Checkmate (Caitlin Calloway Mystery Book 2) (12 page)

“I keep telling you that you’re the best.” Jamie wrapped CC up in towel. “And not just at catching the bad guys,” she added before stealing a lingering kiss.

“I wish we could play hooky today.” CC sounded wistful.

“The weekend will be here soon enough,” Jamie added before she stole another kiss.

Chapter 11

Stevie took a deep breath when she stepped out into the crisp autumn air. The year was passing too quickly. They had just planted the asters to bring a little color to the yard, and now it was time to get back to raking up the leaves. Jamie was busy getting ready for an early meeting at the hospital, and Caitlin was wrapped up with her new case.

Stevie decided that she’d enjoy the fresh air. The fact that it was right about the time for Misty to deliver the mail was a happy coincidence. She tugged on her work gloves and began her work, keeping a careful eye out for the lovely mail carrier. She shivered slightly, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched.

“Cop car.” She spotted the sleek black SUV slowly circle by.

“That seems to be the general consensus.” Misty startled her.

“Folks have been noticing it for about a week now. Freda and Ethel, the older couple down the block, called it in. The cops said they’d check it out.”

“Really?” Stevie made a mental note to talk to her older sister about it. “Wait, those nice old ladies are a couple?”

“Oh, yeah. They got married a few years ago when the laws changed. For the longest time, I didn’t realize it either. Turns out they’ve been together for almost sixty years.”

“I’m loving this new neighborhood more and more.” Stevie stole a glimpse of Misty’s well-toned biceps. Silently, she cursed the change in weather that forced the attractive woman to stop wearing shorts on her route.

“You’re a nice addition,” Misty said shyly.

Before Stevie could think of something to say in response, Jamie rushed out from her side of the house. “Stevie? I’m running late. Would you mind calling the plumber?”

“No problem.” Stevie cringed as Misty handed her a bundle of mail and went on her way. Jamie shouted her thanks before taking off.

“Great. Missed my chance to chat up the hot mail lady, and now I have to wait around all day for a plumber. This day sucks.”

*   *  *

On that late September morning, Malcolm Fisher was in his favorite place in the world. Swinging his nine iron on a lush field of green. He was having the best game of his life.

“Not getting too much sun are you?” his caddy, Josh, asked.

“What?” Malcolm coughed.

“You’re red all over.”

Malcolm looked down at his arms before scowling. “Damn, never even felt it. Go in the bag and grab my EpiPen will you?”

“You got stung?”

“Must have. Wonder when the little bastard nailed me?” he grumbled as Josh handed him the EpiPen. “I just need to find a place to. . .”

“No one is around,” Josh said. “Want me to do it?”

“Fine.” Malcolm felt humiliated as he lowered his checkered pants slightly. “Just make it quick. I’m really not in the mood to have someone wander by and catch me with my pants down.”

“Not to worry.” Josh flipped off the cap from the yellow device and placed the plunger against Malcolm’s thigh. Then he pushed and the medicine entered Malcolm’s body.

Malcolm’s face turned crimson. He fell and began convulsing. Before the ambulance could arrive, Malcolm Fisher was dead.

Detective Brooks attended the funeral. The two men shared an uneasy relationship. Brooks had spent years pursuing Simon. Malcolm hadn’t thought much of the detective in the early days. After Simon’s arrest in Boston, Malcolm finally accepted that Brooks wasn’t a misguided idiot. It was Brooks who made the call to Boston.

Chapter 12

The day his father died, Simon had been summoned from his cell. No one told him why he was being escorted to a private conference room. He was shackled to the table and left alone. Simon tried to look timid as he sat in the sterile room.

“Dr. Richards and Dr. Watkins. I’m honored. What brings you around? Writing another book, Dr. Richards?”

Amelia Richards didn’t even flinch. After spending quality time with Dr. Fisher, she had made it clear that she was ready to do whatever needed to be done in order to keep this man incarcerated for the rest of his natural life.

