Woke Up Dead

by Tina Wainscott

  “I’m sorry,” he said, surprised at how rough his voice sounded.

  “What did I do wrong?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, girl.”

  He was so drawn to her, though he couldn’t explain it. He wanted to keep his distance, but he found himself perching on the coffee table opposite her. In fact, he had to plant his hands on his knees to keep himself from taking hers. The Maxine he knew would have been storming around the room, but now she simply sat there and waited for him to explain. How could he explain when he didn’t understand what had happened?

  “This…” He waved to include both of them and the couch. “isn’t right. We’re different people, we want different things out of our lives. I’m surprised and flattered by your interest, but I think it’s misplaced. A month ago, heck, technically a day ago, you were engaged to someone else. Now your life is in danger, and you think I’m your savior. That’s what this is all about. You’re confused.” As if he had any right to judge her. “Listen, I’ve seen it before. Women start to see the detective as the guy who found their missing…whatever. We’re the hero, and they feel this urge to thank us. Or they see the pictures of their husband and his girlfriend, and reach out to us for a bit of vindication. It’s just like the patient-doctor complex, that attachment thing. When you realize what’s going on here, you’ll see that it’s all wrong.”

  She didn’t appear to see that. “Sam, you have it all wrong. I made a mistake by agreeing to marry Armand. Maybe I knew it wasn’t right the whole time, but was running from my feelings for you. And then fate threw us together. You don’t have any idea how right this is.”

  Without thinking, he put his hands on her knees. “It’s the danger, plain and simple. It has strange effects on people. You’ve put me up on a pedestal, see me as some knight in shining armor. But pretty soon you’ll realize I’m just that same ole’ guy you married and divorced.”

  “No, Sam, it’s different.” He could hear the plea in her voice, could see the sincerity she thought she felt in her eyes.

  “You can’t tell me that after ten years, you suddenly don’t want a life filled with money, prestige and parties.”

  She leaned forward, placing her hands over his. “Yes, I can.”

  Her touch was doing strange things to him. Maybe this danger business was affecting him, too. Damn, this was why he never took on cases he was personally involved in. Yet, he hadn’t been, until tonight. She was looking at him, so close he could feel her breath. The taste of her was still in his mouth, on his lips. Okay, maybe he’d gone too long without the sexual company of a female. Fooling around with Maxine would be his worst mistake. There was that other thing, too, the feelings and images when he’d kissed her.

  She licked her lips, a subconscious act that riveted his attention to them. She could not have gone so long without kissing a man, Armand in particular. Yet, that’s exactly what it had felt like.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” he said, maybe too gruffly.

  “Then start kissing me.”

  He stood so suddenly, she jerked backward a bit. “You’ll get over it. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep now.” He pulled his blanket and pillow from the side of the couch.

  Her body stiffened, and she gave him a look of defiance. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and seemed to struggle with what to do. Then she stood and walked up to him. Be angry, he thought.

  She disappointed him again. “I’m sorry if I pushed, Sam,” she said softly, meeting his eyes with a mixture of vulnerability and honesty in hers. “I wanted you to know how I felt.”

  Then she walked into the bedroom area, Romeo at her heels. She might as well have punched him in the gut. What had happened to the Maxine he knew from before? Could danger change a woman so drastically? She was wearing his wedding ring again, albeit on her right hand.

  He watched her through the cracks in the screens, glimpses of skin and then the creamy thing she slept in. Maybe he was losing his mind. Until the day she’d dropped on his doorstep—literally—he’d felt nothing for her beyond a general good will. Until today, he’d preferred she find someone else to protect her. Everything had changed, and he didn’t like the way it had sneaked up on him. Something stirred inside him, something protective and determined to find her would-be killer. He found himself curious about her, in a physical way. Watching through the cracks…

  Come on, Magee. You’ve seen her naked before.

  Yet his body was responding as though he’d never seen her, never touched her or made love to her. Those strange feelings swirled through him. He turned and picked up the picture of Jennie, running his finger down the grooves on the frame.

  There was a simple explanation to all this: he was losing his mind.

  The morning hadn’t officially started yet, but as awake as Maxine was, it might as well have. The bank of windows that ran along the wall revealed only a hint of light through the curtains. She walked into the living room, holding herself against the slight chill. When she saw Sam lying there asleep, warmth inside overrode the chill outside. She’d heard him toss and turn for a while last night, the same thing she’d been doing. One of his bare legs was over the back of the couch, the other was planted on the floor. It was an interesting position to say the least. The blanket covered his midsection, making her wonder what he was wearing under there. She was sure she could spend hours just standing there looking at him, studying everything about him from the lay of his hair to the contours of his chest.

  Romeo was lying next to the couch. Strange, how he’d picked up his old habit of splitting his time between Jennie and Sam when they were all in the office. He was still asleep, as was his master.

  She ran her finger over her lips, remembering their much too brief kisses. What an idiot she’d been, thinking she could fool him. And herself, for that matter. She wanted to be that worldly woman that Maxine had probably been, but she couldn’t come close. As soon as Sam had leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, she’d frozen. She hadn’t French kissed a boy since she was fourteen years old, and that was during one date with one boy.

