The Cure May Kill You: A Cassidy Hudson Mystery

by Carlie Lemont

  Cassidy slammed on the brakes in front of JJ’s apartment, donned a pair of examination gloves, and pretended to push him out the door. “Hurry, hurry. Come on, I have to get home.”

  “Geez, hang on a second...” JJ struggled with his seatbelt. “You could tell me why you’re in such a bad mood. Did I do something to upset you?”

  Cassidy slumped a bit, face softened. “I’m sorry, JJ. No, it’s not you. I promise. I’m just upset about something I need to keep to myself right now.”

  “Okay, but you’ll tell me what’s going on once you’re comfortable talking about it, right?”

  She smiled. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  JJ got out of the car, turned back around, and for a moment locked eyes with Cassidy, who waved good-bye and screeched her tires pulling back out into traffic. She speed-dialed Brandy the Dog Walker while ignoring an irate driver who shouted something that sounded like, “Dearly hit bee!” He must be drunk or dumb - either way, she didn't have time for it.

  “Hello?” Brandy answered in a chipper tone.

  “Hey, Brandy. It’s Cassidy.”

  “Oh hey, Cassidy. What’s wrong? You never call me, like... ever.” Her voice dissolved into confusion with a hint of fear.

  “Just wanted to check on Max. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s fine. Happy and full of kisses, as usual.”

  “Good. By any chance, were there any phone calls, notes, or packages left for me? Like, on or near the front door?”

  “Nope. Were you expecting something?”

  “No, not really. Just curious. Promise me you’ll keep a close eye on him?”

  “Of course. I always do.”

  “I’ll be home a little later, but feel free to leave at your usual time. Max’ll be fine by himself for a couple of hours. Talk to you later.”

  By the time she’d put her phone back into her purse, she’d arrived at Ted’s Bar and Grill.

  Cassidy parked her car and took a couple of minutes to examine the driver’s side door in more detail. The letters in the word “BITCH” looked similar to those in the note from this morning, with the same pointy script and angry feel to them. She pulled out her cellphone, took a few pictures of the offensive slur, then turned on the heel of her new Coco Chanel pumps and marched across the parking lot to the establishment.

  “Ted,” she called out, flopping her Gucci purse onto the bar after wet-wiping it down and sitting on her favorite barstool, “I need an ice water—stat!”

  “Water? Cass, this is a bar,” Ted said. “Can’t I offer you something with a bit more kick?”

  “Okay, maybe just one. Corona with lime?”

  Ted gave a nod and, pulling an icy beer from the mini fridge behind the bar, topped it with a lime wedge. “All right, now tell me, what seems to be the trouble?”

  Cassidy took a long swig of the ice-cold beer. “Be advised, I will need a water. It’s already so hot outside.” She wiped her mouth with a sigh. “Nothing’s as it should be right now.” And she rested her face into her palms, trying to control the rising tide of emotions. Even two long, deep and calming breaths didn’t work.

  “Sounds serious.” Ted reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Do I need to make some phone calls?”

  Cassidy leaned back from his grip, vision clouded by tears. “What do you mean by ‘phone calls’?”

  “If the answer’s ‘no’”—Ted smiled—“then you don’t need to know.”

  “What I need is some advice.” She sipped the beer, its bitter taste sweetened her mood—just a touch.

  “Tell me all about it.” Ted pulled up a stool behind the bar and sat. “Might make you feel better to get it off your chest.”

  Cassidy pursed her lips and, after a slight hesitation, met Ted’s gaze. “Do you think I’m a bitch?”

  “What? No, of course not! Why would you ask a question like that?”

  “Well, I got two written messages today that’ve said it.” She took another sip. “Now I’m starting to wonder if everything’s my fault. Could all of this, all of these murders, be happening because someone thinks I’m a bitch?”

  “Start from the beginning.” Ted placed a second beer in front of her.

  “I hate rehashing things, so I’m gonna try to condense it all.” Cassidy brought the beer to her mouth, contemplating on where to begin explaining everything, but then thought better of drinking from it - merely cupping the cold glass bottle with her hands instead.

