The Cure May Kill You: A Cassidy Hudson Mystery

by Carlie Lemont

  Sanchez snorted, but continued to write in her notebook.

  “Anyway”—Cassidy rummaged through her bag, miffed—“I was rather upset when it happened, and then I found this in the parking lot of my apartment complex.” And she pulled out the baggie with the patch in it, handed it to Sanchez. “I thought it looked familiar, but couldn’t place it until now. I’m almost positive this patch came from the hat of that mystery man.”

  “Interesting...” Sanchez examined the patch, then dumped it into an official plastic evidence bag.

  “Interesting? That’s it? You have nothing to add, nothing else to say?”

  “Official police business, ma’am.” Sanchez shrugged and closed her notebook. “I’d like to take a look at your letters, though. They might be relevant.”

  “Fine.” Again, Cassidy rummaged through her bag, “Here,” and she gave her note to the detective, while JJ pulled his out of his pocket and handed it over.

  Just then, another officer approached. “Detective,” he said, “can I talk to you for a second?”

  “We’re done here, anyway.” Then she and the other officer strode a few yards away to huddle in quiet conversation.

  JJ tapped Cassidy on the shoulder. “We should probably get going before they decide to arrest us for trespassing.”

  Cassidy swatted his hand away, straining to hear the interchange between Sanchez and the other officer. She overheard Sanchez say, “... compare the patch to it.”

  “... it could be,” the officer said, “but what about the other—”

  “Just do it, before ... and don’t let her know.” Sanchez tossed a look over her shoulder.

  Cassidy crossed her arms. “That liar. She knows something.”

  “She didn’t lie. She said it wasn’t any of our business.”

  Sanchez rejoined them. “What are you two still doing here? Did you come up with another suspect for us to investigate? Does this one have a little black cat?”

  Cassidy winced, but didn’t respond. Something nagged at her; something about the patch, though she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Sanchez’s expression softened. “If it gives you some peace of mind, I’m going to send the patch off for analysis. Hopefully, it’ll turn up something that’ll help us close this case.”

  Just then, a CSI team member walked past, wearing a uniform with a patch that read: McKinley. “I got it!” Cassidy blurted. “At Stacey’s house, I saw a picture of her wearing a jacket covered in patches.”

  “How old's the picture?” Sanchez said.

  “I have no idea, but it looked pretty outdated. Although, most of what she wears is a bit retro, without the cool factor, of course.”

  “Same patch as the one you found?” JJ said.

  “Excellent question from Mr. Jones,” Sanchez said.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. But I think she might be connected somehow. Don’t all of the coincidences add up to something? Whoever sent JJ his letter, also sent one to me. They knew which car I drove, knew where we both lived, and knew JJ’s phone number. And the patch - ”

  “Whoa, hang on,” Sanchez cut in. “Let’s not convict and execute so quickly. Not everyone who’s ever owned a patch is guilty of murder. And we don’t have any scientific or proven links between the letters, the patches, or anything else that could implicate Stacey. No DNA, no finger prints, no hair fibers. Do you follow me? Like I said, I’ll send the patch off to be analyzed and hopefully something will turn up. In the meantime, please keep clear of official police business, all right?”

  “Gladly,” JJ said. “Come on, Cassidy, let’s go home.” He turned to head back toward the car.

  Cassidy strode in tandem. “Not on your life,” she whispered. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

  Sanchez called after them. “Remember, don’t get involved! If you start stalking Stacey, or impede our investigation, I can legally, and happily will, arrest you. Mr. Jones, please do your best to rein her in.”

  JJ nodded. Together, they walked down the street. Once out of earshot, Cassidy broke the silence. “Do you think it’s Stacey? I mean, really think it’s her?”

  JJ shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t like her, and she doesn’t like me, but is she a murderer? Who knows? If she is, I’m hoping Sanchez and her partner will figure it out.”

  “Well, Sanchez did seem like she was telling the truth for once. Maybe they are actively investigating. Personally, though, I think her partner’s probably better at the job than she is.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Oh, come on, JJ. Anyone who thinks it’s okay to wear navy blue pumps with black pants and a flowery mint green blouse has bad judgment. And let’s be honest, the name ‘Delacruz’ sounds way sexier than ‘Sanchez.’”

