Keegan 00 Soft Case (27 page)

“Anything happen recently?”

“I think they were fighting right before it happened. She was mad he wasn’t going down to the Bahamas, and he was certain she was cheating on him with someone he knew. He wouldn’t say who it was, probably because he wasn’t sure.”

“Could it have been Chapman?” I asked, taking a proverbial shot in the dark.

She laughed. “Harold? Absolutely not. I take it you have met him?”

“I have.”

“And you think it would be possible for her to fool around on my son with him?”

“Maybe for the money.”

“My son had plenty of that. She went for younger men. She likes excitement, challenges. Harold would never be able to offer any of that.”

She was right.

“You have any idea who it might be?”

“I don’t.”

I thought about asking her some more questions, but I realized that she didn’t really deserve to be put through anything else. “Well, that’s about it, unless you have any other information that might be helpful.”

“I can tell you one thing, detective. My son did not commit suicide. Someone is responsible for this, and I pray to God you find out who it was.”

“I will.”

Roseanna walked into the room.

“If it’s okay, Jackie, I am all finished, and would like to go home.”

“No problem, Roseanna.” Ms. Minkoff stood up. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Detective. I will be keeping an eye out to see how this investigation is handled.”

You really don’t want to do that, ma’am, I thought. “I will do my best.”

I got up and walked toward the door. Roseanna was right behind me. “Take care,” I said to Ms. Minkoff, and opened the door.

When we made it outside, Roseanna asked, “You don’t have any other questions for me?”

I thought about that for a moment. My luck had been running incredibly high that day. I figured I might as well throw the dice one more time, just to see what happened.

“Well, on a non-professional level, I would like to know what you are doing for dinner this evening.”

“That’s an interesting question, Detective. I guess I should be careful how I answer.”

I felt the controls of the plane slip. I was heading for a crash, and fast.

“Answer any way you like.”

“Okay. I’m not doing anything, and I would be delighted to come to your place for dinner.”

My place? My place? Jesus, talk about stellar luck. If there wasn’t an innuendo in that response, then there is no such thing as an innuendo.

“That sounds great. Say, eight?”

“I’ll be there.”

I gave Roseanna directions. I had first suggested that she take the LIRR, but she said she preferred to drive. I would have to make sure she had a spot to park in. She jotted the directions down, gave me a seductive smile, and got into her car. Man, despite the difficulty I was having, life was getting good. Maybe there was more to this suspension thing than I had previously thought.

I raced home. I had plenty of things to do before Roseanna got there. First off, I had to clean. I know that most people would think I was wasting my time with some house cleaning when I should have been out there trying to save my ass. Those people would probably be right, too. The problem was, I needed to get laid, and bad. It’s really hard to focus on a major investigation when you have the baby batter on the brain. I needed to exercise some underused muscles, relieve some stress, and then get focused. Of course, I might have been jumping ahead of myself, but I was going on instinct here. Roseanna wanted one thing, and I would be more than happy to give it to her.

I started in the living room first. I threw the pizza boxes out. That made the place looks ten times better already. I checked under the couch cushions next, and found about two dollars in change, potato chip crumbs that could fill an entire bag, and four empty packs of cigarettes. I was starting to gross myself out. Was I that dirty? Answer - yes.

After I went through the living room, I broke out the Windex. I sprayed everything, and came up with more dust than a roll of paper towels could handle. I was most amazed with how much filth was on the television. I always wondered why the damned picture on that thing never looked good. The room even smelled better when I was finished.

The next trip was to the bedroom. I couldn’t remember the last time I changed my sheets. I went into the closet, got some new ones, and threw them on. Major improvement. The pillow cases I found didn’t match, but they were close enough. I preferred to have clean ones instead of matching ones anyway. The comforter was the only one I had, so I sprinkled a little cologne on it, improving its smell immensely.

