Death in Daytime (17 page)

"Why haven't you ever gotten married?"

"Oh, I've been married," he said. "Twice. I'm the biggest cliche in the department, the cop so married to his job he can't keep a wife happy."

"Is that true?"

"Why else would they both have cheated on me?"

"Maybe it was a failing in them," I said. "Did you ever consider that?"

He looked at me quickly, then back at the road.

"Actually, yeah, I did think that once," he said, "but I thought I was just being an asshole."

"Maybe you like being as asshole," I said.

"Well, I've pretty much been one to you, haven't I?" he asked.

"I suppose that's the way you do your job," I said.

"Annoy the hell out of your suspects until they confess."

"Touche."

Sure enough, when we got to my house there wasn't a reporter or camera in sight, but I suddenly had second thoughts about being there, anyway. About having Julia, Sarah and my mom there, as well.

"Don't worry," Jakes said, as if reading my mind,

"I'm going to have someone watching the house."

"Yeah, but for how long?"

"Until we catch the killer," he promised. He walked us inside and asked where my mother and Sarah were.

"She has a place out back by the canal."

"It might be better for all of you to stay in the same house."

"We're not going to stay locked up," I said. "I have to go out--"

"I can't have a man cover you if you go out, Alex," he warned.

"Whoever the killer is, they're not going to try to kill me out in public. I think they've already proven that."

"We don't know how desperate this killer is going to get," Jakes said. "Now he's killed two people and tried for you. He--or she--is escalating."

"I'll be careful when I go out."

"Maybe you can have your boyfriend go with you," he suggested.

"I can take care of myself," I said. "Besides, we kind of had a fight. . . ."

"Oh? About what?"

I looked at him to see if he was being cute.

"Never mind."

"Hey, Julia," he called, turning toward her. "You've been real quiet. How about a hug goodbye?"

Julia fell into his arms and he hugged her tightly while she held on to him. It must have felt nice. I was wondering what I'd do if he offered me a hug. Then I wondered how I'd feel if he didn't. I walked Jakes out to his car after telling Julia to make herself at home.

"I hope she won't be much trouble," he said, "but this has to be better than putting her in a women's shelter. I mean, she's still a child."

Jakes's concern for Julia's well-being had me looking at him in a whole different light. I guess I'd been seeing him all along as a cop, and not as an attractive single man.

Down girl, you've got a guy--or do you?

"She'll be fine," I said. "Maybe she and Sarah will get along. Neither of them has a sister. They might like it."

"You've got a point," he said. "I hope it works out. I'll be, uh, checking in on her, if that's okay."

"That's fine."

"In fact, I'd better just check in on the whole family." He reached into his pocket, took out a card; then he took my hand and pressed the card into my palm.

"All my numbers are on there, including my cell,"

he said. "Call me if you need anything, or if you even think anything is wrong."

"Um, you said something about having someone watch," I said, lamely.

"Right across the street, that black Crown Victoria," he said. "That's one of my men. He'll be relieved by someone else with the same car."

"Should we invite him in? I mean, give him coffee or anything?"

"He'll be fine just where he is," Jakes said. "I'll pull up alongside and speak to him before I leave."

He was still holding on to my hand, and it wasn't that I minded as much as it made me self-conscious. I eased mine from his as gently as I could.

"I--we all appreciate this, Detective."

"It's my job, Alex," he told me.

"It's more than a job with you, isn't it, Detective?"

"Frank," he said, "my first name is Frank, and yes, it is more than a job with me. I'm glad you noticed." With that he turned and walked to his car. As promised, he swung it around until it was parallel with his man's car. They had a conversation, and then Jakes drove away. I looked down at his business card. It was funny, but I thought I could still feel the pressure of his hand. I turned and went into the house.

Julia and Sarah took to each other immediately, which was a relief. In no time Julia was chasing Sarah around the house, and my mother was watching them, already fond of her newly acquired granddaughter. Which was good, because she was going to be stuck with them the next day.

