Danger Comes Home (Kelly O'Connell Mystery) (12 page)

Luckily our food was delivered then, because I had no idea what to say. I was, for once, speechless. Effortlessly, Mona changed the subject back to food.

“The tuna has a bit of a bite to it—cayenne, maybe. Makes it different.” Then she laughed. “I’m on the lookout for things to combine with hot dogs, but I don’t think tuna is it. Blue cheese? I might try that on Jenny and see what she thinks.”

I knew what Maggie would say and it had to do with ruining a perfectly good hot dog.

After lunch, Mona followed me back to the office. I had volunteered to go over the apartment lease with her, and she took me up on it. We found two or three minor details we wanted to question. And then, I had to hurry to get Ms. McDavid’s shopping done before time to pick up the girls. As I left, Keisha was laughing at me.

Lorna McDavid was waiting impatiently by the front door when I opened it. I could almost hear her fingers drumming on the table. “I thought you decided against helping me. That Lucinda who did my shopping has disappeared—just can’t trust people these days—and she’s taken one of my Chinese platters with her.”

“Lorna….may I call you that?”

“I prefer to avoid familiarity, Ms. O’Connell.”

Properly put in my place, I found myself apologizing. I grabbed the list and money and said I’d be back as soon as possible. She harrumphed and turned away, so once again I let myself out. Once in the car I glanced at the list—only seven groceries items but then a note to go to Lucinda’s house on Jessamine and retrieve the plate. That I was not doing!

By the time I got the groceries, it was almost three, so I’d have to pick up the girls and then deliver the groceries. Predictably, they set up a howl. “I’m not going in that creepy house,” Maggie said, while Em said, “Oh, I want to go. I want to see what it’s like.” I ordered them both to stay in the car, and delivered the groceries to the kitchen without seeing a sign of Ms. McDavid. With the meat, eggs and milk safely refrigerated, I fled.

Mike called to say he’d be late, really late, so I was tempted to take the girls to the Grill. Keisha breezed in after work wearing a bright pink muumuu that swirled around her matching pink stiletto heels. On anyone else, the outfit would have been ridiculous. On Keisha, it was just fine. This night her spiky hair was tinged with pink that matched her outfit. I was sort of glad neither Mom nor Mona saw it. Instead of the Grill, I experimented with chicken Divan, since I could defrost both chicken and broccoli.

Keisha stayed for supper—there was still plenty left for Mike, and to my delight, the girls loved it. Keisha helped with homework and every once in a while glanced out the window checking on Joe and Theresa. We could see them moving around, getting settled. I felt I should offer them supper, but there wasn’t that much chicken. I wished I’d planned ahead better.

Keisha stayed for a last glass of wine after the girls were in bed, and I regaled her with the story of Ms. McDavid.

“I’ve changed my mind about doing her shopping. You just let me at her once, and I’ll shape her up.”

“I want to make her a friend,” I pointed out, “not an enemy.”

“Kelly, no one house is that important.” She blew me a thank you and was gone.

I went to bed. Going to sleep early was a habit I cultivated when Mike was on patrol, even before we married, because he’d wake me up and we’d talk over a beer or wine and sometimes a sandwich or leftovers for him. Maybe he’d do that tonight.

He did. He came in about one-thirty and gently leaned down to kiss me. I stretched and reached for his arms.

“I’ll get up and make you something to eat.”

“Good. I’m famished…and exhausted.” He looked awful. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty and—phew! They smelled bad.

“Where have you been?” I asked once I was in the kitchen and heating up a bit of the chicken we’d saved for him.

“Tramping around a vacant field. Some railroad workers found a body in the deep grass by the tracks, over on Eighth Avenue. Took us all night to work the scene.”

“And? Did some homeless person just lie down and die?”

He shook his head. “Not that simple. Body was wrapped in a blanket, and it had a large bullet hole in the chest.”

“Homicide?”

“That would be my educated guess.” He was grinning at me. “We may make a detective of you yet.” Then he turned serious. “We found some cocaine in the guy’s pockets—not much, but enough to have street value. Looks like it was Todd Wilson, though we’ll need forensics for a positive ID.”

I told him Mona said she thought he was dead, and he asked why she thought that. I shrugged, and he said wearily, “I’ll have to talk to her tomorrow.” We went to bed, where he fell asleep instantly, and I was left pondering Jenny and drug dealers and raising my daughters in an inner-city neighborhood. Thorny problems, those.

