“I know, honey,” I cut her off. It was obvious that the time had come for confession whether I wanted it to or not. At least it had for Felicity and me. I held up my hand to stop her from stammering on further then said, “Believe me, I know exactly what you are feeling…”
“You can’t possibly…” she began.
I rushed to interrupt her again. “You feel guilty because as sad as you are that Carl died, you’re glad it was him we put in the ground today instead of Constance.”
She gave me a startled look then slowly nodded as she placed her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. After a moment she let out a long, low sigh and with a slight tremble in her voice, asked, “What did Miranda do to me, Row? What did that saigh change inside of me that I can even think such a horrid thing?”
“Nothing,” I said, reaching over and brushing the hair away from her face. “Nothing at all… Because, Gods help me, I’ve been thinking the exact same thing.”
Sunday, March 12
8:22 A.M.
Saint Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 4:
“You look like hell,” I said, voicing my matter-of-fact observation in as jovial a tone as I could muster.
“Yeah, fuck you too,” Detective Benjamin Storm grunted as he fixed me with a bleary-eyed gaze then shook his head and let out a heavy sigh.
He was sitting across the table from me, where I had just joined him in a booth at Charlie’s Eats, a small diner that occupied a piece of corner real estate at Seventh and Chouteau, not terribly far from city police headquarters downtown. It was a favorite hangout of cops for meal breaks since they could get something more than just a sandwich. On top of that, the service was fast, the prices were reasonable, and its close proximity to the station didn’t hurt either.
I was actually no stranger to Chuck’s, as the greasy spoon was affectionately called, though at times I felt like the only civilian in the place-with the exception of the staff of course. However, with life having been in such turmoil over the past several months, it had been quite some time since my last visit. Still, I wasn’t surprised in the least to see that little, if anything, had changed. Even the age-yellowed, multi-generational photocopy boasting that these premises were protected by Smith and Wesson still occupied its conspicuously prominent place on the back of the cash register for everyone to see. Of course, given that standard issue for city police officers was the Beretta nine-millimeter, someone had used a marker and added that fact underneath as well.
“Rough night or something?” I asked my friend as I settled in and folded my jacket in the seat next to me.
“Yeah, I guess ya’ could say that,” he grunted again. “Got called out on a body in a dumpster at around one this mornin’, haven’t stopped since.”
“Never seems to end, does it?”
“Nope. It sure as hell don’t.”
I twisted slightly and rolled my left shoulder before reaching up and carefully massaging the side of my neck.
“You okay?” my friend asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, wincing slightly. “I think I just slept in a weird position or something. I’ve had this pain in my neck off and on all morning. Nothing bad, really, just kind of annoying.”
“Yeah, well at least you slept.”
“So, if you’ve been up all night then why aren’t you at home in bed right now?”
“It’s Sunday the twelfth, ain’t it? Accordin’ ta’ my calendar we’re s’posed to meet for breakfast, right? Must be, ‘cause you’re here.”
“Yeah,” I said, giving him a shrug. “But we started arranging these things on weekends for a reason. Since you ended up working anyway, you could have called me and begged off. I would have understood.”
“Yeah, well, believe me I thought about it,” he replied with a yawn and then added, “But, ya’ know, I still gotta eat.”
“When aren’t you eating?” a female voice filled with good-natured sarcasm slid directly in behind his comment.
We both looked up to find a young blonde woman clad in blue jeans, a faded “Eat at Chuck’s” sweatshirt, and a server’s apron now standing next to the table. She wielded a Pyrex carafe in one hand and a ceramic mug in the other. She slid the cup in front of me, then with a quick flourish, deftly filled it with hot coffee.
“Hey, Wendy,” I greeted the waitress.
“Rowan. Long time no see,” she replied with a grin. “You haven’t been cheating on us and going to another diner have you?”
I chuckled. “Never. You know this is my one and only. I’ve just been a little busy.”
“I know the feeling,” she said. “So, how’s Felicity?”
“Doing well. Sassy as ever and twice as gorgeous.”
“You wouldn’t have her any other way.”
I nodded and smiled. “True.”
Wendy turned her gaze toward Ben. “Have I told you that you look like crap today, Storm?”
“Three times since I got here,” he replied as he pushed his mug toward her. “This time makes four.”
“I’m just looking out for you.” She grinned as she topped off his java. “So… Are you ready or do you need a couple of minutes?”
“I’ve been ready,” Ben told her. “I’ll have the usual, with a side of aspirin.”
“Headache?”
“Yeah.”
She cocked her head to the side and acted as if she was inspecting him. “Yeah. Looks to me like it would hurt.”
“Yeah… Funny.” Ben didn’t sound amused.
“Want me to just bring you the bottle?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Rowan could prob’ly use ‘em too. He was just sayin’ he’s got a pain in ‘is neck.”
“And I’m guessing that would be you?”
“Uh-huh…” he muttered. “Still not funny.”
“Okay, got it, a number twelve with chili, and the aspirin,” she said.
“You forgot the extra onions,” my friend reminded her.
“Actually I remembered but I was hoping you’d forget,” she quipped. “I’ll go ahead and bring you a roll of breath mints with that too.”
“Jeez, you’re a friggin’ laugh a minute today, ain’t ya’?”
“Aren’t I always?” she said with a smile. “How about you, Rowan?”
“I don’t know… Do I want a number three?” I asked.
I had learned long ago that Wendy wasn’t going to let me order for myself. She always asked what I wanted at the outset, but nine times out of ten she would endeavor to talk me into something else. I still had no idea why she insisted on ordering for me because she didn’t do it for everyone, only a select few. In any case, it hadn’t taken long for me to simply roll with it and let her have her way.
“No… I don’t think so,” she returned, shaking her head. “You really look more like you want a number five today.”
I didn’t bother to inquire what a number five was because I already knew all of the single digit selections on the menu were varying numbers of eggs with some combination of breakfast meats and toast. Besides, she’d never steered me wrong yet. Instead I just asked, “Do I want my eggs scrambled?”
“I think you’re in the mood for over hard today,” she replied.
“Okay, do I want a side of biscuits and sausage gravy with that?”
“Definitely.”
I grinned. “Great, I was hoping I did. Okay, sounds good to me.”
Ben waved a finger at me and told her, “Oh yeah, in case he forgets to tell ya’, give him the check. It’s his turn ta’ buy.”
Wendy winked at me as she turned to go put in our orders, “Don’t worry. I’ll give you the cop discount.”
I gave her a quick nod and smile. “Thanks.”
When she was gone I turned my attention to the steaming cup of coffee she had slid in front of me. Leaning a bit to my left I snatched the saltshaker from the end of the table then tipped it up over the brew and gave it a couple of healthy jiggles. After a moment I set it aside and gave the contents of the mug a quick stir with a spoon.
Ben had been watching me the entire time, and now he grunted, “So what’s your excuse, white man?”