Death Notice

Before I found out that a murderer was using my obituary column to forecast his kills, my biggest concern was the promotion my boss/ex-lover, Adam, had promised me.

I’d been writing obituaries for the Northland Chronicle for two years, but that was about to change. Today, Adam was promoting me to the crime desk, something I’d wanted since leaving my job at the Kansas City Star.

I’d given up a coveted career as crime reporter because I was in love, and because Adam swore that when the crime desk came open at the Chronicle, it was mine. Two years, and one very bad break-up later, the position had opened up. Last month, when one of the crime writers turned in his notice, Adam promised me that he wouldn’t let our break-up stand in the way. Today was when we made it official. I could barely contain my excitement as I drove to work, leaving earlier than I normally did, since I hadn’t been able to sleep anyway.

Although it was October, summer had lingered longer than it should have and autumn was just now establishing its rightful place. I took a moment to appreciate the scenery—the beauty of the blue sky and the trees—some still fat and green, others with leaves that had turned scarlet, gold, or burnished orange.

When I arrived at the newspaper and climbed out of the car, cold wind snatched at my coat and whipped my hair around my cheeks, making me hasten my trip from the lot to the office park where the newspaper was located.

I halted long enough to toss a few pennies into the fountain that dominated the square outside the Chronicle. Water spewed from multiple spouts, bathing the marble statue that depicted Pandora in the motion of opening her infamous box. Kansas City was known as the City of Fountains and was rumored to have more fountains than Rome. In a few months, the water in most of them would be frozen, but they’d still be lovely to look at.

In the break room, I made a pot of what my co-workers called my truck-driver sludge. I had my own pot because the others preferred something resembling tinted water more than coffee.

Adam arrived as I was pouring my second cup. He headed to his office without speaking to me, but he opened the door moments later and stuck his head out.

“Monroe, I need to see you.”

His voice was hard. Harder than a man about to promote a valued employee.

I stepped inside and shut the door.

He sat on the edge of his desk, holding a newspaper. Before I could sit, he thrust the paper toward me.

I took it and saw that it was folded back to the obituary page, with one of them circled in red.

“Read that for me, please,” Adam said.

“Why?” I grinned. “Are there words with more than two syllables?”

He gave me a look. He was not amused. I read.

Richard James Hebringer, 33, of Kansas City, Missouri, passed away unexpectedly on October 24th. Richard is survived by his parents, Hank and Patricia Hebringer, sibling Cassandra Hebringer, and extended family members. He will be interred at Macon Cemetery on October 24th.

“Shit!” I sank slowly into the chair across from his desk.

“Yep. Shit is right.”

Today was October 23rd, which meant the guy died tomorrow. What really sucked was that I was the one who’d overlooked the error.

“How’d you happen to catch it?” I asked. “You were reading obits?”

“No, my grandmother saw it. She reads them every morning. Likes to use the old joke about making sure her name’s not in there.”

I smiled faintly. “Sorry. I can’t believe I let this through.”

“Yeah. We’re just lucky no angry relatives have called…so far,” he added ominously. “Can’t imagine they’d be too happy with us.”

He said ‘us,’ but his accusatory look said ‘you’—as in me.

“I assume the guy actually died on the twenty-first or twenty-second. I’ll check, but I’m sure the email had the twenty-fourth listed. Whoever sent the obit to me had the wrong date.” My excuse was lame, even to my own ears, but I ran it by him anyway.

“Maybe so. But it’s your job to check these things before they’re published.”

“I know. Want me to print a correction?”

“Let’s hold off. If no one notices, that will just bring attention to it.”

I nodded. Although in the grand scheme of life, this was a very small infraction, I, of all people, knew how serious it really was. Having been raised with a mortician father, I knew better than anyone of the solemnity and seriousness of death. The smallest thing that seems mocking or disrespectful can send already grieving family members into deep despair.

I tossed the newspaper on Adam’s desk and changed the subject. “When do I start my new job?”

Adam’s gaze slid away from me, landing where his hands were clasped between his thighs. “About that…” He sighed heavily.

“About that, what?”

He looked at me now, his eyes pained. “Roe, I’m sorry, but there’s been a change of plans.”

My body tensed, but I tried to remain calm. “What do you mean, a change of plans?”

“You’re not going to be writing crime.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he lifted a hand and rushed on, “At least not right now. I’m not saying it won’t happen. I’m just saying it’s not going to happen as soon as we planned.”

I was humiliated to feel tears at the back of my eyes. Determined not to let them fall, I cleared my throat. “This is because of Tabitha, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “She feels a little threatened by the fact that my ex-girlfriend still works for me.”

“Even though you chose her? While we were still together, I might add.”

Adam stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. Turning his back on me, he walked to the window, staring outside. “Tab knows you and I would be working more closely together. She feels my giving you a promotion makes it look like I’m still in love with you.”

“Hmmm.” I snorted a humorless laugh. “You’d think the fact that you fucked her on my birthday would negate that theory.”

