Remember Murder

by Linda Ladd

  On the other hand, Claire now knew him well enough to know that he didn’t like it one little bit. In fact, he didn’t like her being anywhere without dragging him along to stand guard. Especially if Joe McKay was involved. Black, however, was displaying his usual unruffled, calm, and composed self. Sangfroid, you bet; in spades, even. Which somehow made her feel guilty, which also made her feel annoyed with him, and which alerted her also that Nicholas Black knew her only too well and how to handle her. After all, he was purported to be the sainted shrink of all shrinks.

  So, Claire decided to push the doctor completely out of her mind as she rode down the elevator and got into Monica Wheeler’s waiting red Sebring convertible. Monica was smiling and happy, and looked really cute in a white denim skirt and black tank top and black suede sandals. Claire had on her usual T-shirt, white this time, and black jeans, and one of Black’s fancy white dress shirts, super baggy enough to hide her shoulder holster. Yes, she had both her sweet little weapons tucked in their sweet little beds, ready to go if any bogeyman jumped out at her.

  Okay, truth? Everybody’s ever-ballooning paranoia about her safety was getting under her skin. Yep, one hundred percent on guard, she was. The Glock was handy; the .38 was secure on her ankle. Her badge was on a chain tucked inside the neck of her T-shirt to flash at the big and burly bouncers hired to protect the rowdy customers of Jeepers. Claire didn’t feel nearly so smiley and Disney-World-happy as Monica. Truth be told, she was feeling edgy, angry, and ready to get on with her life. She was tired of only getting half a day to work the Long investigation and the feeling that everybody was in cahoots to keep pertinent facts hidden in a deep dark well and far away from her retrieving bucket. Maybe these new girlfriends of hers would give her a chance to vent her wrath, since neither of them knew her before the accident. People who were very much in the dark about her as she was about them. Did that ever sound good.

  Jeepers was located in a big marina that housed at least a hundred boats and was in walking distance of a perpetually busy, outdoor tourist trap and shopping mall. The place was accessible by boat or car, and it appeared to be a jumping hot spot to hang out, judging by the packed parking lot and the loud music blaring out into the early evening with a giant, orange setting sun as a backdrop.

  There were two security guards, both of them big and bad and bald, dressed all in black like hefty and overdeveloped ninja assassins. Nope, they wouldn’t be dancing around in the treetops like in those cool Chinese movies. Hey, I remembered Chinese movies. Great, that’s sure to come in handy solving homicides in rural mid-Missouri. The larger door guard, about the size of New Jersey, and the little one more like Rhode Island, waved them in without checking Claire’s badge. Guess he didn’t see all her loaded guns.

  Inside the rowdy restaurant and bar, all the tables were full of people having a raucous and loud but good-natured, helluva fun time. The band was called Handshakes and was on tour out of Los Angeles. It was really good, and they had one hell of a good drummer named Todd Ramsey. They were winding down one of their songs named “Vacation” right before they took a break. The amateur karaoke began at once with “Friends in Low Places” by Garth Brooks. Yes, she remembered that, too. Totally insignificant things seemed to carry great importance in the frozen depths of her mind, while she didn’t remember squat about herself, so go figure. Temporary amnesia was maddening, and she was highly maddened. Claire hid that inner turmoil from her new girlfriends, though.

  “There’s Nancy,” Monica yelled over the deafening roar of music and boisterous laughter. “She’s got to tend bar until eight, and then she can join us at the table. Look, two spots just opened up at the bar. C’mon, let’s get them before somebody else does.”

  “Hey,” Nancy said, coming up to them as they sat down on the tall bar stools. “I’ve been looking out for you guys. What can I get you? It’s on the house. My treat.”

  “I’ll take a strawberry daiquiri,” Monica said without one second’s hesitation.

  “Me, too.” Hell, Claire didn’t know what she liked, except for bottled water. Tonight, probably anything alcoholic would do. She had some serious sorrows to drown.

