The Past Came Hunting (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

“Lt. Crandall, line three,” the department secretary’s voice said over the intercom.

Joe picked up the phone. “Crandall.”

“Hi, Joe, it’s me.”

He flinched. With his job, running a household, the callouts, basketball practices and life, he’d simply hadn’t had time to add
argue with ex-wife
to the list.

“Morning, Karen. What can I do for you?”

“Call me back for one thing.” The statement was a jab, but it was laced with uncharacteristic humor.

“God, I’m sorry, I’ve been busy.”

“That’s what Matty said. Listen.” There was a pause in the conversation. “I owe you an apology.”

Joe glanced out his office window to make sure this wasn’t the Second Coming. “An apology?”

“Yes. I’ve made no secret that I felt Matt would be better off with me.”

You sure haven’t.

“But when I saw his last progress report...” She paused again. “Did you get him a tutor?”

Damn. The progress reports. He’d meant to keep logging on to the school computers to follow Matt’s grades, but after the first two weeks when he’d shown improvement, Joe’d slacked off. “No,” he said carefully. “No tutor. Matt’s been hitting the books since it’s basketball season and he wants to play.”

“Well, an A in history and a B in English, Joe, whatever you’re doing, I couldn’t have done better myself.”

Never had he had such a pleasant conversation with his ex.

“How’s Trish?” he asked, his gaze drifting to an outdated picture of his little girl.

“Growing up way too fast. She misses you. That’s the other reason for my call. I wanted to discuss Christmas. Are you expecting Madelyn and Alfred for the holidays?”

“Not this year,” Joe said. “Alfred has a conference in Miami in February. I imagine Mom will go with him. We’ll arrange to see them then. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of bringing Matt to Chicago for winter break.”

It was stipulated in the divorce decree, so Joe had little to say in the matter.

“He’s not crazy about coming. Matt sounds really happy.”

“And that surprises you?” The first trace of testiness entered Joe’s voice.

“Frankly? Yes. If you’re spending time with him, then I’m ecstatic.”

He conceded the statement. For too much of Matt’s and Trish’s childhood, he’d been their father in name only. After last night’s dismal defeat against Palmer, he and Melanie had taken the boys out for pizza. He’d never seen Matt as animated. Karen was right. Matt was making a fine transition, and Joe had enjoyed their time together, as well.

“So what do you think?” Karen asked.

She’d been talking. “About?”

“About Trish and me coming to the Springs for Christmas?”

With his schedule, Joe hadn’t even thought about the approaching holidays.

“Trish wants to go skiing. I thought we could make it a family thing.”

“Family?”

“We could rent a condo in Breckenridge, separate bedrooms for you and me, of course, and hang out. What do you think?”

Over the phone, it sounded ideal. His kids loved to ski, and he could use some vacation time as well. “What about Mark?”

After another perceptible lull in the conversation, Karen said, “I gave him back his ring. We’re taking a timeout.”

A timeout engagement? “I see,” Joe replied, not really understanding, but not interested enough to pry further.

“Mark wants to move up the date and I’m not certain. I―I miss you,” she said.

Joe gripped the phone. Too bad it had taken ripping a family apart and relocating to another city clear across the country for her to realize it.

“Joe?”

“What do you want me to say? Of course, I want to see my daughter. And if you take the kids skiing, great. I’ll come up during the day. But the nights. . .” He left the words unsaid.

His ex was a dark-haired beauty who could play seductress. If she really was uncertain whether she should marry Mark Bryant, the emergency room physician she’d left Joe for, he wasn’t going to be her guinea pig while she made up her mind.

“You don’t want to see me,” she finished for him.

“Not particularly.”

Her sigh was audible. “You were never home, Joe, and I can’t undo what I did. But don’t take it out on the kids, okay?”

“Why would I hurt my kids?” Even contemplating the thought caused his heart to ache.

“I’d like for us at least to appear to be friends when I get there.”

She had a point. “Go ahead and book the flight.”

She hesitated. “I already did. We get in the evening of the twenty-third. It’ll be too late to drive up to Breckenridge. Would you like Trish and me to book a hotel, or can we stay at the house?”

