Trespass (28 page)

Chapter 66

L
ast night I slept better than I had in a long time. This morning, eager to get back to work, I caught up on some unfinished cover projects and contacted a few new clients. Clyde, still happy to be back home, regaled me with his entire beatific vocabulary. I made myself a complete breakfast, an omelet filled with cheese and bacon accompanied by a fruit compote and raisin toast.

I took a few minutes to talk to Dr. Bernstein and let him know I would be quitting the group after one more meeting. He wished me well and sounded relieved when I assured him I would still be seeing Lisa. I tried calling Jorge, but when he didn’t pick up, I left a message telling him I was coming to group tomorrow night. I kept working, so productive for the first time in weeks that I barely heard the doorbell ring.

Carter stood on the stoop, a bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm. I opened the door to him and noticed someone waiting for him in the car. He stepped inside and handed me the flowers.

I took them and gave him a friendly hug. “You look wonderful. I hope you’re feeling as well as you look.”

“I do. But it’s time for me to get back to Singapore. Barb’s taking me to the airport.”

Barb. That would be Barbara Carmona, the new director of Cityscapes here in town. This wasn’t the time to tell Carter I wouldn’t be working there again. “Thank you for the flowers. I feel like I should be giving you something. I’m the one who nearly got you killed.”

“Don’t ever think that, Gemma. If I hadn’t been there, you might not be here, and I couldn’t have lived with that.”

We embraced, said our good-byes, and I watched him leave.

By the time TJ arrived at four, I had accomplished a lot. I had two covers ready for their authors’ approval, had said good-bye to Carter, and had settled things with Taylor. I had been second-guessing myself about the effect of my decisions on the future, but for now, I basked in accomplishment.

For once, I had some news for TJ. But the minute she walked in, Clyde began to serenade her with offers of coffee and snippets of the Rosary. She walked over to his cage, giving it back at him with her witticisms. She looked rested. Her short, dark curls gleamed in the beams of sun from the window, and her dark blue eyes glistened with good humor. I had wondered about her ethnicity, but never felt I knew her well enough to ask. She definitely was part African American, but the rest? It was hard to tell. She could be Hispanic, Asian, Middle Eastern, anything.

After Clyde simmered down, I handed her a mug of coffee and sat across from her at the kitchen table.

“Wish I had better news for you,” she said.

“What do you mean? Lucian and his cousin Tabitha were arrested for the murders, weren’t they? I imagine Norman found out something. Something they didn’t want coming out.”

“Yeah, I could tell you that’s probably what happened, but I gotta be honest with you. My gut’s tellin’ me Lucian didn’t do the explosion. Coulda’ been Martin Krause, I guess. I can’t really say why, but somethin’ just doesn’t smell right.”

“But what about Lucian? Can’t he tell the police what happened?”

“Lucian’s in a coma from bashing his head into a mirror. The docs think he might never come out of it. The cousin’s our only chance of getting answers, and so far, she’s not talkin’.”

I had to give TJ credit. She could easily have convinced me Norman’s death was all wrapped up.

“I have something for you,” I said. “Norman’s computer guy called. After we talked last time, he kept looking for an online trail to Norman’s book. He found a site for writers that Norman belonged to. Writers can post their work on it and get feedback from other writers and from readers. There were some chapters of Norman’s book posted on the site and a synopsis too. I printed it all out for you.” I handed TJ a thick sheaf of papers.

“The only problem is, Norman says in his author’s comments that the book is based on a true story, but is fictional. So we can’t be sure what really happened and which parts Norman created to make the story more interesting.”

TJ flipped through the pages, then set them down and promised to read them later. “I’m havin’ an issue with the Martin and Drucilla Krause murders. He was one of the people I suspected of bein’ the ringleader, but it’s all just too neat. Neat always makes me suspicious, ’specially when they also found souvenirs of the crimes in his house. They weren’t there before he died—an’ don’t ask me how I know that—you don’t want to know.”

I handed her the check I had ready. “TJ, if you think Norman’s killer isn’t in jail, then I want you to keep working this. I have no problem paying you for the time you put in. It’s important to me to find out who killed him.”

TJ shook her head. “Nah, not necessary. Won’t be too much I can even do.” She stood to leave, the papers clutched in her hand. “I’ll read these, see what they have to say. If I find anything to go on, you can pay me, otherwise what I do, I do on my own time.”

I watched her leave, her slight figure not betraying the toughness underneath. If anyone could get the answers, it would be TJ Peacock.

