He tipped up my face and looked into my eyes like he wanted to crawl inside my soul — if only I’d open the door and let him in. Why was I so scared? Why was it so hard to believe that a good and decent man loved me? "But…"
Then he kissed me. Urgently. Hungrily. Ted refused to let me escape into the shadow of my own doubts. I trembled at how much I wanted him and needed him but I surrendered to it, praying it wouldn’t become a weapon that would beat me down later.
He thrust himself inside of me and I wrapped myself around him meeting his thrusts with my own. Harder. Faster. "Don't stop. Never stop."
We clung to each other until our hearts stopped pounding and the panting ended. And for the moment, I felt safe. Nothing could hurt me as long as he held me.
Ted rolled me on top of him and pushed the sweaty hair off my forehead. "Do you believe now?"
I kissed him softly. "Yes." He made a face. "What's the matter?"
"Maybe we should we go to the drug store?"
I laughed. "It's a little late for condoms."
He stroked my cheek. "No, not condoms. Morning after pill?"
I bolted up, almost knocking him to the floor. "What? No."
"You're not worried about getting pregnant?" He cringed. "Crap, was that the wrong thing to say?"
I rolled off him and sighed. "No, you didn’t say anything wrong." I glanced at him. "But the thing you should know, and I should’ve told you before, is that I'll probably never get pregnant anyway."
Ted frowned. "Why wouldn't you get pregnant?"
I crawled off the sofa and started to get dressed. "Because my body is messed up." I pointed to my belly. "Inside."
He sat up. "Messed up how?"
It wasn’t the way I wanted to tell him. The truth was I didn’t want to tell him at all. I wanted to pretend that I never had to tell him. Never had to accept how broken I was. "One of my ovaries doesn't work." I turned away, afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes. "I’m sorry. I should’ve have told you sooner, I just didn’t know how."
He pulled me back onto the sofa with him. "I'm sorry, babe."
I shrugged. "It's just how it is." I looked at him. "I'm the one who's sorry."
He furrowed his brow. "Why?"
"Because I can't give you a baby." I smiled sadly. "If you stick with me, that's all you're going to get — me." Tears spilled and I swatted at them angrily. "So, now you know. And if that's a deal breaker then let's end it now. Okay? Because I couldn’t stand to just wait until it all goes to shit."
Ted reared back his head. "End it? End what? Us?" He pulled me into his arms. "Forget it. That's never going to happen. You're not getting rid of me, got it?"
I started to sob again. "But it’s not fair. You deserve more than I can give you. You should be able to have kids if you want them." I lay my head on his shoulder. "And I know you do."
"So you can’t have babies. So what? If we want babies, we'll find another way."
He held me tighter. "What I want is you, Scotti."
I raised my head. "You've got me."
Ted smiled and looped my hair behind my ear. "Then I've got what I need."
Chapter Sixteen
We lay in bed watching movies, eating chips and laughing. Having the pregnancy issue out in the open was a relief. I didn't feel like I was lying to him anymore. If Ted did propose, at least he'd know what he was getting himself into. But part of me still waited for the blowback. Once it sunk in, would Ted really believe I was all he wanted?
He eyed the clock on the bedside table. "It’s way past your bedtime, little girl."
"It's okay, I'm off work until Monday."
His mouth hung open. "Scotti Fitzgerald blowing off work?" He tickled me. "I'm shocked. Shocked I tell you."
I ran my finger down his thigh. "Play hooky with me? We could lock the door and pretend nobody's home."
He switched off the television. "No can do. I'm short a couple of drivers, and I have to put in overtime this week. Maybe Friday. I'll try." Then he shook his head. "No, I can't on Friday, got a game with the bro's."
I raised my head. "What game?"
"Baseball game. They’re on a team together, and their pitcher is out with an injury." He laughed. "So they asked me."
"Why is that funny?"
Ted sighed. "You'd know if you saw me pitch." He rolled over and faced me. "Let's just say, they must be desperate."
I pushed him onto his back and straddled him. "I want to go. I want to see you pitch."
He shook his head. "No, you don't want to see that." He tugged on my hair and pulled me down on top of him. "Besides, it's family stuff. All the Jordans will be there."
I pursed my lips. "Even Melinda?"
"Especially Melinda."
I rolled off him and propped against the headboard. "Melinda and baseball." I grinned at him. "Nope, can't see it." I shrugged. "It's fine, I can handle it. I'll bring Zelda for back up." I giggled. "Maybe she can get Steve to strike out. She’s not above flashing guys."
"In that case, don't bring Zelda. The idea is that we want our guys to get hits."
I waved my fist in the air. "Right. To win."
"More like not lose so badly." He pulled me down and kissed me. He pressed against me and said, "So since you don't have to get up early…"
"Damn honey, does that thing ever take the night off?"
"Nope. Open 24/7. Customer satisfaction guaranteed. Oohrah."