  She told a quick version of the very latest events, then paused to let Ted take it all in.

  He sat for a moment in quiet thought.

  “Here,” she said, “look at it.” And she pulled the offensive piece of paper out of her purse.

  Ted reached under the counter, then donned a pair of latex gloves before handling the letter.

  “Gloves?” A man using personal protective equipment? Well that just gave her warm and fuzzy feelings. Were they perhaps kindred spirits who shared an aversion to germs?

  “You can’t be too careful,” Ted said. “I’d hate for my fingerprints to end up on this.” He held the paper up to the light, examining it for a moment, and then huffed.

  “What?” she said, semi-disappointed by his real reason for using the gloves, though Ted’s concern about keeping his fingerprints from the paper nagged at her. She had all kinds of questions for him, but kept them to herself, searching instead for a clue as to what made him tick. Ted caught her scrutinizing him, and she looked away.

  “Find something?” she said.

  “Well... by the slant of the words, it looks like the person who wrote this was left-handed. And very, very angry. See?” He pointed to sections of the lettering. “The tops of each of these nearly go through the paper.” He handed the note back to Cassidy, who folded it up and put it back in her purse.

  At first, she didn’t say anything, but soon she couldn’t take the uncomfortable silence... or her mounting questions. “How do you know so much about handwriting analysis? In fact, you seem to know a lot about everything. Were you always a bartender?”

  Ted leaned back. “Trust me, I don’t know as much as you think I do. And no, I haven’t always been a bartender.”

  His stern expression told her to drop the subject, so she did. For now, anyway.

  “Well?” Cassidy said.

  “Well, what?”

  “Do you think I’m a bitch?”

  “Cass, I already told you, no. But I do think whether this person believes you’re a one or not is the least of your concerns.”

  “My car was vandalized today, too.”

  “Your car?” Ted blinked, taken aback. “Wow, you’ve had some bad luck lately.”

  “Here... take a look at this.” Cassidy pulled out her phone, then held it up for Ted to see. “I took some pictures of the love note carved into the door.”

  Ted leaned across the bar to examine the picture. “Can you zoom in a little bit?”

  She enlarged the photo to show only the offensive word in more detail.

  Ted rubbed at his chin. “If I were a betting man, I’d say this was written by the same person. Look at the tops of each letter, the way the B’s are so pointy. Definitely resembles the handwriting in the note.”

  “That's exactly what I was thinking. What do you think I should do?”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Would you?”

  “This isn’t about me. But if I were you, yeah, I’d report it.”

  Cassidy laid her phone in her lap. “I haven’t called them yet; I didn’t want to overreact. Plus, it always seems like my concerns are ignored by them.”

  “Can’t say I’m really surprised by that, actually. However, Cass—and I tell you this with all sincerity and concern—my official recommendation is to contact the police.”

  “Do you have any unofficial advice?”

  “Buy a gun. Take a class first, but buy a gun. You can’t be too careful or too prepared when dealing with psychopaths. Trust me.
They’re dangerous. Evil without a conscience.” Ted rinsed a few glasses, then used a dish towel to dry his hands.

  “A gun?” Cassidy said with indecisive tone. “I don’t know about that. I’ve never been a fan of them, and quite frankly, I have nothing to wear with a gun. Do they come in more than one color? Or maybe I can change the color like I can with my cellphone case.”

  “They do come in other colors, but they aren't interchangeable to match your outfits.”

  "In that case, maybe I’ll try some self-defense classes. I can make JJ go with me. It’ll be fun, and honestly, he could use the exercise.” Cassidy smiled. “I’d be doing him a favor.”

  “You do whatever you think is necessary. But if you do decide on shooting lessons, I’ll take you. I know a nice little firing range where you might be more comfortable trying out a gun for the first time.” He tapped the bar with his knuckles. “Right now, though, I need to get back to work. These glasses won’t clean themselves, you know. And Cass? If you need me, call me.”

  He pulled out his wallet, where inside a faded picture of a woman holding a little girl caught Cassidy’s attention.

