Under the Moonlight collection

by MaryAnn Kempher

  “Any luck?” her uncle asked.

  “No sir,” Curt answered.

  “Are you from Reno, Curt?” asked Minnie.

  “No, ma’am. Florida. I used to head up security on a cruise ship. The ship was grounded due to a murder investigation. That’s when a friend and I decided to open our own agency.”

  “And what’s your family like?” asked Burt.

  “One sister, one brother. Our parents are gone.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Minnie said. “Daisy is an only child. I’m sure she’s told you. I would have liked for her to have had a brother or sister, but it just wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Daisy tells me you’re thinking of retiring,” Curt said.

  “Yes,” answered Minnie. “We might live in Reno.”

  “Oh…so you’d both retire?”

  “Yes,” answered Burt. “I’d like to buy a farm, so that the dogs have a lot of room to run.”

  Daisy’s uncle excused himself, stood and left the room.

  “What does your Uncle Charlie do in the show?” Curt asked.

  “He trains birds,” Daisy answered.

  “Since they both train animals, you’d think they could get along, right?” said Daisy’s mother. “But no…both are always trying to outdo the other.”

  “He doesn’t seem himself tonight,” Daisy said. “He’s quieter than usual”

  Her father shook his head. “His act is suffering.”

  “What’s wrong with his act?” asked Daisy.

  Burt smiled. “He can’t seem to train the birds not to fly away.”

  Minnie gave him a disapproving look. “Your uncle is not the trainer he once was,” she explained. “Most of his birds have flown away.”

  “Flown away?” said Curt.

  “Yes,” answered Minnie. “The birds’ wings need to be long enough for them to do their act, but not so long that they just fly away and don’t come back. There was a time when he knew exactly what length the feathers should be kept, but not anymore. He’s grown careless, and most of his birds have—”

  “Flown the coop,” her father interrupted, which earned him another disapproving look from his wife.

  “So now,” she continued, “he’s angry because he has to replace his lost birds.”

  Uncle Charlie made his way back into the room.

  “You’re very quiet,” Burt pointed out.

  “Just thinking,” Charlie answered.

  “Don’t take it so hard, I’m sure your birds will turn up.” Burt said.

  Daisy’s mother shook her head and made a tsk sound.

  “That’s ridiculous and you know it,” said Uncle Charlie. “Once they’re gone, they’re gone.”

  Daisy shook her head. “I’m sorry you’re losing your birds, Uncle Charlie.”

  “I’m not losing my birds, Daisy. They’re leaving.” He looked over at Curt as he explained. “Birds are not loyal. Once they fly away, they don’t fly back.”

  “Is this something that happens a lot?” Curt asked.

  “It’s actually pretty common,” Minnie answered, trying to make Charlie feel better.

  “Will you be doing a show tonight then, Uncle Charlie?” asked Daisy.

  “No.” He sounded depressed. My new birds still need to be trained.”

  “Are you still working with Gladys?” asked Daisy.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Twelve years, now, but with most of my birds gone, she doesn’t have much to do.”

  Minnie stood. “Well, time to start the show.”

  ***

  When the evening was over, Curt walked Daisy to her front door

  “I had a nice time tonight,” he said. “You have a nice family…they really put on a great show.”

  Daisy smiled. “Thank you. They like you, too. I can tell.”

  Curt looked around, the streets were deserted and quiet, except for the occasional passing car. He realized how alone they were. He looked down at Daisy and reached over, running his hand through her spiked pink hair. She smiled.

  He knew what he wanted to do next, but they’d only known each other a week and he was nervous. Did she like him as much as he liked her, or could his attraction be one-sided?

  Daisy looked up at him expectantly. When he looked away, she raised herself on her toes, took his face in her hands and kissed him. Curt was surprised, but elated. It was just what he’d hoped would happened.

  He pulled Daisy into his arms and they shared the best first kiss he’d ever had.

