The Big Keep: A Lena Dane Mystery (Lena Dane Mysteries) (6 page)

I looked into the dying man’s eyes, and I knew I was in way over my head. I was thirty years old, with no real backup and plenty of my own problems, including a pregnancy I was currently unprepared to acknowledge. So I swallowed hard and said the only thing there was to say.
 

“I will.”

6. Kind of a Douchebag

It
was five-thirty when I left the Christianti house, and I decided that I might as well talk to Nate’s neighbors while I was right there. Using a sketched map that Nate had drawn up for me, I went next door to visit Mr. Renier, the elderly bachelor. He offered me a cup of tea, then trailed off uncertainly, as if he’d already forgotten the line of conversation. Ten minutes of frustrating questions got me nowhere, and I realized Mr. Renier barely remembered his own name, much less Jason Anderson’s. I wished him a polite good evening and tried Mr. and Mrs. Granger, a couple in their fifties whose children had grown up and moved away. Nate had said that they had a second home in Arizona or Florida, he couldn’t remember which, but they usually returned in the spring. There was no answer at the door, and I walked back down the front steps and circled to the garage, peeking in the tiny window. There were two vehicles parked in the garage, and no garbage in either or the big cans near the window. The Grangers were out of state.
 

My last stop was Delilah Harker, whom Nate had described as a thirty-something single mom who had inherited her house when her parents died. The door popped open a second after I knocked, and I was face to face with a breathless, harried woman who shushed me immediately.

“Whoever you are, you have to be quiet,” she stage-whispered. “It took him two hours to stop crying!”

“Sorry,” I whispered back. Delilah Harker looked like a graduate student, a fresh-faced woman with fashionable horn-rimmed glasses and unwashed hair that was almost as long as my own. She had the kind of tawny skin that could come from any number of heritages, and hair so black that it shone blue in the street light. She was slim and petite, except for a couple of extra pounds at her middle, and she dressed sloppily in baggy jeans and a pink T-shirt that said “Save the Ta-Tas” in white script across her chest. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was referring to breast cancer.

I introduced myself, and explained what I needed.
 

“Sure, I remember Jason,” she whispered. “Hang on.” Retreating a few steps into the house, she returned with a black leather jacket and a small white handset. “Baby monitor,” she explained in a low voice. She shrugged into the coat and motioned for me to go back down the porch steps, shutting the door behind her. It was warm for spring, almost in the fifties, and we sat down on the steps. I made myself comfortable, leaning back against the iron railing.

“That’s better,” she sighed. She examined the monitor, making sure it was on. “I tested the range of this thing last weekend. I’m good all the way down the driveway.” She leaned back against the railing, relaxing. “Sorry about the shushing. Kid was supposed to take a nap three hours ago, but he’s impossible.”

“It’s no problem,” I said, letting her compose herself.

Delilah raised her left hand to pull back a stray bang, and I noticed a little band of stars and moons tattooed down the length of her forearm. I peeked at her other arm. A zigzagging pattern of flowers and leaves braceleted her wrist. Her leather jacket had those sleeves with a slit that could be closed by a zipper, perfectly framing the tattoos and creating an artsy-motorcycle chick kind of look.

“So, Jason Anderson,” she said after a moment. “Weird guy. What do you need to know?”
 

“Well, for starters, how well did you know him? What was he like?”

“Well, Jason was maybe eight or ten years older then me,” she said slowly, thinking over her words. “They moved in – him and Sarah, I mean – when I was in high school, and I kind of had a crush on Jason.” She leaned over and picked up a twig in her front yard, rolling it in her fingers. “Not like, in a teenage seductress way or anything, I just thought he was cute.” She shrugged. “I went off to college, art school, and I forgot all about him. Then I was home the summer-” she paused, calculating, “the summer after graduation, trying to figure out my next step, and he was in the process of leaving Sarah.”

“What do you mean, in the process?” I asked.

She twirled the twig a final time, then dug her thumbnail in, peeling a long line down the bark. “I mean, he moved out, then he would come back and be hanging around. He was really indecisive.”

“About leaving his wife?”

