Authors: Katie Allen
“It
will
be,” Rhodes corrected. “Right now it’s an empty piece of shit with really hard floors.”
Pete laughed.
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Katie Allen
Chapter Twelve
“How’d we get stuck with wall washing when those two get to shop?” Trevor bitched as he scrubbed.
Wash shrugged. “I don’t mind. Gives us a chance to talk.”
“Does it?” Pressing back a knowing grin, Trevor asked innocently, “What were you thinking of talking about?”
Wash flicked some soapy water at him. Ducking, Trevor laughed.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Wash said. “Maybe we could talk about that muscle-bound cop who spends most of his time with his hands down your pants.”
Concentrating very hard on washing a certain spot on the wall, Trevor felt heat creep into his face. “What about him?”
“We could start with the part where he had his hands down your pants,” Wash suggested, tossing his rag into the bucket and giving up any pretense of doing anything except talking.
“You didn’t seem to mind watching,” Trevor reminded him. His face was on fire.
“That’s because I didn’t,” Wash said baldly. “You two are fucking hot together.” He laughed. “You two are fucking hot
apart
too.”
Trevor squirmed. “C’mon, Wash. I don’t make you talk about Rhodes.”
With a laugh, Wash told him, “That’s ’cause you don’t need to ask. I just talk.”
Trevor just looked at him.
“Fine,” Wash relented. “But let’s take a break. We can do some research on the neighbors.”
“Sounds good,” Trevor readily agreed, tossing his own rag in the bucket. They settled on the floor and Wash put Pete’s laptop across his thighs.
“Aren’t we still missing last names?” Trevor asked, watching as Wash entered Pete’s password and his desktop appeared on the screen.
“Nope,” Wash said, opening the internet and logging on to a site they often used for background checks. “While you were in grabbing beer for everyone, we did introductions. Pete played dumb, so Morty and Iris helped him out and gave us the rundown of the neighbors. I jotted them down on a bathroom break.”
“Ah.” Trevor nodded. “Smart.”
“I know. My idea.” Wash gave him a cheeky grin as he entered a name. “Might as well check our two helpful seniors out first. Let’s see.” He scrolled down the screen.
“Iris and Mortimer Hammitt. They’ve lived in their house for thirty-two years, owned 124
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their Buick for twelve and that Iris is a bit of a speed-demon—she gets a ticket every year or so. All paid.”
“Huh,” Trevor grunted. “That’s boring. Try the next one.”
“How about our twitchy friend Marsha Hayes?” His fingers tapped against the keys. “Ooh, now we’re getting some interesting shit. Check it out.” Wash turned the computer so Trevor could view the screen.
“What am I looking for?” Trevor asked.
“Right here.” Wash pointed. “Two arrests five years ago—one for trespassing and one for violating a restraining order.”
“Whoa.” Trevor looked at him. “Restraining order. So she was stalking someone?”
“Could be,” Wash told him with a shrug. “Could also be she was protesting somewhere and the company took out a restraining order against her. She also could’ve had a real asshole of an ex-boyfriend who called the cops when she came to get her stuff after they broke up—something like that.”
“Something to look into, at least.”
Wash grinned at him. “Definitely.”
“Do Michelle next,” Trevor urged.
“I thought we’d decided she probably wasn’t the dick-dicer,” Wash said, although he typed in her name.
“We did but we should still look into her. Maybe there’s someone in her life who doesn’t like the shitty way her husband was treating her.”
“Good point.”
As Wash scrolled down, reading the information the search had pulled up on Michelle, the sound of Pete and Rhodes returning came from the floor below.
“Let me grab the guys,” Trevor offered, getting to his feet. “They should be in on this.”
Wash nodded absently, still reading. As Trevor clattered down the stairs, Pete looked up at him and grinned. Warmth spread through Trevor’s stomach at how honestly happy Pete looked to see him. He had to restrain himself from running at Pete and tackling him.
“Come upstairs and check it out,” he told the two men. “Wash is doing background checks and Marsha was a stalker.”
“Yeah?” Pete glanced up at the second level. “Weren’t you guys supposed to be prepping walls for painting?” His voice was teasing though, his eyes warm. Rhodes snorted a laugh as he started up the stairs.
Trevor rolled his eyes. “Which is more important,” he asked, “solving a violent murder or painting some bedrooms?”