  Daisy smiled, turned, and went inside.

  ***

  “Dinner’s ready,” said Katherine.

  Scott, Alex, and Sophie all joined her at the small kitchen table. She began spooning sautéed vegetables onto each place, followed by a small grilled chicken breast for each.

  “This looks delicious,” said Sophie.

  Scott had already warned Alex about Katherine’s cooking. As Alex chewed his first bite of the chicken, he realized Scott hadn’t been exaggerating. The chicken was dry and had no seasoning whatsoever.

  “Could I please have the salt?” Alex asked.

  “Yours needs salt?” Sophie said. “Mine is just perfect.”

  “Thank you, Sophie,” said Katherine.

  Scott took a bite of the vegetables. They were dripping with butter. He discreetly spit them out into his napkin.

  “So, Sophie,” said Scott. “How’s work been?”

  “Oh, the same,” she answered. “The hospital is understaffed and overfilled. When I get home at night, my feet and ankles are swollen from all the standing and walking.”

  “Really? Swollen, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. That’s too bad.”

  “What about you, Katherine?” Alex asked. “How are things?”

  “Not great,” Katherine confided. “I thought for sure I could start law school this fall, but it just hasn’t worked out. To tell you the truth, I don’t even think I want to go into law anymore. I sat in on a class that dealt with family law, which is what I thought I’d want to specialize in. It seems so hopeless, though…all the broken families and abusive situations. Those poor children…”

  Katherine looked away, her eyes misty. Scott and Alex’s eyes met.

  She cleared her throat and reached for another chicken breast. They all ate quietly for a few minutes before Katherine broke the silence.

  “So Scott…has Jack stopped by the store yet?”

  “He sure did,” Scott answered, “which reminds me. If you have his number, I’ll need it. He left something at the shop.”

  Scott pushed away from the table.

  “Well, dinner was great,” he said, “but I’m stuffed.

  Katherine looked at his plate. “You haven’t eaten half of your food,” she said. “Are you feeling okay? Should I take your temperature?”

  “Ha ha,” said Scott. “I’m fine, I just had a big lunch.”

  “Me, too,” Alex confirmed. “Sorry Katherine.”

  She looked at Scott and Alex, clearly not buying their excuse in the least.

  “Whatever,” she huffed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On his way into the office Wednesday morning, Jack looked over his shoulder at Candy’s bike resting on the back seat. It was a mistake to keep such an expensive bike in his car for too long.

  He called Curt to let him know he’d be coming in later than usual—again. Then he dialed Yvonne’s number.

  “Hello, Yvonne,” he said. “I know it’s early. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “You didn’t,” she told him. “I haven’t been sleeping much lately anyway.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He hesitated. “I was hoping I could stop by. I have Candy’s bike…it’s pretty nice, and kind of expensive. I’d rather not drive around with it in my back seat. Would you mind if I brought it to you?”

  Yvonne’s voice went soft. “Sure thing.”

  When Yvonne opened her apartment door, Jack had to remind hi
mself why he was there. She was wearing a pink robe, but it was very thin and did little to hide what was underneath. Candy had definitely gotten her voluptuous curves from her mother.

  The apartment had been cleaned up and was much neater than his last visit, except for the box of donated clothes and shoes. They were still on a kitchen chair. The early morning light shone through the closed curtains, giving the room a cozy, intimate feel.

  Jack rolled the bike inside.

  Yvonne pointed to a wall in the living room. “Just put it over there,” she said. “Can you stay a little while? I’ve just made coffee.”

  Jack instinctively knew the thing to do was to leave, and quickly. There was something in the air between them…he could feel it. Like electricity. Maybe it was the dimly lit room, Yvonne’s beautiful body…or the fact that he hadn’t had sex in a few months. Maybe it was all of these things. But there was no way he would take advantage of a woman who had just buried her daughter the previous Saturday.