She nodded. “He wanted to, but didn’t have the guts. And then he would get his courage up and go, and then get overwhelmed or whatever and come back. Like that.” Delilah blushed, a pretty rose-pink. “And, well, on one of the last nights he was around here, my parents were out of town. I helped him carry this big writing desk out to his car, and we started talking, and, you know, one thing led to another.”

My eyes flicked involuntarily to the baby monitor. She caught it and laughed. “No, no. This was a different mistake entirely. The best mistake of my life. Besides, the thing with Jason was a long time ago. I was 22, and stupid.”

“What did you guys talk about?”

She peeled another layer of bark off the twig, rolling it into a ball between her fingers and tossing it away. “Jason was...Jason was strange. We slept together, and then he just started talking, while we were still in bed, like he’d slept with me just so he could have a temporary therapist.” Her nose wrinkled. “He talked about how he loved Sarah but he couldn’t stand his life with her. And Nate, well-” she put the stick down and picked up the baby monitor, twisting it around by its antenna. “He talked about Nate like, I don’t know, like the kid was the chain dragging him to life here. It was so cold. That’s when I realized that this wasn’t a person I even really wanted to know, much less be sleeping with.”

That certainly fit with what Tom Christianti had said. “Did you see him again after that?”

She shook her head. “I took a graphic design job downtown a little while afterwards, and moved in with two of my girlfriends. I think my mom mentioned seeing him once or twice after that, but I don’t remember any details.”

“Did Jason ever tell you where he was going?”

She nodded. “I’ll always remember that, because it was like a kid’s dream, you know? Like the stuff you tell people you’re going to do, before you grow up. He was going to be a famous screenwriter, and win a bunch of awards for writing something that no one else had ever dreamed of.”

“Didn’t Plato suggest that there are only a handful of stories in the entire realm of human experience?” I said mildly.

Delilah Harker gave me a suspicious look for a moment, then let out a bark of sudden laughter. It was an unapologetic, unattractive sound, and I liked her better for it. “I’m not sure if I’ve articulated this clearly,” she said, “but Jason Anderson was kind of a douchebag, at least when I knew him.”

I thanked her for her time and gave her my card. “How old is your son?”

She smiled, and for the first time she really looked like she could be someone’s mom. “Five months. Aidan.”

I hesitated, then asked, “is it really as hard as it seems?”

“Oh no,” she said fondly. “It’s much worse.”

I turned to go. I was halfway down the driveway, heading for the Jeep where I’d parked it in front of Nate’s house, when I remembered another question and turned around again.

“Um—”

Deilah Harker turned back from her door, eyebrows raised.

“I know this is a little weird and all, but...did you like your OB-GYN?”

7. Broccoli. Gross.

I got to experience my very first round of morning sickness that very night.
 

I made turkey meatloaf, and Toby and I had dinner in the Big Glorious Kitchen, as usual. While we ate I told him about the Emersons and visiting Nate’s house, and my promise to a dying Tom Christianti. When I was done he took my hand and pulled me out of my chair and over into his lap. I rested my head on his shoulder. For a long moment, I let go of the case and the pregnancy and the Emersons and just breathed it in, the special equation that Toby and I balanced out together.

“Baby,” he finally murmured against my hair. “Are you sure you’re up for this case? Another kid in trouble?”

Jerking to attention, I sat up, craning my head back to see his face. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” He reached up and traced my eyebrows gently with one thumb. “I know the Carrie Emerson case was hard on you, and even harder because you couldn’t find the guys.”

“I tried
everything
-” I began.

“I know you did,” he interrupted. “But first it was the Amanda Rink case, and then Carrie Emerson, and now this Nate kid. I’m just not sure it’s good for you.”

I got up from his lap and sat stiffly back down in my own seat. “Those cases aren’t
good
for anyone,” I reminded him. “Especially Amanda and Carrie. But someone has to speak for them, and for Nate.”

“I don’t disagree. But I’m just not sure it should be you.” His eyes were full of concern, and I knew he was just trying to protect me. But it rankled anyway.

“This is my job, Toby,” I told him, trying to sound patient and reasonable. “This is what I do now. I can’t hand off a case because it might be sad.”

