Chasing Luck

by Brinda Berry

  I could leave.

  Then she yells my name, her voice laced with panic, and I run.

  I’m up the staircase in a flash, looking left and right. My feet pound each step and the dogs chase at my heels. Did I run the wrong way? She’s not saying my name now.

  “Malerie! Where are you?” I don’t know what’s in most of the rooms in this house. It’s like a damn hotel. “Malerie!”

  I’m breathing hard when I pause to listen for her. I hold my breath and stand in the hallway, make my way slowly to her bedroom at the end of the hall. I don’t have a weapon on me.

  When I round the corner of the open door, there’s furniture upturned¸ the bed mattress on the floor, a shattered lamp. She sits curled into a ball on the floor. Her chin rests against her knees and her eyes are closed.

  “Are you all right?” I kneel down to be closer.

  “Why would someone do this?”

  I grip her shoulders. “I’m calling the police. Have you looked in the other rooms?”

  “No.”

  I get to my feet, unnerved that we might not be alone in the house. “You call 911 and I’ll search the place.”

  “Don’t leave me alone.” She opens her eyes and the desperation nearly knocks me over.

  I run my hand over the top of her head and around to caress her cheek. “Hey now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  She nods and squeezes her eyes closed. She’s so close to tears and I can’t let that happen. “Shh.” I pull to her feet and hand my phone to her. “Call 911 and report a break-in.”

  Two officers arrive soon after and take our statement, survey the damage, and finally leave. I check every closet and cranny, but there’s no evidence of anyone still hanging around.

  “The universe hates me.” Her words are barely audible. Malerie mashes her lips together. Her entire body shakes. She sits on her bedroom floor and curls into herself, her head tucked into her knees.

  “One might get that impression.” I realize my words are not very funny. “No. That’s not true. This is one of those trials-of-life things. You know, to make you stronger.”

  “Oh yeah?” Her words are muffled.

  I sit beside her on the floor, smooth her hair. She immediately moves to place her head on my chest. I rest my chin on her head. “Sure. Everyone has them. I’ve had mine; these are yours. It will all be fine.”

  “You know the saying actually goes, ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’”

  “Well shit, Miss MIT. You only think that’s the saying. It really goes, ‘Surviving life’s trials makes you one determined SOB.’”

  She laughs then. It’s brief and half-hearted, but the sound is like a salve.

  “Hey,” I tilt my head to look at her. “You were fantastic in San Francisco.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Her brow crinkles and I’m amused by her mixture of sexy and innocent. She turns her body toward me, cradled in my arms.

  “Taking control of finding out about the boxes. You were like a private investigator. Minus the trench coat.” My mind goes there instantly. Malerie in a trench coat. I’ve told her we have to keep this professional. I gently move her to sit beside me.

  “I think Teddy will find something,” she says.

  “Me, too. But you seem to have lots of computer skills. I’m guessing you have some other ideas.”

  “I do.” She reclines against the wall, her legs in front of her.

  Both Dobermans enter the bedroom and lie down near me, paws under their chins and watching our movements. “The devil dogs look happy to see you.”

  “Don’t call them that.” She gives me a playful shove and reaches across my legs to rub the head of the smaller one.

  Malerie’s almost back to normal. She’s not her sassy self, but it’s better than the despair I saw ten minutes ago.

  “Where’s my room?” I get to my feet and stretch. The sun will be down soon, night falling quick as a pulled blind during the fall months. “I’ll put my things away. And then I need to go to my apartment and grab some bags. I didn’t realize I’d be staying.”

  She’s still and I can read the torrent of thoughts that must stream through her mind.

  “Pick any room,” she says.

  “Great.” I hesitate at the door. “I’ll do that.”

  She hasn’t moved from her position on the floor. One of the dogs edges closer and places his chin on Malerie’s knee. She pats his head and bites her bottom lip.

  “Want to come with me? To my place, to get some things?” I have no doubt she’s afraid to be in this house alone. She can’t be here without me until I install the security system.

