| |
Heath opened his eyes when he heard robins singing in the trees. They flitted through the air, some of them hopping on the ground.
Sue.
He turned in his chair. She was gone. What time was it? He yanked his phone from his pocket. Five-thirty. He tried to call out to her, but all he could do was croak. As if it wasn’t bad enough he’d strained his voice working, sleeping outside hadn’t done him any favors, either. Another lost work day.
He walked around the half-wall to knock on Sue’s door. The vertical blinds were pulled across the door, turned open. No sign of her. No car in the garage. How had he slept through her leaving for work? Assuming that’s where she’d gone.
Heath went home and brewed himself a cup of throat-soothing tea, poured a bowl of cereal and sat at his kitchen table to eat. He watched the birds playing in the backyard, trying to decide if he needed something from the grocery store—an excuse to see Sue. No, he didn’t want to pressure her. He’d told her he was interested. The next move was hers. Assuming the mimosas weren’t the only reason she wanted him last night.
Her ex-husband was an alcoholic. Was she? Getting drunk on a Sunday afternoon? No. Yesterday was the first time he’d seen her impaired, and he’d seen her almost every day over the course of the week. She’d had beer with her pizza—one glass. Typical social drinking. If she had a problem, he suspected she wouldn’t have stopped at one.
She’d been at a fundraiser yesterday. For what? There might be a mention of it in the local news.
Heath scrolled through his phone and found what he was looking for. The women’s shelter had surpassed their fundraising goal. Women’s shelter? Had Sue gone to a shelter after her husband abused her? Was that the reason she’d had too much to drink? Bad memories?
He had no right to judge her. Mimosas were frou-frou drinks that went down easy. She might have lost track.
He wanted to see her. Make sure she was okay.
Hadn’t he promised himself he’d give her space to decide if he was what she wanted?
He couldn’t work—he cleared his throat to confirm his voice hadn’t miraculously reappeared. He hadn’t visited his mother since he’d moved out the second time. She’d been nagging him to hang a picture for her, one of those excuses to get him to visit. Today might be the perfect day to take care of that.
He pulled into his mother’s driveway at eight-thirty. She peered out her front window and rushed outside to greet him. As he got out of his car, she placed her hands on either side of his face and looked into his eyes.
“I’m so happy to see you. How are you doing, baby?”
“I’m fine, Mother,” he croaked.
She dropped her hands. “Do you have a cold?”
“Strained my voice, that’s all. I’m fine.”
She took his hand and tugged. “Come inside. We can have a cup of tea. How’s your new place? Are you all settled? I know you said you didn’t want any help unpacking, but if there’s anything you need...”
“I’ve got everything under control. Do you want to see it? I could drive you over now and show you the place.”
He walked into the kitchen where he’d grown up, the same wallpaper, the same vintage chrome and Formica table.
“How about tomorrow?” she said. “Your brother said he was stopping by to drop off my taxes before he went into the office.”
“Your taxes? They should have been filed a month ago.”
“He did an extension for me. You know what a busy time of year it is. Now that he’s back from his trip, he had the time to finish my return.”
A tremor of irritation swept over Heath. Certainly, C.J. could have made the time for his mother’s taxes. Yet another reason Heath didn’t use his brother’s services.
“Heath, honey, you know you didn’t have to rush to move out after your roommate died. Are you sure you’re okay? That was such a tragedy.”
He gave her a quick hug. “I appreciate you taking me in so I didn’t have to go back there, but I’m fine now.”
“You baby him,” C.J. said through the screen door.
“And there’s my other boy, now,” their mother crowed.
“What happened to your voice?” C.J. asked, letting himself in.
“Strained,” Heath replied.
C.J. shook a finger at him. “See? And now you’re out of work.”
“I am not out of work. It’s nothing worse than catching a cold or the flu. Everybody loses time from work.”
“Not everyone. And be careful,” C.J. told his mother, “or he’ll accuse you of killing Derek.”
“Will you stop?” Heath said. “I didn’t accuse you.”
“No, but you did point out Mom has a key, and you implied I might have used it.”
“Did you?” Heath asked.
Their mother stepped between them and held out her arms. “Stop it, boys. I thought we’d put all that ugliness behind us.”
C.J. narrowed his eyes and leaned toward Heath. “You’re still the prime suspect, little brother. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“He didn’t kill anyone, and you know it,” his mother said. “Heath, you aren’t still dwelling on Derek’s death, are you? You said you didn’t know him that well.”
“No,” Heath said, staring down his brother. “But someone was with him the day he died. They might know why he’d want to kill himself.”
“How could you possibly know someone was with him?” C.J. asked. “You were in another state at the time. Unless you weren’t.”
“The police told me. They were trying to put me in two places at the same time, remember?”
“Wasn’t he locked in the apartment alone?” his mother asked.
Heath closed his eyes and drew a breath. “Yeah. Look, I came by to hang that picture for you, but maybe I should do that another time. I can let you go over your taxes with C.J. Next time you’re out, stop by the new place and I’ll show you around.”
