Hard Job Page 7

  “No, nothing out of the ordinary.” He hesitated a moment, before getting to the next thing he had to tell her. “Ballistic testing did confirm the bullet which killed Helliman came from the same gun that killed Jackson.”

  Reightman’s chest tightened a bit, but she focused of what Tom had said. She realized that any mention of Jackson still hurt, and probably would for a while. “So, we know the same person fired the gun which killed both of them.”

  “No, not exactly. Technically, we know the same gun was used to kill both of them,” he said gently, realizing she was trying to get past Jackson’s death and do her job. “I think we can work on the assumption the same person pulled the trigger in both instances, but we should remember that assumption might have to change.

  Reightman left him feeling that at least work was getting done, even if there weren’t many answers yet. “If we do the work, we will find the answers,” she assured herself, and moved to the next items on her list.

  Thursday afternoon a call came in from the switchboard and was routed to Jackson’s desk. Detective Jones was spending a lot of time there these days and he answered the call. She forced down a surge of resentment when he picked up the receiver, but she swallowed it down, knowing it was unreasonable to feel that way just because the someone who answered Sam’s phone wasn’t Sam. She did, however, stop what she was doing to listen to Jones’ side of the conversation.

  “I’m sorry, but Detective Jackson isn’t available,” Jones told the caller, glancing apologetically toward Reightman. “I’m Detective Jones, and I’m helping out for the time being.” Reightman felt tension build inside her when she heard Jones refer to Sam, but it eased when she heard the next words.

  “She did?....You’re sure it’s the same person, Mr. Goldbleum?....Yeah, I got it….I’ll try and drop by later this afternoon….Yes, sir, thank you for calling.” He hung up the phone and wrote a couple of notes down on a scratch pad before looking up into her expectant face.

  “Sorry – I had to write down a thought before I lost it,” Jones apologized. “As you probably heard, that was Mr. Goldbleum from the pawn shop where the knife that killed Guzman was found. He said the same person who bought the knife came in today, except this time, they were selling, not buying.”

  “She,” Reightman said.

  Jones looked puzzled until he understood what she meant. “Yes – sorry. He said the woman who bought the knife was selling today. She brought in some expensive jewelry. It was too rich for his blood and sent her on her way. About an hour after she left, he remembered he was supposed to call us.”

  “Is there video footage of the woman?”

  “He’s not sure. I’ll head down there later this afternoon and see what I can find out. If there isn’t video, I’ll try and coax a workable description out of him. If it sounds legit, we can get one of the staff artists to work up a drawing of some sort.”

  “I guess it’s the best we can do.” Reightman found herself running the photos Toby had provided – via Geri Guzman – through her mind. “Maybe she’ll be a match to one of them,” she mused, not realizing she’d spoken out loud.

  “What?” Jones asked

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just thinking out loud.”

  “I hear that’s common with you old folks,” Jones joked as he stood up from the chair. “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee from a real coffee shop on my way downtown. Would the offer to buy you a cup entice you to come with me to visit Goldbleum?”

  “We old folks have to watch our caffeine intake, Jones. So, as appealing as your offer is, I can’t. I have another errand to run in another hour or so anyway.”

  “Okay. I guess I’ll just have to pay full price then, since you won’t be with me to get the senior’s discount.”

  “Jones?” she said

  “Yeah?” he answered

  She almost said ‘shut up’, but changed her words at the last minute when she realized those were part of the shtick she’d shared with Jackson. “See you later,” she said instead.

  After Jones left, she sat back in her chair and looked over the small partition separating the two desks. “It’s time,” she decided. “Jones shouldn’t have to keep working around Sam’s things.” She went down to the copy center and grabbed a couple of cardboard paper boxes. She carried two boxes back to the desk and spent the next forty-five minutes packing up all of Sam’s belonging. She made herself pack methodically, and focused on the packing itself, instead of who the items had belonged to. Upon opening one drawer, she found a stack of the small notebooks Jackson had always used. She pulled them out and put them in her own desk. She might never use them, but she’d have them as a memento of sorts.

