It could be coincidence. So Melissa knew how to fire a gun. Malone had taken me along to the range once too. Maybe it was a cop thing. The swooning female escorts her protector to witness his performance with a weapon. His accuracy could be a form of an aphrodisiac. So why did I have the feeling something was not as it should be? Maybe Ace Richmond, Private Eye would spot it, but I couldn't. Stuck in a mental rut, I spun my car out of the lot and drove to the state police post. Malone came out to greet me in the lobby when he heard my cast thumping on the floor.
"Hey, Jay." Even with a trooper watching from the desk, Malone bent down and kissed me. Suddenly I worried that Bert might be around.
"Hey, Malone. We gotta talk."
He looked at me, a frown darkening his face. "That sounds serious. My office good enough?”
“Sure.”
A few moments later he leaned a hip against his desk and stared at me calmly. "This must be important if it couldn't wait until tonight."
I'd forgotten he was coming by after work. "It might be very important. It's about the person who shot Kleinschmidt."
The smile vanished and his face grew dark and serious. "Jesus, Jamie, I thought you agreed to drop it."
"I've tried. Damn it, I've tried every day to leave it alone. But I just can't. It’s like this voice that won’t stop talking to me. I have to answer it to make it go away.”
Malone pushed off the desk and went to the door. He closed it firmly, then came back and perched again. He was scowling when he spoke. "This isn't good. You're going to get people upset with me. I'm not supposed to be discussing criminal investigations with civilians."
"I'm not any civilian damn you, I'm your girl." His attitude was irritating as hell.
"Girl?" He looked like his face was going to crack.
"Whatever. Girlfriend, lady, woman, babe, lover, you pick whichever one fits the best. I'm not just some lame civilian who doesn't understand what the fuck is going on. I was a witness..."
"Don't swear."
"I'll fucking swear if I fucking want to. I didn't go to Sister Jubilation's Sacred Heart of the Rosary School. Swearing is part of the way I talk, and it is part of who I am." I realized I was close to shouting.
Malone shook his head in disgust. "Okay. Go ahead and swear. Just keep your voice down."
He'd gotten me so flustered I'd almost forgotten why I'd come here. I settled back in the chair and took a deep breath. "Damn it, Malone. Do you want to hear what I saw or don't you?"
Malone rubbed his chin. "Sure. Tell me about what's got you so excited."
"I saw Melissa Hatcher, wearing the same type of jacket as the person who shot Kleinschmidt. She was at the gun shop over on Six Mile Road, picking up bullets for the range. She bought two types of target loads, .38 caliber and 9 mm."
Malone shrugged. "So what?"
I smacked him in the shin with my crutch. "So what? Don't you get it? She could be the one who shot Kleinschmidt!"
He offered me the most condescending look I've ever seen. "Where did you come up with that theory? All you've got is a few coincidences. One, she owns a jacket similar to the one you saw the night of the shooting. Two, she was buying bullets. That doesn't mean she even knows how to fire a gun. That's all you've got."
"What do you mean, that's all?"
"Why would she do it, Jay? Why would she plug her own boyfriend? If it were a domestic dispute, why would she still be with him? You're reaching. There's no motive. What possible reason would she have for shooting Kleinschmidt?"
"Can't you go to the range and dig out one of her bullets? Ballistics could compare it with the slug that hit Kleinschmidt."
Malone shook his head slowly. "The back wall of that range is solid steel. Every slug turns into mush. Even if we could identify a bullet she fired, there'd be nothing left but a little lump of metal. No way to compare it with the other bullet."
"So you're not going to do anything about it?"
"No."
"Why don't you confront her? Ask her if she has a gun and bring it in for testing." I wanted to throw my crutches at somebody.
"We don't have probable cause. No judge is going to give us a warrant based on the information we have."
"Why not question her without a warrant?"
"If Melissa did have anything to do with it, do you honestly think she's going to voluntarily turn over her weapon for comparisons?"
"This really sucks, Malone. It sucks big time."
Malone got off the desk and squatted down beside me. "Go home, Jamie. Concentrate on your writing. Work on an article. Watch a movie. Leave the detective work to us. There just isn’t enough evidence to work with yet. Let the pros do their job.”
"What about Melissa? Aren't you even going to tell the detectives about her?"
Malone closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "If I do, will you promise to go home and forget about this?"
"Yes. For today anyway."
Malone opened his eyes and smiled thinly. "Best I'm going to get out of you."
He helped me out of the chair. "Still coming to my place after work, Sylvester?"
"Still want me to come by?"
I nodded. "I'll warm your side of the bed."
* * * *
I didn’t have an appointment but I went to Doc Schulte’s anyway. The nurse looked at me funny, then went back to check with the old sawbones. She came out and waved me back after a couple of other patients had been seen. The others in the waiting room looked ready to lynch me. Doc kept me waiting a few minutes in exam room three, with nothing to look at but a cheap copy of a Norman Rockwell print. At last he came in, tiny brown eyes dancing under those bushy gray brows.
