Yesterday's Echo (8 page)

“Who was the other guy?” I asked.

“What other guy?”

“Red soul patch with a prison tat on his neck. I saw you talking to him in the bar last night.”

“Oh.” She turned slightly, her profile shadowed by the night. “He was just some guy hitting on me.”

At that moment Midnight banged his head against the door
from outside the bedroom. He had no qualms about being a third wheel. I got up and let him in and he went over to Melody's side of the bed and sat in front of her.

“Midnight has a crush,” I said.

“We bonded while I waited for you to come home.”

“Do you always make your entrances through the back door or were you hiding because you'd been followed again?”

“I don't think I was followed.” She scratched Midnight behind the ear. “Midnight started barking when I knocked on the front door, so I went in the backyard to quiet him.”

“It looks like it worked.”

“I've tamed my share of wild beasts.”

The next morning was déjà vu of the one before. Midnight wagging his tail in front of me, empty sheets next to me. Well, most mornings started that way, but not with the essence of Melody lingering in my empty bed.

Game over. I wouldn't try to track her down this time. Fool me once, fool me twice. There were only two strikes in this game. I got up to let Midnight outside.

The smell hit me as soon as I left the bedroom.

Pancakes. A whole new ballgame.

Melody stood next to the stove barefoot in my T-shirt, hair in a ponytail. Breakfast never looked so good. I wrapped my arms around her tight belly and kissed her neck. She purred. I could get used to that.

“Smells fantastic,” I said.

“I told you I have skills.”

“Yes, even in the kitchen.”

I grabbed Midnight's bowl and filled it with dog food from the bag in the broom closet. After he'd chomped down his breakfast, I let him out and then went and got dressed. It was Turk's turn to open Muldoon's, so I had the day to myself. And Melody.

Breakfast was waiting for me when I returned to the kitchen.
Steaming pancakes, melting butter, and Vermont maple syrup from my pantry. I sat down and noticed there was only one plate.

“You're not eating?” I asked.

“I'm going to get dressed first.”

“Not on my account.”

“Then on mine.” She smiled. “Your skillet only has room for three pancakes at a time, anyway. I'll get the next batch.”

She lingered at the table waiting for me to take a bite. I did and fell in love.

“You weren't lying about your skills. These are fantastic!” I rubbed my thumb and fingers together. “There's a layered richness to them.”

“I used brown sugar instead of white.” She bounced slightly on her toes. “Glad you like them. I'll be right back.”

I finished my pancakes and dropped three dollops of batter down onto the cast-iron skillet Melody had pulled down from my pot rack. I had them flipped and on a plate for Melody by the time she returned. She wore the same jeans and green blouse that she'd had on only briefly last night. A touch of makeup around her left eye covered the residue of the fist to the face her source had given her two nights ago.

She complimented me on the flapjacks, making it seem like I'd been the genius behind the batter. After we'd each polished off six, we pushed aside empty plates and lolled, full bellied, at the kitchen table.

“Rick.” Melody's eyes dropped to the bleached-oak kitchen table before they met mine. “I'm flying back to San Francisco today.”

“Okay.” Well, we'd always have pancakes.

“I'm filling in on the anchor desk.” She almost sounded apologetic. “It's a great career opportunity.”

“That's great.” I tried to sound sincere. I don't think I pulled it off.

I was happy for her, but sad for myself. Melody had a career
and deserved success. But, I had finally met someone who made me remember what life could be like before Santa Barbara.

“This isn't the end, Rick.” She reached for my hand across the table. “It's the beginning.”

Midnight's growl from the backyard sounded right before a loud knock on the front door. I thought about letting him in to play bodyguard. But I headed out of the kitchen alone. I didn't think the tough guys after Melody would make another play in the middle of suburbia while the sun was up.

I opened the door and realized that I'd been thinking about the wrong tough guys.

Dan Coyote and Tony Moretti stood together crowding my porch with their police presence. If given a choice between them and the two hard guys, I might have gone the other way. They flashed their badges like we were all strangers. I wished we were.

