by Vella Day
She could have slugged him, and he wouldn’t have been more shocked. “Divorced? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He took a step closer and got another whiff of that spicy perfume, and lust shot to his groin. He certainly didn’t need her as a distraction. Not now. Not ever again. She messed with his head.
“You never asked.” Anger colored her statement.
Touché. Derek’s senses started to level. The clinking of glasses, the pulling of levers, the shouts of joy, and sighs of defeat finally filtered through the rush of blood in his ears. He glanced around and realized they’d drawn a small crowd.
“Ah, I think we’ve become part of the entertainment.”
Kelly looked around too. If possible, she turned an even prettier shade of red than her gorgeous mass of curls. She leaned closer to Justin. “Would you mind taking me home?”
Justin had the nerve to smile at Derek, and then wink at Kelly. “My pleasure.” He took hold of Kelly’s arm and led her away before Derek could stop them.
Do something, dumb ass. But what? He had no right to interfere in Kelly’s life. She didn’t belong to him anymore—as if she ever did.
Justin plastered Kelly by his side. She fit snuggly, almost as if they were made for each other, but something seemed out of whack.
Anger snaked up his gut and nearly choked him, as he lost his visual on the two when they ducked into the crowd. He didn’t like them together. Not one bit.
Derek had woken up the next morning with a pounding headache. Seeing Kelly with Justin had kept him up most of the night. Those two, acting like a couple really pissed him off. She didn’t belong with a stockbroker. At least not one who’d supposedly lost the love of his life three days ago.
His anger festered as he rode along with Seinkievitz on another hunt for Pileseno. If Kelly needed comforting, why hadn’t she called him? Oh, right. He’d been a jerk—twice as a matter of fact. Why had he been? Fear of rejection? Hell if he knew.
Seinkievitz raced up to the light, and then slammed on his brakes when the signal turned red, fast-forwarding Derek to the present.
“Damn, Brad. Watch the head. I’m suffering here.” Why did he let himself get talked into coming with this maniac?
“My heart bleeds for you, Benally. Take my advice. Don’t drink.” Just as Derek was about to deny the allegation, Brad Seinkievitz cut a ripe one.
Derek rolled down the window to get a fresh breath. “You are a disgrace to the human race.”
Seinkievitz smiled. “You didn’t have to come with me.”
“You bastard. You farted on purpose.”
“I plead the fifth. So, you gonna kiss my ass when Piloseno turns out to be guilty?”
Derek went along with the change of subject. Seinkievitz was convinced the ex-con had offed Rayne for the pure pleasure of killing. Derek wasn’t as cynical. Piloseno was capable of robbing Rayne or even beating her, but murder? He wasn’t so sure.
Derek rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Piloseno’s last stint was for armed robbery, not murder, you know.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s an angel.”
“I’m not saying he is, but felons don’t usually change their M.O. I’m not buying he’s our man, but I won’t rule him out on that alone.”
Seinkievitz took off down the road, then leaned forward and flipped up the AC, sending a shot of cool air to Derek’s face. “We still need to talk to him.”
“Fine.” Derek rolled up the window. Piloseno was as good a lead as any.
Seinkievitz stuffed another chocolate donut down his throat with one hand while holding onto the wheel with the other. “Sure you don’t want a one?”
“No, thanks.”
“You look like shit, you know.”
So he hadn’t felt like shaving this morning. To be honest, he hadn’t felt like doing much of anything. Just like Kelly, he couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t eat. Seinkievitz was right. He was a mess.
“You’re no bed of roses either my friend. That day old chocolate on your chin?”
“Say what?” The cop did a quick swipe of his face and removed most of it off.
“Is that all you eat for breakfast?” Derek asked nodding to the donut.
Seinkievitz looked affronted. “Hell, no. Sometimes I have glazed.”
“I don’t know how come you’re not fat.” Derek had to work at keeping in shape.
“Lucky, I guess.”
