Death Stretch

by Ashantay Peters

  “So I can go?”

  Dirk put a hand on my arm. “In a minute. I have a question or two for you.” He jerked his head to the side and Matt stepped away. “What have you been up to? Do you think this investigation is a game?”

  I said the first thing that came to mind. “Huh?” My articulation knows no bounds.

  “Look, I don't want you getting hurt. Several women have come forward to report blackmail notes received after their affairs with Morgan. They said you asked them to speak up.”

  “Me? I asked a friend of a friend, that's all.”

  “Well stop asking friends of friends, okay?” His hand tightened. “There's a freaking murderer loose.”

  “Yeah, and he or she is determined to lay the murder on me.” I pulled my arm away. “I have the right to defend myself, and if that means asking questions, so be it.”

  “Defending yourself and looking for a killer are two different things. A second grader could break into your house.”

  “I've got deadbolts, remember?”

  “What you need is another place to stay until we get this guy.”

  “I thought you were looking for a woman. Isn't poison a woman's weapon?”

  He hesitated. I saw it cost him to give me any information at all. “In this case, either a man or woman could be the perp.”

  Rob's face flashed in my brain and I pushed him out before my expression gave Dirk something to think about. “I hate to say this, but a woman seems to have more motive.”

  “Unless a jealous husband took him out.”

  I closed my eyes against the returning image of Rob.

  Dirk's growl lifted my lids in a hurry. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing.” My cuticles claimed my attention. “How could the killer know how to get the ricin? I mean, poison isn’t a subject taught in school. Unless the school is Hogwarts.”

  “You can find anything on the Internet.”

  I snapped my fingers and Dirk rolled his eyes in response, as if he knew what I'd say next. He probably did, given his intelligence factor.

  “Have you checked the Internet and tried to match up those instructions you found in my house with say, Wikipedia? Hey and then you can check browser histories.”

  “We'd need a warrant and probable cause, but yeah, we figured that out.”

  My fallen expression must have jogged something in Dirk's cop heart because he squeezed my shoulder. “Thanks for the ideas.”

  Then he gave me a small shake. “But stop asking questions. You're not a trained detective, and the killer is getting desperate. Don't let yourself get thrown under the wheels, okay?”

  His earnest gaze urged me to pay attention. Too bad I don't follow directions well. “You may want to talk with Brandi Wells. I heard she was one of Morgan's flings, and she wasn't happy when he dumped her.”

  His face darkened. I knew he knew I wouldn't make promises.

  “Better take Matt with you. I hear Flash is looking for a new boyfriend.”

  A smirk crossed Dirk's face. “Jealous?”

  “Nah, I don't want to break in a new detective if Flash sinks her fangs and drains your blood.”

  I ignored Dirk's scowl, enjoying Matt's laughter as I walked to my car. The police were looking at men too. That added another twist and put Ginger back in their sites via Rob. I hoped to heaven his alibi checked out.

  Chapter Nine

  Ginger licked sugar from her fingers. “So did your sexy cop ask you out?

  “No.” I blurted out my newest worry. “He said they think the murderer could be a man.”

  She stopped moving, with a truffle just millimeters from her mouth. What control. “Why a man?”

  “I don't know, but... do you think Rob could be involved?”

  “Rob?” Ginger snorted and replaced the truffle on her plate. “What makes you think he'd get his hands dirty?”

  Whoa. If Ginger’s magenta colored face wasn’t enough clue, her clipped tone told me she nursed a big mad. “How bad is it?”

  “My marriage?”

  My expression conveyed my worry. She answered without me saying a word.

  “I'm not in a marriage anymore. Seems more like the hotel business.”

  She raised her head, frowning. “He's not here much, and when he is, I feel like I’m talking with a stranger. I can't tell you the last time we made love. So I make sure he has food to eat, clean towels and plenty of shampoo.”

  The reason for her fling with Morgan rang crystal clear, and I wanted to slap Rob upside the head. Ginger might have cheated, but in my mind, Rob pushed her into an affair.

