Steele Resolve (The Detective Jasmine Steele Series Book 1) (7 page)

“The cops you have protecting me from the guy who did this.” I snatch the photo from him. I should have known better than to leave it on the table while he was here. Old habits die hard I guess. I put everything together and close the file.

“I...”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

I guess I have to explain some of it right? I can leave out certain details. It’s not exactly lying, just omitting. “Those police officers are protecting you, yes. It’s precautionary because this is a big case, nothing more.” Chase stares at me as if he expects me to say more. “They’re nice guys. Hank’s a good gamer, but Tim’s not that great.”

“You know them?”

“Yeah, we talk about all the games in this month's magazine.”

“Right.”

“So can they take me to the park?”

“If they want.”

“Okay, I’m going to go ask.”

I watch as he rushes out the front door out into the unknown. How can I keep him safe when he’s too smart for his own good? These are those moments you pray you do the best you can and hopefully it’s enough. Leaning back on the couch, I can feel all the muscles in my body protest my movement. This couch is amazingly comfortable to sit on, sleeping is a separate matter altogether. My grandmother left it to me in her will because I used to fall asleep on it as a kid. It was an amazingly comfy place to sleep when you’re six or seven, the minute I grew taller than five feet it became painful. If I close my eyes really tight, I swear I can still smell her perfume on the leather.

“You okay?” Frankie asks me, knocking me out of my reverie. “Yeah, just tired,” I say not opening my eyes. I hear my mug being taken away and I exhale the breath I was inadvertently holding. I know I’m out of my element, but avoidance has always been a strong point for me. I just have to keep space between us and everything will be okay.

“You should know better than to sleep on the couch,” she says and I hear her place the mug back on the table. I pop my eyes open, spot my mug and grab it for a long swig of hot coffee. “I was feeling nostalgic.”

“You could have come to bed,” I feel the couch sag next to me and I know she’s sitting right there. I want to look at her but I know if I do I will lose all control. “Like I said, didn’t want to wake you up.” Short, precise answers are all that seems to flow out of my mouth where Frankie’s concerned.

“Are you going to look at me?”

“I’m resting my eyes.”

“Or avoiding me.”

“I’m going to go shower,” I place my mug back on the table, stand up and turn to walk to the shower. Her hand grabs mine and I stop, eyes still closed, terrified to open them.

“I’m sorry I left you,” her voice barely registers above a whisper, but I hear it. She lets go of my hand and I’m free to walk down the hallway.

Standing in the bathroom, I flick on the lights and close the door. Opening my eyes I stare at the mirror, tears rolling silently down my cheeks. Everything I’ve lost, everything I am is written on my face. Every wrinkle, grey hair or the change in my eye color, it’s all part of who I’ve become. Looking at my pale, emotionless face, I don’t like her.

Stepping into the shower, I turn the dial all the way to the extreme heat. As the shower flushes the remaining cold water at my skin I don’t flinch. I need to feel something external. The water gradually gets hotter until I have to lower it down, my skin flushed red and irritated. The tears seem to stop with the shower, but it doesn’t help my mood at all.

“You’ve got to focus dammit,” I say to the action figures Chase uses in his ritual bath. I remember some professor bullshitting about how talking to yourself makes things seem clearer. Especially to the psychiatrist who’s probably going to lock you up in the mental ward.

“Three dead victims and they all look somewhat similar. The obvious exception was the male since he had outdoor plumbing.” I grab the pink kids’ soap and begin my ritual cleaning along with really bad singing.

“Well, one of these things is not like the other, one of those dead is not the same,” singing to myself I think about the case files in my head. After they were murdered, the offending item was removed, so what does it matter. “Was it before or after?”

I rack my brain trying to remember if Victor mentioned it being surgically altered before or after the victim’s demise. That little bit of information could help Frankie come up with some kind of profile for the killer. Any little thing tends to help fill in the gaps in a case; I once solved a murder due to a peanut allergy. Trust me it happens.

“Or they just dislike being lied to.”

Or that.

“Like I hate being lied to.” I stop everything and just sit down at the base of the shower; pulling my knees to my chest I try to slow my breathing. My mind begins to race as I think of Frankie’s leaving, how she said I had new responsibilities and I shut her out. She had her reasons to leave, but none of them felt like real reasons to me. Everything she said felt fake, like she was abandoning me like everyone else. I wanted to ask her what the truth was, if there was someone else, but I never did.

Slowing my breathing, I think about the other women I’ve seen her with. Friends or not, it’s not my place to argue or put demands on her. I let her go and I have to focus on my family and this case. Before I can control myself, I take a huge swing and punch the wall. My body breaks down into silent sobs, crying for the loss of my family but also for the loss of my innocence. I let the tears flow easily, the knot in my neck getting tighter as I fight the shaking.

There are many crossroads in life; sometimes we don’t remember the forks in the road. We just travel along and do our best. Right now, I feel I am sitting at a fork in the road and am terrified to try either path. Should I keep going in the same direction, one that seems to cause me pain or do I try the other path and try to get things back to the way they were?

“What if it’s worse than before?”

My mother always called me a pessimist. I wish I wasn’t but in this line of work, all I see is negative. Why should my outlook on life be any different? I know I have to choose a path to travel down, but right now I can’t make those decisions. I have to take care of this case. I have to become a robot, shut down, whatever I have to in order to finish this damn thing. Life isn’t just about me and my choices anymore, it’s about Chase.