“What brings you by, Jamie? Any trouble with the leg?”
“In a manner of speaking. Can we take the cast off today?” I sounded like a little kid, afraid of getting a vaccination.
“Why the rush? It should stay on for a few more days.”
“C’mon, Doc. I’m a fast healer. You said so yourself. The ribs are fine and the ankle wasn’t a compound fracture. I’m dying to get this plaster off.”
Schulte sat on the exam table beside me and toyed with his stethoscope. “I’d hate to remove it early and see you have a relapse. Then you’d have to start all over again.”
“How about if we wrap it in an elastic bandage for a week or so? At least then I could wear some shoes. C’mon, Vince.” I gave him my best ‘lost puppy’ look, lots of big eyes and lashes fluttering. “Please.”
He always melted when I called him by his first name. He knew further discussion was pointless. “What the hell. But you have to promise to take it easy.”
Suddenly I realized where I’d picked up my favorite saying. “Scout’s honor,” I said, holding up two fingers.
“You were never a scout.” Schulte slid off the table and lifted my leg to examine the plaster.
“So sue me.”
“Never say sue to a doctor. It makes him nervous.”
When he sawed the cast off, I remembered I didn’t have a shoe with me for that foot. I’d been expecting him to insist on leaving the cast in place for another week. I traded him my crutches for an old woolen sock to cover my toes after he wrapped my ankle in elastic. Vince helped me down, and I planted a kiss on his forehead.
“You’re a prince.”
He touched his head in surprise and smiled. “Just don’t make me look like a fool for letting you talk me into this. My nurses will never let me hear the end of it if you end up in plaster again.”
I gave him a tissue and pointed him toward the mirror. They would tease him forever if he didn’t get the lipstick off before he left the room. Luckily, I’d been able to park near his office door. I made it through the snow without falling and slid behind the wheel of my car. Once home, I knew exactly what I had to do. A scalding hot bubble bath with lavender salts. I had no idea how badly my foot and leg would smell after being covered in plaster for three weeks. Phew!!
Afterwards, I put on flannel jammies and my heaviest robe and sat on the sofa. The Jewish Aunt sucked me down until only the top of my head would have been visible. I could look out at the treetops and the early evening streetlights.
Maybe I need a change. I've been living in this apartment damn near forever. Boredom was setting in. There was enough in the bank to make a nice down payment on a house, yet I never pursued the idea. Something about a single woman with her own home makes me think of a spinster, surrounded by cats. Not for me. But I could rent one, maybe for six months or a year. Give up this place, get into something bigger. Maybe even something with room for two, just big enough for Malone and me. As if on cue, the phone rang.
"Hey, Jay."
"Hey, Sylvester. I was just thinking about you."
He chuckled softly in my ear. "Are you naked?"
"Dream on, lover. Still coming by tonight?"
"If your invitation is still good."
"Absolutely. Want me to make dinner?" I could practically hear his stomach groan in protest.
"No, I won't last until then. I've got a meal break coming up soon. I'll grab a burger with one of the guys. See you around twelve."
"I'll be here."
I took some leftover pizza from the freezer and warmed it in the oven. I wondered what Malone would say if he knew what I'd been thinking. Living together was a common occurrence. Most people nowadays do it at some time or other. And most people end up getting married or breaking up. But that didn't mean we couldn't try. The worse that could happen would be Malone running away. Fast. I'd probably give up and join a convent. Something appropriately named, like ‘Our Lady of the Perpetually Hopeless Relationships’ or maybe ‘Queen of the Hopeless Romantics’. But was I hopeless? I always thought of myself as hopeful. And Malone certainly could be romantic.
Malone came in a little after twelve. I was reading an old Travis McGee novel in bed, snuggled down under the blankets. There was a pile of pillows around my foot to simulate the cast. He came into the room, still wearing his jacket, and flopped on the covers beside me.
"You're freezing," I gasped as he kissed me.
"Wanna help warm me up?"
"Only if you take off your boots first. I don't want snow on my sheets."
"No spirit of adventure."
He slid from the bed and quickly peeled off his clothes. I raised the covers a fraction to let him inside where it was warm. Out of habit, he avoided my right ankle. I slid my foot up his leg while he was busy kissing me.
"You're warm."
"One of us had better be. Why are you so cold, Sylvester?"
"I stopped to help a lady change her tire."
"That sounds pretty chivalrous. How young was she?"
Malone stopped kissing and looked up toward the ceiling. "Late sixties. She was on her way home from a late night bingo party. She had over eighty dollars in winnings on her."
"Did she offer you a tip?" I teased.
"She said my good deed would be richly rewarded." He paused and ran his hands down my legs. "You got your cast off!"
He leaned back to look at me, gingerly tracing his fingers down my leg, across my ankle. He was giving me shivers and it wasn’t from the cold. “I bribed the doctor.”
“What kind of bribe?”
