Baby Girl Doe (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 5) (7 page)

“Oh . . . Oh God . . . Ooo. Oh God . . . Oh . . . Oh . . . Oh . . . Oh God . . . Oh yeah, right there. Oh! Oh . . . Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes . . . Oh . . . Oh . . . Yes. Yes. Yes . . . Oh . . . Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes . . . Oh . . . Oh . . . Oh . . . Oh God. Oh . . . Oh.”

“That’s’ about enough of that.” I found the TV remote, which was half covered by the quilt, and pushed the power button. The screen went black.

“Hey, what the hell?” Gus complained. “I love
When Harry Met Sally
. Why’d you—”

I rolled over on top of him. “Quiet, knucklehead. Ma and Max are three sheets to the wind, and I’m ready to tango.”

“But that was the best part. You turned it off just as the woman at the other table was about to say—”

I pressed my finger to his lips. “Choose your next words carefully or they may well be your last.” Our vacation was long overdue and sorely needed. I was looking forward to our time together with Max and also getting some desperately needed one-on-one time with my husband. I had scored some fancy frilly things at Victoria’s Secret before coming out east and gone through the agony of getting waxed. I’m no wimp, but there’s absolutely nothing less enjoyable than having some chick from the third world pour molten lava on your lady parts, then rip away the cloth strip along with your first five layers of skin. I swear, if alopecia were contagious, I’d keep a balding lover on the side and have him rub his noggin around down there whenever subterranean grooming was required. Being a woman is a lot of work. I mean the makeup, the hair, and the clothes—all a man has to do is shower and throw on a clean shirt.

I couldn’t get the image of the bald guy out of my head. My lips curled upward.

Gus caught me smiling. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you. It would totally kill the mood.”

“What mood?”

“Exactly.” I kissed him long and hard.

He glanced over at the bedroom door. “Is it—”

“Yes, it’s locked. Now pucker up and make me feel like a woman.” It was after midnight. “It’s your birthday, damn it. Now are you gonna put out or what?”

“You’re not going to scream, are you?”

Only if you don’t make a damn move!
We had gone so long that I read that tawdry novel in the hope of introducing some sorely needed spice back into our love life—not
Fifty Shades of Gray
but the new one, the one about the alcoholic and the ingénue,
Fifty Shades of Grey Goose
.

“My God, what’s happened to us? We used to do it in the basement laundry room.”

Gus chuckled. “I know. You had the Whirlpool emblem imprinted on your butt for a week.”

“That’s not the point. We used to go at it like rabbits.”

“Sorry. It’s just that everything has changed.”

“Any regrets?”

“Of course not. It’s just that by the time we get to bed at the end of the day we’re both exhausted.”

I kissed him again. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’ll be quiet. I don’t want anyone to hear us either. Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be if Ma heard us doing it?”

“I know. That’s why . . . I mean you’re usually pretty loud.”

“You never complained about it before.”

“And I’m not complaining about it now. It’s just that . . . well, it’s just that I’d never be able to look your mother in the face again.”

I heard Max crying. “Oh dear God,” I said, expressing disbelief and exasperation. “What are the chances?”

“That’s the mother-son connection,” Gus explained. “Now that he’s christened your hooha, he doesn’t want daddy going anywhere near it.”

“Are you talking about our son’s delivery?” I cackled.

Gus shrugged and made a comical face.

“Ha! That is absolutely the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s a joke.”

“Of course it is.” Gus put his hands behind his head, and I noticed that his elbows were a little dry. “All that
The
Old Man and the Sea
stuff has made your elbows a bit leathery, mate.”

“Fishing? Really?” He lifted his arm to check out his elbows, rubbed them, and wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

“There’s a bottle of Aveeno in the drawer next to you.”

“Aveeno?” He formed a quizzical expression. “Isn’t that for women?”

“Honestly?” I mean, Gus was once single. Show me one single guy who doesn’t have a bottle of lotion in his bedside drawer. If they put out a lotion named Amber or Tiffany, moisturizer stock would go through the roof. “It’s all right, macho man, I promise it won’t deplete your level of testosterone. The next time you need to polish the rocket, just take a little extra lotion and hit your elbows. It’ll work wonders.”

“Wait, are you saying—”

I didn’t know how often Gus did a load by hand, but I can’t imagine that he found the concept completely foreign. “Really, you don’t?”

“I’ll have you know that—”

“Quiet.”

I held up my hand to silence him because I heard movement in the room next door followed by Ma’s voice saying, “Shhh. What’s the matter, sweetie?”

