What Laurel Sees: a love story (A Redeeming Romance Mystery) (15 page)

Joe raised a hand toward the hall. “That’s where Stella sleeps.”

“I pushed her bed over to the side.”

All Joe could do was shake his head.

“She’s a cat,” Clay said. “She won’t even know the difference.”

Joe scratched his head wearily. “You’re actually moving. On five hundred bucks.”

“Fifteen hundred.” Clay tossed what makeup supplies were left in the kitchen into a stained nylon pouch.

Joe’s eyes widened. “Where’d you get fifteen hundred dollars?”

“My date last night spotted me a grand.” Clay zipped up the pouch with a flourish.

“Spotted you a...” Joe reeled. This was worse than he’d thought. “Your date. Was this before or after you got pummeled?”

Clay sashayed by with a shrug. “What can I say?  Some like it rough.”

“A trick did this to you?” Joe whirled. “I thought you said it was a bunch of thugs.”

“Did I?” Clay stashed the pouch inside a bigger bag. “And I wouldn’t talk about my proclivities given the psycho you’re seeing.”

Quietly, Joe felt himself recoil. Clay knew nothing about Laurel, and she was anything but a psycho.

“Yes, yes.” Clay straightened. “Despite your valiant attempts at personal privacy, and the fact that you’ve never once come to see my work, I do happen to read yours.”

Joe sunk into his chair. “That doesn’t mean you know the truth.”

“Are we waxing philosophical, Joe? Because maybe we should invite Madam Laurel to join this conversation.”

Joe rubbed at his brow bone. “She happens to be worried about you.”

“Who wouldn’t be after what you probably told her?” Clay stuffed his suitcase closed and latched it.

“I didn’t tell her anything. Not even your name. She says... She said God told her.”

Clay turned, a superior look on his face. “This would be the God you don’t believe in?”

“I guess that’s something I’m rethinking.”

“Wait.” Clay’s gaze narrowed. “Supposedly God told her what?  That I’m a sicko reprobate?  That I’ll burn for all eternity?”

“No.” How could he say this in a way that Clay would understand? It wasn’t like Clay seemed to be in a listening mood. But then again, he was standing there, waiting for an answer.

“She cares,” Joe started. “It was more like... She said that you’re scared, that you’re hiding. That you were abused. And she knew that you have a thing about Marilyn.”

Clay scowled. “She could have read about any of that.”

“Could have. That part, but I don’t think...” Joe shook his head. It was so hard to accept Laurel’s gift himself. “But there was also something she said about...  She said she saw blood on you.” He lifted his palms. “And I swear I did not tell her you’d been beaten up till after.”

Clay’s eyebrows hiked. Clearly, he was just as unnerved to hear this as Joe had been. He crossed his arms in front of himself, then rotated his neck with a crack. “Is that all?”

“About. For the moment.”

Abruptly, Clay headed toward the door. “You know, I’d love to hang and play spooky night séance, but I don’t feel so welcome here. And besides. I’ve got a bus to catch.”

Joe pushed out of his chair and rose to his feet. “Come on. Stay.”

Resolutely, Clay collected his things. “Despite the fact that my leaving undermines your whole messiah complex, I don’t think so.”

Joe wandered toward the door. When would he ever see his brother again if he moved to Manhattan? As hard as it was to live with Clay, the prospect of his moving away still left Joe hollow. Sure, they had their differences. But he was the only family Joe had left.  “So this is it?”

“Were you looking for more, Joe?  It’s not like we’ve been close.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Joe couldn’t argue the point. He had no right to tell Clay how to live his life or where he should be living it. There seemed nothing left to say. Joe lifted his palms in surrender. “Okay.”

Clay shoved a duffel bag under his left arm. He looked more hurt than angry. “Last time you may ever see me and all you can come up with is ‘okay.’ Thanks a lot, Joe.”

“Come on, Clay.” Joe closed the gap between them. But once he got there, there were no words. “You know I’m no good at this.”

