Megan lifted her hands into air quotes. “I’m not sure about ‘good guy’, but I know he didn’t do it.” She plodded through to the kitchen and poured herself some more wine. The frigid swim had sobered her up faster than she’d planned on. She and Callie sat in front of the fireplace. Clyde moved in between them, close to Megan, as though trying to warm her. “Next subject, please.”
“We should call the police.”
“No, we should talk about something else now.” Megan gave no room for any further discussion on the subject.
After a releasing a frustrated sigh, Callie said, “When did you get a dog?”
“I found him.” With little patience remaining, she got to the point: “So, what happened?”
“Oh, they came back. You were right, Krause is one angry bitch.”
“Uh-huh.” She hesitated to ask more questions but went ahead anyway. “Did they tear the place apart?”
Callie raised his eyebrows. “Surprisingly, no. They seemed to be looking for something very specific.”
“Of course they were. The murder weapon.”
“The paper didn’t say how he was killed so I have no idea,” Callie answered.
“Trust me, they don’t either. They’re on the wrong path.”
“What path do you think they should be on?”
Megan wanted to end the conversation regarding the police, warrants, all of it. “Talk about something else.” It was a command and not a request.
Callie started to rub Clyde’s belly while staring into the fire, but Clyde was miffed at Megan’s divided attention, and he settled himself on the floor. “So, today was your first day in the Polar Bear Club. How did it go?”
Megan punched him in the arm. “Ass!”
He pretended to punch back when Megan turned the wrong way, feeling a biting pain. “Damn it.”
“From your fall? Let me see.” He lifted her shirt. “You did take a tumble. Ice is pretty unforgiving.” He rubbed her shoulder. “That means only one thing then.”
“What?”
“You’ll have to be on top.” He gave her the same smile he did freshman year in college. Now, as then, it worked.
Megan had forgotten how soft Callie’s lips were. His kisses were slow and filled with intention. “Bedroom?”
Megan nodded in the direction.
“You never got that massage today, did you?”
She shook her head. “You know how to give a massage?”
“Come on.” He stood up and took Megan’s hand. In the bedroom, he took his time removing her clothes. “I’d forgotten how beautiful your pale Irish skin is. You look exactly the same.” Callie removed Megan’s hair clip, allowing her damp chestnut hair to fall over her shoulders. He knelt down and separated her legs slowly, massaging her below the waist.
“That’s not the massage I thought I was going to get.” She stared down at him, running her fingers through his hair.
“I’m just warming up.” He stood up and gave her a long, deep kiss. “Lie down on your stomach.”
Megan situated herself on the bed while Callie partially disrobed. “Do you have any lotion or oil?”
“In the medicine cabinet.” Callie returned and mounted Megan as she situated her pillow. “This better be good.” She smiled.
“Close your eyes and shut up.” He used long, gliding strokes up and down Megan’s back while intermittently kissing the side of her neck. He whispered in her ear, “I’ve never forgotten our first time together. You were wild and confident, and sexy, as if you’d been fucking for years. Loved that.”
Megan could smell his cologne. The scent relaxed her as much as his touch. When he lightly kneaded the bruised areas, she flinched for a moment, then relaxed as she felt his hardness expand just below her tailbone.
“We went five times that night.”
She lightly opened her eyes. “How did you remember that?” She smiled. “That’s youth.”
“No, that’s this”—he flexed his hips into her—“and this”—he moved his oily fingers into her wetness. In one motion, Callie turned on his back, flipping Megan over his groin. “Fits like a glove.”
“Shut up, Callie.” She leaned over, offering him intense, wild kisses, which earned a much deserved groan. Megan moved her hands to his wrists and placed his arms above his head, holding him down. It was about to become a long, memorable night.
Seventeen
Megan turned over to find the most pungent smell coming at her. She was relieved it was Clyde’s breath and not Callie’s. “Hey, boy.” She rubbed his ears and he offered a small whimper in return. “You have to go out?” She checked her watch and was shocked at the time. “Oh my God. It’s nearly noon. No wonder you’re anxious, buddy.” Megan slipped on her robe and tiptoed across the bedroom.
