Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) (9 page)

I met his gaze and somehow understood that even if I wasn’t sure of the great beyond, that I could understand that the man before me was capable of comforting someone facing mortality — even if it wasn’t her own.

“Thanks for coming here tonight,” I said and offered Mike my hand once again. “I don’t know if I’ll call you, but I do appreciate that you came here for Maggie’s sake. She means the world to me.”

He smiled. “I know things have been rough for you two these past few months, but I honestly believe she feels the same way about you.”

A spark inside me ignited into a full-blown flame, not that I would share it with this virtual stranger. It was the hope that after a long lonely summer apart, we’d somehow be able to recapture what we once had. Hope made the impossible suddenly seem within reach. We had a long way to go, but my gut told that the effort it would take — and it was not going to be easy — would be well worth it.

Mike slipped a buck under his glass, stood, and nodded a good-bye.

I had a feeling I’d be talking with Mike Ryan again.

For the first time since her arrival, Evelyn had very little to say at dinner that night. The fact that one of the seats at the table stood empty was the cause. Brenda chattered on and on about the novel she was reading, about the diaper service she had hired, and even on the kind of baby food she intended to make for Betsy Ruth once she was able to tolerate solids, but all Evelyn did was stare at the driveway and dare Da-Marr to return from wherever he’d gone after his joy ride on Richard’s boat.

The long silences were nerve-wracking, which made Richard more antsy and aching to pour himself yet another Scotch, which he didn’t dare do.

After the dinner plates were put in the dishwasher, the ladies joined Richard in his study where the strained silence continued. No one wanted to acknowledge the elephant in the room — or the lack of his actual presence. Richard turned on the stereo, playing Vivaldi, which always sounded so light and cheerful, but he could tell Evelyn thought it frivolous and annoying. She hadn’t voiced her musical preferences, and he was afraid to ask.

He hadn’t told Brenda about Da-Marr smoking pot in Jeff’s apartment. He hadn’t told her that Jeff had changed the lock. Life on LeBrun Road had become too tense these last few days to mention anything that could be taken in a negative connotation.

It was almost nine when they heard the thump of heavy footsteps pounding on the hallway leading to the study.

“Anybody home?” Da-Marr called cheerfully.

Slowly, Evelyn’s head swiveled toward the door, her face tight with anger.

Da-Marr paused in the doorway, his expression bland.

“Where have you been, young man?” Evelyn demanded.

Da-Marr laughed. “I’ve got a friend here in Buffalo, Auntie. I told you about him the other day. We met at the marina. After we put the boat away, I saw him and we sat in his boat and talked until it was dark. Then we got something to eat. You brought me here to see a different kind of life and do different stuff. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it, looking disconcerted.

“Did you have a good time?” Brenda asked, her voice sounding subdued. She probably wasn’t eager to suffer her sister’s wrath.

“Yeah. We went for pizza at some joint near the marina.”

“And what’s the name of your new friend?” Evelyn asked, her voice brittle with suppressed anger.

“Bobby. Isn’t that the whitest name in the world — next to Richard?” he said and laughed.

Nobody seemed to find that comment funny — least of all Richard.

“You could have called,” Evelyn said.

“I don’t have a cell phone,” Da-Marr said flatly.

“But I’ll bet your friend did,” Evelyn said, her voice even sharper.

“I don’t know anyone’s number,” he said and laughed again.

“I’m sure Richard will give you a list,” Evelyn said and looked pointedly at him.

“Sure,” Richard said, trying to keep his voice even.

Evelyn held out her hand. “I think you’d better give me the keys to Brenda’s car.”

“Oh, come on, Auntie. I was just having some fun with a friend.”

“I’d like to meet this friend. Are you willing to bring him home to meet us?”

It was Da-Marr’s turn to look disconcerted. “I guess,” he muttered.

Evelyn’s hand still beckoned.

Da-Marr’s mouth tightened, but he dug into the pocket of his jacket and handed over the keys, which he clearly found difficult to do.

Evelyn grabbed them and stuffed them into the pocket of her sweater. “You need to apologize to Brenda for missing dinner. It was rude. Your hosts have a pile of leftovers.”

“Sorry, Brenda. But I’ll bet I could eat them for lunch tomorrow,” Da-Marr said and laughed again.

Brenda shot Richard a worried look, but then turned back to Da-Marr with a forced smile. “All is forgiven,” she said, but her voice sounded strained.

Evelyn wasn’t quite as generous. “Let’s see that it doesn’t happen again.”

Instead of being contrite, Da-Marr’s expression hardened. “Auntie, you want me to make more of myself. Didn’t you tell me you want me to stop hanging with low lifes and find a higher class of people?”

“Yes, but — ”

“Then you’ve got to trust me. You
do
trust me, don’t you?”

Evelyn swallowed. “Of course I do,” she said, but the set of her mouth said anything but.

