Hot Property

by Jenna Bennett

  I was still sitting there an hour later, but I admit I was thinking about leaving. I was bored out of my skull, and beginning to be in need of a ladies’ room. The door across the street still hadn’t opened. Nobody had left or arrived. The same four cars were still parked in the lot. (A black Mercedes, a yellow VW Bug, a ten-year-old burgundy Dodge, and an older pick-up truck.) The tractor trailer had left, but had not been replaced by another. The loading dock door had been closed after it drove off. Nobody had come out of either building – the import/export one, or the one behind me – to ask what I thought I was doing there.

  It was starting to turn darker, and I wondered if maybe I ought to go home. It wasn’t the kind of neighborhood I’d want to be caught dead in after dark. Literally. But then the door across the street opened. I sat up in my seat. A middle aged woman came out, followed by a younger woman and a man. They stood for a minute in the lot, talking, before they got into their respective cars. The older lady took the Dodge, the younger woman the Beetle, and the man the truck. And then they drove off, leaving the Mercedes where it was. Neither of them looked my way. I slouched back down in the seat.

  The man hadn’t looked anything like a Julio Melendez – or, as Connie Fortunato (bless her heart) had put it, handsome or Latin – so I assumed my quarry was still inside. The Mercedes must be his. Maybe, if I stuck it out just a little bit longer, he’d leave work too, and I could get a good look at him.

  But thirty minutes later, he still hadn’t appeared, and I was really starting to need a lipstick break. I’d never make it on an all-night stakeout. And there wasn’t even anywhere close-by I could go and beg the use of a facility. Unless I wanted to run around the corner and squat under a bush, of course, but that wasn’t a possibility I wanted to entertain. My only option was to drive a mile to the nearest restaurant or grocery store and then come back, but by then Julio Melendez might have left, and I would have missed my chance to get a look at him.

  I was just about to give in to the inevitable (the restaurant, not the bush) when there was a rap on the window. I sat up with a jolt and a squeak, and came close to – pardon my vulgarity – letting it all out right then and there. Under the circumstances, it would have been mortifying beyond belief.

  “Open the door,” Rafe ordered. I did, and he slid into the passenger seat next to me. Beyond him, I could see that monstrous Harley-Davidson he drove everywhere. I hadn’t even noticed him pull up.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted, plumbing-problems momentarily forgotten in the surprise of seeing him. He arched a brow.

  “Had some business to take care of. You?”

  I hesitated, and then decided I may as well tell him the truth. “I’m trying to get a look at Julio Melendez.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if he looks like you. Enough to be able to pass for you in coveralls and a ski mask.”

  He stared at me. “You’re joking, right?”

  I shook my head. “Whoever killed Lila dressed like that – someone saw him leaving after the murder – and he probably managed to fool her for long enough to get her to open the door for him. She thought he was you.”

  He didn’t say anything, and I continued.

  “Julio’s girlfriend worked for both the houses that were robbed, and he has the ability to move the merchandise that was stolen, so he’s a logical suspect. Plus, Detective Grimaldi says he’s connected.”

  Unlike me, Rafe didn’t need to have the word ‘connected’ explained to him. I waited for what seemed like a long time for him to say something, and when he didn’t, I added, “I notice you’re not denying that you’re who he’d have to look like in order to get Lila to open the door for him.”

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes. “No point in denying it, is there?”

  “Not really,” I said apologetically. “There never was much doubt, at least not in my mind.”

  We sat in silence for a moment or two. Then Rafe added, with another flash of brown eyes, “I didn’t kill her.”

  “I never thought you did. By the way, Tamara Grimaldi wants to talk to you again. She said if I saw you, to let you know. And to hold yourself in readiness for a lineup.”

  He grimaced, but didn’t comment on the news that he’d be asked to parade in front of a potential witness. I wondered if Grimaldi would bring Kieran Greene in at the same time as whoever she’d found in Lila’s building, and whether Kieran would be able to pick Rafe out of a lineup. “What does she want to talk to me about?”

  It was my turn to grimace. “To see if you can provide an alibi for yesterday afternoon. I hope you can.”

  “What happened yesterday afternoon?”

  “There was another murder. Connie Fortunato was killed and her Georgia O’Keeffe painting stolen.”

  “The woman we saw on Sunday?”

  I nodded.

  He didn’t say anything else for a moment. “When?” he asked finally. “How?”

  “The same way as Lila. Tied to the bed and strangled. At least I assume so, although the detective didn’t go into detail. And it was sometime yesterday afternoon or early evening. She was at Lila’s funeral, and Detective Grimaldi said she thought Connie might have come home and surprised someone in the process of robbing the house. Apparently Perry had gone off somewhere. A woman named Heather Price – Julio’s girlfriend – found her around 7:30 or 8:00.”

  We both watched the building across the street as if something was actually going on over there worth watching. Time passed. Quite a lot of it, while we just sat there without speaking.

  “You know,” I said eventually, my mouth moving without much conscious thought, “I just don’t get it.”

  He glanced over. “Get what?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” I blushed.

  “You sure?”

