Bending slightly she drew her shorts and panties down her legs. Once they reached her ankles, she gave a little kick and watched them land a couple feet away.
I stink.
A combination of sweat, beer, and vomit.
Gross.
She stepped into the tub, pulling the curtain behind her. The spray was hot and stung when it pelted her achy skin. Soon it felt wonderful, allaying warmth that gushed over her naked body. When she lowered her head into the spray, plastering her hair against her neck, she moaned with pleasure. And she remained in this position for several minutes, until the hot temperature started to dwindle. Lowering the Cold dial, the water became hotter. It wouldn’t last, so she had to start washing.
She spent the most time on her hair, lathering it until her head felt like a hive of suds. She rinsed and repeated with conditioner. Already, she felt more alert. She spread soap across her skin, coating it in a sudsy white. Then she stepped into the spray, washing it off. Her breasts appeared from under the frothy pelt. They were stippled in goosebumps.
Standing on the bath mat, she gingerly dried herself. She noticed a bruise forming on her arm. Probably from when she’d fallen off the couch.
Amy started to bend over so she could wrap her damp hair in the towel. The soreness in her stomach stopped her. A combination of her spell at the toilet and her previous evening at the gym.
Forget it.
She tossed the towel onto the floor, grabbed her robe from the hook on the back of the door, and threw it on. She tied it taut in the front.
Wiping the steam away from the mirror, she saw her haggard reflection appear on the moist glass. Her wet-tangled hair hung by her puffy face in golden tresses. The puffy crescents under her eyes matched the color of the forming bruise on her arm. She looked as if she’d been punched. Twice.
“Hello, sexy.” Her voice sounded scratchy.
And she caught a whiff of her breath. She grabbed her toothbrush and spread a curl of toothpaste on the bristles. She scrubbed until her teeth stopped feeling fuzzy.
Amy left the bathroom. It was much cooler in the hallway as she walked to the living room. Expecting to find Jagger sleeping on the floor, it was bare. Again, she was hit with the shock of his absence.
Her lip quivered. She felt an awful squeezing sensation around her heart. She lifted her eyes to the back door.
Why torture yourself? You know he’s not out there.
Though she knew she wouldn’t find Jagger waiting to be let inside, she allowed her legs to carry her to the door. She rolled back the deadbolt, pulled the bolt lock out of the brass hoops, and unlocked the knob. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her head. Closed her eyes.
And opened the door.
Something was outside, though it wasn’t her dog.
A white envelope.
Look at that.
Frowning, she closed the door, leaving the envelope where it was. She no longer cared to have it. Funny how yesterday it was the only worry she had. Now it hardly mattered.
At least Janice paid me something.
She wondered how much was in the envelope.
Open it and find out.
Later, she decided. She walked to the couch and sank onto it. The cushions felt a tad damp, from her sweating through the night, most likely. She didn’t care. She wasn’t going to move.
Raising her feet, she propped them on the table, crossing her ankles. The robe slipped open, the edges falling down the sides of her legs, the top spreading around her breasts. She didn’t bother shutting it. Nobody but her was here to see.
Not even Jagger.
Tears spilled from her eyes, trickling down her cheeks. She felt their warm drips on her chest, sliding between her breasts. She moved her foot and felt it brush over something smooth and papery. Leaning up, she moved her foot to the side. A small business card was on the table.
What’s that?
Sitting forward, she snatched it off the coffee table.
Mark’s card.
Flipping it over, she saw another phone number had been jotted down with an ink pen. She looked on the table, saw the ink pen was there as well.
Amy had no memory of him leaving a card, or even adding the extra number to the back. But it was easy to figure out. He’d left this for her.
On purpose?
Of course on purpose. Wasn’t like he’d accidentally done it.
She felt like an idiot. To save her the trouble of having to call the station and ask for him, he’d left a direct contact.
But the other phone number? Now that was a mystery.
Whole thing’s a mystery. I don’t remember him doing it.
Actually, she couldn’t remember him leaving at all. Last thing she could recall was them coming back inside after finding the cigar. She’d loaned him a sandwich baggy to put it in. He’d blushed slightly as he confessed to not having any evidence bags with him.
Then what happened?
Trying to recall, she was met by a solid black wall. The most realistic theory was he left right after, then she’d guzzled beers until passing out.
Where are the empty bottles?
She looked around. None were nearby. The table was clear, so was the floor. No bottles.
Amy got up and walked into the kitchen. She stepped around the counter and noticed the sink. Her dirty dishes were stacked in the drainer. The clean dishes that had been in the drainer prior to these were gone.
“What the hell?”
Approaching the trash can, she kept her eyes from glimpsing Jagger’s food and water jugs. She opened the lid. A fresh bag was inside.
So I got drunk and took out the trash?
“And did the dishes?”
Didn’t seem likely. She turned around, putting her hands on the counter, bracing herself up with her arms. She peered into the living room.
A blanket was bunched up against the arm of the couch, on the side where her feet were. It looked as if she’d kicked it off during the night.
