Harbor Blues
Cheryl Devenney
Harbor Blues
Copyright © 2019 by Cheryl Devenney
All rights reserved
No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or other except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission of the author.
First Edition
Printed in the United States
ISBN-13: 978-0-578-54410-6
ISBN-10: 0-578-54410-5
“Harbor Blues” is dedicated to my husband, Chuck, a career law enforcement officer. I didn’t plan to marry a cop. Ours was a college romance that led to him joining the police force.
Whether for good or bad, his job has always been at the center of our lives. Aside from dealing with the obvious danger and crazy hours of the job, I found that there is a bigger challenge: the badge is a formidable mistress that, more often than not, has her way.
It hasn’t always been easy, but I’m glad I’ve stuck it out. Because behind my husband’s badge, lies a heart of gold. He’s been at my side through my many physical challenges, and he is completely devoted to our family. And, I might add, a terrific technical advisor to me for this book.
All and all a pretty great guy!
CHAPTER 1
1997
Melanie swung her pearl-white Mercedes coupe into her usual spot in the back of the lot. She killed her lights, and then gave a 360 degree glance around the parking lot. Satisfied that no one had seen her arrive, she stepped out and made her way to the entrance of Jack’s Steak n Brew, a San Fernando Valley establishment. A place she hadn’t been to in a while.
As she walked she threw her short black leather jacket on over her jeans and fluffed her shoulder-length hair. Once inside, Dean, smartly dressed as always, stepped in front of her.
Leaning in, he kissed her on the mouth, lingering until she pulled back and whispered. “Okay, Dean, what was so important you couldn’t tell me on the phone? This is dangerous for me. I told you we can’t see each other anymore.”
“Sorry, babe.” He grabbed her hand and hustled her farther into the room. “I’ve got an old friend that wants to meet you.”
“I don’t want to meet anymore of your friends.”
He stopped in front of a table, where a stern-faced man sat alone. “Uh, Mel.” Dean said to her as he smoothed his tie, “this is James Mah. James, this is Melanie McNeil Swain.”
Melanie sighed and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
James cracked a smile and shook her hand. “The pleasure is definitely mine.” He gestured for her to sit. “I’d like to buy you a drink.”
Melanie hesitated, but then sat down. “Jimmy and I go way back. He knew your father in Pedro,” “Listen you two, uh, I’ve got to go to the head. I’ll be right back.”
Melanie threw Dean a dirty look and turned to James. “No drink, thanks. Did you really know my father?”
“Yes, and I was sorry to hear about his death. He talked about you quite a bit, but I never saw you around.”
She gripped the purse on her lap tighter. “You were friends?”
“I own a couple of storefronts nearby.” James drained the contents of his glass. “Dean tells me you’re quite the businesswoman.”
“Does he?” Melanie ran her fingers over the chain purse strap and scanned the room, hoping she wouldn’t see any familiar faces.
“And your husband’s all right with your venture?”
Melanie gripped the chain harder. “It’s never come up. Why do you ask?”
“I wanted to know a little about my new neighbor.
“What are you talking about?”
“Now that his bar belongs to you.”
“I don’t know that yet,” she snapped.
“Oh, I assumed—”
“I hadn’t talked to my father for over twenty years, Mr. Mah.” She hung her purse on her shoulder. “We shouldn’t assume anything.”
Melanie had no intention of pursuing the subject with a stranger, and seeing no sign of Dean, she excused herself and left the building.
In the parking lot, she heard Dean following close on her designer heels. When she reached the car she turned to him. “What was that all about? Who is that guy?”
“I told you. We go way back. We’ve done business together on and off over the years.”
“And I’ve told you. I can’t chance seeing you anymore for anything. The appointment is getting close, and they’re watching every move Ted and I make.”
“But you really should listen to James, he—“
Ignoring his remark, Melanie slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and backed up.
“Goddammit, Mel you—”
But she didn’t wait to hear anymore. And as she stepped on the gas to leave, she felt the jarring punch of Dean’s fist on her back fender.
◆◆◆
The next day, Melanie tried without success to put her meeting with Dean and his arrogant friend out of her mind, while she attempted to listen to her husband as he spoke at a local contractor’s luncheon. Ted, assistant chief of the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) was in the running for the chief of police spot, soon to become vacant.
“And now,” he said. “If any of you haven’t had the opportunity to meet my beautiful and gracious wife, let me introduce her. Honey, please stand up. Ladies and gentlemen, Melanie Swain.”
It took the sound of her name to bring her back to reality. She had sat through more of these luncheons than she cared to count, and it always helped to get lost in the world she had created for herself, unbeknownst to Ted. Luckily, she excelled at hiding her true feelings behind the prepackaged smile needed at these types of affairs. She looked as good in it as in her white, form-fitting summer business suit, stilettos, and upswept hairdo. The perfect wife of the hopeful candidate.