“And meet the pretty new neighbor,” C.J. added.
His mother’s eyebrows rose halfway up her forehead. “Pretty new neighbor?”
“Yeah, she’s a loser, too,” C.J. said. “I saw her at the grocery store—where she works. The two of them make the perfect couple.”
“You don’t know anything about her.” Heath heaved a sigh. “C.J.’s trying to stir things up. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”
“I wish you boys would stop baiting each other,” his mother said.
“Then you’ll have to talk to him,” Heath said. “At least one of us learned his manners.”
C.J. took a step toward him, but his mother stopped him with a palm to the chest. “Enough.” She turned toward Heath. “I’ll call you to let you know when I’m coming over.” Then she turned to C.J. “You should be more considerate of Heath’s feelings. He’s been through a traumatic experience.”
Heath squeezed his mother’s hand. “I’m fine, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”
He stormed out of the house and drove into town. Past the grocery store. He wasn’t going to stop in. He’d see Sue when she got home. Or not.
~ ~ ~
WHEN SUE WALKED INTO Olga’s after work, she didn’t see Rod. She half-hoped he’d gotten a call and would have to cancel. No messages on her phone. The clock told her she was five minutes late. Given they were both coming from work, they’d allowed the time would be approximate.
“You meeting someone?” the hostess asked her.
“Yeah. Rod Wilson. Have you seen him?”
The hostess’s expression went from friendly to guarded. “Not so far. Do you want to wait in the bar? Or would you like a table?”
“I’ll wait in the bar.” She lowered her voice, speaking mainly to herself, “I don’t want to be here that long.”
“Good choice,” the hostess said.
Sue tilted her head. “Something I should know?”
“You his girlfriend?”
Sue laughed. “No. Passed on that opportunity.”
“Smart woman. Have a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here when he comes in.”
Sue sat at one of the high-top tables. The bartender approached and set a cocktail napkin in front of her.
“What can I get you?”
“A Coke, please.”
She turned at a hand on her shoulder. Rod leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“And I’ll have whatever IPA beer you have today,” he added. “When did you get here?”
“About five minutes ago.”
He hitched a hip onto the seat opposite her. “Interesting case you’ve got me chasing. What put you on it?”
“You know me. I was reading a mystery, and when I stumbled onto an article about this guy’s death, it piqued my curiosity.”
“The crime scene photos were fairly straightforward, but there did seem to be one unusual detail,” he told her.
“Are they still considered crime scene photos when it’s a suicide?” she asked. “Or is the case still active?”
“No, they closed the case, but yes, they do consider them crime scene photos.”
The bartender returned with their drinks.
“You’re not having a beer?” Rod asked.
“Had one too many mimosas at the fundraiser yesterday. The idea of anything with alcohol right now turns my stomach.”
“Hair of the dog,” he said raising his glass in a toast.
“I think my liver could use a break. So what’s the unusual detail?”
“Well, like I mentioned on the phone, they found bruising on the guy’s neck that wasn’t consistent with the belt he used. Might have been finger imprints.” Rod looked over his beer as if deciding how much he could or should share.
Finger marks. Like Heath had mentioned. Like her friends had suggested a murderer might want to cover. “Which direction were the fingers pointing?”
Rod smirked, took another long pull on his beer and set it on the table. “Smart question. First, the report said they weren’t well-defined, but if they were finger marks, they were oriented up and down. Like maybe he put his fingers inside the belt to loosen it when he...” He shot her another guarded glance.
“When he?” she prompted.
Rod eyed her warily. “The guy was naked when they found him. In the absence of a viable suspect, and considering he died in a locked apartment with no easy way out, they arrived at autoerotic asphyxia as a cause of death.”
“I don’t know what that means.” She sipped Coke through her straw.
Rod’s ruddy complexion darkened. “He deliberately choked himself, but the belt might have tightened when he was... out of control, so to speak...and he wasn’t able to disentangle himself.”
Autoerotic. A word she wasn’t completely familiar with, but it implied he was alone, and it implied...
She recoiled on her stool. “People do that sort of thing?”
“As a policeman, I could tell you stories.”
Believing he saw much of that sort of thing in a small town like Hoffman Grove seemed farfetched. She preferred to remain ignorant. “You said there were two working theories for the finger marks.”
“Well, the report says they found semen on his bedsheets—his and another donor they couldn’t identify—which might indicate he’d been entertaining. If he’s into the asphyxia thing, could be his partner left the prints. One hypothesis was the partner hung him to hide the fingerprints. But there was the locked door thing.”
“Wait. So, he left...bodily fluids on the bed, and then he...” Sue’s breath caught in her throat. “Why would he, uh, take care of business himself if he’d just done it with someone else?”
“Tox screen showed a considerable amount of cocaine in his system, which is known to increase the libido.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out the ugly details. She took another sip of her Coke. “Did the police interview anyone other than the roommate?”
“Yeah, but the roommate was the only one they looked at seriously, mainly because he lived there.” Rod drained his beer.
