The Cure May Kill You: A Cassidy Hudson Mystery

by Carlie Lemont

  Cassidy opened the driver’s side door, tossed her purse inside, and started to get in, yet something didn’t feel quite right, and she paused to scrutinize. The car leaned toward the passenger’s side.

  “Oh, what now?” She huffed and marched around to the other side, where she stomped and slammed her hand down onto the roof. “Ugh. Are you kidding me?”

  A flat tire.

  She knew very little about mechanical things, but she wasn’t a complete idiot. A spare tire sat in the trunk. How hard could it be? Unscrew those thingamajigs, put on the new tire, screw them back in again, right? But... she couldn’t risk ruining her gorgeous new outfit; she’d have to go up and change first.

  Decision made, Cassidy grabbed up her purse, re-locked the car, and returned to the gate leading into the apartment complex, when a flash of light caught her eye. Lying in the grass just outside of the fenced area was an open switchblade. She squatted down to contemplate the knife for a moment, looked back at her car, and then at the knife.

  Was my tire slashed?

  Cassidy opened her purse, pulled out some tissues, and picked up the weapon, ever careful not to touch it. She wrapped it up with even more tissues and tucked it into her purse for safekeeping, then pulled out her cellphone.

  She sent Ted a text message to let him know she was running a little late, but she’d be there. Should I text him to have a drink ready for me? Then, she hurried back up to the apartment and changed clothes. It was still a nice outfit of course, but it wouldn't kill her to get it dirty.

  Back at the car, Cassidy struggled to lift the spare out of the trunk. It was much heavier than she’d expected, and now the day was starting to heat up. She rolled the tire up to the front of the car and... ran out of ideas. Ugh! Where was the stupid jack? This was going to take all day.

  “Damn, it!” Cassidy yelled. “I can’t do this!”

  “Can I help?”

  Cassidy turned as Cruz strode up alongside her car, dressed in a pair of casual jeans and a fitted black T-shirt, and wearing a smile so sweet Cassidy couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Can you help me change my tire? I really don’t have a clue how to do it.”

  “Your dad never taught you?”

  “Dad?” she asked, brow furrowed. “What’s that?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I—”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I’m okay with it, and I’m sure he is, too.”

  “Fair enough. How about we get this tire changed?” And he went to the trunk, pulled up the cloth interior lining the bottom to reveal a compartment chock-full of tools she had no idea was even there.

  “You’re lucky you have a full-sized spare,” he said. “It’d be good to go to the tire store and get yourself another one to put in the trunk, though, just in case.”

  “Absolutely. Good idea.”

  After jacking up the car, Cruz started to unscrew the “lug nuts,” as he called them, when he suddenly stopped to examine the tire. He ran his fingers along its side.

  “This was slashed,” he said.

  “I figured it was.”

  “You did?” He twisted around to her. “Who do you think did it?”

  “I don’t know, but...”

  “But what?”

  “Nah, never mind.” She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not important. I’m sure it was just some stupid teenager. A gang initiation or something. I don’t know.”

  “Huh.” Cruz returned to working on the tire. “I guess it’s possible.” Then, he pointed. “See how the rubber is more jagged here at the end?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “The slash mark tapers out here, meaning it started over there and ended...” He tapped the jagged end.

  Cassidy shrugged. “I still don’t see how that’s important. My tire’s still ruined.”

  “The person who slashed your tire was left-handed. Or, that’s what I’m able to gather from it, anyway. Have any lefties for enemies?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “So, not only are you an expert at cleaning pools, but you’re also a forensic specialist?”

  Cruz laughed. “Nope. Wrong on both accounts.”

  “Are you done yet?”

  “Yep, all done.” He lowered the car, put the jack and the tools back into their appropriate compartments.

  “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Now maybe I won’t be late.”

  “Oh? Going somewhere important today? Work?”

  “Nah, just meeting a friend.”

  “Well, I hope you enjoy your day.”

  “Thanks again. You do the same. See you around?”

  “Of course.”