  When she finished packing up everything, she went to the breakroom and pulled out a bottle of cleaning solution. Bringing it back to the desk, she cleaned every surface and wiped down the computer and the phone. She threw the paper towels in the trash and stacked the boxes, and then picked up the phone and dialed Nancy.

  “Hey, Melba,” Nancy answered.

  “Hey,” Reightman responded. “Can you have someone come by and pick up the boxes by Jackson’s desk? I’ve packed up everything, and it might be nice to get them to Alice.”

  Nancy was quiet for a second or two. “Sure, I’ll send someone over in a few minutes. Will you be there?”

  “No, I’ll be away for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Okay, no problem.” Reightman could hear Nancy smack her gum before she continued. “If they’re all stacked up, I’m sure they’ll know which ones to take.”

  “They’re pretty much the only packed boxes around here. One more thing – can you order Detective Jones a nameplate for the desk? If he’s going to be hanging out around here, people might as well know where to deliver his mail. “

  “Yeah. If I get it ordered today, it’ll probably be here soon. The supplier’s pretty fast.”

  After Nancy hung up, Reightman sat in her chair, looking at the boxes for a good long while. She finally stood up and pulled her purse out of her drawer. Just as she was shouldering the bag, a young man came around the corner wheeling a dolly

  “Are these the boxes to be picked up, ma’am?”

  She looked at the name tag on his shirt. “Yes, Jimmy, these are them.” He started to load the boxes, but she stopped him. “I know this is going to sound weird, but….could you wait until I’m gone before you load them up and take them away?”

  “You leaving soon?”

  “I’m leaving right now.”

  “Then waiting’s no problem at all, ma’am.”

  She quickly walked away so she wouldn’t have to see the boxes leave. “Come on, Melba, it’s time to go buy a dress.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Christina Dameron pulled into the parking space a few yards down from Le Bistro Rouge, a trendy lunch spot few miles from the downtown business district. She checked her watch, hoping that she wasn’t too late. Marilyn Shaw absolutely hated to be kept waiting. She hurried through the brass trimmed double doors and scanned the interior until she spotted Marilyn seated at a small table near the back. She threaded her way through the space, occasionally exchanging brief smiles of recognition with the other lunch patrons.

  “Marilyn, I’m sorry if I’m late,” Christina apologized as she took a seat across from Marilyn at the cozy table for two.

  “You’re not late. I just got here a few minutes ago, myself. Traffic coming in from the lake was terrible.”

  The waiter handed them each a menu. “Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Jules and I’ll be serving you today. Can I bring you something to drink before you order?” He placed a glass of ice water down in front of each of them.

  “I’ll have glass of the house white,” Marilyn looked up at him and smiled invitingly, noting his continental good looks and the tight shirt stretched across his chest.

  “I’ll have the same,” Christina decided, after weighing the chance of being seen by an ultra-conservative constituent w
hile drinking during lunch, and the almost immediate benefits of having a drink. Alcohol won. Jules smiled and informed them he’d be back soon.

  “Do you know what you are getting?” Christina asked as she looked over the menu.

  “I know what I’d like for an appetizer,” Marilyn purred. “I could just about make a whole meal out of Jules.”

  “I don’t think he’s listed under either the appetizer or the entrée section of our menu.” Christina placed her menu down on the table, having decided on the watercress and endive salad served with roasted beets and goat cheese. Remembering the Shaw’s liked their quips to be appreciated, she added with a touch of playfulness, “I must admit though, I did see something which resembled Jules listed under dessert.”

  Marilyn laughed coyly while skimming one perfectly manicured nail down the menu. “Yes, the French pastry horn served with crème sounds delicious.”

  Jules returned a brief moment later with their wine. “Are you ready to order?”