We stayed perfectly still for a few moments hoping that silence would return, but Max continued to cry. Ma began to sing a nursery rhyme. I rolled my eyes and dismounted my husband. “Brings new meaning to the expression ‘cluster fuck.’”

“Maybe he’ll go right back to sleep.”

“I don’t know. I think he’s hungry.” I sat up in bed. “So while we’re waiting for the gods to smile down upon us, why don’t you ask me about my day?”

“You mean your unofficial investigation?”

I nodded.

“And you’re not afraid of killing the mood with a conversation like that?”

I rubbed his thigh. “I’m not worried about getting you back in the mood when I’m ready. You’re kind of a pushover.”

Gus sighed and sat up. “Okay. Shoot.”

“I interviewed the engineer who drove the train that hit Alana Moore and the Suffolk County detective who was assigned to the investigation.”

“I thought you were more interested in Sarah Fisher, the girl who used to live here.”

“I am but the detective who worked her case couldn’t see me today. You didn’t want me to sit around twiddling my thumbs, did you?”

“Oh, God forbid. So what did you find out?”

“I questioned the engineer. He’s had a stroke, but his mind still seems sharp, and he’s damn sure of what he saw. He maintains that Alana Moore was pushed in front of his train.”

“What do you think?”

“I think he knows what he saw. Unfortunately there were no surveillance cameras, witnesses, or suspects.”

“The crime scene unit and forensics didn’t come up with anything either?”

“No. I asked the detective to pull the evidence for me to examine only—” I held my hand up suddenly. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I had a long talk with Ma while you and Max were out getting groceries, and she convinced me to stop poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.” I forced a smile. “I’m all yours tomorrow. What do you want to do?” Max’s cry became less pervasive. “See? I made Max happy.”

Gus frowned at me. “Do you think you could’ve discussed this with me before you made your decision?”

“Why? I figured you’d be thrilled.”

“I’m not thrilled. I’m disappointed.”

“I don’t get it. You told me—”

“I know what I told you, and I knew you wouldn’t listen. Look, I know who you are and what makes you tick, and there’s no way I’d ever stop you from doing what you love to do. I know you don’t want to turn your back on these cases, so don’t.”

“But I feel so guilty. I mean I left you and Max the past two days.”

“Don’t worry about me and my son. This is really the first time I’ve had him all to myself, and I’m diggin’ it. We fished. We played. I chill when he naps. I’m in heaven. In ten days, I’ll be back on the job. Who knows when I’ll have an opportunity like this again?”

“You’re telling me I’m not wanted.” I pouted.

“Baby, believe me, you are sorely wanted.” He smiled one of his lady-killer smiles. “Right now I want you so badly I could burst. Take a few days. Get it out of your system. Just don’t get carried away.”

“Jesus, you’re a damn good man.” I threw my arms around him. “Max, please go back to sleep, please go back to sleep.” Max’s cry built to a quasi-tantrum level. “Shit. I’d better go—”

Ma knocked on the door. “I’m taking Max down to the kitchen for a bottle,” she said in a deliberate tone. “We’ll be at least twenty minutes. Wink. Wink. That should be long enough, shouldn’t it, Gus? Stomp on the floor if you need more time.”

Gus and I roared.

“You’re welcome.”

I jumped on Gus the moment I heard Ma’s footsteps on the stairs.

Josh stood next to the mailbox at the end of driveway smoking a cigarette while he waited for Ray to arrive.
The front of the tired colonial behind him was half-painted fresh cornflower blue from the second story up, and peeling white paint below. A tall, aluminum ladder lay on the ground in front of the house. His cigarette was down to the filter before he heard the sound of a car coming down the road. He flicked the butt away just as a moss green Subaru wagon came into view. Josh waved to Ray as he pulled up and then got into the car.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ray said. He pointed to the rear area of the wagon, which was filled with tools and aluminum house trim. “I had to pick up some supplies for a job I’m working on.” He was dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and work boots; the same outfit he wore to the Narcotics Anonymous meeting that morning. “Supposed to be overcast tomorrow. Good day to get some work done.”

“Yo, I didn’t know you did construction.”

“Really? The dirty shirt and work boots weren’t a dead giveaway?”

Josh shrugged. “I guess.” He pointed to the half-painted house. “I’m painting this place,” he said. “I get room and board.”

“No money?”

“No.”

“So how do you live?”

“I paint the house in the morning and work behind the counter at the bakery in the afternoon. I’ve got until Labor Day to finish painting the house.”

