Dear Crossing (23 page)

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Speltz had the decency not to offer his grimy hand as Ray left.

Quitting now would feel like he was letting Neil down. They’d shared the same suspicion that the scene in Hank Kramer’s barn felt wrong. Bone-weary, Ray drove back the way he’d come, convinced he’d find the tool under a patch of dead grass or an overturned clod of soil in the field adjacent to the accident site.

He searched in vain.

An hour later, Ray stuck his head into Woody’s office. “Got a minute?”

“Just barely. What is it?”

“When Chuck cleaned out Neil’s car, did he find a wrench?”

Woody leaned against the backrest. “Let me guess—you’re talking about the one the two of you found in Hank Kramer’s barn.”

“Yeah, but it turns out it probably didn’t belong to Hank.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“From his son while I checked out the vandalism to the barn. He said Neil took it with him when he left the property the day of the accident. According to him, Neil had an idea who it belonged to, but didn’t give a name.”

“Okay, so…?”

“So, if it didn’t belong to Hank Kramer, what was it doing in Kramer’s barn?”

Woody tossed his pen down on the desk. “For chrissakes, Ray, maybe the old man found it, borrowed it or even stole it for all we know. Anyway, it was the bull’s blood on that thing, not his. You agreed to drop this.”

“It’s tied into Kramer’s death somehow. I’m sure of it.”

“What the hell is it you want from me?” Woody leaned over his desk. “We’re short on manpower, and you want to waste time chasing your own tail? Let it go.”

“I think it calls for a closer look.”

Woody glared at Ray from the corner of his eye. “It’s a waste of time.”

“Look, I’m not challenging you to a pissing contest. It’s a matter of making sure we haven’t missed anything.”

“And when it turns out I’m right…?”

“At least I’ll know I did my best.”

Several awkward seconds passed before Woody grumbled, “Shit. Go ahead. I doubt I could stop you anyway.”

Ray hurried toward the door.

“Wait,” Woody said before Ray cleared the threshold. “One thing—don’t make it your first priority. You’re needed elsewhere.”

“Got it.”

Woody called after him, “I mean it, Ray.”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

34

That night the lack of sleep caught up with Ray early in his shift. Luckily, it was a relatively quiet evening. While on patrol, he broke up a fight between two drunks at the Watering Hole. The oldest bar in town, it was also the most run-down. The apathetic owners neglected normal upkeep to keep the price of drinks low. The lower the prices, the more the customers drank. The more they drank, the more fights broke out. The strategy kept both the bar and the police busy.

Ray broke up the fight and transported one drunk to the hospital for treatment of a broken nose. He finished his shift by responding to a burglar alarm at the Food For Thought bookstore. The cat burglar was of the feline variety, a pet left overnight by the store owner to dispense with an elusive rodent.

When his shift ended, Ray stripped out of his uniform and dropped onto his bed without bothering to untwist the top sheet from the blanket. After what seemed like only moments later, he heard his phone ringing. Ray snatched the receiver off the cradle.

“Yeah, what?”

“It’s me, buddy. Dick,” Waverly said. “Sounds like you could use some strong coffee.”

Eyes still closed, Ray asked, “What time is it?”

“Quarter to nine. What—you’re not up yet?”

“I’m working the night shift for now.”

“Geezus. Go back to sleep. When’s a good time to call?”

Ray’s eyelids struggled open. “Forget it. Now’s fine. My alarm’s set to go off in a few minutes anyway. Neil’s funeral is at ten.”

Waverly groaned. “Tough way to start your day. Okay look, I won’t keep you long. I called to tell you Ed Costales got himself an alibi.”

“You’re kidding.” Ray sat up groping for a cigarette.

“It was his ex-wife who phoned him the night Valerie Davis was killed.”

“Does it check out?”

“According to the phone records, she placed the call at 10:57. They only talked for a few minutes. If he was in Minneapolis at that point, he’s not our man.”

“How solid is this alibi?”

“Very. I checked with his ‘ex’ personally. She was calling about an overdue alimony payment.”

“At 10:57?”

“Prob’ly did it to piss him off. It was
not
an amicable divorce, Ray, trust me. She referred to him as a calculating, two-faced womanizing opportunist.”

“Sounds like she’s as crazy about him as I am.”