Derek took a large gulp of his soda, hoping the caffeine would help the ache behind his eyes. Too bad there wasn’t a drink to salve his heart.
Without warning, the maniac jerked the cruiser to a stop again, only this time he stopped in front of Piloseno’s bright turquoise duplex. Seinkievitz yanked the key from the ignition and oozed out of the car one skinny leg at a time.
Derek dropped his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and stepped out. The sun aggravated his headache, and the heat made his stomach turn, but he needed answers.
“Let’s hope we’re more successful this time and find him home,” Derek said.
As they marched toward the left half of the duplex, anger bubbled up inside Derek. Given his sister had put him away, this man had good cause to kill his sister, but had he? Except for some circumstantial evidence placing Piloseno near his sister’s house the night of her death, the police had squat.
Seinkievitz pounded on the screen door. “Tampa PD. Open up.”
Curses emanated from inside. A moment later, a medium height Latino answered. He didn’t look like he’d shaved or washed in weeks, and his lips reminded Derek of a pig—overblown and pink with dirt stains where a mustache might have been.
“Yeah?” Piloseno tucked his sleeveless T-shirt into his jeans, which didn’t help his looks one bit. “What d’you want?”
Derek and Seinkievitz held up their badges. “Can we come in?” Seinkievitz asked.
“Hell, no. I don’t want no cops in here.”
Derek thought he could detect the scent of pot inside. “We’d like to ask you some questions about your trial.” Derek hoped to catch the man’s interest.
“What about it? I did my time. Now I’m free.”
“Rayne Anderson prosecuted, right?”
Piloseno’s lip curled up. “What is this? If you know so goddamn much, why ask me? I don’t remember the bitch’s name.” He grimaced, exposing coffee stained teeth.
Derek held in his anger at the name-calling. “Have you tried to contact her since your release?”
“Why should I?” Piloseno picked his teeth with a dirty thumbnail.
Seinkievitz took a step closer to the ex-con. “Mind telling us where you were Saturday night around ten p.m.?”
Piloseno stopped his hygiene action. “Yeah, I mind.”
“Would you like to come down to the station to answer our questions?” Brad asked.
“You can’t make me go nowhere. I’ve done nothing wrong. Ask my parole officer.” Piloseno belched, and then slammed the door in their faces.
Seinkievitz shrugged then turned away. “That went well.”
“Now what?”
“I say we look into who else has motive. In the meantime, I’ll keep digging into Piloseno’s background. I’m betting he’s the type who likes revenge,” Brad said.
“You said Piloseno was the only one recently released, right?”
Seinkievitz slipped into the cruiser’s driver side. “Cons aren’t the only ones who kill.”
“True.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to ask the Captain to put a detail on Piloseno. The guy’s hiding something, and I aim to find out what.”
Derek smiled for the first time all morning. “I like the way you think.”
This time Seinkievitz’s driving didn’t give him a heart attack. Maybe there was hope for the guy.
Once his temporary partner dropped him off at the station, Derek wanted to stop by Rayne’s house. He needed to check her answering machine to see if Justin had called her on Sunday as he’d claimed.
&nb
sp; Justin gave off some strange vibes. The night he’d come over, angry he’d learned about Rayne’s death on the nightly news, his eye movement had troubled Derek. Not that he knew the guy’s habits, but Derek read people.
He climbed in his truck and took off. The twenty-minute drive to his sister’s house calmed him somewhat, and the pain behind his eyes even began to subside. Perhaps the anticipation of seeing his sister’s possessions helped bring him a step closer to accepting his loss.
As he drove down her street, he checked the neighboring houses. At this hour, with the kids were in school, all the garage doors were down, and no one was wandering the streets.
What had he expected? Some creep would come back to the scene of the crime three days later?
He must be losing his edge since desperation was eating away at his common sense. While here, Derek wanted to question the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Anton, hoping she saw someone.
Derek parked in Rayne’s drive and slid out, sunglasses firmly in place. Though the police tape had disappeared, he bet no one had entered his sister’s house in days. Derek unlocked the house with a spare key and let himself in.