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“Okay, okay.” Pete gave in. He nudged Trevor up the stairs in front of him, murmuring in his ear, “Just remember—as soon as those rooms are painted, we get beds. Real, soft beds you sink into, with a headboard you can tie someone to…”
Trevor swallowed. “Um…maybe we should start painting.” Pete laughed softly and he stifled a groan.
* * * * *
Everyone else in the neighborhood appeared to be, according to the background checks at least, boringly normal. There were a few traffic tickets and Terrance had a citation for road rage, but nothing earth shattering appeared on any of the residents’
reports that screamed out, “This person killed Greg Lawson!”
They spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon painting. Despite a minor argument about color, in which Trevor insisted any color called “Woodchuck Hollow” was going to look like shit, even if it
was
just for one wall, they’d completed all three bedrooms and the bathroom before early evening mellowed the light streaming through the windows.
“Okay,” Trevor admitted, studying their bedroom walls. “So it doesn’t look like shit. What kind of name is ‘Woodchuck Hollow’ anyway?”
“Is he still talking about the fucking name of the fucking paint?” Rhodes grumbled from the doorway. He and Wash had just been showering off two days of stain and paint and everyday dirt. “Can’t you shut him up, Pete? I’m hungry.”
“Steaks on the grill?” Pete suggested.
Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Grill?”
“Yep.” Pete grinned at him. “Bought a grill
and
a lawnmower.”
With a laugh, Trevor asked, “So lawn work tomorrow?”
“Assholes—focus,” Rhodes snapped. “Food.”
“Steaks coming up,” Pete laughed, grabbing Trevor by the hand and hauling him from the room.
* * * * *
After dinner, they arranged themselves on the front porch. Pete was starting to feel like a settled old man with all these evenings of porch sitting they were doing.
“So what do we know about this case?” Rhodes asked. He seemed to be in a much better mood with some food inside him.
“Well, the general consensus is the victim was an asshole,” Pete said.
“A cheating asshole,” Wash clarified.
“A cheating bisexual asshole,” Trevor said.
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“Right.” Pete looked over the front yard. “It’s a good thing we bought that lawnmower. The grass is looking a little jungle-y.”
“Can we focus here?”Rhodes asked politely and Pete grinned at him. Trevor spoke up again. “The whole cheating bisexual thing sure opens up the field to everyone, men and women.”
Wash shook his head. “It was open anyway. Sex isn’t the only reason people kill each other. Could’ve been anger, money, revenge…lots of reasons.”
“That’s true.” Pete flipped through his notebook. “Wish I had a whiteboard. So our best suspect—on paper, at least—is Marsha.”
Shaking his head, Rhodes said, “I don’t think she did it. What about that kid who’s always spying on people?”
“Danny?” Nibbling on the inside of his cheek, Pete considered that. “I can’t see him as a suspect but we should talk with him. The kid’s looked in enough windows—he might’ve seen something.”
“You guys do realize it probably wasn’t someone from the neighborhood, right?”
Wash reminded them. “We’re not all trapped in a mansion with Mr. Body. People do have cars.”
“Maybe,” Pete acknowledged. “As you said, though, people murder because of strong emotions. There’re a lot of emotions tangled up on this block.”
Trevor snorted. “Very poetic.”
“Ass,” Pete said fondly, reached over to bump his fist against Trevor’s shoulder.
“Okay,” Rhodes said. “Since we can’t interview everyone in the tri-state area, how about we stick with the suspects we know.”
“Why not start with Liar-Liar-Pants-on-Fire Terrance?” Wash suggested. “Since we all agreed he was, you know, lying.”
“He’s a good starting point,” Pete agreed. “A road-rage citation—that could indicate he doesn’t control his anger very well.”
“So his wife is having an affair with Greg—” Wash began, only to be interrupted by Trevor.
“Or
he’s
having an affair with him.”
Wash nodded. “Or he’s having an affair with Greg and something sets him off.”
Trevor sat up straight in his chair. “Terrance saw us—in the kitchen, I mean. When Greg was coming on to me. Marsha almost ran into him on her way out.”
“Right before we left Marsha’s that night,” Pete said slowly, thinking back, “wasn’t Terrance arguing with Greg?”
Trevor nodded. “They were having an intense discussion about something, at least.”
“Interesting,” Rhodes said. “That means…” He paused, staring intently across the yard. “There’s our peeping Tom.”