“It’s okay, I’m awake,” Callie said, turning over. “Did you say noon? I need to get to work.”
“Towels are in the side cabinet next to the shower door.” Megan went and opened the door for Clyde. When she turned to the right, she found Detective Sam Nappa standing on the deck, about to ring the doorbell.
“Hello, McGinn.” He looked her up and down. “I take it you didn’t listen to my voicemail.”
“What are you doing here?” Megan wasn’t sure if she was shocked or angered by her partner’s arrival. Though she’d only been out of the city for a week, Megan hadn’t seen her partner in nearly a month. Looking at him now prompted a mental trailer of why she’d run away to New Jersey.
“McGinn, it’s twenty degrees out here, can I come in?”
She’d forgotten what little manners she still possessed. “Of course, yes, come in.”
Nappa walked in and glanced around. “This is a very nice place. Fantastic view.” He walked over to the main window. “Boathouse too. Very nice.”
There was a bark at the door.
“That’s Clyde. He’s not mine.” Megan let Clyde in and started to pour his food into his bowl. “So, what did your message say?”
Nappa had a way of staring into Megan that wasn’t so much disarming as it was heartening. She knew how much he cared and worried for her. After all, as partners in Homicide, they had to have one another’s backs.
“I’m here for a few reasons, but first I want to take you out to lunch, and then I …”
“Hey, Trouble, I’m late. I need to head to the restaurant so—” Callie stopped not just mid-sentence but mid-stride as he was rushing out.
Awkward.
Megan took a deep breath. “Chris Callie, this is my partner, Detective Sam Nappa.”
Boxers facing off before the first bell had kinder demeanors. Nappa, being the ultimate gentleman, took a step forward to shake Callie’s hand.
“Hello. Sorry, I didn’t know you were expecting company,” Callie said without the least bit of an apologetic tone.
“Neither did I,” Nappa replied.
“I’m late, I have to go. Nice meeting you, detective.” He gave Megan a kiss on the cheek and took a quick sip of the glass of water on the counter before his departure. “I’ll call you later.”
After Callie shut the door, Nappa cocked his head, folded his arms, and gave Megan a small squint. “New friend?”
“Nappa, he’s an old friend from college I ran into here.” Megan leaned a hand on the counter. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
Nappa knew Megan ran hot that way. He got close once, but a case interrupted them from fulfilling their chemistry. “McGinn, go get ready. I drove by a restaurant on the way here. It looked interesting, as long as it’s not his restaurant.” Nappa smiled. “Pub 199?”
“You’re safe.”
“I’d say he’s safe. I’m carrying two guns.”
“Good point. Give me fifteen minutes.”
Megan went into the bedroom to change, and Nappa stared down at the
glass Callie had just sipped from. He quietly opened a few kitchen drawers before finding a stash of plastic bags. In the moment, he was unsure if it was his gut or jealousy that made him do it. He did it anyway. He used the plastic bag to pick up the glass and placed it in the pocket of his winter coat.
Time will tell, was his last thought before Megan reentered the kitchen.
When they walked into Pub 199, there was a much-needed moment for pause. It wasn’t the fifteen or more television screens on the wall or the generous-sized bar that stopped them. It was the room beyond the bar. The combination hunting lodge/biker bar/cafeteria-style bingo hall held an array of stuffed animal trophies: coyote, bear, deer, cheetah, elk, even a giraffe. And those were just the animals Megan recognized.
“Oh my God,” Megan laughed.
“Have you been here before?” Nappa wondered.
“No, I would have remembered.”
The hostess seated them, and they continued to look around the room in awe.
“PETA must be pissed,” Nappa commented.