Da-Marr gave his most charming smile. “I love you, Auntie,” he said, and sauntered over to give Evelyn a kiss on the cheek. Her anger seemed to melt and she gave him a loving smile.

“I’m going to bed now. See you all tomorrow,” Da-Marr said.

“Good night,” Brenda said, and Evelyn and Richard echoed that.

Their collective gazes remained on the hall as they listened to Da-Marr travel down it and then up the stairs. Finally Evelyn turned back to Brenda, digging into her pocket, she handed back the keys. “Don’t let him drive your car anymore.”

“Are you worried about him?” Brenda asked, her voice sounding carefully neutral.

“You better believe I am,” Evelyn said, but whatever it was that preyed on her mind, she didn’t share it. Still, as she resumed her knitting, the lines on her forehead seemed even deeper.

“Why are you so worried about him?” Brenda asked.

Evelyn turned on her sister. “He’s a young black man. He’s a good boy. But if you’re a black man in a white man’s world, you are a target. He could end up dead because he’s wearing a hoodie. A rich white boy can be just as dangerous as a black gang member to someone who’s vulnerable.”

“You don’t think Da-Marr will show good judgment?” Brenda asked. Richard would have asked the same question, but was wary of Evelyn judging him.

Evelyn seemed to think long and hard before she answered. “No.” She looked back down at her knitting, saying nothing while The Four Seasons continued in the background, but her knitting needles seemed to click with aggression, or maybe it was redirected anger, then suddenly she stopped, picked up her yarn and stuffed it and the baby’s cap into her work bag. “I’m going to bed,” she said, got up, and hurried from the room.

“Good night,” Brenda called after her, looking worried.

The CD ended, and the room went deadly silent.

Brenda was the first to speak. “Evie’s got it, too.”

“Got what?” Richard asked.

“The second sight. Just like Jeff. Just like our grandma. Just like me sometimes. She knows.”

“Knows what?” he asked, feeling totally confused.

“That something bad is going to happen with Da-Marr. She’s been trying to save him from whatever it is, and she thought bringing him here would do that, but it was the worst thing she could have done.”

“And what
is
going to happen?” Richard asked, fearing the worst.

“I don’t know. But I suspect she does, and she’s never going to tell me or anyone else.”

“And what part do we have to play in this? Is there anything we can do to stop it?”

Brenda shook her head, her expression grave. “No.”

“Will this hurt our daughter?” he asked, suddenly alarmed.

Brenda’s head tilted to one side and she seemed to concentrate for a moment. “No.”

Richard breathed a silent sigh of relief. But then he wasn’t brave enough to ask his next question aloud: would whatever happened to Da-Marr affect Jeff?

Brenda turned to look at him with an odd expression, as though she’d heard the unspoken question, and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. “Yes.”

She didn’t say anymore and neither did he.

And he felt like a goddamned coward for it.

It was almost one by the time I parked my car in Richard’s garage. The night had dragged, which was unusual for a Wednesday evening, with my conversation with Father Mike being its only highlight.

I got out of the car. The light on the garage door opener would stay on for three minutes, but I wasn’t about to wait that long. When I flipped the switch to the stairwell, nothing happened. Had my previous night’s visitor made a return call, found he couldn’t get in, and removed the bulb from the fixture?

I mounted the stairs, stepping carefully as I headed for my apartment. At least with a new lock on the door, I knew no one could have invaded my home since I was the only one with the key.

I was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

I hesitated before touching the door handle, but knew whose aura would still be attached to the metal: Da-Marr’s. But he couldn’t have gotten in. Still, he’d touched the door and found it locked, and he’d been frustrated and angry.

I fumbled with the key, knowing that behind the door was danger, I could feel it. He’d gotten through my new set of defenses; he had been inside my apartment and … could he have booby-trapped the place?

There was only one way to find out.

Slowly, I opened the door. The place was pitch-black. I flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. Had he taken the bulbs out of all my light fixtures?

I fumbled around in the dark, making my way to the kitchen, threw that switch and still no light came on. I opened the microwave door and it lit a small portion of my galley kitchen. So, there was still power in the place. I opened the fridge, letting its light spill into the kitchen as well. I kept a big flashlight in the cabinet under the kitchen sink, and I retrieved it and hit the switch. Nothing. Were the batteries dead, or had Da-Marr dismantled it, too? Back under the sink it went.

The outside light was on. In my haste to cross the room, I nearly fell over my coffee table and cursed the asshole who had put me in this position. I drew the drapes and the room was flooded with shadows and enough light for me to finally see where I was going.

I made my way to the bathroom, but the light bulb was missing from that room as well, and a breeze chilled the air from the open — no, broken — window. I moved closer and stepped on shattered glass. If I looked out, would I find a ladder standing at the back of the house?