  There’s no answer, and she continues to rub the Doberman’s head in rhythmic strokes.

  “You could help.” I link my hands on the top of my head and stare at the setting sun through her uncurtained window. “Come on, Mal. Help a guy out.”

  “Yeah. I can do that.”

  “Good. I’ll be ready to leave in a few minutes. Meet you downstairs.”

  I turn the corner and stall in the hallway for a second. The air between us is different now and I don’t know how to go back. I’m kidding myself if I think I can put a reverse on this fast-moving train, but I have to find a way.

  * * *

  “I fed her once every day. She missed you.” Mrs. Prata stands in my apartment doorway, peering past my shoulder at Malerie.

  “I’ve only been gone a couple of days.”

  “I want you to know your cat was taken care of properly. I did pet her … or I tried to … but she is not a friendly girl and she didn’t really respond well to me. Are you petting her on a daily basis? She’ll be wild if you don’t show her some attention. I know people think they can let cats run wild—”

  I may lose my mind before she will stop. “Mrs. P? This is my boss, Malerie Toombs.” I motion to Malerie, who has been silent in the shadows of the small kitchen alcove through Mrs. P’s entire cat care lecture. “Malerie, Mrs. Prata is my landlady and lives downstairs.”

  A huge smile engulfs Mrs. Prata’s face lined face. “Why Achilles, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

  “She’s my boss,” I correct. I don’t look at either one of them as I fill the litter box, bag the old litter, and water my only plant. We all stand in the same general area since my kitchen and living room are only separated by a table.

  “And Achilles is exaggerating. I’m not his boss. The guardian of my trust hired him.”

  I give Malerie a steely look at her use of my given name. “That’s not what you said yesterday.” I try to ignore them as I flip through some mail Mrs. Prata stacked neatly on the table.

  Mrs. Prata takes three steps into the room. “Achilles has been a blessing to me. I have a son who lives in Minnesota and never comes to visit.”

  The remark about her son makes me worry she’ll need something while I’m living at Malerie’s place. “I’m a phone call away. Okay?”

  She turns to Malerie. “I’ve offered to pay him for all he does and he won’t take money.”

  “Mrs. P., Malerie and I can’t stay long.” She’s painting me as some choirboy.

  “Always in a hurry. You need to slow down.” Mrs. Prata shuffles over and I know the kiss on the cheek is coming, so I bend to her five-foot height.

  I spy Malerie’s face and wish she wasn’t here to witness all this. So, I’m nice to the old lady. It’s not a big deal.

  “I’ll walk you down.” I take Mrs. Prata’s upper arm and lead her to the apartment door. “Be back in a sec,” I say to Malerie.

  “No problem. Nice to meet you.” Malerie calls after us.

  Mrs. Prata stops me and turns. “Nice to meet you. You are so pretty. You make Achilles bring you back, but stop at my place first. He was trying to sneak you past, but I saw you two walk by my parlor window. He’s never brought a girl here. Have you?”

  “All the time. I’m just too fast for you.” I shut the door without looking behind us.


  When I return to my apartment, Malerie hasn’t moved from the spot where I left her. She stands in the middle of the room with her arms folded across her chest. I close the door behind me. She appears so shy and uncomfortable in my space.

  “Sorry about that.” I take one last glance around and pick up the duffle I packed three days ago.

  “She’s nice.”

  I nod. “Yeah. She is. Ready?”

  “You have vinyl.”

  “What?” Her question comes at me out of nowhere. I follow her gaze to a crate full of old record albums in one corner of my apartment. The entire apartment could fit inside Malerie’s bedroom, so a lot of my personal belongings end up stored in crazy spaces.

  “May I look at them?”

  “Look all you want. You didn’t have to ask.”

  She takes slow steps over to the crate like I might change my mind.

  “I don’t have anything to play them on. No record player,” I say.

