Chapter 9

 

Chief William Maxwell stood in the side yard of Jess’s house and threaded a long green hose along the ground. It had been years since he’d done yard work. Jess had a lawn guy but there was always work to do.

The sound of the screen door slamming made him look toward the house. He wasn’t surprised to see Mia pulling on her jacket and jogging across the lawn toward him. He’d watched her and Jack drive up a few minutes ago.

They were supposed to be here to discuss the menu for the rehearsal dinner that Jack was catering, but with that lowlife Cook cleared on the Internet Hussy case he knew the real point of the visit.

Morning, Chief,” she called to him. “Thinking of lighting a match to it?”

Mia,” he said, nodding in greeting.

Interesting news about Cook. How’d he slip the noose?”

Maxwell squinted at the sun dipping behind the sourwoods in Jessie’s front yard. He couldn’t help looking for signs of a pot garden and he hated himself for even thinking of it. A quick check into the police records ten years back popped up the prostitution charge just as Mindy said. Naturally, she’d failed to mention that the charge was in connection to a series of mass arrests at a political rally involving better wages and healthcare for sex workers and that the charge had been dropped.

The handwritten pot note was a little harder to explain. Was it genuine? Could it possibly be?

Chief?”

He turned and looked at Mia.

You were about to tell me how Cook went free,” she said. “Are you okay?”

I’m fine. Someone came forward with a time-stamp video of a party Cook was at during the time of the murder.”

They were able to pinpoint time of death that narrowly?”

Narrowly enough for Cook.”

And you guys have nobody else that looks good? What about Barry Cargill? Are you looking at him next? Oh! And I’ve been meaning to ask you about Derek Kilpatrick’s alibi.”

I’m not talking about the case with you, Mia.”

Why not? I don’t work for Bentley & Jamison anymore.”

You know the case is reopened, right?”

Of course.”

That means you need to surrender all your files and you don’t go near anybody you’ve been questioning up to now.” He glanced at her to see if she could tell he was bluffing. If she wanted to be difficult, he’d have to get a warrant for the files.

And Mia was always difficult.

Did you hear me, Mia?”

She walked over to the hose and stretched out a kink in it. “Maybe some things I found out could be helpful to the police.”

Type them up and include them with the files you have.”

Sounds like a brush off, Chief.”

Is that your mother calling us?” He turned to head back to the house and Mia grabbed his arm.

Chief, I’d really like to be kept in the loop on this. Please.”

Maxwell tucked Mia’s hand on his arm as if he were the father of the bride escorting her down the aisle and patted her hand. He couldn’t help but see the similarities between Mia and Mindy. Both were hardheaded and passionate. Both saw only their side of the equation. He’d failed Mindy, that was clear. In a thousand different ways. He knew that was a mess and he knew it was his fault.

That’s not going to be possible, darlin’,” he said brightly. “But what is possible is the clear and irrefutable evidence of maple bacon and waffles I smell coming from the house. Shall we?”

The last thing Maxwell wanted to do was ask Jess about the stupid note—especially after he’d told her to ignore Mindy’s troublemaking. His mood sank lower with every footstep he took toward the house and the woman he loved more than anything else in the world.

 

*****

Mia looked at Jack as she drove them back to Atlantic Station from her mother’s house. He still looked weak. He’d spoken very little at Jess’s. Not himself at all.

Almost as if he thought he might not be available for Mom’s big day.

What did the chief say to you when you were outside?” he asked.

Basically told me to butt out.”

Well, that’s not a surprise.”

I know things, Jack,” Mia said hotly. “I can be a help. Maxwell is always talking about how the department doesn’t have enough money or resources and here I am—a walking, talking resource ready to be used in any way necessary.”

Please don’t lead with your chin like that until I’m feeling better,” he said, a faint smile on his lips.

You look awful.”

Thanks. I feel pretty crappy.”

Don’t you think you should have your lawyer push the prelim back? You’re sick, Jack.”

She hadn’t meant to be the first one to bring it up, but there were limits to her powers of self-control.

How I feel is irrelevant for what’s going down on Tuesday,” he said softly.

What?” She snapped her head to look at him. “Do you know something?”

