by Mary Burton
Her yard was an oasis. She’d only been in this town house eleven months, but already she’d filled the tiny land plot with numerous flower pots overflowing with brightly colored annuals, including marigolds and petunias. There were more pots filled with tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, and sweet peas.
Lindsay had learned to garden from her mother, who had always kept a lush garden. Her mother had always taken pride in her tomatoes, which frequently placed in the county fair, and her roses, which were once photographed for the paper. Her mother had spent hours in that garden, tenderly caring for her plants. Lindsay had loved digging alongside her mother in the rich soil. In the garden not only could they create, but they could escape her father’s foul moods.
Sipping her coffee, Lindsay wished she had more gardening space and more land. One day, she’d have a real home with property around it to plant bushes and trees, and a vegetable garden. One day.
A flicker of movement caught Lindsay’s attention. She turned as Nicole pushed open the sliding glass doors. Her friend wore an oversized T-shirt and long pajama pants that brushed her ankles. Blond hair swept high on her head in a rubber band accented clear green eyes and a high slash of cheekbones.
Nicole surveyed the garden. ‘You and your garden. I’m starting to think it’s an obsession.’
Lindsay stretched out her legs. ‘What can I say? I’m a sucker for greenery.’
Nicole sat in a matching Adirondack chair next to Lindsay. She touched a bright yellow marigold blossom in a pot next to her chair. ‘Remember sophomore year in college when we had the room that overlooked a flat roof?’
‘How could I forget? We lived next to that girl who liked to play Broadway tunes at five in the morning. I swear, if I ever hear the theme to Cats again I’ll go nuts.’
Nicole smiled. ‘I was thinking about your garden.’
‘I filled the windowsill with pots.’
‘And when the windowsill filled, you expanded your garden pots onto the roof. Inch by inch you took it over and filled it with every kind of vegetable imaginable. I’m surprised security didn’t bust you.’
Lindsay sipped her coffee again, hiding a grin. ‘Actually, they did. Mr Wheeler, the head of security, found the garden and threatened to tear it down. I gave him a few tomatoes to try and he was hooked. I supplied him with vegetables all spring and he looked the other way.’
‘Bribery? I’m shocked, Ms O’Neil.’
Lindsay laughed. ‘I learned early on how to work the system.’
Nicole’s normally tanned skin looked pale, tired. At first, Lindsay had attributed it to her change in hair color. Lindsay had cut Nicole’s dark hair and helped her dye it blond. It was a shame because her black hair had been so beautiful.
‘Want some coffee?’ Lindsay offered. ‘I just made a fresh pot.’
Nicole held up a hand in surrender. ‘No, thanks. I’m a little queasy again. I think I’ve caught another bug from one of the kids I photographed. I had one yesterday sneeze all over me.’
‘So, how was work last night?’
She tucked her legs underneath her. ‘Good and bad. I actually got some great shots of the two kids I photographed. Their mother was thrilled and she ended up ordering twice as many prints as she’d planned.’
‘Good. What was the bad part?’
‘My boss, Bill, loves my work too. He keeps raving about it. He keeps wondering how such a talented photographer landed on his doorstep.’
‘Why is that bad?’
She brushed her bangs out of her face. ‘He wants to enter some of my photography in a national competition. Says the publicity would be great for his business. I really was flattered. I’d gotten so used to downplaying my work. And it’s been too long since someone has praised my photos. I’d forgotten how much I missed that.’
Lindsay set her cup down on the arm of the chair. She understood living in secret was hard, but it was necessary right now. ‘Nicole, you can’t enter a national competition.’
‘I know, I know. I’m not foolish enough to risk national exposure.’ She drummed her fingers on the chair’s arm. ‘But I really hate living under the radar. I want my life back. And I want a divorce.’
‘You’ve only been here a couple of weeks. The bruises have only just faded and you’re running on raw emotion. It’s very natural that you’d be angry.’
‘I am angry. In fact, I’m furious. Last night I woke up and was so mad I couldn’t get back to sleep.’