  “I guess so. I still feel a bit on edge, though. When you bring me home, you want to come up, and we can work on paperwork together?”

  “Nah, I’ve got some things I need to do.” Then she paused, and added, “Unless you really need me to.”

  At first, JJ seemed to consider this, but shook his head and quietly got into the car instead. Cassidy started it, blasted the air conditioner, and eased away from the curb.

  CHAPTER 24

  O

  n their way to JJ’s apartment, Cassidy finished her call to Janet, informing her of Chester’s murder and that there would be no need for a recertification.

  “Was she mad?” JJ said.

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to read her over the phone. There was a lot of heavy breathing and I think she ever growled once.” Cassidy shrugged. “She did say she’d be emailing us some paperwork.”

  “What kind of paperwork?”

  “Corporate wants us to fill out a statement about Marge, what we’d seen and knew about the deceased patient. Nothing official, but it has to be faxed back within a week. Shoot!” Cassidy exclaimed as they drove past a pet store. “I don’t have any of Max’s food for his sensitive tummy. Mind if I stop and get some?”

  JJ shrugged. “I need some fish food.”

  Cassidy spun the car around in an illegal U-turn and pulled into the parking lot of the pet store, a rather large chain in the area known for its discount prices and for attracting shoppers of all kinds. It was great people watching.

  Inside, they split up, already having agreed to meet back at the third cash register once they were done. Serge, the cashier for that particular register, always made Cassidy’s heart go pitter-patter. She’d developed a crush on him the year before last when she’d taken Max in for puppy training. Serge was the trainer, and although it’d worked out for Serge and Max, Cassidy hadn’t been as lucky. According to JJ, it hadn’t worked out because she’d been mean to him. Which was completely absurd. Handing someone a mint for their stinky breath wasn’t mean; it was a courtesy. But Serge had taken offense to it and stopped talking to her altogether. Ever since then, though, Cassidy went to his checkout lane because she enjoyed looking at him, with none of the usual stress of trying to make someone her boyfriend.

  Cassidy went to aisle five and scanned the shelves for Max’s special formula, although she couldn’t remember if it was cheaper to buy the larger bag or not. Squatting down to the bottom shelf, she attempted to focus—the large bag was forty pounds, and the smaller bag was thirty. Some jerk had peeled off all the price cards, so she had to use her cellphone as a calculator.

  A moment or so passed, even though Cassidy stared at the prices, other thoughts flooded her mind: Who keeps threatening us? Why can’t the police do their jobs? In CSI: MIAMI, they always find a hair or epithelial cell that leads to the killer. Why are the real cops so incompetent? If it is Stacey, then JJ and I are in real danger, and I have to get to the bottom of it. I couldn’t bear something happening to JJ... or to Max! The bitch knows where I live. How hard would it be to break in and kill my baby?

  The little hairs on her nape prickled, and she shivered. A hand squeezed her shoulder. Cassidy was on her feet, whirling around,
fists up and clenched to protect her face. Before she realized it, her foot was pressed against the chest of a man, now flat on his back.

  Cassidy gasped. “Oh my God!” Big, strong, sexy Serge... lying on the cold concrete floor? Cassidy relaxed and removed her high-heeled shoe from his chest, then bent down to help him up. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Did you hit your head?”

  Thankfully, he appeared to have escaped with only minor injuries to his pride. He swatted at her hand, “Get away from me, Psycho! You attacked me!”

  “I... I didn’t mean to. I took a self-defense class; it just happened,” Cassidy began to explain, but Serge ran toward the front of the store instead. She glanced around sheepishly. Thank goodness no one had witnessed the event.

  Except for JJ.

  He hurried over. “Are you all right?” he said. “You totally kicked his ass.”

  Cassidy laid her hand against her forehead. “What exactly happened? I was looking at the dog food... and I remember thinking about the murders, and the next thing I know, I’m standing over Hottie-McStinky-Breath with my high-class heel pressed to his chest.”