“Mr. Cahill, we have a few questions we'd like to ask you involving a police investigation.” Moretti's voice had none of yesterday's contempt in it. I liked the new version better, but braced for an angle.

“Did you get a hit on one of the sketches of the guys who jumped me?” I couldn't think of any other reason, in my new life, that I'd have cops on my porch to start the day.

Moretti's eyes squeezed down and his lips went tight. Dan examined my welcome mat. I'd struck a nerve without even intending to. The sketch that had stopped Moretti in his tracks and sent him into his chief's office was the nerve. How it was connected to LJPD, I didn't know and the cops didn't want me to. That was fine by me. Anything that kept the police out of my life was my first choice.

But here they were, hiding their truth and wanting to know mine.

“We're here on another matter, Mr. Cahill.” Moretti hid his obfuscation under his new tone. I changed my mind. I liked his old voice full of hate better. At least I knew where I stood.

“And what would that matter be?”

“Rick,” Dan finally found his voice and then my eyes, “why don't you invite us inside and we'll explain.”

I liked cops in my house even less than on my porch. But I didn't want to give Moretti a reason to dislike me more than he
already did. I waved them inside. Dan grabbed the morning newspaper off my porch and handed it to me as he passed through the door. I dropped it on the end table. Melody was still in the kitchen, quiet beneath Midnight's huffing outside the back door.

Moretti surveyed the living room. His pursed lips showed he was unimpressed with the maple bookshelf, mismatched furniture, department store entertainment center, and dog-worn carpet. He wasn't in La Jolla anymore. Had to slum it in North Clairemont with the common folk. I maintained the manners of my class by not offering the cops a seat or anything to drink.

We stood, an abbreviated football huddle, in the middle of my living room. I figured Moretti would want to play quarterback. The short ones always do. I shut up and waited.

“Do you know a Melody Malana?” Moretti finally asked.

I thought they'd come by to bullshit their way through a few questions to find out what I knew about the man in the sketch they were protecting. Not questions about Melody. And how had they linked Melody to me? The man in the sketch? Or, had the police themselves been following me? I flashed back to the cop who'd stopped Melody and me Sunday night and had hidden behind his floodlight.

“Who?” I asked.

“Don't try to play smart, Cahill.” He stepped in under my chin and drowned me in his cologne. “You don't have enough practice.”

Now we were back on familiar ground.

“Rick.” Dan's voice was calm against Moretti's sudden agitation. “It's important that we talk to Miss Malana. Please tell us where she is.”

“What's so important?” I wasn't just going to roll over.

Maybe Moretti was right about my level of smarts.

“You going to lie to us again? You're just itching to wear the bracelets. Aren't you, Cahill?” He stepped in so close that his nose almost bumped my chin. “We'll start with obstructing a police investigation and see what else sticks.”

“Aren't you a bit out of your jurisdiction to be slappin' on
handcuffs, Detective?” I looked down my nose at him. “This is San Diego PD's beat.”

“Try me.”

The sound of a cabinet door closing came from the kitchen before I could say something else smart. All eyes shot to the doorway into the kitchen. Melody walked into the living room. She wore the same leather shoulder bag she'd had on last night when she surprised me with a kiss at the back door. The kiss suddenly felt like a fond memory from a long time ago.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” She smiled, her voice calm. She made it seem like starting the day with cops in your living room was as normal as sunshine in San Diego.

Moretti eyeballed her up and down before he spoke. “Miss Malana?”

“Yes.”

“I'm Detective Moretti.” He showed her his badge and nodded toward Dan. “This is Detective Coyote. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay.” Melody joined our huddle.

“Do you know a Mr. Adam Windsor?” Moretti asked.

“Yes.” Melody said, the smile now tight on her face.

“I'm sorry to have to tell you that he was found dead yesterday morning.”

Melody sat down on the sofa and stared at Moretti, but I don't think she saw him. Some of the tan had washed out of her face, but her eyes revealed nothing.

“Are you okay?” I sat down next to her.