Not really. Just…” He lifted a hand as if to explain something to her and then dropped it. “Not really.”

You need to be in bed.”

Again with the sex talk when I’m in no condition to do anything about it.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window.

An hour later, Jack was tucked in bed and asleep. Mia sat on the couch in the living room and tried to process everything that had happened.

Cook was free—not even on the hook for trying to buy underage sex since the twins were not, after all, underage. It was all so frustrating. When she tried to log onto Victoria’s Atlanta Love’s site, the password didn’t work anymore. To hear Maxwell complain about the Atlanta Police IT Department, she would’ve expected them to take a lot longer before closing down that portal.

Figures this would be the one time they rise to the occasion.

And where does that leave everything else? Derek? Cargill? If Cook really is innocent then the killer was out there walking around free. Mia ran her fingers through Daisy’s topknot and tried to think of what she could do if the police really did close all avenues on the case. She glanced around the room and noticed Jack’s smartphone on the coffee table.

He must be sick. He normally isn’t five inches from that thing.

She had it in her hand and open before she even knew she was doing it. It wasn’t password protected. Trying to ignore a creeping sense of guilt, she went straight to his email addresses, found his lawyer’s name and opened the most recent one. She drilled down into the history and read every exchange between them since the arrest, then closed it and set it back on the coffee table.

Jack was going to plead not guilty in three days’ time. And then he was going to be taken into custody to await trial. Mia looked in the direction of the bedroom and felt a terrible weight press on her shoulders. He was going down this terrible road alone.

The man was stubborn and he was strong.

Even Mia knew that was a deadly combination.

 

The next morning, Jack was much improved. Mia could see he would be healthy enough to take the stand in his own defense. She could also see that if somebody didn’t get off her butt and do something, soon, he would be well enough to be led out of the courtroom in leg manacles too.

She showered and dressed, walked the dog and came into the living room, where Jack rested on the couch.

You look better,” she said.

Liar.”

I have to go do that bridesmaid thing.”

I’ll be fine, Mia. Go.”

I won’t be long.”

I’ll probably be asleep the whole time you’re gone. Don’t hurry.”

Truth was, she hated to leave him—especially since she couldn’t get past the feeling that these might be the last few days she had with him where they weren’t separated by bars. But she couldn’t let him know that. He was obviously determined to do this without her involvement.

The drive to the wedding dress boutique was a short one, but filled with thoughts of Cook and then of Jack in a confusing Ping-Pong match of images and thoughts.

Jess had insisted Mia meet Mindy at the shop since they were the only two bridesmaids and needed to coordinate their outfits. Mia was fairly sure all she really needed to coordinate was buying the same dress that Mindy did, but clearly Jess was hoping to foster a detente between the soon-to-be stepsisters.

She arrived early at the bridal shop and handed the paper with the catalog number and her size written on it to the sales girl. She’d seen a photo of the dress at her mother’s house and it didn’t look too bad. Mia rarely wore dresses so she didn’t expect to get much use out of it beyond the wedding day, but it didn’t matter. She’d wear a duck costume if that’s what her mother needed from her.

The Princess scoop neck in cocoa chiffon,” the sales girl said as she came back to Mia, the dress draped in light transparent layers over one arm. “Follow me to the dressing room, please.”

Mia fell into step, took the dress and deposited on the floor of the room her jeans, ankle motorcycle boots and sweatshirt that she meant to launder after her last trip to the barn. She was long-waisted, with long legs—a surprising combination on a petite frame—and one that almost always made her feel like a miniature Barbie doll. When the dress smoothed over her hips in its froth of chiffon, even Mia had to admit she looked ready for a fairy tale.

How does it fit?” the sales girl called to her from outside the room.

Mia stepped out and in front of the three-way mirror. “Good, I think,” she said.

It’s perfect with your skin color,” the girl said, frowning as if to belie her words. “You have a lot of olive in your skin. Very nice. Makes you glow.”

Mia pinked up at the compliment and turned to look at herself from the back. Would Jack get a chance to see her in this dress? Her shoulders sagged at the thought. How can she be trying on dresses and feeling pretty when he was back home wondering if he was going to prison?