He turned to face me. “Come on, Roe. You know I’m sorry about all that. I thought you’d forgiven me. That we’d gotten past that.”

“Jesus, Adam. I did, too. I am past that, but apparently, Tabitha’s not. And it’s pretty damned unprofessional of you to let your girlfriend dictate how you deal with your employees.”

“I know. It’s just…well, her father does own the newspaper, and right now is a bad time to make her feel threatened. Especially since—”

He stopped, and I saw something like dread in his expression.

“Since what?”

He blew out a breath and took his hands out of his pockets. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked down at the floor as he spoke. “We’re engaged.”

A bolt of pain shot through my chest. It surprised me that I could still be hurt by Adam. But, his news did hurt—and shock me. I’d always thought of Tabitha as just a fling, never dreaming she’d be the kind of woman he’d marry. Adam had just gone through a divorce when he and I started dating and, at that time, he was more than just gun-shy. He was as opposed to getting married again as an atheist was to prayer. That worked for me, since I wasn’t interested in marriage, either. Especially to Adam. I would never, ever marry a man who was prettier than me. With his golden hair, smooth, tanned skin, and intensely green eyes, Adam definitely fell into that category.

I’d always wondered what he’d seen in me, and now realized I was a no-pressure rebound girl after a bad marriage. Not the kind you kept around for long, but the kind that would do in a pinch until a woman more suitable came along. Still. I never figured Adam would get married again. Well, I knew he wanted to settle down someday. He’d mentioned wanting children. I just figured it was a long ways off. Like the Millennium had seemed in the early 90’s.

I sucked in a deep breath and bunched a handful of hair on top of my head, a habit I had when I was stressed or sad or angry. My hair was mussed a great deal of the time.

“Congratulations,” I said, but it sounded more like, ‘I want to rip your heart from your chest and feed it to you bit by cheating bit.’

“Thanks. I hope now you understand why I have to keep Tabitha happy. Once she’s more secure in our relationship, maybe after we’re married, you and I will talk about that promotion.”

“Aw, gee, thanks, Adam.” My voice oozed sarcasm. “You’re awesome!”

“Come on, Roe. Please just be patient with me. Hang in there.”

Then it hit me. Maybe what he and his future wife were hoping was that I wouldn’t hang in there. “Is she trying to run me off? Get me to quit? Are you?”

“No. I mean, I’m not.” He leaned slightly toward me as if to punctuate his sincerity. “Trust me. I want you here, Roe. I don’t want you to leave.”

“Why not? It’s not like you couldn’t easily replace me.”

He sighed. “I still care about you. I like working with you, and I know you deserve that promotion. I wish you’d hang in there with me, just a while longer, until I’m able to make it happen.”

I thought about that. I’d hung in with him for two years and where had it gotten me? Nowhere. I didn’t trust Adam, and he’d just shown me why. Again. My job at the Star was no longer available, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get some position there, or somewhere else. Anything was better than staying around here, letting Adam kick me around some more.

“This is bullshit, Adam, and you know it.”

He cocked a thumb toward the newspaper, still folded open to the obit. “You did screw up on that obit.”

I didn’t respond. He and I both knew that minor mistake wasn’t enough to keep me from getting that promotion. He was just being a dick.

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he said, coming back around to sit on the edge of his desk. Leaning forward, he clasped my hand in his. “Just be patient, please?”

I stared down to where his fingers massaged the back of my hand. His touch warmed me, but at the same time, made me ache. Most of the time, I really thought I was over him. Then, at other times, the old feelings came flooding back, catching me unaware. This was one of those times.

Then I remembered the way he’d treated me—was still treating me—and the warm feeling went away with the speed of a NASA launch.

I jerked my hand away and stood, wanting to use all the curse words I knew—and growing up with three brothers, my arsenal was extensive—but I held back, deciding to practice a little decorum.

“Screw you, Adam.” I wanted to say ‘fuck you,’ so I still considered I’d handled it with class. “I quit.”

“What?” He stood and lifted his hands out to his sides in a pleading gesture. “You can’t do that. Please. Give me some time.”

I stared into his beseeching eyes, his heart-stoppingly handsome face and felt… nothing. I inwardly sighed with relief and slowly shook my head. “I’ve given you more than I should have, Adam. So much more. Consider this my notice.”

“Monroe, wait—”

I ignored his plea and stalked out of his office, forcefully slamming the door behind me. “Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath as I headed toward my cubicle and tried to still the quaking in my chest.

“What is? Your wardrobe? What’s the occasion?” My friend and co-worker, Asia Martin, stood near my cubicle, hands on hips, apprising my outfit.

“Occasion?”

“You.” She waved a hand out like one of those game show models presenting a prize. “All dressed up like that.”

I looked down at my black slacks and soft white sweater, which for me, was dressing up. It wasn’t exactly high fashion, but it was about as girlie and dressed up as I ever got. The first six years of my life, I hadn’t realized I was a girl.

