He slipped the frozen dinner into the microwave and pressed the button. A steak dinner would taste good about now. Although his mother, rest her nagging soul, would have told him to give it a rest, he preferred to let it boil and fester. It kept him focused to remind himself of what he was missing out on. Mamby-pamby. That was what his mother called him. No ambition. That’s what his ex-wife had said. He had hopes and dreams. He had been the brains behind the entire concept but now here he was, living in a one-bedroom apartment above a café.
The microwave dinged. He pulled out the dinner and set it on a plate. After grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, he carried his meal to a table in front of the window where he liked to watch the comings and goings across the street. The lasagna didn’t smell half bad, not as good as the Italian restaurant by the mall but it would do. No ambition. How wrong she was. He had lots of ambition, but more important, he had patience and planning. His number one rule was to keep his hands clean. He wasn’t a violent person. Murder had never been in his plans, at least not by his own hands. If only the bitch at the restaurant had been a little more cooperative. He had been at the restaurant the night the customer had given her a hard time. What a perfect time to tie one of them to the deaths. So he followed her, tried to get her patterns down straight. When she walked into a seedy bar on the outskirts of town, he grabbed a stool next to hers to strike up a conversation, work his magic. But something went horribly wrong. He should have known waitresses who can remember the food and drink orders of eight people at a table without writing anything down, might not be the best targets. How stupid. The few times he had eaten at Bailey’s he had never looked the same. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How foolish he had been to not change his eating habits. Whether steak or hamburgers, he always ordered a side of horseradish, and she remembered that.
His hand shook as he stabbed at the lasagna, remembering the night he followed her to the seedy bar. If he had frequented Bailey’s more often he would have known of her relationship with the manager. He would have heard the other waitresses talk about the public argument the two had had, how she had poured the beer over his head. Now the newspapers were hinting that the manager was the number one suspect in her murder, not the customer who sent his steak back twice.
It wasn’t often that he encountered a woman who didn’t succumb to his talents. Instead, she had turned to him and said, “What kind of line of bullshit is that? What are you trying to pull?” And after a pause, she had said, “I remember you. You always ordered a side of horseradish.”
She was a little tipsy when she left that bar. For being so smart, she hadn’t locked her car doors. If only her memory hadn’t been so good. Oh well. It still worked out for the best.
<><>
Sam climbed off the elevator, gave a wave to the night shift desk sergeant and marched down the aisle to Jake’s desk. He was pounding away at the keyboard while Frank was leaning over Jake’s shoulder. Takeout boxes from a Chinese restaurant littered the desks. The night shift had a skeleton crew and it was obvious the skeletons were either out to dinner or on the streets. Robinson was tidying up his desk. Sam could see a fortune cookie clamped between his lips.
Frank straightened as Sam approached. “Hey, Sam. What brings you out?”
“Had to meet a client.” She zeroed in on her husband who raised his eyebrows and cocked his head as his way of asking, “what kind of trouble are you in?” She was getting good at reading his body language.
“You mean you aren’t tethered to the stove?” Frank stifled a chuckle.
Sam’s eyes flashed like electric sparks as she pointed a finger at Frank. “Don’t even talk to me.” She reached into her purse and flung a piece of paper at Jake. “Same to you.” She turned and marched back to the elevator and never looked back.
“What was that all about?” Robinson closed his office door and lumbered over to Jake’s desk.
Jake studied the fuzzy picture, turned it several ways and cocked his head. “What the hell?”
“That’s a sonogram,” Frank said. “Sam’s pregnant?”
Jake studied it closer, looked at the elevator as the doors closed, then back to the picture. “Why are there three legs?”
Robinson pulled the photo from Jake’s grasp and let out a huff of breath. “Actually, there are four legs, four arms, and two heads, you ass.”
Frank nodded in agreement. “Either Sam is having an alien or she’s having twins. But why the hell did she look at me as if it’s my fault?”
“Shit. You told me she couldn’t get pregnant while she’s nursing.”
Robinson pointed at the numbers at the top of the photo. “Hell, she’s fourteen weeks pregnant. Did you know this?”
“Would she have flung it at me if I knew?” Jake leaned back and washed his hands over his face. “Damn. I need a drink.” He stood and pulled his jacket from the back of his chair.
“Uh uh.” Robinson tsked. “If I were you, I’d head straight home.”
<><>
Sam stroked Dillon’s back as he slept soundly against her chest. She was huddled on the window seat in the nursery. The room was dark except for the constellations on the ceiling formed by glow-in-the-dark stars. Abby and Alex had worked extensively on the nursery, adding a scenery of animals behind a picket fence and a life-like painting of a tree in the corner with a bird house hanging from a hook in the ceiling. Sam had left all the decorating up to her mother.
Abby folded the freshly laundered blanket and placed it in the bottom dresser drawer. “So you never stayed to witness Jacob’s reaction.”
“No. I figured he needed time to let it sink in. He probably needed a stiff drink, too.”
Abby studied her daughter, then sat on the window seat across from her. “You are worried.”
Sam smiled as she watched Dillon’s bud lips suck on his thumb. She inhaled the clean bath smell of his skin and hair. How precious. How innocent. “I just wanted a little more time to spend with Dillon before I had to split my attention with another baby. Or in my case, babies. I don’t want him to feel short-changed.”
“It will be good for him to have kids to play with, Samantha. Women throughout life have had children just a year apart.”
“Yes, but they weren’t married to someone already damaged from a bad childhood.”
“Jacob can handle it. There are enough of us here to help manage the chaos.” There was a gleam of excitement in Abby’s eyes. She brushed stray hairs from her face and tucked them into the knot at the nape of her neck. “I have spoken to Cora about recommending someone to help out. Of course she will make sure any applicant has some medical and child care training. I don’t want to entrust my grandchildren to just anyone. We can remodel the basement to make it resemble more of an apartment.”
“I don’t know, Mom. No matter how much training that person would have, it would still be a stranger under our roof.”
“Think about it. Talk it over with Jacob.” Abby rose from the seat and reached for her grandson. “Let’s get Dillon into his crib.”
Sam relinquished custody with a sigh. “The problem is I would feel like a complete inept mother if I had to rely on some nanny to help out.”
Abby placed Dillon in the crib and covered him with a light blanket. She kept her voice low so as not to awaken her grandson. “Perhaps you might think differently, Samantha, when you have three babies and suddenly an enticing case is dumped in your lap and you wished you had some spare time to help out a spirit who only has you to rely on.”
Abby always had a subtle way of making sense. Sam lightly touched the dreamcatcher hanging over one end of the crib. It was believed a dreamcatcher would trap bad dreams and only let in the good dreams. Feathers hung from the bottom of the art piece but it was hung high enough that when Dillon was able to stand, they would be out of his reach. Jake appeared in the doorway. If it wasn’t for the lighting, Sam would swear his face was white.
“How long have you been standing there?” Sam asked.
“Long enough.”
Abby patted his arm as she walked out of the room.
“Yeah, wonder of wonders.” Sam tucked the blanket around her sleeping son. “Isn’t he adorable?”
“We do make cute babies.”
“Spaced a few years apart would be nice, like maybe ten years.”
He circled his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “Frank offered his apology.”
“Right, like that’s going to get him anywhere.”
Jake moved his lips to her mouth and let them hover. “Frank also said you can’t get pregnant when you’re pregnant.”
Sam struggled not to smile but it was hard. Jake’s hands were exploring and his tongue was tasting the corner of her mouth. Damn him!