  I gulped, uneasy about asking for more detail, even from my best friend. Hurting her remained the last thing I wanted to do. “Do you think he's having an affair?”

  “At first I thought not, but now I'm not so sure.”

  “Why is that?”

  She examined her manicure. “Rob's always been easily distracted, and I thought he was busy at work. He was in charge of that big merger, you know.”

  I knew. The merger completed months ago.

  “Then after the merger, he started working harder, longer hours. No explanation when I asked, just that I shouldn't worry.” She poured tea into our cups and picked up another truffle, only to put it back. “Then I decided to get out of the house. I thought exercise would help and that's when I started yoga lessons.”

  And we both knew what happened after that. Morgan.

  “Do you think Rob knew about you and Morgan before you told him?”

  “At first I thought not.” Ginger flexed her fingers. “Now I'm not so sure. Rob's been, oh, I guess you could say smug.”

  Shivers ran down my spine. That didn't sound good.

  “You don't think Rob—” I couldn't finish the question.

  “I don't know what to think.”

  My gaze ran around the kitchen. “But he's still gone all the time. Does he even care?”

  Ginger shook her head no. “I don't know. I truly don't.”

  Damn, I had to ask the next question and wished it could go unvoiced. “Does he love you enough to kill for you?”

  “Katie, the Rob I married was kind, thoughtful, generous. I'd never cheat on that Rob. But I'm not living with the man I married. Not anymore.”

  That was so not what I wanted to hear.

  “Ginger, do you know where Rob was last Saturday?”

  She half laughed. “I don't know where he is right now.” She chewed on her thumb. “He said he was in Charlotte with customers. Golfing.”

  Golfing would be easy to check, if he came down to needing an alibi.

  “Sometimes I think all we have left is divorce. But, Katie, I really hope not. Shame on me, but I still love the man.”

  We sat quietly and drank our tea. Ginger still wasn't cleared by the police. She hadn't mentioned Rob's temper. His anger didn't show often, but when it did, his outbursts were legendary. Rob may have treated Ginger with kindness, but he also had a protective streak bordering on possessive. A former varsity athlete, Rob could easily have threatened Morgan. But murder? Who knew what would push someone over the edge?

  When I finally stood to leave, neither of us felt better, and I couldn't blame the stone cold tea in my mug. One way or another, Ginger faced a screwed-up marriage and I had difficulty moving away from a potential murder tag. We hugged.

  Ginger whispered, “Please don't tell Detective Johnson about Rob. He can't have killed Morgan. The capacity for murder is just not in him.”

  My inner cynic deferred but I agreed to keep our inferences secret. Any involvement Rob had would come out, sure as shit.

  ****

  Dirk sat in his car outside my house when I returned. He unfolded his length from the front seat and sauntered across my lawn. I could have stood next to my car watching his display of masculine grace all day. Too bad he spoiled the picture with a scolding.

  “Why don't you have a porch light burning?”

  “Why don't you mind your own busi
ness?”

  “You are my business.”

  Well, that unexploded bomb sat between us for a minute while I tried to gather my thoughts. “Excuse me?”

  “To serve and protect. That's what I do.”

  Uh huh. I believed that because anything more would be way too much for my brain.

  “Okay, Mr. Serve and Protect. My porch light burned out last night. I meant to change the bulb, but I forgot.”

  “Get a bulb. I'll change it right now.”

  The serve and protect business gave me hives, but, jumpy from the break-ins, his company felt pretty good. We entered the house, which had been locked, thank you, and I got the bulb and a stepstool. A couple of longnecks cooled in the fridge, so I pulled one out for him, just in case he got thirsty after the strenuous work of changing a bulb. I poured myself a glass of wine, arranged some cheese on a plate and pulled out the crackers. Mama taught me to make nice with men who could do household chores.

  Dirk put the old bulb on the counter and pointed to the beer. “Mine?”

  “Yep.” Crap. Now we're speaking in couple’s shorthand. What the?

  “So, Detective Johnson, why are you here? Can't be for my stellar cooking skills.”