Clay threw the door open. “Well, watch and learn, Baby, because I am.”

Just that quickly, Clay was gone.

For crying out loud, the guy’s face hadn’t even had a chance to heal. Joe rested his eye sockets into the heels of his hands.

Once again, he’d failed his brother.

Joe could chase after Clay, but still. What could he say that hadn’t already been said?

He went to the window and lifted a slat in the blinds. There was Clay, headed toward the bus stop with most of what he owned in his hands. Perhaps this was what Laurel had meant when she said she was afraid that he might lose his brother. He could only hope that part hadn’t meant more. Should he have warned Clay somehow? There probably would have been no point. Clay was going to do what he was going to do, no matter what anybody said.

Joe told himself he had to face facts. It was the end of a torturous era. Together, they were such a toxic combination. Besides, what did he know? Maybe Clay would surprise him. Maybe he’d make it in the New York club scene. Maybe a little distance would do them both some good. Long and hard, he tried to persuade himself of all those things. But what was the use?

Nothing inside Joe believed a solitary word of it.

fourteen

A
dele dialed Laurel’s number from the passenger seat of Lou’s van. Lou had just about squeezed that behemoth into the only available parking space, a city block from Laurel’s apartment. Adele gazed around the blue-collar environs. Parking was sure a feat in this neighborhood. Here it was, broad daylight. You’d think most people would’ve gone to work. Then again, unemployment might have hit harder among the lower-middle class.

Adele counted the phone rings on her fingers. Five, now six. Laurel’s landline clicked over to her machine. Either Laurel was screening her calls or she wasn’t home, just as Adele had been hoping.

Adele hung up and opened the passenger door. “I’m going in.”

Lou looked over toward Laurel’s building. “She could be at work. We could try her there.”

“Her shift’s at eight a.m.  She walks.  Leaves at a quarter of every day except Sunday.” Adele rounded Lou’s car.

“And you know all this because...”

“I’m a journalist, now, Lou. I do my homework. Come on.”

Lou had such a reluctant look on his face. Still, he grabbed his camera and locked up the van.

What was it with this guy? Usually, he had no hesitation about following his boss’s bidding. Today, it sure seemed like he was dragging his heels, all the way up the walk, then up the stairs to Laurel’s door.

A voice from Laurel’s answer machine sounded from inside. Thin walls, this building. “
Hi, uh...you know, I actually kind of despise these things
.”

Adele signaled Lou to stay quiet. Someone was leaving a message, a man with a very familiar voice.

Joe Hardisty.

“
I guess they give me some kind of weird performance anxiety or..
.”

Lou backed away. “Maybe we should go...”

“What, are you kidding? Shh...” Adele pressed her ear to the door.

“...
I don’t know,
” Joe continued through the machine
. “ So...I wanted to talk, about last night and
...”

Adele grinned at Lou. “Last night? I wonder what’s up with that.”

“
So, maybe I’ll run by the Grille. Grab a bite.  I’ll see you soon
.” There was a clunk as Joe hung up.

Adele straightened. “I guess we should triple check. Who knows? Maybe she’s even screening his calls, now.” She gave Laurel’s door a couple of sharp raps. “When do we get those shots back from her daughter’s little field trip yesterday?”

“Ask McTier,” Lou replied.

“You didn’t have to turn the memory card in, you know. You could have made a copy. Debra’s pretty frosted about that.”

Adele pressed her ear to Laurel’s door again. Not a peep. “Well, Buddy. I’m of the mind that we wouldn’t be too terribly out of line to check on her. Make sure she’s okay.”

“I’ll say it again. She’s not home.”

“You say that. But we really can’t be absolutely sure of that. Now can we?” Adele reached up to feel above the doorframe. Nope. No key hid there. She stooped to check under the doormat. Bingo.

Lou put up a wary hand. “Walk away, Adele.”

Adele rose. This was going to be good. “She has a medical condition. She could be incapacitated. Unconscious for all we know.”