With the AC set to the high eighties, Rayne’s place smelled bad—musty and slightly warmed over. As he walked to the kitchen past the dining room where Derek had last seen his dead sister, he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He pulled a soda from the fridge and forced down the bile.
She always stocked his favorite drinks for him. To think he’d never see Rayne here again, never eat her lasagna, or drink her homemade wine.
He tried to stay calm, to detach his emotions from the job, but it was damned hard. He had to remain strong for Rayne though. He was her best hope of finding out who’d killed her.
Derek believed his spirit guides had tried to help, but the messages they’d sent meant crap to him. Strangers sleeping and sons of mothers? What the hell did that mean? Sounded more mysterious than serious.
He shrugged and took another swig of cola. Derek stepped over to the answering machine and pressed the button where black fingerprint powder marred the surface.
“You have two messages. Message one: Sunday, ten fifteen a.m. Mom, I’m at Chris’s. I thought you were going to pick me up at ten. Where are you?; Message two, Sunday, ten thirty: Mom, Chris’s mom is going to drive me home. Bye. End of messages.”
Derek chugged the rest of his soda and enjoyed the bite that followed the cold liquid trailing down his throat. Apparently Justin hadn’t called to apologize. He knew that guy was trouble the minute he met him. According to Billy, Justin had promised to take the kid water skiing on several occasions but had cancelled because of some big meeting he’d had to attend. Broken promises and forgotten presents; the man was not trustworthy. Only Rayne appeared smitten.
He shook his head, annoyed by the vision of Kelly that suddenly invaded his head. Women. He never understood them. Probably never would.
11
Because Derek was not officially on the case, he stuffed his badge in his pocket. On the way out, he took one last look around. The table near front door stood empty where Rayne’s vase had been.
What the—?
He stepped closer and ran his fingers across the shiny tabletop. Clean. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her prized possession.
Had Billy broken Rayne’s vase? The loss of the irreplaceable item choked him up. Rayne would never create again.
Aw, Rayne. Why did you have to die?
Swallowing to clear his throat, he locked up her house and headed next door to the world’s nosiest neighbor. If anything had gone down the night of Rayne’s death, Mrs. Anton would know. He’d bet his badge on it.
He stomped over to her place, circling past the hedge that separated the two properties. The old lady’s lawn was brown with intermittent tufts of green that looked like a bad case of chink bugs. Several pots of wilted flowers stood by the front door.
He knocked on the wobbly screen.
“I’m coming,” Mrs. Anton shouted from inside. A moment later the front door opened. “Yes?” She squinted her eyes and ran her hands down the front of her stained apron. “Say, aren’t you a friend of Rayne’s?”
Given she’d forgotten his identity, he wondered about her reliability as a witness. “I’m Rayne’s brother, Derek Benally, remember?”
Her face crinkled into a smile. “Oh, yes. You’re that police detective. I saw you go into her house the day she died. Why, I don’t know how I could have confused you with anyone else, you being so tall and all.”
The sun burned his head as sweat trickled down his back. “Could I come in and talk?”
“Oh, my, of course. Where are my manners?” She ushered him in. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No. I’m fine.” He patted his forehead with his handkerchief to stop the sweat from dripping into his eyes.
“Do you mind if I make myself a cup of tea? I always have tea when I have company.”
Hot tea? She had to be kidding. “Sure. Go right ahead.”
“Make yourself at home,” she said as she headed into her small kitchen off the entryway.
Derek only had to walk a few feet before reaching the edge of the living room.
Whoa. Dolls sat everywhere—dolls on bookcases, dolls on the sofa cushions and on top of the sofa, and dolls on the mantle.
Half had fallen over as if an earthquake had shaken the house, and most were so dusty he wouldn’t be surprised to find nests of spiders inside their bodies.
