Murder 101 (16 page)

“Test these first. These are the only ones that need to be corrected and handed back.”

He nodded. “OK. I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can.”

I looked up at him and paused for a minute. “Are we OK?”

He sighed. “Yes.” He put his arms around me. “Just don’t pull a stunt like that ever again. I’ll have to take you to the precinct in the cruiser.” His voice was serious, but his eyes twinkled.

“It’s not a cruiser,” I intoned solemnly.

He put one hand behind my head and bent down to kiss me. Things got out of control quickly, and I ended up sitting on the counter, my legs wrapped around him and him half on top of me. I pulled away, a little flushed and a lot disheveled. “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” I asked.

He laughed out loud. “You have been dying to say that, haven’t you?”

I pulled a dirty fork out from under my ass and waved it at him. “You’ve got to go. Right now.”

He looked at his watch. “You’re right. I do.” He walked down the hallway and stopped, halfway to the door. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh. More thinking. Where’s my fire extinguisher?”

He smirked. “I think we should have dinner. Out. In a restaurant. Without my questioning you. What do you think?”

“But the case isn’t over yet,” I reminded him.

“So, we’ll do it around here. I don’t know anyone in Dobbs Ferry.”

I thought it over. “When did you have in mind?”

“Tomorrow?” he asked. “I’m driving my girls home at five and then I’ll head down here. Pick you up at seven?”

I had an honor society awards ceremony from five to seven. “I can do seven. But you’ll have to pick me up at my office or in the Blue Room. If you get there early, you can have a drink and listen to my scintillating speech on the history of Lambda Iota Tau.”

He smiled. “Mmmm . . . Greek . . . sexy.” He thought for a moment. “The timing sounds good. I’ll go straight to school on my way back.” He opened the door. “I’ll see you then.” He gave me a peck on the forehead and started down the sidewalk. I heard him mutter, “Erectile dysfunction, my ass.”

Despite being full of good Italian food, my stomach rumbled and did a little flip.

Twenty-one

After an eventful and exciting start to the day, I now had many hours of solitude facing me. I still wasn’t completely comfortable on my own, but the last few weeks had been so action-packed that it hadn’t seemed to matter. I had plenty of things going on and a lot to think about. Now, after spending the night (sort of) with Crawford and feeling those initial tinglings of hope that someone would be in my life again, I was back to square one—alone in my house with nothing to do. The relationship that seemed to be beginning was a little strange to me; he seemed perfect. What was the catch? After being with Ray for so long, I couldn’t help but look for the catch. I had had a great-looking, smart husband, but he had a fatal flaw—he didn’t really love me, and he liked to have sex with other women. But I tried to push the thought of Crawford’s potential fatal flaw from my mind and continued cleaning up the kitchen.

After I had put all the food away and tidied up the room, I went into the living room and lay down on the couch; I was still exhausted from the night before and the aching in my bones was getting more acute as the day wore on. I stretched out, putting my feet up on the pillows and blanket that Crawford had neatly folded and left at the end of the couch.

I put an arm behind my head and thought about Vince. If he didn’t kill Kathy, what had him so spooked that he felt like he had to kidnap me? What was my connection to all of this besides the fact that my car was Kathy’s final resting place? What was the feeling that I had about Vince that had gripped me at the funeral? Was his connection to the drug world the connection to the papers? None of it made sense to me.

I must have fallen asleep. About an hour into my snooze the phone rang, disturbing a very peaceful, dreamless nap. I jumped up from the couch and picked up the phone on the end table. I winced as I rolled over to get the phone and felt a sharp twinge in my shoulder, a painful reminder of what had happened the night before. It was Max. She started talking before I could even manage to get a “hello” out.

“So, I find myself with a free night, thanks to being stood up by my date. What are you doing tonight?” she asked. As usual, it sounded like she was doing a million other things while she was talking to me, the sound of drawers being opened and slammed shut in the background.

It took me a minute to focus and get my head around what she was asking. “I have no plans.”

“Come into the City,” she commanded. “I have reservations at Nobu and I’m not giving them up because some schmuck got Knicks tickets at the last minute and canceled on me.” She paused for a second. “Good in bed or not.”

“What time?” I asked, looking at the clock hanging in the dining room. It was four-thirty.

“Do you think you can get yourself together and into Manhattan by seven?” She paused for a moment. “You sound like you’re sleeping.”

“I was taking a nap. I had a rough night.” I thought for a moment, trying to rid my mind of the many cobwebs encasing it. “I think I can make it by seven.”

“Rough in a good way or rough in a bad way?” When I didn’t respond, she kept going. “Never mind. I know you. You probably had one martini too many and have been spending the entire day chastising yourself for it.”