“Herschel?” I called. He was probably under the bed again.

It seemed as though I could hear an odd hum coming from the vicinity of the dining area. I doubled back and the hum got louder.

“I don’t like the sound of this,” I muttered to myself, and something whizzed past my head.

Something crackled under my foot, and I leaned against the counter to take a look. A shudder passed through me as I recognized exactly what I’d stepped on: a wasp. By the sound of it, there had to be a hell of a lot more of them buzzing around, too. And if one of them stung me....

I had to get out of there. I was sensitive to bee venom; would I have the same nearly fatal reaction to a wasp sting? Logic said yes.

And what about Herschel? What if the angry insects had attacked him? Would he be safe under the bed?

Next stop, the bedroom, but the light had been tampered with there, too. I’d kill that slimy little bastard. I heard more buzzing, and fumbled my way back to the darkroom which doubled as my supply closet, but more glass cracked under my feet and I knew every spare bulb — including the curly and expensive fluorescents — had been thrown on the floor and smashed in anger. Why was that bastard so pissed at me? What had I ever done to him?

I groped in the darkness until I found Herschel’s cat carrier. My presence must have angered the wasps, for more of them seemed to be buzzing around the living room. I paused to pull my jacket over my head before I charged forward for the bedroom. Keeping my voice low, I called for the cat, but as this was the second night he’d been traumatized, I knew I’d probably have to frighten him more just to capture him. I closed the door behind me, but I could still hear buzzing.

Suddenly I remembered the small flashlight I kept in my nightstand drawer, and edged my way alongside the bed until I bumped into it. The bastard hadn’t found that light; its sharp narrow beam pierced the darkness. A wasp whizzed by my head once more and I knew I’d have to get out of there fast.

I crouched down, again lifting the dust ruffle and shining the light. Two frightened red eyes peered back at me. “Come on, Herschel, I’m getting you out of here.” But instead of moving toward me, the cat made a break for the head of the bed, moving just out of my reach. He was no fool. He’d heard the door of his carrier swing open when I’d entered the room and knew that meant a trip to the vet. “Not this time, buddy,” I said and shoved the bed over a foot until I could grab him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out from under the bed, stuffing him into the carrier.

I struggled to my feet and made my way through the darkened apartment, kicking something light that bounded into the air. A paper wasps nest? Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of angry buzzing and I pulled the jacket lower over my brow as I charged for the door.

Somehow, I managed to hold onto the carrier as I slammed the door shut without locking it. A couple of the wasps had gotten out with me — I could hear them — and I nearly fell down the steps in my haste to get the hell out of the stairwell.

The cold air hit me like a slap as I ran into the center of the drive, unsure of what my next step should be. I had a decision to make and I wasn’t sure what I should do.

I set Herschel’s carrier on the ground. He gave a plaintive cry as I pulled the cell phone from my jeans pocket, staring at it from the glow of the light above the garage door.

My first inclination was to call the police and report a break-in, but what additional hot water would I be in with Brenda if I did? Their house was dark. Calling Richard’s landline meant waking up the whole house. Why should I care? Da-Marr’s little stunt could be viewed as attempted murder. Being stung by one of those wasps could have killed me, especially since I wasn’t carrying the epi pen as Richard had instructed me to do. Who the hell thinks they need to be protected from angry wasps in their own apartment?

But I thought better of calling that number. It would upset Brenda. If Richard ever got calls in the middle of the night from the hospital about one of his patients, they always called his cell phone. Not that he was doing direct patient care anymore, but maybe out of habit he still kept the phone by his bedside. I took the risk and hit speed dial.

It rang four times — about to go to voice mail when a sleepy voice said, “Hello?”

“My cat and I are standing in your driveway.”

“My what?” he asked, sleepily.

“Your driveway. Someone broke into my apartment and left a nest of angry wasps. I’m asking your permission to call the police.” I waited, letting my last two sentences sink in.

“Is this some kind of a sick joke?”

“It’s me, Jeff. Someone broke into my apartment,” I repeated. “Can I call the cops and report it?”

“Why wouldn’t you — ?” He stopped, no longer sounding half-asleep. “I’ll be right there.”

I pocketed my phone and watched as a trail of lights came on over at the big house. A minute later, Richard opened the back door and shuffled through it in his bathrobe and slippers. I didn’t cross the distance to meet him.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked, more than a little annoyed.

“You tell me. Or rather, have Da-Marr tell me. And then he can tell it to the cops.”

“Are you sure the place is full of wasps?”

“I bent down and took off my shoe and shoved it at him. Half a wasp body still protruded from the edge of my sole.

Richard swallowed. “How do you know Da-Marr did it?”

“How many people know I’m allergic to bees — and possibly wasps? Let me guess,” I said and calmly counted them off on my hand, amazed that I hadn’t already exploded in anger. “You, Brenda, Maggie — and I’m assuming Brenda told Evelyn, and who would have been sitting right next to her? Da-Marr.”