****

Joe knocked on the back door while we were eating breakfast and fixing lunches the next morning. “Am I interrupting? Theresa’s dressing for work, and I just thought I’d check in, see what I can do to help you.”

“Come sit and have coffee, Joe. The girls will be in here any minute, and they’ll be delighted to see you.”

He took the cup I handed him and sat at the table. “Miss Kelly, you need some yard work done? Maybe the windows washed inside and out? We got to earn our keep.”

“Nonsense, Joe. You don’t have to help around the house. We’re just glad we can help till you get this mess straightened out.”

A big sigh. “Yeah, it’s a mess. I’m going to look for a job today, but first thing a lot of people ask a Hispanic is if you’ve ever been in trouble with the law. I tell them the truth, they’ll back away. But I won’t lie.”

“Let me ask around,” Mike volunteered. “Are you really willing to do anything?”

Joe grinned sheepishly at him. “Yessir, anything honest. Working makes me feel responsible, even if I don’t earn much.”

Maggie came in then, sleepy as usual, but she brightened when she saw Joe. “Hey, Joe. Are you all moved in?”

He put an arm around her and said, “We are.”

“Can I go see Theresa?”

“Not now,” I said. “She’s getting ready for work, and you have to eat breakfast.”

I hope I don’t know what she was going to say, but she finished lamely with “Okay.” I suspect she thought fleetingly that she was just talking to Joe, who would understand the vernacular, and forgot for a moment that her parents were in the room. If she’d said something out of line, even as an experiment, Mike would have come down hard on her.

Em bounced in next, ready to greet the world with her practical cheerfulness. She wore a short, really short skirt and a long sleeveless top, with another shorter top pulled over it, so that the first one showed below—the current style. When she saw Joe, she ran up and kissed him on the cheek.

“Hey, Em. Thanks. That just made my day.”

Mike stepped in. “Okay, girls, breakfast.” He put two plates of eggs and link sausages on the table. “Joe, you hungry? There’s plenty.”

“Naw, Mr. Mike, but thanks. Theresa, she feeds me good. Too good.” He patted his belly, and then he stood up, saying, “Theresa’ll be ready to go to work pretty soon. I better go outside.”

“You two come for supper tonight,” I said, wondering, even as I said it, what I would fix.

“We can’t impose.”

“Please, Joe,” Maggie said. “We need to see Theresa.”

Mike’s deep voice added. “Come for supper. That’s an order.”

“Yessir. We’ll be here.”

While I was trying to think what to fix for supper for six, Mike was busy arranging a job for Joe. When we collided in the kitchen that evening, I was getting ready to bake two of those pre-seasoned, rolled boneless chicken breast roasts from Central Market and heat some French bread. I had chosen the Greek flavoring for the chicken and bought the makings for a huge Greek salad—sans olives and peppers, which I personally don’t like. Hey, it’s my choice as cook.

Mike stepped out of my way as I hurried from work counter to stove, then grabbed himself a beer and sat at the table, giving me a quick peck on the way by. “So how was your day?”

“Okay. Busy. Nothing spectacular. Didn’t hear from Mona. Did hear from the leasing agent of Faith’s Diner—he’s okay with most of what she wants, including the cleanup and inspection, but in return he wants some kind of guarantee of fiscal responsibility. That worries me.” I paused for breath. “I guess it wasn’t a really great day. How was yours?”

“Well, I got two things done. Got a search warrant for Lorna McDavid’s property.”

My heart sank. “Can’t we just ignore that I saw those plants? Pretend I never told you.”

He shook his head. “No, Kelly. Law enforcement doesn’t bend like that. If it did I’d have to ignore every individual who grows pot in his backyard or basement—and that’s against the law.”

“Okay. But I…well, I can’t exactly say I’m sorry for her. She’s so imperious that you’re not inclined to pity her. But in a lot of ways I hate to rock her world.”

He took an impatient pull at his beer. “Do you want to hear the other thing I did?” He sounded like a little kid who hadn’t gotten to brag yet.

“Of course.”

“I found Joe a job. It’s not much, pretty humble, but it’s a job.”

“Where?”

Now he really was bursting his buttons with pride. “The Grill. I went by for lunch deliberately late, so Peter might have time to sit and talk. He has a “Help Wanted” sign in his window, so I told him the whole story about Joe and why he’s out on bail. Peter asked one question: did I vouch for him? I said I did, and so did you. Peter said that was good enough for him. He wants to talk to Joe in the morning, about ten, after the breakfast rush has died down.”

