I nodded. It seemed fair since I was calling him Charlie in my mind.
“I’m from a different precinct than Cal, but I know him by reputation, and frankly every cop in LA knows about you.”
I sighed. The fact that every cop in LA knew about me was not a good thing.
“I will confess,” he continued, “that I wasn’t thrilled when I caught this case because I knew you’d be part of the package. And I want to assure you that I’m going to find out who killed Ms. Adams. My first instinct was to tell you I wouldn’t hesitate to put you in jail if you interfered with my case. But I’ve seen your movie, and I talked to Roman on my way over. He called to warn me about you. He told me he’d tried threatening you with obstruction charges and jail. He also told me his threats didn’t do sh…squat. So I’ve changed my mind about how I’m going to handle you.”
I started to protest I didn’t need handled, but Charlie held up his hand. “I’m going to talk to everyone who’s still here. Your sons’ stepmother—” He picked up his notebook.
“Peri,” I filled in for him.
“Yes, Peri. She’s getting me a guest list, and I’ll be calling people who had already left and set up interviews. I’m going to find who killed Ms. Adams. And I suspect you’re already thinking about doing the same thing. But rather than warn you off—and stressing that I’m not encouraging you to investigate on your own and I’ll be thrilled if you tell me that you’ll leave it to me—but having a least a glimmer of how your mind works, I’m going to ask you to share anything you find with me. I promise I’ll take it seriously. You already showed a willingness to do that when you told me no one liked Ms. Adams.”
I studied the man sitting across from me. Maybe thinking of him as Charlie had made me warm to him. Or maybe after being with Cal for almost two years, I’d realized cops were like everyone else. Some were wonderful, some not so much. Most were genuinely good guys who got into the profession in order to help people. I thought Charlie was one of those…a good guy.
So I nodded. “You’re not going to dismiss my observations out of hand?”
“I am not.”
“Well, then can I tell you something that’s struck me as I went over things with you? I’m not really sure what it means. And it’s definitely more of an opinion than a fact.”
This time he was the one who nodded.
“Someone wants you to look at me. I’m not sure that they want you to suspect me, but they want you to think about the movie, or about what happened to me in real life. Mellie was holding a Mortie. Do you know whose?”
I didn’t want to be selfish but a part of me—a small part that I hate admitting to—didn’t want it to be mine. My memories of this night would be tainted enough without my actual award being used as Mellie’s murder weapon.
“I can’t share much about my active investigation, but I can’t imagine there’s a problem with me asking you where you left yours?” he said.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out. I think the last time I saw it, Peri had put it on the mantle.”
“Then I suspect if you go look, you’d still find it there.”
He was telling me the Mortie that Mellie was holding wasn’t mine.
Good. Although I did feel smaller for having asked and a bit smaller yet for the huge wave of relief that it wasn’t mine. “Can you tell me whose it was?”
“Not yet. When I feel I can, I will. Listen, I can’t really work with you. That’s not how homicide cops do things. We don’t share with the public.”
I snorted and despite the horrific circumstances, I laughed. “Cal doesn’t share anything. I think he’s afraid I’ve got a taste for investigating and if he tells me the least little thing about his cases I’ll try to help. But I don’t have a taste for investigating. I just love my family and friends. When they’re at risk, I feel I have to do something.”
“Because of your Uncle Bill,” he said.
From that statement, I knew he’d really paid attention to the movie. My Uncle Bill had felt like a star, even though he was just referred to, not portrayed in the movie. He came out and stayed with me when the movie first aired on HeartMark Channel. Peri had a party then, too. He’d loved being a minor celebrity—a man who went to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. He showed off his prison tattoo all night.
He hadn’t come out for this party, but he’d called. I’d been disappointed he couldn’t make it, but now I was relieved. The last thing Uncle Bill needed was to be a suspect.
“Yes, because of Uncle Bill. He spent years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t know you. I don’t know how to trust you to figure out who killed Mellie. I don’t know how to trust you with my friends and family.”
He considered that a moment. “What about Cal? I mean, if I screw up, I know he’d work on it.”
“I love Cal.” Even after a year and a half of saying the words, they still gave me an odd thrill. I loved him. We were not go-out-and-party people. We were hang-out-on-the-couch-and-watch-a-show sort of people. We were sit-next-to-each-other-at-the-table-and-work-on-our-own-jobs-together sort of people. We were even go-out-with-friends, or go-out-with-my-boys sort of people.
It was the simple things together that made us happy. I guess I loved those simple things about him.
I loved how he could shoot me a look, and I would immediately know what he was thinking.
I loved that when he slept over, I’d get up and start the coffee, and more often than not, he’d get up in time to bring me a cup. There’s something so sweet about him waiting on me like that.
I love the way he fit in with my boys. He didn’t try to father them but simply tried to be a friend. When they were all together something in me melted every time.
I love the way he supported my writing. Then the movie.
I just love him.
And I’d trust him with my life.
But I didn’t have it in me to sit back and trust that he’d figure it out, even if I loved him and trusted him. That might not make sense. It might make me as ditzy as the movie reviewers claimed. But I wasn’t a sit back and let someone else take care of things sort of person.