I thought I was done. I sat down on the couch, proud of my work. I still had a lot to do, mainly supplying food, but I was pretty sure I was finished cleaning. Then I remembered possibly the most important thing of all, the bathroom. Women are really picky about bathrooms. Mine was a disgrace. Reluctantly, I walked in there and surveyed it for a moment. There was so much white crap chunked on the sink that I forgot what color it was originally. I didn’t have bathroom cleaner, so I had to rely on the Windex again. I sprayed a ton of it on, and decided to let it set in for a bit before I wiped it. I moved to the toilet next. I’d rather not discuss what variety of gunk was on there, but it took a long time to clean. I almost puked when I was done. The sink came pretty clean, except for the hard water stains that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard I scrubbed. I felt like a homemaker doing all of that. It was, however, a means to an end.

Being that I didn’t have any food to speak of, I’d have to order out. My funds were low, so my only choice was to use the credit card, something I really preferred not to do. I didn’t use it often, mainly because I was a poor bookkeeper and constantly made late payments. It was the intrusive phone calls late at night that I hated the most.

I thought about my dinner options, and settled on Angelo’s, a small, quiet Italian restaurant on the comer. I often brought that stuff home because I was too lazy to cook all the time. The food was better than decent, and I figured that Roseanna wasn’t used to high-class meals. At least, that’s what I hoped. If she was looking for class, she had barked up the wrong tree.

Twenty Two

I had just finished unpacking the food and putting it on to plates when my buzzer rang. I set the food on the table, ran to the bathroom for a quick breath freshener, and went to the door. I hit the talk button on my intercom.

“Hello,” I said.

“It’s me.” Women always say, “It’s me,” even if you barely know them. I think it’s a test they always like to use, to see if there are any other “me’s” around. The whole “me” thing is nothing more than an elaborate trap, and I do not feel sorry for any guy who falls victim to it.

“It’s me too,” I said.

“Funny. So, should I just stand out here all night, or are you going to let me in?”

“I’ll think about it.” Then I pressed the buzzer. No sense in risking it. Remember the thing about my humor and timing.

She made it to the door, which I had so politely opened, dressed in a white sweater and a short black miniskirt. The legs were nice, very nice. The sort you want to munch on for an hour or two. I was standing in the kitchen when she got to the door, and I caught her take a quick glance around my pad. She seemed to like what she saw, whatever the hell that might have been.

“Hello,” I said, from the kitchen, pretending like I was busy. I wasn’t actually going for the “I cooked this meal” routine, but if she automatically assumed that, I knew it wouldn’t hurt.

“How are you?”

“Good. Want something to drink? Soda, wine?” Yes, I was smart enough to get some beverages, and had talked the guy at Angelo’s into selling me two bottles of Chianti at a reasonable price.

He even threw in two wine glasses.

“Red?”

“Got that.”

I poured the wine and brought it out to her. She had put on some makeup. Not much, but it was noticeable, and she looked even better than the first few times I saw her. Her lips were painted an almost crimson red, and she had on some light eye shadow. She smelled of perfume, the sort of perfume that excites the, um, senses, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, then you need to start hanging around some seductive women. Try the street near the Javits Center. They only charge twenty bucks.

“You look nice,” I said, as I handed her the wine. She smiled, took a sip, and I noticed the lipstick left a smudge on the glass. I don’t know why, but at that moment, it turned me on. I think she noticed, because she smiled again, this time with a devious look on her face.

She was going to tear me apart.

I showed her to the couch, and turned on the television.

“Relax for a moment. I’m almost done in the kitchen.”

“Need any help?” Was this woman sent from heaven, or what? She actually wanted to help. Of course, being the gentleman I am, I couldn’t allow that.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve got everything under control. I should be done torching my kitchen in about five minutes.”

She laughed. The timing looked to be improving.

I went back into the kitchen and finished getting everything ready. I had gotten a cold antipasto, a large Caesar salad, one order of chicken parmigiana, one veal, and some pasta. I told the guy I ordered it from to go easy on the garlic, mainly because I didn’t want anything to take away from the romance. I brought the antipasto and the salad out together, along with two plates and some forks. I even went as far as to steal two cloth napkins when the guy wasn’t looking, so the effect was complete.

I placed the food down on the coffee table.

“Nice spread,” she said.

I sat down next to her, close, but not too close. She edged a little bit closer to me. “Is that Caesar?”