Paul had said I was out of it because Jakes no longer counted me as a suspect. I thought that was remarkably shortsighted of him. After all, someone had killed a coworker of mine and had apparently meant for me to take the blame. Then when I wouldn't sit still for that, they tried to kill me and make it look like suicide. It was all very frightening, I admit, and I probably should have just hidden in the house with Jakes's man outside watching us. But I couldn't do it. I was too mad and--okay--carried away with my role as amateur detective--even if I hadn't been a very good one up to now. But out of it? I didn't think so. I couldn't remember who'd said it to me in the hospital--or maybe I'd just thought of it myself--but someone I had already interviewed may have tried to kill me or have me killed. I intended to retrace my steps and talk to all the same people. Was I frightened?

You bet, but even more than that, I was mad. Suppose Sarah had been with me when I pulled my car into the garage? What would the killer have done? Put her in the car next to me? Just the thought of that made me furious. It also made me want to hug the stuffing out of Sarah, so I joined Julia in chasing her, and in no time we were passing her back and forth, and she was giggling like crazy. But while we were getting along, we were also very nervous. The last twenty-four hours had brought us all some sort of trauma, and we were jumping at shadows and flinching every time a floorboard creaked, even with the police presence outside.

"You know," my mother said to me at one point,

"I've seen plenty of movies where they leave one cop outside and he ends up sitting behind the wheel of his car--dead. And nobody knows it until too late."

We were in the kitchen. Julia and Sarah were watching TV, and my mother was keeping her voice down.

"Mom, if you think he's dead, take him a cup of coffee and check."

"I'm not going out there," she said. "Something could happen between here and his car. And why's he parked across the street?"

Suddenly, Julia and Sarah were in the kitchen with us.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," Julia said.

My daughter was much more truthful.

"We heard a noise outside."

"You see?" my mother whispered. "Somebody could be coming from the canals."

"Why don't we ask the policeman in the car across the street to come and have some milk?" Sarah asked. I stared at her. I didn't even think she was aware of the cop across the street.

"That's it," I said. "Everybody pack a bag. Julia, I have some clothes that will fit you until we can get your stuff. Or else we'll go out and buy some new stuff."

"Shopping?" she asked. Even traumatized teenage girls respond to shopping.

"Sure, why not? Shopping. But first I'm going to go and talk to the nice policeman across the street."

"Where are we going?" Sarah asked.

"It's a surprise."

I headed for the front door.

"Check and see if he's dead," my mother hissed at me.

He wasn't dead.

Twenty minutes later we were all in my kid car and the nice policeman was following us. I'd told him that we were too nervous to stay in the house, since somebody had already tried to kill me there.

"I can't say I blame you, ma'am," the detective had said.

It was a nice thing to say, but God, I hated to be called "ma'am"! Especially by a man who was at least ten years older than I was. I piled everyone into the car and we drove to Silverlake.

"Whose house are we going to?" Sarah asked. "My friend George," I told her. And then to Julia I said, "He does my hair on the show. He lives in a beautiful 1920s Spanish with his partner. Lots of room."

I'd called George on my cell and he'd invited us all over, even though I had sort of already done that myself.

When we got there Wayne had the door open and was waiting for us.

"You poor things," he said, giving me a loving and remarkably powerful hug for such a slender man, and then quickly hugging Sarah, who returned it in kind.

"Come in, come in. I'm Wayne. You must be Alex's mother. I can see where she gets her looks from. Come in, darling," he said to Julia. "You'll be safe here--and comfortable. George, they're here!"

"I know they're here," George said, greeting us in the living room. "I can hear you chattering."

He also gave Sarah and me a hug, and extended his hands to my mother and Julia, squeezing theirs reassuringly.

"You're all welcome to stay as long as you want. We have two guest rooms. You can split them up any way you like."

"I want to stay with Julia!" Sarah shouted.

"If it's all right with Julia, and your mom, that's what you'll do," George told her.

"It's fine with me," Julia told me.