  Damn you, mother, for hiding me away. She shook her head, asking forgiveness for her outburst. Helplessness did that to her, and that was something Maxine thought she’d never feel again. I know you were protecting me from all the harshness in the world, but it made me feel so inadequate. It still does.

  That fear of taking a chance still clung to her. She glanced at the picture of Jennie, now at a different angle on the shelf than it had been last night. If she had had more guts, she might have at least kissed more guys. Then she wouldn’t have made such a fool of herself with Sam. No wonder he backed away.

  If only she could have read what was going on behind those eyes of his. Yet, he’d kissed her again, and that time she told herself to be relaxed no matter how much effort it took. As it turned out, it didn’t take much effort at all. She’d opened her mouth to his and let some ingrained instinct take over. Her belly warmed at the memory. Kissing Sam had felt like making love did in her fantasies. She wanted more of it, even while Sam was intent in analyzing her actions and pushing her away. Not in my lifetime, Sam. Not this time.

  “What are you doing?” Sam’s hoarse voice asked.

  She jumped at the intrusion in her thoughts and the silence. “Just thinking,” she said with a shrug. Just standing here looking at you, and thinking. He probably already knew that.

  He ran his fingers along his scalp, coming to a sitting position. “What are you doing up so early?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  He nodded in agreement with that. “Long night.”

  “Why don’t you let me sleep out on the couch, Sam. This is your place, after all.”

  “Nope, can’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.”

  She twisted her lips. “Do you always do what’s right?”

  “Yep,” he said, giving her a look that told her he knew exactly what she was talking about.

 
She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to wake up next to him in the mornings. She shivered at the thought, knowing this body had done just that for five years. How did they fit together? How did their bodies react when they made love?

  “I think you need some breakfast,” Sam said, getting to his feet. “You’ve got that hungry look in your eyes.” He stopped mid-way, glancing down at his white briefs. “Guess I should get dressed first.” He slid into the jeans he’d discarded last night.

  She started to turn away, but he was already in them by that time. She followed him to the kitchen, remembering Gabby’s comment about his derriere. Just grab it, she’d once told Jennie. Very tempting, but she could still see that look in his eyes last night. Haunted almost, but by what? Memories of their marriage? It couldn’t have been that bad.

  “Do you want another banana shake?” he asked, peeling one.

  “What else do you have?”

  “Cereal.” He pulled down a box of Corn Pops.

  “Sounds fine.” She looked for a bowl and spoon while he fixed his shake. When she poured the cereal into the bowl, she stared at the round, colored circles mixed in with the yellow corn puffs. “Er, Sam? Why has the integrity of the Corn Pops been violated?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you: you have to pour it just so. When I have several boxes of cereal with only a bit left, I pour them in one box a layer at a time. Then I pour out one layer at a time.” He shrugged at her questioning look. “It’s what’s nice about being a bachelor. Never having to explain all your quirky habits to anyone.”

  She looked down at her mixture of Fruit Loops and Corn Pops, shrugged, and poured the milk. “When you love someone, it’s those quirky habits that make them endearing.”

  “Until that initial infatuation wears off; then they’re annoying.”

  “Was…I annoyed by your quirks?”

  “Highly.” He started the blender.

  That wasn’t true, but she couldn’t say that. As Jennie, she’d always loved his quirks: stirring his coffee with a pen, throwing everything on his desk into a box when a client came in for an appointment. She smiled at the memories. Jennie was cool about things like that. It had never worn off either, because she had been more than infatuated with Sam. He had appreciated that in her, as he’d said at least once.

  Yes, in some ways, she had been perfect for him. And she’d made him laugh, he’d said. He had thought she was beautiful. She’d only thought of herself as dull and ordinary, beyond the wheelchair and its requirements. The man she held in the highest esteem had thought much more of her. She felt a chill of realization wash over her as she glanced across the room at the picture he kept of Jennie.

  Jennie hadn’t been such a boring person after all. Though she hadn’t been any great beauty, she had been pretty enough. To Sam, at least. She’d been competent, and valued as an employee and friend.

  She got up and walked over to the picture, though pretended to look at the stereo. Jennie Carmichael grinned up at her. Maxine wrapped her fingers around her throat. She didn’t know the woman in that picture anymore. Now she wondered if she’d known her even when she was her. Sam had shattered every self-perception she’d had.

  “What’s wrong?” Sam asked, turning the blender off and making her realize she hadn’t even heard it.

  “I wanted to…turn the television on.”

  “Those are the stereo controls there. The remote’s on the coffee table.”

  She turned it on, and habit made her switch to the cooking channel she’d watched every Saturday. Somehow she wanted to connect to Jennie again, even in a small way. At the moment, she didn’t know who she was.

  Sam was looking at the screen when she returned to her cereal, now soggy.

  “The cooking channel?”

  “Uh huh.” She turned to Sam, who still watched with disbelief. “I want to make you dinner tomorrow night. Just you and me.”