“I have some bad news for you, Simon,” she said. “Your father passed away this afternoon.”

“Dear God, no.” Simon buried his face in his hands and appeared to be sobbing. “When is the funeral?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“I assume my lawyer will work out the details.” He sniffed. “My poor mother must be beside herself.”

“Simon.” Dr. Watkins cut in. “You won’t be attending. The chaplain will meet with you if you would like some counseling or perhaps a chance to pray.”

“What?” Simon slammed his fist against the flimsy table he was shackled to. His tears magically vanished. “This isn’t right. My father died. I should be there to comfort my mother. I have the right to say goodbye to him.”

“No, you don’t,” Dr. Richards said. “You lost that right when

you murdered nine innocent women.”

“No one is innocent.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. “How this makes you feel?”

“How do you think I feel?” he shouted. “My father is dead, and I can’t even say goodbye. All because of some vengeful, delusional dyke. I want my lawyer. I am going to my father’s funeral.”

“We’ll contact your attorney,” Dr. Richards said. “But, just so we are clear, because of your attempts at escape you won’t be allowed to attend. It’s time for you to accept that actions have consequences. In fact, it’s past time. We can discuss this in more detail if you’d like to set up a time to meet.”

“We’ll see.” He waved her off. “At least, my father died doing what he loved. Nothing meant more to him than a good day out on the golf course.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dr. Richards said. Simon was escorted back to his cell.

“He’s a piece of work,” Watson said with a grunt. “No way a judge lets him out. Of course it helps that his lawyer doesn’t really seem interested in helping him. The day of his last hearing, I swear she was chanting
Three Blind Mice
under her breath. Some of them are nuttier than their clients.”

“Harvey, didn’t you hear what he said?”

“About no one being innocent?” He shuddered. “Yeah, that little bastard gives me the creeps.”

“Not that.” Dr. Richards fought to calm herself. “He said at least his father died happy on the golf course.”

“We never said—”

“No we never said, and he didn’t ask how or where his father died. How did he know?”

Chapter 13

CC had the day off and was busy with Emma, carving pumpkins. She loved days like this. Just time alone with her niece. It reminded her of when Stevie was little and she taught her baby sister how to carve a pumpkin. It also reminded her of when she was just a little younger than Emma. Sitting around the kitchen table, her mother busy cooking, her father and brother each taking turns to help her carve the perfect pumpkin. Life was simple, and her family was truly happy. That was before her brother, Donny, succumbed to the pressure of being bullied. Before her father and mother began to fight. Before her father chose to work long, exhausting hours rather than come home. Before her father, overwrought from stress, fell asleep at the wheel of the family Buick.

“That is a very scary pumpkin, peanut,” she said. She frowned slightly at the Orioles cap Emma still insisted on wearing. Her cell phone rang before she could conjure up something clever to say that might encourage Emma to start wearing her Red Sox cap again. “Saved by the bell. Calloway,” she greeted her caller without checking the number. She was just relieved that she managed to answer the phone. Normally, with the new phone the call went to voice mail before she could swipe the answer button properly.

“It’s Brooks.”

“Hey, hold on. Emma, put the knife down for a moment. I need to take this call. No, carving until I’m back . Got it, peanut?”

“Yes.” Emma pouted, but she did as CC told her.

“Brooks?” CC’s stomach churned as she ducked into the living room. She fumbled with the phone, still trying to get comfortable with the new gadget. “What’s going on?”

“Relax,” he said. “Simon isn’t on the lam or anything.”

“Shit, you scared me.”

“Language!” Emma scolded her from the kitchen.

“Sorry, I’ll put a dollar in the jar.”

“What?”

“My niece busted me for cussing,” CC sheepishly said. “What’s up?”

“Malcolm Fisher died.”

“When?”

“The other day. Some kind of allergic reaction while he was playing golf.”

“He’s allergic to golf?”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“That’ll cost you a dollar,” CC quipped. “So, what happened?”