Chapter 67

S
ix hours later, TJ returned to the neighborhood. She noticed construction trucks parked on the lot around the hole where Norman Teschler’s house once stood. A crew toiled on the foundation. Life went on.

TJ pulled into Rosemary Haynes’s driveway.

When no one answered the door, TJ walked around to the back of the house. She could hear music through the open patio door and saw Haynes sitting in a family room off the kitchen. She wore an ankle-length black-and-white print dress, and her feet were shod in a pair of black flip-flops despite the open door bringing in a bite of the cool October day. TJ tapped on the door.

Haynes called out, “Come on in.”

The same pitcher Haynes used on TJ’s last visit, again filled to the brim with at least a half gallon of margaritas, sat on a small table at her side. The scent of tequila wafted to TJ’s nose as she approached; she could really use a drink right now.

Haynes scowled when she realized who had come into her house, but didn’t move from where she sat and gestured to the other chair. “Drink, Detective?”

TJ didn’t see another glass around and thought it would be inappropriate to sip out of the pitcher. She sat down, hoping she could remember the script she had prepared to hit Haynes with.

“Kudos.” Rosemary raised her glass. “To a job well done. You caught the bad guys. Oh. Wait a minute. Two of them conveniently took care of themselves for you.” Some of the media coverage, attempting to sensationalize the Martin Krause-Drucilla Krause murders, had hinted it was a double suicide just like the one sixteen years ago.

“Wearin’ black for your lover who’s in jail?” TJ said, ignoring the jab and hitting Haynes with her first shot. Haynes would have no way of knowing about Lucian’s coma; unlike the news about Martin and Drucilla Krause, Lucian’s suicide attempt hadn’t hit the news yet.

Rosemary Haynes didn’t flinch. She delicately pulled a slice of lime off the rim of her glass and squeezed its juice into her drink. “If I recall, you were the one who said Lucian and I were lovers, not me.”

“Never said you were lovers. You were fuckin’ him. In the eyes of the law you were taking sexual advantage of a minor. That could get you a lotta jail time. Your name would be on the Sexual Predator’s Registry until you’re too old to fuck young boys.” This second shot only earned TJ a raised eyebrow from Haynes. This was going to be harder than she thought.

“Make all the threats you want, Ms. Peacock. You can’t prove a thing.”

It was time for the big one. TJ reached into the large purse she brought with her and withdrew a book. Its cover, freshly designed by Gemma and carefully glued over the original, expertly hid the fact that the book inside was written by James Patterson. The cover had a picture of a darkened street in an upscale neighborhood, much like the one they were in right now. The nearest house had a side patio and French doors. One of the doors stood open to the night. Splashed across the front was the title in a large, sharp font in brilliant red,
Thy Neighbor’s Wife
, and on the bottom, the author’s name, Norman Teschler.

If Haynes had an elevated blood alcohol, the sight of the book appeared to sober her up. She jerked and ounces of her precious brew sloshed into her lap.

“What is that?” The pupils of her gray-green eyes dwarfed into pinpoints of malevolence.

“It’s Norman Teschler’s book, the one he was working on when his house exploded. Gemma Rosenthal had it published. What’s the matter, aren’t you happy for the guy? Thought you two were sex buddies. You know, kinda like you and Lucian.”

Haynes’s lips pulled back from her teeth. “I was not having sex with that boy.”

“The book also has some real interestin’ stuff about that swingers’ group, the one they had here sixteen years ago.”

This threat was accurate. After reading Norman’s chapters about the swingers, TJ had stopped to see Craig Jackson to ask him what was real and what Norman had fictionalized for his characters. Although couples that tried the group and then either dropped out or weren’t invited back had been mentioned by the witnesses, no one had told the police or TJ about the one couple they should have. The couple, who weren’t married—at least not to each other—had participated once and didn’t return because the man changed his mind about being a member. The woman convinced Craig Jackson to let her continue with the group as a single by offering to give the couples an opportunity to experience threesomes.

Her idea lasted for only two meetings of the swingers before the wives got together and told the men they wouldn’t participate any more if the threesomes continued. In addition to the wives’ underlying objection to sharing their men with one more woman, this particular woman enjoyed and encouraged sexual practices that the other women found disgusting. Rather than give up a good thing, the men acquiesced and the woman wasn’t invited back. All this took place shortly before Lilly Diermeyer and Arthur Krause’s suicides.

After participating in a threesome, Lilly Diermeyer wrote in her diary that she could no longer live with herself; the other things she had done were bad enough. The unnatural acts she had performed because of this woman were a sin like no other.

TJ had no doubt who the mystery couple had been. Everything about them screamed Norman and Rosemary.

