“Brandon was acting as my backup tonight in case things got…sticky,” I said with a pointed look in his direction. Brandon only smiled.
“He brought you flowers?”
“Actually the man who attempted to enter your house dropped these.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Who was it?”
“We don’t know,” I told her.
“But he was young,” Brandon interjected. “Early twenties.”
“Oh, my.” Her hand fluttered to her ample bosom. “Imagine that.”
I was trying hard not to. I mean, it didn’t make a lick of sense. Obviously it didn’t make sense to Brandon, either. He allowed Mrs. Keene to drag him back inside and ply him with coffee and cookies. I figured he must be in shock. He actually took a second cookie.
“She’s as stubborn as someone else I know,” he told me when we finally left after fruitlessly trying to convince Mrs. Keene to call the police.
“I may be stubborn, but I’m not stupid,” I told him. “If I had a kid almost young enough to be my grandson trying to break in to my house with a bouquet of cheap flowers, I’d call the cops, leave or get someone to stay with me. I don’t feel right about leaving here tonight. You’re sure she’ll be okay?”
“I doubt he’ll come back after all the excitement. Would you?”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have come in the first place.”
I loved his grin. Even in the moonlight that flash of teeth was the sort of grin that makes all sorts of impossible things seem possible.
“I’ll follow you home,” he offered, moving closer without seeming to move at all.
My brain finally reengaged and a bubble of protest burst forth. “No!” I had a sudden image of the sort of chaos I might find when I went home tonight and I couldn’t imagine taking Brandon there. The very idea of him in my apartment gave my belly serious quivers.
His hand reached out and tucked a strand of wayward hair behind my ear. “You’re right. Bad idea. I wasn’t followed over here, but undoubtedly Russo knows where you live.”
“He probably knows where you live, too. You shouldn’t go there.”
That slow, easy smile curled my toes. “You’re worried about me?”
“Why would I worry about you? You’ve got night-vision goggles.”
His laughter was magic. His strong features were kissed by the moon. So when his eyes turned serious without warning, I wasn’t prepared. Not for the dark probing look that held me rooted to the grass, nor the strong, warm fingers that lifted my chin to meet his descending mouth.
I have never been kissed before. Not like that. Not with such heart-pounding, soul-searching thoroughness. It was like the first time all over again, only more intense. Way more intense.
When he stopped, he had to hold me upright for a second or my legs would have let go and I’d have sprawled at his feet. Humiliating. He knew it, too. I knew he knew. But he only smiled that devastating smile of his.
“You be careful driving home.”
“Right. Careful. No. That is, my dad lives next door. I’ll probably just stay there tonight.”
“Good idea.”
“Yeah.” My brain was fuzz.
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Because obviously I’d be doing no more talking tonight. He’d swallowed my tongue and sucked out my intellect before melting away into the darkness of the night.
On legs that were far from steady I crossed the lawn to my father’s front porch. I felt Brandon’s eyes on me every step of the way and I continued to shiver.
Dad was still downstairs in his workroom, and I really didn’t want to explain why I was spending the night. Besides, I had the cats to feed in the morning, so I changed my mind and headed back outside. I don’t remember driving home. I remember opening my apartment door and finding lights on in my living room and new pink drapes where my simple white sheers had been.
Hard to forget that moment. It was the pink that pulled me from my sugarcoated daze. I have nothing against pink. Pink’s a fine color. It even looks good on me. But in my living room, with its forest-green carpeting and blue hand-me-down couch, the color’s as good as a slap in the face. Especially that particular vibrant shade of pink. Mrs. Keene would have loved the effect. In fact, my living room was starting to look entirely too much like her wardrobe.
There was something else new. It was rather hard to miss since it clashed so violently with the drapes. My bedraggled plant, looking even worse than it had before, had been moved across the room. In its place in the corner stood a six-foot cat tree—carpeted in gaudy, tattered orange.
Closing my eyes did not make either sight go away. It did, however, help me focus on the note my aunt had left on the dining room table—pinned in place under Grandma’s heavy glass bowl.
Dee, sorry about the color, but we figured as long as the drapes fit, we might as well leave them until you can buy something to replace them. The cat tree was an absolute steal. Mr. Murphy down the street was going to take it to the church rummage sale, but he let us have it for only thirty-five dollars when I explained the situation.
I’d pay him forty to take it back.
Trudy and I felt so bad about your little friend, Mickey, that we drove around over near the park for you this evening. We found a cat that might be Mr. Sam! He’s a male and all gray except for the tip of his tail. We had to lock him in your bathroom because he doesn’t seem to like the cat that’s hiding behind your sofa, but we got most of the blood off the chair.
I closed my eyes. They hadn’t. Not another cat. But of course they had. I should be glad there was only one. I opened my eyes again. I didn’t even want to know whose blood or on which chair.
Everyone’s been fed for the night. The kittens are so dear! And we got the Barnett wedding right before closing tonight. See you in the morning. Love, Aunt Lacy
Well, that explained the new litter box on the floor in the dining room. I had another animal in my pet-free apartment.