  For about the next thirty minutes, they sipped on their icy drinks and watched the wild and crazy customers make fools of themselves. By that time, however, Claire’s law enforcement training was kicking in, and she was listening to the loud laughter and watching for drunken altercations. Maybe she just wasn’t the barfly type, girls’ night out, or any other kind of night out. Handshakes was still off stage, and the karaoke was still bringing screams of delight. Monica and Nancy were trying to talk over the incredible din in the restaurant about how Monica had just moved out of Cedar Bend and into her new house. Claire already knew that, because she helped Monica carry stuff out of her room in Black’s apartment. Black made no secret that he was relieved to get Monica into her own place so he and Claire could have more privacy, but Claire already missed her big friendly smile and lovesick chatter about her “darlin’ Jesse.” Those were Monica’s moonstruck words, not Claire’s.

  There was some freak up on the stage now, dressed like Darth Vader, big black helmet, and all. Why, she did not know. It certainly wasn’t Halloween or Hollywood Boulevard. He started singing a real shaky rendition of “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” in the Vader voice, which was bizarre onto itself. But he got a smattering of enthusiastic applause, which told Claire then and there that a goat’s bleating would be cheered on in the environs of Jeepers.

  Nancy grabbed her hand. “C’mon, Claire, get up there and sing us a song.”

  Claire shook her head. “Unh-uh, no way, that’s not my thing.”

  Sitting beside Claire, Monica was more than interested in climbing posthaste onto that stage. She was thumbing through the song list printout with great eagerness. “Oh, look, here’s some Whitney Houston. I love her voice.”

  “Yeah,” said Nancy, leaning one arm against the bar in her best bartender pose. All she needed was some shot glasses to polish. “Maybe when I get off, the three of us could do some Supremes. How about ‘Stop, in the Name of Love’?”

  Hey, Claire remembered that song, too, and Diana Ross. She was turning into a regular pop music aficionado. Why didn’t she remember the important things? She wished Black could explain that to her. She shook her head at Nancy’s offer and politely refused to partake of the microphone hell playing out in front of them. For some reason, Claire was slightly wary of trilling golden-oldie ditties in front of drunk-as-skunks, wolf-whistling, horny guys. As her two brave new friends discussed the duet they would sing, she wished Black was home at Cedar Bend, and that she was there with him.

  As Claire looked out over the young crowd, all having such a great time, she wondered if any of them might have beaten Miriam Long to death and were now celebrating it with a pitcher full of foaming draft beer. A couple of said patrons looked capable of such crimes, judging by their tacky swastika tattoos and dirty beards and greasy ponytails. But there were more patriotic tats, too, to be fair, pictori-alizing American flags and pretty red roses, and various girls’ names and “Mom” surrounded by a heart, so that was the good thing.

  “I’m up next,” Monica informed them a few minutes later. “I’m gonna sing ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow.’ Wish me luck.”

  Inwardly, Claire bowed to Monica’s gutsy choice and hoped the strawberry daiquiri hadn’t given her false hope. Nancy and Claire watched their petite friend wend her way up to the small raised platform at the front of the room. She got applause and catcalls from several guys. Just for her good looks, Claire suspected. Nope, Claire would not be caught dead up there with that microphone clutched in her sweaty hands.

  “She’s pretty good,” Nancy was telling her. “She and her boyfriend came in the other night and did some songs together.”

  “Jesse, you mean? He seems like a nice enough guy.”

  Nancy leaned closer. “I really hate to say this, Claire, but if you want to know the truth, I think he’s a l
ittle strange.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “Oh, yeah, and speak of the devil, here he comes now.”

  To Claire’s surprise, she turned and found Monica’s “Darlin’ Jesse” heading straight for them. He climbed up on Monica’s stool beside Claire. “Hey, I thought I’d come by and see ya’ll and find out what’s up. Hi, Nancy, get me a beer, will ya?”

  Nancy went to fetch it for him, and Jesse smiled at Claire, but behind it, his dark brown eyes looked serious, intense even. “Why aren’t you singing?” he asked her, scratching his goatee.