Asia, however, was most definitely in touch with her feminine side. Although slightly overweight, she was gorgeous, and her wardrobe was that of a wealthy socialite rather than a newspaper employee. Today, she wore a bronze linen suit with a silky chocolate shell underneath the jacket. I was sure it was by some designer, but I didn’t know Gucci from Prada, so I had no idea which. The color suited her, setting off her caramel skin and the blonde in her stylishly braided hair.

I plopped down in my chair so that my view of Adam was blocked. The staff work areas were separated by chest-high partitions and Adam’s office overlooked our cubicles where he lorded over us in his glass-encased kingdom. “I just felt like dressing up a bit,” I said.

“For him?” She sneered and jerked her head toward Adam’s office.

“No, not for him. Just because I was in the mood.”

“Well now you seem to be in a pissy mood. So, what changed since this morning when you dug through your sweatshirts and Levis until you came upon this?” She plucked at the shoulder of the sweater.

“I’m not getting the promotion.”

“I knew it,” Asia hissed. “That son of a bitch. Who’s getting it?”

“I don’t know.”

“He probably doesn’t even know. As long as he can appease the bitch, he’s happy. You need to… to… Ah, hell. I don’t know what you need to do.” She clenched and unclenched her fingers. I assumed she was imagining Adam’s neck between them. “You need to quit. That’s it. No, wait. Then I’d be stuck here without you. Shit.”

“I did quit.”

“What?” Her expression was horrified.

“I’m not going to stay here and let that asshole treat me that way any longer. I’m done. I gave my notice.”

“Nooooo,” she wailed. “I can’t stand this place without you.”

I looked up at her, feeling a twinge of guilt at abandoning her. “I’m sorry. Surely you understand.”

A long dramatic sigh left her. “I do. You’ve worked your ass off and he… he… Dammit, I can’t think of anything bad enough to say about him.”

“I know.” I attempted a smile. “Hey, at least we have thirty days until I leave. Maybe we can make his life a living hell.”

“He’s hooked up with Super Bitch. I think she did our work for us.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “I’d better get to work. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Asia walked away, and I checked the clock on the wall. Not even lunch yet. The day stretched out long and unhappy before me. As soon as it finally crawled to an end, I was going to head home and plant myself in front of the TV with a cup of rich hot chocolate, pillows of whipped cream floating on top. Maybe I’d watch the World Series. None of my favorite teams had made it, so I didn’t care who won. Not caring about something for a little while sounded like heaven.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” I heard Asia say, her voice an appreciative murmur. She’d stopped halfway between her cubicle and mine and was staring out the glass walls to the reception area.

I stood and followed her gaze. Two men were at the reception desk. One was tall and muscular, with a shaved head and goatee. His eyes darted around the lobby and through the glass into the newsroom, his expression intimidating. Had it not been for the suit jacket, I might have mistaken him for a UFC fighter.

The other man was a tad shorter with dark, tousled hair. Beneath the gray suit jacket, his shirt was in need of pressing, his charcoal tie askew. The clothing gave the impression of having been haphazardly tossed on, rather than actually donned. His shoulders were slightly hunched, as if bracing for a blow. His eyes also roamed, but unlike the other man’s, they seemed to drift, hesitant to settle on any one object.

As we watched, Mary, the receptionist, returned to her desk and spoke to the two men.

“You know them?” I asked Asia, reluctant to take my eyes off the dark and disheveled one.

“Mmmhmm,” she nearly purred. “They’re detectives. The messy, dreamy one is Detective Lane Brody.”

My lips twitched, the closest I could come to a smile after my chat with Adam. “Did you just say dreamy?”

“No other word for it, girlfriend. Just look at him. I met him at the bar.” Asia’s husband, Darion, owned a sports bar called The Blitz. Darion was a big, tall hunk of a man who had briefly played football for the Green Bay Packers before suffering a career-ending injury. Not only was he sexy, he’d known Brett Favre. Talk about a catch. “Him and Darion hit it off. They’ve kind of become buddies.” Her lips stretched into a leer. “Wouldn’t mind him being my buddy, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I think I cracked your code,” I said dryly. “Speaking of Darion, I was beginning to think you’d forgotten you already have a man.”

“Lane Brody could make a woman forget her own name,” Asia said. “He’s every heterosexual woman’s wet dream and every lesbian’s temptation to convert.”

I laughed, studying him again. Yes, he was good-looking, but not drop-dead gorgeous. The appeal wasn’t so much his looks as it was the overall package. There was something about him… something sexy and vulnerable all at once.

He turned our way, staring at us through the glass. His gaze landed on me, and I caught my breath, then tried to swallow back the flutter working its way through my chest and throat. He gave me a half smile. Even from this distance, I could see his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Asia sighed. “Look at him. Don’t you just want to… I don’t know… fix him?”

She said ‘fix’ like it was a step of the Kama Sutra.