I love Aunt Lacy and Trudy, but at the moment I would happily have choked both of them. I do not want to move back in with my dad. And I definitely do not want to move in with Aunt Lacy and Trudy and Clem—though it would serve them right if I showed up on their doorstep with nine cats in tow. If the management found out I was running a cat house out of 24B, that was exactly what was going to happen.
I headed for the bathroom with trepidation. The newest Mr. Sam regarded me from solemn green eyes from the tank on back of the commode.
“Okay, look, cat. This is temporary. Tonight and tomorrow morning only, okay? After that you’re out of here. In the meantime we have to share this space, all right?”
“Meow?”
“Good. Now, I have to use this toilet, so you need to get off the back.”
To my utter shock, he leaped down and immediately began to strop my legs, purring. Tentatively I reached down and touched his head. The purring went up another decibel.
“Okay. We’re going to get along.”
Except that as soon as I opened the bathroom door to leave, he scooted out between my legs and shot for the cat tree. No amount of talking or cajoling would convince him to get down. I was too tired to keep pleading with a cat, so I gave up. I went in the bedroom and started getting ready for bed only to find myself mesmerized by mama cat and her tiny kittens.
I sat on the floor near the closet opening and watched them nurse while she watched me watching them. Because she was such an attentive listener, I found myself telling her all about Brandon and my day.
“You cats have it easy, you know—mate, have kittens, mate again. People have to have relationships. I mean, we’re rivals. How am I supposed to date the competition? And why would he want to date me anyhow? Not that there’s anything wrong with me. I’m not one of those women who picks her looks apart or anything, but I’m not exactly the sort of a woman men hang posters of on their walls. And I don’t want to be—that’s not the point!”
I hesitated. Wha
t was the point? Oh. Yeah.
“He’s gorgeous, cat, you know? No, of course you don’t. But, oh, kitty, that man can kiss. I can still feel his mouth on mine. Why did he have to kiss me? How am I supposed to sleep now?”
Mama cat closed her eyes.
“Am I boring you? Forget it. You’re a lousy conversationalist anyhow.”
She opened her eyes as I stroked the tiny little black-and-white kitten closest to me and got to my feet under her watchful gaze.
“I’m going to bed, cat. But you do have beautiful little babies—even though I’m not a cat person.”
I expected it to be a long, sleepless night, or at least a night filled with disturbing dreams, but surprisingly it wasn’t. I slept deeply and well and there were no signs of mayhem when I left the bedroom to check on the other two felines. Of course, Sam One was still hiding behind the couch and could be dead for all I knew, but the newest addition—I decided to call him George just to be different—even came out to greet me, rubbing against my leg like we were long-lost buddies and diving into the fresh food as if he’d been on the street starving for months. A fact belied by his glossy coat and rounded little belly.
“You had better be Mr. Sam,” I told him sternly. “If not, fake it, okay? I need to be cat free by the end of the day.”
I’d decided to ask Mickey to help me trap Sam One and take him to the animal shelter when he came to pick up what I hoped and prayed was his Mr. Sam. But all that was forgotten when I got to the shop.
Chapter Seven
“Your young man’s in the office. He should have stayed in the hospital,” Aunt Lacy greeted me.
“Hospital? Mickey’s here? He’s been hurt?”
“Of course not. Brandon’s been in an accident.”
Brandon was sitting in the chair from hell leaning his head against the wall. Annabelle was curled in a happy lump on his lap. A bandage on his left cheek didn’t begin to cover the colorful bruise forming underneath.
“Must have been some date,” Trudy said, plopping a bottle of aspirins on the desk along with an unopened bottle of cold water.
“Delvecchi,” I said.
Brandon opened his eyes. “Technically it was a small run-in with a large tree.”
“You had a car accident?”
“After Delvecchi ran me off the road,” he agreed.
Trudy and Aunt Lacy disappeared, but I noticed they left the door open so they could listen. Since my insides were feeling a little shaky, I sat down in one of the lumpy visitor’s chairs without bothering to close the door.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ve had better starts to my day. Think you could give me a ride over to a car-rental place? The Honda’s going to be out of commission for a few days.”
“Are you sure you should be driving? What happened to your face?”
“A tree branch came through the windshield. I’m fine other than a scrape and a twisted knee. I’m not sure how I managed that one, but nothing’s broken.”
“You have to report this.”
His smile held no humor. “Actually the ten or so witnesses did it for me. Of course, no one got a look at the driver, including me, so technically it could have been an accident—if some driver of a silver Lexus was badly impaired or felt inclined to force a complete stranger off the road and into a tree first thing this morning.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“Do you see humor in my expression?”
“What are we going to do?”
He raised his eyebrows and I could feel heat stealing up my neck. I refused to look away, and before he could say anything else, his cell phone began to ring. He checked the name and excused himself to answer the call.
The polite thing to do would be get up and give him some privacy, but I was still trying to get my mind around the fact that I’d been right. Albert Russo wanted Brandon dead because of the report I’d turned in.
The booming voice on the other end of the cell phone carried clearly to where I sat, bringing me out of my guilt-laden funk.
