Sweet Poison (27 page)

“Okay. But just because you gave it to her, that doesn’t mean it was the one used to kill her.”

“Of course it was,” he choked out, leaning forward as if he was in physical pain. “Keen must have wrestled it away from her. Maybe that’s what gave him the idea to make it look like Corey Hodge had
done it. But it’s all my fault. I should never have taken that thing out of your desk in the first place. I’m a coward, Luke. Where was my faith?”

“Where was your
God
when you were being beaten half to death?”

Christopher plowed on, indifferent to Luke’s words. “It’s eating me alive, the guilt I feel over her death. I’m glad you asked me about the taser. I wanted to tell you, but I just … I couldn’t. Now that you know—” Everything came spilling out. All the pent-up emotion he’d kept trapped inside ever since he’d learned Charity had been killed. “I know how to act, how to cover up my feelings, but the truth is, I see Charity’s face in my mind all the time now, see her dying there on the ground all alone. I should never have told her about the taser. I feel like I’m falling, Luke. Like God has forsaken me because of my sins and I’m falling through midair with nothing to hold on to and no one to save me.”

“I’m here,” said Luke, though he could see in Christopher’s eyes that his presence, even his love, would never be enough.

Corey left several messages for Serena, but when she didn’t return them, he began to worry. What if Johnny, in a rage at being tossed out, had lost his temper and knocked her around again? Just the thought of that asshole hurting her made Corey want to wedge the guy’s head in a vise.

And that’s why, on his way down Lyndale, the speedometer on his motorcycle inched up past fifty. He needed to get to her house fast.

When the cop pulled him over and asked for his license, he let loose with a stream of such foul language that if his aunt had heard it, she would have disowned him.

“You on your way to a fire?” asked the cop, standing next to the cycle and writing out the ticket.

Corey thought it was a stupid question, one that didn’t require an
answer. He took the ticket and stuffed it in his pocket. Before the cop was even back in his cruiser, he was off again.

He arrived just as his digital watch hit noon. Right away he noticed that the black Monte Carlo that had been in the driveway the other night was gone. Serena’s Tempo was missing, too.

Setting the stand on his bike, he swung his leg off and trotted across the grass to the front stoop. Pounding on the door long and hard, he stood back and waited, all the while scrutinizing the other houses on the block. None of them were exactly palatial. In the daylight, Serena’s place looked smaller and even more dingy than it had the other night. The eaves were all rotted, the screens were either rusted or missing, and some of the windows were broken, the panes held together with tape. Cocking his head at the garage, he had the feeling it was tilted, listing precariously to the left. He was surprised the property hadn’t been condemned.

Growing impatient, he banged on the door again. When nobody answered, he walked out to the middle of the front yard and yelled, “Serena! Open up!”

One house over, a woman’s head emerged from the front door. “You a bill collector?”

“Me? Nah, a friend.”

“She’s not home. I saw her drive off a couple hours ago.”

“You know when she’ll be back?”

“Her kid usually gets home around three thirty. If she can’t be here, sometimes her mom comes by to take him, but more often than not she asks me to take care of him until she gets back. She never asked me today, so maybe she’ll be home by then.”

“Thanks.” Corey gazed up at the house, disgusted that his son had to call this dump a home. Head down, he walked back to his bike.

Corey had never been to the Xanadu club before, but he had been to the old Xanadu theater many times in his late teens. Back then it was a pit, a place to hear alternative punk bands, all Nine Inch Nails clones,
none of them well-known but each sufficiently loud and agonized to entertain. He was amazed to find that the deco interior had not only been preserved but also restored. Polished brass, lots of beautiful wood paneling, soft lighting. It must have cost a mint to do it. But then, Lawless had a mint. Several mints, no doubt, right at her fingertips.

Catching the bartender’s eye, Corey stepped up to the counter. “I’m looking for Jane Lawless.”

The bartender, a broad-shouldered guy in a tight yellow Xanadu Club T-shirt, lifted his hand and pointed down.

A second later, Jane popped up from below the bar, a clipboard held in her right hand. “Corey. Hi.”

