Maria checked the clock and realized she’d been in the kitchen longer than she’d intended. She reached for the bottle of Bourbon again and filled the glass half full, then headed out to him.
“You took a long time,” he said. “What happened?”
“I couldn’t remember where I’d put the bottle of liquor,” she lied. He reached out for the glass and guzzled it down in one gulp.
“What did the police say to you?”
“They think . . . I had something to do with it.”
She gasped. “Oh my God. Did you do something to her?”
“No, but I don’t know how I’m going to prove it.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you have an alibi?”
“Not an ironclad one. Gabi slept over at her friend’s house, and Amanda and I were the only ones in the house. The next morning, Amanda received the phone call from her friend and left. Unless they find her, I’m the one who’s going to be charged.”
“Oh, no. You have to hire the best lawyer in New York.”
“I will, but I don’t know what I’ll do if they charge me.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “How am I going to prove I’m innocent?”
“Sonny, tell me the truth. Did you have anything to do with her disappearance? Did my nagging push you into this?”
“Of course not. What kind of monster do you think I am? Christ, if you don’t believe me, no one will.”
Guilt washed over her and she pushed the thought from her mind, reaching out for him. “I believe you, honey.” She wanted to assure him everything was going to be all right; that she’d stand by him, no matter what, but the words would not come out of her mouth. The thought of him being convicted for a crime he didn’t commit was too much to bear. She rubbed his cheek with the back of her hand to comfort him; to let him know she was on his side even after all that had happened. “What can I do to help?”
He reached for her again, only this time, his hands moved over the mounds of her breasts and down between her thighs. A low throaty moan escaped from her mouth and any previous doubts she’d had were overtaken by her need for a deeper ecstasy, and she willingly gave into his demands. “Take me,” she whispered.
When he scooped her up into his arms and mounted the stairs, she was overwhelmed with passion, telling herself he needed comfort—it would be okay. He carried her into the bedroom; gently kicking the door shut with his foot and placed her down on the bed.
Gabi quickly ducked back inside the bedroom when she saw her father carrying Maria up the stairs. She couldn’t believe her eyes—a woman he said was his cousin. He was disgusting. How could he do this to her mother? She reached for her backpack that was sitting on the chair next to her bed. She wasn’t staying in this house another minute.
Nausea attacked her insides and she thought she was going to throw up listening to the noise coming from Maria’s bedroom. She had to get away and Marti was the only person who could help her now. She sat down on the steps, sliding down them one by one, praying the old wood wouldn’t creak and give her away. She couldn’t believe how much she hated him.
Her head throbbed every time she thought about her mother and where she was. Her imagination ran wild and she pictured her mother being tortured by someone with an evil face. She clutched her stomach, pressing her hands firmly against it, hoping to stop the waves of nausea churning inside. On the last step, she stood and tiptoed to the kitchen, grabbed the flashlight, the cordless phone and opened the door leading to the garage. She gingerly opened the car door, slid behind the steering wheel and dialed Marti’s cell phone number. The girl answered on the second ring.
“Marti,” she said sobbing, “I need to talk to you. I’m so scared”
“Gabi,” she screamed, “is that you?”
“Yes. You have to help me.”
“What’s wrong? I’ve been so worried about you,” she said excitedly. “The other night when you hung up so quickly, I was scared. I wanted to call you back, but my mother came into the room, and I hid the phone so she wouldn’t yell at me.”
“No. I’m not okay. My mother is missing and they don’t know where she is. Someone broke into our house, and they think—” Gabi’s sobbing increased.
“Ooh Gabi. I heard the news and wanted to call . . . who told you?”
“My father. The detectives came here and told him.” Gabi dried her tears on her arm. “Marti!” she wailed.
“Yeah?”
“My father is upstairs having sex with his cousin.” Gabi started hyperventilating, unable to catch her breath.
“Eww, that’s sick. How disgusting.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Gabi found a box of tissues on the seat and wiped her nose. “What should I do?”
“Tell me where you are, Gabi.”
A bright light flashed in Gabi’s eyes and she realized her father was standing in the doorway. His face was flushed with anger. He pulled the door open and yanked her out of the car in one swift movement. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He grabbed the phone from her hands and clicked it off. “Who were you talking to?” he demanded. Gabi started crying. “Answer me, Gabrielle. Who were you talking to?”
“Marti.”
He twirled her around, and spanked her backside all the way up the stairs to her bedroom. “You stay in that room until I tell you it’s all right to come out. Do you understand me?”
20
“You sure you won’t have dinner with me?” Zach asked when he pulled up in front of Jessie’s apartment building.
“No thanks. I think I’m just going to have some cereal for dinner and watch a little television.”
“Okay,” he said, disappointed. “If you change your mind, call me.” He blew her a kiss as she exited the car.
She smiled, shut the door and walked up the stairs to her front door, giving him a slight wave. She keyed in her code and the door clicked open. As she watched him edge his way into the traffic, a loving feeling warmed her center and the anger she’d felt after the black rose incident, had subsided and she was no longer suspicious. She chastised herself for being so suspicious of someone she knew so well. Everything about him told her he was sincere.