  “When I came around the corner, he was asking you if you needed any help. He touched your shoulder, and you flattened him. Just like in class. Twirled around and kicked him right in the chest.”

  Cassidy cringed. “You don’t think I hurt him, do you?”

  “I doubt it. His head landed on a bag of dog food. Didn’t you see how quickly he ran to the front of the store? Couldn’t do that if he was seriously injured. That was awesome!”

  “Well, it doesn’t feel awesome. I need a break from all this stress.”

  “Then take a vacation.”

  “I will, but first, I think I need to get a gun and take more self-defense classes. Or maybe just get some therapy ... ” The psychological kind.

  JJ gaped, then shook his head. “Cassidy, the last thing you need is a gun, and I’d say you learned plenty at the class. Therapy, on the other hand, might be helpful.”

  “Ugh. Let’s just get out of here. I don’t want that onion-eating troglodyte calling the police on me. I’ve had quite enough of people today.”

  “He already knows who you are. What’s to stop him from calling them, anyway?”

  “Well, aren’t you the bearer of bad news. I could at least make it more difficult for them to find me; no sense in waiting around to get arrested. Here, take this fifty and get the food for me, will you?”

  “But it’s heavy!”

  Cassidy grabbed an abandoned cart and crammed the forty-pound bag into it for him. “There, now take the money. I’ll wait for you in the car.”

  Without a decent disguise, Cassidy couldn’t do much to hide her identity as she left the store and was forced to walk past the checkout aisles where people stood staring at her. She shielded her face from the workers’ scorn and hustled out of the store. After a dead sprint to the car, she turned the air conditioner on full blast, and while she waited for JJ to emerge, Googled other area pet stores that sold Max’s brand of food. He still wasn't back so she scrolled through the local news websites. No surprise the headlines featured the recent rash of murders, hinting at a possible serial killer on the loose. Her name wasn’t mentioned in the article—thank God. Being publicly implicated in a murder would send her right over the edge, straight into a mental hospital. Not to mention she'd be fired from her job. That would be the proverbial icing on the cake. Only this was a crap cake, and no one wanted extra frosting.

  “Pop the trunk, pop the trunk!” JJ yelled as he ran toward Cassidy’s car, pushing the cart with the bag of dog food.

  Cassidy pulled the release, and a moment later, JJ slammed the trunk shut and hopped into the car.

  “That was so embarrassing,” he said as he clicked his seatbelt.

  “Thank you for doing that. And Max thanks you, as well.”

  “Aww... ” JJ smiled. “He’s such a good boy. Tell him ‘You’re welcome,’ and give him a hug for me.”

  “Will do. Now hold on to your knickers,” Cassidy said, putting the car into gear and flooring it out of the parking lot.

  After a hair-raising, trail-blazing, downright frightening ride from the pet store to the front of JJ’s apartment complex, Cassidy came to a screeching halt, curbside.

  “All right, we’re here. Thanks again.”

  “What?”

  “This is your place, right?”

  “Yes... but you’re nowhere near my apartment.” And giving Cassidy a puzzled look, he pointed to a building located at the opposite end of the property. “I’m all the way over there.”

  Cassidy blinked. “Wow, I am in my own little world today.” She shoved the car back into gear and weaved through the parking lot, coming to a stop near the correct building. “Better?”

  “Yes, thank you.” JJ gathered up his belongings, but hesitated instead and turned back around, asking, “Can you park over there and walk with me to my apartment?”

  “What?”

  “Park over there, and walk to my place with me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. I just want to show you this really cool new fish I got.” He fidgeted with his backpack straps.

  “I really need to get home, JJ. Look, I know you’re scared, and I don’t blame you. I am, too. But if someone breaks into your apartment tonight, just remember to use the elbow-to-the-throat maneuver we learned in class.” Cassidy winked. Humor always seemed to help JJ relax. But, this time he turned away and walked away - head hung low.

  “JJ, I’m sorry. I was just kidding!” I’ll send him a text tonight to make sure he’s okay.

