DEATHBLOW

by Dana Marton

  OhGodohGodohGod.

  “Are you all right?” Joe was pulling over already, putting out the four-way blinkers.

  She was out of the car before it fully stopped, then lifting Justin out of the car seat, shaking as she walked away, trying to keep it together.

  “Hey, want to look at the Indian?” She trotted to the cigar-store window with him, nervous energy racing through her. “Wow. He’s pretty big, isn’t he?” Her heart beat in her throat.

  There’d been something furry in the box. And blood.

  Her heart raced. Dammit, Keith.

  Justin stared at the carved, wooden Indian with wide-eyed rapture. “He’s got feathers.”

  “I think that means he’s the chief.” She glanced back at Joe.

  He’d gone around the car to her side and was using a tissue to touch the box. He checked inside, looked back at her. “I’ll have someone from the station come and pick this up.” He nodded toward the Main Street Diner behind her. “Why don’t you go inside for a little while?”

  Sure. Okay. She didn’t want to fall apart on the sidewalk. She shifted Justin on her hip. “What do you think about lunch? You want to eat here? I bet they have cookies.”

  “Yay!” Justin clapped his hands, oblivious to anything else but the promise of dessert.

  She wanted to keep it that way, so she stepped inside the diner, knees shaking, and took the nearest empty booth.

  “Oh, look. Dancing sheep.” She pointed at the place mat that was set up for coloring. Better distract Justin so he wouldn’t start asking why Joe wasn’t coming in.

  The place was clean and bright, nothing fancy. Gleaming glass cases displayed pies and other goodies, the mouthwatering aroma of good, homemade food mixing with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. In the middle of a workday—post lunch, predinner—most of the tables stood empty.

  A waitress came by and pulled a box of crayons from her pocket, then set it in front of Justin with a wink. She was older and had the kind of ageless beauty women prayed for, long graying hair in a French braid, a warm smile on her face. “There you go, big boy.” She placed a menu in front of Wendy. “Hi. Welcome to the diner. I’m Eileen. Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Thank you. A glass of water and a glass of apple juice, please.”

  While her son colored, Wendy looked through the menu, barely seeing what she was reading. All she could see was the fur and the blood. Did she even want to know what was in that box? She hoped Joe would get rid of it by the time they went back outside.

  Eileen served their drinks.

  Wendy thanked her. “We’ll share one of your famous meat pies.” She pointed at the picture of one that was supposed to be stuffed with chicken, broccoli, corn, peas, mushrooms, and cheese. Justin liked colorful food. He wasn’t a picky eater.

  Eileen didn’t write the order down, just stood there smiling at them the way a mother would when serving food in her own kitchen.

  “You bet. Let me know if you need anything else,” she said before stepping to the next table. But she turned back to Wendy a few minutes later, looking toward the window. “Are you two okay?”

  Wendy followed her gaze. A police cruiser was pulling up behind her car. “We’re good. Joe will take care of it.”

  “You a friend of his? He’s a good friend to have. Used to be a hell of a football player.” Eileen pointed behind the counter to a photograph of herself and a couple of other waitresses posing with Joe in a football jersey. He was grinning from ear to ear, holding up a golden trophy.

  He had the kind of charisma that would shine through a ten-year-old picture. Amazing, really. But as Eileen walked away, Wendy’s gaze was drawn back outside the window. Bing nodded hello. Joe gestured her to stay put where she was. So she did and ate a late lunch with Justin. What little she could eat with her stomach clenched into a ball of misery.

  To distract herself, she pulled her camera. “Want to check out the goodies?” she asked Justin, and they walked up to the display case.

  “Anything else?” Eileen asked from behind the counter.

  “Would you mind if I took some pictures?”

  “Not in the least.” She beamed, clearly proud of her baked goods and with good reason.

  So while Justin loudly counted the egg-mushroom-spinach muffins, Wendy snapped photo after photo of pies of every variety, from dessert to meat pies, shepherd pies, the works. If only the lattice pies weren’t stuck in the corner…. She stopped and considered the arrangement.

