by Debra Webb
“Good.”
Alex watched her mother drive away in her sporty red car. Blake’s Mercedes had been that same shade of sexy red.
Was he the one who’d gone through her house?
Okay, maybe she was letting her imagination run away with her. She needed a heavy dose of reality.
Who better to give it to her than Shannon?
Shannon Bainbridge and her husband, Bobby, lived in a Mediterranean style house in north Miami Beach. Quiet neighborhood, good schools and escalating real estate values.
Shannon’s kids, a boy and a girl, were off in college, one at Florida State the other at Georgia Tech, both on academic scholarships. Husband Bobby worked in construction and had achieved the status of project manager. Until Alex opened Never Happened Shannon had been a domestic engineer.
Since the kids had already been in high school, Alex concluded that she had saved her friend from a life of boring sameness—cleaning, cooking and shopping.
Alex rang the bell and took the time to appreciate Shannon’s gorgeous landscaping. The woman had it going on outside and in. It was part of her Type A personality. Everything had to be perfect.
Every vine, every flowering shrub and potted plant served a curb-appeal purpose. The same space-conscious attitude defined the interior. From the architectural features of the ceilings and the paint on the walls to the gleaming tile on the floor, not a single opportunity to impress had been missed.
Bobby had the know-how but Shannon had the vision.
The red paneled door swung open wide. “Alex! What’re you doing here?”
“You’re not on your way out, are you?” Alex knew the answer before she asked. Shannon and Bobby went out one night per week and tonight wasn’t it. They had a schedule for everything, even sex. The scary thing was they never deviated. Is that what happened after twenty-odd years of marriage?
“Absolutely not. Come in.” She ushered Alex inside and closed the door. “Bobby!”
Her obedient husband sauntered into the entry hall. “Alex! You’re looking mighty fine.”
She’d changed before heading this way. Jeans, tank and thonged sandals. Thank God Shannon didn’t mind her husband’s gawking. That was another thing that appeared to evolve the longer a couple was together—the length of time a man’s gaze was allowed to stray.
Shannon elbowed him to get his attention. “Put another steak on the grill.”
Bobby glanced at his wife. “Okay. Sure.”
Shannon grabbed Alex by the hand. “Come on, we’ll have a glass of wine.”
Her friend’s kitchen was large and homey. Lots of travertine and slate, lots of spacious honey-colored cabinets. A working kitchen. Shannon was a self-taught chef. Her husband’s round form testified to that fact.
Alex climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island. Shannon settled two stemmed glasses on the granite surface and claimed the stool across from Alex.
“Thanks.” Alex sipped the beer Shannon had poured for her. Her friend was well aware that Alex’s preferred beverage didn’t come in a bottle with a Napa Valley label.
“What’s going on, Alex?” Shannon curled her fingers around the stem of her glass but didn’t partake. She liked to get straight to the heart of any matter, whether business or pleasure, before distracting herself with food or drink.
“Can’t a girl visit her best friend just for the fun of it?” To wash down the lie a little better, she took a long drink.
“It’s like that, is it?” Shannon joined her, turning up her own glass to bolster her courage.
Shannon was one of the strongest people Alex knew but she had a definite distaste for the unknown.
Alex had worried all the way over here as to how much she should tell Shannon. She didn’t want to endanger her friend, but she needed someone to confide in. Someone who could look at this with a little more perspective than Alex was capable of just now. Someone who’d known her her whole life and could measure whether she was reading way too much between the lines here.
She’d decided to spill the beans. If she was crazy she needed someone to tell her. Unlike Patton, she could talk to Shannon without worrying that she would launch an investigation of her own. Patton would stir the stink and trouble would end up landing on him. That was the risk she wasn’t sure she could take just now.
“Remember the suicide I cleaned up the other day? Charlie Crane?”
Shannon nodded before taking another drink from her glass.
“I found this thing.”
Alex didn’t beat around the bush. She gave Shannon the whole story, from Henson’s call to her concern that someone had riffled through her things. Shannon listened, not once interrupting her.
“Order up!” Bobby called as he strode into the kitchen carrying his tray of freshly grilled steaks. The smell was heavenly. Alex’s stomach rumbled.
“Let’s eat while I mull this over,” Shannon suggested.
She wouldn’t get any argument from Alex.
They ate slowly, enjoying the good food. Shannon made the best salads with all the right greens and little flourishes that not only looked nice but proved healthier for the consumer. It was the part of that whole Type A thing.
Dinner conversation consisted of the renovations Shannon had decided she needed to do to the house now that they were empty nesters. Bobby grumbled good-naturedly after her every proposed idea for changes. Shannon basically ignored him, knowing she’d get her way in the end. Alex liked watching their easy banter. More often than not they completed each other’s sentences.
Alex found herself wondering if she would wake up one of these days and regret that she didn’t have anyone to be that way with. Henson’s image immediately loomed large in her head. She ordered herself to stop it. She’d made her choices and she had no reason to regret anything so far.
“Did you take care of that flat tire?”