Lindsay kept her tone even. She remembered how battered Nicole had been when she’d first arrived. And from what little Nicole had shared about her marriage, Lindsay knew Richard was a monster. ‘And if Richard were to find you, he would force you back to San Francisco. And I’m afraid he would treat you far worse than before.’
Nicole picked at a loose chip of paint on the chair arm. ‘This is the twenty-first century. It shouldn’t be this way. I have rights too.’
‘I know, I know. This isn’t fair. But sometimes it’s better to be safe than right. Sometimes the only solution is to just vanish.’
A heavy silence settled between them. ‘I’m starting to feel like Christina Braxton died. She’s starting to feel like a distant memory.’
‘She became Nicole Piper. And Nicole Piper is going to have a wonderful life.’
‘But I’ll always worry. I’ll always have to look over my shoulder. Unless I get lucky and Richard drops dead.’
Lindsay understood Nicole was in a no-win situation and didn’t bother with platitudes. ‘What time do you work today?’
‘Three.’ Nicole shifted in her seat and looked through the sliding glass doors at the wall clock. ‘Hey, it’s almost eight. You’re running late.’
Lindsay had been up since six. She’d practiced her yoga for almost ninety minutes, trying to fill her time and to push the murder and Zack from her mind. ‘I don’t have to be in the office until nine.’
‘Is today a shelter day?’
‘No, I’m working out of the Mental Health Services building today.’ She hesitated. She didn’t want to tell Nicole about the murder, because she didn’t want her to worry. But better Nicole hear from her about what had happened. ‘We had some trouble at the shelter yesterday.’
A deep crease formed on Nicole’s forehead. ‘What happened?’
Lindsay chose her words carefully. ‘Ruby, the Sunday night volunteer, found a body behind the shelter near the trash cans.’
Nicole lurched forward. ‘What!’
Lindsay held up her hands. ‘The cops have identified the guy. He’s a local attorney who apparently had lots of enemies.’ She skipped the details about the flowers, the severed hand, and the Guardian’s note. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about, because it has nothing to do with you or Richard.’
Nicole’s expression grew more serious. ‘Lindsay, don’t patronize me. A dead body is something to worry about. How did he die?’
Lindsay picked at the chipping paint on her chair arm. ‘He was shot in the chest.’
Nicole blew out a breath. ‘Who was it?’
‘His name was Harold Turner.’
‘This isn’t good.’
Lindsay smiled, hoping to lighten Nicole’s worries. ‘It’s under control. The police are all over this case. I’m sure they’ll figure out who did this. And I want you to know that I haven’t told anyone that you’re living here.’
Nicole relaxed a fraction, as if Lindsay had touched on a secret worry. ‘Okay.’
‘This will blow over soon enough.’
Nicole looked skeptical. ‘What can I do to help you?’
‘Nothing. Everything is fine. If I need you, I promise to unload my troubles, okay?’
‘I’m holding you to that. You’ve done so much for me.’ Nicole shifted, pressing her hand into her stomach.
‘You aren’t feeling well, are you?’
Nicole’s skin looked sallow. ‘No. I can’t seem to shake this stupid bug.’
Lindsay studied Nicole’s tight face. She
knew her friend was under a terrible strain, but some topics couldn’t be avoided. ‘I’ve been tiptoeing around this subject for a couple of days. But there seems to be no getting around it now. When was your last period?’
Nicole shook her head and held up her hands. ‘Don’t even go there. I’m not pregnant.’
Lindsay relaxed back in her chair. ‘So you’ve had a period recently?’
Slim fingers drew into fists. ‘No, but I’ve been under a lot of stress the last couple of months. Things were getting pretty bad with Richard toward the end.’
Lindsay’s concern returned threefold. ‘How long has it been since your period?’
Nicole frowned, closed her eyes as she thought. ‘Two months.’
Lindsay leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her. ‘Have you ever gone this long before?’
Hope flickered in Nicole’s gaze. ‘When my mother died, I missed one.’
