The Big Keep: A Lena Dane Mystery (Lena Dane Mysteries) (12 page)

“Is that all you’ve got?” I shouted to the empty cars and empty parking spaces around me. “Some slashed tires and an insult my three-year-old nephew could have written? How about you come out and tell me to my face, huh?” Silence. Sensing the change in my mood, Toka began to growl softly in his throat.
 

I fought against the tears as long as I could, but in the end I dropped down to the concrete floor, crying into Toka’s coat. Some tough detective I was turning out to be.

I went upstairs and called Sarabeth, who promised to make a few calls and ensure that two female officers came over to make the vandalism report on the Jeep. There might have been plenty of female cops who sided with Cleary too, for all I knew, but so far all of the people who’d openly disparaged me had been men. If nothing else, I was playing the odds. The CPD was huge, and full of excellent cops who had nothing to do with me or Matt Cleary, if they even knew about us. But I wasn’t in the mood to risk it.

I called Toby too, and he and I spent the rest of the night and most of Sunday morning dealing with the cops, insurance, a tow truck, a mechanic, and our landlord, who grumbled for twenty minutes over having to replace everyone’s key cards. Toby was furious on my behalf, and asked me if I wanted him to stay home from work on Sunday afternoon, although the other associates on his team were going in. I desperately wanted to say yes, but that made me all the more determined to say no. I promised him I’d be fine.

The wandering, distracted feeling returned as soon as he’d left. I would watch an hour of television, get up during the commercial break for a snack, and end up spending 45 minutes reorganizing the area under the sink where the little garbage can was kept. I kept walking into rooms and forgetting what I was looking for. By late afternoon, I found myself calling a cab to take me to the comic store, figuring I could at least visit my dad without Rory’s presence, since she didn’t work weekends. At my request, Toby had agreed not to tell my family about the Jeep, but I still wasn’t ready to see my sister.

When I walked in the door, however, I discovered I was definitely ready to see her kids. The store was deserted, and there was a blanket littered with toys and
Magic School Bus
books spread out on the floor at the front of the store. Either the munchkins were around, or my father’s reading level had degraded considerably.
 

Sure enough, my niece came running from the back of the store. “Auntie Lean! Auntie Lean!” Cassie shrieked, racing up to throw her impossibly short arms around me. At six, Cassie was my own personal mini-me, with my light hair and dark eyes and the features I shared with Rory. She had her father’s thoughtful gaze and sturdy frame, though, and when she concentrated she chewed on her lower lip exactly like Mark. “Auntie Lean, Logan is trying to catch me, but he can’t!” Her baby lisp crept back into her voice, as it does when she’s excited, and “trying” came out more like “twying.”

“He is, huh?” I crouched obligingly down to her eye level and dropped my voice to a whisper. “Where is he?”

She followed my cue. “I tink he is hiding in the Mahvol,” she whispered. Priceless.

“Okay,” I said in normal tones, “Well, why don’t you see if you can find him? Then tell him he better come give me a hug, or I’m going to tickle him, okay?” She nodded solemnly and dashed toward the life-size cardboard figures at the back of the store, which is where the two of them always, always hide from each other. I straightened up and stepped over to the counter, where my father was absently reading a new
Detective Comics
. I smiled to myself. He was posed exactly like Rory had been a few days before. Dad often says that I take after our mom, but Rory is all him.
 

He looked up, giving me a warm smile. “Hiya, Firecracker.”

“Hey, Dad. Where are Rory and Mark?”

“They wanted to go to dinner and the Home Depot, so I said I’d watch the kids. Logan!” he called to the back of the store, “If you don’t stop knocking over that Boba Fett, your Aunt Lena is going to tickle you silly.”
 

Logan, now exposed by the uprooted figure, gave up and trotted hurriedly towards me for the hug. I leaned down to swoop him up and swing him around, while he cackled. While Cassie looks like me, it’s Logan who takes after me – always in trouble, always ready for a fight, and stubborn as hell, even at three. I’m pretty sure I’m his hero, and I know that drives Rory nuts. I turned him upside down and buried my face in his soft belly, blowing raspberries as he giggled uncontrollably, until I finally set him down to toddle unsteadily back to Cassie, who was dutifully trying to right the abused Mr. Fett.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, Firecracker?” my dad asked. “You run out of reading material?”
 