“That doesn’t make sense. The roommate was locked out when the police arrived, right? And he was out of town, so if they suspected someone else might have helped Derek along, anyone could have used the balcony, right? Someone who wasn’t out of town when Derek died?”
Rod leaned over the table. “You know something? Because I’m sure they’d take another look at this case in a second.”
She laughed nervously. “No. Heath Fitzgerald moved into the other half of my duplex. When I heard the story, I was curious.”
Rod straightened. “Did he threaten you in any way? Do you need protection?”
Sue raised her palms. “No. Not at all.”
Rod signaled the bartender for another beer. “Competition, then?”
Sue sighed. “Rod, we’ve talked about this. You and I don’t have much in common, and the chemistry isn’t there.”
He leaned back. “When we talked about dating, you said you weren’t interested in being with another man after your divorce. You said you thought there was a chance to reconcile. I understand your ex-husband died recently.”
A poke at the scar on her heart. “He did.” She finished her Coke and met his gaze. “He was abusive and he tried to control me. I’m not interested in being a victim again on any level.” She managed a smile. “Thanks for satisfying my curiosity about Derek Snyder’s death. You’ve confirmed I’m not cut out for real-life crime.”
“I would never try to control you,” Rod said. “I like you. I wish you’d give me a chance.”
His frequent handcuff jokes were enough to keep that from happening. She pulled enough money from her purse to cover their tab. “I’ll buy since you were doing me a favor.” She drew a steadying breath. “You’re a great guy, Rod. I’m sure there’s some other woman out there who’s a better fit for you than I am.”
“At least let me buy you dinner.”
She should have known he wouldn’t give up so easily. “Like I told you, I’m meeting friends.”
He slid off the stool and opened his arms for a hug. As much as she didn’t want to, she felt obligated to step into his embrace. No zing. Not even a little spark. She hurried out.
The ceramics studio was on the next block. Sue shot glances over her shoulder to make sure Rod wasn’t following her.
When she walked inside, Kayleigh grinned at her. “You look like you’re running from a bogie.”
Sue managed a smile. “Not a bogie. More like from the stories Rod told me about the seedier side of life.”
Kayleigh laughed. “Fortunately, there doesn’t seem to be so much of that in Hoffman Grove. You ever figure out if your neighbor’s brother was really a jerk or just yanking his chain?”
Sue grabbed the candy dish she was making from the project shelf and sat at a wooden table. “My best guess is both, although Heath says he means well. Apparently, his brother thinks it’s necessary to tell everyone else what to do.”
“Older siblings have a tendency to do that,” Kayleigh said. “But they have their softer sides, too.”
Audrey and Cinda arrived together. Cinda made a beeline for the table and sat next to Sue. “So how did drinks go?”
“He told me more than I needed to know about Derek Snyder’s death.” Sue shuddered. “And, of course, he wanted to know why I wouldn’t have dinner with him. How many times do I have to tell him I’m not interested?”
“As many as it takes,” Mary Ellen answered, joining them.
Elizabeth followed a moment later. “If we keep doing girls’ night at the studio, I’m going to have more knickknacks than I know what to do with.”
“If ceramics isn’t your thing, we don’t have to have girls’ night here,” Kayleigh said.
“No,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve enjoyed the projects I’ve done. The creative process can be soothing.” She took the vase she was making from the shelf—and dropped it. “Then again, with as clumsy as I am, I won’t have to worry about having too many things.”
Kayleigh lay a hand on her arm. “You can pick out something new. No charge.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re running a business here. I broke it, I buy it.” Elizabeth crossed the room to browse the shelves of bisque.
Art therapy. That’s what Kayleigh had called it when she’d opened the studio, and all the things Sue had made bore that out. The calming effect of crafting with her hands, making personal touches to add to her house.
“So, what did Rod tell you?” Mary Ellen asked.
Sue checked decals for something to put on the sides of her candy dish. “I don’t want to talk about what he told me.”
“Didn’t you say Derek Snyder committed suicide?” Cinda asked.
“From what Rod told me, Derek—” She stopped to look at each of her friends, who all looked at her as if eagerly awaiting her response. “—Engaged in a fetish sort of thing involving restricted airflow and lost control.”
Elizabeth gasped. “Like that Kung Fu guy? Remember him?”
“There were rumors that was a big thing in Hollywood for a while,” Mary Ellen said.
“Yeah, well, falls into the category of TMI for me,” Sue said. “If Heath wants to know more, he’s on his own.” She turned to Audrey, eager to change the subject. “How’s the baby?”
Audrey beamed and went on to tell them how the newest addition to her family was almost able to sit up on her own and which foods she was trying.
An hour and a half later, they all left the studio together. Sue shot a glance toward Olga’s. Rod’s car was gone. She hadn’t expected he’d still be there, but the less she saw of him, the better.
When she arrived home, Heath was pulling something off his front door. Curious, she approached.
“Whatcha got?” she asked, checking her own door. Nothing there.
Heath handed her the note.
STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT DEREK.