“He took the glasses out of her hand and led her to the dance floor.
By eleven-fifty, nearly everyone was on the dance floor, wearing shiny hats and blowing noisemakers. Clutching small cups of confetti, they were ready to toss it in the air at the peak of midnight.
Though Jeff had been close to TJ all evening, he hadn’t been smothery, backing off now and then to let her do her own thing. She’d had a great time dancing to the old style rock with one of Eric’s mechanics. They’d even won the dance contest, dancing wildly to “Rock Around the Clock.” Her head was still a little light from getting tossed around but she’d managed to keep up and not embarrass herself, thinking she’d danced damn well for an old broad. Not that thirty-three was old, but her partner looked like he was barely out of his teens.
Wondering if Jeff would find her for the midnight dance, she stood near the bar, imagining what it would be like to kiss him at the stroke of twelve. Her eyes scoped the room, looking for him.
At that moment, Richard walked in with a date.
Irritated, she wondered why Eric hadn’t warned her. The woman next to Richard was nearly Richard’s age and wore her dark hair straight, falling to her shoulders just above the scooped neck of a long, black dress. Richard was wearing a tux; they’d obviously come from another event. Funny they hadn’t stayed there until midnight.
So what if he’s here? She didn’t give a rat’s ass, and she didn’t want Jeff to think it bothered her to see Richard with a date.
Her heart stopped. Standing next to Richard was James Wilson with Claire. TJ froze in place for a moment while time stood still. In the background, the crowd was beginning to chant; “Fifty-five, fifty-four….”
She had to get out; she couldn’t be in the same room with that murdering freak—not on New Year’s Eve. And she wasn’t sure she was a good enough actress to remain unmoved by his presence.
“Twenty one, twenty, nineteen…”
TJ went for her coat and hurried out into the frigid night air.
96
The cold air hit TJ like a blast from a fire-hose as she fled the party and ran for her car. Used to spending nights in a heated garage, it balked as she tried to start it. After a few failed attempts, she saw Jeff standing next to the car and opened the door.
“What’s wrong?”
Shivering, she stepped out and slammed the door shut.
Jeff put his arm around her. “If you’re sure you want to leave, I’ll drive you home.”
On the dance floor, the countdown reached midnight. Couples embraced, kissed, threw confetti, and sang along to “Auld Lang Syne.” On the dance floor with Eric, Lisa enjoyed his kiss as the clock struck midnight, disappointed when the couple next to them pulled them apart. She hated the tradition of being passed from person to person at midnight, and quickly edged through the crowd headed for the ladies room.
Shannon rushed in behind her. “Lisa! Did you see who came in?”
“No. What are you talking about?”
“Just before midnight—Richard Conlin and James Wilson came in. With dates!” She stopped to let Lisa process the news.
Lisa gaped. “Conlin and Wilson. Do you know if TJ’s seen them yet?”
“Probably. She took off—didn’t even wait until midnight. I think Jeff went after her.”
Eric hadn’t mentioned inviting Conlin and Wilson. Lisa wondered why he hadn’t been more sensitive to TJ’s feelings. Lisa knew TJ hadn’t left because of Richard; Wilson was a shrewd bastard, and the last thing they needed was for him to have even a hint of their suspicions. Lisa took a deep breath and went back to the party.
She found Richard Conlin standing near the dance floor with a dark-haired woman in a black gown. Ignoring the woman, she asked, “Can I have a minute?”
He stepped away from his date. “What can I do for you, Ms. Rayburn?”
“Rather tacky of you to be here, don’t you think?”
“Not that it’s any of your business what I do, but TJ and I aren’t together anymore.”
Lisa snickered. “That’s a poor excuse for acting like a jerk with no concern for anyone but himself.” She’d been about to add a few more choice words when James Wilson and Claire approached them. Dismissing Richard with an icy look, she turned and walked away, wondering when Conlin and Wilson had become double-dating buddies.