  She kneels down reverently, like it’s an altar, and pulls the first one out. “This is so valuable,” she says. “You know, right?” Her excitement buzzes across the room.

  I shrug. “Probably.” I set my duffle bag down and take a seat on the worn sofa.

  “Where’d you get them?”

  “Belonged to my dad.”

  “Oh.” She tucks a few strands of hair behind one ear and I’m glad I can see her face better. My lamps don’t shed a lot of light and she’s almost in shadow.

  “You like the old stuff? I thought this podcast thing is new music.”

  “It is. But we mix in old stuff because some bands play tribute stuff or remake songs.”

  “Nice.”

  Her eyes sparkle when she looks at me. “I have a player. You know … if you want to borrow it.”

  “Thanks. Nice of you to offer.”

  “I mean it. JT bought me one last year. Nostalgia thing. We—Collin and I—always use digital music for the show, but there’s something about vinyl that’s irresistible.”

  I put my elbows on my knees and study her. She’s not looking at me but at the covers and back of each album. “Bring the crate.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. You can borrow them for a little while. If that’s your thing…”

  “I will be careful with this. You know I will.”

  “No doubt.”

  Someone might think I’d handed the girl a dozen red roses because she squeals—actually lets out this fan-girl, high-pitched ‘eek’ that makes me laugh.

  “I’ll carry this.” Malerie grabs the bottom of the crate. “Ow.”

  “Hey, don’t hurt yourself.”

  She places the records back on the floor. “I forget about my shoulder.”

  “I’ve got it.” I pick up my duffel. “I’ll get the crate. You grab the lights.”

  A faint mewling sound drifts into the room as the cat drifts in and winds around my leg.

  “Hi, kitty.” Malerie stays in her position near the floor and puts a hand out. “Hey.” She extends her fingers and waits.

  I bend down and grab the crate with one hand and my cat slinks away from my leg to Malerie’s side.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Cat.”

  “No. Really.”

  “Yup. That’s her name.” I raise one eyebrow in challenge.

  “You did not name her that. That’s horrible.” Shy, reserved Malerie is gone, and feisty Malerie’s back. It’s about time.

  My cat, Evanescence, purrs and rubs her black coat against Malerie’s leg.

  “I give her a name and she thinks this is a permanent situation. We’re just hanging out together until something better comes along.”

  Keep glaring, sweetheart. Keep glaring.

  She follows me down the apartment stairs and to my plain work truck. I wonder if she’s embarrassed riding in it. I need new tires and the paint’s scratched, but it’s mine.

  Between the rent and truck payment, I’ve had to work two jobs at a time. But now, Billy says he’ll pay more salary for one month than I earn in six. I feel a double-shot of guilt that I’m thinking about money when Malerie’s life is in danger.

  “I can’t wait to tell Collin about your collection.” Malerie clips her seat belt and turns to look at the bed of the truck and the crate filled with albums.

  “I don’t collect things. Only keep it since it’s the only thing I have from my father.” I pull out of the parking lot and maneuver through weekend traffic and hope she won’t ask about my last comment. I really don’t want to talk about my screwed up family history. We head into a situation that gets more personal with every minute we spend together.

  The darkness hides her face and the expressions I can already read. She has a way of biting her lip when she’s nervous, wrinkling her nose when she doesn’t want to do something, and tilting her head when she’s thinking hard.

  It’s the last movement I detect from the corner of my eye when she speaks. “When I was little, I wondered if I was cursed. You know, like some witch put a spell on me.”

  “Yeah? Sounds like the things little kids dream up. You’re not cursed, Mal.” I take my gaze off the road ahead and turn down the heater fan so I can hear her better. We’re at a stoplight and I worry I should pull over.

  “Do you want to know why I think I lived through the bombing?”

  The tone of her voice sends a shiver straight through me. She’s so serious. “Why?”

  “Because I crawled to a side room and into some kind of metal cabinet, too scared to do anything else, and I prayed that I didn’t want to die. Over and over. I cried for myself.”

