by Josh Lanyon
The cabin was almost full, so there were plenty of startled, agog faces to witness his entrance. But he waved his card anyway and told the steward he needed to talk to a passenger. Adam was already half out of his seat, frowning with concern.
“I need ten minutes,” Calum told the steward. “He’s a witness in a case.”
The steward nodded eagerly, thrilled by the drama.
“What’s happened?” Adam asked at once.
“If you’d come with me, Mr. Patterson,” Calum said in his official voice. “We won’t delay your journey for long.”
He led Adam out and down the steps, away from the plane and anyone who could listen, not that the roar of the engines made that easy even a few feet away.
They were still airside, and Calum was seriously abusing his authority. But fuck it. He’d just been held at gunpoint. He could say he had PTSD, if it came to it. In fact, he probably did.
When he thought they were far enough away, he stopped and turned around. Adam stopped too, hair whipping wildly in the engine downdraft.
Twenty yards away, the ground crewman who’d taken Calum to the plane watched them avidly, waiting for Adam’s arrest.
“Cal?” Adam shouted over the engines. “What is it? If she’s tried to out you, I’ll deny it.”
“I changed my mind,” Calum yelled back.
“What?” Adam blinked the hair out of his eyes. “About what?”
Calum swallowed. “Things can be different,” he shouted. Adam’s mouth fell open slightly. Calum hurried on. “In London. Or…here if you want to be with the bloody chessmen.”
Adam’s bewilderment wasn’t promising. “I don’t understand.”
“I got it wrong! Partly. God! It’s a long story.”
Behind Adam’s shoulder, the ground crewman began to sidle closer, while the steward monitored them from the top of the plane steps. Desperation clawed at Calum’s throat.
“I want to try,” he shouted.
Adam’s bafflement began to melt into suspicion. “Cal?”
“I want to try…properly,” Calum yelled. “If you give me a chance.” He stopped, disgusted by his own incoherence, his inability to vocalize emotion.
Adam’s expression was unreadable, but he didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “What about your parents?”
Calum pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I got taught a lesson,” he shouted. “About wasting a life.”
Adam frowned, and for the first time Calum saw something other than caution. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.” Calum gave a mad grin.
Adam produced a startled, tentative smile in return. “Well…” He shook his head, but the smile widened relentlessly. “In that case…”
Calum laughed, wild with disbelieving relief. It was too much for the ground crewman, who began to walk toward them.
Adam moved a step closer, but checked and moved back again.
“Do I leave now? Or stay?” Adam asked. He laughed too. “This is insane. My luggage is in the hold.”
“I have a warrant card,” Calum said recklessly.
Adam shook his head, still grinning. “We can’t hold them up anymore. You’d lose your job. Will I call you when I land?”
Calum nodded vigorously. His own happiness frightened him.
Adam said, “Maybe I’ll just turn right around when I get to Glasgow and come back.”
But the ground crewman was almost upon them.
“That’s entirely at your own discretion, sir,” Calum shouted.
Adam had his smile under control, but his eyes blazed with feeling.
“I’ll get in touch then, Inspector. As you requested.”
“That’d be much appreciated. Thank you for all your help, Mr. Patterson.”
But instead of walking away from each other, their gazes locked helplessly. The ground crewman looked from one to the other, narrow-eyed.
At last, Calum began to back away. “Have a good flight, sir.”
Adam nodded, grinning again. Then, still bellowing to be heard over the roaring engines, “I just want to know who to thank.”
The answer came without thought. “Old men,” Calum shouted, still walking backward, fighting his own exultant smile. “Thank old men.”
THE END
GLOSSARY: Scottish Gaelic words/phrases
Aonghas — Angus
an talamh trom — the heavy earth
Bha me a chreid gu robh — I thought it was
bhalach — boy
bodach — old man
bhròinean — poor soul
Chan eil e air a bhith air a h-innse a-riamh roimhe ann am Beurla — It has never been told before in English
cianalas — homesickness/melancholy
co dhiù — anyway
Cò tha seo? — Who is this?
feannagan — lazy beds for crops
goirt — sore
gràidh — love
m’eudail — my darling, my treasure
maiseach — beautiful/lovely/handsome
mhic — son (of)
mo — my
mo chreach-sa a thàinig — good heavens, my God!
Niseach — a person from Ness, at the far north of the island
obair an diabhail — the work of the devil
poileas — police
seanair — grandfather
shen — short for seanair (grandfather)
siuthad — go on
strupag — cuppa
Tha fios agam air a phàrantan — I know his parents
Tha me cho duilich — I’m so sorry
Tha thu ceart gu leòr — You’re all right
Tha u glè snog — You’re very pretty/good-looking
Thighearna — Lord
Tigh nan Cailleachan Dubha — House of the Old Black Women (i.e., nuns)
tìoraidh — cheerio
Pepper the Crime Lab by Z.A. Maxfield
When Lonnie Boudreaux’s neighbor is murdered, he must foster the man’s dog, befriend a mysterious former cop, and stop the killer—or else!