“What the hell’s going on, Kirkpatrick? I hear you were just run off the road.”
Brandon shot me a rueful look.
“I’m fine, Dex.”
The man called Dex swore inventively. “Isn’t one dead Kirkpatrick enough? I told you to let us work it.”
Something cold slithered to life inside me. I remembered the police file on Brandon’s desk. He’d said he’d moved here after his brother had died. His eyes darkened, accepting that he knew I’d heard the caller.
“I have to call you back, Dex.”
“Don’t you dare—”
He disconnected and stared at me.
“One dead Kirkpatrick?” I asked.
“You could be polite and pretend you weren’t listening.”
“I’m not that polite.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall again. He stroked Annabelle’s head with the ease of someone who was quite comfortable with a cat on his lap.
Aunt Lacy appeared in the doorway, started to say something, took one look at my expression and closed her lips along with the office door.
“Seth was older than me,” Brandon said in a velvety voice full of memories I could only imagine. “We were close in that friendly, rivalry, I-can-do-anything-you-can-do-better way a pair of close-knit brothers have. He was an investigative reporter.”
Light dawned. I must have made a sound, because he opened his eyes. I gave an apologetic shrug.
“I don’t know why I didn’t make the connection before. Kirkpatrick isn’t that common a name. Your brother was Seth Kirkpatrick, wasn’t he? He wrote articles for The Plain Dealer. He was killed in a drive-by shooting while doing a story on gang violence. Or was it drug use?”
Brandon’s jaw hardened.
“Not the truth?”
“Truth’s a fragile thing, isn’t it?”
For a long time I thought he wasn’t going to say any more, then he sat up carefully. Annabelle leaped onto the desk and watched as he opened the aspirin bottle, tipped four tablets into his palm and washed them down with a third of the bottle of water.
“Not everyone, even in the police department, believes the official theory. He was a stringer, but his editor never authorized either story and he never discussed them with anyone. Strangely enough, both his work and home computers had a virus that effectively wiped out all his working files.”
“It could happen,” I said hesitantly.
“Yeah, it could. Except that Seth never relied on technology. Coincidentally his handwritten notes and his tape recorder disappeared, as well. No one knew exactly what he was working on, not even his wife—and he always talked about his work with her.”
“Okay, I can see where you’d have believability issues. So this Dex guy that just called you is…?”
Brandon expelled a slow breath of air. “A friend. A local cop and one of the men who doesn’t agree with the current theory.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell him about Russo and Delvecchi? Maybe he could help.”
Brandon gently touched the bandage on the side of his face. The look he gave me raised goose bumps along my skin.
“I think Delvecchi murdered my brother on Russo’s orders.”
“You can’t be serious.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That branch must have hit me harder than I thought. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”
Part of me was all too willing to agree with that assessment. The other part, the part that was forever curious and had led me into becoming a detective in the first place, demanded satisfaction.
“Well, you can’t stop now.”
He mustered a weary smile. “No. If I’m going to get myself killed, Dex needs to know what’s going on.”
“Whoa! Nobody’s getting killed here. Got that? This is a no-kill zone. Violence is unacceptable.”
He stared as if trying to decide if I was kidding or not.
“What
’s going on, Brandon?”
“Elaine Russo called me this morning.”
“What?”
“She claims she wants to hand over the proof that her husband had my brother killed.”
I thought about that for a full second and shook my head. “She’s setting you up. Again.”
“I did consider that, but what’s the point? It’s more likely that she’s actually trying to get back at her husband, like she claims.”
“Are you out of your mind? She set you up once already!”
“And apologized.”
“Oh, she apologized. Well, then. That makes it all right.”
He smiled. A real smile this time.
“I’m not totally stupid, Dee. She’s working her own game. I know that. I’ll take appropriate precautions. But she wants to meet with me, and if she really does have evidence to show that Seth was investigating Albert Russo—”
“I’ll turn into a cat and learn how to purr,” I said as Annabelle swiped playfully at my hand. I sat back out of range. “Get real, Brandon. You can’t possibly trust Elaine.”
“I don’t, but initially when Elaine called me, she claimed she had information on my brother’s murder. She said Seth had been to their home one evening shortly before he was murdered.”
“I could tell you he’d been to my place, too, but that wouldn’t make it so,” I scoffed.
He shook his head and winced. “I’ve been talking to people, tracing his movements over the last few days of his life. Elaine had met Seth, I’m sure of that. Some of what she told me tied in with information I’d already put together.”
“What sort of information?”
“Remember how you mentioned Russo and his connections at city hall? Well, Seth was investigating some sort of graft at city hall. And Seth was the sort who always believed he was invincible.”
There was pain in his voice and in the blue depths of his eyes. I didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d loved his brother deeply.
“I can see Seth going right up to Russo and asking him questions the way she claims he did. Elaine says they argued—loudly. Russo threw him out. The next day he was shot and killed in a drive-by shooting and no one knows why. She doesn’t believe it was a coincidence and neither do I.”
D.B. Hayes, Detective Page 10