“I see. You know I’ve wanted to expand my business for a while. Maybe you could work with me when you’re done with the house.”

Josh smiled. “Wow, that would be cool, yo.”

Ray pointed to the cup holder in the center console. “The front one is yours—light and sweet you told me, right?”

Josh nodded, picked up his coffee, and took a gulp. “Yo, that’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, I know. The guy at the deli put in two heaping spoons of sugar. Too sweet?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll drink it.”

“Good. Fort Pond is just a couple minutes from here. Nice quiet place to talk. Good with you?”

Josh nodded.

Ray put the car into gear and slowly pulled away from the house. The car backfired as it eased down the narrow road and disappeared over the crest of a small hill.

Josh put his coffee back in the cup holder.

“Sorry about the coffee again,” Ray said. “The good thing about the deli is that they do everything big: big sandwiches, big portions . . . I guess they only know one way.”

“It’s fine, yo” Josh insisted as he took a second sip. “I’ll finish it when we get to the pond.”

“Cool.” They continued down the unlit road for a couple of minutes before Ray pulled off 2nd House Road. The pond was in front of them. “There’s a clearing just past the tall grass. There’s a little jetty we can sit on.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“Good,” Ray said. “Grab your coffee and we’ll hang out.” Ray led the way, flattening the tall grass with his work boots as he strode through it. Josh followed, stepping on the flattened patches that Ray left in his wake. They were on the jetty in less than a minute. Josh kicked off his sandals and sat on the edge of the jetty with his feet in the water.

“Great idea,” Ray said as he tugged on a bootlace. He pulled off his socks and sat down next to Josh with his feet also in the water. “
Ah.
That feels good. I’ve got blisters the size of walnuts.” He picked up his coffee and sipped. “So let’s talk. When did you first start using?”

“A long time ago. I was a messed up kid, yo. My folks used to fight all the time. My mom couldn’t take it anymore and started dating another guy on the side. My dad found out about it and just about killed her—beat her unconscious and shit. She moved in with her boyfriend after she got out of the hospital, and it made my old man crazy. After that all he did was work and get drunk. I was on my own all the time. I stopped going to school. Life seemed really shitty. I had to steal money out of his wallet just to buy food. One day I used the cash to score some dope.” He shrugged. “It’s been like that ever since, yo.” He picked up his coffee cup and drank.

“I’m sorry your life sucks so bad. At least you’re doing the right thing now, going to your meetings and working. One foot in front of the other—you know the drill. You’ll get there.”

Josh yawned. He looked at the Styrofoam coffee cup. “I don’t know why I’m so tired, yo. Coffee usually gets me wired.”

“It’s decaf. If I drink regular it keeps me up all night. Sorry, man, I got you the same thing.”

“No problem.”

“So you said that you gave it up a couple of times. What made you go back?”

“I was bored, yo. I was miserable. I became that kid no one wanted to know. You know what I mean? My parents were broken up, and I was high all the time, and when I wasn’t, there was no money to do anything. My friends stopped hanging out with me.” He yawned again and drank the rest of his coffee.

“That’s the piece you’re missing. You need a support system. That’s what the group is for, only you can’t continue to lie to us. You’re using again—how long?”

“About a week, but I’m managing it. It’s cool, yo, and I can stop anytime I want to.” He rubbed his eyes. “Man, I need some sleep. My eyes feel really tired.”

Ray examined his eyes. “Are you high right now?”

“No. No way. I swear it.”

“I don’t know. Your pupils look mighty big. Are you telling me the truth?”

“Totally, yo. It’s just that all of a sudden I can’t keep my eyes open.” He pulled his feet out of the water and put his arms around his knees.

“You need caffeine. I think I’ve got a can of soda in the car. I’ll go look for it—be right back.” Ray stood.

“No, man it’s okay. I just need to close my eyes for a minute.”

Ray shook his head with disappointment. “Wait here.” He walked off.

Ten minutes elapsed before Ray returned. Josh was on his side and sound asleep.

“Thank God,” Ray said.
I couldn’t take another minute of his bullshit tale of woe.
He sat down on the jetty next to Josh and placed his paraphernalia between them. “You’ll like this,” he said as he rolled up Josh’s sleeve and tied a rubber tube around his arm. He took a lighter out his pocket and set it down next to a serving spoon. He emptied three packets of heroin into the spoon and picked up the lighter. It took only a moment for the powder to liquefy and become his chosen instrument of death.