She completed her assignment by responding with grace to the crowd’s applause and working the room, alongside Ted, as they thanked each person at the door.
When the last hand had been shaken, they made their way out to the parking lot, and he walked her to her car.
“You were great, honey.” He grabbed her around the waist and attempted to plant a kiss on her lips. Instead, she turned her face, leaving him with only her cheek.
They shared an awkward moment broken, when she said, “Will you be home for dinner?”
“Yeah, see you tonight.”
◆◆◆
She pulled up to the mailbox at the base of her long driveway. The tasteful houses of her neighbors were hidden by the carefully landscaped grounds around them. When she rolled her window down to reach for her mail, a burst of hot air hit her in the face. Here at her home in the Valley, it was always about ten degrees hotter than in downtown Los Angeles, and she’d never adjusted to it despite having lived here for almost twenty years.
Living closer to the ocean again was still in their plan, but for now she and Ted saw it as politically advantageous for him to remain in the Valley. She had told him early on that if she was going to be married to a cop, he would have to work to promote to at least the rank of lieutenant. His climb to the job of top cop was more than she had bargained for.
She had done nothing that day except attend the luncheon, and still she was exhausted. She remembered when she would work late into the night, closing a deal as a commercial loan officer, and would be too wired to fall asleep. As she walked into the house from the attached garage, she heard the phone ring, but she made no attempt to answer it.
Instead, she went into the kitchen, unbuttoned her blouse, and poured herself a glass of iced tea. This first really hot day of the summer, she could’ve kicked herse
lf for not thinking to set the air conditioner that morning. She grabbed a couple of extra ice cubes and rubbed them behind her ears and all over her chest, then sighed with delight as the cold water trickled down to her waistline.
Now more comfortable, Melanie listened to the message which turned out to be Ted, telling her he had finally been invited to dinner that night by one of the city commissioners, and of course he had to accept. She shook her head as she deleted the message. Before leaving the kitchen, she turned to pick up the mail on the counter and shuffled through it. When she noticed an envelope addressed to her from Henry Mattson, Attorney at Law, her heart sank, and she took a deep breath.
◆◆◆
Later that night, Ted walked into darkness when he entered the house from the garage. He fumbled around for the switch by the door, flipped it on, and gave the room a cursory look. Seeing nothing out of place, he went into the kitchen, where an empty bottle of wine and a corkscrew sat amid scattered pages on the counter. He picked them up and read, “Last Will and Testament of Benjamin H. McNeil.”
When he’d read enough, he hurried up the stairs to their bedroom and found Melanie asleep in her bra and panties, curled up in a fetal position next to an empty wine glass. Only the light from the muted TV illuminated the room. Smooth jazz drifted from the speakers recessed in the ceiling.
Ted sat down next to her and rubbed the small of her back, and she stirred. “It’s not as if you didn’t expect this,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“What did you think he’d do with the bar? Leave it to a stranger?”
When she didn’t answer, he put his arms around her. “We’ll do what we always said we would. Sell it. Call Randy if you don’t think you can handle it. He’ll appreciate the listing.”
◆◆◆
The day after receiving her father’s will, Melanie took her troubles with her to the gym, where she met up with her friend, Sandra. As she mounted an elliptical and Sandra took the cycle next to her, Melanie filled her friend in on the arrival of the will and her reaction to it.
“You know,” she concluded, “I’ve suppressed my feelings about my father a long time, but last night, as I read the will, they all came flooding back.” She slowed her pace on the elliptical. “The trouble is I also remembered a lot of the good things.” Sighing deeply, she kicked up her speed. “I always planned to get rid of the bar as soon as possible. Now I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“I’m telling you, Melanie, I wouldn’t sell the place,” Sandra said. “It has so many possibilities.”
Melanie panted and wiped her brow with her towel. “Like what?” She couldn’t imagine what Sandra meant.
“Like a nightclub.”
“Oh, sure.” Melanie recognized Sandra’s lively imagination at work.
“Just think. You could combine your business savvy with singing on your very own stage.”
“I haven’t sung in years. I don’t think I—”
“Sure you could. You know you’d love it.”
“Who’d want to watch an old broad like me sing?”
“With that bod, and your natural good looks no one would even notice your age.”
“Natural?”
“Well, a little nip and tuck merely enhances what you already have.”
Melanie smiled. “Yeah, right.”
Sandra stopped peddling without having broken a sweat. “Oh, come on.”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, you’ve been miserable since you left the bank. You’re lousy at only being the supportive wife.”
“Hey, I did plenty of that supportive wife stuff a long time ago.”
“That’s why you deserve this. Think of all those lonely nights you spent wondering if Ted was late because he’d been shot— or because he was getting laid.” Sandra continued with a grin, “Of course, in either case, bloodshed would’ve been involved.”
Melanie nodded. “You know, it’s not much different now. Ted is still not home, but now it’s meetings at the Biltmore with business women who pass room keys to him.”
“See?”
“I said they pass the keys to him; I didn’t say he uses them.”