Mary glanced back toward us, then picked up her phone. Mine rang and I answered.

“There are two detectives here to see you,” Mary said.

“They want to speak to me?”

I looked at Asia, whose eyes rounded in excitement. She pointed at the detectives, then at me, lifting her brows questioningly.

I nodded and said to Mary, “Send them back.”

I watched them come through the glass door, wondering what the hell they could want with me. I’d never been in trouble with the law, couldn’t imagine what they were doing here.

“You are so lucky,” Asia said quietly. “I don’t care if they’re here to arrest you for murder, you’re lucky.”

“Right,” I replied, just as quietly, “an arrest would be the perfect ending to this glorious day.”

“At least handcuffs would be involved.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could respond, the detectives were standing in front of us.

“Hello, Lane. Good to see you,” Asia said, reaching out a hand.

The sexy one took her hand in a brief shake and gave her that smile-not smile. “You, too.” His voice was smooth with an underlying rasp. Up close, I could see the color of his eyes, an unusual combination of aquamarine with tiny sapphire bursts in the center.

Asia glanced from the men to me, then back to the men. “I’ll get out of your way,” she said, giving Detective Brody’s frame a quick, lascivious up and down before she disappeared behind her cubicle. Hopefully, I was the only one who’d noticed.

“Miss Donovan,” the taller one said, “I’m Detective Webber and this is my partner, Detective Brody. We’d like to ask you some questions. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

I glanced around and saw Adam standing at his office door. His eyebrows were drawn together in a scowl, making me wonder if this had something to do with him. Could he be in trouble? The thought made my spirits lift, and I smiled at the cops. “Sure. Right this way.”

I led them to the conference room, as aware of Adam’s eyes following us as I was of Detective Brody just a few feet behind me.

I shut the door and took a seat at the conference table. Detective Brody remained standing, while Detective Webber sat across from me, flashing a thousand watt smile that I figured was meant to either charm or disarm me. “Miss Donovan,” he said. “Can you tell us where we might find Josephine Detweiler?”

An alarm bell rang in my head. Josie was in trouble again. Josie had been my best friend since childhood. She was a drug user who had a no-good, asshole boyfriend she couldn’t seem to stay away from. Josie would breeze into town from time to time when she needed to get clean or have a safe place to crash. My house was always that place, but she hadn’t been around in a while.

I swallowed, praying it was a minor offense. “No, I mean, not right now. I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks. Is she okay?”

“We just need to ask her some questions about her boyfriend, Matt Lovell. Have you seen him lately?”

I tried to keep the dislike out of my voice as I answered. “I haven’t seen Matt in months.” And that’s not nearly long enough, I silently added. “What’s this about? Is Josie in trouble or is Matt?”

“We’re conducting a homicide investigation and need to ask Mr. Lovell some questions. We were hoping Miss Detweiler could tell us where we can locate him.” That smile again. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if for intimate conversation. “We understand she stays with you when she’s in town?”

They were looking for Matt about a murder? What had he done now? My heart started beating too fast. Whatever it was, he’d better not hurt Josie. Or, at least, not any more than he already had.

My gaze wandered to Detective Brody. His arms were crossed, and I noticed his glance flitting around the room, but something told me his attention hadn’t strayed. I guessed that his relaxed, casual attitude was a smoke-screen for a keen mind that missed little.

“Yes, she does. But she hasn’t been around in a while.”

“Do you know how we can get in touch with her?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea. She doesn’t have a phone, and I don’t know where she stays when she’s not with me.”

His charming smile was replaced by a disbelieving frown. “You’re her best friend and you don’t know how to reach her?”

Skepticism 101. He must have been at the top of his class.

“No. I don’t. I wish I did, but she comes and goes without warning. I never know when I’ll see her or when she’ll take off again.”

“What about Mr. Lovell? Do you know how to reach him? Or any of his friends we can contact?”

“I doubt if Matt has many friends, and if he did, I wouldn’t know them. Or want to know them. I’m sorry. I really don’t know how I can help you.”

Detective Webber fell silent, staring at the notepad he held, his brows drawn into a frown. I didn’t know if he was reading something, or just thinking about how much he doubted my story. I inwardly shook my head. Cops.

“It’s very important that we find Mr. Lovell.”

“So,” I said slowly, “what you’re trying to tell me is that you’d like to speak to Matt?”

Not missing the sarcasm, Detective Webber gave me a look, but I saw a small smile playing around the corners of Detective Brody’s mouth. He hadn’t spoken since they’d come in the room, but for some reason, I was more acutely aware of his presence than that of his talkative partner’s. Although I’d only heard it briefly, I liked his voice and wanted to hear it again.

“Is there something you want me to tell her if I see her?” I directed the question to Brody.

His eyes captured mine for a moment, and his whisky voice said, “Could you please have her call us?”

This time, I detected the hint of a southern drawl. He handed me his card, and I wanted to touch my fingers to his as I took it, but figured it would be too obvious. Besides, a gold band circled his ring finger, glinting reproachfully at me.

