Cuts Like a Knife: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 1) (25 page)

I look at my stopwatch. I can almost guarantee the old dude is going to end the game exactly on time, so we’ve got less than three minutes left and the score is now 6-6. Tiffany and Kendra have scored three goals each. At least I think that’s who those little mudballs are. I know Attila’s daughter Stacey has at least that many. He screams
Staceeeey
every time she scores. His wife is even louder.

Their goalie, Olivia, makes a save and boots it. She slips and ends up on her butt. The ball shanks out of bounds a few feet from me, so that’s where we’ll get to throw it in. I look behind me and see Mom, Jimmy, Kaylen, and Klarissa huddled together under Jimmy’s golf umbrella. They look miserable. Weanies. They have a couple of soaked blankets wrapped around them.

Kendra runs over and picks up the ball to throw it in. In a moment of inspiration I tell her, “Score a goal and win and Coach Kristen will do a belly flop in the puddle with you after the game.”

• • •

Coach Attila smiles and is gracious as he shakes hands after the game.

“You all really improved this year. Nice job and good win. See you in the fall if you’re coaching—and no hard feelings from the first time we played.”

I mumble a “nice game” back to him and try to get a quick apology out, but I’m mobbed by my team. I feel bad. I’m still holding a grudge and he ends up being a nice, normal parent. What does that make me—besides not a parent?

It’s showtime, and I break away from my clump of jumping and yammering seven-year-olds and run for the middle of the field. I dive and sure enough slide at least twenty feet. My face and hair are covered with mud. I wish I had zipped my sweat suit top tighter because I think the inside of my bra is now enhanced with a couple gallons of ooze.

I hear a cheer go up from kids and parents. We didn’t win the World Cup but I think we just had a successful season.

• • •

“More hot chocolate?”

“No thanks, Mom.”

We were supposed to go to the Pizza Palace as a team, but there was no way we could take the girls anywhere, as dirty as they were. Dunkin’ Donuts has four outside tables with umbrellas, so we all stopped for a quick sugar celebration. The rain was still coming down hard, but as wet as everyone already was, players and family members alike, it didn’t matter. I kept thank you’s and special awards to less than five minutes. No one complained. They never do when I keep it short and sweet. Everyone drove home happy.

It’s just Klarissa, Mom, and me finishing off a second cup of hot chocolate each. We’re all getting along and at peace. I wonder if the Cutter Shark has moved on or gone into an early hibernation. Or, with his lifestyle issues, if something violent has happened to him.

Van Guten said that the FBI estimates there are fifty active serial killers in America at any one time. But serial killers make mistakes and tend to get caught or killed.

I wonder if the turn of the calendar to May might not represent a turn in our fortunes with the Cutter Shark.

Dear
God, help us not let this guy get away.

37

“HEY, LLOYD.”

“Hey, Kristen.”

“Just the man I’ve been wanting to see.”

“Yeah?”

He sees I have my serious face on and is suddenly wary. We’re on the front steps of the church. Service is over.

“Yeah,” I say. “I forgot to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome. For what?”

“Your call.”

“You mean about the kid robbing old people?”

“Have you called me about anything else? Of course.”

“Duh. Dumb question. Glad that turned out good for you. I heard you all got him. But didn’t you get cut or something?

“A scratch.”

“Not what I heard. Let me see.”

I roll up my sleeve and show him the three-inch cut line.

“Too bad. That’s going to leave a scar.”

“It is?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “The doctor told me it would disappear!”

“Look for yourself. When did this happen, a month ago?”

“Five, maybe six weeks.”

“Well, it’s no big deal, but it is going to leave a scar.”

I didn’t want another scar. I already have enough scars inside and out.

“So where you been lately, Kristen?”

“Busy with this Cutter Shark thing.”

“Yeah, another dumb question. That’s all people are talking about. The Cutter Shark.”

“No kidding. I hate that Cutter Shark nickname. But it is obviously catchy.”

“Kind of says it all. We do miss seeing you on Wednesday nights. We’ve been having about thirty show up for Bible study.”

“Very nice. But lately I’m all meeting’d out.”

“I can imagine. You got any leads?”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

He rolls his eyes at my cheesy cliché.

“By the way, where’s that ace reporter sister of yours lately? Only time I see her is if the late news is on TV at the ER. She going to church somewhere else?”

“I’m pretty sure she is. She keeps telling us she’s just visiting because I don’t think she wants to hurt Jimmy’s feelings, but I think she has made a change. She told me she’s even going to Sunday school.”

“I’m impressed. Beautiful and devout. That’s the Conner girls.”

“At least two of them are beautiful.”

“Yeah right. I love your show of modesty, but I’m guessing you look in the mirror, too.”

“Well, Lloyd, you are just Mr. Sweetness.”

“That’s right. And stop being a stranger so you don’t forget it.”

I give him a salute and answer, “Yes, sir! And how about you? You doing okay?”

“Same old same old. Doctor says I have to lose some weight. So I’m on a diet.”

“No more Gas & Grub for lunch break?”

“I somehow knew that was going to come up. But nope. No more Gas & Grub. Not sure where you’re going to get your hot crime fighting tips now.”

“Unless you can find the Cutter Shark for me, you just need to worry about taking care of you and listen to your doctor.”

“How about I return the favor and tell you the same thing? You need to make sure you’re taking care of you, too. I may be a couple hundred pounds overweight but you better eat a sandwich or you’re going to blow away with the wind.”

“Believe me, Lloyd, I eat. Plenty.”