Sandra slid off the cycle and rolled around on an exercise ball. “You had Dean. Why are you so sure he hasn’t had someone else?”
“Because he loves me.”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “Well, you still deserve to keep the bar.”
“But he won’t like it. How do I tell him?”
“Melanie, most police marriages end up a statistic, like mine. You’ve been married more than twenty years. That’s a selling point for his campaign. He can’t afford trouble now.”
Sandra had a tendency to be a little over the top sometimes, and Melanie often had to rein her in. But the more she thought about her friend’s suggestion, the more she remembered how singing had been her lifeline. She could recall a time when it ran a close second to breathing. In those days, the possibility of reaching millions of people with her voice trumped any monetary gain. How could I have been able to put those feelings so far behind me that I’d almost forgotten them?
They were back again now, as if she were eighteen and on the verge of the life she had dreamed of since early childhood. Despite this, Melanie knew she could never realize the career she had thrown away, but suddenly it occurred to her that owning a nightclub might give her a purpose and rejuvenate her. She knew at that moment she couldn’t sell her father’s bar, and she would have to find a way to tell Ted.
◆◆◆
Melanie had called Ted on her way home from the gym and asked him to meet her for lunch at the LAPD Academy Cafe. He waved to her from his table at the back of the room when she arrived. She was pleased to see the usual mix of new recruits, patrol officers, detectives, and brass having lunch, as she made her way to Ted. Surely with them nearby, he’d stay composed when she broke the news to him.
After listening to him go on about a department policy issue throughout their meal, Melanie told him she wanted to reopen McNeil’s Pub, but didn’t mention anything about a nightclub.
“You’re kidding,” Ted said.
Before he could continue, the server approached them with a pitcher of iced tea and asked if they wanted refills.
Ted sat back in his chair with arms folded and foot tapping while Melanie told her she would love some, and waited for the server to pour the tea.
“Why did you bring this up here?” he asked as the server departed.
Melanie didn’t answer, but exchanged glances with a lieutenant at a nearby table hoping to quell the tension in Ted’s voice.
The officer gave Ted a perfunctory salute. Ted acknowledged him, turned back to Melanie with a scowl, and spoke softer. “You can’t be serious about running that dump.”
“My father didn’t think it was a dump.”
“Your father didn’t have any illusions about the place.”
Melanie hesitated and drew a deep breath. “I don’t care. It’s mine now and I can’t sell it yet.”
Ted grimaced, “All these years, and you’ve never even wanted to step foot in there.”
“And now he’s gone.”
Ted stared down as he twisted his spoon around several times on the table. Then he looked up at her. “All right, give it a try for a while.”
Melanie relaxed. “Great. Maybe I can talk Connie into coming back to tend bar and help me manage.”
◆◆◆
Scott Swain stepped out of his late model BMW and stood amongst a sea of black and white police cars at the LAPD South Bureau building. It had been merely two days since he had parked a similar patrol car at the end of his watch at the Devonshire Station; about an hour north in the San Fernando Valley. He loved working patrol there, but he couldn’t pass up this chance to work the south end of the city, even if it meant working the detective unit in the administrative office that oversaw the four southern-most geographical areas of the LAPD. Most guys would give their right arm to work detect
ives this soon in their career, but Scott would rather work Southeast Patrol in the Los Angeles area known as Watts. A busy station like that served as the perfect training ground for a rookie cop.
Instead, his name had turned up on the transfer list for South Bureau Detectives. He knew why, but he tried not to think about it as he slipped his suit jacket on, covering his 9mm automatic, and the badge belted at his waist. He straightened his tie and hooked his ID card to his breast pocket before entering the South Bureau building.
A young woman at the reception desk greeted him with approval and a broad smile.
Scott reciprocated. “Hi, I’m Officer Swain. I’m looking for Detective Charlie Moore.”
“Oh, hello. I’ve, uh—” She cleared her throat and started again. “He’s been expecting you. Go on in.”
Amused by her reaction to him, Scott nodded and peeked over her shoulder to the office behind her, where he spotted a man sitting at a desk behind a newspaper. He entered the office and stood in front of the desk.
“Detective Moore?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m Scott Swain, your new partner.”
Moving the paper aside, Charlie peered out over his half glasses and sized him up. “No shit? You don’t look much like your old man.”
“No, not really.”
“I expected you to.”
“Everybody says I look more like my mother.”
Charlie studied his dark hair and full lips. “Yeah, I see the resemblance.”
“You remember my mother, too?” Scott said.
“Hell, yes. I used to love to walk into the records section and be greeted by those big ti—uh—blue eyes.”
Embarrassed by Charlie’s obvious familiarity with his mother, Scott winced and dismissed the comment. “How long were you at Harbor Division?”
As Charlie told him he’d been there for five years, another detective stuck his head in the door. “Yo, Moore, you finish that Johnson follow up yet?”
Harbor Blues Page 1