I stopped chopping the salad and crossed the kitchen to throw my arms around him. “Mike, that’s a genius idea!”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said smugly. “I have one sniggling worry. I wouldn’t want Little Ben and some of his cronies to start hanging out there to harass Joe. Peter wouldn’t stand for what that would do to his business. His customers would stay away, and he’d have to fire Joe. So maybe Joe can be secretive about where he works.”

“Devious of you to even think of that, but I agree. Oh, I can’t wait to tell Joe at supper.” Mike had a startled and not too happy look on his face, so I hastened to add, “Of course, it’s your news and you tell him.”

“And I’ll do it privately, before supper.”

That’s just what happened. When Joe and Theresa came in, the girls commandeered her—no surprise there—and Mike dragged Joe outside for a man-to-man talk. My dinner was in the oven, the salad made and ready to dress, and I was left alone to watch the news on TV. Yep, I pouted just a bit.

When the “men” came back in, Joe was grinning. “I got to tell Theresa. It’s not my dream job by a long shot, but it’s work. And in a good place for a good man.”

At supper we drank a toast to Joe’s new job, and he laughed self-consciously. “It’s not as though I just made CEO of a corporation,” he said.

“No, but who knows, Joe. You may find a future in food service. It’s a growing field.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, “but I will do a good job for him. He won’t be sorry he hired me.”

“Best meatloaf in town,” I said, while Em announced, “We’ll eat there a lot more now that you’re there, Joe.”

We already ate half our meals there, so I wasn’t sure about that.

****

Joe went to see Peter the next morning, as directed, and began work that evening on the three until closing shift, which meant he had to stay for cleanup,
etc.
Keisha volunteered to pick Theresa up each evening from work, for which we all blessed her. Often as not, in the coming days, Keisha would stay for supper—and we did all frequently go to the Grill.

Peter told us Joe was a great employee—willing, cheerful, ambitious. “He sees things that need to be done without my asking, and he just does them. I couldn’t be happier with him.”

Mike and Joe had talked about hoping his old friends would avoid the Grill. They didn’t, though no one could guess how they knew where Joe was working, unless they stalked him—a good possibility. One evening when Joe got home about ten-thirty, he brought Theresa in from the apartment and we all sat in the backyard. The girls, blessedly, were asleep.

“Little Ben and Nathan came in tonight. I told the others to let me handle them, and I think they were glad to do it. They both ordered beers at the counter and swaggered—honest, they did—to a table in the front room where they slouched in their seats, ball caps pulled down I mean, it was the whole act—baggy trousers worn low, T-shirts rolled at the shoulder. They might as well have worn a sign that said, “Gangsta.” I went over after a while and told them this wasn’t a beer joint—it’s a family café. Little Ben tried to tell me they’d just come to be sure I was okay, and I made it plain I didn’t need them checking on me and they weren’t welcome at the Old Neighborhood Grill. No threats. I just told them I didn’t expect to see them there again.” He paused thoughtfully. “You know, I think this thing is a double-edged sword—they threaten me and hold the possibility of danger to Theresa over my head, but I think they know I got a stick too. I could probably turn the cops—sorry, Mike—on to an intensive investigation of them.”

“If you can, why don’t you?” I asked, ever the naif.

“Because it ain’t time, Miss Kelly. Mr. Mike knows. If I turn on them in now, I’ll never clear my name. They’ll just draw me in. We got to get the whole story.”

He was right apparently. Little Ben and Nathan never came back to the Grill.

****

The next day, Mike called my office. “Kelly, can you come over to Ms. McDavid’s place right now—as in an hour ago? Where have you been and why haven’t you answered your cell?”

I looked down at my desk. The cell phone was sitting right there—and had been the whole time Keisha and I were treating ourselves to a pleasant lunch at Nonna Tata, the tiny country Italian café I loved. I mumbled an apology.

“I even called the Grill to see if by chance you were having lunch there. Hurry on. Ms. McDavid and I are getting very tired of each other.”

I wouldn’t tell him I’d gone to Nonna Tata. In fact, I’d skip the subject of lunch if I could. But why did Mr. Keep-Your-Nose-Out-of-Police-Business want me when he’d obviously gone to execute a search? I drove as fast as I dared and was there in less than five minutes.

Two police cars in front of the house.
Seem like overkill for one imperious old lady who liked opium and must now like pot.

