Passions of the Dead (A Detective Jackson Mystery/Thriller) (9 page)

She was thirty-six for Christ’s sake. And unemployed. No longer needed in the building. Pregnancy was not an option.

Being the kind of person who rips off a band-aid rather than peel it slowly, Carla strode to her desk and made short work of deleting personal e-mails and files. She grabbed a box from the mailing room, packed her Christmas cactus and family photos, and marched out of the building, head held high. She smiled and waved but didn’t stop for hugs. She was done crying….and puking for the day.

Two nights later, Carla took a lasagna out of the oven and calculated it had cost her twelve dollars to make. They were headed over to Tracy and Kevin’s for a potluck dinner and she had to bring something nice. Jared had wanted to buy steaks but she’d vetoed the idea. Her unemployment check would be $310 a week. After paying rent they’d have $400 left for everything else. She couldn’t even buy groceries for a month with that paltry sum. Twice Carla had picked up the phone to call her mother, then set it back down. Her parents lived on social security in a two-bedroom trailer in Veneta. She couldn’t ask them for anything.

Lori came into the kitchen and hugged her from behind. “Smells great, Mom.”

“Thanks. I used real Italian sausage like everyone likes.”

“I wanted to remind you I’m going to the WOW Hall after dinner to see a show. I’d like to take the Subaru.”

“You can. Lori, I have to talk to you about something.”

Her daughter crossed her arms but she didn’t roll her eyes. Carla was grateful. Lori had never treated her with contempt the way some teens did with their parents.

Carla sat down at the kitchen table, which they’d stained and assembled themselves, and waited for Lori to do the same. “I know the money you make at Appleton’s is yours. You work hard for it and you’re entitled to spend it how you like. However, this family is in a bad situation, and if it gets much worse we could get evicted.”

“That’s not right.”

“Still, that is how it works. If we get behind on the rent they’ll kick us out.”

“What are you saying? I have to give you my paychecks?” Lori’s sweet angel face twisted with disbelief.

Carla wanted to crawl in a hole and die rather than continue the conversation. Yet she plunged ahead. “You don’t have to hand them over but I’m asking you not to spend them. Just stick the checks in the bank in case we need to borrow money for rent down the road.”

“You said borrow. You and Dad will pay me back?”

“Of course. This situation is temporary. Your dad had an interview this afternoon, and I’m optimistic about it. I’m just asking you not to buy any more concert tickets or clothes. Put your money in the bank, please.”

“Okay.” Lori stood. “I don’t understand how economies work or why this is happening. We’ve been talking about it in civics class but it’s too weird for me.”

“Me too, sweetie.”

“Are you okay, Mom? You don’t hum anymore. It used to drive me crazy but now I think I miss it.”

“I’m fine. We’ll get through this.”

“Jared, did you decide?” Carla glanced in the back seat at Nick, who still had his earphones in, listening to music. They were headed across town to have dinner with Jared’s sister, who lived in the south hills near Churchill High School. The neighborhood had been considered upscale until all the huge houses on Timberline and Skyridge had been built, leaving those below feeling a little more working class. Carla had given up hope of owning a home long ago and now she was glad for it. Being evicted as a renter was less heartbreaking than losing your home to the bank.

Jared reached over and squeezed her hand. “Stop worrying. I’ll ask Tracy. She’ll tell me she has to talk to Kevin, but it’ll be okay. They’ll loan us some money.”

“How did your interview go today?”

“The guy kept throwing around cooking terms I didn’t understand. How can you pay someone $8.50 an hour and expect them to have chef training?”

“It’s a different world now. People are educating themselves online, and employers expect a lot more for their money.” Carla bit her lip, then said it anyway. “You should take some internet classes at the employment office. I think it would help.”

Jared sighed and didn’t look at her. “I know you’re right, but it makes me feel stupid to have some twenty-year-old kid showing me stuff that seems like a foreign language and then acting like it’s nothing.”

