Read Blood Ties Online

Authors: Lori G. Armstrong

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Murder Victims' Families, #Women Sleuths, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Crimes against, #Women private investigators, #Indians of North America, #South Dakota

Blood Ties (6 page)

BOOK: Blood Ties
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He frowned and moved behind his desk. “I’m serious.”

“Me too. Hard not to be with what I’ve heard today.”

“You understand why I didn’t tell you everything in the car last night?”

A wave of sleepiness washed over me. I wanted nothing 52

more than to pull the covers over my head and ignore the horrors of the morning. “Yes, but it doesn’t make it easier.

I don’t want to intrude on Shelley’s privacy.”

I didn’t want Kevin intruding on mine, either. Th is

case would drag up unpleasant incidents I’d done my best to forget.

“Just try it. If she doesn’t cooperate, I’ll . . .”

He shoved his hands under his armpits, staring at the cold, dismal day mocking us outside his window.

“What?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what I’ll do. A simple missing person’s case has turned into a nightmare. David paid me to fi nd answers. I will fi nd them, with or without your help.”

His apparent obsession confused me since he wasn’t hurting for work. Add in the fact that Samantha Friel was already dead and my confusion tripled. But my own obses-sions are hard to comprehend, and Kevin at least tries to understand. As a friend, it was my turn to return the favor.

“When do you want to do this?”

“Soon.

Th

e funeral is set for Tuesday, so maybe Th ursday?” At my appalled look he added, “Don’t worry, you can skip the service. I’ll set up the meeting with Shelley.”

A yawn escaped. “You owe me big time for this.” I grabbed my knock-off Prada purse, and ran my hand across the back of the smooth leather chair one last time as I moved, sloth-like, out to the reception area. “You up for a pizza and a movie tonight?”

53

Kevin weighed his response before answering. Never a good sign.

“Lilly arranged this bed-and-breakfast thing for tonight. Can we do it another time?”

I dug for my keys as an excuse not to look at him, blocking out the image of him and Callous Lilly rolling around naked, sipping champagne and rolling around naked some more. “Yeah, sure, no big deal. Call me.”

I bounded down the stairs before he called over the railing. “Julie?”

“What?”

“Th

anks. I mean it.”

His teeth sparkled in the insurance salesman smile I’ve always hated. I should’ve said something friendly, but tact really wasn’t my strong suit today. “Glad one of us is getting some tonight, but for God’s sake don’t forget to wear a condom.”

Th

e glass rattled as the outside door banged shut, courtesy of my well-placed kick.

I would’ve been better off staying in bed.

Kevin called Tuesday night to remind me of the meeting time with Shelley. By his clipped tone, either he was unhappy Ray had answered the phone, or was still ticked off from my parting shot on Saturday. Either way, I didn’t feel I owed him an apology.

Th

ursday afternoon, I met Kevin in the parking lot at the rehab center. I dashed from my car to his, shook off the cold rain, hoping his mood wasn’t as chilly as the day.

“Hey. You look nice.”

I’d worn a short, black rayon skirt and a form-fi tting black jacket, a purchase from Th

e Gap a few years back.

He’d seen me in the outfi t a million times and always complimented me. As much as I told myself that had nothing to do with why I’d chosen it today, it did. I smiled. “It’s okay?”

“Perfect.” He casually pulled a loose hair from my 55

collar and let it fl oat to the fl oor mat.

I’ve never been a demonstrative person, never expected or wanted it from anyone, friends or lovers. But with Kevin, I’ve come to rely on his eff ortless aff ection; he’s my personal touchstone. I refuse to think of the day when simplicity isn’t enough between us any more. I sandwiched his palm between mine. “Been busy?”

“Yeah. Mostly I’ve been mad.”

“At

me?”

“At you, at this case, at the damn weather.”

“At

Lilly?”

He dropped his hand. “Julie, don’t start.”

“Sorry.” I blew out a breath, frosting the window. “I really am sorry.”

“I

know.”

He leaned over and drew a smiley face in the patch of fog, gifting me with an unsure smile. As I’m a sucker for his sweet side, I punched his arm. “Anything unusual happen at the funeral?”

“Dick Friel showed up. David was convinced he wouldn’t bother.”

“Anyone else interesting?” Rain drizzled down the windshield in streaks of quicksilver.

“Like someone wearing a big, fl ashing sign saying, ‘I killed Samantha Friel’?”

