First Born (3 page)

As she was devising a plan of how to score more, the doorbell sounded. Larry looked at her while pulling the belt tighter on his bathrobe. Low demonic barks came from her as she charged the front door. “Easy Cujo,” he said to her.

She knew before he flung the door open.
Detective Caldwell Simms.
Despite her grief, Lily had developed a schoolgirl crush on the detective. It seemed to be getting worse each day.

Larry gasped.
Oh for God’s sake Larry, he’s not that good looking.

Simms waited on the doorstep, charcoal gray slacks fitting his muscular legs just right, blue oxford shirt showing off his eyes.

“Mr. Jones?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m Detective Simms. I left you a phone message. It’s about Lily Moore.”

“This is embarrassing. Excuse my pajamas,” Larry said. His hands fluttered to the lapel of his robe. He blinked rapidly as splotches of red bloomed on his neck and spread to his face.

“No big deal. I just have a few questions for you.”

He shook the detective’s hand and invited him inside. Detective Simms stepped in, eyes immediately dropping down to her. “Wow. Did that bark come from him?”

“Oh yeah. She’s a killer.”

As they walked down the hall to the great room, Lily ran circles around Detective Simms’s legs, wagging her tail while jumping on him.

“Oh yeah. You’re terrifying,” Simms said with a smirk.

“I’m so sorry,” Larry said. He scowled at her while attempting to shoo her away.

Desperation pumped through her veins. She followed Simms onto the couch and looked at him with imploring eyes.

Up close, she noted his unshaved face and dark circles under his eyes. He smelled like musk, woods, citrus, spice...and stale coffee.
You’re dreamy
.

Detective Simms took a quick glance at her before absently rubbing her long ears, which set her hind leg to tapping out Morse code on the couch. “Is that a good spot?” he laughed.

Any spot’s good, buddy.

Turning toward Larry, Simms pulled his small notepad out of his shirt pocket. Then, he turned back and stared at her. “I’ve never seen green eyes like this on a dog before,” he said.

I’ve never seen eyes like yours!

“She’s definitely unique,” Larry said. “Actually, she showed up injured on our doorstep last night. I’ve not seen her around here before.”

Simms kept looking at her eyes. Lily stared back, willing him to understand.

“Don’t you wish they could talk?” he asked.

“Yeah. You get a load of her eye? Somebody hurt her,” spat Larry. “Wish I knew who. I’d hunt the bastard down and introduce him to a crowbar or a tire iron or possibly a bludge...” Larry censored his murderous rant. Lily realized he was staring at the firearm on the detective’s hip.

Simms flashed a good-natured smile.

Sigh.

“Dog! Hello!” Larry clapped his hands to break her relentless gaze. “Stop mooning over Detective Simms.”

Mooning, I’m not mooning over him.
She sat next to him, refusing to relinquish her front row seat. So what if she had memorized his left ear, his broad shoulders, and strong callused hands. She wondered what his calluses might feel like...

Detective Simms focused on his job of questioning Larry about Lily’s dating life, personality at work, and her habits. He asked about her relationship with her mother, Maggie Moore, and her brother, Seth. Simms returned several times to her “relationship” with Mr. Miller. He asked why Lily got in the car with the man when she had driven herself to the restaurant.

Ice cream. We were going for ice cream.
It was no use. She knew he thought she got into Phil Miller’s car for
other
reasons.

Then Simms broached another dark subject—Peter. Simms shifted forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He held his hands together and studied them. “I know you are close to Lily. I’ve had several conversations with her myself regarding Peter Marx. This kind of tragedy could unravel anyone.” Simms’s slate-blue eyes sought Larry’s. “I need to make an accurate assessment of her mental state in the last several weeks. It will help us to look at things from every angle.”

Lily snarled, surprising herself as much as everyone in the room. Simms turned his head to study her. He drew down his eyebrows while his mouth fought with amusement. “She sounds a bit possessed.”

She chuffed softly before settling back down to rest her head on her front paws and shift her eyes to Larry.
I’m not crazy. Possessed? That’s entirely possible.

Larry adjusted his bathrobe for the sixth time while pressing his lips in a thin line. “Lily’s one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met. I know she was depressed, but never unstable.”

Simms nodded.

