Command Indecision (Lexi Graves Mysteries) (11 page)

I spat out the painful words. "We're over."

Solomon stepped closer to me and I had to stop myself from instinctively stepping back. That left just a few inches between us while he looked at me contemplatively. Heat radiated from him. "Then all bets are off," he said, his voice low, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

I gulped. He didn't sound friendly at all.

Chapter Eight

Saturday afternoons are for shopping, hanging out at coffee bars
, drinking over-priced Italian
beverages, and deciding what to wear for an evening
out with Lily
. Like I said, the i
nvestigative biz cared not for my
personal preferences. On this particular Saturday afternoon, Solomon and I were off base, heading into the suburbs where many of the civilian employers had homes. We were
in search of Jillian’s place in
Chester
, five miles west of Fort Charles
.

"
I see it.
Park around the block."

I drove past the small brick house with twin blue doors that Solomon identified as Jillian's. After circling around, I parked his
Lexus
on the next street over. His car slid to a stop like a purring cat and I ran my hands over the wheel. I had never driven anything quite so nice before, and was still surprised that Solomon handed me the
keys, though it might have had something to do with the steady stream of emails he managed through his cell phone.

"What are we looking for?" I asked as Solomon handed me a pai
r of thin latex gloves. After rolling them into a ball, I stuck them in my pocket, ready for action.

"Any indication of where that money
in her account
came from. Blackmail notes. Betting slips. A letter from a lawyer saying she inherited it." He caught my skeptical look at the thought that Jillian was a secret gambler
and shrugged
. "I have no idea. Just look for anything that says cash."

"Wit
h that much money, how come she wa
sn't spending it? Wouldn't you?" I asked. It was something that puzzled me all night. For a rich person, that
kind of
cash was chicken feed. For Jillian, it was life changing. "Wouldn't you jack in your crappy part-time job and do something else?" Now I said it, I wasn't so sure. If I had a ton of cash in my bank account, would I tell Solomon goodbye? Actually, make that the agency... Would I give up my job and stay at home? Or spend my days shopping and lunching? Somehow, I didn't think so. Solomon clearly didn't either.
Plus, when I put it into perspective, unless Jillian expected to keep on receiving those payments, eventually, it would run out; and then where would she be?

"She's a grafter. She's not used to having a lot of money. Maybe she didn't think it would last."

"Or maybe she didn't want the money," I mused as we climbed out. I stepped onto the sidewalk and we strode side-by-side to Jillian's apartment. We walked up the small path dissecting the brown
ing
lawn casually, as though we were meant to be there. The lights were off and the place was quiet. While I stood behind him, partially shielding him from the street
,
Solomon pulled his gloves on and stuck a pick in the lock. He fiddled with it until the lock sprang open, allowing us to slip inside.

I was tempted to flick the light switch, but Solomon caught my hand and shook his head. “I don’t want the neighbors getting suspicious if they see a light on when they know the house is empty.”

“Okay.”
I
stepped away and
moved around
Solomon
, looking at Jillian's things
with coolly assessing eyes
.
Okay, with my nosy-fu.
The layout was simple. Front door that opened onto a square living room, with stripped hardwood floors
and the walls
painted a pale lemon. A door at the far end of the room led to a compact kitchen w
ith wooden units that looked really old, and not just because of the faux crackled-paint effect
. The counters were cluttered and lived in. I walked back into the living room, glancing into the bedroom that was visible from
it.

"I see single woman occupant," I said, not catching sight of any stray man sock or car magazines.

"Take point by the door," Solomon said. "Let me know if anyone looks like they're approaching."

"Gotcha." I
returned to the door, taking Solomon’s place at the side, a
lternat
ing
glances at the street and him as he moved around, quietly opening and closing drawers, and rifling through the mail. He even checked the small stack of DVDs next to the television,
opening the plastic boxes and emptying the sleeves, popping the disks and turning them over. Then he
replaced each one carefully.

Jillian was neat and didn't seem to have much stuff, so the living room took no more than five
minutes to search before Solomon moved on
to the kitchen. I heard him opening and closing the cabinets before he reappeared in the doorway, shrugging.

"Bedroom," he said, nodding towards the other doo
r. T
hen he winked.

God.
"See ya."
I turned a salute into a wave.

He smiled and I turned back to the street. The clouds had started to roll in and I thought I saw the first drops of rain hitting the ground. I was looking forward to clearing out and heading back to base. Something about rooting through a dead woman's apartment gave me the creeps. It wasn't because she couldn’t object, or feel violated. It just didn't seem
right
. Her scarf was still draped over the armchair, and there was a vial of pink nail polish on the coffee table, like she'd just stepped out for a few minutes. Except Jillian was never coming home. I wondered when the family planned to box up her things, and what they would do with her furniture. I imagined Jillian's life scrubbed out, box by box,
and took a deep breath while making a vow to write a will and leave Lily all my nice purses
.

I took another glance up the street and noted a black sedan rolling to a stop outside.

"Solomon," I called softly, then louder. "Hey! Solomon!" He
ducked his head around the door and raised his eyebrows, waiting with an expectant expression.
"We've got company," I told him
as
the driver's door opened
. One of the two occupants
stepped out, looking around before turning his head toward the house. He stood there, square on, facing my way, his hands on hips
, slightly pushing back his blazer. I saw a holster on
h
is
hip, along with the shine of his badge.