“This is a taxidermist’s wet dream,” Megan responded. They fell into silence looking over the menu, and both had to admit the prices were extremely reasonable, especially for two people accustomed to the cost of dining in Manhattan. “Fuck, lobster with sides for fifteen dollars. Twenty-ounce New York Strip with sides for thirteen dollars!”
“Let’s order, I’m getting both.”
“You’re a pig, Nappa,” Megan joked, but for a moment she had the same thought.
Their waitress had a nametag pinned to her shirt that read Dee. She was a bleach-bottle blonde, her overprocessed hair resembling straw piled high on her head. She didn’t smile. Megan thought she’d probably spent a lifetime waiting tables and pouring shots for small-town drunks. She was the type of woman who didn’t age gracefully. It wasn’t just the obvious tanning booth visits or the smoker’s voice. The giveaway was the glint of bitterness in her eyes when a prettier or younger waitress walked by. A harsh reminder that those days were long gone for her.
The cocktails arrived, orders were placed, and now it was time to have what Megan was sure was going to be an uncomfortable conversation.
Nappa met her eyes. “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. That’s kind of unusual.”
She nodded. “I think it’s the longest we’ve gone since we became partners.”
“Just so you know, I tried to give you fair warning I was coming up here. That’s hard to do when you don’t answer most of my calls. I was surprised you picked up a few nights ago, not that you said much.”
“Nappa, you knew I took a leave of absence. I said I needed to get out of the city.” She tapped the table. “Press constantly hanging outside of my apartment building, outside my parents’ house. Hell, I was afraid I was going to be photographed at the cemetery when I went to say goodbye before I came out here.”
“The perp is still in the hospital.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Megan answered.
“At some point you’re going to have to come back for depositions and such. You know that.” Nappa’s brown eyes filled with guilt. He didn’t like to be the one to remind Megan of the cold, hard truth of the current circumstances, the reality of their jobs.
Megan chugged her cocktail and flagged down the waitress to ask for another. “Not this week, not next week, probably not until next year. You know that.”
“Next year isn’t that far away. It’s only a few weeks till Christmas; you know how fast that flies by.” Nappa caught himself one comment too late when he witnessed Megan’s sullen reaction. “Sorry. You of all people know the holidays are coming up.”
“No worries.” She wanted to make him feel better for the minor faux pas. “Remember last year at the Murphys’?”
“How could I forget that Thanksgiving? I’m the only Italian-American in a room with thirty-five Irish people. Three cooked turkeys, and your father and Uncle Mike pulling me aside every fifteen minutes to do shots. And the two-day hangover! I think that was my favorite holiday ever. I felt at home, it felt like family.”
“Nappa, you are family, don’t be a jerk.”
“Now I feel like family,” he laughed, then also ordered another drink. “What about your college buddy? Callie, was it? Is he family?” He smirked.
Megan rolled her eyes. “Oh stop!” The appetizers arrived just in time as far as Megan was concerned. “It will be a quiet holiday season this year. I don’t even want to acknowledge it.”
“Well, speaking of the Murphys, Uncle Mike really wants you to call him, even if only to hear your voice. Aunt Maureen bought a bunch of warm sweaters, socks, a winter hat, and gloves for you. I have them out in my car. All from the Irish store in the neighborhood, of course.”
“They’re always doing nice things like that,” she said in almost a whisper. Megan cut to the chase. “That isn’t the only thing you brought though, is it?” She was clearly speaking of the letter from the mother of one of their most-recent victims.
“It’s in my glove box. I’ll give it to you before I leave.”
“Did you read it?”
“Absolutely not. She brought it in to the station personally,” Nappa added. “Now stop eating all the hot wings; your ass is getting big.”
A devoured chicken wing was thrown at his head immediately. Megan would never have admitted it, but it was comforting to see Nappa again. He’d walked with her through the hell that brought her to this place in her life. There was a knowing they had for one another. Most of the time she was comforted by it; in this moment she felt he could read her every thought, though, and she wanted to keep those to herself for now.