The realization of what happened came to her.
He covered me up. I must have passed out while he was still here. He put me on the couch, got a blanket. He cleaned up after us, took out the trash.
She turned her head so she could see the clean dishes.
He washed them for me?
Amy guessed he had. Probably so she wouldn’t have to worry about it. Knew she would be occupied with other things.
She smiled. Though he probably didn’t think it was much, it meant a lot to her.
He’d left the card after I passed out.
And he was a gentleman. Didn’t do anything he shouldn’t have.
Would I have known if he had?
Maybe. But she didn’t think he would dare. He was genuinely nice and seemed to really care that she was hurting.
I should call him. Tell him thank you.
Looking at the clock, she saw it was barely nine. She remembered him telling her he worked days. Was he allowed to take personal calls while on duty?
No idea.
Maybe she should wait until lunchtime. Maybe he’d be on break and she could call and thank him. Invite him to supper?
It had been a long time since she’d cooked for anybody other than herself and Teresa. It made her nervous to think about.
Calm down. You haven’t asked him yet. He might say no.
Disappointment seemed to take her energy away, mixing with her depression of Jagger being gone. She dragged her feet back to the couch and sat down. She dropped onto her side.
It’s like I’m rebounding.
After breaking up with someone special, there was always someone different you poured devotion into. Was Mark going to be hers during her mourning of Jagger?
Mourning...
Amy started to cry.
Please bring Jagger home to me. Safe.
Chapter Seventeen
Mark parked his cruiser in one of the many empty spaces in front of building C of Old Hickory Apartments. It was a small area with fo
ur one-level compact buildings. If his memory was correct, there were only four apartments in each. The smaller buildings might not even have that many.
It was more low-income housing, which seemed to make up the majority of the living areas in Brickston. Old Hickory was one of those places that based the rent upon what money you brought in each month.
He grabbed the tiny scrap of paper he’d torn from his legal pad. He’d scribbled down Teresa Hawking’s address on it after finding it in the database. She had a few traffic violations she’d been late in paying, but other than that, her record was okay.
Again, Mark wondered why he was here.
Probably wasting my time.
It wouldn’t hurt for him to ask her a few questions. Amy had tried getting in touch with her last night, and he had no idea if she succeeded. Either way, Amy said Teresa had stayed over the last few nights and she’d taken off while she was walking Jagger early yesterday morning. So far as he knew, Amy hadn’t heard from her since.
Seems odd.
A little. But it’s probably nothing.
The Altima registered in her name was parked two spaces down from him. She should be here.
So why couldn’t she just contact her friend and let her know she went home?
Mark planned to find out.
He got out of the car, quiet as he closed the door. He didn’t know why he took the extra precaution. Wasn’t like she could hear him from her apartment. Situating his belt, he started walking.
Mark heard laughter. Kids were playing on the small playground at the far end of the parking lot. They seemed to be having the time of their lives. He felt a small tug of loss watching them run around, swinging, zipping down the sliding boards. It was hard to believe his life had ever been that simple. He had trouble reflecting on his own childhood. The memories weren’t there like they used to be.
He wondered how Amy was doing. Was she up yet? Hopefully he hadn’t crossed any lines by cleaning up the mess and putting a blanket on her. He’d found it one in the hallway closest, so she’d know he had looked through parts of her house.
Didn’t want to just leave her leaning across the arm of the couch.
Amy had been in the middle of telling him about a time when she’d taken Jagger to the park. Some teenagers had been fooling around on a blanket in the woods just off the hiking trail. Amy had spotted them as she’d walked Jagger down a dip in the trail. She’d pretended not to see them, but Jagger had kept tugging at the leash, trying to run into the woods. She’d used both arms to hold him back, but still lost her grip on the leash. He’d darted off into the trees, the leash dragging behind him.
The guy had seen him coming and ran away. Instead of chasing after him, Jagger had sat down beside the young woman. When Amy made it to the blanket she’d seen the woman was hugging Jagger, thanking him through her tears. She’d had on a dress with a ripped hem and a torn pair of panties hooked around her ankle.
Turned out the guy hadn’t just wanted a picnic, and though she hadn’t been in the mood to give him extras, he’d decided to take them anyway.
And the dog had sensed this and put a stop to it.
When Mark had asked what happened to the guy, he’d been answered with a low snore.
Need to find out how that story ended. I don’t remember any calls about attempted rapes in the park. But I could’ve been working nights then and just never heard about it.
Maybe the woman never reported it.
Mark stepped into the breezeway. The brightness of the daylight was swallowed by deep shade. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden change in luminosity. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees under the shelter. It felt good against the heat of his uniform and the sweat on his skin.
He approached the pale shape of the last door on the left. The bronze 4 seemed to glow above the brass knocker.
There it is.
Mark walked, rolling the balls of his feet forward, to keep his steps silent. There was no reason to be so sneaky, and he didn’t know why he kept doing it.
Pinching the tiny hoop of the knocker in his fingers, he tapped it against the base three quick times. There was a peephole, so he kept his hand blocking it so she couldn’t see who was on the other side.