"Police."

“They in a hurry?”

“Doesn’t look it.”

"
Then the neighbors didn’t call us in. Flip the lock,"
Solomon
instructed, moving straight into not-wanting-to-be-caught-committing-a-crime mode
. "We'll head out back. We can cross the yard and take the rear alley."

I hit the lock
, knowing
that they wouldn't find the door unexpectedly unlocked, which would
raise the question of why
a murder victim’s
place was left unsecured
. As I looked up a
gain, keeping my body concealed from the glass panel in the door,
the second man stepped out of the car and rested his arms on the roof, saying something to his partner. Everything about him seemed familiar.

My heart stopped and my mouth dropped open.

What was
he
doing here?

"Let's go," said Solomon in a low voice, from the kitchen. I raced to join him at the back door as the two men made their way along the footpath. As I passed through the kitchen, I took a second cursory glance at the countertops, taking in the pots for tea and coffee, packets of cereal and cake mix boxes. A box-sized gap lay between the cupcake and chocolate cake mix, like Jillian had just pulled out a mix to bake and didn’t have time to replace it
. It left the otherwise neat and orderly kitchen at odds with the space
. Before I could mention it, Solomon had the door open and I raced out, waiting while he
closed the door and crouched down, fiddling with the lock. It clicked and locked as we stooped down at the sound of the front door opening. Then we duck-walked around the side of the building, while pressing our backs to the siding. "I want to know who they are." Solomon jerked his head to the house. "We'll drive past and get a license plate."

"No need," I told him. "I know who they are."

"
You recognized them?
Tell me in the car." Solomon leaned forward, looking up at the house; and for a moment, I wondered what he was doing. "No windows overlooking this side. We'll cross the yard that way, over the fence and head through the alley." Solomon pointed our direction, then grabbed my hand, tugging me along after him
before I could comment
. We kept low, traveling swiftly across the yard, away from unseen eyes. Solomon hopped over the fence like it was nothing. I swung a leg and would have tripped if he hadn't caught me, setting me to rights
before I could utter an indignant squeak
. I followed him silently along the rear alley, trying not to think about what I discovered the last time I was in an alley. Thankfully, this one was blessedly free
of corpses
. Reaching the street, we jogged until we reached the
Lexus
. Solomon wordlessly took the keys and slid into the driver's side.

"Who were at the house?" he asked me as
I tugged off my
gloves. "I'm going to hazard a guess and say you're not related to the local PD."

"Right," I agreed because it was somewhat of a joke that I was related to nineteen of Montgomery's finest. "I didn't recognize the first man."

"And the second?" Solomon peeled off his gloves before tucking them into his pocket.

I stopped fiddling with my gloves,
shoving mine into my pocket too
, as I turned to him. "Maddox."

Solomon was quiet several minutes; then he turned the engine on and pulled out onto the street. I shrunk down in my seat as we
rounded the corner and
passed Jillian's house. "I want to know if we've just walked into the middle of the police investigation," he said.

"Captain McAuley didn't say anything about the police being involved."

"No, he didn't," agreed Solomon,
but he didn’t sound happy about it
.

~

I called Garrett while on the way back to the base and caught him still at the station
, which made me wonder if he had actually moved into it
.

“Do you go ever go home?”

"Paperwork is a bitch," he said. "And I'm hungry."

"Sorry to call you at a bad time." My stomach gave a low rumble. He wasn't the only one.

"You haven't. What's up?"

"I need to ask you a couple questions," I said.

"Shoot."

"Did Maddox get a new partner?"

"
Uh, d
unno. Want me to ask around?"

"No," I said. The last thing I wanted to do was
appear
to be stalking my ex. "Just let me know if you hear anything."

"Ok
-a
ay," agreed Garrett, drawing out the vowel. "Do I get to know why you're asking?"

"No, just curious."

"Yeah," snorted Garrett
, incredulously
. "You need anything else?"

"Have you heard the name Jillian Connor?"

"Why?"

"I'm not sure if she's being investigated for something. Her name came up," I said, sticking to vague ambiguity. Lying for the job was one thing, lying to family was different, and it made me uncomfortable.
I figured that
seeing as
Garrett didn’t talk about work at all back when he was doing his undercover days and we hardly saw him
, he wouldn’t think it so odd
. It seemed a long time ago to me now. It was also ironic that of all the family’s footsteps I would choose to fill, it would be his.

"Can't say I have. Want me to run a check?"

"Would you?
Discreetly.
I just want to know if she came up in any investigation."

"You know I can't tell you anything if she's part of an ongoing investigation," Garrett warned.

"I know; but would you look anyway?"

"Sure. I'll call you back."

"Any luck?" asked Solomon, his eyes on the road.

I shook my head. "I don't have a name for Maddox's partner."

"Probably not important. I'll ask
Fl
aherty
to get it. He still drinks with his old partner. What about Jillian?"

"Garrett will call me back. Hey, we just passed the exit." I jabbed a finger at the exit for Fort Charles as we flew past.

"Gotta stop by the office and sign some papers."