“I love Cal, and I trust that he’d look for who did it…but I’d still feel like I had to look, too. They’re my friends. My family. Mellie died in my ex-husband and Peri’s house…a house I used to own. She died in my son’s room. No, I don’t have it in me to sit back and just let other people handle it. Not even Cal.”
When I was younger and married to Jerome, I might have done just that—trusted someone else to take care of a problem. But after Jerome and I divorced I’d had to learn to stand on my own two feet. I was raising three boys and couldn’t call Jerome every time I had a problem. I was starting a business, and though Tiny was a great partner, I couldn’t run to her with every snag. I learned to depend on myself. I had others to support and help, but ultimately, I relied on me.
“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Charlie said. “I’ll share what I can, when I can. And you share what you find with me. I won’t go all Roman on you and threaten to send you to jail for interfering with my investigation.”
“Detective Roman was a pain in my a…butt.” Even under these kind of conditions I avoided swearing. “I appreciate your working with me. You’ve got a deal.”
“And Quincy, I’d prefer it if you stayed out of this entirely.” He paused and must have seen something in my expression because he sighed and said, “But since I don’t see that happening, I just want to say, be careful. You’re right. The Mortie says something. Something that ties to that first murder you solved, or maybe to the movie, or maybe simply to you. Any of those are reason enough for me to say be careful, but in addition, I know you won’t stay out of it, so that’s even more reason. Be careful. Stay safe. I don’t know Cal well, but I know him well enough to know that he’ll never forgive either of us if you get hurt.”
I thrust out a hand. “I promise, I will.”
Detective Charlie shoo
k it.
I went out into front yard, where the party-goers were congregated. Cal hurried to my side. Tiny and Sal were right behind him. Then Peri…. A whole gang of people gathered around me. Charlie called Jonas Miles, who’d played Cal in the movie, into the study. As soon as the door shut, the questions started ringing out. From what happened, to are you investigating and one good riddance. I didn’t see who said that one, but I knew just about everyone at the party agreed.
I faced them all and said, “Listen, everyone. We can’t talk about what happened here tonight until after we’ve all talked to the detective. We don’t want to taint each other’s memories.”
Dick called out, “But will you be looking into it?”
Cal stepped forward and glared at me. I knew what he wanted me to say, but I wasn’t going to lie to Dick or anyone else, so I nodded. “Yes. I’ll be calling everyone after the detective is done interviewing all of us.”
I could see Dick’s excitement. Deanne, my agent—who was also Dick’s agent—was working on that deal for Dusted. Her eyes lit up. I didn’t need to be an agent to know that a third true-life mystery would be her dream. If I could figure this out.
That was a big if, as far as I was concerned.
Cal grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the crowd, not roughly, but with purpose.
“Quince—” he started.
“Listen, before you start, Charlie—”
“Charlie?” he said.
“Detective Charles Randolph. If I call him Charlie it puts us on even footing,” I told him. “Anyway, Charlie and I already talked. I’m not going to interfere with his investigation, and.…” I put emphasis on that and. “I am going to share anything I find with him, and he’s going to share what he can with me. I promised him I’d be careful and….”
Cal pulled me into his arms and kissed me. He kissed me hard and long. “Listen you crazy, infuriating woman, I wasn’t going to scold you.”
“You weren’t?”
“No. I know—just like Randolph obviously knows—that you’re going to do what you’re going to do, whether I like it or not. But Quincy, this one’s dangerous. Whoever murdered Mellie Adams wanted the cops looking at you.”
I nodded. “Yes. That’s what I said to Charlie. I think whoever killed Mellie put the Mortie there with purpose. I don’t think it was the murder weapon. I didn’t see any blood, and her head didn’t look bashed in like Mr. Bannings.” It was sad that I knew what a bashed in head looked like.
“I think it’s a distraction,” I continued. “The killer wants the cops looking at me and at my family, or at the movie in order to distract everyone from them and his-or-her motives.”
“The killer has already proved he-or-she is dangerous.”
“I know. I promise I’ll be careful. I—”
“We.” This time he gave a word emphasis.
“We?” I didn’t understand.
“Yes, you and me. I’ve talked to the Chief and I’m taking some personal time. I’ve banked a lot of vacation, so it’s not a problem. I’m taking time off and we are going to look into this together. Well, I can’t really look into another cop’s investigation, but I’m going to follow you around as you look into it.”
I must have looked as confused as I felt because Cal said, “I’m not going to try and talk you out of it. I’m not going to try to convince you to trust Randolph. He seems like a good cop. I made some calls and asked around and he’s well respected. But I’m not willing to trust even the best cop with our friends and family.”
I melted.
We.
Our.
Our friends and family.
I toyed with the engagement ring I still wore around my neck. When Cal had proposed to me the Christmas before last, I told him I loved him and I wanted to marry him. But I needed time. Time to stand on my own two feet. Time to figure out who I was and what I wanted.
He gave me that time.
I’d mentioned making our engagement official on our anniversary, but suddenly waiting that long seemed silly. I didn’t need time to know who I was—who I was was better when Cal was with me. And I didn’t need time to know what I wanted. I looked at the man standing next to me and knew without a doubt just what I wanted.