  “Mal—”

  “Stop. Don’t say it.” She holds up her hand and continues to look ahead at the road. “I don’t want you to try and make me feel better.”

  I ignore her protest and glance at her. “You were a kid.”

  “If there were do-overs in life…” She doesn’t finish.

  The headlights in the rear-view mirror shine brightly into my eyes.

  “Mal. Don’t mean to cut you off, because I want to talk about this, but can we finish later?” The Toombs’ iron gate sits as a closed barricade between two brick columns. “I’m going to pass the house.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a car behind us. It’s probably nothing.”

  My pulse thrums in my neck. Malerie could be safe inside her house and I’m out taking us on a tour of St. Louis so I can have clean clothes.

  Instead of heading up the private drive, I zoom past at a speed higher than legal. If the car speeds up behind me, I’ll gun it.

  The sedan follows us for another mile, and then slows and takes a right down an intersecting road.

  “It’s nothing. I’ll head back to the house.” I’m getting as paranoid as Malerie.

  19

  Malerie

  “All it takes is a bad boy with a bottle of booze to bring out the truth. To bring out the need. To bring out the hurt. All it takes is a couple of words. Because he cannot lie when he looks in her eyes.” ~ Jelly Bean Queen

  The buzzer for the front gate zings five times in quick succession.

  “Persistent.” In the kitchen, Ace slides a wooden panel open and studies the hidden monitor. “You know him?”

  “Nope.”

  He pushes an audio button. “Yes?”

  “Detective Steve James to see Malerie Toombs,” the man answers and holds up a badge to the camera.

  Ace doesn’t respond, but presses the button to open the iron gate.

  Seconds later, the doorbell chimes and I hang back, letting Ace open the door.

  “Are you a resident at this home?” A man in a suit stands at the front door asking Ace the question, and Ace’s spine stiffens. In my spot from the kitchen, I can see Ace has the door cracked like he might slam it at any moment.

  “Can I help you?” Ace asks instead of answering.

  “Detective James,” he says and looks past Ace. “Here to see Maleri
e Toombs.”

  “You have some identification to go with that badge?” Ace never budges.

  The man reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a leather wallet. “Need to ask a few questions.” He flips it open and Ace examines it.

  “Yeah. She’s here.” Ace steps back and lets the man in.

  I back away and take the dogs to the sunroom before the detective can spot me.

  When I return to the front of the house, Ace and Detective James stand in silence in the living room. The house smells like lemon polish and freshly baked cookies. Gertrude hasn’t neglected anything. The detective looks up when he sees me enter. I cut him off as he opens his mouth to speak.

  “Why are you here, Detective James?” I ask.

  “Steve,” he says. “Steve is fine.”

  Ace stands to the side of the room, but I motion to the detective to have a seat on the sofa opposite the chair I sink into.

  I wait for someone to say something. Anything.

  “What’s up?” Ace asks. He doesn’t look nervous with his arms folded across his chest.

  “I’d like to go over the shooting in the restaurant again. A few more questions.” The detective—Steve—addresses me even though Ace asked the question.

  “I gave my statement. I’ve told the police everything I know,” I answer. “Like for me to make up details that are more interesting?” My snarky comment due to nervousness earns a furrowed brow accompanied by a she’s-flipped-her-shit look from Ace.

  “Do you have a specific question for her?” Ace strolls over to stand near my chair. His proximity is almost possessive and calms me.

  Detective James eyes both of us and nods. “Yes, I do. Let’s go over the events that occurred before your uncle died.” Then he looks only at me.

  The word ‘died’ reverberates in my brain. I focus hard on the detective’s hands and his gold watch and wait to see if he comes up with anything the police haven’t asked me several hundred times already.

  He pulls out a small notepad and pen. “You had a reservation at the restaurant for dinner. Just you and John Toombs.”

  “Yes,” I answer.