Holding the phone away from him, Joe stared at it. Karen had launched this plan long before she’d placed the call. For a moment, he contemplated making a room reservation in her name. But Trish would want to stay with her mom, and what kind of father expected his daughter to stay in a hotel when her old bedroom was readily available?

Sort of. A bedroom existed, but Trish’s furniture resided in Chicago. He’d never replaced it. Moreover, her bedroom doubled as storage. Joe picked up a pen, scribbled
shopping
, then tossed the pen across the desk. He’d been meaning to get her room ready. Hell. He’d been meaning to do a lot of things. “No hotel room,” he said. “Of course, you’ll stay at the house.”

“Thanks, hon... Joe,” Karen amended. “I’ll send you an e-mail of our itinerary.”

“You do that.” He hung up without a goodbye. What was she up to? His thoughts turned to Melanie and the kiss they’d shared last night.

Why was it when a guy thought he might be on the right track, life derailed him and sent him hurtling in a different direction?

Chapter Thirteen

Drake entered a roadside motel room and tossed his bag onto a tattered piss-colored bedspread. Cheap furniture, threadbare carpet, the place stunk of nicotine, neglect and old age. But it was the Ritz compared to the places he’d crashed in West L.A.

What had been going through his head when he offed the guard? The asshole sure couldn’t help Drake dead. Knowing he should get away from the murder scene as quickly as possible, and taking advantage of Rope’s leads, Drake had left Cañon City. From there he’d taken US 50 West and driven forty miles to Pueblo, Colorado.

To his knowledge, he’d made no mistakes. But shit, the stuff these forensic dudes had come up with these days. Drake’s ruined gloves and coat had protected him when he’d handled the body. But with blood on both items, he’d traveled several miles east of I-25, until he found an abandoned campground, lit a fire and burned them.

With one of his recently purchased fake IDs, he’d checked into this flea trap and stripped naked. As he checked over his injuries, he wondered if the scratches on his neck and chest had come from the guard, or were they the result of their rumble off the porch? And what primarily concerned him was whether the cops could tell one from the other.

He frowned at his reflection in the mirror. His fifty thousand was down to twenty-six grand. Now, thanks to bloody Ropes, Drake had to spend more on winter clothes.

Whoever found the body was in for a gruesome surprise. All he could hope for was the fuzz would believe it was a leg breaker who’d had no success in finalizing a bad debt.

In any case, Drake wasn’t too worried. He’d told anyone who’d asked that he was returning to California upon his release. Now, all he had to do was wait until visiting hours of the East Cañon Correctional Facility in Cañon City, and put a new plan into motion.

He dozed until later that morning, then, faking a Hispanic accent, called the prison and asked for Ramon Garcia. His former cellmate was a trustee and had phone privileges, or at least he had before Drake left the joint.

“Who are you holding for?” some hard-nose said as he came on the line.

Drake stressed the accent. “Ramon Garcia. This is his cousin. He’s expecting me today and I can’t be there. I need to let him know.”

“I’ll relay the message,” the guard said.

Damn.
“That’s cool. But I wanted to tell Ramon why I can’t be there. It’s his uncle. He’s sick, ya know? He’s not gonna make it. Let me break it to him, will ya?”

The guard hesitated, but finally came back with, “Hang on.”

Five minutes later, Garcia answered the phone. “H’lo.”

“Garcia, this is Max.”

“Max? Where you at?”

From his Pueblo motel room, he exhaled slowly. “Riverside. Ramon, listen. Remember that venture you told me about?”

“Yeah, but you said―”

“I know what I said, but this working construction’s the shits. You gotta get me out of here, Garcia. You got a number for me?”

“
Nada
, man, sorry. My contact would kill me. Leave your number. I’ll have him call you.”

Shuddering at the thought of Colorado Springs, Drake asked, “Is he in the same place we talked about?”

“That’s where he was the last time I talked to him. But who knows, he might’ve split. Look, this ain’t my time for privileges. The man’s breathing down my neck. How can I reach you?”

Drake wanted to press his ex-cellmate for information to speed things along, but clearly he was afraid of Denny Ramirez. Risking the prison’s recording system, Drake gave out his cell number. No way could he risk hanging around Pueblo. This close to Cañon City, Pueblo wasn’t small, but it wasn’t a metropolis area either. And if he was a suspect in Rope’s death...