“Not quite, Max.”

“Then what?”

I recounted my story about being kidnapped by Vince and the subsequent car wreck but left out the part about Crawford. Nothing says “loser” than being in the same bed with an attractive man and just
sleeping.
I would never live it down. I continued with my story. “And then Ray, the philanderer, showed up.” If I thought of him as part of a Dickens tale and gave him a stupid name, I could almost think about him without becoming nauseous.

“He’s collecting stamps now?” she asked, completely serious.

It took me a minute before I figured out what she was talking about. “That’s a philatelist, Max. A philanderer is someone who is unfaithful.”

“Oh, right,” she said, the light dawning. “What did he want?”

“To apologize. For being a jerk the other day.” I recounted our phone conversation after he got out of jail. “I think we have finally reached détente.”

Max has always been onto me and knew that there was more to the story. “What else? You’re holding back.”

“No, I’m not.” I think I doth protest too much.

“Forget it,” she said. “I’ll get it out of you tonight. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.” I thought she was done, but I heard her whisper, “I’m glad you’re all right,” before she hung up.

I got up and went up to my bedroom. I went through my closet and found a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater and a pair of black pants that could be ironed and made presentable. I would be walking to the train, so I dug out a pair of black boots with a heel that wasn’t too high.

It took me about an hour to get my pants ironed, my hair combed, and my makeup on. After waking from the nap, it seemed like every muscle in my body had seized up; everything ached. I went downstairs and took the things that I needed out of my briefcase: my phone, wallet, keys, and train schedule. I almost knew the schedule by heart now, but since it was the weekend, it would be different and I wanted the schedule with me so that I didn’t have to stand around Grand Central Station at midnight or later waiting for the last train out.

I went out the front door and down the walk. Jackson was at the end of his driveway with Trixie, his golden retriever, helping a young boy ride a bike. He looked up when Trixie pulled on the leash and attempted to come my way. He let go of the leash and the dog bounded over to me. She immediately planted her nose in my crotch, and I pushed her snout away, grabbing her leash so that I could return her to her owner.

I said hello to Jackson, handing him the end of the leash. I tried not to look as uncomfortable as I felt, now that I knew what Terri and Ray had been up to. Try as I might, I also couldn’t come up with the kid’s name. “Learning to ride a bike?” I said, leaving out any proper names.

“He’s doing great, isn’t he?” Jackson asked, looking at the child proudly as he did figure eights on his tricycle. “This is our nephew, Hayden. We’re babysitting. Learning the ropes, so to speak, before taking the plunge ourselves,” he said, giving me a little wink.

Holy multiple metaphors, Batman. “His parents better start saving for a Harley Davidson.”

Jackson laughed. “Don’t even say that.” He continued watching the boy, a cute little blond who looked a lot like Jackson’s wife, whom I now thought of as “that slut Terri.” Must be her side of the family, I thought. “Terri said that she saw you yesterday.”

I nodded and immediately felt embarrassment for both of us, the cuckolded spouses. “Yes.”

“She told me about this whole business with Ray,” he said, shaking his head. “Shame.”

“It certainly is,” I agreed, sure that she hadn’t told him the “whole business”; she might have left out the part where they spent hours screwing.

“Terri always liked Ray a lot,” he said, oozing pity for me as the poor wife. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hmmm,” I said. More than you know, you pompous ass.

He hesitated a moment, starting the sentence, stopping, and then starting again. “What do you think, Alison? Is Ray capable of what they . . . of murder?”

I could see his mind working overtime: if Ray did it, then he’s a murderer, and he lived next door to us. His property values would plummet. I answered his question with a shrug. Ray was capable of a lot, but murder? It was anyone’s guess.

He fixed me a look mixed with pity, sympathy, and sadness. “I’m sorry, Alison. You deserve a lot better than that.”

And so do you, I thought. I got a little annoyed. I deserve a lot better than a murderer? Yes, most women do. And you don’t have a clue about what’s going on in your house, buddy, so save the pity for someone else. But instead of saying what I really thought, I stood with a smile plastered on my face. I watched the kid on the tricycle for another second before saying good-bye to Jackson and giving Trixie a pat on the head. Trixie was fast becoming my favorite next-door neighbor.

The street was more deserted farther away from my house. I supposed that most people with kids ate early, and everyone was safely tucked inside, serving chicken nuggets and french fries to hungry young ones. I started down the street, glad that I had grabbed my black-leather blazer out of the front-hall closet; the day, once sunny and bright, had turned dark, windy, and cold. I stopped at the corner at the intersection that united my street and the street down to the station and buttoned the three buttons on my jacket.

