MULTIPLE MOTIVES (The Kate Huntington mystery series Book 1) (4 page)

She jumped a little when a man plopped down across from her in the booth. His gray T-shirt said
I may be ugly but you’re
…. Fortunately, the last word was covered up by the top of a large grease-splattered apron.

“How ya doin’, sweet pea?” The twinkle in his blue eyes belied his gruff tone.

Kate smiled at the man who’d angrily called her a big, dumb sweet potato after she’d accidentally knocked his sweet potato fries out of his hand at the Maryland State Fair. He was seven and she was five at the time. Somewhere in their teens, the childish taunt had morphed into the shortened endearment,
sweet pea.

“I’m good now, Mac, but it’s been one hell of a week.”

He nodded. “Ain’t been to the hospital since Sunday. How’s Liz doin’?”

“She’s fine. Rob called this morning and said she’s coming home tomorrow.”

“Good,” Mac said, then shook his head. “World’s goin’ to hell in a handbasket.” He crossed himself dramatically.

Kate chuckled at the old-fashioned saying–his late mother’s favorite line–and at his exaggerated piety. Mathias McKenzie Reilly was one-eighth Greek Orthodox and seven-eighths Irish Catholic. His mother had named her only child after his maternal grandfather, while his father had taught him the importance of a good pub.

When Mac’s parents had died in a car accident five years ago, he’d taken over the corner bar they’d operated for decades and turned it into a full-blown restaurant. Mac’s Place offered an eclectic blend of Greek cuisine, Irish bonhomie and the Chesapeake Bay region’s passion for seafood. Most Wednesdays, when Kate got off early, she and Rob met here for lunch.

Mac wasn’t exactly your typical restauranteur. He was only forty but his weathered skin and gruff manner made him seem older. His scruffy appearance was in sharp contrast to his military-style buzz cut, a leftover from the decade he’d spent in the Army. He was short and wiry, the only fat on his body the beginnings of a paunch that indicated he shared his father’s love of beer.

Rob appeared next to the booth. “You trying to horn in on my date, Mac?”

Mac grinned at him as he slid out of the bench. “What’ll it be, folks?”

Kate had no need to consult a menu. “Crab cake sandwich and a Greek salad.”

“Same for me, but with fries. Did Kate tell you Liz is coming home tomorrow?” Rob’s tone was downright exuberant.

Mac flashed him another grin. “Yup. Give her a peck on the cheek for me.” He headed for the kitchen to place their orders.

Kate was relieved to see Rob in better spirits today. “How’s Liz going to manage? Can she get around yet?”

He sobered slightly. “Actually, no. She’ll be in a wheelchair for at least a month. I’ve hired a home health aide to stay with her during the day, and take her to her physical therapy sessions.”

They discussed mutual cases until their food arrived. Rob stole the pickle slices off her plate to add to his own. She swiped one of his seasoned fries, lightly sprinkled with Old Bay seasoning. While they ate, she regaled him with stories of the staff meeting that morning at the counseling center. It had been established in the early 1970’s with the moniker of Victim Services of Maryland. Now the staff was trying to come up with a catchier name–one that would get away from the connotations of a
victim
as weak and helpless. The term had long since been replaced in the trauma recovery field by
survivor
.

When the check arrived, Rob pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet to match the one Kate put on the table. She hid a smile. He’d finally stopped arguing about splitting the check.

“My favorite suggestion,” she picked up the conversation again as they headed for the door, “was Violence Recovery Unlimited. And then someone got totally silly and suggested that since we’re primarily in the business of helping people find the guts to stand up for themselves, how about Guts R Us.”

Their chuckles were abruptly cut off when they reached her car parked in front of the restaurant. The right front tire was flat.

Holy crap!
Kate felt her mood deflate as well.

They stood at a loss for a moment, long enough to catch Mac’s attention through the big plate-glass window of the restaurant. He came outside, and the two men argued good-naturedly about who was going to change the tire. Mac won when he pointed out that Rob would ruin his expensive suit, while he had a change of clothes stashed in his office for those occasions when a kitchen mishap dumped grease or other unmentionables on him.