  “Who’s that?” she asked, craning her neck to the side to get a better view, but Ted pulled the wallet away, shielding the picture from view. He stopped fumbling through his business cards to regard her with a heavy look of sorrow.

  “Ted?”

  He cleared his throat. “A long story for another time.” He slid a business card across the bar to her.

  At first glance, the card appeared blank—solid black on both sides. But right as she was about to ask how it worked, Cassidy tilted it just so and the contact number reflected back in the dim overhead lighting.

  “What an unusual card.” She angled it in and out of the light—the number appeared and disappeared. “The bar’s business card?”

  “No,” he said. “As you can see, by tilting the card, the numbers can be read easily. But at night, they’ll glow faintly in the dark. You never know when you’ll find yourself locked in the trunk of a car.” Ted chuckled as he started to walk away.

  “Oh, um, well... that’s comforting,” Cassidy said, then muttered to herself, “... I think.” She puzzled over her confidant who grew evermore intriguing with each visit. Who is this guy?

  Tucking the card into her purse, Cassidy slid off of the stool and glanced at her watch.

  Poor Max. He’d need to use the potty soon.

  She hurried outside to her car, suspicious of the lone, dark-colored vehicle sitting at the opposite end of the parking lot. Was someone sitting in it? Waiting for her? Hopefully, there aren’t any unexpected packages waiting for me when I get home.

  “Ugh,” she grumbled, “pull yourself together, Cassidy. Pull yourself together...”

  CHAPTER 19

  Y

  ou’re going, because I said you’re going,” Cassidy said to JJ for the second time.

  But JJ shook his head, eyes shut, mouth drawn into a thin line, arms crossed in front of him, like a spoiled little brat who didn’t want to eat his peas and carrots. “I didn’t agree to take a self-defense class. You told me we were going for lunch. Next thing I know, we’re headed to the outskirts of town. What about work? Our patients need us! Plus,” he added, “this is technically kidnapping, you know.”

  “Oh, you’re just being dramatic,” Cassidy replied, pulling into the farthest parking spot from the front door. She turned off the engine. “I’ve already rescheduled our appointments. Janet approved it this morning. She thought it would be a good idea for us to attend...as long as the company didn't have to pay for it.”

  JJ opened his eyes, hands easing down into his lap. “Well... as long as we won’t get in trouble.”

  “I’d never get us in trouble.”

  “I really don’t like violence, though. It makes me feel sick.”

  “Hence, the fact that you watch Golden Girls and Murder She Wrote, rather than the stuff I watch?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Think of it like acting, then. You’d told me once you wanted to be an actor, but had trouble dealing with rejection, right?”

  “Yeah...”

  “Same thing, only no one will be rejecting you. You’ll get to act all tough and manly. It’ll be fun!”

  “Fun?” JJ wrinkled his nose. “I’ll probably be the only guy there, and I might get kicked.”

  “It’ll toughen you up,” Cassidy said.

  “For what?”

  “The casting couch, silly.”

  JJ glared at her. “Is this going to cost me anything?”

  She shrugged. “Just a couple hours of your time. Although, I did pay two hundred dollars for the two of us to attend. If you want to, you can pay me back later.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t count on that happening, unless I suddenly develop Stockholm syndrome or something.”

  “I’m not abusing you, JJ. I’m helping to protect us. It’s a good thing. You’ll see. When have I ever steered you wrong?”

  JJ paused a moment to consider this. “Well, all right. Maybe I’ll buy you lunch.”

  “Deal.” She was prepared to order the most expensive thing on the menu.

  Cassidy stepped out of the car and, opening up the back seat, began to rummage through a large plastic bag, before pulling out two towels.

  “Here, this one’s yours.” She tossed one to JJ, who opened the towel and gasped. Cassidy cocked her head. “What?”

  “This towel’s bright pink...with sparkles and sequins that spell out ‘Let’s Get Physical.’”

