Hidden Vices (9 page)

“That's not the massage I thought I was going to get.” She stared down at him, running her fingers through his hair.

“I'm just warming up.” He stood up and gave her a long, deep kiss. “Lie down on your stomach.”

Megan situated herself on the bed while Callie partially disrobed. “Do you have any lotion or oil?”

“In the medicine cabinet.” Callie returned and mounted Megan as she situated her pillow. “This better be good.” She smiled.

“Close your eyes and shut up.” He used long, gliding strokes up and down Megan's back while intermittently kissing the side of her neck. He whispered in her ear, “I've never forgotten our first time together. You were wild and confident, and sexy, as if you'd been fucking for years. Loved that.”

Megan could smell his cologne. The scent relaxed her as much as his touch. When he lightly kneaded the bruised areas, she flinched for a moment, then relaxed as she felt his hardness expand just below her tailbone.

“We went five times that night.”

She lightly opened her eyes. “How did you remember that?” She smiled. “That's youth.”

“No, that's this”—he flexed his hips into her—“and this”—he moved his oily fingers into her wetness. In one motion, Callie turned on his back, flipping Megan over his groin. “Fits like a glove.”

“Shut up, Callie.” She leaned over, offering him intense, wild kisses, which earned a much deserved groan. Megan moved her hands to his wrists and placed his arms above his head, holding him down. It was about to become a long, memorable night.

Seventeen

Megan turned over to
find the most pungent smell coming at her. She was relieved it was Clyde's breath and not Callie's. “Hey, boy.” She rubbed his ears and he offered a small whimper in return. “You have to go out?” She checked her watch and was shocked at the time. “Oh my God. It's nearly noon. No wonder you're anxious, buddy.” Megan slipped on her robe and tiptoed across the bedroom.

“It's okay, I'm awake,” Callie said, turning over. “Did you say noon? I need to get to work.”

“Towels are in the side cabinet next to the shower door.” Megan went and opened the door for Clyde. When she turned to the right, she found Detective Sam Nappa standing on the deck, about to ring the doorbell.

“Hello, McGinn.” He looked her up and down. “I take it you didn't listen to my voicemail.”

“What are you doing here?” Megan wasn't sure if she was shocked or angered by her partner's arrival. Though she'd only been out of the city for a week, Megan hadn't seen her partner in nearly a month. Looking at him now prompted a mental trailer of why she'd run away to New Jersey.

“McGinn, it's twenty degrees out here, can I come in?”

She'd forgotten what little manners she still possessed. “Of course, yes, come in.”

Nappa walked in and glanced around. “This is a very nice place. Fantastic view.” He walked over to the main window. “Boathouse too. Very nice.”

There was a bark at the door.

“That's Clyde. He's not mine.” Megan let Clyde in and started to pour his food into his bowl. “So, what did your message say?”

Nappa had a way of staring into Megan that wasn't so much disarming as it was heartening. She knew how much he cared and worried for her. After all, as partners in Homicide, they had to have one another's backs.

“I'm here for a few reasons, but first I want to take you out to lunch, and then I …”

“Hey, Trouble, I'm late. I need to head to the restaurant so—” Callie stopped not just mid-sentence but mid-stride as he was rushing out.

Awkward.

Megan took a deep breath. “Chris Callie, this is my partner, Detective Sam Nappa.”

Boxers facing off before the first bell had kinder demeanors. Nappa, being the ultimate gentleman, took a step forward to shake Callie's hand.

“Hello. Sorry, I didn't know you were expecting company,” Callie said without the least bit of an apologetic tone.

“Neither did I,” Nappa replied.

“I'm late, I have to go. Nice meeting you, detective.” He gave Megan a kiss on the cheek and took a quick sip of the glass of water on the counter before his departure. “I'll call you later.”

After Callie shut the door, Nappa cocked his head, folded his arms, and gave Megan a small squint. “New friend?”

“Nappa, he's an old friend from college I ran into here.” Megan leaned a hand on the counter. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Nappa knew Megan ran hot that way. He got close once, but a case interrupted them from fulfilling their chemistry. “McGinn, go get ready. I drove by a restaurant on the way here. It looked interesting, as long as it's not
his
restaurant.” Nappa smiled. “Pub 199?”