Immediately, I mentally kicked myself in the ass. Freshly out of an extremely bad relationship, and here I was having schoolgirl fantasies about a married man. I swung my gaze to Webber.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. I’ll have Josie call you as soon as I speak to her.”

“Please do.”

I followed them out of the conference room and went back to my cubicle, ignoring Asia’s hungrily inquisitive gaze. Dropping Detective Brody’s card on my desk, I leaned back in my chair, gnawing my lower lip as worry gnawed my gut. My best friend was in trouble, or at least her abusive boyfriend was, and that had to compute to trouble for Josie, too.

Life, Rich Hebringer decided, was a lot like drowning in a swimming pool filled with shit. It stunk, it was hard to swim through, and most of the time, just when you thought you might break the surface, you were sucked right back down to the bottom of the festering, reeking pool.

As he reflected on the theory, he grabbed the trash bag from the can behind the registration desk and headed to the back door of the bed and breakfast where he was oh-so-fortunate enough to be employed as the night desk clerk.

The frilly, pink, rose-patterned curtain on the window of the door lifted and brushed his face as he tugged on the knob.

Goddamit.

He hated all this frou-frou bullshit. Hated the giddy, love-struck couples who stayed here. Tonight, only three of the six rooms upstairs were occupied. One couple had gushed to Rich that they were on their honeymoon. Another couple, a few years older than the honeymooners, were obviously having an affair. They’d had that flushed look, that naughty sparkle in their eyes, and had covertly glanced around the entire time Rich was checking them in. The other couple was two dudes. The gay thing kind of gave him the willies, but what the hell. To each his own, right?

He despised everyone who stayed here—flamers, heteros, whatever the fuck. He despised the way most of them, immediately after checking in, fled to their rooms, so anxious to start banging each other, they couldn’t hang around long enough to say, “So, how are things for you, Rich? You happy? You like being stuck here like some kind of piss-ant dick munch who didn’t complete high school, let alone acquire a college degree? Oh, really? You have a college degree? And you’re working here?”

Rich shook his head and stepped out onto the path at the back of the B and B. The ‘path’ was actually a sidewalk, but when it wound through delicately landscaped lawns, and was lined with lilies—all sorts of lilies in pinks, oranges, purples, every color of the fucking rainbow, and every type in God’s creation—you couldn’t really call it a ‘sidewalk.’ Even though it was October, the owner, Lily Highland, made sure her precious lilies were in abundance by replacing them with fake lilies when the blooming season was over.

Kind of ironic the place was infested with a flower that was a sign of purity, when it was a hotbed for illicit affairs. Funny, really. Not funny as in ha ha, stand-up comic funny, but there were so few things in life Rich found amusing these days, he’d take whatever he could get.

He juggled the bag of trash in one hand as he dug for a cigarette with the other. He paused midway down the path and touched the lighter to the tip of the cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he drew the smoke into his lungs and let it curl out of his mouth into the night sky.

It was against the rules to smoke on the grounds—even on the fucking grounds—of Highland Lily Bed and Breakfast. How fucking controlling and pretentious was that? It was fucking nature, man. Animals ate, shit, and copulated on these precious grounds, but a guy couldn’t have a smoke to release a little tension? Well, fuck her and her rules. He’d had a rough day, a sucky night, and he needed some goddamned nicotine. After all, he was in a pool of shit, man. What harm was a little smoke going to do?

He headed to the dumpster, mentally expanding his shit-pool hypothesis. He had never considered himself much of a philosopher, but he thought this new analogy had a lot of merit.

In this pool were a herd of vicious, deadly, ravenous crocodiles. One wrong move, one stroke of really bad luck, and one of those beasts would yank you down into the mire and devour you. You’d be gone, nothing but a fading memory to the other poor souls struggling in the same muck. Thing was, you wouldn’t really mind when this happened. Might actually welcome the blessed jaws of death. At least then, you would be free from the endless dream-sucking feces.

This new—and somewhat negative, though insightful theory—was a result of Rich’s failed job interview. He’d been working the front desk of this lame-ass bed and breakfast in this go-nowhere shit town for two years. Today, he’d had a job interview with an accounting firm, thinking he could finally put his degree in business management to use. But, they’d told him at the end of the interview that he wasn’t right for the job. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? How much more right could he be? Intelligent, good-looking, personable—oh yeah, and a fucking degree in business management.

He tossed the bag into the dumpster, glancing around the shit-pool. All was peaceful. The guests were humping their asses off in the rooms upstairs, and not a creature stirred. The moon shone down through the branches of trees that were just beginning to lose their leaves. Off to the left was the prissy-ass garden with its wrought iron benches and trickling fountains and year-round blooming plants.

Funny how it didn’t look like a shit-pool. That’s what made it even more dangerous. Here you were thinking life was all happy and wonderful and things were finally going to work out like you hoped. Then, something in the shit-pool reaches up to suck you down once more.