Inside, her elderly neighbor was struggling with a plastic bag of garbage, dragging it across the floor over to the garbage shoot down the hall.
“I’ll take that for you Mrs. Curly,” she said. “You go back inside your apartment, and stay cool.” She wiped the sweat from her upper lip. “We’re sure having an Indian summer this year. I can hardly wait for the cooler weather.”
“Me too.” Mrs. Curly smiled, her wrinkled face gathered together like an accordion. “Thanks for helping out an old lady. You’re my angel.”
She chuckled. “There are several people who’d dispute that with you.”
“That’s because they’re all criminals.” She smiled and walked back inside her apartment, waving as she closed the door.
Jessie reached for the bag and shoved it down the chute then raced up the stairs to her apartment ready for that bowl of cereal. She flipped on the light switch and saw a small envelope on the floor when she entered the apartment. She groaned when she noticed it was the same type and color as all the others.
“Shit!” she said, and tossed the note on the counter deciding to ignore it. “Just leave me the hell alone.” The contents were always the same, so there really was no reason to read it. She was really annoyed after all this time to have received another one. She had hoped the perpetrator had become bored and moved on. Her stomach quivered and made her feel nervous. She released a heavy sigh while walking to the cupboard. She removed a bowl and filled it with granola from the box that had been sitting on the counter in the same place she’d left it the day before. Out of the corner of her eye, the reflection of the envelope caught her attention and curiosity got the best of her. She tore the edge of the envelope and removed the note.
Inside, the note bore the same resemblance as the others—cut out letters from a magazin
e to form words pasted to a card. “Let’s see what your feeble brain came up with this time,” she said and began to read the note.
Your presence has drowned me,
In my boat of life,
You have taken my joy
And given me nothing but strife
Leave us alone,
Go back where you’re from,
Or else you’ll wish you had listened to the beat of my drum.
Jessie’s cell phone rang, and she jumped. The words Blocked Call flashed across the screen. She answered because she was frightened. She clicked the green button, and the wail of a cat crying out in pain echoed in her ear. A chill ran down her spine, and she slammed the phone shut. She inhaled and closed her eyes trying to block out the frightening cry. When the phone rang a second time, she was ready to give the caller a piece of her mind. She clicked the button and the sound of sinister laughter channeled through the receiver.
“Go to hell,” she shouted into the mouthpiece. “Your little game is really starting to piss me off.” She slammed her cell phone down on the counter, shaking from the intrusion. Immediate remorse overcame her—she’d given the creep exactly what he wanted—to scare her. Why was she allowing this person to get to her? Had she given up the notion that it was someone within the department? She caught her ragged breath and forced herself to be strong.
An image of her mother entered her mind, and she shuddered as she visualized her playing the victim role her entire life, and that loathsome feeling constricted in her stomach. Her mother was weak—she was not, and just to prove it, she calmly sat down in the chair and stared out the window. A chill skittered down her spine, stopping at each vertebra before going to the next. Her breathing became labored. Maybe she wasn’t as brave as she thought. Air, she needed air. She slid the door open to her balcony, and her breath caught in her throat shocked by what she saw. Two vases of dead black roses sat on the small balcony. Sinister laughter from below caused her to run back inside her apartment. She slammed and locked the door shut.
This wasn’t about being weak anymore—someone was out to get her and she needed to pay attention. Whoever this person was had it out for her, and was getting too close for comfort.
She checked the barrel on her gun. It hadn’t been used in a while, but she was sure as hell going to use it this time. She walked to her closet and pulled out her bulletproof vest, slipped her arms through the loops and sealed the Velcro, stopping only to dial Zach’s number. He answered on the first ring.
“Changed your mind already?”
“No, Zach. I need backup at my apartment right away. Someone sent me another note, and my balcony has two vases of black roses. I’m on my way outside. Meet me there.”
Jessie slapped her phone shut, and took the stairs, two at a time. When she reached the bottom, she checked the hallway and back entrance. The hallway was clear. She unlocked the back door, kicking it open with her foot, and turned every which way scanning the area to see if anyone was around. She checked the bushes, behind the dumpster, and inside the dumpster. When she was satisfied there was nothing in any of those places, she came back through the hallway to the front of the building. The sidewalk was busy with people passing by. She flashed her shield, and warned them to leave.
In the distance, she heard a siren and knew Zach and the others would be there in a few minutes. The pedestrians ran as fast as their legs would carry them, warning others approaching the scene to do the same.
Zach came up beside her, his gun drawn. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’ve checked the back, you guys take the sides.” They moved around the front of the building. The mocking laughter echoed in her ears. She cringed, wondering if she was overreacting. She slowly walked toward the sound, her heart pounding inside her chest like a steel drum. She moved in closer to the building, her back against the wall, easing closer to the fire escape. The streetlights from the adjoining neighborhood silhouetted its massive structure. In the distance, her attention was drawn to a rectangular box sitting on the steps—the laughter was loud and clear now. She bent over and stretched the corner of her T-shirt latching onto the recorder, being careful to avoid damaging any evidence. She released a sigh of relief.
