Dying For Redemption

by C. A. Freeburn

  Gannon lay on the hot asphalt, screaming like a dame in a monster movie. The sound was annoying. I was tempted to stop the mischievous game just to shut him up, but in the end it wasn't my choice.

  Take a note: Not many things are ended by our own choice.

  The machine ran out of tennis balls.

  Braswell noticed at the same time I did. I watched his chest heave with relief. His butler didn't have the sense to come to the same conclusion. His screaming stopped, replaced by a disgusting whine.

  "Shut up," Braswell snapped. Gannon continued the sound. "It's over. It's out of balls. Get up."

  The butler lifted his head and peered from the protective shield he made with his arms. "Willow," he choked. I took a seat on one of the metal chairs to watch the movie from the script I just outlined.

  "What?" Braswell's veins flared in his face and neck.

  "Willow. She did this."

  "She's dead." He spat the words. I was shocked when spittle didn't accompany them.

  "Willow did—"

  Braswell ran over and grabbed the butler's face in his hands. He squeezed the young man's cheeks hard, causing the mouth to open like a fish eating its nutritious flakes.

  "Never speak her name again." Braswell shoved the gaped-mouth butler to the asphalt.

  "Braswell…" Gannon sounded teary.

  Braswell didn't turn around. He didn't speak another word. He bent and retrieved his racket, rested its face against his shoulder, and strolled back to the house.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "It was all based on perceptions."

  I stood in front of Willow Resources, Inc.

  Resources. I allowed a grin to spread across my face. Did the three-piece-suited men and women passing in front of the glass and chrome building know what kind of resources were offered?

  The men probably did. This building was probably the highlight of the block and the center of all business meetings. Did Willow have beds in some of those office suites? Probably not. It would be too easy to get caught. Desks worked just fine.

  I was a cautious betting man, but I would bet my life—if I still had one—that not all of the female employees gushed about the virtue and unlimited employment opportunities available at Willow Resources.

  I took a deep breath and left the smile on my face as I flew myself through the frosty, plate-glass doors of the building. A little thrill whirled through me when I imagined the discovery behind the doors.

  Disappointment coursed through my being. Okay, I didn't really believe almost-naked women wandered around the place and threw themselves at men who entered, but I had hoped. That was what a soul expected from a house of sin, correction… an undercover house of sin.

  Take a note: Hiding some things defeats the whole purpose.

  "May I help you?"

  The question yanked me from my musings. I didn't remember giving myself form. Wasn't this a nice turn of events? The one-in-a-thousand odds of finding someone willing and wanting to see me sat at the receptionist desk. It could have been worse. It could have been one of the cops.

  "I have an appointment to see Ms. Flannery," a voice answered from behind me.

  Disappointment and a little relief snaked through me. The knockout brunette receptionist wasn't fantasizing about a dark-haired, handsome, though, dead man wearing a fedora. A positive turn of events though, as a possible lead landed at my invisible feet, a whole lot better, considering my circumstances. There wasn't anything I could do with a living dame, anyway.

  Tears filled her eyes. "You haven't heard, Mike?"

  Ah, a regular.

  "Heard what?" Mike ran a hand over his thinning and departing brown hair.

  "Ms. Flannery was killed."

  Killed, an unusual choice of words, since the official word was accident. I wondered what Miss Answerer-of-the-phones knows. It could be a simple misuse of words, but I wouldn't be the great detective Callous if I didn't sense deception in every sentence uttered.

  Of course, I had fine-tuned the trait and took it more seriously since I arrived in Limbo. I would still be investigating in and enjoying the living world had I paid more attention to that lesson. Listen carefully to every word and inflection. Especially with women. A sigh from their lips could mean more than a thousand words.

  Mike made a sharp noise in the back of his throat, but his eyes didn't widen even a hair. "How?" He paused for a moment, and his tone developed a curious lilt that hadn't been there for the first word. "Who?"