Their friendly banter cheered Kate up some. She grinned at Mac’s back. Since he considered T-shirts with obnoxious sayings on them as appropriate work attire, she figured the unmentionables would have to be pretty bad before he’d change his clothes.

Rob was razzing him about the proper way to change a tire when both men suddenly grew quiet.

“What? What’s wrong?” Their backs were blocking her view of the tire.

Rob crouched down to get a closer look. “Shit! Your tire’s been slashed, Kate.”

~~~~~~~~

She was still a bit shook that evening as she told Eddie about the mutilated tire. They were getting ready for bed, dropping jewelry, change and wallets onto their respective bureau tops. “You know, I’m beginning to think Rob has a point,” she said. “Friendly suburban Towson isn’t feeling so friendly anymore.”

“Oh, come on, this has got to be some weird aberration.” Eddie tossed his undershirt in the general direction of the hamper. “Normally, this is a quiet enough region of the world, except when the university students are partying.”

He steered her toward the bed. “Look, things are crazy the rest of this week, but next week you take my car one day. I’ll take yours to the tire store on my lunch hour. Get you a new tire.”

She snorted. “What lunch hour? It’s tax season.”

“Have you lost track of time in all the chaos lately? Next Monday is April fifteenth.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” She smiled.

I’m getting my husband back!

Eddie put his arms around her waist from behind and pulled her against the warmth of his bare chest. “You’ve had a stressful time lately. The least I can do is take care of your tire for you.” He kissed the nape of her neck, sending a delightful shiver down her spine. “Have I told you lately that you look particularly fetching in that nightgown?”

She laughed out loud. “Now I get it.” Grabbing a pillow off the bed, she turned in his arms and gently smacked him with it. “You’re not just trying to be nice, you’re trying to get laid!”

“Is it working?” He wiggled his eyebrows and gave her the most lascivious grin she’d ever seen. “You also look quite fetching
out of
that nightgown, my love.”

He let go of her and dove into bed. Giggling, Kate slid under the sheet. She cuddled close to his lean body, and indeed the nightgown did not stay on for long.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tuesday morning, Kate was slurping down a second cup of coffee at the kitchen table. Despite her fuzzy head, she was feeling quite happy that another tax season was behind them.

She’d had her last lonely weekend for awhile. At least she’d put the time to good use and had gotten all the peeling paint scraped off the front porch. Many of the floorboards were squeaky, which meant someone would have to crawl under the porch and shore up the supports. With a shot of malicious glee she wasn’t totally proud of, but also wasn’t totally ashamed of, she’d opted to leave that nasty task for Eddie.

When he’d finally gotten home last night, they’d celebrated with a late supper. He’d grilled steaks and they’d shared a bottle of their favorite wine.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to be at work until eleven this morning, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to get through the long day on too little sleep. With some relief, she realized that Cheryl Crofton was her last client tonight. She’d been doing so well lately that Kate was considering cutting their sessions back to every other week.

By the middle of their session that evening, Kate had mentally tabled that idea. Cheryl’s demeanor had abruptly changed. Her face a mask of rage, her voice had become an aggressive growl as she described what she’d like to do to her soon-to-be-ex in retaliation for the abuse she’d suffered at his hands.

Kate was finding the big woman rather scary when she was this angry. Keeping her voice calm, she pointed out that it was natural for pent-up anger to surface, now that Cheryl felt safe.

The client continued to rant for a few more minutes.

“Frank isn’t worth going to jail for,” Kate finally said, her voice a bit sharper now. “And you don’t want to stoop to his level, do you?”

After a beat, Cheryl’s face relaxed. In a more normal voice, she said, “Nah, you’re right. Living well is the best revenge.”

Engaging in some end-of-session chitchat, Kate escorted her client to the door of her office. As the young woman started to walk away, the sound of her high heels triggered a memory. “Cheryl, wait. Did you come back to my office last week? I thought I heard someone in the waiting area.”

“Yes, actually, I did. I, uh… couldn’t find my keys.” She was avoiding eye contact. “I thought maybe I’d left them in your office, but then I heard Rob’s voice. I, uh, didn’t want to disturb you, like if you were in a meeting or something.”

Cheryl was now examining the pattern in the fake-wood flooring. “So I just left,” she finished lamely.

From her embarrassment, Kate suspected the woman had seen her comforting Rob and had misinterpreted it as a romantic encounter. She considered setting the record straight, but decided she’d sound like she was protesting too much. Instead she gently said, “You could’ve knocked. Our meeting wasn’t so important that we couldn’t have helped you find your keys.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I found them. They were in the bottom of my purse all along.”

“Well, you take care now, and take care of the little one, too.” Kate pointed to Cheryl’s slightly rounded belly, under her loose top. “When are you due, five more months, right?”

“Yeah, and I can’t wait.” The young woman grinned, apparently happy to be back on safe ground. “This little tub of lard’s already startin’ to weigh me down. I think I’m gonna name him Tubbo.”

“Don’t you dare. You’ll scar his psyche for life, and it might be a girl, you know. Let’s not be sexist.”

“OK, then I’ll call her Tubbette,” Cheryl cheerfully threw over her shoulder as she walked away.

Kate breathed a small sigh of relief. The silly banter had served to restore the balance in their relationship.