Yes, it’s nice,” Mia said. “I’ll take it.” She went back to the dressing room and carefully transferred the dress back to its hanger. When she came out, the girl took the dress away and Mia followed her to the cash register.

Mindy still hadn’t shown up and a clawing finger of doubt pinched at Mia. Would she not come? Would she refuse to wear a bridesmaid’s dress at Jess’s wedding? As she approached the cash register, Mia saw a woman in line ahead of her. The sales girl gave Mia an apologetic look but Mia didn’t mind waiting.

The woman in front of Mia was on her cell phone and drumming long, lacquered nails against the counter as she spoke. It was interesting to Mia that someone could be so clueless that they were holding everyone else up—unless they knew they were and just didn’t care? Mia leaned against the counter to wait.

Yes, well, I heard he just croaked and nobody even knew he had a heart condition. What heart condition? That’s what I said.”

The woman spoke loudly in a brash New Jersey accent. The sales woman who was waiting on her had stopped ringing up her purchase and held out the woman’s credit card as if she had a question about it.

Oh, this should be good. Mia smiled. Better than Saturday morning TV.

I told you that already,” the woman brayed on the phone. “Supposedly he had some kind of pills and as long as he took them, no problem. What? What is it?” The woman shifted her phone to another ear but was now clearly talking to the saleswoman.

It was declined, I’m afraid,” the woman said.

Impossible. Try it again.”

I’ve already run it through twice.”

Well, run it through three times. That card is good. Eleanor, I’m going to have to call you back. This moron at the bridal shop doesn’t know how to run a credit card machine.”

Mia watched the saleswoman’s impassive face. Clearly, in her business, she’d been called worse.

A few minutes later, as Mia left the shop with her own dress, bagged and draped over her arm, she scanned the parking lot for the chief’s daughter but was secretly grateful not to see her. As she hung up the dress in the back of her car, a thought came to her.

At first it was unformed and negligible, really nothing more than a feeling. But as she secured her seatbelt, Mia caught sight of the New Jersey woman in the parking lot getting into her car—and the thought burst into her brain fully formed.

Was it possible? Was it at all probable? Maybe if you believed just for a moment that Jack’s guy really did just—what was it the woman said?—croak? Then maybe, just maybe…

Mia pulled her tablet from the glove compartment and opened an Internet browser, typing can you drop dead of heart condition? in the search window. Within minutes, she was toggling between three websites that listed several heart ailments that, left untreated, could result in an abrupt death.

A long shot. A Hail Mary play. A one-in-a-million chance.

With trembling fingers, Mia opened her smartphone and scrolled through her photographs until she came to the one she’d taken of the file folder Jack had left out when he didn’t think she was paying attention. It was the file on the man who died that night at the fire extinguisher plant. He was forty-two years old. Mia felt her pulse quicken.

She isolated his address and plugged it into her GPS system.

It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. And in Mia’s brief experience, a wild leap of faith, a little guts and a whole lot of nothing had solved some pretty big-ass cases.

 

Chapter 10

 

Let me do the talking, okay?” Mindy flicked a hair off her mother’s shoulder as they stood on Jess Kazmaroff’s doorstep.

Of course, dear. Have you met her? Is she pretty?” Cindy Maxwell stood next to her daughter, staring at the door as if addressing it. There was a light scent of alcohol about her. Not surprising. This wasn’t an easy errand and Mindy was mildly impressed that her mother was able to come at all. If necessary, Mindy could have done it alone. Just not as convincingly.

When the door opened, she enjoyed the startled reaction their visit caused in Jess.

Well, hello,” Jess said, looking from Mindy to her mother. “What a surprise. I thought you were…” She looked at Mindy and smiled tremulously. “Weren’t you and Mia meeting at the bridal shop today?”

Oh, crap, was that today? I totally forgot,” Mindy said. “Can we talk to you?”

Yes, of course,” Jess said, backing up and holding the door open for them. Mindy had to give her mother a nudge to get her moving across the threshold.

We have a little problem and when my mother and I got to talking about it…oh, have you two met?”