“I know what you mean.” Carla looked up to see they’d missed their turn. “We just passed City View.”

Jared gave her a sad smile. “Some things never change.”

They’d eaten outside on the big deck with the pond and mini-waterfall providing a soothing background. Now they were drinking beer, eating homemade apple pie, and enjoying the sunset. Carla loved this backyard, at least to visit every once in a while. She wouldn’t want the pond in her own yard. It would be too much work and too much money, but she loved sitting here on an early summer evening.

After the kids went into the house to check out Shane’s new CD and Kevin went to the kitchen for more beer, Jared announced, “We’re in trouble, Tracy. We’re hoping you and Kevin can loan us some money.”

“How much money?” Tracy tried to sound casual, but she didn’t pull it off. She was the polar opposite of Jared: short, dark, and tense. But like Jared, she had a good heart.

“Two thousand. Just enough to pay the rent for a couple months while I look for work.” Jared took a long slug of beer. Carla noticed he’d been drinking more than usual, but she understood.

“I’ll have to discuss it with Kevin. His business hasn’t been great lately either.” Kevin owned Pacific Pool & Patio, and Carla could imagine that people were spending less money on backyard luxuries.

“My business has plummeted in the last two months,” Kevin said, coming out of the sliding glass door. “So if you’re thinking of asking us for money, please don’t. I have employees and health insurance premiums to pay no matter how few hot tubs I sell.”

A long moment of silence followed. Carla ached for Jared. She could feel his humiliation and she wished she hadn’t pushed him to make the request. “I’m sorry to hear your business is down,” she said to Kevin, giving him an appropriate look of sympathy. “I hope it’s temporary.”

Jared asked about a basketball game coming up and Carla excused herself. Someone was in the hall bathroom, so she rushed through the master bedroom and into the private bathroom, closing the door behind her. She needed to be alone for a moment. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she pulled in long slow breaths and tried not to cry. Unemployed, broke and pregnant. How could her life have turned to such shit so quickly?

Without a job, she didn’t even have health insurance. She couldn’t afford to see an obstetrician, let alone a hospital stay. She had to get an abortion. As much as the idea appalled her, she had no choice. By the end of the summer, they could be living out of a van parked on some side street. She couldn’t bring a child into such circumstances. She couldn’t even take care of the kids she had now. How would she pay for an abortion? It would take every dime they had in the bank. Then what?

Carla took more deep breaths and willed herself to go back out there, smile, and pretend everything was okay. As she crossed the plush-carpeted bedroom, the top shelf of a small bookcase caught her eye. Five baseball cards, each encased in a plastic frame, were proudly displayed. Valuable baseball cards. She’d heard Kevin talking about them. One in particular was worth several thousand dollars. Carla peered at the cards. They seemed rather inconsequential.

Without thinking she grabbed the card in the middle, stuffed it into her purse, and bolted from the bedroom. Her legs trembled and threatened to collapse as she hurried up the hall. Good God, what had she done? She hadn’t even formed an idea about stealing the card. It just happened.

Carla stopped in the crossway. She had to put the card back. This was insane.

“Carla? We’ve got to go!” Jared called to her from the dining room. “I’ll get the kids, while you say goodbye.”

Carla stood frozen. Their hosts followed Jared into the house. As her husband barreled down the hall calling for the kids, Tracy gave Carla a hug and whispered, “I’m sorry.” Carla squeezed her back, unable to speak.

Jackson bought coffee on his way back to headquarters, then sat in the small conference room waiting for the other detectives to show up at ten. He expected the taskforce meeting to be brief, unless someone came in with something unexpected.

Evans showed up first, looking fresh in pressed black slacks and a pale blue jacket. Her face had no visible signs of sleep deprivation. “Morning, Evans. You look great. Still taking that buzz drug when you work cases like this?”

