07 Uncorked - Chrissy McMullen Mystery (20 page)

It didn't take me nearly as long as I had hoped to find Jackson Andrews's private room. I stood in the doorway, heart in my throat, looking inside. He was lying in bed, sipping juice from a bendy straw and chuckling at something he was watching out of sight. I could hear a television laugh track. His right hand, complete with IV, rested on the remote. It took a matter of seconds before his gaze shifted to mine.

Life stood still around me. Only my heart continued to beat.

"Ms. Christina McMullen, PhD," he said finally, and zapped the TV into silence.

I stood frozen to the spot.

He smiled. The swaddling around his head looked very white against his dark skin.

He was a little leaner than I remembered, but he was still James Trivette handsome. He even grinned like Chuck Norris's sidekick. "How nice of you to come by."

I didn't respond. Couldn't.

"Come on in," he said and motioned with his free hand. "I won't bite."

It took every ounce of courage I had to step through that door, even more to approach his bed.

He raised his chin a little and narrowed his eyes, studying me in the harsh, overhead lights. "You look like you've had a hard day, Christina McMullen."

I said nothing.

"What happened to your face?"

I couldn't seem to force myself to speak.

He sighed, smile dimming a little. "It wasn't me."

"What?" My voice sounded rusty, like an old hinge too long unused.

"You're looking for someone to blame for your current troubles. But it wasn't me."

I had almost forgotten his singsong voice, his eyes that never seemed to blink. The first time I had met him I had attributed it to drugs. But I was beginning to believe he didn't need a hallucinogenic to be spooky weird.

His lips lifted a little as I stared at him. "I've been in a hospital bed longer than those bruises have been on your pretty face," he said.

I swallowed my bile. There was something about being flattered by the man who had kidnapped my best friend that made my stomach clench. "Who'd you hire?"

His dark brows rose slightly beneath the white bandages.

"Who'd you hire to do this?" I asked and lifted a hand vaguely toward my face.

He shook his head, smiling wistfully. "I'm certain I seem like a likely culprit. But you're a smart girl. If you think about it I believe you'll realize the likelihood that our assailants…" He motioned to his bandaged head. "…may very well be one and the same.

Amusing isn't it, that we have a mutual enemy."

I shook my head, more than willing to deny anything he said, but he continued.

"I can understand why you would choose to disbelieve me, Christina. But the truth is this…" The faraway look was amplified in his eyes. "I no longer tell falsehoods, for I have found Christ."

I blinked at him and he laughed.

"I fear your beau may be just as skeptical as you."

I stared at him blankly, though I probably should have been able to follow his logic.

"Lieutenant Rivera," he said. "I believe I have him to thank for this opportunity to rest and rejuvenate."

I shook my head. "He didn't do it."

"Then why is he being detained at MCJ?"

I felt myself pale. The fact that he knew Rivera's whereabouts made me want to vomit. "He didn't do it," I rambled. "I know you think he did but I swear to you-"

"I forgive him," he said.

I narrowed my eyes, calmed my breathing, and tried to articulate a question.

He smiled. "Once upon a time I was an extremely deviant person. A despicable person," he said. "When I think of the lives I have ruined…" He shook his head then brightened. "But that's all in the past. I have paid my dues to society and some day I will have to explain myself to a higher court. A celestial court. But that time has not yet come.

God has saved me for a bigger-"

"Rivera didn't do it," I repeated.

He laughed. "You may be right, Christina McMullen. But you see, it doesn't matter. I will not seek retribution. That was the old man. The new man has learned to lay down the sword, to turn the other cheek. Unfortunately…" His smile dimmed a little. "Not all my former disciples have seen the light."

"You think one of your friends did this to you?"

"As I said, it doesn't matter. To err is human. To forgive, divine. I'm hoping for the divine, Christina McMullen."

"Who? Who did it?" I asked and took a step toward his bed. "Do you know an officer named Joel Coggins? Do you think he could have been involved? Or was it someone who worked in your chop-"

He laughed. "You are much like I once was. Intense. Focused. Angry." He tightened his left hand into a fist then loosened it against the powder blue coverlet. "But anger is the devil's doorway. Do not go there."