“What is that?” Zach said coming up behind.
“Sickening canned laughter.”
Zach slipped his hands inside rubber gloves, reached for the recorder, then instructed the team to perform a canvas of the neighbors to question everyone.
“I need to tell my neighbors everything is okay first.”
“These guys will take care of it.”
“No. I need to see Mrs. Curly. She’s an elderly woman who’s probably scared out of her mind. I want to tell her myself. The guys can tell the others.” He smiled, obviously warmed by her compassion.
“Okay, but afterwards, it’s back in this car. You got that?”
“No, Zach, I have to work the investigation.”
“Oh no you’re not. Get your sweet little buns in that car,” he said pointing to his vehicle. She nodded, knowing he was right, but she still wanted this mess to be over. But first she needed to speak to Mrs. Curly.
When she returned to the car, Zach was just coming back down the stairs from her apartment. One of the investigators carried a bag containing the roses. Her eyes filled with water, trying to rid her mind of the cat’s scream. She put her head back against the seat and closed her eyes so her partner wouldn’t see her crying.
She jumped when the car door opened on the passenger’s side. “Everything all right now?” Jackson’s husky voice rang out. She looked at him, and then over to Zach, who had entered the car at the same time.
“Yes, thank you.”
“What are you doing here, Jackson?” Zach asked.
“I heard the call and was concerned about Detective Kensington.” He gave Zach a sharp look. “Is that okay with you, Gerard?”
21
Max parked his bike in the driveway and ran up the steps expecting to walk inside the house without using his key. The door was locked. He sighed, pulled his backpack off his shoulders and unzipped the front pocket where he kept the house keys. He thought his mother might be in the basement doing laundry. He called out to her, but there was no answer. The silence was deafening. It gave him an eerie feeling.
Max tried to remember if she’d told him she was going to be out, but he was certain she hadn’t said anything. He rolled his eyes, annoyed she wasn’t there to greet him when he walked into the house, but then that wasn’t anything new. She was rarely home these days.
He dropped his backpack on the floor, opened the dishwasher to remove a clean glass and balked when he realized he hadn’t run the washer the night before. He’d been avoiding his parents—his father in particular, especially after lying to him, but the constant bickering between his parents was getting to him. He was particularly tired of hearing his mother’s accusations toward his father. Initially, he’d been on her side, but now he was beginning to understand how his father was feeling. He was a good man, and it made him feel sick to his stomach every time she started in on him. He exhaled, grateful he had his own little world behind the closed door of his bedroom so he could play detective.
He checked the clock on the wall and noticed it was 3:20 PM. If he ran the dishwasher now, they’d be done in plenty of time for dinner, and then he could put them away in the cupboard before he got chastised for not doing his chores.
Otherwise, he’d have to wash them by hand, and that wasn’t happening.
He reached down under the sink, removed a detergent packet and shoved it into the soap dispenser. Another freshly baked cherry pie sat on the counter, and his mouth watered. He felt the pie plate and it was slightly warm. His mother must have made the pie before she left for God knows where. These days, her pie was all he had to look forward to at home.
He leaned on the counter and retrieved a plate from the cabinet. The smell of the cherries and buttery crust made his stomach growl. He reached insi
de the drawer for a knife and cut a huge wedge. The cherries oozed out the sides when he transferred the pie to his plate. Unable to contain his urge, he licked the thick red syrup from the plate and headed upstairs to his bedroom.
After he’d gobbled down the pie, he felt like having another slice, but figured he’d only upset his mother if he didn’t eat his dinner. The cassette came to mind. He walked to his closet, removed the panel to his secret hiding place and reached inside. With the cassette in his hand, he checked the clock again.
If his mother followed her normal routine, she wouldn’t be home until at least five-thirty or later. And for sure, his dad wouldn’t come home until much later. His dad had brought the surveillance equipment and recorder home again to review some evidence, and Max knew it was sitting on the table downstairs; that is, if his father hadn’t taken it with him today. What better time to listen to the cassette than right now?
He practically galloped down the two flights of stairs, taking them two at a time, and was pleased to see the equipment still in the same place his father had left it. He shoved the cassette inside the recorder, adjusted the headset on his ears, and pressed the play button.
The cassette began to spin. He heard someone clear their throat, then the muffled sound of a vacuum in the background, and a woman speaking in Spanish to someone else. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me I didn’t get anything.” He released a hefty sigh. “Cripes. I lied to Dad about having the cassette when all I have is a vacuum cleaner? Wait until Ritchie hears this.”
Max shook his head until he heard the familiar sound of the shuttered window sliding across the aluminum track play out. His pulse quickened. Now he was getting somewhere. He visualized the darkened room containing only a kneeling bench in front of the window where the priest sat, and for a second he felt as though he was in the booth confessing his sins.
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