“I’ve never heard her mention this Miller guy,” Larry said, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I worry because we all pushed her to be more spontaneous, get back out there, and find some joy again in life.”

This isn’t your fault, Larry.
She jumped down from her perch next to Simms. Placing her front paws on Larry’s knee, she nuzzled his hand earning her an ear scratch. Larry’s eyes were wet.

Simms asked a few more detailed questions regarding co-workers and friends. As the detective finished up, Larry pulled himself together, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“Detective Simms, have you completely shut the case on Peter’s death?”

The taut muscles in Simms’s jaw twitched. He swallowed before flashing a tight smile. “Sorry, Mr. Jones. You know I can’t discuss that investigation.” He clicked his pen shut before putting it in his pocket along with the mini notepad.

Larry looked down. “Isn’t it odd that a young man dies and in less than a year, his girlfriend is attacked?”

“We’re considering all the circumstances,” Simms said.

“You know I always wondered about Peter’s work at that lab. He was very intense and worked crazy hours with Professor Hitomi. I mean, he was just a part-time grad assistant.”

“Workaholic, huh?”

“More like fanatic,” Larry said.

Simms’s phone buzzed. After checking the number, he excused himself before walking to the foyer. She followed him.

“Lieutenant?” His face turned gray. “Cause?” He paced the marble floor of the foyer. “Time of death? I’ll be down there in fifteen, just finishing up with Mr. Jones.”

Lily followed Simms back to the great room to find Larry unblinking with worry lines creasing his forehead. Apparently, he had been eavesdropping.

“Not her,” said the detective.

Larry let out a long breath.

“Thanks again for your help,” Simms said as he handed Larry his card and encouraged him to call if he thought of anything else.

After the door closed, Larry fanned himself. “Good-bye, Detective Hottie!” Placing his hands on his hips, he surveyed his new pet. “Don’t look at me that way. You were the one slobbering and jumping all over him.”

“Wuf!”

With Simms gone, Larry busied himself with the breakfast dishes, but Lily could see how shaken he was by the tension in his face. If only she could communicate to him that she was okay.

She continued to shadow him, following him up the wooden stairs to his bedroom. It was serene with blue walls, antique walnut furniture and white linens on the bed in various textures. She hopped up on the chaise lounge, which was a coffee-colored leather.

Once Larry was in the shower, Lily scurried across the room to the mirror.

After several seconds of staring at herself, she looked at the ground.
What have I become?
She felt warm tears flood her eyes. She took another glance. Her familiar green eyes stared back at her from a black mask of fur. Her eyelashes had doubled in length. She wagged a large plume of a tail.
A cross between a miniature mountain yak and Zorro.

Lily fought panic as it closed in on her. Crying was not an option. Panic would not dominate her. Someone, somewhere had an explanation to what had happened to her and why.

Caldwell and Lieutenant Lake stood across from the Victorian house on Myrtle Street. The yellow crime scene tape was a grim reminder of the tragedy that surrounded its idyllic façade.

As Lake ran his fingers through his short hair, Caldwell chugged a Red Bull. His stomach gurgled in protest.

The lieutenant’s whole face puckered in disgust. “Man, really?”

“What?”

“That stuff can make you tachycardic.”

Caldwell looked down at the empty Red Bull can. “Listen Mama Lake. My real mother lives in Jersey and brushes her teeth with Jim Beam. It could be worse.”

“I hear that’s good for the gums.”

Caldwell held his gaze for several uncomfortable seconds then burst out laughing. “Shit Lieutenant, I’m kidding. My mom’s a California girl. You know, all natural granola crap.”

Lake shook his head. “All I know is don’t come running to me when the corpse seems to be moving. That stuff makes me squirrelly. I have enough natural adrenaline.” As if to prove his point, an alfalfa stuck straight up in the back of his blondish-gray hair like an antenna.

At forty-six, the lieutenant was short by most standards, but a solid mass of muscle. After his recent divorce, he had become a health nut. Caldwell suspected his new relationship was with a Bowflex and a Jack LaLanne juicer.