Heart pounding with anger, she found Eric. “Eric, I’m curious why you invited Richard Conlin and James Wilson.”
He looked at her quizzically. “I didn’t. Claire Thornton’s uncle is a customer here. Claire comes every year. Did you know her father’s Milwaukee’s Police Chief?”
“I do, but what does that have to do with anything?”
He studied her, frowning. “I had no idea Conlin and Wilson would be here. Claire’s uncle is a customer and he’s invited every year. I don’t question who he might bring, or pass an invite to. I’m sorry if TJ’s upset. I’ll explain it to her.”
Jeff’s car warmed up quickly, the heated seat toasty on TJ’s cold butt. He hadn’t questioned her, which had given her time to have an explanation ready. They were nearly to the interstate when he pulled over and stopped the car. “Happy New Year.”
TJ leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. “Happy New Year, yourself.” Not very romantic.
Jeff pulled back into the traffic. “Do you want to talk about it? You must be upset about Richard—I saw him come in.”
TJ felt torn. She couldn’t’ tell him about Wilson and didn’t want him to think she was pining for Richard. “It was just a shock, seeing him with another woman. I’m not upset.”
“TJ, come home with me tonight. You can stay in the guest room. I don’t think you should be alone.”
She didn’t want to be alone, but not because of Richard. “Sure you’re not the one who doesn’t wanna be alone?”
He sighed. “I have my own baggage tonight, you know that. But the party helped me forget about it.”
Baggage. He had no clue the heaviness of the trunk-load she was carrying. When he turned off the interstate at the Brookfield exit and drove toward his townhouse, she was grateful he’d made the decision for her.
It was nearly two when TJ crawled into the bed in Jeff’s guest room. After a half hour of switching position under the thick down quilt, she got up and went to the kitchen in search of milk. Finding a half-empty bottle, she gave it a sniff test. Heating some in the microwave, she carried it with her to a big recliner. The chair was comfortable, the milk soothing, and by the time she’d finished it, her eyes were starting to close. She eased the chair back into full recline, and nodded off. She woke when she felt a blanket being spread over her.
Jeff stood next to the chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”
He looked so cute with his hair mussed and wearing only a pair of red-plaid pajama bottoms. TJ crawled out of the chair. Wordlessly, she took his hand and led him to her bed.
97
James despised New Year’s Eve, although tonight he’d enjoyed being with Claire. When he’d turned to her at midnight, she kissed him, but he’d felt the gulf between them.
That party—all those people dressed up like teenagers, pretending the year to come would be better than the last. Pathetic. He’d seen that smug bitch, Lisa Rayburn, dancing with big-shot Schindler, and censured himself once more for mistaking the Ventura woman for her.
Richard hadn’t wanted to come to Schindler’s party and James had seen him looking over his date’s shoulder for Ms. Peacock. Something about TJ had always rankled James. That whole bunch thought they knew how to investigate the missing women, but they had no proof of foul play. They’d done their meaningless little bit of damage. He was confident the police wouldn’t find anything new, so why let them get to him?
After he took Claire home–she didn’t ask him in anymore—he couldn’t unwind. His hatred of Lisa Rayburn and her band of pseudo-sleuths kept eating at him and the urge to resume his hobby was clinging to him like a cloak
of leeches. He needed a new subject.
Risky or not, it had to be one of them.
98
On New Year’s Day the thermometer remained stuck at twenty below zero. TJ woke up lying on her stomach in a strange bed, the delectable smell of coffee and frying bacon summoning her from under the covers. Turning over, she remembered where she was and why.
She wondered if Jeff had left the bed because he’d been feeling a twinge or two of regret for the night before. The last thing she wanted was to complicate his life—or hers. Too late, though, she’d already done just that. Remembering, she smiled and decided she wouldn’t dissect it now, just enjoy. She stood, slipping into a white, terrycloth bathrobe she found at the foot of the bed.