  And as Cruz walked away, Cassidy briefly admired with growing interest how very lovely he looked from this angle. Then, she turned on her heel and returned to her apartment to change back into her shooting outfit.

  Once back at the car, Cassidy cranked up the air conditioner, blasted her favorite Spice Girls song, and hurried off to meet Ted.

  CHAPTER 27

  O

  ut in the parking lot of Ted’s Bar and Grill, Cassidy lifted her large, stylish sunglasses and scrutinized her reflection in the rearview mirror. She smiled. Excellent. Makeup still to perfection, sleek ponytail in place. She gave a curt nod. Presentable and ready for her shooting lessons.

  She exited the car.

  Inside the establishment, Cassidy’s eyes adjusted to the low lighting. Once she was able to see clearly, she strode forward, scanning the room for Ted. He sat at a table in the far corner where the lighting seemed even dimmer. She squinted, and even though she couldn’t see much, the guy sitting with Ted creeped her out. He looked like he was straight out of the show The Sopranos, the Mafia vibe was so strong in this guy. Strange. Were they friends? Either way, she was staying far from him.

  Rather than standing around like an idiot, though, Cassidy started toward the bar to wait for Ted. Whatever business they attended to wasn’t really any of her concern. She could watch the goings-on through the large mirror behind the bar, anyway.

  Trying to act natural, Cassidy wiped down her usual barstool and made herself comfortable, thinking she could use a drink. As if the liquor gods had heard her plight, she noticed a folded-up piece of paper on the barstool next to her. She picked it up and smiled, reading: Help yourself to a drink. Cold beer’s in the fridge behind the bar. Not the shot of tequila she’d planned on, but an icy cold beer would hit the spot.

  Cassidy glanced slyly in Ted’s direction. Their eyes met, and she smiled, holding up the slip of paper to acknowledge the message had been received, with a silent thank you. She walked around to the backside of the bar, a perspective of the room she’d never seen, and scanned the surrounding area for the refrigerator. Near the center, just below the middle rack that held unopened bottles of booze, sat a dorm-sized fridge.

  “Ah,” she said and bent low, using a napkin to open the door. Inside stood three bottles of her favorite Mexican beer, along with another note: I shouldn’t be long. Take a beer or two, and don’t forget the limes.

  Cassidy smiled, spotting the small cup of precut wedges. She took out a beer, the limes, then closed the door, and just as she made to stand up, she noticed a revolver strapped to the underside of the bar, just above the fridge.

  She returned to her seat, ready to enjoy her beer, when she took a moment to scrutinize through the wall mirror Ted’s mysterious friend—a trench coat-wearing older gentleman with a haggard face and dark, slicked-back dyed hair. The man appeared confident and relaxed. He held steady eye contact with Ted throughout their conversation. Soon, the man gave a slight nod and reached into his breast pocket to pull out a rather thick envelope, which he slid across the table in silence. Ted looked down at it, then up at the man.

  Transfixed by the exchange, Cassidy held a tense breath, releasing it only when Ted placed his hand onto the envelope, nodding back to the older man. He shoved it into the waistband of his jeans, then glanced up at Cassidy th
rough the mirror. Their eyes locked.

  “Shoot.” Cassidy ducked her head. She wanted to watch the goings-on, but thought better of it, sensing something “off” about the interchange. She pretended to be interested in her beer, holding it up to the light for no reason whatsoever... for a long period of time.

  “Hey, Cass. How’s it going?” Ted clapped a hand onto her shoulder from behind.

  She flinched.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Oh, don’t be sorry. I just didn’t hear you coming.” Cassidy swigged her beer, finishing it in two large gulps. “It’s been a rather stressful couple of days.”

  “Want another drink before we head out?” he said.

  She shook her head. “Nah, thanks for offering, though.” She fought the urge to watch Trench Coat Man pass by, headed for the exit.

  Ted shrugged. “All right, then. Let’s get a move on.”

  Cassidy peered over her shoulder to make sure the man hadn’t returned. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything too important.”