As he took a last drag off the cigarette, he sensed a movement to his left. He turned and, coming toward him from the garden, was a man dressed all in black. In his hand, he held a gun. Rich wasn’t familiar with firearms, didn’t know what the fuck kind of gun it was, but he knew all he needed to. The gun was big, it was deadly, and it was pointed straight at his chest.

Oh fuck, he thought, nearly gagging on the lungful of smoke trapped in his throat. The butt trembled in his fingers and he dropped it, leaving it smoldering on Lily Highland’s beloved grass. He probably would have wet himself if everything in him hadn’t locked up the instant he saw the pistol.

At that moment, staring into the gleaming barrel of the gun, he had an epiphany.

Turns out the crocodiles are worse than the shit.

****

I was picturing a soothing bath, fluffy robe, hot chocolate, and baseball when I pulled into my driveway and climbed out of my car. All I needed was an evening to decompress, alone, without interference from the outside world.

“Marilyn! Marilyn!”

It was Linus, my eighty-two-year-old neighbor. He called me Marilyn instead of Monroe because he got a kick out of it.

I sighed, debating whether to ignore him as I saw my fantasy of warm chocolate and solitude slipping away.

Humanity won out over indulgence. I smiled brightly and waved at the old man, heading toward him.

Linus Tompkins was one of three neighbors in my cul-de-sac. Each of the four houses sat twenty feet apart. Far enough that we didn’t feel like we were rubbing against one another but close enough to prevent total privacy.

Linus had been my neighbor for nearly five years and in that time, we’d formed an odd friendship. I would run errands for him—doctor’s appointments, grocery store trips, etc, and in turn, he entertained me with stories of the outlaw, Jesse James. Linus was a relative, a descendant, although I wasn’t sure of the exact relation. Once in a while, Linus would give me a piece of James’ gang memorabilia.

I joined him on the faded cedar porch swing, catching a whiff of Old Spice and Mentholatum. Tufts of gray hair were all that remained on his freckled head. He wore tan pants with blue suspenders, a plaid shirt, and a ratty blue cardigan sweater.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“It was good.”

“You don’t do that well.”

“Do what?”

“Fib.” He chuckled and patted my knee with his wrinkled hand. “You’re troubled about something. Anything I can do?”

“No, thanks. Everything’s fine.”

His faded blue eyes stared at me shrewdly, but he didn’t say anything. For a while, we sat and gently rocked in silence. Across the street, Don Chathum was pulling his roller trash can to the curb. He raised his hand in greeting, and we both waved back. A cool wind gusted over the porch, and I pulled my coat more tightly over my sweater.

“Life’s not so simple anymore,” Linus finally said.

“Not so much,” I agreed.

“Back in my day, things were far from perfect, but you can be certain they were a sight better than now.”

“I’m sure they were.” I settled back, preparing to be on the receiving end of one of Linus’s lengthy ruminations.

“Shows like I Love Lucy and Gunsmoke are a thing of the past. Now you gotta have a bunch of naked people and filthy language to get a hit TV show.” He looked out over the yard, but I guessed he was actually looking back fifty years. “I know you just think I’m an old fool and things weren’t as perfect as they were portrayed on TV, but they were, in general, much better than now.” He shook his head. “You know what kids are doing these days? Kids. Teenagers—fourteen, fifteen years old? They’re taking naked pictures with their cell phones. Pulling crazy stunts, even killing themselves live on the Internet. You seen this stuff?”

“Yeah. It’s crazy.”

Apparently satisfied with my allegiance to his cause, he went on, “The public sees way too much of what goes on these days. The media puts everything into visuals. Just like the wars, and all this police brutality caught on tape. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it’s right when that happens. The police shouldn’t be doing it, but does the public really need to see it when they do? Can’t it just be given to the proper authorities and handled there? There’s enough of a breakdown in respect for the law as it is. Don’t need to give people more reason.” He sighed, a drawn out, rattling sound. “Yep. Things sure have changed. I long for the days when everybody wasn’t hooked up to some kind of electronic doohickie. It’d be nice if someone went to show you a picture of their kid and pulled out a billfold instead of a blasted cell phone.”

I smiled indulgently, gritting my teeth on the inside. Normally, I didn’t mind listening to him for hours. But tonight, I was cold and feeling antisocial. I wanted to wallow in self-pity all by my lonesome.

I stared out over the neighborhood, my eyes straying to the graveyard next to my house. Shadows were starting to blanket the evening, casting the tombstones in a shroud of darkness.

“I sense you’re not really with me this evening, Miss Marilyn.”

My gaze turned back to Linus. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Just a little tired.”

“You better get rested up. You’ve got a long evenin’ ahead of you.”

“Why’s that?”

He nodded toward my house. “You have a visitor, and she seems in a bad way.”