The first question out of Shannon’s mouth surprised Alex. With all that she’d told her, she’d expected something a little more urgent than whether or not she’d fixed the flat. It was still in the back of her SUV.
“I haven’t had time.” Geez, she’d only discovered it a few hours ago. Too much had happened since to think about stopping by a service station.
“Bobby, would you mind taking care of Alex’s flat?” Shannon smiled for her husband, probably promising him a special treat later.
That was another thing Alex had noticed about couples who stayed together over the long haul. Life was a series of give-and-take.
Choosing to remain single ensured that Alex got to do the taking without worrying about the giving. Chalk one up for her side.
“Sure thing.” Bobby scooted back from the table. “You pick up a nail somewhere?” he asked Alex.
“Guess so.” Maybe she’d run over something in Morningside near the site of the explosion.
“You girls chill. I’ll take care of the dishes later,” Bobby promised his wife.
When he’d gone, Alex winked at Shannon. “Is he bucking for some special one-on-one attention later?”
“He can dream on,” Shannon scoffed.
Alex recognized the pink in her cheeks. Old Shannon had every intention of giving Bobby whatever he wanted, no matter how much she denied it.
“First of all,” Shannon began, “I think you should share all you know with Detective Patton regardless. Taking risks is his job. That’s why he’s a cop.”
Alex wasn’t ready to commit to that route just yet. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’re going to have to take some added precautions at home. This could be dangerous, Alex.” She put her hand on Alex’s. “This guy Blake could be a killer.”
Alex sighed. “That’s what I’ve been thinking.” Though he hadn’t felt like a killer. She would hate to think she’d been attracted to a killer.
“There’s always the chance Timothy O’Neill is some sort of nutcase,” Shannon offered, hitting on a possibility that hadn’t entered Alex’s mind.
; “I suppose that’s possible, but I’m banking on the idea that Henson wouldn’t have used a nutcase for any kind of analysis, official or unofficial.”
Shannon flared her hands, showing her palms. “I’ll give you that one. Still, he may have made some sort of mistake, like blowing up his own house. This whole crazy story may be about covering his ass. Maybe Henson’s accident really was an accident.”
Alex had to admit, Shannon made some valid points. Points she hadn’t even considered. “All right.” Why put this off any longer? Shannon was right. Patton was a cop. His job included risking his life to solve crime. “I’ll talk to Patton. I’ll give him the whole story, even the part about Timothy.” She took a deep breath. “Give him the lens. Leave it in his lap and let the authorities handle it.”
Shannon reached for the wine bottle. “I think that’s the right decision.”
Alex poured herself another beer. “Hey, did I tell you about the support group Marg has joined?”
Before Alex could continue Bobby trotted back into the house via the garage door, a concerned look on his face. “Alex, you made any new enemies lately?”
Both women looked up. “What do you mean?” Alex asked, confused.
“That’s not funny,” Shannon chastised.
“I’m not trying to be funny,” he told his wife. “Usually when you get a flat tire it means you ran over something that punctured the tread or maybe the valve went bad, but neither of those things happened.”
“Give it to us in layman’s terms,” Shannon ordered with a puff of impatience.
“Someone opened the valve and let the air out of your tire, Alex.” Bobby set his hands on his hips and, just in case they didn’t get it, added, “On purpose.”
CHAPTER 9
By dawn Alex had made up her mind not to wait any longer. She would tell Patton the whole story. She would keep the contact lens hidden for now as a sort of backup plan. She’d only give up that evidence if Patton couldn’t move forward in his investigation without it.
Though she’d done so last night, Alex went through room after room of her home and checked the windows and doors. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been afraid in this house and she wasn’t really scared now, but she did need to ensure that she took extra precautions. As independent as she was, she was no fool. Someone had definitely been inside her house.
She didn’t like that one bit.
Marg was a fanatic about keeping her windows and doors locked. Alex wondered if her obsession with protecting herself had anything to do with her marriage. Those years hadn’t been easy and Alex was certain she didn’t know the worst of it.
She checked her reflection once more before heading out to try to catch Patton before he got into a case. Mint-green summer-weight slacks, white spaghetti strap tank with a darker green shirt with capped sleeves on top. The wedge-heeled sandals sported the same two shades of green as well as a scattering of red to tie in with the red scarf belt she’d slung around her hips.
Clothes were a major weakness. She liked pushing the boundaries of fashion. How many times had she noticed an outfit very similar to something she’d put together months prior featured in the latest issue of Glamour or InStyle? Maybe she should have gone into fashion design. But that would have required the degree she’d refused to stay in college for.
As she said before that just hadn’t worked out.
So she exercised her creative side in her everyday attire. Just because she earned her living doing what most would consider a man’s job, didn’t mean she wasn’t all girl. She’d long ago decided she was an assortment of paradoxes. Guy name, guy job, guy sense of independence and a nice set of brass ones when she needed them. None of that took away from her femininity.
With her red faux silk bag draped over her shoulder she headed for the station. Henson had mentioned on numerous occasions that he and his partner got to work by seven-thirty each morning to enjoy a couple of cups of coffee and to discuss their thoughts about ongoing cases. She was banking on the idea that Patton would stick with old habits no matter that his partner was dead and that he was a new father.