  “Mind if I sit?” I pointed to the chair and he settled in. “I need to ask you again about Saturday.”

  My head throbbed, right behind my eyes. The story had been repeated so often I doubted there could be anything new to add. I sighed. “Okay.”

  “We've narrowed down the murder weapon.”

  My spine straightened as if someone pulled me up by the head. “Really? What was it?”

  “I can't really say, but I need you to think back to the victim's actions during class.”

  I'd get the weapon information out of him or my name wasn't Katie Sheridan. “I'll tell you again what I saw if you tell me how he died.”

  Dirk sighed. “Okay, look. I'll give you our working hypothesis, but you can't tell anyone. Not your best friend or even your cat.”

  He knew I had no cat, so he meant Ginger. His expression told me he wouldn't back down, so if I wanted the information, I had no choice.

  “I promise.”

  Dirk carefully matched cheese and a cracker. He took a bite, chewed and swallowed. I about crawled out of my skin, but I knew he stalled for effect.

  “The man's yoga mat and some strange foam blocks held enough ricin to kill three people. Maybe more. How long did he handle the mat or the block during class?”

  I knew his thoughts were off base before he finished the question. “He didn't.”

  “What you mean he didn't use either one?”

  “No, not until the end of the class. Morgan wasn't on his mat like the rest of us. He walked around the room, correcting poses for most of the students.” I paused, reviewing the scene in my head. “When he demonstrated poses, he didn't use the mat at the front. He just went into the pose from wherever he was at the time.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “Got me. My first class, remember?”

  Taking a gulp of wine, I spent more time in review. “Morgan didn't return to his mat until right before we went into the corpse pose.”

  Dirk did a great second look. “The what?”

  “I know. Creepy, isn't it? That's what the last pose is called. You lay flat out on your back. Laying flat is supposed to induce total relaxation, but it didn’t work for me.”

  His lips curved up at the corners then dropped down. “So Anderson didn't use the mat until the end of the class.” He tapped his fingers against his lips. Lucky fingers. “Did you notice anyone near his mat? Either before or during class?”

  I searched my brain cells, but nothing came to mind. “Nope, can't say that I did.”

  “Can you tell me who was positioned adjacent to the victim?”

  “Flash was directly in front and to his left. You'll have to ask her who the others were. I didn't notice.”

  He made a note then tapped his pen against the page. “The blocks. Were they used in class?”

  The question differed from the ones repeated ad naseum on Saturday, so I thought for a moment. “Morgan didn't need them, I guess. A few people used blocks, but I didn't see who did or didn't.”

  “And everyone brings their own mats, is that right?”

  “Everyone who has one. The studio provides mats for beginners like me.”

  “That helps quite a bit. Thanks.” He moved to stand.

  “Whoa. Where do you think you're going?”

  He grabbed another cheese and cracker combo. “Thanks for the beer and snacks, but I gotta get back to the office.”

  “That's all? You give me one crumb of information, drink my beer, eat my snacks and leave?”

  I waited while he finished chewing. “Oh, sorry. I should say thanks for the lead. Thanks. Gotta go.”

  I rose and moved to block the doorway. “Nyuh uh. Are you saying Morgan may not have been the intended victim?”

  “Nope. That was his mat. His assistant gave us a positive ID.”

  “So Morgan was the intended victim all along.”

  Dirk raised one eyebrow.

  “You can't even tell me that? Give me a break. I mean, you're not telling me how the ricin was used. Or if any of the women he screwed had a reason to kill him. Or how big of a bank account he had. Or who inherits, for cripes sake.”

  He moved closer. “I can tell you one thing.”

  Our gazes collided. “What's that?”

  “This.” He palmed my cheeks, tilted my head and laid on a kiss so hot my brain exploded. Not really, but it sure felt that way. Not only did my brain become mush, time stopped.

  One of his hands moved to cradle the back of my head, the other stroked my cheek. I could taste the beer on his exploring tongue, and his chest was hard against mine. My hands moved up to his shoulders, then my greedy fingers reached for his hair. Yep, those badly cut, dark, silky-smooth and tangle free strands. Smooth until I had my wicked way.