  The receptionist dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. "They said if she had been wearing a seat belt, it wouldn't have happened."

  "She seemed like a women who always used precautions."

  A perfume scent descended upon us, and the receptionist grew pale, watching a gorgeous blonde swish her hips past us. Mike didn't tear his eyes away from the brunette. Interesting.

  Receptionist lowered the hanky to cover her mouth, roaming her gaze around the front area. She cocked her index finger and come-hither wiggled the appendage.

  He leaned closer. I moved to the side so as not to become one with Mike.

  "That's how I know somebody killed her."

  His eyes lit up, either from the ample cleavage or the revealing of a deep, dark secret. "Who?"

  "Her husband."

  Mike let out a loud laugh, and Miss Behind-the-desk glared. He stopped abruptly and adjusted his tie, probably remembering who made the appointments. If he wanted to ensure his favorite temp was available, he needed to act more respectful.

  Take a note: Never anger the one that answers the phone.

  Mike rubbed her hand consolingly. "Braswell can't operate a stick shift on a car. Do you think he'd be able to tamper with anything without being caught?"

  That caught her attention. "But who else?"

  "I don't know," Mike ventured his strong opinion. "Who runs the business now that she's gone?"

  A blaze erupted in the hazel eyes of the receptionist. She spun away from Mike and checked the calendar. "Your appointment hasn't been canceled, but Karen must remain in the building. There's an office room available with a fax and a computer if you'd like to use it."

  "That will suit me."

  I seconded that.

  I followed Mike. I had no intention of using this as an opportunity to get a free viewing of an adult movie. I needed answers, but first I had to find the questions that needed answers. The only way to uncover the murderer was to eliminate some suspects.

  That was the way it worked in this business. I didn't mean eliminate in the sense of the word that I was—dead—but eliminate by crossing a few names off my list.

  Mike and I entered a room on the fifth floor. A large window overlooked a small picnic table on a grass patch surrounded by yellow and red tulips and pink flowering trees. The small park was enclosed on three sides by parking spaces and the fourth by the entrance to the building. Nothing like enjoying lunch in the sun with the wonderful smell of exhaust fumes.

  The room contained a large glass table with eight leather chairs pushed up to it. A large beige couch, done in what appeared to be an abstract painting, was against the wall with no window view. Good choice. If things got a little informal during a conference, nobody could peek in and see what Dick and Jane were up to.

  Then again, Willow could have made some extra dough by allowing others to witness the many meetings of Dick and Jane, or Mike and Bunny, or Sam and whatever women with the skills usually reserved for street corners called themselves nowadays.

  Mike walked over to the computer and started tapping lightly on the keys. I wasn't from the information age, but even I knew that not much good would come from the machine if you didn't turn it on, unless you wanted to throw it at someone.

  "Typing, filing, or dictating today, Mr. Maxwell?" a delightful feminine voice asked from the doorway.

  I fixed my gaze in that direction and was treated to the very lovely, and surprisingly, business-attired appearance of one of Willow's employees. A mass of
chestnut-colored curls framed her face and fell down to the middle of her back. Her outfit was a button-to-throat light purple blouse with a skirt a shade away from matching, which, also to my amazement, kept her well covered, leaving all to the imagination. Her heels gave her maybe an extra half inch in height, but they weren't the spaghetti strap and stiletto shoe expected from one employed as a sexual companion.

  "Good afternoon, Karen. Some dictation and typing today."

  Was this code of some sort? Should I take notes?

  Karen sat down, placed a tablet of paper on her lap, and then pulled a pen from the mass of curls covering her ears. Not a code, unless the pen and paper played into the act.

  I debated as to whether I should stay or go search out another suspect when the talking started, and I found myself hanging onto their words.

  "I'm amazed you're here," Mike said, sympathy showing on his face. "After what happened to Willow."