She had to hand it to Jess, her smile looked as genuine and open as if she really meant it. She shook Mindy’s mother’s hand.

We haven’t,” Jess said. “But I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

Wisely, Jess made no mention of how much the chief had or hadn’t said about his ex-wife. Probably better that way. Jess was fast on her feet. Mindy had to give her that.

You, too,” Cindy Maxwell murmured. Mindy had practically dressed her mother that morning and it had been no easy task. After the divorce, Cindy had taken to wearing yoga pants and sweatshirts and her diet had altered in order to more comfortably fill them. Now she was overweight—which was unusual for an alcoholic, but that was her mother, always defying the odds and coming out on the less positive side of the statistics.

I know this is probably indelicate,” Mindy said, looking around the living room and trying to imagine her dad lounging on the couch or fiddling with the TV, “but we need to ask you something about the wedding. And we’d just as soon my dad not know.”

I see,” Jess said. “Can I get you a coffee? I just made a pot.”

That would be awesome, Jess,” Mindy said. “Wouldn’t it, Mom?”

Cindy nodded her head and Mindy gave her another small push, this time in the direction of the kitchen where Jess was walking. Over her shoulder, Mindy saw what she was looking for in a darkened corner of the living room.

The three walked into the kitchen and Mindy promptly sat at the round dining table hoping her mother would take her lead. She did. They watched Jess as she pulled two mugs out of the cabinet over the sink, poured the coffees and returned to the table.

How do you take your coffee?”

Before her mother could speak, Mindy said, “Oh, with everything you’ve got. Cream, sugar, the works.” She pressed a foot down firmly on her mother’s toe and was rewarded with a startled look on Cindy’s face. Jess turned to fetch the cream and sugar, as well as spoons, napkins, and a pound cake she had on the counter.

You said it was indelicate?” Jess said.

Somewhat,” Mindy said. “Although I’m sure we can work it out. Mom, can you start? I need to run to the bathroom.”

Across the living room, first door on the left,” Jess said, as she brought the cake and a large cutting knife to the table. Mindy saw her turn quizzically to Cindy. “You have my curiosity,” she said, still smiling.

Mindy moved into the living room and walked past the couch to the other side of the room before turning and silently retracing her steps. She could hear her mother’s high-pitched voice begin to recite the script Mindy had gone over with her on the way to Jess’s house.

Cindy spoke slowly, as if unsure of what she was saying—as well she might be—but without taking a breath or adding any natural inflections. Normally, her mother’s speech pattern got solidly on Mindy’s last nerve but today she thanked God for it. The more agitated Cindy got—as surely today’s topic would generate without any problem—the more incoherent she would become. Exactly as planned.

Jess’s computer, like a lot of people’s, was set up in the living room. It was a PC that appeared to be several years old. In the course of idle chit-chat with her dad—only it’s never really idle, is it?—Mindy discovered that Jess was nervous about using the Internet. Her daughter, Mia, had set up the computer for her, but if the thin layer of dust on the keyboard was any indication it was rarely used.

Which suited Mindy perfectly.

She booted the machine up and quickly typed in one of five possible passwords in the search space. She hit gold with the third one—Daisy. To hear her father rabbit on about that stupid dog, you’d think it was already listed in his will. She jammed a thumb drive into the back of the computer and when it materialized dragged a remote access app to Jess’s desktop. Double clicking it, she enabled it from her cell phone. She tucked the app in a folder and hid it in the Application folder on Jess’s hard drive.

Well, I know how important it would be to Mindy, is all,” her mother said loudly, as if in response to something Jess must have said. Mindy stood up and grinned.

It could not have been easier.

 

*****

Jim Martin’s neighborhood was a new subdivision tucked into an older part of Druid Hills that had been razed and rebuilt. Unfortunately, the street itself hadn’t been updated and Mia drove around potholes and cracks from thirty years of hard use as she looked for the address. Each of the stucco houses looked enough alike to be virtually indistinguishable from each other, styled in vaguely Mediterranean influence with rounded garage doors and archways.

The page from the file that Mia photographed also included Martin’s religious denomination. He was Catholic, which would make things easier for Mia. Everyone who knew anything about Druid Hills knew the Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church off Briarcliff in the neighborhood.