“I know. I’ve seen you in action. I also know you work out like you’re training for a triathlon. So I’ll correct myself and say you need to eat two sandwiches.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes at him.

“Kristen,” Lloyd says, now serious. “You’ve got a lot you’re working through. It’s been a tough year for the Conner girls. And your mom. Even if you can’t make Wednesday nights until this Cutter Shark mess is done, make sure you get yourself in a place where you can open up about the hard stuff of life with some people who care about you.”

“Yes, sir,” I say and salute again.

“Okay, okay. I know when you’re blowing me off. But as tight as you’re wound up right now, I don’t want to see you snapping.”

I give Lloyd a stare. He holds his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, I said too much. But I do have the special power to see when your invisible force field goes up to shut everyone out. Which is most of the time. Just remember, you can’t always be the lone wolf.”

Wound up too tight? I shut everyone out? Are my friends and loved ones talking amongst themselves? Is there a Fix-Kristen conspiracy going on?

I look over Lloyd’s shoulder and see Dell’s revenge date, Carrie, walking by, arm in arm with some guy I don’t recognize. Dell obviously didn’t listen to my advice and pursue her—or if he did, he scared her off with plans for an Amish expedition. She was probably too young for him anyway. I’ll have to give Jimmy a hard time about running a dating service at church.

• • •

“Hey, stranger. No hello?” Dell asks, trying to look as if everything is normal, but with his face scrunched up like I’ve punched him in the stomach. Is the pained expression because of seeing me or because he just saw Carrie with someone else? Please let it be the latter.

I open my car door to hop in to head over to Kaylen’s for lunch and Kendra plops into the passenger seat. She likes to ride with me—like it’s a special treat. He bends over and waves to her.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi, Mr. Dell,” she answers.

“Wow,” he says with a whistle, “someone has fixed up your aunt’s ride.”

Patricia hasn’t talked to me since last Tuesday night. Jeff called the office on Thursday to set up a time to drop my car off and get the keys to the Mercedes I drove for two days—I had no choice, it was the only set of keys I had after our late-night interview with Jonathan and I had no idea where he took my car. I felt both incredibly guilty and amazed over the ride the whole time. When he called my office to make the switch—he refused to let Sheila patch the call through to me—I hoofed down with my checkbook to pay for the repairs—hope Mom has a few extra bucks to loan me because I’m not asking Klarissa even if we are getting along—but Jeff wouldn’t even look at me, much less answer a single question. He handed me my keys and took the keys to the 500SE, got in, and drove off. I am going to miss that ride.

I found the work order in the glove compartment. There was no price for the work and the itemization was handwritten on a generic form, so the mechanic’s name and contact information was not on it. Not only did Jeff have the starter replaced, but he had his mechanic friend do a whole laundry list of maintenance items. And then he had the car detailed inside and out. I don’t know what kind of wax the guy used, but the black paint looks shiny and gorgeous again. Same with the tan leather seats and convertible top. It drives like a charm. And it starts up immediately. I’m still in the habit of parking on hills just in case I wake up and it was all a dream.

When you’re a cop, you do get some freebies. Some restaurants refuse to take your money for a meal, for example. Some cops abuse the generosity of others and start expecting everything to be for free. Others won’t take anything. Ever. I’ve read and signed the CPD ethics policy statement. This is a gray area. Jeff didn’t do anything for me based on my performance in the line of duty. On the other hand, I would never have met Patricia if I hadn’t been working the Saint Bart’s AA meeting on behalf of the CPD.

I better get this reported to Zaworski. And even if Jeff wouldn’t take my check, I’m still going to pay them back. That doesn’t have anything to do with institutional policy. I just feel lousy about how things went south so fast. I’ll show Jimmy the bill and have him look over my car this afternoon and ask him how much he thinks it all cost. I know I can’t pay Jeff and Patricia back in one or two paychecks, but I’ll start sending them something every month to settle this.

“It was time to get a few things looked at,” I say to Dell. “It even starts without a long hill,” I add.

“Nice.”

“Are you coming for lunch, Mr. Dell?” Kendra asks.

“Not this week, sweetie,” he answers. He better not be. I may not be able to keep him from attending the same church as me—which doesn’t sound very Christian of me—but I do have the right to be with my family without a guy who won’t let go of being there.

He looks up at me with a searching glance after he says it. Is he sniffing around for a lunch invite? Probably.

“You take care,” he says.

He walks briskly to his car without looking back. I’m just not going to see him anymore. At all. Period.

Kendra and I talk and giggle the whole way over to her house. I’ve never seen her carry a purse to church. She shows me the reason she has it now. She used it to smuggle her Kristen doll to show all her friends. If Kendra’s mommy finds out, we’re both—make that all three of us if you include the Kristen doll—in big trouble. All of us might end up in time-out.

I turn off my car and park it in a turnout in front of their house. My mind flashes back to Lloyd. One more person in the long line of people claiming I have issues keeping people at arm’s length.

38

May 14, 11:43 p.m.

I NEED TO
get back
on schedule. I’ve never
golfed before but I know
about a mulligan. You
get to choose one shot per round that doesn’t count and you get a do-over.

I’ve made a decision. Candace is my mulligan. I am turning the clock back to Sandra Reed for when it is time to go again. Looking at
my watch—well, what
do you know?—it’s time again now.

My FBI
fans might argue that
I’m going early for a
second time in a row and that it is an indication I’m not following my pattern as carefully as before. Blah
blah. First of all, it
is my decision when I act. Their criticism is only meant to cover their own ineptitude. Secondly, they’ve probably
never heard of a mulligan.