Kevin’s sense of humor escapes me at times. “On TV

the killer always goes to the funeral,” I pointed out.

56

“On TV the ace detective wraps up the case in an hour.” He drew my hand back to his, idly stroking the bone on the inside of my wrist. “Real life ain’t TV, babe.”

Th

e actuality hit me then. Th

is wasn’t make-believe, a

fi ctional primetime show where I played the part of Nancy Drew, stumbling around for clues. I was about to question a grieving mother on the violent death of her child. Kevin steadied my hand when I fumbled with a cigarette, holding the lighter to the tip as I inhaled.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I need you to do this. It’s important.”

“You’re coming with me?” He nodded and rolled down the passenger window a crack. “What should I ask her?”

“Get her to talk to you about Samantha, fi nd out what she remembers from their visits in the last month.”

I exhaled out the window. Kevin hated my smoking but never complained, so I tried to be polite. “If she won’t?”

“She will.” His determined mouth softened. “Come on, Jules. Remember how you felt when Ben died? How everyone avoided discussing him? Grief needs an outlet.

She’ll help us.”

As much as hiding in the trunk appealed, I said,

“Let’s go.”

Th

e main lobby had the impersonal, sterile atmosphere I associated with hospitals. We signed the logbook at the receptionist’s area and she disappeared behind a glass partition. We waited in silence, afraid to sit on the matchy, 57

matchy gray and mauve sofas, furniture store art hung pre-cisely above. Kevin paced and I perched on an end table.

Muzak
drifted from hidden speakers. Normally I tune it out, but forcing myself to listen calmed my nerves. I challenged Kevin: “Name the song.”

He cocked his head. “Easy. ‘Super Freak’, Rick James.”

“Wrong.” Kevin and I’ve had “Name Th

at Tune” wars

since high school. Our musical tastes are similar and we’re evenly matched, but smugness encircled me like a secret cloak, knowing I had him cold. “Five?”

“You’re on. What do you think it is?”

“I know it is ‘Der Kommissar’.” I hummed a few bars.

“Listen and pay up, bub.”

He listened again, cursing me when I sang along. “Bet you don’t know who sang it.”

“You really want to give me all your money today?”

“You’re

bluffi

ng.”

“I never bluff . Okay. Double or nothing?” He nodded. I snatched the fi ve from his fi ngers and held my palm out for more. “After Th

e Fire. Pay up and repeat, ‘Julie is

the master’.”

“Julie is a master . . .” He paused and grinned,

“Bator.” He wadded up another fi ve and tossed it at me just as a stout woman resembling a warden exited the locked double doors.

“Follow me.” I traipsed behind her and stuck my tongue out at Kevin. He tapped me none too gently on 58

the butt and hissed a vile suggestion in my ear. My nerves quieted. At least he and I were back on track even when it felt as if we were about to board a runaway train.

A spacious corridor twisted past rooms with the shades drawn. Th

e beige walls were devoid of the inspirational posters I connected with self-help programs. When we stopped at an empty room, my heart sped up.

Kevin squeezed my shoulder, seating me on the right side of a conference table. He fl ipped open a small notebook and settled next to me.

I thought I was fi ne, I thought I was ready; I thought I might actually pull this off , until Shelley entered the room.

She looked old. Stringy hair, toothpick arms and legs, sallow complexion, slightly distended beer belly. Th e years

of drinking hadn’t been particularly kind to her, but the lines on her face weren’t as unsettling as her eyes. Th ey

held defeat; a woman who’s seen the best part of her life ripped away. I rose, giving an impromptu hug, but she stiff ened and stepped back, like I’d given her static shock.

“Shelley, I’m sorry about Samantha.”

“Th

anks.” She moved to the head of the table and tossed a pack of Marlboros down before dropping into the padded chair.

“We weren’t sure you’d meet with us.”

“Well, I almost didn’t. Don’t understand why you’re here.” Shelley slapped the unopened pack on her palm, 59

unwrapped the plastic, tore out the foil and extracted one cigarette.

Kevin had his lighter out before she’d put it between her lips.

“Th

anks.” She blew a stream of smoke and studied me.

“Don’t know how I can help you. Th

e cops have already

been here a couple of times.”

“I’d like to ask a few questions; they might’ve missed something.”

“Like

what?”

“I don’t know. Th

at’s why we’re here.”

“You a reporter now, Julie?”