Mike answered my knock and stepped out on the porch, just as I was asking, “What’s going on?”

“We’ve searched the whole place. Just found one small patch of marijuana—the tomato plants you saw—and a bit drying in the pantry. I told her I’d have to charge her with a misdemeanor. She’s obviously not selling. But that is one stubborn old lady. She just stuck her nose up in the air. Won’t talk at all. Won’t tell me names of lawyer, yardman, maid, relatives, anybody. But she finally handed me your card said if we could get ‘that real estate agent who wants my house’ to come, she’d speak with us. Like the blasted queen granting an audience.”

“Does she know we’re married?”

“Do I look that dumb? No, I pried your name out of her, played dumb. I thought the officer guarding her was going to blow the whole thing by laughing. I saw him bite his tongue. Come on, you’re the impartial mediator.”

I grinned. “I don’t know. I might be partial.”

With a grim, “Which side?” he ushered me inside.

“Good afternoon, Ms. McDavid. I’m so sorry to see all this trouble. How can I help?”

“You can make them leave me alone.” Her tone was scornful.

“Sorry, I can’t do that. May I get you a glass of water or something?”

One thing about Lorna McDavid: when she found herself in a hole, she kept digging. “Get me one of those cigarettes. They calm me. Jaime gets them for me.”

While Mike asked, “Who is Jaime?” I said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, with the officers here. They’re illegal, you know.”

She let out a noise of disgust. “What’s an old lady like me going to hurt?”

Probably true, but I wouldn’t tell her that. “Ms. McDavid, do you have a lawyer?”

“Do I need one?”

Mike spoke up. “It would help, but it’s just a misdemeanor.”

I was sure she didn’t understand what that meant, but she whirled on him, and I saw him visibly shrink back. Being intimidated was a new experience for Mike Shandy. “I’m speaking with Ms. O’Connell, not you,” she spat. Turning to me, she said, “You told me to call if I needed something, and I’m doing that. I have no one else to call, unless my banker would be of help. Let’s just get these people out of my house.”

“I’m afraid…you’ll have to go with them.”

The chin went up in the air again. “If they drag me.”

I didn’t tell her they would if they had to. “Ms. McDavid, do you trust me to find you a lawyer? I know someone who will meet you downtown.”

“Downtown? I’m not going downtown.”

I threw a desperate look at Mike, but he wasn’t entering this one again. I changed the subject. “Who’s your banker?” I didn’t know what good that would do, but it was helpful information.

“There’s a card by the hall telephone.”

The “hall telephone” turned out to be an old-fashioned rotary dial phone, set in one of those phone cubicles that old houses had. If I weren’t flustered, I’d have stopped to admire it. I retrieved a card bearing the name of Johnson S. Goodroe and then the bank where Claire worked. Nice. Keep it all in the neighborhood.

“Detective Shandy, may I see you on the porch?” Said with as straight a face as I could muster. Then I turned to Lorna. “I’m afraid I recommend that you go peacefully with these gentlemen. I’ll call a lawyer and meet you downtown. We’ll try to have you home soon.” I didn’t add that tomorrow at the earliest would be soon.

Mike followed me out. “What a tigress that woman is! You did a good job…at least as good as possible.”

“Left-handed praise? I’ll call Terrell. I’m beginning to think he owes us a dinner or something since we send him so much work.”

“We’ll take her down right away, so by the time he gets there, she’ll be waiting. I promise to be gentle.” And of all things, he kissed me on the nose.

“Do you treat all mediators that way?”

“Go!”

I did. And tucked a whole bagful of questions away in my mind.

When I got back to the office, I called Terrell Johnson. I love that he answers his own phone, night or day. He promised to go right down to the jail. “Been making a lot of trips down there, thanks to you, Kelly.”

“I told her I’d come down there.”

“They won’t let you see her. I’ll call you.”

By the time I started supper, he hadn’t called yet. Mike came in, tore off his tie, gave me a quick kiss, and headed out to the apartment, throwing over his shoulder, “What’s for dinner? Joe and Theresa will eat with us.”

Spaghetti was on the menu, and I could always stretch that with a can of tomato sauce, a little more ground meat—maybe that pork sausage in the freezer, and some Italian spices. But my mouth was open to ask about Lorna as he breezed past me. When he came back in, he said, “They’ll be in shortly—they’re having a discussion,” grabbed a beer, and went off to change into jeans. When he came back, he sank in the chair, sighed, and announced “What a day!”