‘But not two or three.’
‘No.’
Lindsay blew out a frustrated breath. ‘You need to take a pregnancy test, Nicole.’
‘I don’t need a test. I’m not pregnant.’ Anger etched her delicate features. ‘Richard said he wanted to have a baby. He said a baby would bind us together forever. But I was able to use some kind of protection almost every time.’
Lindsay rose, then squatted in front of Nicole’s chair and laid her hand on her arms. ‘I’d love to think this is just the flu. But you’ve been sleeping a lot and you’ve been nauseous too often to ignore it any longer. I know you don’t like the idea of carrying Richard’s child, but the possibility exists, doesn’t it?’
Defiance burned in Nicole’s blue eyes. ‘It was only just one time that he completely surprised me and I wasn’t able to take precautions.’
‘When?’
‘May.’
The timing would be right. ‘Once is all it takes, honey.’
Nicole pressed trembling hands to her cheeks. ‘I can’t have Richard’s baby. I can’t.’
‘Hey, hey, don’t panic or borrow trouble. Just pick up a pregnancy test tonight. They have to be taken in the morning. By this time tomorrow, you’ll know where you stand.’
Nicole’s voice was a hoarse whisper. Her gaze reflected fear. ‘Lindsay, what if I am pregnant?’
‘Honey, let’s just do the test first. Then we’ll figure out what the next step is.’
Nicole offered a weak smile, but her eyes still looked panicked. ‘You’re right. One step at a time. You’ve been saying that since I arrived here.’
Lindsay admired Nicole’s strength. With only the clothes on her back, she had left a very powerful, very vengeful man. ‘Do yourself a favor and get out of the house today. Go see some of the city. Put that new camera of yours to work.’ Photography would give Nicole something positive to focus on temporarily.
A sigh shuddered through Nicole’s body. ‘I have been itching to try out the vintage Leica I found at the flea market last week.’
‘Perfect. This apartment could use some real photographic art on the walls.’
A clock in the hallway chimed eight times. ‘Now, I’ve got to get my act together. And my car is still at the shelter, so I’ll have to call a cab.’
‘Why is your car at the shelter?’
She shrugged. ‘Long story.’
Nicole rose, shaking her head. ‘You don’t want to tell me.’
Lindsay smiled. ‘Not right now.’
‘I get that we all have things we don’t like to talk about. Okay, I’ll drive you. Give me fifteen and I’ll be ready to go.’
Lindsay touched Nicole’s shoulder. ‘It’s going to be okay, baby or no.’ It’s going to be okay. She was trying to reassure herself as well.
Nicole straightened her shoulders. ‘I know.’
Both smiled.
But neither believed the other.
Minutes before seven, Zack arrived in the lobby of the Public Safety building. The modern building, located in the west end of the county, housed the homicide division and sat adjacent to the police training facility.
Zack headed past the guard at Reception and, instead of taking the elevator, climbed the steps to his second-floor office. In deference to the heat, he’d skipped the suit today and dressed in khakis and a white collared shirt. The way he figured it, he and Warwick would be doing a lot of legwork on the Turner case.
The homicide division consisted of five small offices, one for each detective, and a conference room with a long table that sat twenty. Fluorescent light made the industrial-blue carpet look gray and the ivory walls washed out.
His eyes itched with fatigue. Dreams of Lindsay had invaded him and kept him awake half the night.
Last night’s dreams were different from the others he’d had this past year. They weren’t a replay of the fights they’d had during the last days they’d lived together. These dreams had been purely sexual. Until yesterday, he’d almost forgotten how good the sex could be between them. When he’d awoken, a restless energy had been churned up. He’d gone for a long run, taken a cold shower, but neither had been enough to banish Lindsay.
‘Damn.’ He grabbed a cup of coffee from the break room and headed to Warwick’s office.
Warwick glanced up from his desk. ‘You look like shit.’