He listened for any sounds of somebody moving around. He thought he detected faint popping sounds of feet moving across a floor.
“Who is it?” asked a woman’s voice from inside.
“Deputy Varner. Webster County Sheriff’s Department.”
There was a short pause before the voice spoke again. “Can I help you?”
“You can by opening the door.”
Another pause.
“Ma’am?”
“How about lowering your hand so I can see if you’re really the police?”
Mark smirked. He knew blocking the peephole would force her to ask who was outside. Lowering his arm, he wiped his hand on his pants. It felt clammy and warm.
“See?” he asked. He tugged at the front of his shirt, angling so she could see his badge. “Deputy.”
“Hold on.”
He heard the clicks of locks being disengaged. The door opened a crack. He saw long dark hair, a dusky bare shoulder, a lovely brown eye.
“Teresa Hawking?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come in?”
She seemed to briefly hesitate before nodding. Stepping away from the door, she opened it wider for him.
Mark entered a tiny kitchen. No light was on, so when she shut the door, it looked like he was inside a cave. He caught the scent of soap and shampoo. When Teresa stepped closer, he realized it was coming from her. Her hair was slightly damp, her tawny skin gleaming under a slight moist sheen. She had on a tight tank top and short pink shorts.
“What’s this about?” she asked.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked.
Sighing, Teresa walked out of the kitchen. She didn’t invite Mark to follow her, but he did so anyway. A wall with a serving window was all that separated the cramped kitchen from the slightly larger living room area.
He watched her rump flex inside the tight shorts. With each step, the pink edges hiked to show the lower dark cambers of her buttocks.
Even shorter than what Amy had on last night.
Thinking about Amy made him feel guilty for ogling her friend. He didn’t know why, but it seemed wrong to do so, like he was cheating on her.
We’re not even friends, why should it matter?
He didn’t know, but it mattered a lot.
There was a couch and a chair with a coffee table separating them. Other than a small LCD TV on a stand, there was nothing else in the room.
Teresa sat on the couch. She took a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table, lighted it, and leaned back. She threw a tanned leg over her knee. From Mark’s angle, he could no longer see the pink shorts. They’d slid up so high, it was as if she were naked from the waist down.
He cleared his throat and stared at the floor.
“Sit?” she asked.
Nodding, Mark stepped around the chair and sat down on the edge. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
Teresa stuck out her bottom lip and exhaled a plume of yellowish smoke. “Now will you tell me what this is about?”
“You’re friends with Amy Snider.” He didn’t ask her, he stated it.
“Well, yeah.”
“She said you’ve been staying with her?”
Teresa nodded. “Broke up with my boyfriend a couple weeks ago. He keeps coming around, wanting me to take him back. She thought it would be best if I stayed there to avoid the temptation.”
Mark nodded. “Is it working?”
Teresa swallowed. It made a soft clucking sound. “A little.” Her leg rocked over the other, foot bopping up and down in a nervous rhythm. Though there were no lights on, the skin of her thigh reflected a pale shimmering bar. Probably from the sliding glass door across the room. “Not much.”
“O
ld habits die hard?”
The corner of her mouth arced. “Sort of.”
Mark removed the notepad from his shirt pocket, opened to the page he’d written on last night, and folded the cover down. It was too dark for him to read the words he’d scribbled down, but he was fairly familiar with the information.
“Amy said you left yesterday morning while she was out?”
Teresa nodded. “I did.”
“And you didn’t go back?”
“Obviously not.”
Great. A snarky one.
“Why not? If you don’t mind my asking…”
Teresa leaned forward and flicked the small chimney of ashes into the tray on the coffee table. She leaned even further to grab it. The front of her tank top dipped low and he saw the dark tops of her breasts. Sitting back, she placed the ash tray in her lap.
Her leg started rocking again. “I decided to come home,” she said.
“Any specific reason?”
Her eyebrows narrowed. Really it wasn’t any of his business and didn’t matter one way or the other. Hopefully she wouldn’t point that out to him.
“I was tired of mooching off my best friend,” she said.
Mark nodded. “Fair enough. Have you heard about what happened last night?”
Her eyes lost their edge, and for a moment he thought he saw regret on her face. Her face wrinkled when she dragged on the cigarette, killing the expression. “No. Is she okay?”
“Not really. Someone trespassed on her property and now her dog is missing.”
“Jagger?”
“Yeah. Foul play is definitely suspected.”
Not really, but it doesn’t hurt for people to think so.
Teresa’s mouth seemed to drop open. It moved as if the tank that supplied the words had gone dry.
“We don’t know where he is,” said Mark. He added, “Not yet.”
“You said foul play? Somebody...” She gulped. “Hurt him?”
“We think so. Evidence suggests he didn’t just run away. I’m putting some pieces together.”
With the cigarette clamped between two fingers, she used her thumb to scratch the top of her head. Her eyebrows furrowed, putting creases in her brow that made her look older. “And why did you come here?”
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