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Whipping his head around, Pete saw the teenager sit on the top step of his front porch. Pete jumped up and hurried down the steps toward the house across the street. Danny was fiddling with a skateboard, which distracted his attention enough to allow Pete to get just a few feet from him before Danny noticed he wasn’t alone. The teen jumped up but Pete took the final two steps to close the gap between them and grabbed the boy’s shoulder.
“Danny, hang on,” he said.
“Let go,” the kid muttered, trying to twist away from Pete’s hand. Tightening his fingers on the wiry shoulder, Pete held on. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I just want to talk to you.”
Although Danny wasn’t pulling back anymore, his muscles were tense and ready to flee.
“I know you see a lot of what goes on around here,” Pete said. “I was wondering if you had seen anything that night Greg Lawson was killed?”
Dropping his eyes, Danny shook his head.
“Nothing? A strange car? Someone coming out of their house?”
Another headshake.
“That’s okay,” Pete told him. “What about earlier? Did you see Greg fighting with anyone? Was there anything at all unusual?”
Danny hesitated, shooting a quick glance up at Pete’s face.
“There was, wasn’t there?” Although the prospect of a lead had him excited, Pete forced his voice to stay calm and even. He didn’t want to spook the kid now. “What’d you see?”
“Nothing,” Danny said.
Pete snorted. “You’re not a very good liar, kiddo.”
Shooting him a glare, the boy resumed his struggle to escape.
“C’mon, Danny,” Pete urged. “Don’t you want the sheriff to catch whoever did this to Greg?”
Danny stilled. “Yeah,” he muttered, not raising his head.
“Then tell me.” There was only silence.
I’ve lost him
, Pete thought, looking at the top of the kid’s bowed head. He’d dyed his hair a dull black. “What’d you use on your hair—black shoe polish?”
His head shot up at that and he glowered at Pete.
“Sorry.” Pete grimaced. That wasn’t the best thing to say when interviewing the kid. “What color is it normally?”
“Blond,” Danny told him gruffly, his eyes still angry and suspicious. Pete grinned at him. “You should go back to that. With those blue eyes, you’d look like Joey’s little brother.”
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The kid actually blushed. His scowl had faded, so Pete thought he’d try his luck again.
“Won’t you tell me what you saw?” he asked.
Danny hesitated and then mumbled, “He and Terrance…you know.”
His eyebrows shooting up, Pete clarified, “Greg and Terrance were lovers?”
Bright red, Danny gave an awkward nod.
“You saw them?”
“Didn’t mean to,” the boy protested. “They were drinking beer and watching baseball at the Lawsons’ house a few weeks ago. They were getting pretty wasted, so I was thinking I could sneak into the garage and take some beer out of the fridge, but then…” The poor kid’s face was as red as clown lips.
“Homerun?” Pete offered, his mouth twitching up at the corners. Danny gave a huff of embarrassed laughter. “Yeah.”
“Was that…” Pete stopped talking when Danny’s gaze shifted over to something behind them. Half-turning, Pete watched as Len’s minivan screeched into the driveway.
“Get your fucking hands off him,” Len snarled as he jumped out of the driver’s side door and circled the van. “Get away from him, do you hear me?”
Releasing Danny’s shoulder, Pete lifted his hands, palms out. “It’s okay, Len. We were just talking—”
Len charged forward and gave Pete a shove. “Stay away from him, you fucking homo!”
Pete gritted his teeth, dying to shove Len up against the house, jerk his hands behind his back and slap cuffs on him, but Pete didn’t have his handcuffs. He also didn’t have his badge or any kind of authority to arrest the man. Still, Pete was tempted.
“Get inside, Daniel,” Len ordered.
“Fuck off, Dad.”
Pete turned to look at the kid, surprised at the tearful crack in Danny’s voice—and that’s when Len swung. Pete jerked his head back to avoid the punch but wasn’t quick enough. Len’s fist clipped his jaw, knocking his head to the side. He staggered but managed to stay on his feet.
“Pete!” Trevor yelled. Rhodes and Wash appeared behind Len. They each grabbed one of Len’s arms as Trevor ran to Pete.
“You okay?” Trevor asked, touching the spot on Pete’s jaw where the punch had landed.
Pete nodded. “Fine.”
“Should we call the sheriff?” Rhodes asked and Pete shook his head, regretting that move when a flash of pain reverberated through his teeth. 129