A black Mercedes sedan, shiny and with tinted windows, pulled up alongside me. The passenger-side window disappeared and I looked in at Peter Miceli’s round face. “Hi, Alison!” he said, as if running into me was the most normal thing that could happen. Staten Island was a ninety-minute drive from my house; this wasn’t an accident. Or a social call.

I froze in place, a terrified smile on my face. “Peter, I have a train to catch.”

He stayed in the car but kept talking. “Where are you going? I’ll drive you.”

I backed away from the car. “The City.” I thought short answers might be better under these circumstances.

He slowly maneuvered the car so that it was as close to me as it could get without running me down. His tone changed. “Get in.”

I looked in the window at him and saw a gun on his lap.

“Get in,” he repeated. He reached across the seat and opened the passenger door.

I got in and pulled the door shut, staying as close to the door as possible. The door locks went down with an ominous “thunk,” and Peter started driving, away from the train, my street, and the town.

After five minutes of silence, he looked over at me. “Put your seat belt on.” He waited until I did so before continuing. We were now on the Saw Mill River Parkway, heading south. “So, I understand you’ve been spending time with Detective Crawford.”

I stared straight ahead and kept silent. My right leg went up and down, shaking uncontrollably, and I put my hands and my purse on top of it to stop the trembling.

“He’s good-looking. Seems like a catch,” he said, as if he approved of my taste in men. He should have met my ex-husband.

“I guess,” I said, morphing into a seventh grader.

“He tell you anything about who slaughtered my Kathy?” Instead of heading toward Manhattan on the Henry Hudson, he merged left and got onto the Major Deegan Expressway going south, which would take us through the Bronx. I felt a sob rise in my throat but kept it there; I’m sure he knew I was scared, but I wasn’t going to let him know it by crying.

“We don’t talk about the case,” I said, my voice steady and calm.

“What do you talk about?”

I shrugged. “Nothing much.”

He grinned. “Oh, it’s one of those kinds of relationships. Not a lot of talking. Before I met Gianna, I had a few of those kinds of relationships.” He looked over at me. “Are you scared of me, Alison?”

“A little.”

He put the gun into a leather-lined pocket on his car door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He continued driving on the Deegan, weaving in and out of traffic. “I heard what happened with you and that idiot, Vince. Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Shame about that kid. But that’s what happens when you don’t have a father growing up,” he said. He clucked sympathetically and looked over at me again. “Funny thing is, he was just like his father even though he never knew him. Loose cannon.” He switched lanes again. “You know what they say: the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

I didn’t say anything and let him talk.

“We weren’t crazy about it when Kathy started dating him. She’s just like her mother, though. Bad taste in men,” he said, and then caught himself. “Before she ended up with me, that is.” He let out a throaty laugh. “Do you remember the guys Gianna used to date before she met me?”

I shook my head.

“Crazy guys. Nuts,” he said, taking his index finger and rotating it around by his head. “Her parents were so happy when she started dating me. You could say that they had picked me out for her.”

I looked at the speedometer; he was going the speed limit, so there was no chance that we would be stopped for speeding. He turned off an exit that I wasn’t familiar with and headed east on a dark road.

He continued with his stream-of-consciousness monologue. “The only thing I can’t figure out—besides who killed Kathy, that is—is why they left her in your car. Why your car, Alison?”

I had asked myself that a thousand times and had come to the same conclusion as Max. “My car was shitty. It was easy to steal.”

He had a look on his face that told me he had never considered that explanation. “Shitty? In what way?”

“It was old, the locks didn’t work, and it’s the kind of car most people wouldn’t miss.” I looked out the window and tried to figure out where we were, but couldn’t. The area became more desolate, with old, dilapidated houses dotting either side of the street but becoming fewer in number the farther east we got. I tightened my grip on my bag and almost gave in to the urge to cry.

“That’s a shame. You really should have invested in better transportation.”

Thanks for the advice, asshole, I thought to myself. I’ll be dead soon, and the only transportation I’ll need is a hearse.

He slowed the car down and crept along a side street. “I want you to do something for me, Alison. I want you to find out everything your detective boyfriend knows about this case. Everything. Got it?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Peter, and he won’t tell me anything.” Although I should have agreed with him, I knew it was fruitless to try to pry anything out of Crawford. So, what happened when Peter came back, and I still didn’t know anything? I was starting to suspect that the things that I had heard about Peter were true, and that made me fish food any way you looked at it.

“He’ll tell you. Just keep asking,” he said, and pulled the car over. I saw a series of large warehouses, but nothing else. “Maybe you can take another trip to the beach. The long car ride might give you the opportunity to chat a little more.”