“I'm fine.”

“Who's Adam Windsor?”

“Mr. Cahill,” Moretti interrupted, “we'll ask the questions, if you don't mind.”

“My ex-husband.” Melody said, her voice flat like her emotions.

Ex-husband?

“What happened to him?” Melody asked, still under control. “How did he die?”

“Undetermined at this time.” Moretti's eyes bored in on her, a cardsharp looking for a tell. “His body was found at the Shell Beach Motel.”

Melody gave away nothing. I tried to do the same.

Adam Windsor. Heather Ortiz's DB. Melody's ex-husband. Found dead at her motel. You didn't have to be a cop to raise an eyebrow at Melody. She hadn't necessarily lied to me, but she hadn't been free with the truth. Maybe her ex staying at her motel would have come out eventually. I'd done my own share of withholding. But now there was a dead body, and I was still dealing with one of those from my own past. I wasn't sure I knew Melody well enough to handle hers, too.

Moretti said Windsor's death was undetermined. But, Heather Ortiz had already labeled it an overdose yesterday after talking to Moretti. Maybe he was waiting for the coroner's official determination before he told the whole truth. When would Melody do the same?

“Miss Malana.” Dan stood over the sofa. “It would really be helpful if you'd come down to the station with us.”

“Am I under arrest?” Melody's eyes widened.

Dan shot a look at Moretti and so did I.

“No.” Moretti gave her a compassionate cop smile. “We just need to ask you a few more questions in a more appropriate environment.”

“I'll make coffee if you like.” I stood up. Moretti could smile all he wanted; nothing good ever came out of a station house talk. “But Melody stays here.”

Instinct. Stupidity. Masochism. Any or all could apply, but heavy emphasis on stupidity.

“I warned you, Cahill.” Moretti resumed his position as a wart on my chin. No compassionate cop smile for me. “Miss Malana may or may not be joining us, but you are.”

Moretti reached behind his back on his belt and I heard the clink of handcuffs.

“Detective Moretti?” Melody stood up. Her voice was high
and caught in her throat. “Please let Mr. Cahill stay here. I'll go with you to the police station.”

Moretti snapped one cuff around my left wrist and shot hard, black eyes up at me. “You remember this feeling, don't ya, Cahill? Cold steel pinching your wrists?”

I figured he was bluffing, but I'd been wrong before. Even though I talked around the truth about knowing Melody yesterday, Moretti didn't have anything arrest worthy on me. But if his partner backed him up it didn't matter. He had a badge, he made the rules.

“Please.” Melody's voice quivered. “Detective.”

Dan didn't say anything else, but trained basset hound eyes on his partner. Maybe he was the kind of cop I had tried to be. And failed.

Moretti shot a key into the cuff and had it off my wrist in an instant. He gave me a contented smirk that said he'd had his fun at my expense. I couldn't argue with the smirk, but I wouldn't have minded putting my fist through it.

“Miss Malana,” Moretti stepped around me toward the front door, “if you'll come with us, we'll make sure you get a ride to wherever you like after we done.”

Melody let out a quick breath and gave her head a minute nod. Composed, she rested a hand on my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek. “I'll be fine,” she whispered. Then she followed Moretti to the front door.

I didn't think so. “Let me call you a lawyer first.”

Dan looked at me like I worked for the ACLU.

Moretti opened the door and said. “This shouldn't take very long.”

Melody turned back and gave me a weak, crooked incisor smile. It sucked a breath out of me. “It's okay, Rick, I'll call you when I'm done.”

Dan followed her outside and closed the door, sealing me inside my empty house.

I washed the breakfast dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, hoping that if I kept my hands occupied my mind would follow. It didn't. Melody kept creeping in. A woman I hadn't known three days ago now seeped into my thoughts, flooding me with feelings I hadn't had for almost a decade. Feelings I never thought I'd have again. Love? I couldn't tag that label on it yet. But something strong, visceral. A need to protect. And I couldn't protect Melody when she was down at the La Jolla Police Department's Brick House.