In synchrony, both detectives looked up at the gabled window of the second story apartment of Lily Moore’s neighbor, Mona Sinclair. After the news had broadcast the disappearance of Lily, Ms. Sinclair’s sister, Sarah Clemens, had come over to check on Mona at 10 a.m. She found an officer stationed outside the house who offered support once they entered the home and found seventy-one-year-old Sinclair dead inside.

“You ready?” Lake asked.

“Third time’s a charm. Marx, Moore, and now Sinclair.”

“A strange coincidence,” offered the lieutenant.

“Right.”

Caldwell followed the lieutenant under the tape and up a flight of worn stairs. At the entrance, he signed the logbook and put on booties and gloves. When the smell of decomp hit him, he reconsidered the strength of his cool mint gum. In his spare time, he planned to invent a type of gum that worked its way through your sinus passages like Pop Rocks. His theory was that the smell of death couldn’t take you hostage if your sinus passages were on fire.

Crime scene technicians were studying a brown patch on the carpeting while the Medical Examiner Investigator, Jimmy Chu, bagged a used syringe. Mona Sinclair sat on an antique couch with unfolded laundry next to her, a laundry basket on the floor. Her eyes drooped to half-mast, her cheeks sagged like deflated balloons, and her lips peeled back from her teeth. It was an undignified smile on what looked to have been a dignified lady.

Chu glanced up to greet the detectives. “Are you guys stalking me?”

Caldwell smiled. “Jimmy. You’ve gotta work on your bedside manner. I don’t think your patient is responding.”

Lake glared at Caldwell as if he’d farted in church.

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” Caldwell swallowed as he studied the deceased woman. She looked like someone’s grandmother.

Chu glanced up. “Mona Sinclair...my daughter and I heard her read from her latest book last week during the library children’s hour.”

“What’s your take?” Caldwell asked.

“Found a sharps container in the bathroom. Won’t know anything until I talk with her doc and the tox screen comes back. Looked like she just went to sleep in the middle of folding laundry, except for the syringe I found lodged in the crease of the couch.”

“You have any idea what it is?” Lake asked.

“She had oral prescription containers for Inderal and Prevacid in the kitchen,” Chu said. “I’ve got a call in to her doc to see if she had a prescription for an injectable medication. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back.”

“Looks like she’s been here a while,” said Caldwell.

“The lividity indicates she was in this same spot. The flaccid stage of the body suggests it’s been around thirty-six hours—rigor came and went,” Chu said.

“Thanks, Chu.”

“No problem. I can get preliminary findings to you in the next day or so. Formal report may take longer depending on when I get things back from the GBI lab.” The Georgia Bureau of Investigation’s crime lab served as the processing plant for forensic evidence in the state of Georgia. Like any processing plant, sometimes the GBI got backlogged.

As Chu finished up, Caldwell conferred with the forensic techs as they bagged items. They informed him they hadn’t found a suicide note. Caldwell took his own careful look around the apartment. Although nothing stood out, he found the timing of her demise remarkable. There was no way in hell Lily Moore’s disappearance and Mona Sinclair’s death were two unrelated incidents.

Two hours later Caldwell removed paper booties and gloves and placed them in the biohazard bag by the door. Lake followed him out.

At the bottom of the steps, Caldwell turned to the lieutenant. “Strange.”

Lake raised an eyebrow. “Pretty ordinary to me.”

Caldwell raised both eyebrows.

“Well, it doesn’t jump out at you like last night’s scenario,” added Lake.

“True.”

“You follow up on our animal attack victim?”

Caldwell nodded. “Miller is semi-conscious and very talkative with the hospital staff.”

“What’s your take on him?”

“Phillip
Eugene
Miller works as a used car salesman at European Dreams on Cobb Parkway. According to his Match.com profile, he’s twenty-six. Record includes a reckless driving and a DUI six years ago. Co-workers describe him as a cocky, womanizing slimy bohunk.”

“Nice,” Lake said.

“He suffered quite a bump on the head. During his psych eval he talked about Moore ‘not cooperating’ and then referred to her as a ‘demon woman with glowing eyes.’” Caldwell’s voice cracked. He’d like to add a few more lumps to Miller’s cranium.

Lake rolled his head from side-to-side, cracking his neck.

“The hospital tox screen showed the only thing in his system was alcohol. We’ll need to check back with him and see if his story changes as he comes down off the pain meds,” Caldwell said.