  With a sigh, Cassidy pulled away from the drop-off area, when it happened—a dark-colored car appeared out of nowhere, nearly side-swiping her. She managed to veer out of the way just in time.

  Cassidy slammed on the brakes. “What the... ?” and gripped the steering wheel, gasping, just as the other car roared past—an older model, smoky grey Malibu with tinted windows... barreling toward JJ still walking slowly toward his apartment.

  At once, and with a sick feeling, Cassidy honked her horn, trying to signal him. But it wasn’t working; he stopped to look around for the source of the honking, oblivious to the car barreling toward him.

  Cassidy threw her car into reverse and, putting the pedal to the metal, drove backwards, fully intent on ramming the hell out of the dark-colored car; anything to save JJ. She stuck her head out the window, wind blowing her hair all over, while she screamed for JJ to get out of the way. Panic-stricken that she wouldn’t make it in time, Cassidy slammed on the brakes again, threw the car into park, and swung open the door.

  “JJ!” she screamed, setting off in an all-out stumbling sprint in his direction. “Run! Run, now!” And she frantically pointed at the other car careening toward him, roaring louder as it accelerated. “JJ!”

  JJ turned and, appearing to finally register the incoming threat, his expression shifted from confusion to terror and Cassidy’s heart sank. He shrieked and dove for the curb. The Malibu crashed headlong into the parked car he’d just rolled past, the screech of bending metal and the scrape of jagged wreckage filling the air. Cassidy’s panic turned to rage, and she sprinted toward the carnage.

  “JJ! Are you okay?”

  Cassidy couldn’t see her friend, but as she got closer, one of JJ’s legs came into view. It was jutting out from behind the wrecked parked car, pant leg shredded and stained with blood. He wasn’t moving.

  While the driver of the Malibu tried to restart the car’s engine, turning it over and over in vain, Cassidy’s adrenaline-fueled rage peaked and she prepared for a fight as she drew nearer, defense moves from the class flashing in her mind. Within a few feet of the car, the driver managed to start it, and its throaty roar made her stomach sink.

  “Hey!” Cassidy yelled, and hurled a rock at the back windshield, shattering it just as the driver put the car into reverse, squealing the tires, heading right for Cassidy. With a startled
cry, she jumped between two parked cars, rolled, and crawled over the curb onto the nearby grassy area, springing to her feet just as the car sped away. Rage ebbed to fear.

  “Oh my God—JJ.” She ran over to him as he lay unmoving on the ground. “JJ, are you all right?”

  Cassidy dropped beside his body, searching for injuries. She wanted to call 911, but she’d left her phone in the car. And JJ’s was completely smashed, screen cracked, battery separated from the back of the phone. With shaky hands, Cassidy tried to piece everything back together, but after the third attempt, gave up and examined JJ again. Blood oozed from a scalp wound just a few inches into his hairline at the top of his head. Copious, but not life threatening, depending on his other injuries.

  “JJ,” she said in a soft, scared voice just above a whisper, “can you hear me?” She felt around for a pulse, first in his wrist since his neck and face were covered in blood, which spurred on a fresh wave of panic when she couldn’t find it. Her fingers hit pay-dirt against his carotid artery. “Oh thank God.” She shook the blood from her fingers before wiping them in the grass.

  Relieved, Cassidy sat back on her heels, adrenaline draining, when one of JJ’s neighbors rushed over and offered assistance.

  “What happened?” an elderly woman said.

  “Someone just tried to kill us. Do you have a phone? Can you call 911?”

  “Yes, dear.” The woman pulled her phone out and called for help.

  “JJ?” Cassidy whispered, getting no response. After a couple of attempts, he began to stir.

  “What... ?”

  “Stay still. Help’s on the way.” She gently pushed his shoulder back down to the ground. “Someone tried to run us over. Are you in pain?”

  He winced. “My head hurts. I think I might’ve hit the bumper when I dove past.”

  They sat in silence while a small group of nosy neighbors gathered around at a distance. “I bet you’re gonna have to pay for that,” Cassidy said, breaking the silence. “I mean, that might be considered vandalism.” She tried to lighten the mood.