“Nope,” I said ruefully. “I’m way behind on the stuff I’ve got at home. I just wanted to say hi. I’m going out of town in the morning.” I explained about my trip to LA to find Nate’s father.

“I like that boy,” he said thoughtfully. “Quiet, but a nice kid.”
 

“Yeah, he is,” I said. “And I know you made a good impression on him, too.”

“Auntie Lean,” Cassie said, stepping towards me with a battered copy of Curious George. “Will you read to me and Logan?” I obliging squatted down on the floor, legs folded to create enough lap space for both of the kids.
 

We read that book twice and one Magic Schoolbus, and then I glanced at my watch, and up at my father. “How soon are they going to be back?”

“Any minute.”

I stretched out my legs and stood up, knees cracking. “I should get going.”

My dad narrowed his eyes at me, not fooled. “Selena Kyle, are you and your sister fighting?”

“What? Of course not.” My dad gave me a skeptical look, but it was true: I wasn’t so much
fighting
with Rory as I was
afraid
of Rory. When it comes to temper, Rory’s like a hibernating mother bear. Most of the time, she’s the soul of patience and wisdom and bemusement. But mess with her kids, or any other kids, or anyone else she truly loves, and Rory can do vengeance like freakin’ Batman.
 

“Gotta boogie, Daddy,” I kissed his cheek and went out the front door.
 

It wasn’t until I was already outside that I realized I didn’t have a car there. I got out my phone to call a cab, but at the same moment I saw Rory’s minivan pulling up to the curb in front of the store.
Crapcrapcrap
. I waved cheerfully and started walking down the sidewalk like I was out for a stroll. Behind me, I heard Rory’s voice shout, “
Selena Kyle Dane
! Stop right now!”

Well, shit. I was busted. I turned around in time to see Rory’s husband Mark shoot me a sympathetic look on his way into Great Dane to collect the kids. I don’t know Mark all that well, really, but he certainly understands what it’s like to be on the receiving end of my sister’s temper. She stomped toward me, and I decided to go on the offensive. Sort of. I held up my hands. “I’m sorry.”

Rory reached me and put her hands on her hips. “For what?” she said coldly. “For putting me a position where I have to lie to our family, or for taking an unborn child into a gunfight?”

Whoa. All cylinders. “It wasn’t a gunfight, Ro.” Who had even told her? Toby, probably. I had to put a stop to the two of them conspiring against me.

She stared at me incredulously. “And that’s your big defense?” she hissed, stepping closer. “That no shots were actually fired? You know darn well there could have been, and you
promised
me you were going to stay out of danger.”

I took a deep breath. “Rory, someone needed me.”

“Your
baby
needs you. For God’s sake, Selena, what is wrong with you? Do you not have even a little bit of maternal instinct telling you to take care of that baby?”

I flinched. Rory saw it and sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She was wearing a purple quilted jacket, but there was a cold breeze coming in off the lake, and the temperature had dropped below forty. “You have a baby now, Selena. You can’t keep running around like Billy the Kid, on your own personal mission to clean up Chicago.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned. “Is that really how you see my life? As just some Wild West fantasy?”

“I think there’s a big part of you that, yeah, is trying to be a cowboy. Or cowgirl, or whatever,” he corrected, waving a hand. “I don’t have to like it, but that’s what you wanted after Cleary. But now things are different.”

“Don’t I know it,” I muttered. To Rory, I said coldly, “Your opinion is noted,” and turned on my heel to walk away.

“Selena.” Unnerved by her tone, I turned back to look at my sister. Rory’s gorgeous chocolate hair whipped in the wind, and her eyes flashed at me. “If you don’t tell Toby by the end of next week, I will.”
 

Great. An ultimatum. Because I’m
so
good with those.

14. Something Different About You

I hate flying. It’s not a fear of crashing thing, or a claustrophobia thing, or a toss-your-cookies thing. I simply hate having choices taken away from me, and being on a plane takes away more choices than any other activity, with the possible exception of being in prison. Think about it: you have to sit where you’re told, stay down until you’re told, eat and drink only if allowed...even your entertainment choices are limited, and God forbid you want to sleep, lean back, or talk to your friends. I’ve never actually served time, but I’ve visited prisoners, and they seem to get a lot more privileges than even a first class passenger on your average United flight. Better food, too.