He’d head to Denver to await Ramirez’s phone call. In a city that size, Drake could turn invisible and wait for the heat to die down.

“Got your number, bro. Go work on your tan. He’ll call you,” Garcia said.

Drake nearly squeezed the life out of his cell phone, before he pressed end. That had been the plan, to lie on a warm beach and soak up the rays. Who would have thought he’d still be freezing his ass off in Colorado.

The only thing that made him calm down was Ropes’ three solid leads. Melanie’s last name was Norris now, she had a kid and she was living here in Pueblo. All possible ways for Drake to find her. Ropes also said something about her working with
flowers. That could mean a whole slew of things, from peddling for a landscape company to setting up funeral arrangements.

Drake stuffed his meager belongings in his bag, then started for the door. But before opening it, he doubled back to the nightstand beside the bed and ripped off the Pueblo phone directory. While he was stuck in Denver, he’d let his fingers do the walking. He’d find the pretty little bitch that set him up if it was the last thing he did.

He’d start with the flower shops.

Chapter Fourteen

“This is st
upid,” Matt said. “Why does American history have to be so screwed up? Why all these amendments? Why couldn’t Franklin and Jefferson get it right the first time?”

Standing beside her kitchen counter, Mel laughed. “Maybe because they didn’t have a crystal ball, Matt. Remember, back in the late 1700s, the issues didn’t pertain to women’s rights or gay rights, but
human
rights. Slavery was the issue. Taxation without representation,” she added. “Imagine a government imposing a tax simply because it felt like it. That’s what King George was doing, particularly to the Colonies. So I bet Mr. Franklin and Mr. Jefferson had a few other things on their minds, including the fear of hanging from a very long branch.”

Matt closed his book. “Yeah, well, it still bites having to know all this worthless stuff. How come you’re not a teacher, Mrs. Norris?”

Luke entered the kitchen. He’d been on the phone with a girl, and Mel was dying for details. “Yeah, Mom, how come? You’d be great at it.”

Caught between two staring boys, she turned toward the sink. “Never crossed my mind,” she lied. “Who was on the phone?”

“Nobody.” Luke moved to the refrigerator. “Dad always wanted you to go to school. Why didn’t you?” Luke took out a gallon of milk and started to drink it straight from the container.

“I thought about it,” she said, taking the milk from his grasp and lifting an eyebrow. “But then there was you, the commute, and your dad got sick.”

Luke frowned. “So what’s stopping you now? Didn’t you tell me your mom was a teacher?”

Mel swallowed hard. Her son was growing up and becoming far too insightful. “Yeah, she was. Hey, how about I make shakes, and you take a novel approach and drink it from a glass?”

Both boys readily agreed, saving Mel from any more rapid-fire questions.

Her refrigerator-freezer was out of ice cream, so she went into the garage where she kept the stand-alone unit.
So what’s stopping you now
? She loved working with kids. Some she’d even tutored at the elementary age. But she’d never accepted a dime, even though many parents had offered to pay. Convicted felons couldn’t hold teaching licenses.

Funny, when it came to politics she read everything she could to stay current. What was she, a Republican, Democrat, Independent? It didn’t matter. Ex-cons couldn’t vote.

She sighed deeply. When she’d hitchhiked and ended up with Drake Maxwell all those years ago, she’d screwed up her entire life.

She located the vanilla ice cream, wandered back toward the kitchen and discovered Luke and Matt talking about something other than schoolwork. Mel eased closer to the door.

“Do you want Coach Hood to kill you? Skiing?” Luke screeched. “If you break one leg, Coach’ll break the other one.”

Matt laughed. “It’ll be winter break. He can’t have contact with the players anyway, and this means a lot to my mom.”

“I guess,” Luke replied. “You miss her?”

“Yeah, you know. I talk to her a lot, and I never thought I would, but I even miss my brat sister.”

Luke laughed. “How old is she?”

“Eleven.”

“How come your parents split up?”

Luke wasn’t the only one who was curious. Mel hung on every word.

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “My mom was crying a lot, and dad seemed mad all the time.”

“Did they do a lot of yelling?”

“Nah. It was the cold shoulder stuff, that kind of thing. You know what’s weird?”

“What?”

“My mom said my dad was going skiing with us, and she sounded excited.”

“Sweet. Maybe they’re getting back together.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Matt said.