“You're safe.”

“I'd say he's safe.
I'm
carrying two guns.”

“Good point. Give me fifteen minutes.”

Megan went into the bedroom to change, and Nappa stared down at the glass Callie had just sipped from. He quietly opened a few kitchen drawers before finding a stash of plastic bags. In the moment, he was unsure if it was his gut or jealousy that made him do it. He did it anyway. He used the plastic bag to pick up the glass and placed it in the pocket of his winter coat.

Time will tell
, was his last thought before Megan reentered the kitchen.

When they walked into Pub 199, there was a much-needed moment for pause. It wasn't the fifteen or more television screens on the wall or the generous-sized bar that stopped them. It was the room beyond the bar. The combination hunting lodge/biker bar/cafeteria-style bingo hall held an array of stuffed animal trophies: coyote, bear, deer, cheetah, elk, even a giraffe. And those were just the animals Megan recognized.

“Oh my God,” Megan laughed.

“Have you been here before?” Nappa wondered.

“No, I would have remembered.”

The hostess seated them, and they continued to look around the room in awe.

“PETA must be pissed,” Nappa commented.

“This is a taxidermist's wet dream,” Megan responded. They fell into silence looking over the menu, and both had to admit the prices were extremely reasonable, especially for two people accustomed to the cost of dining in Manhattan. “Fuck, lobster with sides for fifteen dollars. Twenty-ounce New York Strip with sides for thirteen dollars!”

“Let's order, I'm getting both.”

“You're a pig, Nappa,” Megan joked, but for a moment she had the same thought.

Their waitress had a nametag pinned to her shirt that read
Dee
. She was a bleach-bottle blonde, her overprocessed hair resembling straw piled high on her head. She didn't smile. Megan thought she'd probably spent a lifetime waiting tables and pouring shots for small-town drunks. She was the type of woman who didn't age gracefully. It wasn't just the obvious tanning booth visits or the smoker's voice. The giveaway was the glint of bitterness in her eyes when a prettier or younger waitress walked by. A harsh reminder that those days were long gone for her.

The cocktails arrived, orders were placed, and now it was time to have what Megan was sure was going to be an uncomfortable conversation.

Nappa met her eyes. “I haven't seen you in a few weeks. That's kind of unusual.”

She nodded. “I think it's the longest we've gone since we became partners.”

“Just so you know, I tried to give you fair warning I was coming up here. That's hard to do when you don't answer most of my calls. I was surprised you picked up a few nights ago, not that you said much.”

“Nappa, you knew I took a leave of absence. I said I needed to get out of the city.” She tapped the table. “Press constantly hanging outside of my apartment building, outside my parents' house. Hell, I was afraid I was going to be photographed at the cemetery when I went to say goodbye before I came out here.”

“The perp is still in the hospital.”

“I don't give a shit,” Megan answered.

“At some point you're going to have to come back for depositions and such. You know that.” Nappa's brown eyes filled with guilt. He didn't like to be the one to remind Megan of the cold, hard truth of the current circumstances, the reality of their jobs.

Megan chugged her cocktail and flagged down the waitress to ask for another. “Not this week, not next week, probably not until next year. You know that.”

“Next year isn't that far away. It's only a few weeks till Christmas; you know how fast that flies by.” Nappa caught himself one comment too late when he witnessed Megan's sullen reaction. “Sorry. You of all people know the holidays are coming up.”

“No worries.” She wanted to make him feel better for the minor faux pas. “Remember last year at the Murphys'?”

“How could I forget that Thanksgiving? I'm the only Italian-American in a room with thirty-five Irish people. Three cooked turkeys, and your father and Uncle Mike pulling me aside every fifteen minutes to do shots. And the two-day hangover! I think that was my favorite holiday ever. I felt at home, it felt like family.”

“Nappa, you are family, don't be a jerk.”

“Now I feel like family,” he laughed, then also ordered another drink. “What about your college buddy? Callie, was it? Is he family?” He smirked.

Megan rolled her eyes. “Oh stop!” The appetizers arrived just in time as far as Megan was concerned. “It will be a quiet holiday season this year. I don't even want to acknowledge it.”