"Someone framed Rivera," I said. "Someone tried to strangle me in a car wash."

"In a car wash." He sounded introspective and maybe a little sad.

"Who was it?"

He shook his head. "I've no way of knowing, Christina. But he who has great capacity for evil, also has great capacity to do good."

"Who are you talking about?" I demanded but in that instant a nurse stepped through the door behind him.

"Is this a good time for your sponge bath, Mr. Andrews?" She was blonde and pretty, with a light in her eyes that suggested she had no idea she was about to bathe a man who would just as soon kill her as speak to her.

"Never better," he said, then shifted his gaze back to me. "I will pray for you, Christina McMullen," he said.

I woke up hours later in the dead of night.

My heart was pounding. So was my front door, or so I thought. But in a minute I realized it wasn’t the door at all, it was the phone ringing beside my bed. I sat in the darkness waiting for my breath to come in a more even cadence, pondering whether I should answer.

My hand shook when I lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Doc.”

I sat frozen, imagining a half-dozen crazed killers on the end of the line. Harlequin blinked at me, looking worried. I should make him quit reading the headlines.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Micky.”

“Micky?” My voice probably sounded a little strained. But that’ll sometimes happen when you've just been prayed for by a homicidal lunatic.

“Yeah. You okay?”

“Sure.” I reached out to reassure Harley. But he was already snoring softly, eyes twitching. “Sure, I’m fine.”

“You sort of sound like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

“I don’t usually get calls in the middle of the night.” To my own ears, I sounded kind of pissy. But that’s how it is when I’m angry…or awake.

“The middle of the night. Hell,” he said and laughed. “It’s not even eleven yet.”

“Oh, well…” I glanced at my wrist. Still nothing. “I had a busy day.”

“Really? Your kid get you up at five A.M., too?”

“What’s going—” I began, but premonition struck suddenly. “You haven’t shot someone again, have you?”

He laughed. “Holy shit, Doc, you make me sound like a fucking…sorry…” Ever since Jamel had come to live with him he’d been trying to clean up his language, at least while his son was within hearing range. “Frickin’ gang banger. No. I haven’t shot anyone.

I just thought I'd give you a call. Make sure you were all right.”

“At eleven o’clock at night?”

“You’re a wild one, aren’t you, Doc?”

“I can be.” I’d gone from pissy to defensive…with maybe just a little raw terror left over for good measure.

“How you holding up?”

“Me? I’m doing okay. Why?”

“No one giving you any trouble?"

“No, why do you ask?” My heart rate tripped up a couple beats. I glanced at Harley.

Still sleeping like an inebriated infant. Not that my parents had ever spiked our bottles or anything. What kind of under-educated rednecks would do that to their own children?

“What have you heard?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

I tried to relax. Not so much.

“I’ve been thinking about that car wash shit,” he added after a moment.

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “Me, too.”

“I was thinking it probably doesn’t have anything to do with Andrews.”

“What do you mean?” I remembered the weird light in Andrews's eyes with heart-palpitating clarity, but didn't bother to tell Micky I had gone to visit him. Sometimes people yell at me when they think I take dumb ass risks. I wasn't up to being yelled at.

“There are a butt load of crazies in this burg. No reason to think it wasn’t just someone out of the pile.”

I would have liked to believe that. “He said my name.”

“Oh. Well, hell.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s not like you work with the best and brightest, is it? Look at me. Give me fifty bucks, I’d do practically anything."

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t you.”

“Golly, I feel special. Maybe it was one of your other clients.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Does it?”

“No.”

He chuckled. Compared to his usual grimness, he was Mr. Giggles tonight. I wondered vaguely if he had been drinking. I also wondered if I should start. “Listen, Doc, I think maybe you should get some protection.”

I scowled into the darkness. “Like a gun?” Harlequin paddled weakly on the bed and whimpered a little.

“I’m not talking about condoms.”

“That’s good. Because they’re only about ninety percent effective,” I said, glancing at my purse, where Shirley’s Glock resided.