  Dirk lifted his mouth from mine but his lips and tongue came back for another taste. I sucked that movable organ like there was no tomorrow. From Dirk's moans, I'd say we both hit the jackpot.

  He had more discipline than me, because he pulled away, sucking my bottom lip as he left. I licked my lip after him and he looked ready to dive back in. His darkened eyes held promise, but Dirk shifted me from the doorway. He moved around me and down the hall.

  My sluggish brain couldn't think of a way to stop him so I could get more answers about Morgan's death. Huh. The jerk manipulated me with a kiss. Not that I'm complaining, but still. His payback would be hell.

  “Forget your questions about the murder and let me handle the case. Lock the damn door. And keep the porch light on all night.”

  So much for tender sentiments from Mr. Protect and Serve.

  ****

  The alarm rang good news, bad news. Good news because I was still alive, bad news because I didn't feel like working on design plans. But Jim's a great boss and he'd be lost without me.

  Early morning was still dark and the kitchen lights glared at my tired eyes. No coffee brewed automatically because I forgot to buy the beans, and caffeine-free wasn’t the way I liked to start the day. Somehow I kicked my butt into gear and headed into the office.

  Jim looked up when I entered. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay home.”

  “Good morning, Jim. So good to be back.” I waited for him to catch my drift but he didn't pick up. Someday I've gotta figure out why my favorite men have no social skills. “I can't let you mess up the project plans for much longer. You'll go broke in a week.”

  “You puppy. I been at this longer than you've been alive.”

  “That doesn't mean you know the Auto-CAD.” I pointed at the stacks of paper covering his desk. “Or that you're organized.”

  He rubbed his brush cut a few times and gave a low grunt. “All right, I could use your help.”

  Construction Speak Translation: he was glad t
o have me back.

  Jim ducked out of the trailer to avoid my wrath. Papers tilted in haphazard piles over most of the desk surface. Styrofoam cups took up the slack, perched precariously, waiting to dump their cold contents over plans I recognized as originals. My boss knew I hated a messy workspace and didn't want to hear my bitching. Especially when he caused the disarray.

  The coffee perked hot and handy, and my mug got filled before I tackled the pile of work in front of me. Concentration wasn't easy knowing my best friend faced blackmail, someone used my house like a bus station locker, and a hot cop was, well, hot for me. At least his interest seemed that way.

  I needed to think about life, not death. Jim returned with one of his supervisors, but neither said a word. He just pretended my presence meant business as usual. And that's what made him a kick-ass boss. Maybe polite social skills are overrated.

  Lunch came and went before I got the updated plans organized and ready for each job we worked. I liked feeling in control for a change.

  My muscles were tight from sitting all morning and my stomach growled. I needed a stretch and some food and knew where to get both. A quick fifteen-minute walk later, Dora's came into view.

  I entered and wanted to turn around and leave. Seated with heads close together were Flash and Dirk. Flash had her hands moving along Dirk's arm, and he didn't look too sad about her caresses. My appetite disappeared but my chance of leaving passed. Flash's smirk and loud greeting told me I'd been made.

  “Well, there she is now, Miss Lifesaver. Practiced any CPR lately?” She kept her hold on Dirk's arm. “Detective Johnson asked me to lunch. Wasn’t that sweet of him?” She, honest-to-God, batted her eyelashes at him.

  I had to swallow my automatic retort and a mouthful of bile before answering. “Sweet, Flash? Yes, I can see where you’d think that.”

  Dirk shot me an apologetic look. My palms itched to slap it off his face, but I played nice. “I’ll just leave you to your lunch. Enjoy the food.”

  The statement was silly because their empty plates told me they’d finished eating before I walked in. Maybe they’d been planning on afternoon delight for dessert prior to my interruption.

  I walked my misery to a stool at the counter. Dora raised her eyebrows and I nodded. Less than a minute later, she set a large glass of iced tea in front of me.