Cuts Like a Knife: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 1) (33 page)

51

I THINK YOU are supposed to vacuum before you dust. Vacuuming stirs up dust, so it undoes—at least in part—what you’ve just got done doing. That’s what Mom always told me, anyway. I always remember her words of wisdom after I’ve dusted first. Resigned, I wind up the cord on my vacuum cleaner and push it in the back corner of the small coat closet in my front hallway. The thought robs me of some of the satisfaction I feel for having a top-to-bottom clean apartment—even if I never get to the cobwebs in the corners of the crown molding.

I still feel much better than I did after seeing Dell at the Chicago Diner. Clean bathroom; clean kitchen; clean everything. I got two loads of laundry done, which is all my laundry. I’ve got a pile of warm whites on my bed. Won’t take me more than fifteen minutes to fold them and put them away. Even my desk is cleared in my second bedroom. Okay, the top right drawer will barely shut with all the junk mail and unpaid bills I’ve still got to sort through, but the clutter is out of sight. Fresh sheets are on the spare beds for the kids.

Kendra’s eight now and doesn’t want to sleep in the same room with James. James has trouble going to sleep by himself unless he’s in his own room at his own house. I’ll whisper in Kendra’s ear to lie down in the bed next to him for twenty minutes until he falls asleep. Sometimes that even works and then she runs over to my room and jumps in bed with me. Once she fell asleep before James, and I left her to sleep in the guest room with him all night. She was so hurt and distraught, she wouldn’t talk to me the whole drive back over to her house. So if she does fall asleep with James tonight, I’ll pick her up and carry her over to my bed before I drift off.

But sometimes neither kid can fall asleep. Then I let both of them come over to my bed. One of my few extravagances in life is having a king-size bed, which means there should be plenty of room for the three of us. It doesn’t quite work out in real life, however. James never stops moving. He wiggles. He tosses and turns. He gets sideways and starts using his feet to claim new territory. He is fundamentally a sprawler. I end up on the very edge of my bed, one arm draped over the side. Kendra ends up snuggled tight against my back, her breath on my neck. Sir James ends up with two-thirds of the bed.

Clothes put away, I lace up my Nikes and head out the door.

• • •

I do a fairly hard 5K run in just a little under thirty minutes. Back in my college days I could run a 10K in thirty minutes. That’s five-minute miles. Back in my college days, I barely noticed my oft-repaired right knee either. The knee is barking at me again. Is that what happens when you turn thirty?

I strip down and take a glorious fifteen-minute shower. I’m not going to have time to dry my hair if I’m going to pick the kids up at six. Doesn’t matter. It’s in the upper seventies and I’ll just pull it back in a ponytail and let the wind do whatever it wants to with it. My niece and nephew love me, regardless of what my hair looks like. I put on a jean skirt, just a little shorter than Mom and Kaylen approve of, but a couple inches longer than Klarissa, the beauty queen, wears. I pull a black cotton, sleeveless shirt over my head and look in the mirror. It used to be half a size tighter than Mom’s standards of modesty—which are pretty strict, I might add—but I notice that I really have lost weight. Maybe Lloyd had a point. I was already small up top—I think I’ve disappeared now. Looking for a serial killer for a couple months has been tougher than I thought. No wonder Major Reynolds is doing his part to try and put some meat back on my bones. He’s asking me out for mercy dates.

I grab my purse and phone and head down the stairs to my car. Two missed calls. One is from Don. That’s unusual for a Saturday. He’s a hard worker, but he is also able to separate the job from family time with Vanessa and his kids. The other is from a number that I don’t recognize. It’s not a Chicago area code.

I key in my password and listen to the first message. “Kristen, this is Don. Wanted to catch up with you before Monday. I hear you’ve figured out a way to get invited to the executive task force meetings. I’m impressed—and a little surprised—by your strategy of dating one of the big dogs. Don’t forget us little people on your way to the top. Hey, I’m kidding, so don’t get your nose bent out of shape. I do want to hear what was said, though.”

What a jerk. I know he’s joking. But sometimes when people tease, there’s some real feeling packed into it. I get accused of being paranoid, but anyone would hear a barb in his message. But it doesn’t make me as mad as the next.

“Kristen, this is Dr. Van Guten. I stopped by your cube over at CPD. You were already gone.” She paused, as if to emphasize that I should have still been at work on a beautiful Saturday afternoon if she was. “I was talking to Director Willingham and at the risk of being rude, we wanted to make sure you know that we take this business with the ChiTownVlogger very seriously. We don’t want anything that was said in today’s meeting being repeated over at CPD outside of direct task force members—or with anyone in the media. That includes WCI-TV and family members. Just in case you are wondering, this isn’t Reynolds’ call. This is straight from the deputy director. Call me on my cell if this isn’t clear or you have any questions.”

At the risk of being rude. If this isn’t clear? She’s accusing me of sharing secrets from our investigation with Klarissa?

God, I know that vengeance is yours, but I want to
pop her in the mouth so bad.

• • •

I thought the kids were spending the night. Maybe they’re moving in with me for good. Both have suitcases on wheels.

“I’ll have them to church on time,” I say in response to Kaylen’s admonition that I do so for the third or fourth time. I suck it up, since to be fair, I have been late more than once.

Jimmy slams the trunk shut. The kids share a seat belt on the passenger side. Kaylen looks worried. She always looks worried when the kids get in my car.

“I’ll drive safe and slow,” I say to Kaylen with a stern voice.

She laughs and bends over and hugs my neck.

“Are you eating?” she says. “You’re getting as thin as Klarissa.”

“Same as always . . . everything in sight,” I answer.