“I could hook you up.”

I drew a deep breath. “Thanks Micky, but I’m not really comfortable with firearms.”

“That’s too bad, 'cause I’m thinking the car wash son of a bitch might not be so squeamish about them.”

I felt the shiver start at my clavicle, but contained it before it got to my toenails. It was at that second that my mind kicked in. I drew a cautious breath. “You know something, don’t you?” I said.

“What?”

“It’s Andrews, after all, isn't it? He’s gunning for me.”

“Gunning for you? Hell, woman, have you been out branding cattle or something?”

“I just…” I felt weak. “What do you know?”

“Me? Nothing. And I think you should just let it go.”

“Let what go?”

“Don't go poking into this, Doc. Please. Leave Andrews alone. Leave Lavonn alone.” I remained silent for a moment, letting the facts click slowly into place. “You found her.”

I could almost hear his scowl. “You know that shit-pile of crazies we talked about?

She could be at the top of the damn heap.”

“Where is she?”

“You’re not listening.”

I had heard that sentiment quoted since I was old enough to not listen. “I just want to talk to her.”

“You might be the pushiest woman I ever met.”

“It’s possible. Do you have her phone number?”

He sighed. “I got an address. Don’t know if it’s current, though.”

“What is it?”

After a little more pushiness on my part, he rattled off digits and words while I found a pen between Francois and a brightly colored novel called One Night With a Knight. I scribbled down the address and swallowed. “Westlake?” My voice sounded a little raspy.

“That’s not necessarily the best part of town.”

“Shit,” he said. “It’s not even the best part of hell.” I tried to laugh but my face was frozen.

“I don’t want you going there alone.”

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

“I mean it,” he said. “Lavonn used to be real sweet when she was a kid. Had a crush on me for a while I think. But she was gone for a few years and when she came back she got mixed up with Andrews. I’ve got the feeling that maybe she’s a little tougher now.”

“Are you just saying that because she tried to kill you?”

“Listen,” he said. “She’s been through some bad shit. Half of it's my fault…what with her sister and all." He cleared his throat. I could sense his gut-gnawing guilt. I'd spent the first several months of his therapy trying to convince him not to take his own life. "I don’t want to make things any harder for her.”

“I don’t plan on—”

“And I sure don’t want to be telling my son that his aunt killed some crazy-ass chick who didn’t know when to leave things alone.”

I sat there with my mouth open for a couple seconds, then closed it and scowled.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

He laughed quietly. He did that more than he used to, despite the fact that he was raising a child alone and professed every day that he needed a lobotomy because of it. I’d have to analyze that sometime when I wasn’t worried about getting dead.

“I mean it, Doc. I said I’d find her for you and I did, but I don’t want you going there alone.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

It wasn’t that I lied…exactly. On the other hand, I didn’t exactly inform Micky about my impending sojourn to Westlake. It’s not that I didn’t want his company. I did, but I had once thought that he and Lavonn simply hated each other’s guts. After my conversation with him, however, I was beginning to believe he wanted to protect her almost as much as he wanted to protect me. Maybe their relationship was a little more complicated than I had realized. And I really didn’t need more complications. So after a good deal of agonizing, I slipped Shirley’s Glock into my purse and drove south on Sunland Boulevard.

Lavonn lived in a two-story house built somewhere around the turn of the century.

Several of the windows were broken. At least two of them were boarded up.

I sat in my Saturn for five minutes, waiting for courage to find me. But it seemed to have gone the way of the dodo bird. Finally, though, I cranked myself up and got out of the car.

A dog barked as I clattered up the sidewalk. The sound was deep throated and serious. I could see him through the torn screen door. He looked to be half as big as Harley and twice as mean. Cropped ears were laid back against his square head. Serious-looking canine teeth were showing above crinkled-up lips.

I slowed my pace as I neared the stoop. Cujo fell silent, a condition twice as terrifying as the barking. His hackles were raised from his shoulder blades to his tail. And then he lunged. His paws struck the screen like wooden mallets. I screeched and jumped back.