“No.”

Her glance slid to Kevin and back. “A private dick?”

I wondered how many times he’d heard
that
witty moniker. “Part-time. Most days I work in the Bear Butte County Sheriff ’s Offi

ce.”

“So, you’re a cop.”

“No,” I repeated the tiresome word. “I’m a secretary.”

“You getting paid for this?”

I didn’t answer.

She said, “Th

en, why do you care?”

“Because my brother died in Bear Butte Creek three years ago.”

“So?”

“He was a homicide victim. Same as Samantha. I do know the frustration of what it’s like not to have answers.”

60

“Answers?” Her sharp, cynical laugh danced on the edge of maniacal. “What answers? She’s dead. End of story.” Hand shaking, she plucked at the pocket of the faded fl annel shirt, hanging on her frame like a discarded fl our sack. “Th

ere ain’t an answer in the world that’ll bring her back.” She glanced up and scoff ed, “Or your brother.”

Apparently Shelley responded better to anger than tea and sympathy. Good.
Th

at
I could handle. If I got past her mistrust, maybe I’d get through her defenses, and this ugly business would just go away. “Sucks, doesn’t it? Won’t get any better either. So, why don’t you tell me about her?”

A resigned sigh gusted from her chapped lips. “Like what? Her favorite color? Her friends?”

“No, tell me about the Samantha you knew.”

She reached for the ashtray, dumping in the discarded wrappers. Th

e plastic melted, the foil caught fi re. She watched it burn before looking at me again. Melancholy fi lled her eyes, her voice tinged with pride. “Sam was great.

A good kid. Responsible, sweet, never caused me a minute’s worry. We got along all right, had a few normal mother and daughter fi ghts, but nothing major.”

“What about your other children?”

“She got along with them most of the time, better with Meredith. She didn’t have much chance to be a kid, though. I counted on her.” Shelley spoke directly to the tip of her smoke, and little bits of ash swirled down like dirty snowfl akes with her every expelled breath. “Most nights 61

I’d pass out and she’d have to cook, do laundry, and take care of Meredith and RJ.”

“Did she resent that?”

“Sometimes. Didn’t complain much, and if she did it wasn’t to me.”

“Would she complain to Dick?”

“Maybe, if he was home, which wasn’t often.”

“Didn’t he help out when you were . . .” I fumbled for the right word. “Incapacitated?”

Shelley coughed up a nasty bit of phlegm disguised as a laugh. I took it as a sign to quit smoking before I started hacking up chunks of lung in public.

“Don’t sugarcoat it,” she said. “I’m a drunk. Been a drunk most of my life. Dick got tired of it early on in our marriage. Besides, his idea of helping out was bringing home a regular paycheck.”

“He never took care of the kids?”

“Never. Not his job.” She leaned over and ground out her half smoked cigarette. “You don’t know him so let me fi ll you in. Dick Friel considers himself a ‘man’s man.’

Little League games, music recitals, and family dinners are for pussies. Real men work hard and play hard. He spends nights and weekends at Fat Bob’s. Figures he’s entitled to spend his free time and money however, wherever, the hell he wants.”

Another lost candidate for Father of the Year. “Doesn’t it bug your kids that he’s not around?”

62

“Th

ey don’t know no diff erent.” Curiously, she glanced at Kevin then back to me. “You two have kids yet?” A mean smile kicked up the corner of her thin lips. “Or are you working on your careers fi rst?”

I matched her attitude with a nonchalant shrug.

“Kevin and I aren’t married.”

“We’re not involved,” Kevin added, a bit too quickly to suit me. “Julie and I are just colleagues.”

Shelley’s gaze moved back and forth between us before she shrugged. “My mistake.”

She wasn’t the fi rst to make that mistake. Kevin and I almost made the same mistake a long time ago. A lifetime ago, but I wasn’t falling for Shelley’s stall tactics. I shook out a smoke from her pack. Naturally Kevin lit it before I opened the matchbook, but I didn’t proff er a smile, or my usual thanks. Wouldn’t want Shelley to read anything intimate into it. “When was the last time you saw Samantha?”

For the longest time she fi xed her stare on a spot on the bulletin board behind my head. “Th

ree weeks ago, maybe

four, hell, I don’t know. Time runs together here. I’m only allowed visitors twice a week. She showed up on an off day and caused a scene.”

BOOK: Blood Ties
13.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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