Simon reached into the inside breast pocket of Adams baseball jacket and pulled out a bag of marijuana so swiftly he didn’t have time to object. “What’s this, then?”
“Aw, come on, man. Give me a break.”
Simon measured the weight of the bag in his hand. “This’s a lot of weed. Might get you sent up this time.”
Adams eyed the door again.
“I might be willing to look the other way in return for a little information.”
“Can we do this somewhere else?” Adams cast furtive glances around the bar, obviously uncomfortable with the attention they drew.
Simon shoved the marijuana in his coat pocket, grabbed The Roach by the arm and led him outside, not releasing his grip until they stood on the sidewalk. “What can you tell me about Douglas Miller?”
Adams rubbed his jaw, looking up and down the street. “He’s the guy got offed by some psycho chick last Thursday night, eh? Poor slob.”
“Who was he with that night?”
“Him and me, we didn’t travel in the same circles, if you get my drift.”
Simon grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him within an inch of his face. “Don’t fuck with me, Rodney. I’m not in the mood.”
“Okay, okay. Trixie might know something.” Adams wriggled. “You’re hurting me, man.”
Simon relaxed his hold, but kept him in a firm grip. “Theresa Fellows?” A secretary by day, hooker by night. She was raising two children on her own and without assistance from the state.
“Yeah. They sometimes hook up. She’s got a place on the corner of King and St. Andrew Streets.”
“If this is bogus, I’m coming back to see you.” Simon let him go.
Adams rubbed his neck. “It’s not, I swear, man.”
Simon saw her leaning against a lamppost long before she took notice of him. He hit the siren. Two tones of blee-bleep echoed in the street.
She straightened, looked at her friends standing beside her, shook her head as though disgusted and walked to his Jeep.
He opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
She threw her cigarette in the gutter and climbed in beside him. “What can I do for you, chief?”
“How’s everything? How’re the kids?”
“Business is slow. The kids need winter boots.” She lifted her bottom and yanked her short skirt down on her legs as far as it would go. “It’s just one thing after another.”
Simon reached into his pocket for his money clip. He peeled off five twenties and handed them to her. “Get the kids what they need.”
She tucked the money in her bra. “You’re a good man, Simon.”
“Did you know Douglas Miller?” In the light from the street lamps, Simon saw her facial expression change from elation to sadness.
She nodded. “Why someone would want to do that to him…” She pulled a tissue from her beaded bag and dabbed her eyes.
“You knew him well?”
She cleared her throat. “Doug and I went way back. Since high school. I always had a thing for him. Sometimes we’d do it for old times sake. I had no expectations. He had his wife on a pedestal. Couldn’t do the things he did with me with her, though.” She shrugged, then her dark, thick brows rose an inch. She leaned in closer as though about to divulge some great secret. “The ink wasn’t dry on his marriage certificate when he came to me to scratch the itch.”
“Were you with him the night he was murdered?”
She shook her head, sending brunette curls bouncing around her face. “No. I can’t help thinking if I had been, he might still be alive.”
“Who were you with that night?”
“With…my boyfriend.”
“Does your boyfriend have a name?”
She nodded. “He also has a wife. If it comes down to it, I’ll give you his name. He won’t like it, but he’ll verify my whereabouts.”
“Do you know or have any idea who Miller might have been with?”
“None.” At his skeptical expression, she said, “I’d tell you if I knew.”
“If you’re lying—”
“I’m not. I swear. I’ll even agree to a DNA test if that’s what it’ll take. The truth is he could have been with anyone. Doug was indiscriminate in his taste for women.” She gave a little laugh. “Obviously, right? If he came to see me.” She shrugged. “I’ll check around, see if I can find out anything for you. I want the bitch who did this to Doug to pay.”
He peeled off four fifties from his money clip and handed them to her. “Take the rest of the week off and spend some time with your kids.”
Twenty minutes later, Simon turned onto Eekem-Seekem Street and pulled to a stop in front of a dilapidated three-story apartment building that had seen its better days twenty years ago. On the up side, the roof didn’t leak and the rent was cheap. He placed the two boxes of groceries he’d picked up at Minion Grocery on the floor before apartment 2A, wedging the bag of weed and the rolling papers between the cans. He rang the bell, darted to the shadows behind the stairwell and waited.
Sylvie Noble answered the door. She looked at the box on the floor, then to her right. “God bless you, whoever you are.”
Not that she could see him, Simon nodded. Sylvie recently had surgery for breast cancer and now underwent chemotherapy. She suffered greatly from nausea, which made it difficult for her to care for her three small children. Smoking weed helped with the side effect of the treatment. To make her life even harder, her old man skipped out on them six months before and one month later, her employer decided to downsize and layoff those entry level employees of which Sylvie was one. They subsisted on employment insurance.
What Simon provided every month took up some of the slack.
Simon found himself winding down the drive to Evie’s cottage. It seemed only natural he would come to her, yet when she opened the door, he felt the need to explain his presence. “I know it’s late, but—”
“Nonsense. Come in.”
Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he followed behind her through the kitchen and into the living room. He noted thriving potted plants, the neatness and the scent of pine cleaner. The skunk sitting next to the wood stove, eyeing him warily, momentarily surprised Simon until he remembered Evie’s love for all animals.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
“Fine.” She smiled.
She looked pale and sickly to him. “Day surgery went okay?” He hadn’t asked what the problem was, but suspected it was one of those female things.
She nodded. “I’ll be ready to go back to work on Tuesday.”
“The surgeon must have been really backed up to perform surgeries on a Saturday, or was it something serious which needed to be treated right away?”
“He’s going away on vacation until the first of the year and wanted to clear his roster.”
Her explanation seemed plausible. Still, though, he worried. “I wish you would have let me drive you and pick you up from the hospital. There really wasn’t any reason to take a taxi.”
“Actually, I didn’t take a taxi.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“By some strange coincidence, your mother showed up here just as I was getting ready to leave. Imagine my surprise. You didn’t have a hand in that, did you?”
“I may have mentioned to her you were having surgery this morning, but I didn’t suggest she bring you.” He noticed how gingerly she sat which made him wonder again if the ailment wasn’t more serious than she let on. “Maybe I should leave and let you rest.”
She waved him to the chair across from her. “You came here to discuss something. What is it?”
He could never hide anything from her. “It’s this case. It has me stymied.” He told her about his night and massaged his neck.
“It’s a real pain in the neck, isn’t it?”
She could always make him laugh.
“Here, let me.” She stood with the same degree of caution as she had sat and walked t
o him.
He clasped her hand. “I’m fine. You’re not feeling well.”
Ignoring his concern, she worked her fingers into the muscles of his neck, kneading, prying and smoothing.
He lost himself to the touch of her hands against his skin, remembering the time when her fingers had trailed his body, teasingly, tantalizingly, making him feel things no other woman had.
“What have we got on Miller’s murder so far, Simon?”
Not needing to dig deep in his memory to recover the information, he rhymed off what they had. “It pretty much amounts to zip.”
She rotated her thumbs in a circular motion on the cords of his neck.
“That feels good.” He closed his eyes.
“You’re knotted like a pine tree.” She applied more pressure. “Well, someone was with him the night he was killed.”
“About the only thing we know for certain. If we had one clue, something … anything .…” He grimaced and massaged his face. “The case is going cold.”
“It’s only been two days, and “if” never held you back before. What’s changed?”
The telephone rang.
Simon looked at her over his shoulder and watched her stare at the phone through another ring, then another. “Aren’t you going to answer?”
“The machine’ll get it.”
On the sixth ring, the answering machine clicked on and he listened to Evie say, “I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message at the sound of the beep.” A second passed. “Beep.” Then came the sound of a disconnected line.
She said, “Probably a wrong number.” She took her hands from his neck and moved to the sofa.
He looked at her. Something about the way she carried herself told him she didn’t think that at all. Who was it? A lover? The idea angered him. The thought that another man had held her in his arms, made love to her, incensed him. He had to leave before he said something he didn’t want to.
He got into his vehicle, feeling he and Evie would never share again the closeness they once had.
Simon wound his way onto the highway toward Shampers Bluff. The first raindrops hit the windshield in dime-sized splats. He flicked on the wipers. Within a minute it rained without pity and the wipers labored against gusts of wind battering the windshield.
When he reached Raven’s farm, he donned a slicker, grabbed his Maglite from the glove box and walked toward the culvert. Water rushed the gravel and burrowed a deep trench down the road. The brim of his Stetson caught the rain like an eaves trough and traveled down his back.
Slowly, he made his way up the incline, remembering the crime scene vividly. By coming here he thought he might feel the killer, connect with him…or her, maybe learn a clue to his or her identity. He closed his eyes, stood rigidly still and envisioned a woman hauling Miller’s body up the slope. She had a difficult time of it. Miller was a big man, five-eleven and one hundred and ninety pounds. She stopped often to catch her breath and readjust her hold under his armpits. Inch by inch, she trudged along, her breath frosting before her face.
“I come here a lot.”
Christ! Simon looked over his shoulder. “Wills.”
“Sneaking up on an Injun, imagine that.” Wills shone a flashlight on him.
Simon was sure his surprise registered on his face, but he mustered a smile despite his embarrassment. “Imagine that.”
“What were you doing just now?”
“Trying to get a feel for the killer. How about you? Why do you come here?”
“To say a prayer. I know it’s not his final resting place, but ...” Wills looked around. “Since that night I keep a closer watch on my property. I never had to before. I saw your truck drive up. Decided to say howdy.”
Simon would like to tell him his fears were unfounded. “Did you remember anything more about that night?”
Wills turned his head downward, scratched his white-whiskered chin and squinted. “I wish I had more to tell you. People are getting a mite antsy because this murder hasn’t been solved.”
Simon appreciated that Wills didn’t lay blame on the chief of police. To say an arrest would be made soon would be a lie.