  I sent him a sideways look. It was difficult to communicate this way, side by side, when I couldn’t see his face and gauge his reactions. On the other hand, it might make it easier to discuss touchy subjects. And I did want to know.

  “I don’t understand the whole tie-me-to-the-bed thing. It would never cross my mind to let anyone tie me down. Especially someone I didn’t know. Yet Lila seemed to think it sounded exciting.” Unless she’d been fibbing. “She did ask you to tie her to the bed, right?”

  Rafe shrugged. “Some women seem to get off on it.”

  “Some men too, I’m sure.” I hesitated. “Have you ever... um...?”

  “Been tied to my bed for some woman to have her way with? Can’t say as I have, darlin’. But if you’d like to change that, I’d be happy to oblige.”

  “No,” I said, blushing, “that won’t be necessary.”

  “You sure? Might be fun.”

  “No thanks. I didn’t mean that, anyway. I was wondering if you’d ever... you know...?”

  “Tied someone up? Not that way. I prefer to leave a woman’s hands free. Things get more interesting that way.”

  “Right,” I said weakly. And I admit it, I went a little cross-eyed at the thought.

  Rafe chuckled. “Good thing you’re sitting down, or you’d be passing out right about now. Relax, darlin’. I ain’t fixing to seduce you tonight.”

  “Thank you. I mean...”

  “I know what you mean. Though I don’t know what the hell you’re so afraid of. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  “I know that,” trembled on my tongue. I bit it back. I might think I knew that, but did I really?

  “I saw a couple of your old girlfriends today,” I said instead.

  He sat back. “Yeah? What were you doing? Looking for recommendations?”

  “Not exactly.” Although, come to think of it, wasn’t that exactly what I’d been doing?

  “Who d’you talk to? And what did they say?”

  I took a deep breath. “Elspeth Caulfield, for one.”

  “Who’s she?” He sounded sincere, like he really couldn’t remember. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.
/>   “She was your girlfriend in high school,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t have a girlfriend in high school.”

  “Fine. She was one of the many girls you dallied with.”

  He laughed, a genuine, amused chuckle. “Dallied? Darlin’, that’s a fancy word for what just comes naturally.”

  “Not in Elspeth’s case, I think. Look it up in the dictionary sometime. Supposedly she had a nervous breakdown when you dumped her. Either that, or a baby.”

  His whole demeanor changed. His eyes turned sharp and he straightened up. Not an easy thing to do in the front seat of a Volvo. “What the hell?”

  “Well, that’s what they said, anyway.”

  “They, who?”

  I explained what Todd had told me, and what Dix had gleaned from listening to Cletus Johnson rant. Rafe snorted when I mentioned Cletus’s name.

  “So I drove down to Damascus this morning,” I finished, “to talk to Elspeth myself. And while I was at it, I talked to Yvonne McCoy, too.”

  His lips curved. He may not remember Elspeth, but Yvonne obviously rang a bell. “I bet Yvonne gave me a good review, didn’t she?”

  I turned sideways in my seat and watched him. “Pretty much. She said you only got together once, to pass the time, and it never happened again. She seemed disappointed.”

  He grinned.

  “Elspeth wouldn’t talk about you at all. Said we were ladies and didn’t talk about things like that. Which I take to mean sex, or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Well... rape.”

  Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “You think I raped her?”

  No. But I wasn’t sure how much of that instinctive rejection was because it was what I wanted to believe, and how much was accurate. So to be safe I said, “I’m not sure what I think. Did you?”

  He contemplated me for a second before he answered. “I’ve never forced myself on a woman in my life. Never had to.”

  “Not even Elspeth?”

  “Least of all Elspeth. She had this thing for me. Something about saving me from myself, or something. Or maybe she just wanted to walk on the wild side. Nice, properly brought-up Southern girl and LaDonna Collier’s good-for-nothing colored boy...”

  His voice was hard, and who could blame him?

  “Sorry,” I said, inadequately.

  He didn’t pretend not to understand what I was apologizing for. “Ain’t no big deal. I’ve heard it enough that I should be used to it by now.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s life, ain’t it? Since when did you become so tender of my feelings, darlin’?”

  “I’m not,” I said, although I knew I was lying. The truth was that I’d never particularly considered his feelings before, or even considered whether he had any, but after getting to know him a little, I had gotten a glimpse of the world from his perspective, and it wasn’t a pretty place. In fact, it made me feel ashamed of some of the things I had thought in the past, even if I hadn’t – probably hadn’t – articulated any of them. “So what happened between you two?”

  He shrugged. “I’d been avoiding her. I knew what she wanted, and I knew she’d think it meant something it didn’t. But she caught me one night when I was drunk and had had the crap beat out of me. I figured what the hell, she wanted it; it was her lookout.”

  “So you slept with her?”

  He nodded. “It was her first time, and with everything that was going on, I wasn’t as careful as maybe I shoulda been. I probably hurt her. But I didn’t force her.”

  I waited a moment to see if he’d say anything else. When he didn’t, I asked, “What happened afterwards?”

  He put his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. His lashes were long and thick enough to make shadows against his cheeks. “She wanted more. I always knew she would. Hell, she wanted me to marry her. Kept coming at me, saying how I’d ruined her and I owed it to her.”