  Karen wiped away a lone tear sliding down her cheek. "I've already used up all my vacation time and with Rob still not working…"

  I didn't know her situation as well as Mike, but I knew the rest of the sentence. I saw it in the way she lowered her eyes to the floor and her straight posture slumped.

  Mike moved from his chair and knelt beside her. He held the trembling woman and rocked her back and forth, caressing the curls cascading down her back. "Leave."

  Karen's head barely moved, but I could make out the international signal for no. He tilted her chin up. The cried-away makeup revealed a faint bruise along her jaw and another one peeking out from the collar of her blouse.

  "Why?" I asked. Darn it. Remain silent. My question received no response. They didn't believe in the existence of ghosts, or the word 'why' bounced in their own heads so long and loud, they thought it manifested from their own minds.

  "I'll take care of you," Mike persisted.

  A small, choking laugh escaped from Karen. She ran her fingers up and down the sides of Mike's face. "I hear that a lot."

  "I mean it." Mike grasped her hands, keeping them pressed to his cheeks. He entwined his fingers with hers and stared into her eyes. I wanted her to accept the help he offered.

  Karen's face transformed. Some fear vanished and, in its place, came a ray of hope. Her mouth turned up into a soft smile. Her fingers weaved their way into the hair at the back of Mike's neck. She pressed herself against him. "I know. But…"

  "But what?" Mike grew angry.

  Should I break this up before things got out of hand? There was enough stuff in here to knock over to get someone's attention.

  Karen pushed herself away from Mike. Sobs overtook her body, and she buried her face in her hands. Mike pulled her back to him, and Karen replaced her hands with Mike's shoulder. The guy would need to dry off under an air blower in the restroom when this was done. He didn't seem to mind.

  "Rob."

  "Rob?" Mike echoed.

  "He promised to hurt me if I walked out."

  Mike gripped her tighter. "I'll protect you, Karen. He won't try anything. The man doesn't even have enough balls to find and hold down a job."

  "But what if you can't? Willow…" My client's name came off her tongue like a strangled breath.

  "You told her about Rob?"

  Karen nodded. "I asked her for more hours. She didn't want me to, said the fifty I was doing was more than enough, that I shouldn't work myself too hard." A pained sigh accompanied the last word. "And that it might strain my marriage."

  Mike nodded. He knew, like me, that now was the time to shut up and let her finish.

  "I told her Rob was the one who wanted me to work more. We needed the extra money if we were going to keep the house and his truck. Then…" Karen took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she finished her sentence, hands rubbing the silk covering her arms. "Willow pointed at a bruise on my wrist. She asked if a client had done it. I told her no. She asked if Rob did. Couldn't say yes or no. She said she would straighten him out." A sad smile played across her lips. "Willow was pretty pissed."

  "Did she talk to him?"

  Yes, did she? I was more curious than Mike, but he had the advantage of being alive and having a voice that Karen heard. Keep asking the correct questions, I thought. It made my job easier.

  "I don't know."

  Mike sat silent for a minute. "We should check her appointment book."

  Yes, we should.

  "I don't know." Karen hugged herself.

  "I'll keep you safe from Rob." Mike stood.

  Karen nodded and followed him to the door, clasping his hand as if it were a life preserver.

  Mike stuck his head out the door and gazed up and down the hallway. I slid through the wall and floated into the hallway to wait for them. I didn't know why he insisted on all the spy moves, as they both belonged there. But living people didn't have my degree of comfort.

  Mike stepped out and motioned for Karen to follow. She tiptoed out and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

  "We have to have a good reason to go in there," Mike said.

  A good surveillance rule to follow. It had less to do with the fact of not knowing who your friends were, and more with not knowing which people were the enemies of an investigation. Murderers didn't like being caught and, in the beginning, they knew the most. Not a good situation.

  Karen tapped the tips of her long plum-colored nails together. "Willow would want donations made in lieu of flowers, so I'm taking a quick look to see where she would want the donations to go."

  Sounded legitimate, not too many words.

  Take a note: The fewer words the better, less to trip over or get caught up in.