  Eileen caught her hesitating. “Anything wrong?”

  “Sorry. I’m rearranging things in my mind. Occupational hazard. Just matching color against color and shape against shape, looking for the most interesting combination. In a good photo, like in a good painting, composition is everything.”

  Eileen glanced at the case. “Want to give it a try?”

  Really? “Are you sure?”

  Eileen bent and grabbed a pair of rubber gloves from under the counter, then held them out. “Go for it.”

  So Wendy did. The bigger pies went to the back, the smaller ones to the front for visibility, the most vibrant, lattice-top strawberry-rhubarb pies distributed throughout as highlights to draw the gaze. She tried this and that, adjusted for scale and movement of color.

  “Looks like a picture in a magazine.” Eileen flashed her a pleased smile. “Is this what you do for a living?”

  Wendy snapped more pictures. “I wish.”

  When she was finished, she thanked Eileen profusely for putting up with her.

  “Gosh, it’s almost too pretty to mess it up by selling things.” The woman laughed. “I suppose I’ll have to bring myself to do it.”

  Bing had left by the time Wendy paid and walked back outside with Justin, at least three dozen good shots richer. Her son was proudly holding his promised cookie and a sheet of animal stickers Eileen gave him as a parting gift.

  Joe opened the back door for her so she could put Justin into his car seat. “Bing will come around to the house later to talk to you. He took the box to dust it for prints. I’ve been officially assigned to protection detail. I have this afternoon. And I’ll take third shift too. I’d be at the house anyway. Mike will spell me in the morning. Officer Mike McMorris.”

  Oh God. Wendy balked.

  Her first instinct was to protest that she didn’t need all this fuss made over her. Then she decided that was stupid. Maybe she could handle Keith if he showed up; maybe she couldn’t. She might have taken the risk for herself, but she wasn’t willing to take it for Justin.

  “Thank you.” She glanced at Justin as he munched on his cookie. “The diner was nice. Great waitress. Eileen.”

  “She’s the owner,” Joe said.

  Wow. Owning an entire diner with customers and employees, delivery schedules. And here she was nervous about snapping some photos and trying to sell them. Eileen was pretty impressive.

  Wendy wanted to be strong like that. She could start with facing her problems. She closed the back door while Joe went around the car. “What was that thing inside the box?” she asked against her better judgment. Please tell me it wasn’t a dead animal.

  Joe’s jaw tightened. “A dark wig.”

  As he slipped behind the wheel, she ducked in on the passenger side. Then she froze, her gaze snapping to him. “Wait. What kind of wig? Short?” A shiver ran down her spine.

  He nodded. Waited.

  “I have a dark, short wig that I use for photo shoots.” Last she’d seen the wig, it’d been hanging in her bathroom. She rubbed the heels of her hands over her knees. “Keith might have been to the apartment.”

  “He has a key?”

  She nodded miserably. “A few months ago, on one of his unannounced visits, he managed to pocket my spare key. When I’m home, I keep the dead bolt turned.”

  “Has he ever used the key before when you weren’t home?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve come home a few times when I thought that maybe things have been moved, but
I couldn’t be sure.”

  “What things?”

  “Sticky notes missing from the desk with appointments. Food missing from the fridge and ending up in the garbage, but I didn’t remember tossing it. My clothes hanging differently in the closet.”

  “You need to change the lock.”

  “Can’t, according to the rental contract. Property management has to be able to get in with their master key.”

  Joe’s gaze hardened as he turned the key in the ignition. “I can swing by your place later and check on that wig. Maybe you and Justin could visit with Sophie at the farm while I’m out.”

  “Thank you. Okay.” She glanced into the rearview mirror as Joe pulled away from the curve. “Justin. I need that, sweetie.” She took the CD case away from him. “How did you get that?” The green Rusty Cent rap album was covered with animal stickers. She flinched as she tried to peel them back off.