  “I’m shy and retiring.”

  “Me, too.”

  Claire did get that same peculiar feeling about him. He was nice enough, okay, but there was just something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He bothered her somehow. Maybe he was the one McKay had been warning her about, who knows? He turned and watched Monica when she started singing, and Claire was surprised at how good Monica’s voice was.

  Halfway through the song, Jesse sidled up closer. She could smell the sweet scent of his cologne, almost like roses. “You like this place?”

  “It’s pretty wild.”

  “Wait until midnight when everybody’s drunk outta their minds. That’s when this place goes bonkers.”

  Claire nodded and clapped when Monica finished her song to rousing applause and shrill whistles. On the verge of one of what she lovingly referred to as her “coma headaches,” Claire glanced around, again wishing she was home with Black, when who should appear in the door but the charming and psychic Joe McKay himself. He, too, headed straight for them and the bar, grinning that cocky and highly arrogant grin of his.

  “Fancy meetin’ you here, detective.”

  “Yeah, fancy that.”

  “When I heard you were goin’ out partyin’, I just couldn’t resist taggin’ along. You aren’t exactly a party animal, so I had to see it in person. Where’s Nick?”

  “In Miami at the A.M.A. giving the keynote address. Where’s Lizzie?”

  “I got us a live-in nanny now, real nice older lady named Carol. Lizzie loves that woman, thinks she’s her grandma.”

  Jesse was leaning close and eavesdropping on their conversation. Not particularly trying to hide it, either. So she moved closer to Joe and away from Jesse’s cloying cologne and made the introductions.

  “Joe, this is Jesse. Jesse, Joe. Jesse’s Monica’s boyfriend.”

  “Monica, your nurse?”

  “That’s the one.”

  The two men gave an acknowledging nod, and all pithy repartee died like a cold motor. Luckily, Nancy came out from behind the bar and ushered them to a table near the bandstand. They all sat down together and the others started chatting about the band. They were off their break now and rocking out again. Nancy seemed to know Joe McKay, and he talked to her with the same easy masculine charm with which he flirted with Claire, and probably every other female human being, too. Monica was talking animatedly over the din, too, but Jesse just sat there and said next to nothing.

  Claire made a valiant attempt to include him. “Monica’s got a great voice, don’t you think so, Jesse?”

  “Yeah, she’s real good.”

  Jesse drained his beer mug and then got up and headed for the bar, their empty pitcher in his hand. What was it about him that bugged her?

  “Where’d Monica find that odd duck?” That was Joe McKay, speaking close into Claire’s ear. “He looks like a girl in that wife-beater undershirt.”

  “You’re pretty rude, aren’t you?” Claire pointed out, just to rile his extreme masculine self-confidence, but actually, his observation was pretty much on the mark. Jesse did appear a bit effeminate at times.

  “You call that rude?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You haven’t heard rude yet. Here’s rude: I think he’s creepy as hell, and looks more like a woman than a man.”

  “Yep, that’s ruder, all right. In fact, it verges on insulting. Hey, I know what, McKay, why don’t you hold his hand and tell me all his inner thoughts? That oughta be interesting.”

  “Don’t think so. Number one: I don’t want to touch him. Number two: No telling what’s going inside the head of a guy like that.”

  “Better not let Monica hear you say that kind of stuff. They’re planning to move in together. She’s crushing on him big-time.”

  “Well, I know how that feels, oh, yes, sir, I surely do.” His eyes scorched their way across her person, just so she knew he was talking about her.

  Tired of his sexual innuendo, Claire swiveled to face him squarely. She used her expression to tell him he was barking up the wrong female body. His expression dissolved into the bad boy grin.

  She said, “Okay, I get it. You like me. So tell me this, McKay, what’s the deal between you and me and Black?”

  McKay dropped his playful flirtatiousness like a fumbled football. “No deal, Claire. It’s no threesome, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. We’re friends. Both of us love you, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at. But he got you fair and square. Wanna dance?”