"Okay, then I'll room with Mom."

"And we'll have dinner--I hope you haven't eaten yet?" Wayne asked.

"I'm hungry!" Sarah chimed in.

"Good, we'll eat dinner, and then we'll make some s'mores."

"Yay!" Sarah yelled.

George and Wayne were great. They were treating it as one big pajama party/sleepover. Meanwhile, there was still a cop outside the door in case somebody tried to kill me--again.

It was a big party until Sarah's eyes finally started to close. Luckily, Julia was also pretty wiped out, so when I announced it was time for Sarah to go to bed and she protested, even with her eyes at half-mast, Julia announced, "Me, too," and that solved that problem. I mouthed a silent "Thank you" to her as she marched Sarah off to their room.

"I think I'm going to turn in, too," my mother said.

"The last couple of days have just been too exciting for me."

"Good night, Mom," I said.

I wondered about my mother and how she'd stand up to this. So far she'd just been too quiet and too calm. I knew I'd been neglecting my family in the face of these murders. I wondered how cops managed to juggle business and home life--then remembered what Jakes said about being divorced, and figured they didn't do it very well.

When it was just me and George sitting in their tasteful, artistically furnished living room, Wayne came in carrying two glasses of white wine.

"You two probably want to talk," he said, "so I'll say good night. I'll be up early to make breakfast for everyone."

"You don't have to do that, Wayne--"

"Hush," he said. "I never get a chance to make a big breakfast. This one's always running late and just wants coffee and a muffin."

"Leave him alone," George told me. "He's in his element now, entertaining."

"You help this diva solve all her problems, Georgie," Wayne said, giving his partner a kiss good night. "Girl, you are the only reason I watch that show of yours."

I opened up my mouth to protest the diva reference, then just gave up. Obviously, it comes with the territory.

"He's a gem," I said. "Don't you let him get away."

"I have no intention of doing that," George said. They were a great couple. Together for so long and really kind to each other. Their union was my model for a healthy relationship. Two gay guys. Why not?

Georgie got up and plopped down right next to me.

"Okay, let's hear it--I mean really hear it. I've read the tabloids, but I need to get the real stuff from you. Tell me everything that's been going on."

So I did, starting with somebody trying to gas me. . . .

"You poor thing," George said, when I finished,

"but everything's all right now, isn't it? I mean, you're not a suspect anymore."

"There is that," I said, "but someone still tried to kill me, George." "Yes, but if you stop asking questions, why would they try again?"

Essentially, he was telling me the same thing Paul had, to back off. Which reminded me. Had I treated Paul badly at the Roswell house? I had to call him.

"I can't do that, George."

"Why?"

"Truthfully?" I put down my wineglass and pulled my knees up to my chest. "This all scares the hell out of me, George . . . and I've never felt more alive. I have to see this through to the end or I won't be able to live with myself. I know I've been stumbling around, but you know what? I'm also so damn mad. And when I get mad, I get stubborn. Any of that make sense?"

"All of it, I guess."

"Then there's Julia," I said. "She was kind of a brat to me when I first met her, but she's not a bad kid, and she's alone."

"Why would anyone want to kill that sweet child?" he asked.

"Why did anyone want to kill her parents?" I countered.

"Well, Marcy was a bitch," George said.

"And her ex-husband?"

"What did he do for a living?"

"He was a businessman," I said. "An investor, I think."

"There you go," George said. "He made deals. He probably cheated somebody. Maybe his murder and hers aren't related."

"That would be a heck of a coincidence, wouldn't it?" I asked.

"Well, it could be true," George said. "We know one thing for sure."

"What's that?"

"The attempt on you has nothing to do with his murder," George said. "He wasn't even dead yet when you started your investigation."

"So I still only have to be concerned with hers, even though the cops probably think the killer is the same."

We were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, facing each other, each leaning an elbow of one arm on the back while holding a glass of wine in the other. And we were clicking, sort of playing dueling motives and theories.