Chapter One
Oh, why did I touch the knife? Everyone knows better. If you find a dead guy with a knife in his chest, you don’t touch the knife.
But that Shun Premier knife was so familiar. Withdrawing it from flesh, second nature. Shock or instinct must have taken over, because before I knew it, I’d wrapped my fingers around the handle and pulled the blade all the way out.
Maybe I did it out of detached curiosity. Or maybe I did it because I couldn’t get my mind around what I saw.
It came away from my new neighbor’s body with a wet slurp. The sound made my skin crawl with horror, so I dropped it on his chest.
Then the blonde girl from 3F started screaming.
Since I’d only moved in that day, I didn’t know her yet. We’d bonded over not being able to sleep because the dead guy’s dog had been barking for hours.
Other neighbors entered the apartment behind us, and even though we probably all spent half our lives watching cop shows on television, by the time the police arrived, we had tromped all over the scene of the crime.
No one more than me, obviously.
The guy who lived in the apartment on the other side of…er…the deceased’s was smart enough to herd us all to the hallway, where he did a quick check on the dead guy’s injured Labrador retriever. The black Lab’s furry head was matted with blood from a gash over her eye, and she had a lamp cord wrapped several times around her neck. He spoke gently and petted her to soothe her while he bundled her in a towel. That was cool and all, except he’d left me sitting in the stairwell—jeans bloody from where I’d wiped my hands on my legs—with a vicious warning not to move or else. Did the blood come from the dead guy or the dog? Things were really fuzzy for me just then.
I told him, “I didn’t do anything.”
“I don’t know if you did or you didn’t.” Under his gaze, I wanted to appear smaller. “But that was an idiot move, touching the body.”
&
nbsp; “I didn’t.” I wanted to tell him I’d touched the knife, not the body, but that was probably irrelevant. Why did I do such a thing? Wait. I’d recognized the knife. The type of knife. The handle. “I was just—”
“Save it.” In that moment, I thought he might be someone I knew. His face seemed familiar. Restaurant reviewer, maybe? Disgruntled patron? Definitely someone I’d disappointed in the past. But that could be practically anyone.
“Have we met?” Like a lot of the tenants, he had the actor-model vibe—a gym bunny with chiseled cheeks and bedhead. We’d seen each other in the stairwell a couple of times that day. There was something off about him. I had the feeling he noticed every little thing about me, even when he appeared to pay little attention.
“Doubt it.” The quick grin didn’t carry to his unexpectedly dreamy brown eyes.
“I didn’t do anything.” That time, I felt like I sold it. “Except find the body.”
“The police will want to ask you about that. Wait here.” He left to circulate among the growing crowd, murmuring things like, “Stay calm. The police are on the way. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Some of the nosier second and fourth floor tenants came to see what all the commotion was about, and he turned them away. 3F spent her time fussing over the dead guy’s dog.
Eventually Bossy Guy returned to me.
“You all right?” I looked up the long length of his body. He wore cargo shorts and a tight T-shirt that said: World’s okayest brother. Brown hair, brown eyes. Distracted, sour expression.
I said, “Shouldn’t we take the dog somewhere to get her checked out?”
“In a bit.” He focused on my hands. “I’m Enrique Garcia. 3C. Was Stephani with you when you found Jeff?”
“That his name?” Jeff must be Mr. Body. Stephani had to be the girl from 3F. “No. She stayed with the dog when I went into the bedroom.”
He looked me over again. “Sure you’re all right?”
“I could use a glass of water.”
He went into his apartment and returned with a bottle.
“Thank you.” I drank gratefully. “I’m getting over the flu.”
In point of fact, I’d recently had a bad-to-worse cascade of health issues that left me looking pretty ragged—a virus that turned into pneumonia, and a bad reaction to an antibiotic, which damn near led to organ failure. All told, it would set me back about six months if my doctor was to be believed.
“Think that’s why you lost your mind in there?” He crinkled his nose. “That was some next-level dumbassery, bro.”
“So? It’s my first dead body. I mean, you watch cop shows and reality medical shit. I didn’t expect it to be so gruesome.” I had no excuses. “Anyway, the knife looked familiar.”
“Did it? How so?”
“It’s a Shun.” To stay out of stairway traffic, I scooted over to the side. “I own them.”
“It’s a cooking knife? Expensive?”
“Good knives are key.” In case he misunderstood, I added, “I’m a chef.”
“You don’t look like you’re any good at it.” His gaze traveled from my face down my too thin body. Despite the cool air, I started to sweat.
“Looks can be deceiving.” I’d lost nearly forty pounds from my over-six-foot frame, and there had been days where I couldn’t make it up a single flight of stairs without stopping to rest. I was aware of how frail I looked. “Like I said—”
“You’re getting over the flu. What I want to know is why you broke into Jeff’s apartment in the first place.”
His words shocked me. “We didn’t break in. We tried the knob. The door was unlocked.”
“You and Steph?” I nodded. “Go on.”
“I heard someone on the other side.” Did he think I went around trying people’s doors all the time? “I don’t just—”
“What, exactly, did you hear?”