  After each of the women communicated their choices and sampled their wine, Marilyn folded her hands on the table. “How have things been going, Christina?”

  Christina inwardly groaned at Marilyn’s opening gambit, but managed a small smile. “To tell you the truth, things haven’t been going as well as I’d hoped. Ever since Sutton’s disastrous rally in the park over the Labor Day weekend, everything has seemed a bit off kilter. I’ve been working diligently to get the campaign back on track and I think I’m making some progress, but there’s just so much I can do.”

  “Ephraim did mention Sutton’s speech wasn’t as well received as we all hoped. He said something about there being a lot of undesirables who kept pulling Sutton off track and caused quite a ruckus.”

  “Yes, they certainly contributed to the situation, but I’m not sure it was the only factor.”

  “What else could it have possibly been?” Marilyn asked.

  “Well, sometimes I feel Sutton’s messages don’t appeal to a broad enough demographic. He seems to focus too heavily on…” Christina trailed off as she tried to find the right words.

  “Deviant sinners, who threaten our morally and righteously earned lifestyles?” Marilyn suggested with one slighted arched eyebrow.

  “Maybe. I just wish he’d ease up on the message a bit, and work to make himself more likeable to a broader range of people.” Marilyn responded with a somewhat stony look, so Christina quickly added, “Of course, I totally support the conservative line on which we have built our platform, and thoroughly approve of the work we’re doing to clean up our society and to promote wholesome, Biblical based values.”

  Marilyn studied her intently and then lifted her wine glass and took a swallow. “Of course you do, Christina. No one has ever doubted your dedication, or the level of support you’ve given your husband.” She ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “What do you think his chances are? With the election, I mean.”

  “They’re fairly good.” Christina answered, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. “We have a very loyal base and thankfully, a single serious contender hasn’t emerged. The two liberal candidates are splitting the voters, which gives us an advantage.”

  “That’s encouraging,” Marilyn said approvingly. “How is the fundraising going?”

  Christina was spared the immediate need to answer by the appearance of their waiter. As Jules placed her food down and then turned to do the same for Marilyn, Christina tried to figure out how best to answer the question. The problem was, contributions had dropped off significantly over the past week, especially after Sutton’s Labor Day rally, and they were feeling the strain. There’d been a lot of unplanned expense and they were almost broke. She hoped Marilyn had no idea how deeply the Dameron family had reached into the campaign pot to tide themselves over during the past month.

  “Doesn’t that look wonderful?” Marilyn complimented as Jules leaned in to refill her water glass. Christina couldn’t tell if the other woman was referring to her food, or her waiter.

  “I hope you ladies enjoy your lunch,” Jules said as he backed away from the table.

  Marilyn followed him with her eyes, and then sampled her serving of chilled soup and looked across the table. “I think we were talking about the current state of the fundraising efforts?”

  “Thanks for reminding me. To answer the question, I’d say our fundraising is going about as well as can be expected,” Christina speared a beet from her salad, thinking the color matched both Marilyn’s lipstick and the large cabochon rubies in her ears. “Money’s tight for everyone, and we’re appreciative of every dollar we receive. Expenses are high though, and I expect they’ll climb even higher as we get closer to November. I’m just worried I won’t be able to stretch the pool as far as I’ll need to.” Christina considered the woman across the table as Marilyn lifted a spoonful of the lime green soup to her red mouth. “I don’t suppose….?” she ventured.

  Marilyn finished her spoonful and blotted her mouth with a napkin. “I’m afraid not, Christina. Ephraim has already donated quite generously to Sutton’s campaign, and I’m afraid my own circumstance are somewhat strained at present. I’ve had a number of unexpected things come up.” She filled her spoon again before adding. “Perhaps I can manage a little something in a few weeks after I’ve covered everything for which I’m already obligated.”

  “Of course, Marilyn,” Christina replied quickly. “I know how much monetary support you’ve both already given us, and both Sutton and I are extremely grateful. I didn’t mean to impose further.”