She flushed a little and rolled her eyes. “Provigil isn’t a buzz drug. You’re just jealous because I have a prescription and you don’t.” She sat and put her oversized black bag on the floor. “Now that you’re seeing a doctor, you could ask him to write you a prescription.”

That reminded Jackson to take some naproxen. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, getting up. He hustled into the restroom at the end of the hall and dug the little pill bottle out of his bag. The steroids he’d taken earlier controlled the growth of the fiber and he would cycle on and off the medication, probably for years. The naproxen was an anti-inflammatory that suppressed the pain he was still feeling from having his belly flayed open like a fish and his plumbing rerouted. He swallowed the tablet with a mouthful of water from the sink and headed back to the conference room. Before his diagnosis, he might have taken aspirin in front of his co-workers, but now that he had this RF thing he couldn’t let anyone see him take any medication. It would just remind them he was less than vigorously healthy. In the world of law enforcement, a perception of vulnerability could derail your career. Jackson worried about the prednisone. One of the side effects was mood swings and/or depression, but he hadn’t experienced either yet.

Quince and Schak had come in and were still standing, sipping tall coffees and talking about a TV show they’d both missed the night before. When McCray showed up a few minutes later, they all sat and pulled out notepads.

“What’s that smell?” Schak said. “It’s fruity or something.” He turned to McCray, whose under-eye bags were especially puffy this morning.

“It’s herbal tea.” McCray’s voice projected false confidence.

“Tea? Since when?” Schak asked.

“I quit coffee about a week ago. It was ruining my sleep. My tossing and turning was keeping the wife awake too. I miss it but I feel a hell of a lot better.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s get started,” Jackson said. “Schak, your turn to take the board. You might as well go first and tell us what you learned.”

“Not a damned thing.” Under Carla’s name, Schak wrote
well liked
. “Carla Walker was respected by everyone at Silver Moon Jewelry where she worked. She has no enemies and no secrets I can find.”

“She was pregnant,” Jackson announced.

“No shit?” Schak turned and stared. “The autopsy?”

“The pathologist says six to eight weeks.”

Victor Slonecker rushed into the room. “Who’s pregnant?” The district attorney put his briefcase on the floor and tugged up the pant legs of his pinstriped suit before sitting down. His dark hair was perfectly groomed and his sharp features made him look intelligent and intimidating. He delivered on the promise.

“Carla Walker, one of the murder victims,” Jackson answered. “Thanks for coming.” The DA, or sometimes an assistant DA, sat in on at least one taskforce meeting at the beginning of each case.

Schak wrote
pregnant
, then said, “I wonder if Carla knew.”

“Could the baby have any bearing on the case?” Evans interjected. “A secret lover who killed Carla when he found out she was pregnant?”

Schak shook his head. “It seems unlikely. Everyone says Carla and Jared were very happy together, still in love after eighteen years of marriage.”

The room was quiet for moment.

“How sad,” Evans said, voicing what they were all thinking. “I found out a few things about Lori, but none of them seem critical.”

“Let’s put it all on the board anyway.”

“Her friend Jenna Larson says Lori’s been stressed lately because her parents lost their jobs, and she’s been giving them her tip money. More important, the manager at the restaurant where Lori works has been sexually harassing her. I’m going over there to see him right after this meeting.”

“What’s his name?” Slonecker asked, pulling out a notepad.

“Greg Blackwell.”

Jackson hoped the DA would follow through. Assholes like Blackwell who harassed teenage girls in the workplace pissed him off. His daughter Katie might soon be one of those employees. Jackson handed over Lori’s cell phone, still in its plastic bag. “I picked this up from the hospital last night but I haven’t had a chance to look at it. It’ll be interesting to see if her boss was calling Lori or leaving messages.”

“Was she conscious? Did you get anything from her?” Evans sounded as fresh and eager as she looked.

“Lori was partially awake, and I asked her who had done this to her. She clearly said ‘Shane.’”

Slonecker’s eyes lit up. “Who is Shane?”