  “You want to make me dinner? Not like those frozen dinners your ex-fiancé eats, I hope.”

  “No, a real honest-to-goodness dinner.” That had been one of her fantasies, right after the kissing one—making Sam dinner.

  He gave her that skeptical look she was getting used to, but it was still mixed with surprise. “What are you going to make?”

  She glanced at the television. “Let’s see what I can find on these shows. I always do that on the weekends, find some interesting things to make on the cooking channel and have the ingredients delivered…” She trailed off, realizing she was talking as Jennie. Maybe all of Jennie hadn’t died after all.

  “You hated cooking.”

  “That was before; this is now.” She got up and searched for a pad of paper and pen, then sat back down at the table and watched the show. “Hm, how about poached salmon with an herb crust?”

  He was shaking his head. “Whatever you want.”

  I rather like that sentence, she thought with a grin.

  A tall elegant woman opened a tall, elegant door where Maxine and Sam stood on the wide front veranda.

  “Mrs. Sandman, I’m Sam Magee, and this is my assistant, Maxine Lizbon. I’d like to talk to you for a minute about a case I’m working on.”

  Maxine rather liked the sound of that: his assistant. The woman at the front door studied Sam’s business card, then looked hesitantly up. “What does this concern?”

  “A family that used to live in this area about five years ago. The Santinis. There was an accident at their new home, and I was asked to investigate.”

  Maxine liked the way he alluded that the Santinis had hired him.

  The woman’s expression darkened. “That was a long time ago. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.”

  “I’d like to try,” he said, giving her a smile that made Maxine feel very cooperative anyway.

  “All right,” Mrs. Sandman said, stepping aside. She led them to a sunny breakfast nook where she was having a coffee and croissant.

  Sam declined a cup, and so did Maxine. “You remember the Santinis then?” Sam asked, pulling out his notepad.

  “Oh, yes. They were…an unusual family.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He was a ventriloquist. He’d sit out there and talk to himself for hours. He spoke to me, if I was out there weeding or planting, but he always did it through that creepy dummy. I haven’t liked those things since that movie, Magic came out. Anyway, I didn’t like him that much. Mrs. Santini was pleasant enough. Very self-absorbed, though.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I never saw them do anything as a family. She would be lying out in the sun, and her boy would come out to talk to her. She’d shoo him away, as if he were a bug. I felt so sad for him. He spent a lot of time by himself, wandering around the grounds. The daughter got more of her mother’s attention, but she spent a lot of time with her brother. Typical adoring younger sister, I suppose. They were always climbing on things, or hanging from the balconies. Used to give me the willies watching them. Then they took to dropping things off the balcony or the roof of the shed.”

  Maxine saw Sam perk up. “Dropping things?”

  “Like water balloons. They’d have targets below, and they’d yell ‘bombs away’ or something. Once they even dropped one on their father’s head. He seemed to take it rather well.”

  Sam crossed one leg over the other. “What about the accident with Mrs. Santini?”

  “What a shame that was.” The woman rubbed her arms. “Talk about horrible timing. They had these ornate concrete things at the corners of the balcony. They don’t have them on there anymore; the new owners removed all of them when they heard about the accident. They were attached with a metal rod, but one had come loose. I guess the rod had disintegrated with the weather, and the thing fell on Mrs. Santini just as she walked beneath.” The woman shook her silver head. “So sad.”

  “How did the children react?”

  “They seemed to withdraw. I never saw them apart after that.”

  “And Mr. San
tini?” Maxine asked, getting into the spirit.

  “He was a mess. Put the house on the market the next week for almost nothing. My husband wanted to buy it, just for investment purposes, but the new neighbors beat us to the punch.” She shrugged. “Is there anything else you wanted to know?”

  “No, that’ll do it.” Sam stood and extended his hand. “Thank you for your help. We’ll find our way out.”

  During the car ride back, Maxine asked, “It still points to James, doesn’t it?”

  “His mother ignored him, and she died. You threatened his inheritance, and you almost died.” He shook his head. “But I get the feeling there’s something we’re missing here, and it’s bugging the heck out of me. I need to talk to Floyd again. He’s the only real link to the one behind this. Maybe he’s remembered something else.”

  The Pig’s Tail didn’t look any less dingy in the daylight than it did at night. She watched Sam walk in, praying that he would walk out in one piece again. As he’d instructed, she’d locked the doors and sat down in her seat, watching for signs of anything unusual. At the slightest suspicion, she was to honk the horn.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when he walked out again, though his expression did not look hopeful. When he got in the car, the smell of cigarettes wafted through the air. Strangely enough, on Sam it smelled good somehow.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He sat there for a moment, staring ahead at nothing. Finally he turned to her. “It seems as though our friend Floyd is dead. The cops were in earlier asking the barkeep about his habits and the company he kept. They think it was a mob hit; one shot to the back of his head, execution style.”

  A grisly image formed in her mind, though she could hardly dredge up any real sympathy for the man. “That doesn’t sound like something James would do. I mean, he’s more into hitting people with heavy objects.”