“I see you’ve had big happenings in this little lake town. It made the city news.” Nappa smiled. “Fifteen seconds of news, anyway.”
“The crime scene was across from my house,” Megan said, swigging her second cocktail. “Strange to see police tape again.”
“I guess you’re not a fan at the moment.”
“No.” Megan looked away. “I most definitely am not.”
The waitress stopped to clear the appetizer dishes from the table. Megan looked at the waitress once again. Dee didn’t smile. Megan felt empathy, but she was also afraid of Dee’s jaded demeanor. She quietly wondered if she gave off similar vibrations.
“So, who’s your new partner?” Megan asked.
“Temporary partner. Palumbo. Rasmussen broke his leg falling down subway stairs chasing a perp. He’s out of commission for a while, so it’s me and Palumbo until you come back.”
“Nudge, nudge,” Megan replied to his overt hint. “Palumbo’s a good fit for you. He’s not the pain in the ass I am—was.”
“True.” Nappa smiled knowing full well he’d prefer his old partner back. “But you smell better than he does.”
“Jeez, be sure to speak at my funeral some day. She was a good cop and she smelled nice. That’s what I want to be remembered for.”
An hour later they both had, as Megan called it, food babies. Practically waddling out of the restaurant, Nappa drove Megan back to the lake house. He unloaded Aunt Maureen’s winter gifts from the car and then handed Megan the handwritten note.
She held the envelope, not wanting to think about what the mother of a murdered woman would have to say to her. And then she realized how much she and Mrs. McAllister had in common. It’s not a club anyone ever wants to join.
“Are you going to read it?” Nappa asked.
Megan didn’t answer, because she didn’t have an answer. “Good to see you, Nappa. Drive home safe.”
“Megan?”
It was odd for her to hear Nappa say her first name. It happened only once previously and the context was intimate, sexual, heated. She turned around waiting for him to continue.
He stalled, fumbled for words. “Just, don’t be a stranger. And call Uncle Mike.”
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She nodded, knowing she was isolating herself and that people who cared for her were concerned. “I will.” She walked into the house and was given a bold, spirited welcome by Clyde. She felt a rush of warmth—until she realized she had leftover steak in a bag.
“So it’s not me you’re happy to see so much as the steak you’re hoping you’ll get later. Touching.”
Megan didn’t open the letter. Instead, she placed it on the mantel of the fireplace, tucked behind the vase of dried roses. It didn’t go unnoticed. Dead roses. Her mother, Rose, dead. There are no coincidences. There was, however, the lingering question as to who had attempted to harm her on the dock.
Eyes in the back of your head, Meganator, as her father reminded her time and time again. Eyes in the back of your head.
Eighteen
I was scheduled for lunchtime prep at Krogh’s today, so I left for work earlier than usual. I was only ten minutes from work when I drove over a hill to find a fallen tree branch blocking my way. It wasn’t huge, something I knew I could move. I placed the shifter in park, put my flashers on, and cleared the road. When I returned to my car, I went to move the gearshift back into drive, but it wasn’t moving. I looked down to find my keys were out of the ignition. I searched the floor of my seat. There was no sign of them. It wasn’t until I sat back and looked in my rearview mirror that I realized where they’d gone.
He was wearing a motorcycle helmet, a dark-tinted visor concealing his face. He lunged forward from the back seat, covering my mouth with his cigarette-smelling fingers, and handed me a note. It said, “I know you came into the house the night your father got what he deserved. You are to tell no one—whatever you saw.”
I shook my head frantically, trying to sign no to the man. On the passenger seat was a pen. I repeatedly pointed at it. The man didn’t let go of my mouth. He leaned forward and handed me the pen. I scribbled, “Saw no one!!!”
The man took back the note, got out of the car, and pushed his motorcycle out of the bushes. He pulled up next to my car and dangled my keys in front of me. Then, surprisingly, he handed them back. He rode off at warp speed.
Hidden Vices Page 9