She seemed surprised and a little mystified by his sudden appearance. In person, she looked younger, even a little prettier than the pictures he’d seen of her in the newspapers. He’d met her only a couple of times and didn’t remember her all that well. He liked the way she had her hair—kind of twisted into a braid at the back of her neck. But, for sure, she dressed like a dyke—ratty jeans and a gray hoodie.

“Can I help you?” she asked, laying down the clipboard.

“Yeah, you can,” he said, pressing his hands against the counter and leaning toward her. “You can stay the hell out of my business.”

She motioned for him to follow her down to the end of the bar, where none of the customers were seated.

“Would you care to explain?”

“Sure.” He resumed the same aggressive stance. Rocking up on the tips of his toes, he said, “My aunt Mary told me she asked you to look into Charity Miller’s murder. I don’t need your help.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He blinked. “That’s it?”

“Well, Mary thinks you’re innocent, but she’s concerned the police will come to the wrong conclusion. That’s why she asked me—and a friend—to help.”

“The private eye.”

She nodded.

“My aunt’s softhearted. I love her for it, but sometimes she’s also softheaded. I’m going to say this one more time. I … don’t … need … your … help. Stop messing with my life. That clear enough?”

“Very clear.”

“You rich people—”

“Excuse me?”

“You think you’re better than everybody else.”

“Better? I don’t believe I’ve ever had a conversation with you about how I think or feel, so I’m not sure how you’d know that.”

“Amusing. You’re a real hoity-toity bitch.”

“And you’re trying to pick a fight. Why?”

“I pegged you years ago. You’re one of those people who thinks that because a guy gets in trouble with the law, he’s stupid.”

“I don’t think that. Not for a second.”

“Bullshit
. I didn’t do it. I never touched that woman. And I didn’t kill Charity.” He dared her with his eyes to contradict him. “You wanna know something?”

“Not particularly.”

“I’ve probably read more books than anybody you know.”

“Good for you.”

Everything she said pulled his strings. “Just stay the hell out of my business. If you don’t, believe me, you’ll regret it.”

“Is that a threat? And before you tell me it wasn’t a threat, just a warning, let me say that if that’s your answer, I think you’ve watched way too many crime dramas.”

“Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”

“I’m not sure what you are. The jury’s still out.”

Before he could dig himself in any deeper, he turned and left. As he reached the sidewalk in front of the building, he felt like putting his fist through the plate-glass window behind him. He had a hell of a time controlling himself when he got all wound up. But he couldn’t
let go, not the way he wanted to. With all his might, he shook off the anger coiling in his gut and forced himself to walk away.

Serena’s Tempo was parked on the street in front of her house when he returned shortly before three. He was still steamed in general and pissed specifically that she hadn’t returned his calls.

Banging on the front door, he called, “Serena? Answer the goddamn door.” He glanced up at the second-floor windows. One of them looked like a sheet had been hung across it. The sheet was old and dirty, like it had been hanging there since the Civil War. He banged again.

Finally, he heard the bolt being drawn, and a second later Serena appeared. She was wearing a bright green T-shirt and tight jeans. She looked hot.

“So? Can I come in?”

She hesitated. “I’m folding some clothes in the living room.”

He walked in behind her, noting that most of the furniture looked like it had come from a garage sale. There was a lot of clutter. After removing a purse, a stack of magazines, and an empty Kleenex box from one of the chairs, he sat down.

“I know the place is a mess,” said Serena, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’m up late because I work late, and then I sleep way too long in the morning. Johnny usually gets Dean off to school.”

“Well, I’ll do that now,” said Corey. “And I can help with the chores. I like cleaning, as long as it’s not for somebody else. And I’m even a pretty fair cook, if you remember correctly.”

She smiled, but the smile faded before it ever actually bloomed.

“Okay, so … should we gather all Johnny’s stuff, toss it out on the sidewalk?”

“Look, I—”

“If you don’t want to, I’ll do it myself. We just need to get it done before he gets back from work. If you don’t have any boxes, I know where I can find some.”

“About that.”

“I know, I know. You probably feel sorry for him. But you’ve got to see it’s for the best. You can’t live with a guy who uses you as a punching bag.”