  “Nothing for you to worry about,” Ted said as he rounded the bar and picked up a briefcase and an oversized, black duffel bag.

  “What’s in there?”

  “In the case”—he held it up—“are a couple of different handguns for you to try. And in here”—he shrugged the shoulder with the duffel—“are two rifles and their accessories. Thought it would be fun for you to try a variety of weapons, get a good feel for what’s available. Before you buy any gun, it’s important for you to be comfortable with it.” Ted led the way out of the bar. “Here. Lock up for me?” And he tossed over a small ring of keys.

  Instinctively, she caught them, though she groaned at handling the grubby set. After fumbling around, she located the right one and, locking the front door behind them, Cassidy tossed the keys back and before sanitizing her hands.

  “Mind if I drive, Cass?”

  “That’s fine. Probably for the best, anyway, since I’ve already had a beer. Not to mention I need to add air to my front spare tire.”

  “You had a flat?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure someone slashed it. I’ve really had some bad luck in the car department recently.” She rummaged through her purse to show him the knife, when she caught another glimpse of Trench Coat Man standing at the far corner of the building, watching them.

  “Cass, he’s nobody for you to worry about. Really. Just... an old friend who needed a favor.” And Cassidy didn’t press him for further information.

  She did, however, second-guess her decision to share everything with Ted, a man she barely knew. So before getting into the car, Cassidy paused to ask herself: Should I trust him, or should I scrap this entire plan? But having spent an hour picking out the perfect shooting outfit for this occasion, her choice was sealed. She would indeed go to the shooting range, and she’d look good testing out the guns.

  “Cass... are you okay?”

  “Of course,” she said, and slid into Ted’s El Camino.

  On the way to the range, Ted explained in detail each of the guns he’d brought along for her to try—how they looked, how they sat in the hand, their weights and kickback force when fired. Cassidy was fascinated, having had no idea how much went into guns and gun safety; so much more than she’d ever learned from her favorite television shows. She soaked up the information with ease and couldn’t wait to get started.

  Later, they strode up to a building that looked pretty nice, shattering her expectations of what a shooting range would look like and where it might be located. Beautifully manicured lawn; well-maintained shrubs and flower beds; large, stylishly tinted windows that offset the bright white stucco facade—all of it drew her in. Had the sign out front not read Miami’s Gun Safety and Training Facility, she would never have guessed what it was.

  “Before we go inside, I want you to be aware of a few things,” Ted said.

  “Okay. What? Is it my clothes? Did I make some kind of faux pas with my fashion choices?” Cassidy twisted back and forth, scrutinizing herself. She looked good, but maybe that was against some kind of code and pretty girls were supposed to look dumpy to not anger the jealous unfortunate ones with guns.

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” Ted chuckled. “You look great! I just want you to know that this is a very professional place. No goofing around, no pretending to shoot people; nothing but good behavior. I can’t afford to get involved in another incident.”

  Cassidy blinked. “First of all... another incident?”

  “Yes. Well.” Ted cleared his throat. “It was actually quite unfortunate.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Can’t. I signed a gag order. Plus, it might still be under litigation; not sure about all that stuff. Anyway, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  Cassidy set her hands onto her hips. “Trust me, I won’t do anything to embarrass you. I promise.”

  “I didn’t think you would. I just need to cover all of my bases, that’s all.” He opened the door for her. “After you.”

  “Thank you.” And Cassidy stepped through the door into the world of handguns and secret identities. At least, she could have fun pretending that was the case.

  They walked into the front room, which was set up like a waiting room with chairs, magazines, and televisions, and where a receptionist sat behind a desk. But compared to the outside, the inside of the building was a bit of a letdown. Fake ficus trees in each corner and fake potted plants everywhere, plus the overall bland use of colors, did little to impress. A large sign stated the rules of the establishment, though it was unclear whose rules they were—the state’s, the city’s, or the local gun club’s—but it included a large, extensive list of things not to do. Cassidy turned to ask Ted a question, but found him texting in earnest on his phone, and from the rapid beeping of incoming texts, they were going back and forth rather urgently. This went on for several minutes, and Ted looked more and more upset, running his fingers through his hair more than once. He crammed his phone back into his pocket, rushed over to Cassidy, and handed her the hard-sided briefcase.