“The dog has been barking all night. I met Steph in the hall while I was trying to get the manager to do something about it.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
“I know. I called Dave, and he basically said, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t do anything,’ because he took an Ambien or something. He was too groggy. He said he called and got no answer. That the tenant was probably out.”
His lips quirked. “Go on.”
“But we heard footsteps and then a loud thud and a sharp yelp. It got quiet for a few seconds. That’s when we heard the dog crying.”
“Crying?”
“Dog-crying. Whining in pain.”
“So you heard a thud, then the dog, and that’s why you tried the door?”
“I thought someone hit the dog. The door was unlocked. The dog was lying just inside. She had the lamp cord wrapped around her neck, and a gash over her eye. There was blood everywhere.”
“But there was no one there.”
“No one but the…um…deceased, obviously. Steph said we must have imagined the footsteps—that Pepper had gotten tangled up in the cord and pulled the lamp down on her head. I said no way. I know what I heard.”
“You thought you heard human footsteps?”
“I did hear them.”
“And then what?” he asked.
“Steph sat with Pepper, and I went to see if someone was in the bedroom.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It was late. I couldn’t sleep. I was pissed.”
“Then what?”
“I found the—” I couldn’t decide what to call it. Him.
“Jeff.” He offered the dead guy’s name again.
“He was lying on the bed with a knife in his chest.” I focused on my memory of the scene. “There was no spatter like in the movies. Just this…glistening pool that soaked his clothes and bedding.”
“And you managed to get it on your hands.”
“I guess.” Enrique’s feet were bare. They lent a certain vulnerability to his powerful body. Made him seem approachable. Just a dude. Someone I could confide in.
“I must have lost my mind, because without even giving it a thought, I pulled the knife out to look at it.”
He tsked. “You knew he was dead?”
Did I? I believed he was. But what if he wasn’t dead yet and I could have done something?
What if pulling the knife out actually killed him?
“Oh Christ.” My spleen tried to exit via my throat. “You don’t think I accidentally—”
“No.” Garcia shook his head decisively. “Jeff’s been dead for a while, Mr.…”
“Boudreaux. Lonnie. 3A.” I remembered my manners and held out my hand. He didn’t take it.
“Don’t touch anything until the police get here.”
“You sound like a cop yourself.” I laughed. “You gonna bag up—” I broke off because he didn’t laugh with me. His eyes stayed on mine, his expression guarded, laced with something focused, and in a way, ruthless.
“Oh Jesus.” I sighed the words.
He laughed. “Not exactly.”
“You’re a cop, then?”
“Not exactly that either.” He asked again, “Why didn’t you knock on Jeff’s door before trying the knob?”
I had only moved in that day. I’d gotten no sleep. I’d found a corpse, for God’s sake.
Had it been my idea to try the knob, or Steph’s?
I couldn’t remember anymore.
I let my head fall back against the wall. This was supposed to be the start of my new, less stressful life. Get a place that takes dogs. Get a dog. Spend less time at work and more on my actual life.
The police arrived. I stood to let them pass and then followed them into the hall. Right. This isn’t going to be stressful at all.
Chapter Two
After a quick look around, an officer with the name Chandler on his uniform addressed my new pal Enrique, “Rick. You kill one of your neighbors?”
“Not today.” He glanced at me. “Not yet, anyway. This is Lonnie—” He tapped my arm and lifted his eyebrow.
“Boudreaux,” I reminded him.
Chandler got out a little notebook and asked me to spell it. I did. He asked, “That your legal name?”
“It’s the name my mother gave me.” I didn’t know if Boudreaux was her legal name.
Chandler pulled me into a corner while the rest of the responding officers talked to other residents. Rick hovered nearby long after it was necessary. He made me nervous. Was he trying to see if I kept my story straight?
“I found the body.” I confessed. “Stephani came in right behind me, along with half the people who live here.”
“She corroborated his story. They heard the dog. Called the manager. ” Chandler tried to ignore him. “They wanted the manager to come up and handle things, and when he wouldn’t, they tried the door. Stephani agreed it was unlocked.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got this.” Chandler gave a weary eye roll. “Which one is she?”
“Me.” Stephani had dressed in leggings and a tank with a lightweight running jacket in a shade of neon green that suited her. She came toward us, clutching a handful of tissues. “I saw Jeff just this morning. When Pepper started barking, I thought he’d left her all alone again. Jesus.”
“He do that a lot?” Chandler frowned through a fresh wash of Stephani’s tears. “Leave the dog locked in there?”
“All the damn time,” Rick said grimly.
Chandler asked her, “What did you see?”
She nodded, sobbing softly. “Pepper had a cord wrapped around her neck and a gash over her eye.”
“While she saw to the dog, I checked the bedroom.” I picked up the story to give her some time to get hold of herself. “He was lying in bed with a Gokujo sticking out of his chest.”
“A what now?” Chandler narrowed his eyes.
“It’s a blade for boning and filleting fish. I have the exact same knife.” His unwavering gaze made me so uncomfortable, I added, “For boning and filleting fish.”
Rick and Stephani exchanged glances. Chandler said, “Mind showing me?”
“Mine? Or—”