Lou just stood there like a lump, shaking his head. There had to be some way to get the guy on board with this.

“And hey.” Adele smiled coyly. That usually worked for her on men. “Key’s under the mat. The mat says welcome. Just following the occupant’s instructions.”

Adele unlocked the door. Her pulse accelerated as she pushed it open and eased into the unit. She would follow this story, wherever it took her—hopefully, all the way to the top.

Steam rose as Belle poured Joe a cup of hot coffee. As nervous as his stomach was getting about Laurel, the last thing he needed was caffeine, but it had seemed the best way to get Belle’s attention. The fact that Detective McTier was already seated across from the Grille’s owner did nothing to ease Joe’s mind. Where was Laurel?

Ralph wiped his hands. “She’s fired is what she is. She don’t show, she don’t work for me no more. And I don’t know zip except I’m out a waitress.”

“What about her?” McTier pointed to Belle.

“The name’s Belle and, yeah, I’ll tell you what I know.” Belle set the coffee pot down. “I know Laurel. And I don’t care what you think you’ve got or what any kind of nonsense points to because that girl had nothing to do with this.”

Belle moved along the counter and put Joe’s coffee down in front of him. “Laurel’s got a heart on her, you know. Don’t be taking advantage.”

McTier answered his ringing cell. “McTier.” The detective quickly tossed some cash on the counter and rose. “Yeah. Uh-huh, gotcha. Right around the corner...I’m on it.”

Joe cast a guarded eye at McTier’s hasty departure. He leaned closer to Belle. “Can you just tell me if she’s called in this morning?”

Belle narrowed her gaze. “You want to know for business or personal reasons? And you think hard, my brother, because I can smell a lie six inches before it hits the griddle.”

“Personal,” Joe whispered.

Belle drew her head back. Joe didn’t like being scrutinized, but that’s exactly what Belle was doing. Finally, her face softened. “All right, then. I’ll tell you this much. She should be here, but she’s not. Laurel is good people. Never been late to work a single day. Not without calling.”

It turned out to be no secret where Detective McTier had been headed. Three squad cars passed Joe, sirens blaring. They were all speeding in the very same direction Joe was headed on foot—straight toward Laurel’s apartment.

Something seized in Joe’s chest. What was going on? Whatever this was, it couldn’t possibly be good.

Joe bolted past the squad car barricading Laurel’s block. Yellow tape was being stretched around Laurel’s building. Had something happened to her? There was no ambulance, at least not yet, but he couldn’t be sure.

Joe blasted by Adele and Lou where they stood, talking with an officer. He was winded by the time he reached Laurel’s front walk.

Debra was there, having a very animated discussion with McTier. “You are not bouncing us, Detective.”

McTier threw a hand up toward Lou and Adele. “They’ve already contaminated the scene enough.”

Debra paced, about to pop a cork. “They found your murder weapon!”

Joe stopped in his tracks.

“Yes, apparently they did.” McTier maintained a maddening calm. “Which is why I’m looking the other way on them being there illegally in the first place.”

Incredulously, Debra extended her hands. “They were checking on her! Do you know how many people are discovered dead for days because nobody bothers to check?”

“And do you know how much evidence gets kicked because reporters are deemed to have been operating as police?”

Joe strode between them. “What evidence?”

Debra snapped around. “Stay out of this, Joe.”

He didn’t answer to her anymore. He turned to McTier. “Is she okay?”

McTier picked at his teeth. “Wouldn’t exactly know. She skipped.”

Joe looked toward Laurel’s windows, reeling. He felt Debra’s hand on his arm.

“Joe, listen to me. Leave. Now.”

McTier clamped a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Actually, Mr. Hardisty, I was thinking you should come with me.”

Joe’s head pounded. How many different ways could he say it? It didn’t matter, he guessed, because McTier wasn’t listening. He was too busy at his office desk, two-finger typing a report into his computer. “Detective, you’re wasting your time.”