“Well, speaking of the Murphys, Uncle Mike really wants you to call him, even if only to hear your voice. Aunt Maureen bought a bunch of warm sweaters, socks, a winter hat, and gloves for you. I have them out in my car. All from the Irish store in the neighborhood, of course.”

“They're always doing nice things like that,” she said in almost a whisper. Megan cut to the chase. “That isn't the only thing you brought though, is it?” She was clearly speaking of the letter from the mother of one of their most-recent victims.

“It's in my glove box. I'll give it to you before I leave.”

“Did you read it?”

“Absolutely not. She brought it in to the station personally,” Nappa added. “Now stop eating all the hot wings; your ass is getting big.”

A devoured chicken wing was thrown at his head immediately. Megan would never have admitted it, but it was comforting to see Nappa again. He'd walked with her through the hell that brought her to this place in her life. There was a knowing they had for one another. Most of the time she was comforted by it; in this moment she felt he could read her every thought, though, and she wanted to keep those to herself for now.

“I see you've had big happenings in this little lake town. It made the city news.” Nappa smiled. “Fifteen seconds of news, anyway.”

“The crime scene was across from my house,” Megan said, swigging her second cocktail. “Strange to see police tape again.”

“I guess you're not a fan at the moment.”

“No.” Megan looked away. “I most definitely am not.”

The waitress stopped to clear the appetizer dishes from the table. Megan looked at the waitress once again. Dee didn't smile. Megan felt empathy, but she was also afraid of Dee's jaded demeanor. She quietly wondered if she gave off similar vibrations.

“So, who's your new partner?” Megan asked.

“
Temporary
partner. Palumbo. Rasmussen broke his leg falling down subway stairs chasing a perp. He's out of commission for a while, so it's me and Palumbo until you come back.”

“Nudge, nudge,” Megan replied to his overt hint. “Palumbo's a good fit for you. He's not the pain in the ass I am—was.”

“True.” Nappa smiled knowing full well he'd prefer his old partner back. “But you smell better than he does.”

“Jeez, be sure to speak at my funeral some day.
She was a good cop and she smelled nice.
That's what I want to be remembered for.”

An hour later they both had, as Megan called it, food babies. Practically waddling out of the restaurant, Nappa drove Megan back to the lake house. He unloaded Aunt Maureen's winter gifts from the car and then handed Megan the handwritten note.

She held the envelope, not wanting to think about what the mother of a murdered woman would have to say to her. And then she realized how much she and Mrs. McAllister had in common. It's not a club anyone ever wants to join.

“Are you going to read it?” Nappa asked.

Megan didn't answer, because she didn't have an answer. “Good to see you, Nappa. Drive home safe.”

“Megan?”

It was odd for her to hear Nappa say her first name. It happened only once previously and the context was intimate, sexual, heated. She turned around waiting for him to continue.

He stalled, fumbled for words. “Just, don't be a stranger. And call Uncle Mike.”

She nodded, knowing she was isolating herself and that people who cared for her were concerned. “I will.” She walked into the house and was given a bold, spirited welcome by Clyde. She felt a rush of warmth—until she realized she had leftover steak in a bag.

“So it's not me you're happy to see so much as the steak you're hoping you'll get later. Touching.”

Megan didn't open the letter. Instead, she placed it on the mantel of the fireplace, tucked behind the vase of dried roses. It didn't go unnoticed. Dead roses. Her mother, Rose, dead. There are no coincidences. There was, however, the lingering question as to who had attempted to harm her on the dock.

Eyes in the back of your head, Meganator
, as her father reminded her time and time again.
Eyes in the back of your head.

Eighteen

I was scheduled for
lunchtime prep at Krogh's today, so I left for work earlier than usual. I was only ten minutes from work when I drove over a hill to find a fallen tree branch blocking my way. It wasn't huge, something I knew I could move. I placed the shifter in park, put my flashers on, and cleared the road. When I returned to my car, I went to move the gearshift back into drive, but it wasn't moving. I looked down to find my keys were out of the ignition. I searched the floor of my seat. There was no sign of them. It wasn't until I sat back and looked in my rearview mirror that I realized where they'd gone.

He was wearing a motorcycle helmet, a dark-tinted visor concealing his face. He lunged forward from the back seat, covering my mouth with his cigarette-smelling fingers, and handed me a note. It said, “I know you came into the house the night your father got what he deserved. You are to tell no one—whatever you saw.”