If the guy really was Catholic, that would be his parish. Mia looked up the name of the pastor on the Internet and memorized a couple of the names of the deacons too for good measure. It was a weak ruse but it was all she had. She parked her car in the driveway of a bland, innocuous home that matched Martin’s street address, walked to the front door and rang the bell.

A woman in her early sixties answered the door.

Mrs. Martin?” Mia said. “I’m Mia Kazmaroff, from the parish?”

The frown on the woman’s face melted away and she opened the door wider.

Oh, thank you for coming,” she said. “Please come in.”

Mia stepped into the foyer. It had a soaring ceiling intended to give the feeling of space but, unfortunately, the walls on all sides were crammed full of amateur artwork and posters, fostering a claustrophobic, closed feeling instead.

Did Father Matthews send you?” The woman asked, leading Mia into the living room off the foyer. She was thin, her face showing signs of strain and tension. An unpleasant odor was present in the house and Mia had the sudden thought that it might be coming from Mrs. Martin.

Yes, he did. I’m just here to see how you’re getting along and if there’s anything we can do for you.”

No, all the casseroles have been very helpful though. I’ll never get through them in a month.”

Well, during such a dreadful time as this,” Mia said, sitting on the couch and feeling it crackle as if it were stuffed with cellophane, “you need all the help you can. I am so sorry for your loss.”

Thank you.”

I am new to the parish, myself.”

I didn’t think I remembered you.”

Can I ask you about Jim? Father is putting together a few words in his honor.”

Oh, that would be wonderful.” Mrs. Martin pulled a tattered tissue from her sweater sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “He was the best son. Never missed a Mother’s Day.”

And he lived here with you?”

Mrs. Martin stiffened. “Yes. Just until he got back on his feet.”

Of course. The recession has made it very hard for everyone. Jobs lost, foreclosures…and of course, it’s even worse if you have any kind of disability at all.”

I’m sure, although, thank God that was not the case with Jim.”

That’s good.” Shit.

Can I offer you a Coke, Ms…I’m sorry, how do you pronounce your name?”

Please call me Mia. Yes, a Coke would be great. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Not at all.”

And I hate to ask, but could I use the bathroom?”

Mrs. Martin stopped and looked at Mia with a frown. She glanced down the hall, presumably in the direction of the bathroom.

I’m afraid, with the pregnancy and all, I have to go all the time,” Mia said.

Oh, goodness, dear. I remember, myself. It’s the last door on the left down the hall.”

Thank you.”

Mia left her purse on the couch and walked down the hall as Mrs. Martin disappeared into the kitchen. Mia walked first to the bathroom and shut the door without going in, then returned to the first bedroom door off the hallway. The door was closed, and when she touched the knob it radiated sadness and despair up her arm.

This has to be his room.

Inside, it looked like the room of a twelve-year-old boy. It probably was. Little Jimmy Martin’s room before he left home as an adult thinking he’d conquer the world and only ever come back to Mom’s on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

She needed to hurry. Mia crossed to the bed and felt under the covers, trying to ignore the agonizing shrieks of pain and grief that crept up her arms as she did. That poor woman.

She turned to his desk. An ancient laptop lay on top but she didn’t bother with it. How long does it take to grab a Coke and pour it over ice? Hurry, Mia. Keeping one ear attuned to the possible sounds of footsteps in the hallway, Mia raked open the drawer on the bedside table. Pens, petroleum jelly, a set of Braves baseball cards, a prescription bottle of pills. Her fingers wrapped around the bottle.

What the hell are you doing?”

Mia whirled around to see Mrs. Martin standing in the doorway, a glass of cola in her hand. Her eyes looked beyond where Mia was standing to the open nightstand drawer.

I…was just looking for something that Father might use, you know, to talk about.”

Who are you?” Mrs. Martin took a step into the room. “Get out of here. Get out of his room!”

Mia edged past the woman and hurried into the living room. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Martin,” she said. “I just wanted to—”

I am calling Father Matthews right now. He must be a moron to send someone so insensitive to a grieving mother. Get out! Tell him this is the reason we don’t come any more! Nosy busybodies.”