McTier grunted. “Yeah. Same thing she said.”

“I’m telling you, this is a mistake.” Joe rubbed his temples.

McTier kept right on hunting and pecking. “Looks like you’re the one who made a mistake. She took off.”

Joe paced. “That makes no sense. She wouldn’t just up and leave everything.”

“Her purse was gone, her insulin kit. Seems that covers the essentials.”

“None of this adds up, Detective. Not with the person I saw.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” McTier scratched behind his ear. “The murder weapon stowed in her kitchen drawer, a goodbye letter to her daughter that amounts to a confession...”

Joe felt his jaw go slack. “What are you talking about?”

“We pulled a copy off her computer.” McTier gave Joe a patronizing nod. “I’m sure your old cronies at
Kickerton
, they’ll tell you all about it.  That, or you can read it in tomorrow’s edition.”

Nothing about this made sense to Joe. Not unless every instinct he’d had about Laurel had been completely wrong.  “I don’t believe this.”

McTier continued to type. “She had you, didn’t she?”

Everything in Joe froze. Was it possible? Could he have been so completely wrong about Laurel? He’d sworn he’d never be taken in by a subject. Not again. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Completely drained, he looked up at McTier. “I don’t know, Detective. Maybe she did.”

McTier just shrugged. “Happens a lot. These people can be very convincing. She say anything to you about taking off, where she might be headed?”

Joe searched his mind. A flash of conversation returned, that last remark Laurel had made to him. Maybe it was an innocent coincidence. Maybe it was a disturbing truth. What exactly had she said? Something about how taking to the open road was looking better and better to her. She hadn’t seemed serious about it at the time, but in light of her disappearance, it was hard to know. Maybe she’d headed back to her parents on the Oregon coast.

Joe studied McTier. The man just kept tapping at his computer keyboard.

McTier looked up. “So, anything?”

Joe swallowed the memory whole. It stuck in his throat, refusing to go down. “No. Nothing.”

The hardest part of emptying his desk at
Kickerton Press
was the prospect of facing up to Debra. They’d have to trade barbs. When she was wrong, Joe could let her smug taunts roll off. The problem was, this time, it looked like Debra might actually be right. Whatever. He didn’t have to let on that he knew that.

It wasn’t long before she coasted through his door. There was what looked like a smile on her face. “Want your job back?”

Darkly, he tossed what little was his into a box. “I heard it said I’m fresh out of objectivity.”

Debra waltzed toward his desk. “I don’t know.  I’m thinking maybe you were right.”

He looked up at her, barely. “Why do you think you can come in here, cozy up to me and make everything that’s gone down evaporate?”

She perched on the arm of his chair. “You’re doing it again.”

“Excuse me?”

That glib look she’d mastered was painted all over her face. “With me, with Laurel...it’s all the same,” Debra said. “First bit of struggle with a woman and you bolt.  Know what my shrink calls it?  Preemptive abandonment.”

“She’s a fugitive on murder one.”

Debra nonchalantly toyed with his pen set. “A reasonable excuse to walk.”

Joe grabbed an award from his shelf, the one remaining vestige of his legit exploits at the
Times
. What was she talking about, anyway? She always did this to him. If he let her, she’d talk him right into another one of her traps. The only thing was, this time, she had something in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a while. Sincerity. “You saying I shouldn’t drop out of this story?”

An uncharacteristic calm came over her. “What we had of a relationship aside, Joe—I think there’s more to it. More than Adele is getting at.”

“I thought Adele was your go-to gal, now.”

“She has promise. But she’s young. Tends to jump to conclusions. And the reason you have that award there...it’s because you usually don’t.

Joe set his award down on his desk. It could be hard to tell what Debra was really after, especially given that thinly veiled appeal to his ego. “You just know that Laurel will only talk to me whenever she turns up.”

“Believe what you want, Joe. But I was there on the scene before McTier. And, I mean, you don’t suffer fools well, so I’m guessing this woman is no fool. She was in the clear.”