<<>>
I woke up alone. Ted left a note saying he'd be late but wanted us to have dinner together about nine. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling considering what I would do with myself for the whole day and half the evening. Nothing came to mind because I assumed Ted would ditch work with me. Blowing off work isn't as much fun when you don't have someone to play with.
I rolled out of bed and texted Zelda. As expected, she was playing hooky too and told Joe we needed time off because a friend had died suddenly. Less of a lie than a manipulation of facts, but apparently Joe didn’t mind. He was still sitting on Beidemeyer although nothing had happened. Joe’s insistence on staying with the case baffled me, but he had his reasons, and sometimes you just have to let people have their way.
Zelda was at the beach. No mention of Eric and I didn't want to bring him up, so I told her to build a sand castle for me. I asked her to go to the baseball game with me on Friday night and she agreed to think about it. I was hopeful she and Steve might connect after all. At least she was starting to see that Eric wasn't her only option.
Digging into my bag, I pulled out the card that Marika Jansen had given me. Ron's funeral was Saturday morning at the Los Angeles National Cemetery. According to the card, an honors ceremony would be provided by the local Army National Guard. I assumed that Ron's sister Donna had arranged the honor ceremony since she’d made the funeral arrangements. But how did Marika figure into all of this? Her lack of involvement in her husband’s funeral was unsettling and frankly weird. Sure, they were estranged but because of his illness and injuries, not because he’d done something wrong.
Marika was the one who'd betrayed Ron’s trust. And maybe that was the answer to my question — Marika was keeping her distance because of her own misdeeds. That thought only made me feel sadder about Ron’s death and the last mark he would leave on the world at his funeral.
I grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen and carried it into Ted's office. Like a mischievous kid, I sat behind his big oak desk and propped my feet on it. The office was more Ted than any other room in the house. I breathed in his scent and felt him in the books, the furniture, and small embellishments — all carefully and intentionally placed. Though there were no photos or souvenirs from his Army days. I was no expert, but I assumed most servicemen kept a few things around. But Ted didn’t like to talk about it, and I didn’t like to ask him because of the darkness it stirred in him. My curiosity wasn’t a good enough reason to push the topic either, so I accepted that it was a part of his past that I might never know about. A
nd who was I to judge — I didn’t volunteer anything about my foster days.
When Ted's phone rang, I pulled my feet off the desk and knocked over my coffee. "Oh crap." I jumped out of the chair to find something to mop up the coffee seeping into the blotter. I found a box of tissues in the bathroom and rushed to mop up the coffee before it could spread any further. The phone stopped ringing and Ted's computer monitor came to life. Startled I backed away from it. "Ted, it's Mom."
I peeked at the computer monitor, but only his screen saver danced across the screen. When I heard Melinda's voice, I should've walked out of the room. It was none of my business what she and Ted talked about. But when you're a private investigator, you work to hone your curiosity into a fine tool, not ignore it. So, I stayed. I wanted to be a step ahead of Melinda if possible. She wasn't going down without a fight and neither was I.
"I wish you were there, I prefer not to leave messages on your machine." She sighed impatiently. "I just called to say that I understand why my suggestion upset you so much. But when you're emotionally attached, you don't always see things objectively, darling. So please, don't dismiss it out of hand because you feel defensive. Think about it. All right, darling?" She paused so long I thought she'd hung up, then she said, "I can see that she genuinely cares for you and she's a lovely girl, but my first concern has to be you, doesn't it?" She sighed again. "All right then, I'll see you at the game on Friday. Love you. Good bye."
I stared at the computer, wishing I could replay the message a few times and dissect it. But how Ted had rigged his phone through the computer was beyond me. Even if I had figured it out, I feared I’d leave a clue behind that I’d been nosing around in his business. Now I knew for sure that the family business Melinda mentioned the day before was about me. Just what Ted needed, more reasons he shouldn't be with me. I blew out a sigh. "Sure she likes me, honey. She likes me just fine."
The spilled coffee had ruined the blotter and was proof positive I'd been screwing around in Ted's office. I'd have to replace it before he got home from work. Hopefully the office supply store a few blocks from his house had the same kind. I pulled the blotter off his desk, wiped down the entire desk and then put the blotter by the front door. With any luck, Ted would never know the difference.
In the meantime, I had calls to make so I went upstairs for my cell. I called the number on the funeral announcement card. Donna answered on the first ring and sounded hopeful with that one word, hello. I quickly explained who I was and expressed my condolences.
"Bless you," she murmured.
We cried together on the phone like dear friends sharing a loss. I wished I'd known about Donna before Ron's death because I could've shared my concerns with her. Maybe we could've helped him. "I'd be happy to provide food or pastries for the wake. If that's something you need."
"Thank you, Scotti, but we can't afford a caterer. We'll just do a pot luck."
"Donna, I wouldn't dream of charging you money. I'd just like to do something for Ron. He loved pie. At least let me bring a few pies. I have plenty, and it's no trouble at all."
"Really? That would be wonderful." She started to cry again. "God bless you."