Mia snatched her purse and walked to the front door. As she jogged down the front steps to her car, Mrs. Martin stood on the porch and yelled after her. “And you can tell him to stop sending the goddamn casseroles! I can make better food in my fucking bathtub!”

 

*****

Mia drove from Jim Martin’s house to the parking lot of Ansley Mall, three miles away. Her adrenaline was still pumping overtime from being chased out of the house—a house that vibrated with fury and sadness. It wasn’t until she’d driven a good two miles from the neighborhood itself that Mia could fully breathe again.

She looked at the prescription bottle on the car seat next to her, pulled out her iPad again, and carefully typed in metoprolol from the label. Within seconds she had her answer. Wanting to bounce out of her seat with barely suppressed excitement, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the number for Jack’s attorney.

His secretary buzzed her through.

Murray here,” he said, his voice clipped, business-like, and harried.

Hi, Paul. This is Mia Kazmaroff. I’m calling on behalf of Jack Burton.” Murray hesitated so Mia plunged ahead. “I need you to check on something for me. I have reason to believe Jim Martin suffered from…” Mia glanced at the webpage she’d found on her iPad, “…hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.”

Look, Mia,” Murray said with a heavy sigh. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. And I know Jack said the guy had a heart attack or something, but the evidence just doesn’t support that. I’m sorry.”

No,” Mia said patiently, “it wasn’t a heart attack. It was Sudden Cardiac Arrest. There’s a difference.”

Does Jack know you’re calling me?”

It turns out Jim Martin had a prescription for beta blockers that he filled nearly five months ago, but his bottle is still full.”

And you know this how?”

Listen, all you have to do is subpoena the guy’s health records to show he had a heart condition, which he obviously did. A heart condition he needed to take medicine for.”

Murray paused. “What was the name of the condition you think he had?”

Mia glanced at her iPad again. “The most common one is hypertrophic cardiomyopathy but it could be one of several. But the point is, if Martin wasn’t taking his medicine and he got overly excited, the stress could stop his heart.”

Overly excited. You mean like running away from someone?”

Exactly. If we can prove the guy needed beta blockers in order not to fall down dead when he got stressed out—”

And then see if the autopsy confirms those meds weren’t found in his system. I’m with you.” His voice had picked up in excitement.

Mia exhaled. “Yes,” she said. “Then the ME’s report about the spleen is irrelevant because the guy was already dead when it burst. Just like Jack said.”

Do I want to know how you got this information?”

Mia laughed wryly. “Didn’t Jack tell you? I’m kinda psychic.”

After she hung up with the lawyer, Mia felt a flush of exhilaration. Anything is possible if you’re determined not to give up. Maybe that philosophy could be extended a little farther? She picked up her iPad and went to the first of six bookmarks for people searches. With a name like Wojinziky, it couldn’t be that hard to find an address. Thirty minutes later, Mia closed out the last of her people finding sites. No joy on any of them. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and frowned.

An unemployed plumber with a seriously Polish-sounding name. How is it this hard? Finally deciding she’d have better luck on a full stomach, she pulled into the drive-through of the nearest Starbucks and ordered a sandwich and a venti iced coffee with four sugars. She had plenty of experience suddenly finding answers to vexing problems the minute she did something else and sure enough, as she was wadding up the paper of her sandwich, it occurred to her: a property record search.

While ol’ Jeffy boy might not own his own house—except what self-respecting plumber couldn’t afford a five-bedroom Wieland on what plumbers charge?—his parents surely must. She started with Fulton County and by the time she’d searched Forsyth and Cobb, the light was starting to fade. One more county and she’d do the rest from her living room.

DeKalb County. Tanya and Jeffrey Wojinziky.

He’s married? Wasn’t there a rule against married guys signing up for online dating services? Mia plugged the address into her GPS. It was across town, and with rush hour going on she knew she wouldn’t make it there in daylight. Which suited her just fine. She put the car in gear and pointed it toward the Wojinziky residence.