She didn’t like admitting how paranoid Bobby and Shannon had made her over the deal with her tire. Shannon had insisted that she check her tires before going anywhere. Bobby gave his own advice, as well: Look for any draining under her SUV when she backed out of a parking spot in case her brake lines had been tampered with.
Nothing like starting the day off worrying whether someone wanted her dead badly enough to sneak into her yard and meddle with the functionality of her vehicle.
Just a week ago she’d climbed into her 4Runner with no concern other than an empty tank of gas. Then again, with the price of fuel soaring, that could be a pretty scary thing.
Tires were in order. She crouched down and surveyed the concrete under her vehicle. As clean as it had been when she’d parked there last night.
She checked the backseat and cargo area before clicking the remote and climbing in.
Jeez, who would have thought that preparing to drive to work could be as involved as selecting her outfit for the day?
The Miami climate had already set itself to smoldering. Alex adjusted the air-conditioning in her SUV and backed out of her driveway.
At this time of day her neighborhood was still quiet. Another hour and the whole community would be out rushing to work or to the beach.
Even with the air turned to max, she powered her window down and let the saltwater breeze flow into her vehicle. As foolish as it might sound she loved the smell of the city. The heat and salt and varied odors of activity, good and bad. That was one of her favorite parts of living in Miami. The exhilarating pulse that thumped 24-7. Life was always happening in Miami.
But so was death.
She had several cleanups on the schedule today, including four deaths. Two were natural causes, bodies already claimed, and two others were from questionable circumstances that wouldn’t be available for removal until after lunch.
Brown would take the first two scenes while the Professor whittled away at the list of other jobs, including the removal of decaying vegetables stacked in a far north side duplex. Apparently the perishables had been stolen from a local warehouse, then abandoned in the rented home of one of the perpetrators.
Imagine a truckload of rotting lettuce, potatoes and tomatoes. Very messy. Like people, decaying vegetables attracted a variety of predatory insects.
Just as Henson had told her, Patton was already at the station. Alex found him in the lounge getting what he announced was his third cup of coffee for the morning.
“Morning, Jackson.” He stirred two packets of sugar into his coffee. “You working a case with us this morning?”
Any time a death had to be investigated, Alex checked in with the detective in charge before beginning her cleanup. SOP. Standard operating procedure. She followed the rules. That was one of the reasons she was in this predicament in the first place.
“I came in to talk to you.” She didn’t mention the subject matter since anyone could walk in at any time. She needed privacy for this. “Can we talk somewhere?” Most of the detectives shared the bull pen, but there were a few private offices and a conference room or two. A senior detective like Patton would have access to a more nonpublic setting.
“Sure.” He gestured to the coffeemaker. “Coffee?”
“No thanks.” Her stomach was already in knots, she didn’t need any caffeine.
Patton led her across the bull pen to a small conference room. It wasn’t large enough to hold the morning briefings, but for a discussion between an intimate few on a shared case it would be quite sufficient. A whiteboard and conference capable phone, along with a table that seated eight, made up the basic furnishings.
When she’d settled into a seat, Patton did the same. “So, what’s up?”
She thought about the way he’d rushed away from the memorial service yesterday and she couldn’t help wondering if he’d been called away for
a new development related to Henson’s accident or the explosion at the O’Neill home. Only one way to find out.
“Are there any new developments on Henson’s accident?”
His guard went up. The transition was palpable. Visible tension tightened his facial expression and stiffened his posture.
“You keep asking me about the accident.” Even his voice had changed. “Why is that, Alex?”
She braced herself and took the plunge. “The eyeball I found at the Crane scene had a contact lens attached to it. I told you that already but I don’t think you considered it important. The fact is, I called Henson and he came back by the scene to pick it up just in case it was relevant.”
“To the scene of Crane’s suicide?” Patton suggested.
“Yes.” She didn’t have to see the wariness in his eyes to know how this sounded. He already didn’t believe there was a problem and she’d scarcely given him the details. Cutting him some slack, she had waffled considerably on her story. But she was through with that. “Henson seemed pretty excited about it. That is why he called me that night. He said he’d taken the lens to a friend for unofficial analysis and that it appeared to be some sort of computer chip or something. Like I told you before he was really hyped.”
“His friend was one Timothy O’Neill?”
She sure hadn’t seen that one coming. “Yes. The kid whose house blew up.”
Patton stared at his coffee but appeared to think better of further indulgence. “Jackson, we’ve been had.”
Confusion drew her eyebrows together in a way she hated since the expression surely contributed to the lines she didn’t want to form. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Henson was a bit of a computer buff. He and O’Neill met a couple years ago at some sort of geek group. Let me emphasize here,” Patton said, pinning her with a firm look, “this O’Neill kid is not a legitimate source for police business.”
Alex nodded. “Henson told me that the analysis was unofficial.”
“Anyway,” Patton went on, “Timothy O’Neill turned himself in late yesterday.”