Toby says I just can’t handle structure and authority, but obviously he’s a very stupid person.

As I boarded the plane on Monday morning, I managed not to grumble to myself or otherwise alarm my fellow passengers, but it was a near thing. I squished miserably into my window seat and tried to distract myself by getting back into work mode: I reviewed the whole file on Jason Anderson, mysterious figure and unwilling father. Then I spent some time going back through
Sunset Dies
, trying to find more clues about who Nate’s father really was.
 

Nate’s red marks jumped out at me through the blur of Jason’s angst, and I found myself paging through the book again, just looking at Nate’s notes. He was so earnest, obviously trying to stay detached and sort of...scientific about it. Fricking Jason Anderson better have done a 180 into Father of the Year territory.

I spent the remainder of my flight just chewing on the cap of my blue Bic pen and thinking about how I might find him. When that got old, I played games on my cell phone. Killing tiny animated zombies with airborne plant life seemed a much better option than thinking about being pregnant.
 

“Baby Girl!”

At LAX, Cristina stood at the bottom of the escalator that leads down to baggage claim, waving to me as I rode down. I was trapped between a family of five and an elderly couple, so I just grinned down at her and waved both my arms comically. “Oy, Mamacita,” I yelled, and she laughed and came forward to hug me as I finally stepped off the moving stairs. I breathed in her scent, exotic soap and coffee and just a little hint of blood. Cristina was the only homicide cop I’ve ever met—well, the only person, actually—who carried the scent of spilled blood with her, the coppery tang clinging to her hair and clothes like an unwanted perfume. I’ve never known why.
 

I pulled back and we inspected each other. Cristina had always been more handsome than beautiful, with dark hair that reaches all the way down her back and startling, always moving eyes. There were a few more wrinkles around her smile than I had remembered, and I saw a streak of gray in her hair that I’d never seen before, but she looked as vital as ever.

“Toby couldn’t join you again?” she said, too sweetly.

I winced and shook my head. “He’s working.” Toby had begged off my last two trips to LA. There wasn’t much love lost between him and Cristina, who thought I settled down too young, the key word being
settled
. Toby, on the other hand, was just kind of bewildered by Cristina. In his defense, though, she did talk really, really fast.

She linked my arm through hers and started to propel us toward the exit, chattering. “...So we will go get lunch, and you will tell me all about this case, and you and I will have it solved before
dessert
...” I laughed out loud. “And then we will spend the next three days on the beach working on that tan of yours. Okay? Okay,” she finished, and everything was decided. Classic Cristina. As we walked through the airport, people seemed to just step aside, most without seeming to notice they were doing it. Cristina had that effect on people. She exuded vitality, and had for as long as I’d known her. In a city of lost souls and empty faces, Cristina was passion and substance, and people move aside when she walks down a hall.

Outside the airport I paused outside the automatic doors to take in the clear blue sky, decorative palm trees, and warm sun. I grinned as I saw a woman nearby with a shock-pink purse and a tiny white dog whose ears had been dyed a matching shock-pink. Yep, I was back in LA. I almost stopped to ask which she’d gotten first, the purse or the dog, but Cristina tugged at my arm, and we moved on.

I loaded my suitcase into her dark red Volvo sedan and we took off for my favorite LA eatery, In-N-Out Burger. We both polished off Double-Doubles, and after about two seconds of small talk – Cristina is a straight-to-business kind of woman – I filled her in on Nate Christianti’s case. She listened as quietly as Cristina does, and finally asked, “What is your take on this Anderson person?”

I thought that over. “I think he’s a guy who felt destined for something bigger than he could actually accomplish. He’s like those two-bit hoods in movies that think they’ll be a big deal someday because they’re the drug lord’s best delivery boy.”

“Hmm,” Cristina said, tapping on her chin. “That’s an easy way to get very bitter very quickly.”

“Yeah, I know.”

We tossed our trash and went back out to the car. When she had us back on the road Cristina asked, “Has there been any indication that this man is involved in illegal activities?”