Swept Up (3 page)

Chapter Three

Detective Charles Randolph was a long, slow sip of cold water on a hot summer’s day.  That’s what Grandma Mac would have said.  And in this case, I’d have to agree with her.

Now, I know I’m almost engaged, but being almost engaged doesn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate a work of art when I spotted one.

Detective Charlie was that and then some.

He was tall, lean, and had intense eyes. 
Dark, short hair that was temptingly thick.  It made a woman want to run her fingers through it.

He was also a very good listener.

He had me tell him in minute detail what had happened.  He listened intently as I tried to go back over it.

Then he asked about the party itself, who was there.  What I remembered of Mellie’s arrival.

I decided honesty was the best policy.  I recounted everything I remembered.  Mellie arrived.  She made the rounds.  I was not pleased.  And I noticed no one else seemed overjoyed to see her.  “And I’m not talking about just the movie crew, I’m talking about everyone.  Mellie has—had—a
way
about her.  She acted as if she was superior to everyone.  From my parents, to the cast, to the crew, to my friends.  Even the catering staff wore the exact same expression after they’d endured Mellie’s attention.”

“What expression was that?”
he asked.

“Have you ever asked for something and got something totally different?  For instance, I had a friend from Japan back in high school—an exchange student.  Her family put sugar on their popcorn.  The first time we went to the movies together, she grabbed a handful of popcorn.  There was shock and distaste on her face.  Or, when my mom and I went to Canada and she asked for iced tea.  Now, if we’re down south, we know to ask if it’s sweet tea or unsweetened.  But Canada is more north than Erie, my hometown, and it seemed like they should have northern US tea’s blackness.  Uh, they don’t.  My mom—my very prim and proper mom—took a drink and got that same look and then she choked tea out her nose.

“That’s the look people get when Mellie breezed by them. She’s—she
was
a beautiful woman.  They expected her to be as sweet as she looked.  They got that look when they realized she was not.”

“So no one liked her.”  Randolph made it more a statement then a question.

“No one.  I could lie to you, but I find it’s best to avoid lying to the cops.”

“And you’ve had a lot of experience with that, haven’t you?”  He gave me a look that said he knew all about my other brush-ups with the cops.  Of course, since the movie, even people who didn’t hear about Mr. Banning’s murder at the time knew about it now.

“I—”  I had no idea how to answer that question.  I’d never really lied to cops.  Not to Cal or Mickey Roman, who investigated the missing paintings.  But I hadn’t been exactly forthright.  I could have shared more of my own investigation with them.

Charlie—it made me feel more at ease to think of him as Charlie, rather than Detective Randolph—set his notebook down and looked at me in that intense way of his.  “Quincy—may I call you Quincy?”

I nodded.  It seemed fair since I was calling him Charlie in my mind.

“I’m from a different precinct than Cal, but I know him by reputation, and frankly every cop in LA knows about you.”

I sighed.  The fact that every cop in LA knew about me was not a good thing. 

“I will confess,” he continued, “that I wasn’t thrilled when I caught this case because I knew you’d be part of the package.  And I want to assure you that I’m going to find out who killed Ms. Adams.  My first instinct was to tell you I wouldn’t hesitate to put you in jail if you interfered with my case.  But I’ve seen your movie, and I talked to Roman on my way over.  He called to warn me about you.  He told me he’d tried threatening you with obstruction charges and jail.  He also told me his threats didn’t do sh…squat.  So I’ve changed my mind about how I’m going to handle you.”

I started to protest I didn’t need handled, but Charlie held up his hand. “I’m going to talk to everyone who’s still here.  Your sons’ stepmother—”  He picked up his notebook.

“Peri,” I filled in for him.

“Yes, Peri.  She’s getting me a guest list, and I’ll be calling people who had already left and set up interviews.  I’m going to find who killed Ms. Adams.  And I suspect you’re already thinking about doing the same thing.  But rather than warn you off—and stressing that I’m not encouraging you to investigate on your own and I’ll be thrilled if you tell me that you’ll leave it to me—but having a least a glimmer of how your mind works, I’m going to ask you to share anything you find with me.  I promise I’ll take it seriously.  You already showed a willingness to do that when you told me no one liked Ms. Adams.”

I studied the man sitting across from me.  Maybe thinking of him as Charlie had made me warm to him.  Or maybe after being with Cal for almost two years, I’d realized cops were like everyone else.  Some were wonderful, some not so much. 
Most were genuinely good guys who got into the profession in order to help people.  I thought Charlie was one of those…a good guy.

So I nodded.  “You’re not going to dismiss my observations out of hand?”

“I am not.”

“Well, then can I tell you something that’s struck me as I went over things with you?  I’m not really sure what it means.  And it’s definitely more of an opinion than a fact.” 

This time he was the one who nodded.

“Someone wants you to look at me.  I’m not sure that they want you to suspect me, but they want you to think about the movie, or about what happened to me in real life.  Mellie was holding a Mortie.  Do you know whose?” 

I didn’t want to be selfish but a part of me—a small part that I hate admitting to—didn’t want it to be mine.  My memories of this night would be tainted enough without my actual award being used as Mellie’s murder weapon.

“I can’t share much about my active investigation, but I can’t imagine there’s a problem with me asking you where you left yours?”
he said.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out.  I think the last time I saw it, Peri had put it on the mantle.”

“Then I suspect if you go look, you’d still find it there.”

He was telling me the Mortie that Mellie was holding wasn’t mine. 

Good.  Although I did feel smaller for having asked and a bit smaller yet for the huge wave of relief that it wasn’t mine.  “Can you tell me whose it was?”