~~~~~~~~

On Wednesday, Kate was feeling drowsy as she waited for Rob at Mac’s Place. She still hadn’t completely recovered from staying up late Monday to celebrate the end of tax season. Maybe she would take a nap this afternoon.

Eyes drooping, she startled a bit when Rob slid into the booth across from her.

“I didn’t see your car out front,” he said.

“I’ve got Eddie’s Saturn. He took my car today so he could go by that discount place near his office at lunchtime. If they’ve got a good sale going he said he might replace all four tires and be done with it. So, how are you? And how’s Liz?”

Rob caught her up on the Franklin household’s adjustments to Liz’s temporary semi-invalid status. Then they discussed mutual cases for awhile, including Cheryl’s. Rob had filed for a hearing to try to get her alimony. The courts, unfortunately, were backed up even more than usual and he hadn’t been able to get her case on the docket until July.

Kate shook her head. “She’s a waitress with minimal benefits. Will you be able to get her alimony? She’s worried about her finances around the time the baby’s born.” Kate was worried too. Rob was handling the case
pro bono
and the counseling center had a sliding scale that went all the way down to a dollar a session, but still the woman had to eat and pay the rent. Financial stress might weaken her resolve to go through with the divorce.

“It’s not a given,” Rob said. “Especially since her husband doesn’t make a whole lot more than she does. The fact that she won’t be able to work for several weeks is my strongest argument. She’ll definitely get child support, but I can’t file for that until after the baby’s born.”

As they ate, their conversation meandered through other subjects, professional and personal. They were waiting for the check when a man approached their table. He was a bit stocky, slightly shorter than average, and wearing an inexpensive business suit. There was an air of self-importance in his body language.

“Mrs. Huntington?” he asked.

Kate nodded.

“I’m Detective Phillips. We spoke on the phone two weeks ago.”

Kate felt her face tighten. “Yes, I remember.”

“Your receptionist said I’d find you here,
lunching
with Mr. Franklin.”

Kate narrowed her eyes at him. “What is it you want, Detective?”

Phillips was staring intently at her, but his voice softened as he said, “I’m afraid I have some bad news, about your husband.”

Icy fingers wrapped around her heart. She stood up, then grabbed for the edge of the table as her knees threatened to give out on her. “What? What about my husband?”

Rob also jumped up, alarm on his face.

Phillips looked uncomfortable. “Maybe we should go somewhere private, Mrs. Huntington.”

“Tell me, damn you!” Blood pounded in her ears. “Tell me what’s happened to my husband!”

“Um, I’m afraid….” Phillips cleared his throat. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Huntington, that your husband’s been killed.”

The room spun. She felt Rob’s hands on her arms, holding her up. Then the world went black.

Kate woke up on a small couch in the restaurant’s office. In a fog, she focused on the strange image of Mac wringing his hands in the doorway. Rob and another man were arguing. Rob was yelling, “How dare you tell her like that, in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

Tell me what?

Curiosity shifted to resistance. She didn’t want to remember. She wanted to make the man tell her it wasn’t true.

The arguing stopped when she sat up. Her head felt strange. Rob sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.