Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery) (10 page)

What the heck, it was as good a story as any. I nodded.

“Thought so.” He rested his arms on the counter and leaned close. “You got too many curves to be a cop.”

I smiled blandly and inched backwards on the bar stool. “Have you been working for George Marrero long?”

“About six months. I’m a drummer mostly, but things are kind of slow right now.” He gave me a pantomime demonstration, followed by another grin.

“What’s George like to work for?”

“Decent enough, as long as you do your work and stay out of his hair.”

“Eddie worked here occasionally, too, didn’t he?”

“Oh, he nosed around some, but I wouldn’t say he ever
worked
exactly. The way I understand it, he got some small part of the business when his old man passed away last fall. Now suddenly he’s an expert on running the place. He was always asking questions, going over invoices, nit-picking everything till we all wanted to strangle him. Only saving grace was he never stayed long.”

That didn’t fit with what Jannine had told me. “I thought he spent quite a few Saturdays here.”

“I don’t know where you got that. George didn’t want him hanging around at all. Finally got so fed up he wouldn’t let any of us even talk to the guy.”

“Then why did he let Eddie stay nights in the office upstairs?”

“Upstairs?”

“Isn’t there a studio upstairs that doubles as an office?”

“The office is in back, about three feet by three feet. There’s an apartment upstairs, but Eddie never stayed there.”

“You certain about that?”

“As certain as I can be.” Seth winked at me. “It’s mine, darlin’, and I’m real particular about who I bring home.” His elbows were resting on the bar top, and he took the opportunity to brush his hand lightly against mine. “You, though, I’d be only too glad to take in. Want to have a look a bit later?”

I shook my head and made a show of moving my hand. “What’s the matter, you got a boyfriend or something?”

“Yeah, and he’s a two hundred pound black belt with a quick temper.”

“Hey, I like women with a sense of humor.”

“Seth, you’re a sweetheart, but I’m old enough to be your mother.” That was stretching it, but I had to have had a good ten years on him.

Seth cocked his head and set his big blue eyes on me. “That right? Then I bet you’ve never had the kind of good time I can show you.”

Maybe, but it would remain my loss. I slipped off the bar stool and out the door before he had a chance for another wink.

<><><>

No upstairs apartment. No Saturday nights at the tavern.
I tried to tuck those details away because I didn’t want to think about what they meant. My mind has a will of its own though, and all the way over to Jannine’s I did nothing but dwell on the reasons why Eddie might have told his wife he spent Saturday nights someplace he didn’t. I came up with only one, and it left a pretty sour taste in my mouth.

By the time I got to Jannine’s the sour feeling had made it all the way down to my stomach. I almost turned around and drove home — my cowardly streak again. But it turns out I also have a strong sense of duty. Sometimes that’s good, sometimes it’s not.

I could hear the kids hollering even before I got out of the car.

“I did not.”

“You did, too.”

“Liar.”

It reminded me of the fights Sabrina and I used to have, fights that often escalated to the point where we were both shaking with rage and imagined injustice. And then I caught a quick, fleeting memory of my mother, her soft eyes unusually grave as she tried reasoning us out of our anger. It was summer, and my parents were getting ready to go out for the evening. My mother was wearing a yellow dress with a full skirt and a scalloped lace collar. Her hair was tied at her neck with a yellow velvet ribbon, and she smelled of floral cologne. I can’t remember what we were fighting about that time, or how it ended. But the image of my mother was so real my breath caught in my chest.

It happened like that sometimes, out of the blue. I could see her plain as day, hear her as clearly as though she were sitting next to me — and then, just as suddenly, it would be gone. Whenever I shut my eyes and actually tried to picture her, I could conjure up nothing but gray shadows.

I clung to the memory for as long as I could, then got out of the car and made my way to the door. Melissa yanked it open with a frown. Before I had a chance to speak, Laurel snuck up from behind and shot her with a rubber band, which sent Melissa shrieking off after her sister. Finally, Erin appeared at the door grasping Lily tightly by the wrist. Lily’s face and hair were thick with a gooey substance I finally identified as grape jam. At least I hoped it was jam, and not blood.

“Hi,” I said. “Is your mom here?”

“She’s resting.”

“How about your grandmother?”

“She’s gone.”

“So who’s in charge?”

A moment of steely silence. “I am.”

“Oh.” I smiled brightly, which was totally inappropriate under the circumstances. I couldn’t think what else to do. I’ve never been good at talking to children, and Erin wasn’t helping me out at all.

“Do you think your mom will be up soon?”

Lily started to reach for the door handle. Erin yanked her up short. Then she turned to glare at me as though Lily and I had conspired to give her a hard time.

I backed off. “Tell your mother I stopped by and that I’ll be back later, okay?”