“That only happened a couple times. And frankly, I think it was mostly my fault.”

“Your fault? How do you figure?”

“Johnny’s … jealous, you know? Because he loves me.”

She hadn’t come right out and said it, but Corey couldn’t miss the drift the conversation was taking. “You’ve got cold feet. You don’t want to replace the devil you know with the one you don’t.”

“Yeah. Sorta.”

He shot to his feet. “But you do know, me, Serena. You believed I loved you once. You gotta give me another chance. Especially now, with Dean. I’ve got lots of money in the bank. I can take care of you, both of you.”

“You’ve got a job?” she said, looking at him in that sideways way of hers.

“Yeah. A good one. I work at a car dealership.”

“You fix cars?”

“It pays well and I get benefits. We could be a family, babe. I want to marry you—I always have. You’d be on my health insurance, my dental insurance. You’d be the beneficiary on my life insurance, not that I’m ever gonna die.” He grinned. “Can Johnny give you any of that?”

She sank down on the couch. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s an easy choice. A no-brainer. On the one hand you’ve got a bum who knocks you around and on the other you’ve got me, a man who loves you and just happens to be the father of your child.”

“You’re confusing me. You’re a good talker. You always were.”

“Baby, what’s there to think about? With me it’s win-win.”

“But Johnny said you’re about to be arrested for murder.”

“I am so sick and tired of being accused of crap I didn’t do.”

Looking at the folded clean clothes sitting on the coffee table, she said, “I just don’t know.”

The front door opened and shut and Dean walked in.

“Hi,” he said, glancing at his mom, then giving Corey a quick onceover.

Corey wondered if he was catching the resemblance.

“Who are you?” he asked, chewing his gum.

“Corey Hodge. I’m an old friend of your mom’s.”

“Hey, Mom, could you take Jamir and me to a movie this weekend? It’s at the Riverview, so it’s cheap. I’ll even fork over some of my allowance.”

“What’s the movie?” she asked.

“The newest Harry Potter.”

“You like to read?” asked Corey.

“Not really.”

“I thought maybe you’d read all the Harry Potter books like I did. I think they’re terrific.”

“I just like the movies,” mumbled Dean. “Can we, Mom?”

“Let me think about it. Go get yourself something to eat. Hey, I bought some of those pizza rolls you like. They’re in the freezer.”

He dumped his backpack next to the stairs and bolted for the kitchen in the back.

“God, what a great kid,” said Corey, his eyes glued to the place where he’d been standing.

“Yeah, he is.”

“So, come on, Serena. Give me the word and I’ll take care of Johnny. You’ll never have to see him again. Promise.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“I love him, Corey.”

He couldn’t believe he’d heard her right. “You’re serious?”

She nodded.

“But … what about me?”

“You push too hard. I need some time to think about this. It’s a big change. You’re asking me to turn my entire life upside down.”

He didn’t see it that way. Not at all. But he could tell he was treading
on treacherous ground. “Okay. You got a point. But while you’re thinking things over, could I, like, take Dean to a football game or something?”

“I don’t know.”

“Serena, you owe me that much.”

“I don’t see how I owe you anything.”

He wanted to scream at her, but he didn’t want to scare the kid, even though the fire inside him was beginning to build. This was the danger point, and he knew it. “You never told me I was a father.”

“I had my reasons.”

“Whatever they were, it’s not fair.”

“You were always so quick to talk about what was fair and what wasn’t. Okay, let’s talk about that. Was it fair that the man I loved was sent to prison for rape? Was it fair that I was left alone to have a child with only my hysterical, critical mother for moral and financial support? Was it fair that I’ve spent the last nine years scraping and clawing, working my ass off to make a life for Dean and me just so you could walk in like some king, throw your weight around, and turn everything upside down? You have a murder charge hanging over your head, Corey, and yet you come to me like you’re entitled to make demands about Dean.”

“He’s my son.”

“He’s
mine
. I gave birth to him. I raised him. I sat with him at night when he was sick, when he was scared. Where were you, Corey? Where?”

“Don’t do this, Serena.”

“I think you better go.”