“We’re either going to have to feed you more or you’re going to have to cut back on your crazy workouts.”

I’ve never noticed Mom’s tone of voice in her before. I hear it this time. I roll my eyes at her, blow her a kiss, and we’re off to Chuck E. Cheese’s for lukewarm pizza and a scary mechanical gorilla singing oldies.

I’m glad the top is still down. It’s too noisy to talk to the kids and I still need to cool down after hearing Van Guten’s message. I’m hoping Jimmy and Kaylen didn’t see how angry I was. I shouldn’t have listened to my voice messages before picking up my angels.

52

May 16, 7:30 p.m.

I
NEED TO
change plans. I
don’t like that. If I
had wanted something
different to happen I would
have planned it that way in the first place. The Cutter Shark is not happy. And I’m not happy
that I’m using that
stupid name the ChiTownVlogger gave me. Bad
name begets bad name. This is my story, not his.

My tool kit is carefully packed. Hypodermics—check. Axe—check.
Carving knife—check. Butcher knife—check. Scalpel—check. Bolt
cutter—check. Whetstone for sharpening—check. Rubber suit, nylon
gloves, and boots—check. Plastic bag to discard items—check. Wet
wipes—check.

Where is
she? This was my special night. Mine. What about me and my feelings?
She has never shown an ounce of consideration.
She is all about herself. She is selfish. I hate country music, but I like the song
that big-buck Okie sings, “I wanna talk about me.” Me too. I want to talk about me. And I want everyone else
to talk about me too!
For once.

Okay. Time for
Plan B. What to do, what to do, what to do?
Abort? Wait and see if she returns? Settle
for someone else? I hate to settle. It’s never as satisfying.

I’m
going to use Occam’s
razor; when in doubt over two possible explanations, go with the simplest one. I’m in doubt
as to whether I should press forward or fall back. What’s simplest?
Press on. Because despite a setback that would
crush the spirit
of lesser individuals, I am resourceful. I am resilient—as resilient as soft supple skin. I am
charming—though apparently
she is immune to my charms, a deficiency
for which she will be punished. But I’m out
and dressed for success
and I intend to have my success.

I’ve always
like Occam. He was
smart—and he always
had a razor. My fellow man.

I have been cheated of total satisfaction. By a woman. That’s just insulting.

But
I will set it right. I always do. Even if she
has eluded me tonight, she
has merely postponed the
inevitable.

I will be coming for you, Sweetheart . . . soon.

53

I WAKE UP with a start, light streaming on my face. It’s 8:45. The kids’ Sunday school starts at 9:25. I have no idea why it doesn’t start at 9:30 or, even better on this particular morning, at ten or some other round number. I just know that it takes thirty minutes to get there and the kids are gone to the world. Kendra is one foot from the edge of the bed. She’d be all the way on the edge, but that was the space afforded to me. James is at a forty-five-degree angle, his head in the direction of the foot of the bed. He looks very comfortable. He ought to; he worked hard to get the whole bed to himself.

I throw the bedroom curtains all the way back and start barking for the kids to get up and get ready in a hurry. Neither looks so inclined. Kaylen is going to be mad.

We had a great time at Chuck’s. Klarissa ended up joining us and that was a blast. After winning close to a million tickets, most of them based on my mad skills at skee ball, we were able to cash in and get both kids a prize worth at least one buck each.

We invited Klarissa to make it a slumber party, but I think the mechanical gorilla was all the youthful frivolity she could handle, so she booked it back to her place, winding her GTR’s engine into a loud whine before she exited the parking lot. Kendra, James, and I pulled up to Chez Kristen at ten with yet another voice message waiting for me. I keep saying I am going to get rid of my landline since I never talk to anyone on it. It is, however, my defacto message machine—and who would I hang up on if salespeople didn’t have it to pass around?

I hit the flashing red button and put it on speakerphone. It was Dell with a tone of voice the kids had never heard. Me either.

“Well, well, well . . . I guess you’re really not at a seeing-somebody phase in your life,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, loud enough for me, the kids, and my neighbors on either side to hear before I could snatch up the receiver and click off the speakerphone.

“Nice way to repay someone who treated you like a queen. That’s right, a queen. Thanks for kicking me in the teeth. I deserved better and you sure as heck didn’t deserve to be treated as good as I was to you. I have assumed you have had a rough year because of your dad—but now I’m not so sure. I’m not sure you have feelings. No one has ever treated me as poorly as you. Lucky you have a nice family or you wouldn’t have a friend in the world. You asked for space and I gave you all the space in the world and boy did you run with it. Your day will come. You’ll know how it feels to get hurt and abused by someone you care about. Payback is a killer. And, princess? I know the world revolves around you and your whims, so good news, you won’t be hearing from me again.”

I put the phone down gently. The kids were looking at me with curious eyes. I forced a smile.

“Is Mr. Dell mad at you?” James asked. “Is he going to beat you up?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kendra said to him. “Boys aren’t allowed to beat girls up.”

“They are too!” he yelled. “And you’re not allowed to say ‘stupid,’ stupid!”

“And neither are you,” I said, tickling him. “Now get your pajamas on and let’s watch a movie, you two!”

I wish Kendra was right. But sometimes boys do beat up girls. I will be running a background check on Mr. Dell first thing Monday morning.

I didn’t even bother putting the kids in the spare bedroom. We all climbed in my bed and watched half a Disney movie before the kids—actually all of us—finally succumbed to the call of sleep. I woke up an hour later to check all the locks on my door and was wide awake. So I watched the rest of
Beauty and the Beast
by myself. When I was a little girl I liked to think of myself as Belle—the hair color was even right. But I wonder if I became the beast when I grew up.