  Marilyn lifted one of the crostini which had been served to accompany the soup, and bit into it with strong white teeth. Small crumps fell from her mouth onto the table cloth. “You didn’t impose Christina, and I’m aware of how grateful you are. I’d help if I could, but it’s not possible at present.” Marilyn wiped her mouth again and picked up her wine glass. “I’m sure you’ll manage to handle everything without my help. You’re like me. You always find a way to get things done and you don’t let anything stand in your way.”

  “Thank you for your confidence in me, Marilyn,” Christina replied and then redirected the conversation to other things.

  “Did you ladies leave room for one of our special desserts,” Jules asked after he cleared their luncheon plates. “I think you might enjoy the French pastry horn, with cream.”

  Marilyn considered his suggestion with sultry eyes, but ultimately declined. “It sounds delightful, Jules, but I’m trying to watch my intake. Once I have the first taste, I can’t seem to stop myself from devouring every last bite.”

  Christina declined as well, and soon Jules returned with their tab. As he placed the small leatherette folder on the table, Marilyn looked at her pointedly. After a moment spent trying to interpret the other woman’s expression, she caught on. “It’s my turn to treat, I think.” She picked up the check and reviewed it. “How can one lunch for two cost so damned much?” she asked herself as she pulled out her wallet and removed a credit card, hoping the charge would go through.

  “Are you headed off to take care of campaign business?” Marilyn asked she touched up her lipstick.

  “No, not right away. I have a rather pressing errand I need to run. What about you? What do you have planned for the afternoon?”

  “I have an important stop to make as well, and then I’ll head back out to the lake to make sure Emeline has dinner under control.” Marilyn sighed heavily. “I know it sounds clichéd, but it really is difficult to get good help. It seems they always make the most stupid mistakes, and they cost an absolute fortune. Even something that’s supposed to be a simple job costs an arm and a leg.”

  “Are you expecting a large group tonight?” Christina asked as she slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

  “No, just a little mother and son get together. Ephraim has a dinner meeting this evening, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to catch up with my boy, and talk over a few things he might be able to help me with. It’s
a sin how little we see each other.”

  “Does he live far from here?”

  “No, he lives here in the city. Now that I think of it, you probably met him at the fundraiser we hosted a few months ago. We don’t see each other as much as we should.” Marilyn shrugged as she got up from the table. “But, I guess that’s to be expected. He’s all grown up now, with his own interests and obligations.”

  After saying their goodbyes, Christina watched as Marilyn stepped into her luxury sedan and found herself wondering how much the car had cost Reverend Shaw’s congregation. Obviously, she and Marilyn had very different definitions of a strained circumstance.

  As she walked back to her own car, she reflected on past times when she’d never had to worry about a damned thing.

  As the youngest child and only daughter of the senior branch of the Martelli clan, the world had been hers for the taking. Spoiled and petted by her adoring papa and three brothers, Christina Martelli had only to point her finger at something and it was hers. As she’d grown older and had become more actively involved in her family activities, they had pinned their hopes on her – certain that she would be the one to bring them back to the heights of their former glory as a premier flying act in the competitive world of circus performers.

  Christina had learned all there was to know about the family business and showed incredible promise. She wanted more, but didn’t know what she was looking for. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be found in Sarasota, Florida. Of that, she was sure.

  After a series of loud and angry arguments, her father had finally thrown his hands up in disgust and agreed that she could attend college out of state, as long as she promised to keep herself in shape and return to the family fold after she obtained her degree. She’d assured him that she would and had packed her bags and headed off to discover the world.

  In her junior year, she met Sutton Dameron and her world had changed. He was totally different from the men she’d grown up with and she was enthralled by his collegiate good looks, pale skin and the auburn hair that he wore a little longer than others on campus. Although his looks were a decided contrast to her family’s swarthy skin and dark hair, it was his outlook on life that spoke to her most strongly.