“It is.”

“That’s my favorite.”

Of course it is.

“Only the best,” I said, half-laughing.

We started eating and making common small talk. She asked me how the case was going. I lied and said it was going great. She talked a little bit about how she was cleaning houses but had other aspirations. I’d be lying if I told you I remembered what it was. It wasn’t important, that’s all I can tell you.

“That was great,” she said. “I can’t wait to see what the main course is like.”

“It’s coming,” I said.

“Can I have some more wine?”

What was I thinking? I had gone to great lengths to get the wine, and I had left it in the kitchen. She should have been on her third glass. Missed opportunity. I was slipping.

“Of course,” I said. I ran into the kitchen, literally, and fetched the wine. When I got back, she was leaning back on the couch, staring at me. The laws of the jungle applied here. The prey was waiting to be taken. I didn’t expect it to happen so fast, but I knew right then it was going to.

I sat down next to her, and she leaned on me as I refilled her glass. I lifted the glass, handed it to her, and caught her eyes. When I was a teenager, I was horrible at picking up the signs that it was time to plant one on a girl. Later in life, I learned never to miss them. This was one of those signs.

I put the glass back on the coffee table, and laid one on her. She gave into me immediately, pulling herself closer, and placing her hand on mine. I wrapped my free arm around her waist and pulled her even closer. Her lips were soft and warm, and her tongue rolled over mine expertly. She was turning me on in the worst way. I don’t think there was ever any doubt in her mind; I was the main course that night.

We continued, and I moved my hand down to her ass, squeezing it. She moaned slightly, and kissed me harder. She put her hand on my face, freeing up my right hand. I moved to her breasts, which were firm, but not too much so. I focused on the right one first, then shifted to the left one, caressing them from the base to the nipple. She took her free hand and placed it halfway up my thigh.

We were ready to go.

She leaned forward, pushing me down on my back, and then began to suck on my neck, while her hand made its way from my thigh to my crotch. She stroked me softly through my pants. She was good, damn good. I took a full handful of her hair and pulled at it softly. She bit my lower lip. No one had ever done that to me. I loved it.

I slid a hand up her skirt from the back. She was wearing a thong. Jesus, this was just getting better and better. Her ass was so soft, and just the right size. I squeezed it hard, and she moaned again. I was beginning to think she was enjoying this more than I was.

Then she changed that. She slid her head down to my chest, opened a few buttons, and pretty much licked me all over. She then unbuckled by belt, opened my pants, and moved her head to the area I had been praying she would.

I won’t get disgusting, but I’ll just say that she gave me, without a doubt, the best oral sex I ever had in my life. It didn’t last long, but it was just fine in my book.

“You have protection?” she asked.

“I have a gun or two. We should be okay.”

She laughed. “You know what I mean.”

“In the bedroom.”

“Let’s go.”

We got up, and I carried her into the bedroom, closed the door, and the rest is history. I won’t give you details, mainly because I don’t kiss and tell. Besides, I don’t want you thinking bad thoughts about Roseanna. She is one of the sweetest creatures I have ever come across in my life.

Let’s just say that she wiped me out.

I woke up about nine the next morning, only to find that Roseanna had left me. What more could I ask for? We had made love for a good part of the night, and we never got to eat the food I had bought. It had probably gone bad, sitting out all night. Well, it was worth the money. All of it.

I don’t normally sleep naked, but I have to tell you, it is a great experience. I felt more comfortable than I had felt in a long time. I didn’t want to get out of bed. The sheets still smelled of her perfume, and it turned me on. Nothing I could do about that, however.

I heard a low beeping. I then remembered that Uncle Paul’s cell phone rang the night before in the middle of the festivities, and Roseanna had thrown it on the floor. I hadn’t heard it again. I reached down, searched the floor with my hand, and found it underneath the bed. The screen said I had a message, but I had no idea how to retrieve it. I did notice that the phone had Caller ID, and after fumbling around a bit, I found how to list the incoming calls. I dialed the last number, vaguely recognizing it as Uncle Paul’s cell number. The line rang three times, then Uncle Paul answered.