He was setting the table for breakfast, and smiled when he saw her come into the kitchen. “I hated to leave you, but I was hungry. We never ate anything last night.” He took her in his arms and held her for a few seconds before giving her a lingering kiss. “Last night was wonderful.”
TJ read the question his eyes. He wanted her to agree, tell him they hadn’t made an impulsive mistake.
She smiled back at him. “Yeah, it was.” She held him, never wanting to let him go, but knew reality would soon intrude on their afterglow.
He broke the embrace. “I don’t want you to think I’m sorry about anything. I know this is happening too soon, but it’s not like either of us were planning it.”
Best to keep things light. “Honey, I been plannin’ this since the day we met.”
Jeff laughed, pulling out a chair for her. “Sure you have.”
He served her half of a fluffy cheese omelet sided with bacon, toast, and orange juice. She picked up her fork.
Back at her apartment that night, TJ experienced that lovely, after-new-sex mood that made a woman feel all warm and tingly inside. But soon, thoughts of James Wilson dispelled her good spirits. Hate was an ugly thing and it was burrowing into her life like a maggot. She had to convince Lisa to up their timeline.
99
Jeff turned his energies onto his neglected home, wanting it looking its best for TJ. They’d agreed to take things slow, but he couldn’t wait to see her. She’d suggested a movie the next night, but it felt like weeks away.
He was surprised when the doorbell rang and walked to the door hoping it would be TJ surprising him. When he opened the door to James Wilson, he didn’t know what to think. “Mr. Wilson. What can I do for you?”
James Wilson stepped inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I’ve been thinking about some of the things you and your friends talked about when we were at Eric Schindler’s place. There are a few questions I forgot to ask. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Sure. I’ll answer them if I can. Come on in.”
Wilson slipped his coat off and entered the room, taking a seat on the couch. “Nice place you have here.”
“Thanks. Can I get you something? A glass of wine? I have a bottle of merlot open.”
“Sure. Whatever you’re having.”
When he left the room, Wilson reached for Jeff’s glass, deftly adding a fine white powder to the dark-burgundy liquid.
100
Shortly after ten Monday morning, TJ’s cell phone rang as she was about to leave her apartment. She didn’t recognize the number on the small screen.
A deep male voice asked, “TJ?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t know me. My name is Jon Engel; I’m a friend of Jeff Denison.”
“Sure, Jeff talks about you.”
“This is probably nothing to get worried about, but—“
That spooky feeling crept up the back of her neck. “Probably nothing to worry about,” usually turned out to be something for which the word worry was an understatement.
“Jeff’s supervisor called me because Jeff didn’t come into work today and didn’t call in. They tried his parents first, but I think they’re out of town. I know you’re a good friend of his, so I thought maybe you’d know why he isn’t at work. It’s not like Jeff to be a no-show without calling.”
It isn’t. “No idea. I haven’t talked to him today.”
“I hope you don’t mind my calling; I looked up the number of your security business. I’m getting worried; he’s not answering either his cell or his landline. Maybe I should go over to his house and see if he’s there.”
Rivulets of fear trickled through her. “Do you have a key?”
“No. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“I’m about twenty minutes away from Brookfield. I’ll drive over and check it out.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
TJ closed the phone and rushed out the door.
It took her longer than she’d counted on to get to Brookfield. Getting out of downtown Milwaukee quickly was hopeless during winter. Stacked snow, heavy traffic, and road closures turned the area into a maze. Her fear for Jeff niggled at her, while visions of them together on New Year’s filled her thoughts. She didn’t know what the two of them were all about; she just knew that right now she needed him in her life. When she finally pulled up at Jeff’s townhouse, an extended-cab pickup was parked in the driveway. A tall red-haired man approached her as she got out of her car.
He held out his hand. “You must be TJ. I’m Jon Engel. Did you bring a key?”
“Nah. I have other resources.”