  “Hey, it looks nicer that way.” Joe winked at Justin in the mirror.

  She scratched a little pink pig from the corner. “It’s Keith’s. He left it in my car, and I keep forgetting to give it back to him.”

  He would want it back when he remembered that she had it, and he was going to be mad at Justin for messing it up. She scraped off as many stickers as she could, then shoved the CD into the closed compartment between the front seats with the others. She could worry about that later.

  For now, worrying about the box was plenty. If Keith was now sending her hate mail, it meant he was really, really angry. She shouldn’t have moved out. She shouldn’t have let Sophie talk her into it. Nobody knew how Keith got with his temper. Wendy clenched her jaw as a headache started behind her eyes. Everybody was trying to help. They didn’t understand that they were making things worse for her.

  She’d made Keith mad, and now there would be a reckoning. She had to figure out how to defuse the situation. Deescalate, deescalate, deescalate.

  Joe’s phone rang, and he took the call. His responses were, “Yes,” “No,” “Okay.”

  “Trouble at the station?” She was ready to be distracted.

  But he shook his head. “Usual police business.”

  They didn’t discuss the package any further as they drove home. She wasn’t sure how much Justin would understand, and she didn’t want her son to worry. Instead, she turned on the CD player and helped him sing along with the Dancing Sheep.

  He was growing fussy by the time they got home, so she put him down for a nap. By the time she came downstairs, Bing was sitting in the kitchen with Joe.

  “How are you doing?” He pulled his notebook. “I have a couple of questions.”

  Joe swallowed the last bites of his sandwich, then stood with his plate. He hadn’t had lunch at the diner. “While we have the captain here, I’ll run by the apartment to see if Keith lifted that wig from there.”

  Bing nodded.

  “Thanks,” Wendy said and gave Joe her keys, looking after him as he left.

  “He’ll take care of it. He’s a good friend to have,” Bing said, echoing Eileen’s words.

  “Yeah.” Truth was, Joe Kessler did make a good friend.

  He’d only been here with her for a day, but he’d listened to her, played with her son, helped her, protected her. She could see him as a friend. God knew, she didn’t have many.

  Too bad their tenuous friendship was going to end once she told him her secret. Then Joe was going to be as mad at her as Keith.

  Chapter Seven

  Joe stood in the open doorway of Wendy’s apartment. The night he’d been here, he’d been so focused on her he barely noticed the details. And now the details had been obliterated. Better that she wasn’t here to see this.

  He kept his cold anger in check as he scanned the smashed pictures and broken furniture. Justin’s cracked high chair lay at his feet, antique tiger maple, probably a family heirloom. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed 911, and gave them the address. Neither he nor the captain had jurisdiction here.

  After he reported the break-in, he called Wendy, glad that his Philly undercover gig was over. Now that he’d seen the destruction in her apartment…. He needed to stick by her as much as he could.

  “He’s been here,” he told her. “Made a mess.”

  The small sound of her catching her breath came through the line. He’d only committed to watching her for the next day or two, but right there, on the spot, he made a resolution. He was personally going to make sure that she was safe from her ex on a permanent basis.

  “How bad is it?”

  He catalogued the broken furniture and the couch that had been sliced open. “Couple of thousand dollars’ worth of damage.”

  A long pause followed. “I need to come over there.”

  “I can take care of it. The cops are on their way.”

  “I have to see. I want to talk to the police. It’s my place. Bing is still here. Sophie popped in too. Let me see if I can leave Justin with her,” she said before hanging up.

  All right. Maybe she needed to deal with it herself, take back some of the control that had been stolen from her. But no way was he leaving.

  Joe stepped back out into the hallway so he wouldn’t contaminate the crime scene, then called the captain. “Sophie said you’re over there. Her place is pretty bad.”

  “Keith?”

  “That’d be my bet.” But knowing it and proving it were different things.

  It would have helped if Keith Kline had a record, something to prove continued violent behavior. Joe had asked Bing about that while Wendy and Justin had been inside the diner. Unfortunately, the bastard didn’t have so much as a parking ticket.