“Bee sting or something like that. I don’t know. Just thought you’d want to know. I went to the service, although I doubt his widow was pleased to see me.”

“You framed her baby boy. Didn’t you know that?”

“That woman will never face reality.”

“Speaking of her baby boy,” CC said. “They didn’t let him out for the funeral, did they?”

“No,” Brooks answered firmly. “Lawyer kicked up a fuss, but Simon’s an escape risk. Can’t blame anyone but himself.”

“Never stopped him before.”

“True enough. I just wanted you to know in case you wanted to send flowers or something.”

“Mrs. Fisher hates me more than she does you,” she said. “Malcolm told me once that he’s involved with the National MS Society. I’ll make a donation in his name.”

“Auntie Caitlin?”

“I’ve got to go. Thanks for letting me know.”

CC didn’t know what to feel. She and Malcolm Fisher had formed an uneasy alliance. She respected the man’s character. Most parents never accept their children’s shortcomings. Mr. Fisher accepted not only what his son had done but what he was capable of doing. CC knew that it broke his heart, but he was determined to keep his son locked up. CC had learned in the passing years that there was nothing anyone could have done to stop Simon. He was a classic sociopath, and there was no rhyme or reason for it.

She retook her seat at the kitchen table and smiled, pleased that Emma had kept her word and wasn’t playing with the knife. She put her phone down on the table and set about clearing away pumpkin guts. When she glanced over, she noticed Emma fiddling with her new cell phone.

She was more than a little curious as to what Emma was doing with her phone. She peered over and her jaw dropped. There sat Emma, easily guiding her way through a forest, fighting a dragon, and entering a castle.

“Those graphics are amazing.” CC was unable to understand how realistic the game seemed that Emma had somehow managed to make appear on her phone. “How are you doing that?” She was completely astonished at how adept Emma was at what seemed like a very complicated game.

“This game is easy.” Emma shrugged as if it were no big deal. She finished the game and handed CC her phone. “You can play chess on it, too. Did you have video games when you were little, Auntie Caitlin?”

“Have you ever heard of Pong?”

The blank stare she received was all the answer she needed. “Okay, let’s get back to making the best jack-o-lantern ever.”

By the time they finished, CC was convinced they had indeed made the best jack-o-lantern ever. She knew it was too early, and they would need to carve another set of pumpkins next month.

After chasing around a crazy suburbanite that thought killing her nanny was a dandy idea, a calm day spent with Emma was just what CC needed. Emma was innocent, sweet, and plotting on convincing her mother that they should get a dog. Emma was doing her very best to enlist her aunt into helping her.

“I don’t know, Emma. A puppy is a big responsibility.”

“I can do it, Auntie Caitlin.”

“I’ll talk to her but no promises.” CC instantly regretted caving in. During Stevie’s childhood, CC was the one who raised her. Their mother just let the youngster take over. CC felt a need to protect her sister. Sadly, the person Stevie needed the most protection from was her father, something their mother refused to believe. Now all these years later, after refusing to allow Stevie to get a puppy, she was in collusion with her niece. She would wait until later to talk to Stevie when she was rested and Emma was off to spend the weekend with her father, Brad.

*   *  *

Later in the afternoon, CC was sitting on the sofa watching television with Emma while Jamie was upstairs in her office working. She couldn’t stop thinking about the phone call from Brooks. It was a shock to hear that someone she had just seen a short time ago had died. Normally, if they did, it was related to work, not her life.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Emma who was wrapped up in the exploits of The Wizards of Waverly Place. “I just need to talk to Auntie Jamie for a moment.”

“Okay.” Emma shrugged. CC knew the little imp was still working on her plot to get a puppy. In many ways, Emma really did remind her of Stevie. If that was true, they were in for a fun ride over the next couple of years.

CC smiled when she peeked into Jamie’s home office, which was right across the hall from her own. She loved watching Jamie. The doctor was wrapped up with some project on her computer, seemingly unaware that her wife was watching her. Or so CC thought.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Jamie asked, peering over her glasses.