have no idea what I’ve done to be on the hot seat.

  “Where’s Dell?” James asks.

  “Mr. Dell,” Kendra corrects him. “He and Kristen don’t like each other anymore.”

  “Aunt Kristen,” Kaylen corrects Kendra.

  “Why don’t you like Mr. Dell?” James asks me.

  “What’s going on with you and Dell?” Mom asks again.

  I give Klarissa a dirty look. She can barely conceal a smile. She pokes at the food on her plate and manages to get a single pea on a tine of her fork. She lifts it to her mouth and begins to chew slowly and thoroughly. The pea doesn’t stand a chance.

  “Mr. James and Ms. Kendra, listen closely,” I say firmly. “I do not dislike Mr. Dell and I do not think he dislikes me.”

  “But can you be sure?” Klarissa asks.

  She snorts out a little laugh and goes into a coughing fit. That girl has to start eating. It’s pollen season and she’s always had allergies, but with her weight, I’m not sure she is healthy enough to fight off a cold at any point in the year. She does look marvelous on TV, however, which everyone knows adds ten pounds. Not just marvelous. Drop-dead gorgeous. With Warren out of the picture, she’ll probably make Chicago’s top ten list for hot bachelorette babes.

  “Aunt Klarissa makes a valid point, and it is possible that I’m wrong and Mr. Dell does not like me anymore. Nonetheless, I told him last week that we can’t see each other anymore.”

  Everyone at the table, including little James, is staring at me, willing me with their eyes to go on. Maybe I will. This is a new experience for me. I did not always get pluses for speech skills on my high school report cards.

  “Are you sure it’s completely over?” Mom asks. “He’s such a nice young man. And I think he likes being with us.”

  She is relentless today. Honestly, she’s never been particularly invasive in our personal lives—as long as we go to church and come for Sunday dinner each and every week. What’s the deal with Dell?

  “I think he’s swell, too, Mom. But I’m just not feeling the romance.”

  “Romance is kissing,” Kendra says to James with a coy smile.

  “Gross!” he nearly screams.

  “James!” Jimmy yells sharply. “No yelling!” James lowers his head and quiets down immediately, but I see the trace of a smug smile on his face. He’s no worse for the experience.

  “So what if you don’t feel romantic toward him?” Mom grills me. “It’s always better to start as friends and then get romantically involved later.”

  “Just like you and Dad?” Kaylen asks her with a laugh.

  Bless Big Sis’s heart. She’s come to my rescue. We all know from family mythology that Mom and Dad were instantly, magnetically attracted. They got married within a few months of meeting.

  “That was different,” Mom says defensively.

  Now everyone has turned attention her way. I believe I’m off the hook. She gets a dreamy look in her eyes and Klarissa, Kaylen, and I make eye contact and burst out laughing.

  “What? What?” Mom asks, perturbed now.

  “Mom, just go on,” Klarissa urges. “What made things different for you and Dad? Kaylen’s got her man, but Kristen and I obviously need some serious help.”

  “Seriously serious help,” I agree.

  “You guys are just laughing at me,” Mom says.

  “We are not. Just tell us!” Klarissa exclaims.

  Mom relents and smiles. “We just knew the first time we met that we were made for each other. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him and he couldn’t take his eyes off of me. My daddy was strict and I wasn’t allowed to hold hands with boys on a first date, under any circumstances. And I definitely wasn’t allowed to see a Catholic boy. I guess I wasn’t so good that night. We met at the skating rink and held hands the whole night.”

  I want to laugh but the moment’s just too sweet and Mom will shut down if she thinks we’re still teasing her. Kaylen has scooted her seat right next to Jimmy and he is running his fingers lightly across her shoulders. I look closer and if my eyes don’t deceive me, I believe I see the very beginning of a baby bump on Kaylen’s belly. Kaylen is pretty but she is one of those women who get even prettier when pregnant.

  Klarissa and I look at each other and sigh. Then she puts her finger and thumb in the shape of an L on her forehead. I return the compliment.

  We really are getting along good these days. Even if we’re both losers when it comes to romance.

  • • •

  You look down at your own peril when James has a certified weapon—a Wiffle bat—in his hands.

  We headed to the back yard after lunch and I’m pitching a Wiffle ball to the kid. The kind with air holes to enhance velocity. He may be four years old, but he can already smack that ball. I’m about done throwing to him underhand. And if he keeps parting my hair every time he whacks the ball, I may have to give him some chin music to move him off the plate and then throw him the curveball away and down.

  I played socc
er, not softball. But I do have fabulous memories of going to Wrigley and Comiskey with my family for Cubs and White Sox games. I thought it was neat that Dad bought a scorecard and filled it out in pencil the whole game. A couple of times I caught him comparing his card with the Tribune’s box scores the next day. He was pretty sure he was more accurate than the official scorekeeper.

  For the first couple of minutes out here, I had Kendra and even Klarissa to help shag James’ prodigious swats of the bat. Both lost interest pretty quick. So now I’m pitcher and solo fielder, which means I’m running around and sweating in a jean skirt.

  Jimmy’s sitting on a lawn chair next to Mom on the patio, talking. She’s crying about something. I’m not about to complain about having to shag James’ fungoes; Jimmy’s got the real work today.

  I glance around. This is Chicago weather at its most beautiful. It was a deluge yesterday, but today it’s breezy and in the lower seventies. The grass is a velvety green. Kaylen’s flowers and her tiny vegetable plot are already bursting with color. She is showing Klarissa and Kendra something that is growing by the side of the single-car detached garage.

  My phone buzzes on my hip. I pitch the ball to James and look down to see who’s calling me on a Sunday afternoon. Big mistake. James clocks me on my forehead with a scorching line drive. I put my hand to the spot where the ball hit. It feels hot and is instantly swelling. I’m going to have an angry red circle for the entire world to see; an alien crop circle in the center of my forehead. I will look like a unicorn that has had his horn surgically removed.

  Konkade is calling and I ignore the pain on my forehead. My stomach does a somersault as I push the receive button and answer. “Conner.”

  I feel sets of eyes on me from every point in the yard. James is tugging on my skirt and asking if I’m okay. I put a finger on his lips so I can hear the details of my call.

  “Got it. On my way, sir.”

  • • •

  “This better be good,” Don mumbles drowsily. “You’ve woken me from a perfectly good Sunday afternoon nap.”

  “Wish I could say it was good, but our friend the Shark has struck again.”