She got in about half a nod before a series of shrieks from the back of the house sent us both running. By the time we got to the kitchen, a thick gray cloud hung in the air and flames licked at the corners of the oven. Melissa hopped from foot to foot, pointing, while Laurel continued to scream. Erin let go of Lily’s wrist and reached to turn off the burner. I grabbed a pot holder and dumped the charred remains of Erin’s culinary efforts into the sink. Then I opened the windows and started fanning the air with my arms.

“Shit,” Erin muttered.

“Oh-oh, you’re gonna get it. You know what Mom said.” Melissa and Laurel stood in the doorway shaking their heads in unison. Their earlier argument had apparently given way to the excitement of the moment.

“Oh, just shut up,” Erin said. “If you two hadn’t been fighting I would have remembered before it burned.”

“We weren’t fighting,” Laurel sniffed, “we were playing.”

I surveyed the kitchen, which looked something like the “before” scene from an Extra-Strength Tylenol ad. “There’s no damage done,” I said, with more conviction than I felt. I’d have personally shot anyone who treated
my
kitchen as badly. “Look, why don’t you all go play while I clean up, and then I’ll make some dinner. How does that sound?”

“Sounds stupid,” Laurel said. “That’s Erin’s job.”

“Yeah,” Melissa echoed, before they stomped off, letting the screen door slam behind them.

Erin looked at me soberly. “You want help?” she asked.

I shook my head. “You deserve a break. I work better by myself anyway.”

She rolled her eyes at me, and left without a word.

Lily crawled under the table and began to spoon-feed jam to the cat, taking alternate bites for herself. I left her there while I began tossing dishes into the sink. The cat couldn’t have many more germs than Lily, and the jar was almost empty anyway.

As it turned out, the mess was mostly superficial. By the time I’d washed the dishes, wiped the counters and swept the floor, the place was much improved. Cleaning up Lily was a bit more of an undertaking, and something of an education. Two year olds do not scrub up anywhere near as obligingly as a greasy pot.

When I’d finished dressing her, having learned in the process why so many mothers allow their children to wear mismatched clothing, I whipped up a bacon and cheese omelet, microwaved some frozen French fries, and poured four glasses of chocolate milk.

Laurel didn’t like bacon, Melissa wouldn’t eat French fries without catsup, which was nowhere to be found, and Erin was allergic to chocolate. Nonetheless, the prospect of food engendered enough of a cooperative spirit that I was able to leave them alone and check on Jannine.

Chapter 8

The bedroom door was shut. I knocked softly, taking the murmured response as an invitation to enter. The drapes were pulled, the lights off. The air was hot and heavy with the flat, slightly rank smell of unbound sorrow. Jannine lay sprawled on the bed hugging a pillow to her chest and staring blankly at the far wall.

“Jannine?” I hesitated by the door. When she didn’t answer, I moved closer. “Are you okay?”

She hugged the pillow tighter and moaned softly.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her head. I couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound hollow. Finally, Jannine rolled onto her back and shoved the front page of
The Hadley Times
in my direction.

“Have you seen the afternoon paper?” she asked. Her voice was thin and barely audible.

For the second time in two days, the face of a Marrero stared back at me in black and white. This time the face was Jannine’s. Above it, the headline, “Wife Questioned in Coach’s Death.”

I read through the story quickly. Not a direct quote or named source in the whole piece. “There’s nothing concrete here,” I told her.
“The Hadley Times
has always been a sensationalist paper. I’m sure there’s nothing more to it than what we already know.”

Jannine propped herself against the pillows. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, but her face crumpled anyway. “Oh God, Kali, how did this happen?” The tears welled up, and then, suddenly, she was crying for real — deep, racking sobs that went on and on. Occasionally she’d sputter a few incoherent words, as though she were trying to drag herself from the edge of the abyss, but the effort seemed to throw her back once again into primitive, all encompassing despair.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her against my chest as though she were a child. Finally the flood of tears subsided. She released her grip on my shoulders and sighed, a ragged, weary breath that seemed to consume her entire body.

“Shit, shit and double shit,” she said.

I seconded the notion.

“You know what’s funny?” Jannine said, drawing in another deep breath. “I’m scared out of my mind, and the person I want to run to for comfort is the very same person they’re accusing me of killing.”

“No one’s accused you yet,” I reminded her.

“Maybe not officially. That hardly matters though.”

It mattered a great deal, but I didn’t think it was worth arguing the point right then.

Jannine pulled the pillow into her lap and began smoothing it with her hand. “Eddie could be such a pain when he put his mind to it,” she said wistfully, “but, my God, I loved him. So much it scared me sometimes.”

I nodded. There was nothing I could say.

“I’ll listen for him, or look for him, or think about something I want to tell him, and it takes a second or two before I realize he’s not here anymore, that he’s never going to be here again.” Jannine was swallowing hard and talking in short, shallow-breathed spurts. “I never imagined such emptiness.”