"It’s the least I can do. How about I bring them by on Friday morning? That way, you’ll have them in plenty of time for the wake."
She said that was fine and gave me her address. "I don't know what to say. It's so nice of you. I'm glad Ron knew somebody like you."
"It's my pleasure. I'll see you at ten on Friday."
I ended the call and took a few minutes to compose myself. Still mystified by my reaction to Ron's death. Was it him I felt so sad about or does death just turn all of us into sad lonely children? Memories of Mama Sadie swirled and I could still smell the lilies that flanked her coffin when I said my last goodbye to her.
I blew my nose, then I called Daniels and offered to buy him a beer.
Chapter Seventeen
After a lazy lunch at a little Thai place on Wilson, I stopped at the office supply store and picked up a replacement blotter for Ted's desk. A perfect match as far as I could tell and Ted would be none the wiser. Then I dropped by Franky the Copy King's and ordered some flyers for the food truck. After that I treated myself to a luxury manicure and pedicure that included beeswax exfoliation, massage, and scented oils.
I was so relaxed I could've gone down for a nap but instead, I zipped up to Tujunga to meet Daniels at Al's Steak House. I walked in just before five, and except for a couple of retirees nursing beers and watching a game on the big screen behind the bar, the place was empty. Taking the back booth, I ordered a pitcher of beer and a platter of fried clams. Food always inspired Daniels to get chatty, and that was just what I had in mind. I'd get him going with the story of how he and Davis got demoted to the Foothill Division, then wheedle the details of Ron's case out of him.
Daniels arrived just as the fried clams landed on the table and his nose led him straight to the booth. "Well isn't this nice? Old friends meeting for a beer and a nosh?" He plunked his giant body down, and I felt the tremor on my side of the booth. He smiled at the platter and rubbed his hands together. "What do we have here? Golden crispy fried morsels of what?"
I poured him a beer and slid it across the table to him. "Fried clams."
Daniels popped a few clams into his mouth and chased that with half a mug of beer.
I chuckled. "I'm assuming you’re not going back to the station after this."
He tossed fried clams into his mouth by the handful. "Right you are." He hadn’t told me a thing, and he was already halfway through the platter, so I ordered another platter from the bartender.
Daniels sat back, resting his beer mug on his belly. "So, cold beer and tasty clams — what did I do to deserve this?"
I leaned against the wall and propped my feet on the bench." You said you'd tell me a story if I bought you a beer. So, this is me buying you a beer and waiting for a story."
Daniels pursed his lips. "And here I thought you were sweet on me."
I chuckled. "The chauffeur doesn't let me to see other people."
Daniels chortled. "Wise man. He knows you need to be kept on a short leash."
I flapped my hand at him. "If you don’t start telling me a story, I’ll keep that second order of clams all to myself."
He drained his beer and refilled his mug. "If it’s a story you want, a story you’ll get." He polished off the rest of the clams, then daintily wiped his mouth with the napkin. "It's a sad tale really. Two unsuspecting homicide dicks going about their business of fighting crime, suddenly find themselves tangled up in a political game of who's the patsy?"
That got my attention. "Patsy for what?"
The bartender brought the second plate of clams, and Daniels grabbed a handful of golden fried goodness. "It seems a certain federal agent was concerned that a private citizen might sue for false arrest, among other constitutional violations."
I snorted. "Tanner blamed you? But weren't you acting on his orders or the Mayor’s or the Commissioner’s or whoever the hell?"
Daniels waved a fried clam at me. "Ah, but in the blame game, things like facts are not relevant." He snickered. "I gotta hand it to you Scotti. Whatever you said to that feeb scared the shit out of him. He was sure you'd sue the pants off the Federal Government." He chuckled. "Can’t say I minded watching the s.o.b. sweat."
I signaled the bartender for another pitcher of beer. "Sorry Daniels, I didn't know that jerk would try to lay it all on you. I was pissed about all the grief you gave me, but once I knew Tanner was behind it, I didn’t really blame you."
The bartender brought the second pitcher of beer and I asked him to bring us a platter of mozzarella sticks.
Daniels refilled our beer mugs. "The LAPD was sure you would. Blame us, that is. So a transfer to a less, shall we say, prestigious station house, would serve as a proper reprimand that the Commissioner could point to, should said legal action occur."
I frowned at him. "That sucks." I cocked
my head. "But you’re not mad at me about the demotion?"
Daniels shook his head and stuck out his lower lip. "Nah. We knew going in that if any shit flew that we'd catch it." His little blue eyes studied me. "Though life would've been easier if you'd left George Manston's murder alone." He shrugged. "We all gotta do what we gotta do." He tossed a handful of clams into his mouth and munched. "Am I right?"
That bit of news was a relief. Daniels and Davis weren't close friends but I didn’t want to burn bridges either. "Thanks Daniels, that's pretty stand up of you. What about Davis? She feel the same way?"
M.urder R.eady to E.at (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 2) Page 10