  Yvonne poured two cups of coffee and brought them over to the coffee table. She sat next to Jack, one leg tucked under the other, her robe falling open slightly, just enough for Jack to catch a glimpse of inner thigh. He turned slightly, so that the temptation to look was denied, and sipped his coffee.

  “Is it hot in here?” she asked.

  “I feel fine,” said Jack.

  Yvonne stood, she took her robe off and tossed it on a nearby chair.

  Jack stood up quickly. “I should go,” he said.

  Yvonne blocked his departure. He tried not to look, but the nightgown she wore was paper thin. He could see her nipples pressing hard against the material.

  “Jack, I…”

  Jack backed up. “Yvonne, we both know this would be a mistake. It would be wrong.”

  “Wrong for who? For me, or for you? I’ve been so alone Jack. I’m so numb. I just want to feel something.”

  Jack’s erection pressed painfully against his jeans. He wouldn’t have been much of a man if he hadn’t wanted to make love to Yvonne. But he knew how wrong it would be to give into this temptation. He walked toward the front door instead.

  “I’m sorry, Yvonne. Under any other circumstances, but not like this. Are these Candy’s?” he asked, looking into the box of donations as he passed the kitchen.

  Yvonne sighed and put her robe back on. “No, they’re not,” she said coldly.

  Jack walked out, sat in his car and gripped the wheel. He considered going back in, and thought about what would happen if he did. No…leaving was the right thing to do.

  But damn, he thought…it sure wasn’t an easy thing to do.

  ***

  “I met Daisy’s parents last night,” Curt told Jack when he got to the office. “They seemed like good people. Her uncle was there too. He’s a little odd, but no family is perfect, right.”

  Jack seemed distracted. “Right,” he said emptily.

  “How’d things go with Mark?”

  “He didn’t say much that I hadn’t already suspected. Confirmed that Candy was blackmailing at least two people.”

  “Damn.”

  “One he didn’t know, but the other he thinks was probably Pike.”

  “Her boss?”

  “Right. But we don’t have any proof, and no idea what, if anything, she was blackmailing him about.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out the crime scene photographs again. He pored over them, searching for anything he might not have noticed before. Something jumped out at him. “Hmmm,” he said.

  “What?”

  Jack looked up. “It’s odd, but probably nothing.”

  “What is?”

  “Remember how I told you the police leave a crime scene in pretty much the exact manner in which they find it? I made it a point to tell Yvonne nobody would have gone in and cleaned up. That the home would be left exactly as it had been at the time of Candy’s murder.”

  “Okay…”

  Jack held up a photo. “Come look at this.” Curt walked over and looked down at the image. “What do you see?”

  “I don’t know…a living room I guess. A fireplace, furniture.”

  “What’s on the floor?”

  Curt looked closer. “Is that a…snow globe?”

  “When Yvonne and I went to the house, that snow globe wasn’t on the floor…it was on the fire place mantle. How’d it get there?”

  Curt had no answers.

  “I’m going to reach out to the crime scene photographer,” Jack told him. “See what he remembers about it, if anything.”

  “Is that important?” asked Curt.

  “Of course it is,” Jack said. “Think about it. If none of the police officers picked it up and put it on the mantel— which I know they wouldn’t, since they know better than that—whoever did, tampered with a crime scene. Which makes me wonder if the killer came back to the scene after they had all left…” Jack pulled out the log and scanned it for the name of the crime scene photographer: John Bandu. After a few calls, he had the man on the line.

  “John?” asked Jack.

  “Yes?”

  “Hey, this is Jack Harney.”

  “Hey Jack. Thought you’d left the department.”

  Curt’s phone had started ringing. The man tended to be a loud talker on the phone, but this time his unusual quietness drew Jack’s attention. He was surprised to see Curt’s hand near the mouth piece, covering his conversation.

  “Jack…you there?” John asked.

  “Sorry,” said Jack. “I was wondering if I could buy you breakfast?”

  “Listen…what’s this about?”