“I don’t think I’ll sow this land again. Been talking to the missus about it. Think I’ll till the soil next to my house. Got an acre and some there.” He splayed his hand toward the land they stood on. “I’ve been working this soil for thirty-seven years.” His tone turned wistful. “It’s done right by me.” He massaged his jaw again and looked at Simon. “What do you think I should do?”
Simon slapped a hand on the farmer’s shoulder and squeezed. “You should do what is right for you.”
“Funny thing, but I just got the strong impression it was a woman dragging Miller’s body up here.”
“A woman?”
“Well, I ain’t one hundred percent sure, but…”
“Did anything else come to you?”
The old farmer thought a moment, then shook his head. “No, just that. I’m not a religious man. Haven’t been to church since the missus and I was married, some forty years now, but I’ve been doing a lot of praying lately, asking the Lord what He thought I should do about this lot of land. Strangest thing, that. Me asking what I should do with farmland.”
Thunder boomed and lightning lit the now star-filled sky. Wills looked upward. “Strangest thing, that.”
Simon had to agree. “Damn strange.”
Chapter Eight
At seven o’clock Sunday night, Evie pulled into the driveway of Simon’s parents home. Coming here was not troublesome for her, not like she had feared. Keertana driving her to the hospital yesterday morning helped her overcome her anxiety about seeing her.
Evie’s gaze strayed to the house next door—her childhood home. She wondered, as she had so many times in the past, what had caused her parents to drift apart. For the first years of her childhood that she could remember, they had seemed happy and in love, then one day it changed. Something had happened, but she didn’t know what and she never had the courage to ask her mother. Not that Felicia would give her a straight answer.
She turned and looked at Dan and Keertana’s six-bedroom farmhouse. A light shone in every room and white priscilla curtains graced every window. Keertana once told her the outside of a house spoke to its inside. If the windows sparkled and the grounds were well maintained, chances were the interior would be the same. She believed that, knowing the spotless home Keertana kept.
As children, neither Simon nor she could put anything over on Keertana. When Evie had accidentally squashed Keertana’s prized blooms in her flower garden, she knew who was responsible. Evie still didn’t understand it. She’d covered her footprints and was on the opposite side of the house when Keertana returned home. When she splayed her hand toward the desecration, Evie put on her innocent face. Instead of accusing or demanding a confession, Keertana simply said in that melodious voice of hers: Flowers sing to our hearts. If their voices are stilled, who will sing to us?
She raised her hand to knock. The door swung open.
“I hope you weren’t going to knock.” Dan Wolfe had a booming voice and a build that matched his son’s. Unlike Simon, though, he kept his hair short and it silvered at the temples. He hugged her to his chest, lifting her off the floor. Setting her down, he gave her a once over. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”
“My eyes are too light, my nose is too small and my lips are too big.” The retort came as easily as it had when he would tell her the same thing as a child.
“It’s so good to have you back. It hasn’t been the same without you.” He hugged her again. “You look tired and you’ve lost weight. Are you eating properly?”
The concern in his voice watered her eyes. “Lots of veggies and fruit and nutritious meals.”
He led her inside. “Keertana, look who’s come to dinner.”
Keertana, wearing her waist-length black hair free and flowing, a black silk skirt and blouse, stepped from the kitchen and took her i
n her arms for a motherly hug. “Welcome, Piloqutinnguaq. How are you feeling?” Just as Dan had, she stepped back and looked her over.
“I’m fine. Little leaf. I haven’t been called that in awhile.” Evie smiled to cover up the guilt she felt for not coming to see them before this. If Keertana knew what she’d done, would she look at her with love in her heart like she did? She thought not.
While her own mother had been too busy with charities and her job as a nurse, Keertana gave her the nurturing and love she needed. Oh, she wanted for nothing as a child, nothing that money couldn’t buy, that was. What she craved, her mother was incapable of giving. Evie had no cherished memories of their times together as mother and daughter. They didn’t bake cookies together like she had with Keertana. As an orthodontist, her father hadn’t time for her, either. It took complaints of a toothache to get his attention. She had the nicest, straightest and healthiest teeth and gums in all of Honeydale, though.
Evie looked around. “Simon isn’t here yet?”
“He called and said he’ll be along shortly,” Dan said. The scent of roasted beef, carrots and potatoes made her realize her hunger. “Dinner smells wonderful.” Evie loved Keertana’s cooking. She was a fabulous cook, unlike her own mother who patted herself on the back for warming store-bought lasagna and remembering to stop at the bakery for garlic bread.
“I made your favorite. Pot roast.”
“I haven’t had pot roast since…well, since the last time I had it here.” For the first time in months she felt the desire to eat.
“That is way too long, honey.” Keertana ushered her into the living room.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Evie asked.
“Yes, keep Dan out of the kitchen until dinner is served.”
“That I can do.”
Dan sat in his well-worn recliner and she sank back against the sofa cushions and relaxed. Though moving back home seemed her only recourse at the time, it seemed right to her now.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” Dan said.
She met his gaze. “I’m wiser now.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
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