  Frowning, Claire ignored his grin and clumsy attempt to distract her from the serious subject. Talk about cavalier. She stared at him. “Well, I remember him better than you, but I don’t remember loving either one of you all that well.”

  “Well, you do.”

  Sighing in frustration, Claire decided she was more than ready to call it a night. However, the night was early and she was trying to make new friends. Since Nancy was off work now, McKay asked her to dance. Claire watched them enjoying themselves on the dance floor. She watched Jesse and Monica, too, who were also dancing, and then felt an overwhelming need to hightail it outta there.

  The evening wore on, really wore on, dragged as slowly as an ant pulling an anchor, but as they all talked together and laughed at McKay’s jokes, she ended up having a pretty good time. She got tired of the fun fairly fast, but not to worry, her phone vibrated inside her pocket and Black’s name popped up on caller ID. Now having an excuse to leave the table, she moved out into the hallway leading to the bathrooms in back, where it was, maybe, one iota quieter. By the way her heart reacted to the sound of Black’s deep voice at the other end, the romantic spark had been ignited, if it had ever gone out at all. He was growing on her, oh, to be sure.

  “So how’s your night with the girls going?”

  “Okay, I guess. How was your flight?”

  “Uneventful. By the sound of the music and laughter, it’s going more than okay.”

  “I’m too tired for all this fun.”

  “The noise giving you a headache?”

  Black knew his stuff. “It’s trying to get started, and it’s almost to the finish line.”

  “Take two of those pills I gave you. Unless you’ve been drinking a lot. Have you?”

  Claire ignored that, because she really missed him, a lot more than she thought she would. “Just one strawberry daiquiri. I’m finding that I’m not the bar type.”

  “I know. I’m not, either. You can take the pills, if that’s all you’ve had.”

  “So where are you, Black? Sitting out on some balmy beach on the lookout for a woman in a bikini who remembers you?”

  At the other end, Black gave a little laugh. “Oh, yeah, that’s the first thing I did when I got here. Actually, I’m having a late dinner at a friend’s house in Coconut Grove.”

  Inside her mind, some twisty snake of an idea started writhing around and wanting to lunge out and bite her. She caught hold of it long enough to see a face, an older man with white hair and white beard and white linen clothing. She frowned, trying to force more of it out of the dense gray fog. It happened in Miami, she knew that, and he was Black’s friend. What was the name? It was so close, but she couldn’t get it, dammit.

  “Claire? You still there?”

  “Yeah. I just remembered that I went down there with you and met your friend, I think.”

  Silence. She got the feeling he was stall
ing. “Yes, you did.”

  Black didn’t offer anything else so she pushed the point. Any time he was reticent, she pounced. It was just the way she was, that’s all there was to it. “I met a man, white hair, white clothes. Hispanic, maybe. We went to his house. What was his name?”

  “That’s right. That’s where I am right now. He said to say hello.”

  Claire wasn’t going to be put off. “What’s his name?”

  More hesitation. Claire sensed he did not want to answer, not in any form or fashion. “His name is Jose Rangos,” he told her finally, and then made one of his skillful U-turns in subject matter. “Who’s with you?”

  It was her turn to drag her feet. “Monica and Nancy. And Monica’s boyfriend came in.”

  “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. Who is it?”

  “Jesse Somebody. And Joe McKay showed up a bit ago.”

  There was a longer silence. Unhappy silence? “I guess you forgot to tell me that Joe was invited. Is he one of the girls now?”

  “C’mon, Black, you sound almost jealous. He wasn’t invited. He just showed up out of the clear blue sky.”

  “How’d he know you were there?”

  “We talked about it right in front of him. Remember? But that doesn’t matter. I miss you.”

  “Well, that takes the sting out of being down here all alone while you’re with McKay.”

  “What’d you think? I’d forget all about you?”

  “It’s beautiful here. Full moon. Soft warm breezes. Whispering waves. It all could’ve been yours. I’ve got the same penthouse suite at the hotel we stayed in when we were here last time. It’s ours now. I bought it the week after we left.”