  Cassidy winked. “I love that video, don’t you? Olivia Newton John was really on point for that time period. Fashion and function. I’ve tried to tell people you can have both; just because you want to work out, doesn’t mean you have to look like a total mess. You can still look hot!”

  JJ sputtered. “But—”

  “But what?”

  “People are going to think I’m weird!”

  “Doesn’t matter what people think. Except for me, of course. Our towels match.” She held up hers. “It’s all meant to be fun, anyway.”

  JJ scowled. “Or maybe you could just punch me in the face out here and we could be done with this whole thing.”

  “Ah-ah-ah. Leave the violence for the classroom.” Cassidy smiled, but JJ didn’t return it. “Hey, if you don’t want to use the towel, then don’t. I don’t have another one to offer you, though.”

  JJ sighed and stared down at the stupid towel in disgust. “This’ll work... I guess. Next time, don’t make me look like an idiot.”

  “Deal. Thanks for coming, JJ.”

  “You’re welcome...I guess.”

  Upon entering the facility, Cassidy was immediately stricken by the intense musty smell pervading the room. The inside was decorated with a hideous late-eighties mauve-and-turquoise wallpaper and a dingy white-and-dull mint-colored linoleum in need of a good disinfecting. She covered her nose with her shirt, to no use; the odor had already permeated her clothing. Along the hallway in front of them, small, dirty windows filtered in a natural light that revealed air floating thick with dust. Imagining just how many mites now crawled on her skin made Cassidy shiver. But it was do-or-die time. The money was non-refundable, and the class had promised to teach the fundamentals to keep someone alive if attacked. Once they were done, she’d go home and take an hour-long sanitizing shower.

  Handwritten signs had been randomly duct taped to the wall of the corridor that led down to a set of French doors. The doors also had a crudely written sign posted: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.

  “I’m not going in there,” JJ said and turned to leave.

  “Hang on! You’re my sparring partner. I need you for this. I’m not touching someone I don’t know.”

  “Oh, so now you need me? What’s it worth to you?” JJ crossed his arms with a smug expression. “If you want me to be your partner, then you’ll have to buy lunch.”

  “Fine, but you have to—”

 
JJ’s phone alerted him to a text. He read the message, looking almost puzzled, concerned.

  “What’s wrong?” she said, but was ignored. A few seconds passed, and it beeped again. He tapped the screen, read the new message in silence, widened eyes darting back and forth along the words

  “JJ... what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  She tried to glance over his shoulder to read the message, but just as she was about to get a good look at it, he turned off his phone and shoved it back into his pocket.

  “Um... what?” he said.

  “Who sent you those texts? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Oh, that?” JJ shrugged. “It... it’s nothing.” He wiped his sweaty brow. “I think the leftover sushi I had for breakfast is making me queasy.”

  “Leftover sushi? For breakfast? That’s disgusting. I hope you don’t toss your cookies when I hurl you to the mat and crush your will to live.” Cassidy gave JJ a good ribbing. Literally. With an elbow.

  “How do you know I won’t be the one slamming you down onto the mat?”

  They both paused, staring at each other for a second, then burst out laughing. Not for one instant did Cassidy believe JJ was telling the truth about the text messages, but for the moment she pushed her concerns aside as they walked toward the French double doors and into the room.

  Inside, an overpowering smell akin to unwashed gym socks hit her. Old wrestling mats cover in duct taped tears and holes stretched across the length of the floor, while plastered along the walls hung pictures of assault and abuse victims. Underneath each photo was another of the same person after having taken the self-defense class; where the women’s faces once had cuts and bruises, they now displayed fearless eyes and take-no-prisoners expressions.

  Cassidy’s eyebrows rose. This might actually be fun.

  Until she noticed the other participants.

  Being the last to arrive had both its advantages and disadvantages. Although she wouldn’t have as much time to size everyone up, she’d spend less time enduring the chitchat and ramblings of the talker-stalkers who frequented places like this. Cassidy scanned the room. Who could she use to her advantage, and who should she avoid like the flu virus? A theme definitely characterized the majority of the attendees: most would have been perfectly suited for the extreme makeover television shows.