by Julie Hyzy
Surprised by the sound of raised voices outside his office, he turned just as the door opened and a group entered. His young, blond secretary stood beyond the doorway, biting a fingernail, shaking her head, eyes wide with undisguised curiosity. “I thought I asked you gentlemen to call first,” DeChristopher said, with weary condescension. “Really, I don’t have enough time in the day already. You’ll have to schedule an appointment.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, we did,” George said, smiling and holding up his handcuffs. “The guys from Financial Crimes and the State’s Attorney’s office are doing that now. They’re getting a warrant for your house, your business, and your cars, as we speak. But right now you’re coming with us.”
“For what?”
He shrugged, “Oh, let’s see . . . concealing a homicide, unlawful restraint, possession of stolen property. Conspiracy.”
DeChristopher’s face reddened. “This is ludicrous. There’s been a mistake.” He turned to the door, addressing his secretary. “Patty, call Larry. Get him in here right away.” When she didn’t move, DeChristopher shouted, “Patty, you stupid bitch, get Larry. Now!”
George meandered over to the polished credenza along the wall, trailing his fingers along the top of a bright crystal prism. He lifted the trophy, letting the sun play havoc with the facets inside, sending colors around the room. “Nice trinket,” he said, then feigned surprise as he read the inscription. “‘The Bar Association’s Award for Citizen of the Year.’” He lifted his eyebrows. “Well let’s hope next year’s recipient gets to keep this a little longer, hmm?”
“Turn around, Mr. DeChristopher,” Bill said, grabbing the man’s arm and ratcheting the first cuff in place. He cracked his gum, and grinned. “You have the right to remain silent . . .”
* * * * *
“You understand the strings we had to pull to get you into Witness Protection, don’t you?” Detective Lulinski’s voice was a growl as he and Detective Schumann escorted Pete to Annie’s house. “You don’t cooperate, you don’t get in. Plus you still got to help us get the goods on this Don Romas guy. Using those two eggs you lifted. And you better be straight about that picture being here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Pete said. Geez, if he had a quarter for every time somebody said “you better get that picture” in the past couple of days, he’d be rich already.
Annie and Sam opened the door for them as they approached. It was almost like a reunion the way the detectives and the two of them acted like they were old friends.
As if they’d be anywhere without my help, Pete thought. He grimaced, watching them, annoyed at the way they kept congratulating each other on how things worked out and how they kept explaining parts back and forth. Didn’t they get sick of their own voices? He was sick of them. They were all so happy. Even the damn dog wagged his tail at the cops, but then backed up and growled when Pete looked at him.
He sighed. It would have been great to be a real millionaire, but somehow he’d always known that sort of thing was out of his league. After the group chatted for a while, the older detective finally turned to him. “Okay, buddy, where’s it at?”
Heading over to the vibrating chair, he heard Annie’s gasp of surprise. Maybe this could be fun after all. Reaching around the back to unzip the extra cover, he pulled out three girlie magazines and took particular enjoyment out of Annie rolling her eyes at that. Pete pushed his glasses back up his nose with a grin. Feeling like a magician onstage, he reached in again and pulled out the drawing, covered for protection by a brown grocery bag.
“Ta-daaa!” he said, pulling it out with a flamboyant gesture.
The dog growled again.
“Okay, Mr. Jokester,” Detective Lulinski said. “Hand it over, and let’s go.”
On the trip from Annie’s house to the YMCA, Pete had started to call them George and Bill, even though they told him they didn’t like it. The Witness Protection People had given him three choices: Arizona, Wyoming, and Louisiana. Pete thought that Arizona sounded good, closest to the Mexican border.
George and Bill escorted him into his tiny accommodations, giving him no privacy. George didn’t stop pacing the small room, even though he couldn’t take more than five steps before he was forced to turn and pace back again. Bill sat on the bed as Pete scrounged his meager belongings together. The metal drawers of the lone brown dresser gave a shrill squeak with every pull.
“How long’s this going to take?” George asked, for the third time. “Chrissakes, it isn’t like you got all that much to pack here, you know.”
“I’m working on it,” Pete said, more to calm his own frazzled nerves than anything.
He’d already packed his clothes into the brand new suitcase they’d provided, and now he rooted around in the drawers to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Even though his room had a lock, he’d never felt as if it was truly secure. So, he’d taken pains to hide things. A leather shaving kit came as a bonus with the new case. He grabbed that and headed into the bathroom.
“You done?” Bill started to stand up.
“I gotta go.” Pete gestured with his head toward the adjacent facilities. “And I gotta pack my shower stuff, too. Okay?”
Bill rolled his eyes. “Sure. Go ahead. But be quick about it. We want to get rid of you—pronto.”