To reach the sofa he had to step around a pile of books. Something gnarly clogged the fibers of the brown shag carpet and he stepped around the stain. He didn’t want to guess what the mess might be.
“I’ll be right out,” Mrs. Anton shouted from the kitchen. The teapot whistled, then china clinked together. A moment later, Mrs. Anton waddled out, holding her teacup with one hand and dunking the teabag with the other. “Have a seat.” She motioned to the sofa. “Oh, don’t mind Jeanette. Just push her aside.”
Jeanette? She’d named her dolls?
Derek gingerly moved the foot tall doll to the right, along with a stack of fashion and food magazines spread over the seat and sat down, making sure the spot he picked wasn’t caked with gum or something.
Before the dolls came to life and attacked him, he figured he better get down to business. “Were you home the night Rayne was shot?”
She set her tea on the nearby coffee table and dropped down into the chair with an “Umph.” She blew out a breath as if making the tea had winded her. “Yes. Yes, I was home watching television. Why?” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think I’d harm that nice girl?”
He held up a hand. “Mrs. Anton. Don’t worry, you’re not a suspect.”
“Suspect? Why would I be a suspect? Didn’t the poor girl kill herself?” she shouted. She clasped a hand over her mouth, and then let go. “I’m sorry. I should have been more delicate.”
Apparently, the woman was quite hard of hearing. He made sure to talk louder. “I appreciate your sentiment, but being blunt cuts to the chase. As to my sister’s death, the forensic evidence confirms she didn’t die by her own hand, but we don’t think you were involved in any way.”
Her shoulders visibly dropped and her cheeks sagged. Mrs. Anton picked up a Raggedy Ann doll that was squished next to her on the seat and kissed her head. Then she carefully placed Raggedy Ann on her lap. “You had me worried, young man.”
“Back to Saturday. Did you hear or see anything that night?”
She bit her lower lip and looked off to the side. “They were having this big tiff.” She hugged the doll to her chest.
“They?”
“Your sister and that man of hers.”
He sat up straighter and pulled out his pad and pen. “Do know the time they fought?”
“Do you think I watch the clock all day long? I have better things to do.” She picked up her cup of tea and took a sip.
For a split second he was afraid she’d offer a
drink to Raggedy Ann.
He ground his teeth and inhaled through his nose to force himself to relax. “Could the argument have been around ten?”
Mrs. Anton shook her head so hard, the doll fell over, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, no. At ten he was long gone.”
“How can you be so sure?” She just said she didn’t watch the clock.
“A rerun of Monk was on. I love Monk.” She patted the doll’s head. “It’s Raggedy Ann’s favorite show. She loves how he always finds the killer. Have you ever—”
“No, but, thank you, Mrs. Anton.” Derek stood. If Justin had already gone by then, he didn’t kill Rayne—unless he snuck back into the house while he professed to be sleeping off a hangover.
“You didn’t ask me what they were fighting about.”
He knew the argument was about their potential marriage but decided to placate her. “And what did they fight about?” He questioned whether she could even hear the conversation giving the decibel range of her speaking voice.
“Well, I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything, mind you, but I had my window open, and I couldn’t help but hear a few words, you know.”
He bet she probably stepped outside to listen to the whole conversation. “What was the gist of the fight?”
“Please sit down. It strains my neck to look up at you.” He sat. “I’m a little embarrassed since the topic had to do with her pregnancy.” She covered her mouth again and her brows pinched. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you about the baby.”
“I knew she was pregnant. Go on.” Derek refused to dwell on what would never be.
“Wait a minute. Let me get my hearing aids. I don’t wear them when I’m alone. That way, I won’t have to strain to hear you.”
That would explain a lot. She put down her cup, made Raggedy Ann comfortable first, and then stood. A moment later she returned, her finger in her ear, adjusting the volume. “There. Now we can talk better. Okay, where were we?” Her speaking voice came out at a normal level.
“The fight.”
“Oh yes. Rayne, your sister, wanted to get married, but that boyfriend of hers—what was his name?”