“I know what you mean,” Waverly said. “Costales sets my teeth on edge, too. At least we’re whittling the list down.”

“What about Nick Vincent?”

“Still cooling his heels. Nothing new from forensics yet, though. Hey, Ray,” Waverly said,” I’ve gotta go. Roth’s waving me into his office. Take care. Talk to you again soon.”

The clock alarm shrilled a reminder seconds later that it was time to get ready for Neil’s funeral. Ray flung the clock across the room.

35

At the Good Shepherd Cemetery, mourners stood in concentric circles around Neil’s casket and open grave—row upon row of them. Scores of Widmer residents were among Neil Lloyd’s family and friends. Dressed in uniform, Ray and every other off-duty officer from Widmer and neighboring areas stood side by side, Woody Newell in the forefront.

Tall and lean, Neil’s father Tom Lloyd stood with one arm around his wife, the other around Neil’s sister Erin. Next to his parents and sister, Neil’s brother stood with a hand on his father’s shoulder. Nearby, Woody’s wife Betty stood bolstering dispatcher, Irene Herman. Amy Dexter stood among the others, her eyes red, her chin quivering. Unnoticed by Ray, Gail stood well back in the crowd, head bowed, paying her respects.

A light breeze whispered through the budding branches of a sheltering oak, carrying the minister’s voice over the crowd. Ray took what little comfort he could in the knowledge that he and Neil had parted well. Busy framing memories of Neil in a mental scrapbook, the minister’s words gradually became nothing but white noise to Ray. Eventually, the minister’s voice trailed off, completing the service, ending the goodbyes. The mourners turned and walked to their cars.

Amy walked alone, a small, slim figure in a black sheath dress and matching jacket.

As Ray caught sight of her, his strides lengthened. He caught up and touched her shoulder. “Amy, hi.”

“Oh, hi.” She raised a damp handkerchief to her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s surreal.”

“Are you okay?”

“I really miss him, Ray.”

“I know. Me, too.” He gave her a quick one-armed hug as they continued walking.

“Are you going to the lunch?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You?”

“I’d rather not, but the friends I rode with are going.”

“I could give you a lift to your apartment,” Ray offered.

“Thanks. If it’s not too much trouble, I think I’ll take you up on that.” Amy signaled a young couple waiting beside a green Taurus to go ahead without her.

Gail trailed well behind Amy and Ray on the way to her own car. Observing the familiarity of their interaction, new tears filled her eyes.

The ten-minute drive to Amy’s apartment was made in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Amy let herself out as he pulled to a stop in front of her building and leaned into the car. “Thanks, Ray. I appreciate the ride.” She brushed a fresh tear away. “This is ridiculous. I can’t stop crying.”

“Give it some time, Amy.”

“I’m practically dehydrated
now
.” She backhanded another tear away. “By tomorrow, I’ll be nothing but a mound of dust.” She stepped away, but hurried back. “I shouldn’t ask for another favor so soon, Ray, but…well, the crowd scene felt wrong, but being alone doesn’t sound so hot right now either. Could I talk you into sticking around for a few minutes? I can make a pot of coffee for us.”

Ray knew getting to sleep again would be next to impossible. Besides, the prospect of being alone sucked.

“Got decaf?”

“Sorry, I don’t. There’s grapefruit juice in the fridge, though.”

“Water will be fine.”

“Good. You’re in luck. The last time I checked, I had that, too.”

Amy lived in town above what was a small, defunct consignment shop turned insurance office. The shop owners had lived upstairs, the front half of the second floor serving as their residence, the other half as storage space. Aware of the building’s history, Ray didn’t expect much. They climbed the stairs and Amy opened the door.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

The apartment couldn’t have been more than 900 square feet. In spite of that, its open floor plan and Amy’s decorating made the most of it.

Slipping out of her jacket, she took Ray’s and hung both from a set of three gold-plated hooks on a small scrollwork piece of metal fastened to the wall beside the door. “My guest closet,” she said, smiling and rolling her eyes.

Ray took in the apartment at a glance. “This is nice.”

Two adjoining pale pink walls bordered a tiny kitchen/dining area, separating it from the bedroom/bathroom spot at the back. The two opposite walls were a cool, pastel green. White wicker furniture made up the majority of the sparse furnishings. Torchiere floor lamps stood strategically placed in two corners, partially camouflaged by potted palms.