  “What did you do?” I asked softly.

  He snorted. “What d’you think I did? I was eighteen. I bailed. Got myself a job working as a mechanic down in Birmingham, and spent the summer down there. Figured I might get hired on, and maybe I’d never have to see Elspeth again. Until I came home to see my mama one weekend, and found that Billy Scruggs had gone to work on her.”

  “And that’s when you picked that fight with Billy and got yourself arrested.”

  He nodded. “Elspeth came and saw me in jail, and told me she’d wait for me until I got out. After I ended up in Riverbend, she kept sending me letters, but I never opened none of’em. I just sent’em back. And when I got out I left Nashville, and the letters stopped.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  He shrugged. “Wasn’t like I cared, darlin’. Like you said, she was just another girl I dallied with.”

  “And the baby?”

  “Don’t know nothing about a baby,” Rafe said. “If she was pregnant, she never told me.”

  In the silence that followed, another peremptory rap sounded on the window. I jumped and almost lost control of my bodily functions yet again. I’d forgotten them in the excitement of the conversation, but now the reminder was back, and with a vengeance.

  It had gotten darker while we’d been sitting there, and it was difficult to see the person outside. I rolled down the window, and was greeted with a broad grin from a lined face topped by thinning ginger hair. “Evenin’, Miz Martin. Mr. Collier. What’re you folks doin’, steamin’ up the windows of this car like a couple of teenagers?”

  “Good evening, Officer Spicer,” I said politely, in spite of the flush in my cheeks and the – I admit it – fear in my heart. “We’re not actually doing anything. Just talking.”

  Lyle Spicer grinned. He and I had first met a couple of weeks earlier, when I had stumbled over Brenda Puckett’s butchered body inside Mrs. Jenkins’s house on Potsdam Street. I’d called 911, and they had sent the nearest patrol car over to assess the situation. It had contained Officer Spicer and his partner, Junior Officer Truman, who was even now smirking at me over Spicer’s shoulder. He was only about 22, and still young enough to find the humor in a situation like this. Of course, Spicer was pushing fifty and still thought embarrassing me was funny, too, so maybe age didn’t have much to do with it.

  Spicer cut his eyes to Rafe. “Nice seein’ you again, Mr. Collier. Out and about, as it were. I wasn’t sure the detective’d let you leave on Sunday.”

  Rafe smiled, but didn’t take the bait. From Spicer’s comment, I assumed Tamara Grimaldi had charged her two pet patrol officers with tracking down Rafe and bringing him in for interrogation last weekend.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I asked, hoping against hope that they weren’t here to do what I thought they were doing.

  “Routin’ out lovebirds along the river, ain’t we?” Spicer winked at Truman, who grinned appreciatively. I sent a mortified glance toward Rafe, who didn’t look as if the officers’ jokes bothered him. Spicer added, “Actually, Herself sent us out here to invite someone downtown for a talk.”

  My stomach clenched. “What am I supposed to have done this time?” Rafe asked. His thoughts must have been following the same lines as my own, although his voice was remarkably steady.

  “Oh, it ain’t you she’s after today. It’s the fella across the way.” Spicer indicated the warehouse on the other side of the road while I breathed out surreptitiously. “Name’s Melendez. Seems like maybe he had something to do with these murders the detective’s working on.”

  “Don’t let us keep you,” I said politely.

  Spicer grinned. “Sorry, Miz Martin, but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. This guy’s considered armed and dangerous, and we don’t want no civilians gettin’ hurt. Go rent yourselves a room somewhere.” He winked at Rafe, who arched a brow.

  “Guess it’s time for me to go.” His voice was light, but the eyes that crossed mine weren’t. “I’ll see you around, da
rlin’.”

  “Sure,” I said, as he opened the passenger side door and swung his legs out.

  He slammed the door and walked to his motorcycle, his stride loose-hipped and unhurried, although it covered ground faster than I could have run. I thought I was probably the only one who’d noticed the tension that had settled over him after Spicer told us he and Truman were there to talk to Julio Melendez.

  The only reason I could come up with why that would worry Rafe, was because he was afraid of what Melendez might say. Which meant that Melendez really was involved in the robberies, and he knew that Rafe was, too. If Detective Grimaldi threatened him with a double charge of murder, Melendez would probably roll on anyone he could in an effort to help himself, and if he named Rafe, Tamara Grimaldi would be on him like a flea on a dog. With Melendez’s testimony, not to mention Rafe’s earlier conviction for assault and his fingerprints all over the Fortunatos’ house, she could make a pretty good case for Rafe having raped and murdered both Lila Vaughn and Connie Fortunato. No wonder he got on his bike and hightailed it out of there without so much as a glance back over his shoulder. I waited until the taillight of his Harley-Davidson had disappeared down on River Road, before I started my own car and pulled out of the parking lot with a jaunty wave at Spicer and Truman. And then I floored the accelerator and kept it there all the way home.

  Chapter 16

  My thought processes were on overload with everything that had happened, so when I got back to my apartment (after I visited the little girl’s room), I sat down at the dining room table with a pen and paper and tried to make some sense of everything that had happened and what it might mean.