I shook my head frantically, trying to sign
no
to the man. On the passenger seat was a pen. I repeatedly pointed at it. The man didn't let go of my mouth. He leaned forward and handed me the pen. I scribbled, “Saw no one!!!”

The man took back the note, got out of the car, and pushed his motorcycle out of the bushes. He pulled up next to my car and dangled my keys in front of me. Then, surprisingly, he handed them back. He rode off at warp speed.

The woman at the foot of Megan's bed was bruised and blood-soaked. “Why, Meggie, why? How could you let this happen? My own daughter.”

Megan shot up, her nightshirt soaked, her hair tangled in sweat. She needed to catch her breath, if that was possible.

One hell of a way to wake up in the morning
, she thought to herself and padded through to the bathroom.

She splashed cold water on her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Momma, I didn't know. I didn't know.”

She went into the kitchen, poured a mug of coffee, and sat on the couch with Clyde. “Tell me something, boy, did you ditch your family or did they ditch you?” Clyde rolled on his back for Megan to scratch his belly. “Okay. You don't answer and I won't answer. Deal?”

She turned on her cell phone and thankfully had no texts or voicemails. Enjoying the silence, she thought back to what Nappa said about Uncle Mike and tapped the Murphys' home number. He picked up on the second ring.

“Meganator! Good to hear from you, kiddo.”

Megan smiled. “Hi, Uncle Mike. How are you? How is Aunt Maureen?”

“We're fine, just fine. Now, for the bigger question: How are you?”

Megan exaggerated her response and matched his words. “Oh, fine, just fine.” She sipped her coffee. “Is Aunt Maureen there?”

“Nope, she just left to do a grocery run. She'll be upset she missed you. How's New Jersey?”

“Cold, quiet.”
Liar.
“Which reminds me, Uncle Mike, please tell Aunt Maureen thank you for the winter sweaters and gear. It was really thoughtful of you both.”

“I can't take credit. As usual, she comes up with the best ideas.” He became more serious. “Well, ya know you can tell her thank you in person if you come home for Christmas.”

Megan felt bad because she knew the Murphys were worried about her. “Uncle Mike, I just need to be away from the city. I need time.”

“Okay, I can respect that. But let me ask you a question, Megs.”

“Go on. As if I could stop you.” She smiled.

“Are you running away or are you running toward something?”

Megan tended to twirl her hair with her index finger when she was forced into previously rare moments of self-analysis. Her finger was twirling furiously now. “Maybe a little of both. I'm not sure what the
toward
part would be. Career? Home? Maybe get married, have a few kids?” At this, they both laughed out loud.

“I can see it now.
Come here, little Patricia, let me show you how to load and aim my nine millimeter.
I'm not buying it.”

Megan cackled into the phone. “Neither am I.”

“Detective Nappa is worried about you. How was your visit?”

“It was good to see him, but please, not one more word about Nappa, Uncle Mike. I'm warning you.”

“I relent, kiddo!”

Megan knew Uncle Mike and Aunt Maureen would dearly like to see the two of them get together. It was probably a good thing they'd been interrupted the one time they'd almost given in to their mutual attraction.

“It's good to hear your voice, Uncle Mike. Do me a favor and don't worry so much about me. You know me, I always make it through.” Her tone didn't convince her, so she knew it wouldn't come close to convincing him. Thankfully, he didn't press.

“We'll see you soon.”

“Love you guys much.” Megan's voice started to break, which meant the end of the conversation.

“Love you much, Meganator.”

Megan took Clyde out into the yard and threw a toy around for him to get some exercise. She certainly wasn't braving the hill hike after that tumble down the driveway. On what could have been the thirtieth throw, her cell vibrated. It was a message from Callie asking her to drive over to Krogh's for lunch with him. She accepted, yet felt a twinge of unexplained guilt after spending time with Nappa the day before. She stared at the boathouse for a few minutes and hated the fact she was uncomfortable walking out there again. The very reason for her to do so, in her mind.