“I told him he’d be richly rewarded.
* * * *
Late Friday morning, Malone went to the gym while I tried to get some work done. I kept thinking about the gun shop and finally made a decision. Tony caught the phone on the second ring. He remembered me immediately.
“How long would it take for me to get a permit to purchase?”
“If you’re a city resident, without a criminal record, you can fill out the paperwork today. It takes at least a week for the approval to come back. Did you decide on a gun?”
“The Beretta. Can we do this over the phone?”
He laughed. “No way. I can hold the piece for you, but all the paperwork is supposed to be done in person.”
I told Tony I’d stop by later on and provide all the pertinent information for the permit. Since I’d never had anything more serious than a parking ticket, he didn’t think I had anything to worry about. I went by the post office and the deli for lunch then swung by the gun shop. Tony helped me fill in the paperwork and showed me the weapon. We went down to the target range and I fired off another two dozen rounds. He explained the proper way to break down the gun and how to clean it.
Tony recorded the Beretta’s model and serial number on the permit form. He then locked the piece in a vault with a tag on it. Once I got the permit, I could pick it up. He reminded me that when I transported it home, I would have to lock the weapon in the trunk. Otherwise, it wasn’t legal. My permit only allowed me to own the weapon. A separate, more difficult to obtain permit is necessary to legally carry a concealed weapon.
As I was driving home, I passed a row of realty offices. It started me thinking again about renting a house and wondering how Malone would feel about it. I had a hard time fighting the urge to stop at one and see their listings. Instead, I picked up the local paper before going back to my apartment.
The ads were full of houses for sale and some of the prices seemed reasonable. But the idea of a permanent home still rocked me. The apartment had begun to shrink lately. I wanted more than this place, but not that much more. There was a short column with rental properties available. I pushed thoughts of guns and bullets from my mind and went to look at the houses in the paper.
The first two were duds. Tiny wooden square buildings, with as much personality as residential road kill. Maybe apartment living wasn't so bad after all. I kept going. The third one was a mansion, big enough for a football team, with a separate wing for cheerleaders. But then I saw the fourth one. Ah, now we were getting somewhere.
It was a ranch house. Brick, maybe forty years old, with a gigantic pine tree in the front yard. Real wooden shutters guarded the picture window facing the street. The house was in the middle of a block where no two homes looked exactly the same. Even from out in the street, I knew this was the place for me. I drove slowly away, dialing the number on my cell phone. The number turned out to be a realtor named Maybelle Ross. I asked her for the particulars on the house but she demurred. Her voice was sugary sweet, like Vermont maple syrup.
"I like to let the house speak for itself. Can you be there in ten minutes?" Maybelle asked.
"I’m just around the corner." She hung up as soon as I said it.
Maybelle Ross could have been anyone’s grandmother. Snow white hair in tight little curls bounced on her head. Wide green eyes so merry, you expected her to pinch your cheek. She was shaped like a beach ball and seemed perfectly content that way. I could easily picture her wearing a frilly apron and pulling oatmeal cookies out of the oven. She left her Cadillac in the driveway and practically bounded across the lawn.
The house was even better on the inside. Originally it had contained four small bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen. There was a fireplace, a small yard in the back and a basement big enough to hold a bowling alley. Someone had knocked out the adjoining wall for two of the bedrooms and made it into a suite. There were hard wood floors throughout the place. The kitchen had a skylight over the workplace by the stove and sink, with a chopping block counter in the center of the room. A bay window looked out over the back yard. I was hooked.
I rarely do something on impulse. Usually I hem and haw, and scuff my toes in the dirt until someone else makes a decision for me. Especially on a decision that was something this big. But today was different. I was ready for action.
"How much?" My voice trembled as I asked.
Maybelle gave me the price. It was hardly more than I was paying for the apartment. “You pay your own gas, electric and phone. The landlord will take care of landscaping and snow removal, along with any repairs.”
"How long has this place been available?" I was trying hard to disguise my excitement.
"Only a month. The woman who owns it is in a nursing home. Her son doesn't want to sell as long as she's alive, but he's willing to rent it," Maybelle said reassuringly.
"I'll take it." Somehow my checkbook had appeared in my hands. What was I saying about indecision?
Maybelle gently patted my hand. "Not so fast. We need to do a background check on you, before we agree to the rental. How soon would you like to move in, if everything is approved?"
Pretty soon they’ll be doing background checks if you want to have a pizza delivered. "Next week?"
She grinned. "Just in time for Christmas, huh?"
"You bet. Can we do it?"
Maybelle bubbled over with delight. "Let's get started."
I followed Maybelle to her office and filled out a sheaf of silly forms. I wanted to spring it on Malone as a surprise, but I didn't know how he'd react. The place was big enough for both of us, yet affordable for me to rent alone. I wanted him with me, but didn't want to scare him away. I didn't know what to do. And I didn’t want to think about Bert’s reaction when he found out about Malone and me.