Richard looked back down at my shoe still in his hand. “Shit.”

“What are you going to do about it?” I demanded.

He looked up at me. “Me?”

I grabbed my shoe, slipping it back on my foot. “It’s your property.”

He sighed, looking panicked. “I can’t call the cops. Brenda would — ”

“Do you think she’d condone this?”

“Of course not, but — ”

“What’s going on?”

We both turned to see Brenda standing at the door, backlit by the pantry lights.

“Go back to bed,” Richard called.

“How can I?” she answered, sounding worried.

I reached for the cat carrier and turned for the garage.

“Where are you going?” Richard demanded.

“Where else? Maggie’s. If she’ll have me. Christ knows I’ve got nowhere else I can go,” I said, and opened the side door to the garage, slamming it.

I stowed the carrier on the backseat of my car, got in, and pressed the garage door button. The door went up and I started the engine, pulling out.

Richard was standing on the steps by the time I hit the button and the garage door started on its way back down. I turned on my headlights and hit the gas, my tires spinning.

I didn’t look back. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see either of them ever again.

“Don’t you dare call the police,” Brenda grated. She held the cup of steaming cocoa up to her lips but didn’t take a sip.

“This is more than a prank, Brenda. Being stung could literally kill Jeff,” Richard said. Screw cocoa, he took a sip of Scotch, neat.

Brenda set her cup back on the kitchen table, her eyes welling with tears. “I can’t believe it. I won’t.”

“But you said yourself — ”

She looked up, glaring at him. “We are
not
going to accuse a guest of such a heinous thing.”

“Okay, if you don’t want to believe in attempted murder, how about malicious mischief? Every light bulb in the place is missing — it looks like they were all smashed. And the place is full of wasps.” He held out his hand to show the swelling welt where he’d been stung. “It was just dumb luck that Jeff isn’t dead from anaphylactic shock.”

Brenda kept shaking her head. “No. Da-Marr may be troubled, but he’s not malicious. Evie says — ”

“That he can be rehabilitated? You saw what he did to Jeff’s garden. You saw how upset Evelyn was this evening. Admit it, both she and you are afraid of what this kid might be capable of doing.”

That she didn’t protest said a lot.

“Evelyn is —
we’re
— a positive influence on Da-Marr. I refuse to believe that he could do something this terrible. I refuse to believe that he is responsible.”

Richard chose his words carefully. “I understand that you want to give Da-Marr the benefit of the doubt, but admit it; is this someone you want around our baby?”

Brenda turned away. “I trust Evie’s judgment.”

And suddenly you don’t trust mine or Jeff’s?
he dearly wanted to ask.

“Richard, this boy has had a hard life. His family has more or less given up on him. All of them — except for Evie. She’s worked miracles with kids. She’s sure she’s turned him around. She’s sure — ”

“Why does she care so much? Why this boy?” Richard shook his head. “And that’s the thing; he’s not a boy. He’s a man. He’s twenty years old.”

“But he deserves a second chance. Evie doesn’t champion losers. In all the years she’s been a teacher and a school administrator, she’s never had a failure. She’s that good.”

Or was she willing to dismiss whatever failures she’d had?

Richard drained his glass, already wanting to pour another. But he wouldn’t because he could see the hurt in her eyes. More than once he’d had too much to drink. His mother had been a drunk. Brenda worried that he might succumb to that obsession. He couldn’t bear to see that look of disappointment in her eyes.

“So what do we do next?” he asked.

“Give Da-Marr the benefit of the doubt,” she said vehemently

“And the wasps up in Jeff’s apartment?”

“Call an exterminator. And we’ll get our cleaning service to see if they can send someone by in the morning.”

“And after that?” he asked.

She let out a shuddering breath. “Pray.”

Pray? They might as well make a wish on a falling star.

“And how do we keep this from happening again?”

“It won’t.”

“How do you know it won’t?”

“I will make sure it doesn’t,” she said, and then winced.

“What’s wrong?” Richard asked.

Brenda shook her head. “The baby kicked.” She reached for his hand and placed it on her abdomen. The tiny foot once again jutted against its fleshy prison.

“It won’t be long now,” Richard said. Judging by the position of the foot, the baby was starting to turn. He looked up at her, but neither of them could muster a smile. They’d so looked forward to this birth and now discord and enmity supplanted their joy.

They weren’t going to talk about it anymore that night. Brenda got up and poured her nearly full cup of cocoa down the sink, and Richard followed, placing his glass there, too, then they headed down the hall to the stairs.

No lights shone under the guest room doors. The house was as quiet as a tomb.

They climbed into bed and Richard molded his body against Brenda’s, but he could feel the tension emanating from her.

It was a long, long time before either of them fell back to sleep.