“Clyde, stay. I need to do this,” Megan said to herself, and she was right. Facing the moment she was attacked was imperative. As she would ask victims of violence to take her through their trauma step by step in hopes of remembering even the slightest detail, she was now asking it of herself. Megan opened the gate, taking deliberate steps to the front of the dock. She of course made certain the inside of the boathouse was empty, and it was. Every step over the boards creaked. “I would have heard you walking down. There's no doubt.” She looked back at the edge of the dock and it hit her. “Son of a bitch. You were already here before I came down.” Megan moved beyond the side door to the boathouse, right up to the edge of the turn to the front boating entrance. “You were in my blind spot.” She walked over to the exact spot she'd been standing when the burlap sack was pulled over her head, closed her eyes, and replayed the quick action. “You smelled of cigarettes. The bag smelled like mildew and dirt. And then I hit the water.”

Armed with her new clue, Megan walked back up to the house with Clyde. She now knew the frustration of people she'd interviewed, and she didn't like it one bit.

Hurt me once, your fault. Hurt me twice, I pull my trigger, bastard.

Driving down the road en route to Krogh's, she noticed Leigh checking her mailbox and stopped to say hello. “Hi, Leigh. How are you?” Megan could tell by her color and demeanor that she was not feeling much better than she had the night they had dinner last week. If anything, she looked worse.

“Hanging in. I'm just grading papers today, taking it easy. Crazy times in these parts, wouldn't you say?”

“So I read.”

“Plans tonight?” Leigh asked.

“Nothing on tap.”

“I'm flying solo tonight. Jo is working a double shift at the hospital, if you want to come over. Nothing fancy, I was just planning on ordering a pizza and watching bad television.” Leigh's smile seemed painfully forced. “Bring Dog. He and Lady Sadie can play.”

“Sounds good. Oh, Billie named him Clyde.”

“That kid never ceases to surprise me. See you about seven.”

Megan pulled into Krogh's parking lot. The wind was strong on Lake Mohawk across from the pub. Whitecaps surfaced where the water had yet to freeze. If the sun hadn't been out accompanied by blue skies, she would have thought a storm was brewing. She should have taken it as a sign. She found Callie in the restaurant speaking to staff and signing off on invoices. He waved her over, and the staff scattered to their various stations.

“Hey, Trouble, good to see you.” He went to kiss her and Megan had an awkward hesitancy about returning the affection. “You know I bite, don't be so shy.”

Megan removed her coat and Callie just gave her the grin he'd mastered back in college. They sat in the same booth as the last time she was in Krogh's. “So, do I get to hear the specials, or are you just going to stare at me?”

He gave her a comical snarl. “Drinks first. What's your pleasure? Besides me.”

“White wine, Chardonnay.”

Callie ordered Megan's wine and a Krogh's Gold for himself. “Pecan-crusted tilapia, linguine with clams, and skirt steak are the lunch specials. I suggest the tilapia.”

“It's your place—you would know. Sounds good.”

“So, that was a bit awkward yesterday when you're partner arrived unannounced,” Callie continued in a probing manner. “The tall, dark, handsome detective must be fun to work with.”

“Callie, think what you want, but it's only professional.” But Megan looked down at her glass when she answered.

“I'm guessing it hasn't always been, but that's none of my business,” Callie continued, raising his beer. “Cheers.”

“Cheers. Nappa needed to bring me something from work.” She waved it off. “Information from a previous case.”

“There's this place called the post office. They actually deliver mail right to your home!”

“Sarcasm duly noted,” Megan continued. “I didn't see Vivian's car; is she working today?”

“She's in the back doing prep work.”

“How is she?”

“Good. I mean, same as usual, though I think the other day definitely threw her for a loop, as it would anyone.” Callie was hedging a bit with his next question. “So, do you think you'll be here for a while, in New Jersey?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I had a great time the other night and just wondered if that will happen again, that's all.”

“One step at a time, Callie. I'm here to clear my head, so let's keep things one day at a time. Is that okay with you?”

It was a small laugh. Callie knew he wasn't shot down, just winged a bit. “I'm not accustomed to having the ball in someone else's court, Trouble.”

“I remember.”

While they sat enjoying their lunch together, they stormed through more memories of college and the twist and turns of their lives since then. Megan saw the flashing lights before Callie. She didn't have to guess about the two police cars pulling up.

“Callie.” She pointed. “Now I think
you
have trouble.”