Locking the door behind him, Pete scrambled to the floor, reaching behind the toilet’s inlet pipe. Keeping his face tilted upward, and using only touch to guide him, he pulled at the tiles he’d loosened the first day he’d gotten here. The uneven grout along the edges scraped at his fingers and he grunted, once, but moments later the two big tiles came down in his hands.
“Ah,” he said.
Reaching into the space between wall studs—his own personal safe—Pete pulled out a newspaper-wrapped package, gingerly cradling it in his lap as he sat back on the chilly floor.
Stifling a giggle, Pete unfolded the newspaper, letting the rainbow lights of the sparkling gems escape and play against the drab walls of the tiny bathroom.
“You ready yet?” George yelled.
Pete leaned over and flushed the toilet. “Yeah,” he answered, raising his voice to be heard. “I’m ready.”
He stretched a finger out to caress the golden shell of the third egg, the one nobody else knew about, giving himself a final look before he rewrapped it and stuffed it into the shaving kit. He sighed. Living like a millionaire in Mexico might not be so out of reach after all.
* * * * *
Even a few days later, Annie’s hands still shook when she thought about it all.
She slipped her arm into Sam’s, as they walked beneath a canopy of tall trees. Max strained on his leash, trying to get Sam to move faster. They’d brought him to this meadow several times for exercise and he evidently couldn’t wait to chase the Frisbee in the sunny prairie grass.
The majestic trees’ upper branches rippled and whispered in the warm breeze and Annie took a deep breath of pleasure, remembering the first few times they met and how different things were now. How much better. Things happen for a reason, she thought.
Sam glanced down at her, and for a moment she wondered if he’d been reading her mind. “Everything okay?”
“Very okay,” she said.
He touched her hand, his fingertips playing along the tops of her knuckles. “What else did the doctor say?”
Annie shook her head. “Believe it or not, everything’s fine. All the test results are in now. I’m healthy, the baby’s healthy.” She glanced downward with a smile, “Even after everything we’ve been through.”
At the mouth of the meadow, Sam reached down to unclasp the dog’s leash. Max bounded away, prancing over the high grass, barking. He came back a moment later, tongue lolling out of his mouth, an expectant brightness in his chocolate brown eyes.
“You brought his toy, didn’t you?” Annie asked.
Sam dropped his backpack to the ground and rummaged through till he found the bright blue plastic Frisbee. “Go get i
t, boy!” he shouted, flinging it out across the field.
They watched the dog take off. Annie thought for a moment that if she ever heard joyous barking this was it.
Sam turned to her. “What did your Uncle Lou have to say about all this?”
“He’s in his glory.” Annie laughed. “The newspaper asked him to come out of retirement just for one more feature, seeing as how his niece was responsible for the recovery of the Durer drawing to the Art Institute. I have no idea how they got all that information, but he’s down there right now, working to get it polished for the morning edition.”
“He’s quite a guy.”
Annie felt contentment settle over her; she was a lucky girl. Changing the subject, she made a face. “Do you realize that this all started because DeChristopher’s kids messed up our wall?”
Sam laughed, shaking his head. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“It’s just about done, you know.”
“I know.”
“I’ll miss working on it,” Annie said, wistfully. “And I’m even going to miss working on the dinosaurs, believe it or not. But a couple of other people have called me, so there might be new ones to start soon.”
Max dropped the Frisbee at Sam’s feet, panting. After waiting a moment, he pushed it closer with his nose.
“Okay, boy,” Sam flung it out into the field again. “Go, get it.”
They were silent for a long moment.
Annie canted her head, listening to the rush of the wind through the weeds, and Max’s distant barking. “But how can you be sure he won’t run off?”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes,” he said, “you just gotta have faith.”
Warmed, Annie smiled. “Faith. I like that.”
“So do I.”
“No, I mean for a name.”
Sam gave her a quizzical look.
She ran a hand over her abdomen. “The doctors think it’s a girl, you know.”
Max bounded back again, the Frisbee flapping in his mouth like a big, wide blue tongue.
Sam grinned. “Faith Morgan.” He put his arm around Annie’s shoulders and pulled her close, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “You know what? I like that, too.”
THE END
Originally published in 2004, Artistic License is Julie Hyzy’s first novel.
Connect with Julie Hyzy online at www.juliehyzy.com
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http://juliehyzy.blogspot.com/
Books by Julie Hyzy
Artistic License
Alex St. James series
Deadly Blessings
Deadly Interest
White House Chef Mysteries
State of the Onion
Hail to the Chef
Eggsecutive Orders
Buffalo West Wing
Manor House Mysteries
Grace Under Pressure
Grace Interrupted