“I think ‘sad’ is kind of an understatement,” he said, his voice heating a little. “These cases are
consuming
for you. It’s only been a couple of weeks since you stopped living and breathing Carrie Emerson. There are other investigators in Chicago, Lean. All I’m saying is, maybe one of them would do better with this Nate kid.”

Fury prickled through my nerve endings, and I had the overwhelming urge to move. I stood, picking up both of our plates. I stalked over to the sink. “I can handle this case just fine,” I snapped over my shoulder.

“You say that now,” Toby said gently, “but then I have to pick up the pieces when it tears you up.”

I set the plate I was holding down very, very carefully and turned around. “That was low,” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down. “This is is who I am. You don’t get to pick and choose the parts of me that you’re willing to support.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to go
looking
for these brutal cases!” he retorted. Then he sighed, giving me a look that was more sad than angry. “You don’t...you don’t have to do this penance, you know. What happened to those girls wasn’t your fault.”

I threw up my hands. He
would
bring the cops into this again. “I’m not doing penance, and I didn’t pick this case! This kid picked me.”

He wasn’t budging. He wasn’t even moving, in fact, just sitting calmly in his chair at the table. That’s Toby. Stoic to a fucking fault. “Why don’t you want kids, Selena?”

That stopped me short. I felt the color seep out of my face. Did he know? Had Rory told him? No, even Rory wouldn’t do that. This had to be something else. “I never said I didn’t want kids,” I answered carefully.
In fact, I’m pregnant right now
was on the tip of my tongue, but it didn’t feel right. Needing something to do with my hands, I picked up a rag and began to wipe the counter furiously.

Toby stood up and was next to me before I could turn around. He placed a muscled forearm on either side of me, trapping me against the sink.
 

“Selena.” I didn’t look at him.

“Selena Kyle. We need to talk about this.”

“No,” I whispered.

“We used to talk about kids.
You
used to talk about kids, right before you left the force. And then with everything that happened...I understood. But we’re a little older now, and I’m done with school, and we have the money. But suddenly every time I bring it up you need to go somewhere, or talk about something else.”

I ignored his words, seething between his arms. I hate being trapped. I
hate
it, and Toby knows that. I turned my head away.

“Is it your cases? Is it these cases you keep taking, where kids are in trouble and you’re the only one who can save them?” My right arm closed into a fist. Five seconds, I vowed. If he didn’t let me go in five seconds I was gonna deck him. I could, too. “Because I hate it when you take these cases, Selena, I really do. As your husband.”
 

Without thinking about it, really, my weight shifted back to my left, and he knew I was close to the breaking point. He released me entirely and took a step back, shaking his head.

“Fine. Do what you want. You will, anyway.” He didn’t stomp away. In his heart, he’s a gentle man, no matter how angry I might make him. But when I looked up again, he was gone. And at the very moment I felt his absence, I felt something else, too, in my stomach. Most women get morning sickness much earlier in the pregnancy, but it was just like me to do everything backwards. Surprised, I turned around – and vomited my dinner into the sink.
 

Broccoli. Gross.

Nate Christianti was up late. Tom had had two bouts of coughing that scared both of them, and Nate had dragged a big chair into Tom’s bedroom to keep an eye on him during the night. Tom protested, of course, but Nate insisted he could fall asleep just fine in a chair – and proceeded to fake it. Around 1:30 Tom managed to drift off, but Nate didn’t want to go to his own room until he was absolutely sure. Instead, he cracked open his laptop and did a search for Selena Dane in Chicago. Instantly a couple dozen articles jumped the queue of responses. To his surprise Nate saw a whole series of newspaper articles on Lena, all from around five years earlier.
 

Nate began reading through them as chronologically as he could, clicking links that referenced earlier reports, piecing the whole story together. Around five years ago there was a series of attacks on prostitutes in Chicago. The paper kind of danced around the details, but it sounded like someone had been carving on the women with a knife, only none of them would talk about it. They were traumatized and disfigured, and the cops couldn’t get anywhere on the investigation for almost a year.