He shuffled from foot to foot in the frigid air and watched as TJ pulled out a small leather case. She selected a tiny silver tool and began working the lock on the front door. It didn’t take long until it opened; she’d warned Jeff his security was pitifully inadequate
Jon Engel frowned. “Maybe we should wait.”
“For what?”
“I think we should call the police. His car is in the garage. He could be injured—or sick.”
“Has he told you what we’ve been workin’ on?”
Engel froze in place. “You think something’s happened to him because of that?”
TJ read concern in his face, but nothing would keep her from entering the house. “I’m goin’ in.”
She stopped in the opened doorway. “Wait here. If this place turns out to be a crime scene, the fewer people in here the better.”
TJ edged into the foyer, letting the front door swing shut behind her. “Jeff? Jeff?”
The palpable silence drew her into the living room. An all too familiar smell permeated the warmth of the room, its presence in Jeff’s home a terrifying message of doom. TJ’s throat constricted as she entered the room, which appeared to be in order. She glanced at the recliner she’d slept in only two nights ago, the one she’d vacated to share her bed with Jeff. The memory of their lovemaking failed to dispel her fear.
She looked up to see the body of a man hanging suspended by the neck from the railing of the loft, the body dressed in Jeff’s clothes. TJ felt like she’d been hit in the stomach by a cannonball. Her knees buckled as she screamed, “No!”
It was too late for paramedics; Jeff’s face was the color of winter twilight. Silent tears poured down her face as she collapsed to her knees, struggling to remind herself to respect the room as a crime scene. When her legs would support her again, she walked, sobbing, back into the winter air.
Jon Engel took her in his arms, drawing her away from the door.
She managed to croak, “Jeff’s dead,” then sobbed against his chest, fighting nausea, berating herself for not preventing Jeff’s murder. She wanted to scream out the name—James Wilson.
She hadn’t thought Wilson realized her suspicions. But what if he’d seen her following him? If he had, then Jeff’s death was on her.
Jon trembled against her, struggling to stay in control of his emotions. She had to get a grip on hers.
She wiped her face on her sleeve. “I have to call Maggie. She’s a detective we’ve been working with. And the Brookfield guys, too.” Her fingers fumbled for her cell phone, while her every instinct wanted to be back in the house, searching for evidence.
<
br /> After the calls, she said, “Jon, don’t judge me for this, but I have to go back in.” She quickly explained that it appeared Jeff had committed suicide. Before he could protest, she said, “I know he didn’t. Don’t know how much he’s told you, but we’ve all been in danger. I know he’s been murdered, but the police might not see it that way. I have to know if he—or someone else—left a note.”
Jon handed her a handkerchief. “Whatever you think. I’ll wait here for you.”
TJ entered the house. It’s only a crime scene. It’s only a crime scene. The repeated mantra kept her focused while she bent her head down, her eyes scanning the room for a note. Nothing. She hurried into Jeff’s office. The room was immaculate, but his laptop was open. She tapped the return with a fingernail and a Word screen opened. It was there—the note.
To my family and friends,
I’m sorry to leave you this way. I can no longer live with my guilt. Believe me, this is the best thing. TJ, I’ll miss you. Please try to understand.
Jeff
The note’s brevity would give it credulity with the police. They would assume the guilt he referred to would be an admission that he’d done something to Jamie. But TJ knew Jeff would never have left a note on his computer. To him, computers were machines; he wasn’t a gamer, an emailer, or social-site user. The electronic note had to have been Wilson’s idea.
As she turned to leave the room she saw the open door to the guest room where only two nights ago they’d made love, slept together, and discussed the future. She could feel his arms around her as they’d been that night, see his golden-brown eyes searching hers for shared feelings. God, she had to get out of here. She couldn’t be in the house when the law arrived. Somehow, she’d have to convince them to test his keyboard for residue from rubber gloves. The bastard would have been way too careful to leave a print.
She's Not There Page 25