  “It’s about Candy Dashwood’s murder.”

  Silence hung on the line between them. “Where should we meet?”

  Jack pulled on his coat and headed out the door. “I’ll be back later. Wish me luck.”

  ***

  John Bandu was about the same age as Jack, thirty-five. He was blonde, his hair almost white, actually, and had the build of a man who rarely turned down a meal. Jack was sure he’d only agreed to meet because he’d been promised a free breakfast. He was already eating when Jack arrived.

  Jack sat across from John, sliding the photograph onto the table as he did. John wiped his fingers on a napkin, then picked up the photo. “Where’d you get this?” he asked.

  “I’ve been asked by the family to look into the murder,” Jack said.

  “Didn’t they arrest Mark Barnes for this already?”

  “Yeah, but the family thinks the investigation was rushed and that maybe they have the wrong guy.”

  John studied the photograph, then set it down. He took a bite of his eggs and stared at Jack. “Do Nolan and Spencer know you’re poking into their case?”

  “Don’t worry about that, okay?” Jack told the man brusquely. “Just look at the picture.”

  “All right, all right,” John said. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  Jack nodded toward the photograph. “Do you remember taking that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Do you remember the snow globe?”

  John looked closer. “Yeah, it was on the floor. It fell, or was thrown.”

  “What would you say if I told you I’d been in her house recently and that the snow globe was now on the fire place mantel?”

  “I’d say maybe her family moved it when they were let back into the house…”

  “No,” said Jack. “I was with her only family, her mother, when she entered the home for the first time. The snow globe was already back in place.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you Jack. I just take the pictures.”

  “You didn’t pick it up after you took the picture, maybe?” Jack knew he was reaching, but he had nothing else.

  “Hell, no,” John said. “You know better than that.”

  “Could someone else have? Nolan or Spencer? Or the medical examiner, maybe?”

  “Well sure, they could have, but they wouldn’t have done it any more than I would have
. They—we—all know better. The scene is always left as is.”

  Jack was at a loss. “Someone did it. Did you notice anything unusual about the crime scene? Anything at all?”

  John wiped his mouth and tossed the dirty napkin onto his plate. He and Jack looked up as the waitress stopped at the table.

  “More coffee, please,” John said to the waitress, “and another short stack.” He looked at Jack. “You’re paying, right?”

  “Yeah…I’m paying.”

  “And some more bacon.”

  The waitress walked away.

  “I did notice something while I was there,” said John. “Something I thought was a little odd.” He leaned in toward Jack. “In the kitchen, on the counter, there was a napkin from the Local Yokel with some writing on it.”

  “What did it say?

  “It said, ‘I’m coming over later, so make sure you’re home. We need to talk.’”

  “And did you take a photograph of that?”

  “I did, yeah.”

  Jack found it interesting that it wasn’t among the photos Nolan had sent over.

  His phone began to softly ring. He pulled it from his pocket and looked down. It was Scott. Jack ignored the call, he’d return it later. He stood, pulled a twenty from his wallet and tossed it onto the table.

  “Thanks for the information, John. I appreciate you meeting with me like this.”

  “Piece of advice, Jack? Be careful. I don’t know how you got that photo, and I don’t want to. But you know as well as I do that cops are sensitive about shit like this. And that note…I don’t know. Just don’t go pissing off the wrong people. You’re not blue anymore.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Jack walked back to his car, stopping short when he saw the ticket tucked under the windshield wiper. “Damn.” He knew almost everyone in the department, except maybe the new ones who’d started while he was gone. Whoever ran the plates on his car knew it was his and gave him a ticket anyway.

  Maybe his meetings with Nolan and now with John weren’t as discreet as he’d hoped they’d been after all.

  Jack got out his phone and went to his voice mail. He had two messages. Scott had left the first. He’d called about the seat bag that belonged with Candy’s bike. Five minutes later, Jack was walking into Scott’s bike store.