  “Here, take this,” he said.

  “What? Why?” She took it on instinct, but immediately placed it onto the floor.

  “I have... some business I need to attend to. I’m really sorry. I know I promised you a lesson, so I suggest you stay here and take a lesson from one of the professionals.” He glanced over at the receptionist. “Wait here.”

  Ted hurried over to the woman behind the desk for a quick discussion. Cassidy strained to listen, but thoughts about her slashed tires and the switchblade, the notes, JJ’s texts, and the nasty message scratched into her car door all made her unable to focus. Were, she and JJ being targeted? Were they too close to the killer somehow? Was it someone they knew well? Could it have been—

  “Okay?” Ted said.

  Cassidy blinked. “Huh?”

  “I’ve signed you up with a volunteer who’ll take you step-by-step through a gun safety lesson.”

  “Oh. No, thanks. Can’t you just take me back to the bar and we can come another day? You can teach me then.”

  “I’d love to do that, Cass. And I’d be more than happy to bring you here again some other time, but... I’m not exactly headed back to the bar.” He shrugged. “I’m not even going in that direction.”

  “Fine.” Cassidy stomped. She was pissed, and she didn’t care who knew. “Just leave me here, alone, then. At least I’ll have a gun to ward off the weirdos who try to accost me.” She kicked the case onto its side.

  “Now, now, you’re just being dramatic. There’s a lot of really great people here. The guy you’re signed up with should be out in a few minutes. Just sit tight and stop worrying.” Ted patted her shoulder, which she flinched back from. “But hey, if you really don’t want to stay, take this.” And he removed an alarmingly large wad of cash from his jacket pocket, siphoned off a few twenty dollar bills, and handed them to her. “This should get you home. Don’t worry abo
ut paying me back. There’s one handgun in the case. Give it back to me the next time you are at the bar.” Then, he strode out the door with the large black duffel bag containing the rifles, leaving her with the briefcase.

  Cassidy glowered. Had she not been so angry with Ted’s sudden departure, she would have been more curious as to where he was going. Now, looking down at the wad of cash in her hands, she contemplated her options. She could either use the money and take a cab home, or she could wait to see if her instructor was at least good looking. If he turned out to be a loser, she could always say she changed her mind and take the cab home. If he was hot, maybe he’d give her a ride home and she could go shopping tomorrow with the money.

  “Cassidy?”

  Startled, she spun around. Standing before her was none other than Cruz.

  “What are you doing here?” she said. “Do you they have a pool out back or something?” Her questions sounded a bit harsher than she’d intended, but maybe he wouldn’t notice.

  “Pool? Oh, right. You still think I’m a pool man. That’s hilarious.” He chuckled.

  “How’d you know I was going to be here?”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t follow you. I volunteer here. I enjoy teaching firearms safety; it’s my own little way of helping people.”

  “Helping people, huh?” Well, maybe Cruz wasn’t just nice to look at, but legitimately cool and worth her time. “That’s very noble.” She meant it with all sincerity, though by Cruz’s odd expression, she was pretty sure he didn’t believe her. “Hey, thanks again for helping me earlier with my car.”

  “My pleasure. Did you end up calling the police?”

  “What, about a flat tire?”

  “It was slashed, remember? That’s vandalism. Might be good to notify them.”

  “Nah. I’ve had it up to here with the police.” And she pointed to the top of her head.

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  Cassidy paused, then said, “It’s not important. Anyway, thanks again for your help.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” he said with a soft smile, then leaned in toward her, Cassidy’s heart began to race while her mind went wild with possibilities. Was he leaning in for a kiss? Did he want a hug? She wasn’t much of a snuggler, but hey, it’d been a while. Instinctively, Cassidy closed her eyes, parting her soft lips. The anticipation was palpable.