Josie. I didn’t ask why he was just now mentioning it. I figured it had just now occurred to him. Linus’s memory wasn’t always in top form. Plus, he wasn’t Josie’s biggest fan.

I blew out a breath and stood. “Thanks, Linus. I’d better go check on her.”

“Can I ask you something, missy?”

“Sure,” I said wearily.

He peered up at me with his wise old-man eyes. “Who checks on you?”

A lump rose in my throat, but I forced it away and smiled down at him. “You check on me, Linus. That’s who.”

He smiled back, sadly, and nodded. I stepped off the porch, shot him a parting wave, and headed home.

Rather than joy at my friend’s arrival, my heart was filled with dread. Selfishly, I was disappointed at missing out on the ‘wallow-in-misery’ evening I had planned. On the other hand, I was relieved that Josie had lived to see another day. Each time she vanished, usually without warning, I would wonder if I’d ever see her again. Between the drugs and the asshole boyfriend, I just didn’t know.

I took off my coat and hung it on the rack inside the foyer. Even if Linus hadn’t told me of Josie’s arrival, I’d have known immediately. The smell of cigarette smoke assailed me and I nearly tripped over a ratty pair of Timberland boots. Those same boots had left a puddle in my entryway. I took a towel from the kitchen and dropped it on the hardwood floor to absorb the water.

I heard the television and moved into the living room. Josie lay on the sofa, my burgundy micro fiber throw resting half on, half off her sleeping form. A bottle of Blue Moon beer sat on the coffee table next to her splayed hand. One of my Tupperware cereal bowls, full of cigarette butts, rested next to the beer. It wasn’t that I didn’t have ashtrays, it was just that Josie couldn’t be bothered to dig one out and had used the first thing she’d found. I was just grateful she’d used something other than the floor.

“Josie?” I shook her shoulder, some of my irritation ebbing when I felt how tiny and fragile her bones were beneath my fingers. She didn’t stir. I could let her sleep, but I needed her awake so I could check her out. See how far gone she was. Was she high or in the coming down stages? She knew she couldn’t stay here and do drugs, but if she needed me or was ready to get off of them, my home was open to her.

“Josie,” I said more loudly. She didn’t open her eyes, but her thin fingers shot out and gripped the front of my sweater.

“I won’t leave you,” she murmured, her voice sounding raw and panicked. “I promise, Katie, I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you…”

I flinched as a long-ago memory washed over me. Katie. Poor, sweet Katie.

Poor, sweet, murdered Katie.

It had happened when we were twelve. Josie, Katie, and I were best friends. Josie and Katie were at a sleepover at my house, in a tent in my back yard. Sometime during the night, Katie disappeared. Hours later, her body was found. They never caught the guy who killed her, and the tragedy of that night had stayed with us all these years. Especially with Josie.

I took hold of both Josie’s wrists and shook her some more. “Josie, it’s me, Roe. Come on, hon, wake up.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she rose to a sitting position, her gaze taking in everything in the room before settling on me. Recognition dawned, although she still looked confused. “Roe?”

I searched her pupils to see how dilated they were. Not bad. Maybe she was coming off it.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Katie?”

So, she wasn’t quite with me yet.

“No, honey, it’s me, Roe. Katie’s gone.”

Confusion gave way to sorrow, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have left her.”

I pried her fingers from my sweater and put my arms around her, settling next to her on the couch. “You didn’t leave her, sweetie. It’s not your fault. You were just a kid. We all were.”

She cried softly for a few moments, then stopped, pulling away from me.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded in a quick, jerky movement. “I will be. I just need to…” She ran a trembling hand through her limp, unwashed hair. “Just need to get my head straight, you know?”

Yes, I knew. I’d been through it enough times, I should. I just wondered how many times would be enough. If Josie would ever quit the drugs for good.

I looked at her, seeing a cut on her lip that was trying to heal. A bruise shadowed her right cheekbone. Anger washed over me, but the anger was toward her almost as much as it was toward Matt.

Why did she keep going back to him? What was it about her that made her think she deserved to get the shit beat out of her?

Thinking of Matt reminded me of the detectives. I needed to tell Josie they wanted to talk to her, but she was in no shape to deal with that right now. Maybe in the morning would be better.

What she needed now was a hot meal and a shower. Her stained AC/DC T-shirt and tattered jeans looked like she’d been wearing them for days. I could smell stale sweat, along with the odors of booze and garbage, like the stench that rose from the gutters of Bourbon Street.

Standing, I took her by the hands and pulled her to her feet. “Go take a shower. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

She nodded like an obedient child and headed unsteadily down the hallway.

****

By the time Josie finished showering, I had a pot of potato soup with chunks of ham simmering on the stove. I made it from canned potatoes, because raw ones would take too long to cook, and Josie needed something in her stomach quickly. Not the healthiest of meals, but it was substantial.