“Have a seat. I’ll get your water,” Amy told him.

He sat on one of the wicker couch’s mint-green cushions. “You’ve done a good job with the place.”

She came from the kitchen with his ice water. “I spared no expense—mostly yard sales and K-Mart blue light specials.”

“Even more impressive.” He took the glass from her hand. “Thanks.”

When she turned away too quickly, Ray realized she was trying to conceal more tears. He felt better equipped to face an armed felon than a crying woman. “Yard sales, huh? You must’ve shopped in better neighborhoods than I did.”

Still turned away, she asked. “Why? What’s your place like?”

“Basic stuff. The chairs all have four legs. One has one leg shorter than the rest. I call that one my rocker.”

Amy turned around, her eyes red, but blessedly tearless. “So, a typical bachelor pad.”

“I like to think most bachelors have higher standards.”

“Why did you settle for odds and ends?”

The truth troubled him:
I didn’t want to get comfortable there.
Aloud, he said, “The move was unexpected. I rented the first place I found, bought a few essentials—crap though they may be—and set up housekeeping.”

“If you plan to stay there, you could replace what you’ve got with something better.”

If you plan to stay.
Did he? The old cliché said it best: Home is where the heart is. But Ray’s heart still needed to find its way. He stood and walked toward a single item that looked oddly out of place. “Good-looking room divider, Amy. Where’d you get it?”

“An estate sale.” She moved to the six-foot, three-paneled rosewood screen separating the tiny dining area from the living room. A design of flowering cherry blossom branches trailed across the translucent rice paper panels. “It’s called a Shoji screen.”

Sunlight entered through a window and danced over the short, dark hair caressing her face. He was suddenly aware of her fragrance, the floral and citrus scent as inviting as Amy herself.

“It doesn’t fit with the rest of my stuff,” she said of the screen, “but I just had to have it. Have you ever felt that way about something?”

He nodded—the question a little too on-point at that moment. Ray needed a distraction. “Neil and I were looking for the owner of a wrench that’s gone missing. Any chance he said anything about it to you?”

“A wrench?” She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. Is it important?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” He watched Amy lift a wooden hanger from the back of one of the screen’s panels. It held a sapphire-blue dress.

She draped the garment over her arm. “I meant to put this away,” she said, smoothing the fabric. “I agreed to go with Neil to his cousin’s wedding this Saturday. This is what I’d planned to wear.”

“He’d have liked it,” Ray said. “If it was a burlap sack, he’d have liked it. Neil was crazy about you.”

Tears wet her dark lashes. “I acted like such a jerk—always giving Neil a hard time—always making wisecracks. I was crazy about him, but not the way he was hoping for.”

“That wasn’t about to stop him. You’d have thought he’d won the lottery when you accepted his invitation.”

“He told you about it?”

“If he hadn’t, I could’ve guessed,” Ray said. “He was practically floating an inch off the ground.”

Amy bowed her head. “He shouldn’t have wasted his time on me.”

Ray gripped her shoulders. “Neil didn’t see it as a waste, Amy. In case you didn’t notice, when he set his sights on something, he went after it with everything he had. You included.”

“Oh, I noticed all right.”

“Anything short of you dousing him in mace probably wouldn’t have discouraged him. In fact,” Ray said, “as persistent as he was, I wouldn’t have put it past him to win you over eventually. You
did
accept his invitation to that wedding, right? Based on that alone, I’m betting Neil died happy.”

Stretching onto the balls of her feet, Amy kissed Ray’s cheek. “Thank you for that.”

Like a spark in kindling, the innocent kiss ignited a flame. Suppressed desire flared, its intensity increasing as they stood facing one another, the shared emotion gleaming in their eyes.

A stunned silence passed between them.

Tentatively, Amy kissed Ray a second time, her lips lush and tender against his. Need spread through Ray’s body, his passion unexpected, exhilarating. Hands trembling, Amy unbuttoned his shirt as he slid the zipper at the back of her dress down. She let the dress slip to the floor. The warmth of her skin against his stoked Ray’s desire. He kissed her smooth shoulders then sought the gentle curve of her throat with anxious lips.