Zack had come to recognize the tone. It meant Warwick was gunning for trouble. Normally, Zack ignored it, but today, he didn’t have the patience. ‘I haven’t been drinking, if that’s what you’re implying.’
Warwick looked unrepentant. ‘This isn’t the time to fall apart.’
Zack hadn’t even had his first cup of coffee and already he was pissed at his partner. ‘I’m not falling apart and I’m not going to drink again. The sooner you accept that fact the better our partnership will be.’
Warwick didn’t hide his skepticism. ‘We’ll see.’
Zack shook his head. ‘And I thought I had hang-ups. But I’m begining to believe you’ve got some real issues of your own.’
Warwick rose abruptly. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Was it your mother or father who was the drunk?’
Tension radiated from Warwick’s body. ‘Don’t try to lay your problems on me.’
‘As long as I’m sober, I don’t have a problem. But you, you could be sober as a judge and still have demons chasing you.’ He sipped his coffee, enjoying the fact that Warwick was the one at a disadvantage. ‘I’d say it was your mother who was the drinker. Or was she a drug addict?’
Warwick tightened his jaw and released it. ‘Fuck off.’
Zack shrugged.
Warwick snatched up a file from his very orderly desk. ‘I asked everyone in the division to meet us in the conference room at seven. They should be waiting for us now.’
Zack knew he’d just opened a wound. If Warwick hadn’t been such a prick these last eight months, he’d have felt bad about it. ‘Let’s do it.’
Warwick nodded stiffly. ‘Right.’
The two went into the conference room as Detective Vega offered Detective C.C. Ricker Danish from a bakery bag.
C.C. glowered at Vega. The redhead stood just over five feet and had a compact, lean body. In her late twenties, she had come up through patrol, the domestic violence division, and for the last two years had worked homicide.
Catching sight of Zack and Warwick, Vega wiped his hands clean. Nick Vega was tall, had olive skin, and wore his black hair slicked back. Born in Cuba, he’d immigrated to New York when he was six. He spoke Spanish like a native and English like a New Yorker.
C.C. stood a little straighter. ‘So I hear you boys snagged yourself a juicy murder.’
Warwick’s frame dominated the space. ‘Lucky us.’
Vega chuckled. ‘Tread carefully. C.C.’s on another diet. Low carbs this time. And she’s mean as a snake.’
Warwick sat down. All traces of the anger toward Zack had vanished. ‘What’s the occasion and how long do we have to suffer before you can have a real meal?’
Warwick’s smile didn’t waver but his eyes hardened a shade. ‘No more Sharon. I’m a single man again.’
C.C. didn’t hide her sadness. ‘Sorry to hear that. I liked her.’
‘No biggie,’ Warwick said.
Zack wouldn’t use any more armchair psychology to his partner again. Their exchange a few minutes ago, coupled with the fact that he’d broken up with another good woman, told Zack all he needed to know. His partner had been raised by a drunk and it had left its mark. No matter what he did, no matter how long he stayed sober, Zack would always be a drunk to Warwick.
Add that to the three detectives’ camaraderie and Zack wondered if he’d ever live down the days he drank.
Ayden entered the room, silencing any other banter. He had rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. Under his arm, he held a stack of files. In his left hand, which still bore his wedding band, he gripped a mug that read ‘#1 Dad,’ a gift from one of his sons. He tossed the files on the table.
‘Zack and Warwick. Phone records just arrived.’ He pushed the files toward them. ‘Harold and Jordan Turner’s are included as well as O’Neil’s and the shelter’s records. There are hundreds of calls to wade through.’
Zack thumbed through the records. He remembered the feeling he’d had yesterday that Lindsay was hiding something. God only knew what they’d find.
‘Is Sara joining us?’ Ayden said.
‘I’m here,’ Sara said, breezing into the room. Her neat ponytail suited her khakis, crisp white shirt, and polished brown flats. ‘And please tell me no one expects DNA this morning.’
They all laughed.
‘Let me guess, your crankiness is a sign that you’re scheduled to speak at the academy today. Am I right?’ C.C. said.