Josie came into the kitchen wearing a pair of my navy blue sweats. The clothes hung loosely on her frame. I wasn’t particularly large, but Josie was skeletal. Even before the drugs, she’d been tiny, but now she looked as though a puff of wind would blow her away. Her pixie-ish, waif-like appearance brought out protective instincts in most people. Except for Matt. For him, it seemed to bring out the desire to inflict pain.

Her wispy, pale blonde hair was clean now, but she still looked street-worn. Dark shadows rimmed her eyes, and her pallid cheeks were sunken in. The signs of her beating stood out like blips on a radar screen.

What had happened to make her choose this life? She’d had a good childhood, great parents, a loving sister. Her mother had died a few years ago, and now it was just her dad and sister.

“Have you called your dad?” I asked as I poured glasses of tea for us.

She shook her head.

“I’m sure he’s worried about you. You should call him.”

“Right. So he can lecture me about Matt?” She took a seat at my black lacquer dining table and sipped the tea.

“He just wants what’s best for you.”

“He has no idea what’s best for me. Can we drop it?”

I sighed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

As far as I knew, she never contacted her family anymore. When she came into town, she stayed with me. Although he loved his daughter, there was a great deal of tension between her father and her. He wouldn’t accept that she was a drug addict. He thought she just liked to party too much. Neither of her parents had dealt well with her grief after Katie died, figuring if they ignored it, it would go away. Instead, Josie went away, into the drugs.

I slid a plate of sliced tomatoes in front of her, and she curled her nose.

“Eat a few of these, you need the nutrients.” I sounded like my mother. I cringed. “The soup will be ready in a minute.”

“Fine.” She sighed and picked up the fork.

She’d finished two of the tomatoes by the time the soup was ready. I dished up a bowl for each of us, taking a seat across from her. We ate in silence and, after finishing more than half the bowl, Josie leaned back and linked her hands over her non-existent stomach.

“I’m about to pop,” she groaned.

It was more than I’d expected her to eat, and I nodded approvingly. She waited until I finished eating before lighting a cigarette. Standing, I rummaged through the cupboards until I found an ashtray, then slid it in front of her.

“So, how are things going with you?” she asked, sounding more like my long-time best friend and confidante.

An unexpected rush of tears came to my throat, and I had a sudden, overwhelming desire to unburden myself, to tell her about Adam’s engagement and his lying to me about the promotion.

I opened my mouth to tell her and looked into her bruised, haunted eyes. Her skin was so pale, so thin, I could almost see her skeleton beneath the surface.

“Fine,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”

She frowned, maybe noting something in my tone. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I forced a smile. Everything was not fine, but it could wait. She was a little too fragile right now to take on my problems, too. “I’m sure. Everything’s great.”

After I washed the dishes, we watched some television—sitcoms, not baseball as I was the only one of the two of us who liked it—for a few hours, before Josie’s yawning made me realize that, even after her nap, she needed sleep.

I made up the guest bed for her. Once she was under the covers, I sat on the edge of the bed.

“You remember Snowball?” Josie asked.

I did. Snowball was a Pekingese Josie owned when we were kids. Toward the end of our sixth grade year, the dog became ill. The vet said someone had to stay with her, awake, all night, or she could die.

“I didn’t want to stay with her,” Josie went on. “Jerry Vanderpool had asked me to the dance.” She looked up at me, her bloodshot eyes defensive. “I’d had a crush on him forever. It was the end-of-the-year dance. We were going off to different junior highs. Our last time to be…” she let the words trail off and shrugged.

“It’s okay,” I said soothingly. “Katie wanted to sit with Snowball. She loved animals.”

“Yeah, but Snowball was my dog. My responsibility.” Josie scooted up until she was sitting, leaning her back against the headboard. She fumbled around in the nightstand drawer and extracted a pack of cigarettes. As she lit one, I went back into the kitchen for the ash tray and returned, placing it on the nightstand beside her.

We sat in silence, both lost in the memories. Josie rested her head back on the headboard and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. Drops of moisture glinted in the corners of her eyes, but the tears didn’t fall.

“You remember when we went over there the next morning?”

“Yeah.” I smiled at the memory. Katie, although exhausted, had an elated glow about her. Snowball’s fine, she’d said, her voice brimming with excitement. I took care of her all night and she’s fine now, look.

The tiny dog had bounded up to Josie, yelping and wagging her tail.

I know what I want to do, Katie had exclaimed. I want to be a veterinarian when I grow up. I want to save animals.

She’d talked about nothing else from that day until mid-summer. She’d stopped talking about it then because that was when she’d been murdered.

Josie put out her cigarette and slid down, laying her head on the pillow. Her eyes closed, and a small sigh escaped her lips.

“Should have been me,” Josie mumbled. “Katie would have done good. I’m just a nothing. A waste of air.”

“That’s not true,” I whispered, tucking the covers around her.

But she’d already gone to sleep, one hand resting beneath a wan cheek.

I hadn’t mentioned that the cops wanted to talk to her. I knew I should, that I’d have to eventually, but not now. For now, she just needed to feel safe.