  Nothing spells 'lie' like a jumble of sentences and a long explanation for a simple question.

  Karen and Mike walked into the foyer of Willow's private office. My presumption, based on the elaborate decor and furniture, was that it had not been intended to entertain a partner. And a silver plaque on the door read, 'Willow Flannery.'

  Karen did all the talking to the receptionist guarding Willow's office, and Mike stood off in a corner looking embarrassed.

  "Why don't you just call Braswell and ask him?" the receptionist replied.

  I swallowed hard, and my breath would have caught in my throat if I still breathed. It almost made me utter a loud, "Damn."

  Before I really started worrying, both women burst into giggles. Karen leaned over the desk and hugged the receptionist. "Thanks, hon. I needed a good laugh."

  "Don't we all?" The receptionist wiped the trickle of a tear lingering in the corner of her eye.

  Karen opened the door and motioned for Mike to follow. "We'll only be a few."

  "No problem. The only other person interested in entering her office was Diane."

  "Braswell hasn't been by?"

  "Nope." The receptionist gave a small wave and picked up the buzzing phone.

  I followed them inside. Not that I had to worry about the door closing on me, but I didn't want to miss a look at the evidence. What one called evidence, another might call garbage. It was all based on perceptions.

  The office was large and decorated with a designer's touch. Based on what I remembered of Willow's appearance, I wasn't surprised. That dame probably knew how to put a lot of things together. Everything was organized, with a separate place designated for each function needed.

  In one corner, a small desk held a lamp and a large calculator. A stack of books resembling large checkbooks were stacked side by side on a wooden cart with wheels. Ms. Flannery liked to keep up with all aspects of her business.

  In another corner by a window was a regular office desk rather than one of those mammoth executive things with the new standard of computer, fax, and telephone. An appointment calendar nestled in the corner between the phone and a silver penholder. Whatever she needed to answer a client's question was within reach. A calendar highlighting the birthdays and anniversaries of her employees filled the wall behind her chair. On the floor were brightly colored wrapped presents
, labeled with the name of the birthday girls for that week.

  I grew more amazed and angry at every passing moment. She took care of her own business and employees. There was more to Willow than a savvy businesswoman. She deserved baubles and a lifetime of love.

  A fresh face popped into my mind, one of a petite brunette with a warm, playful smile, twinkling brown eyes, and on the verge of learning what the world was really about—a girl ready to discover what she could mean to the world. Abigail, another beautiful woman ripped from the world by a murderer.

  I'd find their killers, and both would pay dearly. Hauntingly so.

  I walked through the soft-looking paisley couch in the middle of the room and went for the appointment book. The set up of couch, coffee table, and two end chairs was probably the meeting and interviewing area for Willow.

  Hopefully, Mike and Karen would start flipping through the appointment book, or one distracted the other so I could flip through it. It sure would be hard for either of them to attribute the flipping of pages to the wind since we were in an enclosed building with no fan in the room. It wouldn't suit my purposes, or gain me any knowledge, to scare them. I'd rather they remained oblivious to my presence for the meantime.

  Mike and Karen seemed swallowed up in memories of dear Willow. They both had sad looks on their faces as they gazed around the room. Karen swiped at tears rolling down her tanned cheeks. Mike kept choking back grief. I understood. I didn't know her in life, only in Limbo, and I sensed her presence in the room.

  "I already told you," a voice whispered in my ear.

  I turned to the left and uttered a curse. No wonder I felt her presence. She stood beside me. "You're not supposed to be here."

  Willow placed her hands on her rounded hips. "I own this building."

  "Owned. You're dead."

  "So are you."

  Technically, she had me there, but she was the client, and I was the investigator, the private dick. It was my job to uncover her murderer for her, not hers to find out for herself. I had seen many in Limbo try, and it never worked out in their favor. A mistake that harmed the living kept a body stuck in Limbo or shifted a destination from up to down.