“Not yet.  When I feel I can, I will.  Listen, I can’t really work
with
you.  That’s not how homicide cops do things.  We don’t share with the public.”

I snorted and despite the horrific circumstances, I laughed.  “Cal doesn’t share anything.  I think he’s afraid I’ve got a taste for investigating and if he tells me the least little thing about his cases I’ll try to help.  But I don’t have a taste for investigating.  I just love my family and friends.  When they’re at risk, I feel I have to do something.”

“Because of your Uncle Bill,” he said.

From that statement, I knew he’d really paid attention to the movie.  My Uncle Bill had felt like a star, even though he was just referred to, not portrayed in the movie.  He came out and stayed with me when
the movie first aired on HeartMark Channel.  Peri had a party then, too.  He’d loved being a minor celebrity—a man who went to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.  He showed off his prison tattoo all night. 

He hadn’t come out for this party, but he’d called.  I’d been disappointed he couldn’t make it, but now I was relieved.  The last thing Uncle Bill needed was to be a suspect.

“Yes, because of Uncle Bill.  He spent years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.  I don’t know you.  I don’t know how to trust you to figure out who killed Mellie.  I don’t know how to trust you with my friends and family.”

He considered that a moment.  “What about Cal?  I mean, if I screw up, I know he’d work on it.”

“I love Cal.”  Even after a year and a half of saying the words, they still gave me an odd thrill.  I loved him.  We were not go-out-and-party people.  We were hang-out-on-the-couch-and-watch-a-show sort of people.  We were sit-next-to-each-other-at-the-table-and-work-on-our-own-jobs-together sort of people.  We were even go-out-with-friends, or go-out-with-my-boys sort of people. 

It was the simple things together that made us happy.  I guess I loved those simple things about him.

I loved how he could shoot me a look, and I would immediately know what he was thinking. 

I loved that when he slept over, I’d get up and start the coffee, and more often than not, he’d get up in time to bring me a cup.  There’s something so sweet about him waiting on me like that. 

I love the way he fit in with my boys.  He didn’t try to father them but simply tried to be a friend.  When they were all together something in me melted every time.

I love the way he supported my writing.  Then the movie.

I just love him.

And I’d trust him with my life.

But I didn’t have it in me to sit back and trust that he’d figure it out, even if I loved him and trusted him.  That might not make sense.  It might make me as
ditzy
as the movie reviewers claimed.  But I wasn’t a sit back and let someone else take care of things sort of person.

“I love Cal, and I trust that he’d look for who did it…but I’d still feel like I had to look, too.  They’re
my
friends. 
My
family.  Mellie died in my ex-husband and Peri’s house…a house I used to own.  She died in my son’s room.  No, I don’t have it in me to sit back and just let other people handle it.  Not even Cal.”

When I was younger and married to Jerome, I might have done just that—trusted someone else to take care of a problem.  But after Jerome and I divorced I’d had to learn to stand on my own two feet.  I was raising three boys and couldn’t call Jerome every time I had a problem.  I was starting a business, and though Tiny was a great partner, I couldn’t run to her with every snag.  I learned to depend on myself.  I had others to support and help, but ultimately, I relied on me.

“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Charlie said.  “I’ll share what I can, when I can.  And you share what you find with me.  I won’t go all Roman on you and threaten to send you to jail for interfering with my investigation.”

“Detective Roman was a pain in my a…butt.”  Even under these kind of conditions I avoided swearing.  “I appreciate your working with me.  You’ve got a deal.”

“And Quincy, I’d prefer it if you stayed out of this entirely.”  He paused and must have seen something in my expression because he sighed and said, “But since I don’t see that happening, I just want to say, be careful.  You’re right.  The Mortie says something.  Something that ties to that first murder you solved, or maybe to the movie, or maybe simply to you.  Any of those are reason enough for me to say be careful, but in addition, I know you won’t stay out of it, so that’s even more reason.  Be careful. Stay safe.  I don’t know Cal well, but I know him well enough to know that he’ll never forgive either of us if you get hurt.”

I thrust out a hand.  “I promise, I will.”

Detective Charlie shook it. 

I went out into front yard, where the party-goers were congregated.  Cal hurried to my side.  Tiny and Sal were right behind him.  Then Peri….  A whole gang of people gathered around me.  Charlie called Jonas Miles, who’d played Cal in the movie, into the study.  As soon as the door shut, the questions started ringing out.  From
what happened
, to
are you investigating
and one
good riddance
.  I didn’t see who said that one, but I knew just about everyone at the party agreed.

I faced them all and said, “Listen, everyone.  We can’t talk about what happened here tonight until after we’ve all talked to the detective.  We don’t want to taint each other’s memories.”

Dick called out, “But will you be looking into it?”

Cal stepped forward and glared at me.  I knew what he wanted me to say, but I wasn’t going to lie to Dick or anyone else, so I nodded.  “Yes.  I’ll be calling everyone after the detective is done interviewing all of us.”

I could see Dick’s excitement.  Deanne, my agent—who was also Dick’s agent—was working on that deal for
Dusted
.  Her eyes lit up.  I didn’t need to be an agent to know that a third true-life mystery would be her dream.  If I could figure this out.

That was a big
if
, as far as I was concerned.

Cal grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the crowd, not roughly, but with purpose.

“Quince—” he started.

“Listen, before you start, Charlie—”

“Charlie?” he said.

“Detective Charles Randolph.  If I call him Charlie it puts us on even footing,” I told him.  “Anyway, Charlie and I already talked.  I’m not going to interfere with his investigation,
and.…
” I put emphasis on that and.  “I am going to share anything I find with him, and he’s going to share what he can with me.  I promised him I’d be careful and….”