Between the wedding and Jack’s case she hadn’t really had a chance to process Victoria’s case falling to pieces. One thing she knew as sure as she knew traffic in Atlanta was that with Maxwell’s team handling it, steps would be missed and protocol skipped. The case had already fallen off the front page—and the third—and while they’d put a squad on it, Mia was convinced the sad ending of Victoria Baskerville was well on its way to becoming a cold case.

Not if I have anything to say about it. Did the cops even know about Wojinziky? Had they ever questioned him? Had they even gotten that far? She turned onto Ponce de Leon Avenue. The map on her GPS made it look like the Wojinzikys lived in Atkins Park. That was a pretty neighborhood and bordering on upscale for the area. Pretty good for an unemployed plumber.

She turned off Ponce in front of the old Plaza Theatre onto Barnett Street. The azaleas and dogwood down this street clearly hadn’t gotten the memo from the rest of Atlanta’s foliage and the season. It was an early explosion of pink and cotton-ball white punctuated up and down the avenue as the dogwood and the Bradford pear trees vied with each other for sheer stunning display.

Wojinziky’s house was a split-level that had been renovated. The landscaping wasn’t professional, but it was mature and lush. There were two cars in the driveway, one of them a pickup truck with a magnetic sign on the door that said Fast Plumbing. No wonder she couldn’t find him by Googling his name. He was smart enough to know nobody was going to remember Wojinziky’s Plumbing.

Just as she unbuckled her seatbelt, her phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen before answering.

Hey, Jack,” she said. “How you feeling?”

A lot better since I talked with my lawyer. Mia, get your ass home so I can kiss you. I can’t believe you found out the guy had a heart condition! How did you find out?”

Oh, you know us private eyes, we have our little ways.”

Tell me you didn’t go to his house.”

Hey, don’t ask, don’t tell, baby.”

Mia, if I wasn’t so sick—and so amazed about what you discovered—I’d kick your ass.”

No need to thank me, Jack. Your smiling face is all the thanks I need.”

Seriously, Mia, thank you. I’m just sitting here stunned because I can finally see a way my life won’t be a total nightmare going forward and I really need you home.”

I have one quick thing I have to do first. Want me to pick something up on the way back?”

Where are you?”

Near Ponce.”

There’s a great Thai place near there.”

Call it in then text me the address and I’ll pick it up on my way back.”

I love you, Mia.”

I love you, too, Jack. I won’t be long.”

She grinned and tucked the phone into her purse. Things were working out. It was all just working out. Jack’s preliminary hearing would clear him. They’d go back to major snuggle sessions. And he would help her pick up the threads to a case nobody was paying them for and that everyone in Major Crimes would have a major shit fit about if they found out they were still investigating.

Good times.

She left the car and hurried up the cracked sidewalk to the front door. The porch light was on and she could hear noise from the television set. She took a deep breath and knocked. One way or the other, she was going to clap hands on whoever came to the door and get some answers once and for all. The temperature had dropped with the light and she found herself hugging her arms for warmth.

Maybe the murderer would let her warm up inside his foyer for a few minutes while she questioned him?

She knocked again, louder, and began searching for a doorbell when suddenly the door opened and none other than Jeff Wojinziky himself stood on the doorstep. She’d forgotten if she’d read how tall he was but he was big—linebacker big. Much of it was hanging over the front of his belt, but his arms looked like they could lift fully loaded meat hooks. Mia took an involuntary step back.

Can I help you?” He didn’t look particularly menacing, especially dressed in cutoffs and flip-flops, and Mia was about to speak when she heard a woman call from the living room.

Who is it, baby? I already paid the lawn guy.” The woman had the most discordant voice Mia had ever heard. Halfway between a screech and a squawk, the sound made Mia visibly wince.

It’s nobody,” Jeff called over his shoulder and then eyed Mia. “Can I help you?” he repeated, much less friendly now.

You don’t remember me, Jeff? We met on Atlanta Loves,” Mia said brightly. “You said you’d call but you didn’t, so here I am. Can you talk?” She was inches from stepping across the threshold to get a hand on one of his beefy Popeye arms, but he lunged out the door and grabbed her by the arms.

Before she could catch her balance, he shoved her backward off the porch onto the sidewalk, then jumped down and placed a heavy foot on her neck.