Haynes paled as she watched TJ page through the book. “Real interestin’ stuff here,” TJ said. “Guess you weren’t too happy when Teschler told you about it.” It didn’t matter that Norman hadn’t named Haynes in his book. His description of the “woman next door” left little to the imagination. Anyone familiar with the neighborhood could figure it out.

Collecting herself, Haynes said, “So what? That book is fiction.”

“Might be fiction, but plenty o’ truth here too. Might make some folks wonder. Might even make the cops wonder. Especially the part about you an’ the young boys.” Now she
was
spouting pure fiction, not fiction from Teschler’s book, but Haynes became red faced, nearly bursting with anger.

TJ continued her onslaught. “Someone might add things up and figure Teschler found out about you. That’s two things about the guy’s book that would piss you off. If you were havin’ a bad day, a little too much tequila, you mighta been tempted to twist that gas cap off at his house. Boom! No more threat.”

“Norman was my friend,” Haynes insisted between clenched teeth.

“Yeah, right,” TJ said, “friends like you he could have done without. I talked to Craig Jackson, you know. He said the real reason they dumped you from the swingers’ group was no one liked you. They all thought you were too ugly, too old and wrinkly, even had that old lady smell,” TJ ad-libbed.

Rosemary’s glass fell to the floor as she pushed a hand into a bag at her side and, lightning fast for someone on the sauce, pulled out a long knitting needle and leapt from her chair, aiming it at TJ.

“You bitch, I’ll kill you for that! You deserve to die, just like Norman deserved what I did to him and his precious house—that goddamned hypocrite.”

TJ jumped up and caught the arm holding the needle before it plunged into her midsection. Haynes struggled, throwing both of them off balance. They fell to the floor and wrestled for the weapon. Her strength continued to surprise TJ until finally TJ flipped Rosemary over and straddled her like she would a horse. She pinned Haynes’s arms to the floor and pulled out her gun.

Detectives Wade and Haymaker, who had been listening to the conversation from a van parked in Gemma’s garage, burst into the room while Haynes’s small dog read them all the riot act from where he was tied near the back door.

“We got it,” Tasha cried. “Good job.”

Haymaker pulled Haynes up off the floor, cuffed her, and read her the Miranda warning. When he left to take Haynes out to the car, Tasha said, “You were right about her. And about Teschler. The explosion wasn’t an accident. You have good instincts. Ever think of becoming a cop again?”

TJ wrinkled her nose. “Sometimes. But I’m likin’ the freedom I have as a private. Don’t think I could go back to all those rules.”

She still had no idea what to do with Lilly Diermeyer’s diary. She should see that Kane Diermeyer got it, but for all she knew he had planted it at Martin’s house. It was unlikely she’d ever convince the police of Kane’s involvement when all the evidence pointed to everyone
but
him.

Tasha said, “So, everything’s tied up now, right? You can go home and spend some time with your little boy.”

TJ smiled. She would love a night at home with Richard and JR, but she wasn’t as sure as Tasha that everything was tied up.

That night Richard and TJ celebrated with a home-cooked meal and a trip to Gilles, a local frozen custard store. They brought the treats home and enjoyed them while JR, his face spread with the remains of a chocolate ice cream cone, played with his toys in front of the TV.

“I need to ask you something,” Richard said.

TJ didn’t like sentences that started that way. They usually meant a question was coming that she didn’t want to answer. She took another spoonful of her turtle sundae and said, “Ask me what?”

“Will you marry me?”

TJ went into a fit of coughing as she snorted frozen custard into a pipe it didn’t belong in. She thought Richard would get settled in for a while before he brought up the subject. The movers were coming in the morning with the rest of his things. She blew her nose and tried to decide how to answer him.

“What, no expensive dinner, champagne, diamond ring hidden in my dessert?” she joked.

“I know what you’re doing, TJ. You’re trying to distract me with humor. I’m serious about this. Is there really any reason to wait?”

Maybe there wasn’t. TJ looked at this tall, handsome man she fell in love with so many years ago. He had some silver in his dark hair and looked older than he had when she first met him, but he kept himself in top shape and appeared younger than his years. He was forty-five to her thirty-four, but their age difference had never mattered to her. What mattered for a long time was their mutual distrust of anything resembling a commitment. Being JR’s parents had changed that dynamic, even though Richard wasn’t her boy’s biological father.

This wouldn’t be the same life they had lived in the past, but it would be a good life. They would both see to that.

She leaned forward and kissed him. “No good reason I can think of—let’s do it.”