Mel clutched the ice cream, barely feeling the cold. Were Joe and his ex-wife planning to reconcile? The thought left her numb. Last night, she’d returned his kiss with as much enthusiasm as he. What was wrong with her? Did she have dolt plastered to her forehead? She took a long breath, squared her shoulders and re-entered the kitchen.

The doorbell rang and her heart lurched.

Placing his hands on either side of his head, Matt leaned back and groaned. “That’ll be my dad. I completely forgot.”

Luke rose from the table. “I’ll get it.”

“Forgot?” Still reeling, Mel placed the carton on the counter.

Matt shot to his feet and shoved books into his backpack. “The first night we don’t have practice, and my ol’ man expects me to spend it cleaning out my kid sister’s bedroom.”

Joe strode into the kitchen. “I heard the ol’ man comment, and you’re right. I do expect you to pull your weight. C’mon, Matt, hurry it up. I could get called out tonight.”

Studying Joe from her peripheral vision, Mel noted the circles shadowing his eyes. With his coat looped over his shoulder, his tie askew, he looked like a man who’d spent eight hours under pressure.

Stop it, Mel. This is absurd. You can’t care for him
.

He joined her near the kitchen sink. “How was your day?”

“Fine. I was making the boys milkshakes.” Pouring the thick concoction into glasses, she raised an eyebrow. “Want me to skip it?”

“No. But the moment they’re finished, we need to get a move on.”

“Sweet.” Matt reached for his drink. “C’mon, Norris. Let’s catch something on the tube.”

As Luke and Matt dashed from the kitchen, Mel fought the urge to call them back. Their presence offered a buffer between her and the playboy next door.

“Actually, this gives me a chance to thank you.” Joe moved closer, evidently unaware of the route her mind had taken.

“For?”

“My ex-wife called, ecstatic about Matt’s grades. Even went so far as to ask if I’d gotten him a tutor.” Joe leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “I had. Only I didn’t know it. You’ve been helping him, haven’t you?”

So Matt was right. Joe and his ex had been talking. Mel needed to get a grip on reality. If they did get back together, wouldn’t that be best for their children?

“Matt’s been doing all the work,” she said, stiffening. “All I’ve been doing is encouraging him to focus.”

“Simon mentioned you taught one of the prisoners to read. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. You’re obviously a bright woman.”

“Yeah?” Mel replaced the lid on the ice cream. “If I’m so smart why didn’t I see what Maxwell was up to from the very beginning?”
And why did I kiss you last night
? “Excuse me. My ice cream’s melting.”

Before she snapped, and let him know what was
really
on her mind, she brushed by him. Re-entering the garage she stored the ice cream in the freezer.

Unfortunately, Joe followed. Closing the door to the kitchen behind him, he said, “Is Maxwell the reason for your lousy mood?” In seconds, he’d gone from father and neighbor to a cop on heightened alert. “Did something happen?”

She might be upset, but not enough to let him worry. “No, nothing like that.”

He relaxed visibly. Surrounded by boxes and way too much privacy, the longing within her awakened and her mind wound back to last night. Even now she wanted Joe to ignore her off-limit vibes and crush his lips to hers. And by the heat in his eyes, if she didn’t do something fast, he most definitely would.

No, he wouldn’t, damn it. She sidestepped him and reopened the kitchen door.

Oh, God. This was insane. She was
jealous
. The fact that she was capable of such an irrational emotion irked her further. She wanted to ask about the boys’ conversation, to know that the kiss they’d shared last night had meant something. Most of all, she wanted an iron-clad guarantee she hadn’t risked her heart to a man who planned to use her and wouldn’t return her feelings.

The boys’ loud guffaws carried from the living room. Joe glanced at his watch, then narrowed his gaze and shrugged. “Well, something’s eating you, so we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Fine.” Instantly she regretted her surly tone, but the damage was done.

“Have I done something?” he asked.

“Why did you kiss me last night?”

Joe held up his hands. “I don’t know. After our talk I thought I felt a connection. I obviously misinterpreted. Matt,” Joe hollered.

“Ah, Dad,” the kid called from the other room.

“Time to go. Now!”

Mel extended a hand. “Joe, wait.”

But the man who’d showed such compassion last night wasn’t listening. He walked out without another word.