  The man was smart. Canny. Knew how to keep up a good front. Most chronic abusers did.

  “Harper just reported in,” the captain said. “He’s got a new lead in the Brogevich case. The wife remembered something. About a month ago, a schizophrenic patient threatened Phil. The patient accused Phil of working for the government and giving him drugs to make him crazy. Harper is trying to track the guy down. He’s pretty paranoid, living with various family members and friends, doesn’t like to stay long in one place.”

  “If Harper brings him in, I’d like to be there for the interview.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  They hung up, and Joe thought about the new development in Phil’s case for the next ten minutes until the cops showed up at last. It’d be nice if the clue panned out. Marie needed closure. Knowing who and why wouldn’t make the grief less, but having to wonder did make everything worse.

  He strode down the hallway to meet the arriving officers, careful not to brush up against the freshly painted walls. “I’m Officer Joe Kessler, Broslin PD. I called in the break-in.”

  “Your place?” Officer Conti asked, close to fifty, short and sporting the beginnings of a potbelly. His sharp green eyes scanned Joe before cutting to the open apartment door behind him.

  “A friend’s. Her name is Wendy Belle.”

  “You got a badge?” Officer Tuchman was maybe an inch or two taller than Conti, her red hair in a ponytail. She didn’t look older than thirty, no makeup. Seemed like a no-nonsense type of gal.

  “Off duty. On sick leave, actually.” But Joe gave them his badge number as he led them to the apartment. “I have a pretty good idea who did it. Keith Kline. Ex-boyfriend. He’s been harassing Miss Belle lately.”

  Conti shot Joe an I’ll-be-the-judge-of-that look and pushed inside. “You stay out here.” He stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “Did you walk in?”

  “A step or two.”

  “Touch anything?”

  “The doorknob, coming in.”

  The two looked around, then Conti ran down for the crime-scene kit and they snapped pictures and dusted for fingerprints. Did a pretty thorough job. Joe was prepared to push if they didn’t.

  They were about done by the time Wendy rushed down the hallway. Somehow she managed to stay graceful and poised even under the circumstances, st
ill wearing the same sleek slacks and formfitting tan sweater that she’d worn to the photo shoot. Her cream-colored coat was cinched at her waist, looking fresh and crisp. Come to think of it, he’d never seen a smudge of dirt on her, not even when she was cleaning up after Justin. Must be a model thing.

  But as put-together and collected as she looked on the outside, there was plenty of turbulence in her gray eyes that cut to Joe immediately. “Let me see.”

  She would have sailed right in, but he caught her by the arm and held her back, instantly enveloped in the soft scent of her perfume. The electric current was still there, the awareness, the need for more. He ignored it. “You should stay out here until they’re finished.”

  Her eyes flared with alarm as she stared at him.

  Right. No grabbing. He let her go, biting back a curse.

  “Hey,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be okay.” Then he reached out slowly and took her hand, ran the pad of his thumb over her fingers.

  A long moment passed before she nodded, but her posture didn’t relax. She peeked over his shoulder, and for a moment she looked like she could cry, but she bit her lip. “That high chair was my mom’s. My grandfather made it. It was supposed to be handed down in the family.”

  Joe resisted, not for the first time, the impulse to pull her into his arms. But it wasn’t like that between them. They’d had one wild night. One wild hour and a half, really. She wasn’t his.

  Officer Conti shuffled over. “Ma’am, are you the tenant?”

  “Yes. Wendy Belle.”

  He introduced himself and his partner. “Can you tell me when you left home, Miss Belle?”

  “Yesterday morning. I’m staying at a friend’s place.”

  “Does anyone else have a key to the apartment?”

  “My ex-boyfriend, Keith Kline.”

  The man’s gaze cut to Joe. “And Officer Kessler here?”

  “I gave him my key to check on something.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over the bottom of her coat. “I received some hate mail today. A bloody wig. I thought it might be mine.”