I force myself to stand up, shut off the water and grab a towel. After a nice pat down, I realize I forgot my clothes. I quietly tip toe out of the shower and into the bedroom. I stop dead in my tracks when I see an outfit has been nicely laid out for me.

“She picked out my clothes,” a smile forms on my face but is quickly lost with a knocking on the door.

“You okay Aunt Jazz?”

After getting fully dressed, I open the door to see Chase standing there patiently.

“Yes, little man. I’m golden. I thought you were going to the park?”

“I am, but I wanted to say goodbye to you first,” Chase wraps his arms around me and squeezes rather tightly for a kid. “You going to be okay without me here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Aunt Frankie called some people and told them to come over. She said something about you not being able to see your nose on your face.”

“Ah, yes. Gotta love your Aunt Frankie. Come on; let’s go see what the band of know-it-alls has set up for me.”

He walks a few steps in front of me. Each step he raises his hand and checks to make sure the next step is clear. He’s too cute when he pretends he’s the protector. Taking the final step into the living room, he quickly dives back and leans against the wall. Being the good aunt that I am, I follow suit and hug the wall next to him.

“What’s going on?” I whisper.

He peeks around the corner again before leaning back against the wall.

“The living room’s been taken over by aliens.”

Trying to hide my laughter, I feign fear to the best of my ability.

“How many?”

Chase looks back to me, a smile on his face.

“It looks like two girls and a geeky guy, but they could be pod people.”

I nod in understanding as I form a plan in my head.

“That’s not so bad, we can take them.” I rub my hands together, sounding like a bad version of GI Jane. Pushing off the wall slightly, I feel Chase’s hand push me back.

“Daddy always said girls are the ones who give you grey hair and make your wallets empty. We can take the guy easily but we have to be very careful.”

“Well, I don’t have anything in my wallet and I don’t have grey hair.”

“We’ve been over this before. You’re wallet’s empty because you paid someone to make the grey go away. This is serious, Aunt Jazz. I have to make it to the boys outside of the house. I can’t be grey at my age.”

“Well then, I think I have a plan.”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, I’m going to hit that mark at nine o’clock. I’ll create a serious diversion and you hit the mark over there at one o’clock and then out the door. Just make sure to use the furniture as cover. You miss one spot… It might be over. I don’t have the power to take them all on myself.”

Chase looks at me with confusion oozing off his face, “You run as fast as you can to your cop buddies outside.”

Chase nods and I push off the wall. I crack my neck and knuckles as if entering a war zone. I nod to my comrade before heading out into the living room.

“Frankie, what’s going on here?” I shout in an overly dramatic way.

“I thought you could use a fresh set of eyes on your case.” She slowly states, unsure of what I’m up to.

“So you all managed to fly here in the few minutes it took me to shower?”

I wave two fingers over to Chase as he darts behind the couch. He tries to hide but his messy hair can be seen as he shimmies the length of the furniture. Frankie stares at me with this questioning look in her eyes. I just smile and shake my head slightly. They all watch Chase dart from item to item working his way around the room.

“Yes, we did,” Hadley replies while smiling at me. Chase rushes behind her and makes it to the door. He smiles, quickly waves and it gone.

“It took you thirty minutes to shower and get changed.”

“Sorry, Victor, next time I’ll just wet myself down and wear a potato sack.”

“Maybe next time you shouldn’t try to figure out the case in the shower while talking out loud to yourself.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Umm, yes you did.”

“Hadley, how would you know?”

“Because I had to pee and you were hogging the bathroom. I was gonna knock, but you were busy talking to yourself about a lot of things. So, I thought it was best to leave you alone.”

So, apparently I have been found out and I am trying not to turn red.

“Jazz, you’re ears are red.” Damn.

“My ears are not red, Hadley.” I’m sure this falls into the lying part of the discussion my head had prior.

“Yes, they are. Which means you are obviously embarrassed at your little habit,” Victor smugly smiles at me.

“My dear Victor, my habit isn’t as bad as eating with corpses,” I sputter out like a little sister trying to get mom to punish my big brother.

“Hey, we’ve been through this and the bodies don’t mind,” he screams in his defense.

“You eat with dead bodies?” Hadley looks at Victor with disgust written all over her face.

I smile as my childish tactic still seems to work on this family I’ve built around me. It makes me wish I had a camcorder and some popcorn to record the event as it unfolds. Maybe I could upload it and sell copies of “When Actresses Attack.”

“What’s wrong with eating in my office?” Victor sizes Hadley up as it ready to fight.

“Because you work in the morgue!” She folds her arms across her chest as if that would get her point across faster.

“Do you eat with zombies in full make-up?”

“That is so different,” offended Hadley stammers back a bit.

I watch the two banter back and forth, but my eyes fall on Frankie who is laughing loudly. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in a long time, innocent laughter. She’s lost some of that over the years. Her face shows stress and life have aged her, but right now she looks as young as ever and happy.

“Come on, eating with fake dead people in costume is not the same as eating with a really dead person.”

“You’re right, because the real dead don’t reek of bad corn syrup and sweat under the prosthetics. Not to mention they don’t talk back or have bad breath!”

“They just smell like those bad chemicals that you use on them.” At this point Hadley’s in full defense of her acting ability mode. That usually consists of waving arms, sometimes crossed, hand sometimes on hip – and lots of high pitched speeches.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Victor throws back at her, he really has no idea what Hadley’s talking about.

“You know that stuff that turns our insides into mush. Then you suck it out our nose! That’s not what I want to see while I’m eating my sushi!”

“Are you talking about embalming?”

“Your ears are still red you know,” Frankie whispers next to me.