I unhooked the clasp on the gold chain and slid the ring off.
Cal didn’t say anything. He simply watched as I took the ring and handed it to him. “Cal, will you ask me again to marry you?”
He grinned and sank to one knee. “Quincy Mac, will you marry me?”
I took the ring, slid it on my finger, and practically knocked him over as I threw myself into his arms and cried out, “Yes.”
With my sparkly ring in place on my finger and our kissing done, I looked at him and said, “So after we figure out who killed Mellie Adams, we’ll start to plan a wedding.” I was thinking something small and intimate, but I had a feeling Tiny and my Mom wouldn’t be thinking that at all.
I refused to worry about that now. I kissed my fiancé—no almost about it.
It might not be the way most people would want to start their official engagement, but it seemed appropriate for us.
Chapter Four
After Charlie finished interviewing everyone who was still at the party, we finally left Jerome’s house, which was now a crime scene.
My ex said he’d get a hotel with Peri until the house was cleared and they could go back.
I insisted they come stay with me.
Now, I know most people wouldn’t invite their ex and his current wife to stay at their home. But Peri is one of my best friends, and Jerome and I—
Well, we’d established we were better off co-parenting than being married. We’d become friendly over the years. It worked for us.
Tiny and Sal came over, too. There are times when a woman needs to be surrounded by friends—this was one of those times.
I’d asked Dick over as well, but he had a meeting with some media muckety muck about his new show—Every Body, Inc. He offered to cancel, but let’s face it, there wasn’t anything he could do, so I sent him on his way. But while I was delighted about how well his show was doing, I did notice the irony of the title, given the fact I’d found yet another body.
On our drive home, I called the boys—thankful they’d left before we found Mellie—and filled them in on what was going on. “Not again, Mom,” was pretty much the gist of Miles and Eli’s response. And Hunter said something like that, then added, “Gross. Just for the record, I’m switching rooms.”
“I’ll tell your dad,” I promised.
“And I want new furniture.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said.
Jerome’s house had eight bedrooms, so it wouldn’t be a huge problem for him to let Hunter move into another one.
I told each of the boys I’d like them to write down everything they remembered from the party—even the most minute detail could make a difference. They said they’d e-mail me their lists. After I hung up with them, I called my mom’s phone and left a voice message.
By the time we got home, it was lunch.
Before I found Mellie, I’d planned on going to bed and spending the day there, but I was too wound up for that now. So I ordered pizzas and the six of us—my best friend and partner, her husband who was a lawyer, my ex and his wife, who was also a good friend and my fiancé and I sat around and went over everything again.
“Quincy, where’s your white-board?” Tiny asked.
I used a white-board like one of my television detective heroine’s, Brenda Leigh Johnson from The Closer, when I looked for Mr. Banning’s murderer, then again when I tried to figure out who’d stolen clients’ paintings and replaced them with forgeries. That small mystery I don’t talk about had been at home in Erie and my mother had supplied a white-board for that.
My white-board had been a star in and of itself in the movie. The scene where Cilla, playing me, tried to get it in the house was comedic genius. That’s not me being cocky about my writing,
but rather me paying homage to Cilla’s acting talents.
My white-board was tucked up in the shed out back with the boys’ bikes, skis, and other sports equipment. I thought that’s where it would stay. To be honest, I didn’t—and don’t—have any interest in becoming a professional amateur sleuth.
But it seems my intentions didn’t matter. Here I was, back in the thick of it again.
Cal and Jerome went out to the shed and hauled the white-board back inside.
This time, rather than being relegated to a bedroom, we set it up in the living room.
I didn’t need to try to hide the white-board from Cal this time. Nor did I have to hide the fact I was going to look for Mellie’s murderer.
I watched Cal clean the dust of the board and felt my heart melt just a bit.
I know, I know, I sound like a romance novel with phrases like my-heart-melted, but there it was. It did.
There were so many things about Cal I loved. I just added the fact that he believed in me and he was helping me find the murderer to the list.
After the white-board was set up and Cal was sitting next to me, the six of us went to town. Peri gave us a copy of her guest list. Then we went online to NMD (Net Movie Data) and pulled info and pictures on everyone who was in the industry. My printer went full-speed and as a backup, I sent copies of everyone’s pictures to my cellphone. I figured I’d have them on hand if I needed them. Then we put pictures and pertinent info on everyone up on the white-board.
Everyone talked and, in a weird way, seemed to enjoy working together to compile the information. But once it was together, we stared at the board and the room got quiet, except for the sound of serial yawning. One person would start one, and slowly the yawn would work its way through all of us.
We stared, serial yawned, and got nowhere.
Frankly, we were all running on fumes.
“This is ridiculous,” I finally said. “None of us has slept since night before last. We’re not going to get anywhere this way. Let’s call it a night.”
My ring must have caught Tiny’s eye because she squealed and grabbed my hand. Then Peri joined her. Sal and Jerome took a step back.
Swept Up (Maid in LA Mystery #4) Page 3